A/N: Based on a true story. :P Also, yes, I am alive. Apparently, huh? Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed the Intro. As said before, I wrote the poem. It's called "Leaving You".

And for the last effing time, Animorphs is not mine. Neither are the Spice Girls or Lay's Ruffles, for that matter. (: Enjoy.

Visser Three's Notebook

Chapter One
"At the Edge of my Rope"

April 2nd

Dear Notebook,

What the hell.

Is with.

This motherflippin' clock.

I am quite truthfully at the "edge of my rope" (as the humans say) with this thing. Noticed the large, angry scribble at the top of the page? An accurate measurement of my frustration.

"Oh my God, Visser Three, you can't even figure out how to set a CLOCK?" you say. And don't even deny it. I know your secrets. "And I thought Iniss was a total brainless tard!"

To that I reply: A) Iniss is still a total brainless tard; and B) YOU TRY FIXING THIS THING, OKAY? It's seriously OUT TO GET ME! It says "10:02" on it one second, and then I press the set button and it says "8:55". I asked Visser One what the meaning of this nonsense was, and she told me, quite snobbishly, to mind my own business and leave her alone. One would almost go so far as to imply that that's her answer for everything.

So then, I asked Iniss. Big mistake. Sometimes I think to myself, "Well, Iniss is in a human host, after all… he is a total idiot, but maybe he'll at least know how to (enter action here)."

Wrong. So wrong.

I have got to stop relying on wishful thinking. It's starting to get really depressing.

This was, I swear to all that is holy, the conversation:

( Iniss! Open the door! ) I yelled, and knocked on the door of Iniss's shabby living quarters for about the fourth time. I could hear small repetitive bangings from within, and tried my hardest not to let my imagination run away with that one.

Turns out Iniss was just listening to his new "prized possession": a neon green-coated, bulky CD walkman that's expired by at least a year.

I should have known. He carries that thing around like he's in love with it or something (read: Visser One, it is now half-remotely safe to venture out into the hallway unprotected).

"HI, VISSER!" After about nine more knocks he finally opened the door and leaned casually against the left doorframe. He thought he looked so cool.

( GET. THAT. THING. OFF. YOUR. EARS. WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU! ) I roared, my knuckles blue from knocking – an injury which would have been absolutely unnecessary had Iniss not totally rendered nonexistant his sense of natural hearing.

Iniss blanched, his eyes widening. You know what's funny? I'd never even noticed the precise color of Iniss's eyes before that moment. They're like… a sick shade of shitty green.

How attractive.

"S-S-S-SORRY, Visser!" Iniss whined. "It's just… this song… I can't stop listening to it!"

( Unless you want me to sign you up as a punchbag for Councilor Eight's private boxing club, DISCARD that thing IMMEDIATELY! )

"NO!" Iniss shrieked, shoving his walkman behind his back as if to protect it from me. "Just… just… just… how may I help you today, Visser?"

I sighed. ( I wondered if you knew how to fix a human clock. )

"What?"

( You heard! ) I shouted.

Iniss looked up at me sheepishly. "Uh… no, actually, I um… actually didn't hear you, Visser. You see -"

Iniss yelped as I lunged forward and yanked the bulky earphones from his ears, gone puffy and red from the continued loud volume. The repetitive banging sound could be heard more clearly now, seeping out from the earphones, as well as mixed, squeaky human voices.

"Stop right now! Thank you very much! I need somebody with a human touch…! Hey you -"

Iniss, looking mortified, quickly pulled his walkman back forward and pressed a circular silver button on the tip. The infernal racket ceased immediately.

( Whatever that was… I never want to hear it again in my presence, ) I said.

"U-Understood, Visser…"

And that that very moment, right when I was about to grab Iniss by the collar and smack him one upside the head, a familiar voice droned into my ears:

"Was someone playing the Spice Girls out here?"

My head spun around to look at the newcomer. Just as I suspected, there was Mr. Loud-And-Nasal heading straight this way, wearing a thinking cap and his "new favorite red-and-blue polka-dotted knee-length stockings", topped by a bright yellow one-piece suit.

Oh, and Visser One was there too, of course. Visser One, looking not very impressed. WHY she was walking around with Mr. Loud-And-Nasal, I had no idea, but from the looks of things I was soon to find out.

( Visser One, what the - ) I started.

"Buddy here wants to know if he can borrow a bag of onion chips from your pantry," Visser One snipped. "And before you ask, why he needed me to come along is still quite unclear."

I ceased thinking that particular question at once. Iniss, in a rare moment of wisdom, took advantage of the current situation and took off like the hounds of hell were chasing him, walkman clutched in his left hand and a pretty random plastic stick in his right.

It's times like that I wish Ellie was still around… you know, to punctuate the silence with a well-placed "Like… WHAT?".

Instead, an awkward moment followed as I looked from Visser One to Loud-And-Nasal, and back again.

( How do you expect you're going to borrow a bag of onion chips? ) I asked Loud-And-Nasal sceptically. ( How can you borrow a bag of chips? )

"Well… I'm not going to steal them, am I?"

I looked at Visser One, who shrugged.

( You can take the chips, ) I said. ( I don't want them back. Please. )

Loud-And-Nasal smiled, all teeth in his somewhat pimply face.

(BUT.) I continued, and at this I raised my index finger dangerously. (Take anything else, and the rest of the Council is going to hear about it, mark my thoughts! All right? )

Loud-And-Nasal nodded vigorously before jumping nerdily up with glee, flailing his arms madly and making me wonder what exactly was in this morning's coffee. He took off in the opposite direction, stupidly running right past my room. Maybe he'd forgotten his chip-gathering equipment or something.

He yelled out a sharp, nasal, "NOWORRIES!" before disappearing around the corner.

Once he was gone, Visser One, who unfortunately was still here, stepped up to stand in front of me and frown as if I'd just dropped a big, stinky slop balloon on her.

Hm. Remind me to do that later.

(Why are you looking at me like that?) I demanded.

"You know damn well why I'm looking at you like that," she retorted.

(Well, then I must have forgotten! Tell me before I snap your head off!) I frowned back at her.

She sighed in exasperation. "Visser Three, some very bizarre things have been going on lately, and I KNOW they all have something to do with YOU."

(Bizarre things?) I asked innocently – for I was innocent of whatever crime she was preparing to frame me for! (What bizarre things?)

"Don't play dumb with me!" Visser One warned, sticking up her index finger menacingly inches from my face. "Councilor Eleven's been calling my pager incessantly for what seems like absolutely no reason, Mr. Loud-And-Nasal made up a theme song for himself called 'White and Nerdy', which he's planning on selling to Earth for 'lab rights' -"

( - Are you kidding me right now? No one in their right mind would ever buy Loud-And-Nasal's crappy so-called poetry! Have you heard 'There's a Garatron in my Scarf'? )

" – my personal assistant joined a group of vegan Hork-Bajir claiming to be 'da shit'," Visser One continued, completely ignoring me as usual, "Iniss thinks he's a wizard…"

(Iniss thinks he's a WHAT?) I exclaimed.

"A wizard," Visser One spat. "Are you deaf today or something?"

(A wizard? … Like in that 'Dairy Bother' nonsense he keeps reading when I'm not around? Oh, that little bugger! I found it under his pillow the other day and shred it to pieces! … Is that why he was carrying that plastic stick around earlier?)

"I don't care why he was carrying a stick around!" Visser One yelled, frustrated. "The point, Visser Three, is that you are obviously using these bizarre, seemingly random events to distract me and sabotage me in some way!"

( Uh… what if it's all just, you know… a COINCIDENCE? ) I spat. ( For the love of the Emperor, since when are you so paranoid? Now if you'll excuse me, I have a clock to fix! )

"You still haven't fixed it?" Visser One mocked.

( Shut up! ) I yelled. I walked past her and stopped at my door, resolutely punching in the code. Once said door slid open, I disappeared inside my room, never to be seen again.

It's funny how I always say that, yet I always end up being seen again. I should really stop saying that.

Needless to say, it's been quite an eventful couple of months between you and the journal I had before. For instance, Iniss was formally diagnosed with stupidity. And Visser One reached an all-time high in her flakie addiction, which was destructive. The flakie fetish in general is destructive, let alone two weeks ago when Councilor Two attempted to take them from her "for her own good" and very nearly ended up becoming one huge bruise. It's too bad, in a way. That would have been hilarious to see.

Anyway, after more than two months of diary-worthy incidents, the Yeerk who's pretending to be my grandmother finally got off her butt and shipped you over here. Thank the lords, too, because I was pretty close to using the toilet paper again.

So. Let's sum things up, shall we?

It's currently 11:25 PM, and I have ten times more problems than I did when I woke up.

Problem one: There's a loud gargling noise coming from the sink, and it sounds like nothing I've ever heard. Lords know what's gotten stuck in there now!

Problem two: There's a large, pink stain on the carpet, and I can't figure out what it could be besides Taxxon innards.

Problem three: There's absolutely nothing on besides Evening News with Karnar Five-Five-Six.

Problem four: Visser One is knocking unrelentlessly on my door. She probably thinks I have those wretched Jos Louis pastries she likes so much.

Problem five: I can hear Iniss playing his infernal "90s chop music" from here.

Problem six: When I told Councilor Three to go ahead and take my chips, I had no idea I was on my last bag of Lay's Ruffles.

Problem seven: Iniss thinks he's a wizard. That should be self-explanatory.

Problem eight: Somebody dumped a Leera tree in the guest room. I don't know about you, but I'm betting on Councilor Eleven. He just really doesn't like me.

Problem nine: Iniss dropped nine boxes of Tic Tacs in the fish tank, and I can't get them out because the fish will eat my arm. It'll probably come down to Draconing the fish. Too bad, I liked those fish, or at least I liked them as much as I can like anything.

Problem ten: Where the hell is my blue fur brush?

And the worst part in all this?

… Now, you may be ahead of me here…

… I STILL HAVEN'T FIXED MY CLOCK!

Until my return,

Esplin 9466.

P.S. – Do you think Notebook is a good name for you? It was either that or Ship Log. And I think Notebook sounds more diary-like, don't you?

Well, I think so, and that's all that matters. So take that bike and choke it.