Tower Christian School Trumpeteer Never Ending Story
Episode 14 - June 2009
Continued by Jesse Montgomery
To me, that could only mean one thing...
The HQ to this cult was in the museum, and the owner of the museum was - “My dad!”
“Luke, come on!” Anton grabbed my shirt and dragged me into the backyard. I seized his hand and tore it away from my shirt.
“No, Anton. I refuse to budge until you tell me what’s going on!”
“First we’re going into the tunnel.” He demanded.
“Nope,” I said, plopping myself in a lawn chair, “I’m using the sit down strike.”
Frustrated, Anton pleaded for help from Nick with his eyes. She nodded. They ran up to me and grabbed my arms and legs and dragged me to the end of the patio.
“Where are we going?” I shouted.
“The tunnel.” They answered as if they rehearsed it a million times.
“That’s too cliché…”
Nick pushed her oar in. “Well it works, you ingrate.”
Splash!
“Water?!” I shouted. The water flooding the tunnel – concealed under the patio pavement – came up to my waist.
“Yeah,” Nick answered, huffily, as she and Anton jumped down after me. “When the tunnel was made, we didn’t think about flooding.” I heard a click. The tunnel instantly exploded with light. Fluorescent lights lined the arced roof.
“So you provided lights, but no water escape?”
“We haven’t had time.” Nick began to progress. Anton followed.
“So does my dad even enter this equation?” I asked.
“The tunnel or the cult?” The cousins asked.
“The cult,” I clarified. “Anyways, what sort of cult is this?”
“I think he should tell you that.” Nick pointed to a man down the underground passageway, dressed in black clothes and a dark mask, but unlike those who tried to steal the memory card. He was wading towards the three of us.
“Who is that? The ninja of all answers?” I was upset by how little I knew.
The man answered for himself: “No, Luke. I am you father.”
Still too embarrassed to say what followed this statement; all I’ll say is that it wasn’t hard to revive me with all that water around. By that time, I was either carried or floated to the other end, where a trap door waited above us. My dad was reaching for the handle.
“Dad, wait!” I yelled. He delayed his actions and looked at me.
“What is it, son?”
“Before we go in, tell me about the Oceanic Flight crash.”
“It was a staged crash by a criminal organization called ‘Ghettos’, bringing in stolen technological data. It landed practically in Jason Won’s backyard. He was supposed to retrieve the data and make it look like it was destroyed. But this was all he found.”
He handed me another picture. It was the cargo hold of the airliner, empty and freshly coated in pink paint.
“Luke,” my dad bent down a little, “there’s a third unknown organization out there now with this strange mark of leaving behind a mess painted in pink. We need to form an allegiance to Ghettos if we’re going to figure them out.”
“But...”