The sun rises over a surreal landscape. The rolling hills spiral upward, twisting like a drunken artist's sketch of a mountain. Strange, oversized vegetables grow in odd patches, their colors unnaturally bright, almost mocking reality. A few cartoonishly round houses are scattered about, their chimneys puffing question-mark-shaped smoke. Lincoln lies sprawled on the ground, his head pounding as if a marching band had set up shop in his skull.
Lincoln: (groaning, clutching his head) Ugh…what the hell happened? (blinks and winces as the world wobbles) Oh, great. Beer vision. Of course.
He sits up, the world spinning. Everything looks fuzzy and oddly vibrant, the kind of place that screams, "You're too sober for this nonsense," despite the lingering taste of something strong and vaguely fermented on Lincoln's tongue.
Lincoln: (mutters, coughing) Oh no… it's gonna be one of those days.
He stumbles to his feet, looking around the bizarre landscape with growing confusion.
Lincoln: (squinting at the world) How the hell did I even get here? Did Gregg do this? God, I need to go home... crawl into bed... and die properly this time.
As he staggers forward, trying to orient himself, he spots a scarecrow leaning against a crooked wooden post. It sways slightly, as if caught in a permanent state of tipsy imbalance. As Lincoln approaches, the scarecrow turns, revealing a straw face with a lazy, drunken smile.
Birdy: (slurred) Uh…who're you?
Lincoln: (blinking, clearly annoyed) Oh, great. Another talking scarecrow. (pauses) Or… the same talking scarecrow? (rubbing his head) Okay, uh…hello. Can you help me? I need to get home. Like, now. I don't feel very well at all.
Birdy: (scratches his straw-filled head) Err…home? (pauses, swaying) No…nope. No idea.
Lincoln: (sighs, exasperated) So you can't help me at all? Fantastic. Just fantastic.
Birdy: (perks up suddenly) Actually…yeah. Yes! I can. Maybe.
Lincoln: (raising an eyebrow) Uh-huh. Sure. Let's hear it.
Birdy: (grinning proudly) Name's Birdy.
Lincoln: Beardy? But…you don't even have a beard.
Birdy: (rolls his straw eyes) No, Birdy. Like…I scare birdies.
Lincoln: (deadpan) Yeah, well, you're scaring me now, Birdy. How exactly are you supposed to help me?
Birdy: (grinning wider) Right, right. Step over here.
Birdy motions with a lazy wave to a large, stone platform nearby. It's circular, with a bright yellow "B" painted on it. Lincoln eyes it suspiciously.
Lincoln: (frowning) What's this supposed to be? A teleportation pad?
Birdy: (ignoring him) You see those buttons? Actually, you'll find they're called context sensitive. And, eh…well, you press B.
Lincoln: (sarcastic) Oh, that's all? Just press B? Why didn't I think of that?
Birdy: (nodding, swaying) Yeah, yeah, mate. You press it, the light comes on, and it makes this noise. Ting! (mimics the sound) Goes "ting."
A lightbulb appears over Lincoln's head, making an actual ting sound. He looks up at it, more annoyed than impressed.
Birdy: (grinning) There you go. Ting! That's it.
Lincoln: (glaring at the scarecrow) That's it?
Birdy: (enthusiastically) That's it!
Lincoln: (throws up his arms) Fine, whatever. I'll press B.
Lincoln steps onto the platform and reluctantly presses the "B" button. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a cold bottle of beer. He stares at it, confused, before Birdy snatches it out of his hand with surprising speed.
Birdy: (chugging it down) Ahhh, don't mind if I do. Cheers, mate!
Lincoln: (sarcastic) Oh, sure. Make yourself at home. I didn't need that or anything.
Birdy: (wiping his straw mouth) Means it works! Context sensitive! Try it again over there.
Birdy points to another "B" pad a few feet away. Lincoln gives him a withering glare but decides to go along with it. He steps on the second pad and presses B again, pulling out a helium bottle this time. Birdy snatches it eagerly, unscrews the top, and inhales deeply. His voice shifts to a high-pitched squeak.
Birdy: (squeaking) Really nice helium!
Lincoln: (staring, unimpressed) Oh, yeah. Real helpful. Thanks, buddy.
If Lincoln presses B again, he pulls out another bottle of beer. Birdy grabs it immediately, guzzling it like a seasoned professional.
Birdy: (belching loudly) Ahhh, don't mind if I do. Thank you very much!
Lincoln: (deadpan) You're welcome, I guess?
Birdy wobbles, clearly satisfied, and starts leaning back against his post as if settling in for a nap.
Birdy: (slurring) Right…that's me done for the day. Going to bed now. Night-night.
Lincoln: (watching in disbelief) Seriously? That's it? What about helping me get home?!
Birdy doesn't respond, already snoring softly, leaving Lincoln alone in the bizarre, twisted landscape. He sighs deeply, running a paw down his furry face.
Lincoln: (mutters) Figures. Day two as a squirrel, and this is what I get. Context sensitive my ass.
He turns to leave, his tiny squirrel paws crunching against the colorful grass, and heads off toward the spiraling mountain in the distance. The towering, whimsical landscape looms before him like a bad acid trip, and Lincoln mutters to himself as he trudges forward.
Lincoln: (grumbling) Great. Just great. How much worse can this possibly get?
In the distance, the sound of a growling gargoyle echoes, followed by a loud, mocking laugh. Lincoln stops in his tracks and groans.
Lincoln: (gritting his teeth) I just had to ask, didn't I?
He presses onward, his annoyance mounting, ready to face whatever insanity this world throws at him next.
Lincoln: (sighs) Oh, for crying out loud. Hey! Rock-face! Mind moving over? I'm trying to…well, get out of here.
The Gargoyle cracks one stony eyelid, glancing at Lincoln with a look of utter disdain.
Gargoyle: (grumbling) No! I don't think so. I've only just got comfy. Have you ever sat on a piece of gothic architecture for two hundred years? Gets right up your arse you know. Thought it was about time to move to a bridge, say, and I'm not moving now.
Lincoln: (irritated) Really? Two hundred years to pick a spot to sit? (mutters) Talk about low expectations…
Gargoyle: (grunts) Watch it, squirrel-boy. You come any closer, and we'll be discussing things…of another nature.
Lincoln, fed up with every obstacle, takes a step forward, ignoring the vague threat. But before he can react, the Gargoyle springs to life, grabs him by the scruff, and hurls him down the waterfall. Lincoln yelps, plunging into the water below with a loud splash.
Lincoln: (yelling as he falls) I HATE THIS PLACE!
Lincoln continued up the spiraling path, muttering angrily to himself as he climbed. After a while, he spotted a dark cave entrance at the base of a small cliff. Above it hung a crude sign that read, "KEEP OUT! SERIOUSLY!" in wobbly letters. Lincoln stopped in his tracks, narrowing his eyes.
Lincoln: (to himself) Yeah, because that isn't ominous at all.
As he mutters, a high-pitched, childlike giggle echoes through the cave. Lincoln freezes, his furred ears twitching as the sound bounces around him. He looks around, eyes narrowing.
Lincoln: (under his breath) Oh, no. What now?
From the shadows, a small figure emerges—a young girl, about six years old, with a delicate golden key sticking out of the top of her head like a decorative hair ornament. She's dressed in an elaborate pink and gold dress, complete with frills, ribbons, and lace. Her eyes are wide and sparkly, her smile too innocent for comfort.
Key-anna: (excitedly) Hi there, mister squirrel boy! I'm Key-anna! Who are you?
Lincoln: (blinking in disbelief) Uh…Lincoln. (pauses, squinting) Wait, are you a…human key?
Key-anna: (giggling) Yup! I'm the prettiest, most magical key in the whole wide world! (spins around, making her dress twirl) And I'm here to help! But only if you're super nice to me.
Lincoln: (deadpan) Of course. Why wouldn't the key have a sparkly princess complex? (sighs) Look, Key-anna, I just need you to unlock that door so I can get out of here.
Key-anna: (gasps, putting her hands on her hips) What?! No candy first?!
Lincoln: (staring, dumbfounded) Candy?
Key-anna: (nodding enthusiastically) Candy! I don't help boring people for free. Gimme candy, mister squirrel boy!
Lincoln: (groaning, running a paw down his face) I don't have candy! What do you think this is, Halloween?
Key-anna: (pouting) That's not very nice. You should always have candy for princesses like me.
Key-anna's golden key begins to glow ominously, and Lincoln takes a cautious step back.
Lincoln: (nervously) Okay, okay, let's not get hasty—
Before he can finish, Key-anna waves her hand, and a flash of pink light engulfs the cave. When the glow fades, Lincoln looks down and freezes in horror. His fur is gone, replaced by smooth, glittery skin. He's now wearing a sparkly pink ball gown, complete with puffy sleeves and a tiara perched on his head.
Lincoln: (yelling) WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!
Key-anna: (clapping her hands, delighted) Yay! Now you're a pretty princess like me!
Lincoln: (stammering) Change me back RIGHT NOW!
Key-anna giggles and waves her hand again. Another flash of light returns Lincoln to his original human form. He looks down at himself, breathing a sigh of relief.
Lincoln: (grumbling) If I ever see glitter again, I'm gonna lose it.
Key-anna: (skipping toward the locked door) Okay, okay! I'll open the door now. Sheesh, you're no fun.
Key-anna places her hands on the door, and her golden key glows brightly. With a soft click, the door unlocks and creaks open. Inside is a pedestal with Lincoln's first weapon—a frying pan. He steps forward cautiously and picks it up, examining it.
Lincoln: (sarcastic) A frying pan. Perfect. Just what I need to defend myself against homicidal gargoyles and sparkly little monsters.
Key-anna: (pouting) Hey! I helped you, mister squirrel boy! You're supposed to say thank you!
Lincoln's patience snaps. He grips the frying pan tightly, his entire body stiffening as a strange energy courses through him. His form begins to stretch and change—his hair grows longer, his figure becomes taller and more maternal. His voice takes on a commanding tone, full of authority and irritation.
Lincoln/Linka: (sternly) That is ENOUGH, young lady!
Key-anna blinks in surprise as Lincoln—now fully transformed into Linka, a tall, motherly figure—marches toward her with an air of no-nonsense authority. Linka grabs Key-anna by the arm and pulls her over to a nearby rock, sitting down and pulling the girl over her knee.
Key-anna: (panicking) Wait! No! What are you doing?!
Linka: (scolding) You've been nothing but trouble, young lady, and it's time someone taught you a lesson!
The screen fades to black, but the sounds of slapping and Key-anna's wailing echo loudly. After a while, the slapping stops, replaced by sniffles and muffled sobbing. When the screen fades back in, Key-anna is sitting in the corner of the cave, rubbing her backside as she sniffles softly.
Linka: (now back to Lincoln, still glaring) And you're staying there until you learn to behave.
Key-anna nods miserably, still rubbing her sore bottom as Lincoln picks up the frying pan and heads back toward the bridge. He glances back once before shaking his head and muttering to himself.
Lincoln: (to himself) Pretty princess my ass.
Lincoln emerges from the cave, back in his eleven-year-old human form, and climbs the path toward the bridge. The gargoyle is still lounging smugly, waiting for him.
Gargoyle: (grinning) Well, look who's back. You actually made it? I'm impressed.
Lincoln: (gripping the frying pan) Oh, you're gonna be really impressed in a second.
Lincoln stands before the bridge, frying pan in hand, glaring at the smug gargoyle blocking his path. The surreal mountain landscape twists in the background, its bright, cartoonish aesthetic almost mocking him.
Gargoyle: (smirking) Oh, you're back again? Still waving that frying pan around like it's gonna do something?
Lincoln: (grinning wickedly) You'd be surprised what a frying pan can do.
Without hesitation, Lincoln charges forward and swings the frying pan with all his strength, smacking the gargoyle square in the nose. The loud clang reverberates across the bridge as the gargoyle flinches, but instead of looking hurt, it bursts into laughter.
Gargoyle: (laughing hysterically) Oh, that's rich! You think that little thing can—whoa, whoa, WHOA!
The gargoyle's laughter throws it off balance, and it wobbles precariously. Lincoln takes a step back, smirking as the massive stone creature teeters on the edge of the bridge. Finally, with a loud crack, the bridge gives way, and the gargoyle tumbles into the chasm below, screaming in shock.
Lincoln: (mock-waving) Bye-bye, boulder-breath.
As the dust settles, Lincoln notices the rubble left by the gargoyle is still blocking the path forward. He sighs in frustration, running a hand through his hair.
Lincoln: (grumbling) Of course. Can't even win without another headache.
Then, he notices a suspiciously glowing "B" platform nearby. With a resigned groan, he steps onto it and presses the button. A comically oversized plunger appears in his hands, with a long string of dynamite coiled at the base.
Lincoln: (staring at it) Really? Dynamite? Oh yeah, this isn't overkill at all.
He sets the dynamite carefully around the rubble and attaches the plunger detonator a few feet away. After giving it a final once-over, he takes a deep breath and grips the handle of the plunger.
Lincoln: (to himself) If this doesn't work, I'm officially done with this crazy world.
With a dramatic push, Lincoln slams the plunger down. A deafening BOOM shakes the area as the dynamite explodes, sending chunks of rock flying in every direction. When the dust clears, the path ahead is finally open, leading into a lush, vibrant forest.
Lincoln: (smirking, brushing off his hands) And that's how you deal with a roadblock.
He steps forward into the forest, the atmosphere shifting as he enters. The air smells crisp and slightly artificial, the trees unnaturally perfect in their symmetry. The path winds through brightly colored flowers and neatly trimmed grass, giving the place an oddly corporate feel. A large wooden sign stands at the entrance, with bold letters carved into it:
"Welcome to Cashwood Grove!"
"Property of Pear Industries—Because Why Not?"
Lincoln: (reading the sign) Cashwood Grove? (frowning) Great. A forest owned by a billion-dollar tech company. This is definitely not going to suck at all.
As he ventures further, the corporate branding becomes even more obvious. Trees bear plaques that read, "Sponsored by Pear: The Future is Now," and holographic billboards project advertisements into the air.
Billboard Voice: (cheerfully) "Tired of clunky tech? Upgrade to the Pear Phone X—now with more features you didn't ask for!"
Lincoln: (gritting his teeth) Oh, I hate this place already.
The path leads him to a large clearing where several Pear employees, dressed in perfectly pressed uniforms, are tending to the forest like gardeners. One of them, a chipper young man with an unsettlingly perfect smile, spots Lincoln and approaches him with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Employee: (beaming) Welcome to Cashwood Grove, young guest! I hope you're enjoying your stay in our state-of-the-art, fully immersive outdoor experience!
Lincoln: (staring blankly) It's a forest.
Employee: (laughs) Oh, but it's so much more! This is Pear's flagship project for combining nature and innovation! Please, let me know if there's anything we can do to enhance your journey!
Lincoln: (sarcastic) Yeah, how about pointing me toward the exit?
Employee: (pausing, confused) Exit? Oh, we don't really have one of those. Once you're in Cashwood Grove, you're here to stay!
Lincoln: (under his breath) Great. I just walked into a corporate prison.
The employee waves and returns to his work, leaving Lincoln alone in the clearing. He sighs and looks around, noticing another glowing "B" platform nearby.
Lincoln: (walking toward it) Alright, let's see what fresh nonsense this one has for me.
He steps onto the platform and presses the button. A holographic map appears in front of him, showing the layout of Cashwood Grove. A glowing marker indicates his location, along with a path leading to what appears to be an "Authorized Access Only" area.
Lincoln: (studying the map) Huh. Guess that's where I'm headed.
He steps off the platform and heads deeper into the forest, following the marked path. As he walks, the branding becomes even more overwhelming—statues of Pear Phones line the path, and a robotic voice occasionally chimes in with promotional messages.
Robotic Voice: (cheerfully) "Don't forget to visit the Pear Store for exclusive Cashwood Grove merchandise!"
Lincoln: (groaning) If I see one more ad, I'm gonna lose it.
Determined to escape the corporate nightmare, Lincoln presses on, gripping his frying pan tightly as he braces himself for whatever challenges Cashwood Grove has in store.