"What did you guys even do?" asked Muscle Man as he pulled a large, full garbage bag toward a trash can on the grass.
"What we were accused of doesn't matter, okay?" said Mordecai while Muscle Man sent the garbage crashing to the bottom of the trash bin, letting the sound of broken glass and objects thunking fill the otherwise quiet air. "And we only need High Five Ghost's help, so you can just butt out."
"How could I of all people help you?" High Five Ghost asked, floating next to Muscle Man's head.
"Do you remember that costume party prank you and Muscle Man pulled on us?"
"Oh yeah!" said Muscle Man, holding his gut and cackling. "That was hilarious! I'm so proud of myself."
"Shut up, Muscle Man," Rigby said in deadpan.
"Your brother can turn us into ghosts, right?" Mordecai asked.
"No, wait, that's not a good -" the ghost began until Rigby cut in.
"Don't screw with us, High Fives! We know that everything was part of the prank. I'm pretty sure we won't stay ghosts forever or whatever."
Muscle Man crossed his arms. "Why should my friend help you in the first place?"
Suddenly Mordecai and Rigby fell silent. They just stood there, while nothing - not even a bird chirping - could be heard.
"Uh..." Mordecai tried to muster up. "Because, um, we're... co-workers. And we should, um, uh, you know, help each other out and... stuff..."
"Wait, remember when I was jinxed and I said your name three times?" Rigby said. Everybody just gave him a blank look. Rigby groaned and continued, "I did you a favor, High Fives! And you didn't return it by un-jinxing me back. Which means you still owe me a favor!"
"That's retarded," said Muscle Man.
Mordecai looked at the green man and the floating ghost and felt a sinking feeling in his chest. For a few seconds he trailed off to his own thoughts. I can't believe it... after all this time we've been co-workers, I have, like, no good memories with Muscle Man. And I really don't know a single thing about High Fives...
Rigby sighed and took a few steps forward. "Come on, man! High Five Ghost, I know we don't really know each other, but me and Mordecai are in big trouble. Maybe we're not really friends with you or Muscle Man, but we've been through a lot together. That has to count for something."
"Yeah, Rigby's right," Mordecai chimed in. "Fives, you always seemed like a decent guy to me. And maybe Muscle Man could be enough of a jerk to let us down, I think its beneath you to not give us a hand. What do you say? It's not like you have anything to lose."
"How do we know you're not lying?" asked Muscle Man. "I don't even know what you did. Maybe you don't want to tell me because you're not innocent. What if you're just using my friend to save your asses?"
"Enough, Muscle Man," said High Five Ghost. "I'll take you to my brother's place."
"Wait, we can't go out on the streets!" Mordecai said.
Rigby scratched his head with one index finger as he said, "Hmmmmm..." Then he snapped his fingers. "I got it! We could hide in a garbage bag."
Mordecai grimaced as he turned away. "Ew, that's sick!"
"An empty garbage bag, dumbass." Rigby corrected.
Muscle Man drove up to an apartment complex in the golf cart and parked in front of Room 23. High Five ghost flew out of the passenger's seat and opened a garbage bag in the back. "We're here," he said as a blue jay and raccoon emerged from the plastic.
Meanwhile, Muscle Man knocked on the door. A stubbly ghost wearing sunglasses answered. He didn't seem to want to be bothered, but he put on a slightly happy face and said, "Oh, hey Muscle Man. What's up?"
High Five Ghost flew up to his brother and said, "I need you to help some friends of mine." With that, Mordecai and Rigby came to the door and explained.
Low Five Ghost rubbed his chin. "Uh, I dunno... I usually don't turn people into ghosts anymore. Causes problems."
Rigby got on his knees and exuded his high-pitched, whiny voice. "Pleeeeease Low Five Ghost! I'm begging you! You gotta help us man, you've been to jail before, you know what it's like. You gotta help us!"
"Ugh, fine," Low Fives replied. "But only if you stop whining like a little bi-"
Suddenly, an attractive woman with messy, black hair, dressed in nothing but a large, white t-shirt came up behind Low Five Ghost and put her left arm around him. As she seductively ran a finger down his body, she said, "How much longer you gonna keep me waiting, babe?"
Everyone paused. Low Fives turned to the woman's ear and whispered, "Uh... why don't you just stay in the apartment..." Then he floated out onto the porch and closed the door behind him, leaving the woman behind. "Um... you should... you should probably just ignore that," he awkwardly said.
Everyone continued to stay on the porch, completely still and silent for a few more seconds until Mordecai shook his head. "Look, are you going to turn us into ghosts or not?"
"Fine, but you need to know a few things about beginner ghosts first," Low Fives said. Mordecai and Rigby just nodded. "Okay, first of all, when a ghost turns another person into a ghost without killing him, it can only last 72 hours. After three days it will just wear off. Second, to turn invisible snap your fingers once. To go un-invisible, snap twice. Ghosts can see and hear other invisible ghosts, but non-ghosts can't. Now, what's really important is that-"
"Yeah, yeah, just turn us into ghosts all damn ready," Rigby cut in.
"Dude, Rigby," Low Fives replied. "I'm not done. This is really imp-"
"I don't care! I don't care! I'm getting bored!" Rigby said as he jumped up and down.
"Fine, just shut up!" Low Fives smacked Rigby in the face and suddenly he and Mordecai were ghosts.
"Wow, I thought we had to give you a low-five for this to work," Mordecai said while Rigby rubbed his stinging cheek. He snapped his fingers and Rigby followed.
"Hey Muscle Man, can you see me?" Rigby asked. Muscle Man just stood there, completely oblivious to Rigby's existance.
"Where'd those guys go?" Muscle Man asked himself.
"Yes! It works! Thanks Low Fives," Mordecai said.
"Whatever, just leave me alone already." Low Fives turned around, about to re-enter his apartment until a loud BANG echoed through the air.
Muscle Man screamed as he dropped to the floor, pressing his hands against his now bleeding breast.
Mordecai and Rigby snapped their fingers twice, becoming visible again. Except Mordecai suddenly had a holster with a pistol around his waist, while Rigby had a knife sticking out of a pocket in his fur.
"MUSCLE MAN!" High Five Ghost turned around, only to see Mordecai's gun. "Oh my god... you... you shot Muscle Man!"
"What? Holy crap, no! I don't even know how this gun got here!" Mordecai unbuckled the belt with the holster and threw it on the ground, then held his hands up. "I swear, I don't know where that gun came from!"
"LIAR! How could a gun just suddenly appear on your body?" High Fives screamed.
"My god, we need to get him to a hospital, quick!" Low Fives said as he headed for the golf cart. Except all four tires were flat, with large gashes in them.
High Fives turned to Rigby, who still had a knife sticking out of his pocket. "Rigby has a knife! Oh my god! He slashed the tires when we weren't looking to prevent us from taking Muscle Man to the hospital! YOU SICK BASTARDS!"
"What? I didn't have a knife in my pocket!" Rigby threw the knife on the ground. "Crap, it's happening again! I need to get out of here!" Rigby flew away and disappeared in the bushes. A speechless Mordecai could do nothing but follow.
Back at the house, Mordecai and Rigby were sitting on the porch - well, floating over the porch, anyway. Frantic, Mordecai asked, "What the hell just happened, man? How could a gun just suddenly appear on me while you had a knife and Muscle Man got shot and then High Fives pissed at us while... And and and, why are we back here?"
Rigby put his hand on Mordecai's shoulder. "Calm down! Look, I don't know where else we can go! Back here is the only place I could think of. But at least we're invisible again."
"What do we do now?"
Suddenly Benson could be heard grunting and roaring from in the house. "Dude, let's go see what's going on in there."
"You want to spy on Benson?"
"Hey, at least we can look for Skips and see if he's doing anything else to help us. What else are we gonna do anyway?"
The two floated inside the house, going right through wall. Benson was in the living room, pacing back and forth while Skips stood in front of him, seemingly trying to calm him down. Of course, Benson and Skips were completely unaware of Mordecai and Rigby's presence.
"I can't believe those dirty, rotten criminals took off with the cart after they RAPED AND MURDERED my friend!" Benson screamed as he stormed across the living room.
"Benson has friends?" Rigby asked Mordecai.
"Wait, Benson, you knew that James guy?" Skips asked.
Benson sighed as he let himself slither onto the couch lifelessly. He looked up at Skips with eyes that were about to cry, then put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his palm. "Yeah... He was actually one of the best friends I've ever had. Even though we kind of lost contact." Benson's vision blurred as a tear rolled down his cheek. He touched it with the back of his hand and smeared it across his face until it was gone. He looked at the ground and tilted his head away and said, "Nevermind... I, I don't want to talk about it."
"Come on Benson, it looks like you need to get this off your chest," said Skips.
Benson gave Skips a look that said "I agree", then hesitated. "I told you about my involvement with that Stick Hockey crap, right?"
Skips nodded.
"Well, after my apprentice got killed and I quit the game I was in a pretty tough spot..."
Benson blinked and a younger part of him came back automatically. His addictions, his mistakes, the lonely pit he sunk into... it was all back after roughly ten years of repression. In his old, underfurnished apartment, a tiny crack of daylight shone through the dusty drapes in the dark. Empty beer cans and trash were littered everywhere. With a braided ponytail coming out of his head, Benson was on the floor, sitting against a filthy, torn-up couch with smoke in the air. His face was buried in his knees while he sobbed. On the floor next to him were a shattered lamp and an open bottle of whiskey. On the ground in front of him were a few bags of weed, a lighter, some rolled up pieces of paper, a bag of heroine, and a needle.
Benson lifted his head from his knees and stared at the drugs in front of him. Come on man, you paid for this shit! Just do it! Get high and let it all burn away!
Wait, don't do it, Benson! You're already fucking up your liver with all this alcohol. Throw those fucking drugs away before you fuck your life up even more!
Just do it, damn it! You're life's already gone to hell, how could you screw it up anymore?
Benson shook his head. To himself he whispered, "I can't believe it... I'm a... a loser. Stick Hockey really was my life... and this is all I have left..."
But you can change, Benson! You're here now because you were addicted to Stick Hockey. If you get addicted to these drugs you'll never move forward in life!
He had been doing this for what seemed like days - and maybe it literally was days. Cry like the pussy he was, ponder whether or not he should start doing the still unused drugs he had bought, then take another swig of alcohol and let it all repeat.
THUMP! THUMP! Went the door. "Hey, I know you're in there you wanker!" A deep, angry voice yelled from outside the door. THUMP! THUMP! More banging on the door. "Get out here so I can whoop your ass, then throw you on the street! I know you don't have the rent money, so get the fuck out or I'm breaking the damn door!"
A few days later Benson walked the streets. The sun was coming down and the city seemed empty. He was wearing a backpack and holding an open box full of his crap in his hands when he realized something: Although he was now homeless, nothing was different. He still had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. At least selling the drugs he never used gave him some food money.
Benson bumped into something soft, quickly finding a slim teenager in front of him. The boy had a set of keys in his right hand, holding the door to a restaurant in his other hand.
"Whoops, sorry man," the teenager said as he shut the door and locked it.
Next to the door, on the window, was a "Help Wanted" sign. For the first time in a long time, Benson smiled. "Nah, that was my bad. Say, is this place still hiring?"
The boy put the keys in his pockets and replied, "No, sorry. I guess my boss forgot to take the sign down."
As a sigh escaped his lips, Benson dropped his head to the ground and let a sigh escape his lips. "Well that's too bad."
The gumball machine began to trail off, looking as if he was going to break down and cry until the teen took a step forward and said, "Hey man, you must have lost your job, am I right?"
Benson didn't look back at the kid. He continued walking forward, slowly in his depressive manner. "Actually, I got kicked out of my apartment. I never really had a job, except for the money I got for doing this underground Stick Hock - ugh, nevermind, why do you care?"
The boy took another step forward and said, more optimistically, "Weeeellll, I think I know someone who can get you a job."
Benson stopped and turned around with another smile on his face. "Wow, really? Are... are you sure?"
"Totally."
"Wow, that's mighty nice of you. Name's Benson." He shifted his box full of stuff onto his left arm so he could hold out his right hand, offering a handshake.
The boy took Benson's hand and shook it. "James. James Robin. Come, take a walk with me."
As James and Benson walked around, going absolutely nowhere in particular, James explained that his father is friends with the owner of a park at that they needed a new manager.
"I could put in a good word for you, if you want," James concluded. Both he and Benson finally stopped walking. They were at the gates of a park, now closed. "This is it, by the way."
"Wow, thanks James. I... I don't know what to... why are you helping me, a total stranger, anyway?" Benson asked.
"Eh, I just like helping people. You looked like you needed a hand, and I've got two of 'em." James chuckled and Benson followed, half out of pity for the lame pun and half out of appreciation for James' sense of humor.
"Wow, I've never met someone so kind. Your parents must be proud of you."
"Heh, thanks. Anyway, I should be heading home. If you ever need anything you saw where I work. Don't be afraid to ask."
Suddenly Benson was back at the present, back on the couch, in the bright, clean house at the park. No drugs, beer or trash on the floor. No braided ponytail on his head. No landlord banging on his door. No James. Benson's head was still rested on his hands, elbows on his knees, with Skips standing in front of him. Mordecai and Rigby were still in the room as well - not that Benson or Skips knew.
"Wow, I'm sorry you lost such a good friend, Benson," Skips said.
Mordecai slowly brought his gaze to the floor and said in a weak voice that Rigby could hardly hear, "I'm sorry, too Benson." After a short pause he shot back up at Rigby. "Dude, we have to find that killer."
"What? Why us?"
Mordecai threw his hands on Rigby's shoulders. "Think about it! Now Muscle Man's hurt and we had to take the blame. That's two crimes we've been falsely accused of in one day! And I don't think it's just a coincidence that our boss knew James, the victim of the first crime that started it all. Don't you see? Someone is plotting something against us. And we're gonna that fucker down!"
Rigby blinked, then stared at Mordecai for a brief moment. Finally, he grinned. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's go fuck shit up."