Over the Hedge 2 (OTH2): Family of We

by CJ33333

CJ33333's Over the Hedge fan-sequel. Full story contains a storyline for RJ x Heather, intensifying in later episodes. We're currently on part 2 of a 6-part series fully contained in this story - a prologue and 5 episodes. You'll find every chapter here. *All existing Over the Hedge characters and settings belong to their respective owners. **Cross-posted from DA and AO3

3. Bad Timing

Note: "There are 2 sides to every story". But sometimes, there's 3. This story plays around with POV a lot, and these perspectives are organized into 3 main groups of storylines. See if you can spot them out from what has already been introduced in the previous chapter as well as this one, and over time you'll discover the distinctive purposes of each. But keep the existence of gray areas in mind, as these perspectives can mingle.

---

Prologue, Chapter 3: Bad Timing (~14k words)

The last pebble is gobbled out of the bowl.

Hoppy frolics with her head in satisfaction at its spotlessness, the orange color of the object giving off a tone comparable to that of a fresh carrot. "Mmmmm-mmm! That's Hoppy's breakfast of champions! Hope your diet's not too serious, 'cause you must feel simply stuffed, Mr. Shady-!"

What a meal indeed! But she turns and stops. Even from the titanic sliding glass door of the kitchen facing her, the sun was at an unfavorable angle, unable to produce the figure among the dim environment. All that was left at her feet was a blurry reflection of her own hued image staring back at her from the glossy, patterned floor, fully realizing the environment holding her being.

Slouching down, the droopy ears drop even lower than what gravity was already managing. "Oh."

Just then, some hideous set of crashes and bangs rings through her ears from down the hall on the opposite corner of the kitchen. A young girl stumbles out of an open door on the side of the hallway and slams herself face-first onto the tan wall opposite the doorway. A young boy soon recreates the careless movement, and the 2 identical sets of blond hair stomp, squeak, and slide their socks down the slippery polish of the wood into the kitchen, the immense height of their formidable figures growing ever closer to Hoppy's unprepared self.

After regaining from the initial diversion, she greets what would seem to be old friends with a wide smile. "Ahhh, the 2 knuckleheads! You little-..." Suddenly, she starts stuttering, "Um, not little, actually…"

An awkward laugh escapes her as they continue on their path of destruction, colliding with the chairs organized in front of them, each seat neatly tucked underneath the table. The chair legs, thrown off from their flawlessly straight angles, make a high-pitched creak against the floor piercing its ugliness into Hoppy's ears. With 1 small touch, order is left forgotten.

Her teeth grind together after flinching back from the clamor. "In FAAACT, you're quite, um… what's the word… big. And loud."

The kids spin past the corner of the table to her side, focused on their own quarrel with each other. Some heated ramblings tossed back and forth. The energized movements are restricted to only each other, with no middleman making an appearance. The colors manifested from their 2-party company create a palette wholesomely 'complete', yet lacking those looking to maneuver their way into the balance.

"Heyyy, don't leave a rabbit hangin'!" She leans back onto her hind legs and spreads out her arms to offer, "C'mon, a buddy hug."

An unending barrage of squeaking pesters the backs of the kids. They fall silent and still. Suddenly, in their frozen, jumbled positions, the faces of the 2 kids with their dorky, toothy smiles shoot around to stare down the tiny rabbit next to the bottom corner of the dark brown counter. There it sits unoccupied; untouched by their own hands.

Hoppy, her smile remaining in place, darts her eyes wide open at the imminent storm approaching. The kids trample their way over, demolishing any miniscule obstacles and toys on the ground in the weather's path. They lunge forward into Hoppy's loving arms and drag her into their own, showering her with the rains of their presence. Yet nowhere in the downpour is any bit of consciousness to the land being tread upon.

The rough squeezing on her torso pops the rest of her body out like a stuffed toy. With agitation, she manages to speak, "This… is not… a BUDDY hug! More like a… mildly unpleasant strangle!"

Suddenly, the girl grabs hold of her head and yanks Hoppy over to her lap. The boy frantically attempts to grab her opposite side in retaliation, and the kids begin to fight their fight with the hapless rabbit caught in No Man's Land.

Her ears face violent thrusts from each of the kids back and forth. "AH! Keep off those ears, please! I hope you know the emphasized fluffiness of my rabbit body doesn't enjoy this!" She strains to rotate her head towards the ground away from the hands capturing her face. "Mr.- Mr. SHADY!"

But the shadow was not there.

---

"Tig'uh, I'm not lettin' go of yuh for a damn second down here, yuh got dat?" Stella bosses.

"Of course, my dear," Tiger hastily responds. "I shall lend you my eyes in our time of need."

Stella tightens her grip close on Tiger, leaving the other 4 to link hands in a circle, Ozzie claiming frontal lead. They slowly transverse the cold ground step-by-step, each distinct foot shape leaving invisible marks on the rocky surface. At the end of the path, the next light cycle reveals the jungle of dusty, unattended objects, tables, and furniture stretching all the way up to the high ceiling. With no care, it was worn in every unfavorable way. Their linked hands break loose just at the sight.

Just a single glance burns the full image into Penny's mind. "Jeepers…"

The bewildered mouths of Ozzie and Tiger remain open a slight bit, staring into the frightening abyss. A second passes before Ozzie shakes his head to restore himself and heads up towards the despicable structure.

Grave concern comes through Tiger's voice with the awareness of Ozzie's departure. "Where are you headed, Ozzie?"

Tiger taking even a single, subconscious step forward brings an infinitely stronger backwards force from Stella's arm. "Tig'uh-!"

His foot is brought back right at the sound of her voice. "I am here! I am here."

Ozzie turns back to face the unsighted (only a cat able to retain eye contact). "Well… if we are to uncover the treasure, we must first traverse the deepest corners of the temple!"

Another glow gives Verne a convenient time to point out the ridiculous nature of the terrain. "They'd put a FRIDGE 'cross all that?"

"They are quite skilled at making unnecessary inconveniences," Ozzie shrugs, flipping around to approach it. "It all seems standard fare."

"But it doesn't make sense!"

"Can't live life like dat, Verne," says Stella. "Makin' sense duzn't make sense."

Ozzie wanders into the mess, barely avoiding the skinny silhouette of a tennis racket on the left, the center of the grid of strings ripped out and flung in every which way. Hands held out in bewilderment, he turns himself to view everything looming here and there all throughout.

The spotlight comes over him, lost in the sinister props. The background simmers down to isolate him as the only member of the scene. "Take a look! This endless sea of shadowy faces surrounds me. Trapped on all sides; locked in the jaws of those I cannot see!" Having absolutely no company in sight, his torso shivers. "It brings a shiver about me. For I am not alone - be it friend, or foe. But my daughter. I have left her alone-"

All immersion is demolished right then and there. From only a few short feet behind, Stella calls, "Oz', yuh need some privacy or sumthin'?"

No bothersome interruption to his soliloquy could break his moment for long. "Merely an abstraction, Stella!" He clears his throat and lowers his volume while scanning left and right at the figures forming twisted trees to fill the dull forest. "The voices of my closest acquaintances echo within. This is my involuntary dungeon of solitude." Each arm is held out dramatically. "My arms, radiating their protection and warmth - empty. Eyes blind to all but the encroaching darkness reducing the world to nothing… but my own being. An empty space at my side is taken by a dim shadow-"

Slam! The side of his face collides into a hard surface and squishes the remainder of his body against it. "Alas! What has interrupted my path of travel?"

He stumbles back to find that the deepest corner of the temple had indeed been reached. Nothing was left to uncover aside from the ragged stone in front of him, blocking away any possibilities of a further destination.

A godly tone is emitted from the wall. "'Twas I, foolish trespasser."

In this enclosure, surrounded by the dark images threatening to make one more sudden movement, no life could be felt. Ozzie gets his bearings. The stick-like objects, the broken chairs, even a worn-down electric fan - all leaning towards him with no company, no security to keep him from their will. But his own self showed no alarm in viewing such creatures. Yet his attitude was dull, left without life, unable to fuse saturation with another.

"This accursed place… how can one confine themselves to such a prison, lacking purpose?!"

"You must turn back, trespasser. The shadows only form the illusion of your lonesome."

"Heaven speaks!" Ozzie lightly gasps before leaning his head down. "You're right."

Halfway through the return trip, he halts for a moment, face just barely rotating to take a glance back. "I have not encroached on the darkness. The darkness has encroached on me."

Still lacking vision, Stella loudly ponders, "Wut's takin' 'em so long?!"

The light reveals the shape of a tall opossum perched on top of a large, cracked flat-screen TV just at the edge of the graveyard of human devices. Ozzie performs atop the stage, arms thrown back to pan through the wreckage. "It would appear the wasteland holds nothing but its name."

Being the only consistent spectator, Tiger makes his announcement from the audience: "Not to fret, kind sir!" he valiantly assures. "For I have uncovered the item of our interest!"

"Yuh have?" Stella doubts in a deep, muddled tone.

"Precisely!" He faces the other side of the room behind them and lifts a paw to pinpoint another, emptier corner. "Do you see it, my fellows?"

"As one who is currently blind, that's gotta be a 'no' from me," Verne reminds.

Ozzie steps in front of the others and lifts his hands. Every eye is drawn to his direction after 2 delicate claps accompany his raised eyebrows. As if on cue, the lights from above grow in and out of existence once again, illuminating the serious face of Verne. Just the same, the others are granted just enough time to spot the faint image of a thin doorway off to the right.

"Shall that suffice, Verne?" Ozzie asks.

His quick nod is visible in the shroud of darkness. "It'll do."

---

RJ steps backward into the kitchen, motioning with his hands. "Keep goin'! We're good! We're good!"

Hammy takes up the necessary job of providing the raw, unedited backup beeping sound of a truck out his mouth as the others push the back of the red wagon through the open door. They stumble off their balance after the wheels shoot forward over the inconvenience of the doorway's bump.

The wagon idly rolls past RJ, his teeth clenching just a bit tighter. "We're good enough!…"

Ozzie's group passes through the opening and are met with another small room. While the right side holds nothing but boorish washing equipment (no use there), the left presents a gleaming silver fridge - a sight to ease away the visions of unsettling ruins throughout the main room. 2 short windows perpendicular to the roof line the back wall high above, bringing in natural light also unfamiliar to their recent standards. In a crowd, their sighs of relief bid away the uncertain atmosphere plaguing their perception. A new, routine yet fresh air is produced for them to breathe.

"Verne, Tiger, and Stella will open the fridge," Ozzie calmly commands. "Once it's open, Lou and Penny will advance up to collect. I shall proceed up to investigate the freezer."

"Sounds good there!" Lou affirms.

"Precisely," agrees Tiger.

But Stella criticizes with, "Break the act Oz', you're not babysittin' us. Dat's the raccoon's job."Hammy trips forward onto his nose, releasing the several cans stacked in his arms out to bombard the ground ahead.

The soldiers rush back and forth from the wagon with bulky stacks of cans in their arms, motivated by RJ's clapping. "Pick it up! Let's go, let's go, let's go!" He scolds Bucky at the end of the line: "Bucky, you're gonna spoil that thing!"

Bucky, with a fresh apple stuck clean in his quills, slouches forward. His arms are held out in exhaustion. "But my arms are TIIIRED, Uncle RJ!"

Heather plucks the apple out while running by, her face now shining in delight. "I'll take that." She bites into the apple, ridden with holes from Bucky's back.

With Verne and his sturdy shell holding up the base, Tiger and Stella were carefully stacked up to reach the door handle of the refrigerator. Ozzie, already at the top, now proceeds to lean down to give the freezer's own handle a calculated and graceful tug forward. Complete, sophisticated silence falls all around.

The others still run in a frenzy with RJ keeping score. "Spike's got 5! Hammy's rackin' up a storm!" He flicks his head back and forth to confirm the tall, shocking sight on the side. "Sure you got that, show-off?"

Heather boasts an impressive tower of 5 highly-breakable glass jars of jam supported by her wobbly arms, each jar dangerously shaking on the tightrope of those underneath. "Nope, sure don't!"

From the top shelf, Penny announces, "Yogurt!"

Verne waits at the bottom. "Check!"

"White bread?" comes Ozzie from the freezer.

"Add it!"

The chilly bag of white bread falls into Verne's hands, the frost covering the thin exterior melting down into small drops of cool water and moistening his fingers.

Stella makes an aimless motion. "Hey Pen', grab sum bacon."

A small package of uncooked bacon is tossed down to Stella, with all its flavorful possibilities. Tiger is pulled comfortably close against her with the package presented. "This look good, Tig'uh?" she asks with a smile.

"Ah, mamnoon, my love! This shall make the perfect snack for two!"

Stella pushes her hip against him. "We're havin' a night tonight."

Tiger smiles unsurely. "What kind of night, my dear?"

RJ points to a long rectangle drawn near the top of the grounded map. "Alright! Kids, Hammy, check out that hallway! Heather, we're gettin' more of the goods."

Heather stares at them in extreme disappointment as they parade off with glee on their own expedition. Embarking on an adventure into whatever depths this place had to offer. Meanwhile, all she could ever know was a kitchen. Wahoo. It wasn't like the kitchen was the most common location of interest or anything. She breathes heavy in fatigue. "What!? Aww, why we gotta, like, slouch around in this dumb kitchen? I mean, we could totally be slouchin' somewhere else! Like the hallway… or the living room…" she suggests.

RJ shoos her away as he looks high throughout the kitchen. "Not our work, 'possum pal!"

A long step puts her close enough to be the center of attention in his view. With his figure directly in front of her, she finds herself eyeing him up and down. "But this isn't about work or whatever."

Front-to-front, RJ showed a considerable bit of extra height, yet their eyes remained on a similar level. But then again, height was less of an indicator than size itself. Heather's slim torso couldn't compete against the wider structure of a raccoon.

His eyes finally focus themselves onto her, staring right up at him. The eagerness in her countenance to disregard their order of business begs to him, but receives no support. The wagon was only half-full. "Not work? What're ya gonna do, take a relaxing hot bath with Hammy?"

All focus on Heather's end is lost by the remark. "No-!"

"Find me some rubber duckies while you're at it. Captain Duckbeard needs some new crewmates."

"Dude, you already have, like, a navy of 'em!"

RJ grins. "Lemme give you some advice:" With each word, another teeny pat is given to her head. "Nuff's. Never. Enough. Words to live by."

Heather steps back to cross her arms challengingly. "I'll write it on your tombstone."

"Gotta escape Death's grasp longer than yours truly," he points out, arms crossed subconsciously all the same.

Her flat hands sleekly slide out to the side. "I think I'd totally have it in the bag. If Death grasped you, you'd probably be into it somehow, dude."

Accompanied by a large sigh, he mocks, "So speaks the minor."

Heather's sights are drawn all across the room, searching for some convincing form of entertainment. Yet nothing but ovens, toasters, and other appliances of the like stepped up to the plate. She frowns. But just then, something about the large kitchen table sparks her face up into a confident grin and sly eyes.

"RJ…" she teases before swinging back to face him again, thumb pointed up to the vacant surface. "You forgot something…"

RJ takes a look. From her thumb, an invisible line was already drawn up to the table - a reminder. His brain was already punching itself with regret. With some kind of devastating realization, he breaks down in defeat at last. "Oh for cryin' out loud! Alright! You've forced my hand! Just for that stupid joke."

"Hey, you totally agreed to this, 'member?" she scoffs as a reminder.

...

Atop the wooden, chipped kitchen table, the cracked paint on the walls of the ill-maintained home provide the backdrop for the barren scene. RJ shakes the hollow can of Spuddies vertically in his hand, spraying mere crumbs out the open bottom.

"That's what the humans would call a 'damn shame'…" he sighs in an aimless expression. "My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined."

Heather's head perks up from her own work nearby. "Dude, you sound like you're doin', like, some kinda food review."

"Well, ACTUALLY..."

...

Heather was staring at him with a smug grin, her derpy face uncomfortable close to the side of his unconvinced head. After 2 pesky wiggles upward of her eyebrows, RJ forces himself to shove her back. "So why's it gotta be every house, huh?"

The stupidity behind the whole ordeal is considered. "Bruh, I dunno. You went along with it, dude."

RJ slowly leans forward and squints his eyes at her with his mouth frowned back in irritation. A single, quick nod is met with her giddy smile.

Over the top of the table's checkered cloth, RJ's arm propped up his head apathetically. He rolls his eyes. "Sooo, today we got…" He turns the colorful tin can around in his other hand to announce the reading on the dorky label: "Jack's Baked-up Beanstalk. Whoopie." A sluggish squint at the writing brings skepticism, huffing in amusement before continuing in a grumble after a second: "Y'know, I really don't wanna know how 'baked-up' Jack's beanstalk is…"

Heather's tail swings forward and swipes the beans away, stunning RJ's open hand threatened by her sudden burst of energy. The can is now gloriously displayed in her own arms, held high and proud for the world to see. "What's a good food review without a good host?"

A blunt eyebrow raises on RJ's face. "You're a good host?"

"Dude, you're lookin' at the best host," she confirms with her hip leaning to the side. In an expressive analysis, the height of the can is panned down with a hand, showcasing the glimmering, metallic beauty it was presenting to one and all. "Look at these beans." Reading under the label, she recites, "'Fruity, magical fun for everyone'." Her finger picks RJ to participate. "Y'know what we are, dude?"

"Wasting time?"

An incredible realization spreads across her face as if her eyes were gasping in her mouth's place. "We're that 'everyone'. RJ, just think of all the magical fun we so could have with this thing!" The can is held high over her. "I mean, I'd eat Jack's beans any day-"

"Uncle RJ, come look!" Bucky calls out from the living room.

"We found fly swatters to hit Spike with!" Quillo boasts.

"Huh?!" comes Spike's genuine reaction.

After halting, RJ and Heather give shrugs to each other and abandon the table in a rush. Ceasing one crucial battle requires a full commitment to defeat. As the can of beans is ejected from Heather's arms, its side crashes down onto the table and leaves it rolling lifelessly in place.

With the scenery fading away, the white truck storms past a knocked-down trash can left on its side in the driveway of a meaningless, indifferent house along the route. It's gore of empty wrappers and containers was scattered and still around the area, the state of immaculate protection long gone and reeking of its odor of plunder.

The truck comes to a screeching halt, parking itself at the house next to the one infested. Dwayne boldly leaps out of the truck door and rolls like a human wheel across the sidewalk into position at the front lawn of the house. As he stands firm and alert with his back against the brick wall, he leans over with the net gun in hand to observe the scene inside the adjacent window. Through the translucency of the charmingly-patterned white curtains, 2 broad silhouettes scamper into the living room from the kitchen entrance and friskily guide themselves to the hallway on the far right of the room.

Their pathetic movements bring a chuckle upon him. Yes, simply pathetic. He slips away to the side of the house.

The open back door is observed. Leaning his head to peek just inside, the clan's signature red wagon held all their findings. A red light was flashing in and out of the doorknob of the basement door on the right. "Fresh meat!" he softly exclaims.

With all animals out of sight, the door handle is grabbed and swiftly secured shut with jarring reticence for someone of his massive physique. It clicks in place just quiet enough to be mistaken for sheer ambiance. With the interior occupied, no minor disturbance was sure to sway them onto his path.

Quietly, he reaches to his belt and pulls out an unusual silver device, divided in half by a hinge down the middle. Leaning down, the strange object is pressed flat between the door and wall. Immediately, 4 mechanical legs stick out from each of the 4 corners on its rectangular shape and dig into the surface, fixing it in place. Whipping out a screwdriver, he twists on the 2 screws in the center to lock the hinge in place. A small tug on the door gives no response, to his devious delight.

"Ahh, the all-new S.C.L. Handheld!" he begins praising, fists haughtily on his sides. "Quadruped model." An identical device is brought out and tossed in his hand, pitching the concept. "A neat little barricade right in those sweaty palms! Built to secure, built to contain… Heh, and built to last. Sustains allll midweight impacts from any small-mid grade vermin…" Suddenly, his speech is brought down to a deep whisper, eyeing left and right in his stiff posture. "Except badgers." His hearty self makes a return. "Installation includes doors, if ya need more icin' on that cake."

Now, he searches around for a game plan, coming back to peer back to the side of the house. He squints his eyes with a smirk. "Hmm…"

---

Back at the top of the staircase, Verne is the first to calmly push on the door, only to jump back when he finds out that it pushes back against him. Another confused push is given for confirmation. "Uhh, the door's…"

Ozzie's eyes gravitate toward the side hosting the knob, where no space was left between it and the doorway. "Shut."

"Shut? Well get it open!" Stella blurts.

He climbs up and attempts to twist the doorknob, but is met with no response. With great alarm, he cries, "It's as locked as Verne's deepest, DARKEST secrets!"

"Now what now?" comes Verne in reaction.

Ozzie holds out an arm. "You know you're hiding them! You have a shell for a reason, do you not?"

Among the irritated crowd, a pure gray shine on the center of the handle jerks a realization into Tiger's mind. His face molds from confusion into concern. "This is the basement… We've been enclosed!"

The first paranoid thought springs itself out of Verne's lips. "What are you up to, RJ…"

Stella shakes her head with gritted teeth, the only visible sight giving any form of security being the broad figure of a cat at her side. Her hand keeps this a reminder by remaining glued to Tiger's shoulder, barely holding back the rest of her body from ripping the bandaid away and letting all blood loose. "OKAY! We got NO clue wut's goin' on, do we? MOST our eyes can't even damn WORK, for cryin' out loud! If dat raccoon's playin' funny man again, laughin' gas ain't gonna be the last thing he smells!"

Tiger searches around desperately for a clue, coming to the staircase beside them. Quickly, he turns back to assess Stella's well-being before addressing the group: "We shall find our way out of this." His head motions back down the staircase. "Come, all!"

With their hands still firmly held in the dark, Penny assures Lou in a whisper: "The kids have something to do with this…"

"Must'ah been Spike, there," he suggests.

Heather pulls herself up onto the couch in the center of the living room. Deep relief tingles throughout the back of her fur, soaking in all the comfort of the seat long desired by her aching back. Hello, good friend of persuasion. Not even RJ could resist such a temptation for all eternity. All it took was a downhill ride into the diversion of what such cushions could bring. Uphill? Who could say for sure.

With her eyes closed and a smile, she gives a mental fist pump. Yes… She proudly rubs her head back against the soft material with delight. He'd sooo give in eventually.

RJ spots the back door back in the kitchen on the left, now closed, to his confusion. He stares at it for a while with a puzzled eyebrow before turning back to join Heather on the couch. Just across against the wall sits a sizable TV set with an entire shelf underneath. It's linear structure contradicted the disorganized action figures and lineup of movie cases, including some older VHS's sprinkled about the clutter. The remote, left lazily on the carpet just in front of the shelf, was just out of their reach. Which actually means that it was several feet away, and would take RJ excruciating effort to make such an intense journey.

She glances back over to RJ, grudgingly getting himself situated beside her and landing himself down with a heavy, ungraceful plop. A shrug resumes her moment of full zen mode.

"Hey!" RJ yells down the vacant hall with uncertainty. "Which one of ya shut the back door?!"

The first reaction of Quillo comes from all the way in the farthest room. "Not it!"

"I think it was Hammy!" Bucky accuses.

Echoing through a closed door closer to them, Hammy's obnoxious announcement vibrates the quaint paintings hung throughout the corridor. "I'm in the BATHROOM!"

RJ isn't left with very many options. "Stooge… 3?"

But Spike pops out from under the dump box of a yellow, plastic dump truck in the cornered pile of toys, tipping back to make a clatter with the rest of the collection. The outright ridiculous idea is denied. "I didn't shut it!" He whines, "Bucky hit me with a fly swatter, Uncle RJ!"

Bucky perks up RJ's other ear. "Did not!"

Out of nowhere, Quillo joins in. "Did too!"

"Why'd YOU come in?"

RJ rolls his eyes and blows a breath of aggravation. Immediately drowning out the racket from both sides, some distorted noise is transmitted from the kitchen through a speaker. "Must be Verne."

An urgent frenzy comes from the faraway object, audible even from their position. Yet whatever words were being spoken came through as nothing more than some meaningless blabbering.

"Next time," he whispers into Heather's unsuspecting ears, instantly lowering her content smile into a silent frown.

In the direction of the hallway, he hollers, "Ay, get your tails back 'ere, the reptile's ready to roll!"

Ready to roll? RJ was already standing up. So ready to roll. Those words echo from beside her. In a defeated reaction, Heather slithers down the cushion until she is lying completely flat with her arms flailed out carelessly. Up and down, her head is picked up an inch and dropped back onto the cushion over and over as RJ's leaps off over the back side, each plop illustrating the agony. What a way to level an entire castle in an instant.

RJ casually picks up the bright yellow walkie-talkie sitting against a beautiful ceramic vase on the center of the table. "Yello."

He is briefly taken aback by Ozzie's voice presenting itself rather than Verne's. "RJ, the door is SHUT!"

"Shut? Well get it open!"

Standing tensely at the bottom of the staircase, Ozzie slaps his forehead. A fist resists the urge to punch RJ through the speaker. "It's… locked."

RJ turns to the side and peers at the red glow relentlessly popping in and out of existence from the keyhole. Watching it intensely with interrogative eyes slows his speech. "Ya don't say…"

Tiger guides the others back into the corner room, now desperately observing the windows up high. The smeared fingerprints on the glass give him all the info required. "Shut!" he curses. "We have no escape!"

Rattle rattle. Verne's tail goes off like a snake while he fiddles with his fingers. "I think the tingling's coming on…"

Dwayne pulls back a bush against the front of the house to reveal a red panel embedded in the wall next to a window of the basement. He deftly reaches forward to flick a horizontal switch at the bottom into the opposite position, just below the intimidating 5-by-5 grid of tiny green buttons all identical in appearance. It clicks.

Just as the dim glow from above the main room reaches its peak, all signs of light snap off in a flash behind, startling the group into huddling together with their backs facing one another. They had never been more thankful for the windows now single-handedly sustaining their view.

The red light flashing through the keyhole on the other side of the basement door is cut out. RJ's own team, now gathered to investigate the thing, goes into a hush.

A slow, male voice resonates off the dark walls of the basement. It sparks images into the minds of the Hedgies, widening their eyes. "Staying up late?"

Everyone darts their heads around to scan their surroundings in a panic. All words were held back in the immense trepidation. Muscles remain tense. They don't move. They couldn't move.

---

Muffled footsteps come from somewhere overhead. "I believe I said 'lights… out'-" All tension is interrupted by the slump of a body sliding through. "AGH!"

The group looks up to spot the baffling sight of the legs of an orange-suited man sticking through a window overhead, his stomach stuck between the top and bottom of the windowsill.

"AH!" everyone screams.

Dwayne kicks his legs up and down, groaning in frustration as he tries to push himself through the small opening. "Wait! Save your wimpy screams, save 'em!… Almost…!"

Suddenly, his torso pops through. As he slides down to the ground, the pile of loot they had gathered beside the fridge is demolished with his entrance, the containers flung about and creating quite the commotion, whizzing past the Hedgies like shrapnel.

"AH!" everyone screams, louder.

The net gun is cocked up. "A-HA!"

As a warning shot, he shoots a stray net forward to collide with the ground, scattering the animals back into the main area. The dead air is reincarnated as a deadly threat itself.

Ozzie is instantly alerted by the noise and swings 'round the corner to view. On the right of the dim doorway, Stella mounts up onto Tiger's back as he prances away. Verne and the porcupine couple, left with nothing to guide them through, follow after the cat in fright. A silhouette remains in the other room. Tall and stout - a human's silhouette.

The walkie-talkie plummets to the floor after a gasp, Ozzie whirling back up the steps in dismay.

Violent sounds come from RJ's end of the speaker. RJ places his face closer with concern. "Oz'?! OZZIE! What's goin' on down there?!"

The sudden, hideous banging on the door's surface launches RJ back from it in paranoia, springing him up into defense position.

"It's the Sniffer. We need to hurry!" Ozzie pleads from the other side.

RJ's entire group turns to each other with their casual attitudes dropping at once. No proper response could be given.

"Come!" Tiger guides. "Come!"

Dwayne stomps out the doorway with a white flashlight helmet secure on his head. The light pierces directly into the pupils of the animals just in front of a (admittedly) messy collection of simple old furniture and other objects clearly stacked up in a lazy effort. Yet not much passed his own height other than the bulkiest of attractions. The dust produced by such temporary storage is revealed with the entrance of a light source.

Verne hurriedly nudges his fellows to the side to remove them from danger's sight. An eye is kept drowned in the glowing whirlpool. "Go go go! Move it!"

Stella roughly bumps a fist onto Penny's shoulder. "Gimme sum more!"

With the pokey back facing her, Stella easily tugs out another handful of long quills. Leaning back into a throwing position, she hurls one towards the man.

A quill whizzes through the air just past his perfect nose, insulting every bit of skin on his face. The next incoming quill is reflected by his net gun, being swiftly held up in defense. He pulls it down with a grin, appreciating the cute form of resistance. "That all you can throw?!"

From one of the animals, a dirty baseball bonks into the top of his forehead with puny force. He growls in annoyance and slams a foot forward to rumble the grounded concrete.

Despite the bustle of danger just down the steps, Ozzie commits his focus to assaulting the basement door with his fist once more. "HEATHEEER!" he hollers under the crack peeking in just a sliver of brightness. "Can you hear me?!"

"I can hear you, DAD," she retorts.

He lets out a breath of relief.

"Sit tight, Oz'!" RJ hails. We're bustin' in!

The group stands several feet away from the door with an immense broom impressively held handle-out at the door as a battering ram. A finger from RJ is aggressively thrown forward. "Chaaaaarge!"

In synchronization, they sprint face-forward with the handle held as a team. They are immediately staggered back onto their rears once the rounded end smashes onto the center of the door. It's left without any dent or damage - not what they were looking for.

A booming set of roars coming from those on the other side is followed by a terrifying, splintering crash on the door. The force from the impact immediately knocks Ozzie onto his back, dropping him dead on the spot. All surroundings dwindle down into nothing more than his own consciousness. His tongue flails out in response to the clear-cut instructions, scripted with one single line of code.

With no time to dwell on the impulse, Ozzie picks himself up and brushes off before looking up to the doorknob. In a distressed action, he climbs up the door. Naturally, he lies to himself along the way: "She's fine… I'm fine… We're all fine!"

The kids make themselves useful by hopelessly banging their heads on the door with Hammy frantically chewing on the wood. Heather, now sitting with her legs out on the doorknob, tugs it with no budge in return.

Ozzie, positioned on the other, pushes back on the door repeatedly, independent from Heather's movements. One yank, another push. It remains unforgiving, separating father and daughter. Yet another set of movements makes no progress - these uncoordinated efforts keep the wall in place, and all forthright speech unspoken.

With RJ attempting to dig out the corner, he suddenly stops and goes blank at a crucial realization. "Wait… stop the funky music." Heather was desperately trying to turn the thing just overhead. "Heather! Y'know Oz' ain't the only one who can pick those things, right?!"

Heather stops her motion, seemingly unaware of this essential connection. "Oh." Hands held in front, she glances at the claws on the bent fingers with hard consideration. "Huh."

She jams a finger down into the keyhole and twists the knob to the side. With a thrust from her lower body, the door cracks open just enough to be sufficient. The kids, in a disorderly cluster, grab onto the side and break a sweat putting all their labor into working it open.

Ozzie immediately darts toward Heather in the kitchen upon being released. His figure overwhelms her instantly, taking up all her frontward view. "I was so worried without you, but you were away from the danger-"

Heather leans over to locate RJ heading down the stairs. With a jolt of motivation entering within, her arms make it halfway toward reaching to shove him. "C'mon, we're leavin' everyone hangin'!"

Heather runs over to the staircase through the doorway. She was already giving little hops down each step by the time Ozzie catches up to her. "No no no!" he huffs down the steps. "THIS is charging TOWARD the danger!"

"Yeah dad, that's the point!"

RJ's group, Ozzie included, bounds 'round the corner to face the Sniffer's attack on the others.

Quick thoughts are pumped out from RJ's brain. "Hammy, we need a diversion! 'Poss pair…" A tall wooden ladder leaning against the wall on their left is pointed to. "Find us some lighting in this joint!"

RJ grabs out a laser pointer as Hammy darts ahead into the darkness. Heather scurries all the way to the top of the ladder just a foot away from the roof, with Ozzie insisting on staying put a few steps below.

"What do we see?"

Heather scouts out the room. Near the doorway far on the left, a small light switch was embedded in the wall, its identical color making its appearance as subtle as could be. Heather gasps and holds out a hand below the ladder. "Strap me up, RJ!"

A bright orange toy gun with a bulky barrel is thrown over into Ozzie's unaware arms, then passed up to Heather. She sticks it close to an open eye to aim at the switch with her tongue sticking out, the weight of the plastic wobbling it in her hands. A clip of sticky darts already loaded, the first is launched. It suctions against the wall just above the button. No fret. But the next plants on the left, then on the right, and all in a circle the darts surround practically every possible spot OTHER than the bullseye.

Clearly, the lack of accuracy was a setback. "We need to hit the switch!" Ozzie urges.

Still struggling to aim, her priorities are sidetracked to throw out a caustic reply: "Okay 'xX_Sniperdad', YOU give it a shot."

Sneaking up beside her, he snatches the weighty thing out of her hands. "I will!"

He repeats her exact process with stunning dexterity. His dart nails directly onto the switch, flipping it with a click and bringing brightness into every corner of the room in an instant. The unknown becomes unthreatening. Monstrous beasts of shadow and murk unveil their hideous beings of… some piles of dirty clothes and other forgotten junk. And just the same as the switch, Heather's countenance is clicked into a baffled expression.

Ozzie simply holds the toy at his side and slowly nods. "You don't need to rely on others if you never miss."

"Jeez, you shoulda just stepped in from the start."

Just as the lights come on and reveal the entire scene to all the Hedgies, RJ flicks the beam of the laser pointer onto the Sniffer's leg. Hammy, halfway across the room and stunned by the sudden illumination, is hooked onto the small red dot on the orange pant leg of the human. And just in a second, his front teeth are hooked onto it.

The itty crunch on Dwayne's leg shoots his head up in shock, no reaction able to escape for a long second. "AH!" he finally shouts before frantically shaking him in place. "These squirrels go NUTS!"

"Hmm, too leathery. Needs more sugar," Hammy manages with his teeth lodged into the pant material.

By the time the squirrel had been violently flung away, the entire group of animals was reunited in their escape up the steps. Dwayne runs forward.

The Hedgies pant as they reenter the kitchen, followed by Hammy's swift reunion. They're only granted a brief moment to catch their breath before the Sniffer stomps into the doorway.

Hammy points at him with shaky arms. "THE SNIFFER'S BACK!"

"Hey, why do we even call 'em that, anyway?" Heather asks RJ beside her.

He hurries out: "Don't ask, we ain't the source material!"

As a group, they stumble back into the living room behind them and immediately into the hallway without hesitation.

2 doors lie on each side of the narrow, unlit stretch. Picking the left at the very end with its door already lazily left open, each pair of feet pitter-patters inside.

Together, Stella and Tiger push to slam the door shut in their hideout. Sunlight shines through the window on the other end of the small bedroom, leaving a square area of lit space in the middle of the floor, convenient as a town center for the Hedgies to gather in. All about, several traces of Hammy and the kids' carefree looting shenanigans could be seen, Drawers were left open in the right corner with their kid-sized clothes flung out.

RJ and Verne face each other, the latter directing a thumb to the wide glass. "We gotta get out that window!"

With it completely closed and secluded to its spot a few feet up high beside the bunk bed with 2 red-sheeted mattresses, RJ joins in firmly acknowledging the option. "No time! That guy's already on his way."

Dwayne's own boot lands on the wood at the entrance of the hall. He takes 1 step at a time, net gun in hand, intensely sniffing out the location of the stowaways. With each of the 4 doors closed, it was time to pick-and-choose. "Whadda we got?" The hunting dog takes several sniffs in rapid succession. "Squirrel down the hall. Skunk on the left."

He stops at the farthest on the left and places his ear close against it. Soft murmurs of the animals come from within.

From outside the bedroom, a sneaky hand against the slowly turning doorknob reaches the ears of many. They yelp out in a whisper and split up between a simply-crafted wardrobe and closet centered on either side of them directly across from each other, swinging them shut on their way in.

Inside the wardrobe, Heather, Stella, Tiger, and the kids stumble against the white back side of the interior. RJ joins in.

Sharply, Tiger's head is hugged close by Stella. The soft yet sturdy contact loosens the muscles of both. Their hearts sigh in unison at the scarce opportunity to feel out the world chaining them in its enclosed space. "Don't… leave my sight, y'hear?" Stella directs.

"Please don't leave mine," he nervously responds.

Heather squirms herself to the side to press up against RJ's daring figure. The fidgety looks he was giving the place already showed signs of those gears turning. Something about the security passed from the side of his arm to hers releases the nerves in her successive breaths. The thin line exposing the outer environment shines up right between them, maintaining their separate ways beyond the barrier. But a sliver of each arm was meeting in the light.

Despite the gravity of the situation, RJ wraps an arm on her shoulder and snarkily tutors the student for the '1st' time. "Allow me to introduce you to what the humans call a 'hallway'! Breathtaking, isn't it?"

"Shut up."

A hideous creaking comes from outside. A boot makes an impact against the floor. Any bit of liveliness among them had now died down to a taut breath.

Promptly, the walkie-talkie is brought up from behind RJ, dialing in.

Inside the closet on the other end, the others had gathered in the fray. Hammy pops out of his hiding spot inside the dark lump of a black jacket on the floor and zips up beside Verne's shell, sheltered with its protection. With Heather secluded away, Ozzie was curled up against the back corner in nervous anticipation, rocking back and forth restlessly. Lou and Penny held hands on the other side.

With RJ's whisper coming from within, Verne pops the other walkie-talkie out of his shell into a hand to speak. "How're we sneakin' out, RJ?"

"Who said we were sneakin' out?"

Verne's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the idea. "Ooooh no. NOOO no no." A peek outside gives him an update on the Sniffer's location. "Whatever YOU'RE planning, it's already failed!"

"Look, I've got a spokesperson. And she gets where I'm comin' from! Whaddya gotta say, Heather?"

Her monotone voice comes through the speaker. "Yes."

Verne's face is hesitant, desperate for support. "Hammy?"

"I just wanna go home…" Hammy conveys through the speaker to RJ and Heather.

"Hammy!" Verne scolds.

RJ and Heather beam triumphantly. "Oooo, would you look at that," RJ starts. "Welcome to democracy, Verne! File a complaint - you'll get outvoted every time."

"We are NOT-!"

The voice of the Sniffer shocks them into silence. "Come out, come out… You're makin' it longer for me, and more painful for you."

RJ brushes away the device back into his bag. "In n' out, 'kay?" he whispers to Heather before an exuberant fist bump. Standing up, he now yells out his orders to those in his wardrobe. "So, we make an ambush, KNOCK 'em silly, 'n make our great escape quicker than he's got time to unclog those nostrils!"

Verne's own orders are set in stone to those in the closet. "We sneak out, leave from the kitchen, and don't get ANYWHERE near that guy!"

Both unite in the perseverance of their methods. "Got it? We are getting our butts outta here!"

Both RJ and Verne consecutively peek out of their own hideouts and meet minds from across the small room. RJ gives a confident nod to him. Verne's own nod comes out half-heartedly.

An extremely sly smirk is boasted by Dwayne facing the window a foot away, some other critters sure to be watching him behind his back. He swings himself around to face the entrance, forcing the heads of the animals back into their illusion of safety.

As he leisurely prances his way back to the exit, leaving quiet rumbles in his wake, Verne peeks back out and rallies the fellows of his closet. "Alright, he's leaving!"

RJ bolts his head back to face his own with 3 fingers held high. "Sniffer's off guard! We're on 3!"

Preparations are made from both distinct parties.

A hesitant "1…" comes from Verne.

"2!" RJ blurts in a hush.

"2 and a half-"

RJ's "3!" cuts him off.

Club fiercely readied in hand, he kicks the set of doors open. "Time's UP, big MAN-!

RJ's next step courageously overshoots the edge of the wardrobe, tripping him forward and faceplanting him against the hard floor, club still fixed in front. As any good leader, his troops were motivated by his heroism. Ready for action, the others leap out in a noisy mess to follow him, each of the 3 kids screaming their war cries and trampling over RJ's motionless back in the process. A glorious fanfare announces their strike.

Just then, the remaining residents of the closet on the opposite side burst out in a quiet hurry, only to stumble over at the sight of the others running in a heated rage toward the Sniffer exiting into the hall.

Dwayne proudly whirls back at the new disruption to the silence, startling the 3 small porcupines approaching his feet. They trip back in place. "Bad timing, vermin."

A single foot is put down from the juggernaut, the force of his looming presence knocking every animal back.

No more ideas. No time! RJ can't help but flip-flip his sights left and right. "Uhh…" But with every corner of his brain racing a mile a minute, he blurts, "ALL BETS ARE OFF!"

Raccoon leading the charge, the animals swarm past Dwayne. Suspiciously enough, there is no attempt to stop them. They pass through the doorway only to ignore the thin white strings lining the ground. By the time it's too late, a net held up by strings from the ceiling, installed on a whim, ensnares the whole cast. The animals make shrieking noises as the net is mercilessly flung high into the air.

"Oops," comes the Verminator. "CATCH you off guard?"

The mess of bodies attempts to wriggle away from each other, left unable to move in their disfigured postures against one another.

Ozzie's back squishes its weight down onto the top of Stella's head, the tail dangling down right in front of her field of view. "Get your tail outta my face!" she barks.

His own body aches. "MY… apologies!"

The discouragement continues from the intimidating man. "Can't move your king, EH?"

Harshly flinging Ozzie's body off of her, Stella is now met with the sharp, well-groomed claws extended from Tiger's black paw raised to the sky. Her head jumps back. A prince was all it took to free the king.

"AaaaaAAAA!" he roars. The circular pupils in the center of his eyes tighten into fierce, tall ellipses. With a clean, vicious swipe, the net is ripped open by his claw and sends the animals collapsing in a clutter down to the solid boards. "Go, go! RJ! Everyone! Go!" he urges while picking himself up with difficulty.

With everyone back on their feet and down the hall in a flash, Dwayne yells out and tramples after them.

RJ enters the living room with the crowd, all keeping him in the corner of their eyes for guidance. "Split up!" he shoos. "We're goin' for a pincer attack!"

One by one, RJ, Verne, and Hammy leap into the pile of toys in the corner. The others dart into the kitchen and take their posts. Ozzie and Heather pair up to climb into a high shelf right above the sink. The porcupines head under the table and climb up onto the chairs, shielded by the cloth peeking down over the edges from above. Stella and Tiger briefly poke their heads out of an empty trash can in a corner between the side of a shelf and the living room entrance. Their own hand was dealt - time to play the cards.

Once the boot of the Verminator first enters the kitchen, everything falls still. He takes slow steps through the vicinity, each group spread about keeping their tense, shaky selves silent. Lou and Penny shove their hands over their kids' mouths to keep them contained. He stops in his tracks and stands tall in front of the shut cabinet above the sink, casually wiggling the sides of his mouth back and forth.

Concealed by the shade within, Ozzie's tight grasp on Heather only gets tighter as a rigid vibration comes from the cabinet handle. A gasp nearly slipping through his lips opens his mouth. Heather roughly tugs on his tail with her own to close his mouth like a toy and shut him up.

The vibrating continues for another crucial second. Both opossums set their hopes up high in their precariousness. Their specialty, of course.

The handle is yanked open by the man. Smugly, he looks through the cabinet for an exaggerated while, inspecting every particle of dust, every miniscule detail. All except the roof. Ozzie and Heather remain in their spots clinged onto the roof of the surface when it is slammed back shut, giving an extra jump to their hearts already pounding away. But with a wipe of sweat, they carefully drop down with minimal impact following their performance.

Their success was only ostensible. Out of nowhere, Dwayne's laugh ruins the feign contentment, giving the cabinet a 2nd check and exposing the pests in broad daylight. The excruciating anticipation is abruptly ended, alerting each sign of life in the house.

Ready to answer the call to action, Stella and Tiger tip over the trash can and launch themselves out. The porcupines get back onto the floor and jog out from behind the table.

The animals dare encroach on Dwayne from all directions. Ha! He takes a glance at each and every one, keeping his determination intact. Every measly varmint revealed only heightens his adrenaline.

Direct eye contact with the chief of murder sparks a personal level of instictive fear into the faces of each Hedgie. "Looks like I'm gettin' served the WHOLE enchilada!" he chuckles. "This oughta be fun."

In a row, the squirrel, turtle, and raccoon abandon the cover of the toys hiding them. The raccoon leader is immediately brought to Dwayne's priority, heightening every instinct inside his body.

"RJ! We need Hammy Juice!" Verne says.

"Ya can't forget the golden rule, Verne!" RJ objects. "The more ya use, the more ya lose. Hammy's always ready to drop after gettin' wild."

"It's more losing than using," Hammy complains.

"His body's evolving to tolerate the caffeine."

Verne sighs in bitterness. "Evolution stings sometimes."

Without looking, RJ throws a thumb up at the Sniffer, now setting the 3 as his first victims. "The humans took on an entire beehive."

What RJ doesn't notice is the image shown out of the corner of his eye. RJ abruptly gasps at the Sniffer now hauling himself their way past the other Hedgies. Pouncing away from the danger zone, Verne and Hammy are left in the human's sight as he approaches them. Verne snags Hammy to pull him up to his side, shielding both of them with a plastic dump truck collected by his vacant hand. A net is fired, propelling towards the truck and knocking it away.

With the Sniffer still aiming in their direction, Verne yelps in preparation for a 2nd take. He grabs Hammy by the shoulders and circles around to face away from the net gun. He quickly leans his head down over Hammy's to embrace him as the next net launches directly toward Verne. With an impact, it collides with the shiny shell and is reflected to the side.

RJ sneaks back into the kitchen to group up with the others, already brainstorming away. Upon spotting him out in her sights, Heather deserts Ozzie to place herself right back at RJ's command.

Already in his bag, a never-ending orange extension cord grows longer and longer with each pull throwing it out. "Kids, we're goin' for somethin' cheesy."

"I love cheese!" Spike blurts.

"Cheddar jack rocks!" Quillo agrees.

"Pepper over cheddar," Bucky says.

The sheer extension of the extension cord was impressive alone, but it all being dispensed from RJ's bag was too much to not acknowledge. Heather stares at the messy coil in awe, only wrapping up farther and farther with every blink of an eye. "Dude, when'd you even pick that up?"

Stella's face goes into surprise at what the attention had been brought to. "I think you're missin' the part where da raccoon fit dat thing in his bag."

RJ snaps, "Look, don't ask where I fit and don't fit things. Just focus!" An arm is extended out to the living room. "All we need is a squirrel… and some rope."

The Sniffer rounds the corner of the couch after Verne and Hammy.

Leaning through the doorway, fingers are up to RJ's mouth to whistle. "Raccoon to squirrel! Let's crank the speed up a bit!"

Hammy stops like an arrow in a target right on the spot, vigorously vibrating back and forth with his feet glued down. RJ's voice perks up his excitable ears. "Ooh! Aye-aye, RJ!"

It takes less than a second to make a full lap around the couch, blazing past both the Verminator and Verne on opposite sides. He speeds faster and faster, blowing an intense wind over them and giving Verne a chance to break free from the blurring cycle.

Dwayne shields himself from the immense force only to lose sight of the turtle. Everything had become a daze. Where were the animals? The kitchen, obviously, yet none were to be seen in the vicinity. What was once a squirrel had manifested into some ludicrous tornado straight out of Kansas.

On the next lap, the pile of toys meets Hammy's vivacious leap as he heads in to throw out a spray of lego bricks all building up into the shape of an arrow by themselves. They knew exactly what the little guy had ordered. Hammy shoots out to pick his creation up and wave it teasingly toward the kitchen on the right.

Taunting. Simply taunting. Dwayne growls and leaps right over the couch toward the squirrel, now abandoning its post to flee into the kitchen. His heavy boot resists the studded surface of the bricks, crushing the lego arrow and shattering it across the area. But a reptile is the first sight to find once Dwayne's eyes set their sights through the doorway.

As he charges off the carpet towards Verne's direction in his timid position next to the wagon, the kids run in front of him with the extension cord lengthened between them for their rather conventional attack. Yet who says something cheap has to be something ineffective?

Breaking free from the tunnel vision just a moment too late, the cord trips Dwayne, slamming his mighty weight against the slippery floor face-first. The rumble of the ground and furniture is not muffled in the slightest, signifying the temporary subjugation of a stubborn foe.

---

Traumatized. That's what she was. Hoppy, now cowering in the uninhabited back side of a black recliner, stares wide at the wall as the only thing furnishing her recovery from the experience. The empty zone, though desolate in nature, mellows her quivering body. A father, perusing the classy monotone newspaper, rests silent in his comfort. Only everything below the head could be seen from Hoppy's stature, unable to undertake a mutual line of thinking with the owner.

A loud bang is transmitted all the way through the stiff walls of the room, drowning out even the snazzy buzz of the nearby radio.

The slim man lowers the newspaper in his hands, sporting rather formal yet simple attire. "Do you hear something, honey?"

Dwayne, glasses recklessly cracked, lifts himself up to make a target of the 3 adolescent porcupines on the table, shaking their quills at him.

In unison, they giggle, "Nah na na na nah nah!"

He flings the long, mechanical grabbing tool out from the side of his belt and swings it forward at them with a holler. The kids scurry haphazardly on the table as he savagely swings and smashes through several vases and other large ornaments caught in the crossfire. Every attack turns more into debris - a lasting impact of his heedless temptations. The exquisite ceramic making up a vase in the middle is shattered apart just like that.

Several more crashes, deep booms, and sounds of… breaking pottery (?) come from beyond Hoppy's walls.

The wife in a red dress, with a similar fashion sense, flicks a tidy hand to shrug it off. "I think it's just those animals wrecking up another house, dear."

The newspaper is lifted back up by the husband. "Eh."

With the kids escaping from the table, Dwayne is left stupefied, whizzing his head in a hurry to examine his surroundings. The animals all strategically positioned throughout the place tangle up the strings of his thoughts, compelling him to take no course of action. Suddenly, the rhythmic clanking of large metal spoons together brings him to the female opossum on the rim of the sink, presenting the build considerably smaller than that of the male.

The massive menace confronting her head-on with his hazardous suit blocking her view, the Verminator twirls the grabber in his hand. THE Verminator. "Ready to dance, missy?"

His fearful call is no match for the motivation pushing her to the end. Hands nursing the spoons, Heather swings herself around to reveal the sink sprayer in her tail now facing him from behind. With a jerk, she strangles the handle in its grasp, spraying a forceful burst of water straight at his face.

"AGH!" he cries. "Water has broken! Repeat, water HAS broken!"

Gathered on the far end of the counter were RJ, Hammy, and the kids spectating from their own post next to the rather old-fashioned white surface of the fridge. With the Sniffer briefly taken aback, RJ hollers across the room in a rush. "Hurry it up, Oz'!"

Tail wrapped around for stability, Ozzie thrusts himself back and forth on the doorknob of the back door in a plea. "It won't budge!"

With every tug, the S.C.L. restrains the outer side from giving way, still nailed relentlessly between it and the outside wall.

The net gun is pointed directly at him. It was all but a single click away. Heather gasps and leaps off from her location down to sprint to the door.

As the net is launched on the spot, Ozzie's body is given just enough time to panic. Halfway to its destination, every bit of reality is frozen into a still-life painting. Ozzie is left in his own mind, his own spotlight, in the motionless world. A heartbeat is transmitted into ambiance. It beats slow; quiet… As if the core of the earth had been amplified up to his ears alone.

The world beats once. His eyes slowly peek open to greet the open net. The world beats twice. "This is where I am. Am I here? At home in a place with no welcome mat." Thrice. "But there is no reality here. I am alone, but not lonely. The only resider, yet absent nonetheless. This is the world of imagination-"

With no warning, Heather watches as Ozzie's limp, pitiful body plants onto the hard floor, avoiding the net now clashing with the doorknob. She rushes over to him and urgently pushes him on the torso. No response. Desperately clutching onto his neck and jerking his head back and forth brings no call back. After halting, the only form of acknowledgement received is his mouth suddenly drooping wide open in front of her eyes with his tongue falling back to the corner of his mouth.

Shooting her head back in disgust, she explodes within. No no no… Not this shit now, dad! Her head forces itself to dart between each and every face pointed in her direction, beaming down their enveloping disapproval onto her own shoulders. Her cheeks go red underneath the thin fur. All on her shoulders. Whatever responsibility the elder held, it transferred to the heir in his wake. And the Sniffer, standing tall just feet away, taunts her merely with the possession of the cocky net gun. The faint reflection of his hefty boots shines off the floor just below her lowered position.

RJ forcefully whips himself around to the kids with a growl of determination, fists clenched. "Back door's a no-go! We need covering fire, STAT!"

The 3 hurriedly dig back into the pile of colorful rubber bands and snag up handfuls coming in a variety of charming shapes. The piles are dropped at their feet, and they pick up each band 1-by-1 in a lane, drawing them up and stretching them back like archers. On cue, their onslaught of ammunition is propelled out at the Verminator opposite the room.

With the rubber bands pelting him, Dwayne forces his attention to the far counter. He races over in fury to confront the pesky kids. Wasn't ONCE enough?

RJ spots Hammy playing an unoccupied game of hot potato with his erratic steps nearby and flips him a small cookie. "Take a tip, Hamsquad. Go keep an eye on Verne for me."

Hammy stares in disbelief at the mouth-watering sight. "I'm gonna go play Candyland at the Log!"

"Yeah, make sure Verne doesn't eat the pieces," RJ sarcastically adds, brushing him away.

In all seriousness, Hammy eagerly assures, "Oh don't worry, I'll eat them first!"

Meanwhile, Heather groans in exhaustion as she drags Ozzie over to the counter as the remaining members all crowd the window up high, straining to shove up on the bottom of the frame.

"Heave!" Verne manages.

A "Ho!" is shouted by the others.

All his might is put into his next pull, tightening every muscle in his face. "Heeeave…"

With the animals united, the bottom of the window pops open and flies upward to expose the fresh air of the outside. A calm breeze acts as a reminder of nature's glory. Just a breath inhales all the homely signs blowing all the way from the Hedge far off. Their faces are emboldened in the atmosphere of freedom. Freedom at last.

Arms sore and back not exactly having a ball with Ozzie's weight, Heather fumes from below, "Eh-eemmmm!"

Stella's head pops up over the edge of the counter, followed by Tiger's. Stella makes not a single fret about the limp opossum, massive in Heather's puny arms. "We gotcha, girl."

The kids still holding down the fort, RJ observes the others relay Ozzie's body up a series of drawers that had been thoughtfully opened to make a staircase up to the counter. At the windowsill, Tiger was waiting to have the body laid perpendicularly on his back. RJ grins in satisfaction as they begin to exit. With Heather at the rear, she turns to glance at RJ across the room from, pointing and gesturing with her eyes outside with her mouth tensed up in uncertainty. An insistent nod is returned by RJ, followed by a circling motion with his finger to shoo her away. She hesitantly leaps out the window to leave him be.

What brings RJ's attention back happens to be the yell of a maniac, or rather, the entrance of the Sniffer's hearty voice. "AaaaAAA-!"

In a rash act of brute force, the grabber is lunged forward at RJ. Time was grateful enough to grant just an instant for him to dodge and leave the Sniffer's stomach to give a greeting to the edge of the counter. His upper body shoots over the top, leaving the grabber vulnerable for RJ to kick out of his arm.

With their rare second of downtime, RJ orders to the kids, "Window's clear! Let's break a leg!"

Outside, Verne tallies up each and every member, checking in on them as if keeping track of a horde of children. Each tally softens his breaths of grave concern, yet only heightens for those still remaining inside the deathtrap. 1-by-1 they pass him on the patio, Hammy's cheeks puffed out from whatever had been stuffed into his mouth this time around. "Hammy, check! Father-daughter, check! Lovey and Dovey, check! Lou, Penny, check-eroni!"

Right as the remaining animals climb up the open drawers onto the counter, Dwayne's head shakes like a whirlwind to recover from the blow. Only one chance. Rage fills his yell as he hauls himself over.

With the cheering kids plummeting down from the heavens, Penny warns, "Watch the skies there!"

Spike falls right into Lou's loving arms. "Woah! This hail's kinda pokey," Lou says.

RJ is stopped just as he is about to leap up to the windowsill, some sinister warning of cold blood making a tingle on his back. A menacing creature stands behind him. "Forgetting someone?"

He brings himself to confront the manifestation.

For the finale, Dwayne pulls out a small, pitch-black ball out of his belt with some kind of tiny dispenser embedded on top. "Almost forgot to… TUCK YOU IN!"

The ball is tossed forward, slowing everything perceivable to a crawl. RJ stares down the object as it flies toward him. It's spherical shape - just at the right angle on its curve toward his direction through the air. Just some calculation was needed... The sunlight from outside the window provides a bright shine directly over his head as it faces enlightenment.

Wait for the time… nothing but time. With the ball mere feet away, he calls forth a paddle ball from his bag. Only one chance. Jumping up gets him on an equal level with the projectile. He precisely aims his own toward the opposing force, and finally smacks the ball out to collide together with the rival.

All momentum is ended, sending the object falling onto the ground anticlimactically. It slowly rolls across the ground to Dwayne's feet. Active intensity filling the battlefield replaces itself with a muted spike of his awareness.

RJ delivers a clever, dinky wave just before turning to leap out the window. "Nighty-night."

Dwayne slips on an oxygen mask just in time before a cloud of pink gas sprays in all directions and rises up throughout the room. It clouds him up in his own fatal mistake, screening every corner and cabinet unfortunate enough to face it. Like a thick line of clouds, it obstructs anything that could be desired to be seen.

The thick, colorful sleeping gas explodes out the window once RJ gracefully lands on the grass next to the patio.

With Ozzie still dead as ever on the ground and Stella kneeled down seemingly in the place of a medic, she motions Heather over. "C'mon, girl! It's your dad, not mine!"

Heather's ticked-off jaw grits its teeth in embarrassment. "He sure is."

Verne is ready to meet RJ following his escape.

RJ's hands are stretched and held out back to the house, where the back door separating them from the chock-filled wagon made no difference in his perception. "The food!"

"Just forget it!" Verne huffs while running alongside.

They urgently storm through the yard and back through the Hedge, each collision with a wall of bushes dulling their senses. The leaves scatter over their fronts, hinting at the blockade coming up.

After their exit, a furious kick comes against the back door. 2 legs of the S.C.L. are torn off just like that. Another kick gives way, bursting it open and releasing another cloud of pink gas. A boot comes forward. Dwayne emerges with a hand held up to his head to fan away the fog. Free from his own prison, he tears off the mask and throws it to the ground, taking a sloppy breath of the outside air. Just a miniscule amount of the artificial gas nearly puts him under.

The Hedge stands on the other end of the yard. "Agh! Blast it!" Turning around, he rolls his eyes expressively at the wreckage of the house behind him, the gas hiding his own doings from view. Looking as though it had been lit aflame by some outer influence, burning away from the inside out. "Can't wait for her to be… mouthing 'bout this one for weeks."

He analyzes the home some more. The unusual substance filling the interior could be the only thing pinning down the structure as being out of the ordinary. Tidy roof, stainless walls, and windows glimmering with the sunlight provided. But as the remaining bits of his last influence fade out into the skies, the disaster made out of the kitchen is revealed. Pottery shattered. Meager objects thrown about. A chair somehow having been knocked over in the fray. A tornado had swept through. Yeah, that had to be it. Just another pesky kitchen tornado. Happens all the time, right? No worries.

"Add this one to the log," he notes. "Jefferson's. 12768. A big, cruddy failure." A long, heavy sigh of thought is taken. "Gonna need somethin' more subtle. Sneaky. Gotta outwit the witty."

---

RJ shows his visible distraught squatted down on a piece of bark just outside the comfort of the Hedgies' site. "No food. No wagon…" he grieves to Verne just a step away.

"We'll just pick up another one!..." he insists. "Right?"

"Ugh. It's not Girl Scout season."

Heather and Stella drop Ozzie down onto the grass on his back, releasing their sore arms from eternal labor.

"Bring some life back into dat guy," Stella says before heading off.

The inside of Heather's mind was fuming its heat all throughout the rest of her body. One tug. "Dad."

No response.

Her voice rises. "Dad. Pops. Father. Papa. Dadddd… okay, I don't like that one actually." A makeshift megaphone is forged from her hands, the exploding effort blasting Ozzie's ear back. "MALE PARENTAL UNIT!"

Heather silently rolls her eyes before greeting his ear with the very end of her muzzle. She whispers, "Hea-therrrr…"

The passcode had been given. In an instant, Ozzie's eyes power on and freeze themselves directly forward. Rapid, heavy breaths flood through his speech. "What happened? What disaster has struck upon-?!"

It didn't take too long before reality had settled in. Heather stands there, tapping her foot in irritation. Some pugnacious intent fills her frown. "What HAPPENED is that we got out."

"Oh. Good," he rejoices in calm relief.

Leaning in closer, Heather's clear temper on the subject makes itself known. "Without the food."

The distressful statement jolts Ozzie back. "What?!"

Her arms cross themselves to pout away in the meantime. "Dad, after you 'DiEd', we HAD to leave."

Ozzie sighs, "Well, all that matters is that you're safe-"

And now he's done it. Her face tenses up, unable to let a remark like that slip away unscathed. "No, dad! That's not, like, ALL that matters! We worked our tails off (literally, for me), and our butts, AND, like, everything else I guess, for NOTHING!"

Nothing stops Ozzie from allowing her the chance to go off.

"And then you die at, like, the WORST times, and I'm all like-"

Ozzie's own thoughts get sharply interrupted by his own urges to lash back. In a defensive stance, he stands up to affront her directly. "Now who are you to judge? You HARDLY even 'play 'possum' anymore-"

"That's because I don't need to, dad," she interrupts his interrupting, now pointing down to the loyal tail behind her. "I've got all I need right here."

Now this was no laughing matter. "That's it," he commands. "No more interruptions. Just listen. You don't understand just how valuable our ability is. Remember that day? That woman only ended her endeavour because you looked dead. You could've really died!"

By this point, they had matched each other's irritated, fatigued postures. Their voices were slowly becoming more groaning as the dispute was being drawn further and further, beat like a dead horse over and over with no hint of stopping.

Any excuse to end the conversation on Heather's end would suffice. "Dad, why don't we stop thinkin' about the 'then' and start thinkin' about the 'now' for once? We didn't know how to defend ourselves back then."

But Ozzie couldn't bring himself to let up, slowly shaking his head. "Heather," he solemnly starts. "To be or not to be, that is the question."

"Look dad, I know RJ showed you Shakespeare or whatever, but you so don't have to quote it, like, EVERY day," Heather quietly scolds.

A passionate finger is pointed all the way up to wave to the sky. "He's an exceptional playwright, I'll have you know! He deserves to be admired like one!"

She throws her hands out wide. "But, like, you don't just 'play dead' anymore! You, like, pass out half the time!"

A groan comes from within at the acknowledgement of that. Insecurity radiates its might, rebounding off the walls of his brain, the space taken up by the movements diluting all feelings inside. "I know," he speaks aloud.

But his thoughts have a conversation of their own: That's exactly the issue. I shouldn't know. She needs to know just how important this line of thinking is! For her!

Heather's breaths increase in intensity, pressing her to continue. All fingers extended from her hand are spread all about in exasperation. "We only lost the food because you didn't open the door," she explains. "And why didn't you open the door? Because you-… you-... just, died! Again!"

But was it really in my hands? he now considers with eyes lowered to the mundane grass of the outdoors. The earthy green blades look upon him with neutrality, yet their own demeanor itself only raises the pressure pushing down on his shoulders.

"It's sooo simple." A single breathless laugh expresses what ridiculous cause had prompted her anger. "If you'd just STOP dying-!"

'Stop dying', she says. Just stop dying! Ozzie's mouth twitches, an isolated blaze alighting from within, urging him to take action. He fights himself up from the irritating little pebbles mocking the top of his head. "Now I believe it's my turn to talk, young lady."

"Oh, yippee," Heather groans.

The topic is alternated. "You need to take your own responsibility for yourself! Learn to properly handle the storm that approaches! I couldn't BARE to watch the alternative."

"Dad, you're always worrying 'bout me." Extending her arms wide, her tone expresses a pleading wish of understanding. "Look at me! Do I look like I'm gonna, like, just drop dead on the spot here for real?"

And Ozzie certainly does look, yet grudges at her words. He observes her healthy yet peculiar body significantly smaller than his, imagining what awful jaws she could find herself in the grasp of at a moment's notice. Her youth only made her more vulnerable to such scenarios he could vividly picture. "Why must I worry for you? You can't learn to live in this world if you don't learn to die!"

"Why do I have to die?" she asks with as much forced sincerity as RJ had shown them just a year prior.

Wasn't it obvious? "Because it keeps us safe! It keeps YOU safe. How we survive! Not whatever the raccoon says!"

Every component of Heather's mind rallies up defensively over the mention. It was like an emergency button, just waiting to be pushed by whatever was audacious enough to persist past the glass casing. "Okay dad," she growls. "I wish you would JUST-!"

As she struggles to heave out the words, Ozzie grows taller. His upper body fills the remainder of her sight, walling off the pleasant treeline just behind. His glare flashes down the reign of dominance keeping her confined to its will.

"Just…" she quietly grumbles in acceptance. "Just nothing."

Heather turns her back to him and takes a step forward, Ozzie himself overcoming the temptation to leave his unrelenting post. Something in his countenance displayed some knowledge behind her action - there was but 1 place to head off to. And yet, he keeps his mouth shut.

Feet scurrying off in a hurry, she half-heartedly continues with great haste: "Y'know, whatever, I'm just…" Some slight level of stress enters her. "...gonna go find RJ."

Heather pedals away from the scene, leaving Ozzie to release his fingers away from the palms and let them fall to his side. But he hesitantly lifts them back up for his own eyes to observe, the corners of his mouth tensing back with a sigh of dissatisfaction in the sight of his manifestation, one small entity whimpering through the back of his mind at the discomfiture.