Disclaimer: The Simpsons and its characters are the property of Matt Groening. I'm just borrowing them for fun.
The slumber party at Millhouse's had a great start. Video game battles, chips and sodas, pranks on the newest families on the block... tonight was lit!
Until now.
Bart woke up on the frigid, tiled floor. 'That's strange,' he thought. Last time he checked, he snuggled in his sleeping bag, between Martin and Nelson who slept in theirs.
The ten-year-old boy rubbed his eyes and scanned his surroundings. No carpets, no 7Up bottles, no Xbox games in sight.
None of his friends were around, either.
"Where the heck am I?" he called out. An echo bounced on the gray walls. He snickered to himself. "Cool. Now, what's the best escape route?"
Before Bart could double-check the room for an exit, the voice of his worst nightmare uttered...
"Hello, Bart."
Bart shrieked and dashed for the nearest window he saw. Three daggers flew and landed near his ears. Bart paused.
"That's better. I was hoping you won't climb out. Otherwise, my next target is a head shot."
Bart gulped.
The sound of Bob's footsteps approached him.
"What do you want this time? Aren't you supposed to be in jail?"
Bob sniggered. "Chief Wiggum is dead! For your information, that teacher of yours... the one who became a guard, ordered your death."
Bart's eyes widened. "Mr. Lassen?" He turned to face Bob. He didn't have a choice.
"Yes. Him. I couldn't afford to let him win, so before his shenanigans got near your friend's house, I beat them to it." Bob scratched his chin as he glanced at the ceiling. "So for the record, you're in my lair."
"What?"
"Stay here," Bob said with an authoritative tone. "Otherwise, those rats will have you killed."
Bart felt a shiver in his spine. "So someone else is after me. Why am I being held hostage by you?"
Bob sighed. "We've known each other long enough. Lassen doesn't." The tall man took a seat on a nearby stool. "I know the art of chase and torment for your precocious mind. He doesn't. To have you killed is a blessing and a curse. Call it a bigger curse if I couldn't see your face again."
Bart cocked an eyebrow. He recalled watching a few episodes of "Batman". What he'd seen so far, The Joker couldn't get enough of his arch nemesis.
The evidence rang true in this predicament. His arch nemesis couldn't get enough of him.
That made perfect sense.
"So what are we supposed to do?" Bart asked.
"Wait here," Bob replied.
"But what if you killed me?"
Bob shook his head. "Given our current scenario, not a chance. I have to protect you." With a flourish, he shot another dagger in Bart's direction. The boy dodged it with success. Bob grinned. Bart rose from his squat position. Mistrust marked his features.
"Bob. Why?"
"I was your uncle once."
Bart rolled his eyes. "Temporarily."
Bob rose to his feet and stretched. He snapped his fingers when the ceiling opened. Down came a bed, a cooler, and a TV. Pillows and sheets landed on top.
As the ceiling closed, Bart stood aghast. Bob smiled at the boy's shock. He spun and retreated to the metal door.
"Now make yourself comfortable," he said. "We have a big mission tomorrow."