Late at night, at his post in the National Museum Complex, a tired security guard cradling a Styrofoam McDonald's cup surveyed the empty exhibit hall. He yawned and checked the time on his watch- just past midnight. He still had several hours before he was allowed to go home. He was exhausted, but not distressed. Though not exactly excited, he had at least grown accustomed to his nocturnal lifestyle.
Suddenly, a burst of static erupted from his pocket. He extracted his Walkie-talkie and fiddled with the dials until he could make out clear words. He listened, confused.
Csh! Magazine, do you read? Over.
Csh! I read you, Jazz Hands. Over.
Csh! Hey, the light's on! What does that mean? What happens when I press this but-
Csh! Jazz Hands to Magazine. I think we lost Mother Hen. Over.
Csh! Watch out, Jazz Hands, Professor Darkness heading your way. Over.
Csh! On the lookout. Tell me when he leaves. Over.
He suspected that he'd stumbled upon some kids playing with Walkie-talkies nearby. As bored as he was, he decided to listen.
Csh! Jazz Hands to Magazine. Jazz Hands to Magazine. Mayday, mayday! Over.
Csh! May Day? I celebrated that in Holland once. We had this really tall maypole and we all danced around it. It was fun.
Csh! And over.
Csh! Jazz Hands to Mother Hen. Where are you? Over.
Csh! Professor Darkness is still coming. Get out of there! Over.
Csh! The bird is in the tree. Over.
Csh! Magazine to Mother Hen. We are not using a code. Over.
Csh! No, seriously. There's a bird outside, sitting in a tree. Over.
Csh Jazz Hands, you're safe to come out. He's gone. Over.
Csh! Thanks, Magazine. Where are you? Over.
Csh! I'm in the DOUM shed. Meet me there! Out.
He stared in amazement at the device in his hand. Were these kids in the museum? What were they doing?
Csh! This is Mother Hen. En route to the mail shed. Over and out.
Csh! No, you don't say "over and out." If you're done talking, you say "over," and if you're done using the Walkie-talkie completely, you just say "out." I explained this earlier. Over.
There was no response. Whoever Mother Hen was, he'd already turned off his Walkie-talkie.