Lincoln Loud stood on the sidewalk, still reeling from his encounter with the big-eyebrows man and hoping he was in the clear to do his school assault, when suddenly a bright yellow Vespa screeched to a halt in front of him. Astride the scooter was a woman with bubblegum pink hair, wielding a blue Rickenbacker bass guitar.

"Konnichiwa, Rinkan-kun!" the woman exclaimed, her voice filled with manic energy. "Watashi wa Haruko Haruhara desu!"

Lincoln blinked, confused. "Uh, what?"

Haruko grinned, hopping off her Vespa. "No time for nihongo lessons! We must go to Medicaru Mechanica, hayaku!"

Before Lincoln could protest, Haruko grabbed him by the collar and tossed him onto the back of her scooter. With a rev of the engine, they took off, zooming through the streets of Royal Woods at breakneck speed.

"Whoa!" Lincoln cried, clinging to Haruko for dear life. "Where are we going?"

"To stop the kyodaina besuboru from space!" Haruko shouted over her shoulder. "Anata wa chosen one, Lincoln-kun!"

As they weaved through traffic, narrowly avoiding collisions and defying the laws of physics, Lincoln struggled to hang on The world around him seemed to stretch and warp, colors becoming more vibrant and exaggerated.

Finally, they screeched to a halt in front of a massive, stark white building shaped like a giant steam iron. "Kore wa Medical Mechanica," Haruko announced, gesturing dramatically.

Lincoln stumbled off the Vespa, his legs wobbly. "And what exactly are we doing here?"

Haruko swung her bass guitar onto her back. "We infiltrate, find the kontororu rumu, and stop the besuboru!" She paused, then added with a wink, "Piece of keeki!"

With that, Haruko grabbed Lincoln's hand and dragged him towards the building. They snuck in through a side entrance, finding themselves in a sterile, white corridor that seemed to go on forever.

As they crept down the hallway, Lincoln heard familiar voices coming from a nearby room. Curious, he peeked inside, only to see five adults engaged in a heated argument.

"Goddammit, Charlie!" a man with slicked-back hair shouted. "You can't just eat the test results!"

"But Dennis," Charlie protested, his mouth full of paper, "I thought it would give me the answers faster!"

A short, balding man waved his hands frantically. "Who cares about the test results? We gotta focus on the real problem here – the rats in the basement!"

"Frank, for the last time," a tall blonde woman interjected, "there are no rats in the basement. You're just having another acid flashback."

"Shut up, bird!" the final man snapped at her.

Lincoln, unable to help himself, stepped into the room. "Uh, excuse me? I'm looking for the control room to stop a giant baseball from space."

The five adults turned to stare at him, their expressions a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"Beat it, kid," Dennis said dismissively. "We're dealing with important stuff here."

"Yeah," the blonde woman, presumably Dee, added. "Like how Mac here thinks he can cure his gayness with experimental therapy."

Mac gasped indignantly. "I'm not gay! I'm just... cultivating mass!"

Lincoln tried again. "But seriously, there's a giant baseball headed for Earth, and-"

"Listen, you little jabroni," Frank cut him off. "Unless you've got some test results that'll prove I don't have donkey brains, get outta here!"

Defeated, Lincoln backed out of the room, nearly bumping into Haruko.

"Rinkan-kun!" she scolded. "No time for making tomodachi! We must hurry!"

They continued their journey through the labyrinthine corridors of Medical Mechanica, dodging strange robotic creatures and avoiding suspicious-looking puddles of goo. All the while, Lincoln couldn't shake the feeling that reality was becoming increasingly fluid.

Finally, they reached a massive door labeled "CONTROL ROOM" in both English and Japanese.

"Kore da!" Haruko exclaimed. She raised her bass guitar, ready to smash the door open.

"Wait!" Lincoln cried. "Shouldn't we try the handle first?"

Haruko paused, then shrugged. "Mochiron, why not?"

To their surprise, the door swung open easily. Inside, they found a room filled with blinking lights, strange levers, and a massive screen showing the approaching baseball.

"Yosh!" Haruko cheered. "Now we can stop the kyodaina besuboru!"

Lincoln approached the control panel, his eyes wide with wonder. "But how? I don't even know what any of this does!"

Haruko grinned mischievously. "Just use your atama, Rinkan-kun. Trust your cho!"

As Lincoln stood there, trying to make sense of the bizarre situation he found himself in, he couldn't help but wonder if this was all just some strange dream. Maybe he'd eaten one too many spicy chips and was hallucinating.

But as the baseball on the screen grew larger and larger, he knew he had to do something. With a deep breath, Lincoln reached out and grabbed the nearest lever.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "here goes nothing."

As he pulled the lever, the room erupted in a cacophony of alarms and flashing lights. Haruko let out a whoop of excitement, swinging her bass guitar wildly.

"Sugoi, Rinkan-kun!" she cheered. "You did it!"

Meanwhile, back in the other room, the Gang continued their argument, because why not?

"I'm telling you," Charlie insisted, "if we just huff some more paint, all our problems will go away!"

Lincoln and Haruko, huffing and puffing like two chipmunks on a treadmill, finally reached the tippy-top floor of Medical Mechanica. They burst through the doors, ready for action, only to find...

Rusty Spokes, looking like a deranged water park employee, dual-wielding Super Soakers and holding up an android that looked suspiciously like a toaster with arms.

"Give me the secret serum, you bucket of bolts!" Rusty screeched, his voice cracking like a pubescent dolphin.

Lincoln's jaw dropped faster than a lead balloon. "Rusty?!"

Rusty's head whipped around, his eyes widening like dinner plates. "HISSSSSSS!" he went, inexplicably producing a vampire cape from thin air. With a dramatic swoosh, he flew off, leaving behind a trail of glitter and the faint smell of garlic.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," Lincoln groaned, slapping his forehead hard enough to leave a comical hand-shaped mark. "That's what I was forgetting! Lucy! Where the heck is she?"

As if summoned by the power of plot convenience, a man sauntered into the room. He wore a toga, a laurel wreath, and had a stethoscope haphazardly draped around his neck like a fancy scarf.

"Salutations, young man!" he boomed, his voice echoing like he was speaking into a tin can. "I am Biggus Dickus, doctor extraordinaire and treater of miscreant Goths!"

Lincoln's face contorted like he'd just sucked on a lemon dipped in hot sauce. "I'm sorry, your name is WHAT now?"

Biggus Dickus leaned in close, his breath smelling suspiciously of mint and defeat. "Biggus. Dickus. What's so funny about that, hmm? Can't handle my monumentally magnificent moniker?"

Lincoln's cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk trying not to laugh at a funeral.

"Hmm? Is there are a problem with me?

BIGGUS.

DICKUS?"

Haruko, meanwhile, kept Lincoln steady.

"Ochitsuite, Rinkan-kun!" she said, poking at his cheeks. "Don't make the ridiculously large man angry!"

In the next room over, Lucy lay on a hospital bed, looking like she'd gone ten rounds with a cement mixer and lost. Through the window, Jiren floated like a buff, gray cloud, flexing his muscles with the intensity of a thousand suns, pushing his spandex to the limit. He was flexing at her, specifically, making eye contact.

FLEX. FLEX. FLEX.

FLEX.

FLEX.

Lucy's one visible eye twitched. She turned her gaze to the ceiling, her voice a monotone plea. "Please, Sonic Wildfire, just stop the story. I beg you. End this madness."

THE END

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If it was opposite day.

Clyde and Ronnie Anne, fresh outta that whack time-beatin' and sick of all this crazy shit, decide to go straight-up legit selling coke in little dimebags. Like straight up Cherry Coke, some Diet Coke in some other bags, Vanilla Cream Coke too, at outrageous prices.

They struttin' down the street like they own the place, Clyde with his gold chains clinkin' and Ronnie Anne's chola makeup on fleek. They mean muggin' everyone who dares look their way.

Some fool steps to 'em, thinking he tough, thinking he can get his dime of coke for free with a snatch because it was a hot-ass day.

Clyde's all like, "You best step off, bitch," while Ronnie Anne cracks her knuckles like she 'bout to open a can of whoop-ass.

The fool don't listen, starts runnin' his mouth. Bad move, ese.

Quicker than you can say "ay dios mio," Ronnie Anne's got him in a headlock while Clyde's going through his pockets.

"This is how we do business now, pendejo," Ronnie Anne growls, givin' the fool a noogie that'll make his grandkids feel it.

Clyde finds the dude's wallet, takes out the cash, then stuffs it full of business cards for their new legit enterprise: "Third Street Ain't Playin' - Security and Waste Management."

They toss the fool aside like yesterday's tamales and keep on walkin', not even lookin' back when he calls 'em "mean."

Just another day in the hood for Royal Woods' newest entrepreneurs.

Word to your mother, whom I FUCKED.