First off, curse midterms. They screw up the aspiring writer's schedule.

Secondly, I know I've broken my chain of thought regarding my other story "I'll Be Your Lover, Too". If anybody's still following that story, rest assured I will be continuing it at some point in the future.

Right now though, I am consumed by the lightning bolt of absurd inspiration. First, we have had some stories on here thinking about our beloved "ER" characters during their spotty youth. So a recent viewing of a certain Spielberg & Donner film got me to thinking: What if the "ER" gang (the ORIGINAL, true ER gang) had gone on a Goonies style adventure? At the time, I thought the idea had potential. Now, I think maybe this is just proof I'm insane.

Anyway, this is chapter 1, the prelude. Reviews of helpful or hurtful nature would be most appreciated.

All standard disclaimers apply, apply double since we are talking about two concepts here. Don't own the characters or the idea, all that jazz....

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The neat little houses align themselves perfectly along the road, a road full of decent-sized elm and maple trees, proceeding along off into the distance like something out a Norman Rockwell painting.

The leaves are beginning to turn color ever so slightly, coming into their last gasps of vivacity before falling victim to the cruel Midwest winters. The school buses are on their way back to base after a hard week on the road. Fathers are coming back from the office, mothers are at work in the home, downshifting for a relaxing break period, no matter how brief. And the kids are gearing up for their precious hours of freedom.

Nothing about this particular Friday in 1985 sticks out in suburban Chicago. Nothing to make it seem any different than every other Friday which came before it.

Something is about to happen that will change all that.

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That afternoon, 14-year old Doug Ross was walking home – well, technically, he had already been to his house. He was now walking to the place which felt a lot more like his home.

Doug and his pals populated something of a fenced-in area on the other side of Ogden Avenue, down the stretch of cliché suburban area which covered Hinsdale, Clarendon Hills, and Downers Grove. Officially the name of the town was Hinsdale, but it was practically in Westmont, and nobody called it that anyway. From time immemorial, the plot of housing in this less affluent Chicago subset had been known as the Goon Docks.

That made Doug a Goonie, and he was fiercely proud of it. It seemed like a given that kids from the Goon Docks would be outcasts, not quite in step with what was most decidedly a preppy community. They didn't care. They were having all the fun anyway.

At least, we were having all the fun, Doug thought ruefully. Seven months ago a man by the name of Robert Romano weaseled his way onto the Town Council. His first order of business had been to recruit a huge land development firm to investigate commercial expansion. Doug squirmed as he walked, just the thought of the man making his stomach churn. Three and a half months ago, just as school was letting out, Romano had unveiled his grand vision: a sprawling country club complete with two 18-hole golf courses. His proposed building site: the Goon Docks.

Doug and his friends were furious, but what could they do? Pool their savings and try to pay him off? Romano quickly closed off the legal loopholes by picking up the outstanding mortgages on 76 of the 80 homes in his target area, hoping some good old-fashioned peer pressure would force out the stubborn ones, which Doug and his mother happened to be among. Now it seemed like the good fight had finally reached the end: Romano had convinced the bank to foreclose the homes if the mortgages weren't brought up to date, so now the last people standing in the Goon Docks needed some pennies from heaven to fall in order to save their homes.

Doug wasn't worried. He just wanted to have some fun with his friend and then forget the problems even existed. He turned the corner and went up a small hill, bounding up the steps to the door of his best friend, Mark Greene.