A gloomy day in southern Harlem, 2007, where scum and blood flow through the gutters like water on a rainy day. I looked up at my lab partners, all working hard at their jobs. Each one trying to create a drink of both fruit and carbonation. It was tough work. I lit up a cigarette and slumped onto the dingy couch. I was quiet. The team and I didn't talk much. I stared at them, a usual occurrence.
The team joined up back in 1990 to utilize the power of science in liberating the youth of Harlem, the strong black men that couldn't make it on their own. To fund that dream, they're working on brewing a godly drink, DK. Pepper.

A bird landed at the window and I snatched it, quickly. The lesser creature felt no pain, I was too quick. I could feel his blood pour out over my paw, washing away the grime and dirt I picked up from the street. 'For you, doll,' I thought as I promenaded my way to Brittany. I gave her the token, hoping she would pick me up into her arms and whisk me away. But it couldn't be. I'm too heavy for that. I'll just have a cigar and some tuna instead,

We had four members, excluding myself. There was Mercedes, a rotund African girl who didn't take anybody's shit. She was tough and sassy. Full of sass.

Then we had Brittany. She wasn't the smartest out of all of them, but goddammit, she knew how to work it. In this sleazy underbelly of crime, she managed to keep her blonde locks looking golden.

Sam was another one. He's always had a crush on Mercedes, but knew she only liked the niggas. So he painted himself black for her. He's never been able to accept the white skin underneath. Poor chum. He hasn't taken that paint off since.

And then there was Kurt. He was killed in a tragic car accident and his brains were scooped up like an aborted prom mistake. The group felt such a great mind shouldn't be cut short. They decided it would be better to play god. They put him inside the robot-body that they had built 2 weeks prior to his death. It was equipped with all the proper attachments, such as a large golden penis. He now serves under Brittany as a maid. His brown hair still flowed in the wind.

I heard a cracking, wood splintering, foreign languages being shouted through walls. Something was coming and it was heading for us. A loud bang hit the room as the door was blown away by a steel pipe. The room was sent into a deep pit of chaos, where it would never return. I dropped my cigarette from my mouth and his behind the couch, hoping they would ignore the lowest lab assistant. They did. Nobody has time for someone like me when you're a Russian top dog. I could see it on their coat. GRU. The Russian foreign intelligence ministry. And they were here and coming for us. I leaped onto the open window sill to scale my way down the fire escape. I'm not getting caught up in this noise.
"LORD TUBBINGTON!" Brittany screamed after me as I escaped. She was being shoveled out the door.
Sorry, babe. A cool cat like me can't be contained in a space like this.

The GRU holding chamber was cold and desolate. It held their captives with ease, a concrete block with no windows and iron bars for the door. There was no escaping this bunker, not without the right technology. But they didn't have that, this ragtag team of afro-revolutionary scientists. They could only hope and wait to make a deal with the Russians.
"Dos vidonia, svinʹi. We would like to make proposition towards you." A member of their jailors approached them. The group was slack-jawed, staring at this grizzly beast of a man. He was suited but there was hair coming out of every hole in the fabric.
"I think it's a little early to get married, silly!" Brittany let out a saccharine giggle and blush.
"We would like to present opportunity for you to travel into the past."
Mercedes glared at the Russian spokesperson with unmatched sass. "What chu want, white boy? Why us?"
"If you complete mission we give in the past, you will be free. You only one with experience but I can not say you may all live."
His stare pierced their bodies and mind. "Experience"? Did he know about their part in the Noodle Incident? There was a silence, as if waiting for him to continue and him waiting for their response.
"Do you accept risk for freedom? Or would you like to join the work camps in Siberian Federal District? I hear stories of guard dogs from Siberian Federal District Work Camps. They are very vicious. No mercy. Many babies have been ripped from stomach of pregnant women by them. Is very sad," the Russian Bear-man said.

The group huddled together, their backs turned towards the cold stone surrounding them.
Brittany spoke up, "OK, so, like, guys, I think this might be serious."
"Brittany, shut yo' cracka ass up. We be needin' to think, grrlll. Sam, whatchu think 'bout this?"
"Whatever you think, my nigga," replied Sam,
"THE MOST LOGICAL COURSE OF ACTION," Kurt started to process all he could with his robot mind, causing his 'processing noise' - a tone similar to dialup - to start up, "IS TO TRAVEL TO THE PAST."

WOOO WEEE WOOO