A/n: Chapter 12 is done at last! This took me a little longer than usual, but it is a very long chapter. According to word count, I've gone over 6000 words on this one.

Now its time for.... Anonymous review reply!

At Pinta: The Animorphs won't be finding out for a while. However, the answer to what TKA is will most likely be announced in the next chapter.

At truthordareftw: Aww, shucks. Thank you so much for your kind words. Here's the update!

Disclaimer: Emails in this chapter are NOT real. If you try emailing anything to that address, then I highly doubt you'll get a reply. In addition, this chapter is rated T...plus. Or M-, whatever floats your boat. This is due to certain themes later in the chapter.

One Wedding and a Vortex.

It seems that these days, nothing can be done in peace.

And just now I discovered checking emails are no exception. As well as being connected to the Chee-net 24/7, I am also connected to the human Internet. This is rather handy in most cases. I can browse the headlines on news sites, watch videos on a recently-created site know as "You-tube," and of course, check my emails.

This is when I come to the part about not being able to complete this in peace. As soon as I logged on to check my emails, a particular email stood out at me:

MY LITTLE EREK-PIE!!! IMPORTANT!!! XOXOX

Gee, I thought, I wonder who that's from.

I sighed to myself bitterly, thus earning a strange look from the Chee who plays my father, who was sitting next to me on the couch watching some strange game show.

I ignored his stare, and reluctantly opened the email.

MY LITTLE EREK-PIE!!! IMPORTANT!!! XOXOX

From: "Insane-weirdo nut case" (hotter_than_u(at)YeerkEmpire(dot)org)

To: "Erek" _(E-king(at)aol(dot)com)

Dear my little cutie Erek-pie,

The next meeting of our super-duper club will be held on Tuesday, at 10:00am

LOVE FROM TAYLOR,

xoxoxox

Want to add more expression to your emails? Download free smiley icons now! :)


If the first thing you hear as you enter the basement of a psycho's house is the arguing of a talking rat and a leaf-munching green goblin over pirates or ninjas, you know the day isn't off to a good start.

Fortunately, they stopped their stupid argument when they discovered I was standing at the top of the stairwell, looking down upon them with utter disdain.

"Personally," I said, "I prefer ninjas."

"Ah, Erek," greeted Gafrash, "nice of you to join us." He said that insincerely, of course.

I walked down the stairs. "Where's Taylor and Tom?"

"I was hoping that perhaps you would be able to answer that question," replied Gafrash, before sighing. "And maybe, with a bit of luck, she has found a new group of unsuspecting victims to torture."

"What about Tom?"

((Who cares?)) replied McWhiskers. ((All that matters is that as long as they're not here, and we have a free day. I think I will use this time to do some spring cleaning. My cage is starting to get cluttered.))

"No it isn't," I retorted, "It looks exactly the same as when it was last meeting."

((...shut up.)

I walked over to the club couch and through myself down on it. Since this was currently looking to be a free day, I may as well find something to do. Lazily, I picked up the remote and flicked through the channels. Nothing but crumby reality TV shows.

I looked over towards Gafrash. He was busy painting a picture that would put Picasso to shame.

And then, it occurred to me. Recently, weird things (on top of the already weird things our club experiences, of course) had been happening. Gafrash seemed to be the center of all these weird happenings. Yet every time I was going to approach him about what happened, I somehow got distracted.

Weird.

But I wasn't going to let the opportunity fly by this time. I wanted to know what the TKA was, and I wanted to know now.

"Say, Gafrash," I said casually, as I got off the couch and strolled over to him.

Gafrash sighed and put down his paint brush. "Yes, android?"

"What's the TKA?"

Gafrash froze, and I could of sworn he turned a little pale.

((He's got you there, Gafrash,)) said McWhiskers.

"I...I have no idea of what you are talking about!"

"Yeah, right," I snorted, "Come on, the TKA. You know, what your friend Mischa mentioned when she knocked Tom unconscious with his own crutch and brutally murdered his camera?"

((Woah,)) replied McWhiskers, ((Now I'm curious.))

Gafrash just stood there looking ill.

"Come on!"

((Tell us!))

"Sorry I'm late!" called a familiar voice from the top of the stairs – Tom. He awkwardly staggered down the stairs, trying his best not to trip and tumble down. Fortunately for Tom, he didn't (this time) and made it safely to the bottom.

"My host's mom had to drop both myself and my host's brother off at friends' houses."

Jake... he had been close.

Sometimes, I had gotten so lost in what I portrayed the club members as, that I couldn't see what they really were. It was something I didn't like to think about, yet it was still there. Tom, or really, Tom's Yeerk, was still the same selfish power-hungry Yeerk as ever.

Taylor was still same nut case that tortured Tobias, almost killing him.

Gafrash was...well, I wasn't quiet sure who he was, but I'm trying to find out.

And McWhiskers...he was just some smelly old rat/Andalite bandit nothlit.

And yet, even though these were people nobody would willingly socialize with, I still felt some sort of...would you call it friendship? No, probably not. Maybe an "understanding" would be better word to use.

Yes, that does nicely. I gained an understanding.

A high-pith computer beep broke me out of my involuntary musings.

((Oh, an email!)) squealed McWhiskers with joy. ((Maybe I finally got a review for that piece of Everworld fan-fiction I submitted.))

It was then that Gafrash picked up the painting he was working on, smashed his head through it, and muttered something under his breath in Hork-Bajir.

We all stared at him.

"What's the matter with Gafrash?" Tom asked, as his put bag down.

"No clue. Though it probably isn't anything important," I said dismissively.

((Did I say something wrong?)) wondered McWhiskers.

I strolled over to the computer casually, and opened the email window. What I saw didn't excite me, I'm afraid.

"It's from Taylor."

Tom and McWhiskers gasped (but McWhiskers in thought speech of course).

"Read it out," Tom said shakily. He sounded scared, and I hadn't even started.

"My...her...our humiliation plan," I read out, and cleared my throat. Or pretended to, anyway. I clicked the title, which resulted in the email loading and being displayed on the screen.

"Dear Erek-pie,"

Tom snickered.

"Tommy-too,"

Tom went silent.

"Gafrash and McWhiskers,

We...I really wish I could be here today. But unfortunately, I have contracted Swine Flu and have been forced to stay in isolation for a week."

"NOOOOOO!" shouted Gafrash loudly and unsuspectingly. We all shot around to stare at him. "Reality is doomed as we all know it!" And with that, he made a dramatic exit by running up the stairs of Taylor's basement and slamming the door.

A long, unnerving silence ensured.

"Erek..." Tom said slowly, "Did Gafrash just speak...coherent English?"

"No," I responded quickly, "Of course he didn't! That's ridiculous! Don't be so silly!"

((As if he would believe that.))

Tom turned pale. "Mouse...spoke!" He then pointed an accusing finger at me. "You heard it too! I know it!"

((Crap!)) swore McWhiskers, ((Hearing Gafrash speak English must have shocked him back in to hearing me. Quick Erek, knock him out!))

Tom shrieked and stepped back.

"Hello, non-violent android! Think of something else!"

((I...I can't!!!))

"An...android?" repeated Tom dumbly. He stared at me.

"No!" I replied quickly, "You see, that is what you thought you heard. What you really heard was..uh...anchovies!"

Tom crossed his arms, and looked from me to McWhiskers.

Uh oh.


I felt that our little explaining session to Tom wouldn't be fully satisfying without Gafrash. After all, it

was his fault. He deserved to have his stupid little secrets exposed to Tom for what he had done.

But why did he react like that at the mention of the "swine flu"? I, personally, have never heard of such a flu existing and thought Taylor had made it up as a joke. Gafrash was definitely hiding something. Something big...

Anyway, when I found Gafrash, he was stripping bark off Taylor's pot plant and stuffing his face with it. Maybe it was yet another sort of Hork-Bajir stress relief.

"It's over," I said angrily, "The second most power-hungry Yeerk in the galaxy knows you speak English, knows I'm an android, and knows McWhiskers is an Andalite. Happy?"

"Not really..." he admitted, "this is very...inconvenient. For all of us."

"Tom wants an explanation. In fact, I want an explanation."

"Sorry Erek," said Gafrash, as he stood up and dusted the bark dust off himself, "Can't be done."

"Why?"

"Because some things, regardless of what you are, can't be understood. You'll have to take my word, Android."

The thing is, I couldn't. There was never any way to determine if what was coming out of Gafrash's mouth was the truth, or lies. And my guess was most of them were lies.


Tom listened intently as explained to him everything. Well, maybe not everything. We didn't mention Gafrash's addiction to leaves, my sheer awesomeness (though I was tempted) and how McWhiskers had now gained the ability to touch type.

We really just covered the more basic stuff.

"So let me get this straight," Tom began, "Erek is ten-thousand-and-something-year-old android, Gafrash is a prodigy Hork-Bajir who speaks perfect English, and McWhiskers is an Andalite nothlit?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Tom was silent for a moment.

"Taylor...what's her secret meant to be?"

"Besides from being insane?" Gafrash asked, "Nothing that we yet know of."

Tom suddenly grinned. A mad, power-hungry grin that I didn't like. We all knew what was going through his mind.

((Uh-oh.))

"Your secrets," he said (probably more to himself than us,) "I tell them to the Council of Thirteen, and I could be promoted! Just like that! I'm sure they would pay a high price to a clever and witty Yeerk who hands in an advanced android, a prodigy Hork-Bajir and an Andalite Bandit!"

We all gulped. Even McWhiskers, and he's a rat.

((But...)) McWhiskers said, ((If you tell them our secrets, then we'll tell them yours.))

"No!" exclaimed Tom. He abruptly dropped to his knees and began begging. I began to record the footage. You never know when this material might come in handy.

"Please, anything but that!"

((Very well,)) sighed McWhiskers patiently, ((But from now on, it's tit for tat, Tommy. As long as our secrets are safe, so are yours.))

Tom frowned. "Tit for tat... that's a strange human expression for an Andalite to use."

((Well I'm a very smart Andalite. I can also speak Rat-a-nese.))

Tom gasped, and sincerely looked impressed. "Woah!"

Tom then decided to walk upstairs to raid Taylor's fridge, because he was apparently hungry. A little random perhaps, but nobody here was complaining.

As soon as he was gone, I asked McWhiskers, "Just out of curiosity, what's Tom's secret?"

((When he thinks nobody is looking, he pretends to be a famous ballerina. Nobody ever suspects the rat...))


When Tom returned, we continued reading Taylor's email from where we left off.

The email went on to explain a plan, which strangely, seemed sane enough. Two acquaintances both, Vissers were going to join in a tradition Earth marriage on the upcoming weekend.

According to Taylor, this had become a new trend among Yeerk society. Instead of Yeerks taking the normal, traditional Yeerk approach (which didn't even involve marriage, but simply reproducing and then dying, if the Yeerk was the female) they had decided to try a more exotic method.

Taylor had mentioned that she was unsure how the two love birds (or should I say "love Yeerks") were connected to the Vissers. But, I suppose it wouldn't be long before we found out.

Our job, like always, was to humiliate the Vissers, get the the evidence, and get serious rewards. And with a wedding in to play, Taylor thought the opportunities for us would be rather interesting.

Only, she was too lazy to help us. I was still busy being annoyed by this. Instead of helping us capture evidence, she was busy being sick with the made up illness, "the Swine Flu."

Pttf, the Swine Flu. What a stupid name for a flu. Come on Taylor, I'm sure you could be a little more creative than that.

"But why should we?" asked Gafrash, "What is stopping us from simply wandering off to Father Deep knows where and slacking off?"

I froze as I read the PS message at the bottom of the email mentally.

PS: If you even think about slacking off, I will find you. As proof of your attendance at the wedding, I demand the bride's bouquet...Because I...we are going to get married next!

...to Erek.

Gafrash saw the message, and fell into a violent laughing fit.

Tom leaned over my shoulder curiously, "What's so -" he didn't get to finish the sentence, because he also was cast in to a wild fit of laughter.

Thanks a "bunch", Taylor.


Strangely enough, Taylor had given us three separate addresses. I hadn't thought much it until now. But little did I know that it would end in us being involved in a wild goose chase.

The first address was one of a rather ordinary looking apartment block. We stood there for a moment, looking at the block with utter bewilderedness.

"Sure we have the right place?" Tom asked.

I unfolded the piece of paper from my tuxedo pocket and re-read the details.

Saturday:

Unit no. 108, Smithson Building, West Street, (insert name of town/city and our state name here). 6:00pm

15 Pleasant Way, (insert name of town/city and our state name here.) 8:00 PM.

Sunday:

Meadow Park, Fields Road, (insert name of town/city and our state name here). Midday onwards.

"Looks like it is," I replied, before sighing.

Gafrash frowned. "I wonder what atrocity we will get to participate in today."

With that, we walked on towards our destiny – the Smithson building.

The place didn't look all that flashy inside. It wasn't one of those expensive, high-class apartment buildings, but it wasn't an absolute dump either.

As we headed up to the appropriate floor, Tom suddenly said randomly, "I need a mint."

He began furiously scavenging through his coat pocket, trying to recover a mint.

"Hey!" he exclaimed suddenly, "there's a giant hairball in here!"

I eyed Gafrash.

"Don't look at me, Android!" he exclaimed, "Just because I started coughing up hairballs a week ago and Taylor had to take me to the vet doesn't mean I chucked one in Tom's coat pocket."

"Uh..." Tom said suddenly, and stopped his scavenging.

"What?" I demanded.

"The hairball. It's moving."

"Surely my hairballs didn't mutate that much," mused Gafrash to himself.

"Grab it," I suggested.

Tom did. And when he pulled it out of his pocket, we discovered it wasn't really a hairball at all.

((Ohh! Stop that! Don't hold me by the tail!))

Out of his coat pocket, Tom pulled out McWhiskers.

"A hairball indeed..." muttered Gafrash.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. I wasn't too pleased that McWhiskers had tagged along without our permission. We all knew that he and Gafrash didn't get along very well, and if he was going to participate in our missions then obviously that was going to cause a few problems.

((I got a temporarily banned on the Hannah Montana forums for trolling. What can I say? I was depressed. It was an impulse decision.))

I frowned. What was Hannah Montana? Better yet, what was trolling? Nothing I had ever heard of, that was for sure.

"GAFRASH!" yelled Gafrash randomly, "URLEKSALMARKOFIKTRESDAIDANP!"

With a ding, the elevator doors opened. Without any warning, Gafrash pushed us out, and closed the doors on us. He had even said that sentence in Hork-Bajir so fast, that my translator chip couldn't translate it.

"Hey!"

I stared sullenly as the digital screen displayed the floor number the elevator was now currently at.


"That wasn't very nice!" exclaimed Tom.

"Indeed..." I muttered, "Strange, too."

4...3...2...1...and, he was running for an escape just about now.

We all made a quick agreement to leave it at that. Gafrash had obviously seemed to have suffered from some sort of panic attack (he had been getting a lot of those lately...), and we wouldn't pester him any more about it. For now, we decided just to head over to room 108.

When we arrived, there was loud, blaring music and chattering coming from inside.

((Somebody's having a party,)) commented McWhiskers, who was sitting on my shoulder. I allowed him to sit there on the condition he wouldn't poop on me.

"Why am I never invited?" whined Tom.

((So...)) began McWhiskers, ((Who's gonna knock?))

Tom and I both stared at McWhiskers. McWhiskers and his beady little rat eyes stared back at us with utter confusion. ((What?))

"Well, McWhiskers, if that really is your name," Tom narrowed his eyes, "Since all the other group members have been to the Skrit Na Home world and back in order to reach success, don't you think it's your turn to make a contribution?"

((Not really,)) he admitted wearily.

But neither Tom, nor myself, would have it.

I grabbed him off my shoulder with one hand, and placed him gently on the floor. I then kneeled down so I was in McWhisker's view, and tapped on the bottom edge of the door with a finger. It took McWhiskers a few seconds to get what I was implying.

((Uh-uh! No way am I crawling under the door!)) he protested, ((I may have lost a bit of weight since Taylor got me that hamster wheel, but not enough as I could fit under there.))

Statistically, I realized he was actually right. The space between the floor and bottom rim of the door was way to narrow for him to fit through. But sometimes, violence does wonders to statistics.

Tom used his foot to nudge McWhiskers right up to the gap beneath the door.

((Wa-wait! What are you doing?!))

"Let us know if you find anything interesting, and report back."

And with one vigorous shove of Tom's foot, McWhiskers slid under the door.

It took about a minute or so for Tom and I to hear back from McWhiskers. And when we did, some questionable music had just started playing from under the door, along with a chorus of whistling.

((SON OF A - !))

Immediately, McWhiskers tried to run back out of the room, even managing to beat statistics and fit under the door on the way back. Once he had successfully made it back over to home turf, he laid on his back, his little feet up in the air.

((Principal Chapman...cake...routine....Visser Three watching!)) he exclaimed, before falling in to silence. My guess was he had just passed out from whatever he had seen.

I instantly tried to make sense of what he had just said. Given what he had just said, I managed to put together the three most likely theories.

A) Principal Chapman was eating cake, while watching Visser Three go about his every day routine.

B) Visser Three was watching Principal Chapman eating cake while he went about his everyday routine.

Or worse of all, Principle Chapman jumped out of a cake, performing a routine while Visser Three watched.

...Wait, WHAT!?

I tried to block the image my system generated, but to no prevail. The damaged was already done.

"Guys," I sighed, "I think we may have just stumbled upon a Bachelor Party."

"My human host is laughing right now, though I have no idea why," Tom mentioned. He then leaned down to pick up an unconscious McWhiskers, and stuff him in his pocket.

"So where to next?" asked Tom.

"Nowhere," I replied, as we both began walking back towards the elevator.

"Why?"

"Think about it," I said, "If this was a Bachelor Party, then what do you think the next address Taylor gave us will be?"

"Uh..." Tom said, "My host is saying a fancy-dress party."

Clever, real Tom. Real clever.

"Bachelorette party," I corrected. "And if there's anything worse than a Bachelor Party, then it's that."

"So what are we going to do now?"

"What could we do?" I asked, probably more to myself than Tom. "We're down two...three people. And after what just happened, there is no way that I'm going anywhere near that second address. So this is what we'll do: Go home for the afternoon. Get some rest. We already can make a good guess on what the second address is. Knowing Taylor, the third address she gave us will be the actual address of the wedding. Tomorrow, we'll start new."

Tom agreed that this sounded like a good plan, and we went our separate ways for the afternoon.


When I walked in to the club house (aka Taylor's basement, just in case you've forgotten) the next day, Gafrash was busy having a very loud phone conversation with someone in Hork-Bajir.

"Urk saff youbik! Jaa yonp-sap ju nok! Dekuhg nel doyup mek urkta." he protested angrily to whoever was on the other end.

The reason Gafrash was talking in Hork-Bajir was probably to avoid being understood. However, he may not have been aware/may have forgotten that I had an inbuilt translator chip.

That's why as soon as he protested, "No, not that! I can handle it myself! I won't be requiring any assistance." I gave him a puzzled look and went over to stand by McWhisker's cage.

"Who's he talking to?" I whispered discreetly to the rat/Andalite bandit.

((Don't know,)) McWhiskers said, ((And I don't care. Ever since that damaging experience yesterday, how could I ever care for anything again?!))

I snorted, "Don't be so emo."

Gafrash instantly hung up on whoever he was talking to.

((What's emo?))

"You know..." I began, "I don't really know myself."

"GAFRASSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screeched Gafrash. He then jumped on Taylor's couch, and began clawing at the cushions.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" I demanded, running over to the pillow death-scene, "Don't rip those apart! Taylor will be furious!"

Gafrash ignored me.

All the while that I was trying to persuade Gafrash to take his unknown stress out on something that Taylor wouldn't give us hell about, Tom entered the room. I saw him from the corner of my image sensors gaze upon us with an express that pretty much summed up...

"What in the name of the Kandrona is going on!?" he shouted.

Gafrash stopped his clawing. I stopped my yelling. Heck, even McWhiskers stopped running around in his hamster wheel. I took a moment to mentally chuckle on how unusual it was that Tom was actually being listened to. But meh, stranger things have happened.

It was then that Gafrash stopped killing the cushions, recomposed himself, and said he was going upstairs to make himself a cup of tea.

When he had left, Tom was the first to spoke up. "That was strange," he commented, "Does Gafrash normally act like that when I'm not around?"

I shrugged, "Sometimes. But come to think of it, he's only started doing it recently."

We all pondered that for a moment, but it all turned up blank. We agreed that whatever it was that was making Gafrash like this, we should just sit back and ignore it.

...Easier said than done when you're an android who is use to spying on people, a gossip-magazine obsessed Yeerk, and an Andalite Bandit rat.


I like weddings. They're a pretty non strenuous event where you sit down, listen to so and so getting married, then it's time to dig in to the free cake.

But this wedding wasn't going to be a picnic, even if it was set in a park famous for its large variety of rose bushes.

I swear, Yeerks have gotten stranger and stranger over the years. First invading this planet, using oat meal for erh... "recreational" activities, and now they're having human weddings. Oh well, it's not like I should be the one complaining. I've gotten married quite a few times in the past. Of course, it was all in order to sustain my cover, but anyway...

The day in Meadow Park was a happy and sunny one. High-ranking controllers were busy buzzing too and throe, like the bees to the flowers. Many of them were socializing with others, in the hopes of making high connections. Others were there for the free food table. Either way, this day was looking to be very promising.

Tom and I had taken Taylor's car (which must have been repaired, because it started making death threats again as soon as Tom put the keys in the ignition, thus almost making him collapse from shock,) to the venue, dressed very smartly in our tuxedos. Originally, Gafrash was meant to be in the car with us. However, this isn't what happened on the day. Gafrash hadn't been seen since this morning's meltdown, where he tried to murder Taylor's couch cushions then proceeded upstairs to make himself a cup of tea. By the looks of it, he wasn't going to be at the venue.

However, there was somebody who was...

"Look who it is...." I murmured to Tom, then motioned over to suspected Council of Thirteen member, Mischa. She was casually leaning up against the wall, drinking fruit punch.

Tom glanced over at Mischa, then looked confused. "She looks...familiar," he admitted.

"Familiar?" I demanded, "She knocked you on the head with your own crutch, therefor sabotaging our Library plan. How could you not remember that?"

Tom simply frowned and rubbed his head, "Oh," he said, "So that's why my head hurts."

I sighed. "Come on, we may as well ask her why she's here." Tom and I started making our way over to Mischa when...

"Conga, conga, CONGA! Conga, conga, CONGA!"

...we got cut off by a controller conga line.

"Conga, conga, CONGA! Conga conga CONGA!"

We casually waited for the Conga line to pass. In the mean time, Tom checked his watch and I let out a giant fake yawn.

The line passed. And then sure enough, Mischa was then nowhere to be seen.

"I've coined a new name," I muttered.

"For what?" asked Tom.

"The Conga Line – the name used to refer to events where we are close to reaching a goal, but get yanked away at the very last second."

Tom just frowned, and looked on straight ahead. After a while of standing in the depressing silence, I decided to speak up.

"Well, it doesn't look like those pictures are going to take themselves. We may as well split up, see what we can do."

"Good idea," Tom agreed, and from his tuxedo pocket he took out a camera, note pad and a pen.

I stared at him strangely, prompting him to explain himself. He didn't get the meaning of my look, and stared back in utter confusion.

Though I wanted "facepalm", as they say, I resisted temptation.

"What's the note pad a pen for?"

There was no bother asking about the camera. Tom pulled those out of thin air, anyway.

"I'm going to make a log," Tom explained, "And if something happens to Mr. Click, then I'll have a log to look over to see what went wrong, instead of relying purely from memory. Besides from that, it'll give Taylor proof that we were actually here."

The only thing I could do was assume Mr. Click was the the camera.

But when I thought more in depth about it, Tom's idea really wasn't too bad. Each time, The Conga Line seemed to be pulling us away. But if there was some force, perhaps invisible to our sight but not to that of pen and paper, we could figure out the reason behind the occurrence of all our failures.

Having nothing left to really discuss, we went our separate ways for the event.


My Log Book

12:30

Trotted off to survey the surrounding areas, with my trusty camera at my side.

12:34

Stepped in something that bared resemblance to my natural state. Disgusted with what I had done, I flicked my shoe, only to have the unknown content to fling off and hit Visser 32 in the eye.

Walked away discreetly, feeling a vague sensation of what humans call "Deja vu."

12:36
Host informs me that the unknown substance was just a edible fungal native to Earth (known as a "Mushroom,") marinated in black pepper sauce.

12:45

Caught Visser Three trying to pick up high-ranking, blond controller with the line, "How about we go back to my portable Kandrona and soak some rays?"

12:47

Laughing hysterically from when the Visser got rejected. Host surprisingly joins in.

12:52
Wandering around aimlessly.

12:56

Contemplating the meaning of life.

1:00

Considering getting a Twitter account for further use.

1:08
Visser One walks behind giant tree in center of park.

1:10

Groom walks behind tree.

1:11 – 1:20
Nothing.

1:21

Groom emerges from with a smudge of a red, unknown substance on his face. Watching as he walks off.

1:25

Visser One walks out from behind tree. Notices that coincidentally, the human beauty enhancer worn on Visser One's lips is the same color as of that on the groom's face.

1:26

Confused.



I know I should have been busy keeping an eye on the Vissers. But instead, I was left with that remaining irritation over the Conga Line.

Mischa...surely she hadn't gone far. Maybe if I explained to her that her buddy Gafrash was telling me nothing, she would cough out some info.

So I searched the camp from high to low.

I mean that literally, too. I don't think I left a single rosebush unturned in that whole entire park.

But of course, all my effort had been in vain. I didn't find Mischa.

What I did find, however, was Chapman and a random controller having an intense conversation about the importance of correct use of pencils on school grounds. Needless to say, it wasn't very exciting listening in on this, so I was relieved when somebody called us all in to the tent in the middle of the park.

Besides, after what had happened yesterday, I don't think I could ever look at Chapman the same way again.

The tent was acting as a sort of church for the wedding. Inside, there was an altar set up and rows of benches in front of it.

Everybody scuffled inside, talking quietly amongst themselves as they took their seats.

And then, the lady on the organ in the corner of the tent began playing that cliché tune. The groom stood nervously at the altar, waiting for his bride-to-be to come through the door.

And then, the tent door opened. In want two bride's maids (one who which included the one and only Visser One) holding flowers. In the middle, was the bride. Behind her, there were two more brides maids who were holding the long trail of her dress.

Now, having quiet a bit of experience in Visser Humiliation, Tom knew when was the right time to take photos. Though nothing had happened yet, he knew a catastrophic event on the Vissers's behalf was not far off. It was as if the knowing was engraved in Tom's little head. He took out Mr. Click from his pocket, stood up, and got ready to take a picture-perfect.

Everything was looking very promising.

Until....

Until everything stopped moving. The wedding music stopped. The bride stopped. The controllers stopped gossiping under their breaths. Everything just stopped.

Now, my first guest would have been the Ellimist. After all, he had thrown a Frisbee at me on one occasion, so I presumed he had some involvement in the outcome of our plans and what occurs in them. But, alas, this theory was soon proved wrong.

Visser One was still moving down the aisle. That is, until she realized nothing else was moving. She looked around, startled and confused. "What in the..."

She wasn't alone. Visser Three, who was sitting a few rows in front of me stood up, and pointed a finger at Visser One. He opened his mouth to speak, most likely to accuse Visser One of some wrong doing, but instead got cut off.

"Damn it!" a voiced shouted loudly. All of our heads snapped to the source of this sound – a very angry looking Mischa, who was all situated a few rows in front of me. To say she looked frustrated would be an absolute understatement. She was fiddling around with some sort of mobile phone. At least that was what it looked like.

"As the amazing, awesome and all powerful leader of the Yeerk Empire, I demand to know what is going on!" Visser Three, erh, demanded.

"You mean third," scoffed Visser One.

Visser Three ignored her remark.

Mischa looked up quickly. And when she realized she had the company of two confused Vissers and myself, she turned a little bit pale.

"Oh no," she sighed under her breath in pure dread, "I'm going to get in so, so much trouble for this."

"Wait, slow down," I insisted, "You're going to get in trouble for what? What is happening here?" It seemed even after I said something out loud, the Vissers didn't notice my presence. How stuck up. I used to do Catherine the Great's hair, you know.

Mischa wasn't so fast to acknowledge me, either. She just kept on fiddling with the remote...

...which caused a giant vortex to open up in the middle of the tent and suck us all also in.