Previously…

  "Hey, Bumpers. Alice Pieszecki here reporting with some bad news. It appears that WeHo’s The Elles are the blame for L Word writer Ilene Chaiken’s death. As you know, I’m a part of that gang and, for the record, I’ve been here all night. We all had our hate for her, but none of us wanted to hurt her…physically. Anyway, I’ve just received a special song request made out to none other, The Elles. Watch your backs out there, ladies."

Would rather see you dead little girl           

 Than to be with another man

You better keep your head little girl

Or you won’t know where I am                                                                                              

L Word Studio Set

 Ever single assistant Ilene Chaiken had ever had stood in rows of four at attention in the empty studio. Becky, originally Barbara until Ilene changed it to Becky, walked back and forth in front of her now troops. "Okay. As you all know, Ilene Chaiken is dead-" "Dead!? Oh, god! What am I going to do!? I’ll have to move, but WHERE!? I’ll be homeless! I’ll be on a corner getting coffee and filing papers for spare change!" screamed one particularly bewildered assistant. In one swift move, Becky marched over to the distraught woman and slapped her across the face. "Get it together, man! You’re an assistant for crying out loud. Not an intern! As Ms. Chaiken’s first assistant, I will be in charge. Now, who are The Elles?" Low mumbles errupt in the crowd, but no clear answer is heard. "Nevermind. I want The Elles borught here alive. I’ll take care of them myself."

Parking Lot

  "Dammit, Dana! If you ask  me "Are we there yet?", one more goddamn time, I’m gonna beat you till you stutter! Understand?", yelled Kit. "Sorry. I was just trying to make conversation," muttered Dana. "We know, Dana. Don’t worry-" Papi’s words are cut short by the flashing lights and loud sirens of a cop car. "Cheese it, everyone! It’s the fuzz!" yelled Papi as she took off. "The "fuzz"? What is this!?! 1979!?", said Shane. "Quit thinking and fucking run!", said Tasha sprinting away. And with that, the group split up.

Outside of a Warehouse

  "Wait a minute. I just figured out where we are. We’re on Diesel Dyke territory!" said Kit in a hushed tone.  "Diesel Dykes?", asked Bette. The Diesel Dykes were one of the toughest gangs in West Hollywood. They were tough, they were rough; they wore flannel. They were not to be taken lightly. "We need to find everyone and make it to the next bus stop. We’re gonna have to be sneaky about it though. If we’re caught, they’ll make us change their transmission fluid until we die from intoxication." They began move, backs pressed up against the brick wall when they heard a familiar scream.

Behind Dumpsters

  "I’m warning you! Don’t come any closer or I’ll..I’ll…I’ll DANCE!", screamed a distraught Dana at the two Diesel Dykes. "Aw, don’t worry, baby. We ain’t gonna hurt ya. So tell me. Do you like cars?", smirked one particularly large Dyke.  Dana took her fighting "pose" which was no more than widening her stance and spinning her arms in a windmill fashion. "I-I-I warned you! AHHHHHHH!" came the somewhat pathetic battle cry. The two gang memebers laugh and began to pounce when they were clobbered from behind by Kit and Bette. Hearing a thud, Dana quirked a eye open only to see the two women on the ground and Kit and Bette looking at her. "What?", she asked. "Why are you even in a gang?" came Kit’s reply. "Enough. We need to find the others," said Bette. And with that, their search began.