Read The Search for Ball Zero for Free Online

Corporate Police (called CP), which leads to cloned Corporate
Police, which, is basically a clone army.
    A cloned corporate army, kind
of cheesy, I bet you can imagine what it looks like.  All of
them in their spiffy ad covered fatigues, standing in perfect lines
as far back as you can see, marching in unison.  All created
from the perfect rent-a-cop DNA.  Are they all eunuchs you may
ask?  Yes, of course they are.  They are cloned
ball-less. Two albino twins who played offensive line at USC were
the progenitors of these hybrids.
    So there you go, you have an
army of brainwashed eunuch clones whose DNA donor is the corpse of
the perfect, power hungry rent-a-cop, which is owned by a
corporation that has globe spanning security needs.  End of
story you say?  Not quite.  
    One day in a very important
meeting between the heads of Elohssa Corp. it was brought up that
Michael Jackson’s dreams were 5% less popular today than they were
yesterday.  Although Elohssa Corporation was the number 1, big
boy corporation in the world with an army of cloned eunuchs at its
disposal, this news was devastating.  They were going to go
bankrupt if Michael Jackson’s dreams became 1% less popular, and
the executives of Elohssa were meeting to solve this problem once
and for all.  
    “ How about we lay off everyone in
the video game division?”
    The room grumbled like all
boardrooms filled with old rich men do.  Grumble, grumble,
shake, shake.  They all pondered this solution half aloud,
though some were sleeping.  
    “ Are you fucking crazy?” one
grizzled old geezer yelled out suddenly, “In Real Life 5, I’m on
the verge of taking over Japan, and those guys are working on the
weekly updates, I hear next week is the big alien invasion.
 You want us to fire them!?  I can’t miss that!  I’m
about to make those Japs my bitches!”  At end of this tirade,
the old man quickly stood up and flashed some gaming clan hand
signals and movements, which kind of looks like an old white dude
flashing gang symbols and then leaning side to side and kicking his
feet out.  Then he plopped back into his seat.
    The grumble came back, this
time a little louder and more negative.
    After a long silence that was
easily the product of all of them paying attention to other things,
a Bill and Ted-like, “Fucking taxes man!” sprung out from
somewhere.
    Silence, no grumbles.
    “ Yea!  Fuck taxes!”, came from
somewhere in the room.
    The robot vice-president of
marketing agreed in a robot voice, “Yes.  Fuck taxes with my
robot penis in its vagina and/or asshole.”
    “ Taxes are why we’re losing money.
 Why do we need to pay those fags in the government
anyways?”
    “ Yea, if we don’t pay taxes, we’ll
be making money!  Right?”
    “ Yea, like, totally dude!”, the Bill
and Ted guy said.
    “ What are they gonna do if we don’t?
 Make a ‘law’ against us?  Or maybe they’ll attack us
with their ‘army’!”  This particular executive liked to use
air quotes when talking and laughed louder at his own jokes than
anyone else.
    They all looked around at each
and burst into laughter.
    After the laughter subsided
slightly, the man at the head of the table stood up, “So it’s
decided.  Fuck those pussies in the government!  We will
refuse to pay taxes and if those homos in the US government have a
problem with it, they can talk to our warstores when they launch
next week!”
    Then quickly,
everyone disappeared.  (Well, what really happened was all the
3D holograms of each executive turned off.  Did you think all
of these important executive-types would have the time to attend a
meeting in person?  That’s so 21 st century.)

7
WARSTORES
    In the quiet forest on the outskirts of a
normal sized town, a small family of deer
    graze peacefully. The ground begins to
vibrate slightly and each deer stops to look. The vibrations become
a rumbling and the deer take off in all directions just as massive
tank treads rip through