Author's Note: Just so you know, these chapters may get pretty long. I'm aiming for somewhere around a 5-10k average, although there will be some that are a lot longer or a lot shorter (I already know there's a chapter in Episode 1 that could have up to 20k words). Because of these longer chapters, the scene breaks are strategically placed not only to show a change in scene but also to provide a checkpoint for the reader to stop at if time does not permit to read the whole thing in one sitting.

Adding onto the length of these chapters is that some scenes don't have any other purpose than to establish and develop the characters' bonds with each other. This is all about the immersion of the story. By showcasing the lives and relationships of each of the characters, my goal is to have the reader build a stronger connection to the characters and make their developments feel more believable and emotional. This is a journey, and the reader is supposed to be along for the ride. On top of this, one of the main purposes of this story is to be a brainstorming dump for what an Over the Hedge sequel really could've held in store, so the more content, the better.

Long story short, an average reader is probably gonna find this thing messy or confusing at times because there's just so much the story is trying to do and so many plotlines it's gonna throw in. Think of it less like a story or a movie and more like a mini-TV show with a more organized narrative. Still, it doesn't get super direct until the final stretches of the story, which tie everything together and focus mostly around a single plotline or 2.

Prologue, Chapter 2: Back in Action (~12k words)

"Hey check it out, that's a new one!"

"Huh, I do believe you're right! Let's add that to the collection."

"Oz', have you ever seen a plant so… pink? Or wait, would that be purple?"

"I think the better word would be mauve."

...

RJ's eyes crack open to meet the dim morning daylight shining into the Log through the small cracks and holes in the hollow wood. He turns his head around the area. Ozzie was still fixed in his position, snoring away. But down at the end of the Log, Verne was nowhere to be found. Just as he is about to pick himself up, some noticeable mass pushing down against him jerks him into a frozen reaction.

Wait. His eyes shoot downward. Heather's head was still on his stomach. With careful movement, he throws his arm into his bag and pulls out a brownish-gray raccoon plush before taking a detailed survey of the familiar friend. Each little ruffled patch of fabric, each little imperfection, displayed its long history of use. Even in his hands, it lacked the distinctive, freshly-opened feel that made it so fresh and refined. Instead, his fingers find themselves brushing through to feel a comforting warmth, just as distinctive as the former. One corner of his mouth raises into a subtle grin.

Now back to the business at hand. Holding her head up, he rises from his position and replaces himself with the soft toy before swinging on his bag and heading out of the Log, only taking one glance back to make sure her peaceful slumber continues. She tosses and turns onto her side before wrapping her short arms around the toy, generating a huff of amusement from RJ. What a sight to tease her about later.

A couple of birds here and there chirp their own greetings to the soft blue-orange sky overhead, the trees creating long, distorted shadows across the settlement from the low sun. After exiting the Log, RJ stretches a bit as he turns in the direction of the bulletin board as if instinctively. To no surprise, Verne was present there, observing their several maps of the interior of the target house pinned down. He casually approaches him from behind, daring to inch closer and closer until his breaths are practically audible to Verne's ears.

Verne peers closer at a map with deep concentration. Suddenly, the abruptly noisy voice of RJ shatters the tranquility of the quiet environment around. "What's goin' on, Verne?"

In his fight-or-flight reaction, he yells out and trips back onto his shell, now helplessly tilting back and forth in place with his limbs already flailing about instinctively.

RJ's head pops into view right above him. "How's the weather down there?"

"RJ, could you stop with that?!"

"Nah, you just gotta learn the matchup, man!"

RJ smoothly flings him up before passing by and swinging off his bag a short distance away, sliding the strap off his shoulder with ease.

"Well, better wake the others," Verne says while brushing himself off before observing the watch. "We don't have too long before we gotta head out."

While rummaging through the bag, RJ's nonchalant voice comes from within. "Nahhh, give 'em another minute. I still gotta finish up some planning."

As if making last-minute plans was normal! A second of thought towards RJ's words springs up his alertness out of the depths of morning fatigue. "What!?" he urgently exclaims. "You mean you haven't even-!"

The top half of RJ's body was submerged in the bag, leaving just his rear sticking out the back. "Just, uh… just a sec'."

Verne huffs as RJ pulls out a pencil and hustles over to the bulletin board, standing next to him as a map illustrating the living room is picked out among the others. All the while, Verne observes the maps along with him, all organized in a neat grid. Each and every pin holding the maps in place were all perfectly straight and flawlessly dug into the board with practically no margin of error. Perfect organization with no time calculation.

"Y'know RJ," Verne begins with his blatant claims. "You sure are organized, but you seem to lack the punctuality."

"Well maybe you're too punctual." RJ's voice shifts into something much more casual. "How many days?"

Instinctively, Verne rushes to answer. "232."

"Point made."

Leaving it at that, RJ brings his attention to the map of the living room and the doorways to the adjacent rooms surrounding it. Bringing up his pencil, he puts his empty hand against his chin for a moment before drawing a curved line from the kitchen on the left to a pre-drawn rectangle against the wall just to the side of the doorway in the living room. A single gear turns all the others in his head as he considers the situation, darting his eyes between each and every part of the map. One gear after another. Consecutively, he draws a circle around the aforementioned doorway and another line from the kitchen up to a hallway in the top left corner of the living room.

Verne is left to quietly spectate RJ's 'planning', whatever these lines and circles could possibly mean this time. Sure, it was a plan, but with RJ, it always seemed more like a gamble. Nothing from RJ's actions bring any sort of comprehension to Verne's expression. His face is left just as clueless as RJ's calculated jumble of lines and markers appeared to be.

Without a single sign of communication, RJ slides past Verne over to the calendar, where he erases a single number at the bottom and updates it.

DATE: 5/4/07

Afterward, he places his hands against his hips and nods in satisfaction.

Verne turns his head and raises an eyebrow at the set of numbers written. He breaks the silence with: "So, uh, what's the point of writing it down? The calendar's already marked off."

RJ suddenly raises his head high. "Y'know, with someone as superiorly punctual as yourself, I'd expect you to be takin' some unnecessary effort with this thing 'stead of me," he smirks.

"Touché."

Minutes later, Verne is left at the board while RJ sets off to gather up his soldiers. Standing a few feet away from the Log, he cups his mouth with his hands to holler, "Oz', Private Buttercup, get out here!"

Private Buttercup was the first to slouch her sleepy self out of the Log, dragging the raccoon toy in one hand. "Stop callin' me that, dude," she yawns.

RJ's voice becomes deeper as she approaches him. "Could be worse, 'Private Fanfiction'."

"Dude, just like… no more army names or whatever." Her eyes were practically shutting themselves subconsciously, squinting even further at the blazing light of the sun peeking up from the bottom of the horizon. "We're not, like, stormin' this house."

A firm response signifies a new order of business. "Can do, Buttercup. Now get out there."

While passing him, she tosses the toy back to him. Afterward, she bends her tail up to her forehead in a grudging salute, her arms slouched forward. "Aye-aye," comes her sarcastic remark.

From the distance, RJ's voice makes its presence clear to Verne's ears. "You too, Oz'! Let's go!"

Verne makes his way over towards the porcupines resting a bit of ways away, who had just picked themselves up from their sleep. In a routine fashion, he speaks, "Morning Lou. Penny."

Lou stretches his back and gives a jolly greeting. "Morning, morning!"

"How's the kids?"

The kids were already bouncing around the parents, chasing after one another and shoving any obstacles (namely Verne) out of the way.

"Speaks for itself there," Penny says.

"Well just keep those little rascals under control, alright?"

1 by 1, the kids hop up to him.

"Uncle Verne," Spike calls. "Come look what we made at the hideout!"

"Yeah, it's gonna be awesome!" Quillo adds.

Verne sighs and follows them with a friendly, wide smile to the so-called "hideout" behind the cooler and purple seat. There, they present a simple, short can of mixed nuts. Definitely quite the spectacle to behold in this dull canvas we call life. A can of nuts.

Arms from Bucky are held out towards the clearly breathtaking sight. "Ta-da!"

The smile on Verne's face struggles to be retained, slowly dropping from the exhaustion that came from trying to keep that thing in place. "Nuts."

"Not just any nuts, Uncle Verne," Quillo corrects him. He opens the can and sticks his hand in, sweeping nuts away out to the edges of the can in order to make room in the center.

Whatever the gimmick was here, Spike was clearly finding enjoyment in it. He can barely contain a giggle as Quillo digs through. "Careful!"

Once all the nuts are relocated, the faint shape of a tiny, colorful joy buzzer shows itself at the bottom.

"Is that a joy buzzer?" Verne asks in a deep, monotone voice, his eyebrows lowering down sternly.

Spike's giggling now breaks out into a childish laugh. "Yeah!"

Bucky elaborates with: "We're gonna give it to Hammy!" before providing an incredible demonstration of Hammy's fate. "He'll be all like bzzzzz."

"Uncle RJ said he's gonna help!" Quillo explains. "It's gonna be rad!"

RJ. Of course. Verne lowers his eyelids and his smile comes down to a laughably pathetic, toothy grin. He grunts through his teeth, "Better go keep RJ under control…"

On the opposite side of the seat at the TV set, Heather puts a foot forward just far enough to slowly lean herself over to the sleeping Hammy before hesitantly tapping him with the tip of a single finger. Her eyes had remained consistently half-shut since she had drug herself out of the Log. Perhaps some of Hammy's own spirit could share itself with her.

With a smile, Heather gives a careful, hushed wake-up call. "Hammy?"

The lightest contact of a pointy finger brings Hammy to bolt onto his feet in an instant, now entering a flurry of movements stored away during the long night. "I'm up, I'M UP!" Suddenly, Heather blips into his attention long enough to be acknowledged. Calming himself down, he giggles, "Oh, hey Heather."

The faint tint of butter was still smeared around the area of his mouth, appearing clear as day up close with Heather glancing down to notice it. "Have fun last night?" she asks sleepily as ever.

"Hmm?" His eyes drag down like an anchor as he pats himself around the mouth. Just then, memory strikes. "Ohhhh! Sorry! Got hungry."

RJ moseys over to Stella and Tiger, just now exiting the bed through the flap. "Rise n' shine, lovebirds! Get those lovey-dovey eyes awake!"

The couple's lovey-dovey eyes weren't having a single bit of the early-morning 'motivation'. Stella points to the saggy droop in her eyelids. "Raccoon, these eyes are only awake 'nuff tuh know how tired they are."

The motivation continues. "C'mon, sleep is for the weak, Stella! Y'know the last thing those humans respect is a healthy sleep schedule."

Tiger now cracks his neck and stretches forward in a burst of energy. "Come now, Stella, we must rise at the first call to action! There's places to be, sights to see, and-"

In praise, RJ walks up to his side and gives him a manly pat on the shoulder. "And food to forage. Now that's the spirit, big guy!"

Through the scattered clusters of members around the site, Verne attempts to rally up at the unending summit of food reserves. "Breakfast! Who's up for breakfast?"

Hammy, now awake as ever, races up to Verne. "I'M FIRST! Dibs on the donut!"

"Yo Verne, toss me a muffin!" RJ calls from afar.

Trudging after Hammy, Heather's speech is as slow and lazy as her movements itself. "Yo, make that…" After pausing for a languid yawn, she continues, "2 muffins, chef!"

Soon enough, Ozzie passes by a coffee machine near the back-middle of the site, already prepared to brew, and turns it on. He then continues walking with no further acknowledgement, heading in RJ's direction.

A moment later, Stella takes her turn by the coffee machine and retrieves the now-full pot to pour out the drinks into the 2 empty mugs placed on both sides of the machine. She returns the pot and continues on her path, opposite the direction Ozzie had just taken.

RJ and Ozzie sit facing each other on two tin lunch boxes away from the racket coming from the mainland.

"I don't want that child out of my sight!" Ozzie insists.

RJ nonchalantly shrugs it off. "Well she's still in someone's sight. What's the difference?"

Ozzie's look criticizes the attitude with his frown bent to the side. "Look. Why don't we just transfer her to my group?"

At that, RJ chuckles at the idea. "And who'd we swap?"

Ozzie leans down on an arm to go into deep consideration of the situation. As he ponders for a good while, RJ waits with smugly crossed arms.

The face of Ozzie squints up in anticipation, yet keeps his sights on RJ to assume at least a fighting chance. "Stella?"

The possibility is quickly shut down. "Nope. She'd gas me to death if I took her away from that cat."

"Well…" Ozzie hesitates. "Verne could-"

"What?!" RJ bursts out with a laugh. "C'mon, my group's livin' in the fastlane! Yeah, try puttin' Verne on a team with Hammy and the kids. We'll see how that goes. It'd take an air horn wake-up call to get 'em up on his feet like that again."

Ozzie sighs in defeat, taking his eyes off RJ and shaking his head downward.

"Look, I'm not bringin' a turtle on my team," RJ continues. "For all our sakes. You keep your tortoise team, and I'll keep my squad o' hares."

Ozzie's head comes shooting up at the comparison. With a master of literature such as himself, there was no way he couldn't identify the obvious flaw at hand. "But the hare lost?..." he points out.

RJ stands up from his spot. "Just a bad role model."

"I just need her safe. I just want her with-"

Already starting off in Verne's direction to conclude the meeting, a single finger is held up to hush him without turning back. "C'mon, she's with your's truly!" He holds his arms outward in a shrug. "What could happen?"

Ozzie is left to stare at the back of 'your's truly' as he wanders off. Strutting around so carefree in the unforgiving world around, each dark patch of shade left under the treeline leaving only slimmers of sunlight a chance to penetrate through. He mumbles, "That's… what worries me."

Stella takes herself over to Verne and Hammy at their post beside the group's stack of food.

"Order?" Verne asks just as she walks up.

Stella cuts to the chase. "'Nuff with the nonsense, Verne. Y'know wut I order!"

Verne turns to Hammy, who appears to be busying himself searching the stack with desperate movements. "Hammy?"

Hammy, being drawn away from his own situation, darts up from his spot and climbs around the mountain in a tornado, coming to a calm once he gets near the top. Between the selection of brilliant containers screaming their brands and contents at the eyes of any and all, a distinctively simple, mysterious styrofoam food box with a Fritz's label on top waits to be claimed. Quickly and carefully, the box is snatched up before being carelessly heaved it down in a heartbeat. "Here, catch!"

The box makes a heavy slam onto the ground several feet away from Stella. Bullseye. Apparently his flawless accuracy wasn't enough to get her to budge.

Hammy stares down in awkwardness before returning to a smile and shrugging. "Close enough." He zips down to the other 2 as Stella is picking up the box.

"Still can't believe we get tuh pick 'n choose nowadays," Stella says to Verne with their mature, casual discussion commencing.

"Sure was hard to get used to," Verne chuckles.

"Dat raccoon ended up bein' the best thing tuh happen to us."

The innocent voice of a squirrel breaks in. "Verne, where's the donuts?"

"Check the back, Hammy. Only take one."

Hammy zips around to the back of the mountain. A noticeable rummaging sound can be heard as Stella continues and shakes her head. "Dat squirrel's nevuh gonna change, heh."

"Hasn't aged a single day," Verne agrees.

Hammy peeks around the corner, a star-shaped donut with blue frosting somehow being kept sturdily held by his mouth. With a thumbs-up, he strains to convey his words through the mouth-watering donut lodged in his not-watering mouth. "Found it!"

Shortly later, Ozzie and Stella cross paths from either direction of the coffee machine, each swiping up their own cup, pouring in their own designated creamer sitting on their side, and tipping their cups up to their mouths as they continue about their ways.

Underneath one of the open umbrellas shading the settlement, a large quantity of pillows and cushions were piled up in a jumble comparable to the seemingly disorganized structure of ol' Mt. Feeds-a-Lot over there. This was the comfort zone alright. With a fulfilled stomach came an unfulfilled mind, and if any place were the one to house these empty thoughts, this would certainly be it. Sure enough, it made just as good of a location to inhale food as to inhale some fresh air.

Among the cushions, Heather seats herself down on a purple one adjacent to one of black, holding both a teeny yet delightful blueberry muffin and juice box. The black cushion is claimed by Ozzie momentarily. His presence beside her lowers her face by a degree barely noticeable from any other perspective. She takes a single, tiny scooch on her cushion away from his direction.

Heather extends her mouth open to its fullest and stuffs the muffin in, wrapper and all. As she chews, there's a lack of energy in her voice mingling with the drowsiness filling her body, nothing compelling her to look in his direction. "Wassup, dad?"

Ozzie sips from his coffee mug. The clear, usual tiredness in her slumped posture brings him to smile at her. "Morning again?"

Heather rubs her eye and yawns, "Yeaaahhh."

An object is held out in front of her irritated eyes, forcing her attention onto it. The white paint of the cutely charming "#1 Trash Cat" mug brings a gleaming sight into the earthy ground her eyes had just been glued down to.

Ozzie wiggles it around with the handle. "You need some motivation. Care for some?" he offers.

The light, creamy liquid doesn't make its delightful appearance any subtle. The warmth radiating off the top and the appealing aroma from within just below her nose was practically teasing her exceptional sense of smell. And her dad's welcoming expression was certainly something to feel at home with. But her mouth cringes back with a low groan from within, fighting the urges in her mind.

"Eww, no. That's totally, like, an old dude drink," she finally decides. With that, her mind remains unmotivated.

Ozzie pulls it back up to his face. "Suit yourself," he shrugs as he continues indulging.

Once Heather continues her routine of taking obnoxiously loud sips out of the juice box straw, Ozzie glances back down to the delicious coffee inside the mug, now appearing darker than before with the bent shade of the tree trunks around concealing it. A slight frown comes across his face as he sighs.

Back near the secluded locale of the cat bed, Stella meets Tiger just outside, already chewing away on some generic-looking wet cat food inside a blue bowl. It was at this locale that all disturbances seemed to be drowned out and the world itself one for only 2 to call home. But this was the most pleasant reality possible. A comfy abode away from the bustle that had been confined to the background, and plenty of food provided to go along with it as well.

Stella plops down beside him in the grass with her breakfast box and coffee in hand. Together, they both eye down each other's meals with some slight disapproval. Still, they can't help but grow a welcoming smile.

"Eatin' dat SAME stuff again?" Stella chuckles.

Tiger returns, "As are you, with your precious 'mystery breakfast'! Ha!"

Half an hour had passed before the Hedgies were rallied up by RJ to begin their briefing beside the Hedge, the red wagon dragged off to the side. With Heather being the very first to arrive, now awake and ready to roll, Stella gets herself up to her side. Time was the culprit forcing her to glance a bit up in order to meet eyes with Heather, now standing taller beside her. Verne stands together with Hammy, and RJ's fellow heist leader gathers beside him solely as an obligation, maintaining his own distance from the raccoon. The rest fall into place.

"O-kay!" RJ starts slowly. "Boys, today the plan is simple!"

Stella injects, "Y'know we're not all-"

"Just a mediocre reference," he starts before leaning his head in her direction. "M'lady. Calm that mouth. Now, let's get right to the chase." As he now rapidly throws out the description of the house, the others keep themselves invested in his quick speech as if taking mental notes. "Simple house of the Jeffersons: 3 bed, 2 bath! We got a kitchen through the back door, living room beside it! Hallway from the living room leads to bedrooms and a bath! One of those dungeons down from the kitchen, don't know what's inside! There'll be a fridge somewhere down there." He claps his hands. "Aaany questions so far?"

Verne raises his hand. "Yeah, uh, are you sure there's a fridge down there?"

"Nope, don't know what's inside," he repeats. "Keep those listening ears on, Verne!"

"Oh brother…"

Ozzie's voice is the next to arise. "Now excuse me, who's taking the dungeon?"

"Your squad, Oz'," RJ reassures him. "No need to kill yourself over it."

"Aw, I wanna take the dungeon!" Spike complains.

"They're all dark and spooky!" continues Bucky.

But Quillo steps back from the other 2. "Ew, it's all gross down there!"

Lou forcefully huddles them back together. "Now kids, listen to the boss there."

"You follow RJ," Penny concurs.

Tiger joins in on the fray. "Filthy, wretched dirt! Ugh! I hate having to bathe my fur!"

Hammy now darts his head around in genuine confusion and innocence to the topic. "Wait, who's gross down there?"

Heather's mocking comes off as if there were a sibling at her side. "You're always gross down there, Hammy."

Raising his voice, Ozzie blurts, "Now Heather, we don't go and insult Hammy's-"

A harsh voice suddenly breaks free from the crowd. "Let the man SPEAK, please!" Stella booms.

The group falls to silence, RJ having fallen to such during their entire chatter.

"Thank yuh."

RJ finally commences with the true preparations. "Now, take a look at this."

A hand-drawn map of the backyard is dropped onto the grass. Clearly not from the greatest artist, but it was sufficient. From the back of the yard, a line is drawn swerving left and right through a series of blue dots, then curving up towards a blue dot right at the patio of the house with some kind of large rectangle drawn on the left side of the line. Dots all around are hit dead-on by the trajectory of the line.

An unclear amount of sarcasm is present in Heather's comment. "OooOOoo, connect-the-dots! Fun."

"Each dot's one trap," RJ elaborates.

"Each dot?" Verne utters in concern, his mouth starting to tense up.

Enthusiasm is broadcasted in RJ's response, his own mouth raised and free. "Right-o!"

Ozzie observes the map closely. The line drawn seemed to be traversing literally every trap possible with no sign of caution. Here and there, no blue dot was left untouched by their proposed path. Something alights in his mind, bringing him to let the expressive thoughts flow out onto the canvas that made up the world around. "But why must we cross through all these daring lands?!"

"Eh, we've totally done it before," Heather protests. "Seems like no biggie to me."

"Why yes, but why couldn't we-"

RJ clears his throat and throws down a familiar, wrinkled scrap of paper with a red wagon pictured on it. "THIS… is a wagon."

"A wagon?" ponders Verne.

"There's more."

"Well?" Stella demands with impatience. "Let it out!"

"It's our wagon," RJ adds with pride.

Tiger tenses up after an unnecessary gasp. "I suspected as much."

"Cool!" Heather blurts.

There's a moment of dead silence during which Stella shoots glances at the others. A blank stare comes from each. Was she the one missing something? At this point, it had become impossible to tell. "Al-riiight…" comes her awkward tone. "So wut's the gist?!"

RJ's answer is energetic and hushed. "Bushes."

Wow, simply incredible. Now, Stella couldn't find anything to stop herself from exploding in confusion at whatever nonsense was being put up. "Bushes-! Aw c'mon man, get tuh the POINT!"

"Point is, we can't get through the bushes with the wagon. They mark a path through all these traps."

"Yeah, a path of doom," Verne scoffs.

But just then, some unforeseen liveliness surrounds the scene. The sun peeps up just high enough to illuminate RJ in his rallying call. "For most critters? Maybe. But we are more than most." Each critter of their superior squad is pointed to by his finger. "We are a gang o' lunatics! Nutjobs!" Hammy becomes the lucky pick of the finger, who jumps up and pats his hands around himself in the thrill of being the one chosen. "Thaaat's right, Hamsquad, you're the nuttiest nutjob I know!"

Verne grumbles to himself, "Well that's encouraging…"

Through the rowdy crowd of voices now bringing color to the area, RJ announces, "C'mon, bring in the huddle! You too, Verne."

As they are huddling, Ozzie breaks free from the rest. "Wait!" he hollers above the others. "I believe we're missing a crucial component to this plan."

They come loose from their already condensed huddling formation and turn to him.

"Yeah?" comes RJ.

"The door. The last line of defense! Locked to the outside world." He squinches back his face and twiddles around with a single hand. "How do we…"

"Huddle's off for a sec'," RJ orders to the group.

Everyone around RJ steps back from their organized spots, accompanied by small groans of disappointment.

With his approach towards him, Ozzie slowly leans back. "Well, we ain't got fancy keys, and we ain't got windows. What we do have is you," RJ explains.

Ozzie lowers his face and raises an eyebrow in uncertainty. As RJ wanders closer and closer to him, he jerks himself back in an instant and enters a more defensive stance.

RJ points to a hand of his. "Let's take a look-see at those claws."

No reaction comes from Ozzie. With another point to his hand, he hesitates to hold it out and inspects the sharp points at the end of what were already skinny fingers. The tips were just sharp enough to appear distinct from the main component of the fingers. With too meager of a presence to cause any real harm, the tenuous structure didn't seem anything but tame, reserved for nothing more than utility.

By describing their appearance, RJ fills in on what was apparently not clear enough for the others to see. "Thin. Fine. Perfect for…" A nudge against Ozzie causes him to step back once again in an awkward reaction. "Lock-picking?"

With that idea, expressions of delight pass between each face around. Even Heather was presenting some form of positivity toward RJ's idea, gifting Ozzie with a true feeling of the spotlight. Ozzie himself takes one last look at the miniscule tips of the lock-picking fingers. A shrug now comes from him to satisfy RJ's stance and grin of authority. Another look back at Heather brings some sudden boost in confidence that maneuvers itself into his body and up his back, pulling his upper body up just a tad bit straighter.

Out through his mouth, the words strengthen in their masculinity. "Well, I don't see why not."

All minds are gathered into one by RJ. "Great. Huddle's back on!"

They return to their former positions with a cheer.

"Okay! We storm through, get inside, n' everything should be a breeze from there! Paws, claws, and, well…" He shakes off the quarrels over the thought. "...whatever Verne has, bring it in!"

Raccoon. Cat (believe it or not). 2 opossums. A cluster of 5 porcupines, 3 fighting their way in against each other. Squirrel. Skunk. Whatever turtles have. Each hand joins up to mingle in the center with an invigorating mix of fearless determination and defensive attitudes.

"Ya gonna lead things off, Verne?" RJ asks aloud for the whole team to hear.

A sarcastic head shake comes from Verne before he takes a deep breath to boost up his energy. "Alright…" Now loud and proud, he announces, "What are we?"

"FORAGERS!" is uttered by all.

"And what do we forage?"

"FOOD!"

Each hand explodes out the center in a flurry, bodies now dispersing themselves to and fro in hasty preparation. In the crowd, RJ throws out the first orders of the day, granting Lou and Penny the all-clear to grab the handle of the vacant red wagon.

He passes by Hammy, still stuck in his own food-filled solo. "Fooooo-OOOOO-!"

RJ slaps a hand roughly over his mouth to cut him off. "Thanks for the encore."

Just as they prepare to head off, he makes sure to confront Heather nearby, who had conveniently gravitated over to his position already. Pointing to her, he states, "Buttercup, you are my map."

"Your… map?"

From behind, RJ pulls out 2 rolled up sheets of paper.

RJ hands a map to her with one hand. "My map. Handle with care." He places it into her open hands and taps on the top of the roll twice to push and secure the paper further down in her grip. Frozen in her place, RJ weaves around to the back and sits the 2nd map just beside the end of her tail.

"Goddammit, enough with the 'Buttercup'," Heather grumbles in a whisper as her tail gets wrapped around it.

"Fine. Just for today."

"You'll totally forget about it anyway," she challenges with a grin and her hips leaning to the side.

"Not if you… jog my memory…" he teases.

With that, Heather drops her grin and quickly makes a bubble with her closed mouth.

Just behind the Hedge, RJ rallies the group and swings out his golf club to symbolize the beginning of their adventure. Together they blast off in a line, building up as much acceleration as their legs could manage as each animal smashes through the meager boundary that was the Hedge. The clock was still ticking away, just as it always would. And now, the settlement was to remain vacant, nothing disturbing the place other than nature itself. The sun still rises high above the horizon to shroud one side of the Hedgies in complete shadow as they run. With no wall to hit, that was all they needed to do. Run.

From beyond the backyard fence, a crowd of rustling noises emerges louder and louder from the Hedge. The small, fluffy rabbit jolts awake from her slumber in the neatly-trimmed grass against the shiny chain-linked fence leaving everything on the flipside perfectly visible. A red collar wiggles around on her neck along with the large, floppy ears that were always drooping down from the side of her head. The visibly soft, white fur with large patches of light brown throughout made the rabbit's presence particularly distinct from the surroundings. Her short, welcoming structure radiated the influence of the civilized, artificial world embracing her existence. Nothing like the messy group of forest critters now making their way up the yard of the neighboring residence. Wait a second… messy forest critters?

She bolts up from her spot with great animation to observe the group of savages. Jumping up the pristine, organized white chairs and translucent circular table, the hoppy rabbit gets up onto the top of the fence to observe. The clump of ragged fur creatures (oh yeah, and a turtle too) surrounded their red wagon shrine in such a disorganized fashion that it forces her to squinch her face up in disapproval.

The raccoon leading the pack was observing the labyrinth of bushes and shrubs infesting the back half of the yard, scaling them with his eyes as if sizing them up.

A groan of disappointment rather than anger is conveyed through her youthful voice, full of the friendly brightness making up that of a typical spring atmosphere. "Aw! It's those messy-furs again."

RJ takes a hand to his chin and leans forward to squint at the yard around. The bushes around appeared to mark a broad, curving path for them to follow through the yard, with a towering wooden playset making its presence known past the exit of the bushes that would be lying at the end of the path. He nods in confirmation at the scene, the air remaining still and certain around him. "Yep," he affirms for himself. "Still a bit bushy for my taste."

The raccoon makes some kind of signal back to the others, and they begin their carefree prancing through the yard, turning left to maneuver the bulky wagon around the wall of bushes guiding them.

The rabbit keenly observes the pack, united as one, from her own solitary settlement. Despite their unity, each comes into her attention one-by-one as if comparing the physiques of any animal she could lay her eyes on to her own.

"Any rabbits?" she asks rhetorically. The only thing even possibly resembling something of the like was the bounciness of that squirrel and the opossum next to it.

The sun peeking itself above the Hedge casts a slender shadow of her own shape down the fence and into her yard behind. The unpleasant rays pestering and piercing into her eyesight drive her to swing herself around and consult the patch of shade formed in her wake. The lengthy shape of her rabbit replica nearly makes her stumble back off the fence into the infested yard she dared not tread on. Its appearance on this very day was surprising, sure, but definitely impressive.

"Woah! You're a LOT thinner today, Mr. Shady!"

Her voice transitions into an obnoxiously unconvincing imitation in an attempt to match that of a deep, manly one. Each syllable comes out strong and staccatoed. "Why thank you ma'am, I'm on a di-et."

Returning to her own self, she asks him, "Hey Mr. Shady, whaddya think of this?"

She leans back around to confront the wild animals and that pesky sun again. Met with a series of horizontal laser traps across their path, the squirrel had hopped over to the end of the lane and was already busy fidgeting and dismantling whatever kind of fool-proof power panel had been hidden inside the bushes this time. In no time at all, the lasers were all already deactivated, apparently deserving frantic gestures of celebration from the spectators of its typical, rogue behavior.

Apparently, Mr. Shady was now talking through a walkie-talkie to fit the scenario. "Hmm… that's got-ta be a no from me, o-ver."

She simply sighs at the response, slouching her head forward in boredom and drooping her face. "Copy that."

She takes another deep analysis of the pack and every one of their manic, reckless movements that got their wagon through the back half of the yard in what felt like a second. "But I guess a wild rabbit would be too, oh… what's the word, um… wild," she huffs.

Zipping back around, Mr. Shady was always a consistent, polite listener to bring some life and energy to her own meaningless ramblings. "If only you were somethin' like me, Mr. Shady. Then we could go all around the house together without you disappearing again! Just imagine it!"

Mr. Shady does his best to encourage her. "I'm one of you as long as you use your mind."

But still, her springy spirit was a come-and-go. "Yeah well, my mind's not enough…"

The concrete patio of the house was now plainly visible from their position, just waiting for them to reach past the final stretch of bushy terrain. But there stands the wooden fortress on the left of the path set out, tall and proud with a large platform looming closest to them. Another set of bushes walled the right side, leaving no choice but to cross past the ghostly outpost. Dead empty, but still presenting a threatening spirit just by, y'know… being there.

Already reaching into his bag, RJ squints up at the railing guarding the edge of the flat platform high up on the set. To his amusement, 3 white tube-like devices opened on the front end are attached and incremented on the railing, positioned down at the ground on the path left in front of them for their feet to dare trespass on. Each device had a rectangular piece latched on top with a tiny red dot glowing from the front, displaying some kind of sensory system installed above the dark entrance of the tube. The Verm-Tech logo boastingly plastered onto the side of each one gave away any passiveness it could've possibly managed to present.

With haste, his trusty fishing rod is tossed up out of his bag and snatched into his hand. A new feeling of motivation arises between the soldiers awaiting his next orders that were sure to be dealt out following his action. Once something came out of the bag, it was time to get serious. In a cluster, each member stands up taller in their postures in anticipation.

"Now!" RJ rallies before pointing to Hammy and Heather consecutively. "H H, we're takin' out the artillery!"

In synchronization, they both throw up a loyal, dorky salute.

RJ steps back with 1 foot and swings the hook of the rod up to latch itself on the nearest corner of the railing, just beside one of the devices. "Lou, Penny, keep this thing steady!"

"We gotchu there!" Penny affirms.

The two rush over to RJ as he sets the rod on the ground, and bend down to press their arms down on the handle, leaning their weight over.

Heather shoves the rolled up map into Ozzie's unsuspecting hands and drops the other out of her tail. "Hold these, dad!"

In his initial surprise, he gives a laughable attempt to call out to her. "Okay, just be-!" Heather had already assumed her position, forcing him to stop.

One after another, RJ, Hammy, and Heather scamper up the thin yet durable string up to the railing with extreme prowess. They swing themselves up into position and each take post at 1 of the 3 devices. RJ firmly grasps the tube with both arms and uses great strength to rotate it away on its stand, now aiming the open end in the opposite direction. Heather strains to accomplish the same task with her own stubby limbs. Hammy gives a heavy push on his device, but to no avail.

Some extra force would have to do the trick. He takes a wide step back before jerking his foot towards the open end of the tube with enough force to swing the tube a full 180 away from its original target, now making Hammy's face the lucky new one. From inside the sensory lens of the device, an entire blob of a thermal Hammy springs it into action.

"Uh oh."

Instantly, Hammy's head heaves back with the split second his instincts were given to react. An open net is launched at dangerous speeds out the open end and up to the bottom side of the blue pyramid roof above the platform, colliding with a bang before falling back down in a jumbled mess.

The house felt like mere inches away. As the others down below carelessly bounce forward past the now-harmless playset, Heather and Hammy energetically slip and frolic down the slide in front to regroup. Nothing but the tall brick walls of the structure were left in their sights. And just inside, the treasure was waiting for them. The back door on the patio almost seemed as if it were just radiating all the appealing sights, smells, and tastes from within. Just a hint of that cool kitchen air was enough to signify their entrance into the flipside.

Among the excitement of the others, Heather announces, "Al-right, let's get this bre-!"

But from the heavens themselves, the godly being of RJ leaps down in front of the wagon to halt them, his back facing the final short stretch of grass ahead. The others stumble forward and trip in their tracks at his entrance, nearly knocking the wagon forward into the wall of RJ.

A hand is extended out firm. "Hold it!"

The fingers on Stella's hand are held out like a twisted group of branches, the other hand on her hip in her irritated posture. "Now what could possuhbly-"

RJ whips out a single golf ball from behind him and gives it a sly, idle toss in one hand before flinging it back behind him into the empty grass. It slowly rolls through the tips of the grass blades before coming to a stop in a peculiar patch of grass just ever so slightly brighter in color than the yard around. Wait, what's that? Oh, silence.

Everyone standing in front of him unites in their intense stares of confusion at the ball.

Verne starts, "So what's-"

RJ refuses to turn back to face the show as the curtain rises. A prolonged alarm, now horridly blaring its dreadful lack of rhythm, is sounded before a net is shot out from another sentry on the roof of the house and pins the ball down to its spot. A cage with thick metal bars springs up from its hidden position below the earth and secures the net for another layer of protection. Suddenly, a second cage springs up following the first to ensnare the unfortunate victim in an impenetrable layer of defenses. When that's all said and done, miniature torch devices making their circular appearance subtle on the patch of fake grass underneath the area set the small square inside the cage aflame and roasts the net to pieces, leaving behind a smoking black lump of golf ball carcass.

The others remain stuck in their shaky hiding spots behind the wagon with only their sets of eyes left witnessing the traumatic event. Just as they slowly reemerge, another burst of flames from behind RJ sends their heads running for the hills back behind the wagon. After round 2, nothing was left of the ball other than a fine pile of ash and the darkened tips of the fake grass blades.

RJ clears his throat, bringing the focus back on him and now turning to face the smoke and rubble left behind from the scene. "Look both ways before ya cross."

The group squirms out over each other into the open with trippy hesitation, Verne and Ozzie in particular giving noticeable gulps. But after the event, the porcupine kids were already begging for a destructive encore.

As the animals enter together onto the patio in a frenzy, the rabbit is left alone on her perch atop the fence, now yawning at the lack of difference in their routine. And yet, she couldn't take her eyes off of the group. Why?

RJ signals back to Ozzie and flicks his head towards the door.

Ozzie rushes forward to claim his role in the spotlight. After taking a quick survey of the door, dispersed specks of peeled-off white paint reveal the deep brown, wooden material. At this exposure, a slight nod of confirmation springs himself into action. With effort from his aged body, he leaps up and immediately digs those claws deep into the wood to gain a firm climbing grasp. With the doorknob just to his right, he heaves himself over and keeps one claw in the wood for support, the other ready for the job.

The rabbit continues observing the animals, the larger of the opossums somehow managing to cling onto the door and fiddle a finger into the keyhole.

"We got anything?" the raccoon was yelling, more comprehensible to her ears than anything that had been spewed out by them earlier in the drowned-out background.

With a twisting motion, the opossum rotates the lock to the side with a click coming from within. It signals to the others with a thumbs-up, and the cheering once again continues among them. Always celebrating their reign of messy conduct.

"What!?" the rabbit complains. "Aw c'mon, why can't I pick the lock on my marvelous chest of desserts?"

"May-be you should hi-re one of them," Mr. Shady suggests.

She laughs in response to the ridiculous nature of the proposition. "C'mon, what could I even pay them with? Food for food? They don't even know what money is!" she assures him with a shake of her head.

Just then, a circular attachment on the center of her collar begins to glow red.

A hearty, prolonged laugh comes from inside the enclosed, innovative office of the truck. The sky piercing its natural light through the front windows illuminates the professionally-tailored orange suit boasting an endless supply of pockets and tools, fabricated from only the most artificial forces dictating the skyline abroad.

Brand new ingenuities fill the condensed walls - new upgrades and conveniences to an already sufficient lair. A polished yet well-utilized net gun is propped up on the metal wall above the door with hangers. A slew of unknown gadgets sit in designated pockets installed onto the opposite wall. A set of small surveillance cameras line the front side to the right of the wheel, monitoring any and all environments in their reach.

From the particularly shaky view of a camera spectating the Jefferson yard from one neighboring it, the animals scurry into the house from the back door, leaving their wagon idle just outside.

Dwayne dials in to himself to provide his report, practically speaking to a mirror. "Yep, caught 'em bright n' early! 12 o' clock-" A sudden pause comes to check his wrist watch with a low, humorous frown. "7:30," he corrects himself. "Just on time…"

A comfortably inviting woman swings open the door on the rabbit's right and steps out into the yard. With no context, it would seem as if she were calling the attention of a toddler. "Hoppyyy! Come here, Hoppy-hops!"

Hoppy's face perks up in interest. "Oh! Breakfast already?"

Suddenly, the camera of Dwayne's choice is swerved to the right and now faces the wrong house. The woman in the view ahead certainly wasn't on the vermin list.

"Ah!" he yelps out of his leisurely posture before quickly regaining his cool and leaning forward in his seat. "No problem-o."

He taps a button to swap the camera view over to another hidden inside the eye of a teddy bear sitting in the back corner of the living room along with an entire stash of plastic toys, making the modified teddy bear's soft exterior distinctive. The positioned angle of the camera gives him a view of much of the living room as well as the kitchen through the doorway, where the vermin had gathered themselves at the back of, spaced from the laser grid on the floor that had attracted their feeble minds around the spotless perfection of the home.

He speaks slowly. "Flies to a lightbulb. Look at 'em go." The confident thumb of his comes up to plant itself firmly on his chest. "This Verminator's 'bout to become a Vermi-nightmare."

"Hurry up with those death rays!" RJ snaps.

"We're trying, Uncle RJ!" Bucky scolds with a huff.

The kids continue tinkering with the black panel against the pleasantly bright, pale wall to the side.

"Pull out that red one!" Quillo points.

A red wire is ripped out and tossed on the ground by one of the kids. Suddenly, the lasers gridding the kitchen floor vanish.

Spike pumps a fist. "Al-right!"

"Bingo!" RJ cheers. He points to the map in Heather's arms. "Now, let's get down to business."

Both maps are dropped in the center of the room, floating down before landing side-by-side on the floor for the group to view. While one routes the entirety of the house's main floor, the other solely illustrates the kitchen itself, with cutout scraps of pictured foods glued to the paper in several designated locations of interest. The shiny, patterned floor of the kitchen faintly reflects each of the animals' faces surveying the maps at all angles, crowded around in an oval.

"Aight, split it up! Y'know the drill!" RJ orders.

Hammy, Heather, and the porcupine kids scurry over to RJ, Heather sliding herself up to his side. The others neatly organize themselves around Ozzie, Verne in particular taking post up next to him.

A closed door on the side of the kitchen next to them is pointed to by RJ. "Team Oz', you're takin' dungeon! Look for a 2nd fridge!" He points between Hammy and the 3 kids. "Hammy, kids, start checkin' those low shelves!" Finally, he locks eyes with Heather beside him. "Heather, you're comin' with me. Let's go!"

Ozzie's group heads off behind them to confront the door in the corner, secluded from the rest of the room. Hammy and the kids bolt away to the opposite side of the kitchen, where an intimidating display of counters, cabinets, and a gargantuan refrigerator in the corner opposite of the basement door awaits them.

RJ and Heather are left to themselves at the maps. "Stick close!" RJ says. "I got some jobs for you, 'possum pal."

Heather brushes him away and keeps her eyes on the map. "Yeah yeah, same old biz!" The rectangular shape of a couch in the center of the living room draws her investment. "But hey, you think we'll have time to-"

A finger of RJ's pointed up in front of her face stops her. "But!… First things first." His raised finger swerves down to the rectangular shelf he had familiarized himself with prior.

"Oooh, totally forgot!"

Her face lights up in enthusiasm, and they bolt toward the living room, opposite of the others going off to their own unified tasks on either side.

The adults now stand in a circle around the closed door. Just as Ozzie steps forward to attend to it, something in the corner of his eye pulls him away from duty. He observes Heather leap onto the welcoming tan carpet of the living room through the doorway visible on the side with RJ present in the scene as well, but making a minimal appearance in his tunnel-visioned view.

The others are left waiting for a second with no words crossing between them. Some bustle already commencing from the kids in the back of the room brings some action into the unconventional pause. The intensity of Ozzie's peering into the living room made itself the only form of expression distinctive from the neutral state around.

Suddenly, Verne speaks out, alerting Ozzie back to his surroundings. He grabs his attention with: "The dungeon?"

Ozzie shoots back around. "O- Of course."

After entering the room, Heather keeps her eyes set on the towering couch in the center, facing the TV set on the wall to the left. Its impressive structure grows larger and larger as her feet pitter-patter their way over in delight. She could practically feel its comfy, well-crafted texture from her spot a foot away. The cushions, unattended for now, desired some form of use. The ambient light around the scene had placed her in the shadow of the armrest above, blocking her away from the brighter side on top of its awaiting seat.

RJ zips his attention around the room before locking on the short shelf against the wall next to the doorway they had entered. Despite the lack of view towards anything on top, he chuckles deeply and rubs his hands together as though a treasure trove awaited them, bringing the rest of the scene back into Heather's mind. She turns back to the shelf to view his visible excitement, raising her own just the same. A wide grin is brought to her face.

RJ nudges her. "I got this one."

He takes a step back and leaps up to grip onto the pointy edge of the wood and gives a hefty, swift pull to launch himself to the top. There, the silver phone model was polite enough to make itself the only object sitting atop the barren yet well-kept roof of the shelf. RJ goes straight for it, not even taking a single glance at any of the surroundings. No obstacles, no gimmicks - it was these easy picks that always made things feel too good to be true. But no sight in the room was bringing any sense of unfamiliarity to him, no new sight to be seen.

Meanwhile, Heather's eyes are drawn all over the colossal palace with the morning atmosphere now peeking through the translucent white curtains on the large windows across the room, bringing in a bright, magnificent aura to accompany the lush, mysterious environment. The stash of toys in the corner only added to this welcoming environment, a singular teddy bear even bearing some kind of magnificent glow-up eye.

RJ takes the flat phone into his hands and turns it around at different angles to observe its design. Although not a flip phone, the keypad appeared to be separated from the part containing the screen itself as its own physical component underneath.

GPS receiver… audio jack… he lists to himself. He slides the keypad up under the screen to reveal a set of buttons controlling media out of the top. 2-way slidey-thingy… He nods in satisfaction. Just what I ordered.

He keeps it in one hand as he hops off back onto the carpet to meet Heather. There, he presents the phone to her. "Voila."

Heather carefully takes the device into her hands with awe. "Woaaahhh, it's so, like…!" A lack of words brings a lack of conclusion to her sentence.

With its lustrous design and build typical to any phone came only minor differences making major impacts in Heather's enthralled gaze. Each and every inch of this piece of magic technology reflects its new, unseen wonder in its familiarity. A single, aimless tap of her finger on an arrow button lets out a satisfying click transmitting itself straight from host to receiver through her eyes and into her mind.

RJ watches her enthusiasm build up with every new feel of the phone's smooth surface, he himself experiencing some wholesome feeling radiating out to him, whispering its curiosity. With a nod and grin coming down to neutrality, he steps forward.

Out of nowhere, RJ swipes the phone away from her and tosses it back into his bag to store. Noticing his hasty attitude building up, she holds out an arm in a panicked attempt to stop him. "Wait, RJ! Can we, like-"

But RJ was already urging her along, jogging towards the doorway. "C'mon, we gotta meet up with the others!"

Heather's hesitation to leave the wondrous area conflicts with RJ's hustle. She stops and takes a longing glance down a dark hallway branching from the living room to the remaining rooms of the house, the endless unknown teasing her perception. She then turns back for one last look at the couch left unoccupied next to her. A frustrated huff comes from her disheartened nose before it's about time to head out.

Their feet feel the welcoming chill of the floor as they slide over to meet a hostile racket of heated ramblings between each one of the kids on the other side of the room, Hammy being the monkey in the middle. Past the kitchen table in the center of the room, one of the cabinet doors below the counter had been flung open to unveil the stash of goodies hiding for them underneath. Each of the kids held their hands tight on a can of Spuddies with Hammy bizarrely haven managed to lay himself on top.

Spike gives a heave on his side. "Let gooo!"

Bucky does the same. "I found it first, dude! Give it back!"

As the can is pulled on the bottom in every which way, Hammy is left to loosely wobble around in all directions, no chance being given to escape from this limbo.

Quillo starts, "I gotta give it to-!" But just then, a raccoon's foot takes a heavy step into the corner of his eyesight. "Uncle… RJ…"

With RJ's entrance, the can comes to a stop with Hammy still covering his eyes and tensing up his mouth from the experience. Heather hops in right after.

RJ's arms are thrown into an irritated cross, his face lowered in a stern frown. "So? What've you 4 knuckleheads been workin' on?"

With RJ's intimidating authority scaling more than double their height, each of the 3 kids thoughtlessly drops the can to the ground in unison.

The first comes to plead, being Spike. "Uncle RJ, we were just-!"

Quillo interrupts with a stutter, "I-I just wanted to-!"

Bucky shoots fingers at the 2. "I found it, Uncle RJ! They wouldn't let go!"

"Heyyy, you didn't find it!" Quillo now objects.

Following another tear of the wound, the argument resumes and the 3 throw their arms back onto the can, lifting it up to give Hammy another relaxing round of 'shake around violently on top of a chip can'.

RJ's head is raised upward in a rush, arms remaining crossed. "HEY!"

The kids yell and stumble in reaction. While their hands remained frozen on the can, their arms were as shaky as ever from the sudden boom that had cracked its thunderous being into life.

In unison, the kids mutter, "Sor-Sorry Uncle RJ."

Having not moved an inch during the process, Hammy asks timidly, "Can I get down now, Uncle RJ?"

Heather comes forward and sneaks in a thumbs-up of assurance. "I got this… RJ."

She stomps her docile physique up to the kids with a stance of cross identical to RJ's, yet not sparking quite as fearful of a reaction into them as the assertive raccoon standing tall with his legs out wide behind her. Instead, believe it or not, awkward glances are simply thrown her way. With a silent movement, she points a finger at the can before swerving it down to dictate the situation.

A second passes. The kids, with no response to the command, lean themselves to take a hesitant peek behind Heather back to the chief. Now, he himself throws out the same gesture. In a hurry, they drop down the can to collide with the floor and leap back from the scene, sights fixed on RJ.

Wow, did that work? Heather's act drops at the sign of success, now taking a proud, considerate look at herself. But with Hammy still motionless, she skips up and pulls down one of the hands hiding his worried eyes. Turning his head, Hammy's fright is met with a warm smile.

Ozzie had already taken the others down the stairs into the basement. As their bodies create a symphony of slightly unsettling creaks on the decrepit, unorderly wood stairs, they turn 'round the corner to reveal the labyrinth around the wall secluding the staircase from the rest of the basement.

The enclosed facility echoes its unhomely, desolate groans at their entrance. All around the darkness of the immense unknown, mangled silhouettes of unseeable objects peek themselves into view to bring about an unnerving spirit. A maze of unending corridors and dark rooms. Its viciousness itself could not be determined with such a lack of information.

One observation of the disfigured cave brings a gasp from Penny. "Oh jeepers…"

"That's a 'jeepers' right there…" Lou agrees.

With the others in awe at the lifeless ambiance ringing in their ears, Ozzie solemnly states, "Now this is a dungeon."

Lying in front of their path, a large spot on the floor is illuminated by a peculiarly-shaped lamp. On the ceiling seemingly miles above them, Ozzie squints to make out a snaking set of wires taped to the surface and writhing to the center of the room before branching out in all directions, across the room to identical lamps spread throughout and even one stray wire slithering back above them to the staircase.

The large mound of rubbishy human toys and ornaments was lining the left side of the path laid out for them, opposite the wall on the right. The layout made the spotlight-brightened walkway ahead seem all the more attractive. Traversing the heap of repulsive, disorganized shapes and points certainly had too many risk factors, especially with no knowledge of what lay on the flipside. Ozzie shakes his head in disapproval at the idea.

And so they tiptoe closer to the light, leaving themselves a few inches of space away for some breathing room. With a light, uncertain sigh, Ozzie starts reaching a foot out onto the lit space before Stella strongly jerks him back.

"Wait," Stella speaks slowly.

The others now keep their sights on Stella as she gives an attempt to peer up at the lightbulb of the lamp. Just then, a miniscule detail of the contraption draws her attention and fully alerts her senses. Quickly, she elaborates, "Do y'all hear buzzin'?"

The others now follow in her action, no hint of buzzing reaching Ozzie's ears. But yet, the porcupines now become just as attentive as Stella had shot up to. Lou lets out a sharp gasp as if coming to some revolutionary realization. "I- I hear it there!"

Penny nods in agreement.

The other 3 men left out of the picture show their confusion to Stella and the porcupines. Without any acknowledgement of them, Stella steps forward and flicks her open hand towards the porcupines. "I don't trust dat buzzin'. Hand me a quill!"

Penny turns around and allows Stella to cleanly yank out a single, remarkably thin quill with 2 fingers. Staring at its meager presence and then back up to the lamp, she gives it a toss forward into the center of the light.

Everything stops. The clumpy particles of dust floating through the air fall still. Click. Some kind of subtle noise comes from back up the staircase, only comprehensible due to the fortunate silence of the atmosphere. All heads shoot back behind them. Click. Another sound from across the room whispers "I'm here" to them, but where? Click. One final message left by some spot hidden in a similar location as the 2nd, muttering its presence just the same. But then, nothing.

The team now shoots clueless glances and shrugs to everyone they could lay their eyes on.

"Huh… nevuhmind, then," Stella mumbles. "Coast's clear."

Something cuts without warning. Instant darkness engulfs the entirety of the basement, the lamps above no longer providing support. A fearful shiver is sent slithering up the spine of them all in reaction to the sudden change.

The group now crowds close together in a panic, Verne bumping his shell back into Ozzie. "Wha- What happened?!"

The porcupines pull each other close.

Stella instinctively reaches to the side to firmly grasp Tiger's arm, left with nothing else to sustain her navigation in the near-pitch darkness. The only details visible from her eyesight were the broad silhouettes of the companions around her sharing in her concern. "Power out? I can't see a damn thing!"

Ozzie and Tiger in particular begin scanning their surroundings, showing pure watchfulness and focus rather than uncertainty. Frantically, Ozzie's head was already searching the monstrous room for any sign of its monstrous danger. Something was lurking. It had to be. What power outage could've come at a time like this?

The thoughts enter his mind with doubt. Power outage… wait. Heather? His heart gives a jerk inside his chest. The start of the staircase still waiting behind them in the obscure environment had never been so clear. Ozzie starts off, nudging himself through the group.

The distinctive maturity of Ozzie's shape bumps into Stella's side. "Oz', what are yuh-!"

Slight paranoia leaks its way through his voice. " I need to check-!"

A dim light growing back from the original site brings Ozzie to a halt. The lamps around the room now gradually brighten and dim their lights in complete unison, leaving every few seconds with a small glimpse of visibility to the less eyesight-strong members. But the darkness creeps back in and out, bringing a moment of precariousness with every moment of sustainment. The soft tapping of their feet against the cold, solid stone was becoming chillier and chillier with every step lacking a destination. Limited sight - limited knowledge - granted for a time less than sufficient.

"I don't believe it's a power outage," Tiger suspects under his breath.

Ozzie's breathing becomes faster and faster. His brain squirms around in his head, constantly compelling him to take a glance back to the steps. A familial connection was just a short length away up those stairs, or so he was only left to assume. All sights to this connection were blocked. No communication, no confirmation… his mind could hardly stand the tension.

"Ozzie, you and Tiger need to lead…" Verne speaks in a rush. "Ozzie?"

A second of light dimly brightens up Ozzie's back facing them, unsettlingly still as a statue. A mannequin in the dark.

"Oz', c'mon," Stella snaps in annoyance. "It's just some weird lights n' stuff. Not some haunted house."

Ozzie grits his teeth for a moment before leaving the rest of the house behind him and joining back up at the front of the pack. Still, the mysterious clicking echoes around the area, surrounding his perception. Click. Just an illusion. Click. A mental disruption. Click. But what if she-?

He finally shuts his eyes tight and snarls up his teeth with a quiet inner groan, entering himself back into the unknown land around and finally resuming his position as a heist leader. "Stick… close. Be… cautious."

With the cabinets already cleared and a stack of boxes clumped onto the wagon outside, the white refrigerator was the next target. Each item was tossed carelessly out down below for RJ and Hammy to gather.

From the highest of the 3 shelves, Heather was busy taking something into her grasp. A transparent, mini plastic bowl of blueberries shows itself once she flips around to face RJ and Hammy below. "Need some berries?"

"Ah, more paintball ammo!" RJ exclaims. "Send 'em down!"

Digging through the lowest shelf along with the other kids, Quillo perks up. "Yo, did someone say paintball?"

RJ holds out a plastic grocery bag below. With no caution, Heather flips the bowl over in an instant to release every one of the berries at once, all hailing into the bag for RJ to collect.

As RJ starts tying the bag, Heather had clearly taken a liking for the empty bowl. This would make the perfect hat. Arms wide, she presents her proud appearance sporting the bowl on her head with a perky grin. "Hey RJ, check out this sick hat! Can't block your eyes if it's, like, all clear."

"Hey, quit foolin' around up there!" RJ bosses back at the simply irresponsible lollygagging. "What's next?"

Heather tosses the bowl away with a loud groan, making a concerningly powerful bang from whatever it had just collided with inside the fridge. To her left, a whole reserve of fruity yogurts were left for her. She slogs over to gather one up with her tail before turning around to grab another into her arms.

With her back facing him, RJ closely observes the tail's sturdy grip around the yogurt. 3 arms, TWICE the efficiency, he analyzes to himself. Chew on that, mathematical logic.

RJ gives a check-up on the… wait… closed basement door. Did they… leave it closed? Huh, how responsible. But newly present there was a small, red, light flashing in and out from the key lock on the doorknob. RJ squints at it before shaking it away from relevance.

Back through the colorless view from the living room camera, the lack of color doesn't affect the distinctiveness of the shapes scurrying around the floor of the kitchen to move back and forth between the wagon and the other side of the room.

Dwayne throws out his arms leisurely. "Take your time! Vermin…" He reaches to the side to pick up his net gun and cocks it before returning his attention to the screen. "Now…" he boldly starts. "Let's find the perfect tiiime to strike…"