Few doorbells are audible from their house's basement, and it's not like Jack would have answered the door anyway.

"Sir," a Jack Bot informed it's master in its flat, digital voice, "there are two men at the front door. Should we annihilate them, sir?"

Jack, hunched over his latest robotic masterpiece with a welding torch and wearing his red Frankenstein sleeveless, tried to remember if he had been expecting anyone.

"If they're solicitors, don't shoot them just yet- they might have something good. Jehovah's Witnesses: set your guns for vaporize."

"Uh, Sir," another Jack Bot began in the same monotone voice, "they don't look like salesmen or zealous religious messengers."

"They could be milkmen," another Jack Bot suggested.

"Or, the ice cream truck," said one more.

Clearly, something had been lost in translation amongst the Jack Bots, because every single one of them raised its head and went swarming upstairs.

"Stupid robots," Jack muttered angrily, lifting his goggles off his eyes. "They can't even eat!" He pushed away from his project and pulled on his jacket to head upstairs. "Maybe if it was a couple of DieHard battery salesmen: then they could get excited!"

Before he could get to the front door, Jack had to part the sea of confused Jack Bots and send all of them back to the basement. He adjusted his collar and his goggles, stood up straight, and opened the door.

He was face to face with two tall, broad men dressed entirely in white.

"Jack Spicer?" the one on the left addressed him.

"Who wants to know?" Jack replied immediately, crossing his arms and turning one shoulder to them slightly.

"The Moore Bideath Asylum. Under the orders of your legal guardians and family psychiatrist, you have to come with us. Your personal belongings will be sent for later."

Jack stared at them. He blinked once. He still had some strudel in the toaster he wanted to eat, and a half-finished pudding cup calling his name.

"I think I left my welding-torch gas on downstairs. I'll be right back."

He tried to slam the door, but the two men stopped it and pushed right into his house.

"Ha! Entering without permission! I can have you arrested now!" Jack exclaimed, pointing at them accusingly.

"You don't own this house," one reminded him sharply.

Jack's hand bent at the wrist like a broken twig.

"Good point. Jack Bo…"

Before Jack could even order his robot minions into action, the two orderlies had grabbed him and were dragging him out the door.

"Get your germophobic hands off me you super-sterilized, anti-bacterial minions of backwards German shrinks! I've got rights, you know! I don't have to put up with this! This is beyond disrespect! I'll make you pay for this!"

Jack's voice faded from the house as he was taken from the Spicer mansion and strapped into the back of a white van.

Down in his basement, a Jack Bot turned off the gas to the welding torch, while another with an emotion chip was extremely upset about a piece of burnt toaster strudel. The Heli Pak remained on the shelf behind the coat rack. The remote communications watch was still on the glass top of the world map table. Jack had no way to reach his robots, and it would probably be quite some time before he was missed. He was off to Moore Bideath


-A Tale of Total Insanity-

By Dr. Patience's Secretary

Chapter One.

"This looks like Hannibal Bean's prison in the Yin Yang world," Jack muttered under his breath when the two orderlies dragged him from the back of the van. Naturally, Jack refused to walk and kept his expression locked in one of utter disgust.

Moore Bideath Asylum actually did look remarkably like Hannibal's prison, but in reality it had just been designed by Frank Geary. It was built on a cliff that had been carefully reinforced by modern engineering to withstand all erosion from the ocean. The outer wall was a good ten feet thick, wrapping around the asylum grounds in a perfect circle that went right into the sea and rose up again on the other side.

The place was dark, cold, and gray, with glossy black security cameras around every corner and lots of open ground. Armed guards patrolled the outer wall and there was a guard at every door. Tall sentry towers rose up in eight places along the wall, where Jack could see search massive lights.

As Jack was carried by the shoulders from the van, already within the outer wall, he glanced around to scope out the facilities. He counted at least a dozen large buildings, either labs or housing, along with a handful of smaller ones with no indication as to their purpose.

"As many times as I've demanded an explanation and not gotten one," Jack said in a frustrated but calm voice, "I'm still going to ask: WHAT is going on? What the hell kind of crazy house is this? Shouldn't there be schizophrenics wandering around muttering to themselves and little girls talking to squirrels? Where's the green house for those people who need to water plants to keep from breaking out into an uncontrolled rage?"

As usual, he got no reply.

A pair of armed security guards opened the door with their key cards and allowed the orderlies to drag Jack inside.

Once through the doors, the atmosphere changed dramatically. The first thing Jack heard was a blood-curling scream from down the hall, and the first thing he saw was a doctor, tailed by several nurses, running down the hall with his hands coated reddened gray matter.

"Oh, that's disgusting," Jack gagged as he was totted down a hall.

The walls and floors were pure white and those foggy-glassed florescent lights lined the ceiling in long, solid strips. Immediately Jack noticed that the halls were not like those of normal hospitals, but he couldn't quite pin point the difference.

Then, before he knew it, he was swept into an office and dropped in a chair.

"Good afternoon, Jack," said the doctor sitting across the heavy desk from him.

"Who are you?" Jack demanded, gripping the arms of his chair.

The doctor grinned and picked up a green folder. He looked about fifty, with graying hair he had obviously dyed and combed over. He was over weight and, judging by his sluggish movements, he was in the process of trying neither to exercise or diet. He wore a pair of narrow reading glasses and a gold bracelet.

"I'm Dr. Schneider," he began, opening the file.

"More like Dr. Shmuck," Jack snapped quickly. "I hope you're not a psychiatrist, because the last thing anyone needs is a shrink you can't even handle his own midlife crisis!" he scoffed, pointing his nose towards the bracelet.

Dr. Schneider stared levelly at Jack for a moment and then continued.

"You're probably wondering what you're doing here and if you don't interrupt me," he said quickly, seeing that Jack was about to throw out another comment, "I can explain everything."

"Explain everything?" Jack interrupted him, raising his palms. "I shouldn't have to sit here and listen to anything! No one had any right to take me from my house, and there's no reason why I should have to put up with this!"

"You're parents filed an order…"

"To hell with my parents! They don't control me…"

"We got yet another complaint that you tried to lock them in cages…"

"They said I could have the basement if I left the rest of the house alone…"

"If you're under 18 your parents are still your legal guardians…"

And on the argument went until Jack made the mistake of jumping to his feet. Dr. Schneider lost his patience at the same moment.

"Seeing as you refuse to shut up for ten seconds, Jack Spicer, you can wait until tomorrow for an explanation! Maybe then you'll listen!"

"Where did you get you're M.D? Hell?"

The two orderlies picked Jack up by the shoulders again and carried him out the door.

"You must be the worst psychiatrist that CLOWN COLLEGE every produced!" Jack hollered as he was dragged away.

A few moments later, back in the blindingly white hall, Jack glanced up at the two men and, in a totally calm voice, said,

"There's just something about being in a funny farm that makes you want to scream manically."