A Really Twisted Story About the Reality of Life
By Drunken Uncle Nick

This is a story about several young people who have become close friends. Coming together under a series of mysterious, yet auspicious circumstances, they began work at a corporation. It's another typical day for the Beck-N-Call Corporation. The sun has just risen and the morning air has not yet warmed. A young woman enters a spacious room in a small office complex and begins to push chairs and other small furniture around as she waits for the others to arrive. She pushes a conference table into the center of the room and sets up chairs around it. Just as she moves the last chair, another girl enters the room.

"Hey, Sketch," the younger girl says as she hangs her coat up in the closet. She pushes her long red-brown hair away from her face. She only barely reaches Sketch's chin, but she's obviously undaunted and determined. For someone so small, she has more presence than anyone else in the group and is accordingly the second in command.

"What's up, Scoop?" Sketch hitches her baggy jeans. As the only African-American in the group of friends, she sometimes feels lonely, but she's used to it. "Care to help me move the desks?" Her dreads hang down into her round face and her almond shaped eyes gleam in the fluorescent lights.

"Sure." Scoop and Sketch work together to move the desks back into the cubicle spaces before setting up the phones and computers.

Frodo walks in a few minutes later. She adjusts her tinted glasses and sets her note pads on the table. "About time you called this meeting, Sketch. We've needed one for a while." She flops down lazily into an office chair and begins to spin slowly.

"No kidding. Who else is coming?"

"We're expecting Tree Rose, Igor, Mystique, Spooky, Tre, and Mortimer. Although Mortimer is never any help." Frodo laughs sardonically. Everyone knows that Mortimer is a few hands short of a poker game.

"He's good for a laugh," Scoop interjects.

"Yeah, I guess so. He's your boyfriend," Frodo teases.

"He is not!" Scoop retorts.

Sketch simply sets up her notes and waits for the others to arrive. This argument has happened in many forms since Mortimer arrived. He seemed to instantly latch onto Scoop and Sketch, as they were usually the only ones who could tolerate him. Since Sketch was obviously not interested in anyone, let alone Mortimer, Scoop made a much better target. Igor arrives next, followed by Spooky.

"Hejsan, everyone," Spooky and Igor say in unison, beaming around at the three at the table. Igor sits down and begins to settle herself while Spooky immediately gravitates to the coffee pot. As Spooky proceeds to down the contents of the coffee pot, Tree Rose comes and wordlessly takes her place at the conference table. Mystique walks in not long after, laughing at Mortimer whose head is stuck in a pickle jar. Mortimer always has had a tendency to get stuck in impossible situations. Tre wanders in last, mopey as usual. He is always in a bad mood lately.

Everyone takes his or her place at the conference table. The group is meeting to discuss their latest project. So far, there has been more talk than action and a small number of them are doing all of the work.

"Okay, listen up, gang," Sketch says, instantly commanding everyone's attention. As the leader and a natural born organizer, she is usually heeded. "We've been talking about this project forever, but there has been no progress. We cannot build a proper headquarters if we have no supplies. Now, Scoop, can you give us a status report?"

"Well," Scoop begins, "Last meeting, we were all given assignments. Mortimer was supposed to be finding an apt location for us. How's that coming, Mort?"

Mortimer finally pulls the pickle jar off of his head, splashing pickle juice on Tre and Spooky in the process. At forty-one years old, you'd expect him to not get his head caught in a pickle jar, but he's a bit dim. "Well, I've narrowed it down to that huge tree in the park near Spooky's house, the old abandoned garage on Dorsett Street, and Sketch's basement." Mortimer speaks with a faint Cockney accent with a slight edge of South Jersey attitude.

"My basement?" Sketch breaks in, eyebrows raised.

"Well, you have a pretty big basement. There's plenty of room."

"But no privacy," Mystique adds. No one in the group except Mortimer is called by their real name.

"Okay, so it's the old abandoned garage, then," Mortimer finishes. "It's for rent or sale, so says the sign. I'll call the owner after the meeting."

"All righty. Next order of bidness. Tre was supposed to be finding weapons and ammunition. Report, Ensign Kim," Scoop continues.

"Huh? Oh me. Umm, I have water balloons, slingshots, stink bombs and old gym socks. I also have paintball guns," Tre replies, ticking the items off on his fingers.

"Get something a bit more high-tech and heavy-duty. We need guns, bows and arrows, something we can do real damage with. We're not kids. Igor, building materials?"

"Did you want wood, metal or concrete?" Igor asks.

"Wood or sheet rock is fine, Igor," Sketch replies.

"Okay, do you want paint or wallpaper?" she asks.

"Whatever! Do you have the stuff or not?" Sketch asks, impatient.

"Uh, no. I was too busy working on the website."

"GrrrrAUGH!" Sketch pounds her fist on the table. "We've been at this for six months, Igor! Our website is just a front for the real corporation! Don't worry about the story page!" Though Igor is more than twice Sketch's tender age of eighteen, she backs down quickly. It's very rare for Sketch to lose her patience so people usually listen up.

Scoop glances at Sketch and quickly glances away at the look on her face. "Okay...We also need electronics and utilities. Mystique, Spooky, progress?" Scoop inquires, reading her list.

"We have the wires, wire splitters and drills, etc." Mystique says, consulting her own list.

"And the computers, radar and telephone equipment are all ready and waiting," Spooky adds proudly. For someone only thirteen years old, she is extremely experienced with electronics and computer programming. It's actually kind of scary how much computer technology she has at her disposal.

Before Scoop has a chance to ask, Tree Rose speaks up. "I have all of the codes and blueprints complete. I was able to get some building equipment and a huge spool of copper wire."

"Very good, Tree Rose," Sketch says, obviously impressed. "I have taken care of the radio equipment, surveillance equipment and cash flow myself. We will have no shortage of funds."

"I can't help but think that we are better set up than the CIA," Scoop says, checking things off on her lists.

"Scoop, how are you progressing?" Sketch asks, a dangerous look in her eye.

"I have gotten the uniforms and supplies. We should be fully prepared to go underground within the month. We can even continue our front operation."

"Good. Now, we shall begin building. All of us. If the usual slackers aren't working as hard as the rest of us, they will be the first to go." Sketch consults her note pads. "The war between Beck N Call Corporation and the Ouija Board Dynasty is imminent. Losing is not an option. If we lose, they take over our city and then the world, flooding the media with their psychic infomercials and John Edwards reruns. According to intelligence, they've formed an alliance with the Animal Liberation Front, PETA and the Christian Coalition. Once our base is complete, we will begin to recruit others. We must expose the Ouija Board Dynasty for the frauds they really are. We can't have Right Wing wing nuts and fruit loops running our country anymore."

"Uh, Sketch. It's not that serious. Besides, we should be more concerned about the Furbybot toys that are taking over the country. They are brainwashing the children and using them to construct huge armies. Those unholy terrors have gained complete autonomy. I warned them about the AI chips they put into them," Spooky intoned. "They're way too advanced for children's toys. Anything that can think for itself and learn at that rate shouldn't be left to its own devices."

"Okay, fine. We'll destroy the Furbies, then the margin-dwellers. The world's fate lies in the hands of adolescents. Who says children aren't the future?" Sketch concludes the meeting.

That was two years ago. Since then, Sketch and the others have not been seen or heard from. The war between the Furbies and man continues and only the children are left. What will become of mankind?