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"General, General, do you copy?"
Static...
"Yes, tell me, what's the situation?"
That was the sound in the background of a radio call from what seemed to be an investigation mission by the United States Marines.
"They say they weren't the ones responsible for the recent attacks or the massive energy surges."
"I don't believe it."
"That's what they claim. After that, I sent my squadrons to different points where the attacks were detected to check if there was an enemy camp nearby… There was nothing."
"Damn it…"
Said the voice of a woman around 34 years old while she spoke with what appeared to be a 32-year-old man. They were discussing some strange attacks that had occurred recently.
"Forget it. Order your entire squadron to return. We have more urgent matters to deal with."
"Understood. Order received."
After that, the woman stood up from her chair in her military uniform and finally left the communications room.
...
In the background, an 80s-style radio was playing a classic from that era: Don't You (Forget About Me).
Meanwhile, a boy with a typical 1980s haircut — the classic perm (full of curls and volume) — had black hair and a normal build. He was wearing loose-fitting clothes: a blue polo shirt with a classic Popeye the Sailor drawing on it and black striped beach-style shorts.
He was sitting at a table, apparently doing his homework or something like that.
"I think the teacher doesn't like us, Ethan. The homework is way too hard, especially the equations," the boy said.
"I get it, Sam, but it's necessary if we want to move up to fourth grade in high school. I've already solved the rest of the exercises. If you want, tomorrow at school I'll give you some so you can catch up."
"Sounds good," said Sam as he ended the call by turning off his walkie-talkie (radio).
The boy stood up from his chair and headed to the kitchen, walking toward the refrigerator. But before opening it, he saw a note stuck on the fridge that read:
"Don't overdo it with the food. Take only what you need."
Yes… it was one of those messages mothers leave when they don't want their son to eat everything.
"Unbelievable, Mom. Thanks," Sam said sarcastically as he opened the refrigerator and looked for something interesting inside.
He finally took out a carton of orange juice. While closing the fridge, he poured it into a glass and drank it while checking the expiration date on the carton.
"It sucks to be 14 years old," Sam muttered as he left the juice on the kitchen counter and walked over to the living room couch, searching for the TV remote. It was a classic boxy 1980s television.
After digging his hand into the gaps of the couch, he finally found the remote and turned on the TV.
["The weather lately in Beavers is going to be very sunny, perfect for the upcoming summer vacation!"]
Click.
["What are you waiting for? Buy the new vacuum cleaner~"]
Click.
The boy kept changing channels one after another, as if looking for something specific.
["What are you waiting for? Get the latest Osborne 1 Laptop, the new model from Osborne Computer~"]
Click.
"Yeah… Ben would've loved to have one of those. He's into that stuff," Sam said with a sigh as he continued flipping through the channels.
Finally, he stopped on a popular TV show of the time called Family Fast. It followed the adventures and misadventures of a 14-year-old boy named Kevin who lived with his family. Each episode showed moments from his life — every mistake and every achievement. It was something very innovative for the era.
Sam entertained himself for a while, still sipping the orange juice he had poured into a glass.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. He got up somewhat reluctantly and walked to the door, which was just a few steps from the couch, and opened it.
"Hi!"
"Good afternoon?"
"Hello, young man. Is your mom or any adult home?"
"Mmm… No."
"Oh, I see. Well, today I came to offer some of my products, like this one here," said the girl, who looked about 20 years old, with a young appearance, blonde hair, and casual clothes. She pulled a microwave out of her sales cart. "This isn't just any microwave — it's the latest model from Osborne Company," the girl continued, giving more information about the appliance.
"Uh… Don't you have cookies?"
"Cookies?"
Sam interrupted the girl hopefully, asking if she sold cookies.
"Ah, yes, of course… I do have cookies too," the girl replied with a face that clearly said "how ironic," as she took a box of cookies out of her cart.
"How much?"
"Five dollars."
"Five dollars for a box of cookies?!"
"Do you want them or not?"
Without saying anything else, Sam, slightly annoyed, took five dollars from the small table next to the door — probably his savings.
"Here," he said as he handed the five dollars to the girl. She received them with a smile and gave him the box of cookies.
After that, Sam closed the door and headed back to the couch.
"What a rip-off… but whatever. How crazy — five dollars for a box of cookies? I'm pretty sure I got scammed. But oh well, it's not like I can do anything about it now."
He simply kept watching TV… until he fell asleep.
Riiii Riiii
The alarm clock that Sam's mother had bought a month ago went off. It rang every time it hit the hour: 6 a.m., 12 p.m., and 6 p.m.
"Hmm?"
He woke up and saw the TV still on. Oh right, he had stayed up watching television until he dozed off. It was already 6 o'clock. He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen to make himself something, since his mom had said she would be home late today.
Knock knock.
There was a knock at the door. He approached and opened it. And… ugh, it was him again.
"Good evening, son!"
"Don't call me son. I'm not your son. You're just Mom's boyfriend since my dad left."
With that, Sam walked away from the door and headed to his bedroom, leaving what appeared to be his stepfather standing there, somewhat discouraged but still energetic after a long day of work.
The man wasn't very tall, but he liked to wear casual clothes, like a father who had always wanted a son. He had a thin face and always neatly combed hair.
The man hung his jacket on the coat rack by the front door, then went to the kitchen, took out a knife, and began cutting vegetables to prepare dinner. He turned on the TV so he could watch while he cooked.
"What's with him? I've told him so many times not to call me 'son.' Just because he married my mom doesn't mean he can call me that."
Sam thought for a moment while lying on his bed. Then he got bored, stood up, and walked over to his desk where there were action figures from classic fighting games, scattered notebooks, and his walkie-talkie.
Static.
"Requesting backup, backup."
"What the hell?"
Sam walked over to his desk because of the noise coming from the walkie-talkie. It was strange… it had never happened before. Besides, it was a second-hand walkie-talkie he had bought; it only worked to talk with his friends.
Sam grabbed the walkie-talkie and spoke:
"Hey, I'm not in the mood for jokes, guys," he said, thinking it was probably a prank from his friends.
"What are you talking about, Sam? I haven't touched my walkie-talkie since this afternoon. I just picked it up now."
"What are you talking about, man?"
"It must've been you, Mason."
"Don't blame me, Ethan. Don't talk without knowing. Besides, we don't even know what that prankster said."
"Ignore it, Sam. It was probably a station error or interference."
"Got it. See you tomorrow, guys."
"Bye."
"Bye."
"Did something happen? Ah, okay, bye."
Ben spoke at the last second after everyone else had already disconnected, leaving only the static hum of the walkie-talkie.
"If it wasn't them, then what was that sound?" Sam stared at the walkie-talkie for a moment, sitting in his chair and thinking of possible explanations, until he heard a voice outside his room.
"Sam! Dinner's ready!"
Ugh, it was Eric… his stepfather. Well, at least he was doing something — making dinner.
Sam simply got up from his chair and left his room, leaving the walkie-talkie on the desk.
There he was, with his calm smile, already sitting at the table where two plates of stir-fried noodles with tomato were waiting.
Sam sat down and began eating in silence while Eric started talking.
"So, how was your day, Sam?"
"How do you think it was?"
"I guess it went well?"
"Yeah, except for the five-dollar cookie scam."
"Cookies? You bought cookies?"
Eric turned his head toward the door where he had left some money, then looked back at the table and sighed.
"If you wanted cookies, you could've asked me. I would've bought them for you. You know I care a lo—"
Sam interrupted him and said:
"You will never take my father's place, and stop pretending you care so much about me."
With that, Sam got up, left his plate on the table, and went back to his room. He lay down on his bed and fell asleep.