CYBER-NARCISSISM 101
Cindy Campbell tried to focus on her monitor, but it was hard when the air in the Informatics lab was thicker with testosterone and self-admiration than a pro bodybuilder's locker room. This wasn't your average school computer lab; it looked more like a supervillain's lair crossed with an Apple Store and a bachelor pad. Framed photos of Dwight Hartman covered every inch of the walls: Dwight in his wheelchair, Dwight without his wheelchair (clearly Photoshopped legs), and Dwight heroically saving a kitten from a nuclear blast.
"Listen up, you brain-dead wastes of bandwidth!" Dwight's voice boomed. The teacher spun around in his chrome-plated, high-tech wheelchair, staring at his own face in slow motion on a massive 4K monitor. "Today, we aren't learning how to type. Typing is for secretaries and losers with functioning legs. Today, we learn how to hack the Pentagon, because I need those satellite feeds pointed at my house. I need to see if the sunlight hits my hair at the perfect angle from space!"
Cindy sighed and looked at Brenda, who was currently trying to upload an antivirus program onto her fingernail polish.
"Brenda, why does Dwight have a shrine to himself in the corner?" Cindy whispered.
"That ain't a shrine, girl, that's an altar!" Brenda snapped. "And look at Ray and Theo. They're about to faint from the sheer thirst."
She wasn't lying. Ray Wilkins was staring at Dwight's biceps as if they held the secrets to the universe, while Theo Keyoko, the red-haired warrior, was practically purring in the back row, taking notes on Dwight's every "heroic" movement.
"Professor!" Ray raised a trembling hand. "Could you show us again how your forearm flexes when you bypass a firewall? You know... for science!"
Dwight grinned, soaking in the worship, but before he could answer, a sharp, squawking voice shattered the moment.
"SQUAWK! RAY IS A FAGGY LITTLE PUPPY! SQUAWK! DIE IN A FIRE, YOU MEAT-SACKS!"
Polly, the tuxedo-wearing parrot, was perched on Dwight's shoulder, sipping a mysterious green liquid from a miniature cocktail glass.
The bird's eyes locked onto Drew Decker, who was naively struggling to find the 'On' button on her PC.
"SQUAWK! NICE TITS, DREW! GOD BLESS YOUR PLASTIC SURGEON! SQUAWK! TEACH ME HOW TO SUCK IT, YOU BLONDE ANGEL!"
Drew blushed and gave a sweet, confused smile. "Oh, Polly, you're such a charmer!"
Theo chuckled in the back. She knew exactly why the bird was so "complimentary"—the perverted animal spent his nights in his cage with the bikini photos he'd stolen from Father McFeely.
LATER in HALLWAY HELL
Tom Logan felt like his world was collapsing. It wasn't enough that fate haunted him with bad luck, but now he had to navigate the dark, decaying hallways of B.A. Corpse High. Tom had barely survived the morning after accidentally stepping into a bear trap someone had hidden inside a toilet paper dispenser.
"I can't believe this..." Tom muttered, limping toward his locker. "I'm a hero. I saved my niece. Why am I in this dump?"
The hallway was a fever dream. Alex Monday was currently finishing placing a red wig onto a Theo-shaped mannequin she had hidden inside her locker.
"You'll love me, Theo... whether you want to or not..." Alex whispered, sniffing a handful of hair she had clearly stolen from Theo's hairbrush. Tom sped up his pace, trying not to make eye contact with the crazy.
Suddenly, the smell of fresh donuts hit him. The Sheriff (the Vice-Principal) was standing at the corner in his aviators, talking to a dark, masked figure. Ghostface was standing right there, his bloody knife still dripping, but the Sheriff didn't seem to care.
"Listen, kid," the Sheriff said, handing a glazed donut to the killer. "No running in the halls. If you're gonna massacre, do it at a brisk walk, but no running. Someone could break their neck. We have safety standards here."
Ghostface slowly nodded, took the donut, and started walking toward Cindy.
"HALT!" the Sheriff bellowed, but not at the killer. He pointed at Cindy, who had just stepped out of the lab. "MISS CAMPBELL! Where is your name tag?!"
"But Sheriff, there's a killer right behind you!" Cindy pointed desperately.
"DON'T CHANGE THE SUBJECT! Rules are rules! No name tag, no breathing privileges! Get to detention before I shoot you to maintain the peace!"
Tom watched the scene, distracted enough to walk head-first into a wall, causing a heavy painting to fall and smash over his head.
"Wonderful..." he groaned. He headed toward the cafeteria, where Mistress Kane's ghostly form was hovering by the entrance. The lunch lady was currently threatening the air with a massive rusty ladle.
"Where is my Shorty?!" Kane shrieked. "If I don't get my daily dose of 'Vitamin S', everyone's eating rat stew for lunch!"
Tom tried to stay invisible, but Kane spotted him.
"Hey, you! Sad-faced kid! Come here, let me see if you've got enough meat on those bones for a good ragout!"
Tom turned to run, tripped over his own feet, and fell face-first into a bucket of dirty mop water.
ETHICS CLASS & THE SACRED HEIST
The tension peaked during Ethics class, held by Father McFeely in the school's crumbling chapel. Candles were burning, but not for the saints—they were there so McFeely could better organize the "Sacred Gallery." The priest was meticulously sorting eight high-definition, incredibly sexy, near-nude photos of the hottest girls in class.
"Ah, the humility... the purity..." McFeely muttered, examining a photo of Becka Kotler with a magnifying glass. "This earned you an A, my child. The Lord sees your soul... and your push-up bra."
Becka Kotker and Katie Embry giggled in the back pew.
"See, Katie? I told you the Father appreciates art!" Becka whispered. "Hopefully, this A-grade lasts until the finals."
But then, something unexpected happened. An elegant, tuxedoed figure descended from the ceiling vent on a thin fishing line. It was Polly. With professional precision, the parrot snatched the eight hottest photos from McFeely's desk with his beak.
"SQUAWK! HEIST IN PROGRESS, YOU LOSERS! POLLY'S GONNA BE RICH! SQUAWK!"
"Stop that feathered demon!" McFeely screamed, but Polly was already perched high on the chandelier, letting out a triumphant squawk.
The chapel instantly transformed into a stock market. Polly wasn't stupid; he knew what the boys wanted.
"SQUAWK! THREE GRAMS OF WEED FOR ONE DREW DECKER PHOTO! SQUAWK! ONE WHEELCHAIR TUNING KIT FOR THEO'S PICTURE!"
Shorty was in the front row, his eyes lighting up. He immediately pulled a bag of "special herbs" from his pocket.
"Yo, Polly! I got that fire right here! Straight from Mistress Kane's private garden! Give me that Drew photo where she's posing with the gummy bears!"
"SQUAWK! DEAL! SHORTY IS THE KING, THE REST OF YOU ARE BITCHES!" Polly dropped the photo, and Shorty caught it as if his life depended on it.
Meanwhile, Buffy Gilmore started throwing a fit.
"THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! Why is Shorty's weed worth more than my photo?! Polly, you miserable bird, sell my picture for at least two designer handbags right now!"
Greg tried to bid too, but Polly just spat on him.
"SQUAWK! GREG GETS THE TRASH CAN! SQUAWK!"
Cindy and Tom were caught in the middle of the chaos. Cindy watched as Father McFeely tried to catch the parrot with a bucket of holy water, only to soak himself and start performing an accidental self-exorcism. Tom, on the other hand, got hit by a stray flap of Polly's wing, sending him tumbling over a pew and straight into Holly Hale's lap.
"Oh, hello!" the blind girl said, stroking Tom's face. "Are you my soulmate? Or just a piece of furniture?"
Tom's face turned bright red. "I'm... I'm just Tom."
"Tom? You smell like mop water and desperation. I love it!" Holly smiled, accidentally poking Tom in the eye.
From the hallway, the Sheriff's voice echoed: "WHO IS MAKING ALL THIS NOISE?! Anyone not bidding on the photos gets a bullet to the head! This is part of your economic education!"
At B.A. Corpse High, the first hours of the day weren't even over, but Hanson was in the trash, teachers were trading nudes, and the students were either in love or fighting for their lives. Cindy Campbell knew one thing for sure: this school was much sicker than any horror movie she had ever seen.
Next on the schedule: P.E. – Physical Education with Dwight Hartman.
Cindy and Brenda locked eyes.
"Brenda," Cindy said. "Do you think we'll survive gym class?"
"Girl," Brenda replied, pocketing a stray photo of Ray that Polly had dropped. "Survival ain't the goal. The goal is to make sure we aren't the next ones on Father McFeely's desk."