The rain was particularly vicious this grey evening in Arlen, Texas. The Mystery Machine crept through an intersection on its last quarter tank of gas.

"Like, hey Fred, let's stop at that Seven-Eleven. Scoob and I are running low on fuel," Shaggy uttered from the back, where he and Scooby-Doo were snuggled up on the bench seat with a comic book and a fuzzy green blanket.

In the driver's seat with Daphne by his side, Fred lit up. "Great idea Shaggy, while you guys get some snacks, I can get gas for the Mystery Machine! It's Velma's turn to pay right?" he said, turning to Velma, who didn't look up from her phone.

"False. I paid forty-four fifty-seven to fill her up three hundred and sixty-six miles ago, one gas stop prior to our previous, where Daphne paid." Velma said, leaning against the passenger window. She tapped away at her phone some more.

"Geez Velma, you don't have to be such a bitch about it..." Fred muttered, Velma and Scooby both gasped in response.

"Jeepers, Freddy! You do not talk to your friends that way!" Daphne said, punching him in his oversized shoulder. The rain was pounding down even harder, panging off the metal roof of their van like the bullets of a machine gun repeatedly striking a tank. They rolled up to another red light.

"What? I read the word in a magazine, I heard it's one of those sentence enhancers," Fred said, keeping his eye on the road.

"I'm so sorry Velma, he didn't mean it. Freddy, remember that talk we had about special words?" Daphne said to Fred.

"You mean the ones we use when we're feeling uncomfortable during-" Daphne quickly interrupted Fred and grabbed his hand before he could finish that thought.

"During conversations, yes. The ones that hurt people's feelings, remember?" Daphne continued.

"Oh yeah, I remember those Daphne, don't worry, I won't say fuck ever again," Fred said, finishing with an innocent smile that quickly dropped as he had realized what he said. "Golly, sorry Daphne, sorry Velma, all these new words are getting confusing, I'm just trying to stay hip," Fred apologized. The Mystery Machine's windshield wipers could barely keep up with the rain.

"It's okay Fred, for now, you should just stick to the words you know," Velma replied with a smile.

"Stick to the words I know, got it," Fred said, and smiled back. A crash of thunder split everyone's ears. Scooby whimpered.

"It's okay Scooby, it's just a little thunder," Shaggy said, patting Scooby-Doo on the head, "like, this must be a record amount of rain."

Daphne reached to turn on the radio, "this is Nancy Hicks-Gribble with Channel 84 reporting record amounts of unprecedented rain this Arlen evening, local meteorologists say the phenomenon is unnatural and unlike anything seen here before," a female voice with a strong southern American accent said from the radio, "Seal your windows and put on your rain boots, it's about to get wet, sug."

"What do you know Shaggy, maybe one day you could be a meteorologist," Velma remarked from the front.

"Ha-hoo, like, yeah man, this is Shaggy Rogers with like, the weather, ha-hoo," Shaggy joked. The rest of the gang began laughing together at the ridiculous thought of Shaggy as a news anchor.

"Hey gang, don't those kids look a little young to be protesting in the rain?" Fred motioned to the sidewalk to their right, redirecting the gang's attention. Two preteens stood out in the rain with soggy signs and soggier clothes.

"End of days, reave the kitty…" Scooby squinted. He turned to his trusty friend Shaggy in confusion.

"Like, almost Scoob, great job! It actually says end of days, leave the city." Shaggy said, pulling out the last Scooby Snack from a worn box. He tossed it in the air and Scooby caught the snack with the tip of his tongue, letting it roll down into his mouth. After chewing for a moment, Scooby and Shaggy's relaxed demeanor snapped and they stared at each other with fear.

"Zoinks! Like Fred, maybe we should listen to those spooky kids!" Shaggy whimpered, still as a statue. Suddenly, the darkness outside seemed much darker. The rain, much rainier.

"Nonsense Shaggy, the Seven-Eleven's just a few blocks from here. Once you guys have some more Scooby-Snacks you'll feel way better." Fred reassured them. Shaggy and Scooby were momentarily content.

The gang finally arrived at the Seven-Eleven and pulled up next to a pump. Fred began filing the tank while the rest of the gang made their way into the store. Velma noticed a sign on one of the windows.

"Hold it Shaggy, no dogs, see?" She pointed up to the sign.

"Rog, where?" Scooby said, looking around.

"It's nothing Scooby, here, let's wait in the Mystery Machine. Like, there's a Blue Falcon comic waiting for us! Velma, could you get me a can of soup and a box of Scooby-Snacks" Shaggy asked, handing Velma a ten-dollar bill. Velma took the money and nodded, and Shaggy walked with Scooby back to the van. Daphne and Velma proceeded in.

Daphne sauntered over to the drink section, scouting for her recent addiction, Watermelon Redbull. After grabbing a box of Scooby-Snacks and some tomato soup, Velma made her way around the store, scanning each shelf and weighing her options. She had to choose the optimal snack. A chocolate bar wouldn't last her until the next stop. If she got a bag of Chex Mix, it would surely last longer, but at the cost of attracting unwarranted hands from the back of the van. No, it had to be inconspicuous. Something no one else would want. She considered for a moment grabbing a bag of Blue Takis but quickly calculated that it would cause her IBS to flare up in exactly sixteen hours and two minutes, unleashing a storm of noxious gas that could kill a person with a single sniff. Then she saw them, a bag of Circus Peanuts. A snack vile enough that even Shaggy and Scooby wouldn't willingly eat them, Velma reached for the bag with a proud smile. Someone else grabbed her hand before she could get the snack, she turned and came eye to eye with Daphne.

"Common Velm, you don't wanna eat those gross peanut things. Here, try these." Daphne held out a small package.

"All-new Dew-ritos… Mountain Dew and Cool-Ranch Doritos come together for a flavor-filled surprise," Velma read with disgust, "the only surprise is that Shaggy and Scooby haven't eaten seven bags of these yet..." Daphne and Velma both giggled together.

"What's been on your mind?" Daphne promptly said to Velma, changing the subject.

"Huh? Nothing, why would you think something on my mind?" Velma defensively replied.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me right now, but I can tell something's up. You don't ever use your phone this much," Daphne said, looking at the phone clutched tightly in Velma's hand, "but I'm here to listen when you're ready to spill," Daphne added with a quick grin.

Velma smiled and grabbed the Circus Peanuts, taking them over to the checkout. Daphne looked at Velma thoughtfully.

"What's going on with you..." she said to herself under her breath.

Outside, Fred began pumping the Mystery Machine full of gasoline. A large truck pulled up to the pump behind them; the sun beamed off its immaculate red paint, catching Fred's eye. It was in perfect condition. A late-middle-aged man stepped out, sporting square-frame glasses, blue jeans, and a white t-shirt.

"H'yep, the rain sure is coming down, I tell you h'wat..." the man said to his wife as she clambered out of the truck. Fred noticed the woman's immense feet.

"Fine truck you got there," Fred warmly said to the man.

"Thanks, '93 Ford Ranger. That's a fine, uh..." the man glanced at the Mystery Machine with mild discomfort. "That's a van you got there yourself. H'yep, hehe."

"Thanks! We use it to travel the world and solve mysteries!" Fred said enthusiastically. He finished filling the tank and put the nozzle away.

"Mysteries huh? You ever think about getting a real job?" the man asked. He began filling his truck. As the gas went down, a strange clicking noise echoed out. Fred smiled.

"Mystery solving is a real job, we help people," Fred said. The man seemed a little keener to the idea after this.

"Well, I suppose any job that helps people is a job worth doing," the man replied.

"What do you do for a living?" Fred asked. More strange mechanical noises panged from the man's red truck.

"I help people too, by selling propane and propane accessories. The name's Hank Hill." The man said this with such dedication and pride that Fred couldn't help but feel inspired to use propane and propane accessories.

"Fred Jones." Fred reached out to shake hands, Hank went to return the shake, but was promptly distracted by the now, much louder sounds his truck was making.

"What's all that god-dang racket?" Hank said in frustration. He put the gas nozzle away and made his way towards the front of the truck. Suddenly, to both Fred and Hank's surprise, the sides of the truck folded out, and a structure rose up from the bed. Three machine gun turrets sat ready for battle.

"Bwah, h'wat happened to my truck? Damn it, Dale, I knew I shouldn't have let him borrow my truck!" Hank cried out, dropping to his knees.

Back in the store, Velma finished buying her snack and made her way to the bathroom. Daphne stood in line behind three teenagers who were arguing about smoothies. Hank's wife got in line behind Daphne.

"Oh! I love your scarf," the woman said to Daphne.

"Huh?" Daphne said as she turned around, confused.

"Your green scarf, I just have to have one, where did you get it? I love all the clothes kids are wearing these days," the woman said. She smiled at Daphne, who returned a smile back. The woman had a loud, hoarse voice and a mild southern accent.

"Actually, it's an ascot, they're made locally at my hometown of Coolsville," Daphne replied, removing the ascot and revealing a small Coolsville tag, "here, you can have this one, I have hundreds of them."

The woman took the ascot and put it on. "Peggy Hill looks good in an ascot. Who would have thought? Oh who am I kidding, everyone would have thought!" the woman confidently announced. The line moved forward and Daphne set her Red Bull on the counter to pay. She promptly pulled a purple wallet from her purse and peered up at the person at the register. He was turned around, his face less than an inch from the wall, whispering something. It sounded strange and unfamiliar, like an ancient hymn from a dead language, "ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu L'on-Staarr wgah'nagl fhtagn."

Daphne looked back at Peggy to see if she noticed the cashier's odd behavior. Peggy's face was cold, her eyes gleamed with deep concern as she glared at the man. Daphne turned back to the cashier who suddenly snapped back to normal. He turned around.

"Find everything okay?" The cashier asked casually as he entered the Redbull's price on his old register.

Daphne handed him a five. "Just fine, thank you..." she uncomfortably replied.

"Now I thought I heards you say you ain't from arounds here, is that right? What brings you to Arlen?" The cashier continued as he carefully counted her change.

"Crystal Cove's our base of operations, but my friends and I travel for work," Daphne responded. She took her change and began making her way towards the bathroom, pausing as the cashier left her with one final message.

"Make sure you try Sugarfoot's, the food is… life-changing." the cashier advised.

Outside, Fred inspected the handiwork before turning to Hank. "Gee Mr. Hill, these are some expensive modifications. The Mystery Machine only has two machine guns, and they're both older models than these ones," he said, continuing to eye the truck.

"Machine guns? I'm gonna kick Dale's ass." Hank stated. Fred noticed his eyes change slightly, when they first started talking, they were brown. Now, they were red. His wife came out of the store with a bag of Fritos. "Peggy, get in quick, I'm gonna kick Dale's ass."

"Hank, did you put machine guns on your truck without telling me?" Peggy nagged as she made her way over.

"Of course not, Peggy. It was Dale when he borrowed the damn truck," Hank said, getting in the truck. He closed the door gently but firmly. His wife got in the passenger seat and they drove off.

Daphne and Velma followed soon after, and the gang left to find a motel.