Okay, this is the last chapter before the Tour begins. I had much fun writing it, especially with Mike (you'll see). I remind (for the sake of understanding) that in my version, parents won't accompany their kids inside.

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Mike Teavee opened his eyes and looked at his watch. Seven o'clock. There was not a noise from the bed beside him. His father was still sleeping. Okay, three hours left before the Tour. Mike was very impatient. Not to see Wonka and his stupid factory, this didn't interest him the least. He was impatient because he felt that he was close to something, something big, about Aleksey's mysterious behavior, and he felt that the answer was in that factory. He would investigate, and find the truth. He closed his eyes. Already in his head, a twisted scenario was taking shape: Aleksey was a hired killer, sent to the factory by Mr Salt to make sure that this horrible Veruca would win the special prize. Yes, that was it... his plan wouldn't work as he thought. He would try to escape by taking a hostage. He would take Violet. Mike could almost see the mad killer, with bloody eyes, holding Violet in front of her, threatening her with a long knife. And the poor girl was helpless and vulnerable. She was crying and calling for her mommy (Mike already forgot that she was in reality way stronger than that, but such considerations don't count in fantaisies). The situation was desperate. Only Mike could save the day... with a lightning speed, Mike jumped in the air like the Shinobi, and kicked the Kazakh guy away. Then he finished him with some high-flying Street Fighter like moves. There was no doubt he could make it. After all, he was the great Mike T., the strongest and smartest boy of the world. It was over. Aleksey was knocked out, Veruca was ashamed, the factory was safe and Violet wasn't harmed. Wonka gave him the special prize to thank him for his heroic behavior. And Violet... he took the poor frightened girl in his strong arms and comforted her. Then she looked at him, and her teary eyes were full of admiration. She smiled shyly and whispered: My hero... and finally, she kissed him passionately, before slapping him violently in the face.

What ?

He suddenly opened his eyes: she was really here ! His father had disappeared during the night, and the two bed were stuck together to make one king size bed. And Violet was in this bed, and Mike had been kissing her until she slapped him. How could it be ? The girl was now spitting and rubbing her lips on her hand, as if she had just drunk something disgusting. Mike's face was turning bright red. Shit, he was completely unprepared for this ! But, by the way... where was his father ?

At the same moments, in the Beauregard's room, Stella was still asleep, having a pleasant dream. She was moving in her bed and moaning: Hmmm, Tom... in her dream, Tom Cruise was holding her in his arms, and their lips came closer and closer... but something was wrong. She felt she was kissing something in reality... she suddenly awoke, and the person she saw in her bed was not Tom Cruise: it was a middle-aged man, wrinkled and half-bald, who was looking at her in shock. Then, they both screamed.

"What do you think you're doing ?" yelled Violet at the young boy. "And why are you in my room ?"

"Excuse me," replied Mike, "but I think YOU are in MY room !"

"What ?" she took a look around and whispered, "What the Hell happened ?"

Mike hesitated. It was maybe his chance... just... give it a try.

"You know," he said after clearing his voice, "you're not bothering me."

"What ?"

"I mean... maybe you could feel, eh, quite... embarrassed by this unusual situation, so I... wish to let you know that... your presence doesn't bother me. You could even stay here if you want to..."

In response, she slapped him hard. On the other cheek.

"Aouch ! Why do you keep slapping me like that ?"

"Because you're a pervert ! I'm a blond, but I'm not dumb, I know what you mean by I'm not bothering you. You like to eye me..."

Suddenly, she stopped as a flash of understanding passed across her mind. Mike backed up when he saw the flame of anger in her eyes, but he was already against a wall and couldn't escape.

"NOW I understand !" she screamed. "YOU are the one who scared me last night ! You set up this plan in hope that I would jump in your arms !"

Mike didn't understand anything. He had slept the whole night !

"I... what do you mean ?"

The blond girl answered by jumping on him and clenching her hands around his throat, and shaking him like a McDonald's salad.

"You freak I'm gonna make you suffer !"

Mike couldn't find any way out, except the natural way of survival, the one he hoped he'd never have to use: he yelled like a sissy.

"Help ! Daddy ! Help me ! That girl's crazy ! Help ! Help !"

Fortunately for the poor TV-boy, the two children's embarrassed parents chose this moment to open the door and rush in the room, bringing the fight to an end.

Later on, all the winners were in the restaurant for a tiny breakfast (they all knew they were going to eat candy all day, so they took their precautions, even Augustus... yes, he really did !) and as the Beauregard were sitting at their table, a waiter approached them with a tray and began to serve the tea.

"Boy," said Mrs Beauregard, "I'm sorry but we didn't ask for tea."

"I know, Madam. Someone offered it to you."

"And could we know who, please ?"

"I'm sorry, Madam, but I don't know."

At this moment, Violet realized that the tea was accompanied with a small card. She took it. There was something drawn on, some kind of logo, representing a red triangle into a circle of the same color. And in the middle of that triangle, there was a black silhouette representing a... a snake ? Curious, she unfolded it and saw a message:

Hope you girls appreciated the night. From a devoted friend...

Violet stopped breathing. These words stinked sarcasm. Now she was almost sure it was not Mike who scared her last night. He seemed too innocent this morning. There was somebody else who was playing with them. But why ? Then it came: she had brutalized the fat boy. And that guy, whoever he was, felt the need to teach her a lesson. So he scared her to death, and then, he humiliated her by putting her in bed with that computer geek. It had to be somebody who knew them, even a few. She took a look around. She didn't see any of the ticket winners who could be so vicious. Her mind came almost immediately to that freaky guy who seemed to follow them. That long-haired girl-like cow-boy. He was in the restaurant the day before, and he was still here this morning. Why was he after them ? Anyway, she couldn't go teaching him a lesson. Not without a solid proof. She didn't want to waste the day by making a scene. In rage, she ripped off the card and stood up.

"Violet ?" asked her mother. "What's going on ?"

"Nothing, Mom. I'm not hungry. I've got to prepare for the Tour."

On these words, she ran straight to her room. She was more excited about this visit than she wanted to show: in reality, she didn't care much for the special prize. She just wanted to meet the world famous chocolatier, and to eat candy until her stomach explodes. While preparing, she was chewing her gum furiously, as to control her emotions. She was a little scared, though. Not afraid, but a bit uneasy about this Tour. She remembered what her mother had told her the day before:

"Violet, you remember that, according to the rules of the contest, I won't be able to accompany you inside."

"I know, Mom: Wonka wants to test us alone, without parental influence, to decide who deserves the special prize."

"That's it. You must think about the prize. This Tour is nothing more than a silly contest, that you can win without efforts. However... the problem is that you will be alone. You will be five children alone with a stranger."

"Then what ?"

"Well, you need to realize that there are strangers who... who lure kids with candies... who capture them, and... and once they have... they will... well, you watch the news, sometimes, so I think you know what I mean."

"What, you think that ? You think Wonka is ?" she laughed out loud. "Mom, it's ridiculous !"

"Maybe, but still, I'm not secure about it. I can't prevent you from going, because I know how you were waiting for this event. And maybe I'm just paranoid. But I need you to make me a promise."

"Okay."

"I want you to be sure that you're always safe. If he asks you to do something... unusual, in order to get the prize, or if for any reasons you feel that something is going wrong, I want you to run away. Don't ask yourself questions, just run out of that factory. And if Wonka tries to interfere... kick him in the balls. Okay ?"

"Okay."

"But if everything is going alright, I count on you to get the prize !"

"Okay !"

What had worried Violet the most is that she'd never seen her mother in such a state of mind. Maybe she was right... no. There was no reason for this Tour to turn wrong. And if it ever did... well, she was a champion at running and karate. If she was smart enough to detect the tricks, she would survive. The powerful Violet Beauregard wouldn't get caught like that.

9:55 am. Five minutes before the Tour. Charlie thought this moment would never come. And finally, here he was, about to meet his personal hero, Willy Wonka, in person. But in the same time, he felt a little insecure. He put his hand in the pocket of his worn-out black jeans, and his fingers met the wooden handle of his father's old-fashioned razorblade. The night before, Mr Bucket had done to his son the same kind of lecture as Mrs Beauregard had done to her daughter: basically, five children alone with a stranger who would give them candy was a potentially dangerous situation. That's why he gave him the razorblade: just a precaution. The young boy squeezed his grandfather's hand, wishing that he could accompany him inside. But he couldn't. The rule was strict: no parental influence of any type. The issue of the contest must be decided only between the chocolatier and the five winners. Okay, Charlie thought there was no big danger anyway. It would be cool. A good day. The best of his life. To change his mind, he took a look at his companions, who were also waiting in front of the iron gates: there was this horrible gum-chewing brat, Violet Beauregard, in her blue tracksuit. Augustus Gloop, the biggest and dirtiest boy Charlie had ever seen. Mike Teavee, who was throwing arrogant glances around. And... and Veruca Salt. Charlie felt all dizzy inside when he looked at her. He knew he was blushing, but he didn't care. She was absolutely gorgeous with her curly brown hair, her pink dress, her wide eyes... he wished he could have a chat with her. Normally, it would be impossible, because she was older and way richier than he was. But, maybe, in this wide factory, he would have a chance... he didn't care much about the mysterious prize: having a chance to talk to her, to be her friend, or... or more... that would be his special prize. Suddenly, she looked at him. Embarrassed, the shy boy forced himself to look elsewhere, and his gaze arrived at... who was this guy ?

In fact, everyone was wondering what this boy was doing here. Everyone except Mike, who knew about the trick and was craving to know what was behind this conspiracy. Aleksey Stoyanovitch was standing beside Mr Salt, his blue eyes staring intensely at the iron gates. He had completely changed his look for the event: he wore his usual black spur boots, but with pants, a tight top, a large belt with a metallic buckle, thin gloves, and a narrow riding coat that went down to his calves. Apart from the metallic items, the spurs and the buckle, his whole suit was jet black, and made of a strange material. It looked like leather, but it was granular, like skaï. But it was too shiny to be skaï. Violet, though, almost immediately identified the material: the shiver she had when watching the coat couldn't fool her: it was snake skin. This Kazakh guy was all dressed in snake skin, and his hair were flatten back with tons of gomina. Violet thought he looked too much like the monster of her dreams. She hated him already. Mike thought he had the look of some mafious' gunman. He was jealous. He wanted to look like a real deviant with his skull shirt, but this guy was stealing the show.

Veruca was also very interested by that boy. She realized he was a little younger than her, maybe one year younger, although he was a few inches taller. She also noticed, not without blushing a little (like any young girl when they caught themselves looking at boys, but she didn't feel anything more for this guy. With his cow-boy attitude and his clothes that made him look like a caricature of a gangster movie, he had nothing that could attract her), that his tight clothes could let guess a muscular body. This guy was surely a sportsboy. But what intrigued her the most is that he seemed to stand beside them on purpose. Or maybe it was just an impression, but it was still tickling her. She decided to ask, rudely:

"Hey, you !"

The boy looked at her, offered his hand and said, with his strange old man's voice:

"Hello. I'm Alex."

She looked at the gloved hand, not wanting to show any sympathy for that tramp. But she felt her father squeezing her hand. She knew what it meant. Okay, Daddy...

She took the hand and said, without enthusiasm: "Veruca..."

"Nice to meet you."

"I wanted to know what you were doing here. You're not one of the winners, after all."

In response, the boy took his Golden Ticket from his pocket.

"And what about this ?"

"This is impossible ! There are only five tickets, not six ! Beside, your one is scorched. It's a fake."

"I don't know why it's scorched like that, but I know it's made of real gold, I found it loyally, in a Wonka bar I bought in a shop, and for so, I have the right to visit this factory like you."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You don't !"

"Well, we'll see what Wonka thinks about all this."

This put an end to the conversation. Veruca decided to cold-shoulder that rude guy and turned her eyes to the iron gates. Too bad for her. She didn't see it. The move. The boy and her father had looked at each other, and nodded discreetly, like the day before. As to exchange some silent message. But a few seconds after, she heard her father saying: No, thanks. She turned back to him to see that the boy had try to offer him a cigarillo, which he had politely refused. The boy then put the cigarillo in his own mouth and lighted it. Veruca whispered:

"Smoking so young... you should be ashamed."

"Thanks for the advice, Mère Theresa, I'll think about it."

It was cynical, of course. Veruca ignored him, it was the best she could do. She opened her purse and looked at her pocket watch. One minute left. She was nervous. She took a look around, and saw that the other were as nervous as her. There were signs: the hands trembling slowly, the legs moving as to avoid cramps, the arm clenched tightly around the chest... they all had some unvolunteer moves that revealed their nervousness. All but this "Alex", who was as calm as water. She was a little bit scared, though: she remembered, when her father had read the rule so that no adults had the right to accompany the children, he said it was too dangerous. She had thrown a tantrum, saying it was ridiculous that parents always thought the worse when children were invited at an adult's. Her father had thought about it for five minutes, and said okay. It had been so easy... it had given her the impression that her father didn't care much about her. Just an impression. Maybe it was only because she was right. But now, in front of this massive building, she felt an irrational fear coming. What if she was wrong ? Would she really be safe inside ? She wished she could think about it longer, but it was too late. And what would her father think of her if she hesitated now ? No, she had to go and see. There was no reason for this day to turn back. They would visit a wonderful factory, eat candy all day, and go home happy and sated. And no matter how much she wanted the special prize, she wouldn't do something dangerous to get it. Certainly not. And another thing was bugging her. A few minutes after she had convinced her father, the day she received the Ticket, she had sneaked in his room when he was giving a phone call. Nothing strange, because he usually spent half of his time on the phone, but there, he seemed to be speaking in Russian. Who the Hell was he calling in Russia ?

No time for questions. The bell of the church was chiming ten o'clock. It was time. The Tour was beginning. In front of the impatient kids, the heavy gates opened slowly...