"Mordecai, wake up!"
Mordecai's eyes slowly pulled open. It felt like the house was spinning and a dull ache squeezed his skull. He slowly got up on his knees and winced. "Oh holy crap, my head!"
"I know, I feel hungover too, but get up! Benson's coming!" Rigby said as he pointed at the front door, which had been left open all night. He stood up and dusted himself off to face his boss. "Oh, hey Ben-"
"Rigby, there you are! I've been looking all over for you!" The gumball machine ran up the porch steps, holding his clipboard in one hand, bearing a sharp glare at Rigby.
"Oh shi-" Mordecai said until he was interrupted by a sudden flow of vomit from his now aching gut. His throat burned at the taste of his own stomach acids. His face was so close to the ground that as his vomit hit the floor, plenty of it splattered back onto his face.
Benson held his clipboard up like a shield to protect his face, as if Mordecai's vomit was strong enough to splatter all the way up to him. "Ugh, goodness gracious... needless to say you're cleaning that up ASAP. Christ, you guys got drunk again, didn't you?"
Rigby sighed and hung his head in shame. "Yes, we drank too much last night. Sorry Benson."
Benson's face turned red as he raised his voice. "No, I don't want to hear it! Look, I couldn't care less what you screw-ups do after work. And I really don't give a damn about your pathetic apologies. But if you show up with a hangover during work hours one more time, you're fired! Now put yourselves together. Your shift started an hour ago!" With that, the gumball machine turned away and ran down the porch.
"Benson's such a jerk..." Mordecai said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I feel like crap, man... I can't work right now."
"I know, but you heard Benson."
Pops came down the stairs and saw the puddle of vomit on the floor. "Ew, gross! Mordecai, Rigby, are you all right?"
As Mordecai pulled himself up, he clenched his stomach. It continued to rumble and squirm around while a feeling of emptiness seemed to drop into his gut. Some breakfast would have been great at that moment, but if he so much as took one bite of anything he'd just barf it back up. "Too many drinks last night, we'll be fine," Mordecai said, not looking at Pops to hide any signs of pain that could be on his face.
"You poor things," Pops said. "Why don't you two get some rest before doing any work today."
Rigby jolted up and ran for the couch, ready to pounce on it and spend some quality time doing nothing productive. "Yeah! Some video games should take this hangover off our minds, right Mordecai?"
"Dude, come on, you heard Benson! He's already pissed off at us. If we don't work we're fired."
Rigby slunk down further in the couch and groaned. "Benson's won't fire us, he's just sayin' that! He's all bite and no bark."
"You mean 'all bark and no bite'," said Mordecai.
Rigby flipped his body over, put his hands on the arm of the couch, and said, "Whatever, same diff! Now get over here so we can start playin'."
"Yes, you two take it easy," Pops said. "If Benson finds out I'll vouch for you."
"If Benson finds out what?" Skips said as he walked (well, in his case, as always, skipped) into the living room from the kitchen.
Pops replied, "Mordecai and Rigby had too many adult fizzies at the pub last night and now they're feeling too sick to work."
"Actually, Benson already knows," Mordecai corrected. "But he told us to get back to word immediately and we don't want him to find us slacking off."
"Hangover or no hangover, you guys always try to get away with slacking off, regardless," Skips said in monotone.
Rigby ignored Skips' comment and picked up the remote. When the TV clicked on, a news report was airing.
The news anchors were a gray-haired man in a blue suit and and a brown-haired woman seemingly in her fifties (although the way she kept her hair down and wore her makeup showed that she was obviously trying to pass as forty, or younger). A picture of Mordecai and Rigby was being displayed above them.
"Ooh, look! Mordecai and Rigby are on the telly!" Pops squealed with delight. His smile quickly dropped when the news anchor spoke.
"Their names are Mordecai and Rigby, a blue jay and a raccoon," said the female anchor. "They are currently suspected of the rape and murder of executive chef, James Robin. Police are currently searching for the suspects to bring them in for questioning."
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" Benson yelled, suddenly standing in the doorway, clipboard still in hand.
Mordecai screamed as he reached for the remote but was interrupted as Benson ran into the room.
"Oh no you don't, don't you dare turn off that TV. I want to see what the hell this is!" Benson screamed. Pops smacked his hands onto his watering eyes as he ran up the stairs whimpering. "Great, now you made Pops cry!" said Benson.
"Wait, Buh-Buh-Benson, w-we don't..." Rigby stuttered before his boss told him to shut up.
"It appears that James was randomly attacked and then raped by the suspects sometime after ten o'clock last night," the female anchor continued. "His body was found in an alley on 7th Street where the driver's license of Mordecai, as well as a note for the victim, written by Rigby, were found. We are currently unsure why these two suspects would leave such strange evidence."
The male anchor cut in and said, "But we are sure that the rape and murder of anyone, regardless of gender, is truly horrifying. These sick bastards should be called Murdercai and Rapey, but of course, considering the evidence they left us, nicknames like that may very well be the kind of sick publicity they want."
The female anchor seemed to ignore him and said, "The suspects are believed to work at a local park, where a search is being planned to take place. If you know any information about these suspects or the victim, please call the number on the screen." A split screen was then displayed, one side showing an image of Mordecai with his name, gender, age, and height with Rigby's information on the other side. A phone number was displayed below.
With out any hesitation, Benson quickly paced toward his office. In as calm a voice as he could manage, all he said was, "I'm calling the cops."
Mordecai and Rigby turned around, still on the couch, spewing nearly unintelligible gibberish, most of which sounded like "we didn't do it" and "we don't know what they're talking about". Benson ignored it all. He could feel his heart pounding, pressure building up in his head, ready to explode. But he had to contain himself, he had to use his energy to handle the phone call he was about to give. At times like these emotions had to be disregarded, he couldn't let himself lose it, not now.
"Skips, p-please! Stuh-Stop him! I swear we're innocent!" Rigby said, trying not to flip his lid as well.
Skips, equally bewildered, could only jump toward Benson and put his hand on his shoulder. "Benson, wait..."
Benson smacked Skips' hand away, finally unable to contain himself any longer. "NO! NO NO NO NO NO! I DON'T WANT TO... THOSE LOSERS ARE... I'M CALLING THE... GUAAAAAH!" Finally Benson gave up on trying to say anything and sprinted into his office, slammed the door behind him, and then locked it. Once in his office he leaned over his desk, slammed his fist down, then paced back and forth. He knew he had to calm down so he could call the police and the number displayed on the news... whatever that number was. Could those slackers really have done such a thing? He wasn't even sure if he cared, he just wanted to manage the situation or something... that was his job title. But manage what? How was he even supposed to act?
Meanwhile, in the living room, Skips, Mordecai and Rigby collectively tried to untangle their emotions and thoughts. "Skips, I swear on my grave that I would never commit such a crime!" Mordecai said.
Finally the room fell silent. Rigby was still jittery as hell, and Mordecai felt like he was going to vomit again, but otherwise the living room seemed to finally have calmed down.
Skips sighed and said, "Look, do you two remember what you did last night?"
"No... I had some beers with Rigby at the bar and then, well, I don't remember anything after that," Mordecai said. "And I have no memory of every putting my driver's license in some dark alley or whatever, let alone hurting anybody."
"Well, that takes a tiny bit of the sting off," Skips said. "But you the two of you were obviously plastered as heck last night. You could have done anything without even knowing it."
"Are you saying we killed that man?" Mordecai said in a booming, vehement voice.
Skips, suddenly afraid of Mordecai's tone, took a step back and said, "No, no. I just meant that, well, you know..."
"SCREW IT DUDE! EVEN SKIPS THINKS WE DID IT! WE'RE TOTALLY SCREWED! I NEED TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! I just... I can't go to jail for something I didn't do!" Rigby screamed as he burst out of the house.
"Wait, Rigby!" Mordecai chased after his friend, and it what seemed like a split second Skips was left alone in the living room, still confused.
Mordecai ran outside to see Rigby behind the wheel of the golf cart. "Rigby, what are you doing?"
"Hop in Mordecai, I don't know what is going on or what we're supposed to do but Benson's calling the cops on us, Skips doesn't trust us, we made Pops cry and, and, and, and... WE JUST CAN'T BE HERE RIGHT NOW! We need to go... just anywhere!"
Mordecai jumped into the cart and immediately drove off with Rigby. He didn't know if this was the right thing to do, but he couldn't even think. Everything was just a spinning blur that he just wanted to end. He didn't know if driving off to god-knows-where would do him any good, but it probably didn't matter - nothing would do him good as of yet.
Skips looked out the window, watching the cart take off, and placed his hand on the glass. "Don't worry, Mordecai and Rigby," Skips softly said to the view out the window, well aware that, really, he was just talking to himself. "I know you guys didn't do it. I'll try and help." He stood there, hand placed on the window, looking at nothing in particular, for what seemed like an eternity, then shook his head. He turned around and picked up his walkie talkie.
Meanwhile, Rigby was still speeding around the park, going as fast as it would go and going nowhere, essentially. "Rigby, where are you taking me?" Mordecai asked in a panicked tone.
"I don't know Mordecai. I just can't be here. We need to go somewhere quiet, someplace where nobody can see us so we can... so we can, think you know?" Rigby replied.
"Dude, Rigby. Think about it, they can't just straight up throw us in prison for several years. We'd have to go to court. They won't be able to prove us guilty, man. They won't be able to prove nothin'!"
"And how? We can't afford a lawyer."
Suddenly the golf cart's radio turned on, with Skips' voice saying, "Rigby, Mordecai, are you there? I don't think you did it. I want to help you."
"Should we pick up?" Rigby asked Mordecai, still not stopping the cart.
"He said he wants to help us. And Skips has always been there for us," Mordecai replied. He picked up the walkie-talkie transmitter and said, "Hey Skips, um... what's up?"
"Go to High-Five Ghost's place. His brother can help you," Skips' voice said.
"What? How?" said Mordecai.
"His brother Low-Five Ghost can turn you into ghosts, remember? This means you can turn invisible. You can stay perfectly hidden, allowing more time for an investigation to find the real criminal. Now go find High-Five Ghost fast. I think Benson just finished calling the cops."
"Thanks Skips, we owe you," Mordecai said as he turned off the radio and faced Rigby. "Did you hear what Skips said?"
"Yeah," Rigby replied. "Which still sucks. If we have to talk to High-Five Ghost, we'll have to deal with Muscle Man."
"Don't worry, Muscle Man would never watch the news, so at least he won't give us crap about that stupid news report," said Mordecai. "I'm not sure about High-Five Ghost, considering that we don't really know much about him, but I'm sure he'll understand if we ask for his help."
"You better be damn right about this..." Rigby said as he turned the cart around.