Cautiously and with great trepidation, the four identically clad humans formed a makeshift semi-circle around the antediluvian deity. Each one held a firm grip on their neutralizers, ready to fire up and take action, when necessary.  The phantom feline, who had only recently arrived in this dimension, was in no mood to play games. Leia the Leizarian — goddess to the ancient Sumerians — meant business!

“Foul creatures, choose and perish!” she demanded with a tinny vocal reverberation and eyes that glowed a hellfire red. “Choose the destructor!”

“I’m sorry, what?” asked the oafish, childlike human, who moments earlier had confirmed that he was not, in fact, a god.

“Choose the form of the destructor!” she repeated.

The charming, sarcastic human, who, up to this point had treated this entire mission with carefree disregard, suddenly became serious.

“Whoa whoa whoa! I see what’s happening here,” he interjected as he gathered his colleagues into a huddle. “This is history repeating itself.”

“What do you mean?” the serious, scientifically-minded biped followed, genuinely curious about his colleague’s theory.

“Back in 1984, this exact same thing happened to four guys just like us — handsome men, brilliant men! — only it was on top of a Manhattan high rise apartment, not in somebody’s Ikea-constructed walk-in closet. And the inter-dimensional being took the form of a slinky, eye-candyesque hellcat, not a literal scarlet-eyed cat from Hell.

The other humans remained silent, unsure of what their partner was getting at.

“Five years later, those same guys found themselves in a similar, big-budget predicament, and to get out of it, they had to commandeer the Statue of Liberty. They literally marched it right down Fifth Avenue. I know, crazy, right?

“Then, just a few years ago, and much to the chagrin of message board misogynists everywhere, four plucky dames took over the job. Were they successful? Depends on who you ask, I guess.”

The fourth human, who up til now had served only as an everyman type of skeptic, began to put the pieces together.

“So, what are you saying?” he asked, following up with his own solution. “We’re in some sort of sequel, or something?”

“Worse,” the sarcastic one responded with deadpanned seriousness and a comedic-dramatic pause. “We’re in a reboot.”

“More like a re-reboot,” the serious one countered. “This is a lot like The Hustle, which was essentially a scene-for-scene remake of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, itself a remake of Bedtime Story.”

“So, in other words,” the fourth human concluded, “its like we’re battling yet another Death Star.”

“Yes! That’s right,” the sarcastic one confirmed. “Only a bigger, badder Death Star with more lasers and fewer catastrophically vulnerable exhaust ports.”

Leia had heard enough. Even a six-thousand year old celestial being can stand only so much mind-numbingly trivial banter.

“The choice is made,” she announced matter-of-factly. The Traveler has come!”

“Oh, shit!” the sarcastic one shouted, realizing he had just made a huge mistake. “I forgot to tell you to clear your minds because whatever you think of will appear out of thin air and destroy us all.”

And just like that, a spherical, armored battle station, resembling a small moon, appeared on the horizon. It was indeed the Death Star, but not a bigger, badder one as predicted. It was the original 1977, un-remastered version.

A sense of dread fell over the four humans. If there was a way out of this unexpected plot twist, not a one of them could think of it. They all reflected and ruminated, but it was the oafish, childlike one who put the final piece of the puzzle in place.

“Guys, this isn’t a Ghostbusters reboot,” he solemnly revealed. “It’s worse than that.

“We’re in a stand-alone Star Wars film.”

The others stood incredulously, letting the magnitude of this revelation sink into their heretofore ectoplasmic brains.

“Think about it. What planet are we on?

“What do you mean what planet are we on?” the sarcastic one rebuffed. “We’re on…”

He couldn’t finish his admonishment before the serious one cut him off.

“Alderaan.”

“Yup. Alderaan,” the oafish one conceded. “We’re not the heroes. We’re the side story — a pathetic little Easter egg in one tiny segment of the origin story of a long dead planet. We’re nothing more than a wink and a nod.

“Hell, we may even end up in the deleted scenes.”

One by one, the group members accepted their cruel, unexpected fate as they stared up at the dreaded orb. On board the battle station, weapons technicians commenced the primary ignition.

And with that, a million voices cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced. Except, of course, for the fans and critics — both of whom had no shortage of choice words for what what would be the final nail in the coffin of two beloved franchises.

As for Leia the Leizarian? She had conquered this realm, but there was still more paranormal havoc to be wreaked. She conjured up a modern day sports almanac, hopped into her temporally-redesigned DMC DeLorean and took off to 1955.

Make that three beloved franchises.