After dusting himself off from the bounce house landing, Lincoln walks back into Cashwood Grove, his mind buzzing with anger and confusion. The forest around him is just as garish and artificial as before, with Pear advertisements glowing on nearly every tree. The air feels like it's been sprayed with cheap air freshener labeled "Nature Scent: Now With More Chemicals!" Lincoln groans, gripping his frying pan tightly.
Lincoln: (muttering) There's gotta be more to this place than Lord Ego and his walking billboard son.
As he pushes forward, Lincoln notices a tall metal fence running through the middle of the forest. It stretches as far as the eye can see, with a sign posted on the gate that reads:
"PRIVATE PROPERTY: KEEP OUT (But Only If You're Poor)"
Lincoln: (rolling his eyes) Subtle as a wrecking ball, these guys.
With a quick glance around, Lincoln backs up and sprints toward the fence, leaping over it with surprising agility. He lands on the other side and stops short, blinking in disbelief. The forest here is completely different—lush, vibrant, and teeming with life. Massive treehouses stretch high into the canopy, connected by wooden bridges, with lanterns glowing warmly in the branches. Animals scurry about freely, and the air is filled with the scent of fresh pine and flowers.
Lincoln: (staring) Okay, this is definitely not the Pear-sponsored side of town.
As he walks deeper into this new part of the grove, Lincoln notices a group of turtles—actual talking turtles—going about their business. They carry baskets of fruit, mend ropes on the treehouses, and chatter among themselves. One particularly old turtle, with a long gray beard and glasses perched on his nose, spots Lincoln and waddles over.
Old Turtle: (in a gravelly voice) Well, well! What do we have here? A visitor from the other side of the fence?
Lincoln: (hesitant) Uh…yeah. Hi. Name's Lincoln. Who're you?
Old Turtle: (grinning) They call me Old Bark. I'm the keeper of this grove and the storyteller of our people.
Lincoln: (gesturing around) So, what's the deal with this place? It's like night and day compared to the other side.
Old Bark strokes his beard thoughtfully, motioning for Lincoln to follow him. They walk toward a massive tree at the center of the grove, its trunk carved with intricate designs depicting animals, people, and trees.
Old Bark: (sighing) Once, this entire grove was a paradise—a sanctuary for nature, untouched by greed or progress. The animals lived in harmony, the trees flourished, and the air was pure. But then he arrived.
Lincoln: (raising an eyebrow) Let me guess. Lord Business?
Old Bark: (nodding grimly) The very same. He came here years ago, promising progress and innovation. Said he'd make the grove the most "profitable forest" in the world. But all he did was carve the land in two.
Old Bark points to the metal fence, his voice growing heavy with disdain.
Old Bark: He split the grove right down the middle—one half turned into that abomination of ads and plastic you came from, the other left untouched for those who refused to sell out.
Lincoln: (frowning) Wait, why split it at all? Why not just ruin the whole thing?
Old Bark: (chuckling darkly) Because that fool thought he could get two paychecks by running both halves separately. One for the "natural" grove, the other for his corporate playground.
Lincoln: (blinking in disbelief) Two paychecks… for the same forest. (pauses) Wow. He's actually dumber than he looks.
Old Bark: (sighing) Greed does funny things to people, my boy. And now he's choking the life out of this place, piece by piece.
Before Lincoln can respond, Old Bark reaches into a hollow in the tree and pulls out a strange object. It's a frying pan, but unlike Lincoln's plain one, this one is reinforced with sharp ridges along the edges and a glowing core in the center.
Old Bark: Here. You'll need this if you're going to stand up to that tyrant.
Lincoln: (taking the pan, examining it) Whoa. Fancy. What's the upgrade?
Old Bark: (grinning) That's no ordinary pan, my boy. It's the Frying Pan of Justice. It hits harder, lasts longer, and comes with a built-in energy blast.
Lincoln: (smirking) Now we're talking.
Old Bark: But beware—the more you use its power, the angrier it makes the target. And that's no problem if you're fighting, say, a rabid raccoon. But Lord Business? He might just explode from the embarrassment.
Lincoln: (grinning) Good. I'd pay to see that.
Old Bark chuckles and pats Lincoln on the shoulder.
Old Bark: You've got guts, kid. Use that frying pan wisely—and don't let that fence fool you. The battle for this grove is just beginning.
As Lincoln turns to leave, Old Bark calls out one last warning.
Old Bark: Oh, and watch out for his son. That boy's got ice in his veins, but no brains in his head!
Lincoln: (calling back) Got it. Thanks, Old Bark!
Lincoln heads back toward the fence, gripping the Frying Pan of Justice tightly. His anger toward Lord Business burns hotter than ever, but now he's armed and ready. As he leaps over the fence and returns to the corporate wasteland of Pear's side, he mutters to himself.
Lincoln: Two paychecks for the same forest… I swear, this guy makes my family look like Nobel Prize winners.
The bright, garish ads of Pear Tower loom in the distance, and Lincoln grins darkly, his frying pan glowing faintly in his hand.
Lincoln: Alright, Lord Business. Time to give you a taste of your own bad decisions.