A/N – Thanks for all the reviews, folks. Yes, as several of you have noticed, there was a lot of stuff in the first chapter that was "left over" from the first version of this story, but is being told in a fairly different way. And I think you can tell that I'm enjoying this version a lot more. Again, make sure you forget everything you read in the first version of the story! I think you'll see that things really start to take on a different feel in this chapter, and then the fun will really start. A quick-heads up warning: this chapter is long, and very OC-heavy, for necessary plot reasons. Okay, where were we now … oh, that's right! Yipes! A cliffhanger!
The Anywhere Cannon
A "My Life as a Teenage Robot" Fanfic
Chapter Two – Part-Time Job
Commander Smytus bore down on Drew with all the pleasantness that a sledgehammer might show towards a nail. All sound in the room bled away, leaving only the obnoxious background gurgling of the supercomputer coolant tanks. Time slowed down and screamed into fast forward all at once; Drew's mind raced for options; and didn't come up with anything he particularly liked. A quick tactical scan of the hostile faces surrounding him tallied up twenty-one roach-drones, eight scientist-droids, two Mantis robots from the Secret Police, and of course, ol' Commander Chuckles himself. And that wasn't even taking into account the swarms of guards who were waiting out in the hallway. Smytus leaned down and glared into Drew's phony drone-face like a Marine drill sergeant – the lummox was so top-heavy, Drew was briefly worried he was going to fall on top of him – and flexed his massive steel fist, as if he were imagining how satisfying it would feel to rip his head off. Bolts of green plasma energy, licking over the claw-like fingers, bathed the Commander's features in an appropriately maniacal light. All that was missing was a flash of lightning in the background.
Twin energy-blades snapped out of the claw with a hiss, mere inches away from Drew's mouth. "Identify yourself, drone," growled Smytus. "What's your serial number?"
Drew unplugged his hand from the Cluster computers, muttered a silent prayer, and folded all four of his arms with a forced nonchalance. Okay, here we go. "M-m-my serial number? Oh, uh … sure, it's, ummm … it's five … four … three … two … one."
"What kind of stupid serial number is …"
While Drew had been busy downloading files, he'd made sure to find time to upload one too; a nasty little virus that did but one simple thing. It picked one of the data consoles at random, and increased the voltage running into that console's circuitry by a factor of fifty. That was at least quadruple what was necessary to trigger a complete overload. In a flash of acrid blue smoke, the console to the right of Smytus exploded with a fountain of electrical sparks, tossing a hapless scientist-droid to the floor in a fit of uncontrollable motor spasms. And the bedlam began.
Drew leapt back from the startled Smytus, stretching into an impossibly flexible loop as he doubled the size of his fist. He plowed it into the dumbstruck face of another roach, but that was the only free shot he got. Alerted to the treachery, the Cluster drones snapped into combat mode, and came at the "rogue drone" with a cyclone of wild roundhouse punches – yet none of them landed a single blow, as Drew's roach body contorted itself into half a dozen surreal shapes. Frustrated, they deployed their taser weapons and circled him, powering up for a crippling attack …
And that was when he dropped his disguise. A shimmer of silver-green flashed across his body, reverting his face to normal, and morphing two of his forearms into mono-molecular blades. Three quick slash-attacks sent severed robot arms scattering across the floor, leaving stumps that gushed with messy streams of jet-black oil.
"The nanodroid!" bellowed Smytus, near-incandescent with rage. "Close the security door! All troops, switch to paralyzer rays and fire at will!"
Like, Zoiks! Drew squashed down to duck a salvo of green plasma blasts, and saw six inches of reinforced titanium plating began to seal off the only exit. Oh, crap … desperation time. The drones lined up to block his path, like the defensive line of a pro football team. But instead of charging, the silver-green intruder grabbed the wounded drone in front of him, and harshly spun him around to point at the smoldering computer console. The console was still tossing up white-hot electrical sparks … and the drone's severed arm-stump was still spurting out a pressurized spray of oil …
Which was eagerly ignited by the sparks, converting the horrified drone into an involuntary flamethrower. Globs of flame splattered across floor tiles slick with oil from the other damaged robots. New fires heaved up thick curtains of dirty gray smoke. Panicking roach-drones ignited like roman candles, their shrieks drowned out by the banshee wail of fire alarms. The room descended into chaos and blind fighting. More shots of green plasma cut through the smoke, crackling inches away from Drew's head; he curled up into a shiny ball, using his momentum to fling his fire-spewing victim along the floor like a curling stone. The unfortunate drone slid all the way to the exit – as the security door came down on him with a sickening crunch. The thrashing robot body jammed the door, and kept a sliver of daylight visible. Drew unfolded himself and bolted for the exit …
Ka-thunk. With a second effort, the heavy security door slammed shut, slicing the luckless drone in two and sealing off the only escape. Drew doubled back, dodged a trio of plasma blasts, and … pow, walked right into a powerful right cross that came out of the smoke and spun his head around. A Mantis robot stepped through the flames and enthusiastically followed up with a pair of body blows. The Mantis activated his taser-claw and jammed it into Drew's torso … just as the emergency nozzles dropped from the ceiling and discharged a shower of fire-fighting foam. The Secret Police-bot lost his footing and collapsed into a heap. Smoke wafting from his chest, Drew grew a set of treads on the soles of his feet, staggered backwards around another blinded roach, and looped another blast of plasma, all while frantically searching the room for another exit. And then he remembered the bank of supercomputer tank-booths that lined the long wall.
Another explosion erupted from the damaged console. More plasma blasts cratered the floor tiles. A bonzai yell pierced the roiling black smoke, and a charging roach-drone leapt at Drew with taser-claws crackling. Schwerrrp, schwerrrp. To the Cluster robot's dismay, his victim morphed his pliable body into a tightly coiled, silver-green spring. Drew used his attacker's own momentum to catapult the drone across the room, and slam it into one of the glass cylinder tanks. The tank shattered spectacularly, sending a yellow tidal wave of glycerol coolant rushing across the floor.
As the Cluster robots slipped in the glycerol, groped through the smoke, burned in the flames, and got blasted by each other's cross-fire, the silver-green thief leapt across the room like a stream from a fire hose, landing next to the remains of the supercomputer chamber. He yanked out the fragile remains of the computer core and tossed it aside; he was only interested in the glass tank. A tank that had been filled with flowing liquid coolant. Because liquid meant that there had to be some kind of plumbing …
He sighed with relief when he spotted the outflow drain at the bottom of the tank. He glanced up at the circus of insanity that raged in Data Lab Three, and couldn't resist giving Smytus a little smile. Then a shimmering wave coursed through his body. He transformed into a pillar of thick, silver-green ooze … and poured himself down the drain.
By then the fires were out. The drones turned as one to their furious commander, who was now coated with a fluffy layer of chemical fire-foam for the second time in ten minutes. Smytus wiped his eyes clean, and slammed a fist into the remains of the smoking console next to him.
"I hate nanobots," he said darkly. "I really, really hate nanobots."
The new guy's lamp attachment flickered for a second, then settled down to throw shaky, exaggerated shadows on the rust-flecked walls of the service tunnel. Greaser was another teenaged robot, enthusiastic but lacking in experience, and his servos were beginning to get a bit jittery. Allison told him to dial down the brightness to quarter-level; it was all she really needed to pick out the correct circuit in the crowded switchbox. And it was the most illumination that she dared allow, just in case some unmarked spy-bot or random maintenance camera might take notice of an unusual glow, deep beneath the streets of the Cluster capital. She wondered if thinking this way was making her paranoid. Well, if you were going to be a free-thinking robot on Cluster Prime, paranoia was an essential survival skill. She patted her hip, reassuring herself that her laser pistol was at the ready and fully charged. What was that old human saying she'd learned? Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you. And they were most definitely out to get her – along with the rest of the fledgling Cluster Underground.
A third robot peered impatiently over her shoulder, his weathered military markings just visible in the diminished light. "He is late," he sneered, drumming his fingers against his tan-colored arm. "As usual. That's what we get for using an amateur."
"Amateur? No way, dude!" protested Greaser. "He's the nanodroid! I mean, he's like, totally … the … whatever the opposite thing of amateur is, dude! … uhh … isn't he?"
Allison groaned, not even bothering to make eye contact with the former Cluster War Fleet officer. She focused her attention on her arm-computer's display, which was eavesdropping on the comm channels in an exposed bundle of fiber optics. "You know, you're absolutely right, Polaris," she said, sarcasm dripping from her every word. "In fact, next time we need somebody to infiltrate a heavily guarded military base to steal top secret material … I'll send you. 'Kay?"
Captain Polaris sulked, shooting at nasty look at Greaser as a lone chuckle escaped his voicebox … then their attentions were grabbed by a faint rattling vibration that echoed down the length of the tunnel.
Greaser jumped with a hint of panic, with visions of Cluster shock troops dancing in his head, but Allison kept her composure and checked her ClusterNet connection to see if any drone units were operating in the tunnel system. The rattling grew steadily in volume, drawing closer and closer to their position. And still she couldn't see anything, even with her low-light-enhanced vision turned on … then she realized that the sound wasn't coming from the tunnel itself. It was coming from one of the many iron pipes that ran along the length of the tunnel wall. And now it was coming from directly over their heads, where a valve on the pipe began to slowly turn itself open …
And a silver-green blob squirted out of the pipe, to form a sheepishly grinning face. "Ahh … somebody here order a pizza?" quipped Drew.
Polaris and Greaser registered amazement at Drew's unconventional appearance, but Allison just shook her head and groaned. "You are very, very late, Mister," she scolded, as she detached her arm from the tunnel cables. She plunked her fists on her hips with an annoyed clank, tapping her foot as Drew slopped the rest of his syrupy body out of the pipe. "What'd you do, stop at the Galleria on the way back for a silicone smoothie?"
A playfully wounded look flashed on his face as the final touch-up wave washed over his body. "Sorry about that, chief," he said, gesturing towards the overhead piping. "I kind of had to take the scenic route back …"
"Oh, wow … it's really the nanodroid! Dude!" Greaser was bursting with wide-eyed amazement; there were a lot of wild stories flying around the ClusterNet about the strange shiny liquid dude. "Oh, wow, like … you are so totally all squishy and melty and stuff! Whoooa, dude! Wow, like, I heard stuff about you, y'know? Like, crazy stuff? But everybody hears stuff, y'know? And I'm figuring like shyaaa, right … But then the pipe was all like clank clank, and I was all like oh noooo, but then you were all like squirt squirt, and I was all like noooo waaaaay …"
Drew glanced at Ally, speechless. She simply rolled her eyes. "He's new."
"Oh, for the love of … stop your yammering, you idiot!" The tall form of Captain Polaris pushed his way past the gushing teenager; as a former military officer, he wasn't used to working with civilians. Fleet officers were like an aristocracy on Cluster Prime; they had a arrogant sense of entitlement, and often behaved like royalty themselves. But while Polaris was difficult to work with, he'd been one of the few Cluster officers who had sought to join the Underground. And he captained a star cruiser with a loyal crew, also willing to join the Underground's cause. Like many others, they'd learned the awful truth about Queen Vexus' evil ways when Allison had made her infamous video broadcast, after the Cluster Dawn Fleet was defeated by XJ-9. Vexus no longer had a working mind-control network, to make her subjects forget what they'd learned … so she'd countered with a massive propaganda campaign, saying that the video was a fake, and that the notorious, treacherous LSN-1482 was the evil one, as much an enemy to the Cluster as XJ-9 was. Allison was a liar and a traitor, a danger to the Empire. The Queen's lies had worked almost as well as the old mind-control helmets had. Very few robots wanted to believe that their leader was evil, even if they had begun to suspect it. And many of those that believed it were too afraid to do anything about it.
Polaris grabbed Drew by the arm and spun him around. "Did you get it? Did you get all the files? Did you get the Anywhere Cannon file? Or did you manage to botch that up?"
A small bubble formed in Drew's throat, and he had to concentrate to clear up his voice circuits. "Uhhh, sure … I-I got everything you asked for. I got it all stashed away inside." He knew that Polaris didn't think much of him, or his abilities, and the big wedge-chested robot intimidated him a little. Well, more than a little. He always felt about two feet tall when Polaris was around. "So … what's the deal with this 'Anywhere Cannon'? You make it sound like the end of the world."
"It just might be," growled the towering robot. "At least, the end of your world. I don't think you appreciate just how serious this is."
Allison took a blank data crystal out of her shoulder satchel, and handed it to Drew, who plugged it into his chest. "So it's some kind of super gun?" he asked, as copied over the stolen files.
"It's not just a super gun," snapped Polaris, not bothering to hide a tinge of contempt.
"Whooaaa, so it's a like a … mega super triple mondo-humongous gun?" asked Greaser.
Polaris sighed deeply, as if he were preparing to give a lecture to a group of toasters. "It is one of Queen Vexus' most secret projects, you bolt-head. I learned about it just before I joined the Underground. It is a combination of a powerful anti-proton cannon, and a giant hyperspace portal. A normal cannon has to be transported to the target, say, by mounting it on a starship that flies close enough to get within range. But the Anywhere Cannon doesn't have to move. It won't have to leave its home base."
"Oh, boy … hyperspace portal!" Allison frowned as the terrible epiphany came to her; another ton of worry had just been dumped on her shoulders. "All Vexus' goons have to do is open a portal to another planet … then fire the cannon right through the portal! Ohhhhhh, sprockets. That's nasty."
"There would be no defense against it," continued Polaris. "You could set the co-ordinates for the Earth's core, fire the cannon, and blow up the planet from the inside out. And the Cannon could be fired from anywhere in the galaxy." He paused to let that little nugget sink in. "I know for a fact it's nowhere even close to Cluster Prime. Nobody has any idea where it is. The location of the Anywhere Cannon is one of the most closely guarded secrets in the whole Empire."
"Well, not anymore, it isn't," said Drew, with a wan smile. He unplugged the data crystal and dropped it into Polaris' outstretched claws.
But if Drew was expecting a thank-you, he received only a snort from the captain as a reply. "It should take me a few hours to decrypt this file. It contains a full set of blueprints, along with the location of the Anywhere Cannon's secret base. Now my crew and I can destroy it, before the queen's drones finish construction. Believe me, if Vexus gets her claws on a weapon like this, she will destroy the Earth, and any other planet that doesn't bow down to her. She would rule the galaxy unopposed, and then we would be stuck with her as our tyrant, until the end of time. The robots of Cluster Prime would never be truly free."
"Yeah … plus, it would kind of suck for the billions of people living on those planets that get blown up," added Drew.
"Ohhhhh yeahhhh," said Greaser, as if he'd just heard a deep, philosophical secret of the cosmos.
Drew was beginning to wonder about this new guy. Well, the Underground needed everyone they could get. "All right, well, umm … you got your files … anything else I can do to help out?"
"I seriously doubt it," sneered Polaris, focusing his attention on the data crystal.
"Knock it off, Polaris," growled Allison, deliberately omitting his old title of Captain. She put up with a lot of the aristocrat act from him, but it was time to remind the Cluster Academy graduate just what his place was nowadays. The former LSN droid adjusted the equipment belts that crisscrossed her lavender torso, and folded her arms, giving her subordinate a glare that would have stripped a layer of paint off a drone's hide. "In case you've forgotten, we're all supposed to be a team here, okay? Drew did his part, and now it's time for you to do yours. If you think you can handle it." Polaris stood a good three feet taller than Allison, but the force of her steely gaze served him appropriate notice – she was the boss. She was the face of the Underground, the one that popped up on video screens during the pirate broadcasts, the one who drove Vexus nuts. And deep inside his memory banks, he knew that he owed his own freedom to Allison. And maybe even a little bit to that silver-green freak job, too.
"Okay, let's get everything cleaned up," ordered Allison, satisfied that her message had been delivered. She stuffed a coil of optical cable back into her satchel. "No trace that we were ever here. I want to be moving in two minutes." Polaris and Greaser acknowledged her order with a nod, and began to pack up their temporary lights and anti-surveillance equipment.
Drew heaved a sigh of relief, dropping the voltage levels in his nano-circuits to calm himself down – sort of the android equivalent of post-adrenaline-rush crash, now that another Underground mission was safely in the bag. Damage information and vital statistics displayed on the inside of his eyeball; he needed some time to recuperate, and let his trillions of nanobots perform a little self-repair. He slid into a sitting crouch on the floor of the tunnel, found a power cable coursing with refreshing alternating current, and plugged his finger in for a recharge.
A set of light metallic footfalls echoed towards him, and Drew looked up with a smile. Allison dropped into a sitting position next to his, as gracefully as she could manage with two equipment belts slung over her shoulders. She readjusted the laser pistol with an awkward chuckle, and looped her hands around her knees, trying to let some of the stress flow out of her circuits. They just exchanged tired smiles for a few seconds; then with a soft whishhh of servos and actuators, her shoulders loosened, as if she was casting off a heavy backpack at the end of a jungle hike. Running the Cluster Underground took a lot out of her. The flinty resolve in her eyes stashed itself away, to be replaced by the haunting dark pools that Drew saw in his dreams at night. "Don't worry about Polaris," she said, nudging him with a playful elbow. "He treats everyone that way. I've been dealing with jerks like him ever since I worked back at Link-Systems-Networks. He thinks he's Cog's gift to robots."
Drew half-laughed, and gave her an impish smirk. "Well, all things considered, he's actually one of the nicer Cluster robots I've run into today."
"I can imagine. So … how did it go? On the base?"
His eyes flicked back and forth evasively. "Eh, you know … snuck in, snuck out. No big deal."
"Riiiight." She didn't call him on the obvious lie. She had a good idea of what these missions must have been like. It had been dangerous enough in the beginning, when he was simply stealing supplies for her and her fellow rebels. With every success, the missions kept getting more dangerous … but it was such an advantage for the Underground to have a shape shifter on its roster. Any responsible leader would take advantage of a resource like Drew, and he had been more than willing to help in any way he could. She kept sending him out on these missions … and her microchips painfully counted the milliseconds until he came back. Allison slid herself against his silvery chest, and nuzzled her smooth metal cheek against his neck. As if to reassure herself that he was physically there, and still in one piece. Her eyes flitted up to meet his. "Thanks for not getting yourself blasted," she said.
He wrapped a silver-green arm around her shoulders, and gave her a firm squeeze. "Who says I didn't?"
"Stop it, jerk," she laughed, returning the embrace. When you were a fugitive from Cluster Imperial justice, moments like this had to be cherished, savored … and stored away on optical disk. "Someday, during one of your visits, we'll have to try something wild and crazy, like … dinner and a movie."
"No, really, it's okay … all the couples back on Earth hang out in dark, rusty underground pipes. No, seriously. You have to make a reservation four weeks in advance just to get one of the good ones." He snickered at the lame joke, then wondered if he'd just said something incredibly stupid. After all, when the day was over, he'd go home to sleep in a nice, clean tub with a roof over of head. But Allison had to live underground like some robotic animal, moving amongst the solvent sewers and the monorail tunnels and a dozen other subterranean chambers, always on the verge of being captured as she fought the impossible fight against Queen Vexus – and all while having everyone else look up to her! He didn't know how she handled the pressure. There were teens he knew back in Tremorton who thought that 'stress' meant matching your shoes to your belt on Picture Day.
She leaned forward, and a wicked, seductive smile spread across the ghostly outline of her face. A slim finger started to slowly trace one of the green stripes on his chest. "Sewer pipes, huh? So tell me … just what do human teenagers do, when they get together … in a dark … isolated … lonely place?"
He grinned, and brushed a strand of lavender hair-foil out of her eyes. "Well, why don't you just … use your imagination?" he smirked, sliding an arm around her back. Dang, he could feel her turbines pounding with excitement, spinning faster and faster. And he could stare into those eyes all day. Sure, it might be one of the more … unconventional romantic arrangements that you could possibly imagine, but Ally was so totally worth it.
He closed his eyes, dropped his lips to hers, and …
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEPThey clanked foreheads, then realized that the chirping tone was accompanied by flashing lights – coming from Drew's eyes. Aw, crap. He flowed his hand into a video panel, which displayed the time …
"Oh, crap. Ohhhh, crap crap megacrap, I'm late!" He scrambled to his feet, and helped Allison to hers, while she massaged the fresh dent just above her left eye. Drew was a seething cauldron of frustration. "Ally, I'm so sorry, but … arrghh, my lunch break is up, and I've gotta go back on shift for three hours, and I've already been late twice this month, and I'm skating on thin ice with the stupid assistant manager as it is … ooooh, that Leslie, he's such a pimple-faced little Nazi …"
"Don't worry about it," she sighed. She knew she wasn't the only one with unusual circumstances in this relationship. "It's just the way things have to be, for a while." She gave him a peck on the cheek.
And with a double-clap of her hands, Allison stowed away the lovestruck robot girl, and brought back the steel-spined Underground Leader. It was time for all of them to get on the move anyway. Polaris had to make his way back to a pre-arranged contact point, where he would reunite with his crew and prepare for a raiding mission to take out the Anywhere Cannon. And Allison would oversee intelligence and logistics, and the hundreds of other little things she had to worry about on a day to day basis. Never a dull moment in the Cluster Underground.
She gestured to Greaser, who rummaged inside a duffel bag, and hauled out a brick-shaped chunk of high-tech equipment that had obviously seen better days. The lower half of it was held together by two loops of duct tape. Greaser handed it over to Drew, still a little awestruck at being in the presence of the mysterious nanodroid, and gave him a thumbs-up. "All right, Nano-Dude … your teleporter is all set to go. Shyaaa, I replaced the bad circuit, got it all cleaned up with, y'know, those little cotton swab thingies … and that WD-40 stuff, y'know? Uh, yeah, and we totally installed a new power pack with a full change on it. Sweeeet! Dude, those things are, like, really hard to find."
"Yeah, I've gotten a lot more mileage out of this thing than it was ever designed for." Drew checked the settings on the coordinate panel; a hyperspace-vortex generator was something you made sure to double-check, every time you used it. "Good job, Greaser. Thanks."
"You're like totally welcome, dude." The Cluster teen grinned through the slots of his mouth-grill. "Y'know, I just wanna say, that, it was so totally excellent working with you today … y'know … 'cause freedom rocks, dude! And the Underground totally rules, man! Yeaaaahh! And … uhh … y'know, now that I think about it, you actually did most of the work, and … uhhhh … well, I guess you really did all the work … uhhh … well, I carried the bags."
Even though she was in "leader mode", Allison had a hard time suppressing a laugh at the flustered look on Drew's face. "Look at it this way, 'nanodroid'," she chuckled. "Somebody thinks you're cool."
Two high school students ambled casually into the men's room, debating the relative hotness of the girls who were hanging out at the Tremorton Mall that day …
And were knocked on their backs by a mysterious, chittering flash of light that erupted with the brilliance of a signal flare, and whipped up a sudden tornado of toilet paper and newspaper sections. The mall-goers dove for cover under the restroom sinks, probably from the shock of seeing a hyperspace portal blossom into existence where the middle stall should have been. Drew bolted out of the vortex like a race house breaking out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. Shaking a stubborn scrap of TP from his heel, he exploded out of the restroom and ran out into the crowded mall food court – nearly knocking over an angry mother and her tray of jumbo pretzels. The silver-green android weaved through the chaos of afternoon shopping, through the congestion of senior citizens in front of Donut Palace, past the screaming kids that ran around the ball pit – and the annoying guy in the cactus costume who was passing out churro samples in front of Senor Tacos. Stupid place would have to be the furthest one from the bathroom –
A tall, gangly teenager with a brush cut and a clip-on tie was waiting for him in front of the red-and-yellow façade of Wonder Weenie. "You're late, Nabholtz!" he shouted, in a voice that squeaked like sneakers on a gymnasium floor. "Your shift started four minutes ago!"
Aw, fer – "I'm sorry, sir!" babbled Drew, as he frantically jumped behind the counter, knocking over a straw dispenser. "I know I'm late, sir! It … it was an emergency, sir, it won't happen again! Sir!"
"Oh I know it won't … and do you know why? Because the next time will be the last time! Do I make myself clear, Nabholtz?" A greasy forehead, textured with whiteheads, furrowed to signal its thorough displeasure. "Now get your silver butt on register!"
"Right away, Leslie," Drew grumbled to himself in a mocking singsong. He trudged toward the cash register bereft of any enthusiasm or dignity, entered his shift code, and heaved his shoulders with a deep sigh. "Good afternoon, welcome to Wonder Weenie … there's nothing Teeny about a Wonder Weenie. May I take your order …"
"Uniform!" screamed the pimply voice of authority.
Sigh. A shimmering wave rolled over the surface of Drew's body, replacing his silver-green complexion with a bright red-and-yellow polo shirt – adorned with a cute dancing weenie on the pocket. And a large mass rose up from the top of his head … which morphed into a ridiculous hat, shaped like a two-foot-long frankfurter. He turned back to his first customer. "Sorry about that, sir. Now … welcome to Wonder Weenie, would you like to try our two-for-one Weenie Wonderland Combo today …"
But his canned sales pitch was interrupted by a stream of ketchup that slammed into his face. He wiped his eyes clean … to see the chiseled jaw of Don Prima standing in front of his register, with a trio of Tremorton High students laughing like hyenas behind him.
"Oh, sorry about that," sneered Don, milking the laugh for all he could get. "I was bringing this ketchup bottle back to be refilled … but I guess it wasn't empty after all, was it? Weenie Boy?" Fresh guffaws of laughter rang out, as thick dollops of tomatoey goodness slowly dripped from Drew's nose.
Leslie glared at him, and his shoulders wilted. "I'll get the mop," he groaned. Three hours to go.
Continued in Chapter Three