Stuff: If anyone's actually reading this, good for you! Here's the second chapter. It ends on a bit of a downer for some reason.
Drifty
Standing outside of the Planet Express building, Fry glanced around for a few minutes considering the myriad methods available to him for transportation across the city. He could do as Leela had suggested, but some part of his mind suggested that it was a nice day for a walk.
Maybe he should get some exercise. Besides, in the inevitably slightly longer intervening period between him leaving and returning, perhaps Leela would change her mind about dinner. Fry doubted it, but he lived in hope.
Setting off down the street, Fry realized he didn't actually know where this place he was supposed to be finding was. Heading in the general direction was a good start, though.
The decision to walk seemed to be having a positive effect on Fry. He began to whistle and smile at the people he passed. He didn't even notice when he wandered into a dark alleyway.
"Hey, you!"
The sudden call caused Fry to cease whistling and turn around. The owner of the voice appeared to be a ragged, scrawny-looking robot.
"Good morning," Fry greeted, wondering why the robot was eyeing him in such a strange manner. He got his answer when a ray of light glinted off something sharp and pointy in the robot's hand.
In fact, the knife was the robot's hand.
"Empty your pockets onto the floor," the robot growled.
Great, Fry thought. I'm being mugged. The robot took a menacing step towards him, and Fry hurried to comply.
"Here," he said, dropping the few meagre coins and assorted pocket lint onto the ground as requested. The robot looked at the contents of Fry's pockets then glared back up at him.
"Now take off the pants."
"What!" Fry exclaimed. "That's stupid."
The robot took another step forward, waving his knife-hand threateningly.
"Okay, okay..." Fry fumbled with his pants and deposited them on the ground, too.
"And that package," the robot now demanded, gesturing at Leela's parcel Fry still held in his hand.
"No way," Fry replied shaking his head. He was not going to mess up this delivery.
"Do it," the robot snarled. Fry backed off, clutching the package to his chest.
Almost immediately, the robot seemed to switch to extreme-mugging mode, growing larger and wider, his other hand changing into a variety of other weaponry like sort kind of freakish Swiss Army knife.
Fry gulped. "Uh, I'll be going now. Nice to meet you." He spun on his heel and fled in the opposite direction.
Even through the sound of his feet pounding the ground and the blood rushing past his ears, Fry could hear the heavy footfalls of the robot close behind him. Hardly looking where he was going Fry pushed through a set of doors and only stopped running when his torso collided with a table.
Joining the table in its fall to the floor amongst a collection of plates, dishes and exquisitely prepared meals, Fry realized he was in a very posh, expensive-looking restaurant.
Fortunately, the robot didn't seem to have followed him in. Unfortunately, two security guards were now stood over him. "Sir, if you would come with us, please," one of them said.
"Uh..." Fry got to his feet and mumbled an apology to the startled family now sitting in their seats around the destruction that had been their meal. The guards grasped him by the elbows and led him back to the entrance, throwing him through the doors and back to the street.
Fry stood and brushed himself off, glancing around warily in case the mugger robot was still hanging around. There didn't seem to be any sign of him.
Sighing with relief, Fry started off again, checking on the package, which seemed okay. Still nervous, he didn't recommence his whistling but instead started to hum a spirit-lifting tune.
The sudden squeal of a siren right behind him caused him to choke on the tune and involuntarily jump a foot off the sidewalk. This time he turned around to find himself facing two familiar faces in the blue uniform of the police.
"I'm afraid you're under arrest," one cop announced.
"We're taking you in, baby," his robot partner agreed.
"Huh? Why? I haven't done anything. It's that-" Fry's argument was cut short by the cop's interruption.
"That's not what our report says. Causing commotion in a respectable establishment, not wearing any pants..."
"They were stolen!" Fry insisted.
"Yeah, a likely story. We banged up the Serial Pants Thief last year."
"The what?" Fry spluttered as the cops busied themselves cuffing him and manoeuvring him into the back of their car.
"Everything you're saying is being taken down for evidence for use in a court of law," one of the cops informed him as the drove him to the station.
"Evidence for what? It's not my fault! This is a set-up! I've been framed!" Fry blurted from the backseat.
"That's what they all say," the cop replied in a bored, world-weary, I've-heard-it-all-before tone.
Before he knew it, Fry was bundled out of the cop car and into a holding cell.
"You just sit here while we examine the evidence and get some donuts." The cops left him, taking the package to safe keeping while Fry was in custody.
"Be careful with that!" Fry called after them, but the cops had already started discussing donuts and their variety of fillings and toppings.
Fry sighed and sank onto the bunk, staring at his bare knees and wondering if he was going to get out of the cell and deliver Leela's package before too much time passed. She obviously already thought he was incompetent, and he was just providing her with further evidence she was correct in her supposition.