It's a cell!
Lying on a cot, Fry looked up at the gray ceiling and the tops of the four gray walls. He immediately recognized where he was and couldn't believe he was there. Again.
What was worse was that he couldn't clearly remember the events that had led up to this return visit. Something about a pineapple?
Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Fry felt a wave of nausea. Had he been drinking? Probably, he decided. It felt like he had a hangover, a feeling he was well acquainted with. But there was a slight difference. And the only conclusion that would account for the pineapple was that his drink had been spiked.
The events of the party returning to him, Fry looked down at his legs. As he did so he felt nauseous again. Why was he wearing such a fashion disaster? The bright clashing colors began to give him a headache, so he glanced away and then realized he wasn't wearing his shoes.
Great, somehow I've lost more items of clothing.
A cop appeared at the door of the cell. "Ah, you've regained conciousness, then," he said happily.
"I was drugged!" Fry explained, hoping the officer wouldn't remember him from before, but, alas, no such luck.
"You're becoming a bit of a regular customer, aren't you Mr Fry?" the cop said with a smirk. He looked like he was enjoying Fry's latest incapacitation. "Unfortunately, we have medical evidence that you were drugged, so I can release you."
Unfortunate for you, you mean, Fry thought as the door was unlocked.
"I suggest you find some footwear, though," the officer said as he led Fry back to the foyer.
"Why? Is it illegal to walk around without shoes too?"
"No, just painful," the cop grinned, handing Fry the package. Fry gave a sarcastic smile and once again left the police station.
Walking along the sidewalk, Fry soon realized that the cop had been right about how not wearing shoes could be painful. Small pieces of rock, and other assorted trash, jabbed into the soles of his feet and there was nothing he could do about it. Until he saw the front of a shoe store that was.
The carpeted floor of the store was a such a relief to Fry's feet that he stood in the doorway for a few minutes letting the pain from the sharp junk on the sidewalk dissipate.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Fry looked up and saw a woman wearing a store uniform regarding him curiously.
"Um, yes actually," Fry replied, nodding eagerly. "I need some shoes."
"So I see," the woman sniffed, looking with unhidden distaste at Fry's unshod feet. "Come with me."
Fry did as he was told, and found himself in a small clearing surrounded by stacks of boxes from which the woman was already pulling a variety of shoes.
"I'm not sure we have anything that will go with those pants," she said, comparing the color of a pair of sneakers with the awful pants.
"It doesn't matter," Fry insisted. "I just need something to stop my feet getting stabbed by rocks and junk."
"Try these on," the woman said, handing Fry a pair of platformed shoes that looked like something from the Seventies. His Seventies.
"I'm not sure they're really suitable-" Fry stopped as he slid them on. "Wow, actually they're really cool!"
"Excellent!" the woman exclaimed. "That'll one hundred-and-twenty dollars."
Fry's brows rose and he was about to refuse but then he caught sight of the shoes again. "Okay!" he agreed and dove a hand into his pocket. "Oh, yeah, that's right. I was mugged," he remembered with disappointment.
"Do you have the money, sir?"
"Yes," Fry quickly replied. "I just have to go to the bank because eveything I had on me was stolen. I was mugged."
"Yes, I know."
Fry was confused. "How can you know about that?"
"You mentined it just a second before you told me again."
"Did I? I was also drugged," Fry added by way of explanation.
The woman was beginning to look suspicious, so Fry got to his feet. "Just hold them for me for a few minutes. I'll be back when I've been to the bank."
"Okay, sir," the woman sighed, not sounding at all convinced. Regardless, Fry left the store and headed for the nearest bank.
Luckily, luck being something Fry hadn't experienced much of lately, there was a bank just around the corner and there was even a teller waiting for any customers.
Approaching the counter, Fry noticed the female's hair. It was green and stuck up in a number of spikes all pointing in different directions. The image of a pineapple came into Fry's mind and a full minute passed before he was able to forget about pineapples, and fruit in general, and begin speaking to the teller.
"Yeah, hi, I need some money," he said in a rush.
"Well, you've come to the correct place," the woman with the hair smiled at him, seemingly unfazed by his weird behavior.
"I was mugged and now I need to buy some shoes since I lost mine after my drink was spiked when I was at a party borrowing some pants because mine were stolen."
"That's an interesting story," his teller commented as she typed some information onto a screen in front of her. "If I could just take your name?"
"Everyone put your hands on your heads and bring out all the money!"
"What? That's not my name," Fry complained, but as he glanced around to find out who had spoken he came face-to-face with a robot holding some kind of evil looking weapon.
"This is a robbery!" the robot explained in case anyone hadn't yet worked it out for themselves. "Do as I demand and no one gets hurt. Except possibly you." The robot was glaring directly at Fry.
"Hey! Why me?" Fry protested.
"Because I don't like you."
"So? There are loadsa people who don't like me!"
"That I can vouch for." A new voice. One Fry found extremely familiar.
"Bender!"
"The one and only," the robot announced.
"Are you going to tell this guy not to shoot me?" Fry asked wondering why his friend wasn't jumping to his aid.
"Maybe later," Bender replied sounding bored, and Fry wondered why he had wondered that at all. Bender turned to the bank-robbing robot. "Can you hurry up so we can get outta here? There's a new bar around the corner with some of the latest models as in-house dancers."
"You know this guy?" Fry asked his friend incredulously, then again wondered why he was incredulous.
"Sure, we go way back," Bender said as the other robot got to work forcing the bank staff to stuff sacks with money. "Unfortunately he tends to take his time with this kind of thing. Fortunately, I think I've got a spare bottle in here somewhere." He began rooting around in his chest cavity in search of the beer, and pulled out a small rectangular device which he discarded before continuing his search.
"Hey," Fry said, bending down to retrieve the object. "This is the TV remote!"
"So it is," Bender muttered boredly.
"I was looking for it this morning," Fry continued, waving the remote at the robot.
"You should've aksed me, then," Bender replied, choosing to ignore the obvious fact that he hadn't been around to ask.
"Put you're hands up and drop your weapons!" Another demand was issued from the doorway. Two robberies at the same time? Fry pondered.
No. The new voice belonged to an armed police officer in protective clothing. Surprizingly, the bank-robbing robot did as he was bidden and stopped his money-gathering, dropping his weapon as he did so.
"I said DROP your WEAPONS!" the cop repeated.
"He has," Fry pointed out, before noticing the cop was speaking to him.
"Huh? No, this isn't a weapon. I'm not robbing anyone!" Fry spluttered, holding up the remote in an attempt to prove his point.
At that moment, he was tackled by two burly police officers and the three of them fell to the floor in an ungainly heap.
As he felt the restraints being secured around his wrists, Fry resigned himself to yet another trip to the cell at the police station. But, as two cops led him from the bank and toward one of the cars outside, the crack of a shot cut through the air behind him and suddenly his arm prickled with fire and everything turned black. Again.