October 30, 1999 9:13 PM



"On a long enough time-line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero."



"The things you own end up owning you."



"I am Jack's Raging Bile Duct"



"Our fathers were our models for God."



"It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."



"I am Jack's Smirking Revenge"



"You are not your job.

You're not how much money you have in the bank.

You're not the car you drive.

You're not the contents of you wallet.

You're not your fucking khakis.



You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."



FWAP! "I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every panda that wouldn't screw to save its species."



FWAP! FWAP! "I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all those French beaches I'd never see."



FLASH!



I was caught in the banquet hall. They dragged to that false pillar which was really a hologram. The controller that had me was going to make me his host.



I kicked him in the balls. I got up as he tried to reach for his Dracon Beam but I took it and threw it out of the pillar. Still hunched over, I elbowed him in the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. I straddled him, getting ready to pummel him. He rolled onto his back hoping to fend my attack. He put up a hand on my face to block me, but I punched him straight across his lip, FWAP! Bursting it, leaving him half-conscious. I could have left him there and escaped.



I punched him again. FWAP! And again. FWAP! And again. FWAP! And again.



FWAP! I wanted to crucify all the assholes who used God or whatever deity as an excuse to kill people.



FWAP! I wanted to lynch every throwback who thought they were superior just because they were white.



FWAP! I wanted to butt-fuck every shithead who persecuted gays and lesbians.



FWAP! I wanted to castrate all the bastards who thought they were superior just because they had a penis.



FWAP! I wanted to rape all the bitches who thought they were superior just because they didn't.



FWAP! I wanted to feed all the environmentalist assholes who wanted to sacrifice human lives just so some other animal can survive to some giant exotic snake.



FWAP! I wanted to breathe smoke.



FWAP! "I wanted to breathe smoke."



Another month has passed. Two months since that fateful night with Stephanie. One month since that night with Taylor Jane Perkins, or as I will fondly remember her, '10'. I left her house only to be dragged into some God-awful, pointless battle involving chimpanzees, cows, steer, a slaughterhouse, and secret yeerk formula that Cassie and I insisted couldn't exist. We were right of course, but still we meandered into that meat-packing plant using Bird & Blue as our Trojan horses. (Bulls actually.) If you ever wondered where your hamburger came from, take my advice and don't ask. I was personally reintroduced to why I prefer chicken.



The chimpanzee was a cool morph, but I wanted something with a little more power. I acquired a baboon weeks later. You feel like Batman in that morph. Agile and strong. The Baboon was a dangerous animal, but not as dangerous as good old homo sapien, as this night's entertainment has shown me.



I just saw Fight Club.



And I am Jack's blown mind.





The convenience store is the epitome of a rock-bottom life. It was from this pit that Kevin Smith catapulted himself into a major director. And it was from this pit in which Raymond K. Hessel was untimely ripped by Tyler Durden and chased back onto his chosen path of pre-med.



Let's see if this human sacrifice thing works.



I walk into the place, appropriately called Faststop. There's a guy behind the counter that looked about twenty-five but was probably younger. His hair was wet from the sweat of the heating pizza oven next to him. He smelled of oregano and mountain dew. He looked miserable and bored. Poor guy. It may seem pretentious of me, some fucked-up fifteen-year-old boy passing judgement on someone who was at most a decade my senior, but I was a warrior. I had to grow the hell up pretty fucking quick, and I was very pissed off about it.



"We have no Great War . . . no Great Depression." Tyler once said.



There was a problem with that particular Durdenism. We do have a great war and our great depression is yet to come.



I approached the clerk as me, David Hunting.



"Hey Dante! Do you know who I am?"



The clerk gave me a quick glance full of righteous annoyance. As if he were the only clerk in New Jersey who's been called Dante. "No. Why? Should I?"



"Do you know what a Yeerk is?"



"They should be in front of you, next to the M & M's. And if you have a problem with my breath, I suggest backing up."



"Not a York. A Yeerk."



The clerk shook his head. "No."



"Just checking." I jumped the counter. The Clerk punched immediately and reached for a gun. I knocked it away and punched him to the ground. I picked him up and escorted him out the back way. The clerk felt a sharp object in close proximity to his back. He assumed it was a knife, I'm sure. Why should he think I had a Hork-Bajir blade sticking out of my wrist?



Once we were outside, I pushed the clerk to the ground. "Hands behind your back. Give me your wallet."



The clerk complied. "You're wasting your time. There's about as much in there for a pack of cigarettes and a 3-Musketeers bar."



"Shut up." I said as I found his license. "Ryan Gryphon. 1101 Eden Prairie Avenue. Apartment A. Small cramped basement apartment, right?"



"How'd you know?"



"Works everytime." I said as I placed the blade to his throat. "Ryan, you are going die. I hope Mommy and Daddy kept good fingerprint records cause I'll be taking your head for my collection."



Ryan gave a half-scared, half-angry groan. Ryan's a fighter. No community-college ID. Wait. Ah, a Rutgers ID. Hidden behind a condom. How nice.



"A Rutgers ID card. You're a little out of the way for a Rutgers student." I said.



"I don't go there anymore."



"What did you study?"



"Listen, if you want to rob me, fucking rob me. Don't waste my ti-"



I pressed my blade to his throat letting a trickle of blood spill. "Answer the fucking question. What did you study, Ryan Gryphon?"



"Ow! Son of a-! Journalism! I wanted to start my own magazine. Entertainment stuff. Movies, books. Something like Aint-it-cool-news.com only with some style. I made one issue and it flopped."



"A critic. Figures. You'll need more than journalism, friend. Take some business classes. Get investors. Advertising."



"It's a lot more work than I can handle."



"Would you rather be dead? Beheaded behind a fucking convenience store?"



Ryan offered no answer to that. I removed the blade. "I'm keeping your license. If you are not on your way to becoming Harry Knowles' rival in six weeks, you will be dead." I tossed him his wallet. "Go home."



Ryan Gryphon ran home.



I am Jack's pleasant surprise.



I looked at Ryan's license. Huh. You're not a bad-looking guy Ryan. You look a lot like Terry Stevens.





I hate Manhattan. I mean really, what an urban shit-hole. If it wasn't for the theater, I'd propose sinking this damn island into the ocean. There's a major Yeerk Pool complex under the entire island. The Yeerk pools are all connected via access tunnels and communiques. A large Yeerk Pool takes care of Manhattan Island. While a little under a hundred Yeerk pools take care of the rest of upper New England, mostly centered around large cities. The East Coast is so densely populated anyway, it's practically honeycombed with yeerk pools. There are three large Yeerk Pools under New Jersey alone, that connect to Manhattan. They connect to giant complex under Pennsylvania and Maryland. Centered around Philadelphia, the complex passes threw the Mason-Dixon Line and feeds the Baltimore Yeerks. That connects to very large pool under the District of Columbia that also feeds Annapolis, Southern Maryland, and Northern Virginia. And it goes on and on and on.



According to Ayla, the Pools are all connected through the network. If I can find someway to destroy one while detonating the others, than the Yeerk conquest will be heavily hurt. But, that will also result in many Human deaths. Even by destroying one pool, I cause giant pothole in Mid-New Jersey or even Manhattan, and as much as I hate the place, I don't think it should be destroyed.



Especially since it's the only good place to party anymore.



"Okay, Mr. Gryphon, right this way."



I was able to pass through as Mr. Gryphon without even acquiring him. Terry Stevens looked enough like him.



Techno music.



"Feel the Pressure. Come play my game, I'll test ya." "Psychosomatic-Addict Insane!"



I'll live.



Something about all the bodies pressed in together. The shouting in tongues like at a Pentecostal Church. It turns me off and tires me.



I sat down and watched the people. Mostly the women. I received several looks from the ladies. I'm a poor judge of male beauty, but I gather that my morph was rather attractive. I was checking out several ladies when I spotted Melissa Chapman.



Oh yeah. Melissa. Melissa was pixish girl, small and slender. A gymnast. I met her on a beach last summer while I was trying to acquire a whale. She had beautiful grey eyes.



She also was the daughter of Hedrick Chapman, Principal of Western High School, the school that all of my fellow Animorphs, save Bird & Blue, go to. Melissa went there to. It must have been hard for her. Bad enough when he was the Vice-principal of her middle school, now he was the Big cheese of her high school. Having authority figures for parents suck. I should know.



But Melissa suffered from something more subtle than that. Hedrick Chapman was a controller. A powerful one. As is her mom. It must be very heart-breaking for a teenage whose parents stop loving them all of the sudden.



The lack of any parental hold was starting to take shape in Melissa. She was dressed much in a way 10 was when we went to the club. Short, tight-fitting dress. Masochistic shoes. Does her daddy know she's in a New York Club? How'd she get in here anyway? Does her daddy even care?



She was sitting alone at a table, drinking who know what. I decided to walk over to her. When she met me, I was carelessly still David Hunting. She never met Terry Stevens.



"Hi." I said.



She looked up. "Hi."



"Mind if I sit?" I said as I sat down, not waiting for an answer.



"Actually I don't you should. I'm not a bitch or anything, just if my boyfriend sees you here . . ."



"You have a boyfriend." I quickly repeated. That's new.



"Sort of."



"Do you want to talk about it?"



She gave a short chuckle. "Who are you?"



"I'm Terrence Stevens. You can call me Terry."



"Melissa Chapman. Don't call me Missy or I'll kick you."



"I'll keep that in mind."



Melissa took a zip of her drink. It was water-clear with bubbles. Could be water, could be Zima. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"



"That's an odd question to ask a guy you just met."



She laughed again. "I don't mean you."



"Your boyfriend then."



"No. Not him either. This blond guy I met at the beach."



Uh-oh. "Does Blond guy have a name or . .?"



She laughed yet again. Either I was funny or that really was Zima. "I'm sure he does, but I never got it. My dad showed up and he like freaked out and left. He wanted to see the whale with me."



She said 'dad' like a curse word. Holy shit. She's talking about me! "Whale?" I asked.



"Yeah. This sperm whale washed up on a beach in my hometown."



"California?"



"How did you know?" She asked suspiciously.



"I live there. Near the sticks."



"Wow. In the same town and we had to meet in New York City."



"We might not have met at all." I said.



"That's true." she said.



"So if you're pining for the mysterious blondie, why are you dating this guy?"



She shrugged. "Because. He's like the only guy to care about me. Only person really."



"Your parents?" I offer, although I knew those circumstances.



"Don't get me started."



"Your friends then."



She shook her head slightly with a half-smile. "I don't really have any friends. I mean I have friends, but they aren't close. Not anymore. I had this friend named Rachel. I guess she's still my friend. We still talk at school. We still talk at gymnastics, when she shows. But, she seems so distant lately. So . . . uncaring. Like my parents."



"I'm sure your parents care for you. I am sure this Rachel does too."



"I know my parents care for me. Even if they don't show it. I know Rachel does too; she does show it. But there's something about her that's changed. My parents too. I mean, with my parents, it's as if something's missing, but with Rachel, it's as if something . . . grew." She said grasping for the words.



"Is that bad?"



"I think this is. Rachel isn't the same person she was when I was close to her."



"High school will do that."



"No, this different. This is . . . . dangerous."



"Okay, no Zima for you."



"It's just carbonated water." Melissa said putting her head down. "Ug! Sorry. You probably didn't come over here to listen to some little girl's problems."



"Between you and me, we're probably the same age. And it's fine. I mean I understand that you latched onto your current boyfriend, because he gave you affection. And people need affection, no matter how much they deny otherwise. A word of caution, though. Just because he shows affection, doesn't mean it's real."



"Yeah. I know. My parents dumped me. Rachel dumped me."



"You are Jack's Broken Heart."



She lifted her head up with a confused look.



"Sorry. I just saw-"



"Fight Club. I just saw that with my boyfriend."



"Get out of here. Me too. Your boyfriend took you to see Fight Club?" I asked with a bit of disgust.



"I liked it."



"You liked Fight Club?"



"What?" She asked accusingly.



"I don't know, it just seems like a guy's movie."



"Yeah, well it would hearing Scottie talk. He's all. 'Hey Fry? Did you see those fights. They were fucking awesome.'"



"Scottie?"



"My boyfriend."



"He calls you 'Fry'?"



"Don't ask."



I laughed. "Well that's what I thought it was gonna be, but I heard so much about it, so I had to see it, and I was fuckin' blown away."



"Yeah. I mean it's just as much a philosophical movie as it is an action movie."



"Probably more so, but it's male philosophy. It's about their place in the world. What is our place? Which is why I'm still surprised you like it so much."



"Well. Some of these philosophies are for everyone. That whole 'You are not your job' thing. And one in particular stuck with me. 'It's only after we've lost everything-"



"-that we're free to do anything." We said at the same time.



"Have you lost everything, Melissa?" I asked.



"Not as much as some people, I'm sure."



"Sometimes, if you lose something great, it means everything. And what you have doesn't matter."



"But it should matter. You should focus on what you have left."



"Yeah. Maybe I should." I said. "Maybe you should too. Maybe we should."



"Yeah." she said, taking my hand in hers.



"What the fuck!?" someone shouted. Melissa and I turned around. "YOU!!!!" said the voice.



"Scottie. We were just talking." Melissa said quickly.



"Taggart!" I said to Melissa's boyfriend. Her boyfriend was Scott Taggart.



FLASH!



"You know he already has a new girlfriend?" 10 told me about her ex-boyfriend, Scott Taggart. "A principal's daughter. I mean, really. Chief of Police . . . Principal. Chief of Police . . . Principal. I mean, is that really a step up?"



"What the fuck you doing here, Matrix-boy? What were you doing with my girlfriend?"



"Maybe you should tell your girlfriend what you were doing with those two dancers at Club Enigma a month ago. I know you two were dating then."



"What's he talking about, Scottie?" Melissa asked.



"First TJ, now Fry. Who the fuck are you? Why are after me?"



"I'm not. You just keep getting in my way!"



Scott picked me up by my shirt. "I should rip your fucking head off!"



"Don't make idle threats to me, meathead. You have no idea with whom your dealing with." I said.



"Outside. Now!" Scott shouted.



"Scottie, don't!" Melissa shouted as we walked outside. Melissa followed us into an alley. "Terry, please don't."



I took off my shirt and shoes. "No shirt. No shoes." I said.



Scott complied and did the same. Now, Scott was taller, but my morph was pretty broad, compliments of Jake.



"Someone yells 'Stop!', goes limp, taps out, the fight is over." I recited.



"The fight is over when you suck my dick!"



"You work out your homoeroticism on your own time."



"You fucking talk to much."



"So I hear." I said, as I kicked him in the face. He lunged at me. I dodged and kneed him in the stomach and elbowed him in the head as he fell over.



"Terry, don't hurt him!" Melissa shouted.



I looked at her. She was pleading me with her eyes. I began to walk away.



"Get back here!" Scott said as he tried to get up. "I'm gonna fuck you up!"



I continued to walk. "Shall I call you 'Uncle Rudy'?" I asked.



"Motherfucker!!" He shouted as he rushed me and pushed me to the ground. He straddled me and began pummeling me in the face.



"Scottie! Don't!" Melissa shouted.



FWAP! FWAP! FWAP! This must be how that controller felt when I turned his face into hamburger meat. This was what it felt like to be the victim of so much rage. It was good that I knew.



FWAP! FWAP! FWAP!



"Scott! Stop it!" Melissa said as she ran to Scott and tried to pull him off me. Scott pushed her down.



FLASH!!



Brett Taggart was pummeling me. Stephanie launched herself at Brett to stop him, but he caught her and threw her down onto the ground.



Needless, to say I was not happy.



FWAP! CRUNCH! A final punch broke my nose. I caught my breath and sprayed.



"Motherfucker." Scott said as he got up.



I launched my self at him. Now I was straddling him. I could have punched his lights out. I thought of something else. I began to cough and spit out all my blood he had released on my face.



Tyler's actions from my body. And I used to be such a nice boy.



No, I wasn't.



"*HACK! BLUAAA!* I had a good fuck with Taylor last month." I told Scott who was now screaming with fright. "What were you saying about diseases?" I laughed evilly



"You sick fuck! You Tyler Durdin wannabe!" Scott yelled.



"Tell her!"



"What?"



"Tell Melissa why you're dating her."



"Cause I like her."



I spit blood and mucus into his face. "The real reason!"



"Ah! Cause her dad's a principal!"

"When were you gonna leave her, Scottie-boy?!"



"Aaaah! As soon as I fucked her!" Scott finally admitted.



I let him go and I saw Melissa speedily leave the alley and run down the sidewalk.



Sharp pain in my stomach! Scott had stabbed me with a broken bottle! He tried to kill me!!!



I faced him with the broken bottle in my stomach. I pulled out the bottle. I had to demorph. Only way to survive, but then I'd have to kill Scott. He couldn't know who I was. I don't want him tracing Terry to David.



The pain disappeared. I looked down. My stomach wound was healing. I could breathe from my nose again. My face was healed too. Scott's eyes widened with fear and awe.



"Run." I told him.



Scott ran away quickly.



I put my shoes and shirt on and went out to find Melissa. She wasn't anywhere in sight.



I snuck onto the train back to New Jersey and flew home. Aximili was asleep. Good.



"Ayla."



"Yes, David."



"Are there any recent reports in New York involving a girl that matches the description of Melissa Chapman?"



"A few, David. Why? There's only a 12% chance that she's a controller."



"I ran into her at House of Life. It's a club in New York. Melissa Chapman was there I want to know what happened to her."



"Apple Angel Taxi #37 picked up a passenger at an address near the House of Life. The passenger's destination was 126 January Lane, the residence of Hedrick Chapman . . . and family."



"Thank God."



"David?"



"Yes, Ayla."



"She's gonna cause trouble for us, isn't she?"



"There's no 'us' here, Ayla. This is something I'll have do for myself."



"Humans and emotions. Why do humans do strange things out of emotions?"



"Check Shakespeare." I said. "Not right now!"



"Why not?"



"I'm tired, Ayla. I don't feel like getting into a philosophical debate."



"Oooh. I just read Shakespeare. I see your point."



"Find me a book, Ayla."



"It doesn't always turn out bad. Sometimes it's all right. Like Benedick and Beatrice. Petruchio and Katrina."



"Ayla."



"Fine. Author and Title?"



"Palahniuk, Chuck. Fight Club."



"Is this required reading for the course?"



"Couldn't hurt. Oh. Remind in six weeks to check up on Ryan Gryphon."



"Why?"



"It's time to take the Human Resistance up a notch."