Opening A/N: I forced a bot to read every Hardy Boys book and told it to write one of its own. Here's the first chapter!

Chapter 1: An Interrupted Celebration

"We'll have to make it home quickly," Frank called to Joe. The two sped in the direction of Bayport, each atop a late-model motorcycle. "Aunt Gertrude said she wants everyone there to help get ready for the party."

Joe frowned, a hint of jealousy creeping across his fair, blond face. "You might think," he joked bitterly, "that she doesn't even know I just got the multiple-engine certification on my pilot's license. That party should be mine!"

Joe's dark-haired brother laughed sympathetically. "They didn't want to throw another one, not when I just got my own multi-engine cert a month ago!"

Joe nodded in defeat. "Mother'd better enjoy it, then," he did his best to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Frank joked, "At this rate, you could always ask Chet to throw you one! He's been learning a lot from all the classes he's been taking." Chester Morton, the Hardy boys' closest chum, had cycled through many interests, and just last week, he had given up on creating his own nation and settled on baking classes.

The two boys continued joking in this manner until they reached Bayport, where Fenton Hardy had moved after retiring from the NYPD to begin his private detective practice and raise the nation's most perfect family. Due to the very presence of the Hardy family's resulting personalities, both innocent and decadent, nothing south of a burnt frankfurter had happened in Bayport for over 3 years. No criminal was foolish enough to mess with Bayport, especially when Chet's nuclear missile silos and robotic policemen dotted the landscape, promising swift destruction to any force on the planet that dared upset the town's fifty thousand residents. God forbid they upset Chet himself, or Police Chief Collig, to whom Chet had entrusted most of the missiles' launching codes when he quit atomic physics and switched to knitting.

The boys pulled their motorcycles into the two-story garage and hurried inside the three-story mansion on High and Elm Streets.

"Hail to Bayport," the boys exchanged an old Chet-mandated greeting with their Aunt Gertrude.

The tall, angular woman sighed. "You're ten minutes late. I banned your mother from the kitchen until after we all have cake. Now, go change and wash up!"

The boys hurried upstairs. "I wonder," Joe joked again, "how our dear mother can live outside of that kitchen for this long. She passed out a few years ago when she so much as stepped outside it to lower the Chet flag!"

Chet's "fascism" phase had been trying for Bayport, and nowhere was the strain harder felt than on its paragon family, which had constantly been observed by both the Bayport Propaganda Ministry and once again during Chet's mostly harmless "photojournalism" phase.

Suddenly, a loud, long hissing sound erupted from the lower floor. "Gas attack!" Frank and Joe yelled in unison and dashed up to the third floor to find their father.

"He's out cold," Frank, who had charged ahead, said grimly. "Grab his legs, Joe," Frank ordered. Joe hit the floor not long after. "Good night," Frank exclaimed, both in reaction and anticipation. Frank succumbed and hit the floor as well.

The two youths woke up an uncertain amount of time later, across from each other in the hospital room. "Ow, my head," Joe mumbled drowsily. Frank groaned and turned to face him.

"What happened back there, Joe?"

"I'll tell you what happened," a high, piercing voice tore through the tranquil room. Aunt Gertrude stepped pridefully between the two beds. "You boys haven't been carrying your gas masks like you've been told! And don't even get me started on your father; what's he doing, a world-famous detective who can't keep track of his gas mask!"

"Golly, Auntie, we're sorry," Joe confessed, ashamedly. "We didn't think we'd need to wear them in our impenetrable house!"

"Wait," Frank butted in. How did you escape the gas?"

Aunt Gertrude snorted. "Chet came by, already wearing a bib and carrying a fork and knife, knowing it was your mother's birthday. I'd just gone to answer the door when the gas was released! So, I held my breath, soaked some towels in water to cover our mouths and noses, and Chet and I called the police and got you onto the lawn!"

"Wow," Joe gave a low whistle. "You're a regular hero! And Chet, too!"

Aunt Gertrude shook her head dismissively, trying very hard not to look proud.

"Gee, thanks fellas!" Chet burst in, as if on cue. "It's really sad the party—I mean, that this happened to you four," He finished, flustered.

Frank and Joe gave weak laughs, and Aunt Gertrude gave Chet a slap upside the head.

"The doctor said you'd be here for at least another week," Chet continued, rubbing his cheek.

Frank seethed, "No doubt the men responsible are long gone already. If only this gas had been simple ether and not…" Frank launched into a tirade about the gas' complex chemistry, which left a person incredibly devoid of energy and strength for several days. Chet nodded along; remembering his days as a trained assassin.

"If only someone could take the case for us, since Mom and Dad are both here too," Joe mused.

Chet grinned. "Fellas, I think it's time for another one of my phases!"

"You'd really become a detective just for us?" Even without the gas, Joe would have swooned.

Aunt Gertrude huffed. "Yet another youth getting involved in this infernal detective work," she spat.

"You're one to talk; after your heroics earlier, Chet would be wise to have you work this case with him!" Joe enthused.

"Joe Hardy, that must be the worst bit of thinking I've ever heard!" Aunt Gertrude thundered, repulsed.

"Come on, Ms. Hardy, how about it?" Chet begged. "Don't you want to bring these scoundrels to justice?"

Aunt Gertrude looked lovingly at her two nephews and disgustedly at Chet. This was going to be a dangerous but satisfying case.

A/N: Well, it's that time of year again! April Fools! Tell me what you thought as always!