The time had hit 3:31 PM, and the heat was at its peak. The house's broken air conditioner and the heat of the afternoon forced Jeanette Lymon, the mother of Frank Fly, to wake up from her three hour nap. She was drooling, dizzy, and had lost her sense of time. She got up and went to the fridge, and chugged half a gallon of milk. She then bit into an onion and decided she was done eating for the day. She walked back to the couch to rest some more, but found a note on the coffee table next to the couch.
"DEAR MOTHER - I AM LEAVING HOME IN PURSUIT OF GREATER THINGS. ME AND MY TWO BEST FRIENDS HAVE LEFT TOWN AND ARE HEADED TO FIVETON, WHERE WE WILL HOPEFULLY FIND AN ARCADE TO TAKE CONTROL OF. IF WE DO NOT, WE WILL MIGRATE TO FOURSIDE INSTEAD. ME AND MY BEST FRIENDS HAVE WANTED TO DO THIS OUR WHOLE LIVES, SO I HOPE YOU CAN UNDERSTAND. WE CALL OURSELVES THE SHARKS, AND WE ARE NO LONGER EARTHBOUND! EVEN THE SKY ISN'T THE LIMIT ANYMORE! WE WILL BECOME VERY RADICAL AND FAMOUS, PERHAPS YOU MAY ONE DAY HEAR ABOUT US OVER THERE. UNTIL THEN, BYE!
FROM YOUR SON - FRANK FLY"
"Did he really have to use my good paper to write this?" she remarked. She tossed the letter into the trash and went back to sleep.
Meanwhile, on a road in a large, empty field walked a cockroach. It had no concept of money, justice, or community. It's considered primitive for this, but life as one wouldn't be too bad. I'd like to reincarnate as a cockroach. Well, this specific cockroach certainly won't be happy anymore, as a bike rapidly approached and ran it over in an instant. The biker cruised down the road, not even noticing the cockroach it had just ran over. Besides him were two other bikers, and the three all had the same destination in mind. They each wore what they usually did, and Frank had on a backpack full of cash, Windy stored his pogo stick in his pocket, and Muskedunder had his hoola hoop around his neck.
The flat terrain allowed the three to reach high speeds, a little too high in fact. If they were to suddenly stop their bicycles, it's likely they would get catapulted forwards. The road, which was one of the only that lead out of Sixex, was usually always empty, so they didn't have to fear any oncoming vehicles. "Goodbye Sixex, hello arcade!" yelled Frank. The three let out a "WOOP WOOP", and laughed as they biked down the road. They eventually had to stop at a crossroad, one road leading to Fiveton, and the other leading to Sevensville. "Where to, boys?" Frank asked. "Fiveton, duh! Ain't that where we goin'?" Windy replied. "Just askin'! Never too late to change your mind!" "TO FIVETONNNN!" yelled Muskedunder.
The sharks went down the road to Fiveton, ready for anything. "I'm kinda nervous!" exclaimed Windy. "We'll be fine, Windy! We kicked the asses of those narwhals, we'll be fine with whatever's in Fiveton!" "I dunno, those narwhals weren't exactly the brightest. They were pretty dumb, actually! We've got no idea what awaits in Fiveton! It's much bigger than Sixex, so whatever gang controls the arcade (that they might not even have!) is gonna be pretty darn powerful." "We'll be fine, Windy! We don't even know if there are rival groups! For all we know, it could be ripe for the taking!" Muskedunder chimed in, "YAH, AND HE'S FAIL-PROOF FRANK AS WELL!" Frank grinned, "Damn straight!"
Suddenly, Windy noticed a spike strip laid out across the road, "AY AY! STOP YOUR BIKES!" The three suddenly stopped, and Frank yelled, "Who the hell put that there!?" Windy replied, "Dunno, but it's no big deal. We can just go around-" "No, you can't!" a nasally voice snapped. "Who's that?!" yelled Windy, dashing his head around to see who had spoken to him. Suddenly, three identical looking teens appeared from a bush. They each wore a plain white t-shirt, with a splotch of black paint on each one. The one in the middle wore a black and white polka-dot top hat and a monocle.
"Who the hell are you guys?!" Frank asked as he crossed his arms. The one in the top hat cleared his voice and adjusted his monocle, "We three (my echo, my shadow, and me!) are the Ink Spots! This road right here is OUR turf! Anyone that tries to cross here has gotta pay us a fine! How were you goin' down here without knowing who we were?" "Looks like we'll have loads of fun in Fiveton..." thought Windy as he sighed. Muskedunder interrupted, "Ah'm not payin' ya anything! Let's get outta here!" Frank got back on his bike, "Yeah, we're not paying your fine." "Yeah, what's stopping me from pogoing over your spike strip?"
The leader of the Ink Spots laughed, "My name is Sinn Sisamouth! I'm 16 years of age, and never in my life has anyone passed through this road without payin' me or my guys!" His two cohorts, Ros Sereysothea and Pan Ron laughed and exclaimed, "THATS RIGHT!" "Really? Well I'm Frank Fly. 15 years of age, and not once in my life have I or my mates failed! People call me- FAIL-PROOF FRANK! So come at me, I dare you!" Sisamouth sighed, "Just hand over 25 bucks bub! Don't make this hard!" "You're not getting a dime out of us!" Windy chimed.
"You've left the Ink Spots with no choice!" Sisamouth exclaimed, "Bring her out, boys!" Ron and Sereysothea retreated to a bush, and suddenly, a large robot, about twice the size of Frank, emerged from the floor, chunks of dirt rolling down its long snake-like body. It was made of both wood and metal, and had a total of about 14 arms, one on its right side seemingly gone. "Ain't it beautiful? I named it- Delorean Dynamite!" He opened up the backside of the robot and pressed a big red button, under which the words "RATTLE 'EM" were written.
To Be Continued