Nick, Ethan, Meagan, and Sheen marched down the barren halls in a diamond formation. They cringed at each distant scream but didn't stop until they approached the library. Its door was splintered, warped, and sported a cracked window. A loud thud rebounded from inside and drew the kids' attention.

From the point position, Nick closed his hand into a fist. He flashed two fingers, pointed at the left side of the door, and then repeated the gesture on the right side. He and Meagan sidled up on the former while Ethan and Sheen hugged the latter.

The four kids peeked their heads through the window. They found a dozen students clad in black sweaters, tactical pants, and balaclavas hurling books into sacks. Nick asked, "Is that the literature club?"

Ethan nodded. "We should stop them, right?"

Meagan anxiously shook her head. "No thank you. Those kids are tough as nails."

Everyone gulped as a barrel-chested eighth grader with biceps the size of tree trunks ripped a copy of Irene Iddesleigh in half.

Sheen pointed out, "Besides, stealing books is barely a crime."

Meagan chimed in, "And tearing up that monstrosity is a favor to humanity." When everyone cast her a confused look, she snarled, "I know how to read!"

Nick grit his teeth before pulling away from the door. He unclipped his walkie-talkie and motioned for the others to follow as he resumed leading them towards the cafeteria. "I'll call it in to the hall monitors. We have to stay focused on our operation."

While Nick's radio squawked, Sheen said, "Speaking of our mission, we have the easiest one. Right?"

Meagan nodded. "It sounds like there's just another food fight. Those things burn themselves after a half hour. It'll be done by the time we get there."

Nick relayed the library's coordinates as Ethan said, "Hopefully you're right and we just have to clean up."

Sheen and Meagan shared a petrified glance. Meagan asked, "You want us to clean up after a food fight? That's impossible!"

Sheen grabbed the padded shoulders of Meagan's pantsuit. "Don't panic! We can find a way to keep the battle going so we never have to."

Meagan nodded and clasped the top of Sheen's arms. The two struggled to follow their friends and kept bumping into Ethan. "You're a genius. We could raid the vending machines for more ammunition."

Sheen added, "And invite each army's leader to peace talks, then assassinate one of them."

The duo knocked into Nick, who turned off his radio and shoved them away. "Guys, enough." He narrowed his eyes at Meagan and added, "You're wearing a pantsuit. Act like it."

Meagan moaned, "I knew I should have changed."

Sheen released his hold on the girl and slammed a fist into his palm. "If we must end this war, then I say we cut their supplies off at the source. Let's raze Ethan's farm to the ground!"

Ethan begged, "Can we wait to make a plan until we see what we're up against?"

Nick nodded as they walked past Tom's bustling store and approached the cafeteria's entrance. "He's right. Although in case there is a food fight, let's have Sheen take point." He stared down at his outfit and admitted, "I really love this trench coat."

Sheen leapt in front of the group and swore, "I'll protect it with my life." He kicked one of the double doors open to reveal the chaos inside.

Clouds of dust and flour filled the room with a hazy fog that tickled each child's throat. To the group's left rested five rows of long overturned tables. Crouched behind the improvised cover were dozens of students clutching food trays, cutlery, and any other improvised weapons they could find.

Far to the right rested the serving station. The long counter had been fortified with countless bags of rice and flour. Corkscrews, paring knives, and Kaneka chopsticks had been hastily adhered to the barricade with honey to ward off intruders. Immediately in front of the station, the floor glistened with a bright sheen of melted butter.

Between the bulwark and overturned tables lay a heartbreaking no man's land. Injured children clutched wounds, called out with hoarse voices for their distant comrades, and stared into their empty futures with thousand yard stares.

Eating utensils, canned goods, and plates flew through the air. A cacophony of bangs and thumps as weaponry crashed into cover mixed with painful screams. Nick dropped to a crouch after a stray mug nearly clipped his skull. As his friends followed suit, he asked, "Is this even a food fight?

Ethan stared at one no man's land victim who was slathered in peanut butter. The boy's little visible skin was covered in red welts and he gurgled for breath. "I think so?" Ethan offered while watching a seventh-grade girl with a red cross armband belly-crawl towards the anaphylactic boy. She reached into her pocket, clasped an EpiPen, and stabbed it into the boy's thigh.

"For the fallen!" an eighth-grader sporting a stained gray T-shirt and ketchup-covered auburn curls rose from behind the tables. He pointed his spoon at the wall. "Fire and charge!"

A trio of catapults rocketed chairs across the room. In their wake sprinted a quintet of warriors sporting lunch tray chest plates and finely crafted fauchards.

"I'm gonna call it," Sheen calmly said while covering his head against a rain of shrapnel from an exploding missile. "Not a food fight."

Meagan shielded her face and added, "And maybe Ms. Singh should stop letting us make weapons in woodshop."

Nick watched as one of the missiles managed to slam through the serving counter's barricade. An LGBTQ Alliance Club member yelped in shock as rice exploded all around them. The polearm-wielding warriors were nearly at the barrier when a quartet of chefs still sporting their white jackets popped their heads above cover. They hurled frozen bags of peas straight at the soldiers' faces. Two hit their mark and sent the students face-planting onto linoleum.

The remaining three managed to reach the barricade. They thrust their polearms' blades into bags of flour and sent the middle section of the wall sagging. As it threatened to collapse, a furious blonde leapt up and threw a fistful of garlic powder into the nearest guisarmier's face.

He immediately dropped his weapon and clutched his scorching scleras. "My eyes. MY EYES!" he screamed while flailing into another soldier. That child stumbled forward, slipped on the butter, and landed headfirst on the ground.

"RETREAT!" came the ear-splitting order from the western end of the room. The warriors struggled to fall back while the combat medic crawled towards the sobbing and well-seasoned child.

Nick watched the medic pluck a bottle of eye wash from her fanny pack, then motioned his team towards the overturned tables. "That's our cue. Let's figure out what the heck is going on."

They'd only taken a few steps when the attackers' leader spotted them. The teen did his best to rub the ketchup from his coiled hair while pointing at the newcomers. "What the hell is H.A.L.L.P.A.S.S. doing here?"

Nick splayed his arms and snapped, "What do you think? We're shutting this down."

Ethan protested, "The auditors are on their way. Why would you do this today?"

The eighth-grader narrowed his eyes and angrily waved Ethan's words away. "This place is finished. We're all going to summer school and I'm guessing they'll make us do the whole year over. So I say the least we deserve is every cake and cookie in that kitchen."

Nick rubbed his brow in disbelief. "You're doing all of this for dessert?"

"Yep," the soldier answered. "And if you idiots want to stop us, go ahead and try. I dare you to take on my army."

"Guys!" Sheen eagerly shouted. Nick glanced to his right and saw the teen dragging an enormous catapult towards them. "I stole a trebuchet!" Before Nick could rebuke him, Sheen froze in place and cocked his head. "Ozzy?"

The commander's expression softened. "Sheen?"

Sheen let go of the catapult and rejoined the group. Nick asked, "You two know each other?"

Sheen nodded. "Ozzy was one of my top lieutenants during the Great Food Fight of Ten Weeks Ago."

Ozzy admitted, "And you were a heck of a general. So why are you helping these losers?"

"They're my friends," Sheen simply answered. He turned to Nick and said, "But so is he. Can we help Ozzy win this war?"

"No!" Nick shouted.

Ethan tried to make eye contact with as many of the nearby warriors as he could. "Look, we know things look bad and you're scared. But we have a huge team getting back the stolen grades. We'll have them in time for the audit, so we need this school to get back to normal by noon."

A few of Ozzy's soldiers shared concerned looks and nervous murmurs. Ozzy cast them a warning glare before turning back to Ethan. "I don't buy it. And even if you're right, we still deserve all the sugar we want after what we've been through."

Meagan huffed in disgust. "They really won't give up their desserts?"

"Nope," Ozzy snarled.

Ethan shook his head in confusion. "Look, I know the people working in the kitchen. Let me talk to them."

"It won't do any good," Ozzy shot back. "You think we didn't ask first before we started wrecking the place? They're a bunch of jerks."

Sheen stepped between the two. "Ozzy, give him a chance. I'll go with him."

The boy clenched his jaw, then sighed. "Fine. But no funny business."

Ethan nodded and led them towards the barricade. He pulled a packet of tissues from his kit belt and waved a white flag in the air. "Everybody, it's me! Ethan!"

Alex Volkov carefully peeked his head over the bulwark. He cast a glance at the faraway attackers, but they stayed huddled behind their tables. Turning back to his friend, Alex asked, "What the heck are you doing here?"

"We're trying to end this war," Ethan explained. "Can we come in and talk?"

Alex surveyed Ethan's crew and sighed. "Fine. Just hang on. The floor's slippery."

"We can manage," Nick shot back while carefully placing a foot onto the buttered floor. As though repelled by a magnet, his shoe was immediately propelled away.

"Uggh," Nick groaned while falling onto his back. He stared at his ruined trench coat and groaned, "Come on."

"I warned you!" Alex shot back. He disappeared while Nick awkwardly crawled back to dry ground. Sheen helped Nick up while four pairs of slip-resistant black shoes were tossed onto the floor.

Everyone swapped their footwear and effortlessly reached the barricade. Soon Nick's crew and the entire Alliance Club were gathered in the kitchen. Alex crossed his arms and asked, "Where's Aashna?"

Ethan explained, "She's on another mission. Now can you tell us why you won't just give those kids some dessert?"

A tall redhead girl joined Alex. The potager chef clarified, "They didn't want some dessert. They wanted every sweet that we have."

"So?" Sheen asked.

Nick said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Sheen's right. Who cares?"

Alex glowered at the boy. "You should. Those inquisitors will fail us if we give those assholes what they want."

Ethan sighed and rubbed his head. "Alex is right. Meeting the district's nutrition requirements is part thirteen of the audit. They can't come here and find all of our unhealthy ingredients missing."

Meagan asked, "The school board's really that thorough?"

When Ethan nodded, Sheen snarled, "Dang the unfeeling, relentless bureaucracy."

Nick said, "We don't have a lot of time. Those kids are pissed and won't stop until we at least meet them halfway. Can't you just make a healthy dessert for them? Like a vegetable cake or something?"

Alex scoffed as the chefs around him laughed. "You really don't know anything about making food, do you? Healthy desserts are a myth. They want sweets and we lose the school if we make them. End of story. Now let's team up and kick their ass."

"Wait," the redhead scrunched her brow in thought. "There might be one way out of this."

Alex said, "For the last time, Kristen, we are not making gazpacho."

"No," the girl shook her head and dramatically whispered. "Applesauce."

The chefs all gasped.

Nick said, "That could work. Applesauce is…okay."

Meagan moaned, "It's the frozen yogurt of desserts."

Everyone fought back dry heaves as Alex considered the idea. "Hmmm. No one loves regular applesauce. But we could spice it up."

A mousy sixth-grade boy sporting a white jacket that read Seasoning Chef strode forward. "We could add some cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove."

Kristen excitedly said, "We've still got a few bags of vanilla beans."

Alex's sous chef excitedly said, "If people want something heartier, I could make some skillet pork chops and gravy."

The patissier beamed, "And we can use that extra yogurt and granola from breakfast to make some healthy parfaits!"

Alex slowly nodded. "We can actually pull this off."

"Great," Nick sighed in relief. "We'll let you cook and go tell Ozzy that he'll get his dessert."

Meagan asked, "So we're done?"

Sheen added, "And we're heroes?"

"Hold up," Alex said. "There's still one problem. We're all out of apples. We were supposed to get a delivery this morning, but Antoni and his guys haven't brought them yet. There must be an issue at the loading docks."

"Oh come on," Nick protested. "You're telling me that the one ingredient you need is stuck at the docks?"

Alex growled, "Hey, I didn't make the situation. You want applesauce? You gotta go get that shipment for us."

Nick asked, "Can't you just bake something else?"

"No!" Sheen shouted. "We need the applesauce!"

Nick snapped, "You didn't even want it thirty seconds ago."

Meagan slapped Nick across the face. "That was before the nutmeg, you son of a bitch!"

"Fine," Nick bristled. He pointed at a glowering Alex. "Just start prepping whatever you can."

Nick stared at Sheen and Meagan. "You two fill Ozzy in on the plan and let them know they don't eat if that cafeteria isn't clean."

Finally, Nick turned to the boy on his right. "Ethan, you and I will go to the docks and get those apples. But we have to make one stop first."

Ethan struggled to keep up with a power-walking Nick as they headed towards the home ec wing. "I don't get why we need disguises. I'm sure I can convince the dock workers to just give us the apples."

"If this were any other club, you could," Nick conceded. "But you don't know those goons like I do. That freight is their livelihood. If there's another uprising, they're not going to just hand over their bargaining chips."

Nick opened the door to the Tailor's studio. The mannequin LARPers were out rioting, but the Z-shaped sofa, marble end table, and decanter of apple juice still greeted them. Nick loudly asked, "Gjord? Are you here?"

A room divider's door swung open to reveal the young Swede. Today the seventh-grader was garbed in a white poet blouse, chestnut bell bottoms, and black rococo mules. He raised a pair of golden lorgnettes to his eyes, squinted at the duo, and calmly said, "Hej, Nick. Did you need those stains removed?"

"What? No," Nick said. He glanced at his coat and quickly slipped out of it. "Actually yeah, if you have time. But we're mainly here because we need to go undercover at the loading docks."

"You cannot go back there as Nico."

"I figured," Nick agreed. "Can you come up with new disguises?"

Gjord folded his spectacles and tightly smiled. "Ja, I can."

"It is done," Gjord proclaimed while stepping away from Nick and Ethan. They stared at the now visible mirror in front of them and studied their appearance. Both were identically garbed in dark blue jeans, black polo shirts, orange hazmat vests, and yellow hardhats.

Ethan said, "We look like construction workers."

Nick asked, "Yeah, are you sure about this, Gjord? Shouldn't we be old-timey again?"

"Nä," Gjord shook his head. "You are brothers, latest in long line of dockworkers. You have seen generations break their backs and their spirits from loading freight. Your family moved to South Street Seaport in search of better life. You are new era. You work smarter, not harder. Hence…the garb."

Nick hmmed in thought. "Okay. Who's the older brother?"

Ethan asked, "Do we really need the backstory? We're just grabbing some apples."

A spotlight shone on Gjord as his face fell in dramatic sorrow. "Clothes are but the smallest part of a costume. To become a longshoreman…"

The spotlight swung towards Nick, who finished Gjord's thought. "You must believe you are one."

Gjord nodded in pride. "You are ready. No longer Nick. No longer Ethan. Now, you are…"

His voice trailed off as Nick answered, "Rico and Etho."

Gjord pulled a spray bottle from behind his back and liberally doused them both with salt water. "Go and become destiny."

Nick slung his arm around Ethan's shoulders and led him out of the studio. "Come on, broham," Nick said in a heavy Cork accent. "Let's get to work."

Nick came to a halt before the entrance to the loading docks. He turned to his partner and asked, "Are ya ready?"

Ethan struggled to speak in a facsimile of an Irish accent. "I don't think so."

"That's Dublin. You've gotta do Cork."

"How do you know all this?"

Nick's face fell as he considered the question. "I…I don't know."

The boys stared at each other in confusion. Nick shook the disconcerting feeling aside and rapped his knuckles against the loading dock's entrance. The door swung open to reveal a scowling eighth-grade boy sporting a plaid button-down shirt. The foreman clasped a clipboard and glowered at the duo. "Who the heck are you?"

"The name's Rico," Nick explained. "This is me brother, Etho. And what's yer name, sir?"

"Lorenzo," the boy answered.

Nick went on, "We just moved here from South Street Seaport. Word is you lads have formed a right grand group of stevedores and we're eager to join."

Ethan stayed silent as the teenager studied him. Lorenzo narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't buy it. You moved here on the last day of school and want to join right after we went on strike? You're either a union-buster or a scab, and we don't want either."

Nick's face fell as he struggled to come up with a response. Ethan sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then locked onto Lorenzo's with unbreakable focus.

"Now stop yer blaggardin' and c'mere to me," Ethan growled. "Five generations of our family have gotten bow-backs and rheumy hands, so don't be acting a gobshite. We just came from yer cafeteria where some jackeens were whining about not getting some apples. We told 'em if they wanna complain about lumpers then we'd deliver 'em a knuckle sandwich instead."

Lorenzo uncrossed his arms. "You really said that?"

Ethan flashed a half smile, leaned in closer, and answered, "We did more than say it. Us Warrenpoint lads don't play with empty threats."

Lorenzo laughed and stepped away from the door. "Alright, ya boys can come in. Heck knows we could use the help."

Nick and Ethan gave an appreciative nod and stepped inside. They quickly surveyed the busy room. Dead ahead stood six towering industrial shelving units. Beyond that rested an absurdly long table where a motley of dock workers were crafting picket signs. To the right of that crew lay the doorway to the wharf master's office. Beyond the tables rested their target: the loading bays.

Down a ramp lay a wide open receiving floor with two steel shutter doors. The space before the left-most door was empty, though the right housed a parked cardboard truck encasing a bicycle and a hitched red wagon. Inside the cart sat a half dozen boxes overflowing with apples.

Nick asked, "So what's the strike all about, anyway? Is it just to do with those lunchroom gobshites?"

Lorenzo offered an annoyed huff. "They ain't the worst of it. Apparently some H.A.L.L.P.A.S.S. dunce helped the office workers order a thousand reams of paper in one night. They clamored for us to deliver it all on top of our usual load, all while the school was falling apart. Given all that, we just asked for a fair bonus." He spat on one of Nick's boots and said, "All they could say was the school coffers are dry and to get to work."

Ethan spat on Nick's other shoe. "Bloody gombeens. We'll show 'em what's for."

The boys turned to Nick, who reluctantly spat on his own feet. "Aye," he halfheartedly offered.

Lorenzo nodded in approval and motioned towards the craft table. "Find Antoni; he's the muddy-haired beanstalk with the patched up overalls. He'll get you settled in."

"Thanks a million," Nick said as he and Ethan slowly walked down the empty corridor between two storage racks. Once Lorenzo had turned away, Nick leaned close to Ethan. "If we're going to drive the truck out, we have to open the loading bay doors." He pointed at a red button just beside the wharf master's door. "That's how we do it."

Ethan nodded. "Should we just make a break for it?"

Nick shook his head. He motioned towards a half dozen preteens lighting up candy cigarettes by the cardboard truck. "We'll get overrun before we make it out. We need a distraction."

"We could call Sheen and Meagan."

Nick considered this as Antoni caught sight of them from his seat and waved them over. Nick hid his disdain for his old nemesis headed his way. "Dia daoibh, everyone. Lorenzo said you could help us get settled."

Antoni nodded. "I sure can. We're finishing up these picket signs before heading out for a march through the halls." He motioned at his comrades, who were busy gluing cardboard squares onto wooden poles. "What job suits your fancy? You can come up with slogans, paint them on the signs, or bedazzle them."

"Bedazzle?" Ethan asked while turning to a laser-focused sixth-grader folding origami stars out of printer paper. Her nimble fingers finished the piece in five seconds and tossed it onto a nearby pile. The student next to her student grabbed one of the stars and glued it onto the corner of a sign.

Antoni shrugged. "It is the last day of school. No one said striking can't be fun."

Ethan offered, "We'll do the painting, I guess. But can we get you anything while we're up?"

"Sure," the young artist answered. "I need another box of paper."

Ethan nervously asked, "You've used a whole box already?"

The girl eagerly nodded while Antoni pointed at the most distant racks on the western end of the room. "The paper's on that shelf. And grab some more glue while you're there."

Ethan nodded as he and Nick crossed the room. They ducked into the obscured lane between shelves, then Ethan asked, "Should we call Sheen and Meagan now?"

"Sounds like a plan," Nick agreed. He reached for the walkie-talkie hidden in his pocket but was stopped by the deafening crack of the entrance bursting open. Ethan and Nick instinctively ducked beneath the shelf and took cover in the thin nook behind the racks and wall. They crouched behind boxes of paper while a dozen preteens marched into the room. Two restrained Lorenzo and the rest walked towards the craft table.

"Alright, boys," one of the newcomers loudly instructed in a Glowegian accent. Like his cohorts, he was clad in black dress pants, an ebony jacket, a red vest, and a white dress shirt. They all sported holstered blue, white, and orange pistols on their hips. Half the kids cradled similarly painted rifles. Their leader straightened his black bowler hat and warned, "I'm only gonna say this once. Put down the signs and get back to work. This strike is over."

The dock workers shared worried looks before turning to Antoni. The beanstalk rose from his chair with an amused huff. "So Clarke's lackeys hired some goons to corral us?"

"Close," the strike buster admitted. "Except we're lending services free of charge today. You're looking at the Retroville Middle School Pinkerton Live Action Role Players, and we're not fooling around. So unless you want a taste of what we're carrying," he unholstered his pistol, "get back to work."

"What the hell is that thing?" Antoni growled. "Ain't no foam allowed, even today."

"Who needs foam when you've got this?" the Pinkerton flashed a half-grin while aiming the Piranha pistol's barrel at Antoni's chest and pulling the trigger. A stream of yellow-tinged water shot across the room and splashed against Antoni's overalls.

The beanstalk stared at the miniscule mess and laughed. His comrades joined in as he motioned at his jumpsuit. "We're dock workers, you idiot. You think we care about getting wet?"

"Nope," the Pinkerton calmly answered. "But I think you'll mind going blind."

He angled the weapon higher and shot Antoni in the eyes.

The room's laughter died when Antoni began screaming at the top of his lungs and clutched his face. Everyone backed away from him in horrified surprise. After a moment Antoni pulled his hands away to reveal frighteningly bloodshot eyes.

"IT'S PEPPER WATER!"

The loading docks succumbed to bedlam. Dock workers fought with fists, feet, and whatever office supplies they could yank from the shelves. The Pinkertons fired their Super Soakers without mercy. The scent of ghost pepper and barely diluted lemon juice mixed with iron and vomit.

"I think we have our distraction," Ethan gulped.

"Yep," Nick agreed while dashing towards the shutter door controls at the other end of the room. He shoved away a sobbing striker, bumped into a charging Pinkerton, and crashed hard to the ground.

"New guy!" the origami artist pointed at Nick. "Did you bring the Pinkertons here?"

"No," Nick protested while trying to clamber to his feet.

"Liar!" the girl snarled while tackling him back to the ground.

"Get off me!" Nick kicked the puny child away and watched a stream of water splash into her eyes. The girl screamed as her assailant aimed his Tornado Strike rifle at Nick.

Nick raised an arm over his eyes and blocked the worst of the spray. He lowered his arm to find the strike buster tackling him into the craft table.

Nick absorbed the impact as best he could and rolled over the desk. He and the agent collapsed onto the other side near the loading bay ramp before getting to their feet.

The Pinkerton was slower on the rise. By the time he swung a haymaker at Nick's cheek, Nick was already ducking beneath the blow. He punched the wrist clasping the rifle, snatched the weapon from a sprained hand, and fired a shot dead in the eyes.

Nick realized too late the Pinkerton had thrown on goggles.

Water splashed harmlessly off the boy's eyewear. He charged forward and slammed a vicious headbutt into the bridge of Nick's nose.

Nick felt blood explode from his nostrils and was blinded by a white light. He stumbled backwards, tripped over his feet, and collapsed into a pile of cardboard signs and origami stars.

"Whoever you are," the Pinkerton growled while unholstering his Thunderstorm pistol and aiming it at Nick's bleeding nose. "You're gonna burn."

"NO!" Ethan shouted while vaulting onto the table and sliding across it. The Pinkerton turned just in time to watch Ethan scoop up a sign holder and slam the wooden beam across his face.

The boy stumbled and dropped his pistol, but stayed standing while Ethan landed on the ground beside him. The agent swung a punch that Ethan juked away from. The Pinkerton lurched forward and threw another haymaker. Ethan blocked the blow with his wooden beam and watched the child's fist smash the pole into splinters.

Nick scooped up the strike buster's fallen pistol. He aimed at Ethan's attacker but couldn't get a clear shot even if the goggles weren't in play. He saw another Pinkerton shoot down a sixth-grader before swiveling his shielded gaze Nick's way.

While the distant agent rounded up three nearby soldiers to aid him, Ethan failed to land a blow on his own attacker. Nick wiped a stream of blood away from his upper lip, stared at the pistol in his grasp, and then inspected the pile of origami stars. His eyes widened as an idea struck him.

"Papercuts!" Nick shrouded while hurling a shuriken towards Ethan's attacker. The ninja star spiraled through the air, sliced a millimeter-deep wound across the boy's cheek, and sent him recoiling in shock. Ethan cast Nick a confused stare. When Nick pointed at his gun, Ethan nodded in relief. He hooked his left leg over the reeling agent's ankle, pulled, and sent him crashing to his knees. Ethan grabbed him by the neck, held him still, and let Nick loose a shot directly on the wound.

Ethan shoved the howling child aside as Nick kicked two stars his way. He scooped them up as the quartet of strike busters charged towards them. Ethan sprinted forward and dove into a bent-leg slide. He slashed one soldier's Achilles tendon, jumped up, and sliced another boy's neck.

As miniscule drops of blood bubbled to the surface, Nick shot each child in their cut and watched them collapse in blood-curdling screams.

While Ethan carved away at the penultimate attacker, the last warrior hopped onto the craft table, kicked off, and flew straight towards Nick. Nick ejected his empty magazine and hucked it at the boy's head. The impact made him flinch and tumble past his target. Nick dove atop the boy's back, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked his head into the air.

Nick wrapped the arm holding his pistol around the boy's neck. While squeezing his chokehold tight, he used his free hand to fish around in the Pinkerton's pockets for a spare water clip. Once he grasped it, Nick slammed the magazine into the pistol and finally ripped the boy's goggles off.

Nick released his chokehold, rolled backwards, and rose to his feet as the strike buster craned his neck. Nick shot him square in the eyes and then scooped up a shuriken.

Ten feet away, Ethan ducked beneath a roundhouse kick, sliced a throwing star over the Pinkerton's exposed ankle, and then jammed the edge of another shuriken up into his neck. The child recoiled and collapsed when Nick shot the boy's lacerations.

Ethan offered Nick a grateful nod before they both studied the chaos around them. Dozens of kids lay sobbing while cradling frothing wounds and burning eyes. Only a few panting and limping stragglers still wailed on each other. Nick readied his shuriken in one hand and pistol in the other. "Forget them. Get to the truck," before vaulting over the landing bay's edge.

He expected to absorb the three foot fall with ease, but was caught off guard by a dock worker launching up from below and slamming him to the ground.

"You!" Tony screamed while slugging Nick across the face. Before Nick could recover, a pair of muscular hands were wrapped around his throat.

Nick gurgled for breath while frantically shooting his pistol at the boy's face. Tony simply turned his head. Nick flailed his shuriken towards the boy's neck and managed to slice his cheek. Tony flinched, Nick kneed his groin, and the brute's grip loosened.

Nick tried to turn towards the truck and Ethan, but Tony shoved him back down. Nick shouted, "Ethan, go!"

Nick dropped his weapons, raised his arms to his cheeks, and did his best to block a barrage of blows while Tony screamed at the top of his lungs. "Ten thousand dollars, Nico. That's how much you cost me!"

Nick groaned as his arms throbbed from the relentless strikes. "You're the…one who…enrolled in culinary school."

"You bankrupted me!" Tony finally landed a solid jab into Nick's temple and prepared to rain hell on his stunned victim. He was rearing back for a mighty punch when an apple slammed into his head. Nick locked his fingers into rigid daggers and jabbed them as hard as he could into Tony's eyes.

"Aggh!" Tony cried while releasing his hold.

Nick desperately scuttled backwards. He managed to focus his swimming gaze on the cardboard truck. Ethan sat in the cargo bay with two fistfuls of apples and shouted, "Nick, drive!" Ethan launched another missile at Tony's head and finally sent the boy tumbling to the floor.

Nick limped inside the driver's cab as the lone remaining longshoreman hobbled towards the loading bay. He placed his feet on the pedals and began to accelerate through the open shutter door. "I said to leave me."

"Yeah," Ethan agreed while hurling one more apple at the crippled dock worker. "And I won't hold that moment of stupidity against you."

Nick banked a hard right and began the long drive back to the school's main entrance. "Thanks, Ethan."

"Anytime, partner."

"Easy!" Ethan warned as Nick took the final turn before barreling past Tom's store. The truck skidded and a few apples fell out the open cargo bay door.

"This is harder than it looks," Nick gasped as his dead legs struggled to push the pedals. "And hang on!"

The vehicle plowed straight through the double doors and tipped over from the impact. Nick braced himself as the truck madly skidded into the cafeteria. The truck spun end over end, Ethan and the cargo bounced across the floor, and the vehicle came to a stop with the driver side door pinned beneath Nick.

Nick moaned and struggled to free himself. Once his head cleared, he heard Meagan shout, "I got ya!" while ripping open the passenger side door.

"Thanks," Nick mumbled while Meagan hoisted him out. He turned to Ethan and asked, "You okay?"

"Yep," Ethan groaned while getting to his feet and starting to collect the spilled apples. Nick went to help but was stunned by the state of the lunchroom. Not a trace of the prior battle was visible. All the stains were cleaned and every piece of furniture was back in place. Ozzy's army sat in complete silence in a circle around the center table. Atop it sat a serene Sheen with one leg tucked behind his head.

Sheen clasped his palms together and calmly explained, "And so, the only thing to detest about ourselves is how we always search for something to hate."

Ethan limped towards Nick and Meagan. "What is he-"

"Nope," Nick interrupted. "Just let it go."

"Aw, come on," Meagan grinned. "Don't you want to know how we started a cult and convinced them to clean this place?"

"Not even a little," Nick snapped.

"But Sheen made us realize that cleaning is basically making a mess of a mess. And making messes is easy."

Nick ignored her as he approached the serving counter. "We've got the whoa!" he cried while slipping on the floor and slamming onto his tailbone.

"Oops. Cleaning the butter was my job, but I kind of got distracted by Father's teachings," Meagan explained. "I've almost breached his inner circle."

Ethan hoisted Nick up and shouted, "Alex! We've got the apples."

Alex peeked his head over the barricade. "How many did you bring?"

"Hundreds," Nick answered. "Can we go now?"

Ethan stared at a hanging clock which read 9:45. "If you want this applesauce ready before the audit, we could use some help peeling."

"Oh, I'm in!" Sheen shouted while leaping off the table. As soon as his leg pulled away from behind his head, the trance over Ozzy's army broke. While they all blinked in confusion, Sheen asked, "Does that mean I get a knife?"

"Just clean up the floor," Nick moaned. "Ethan and Meagan, we'll peel the fruit."

Meagan sidled towards Sheen and whispered, "I'll give you my knife when I'm done."

One hour later, Ozzy and Alex sat on opposite ends of a table. Behind the eighth-grader stood his entire army, arms crossed and scowls on their faces. Near Alex waited the entire Alliance Club. Both groups of kids glared at each other while Nick, Ethan, and Meagan watched. Sheen walked out of the kitchen balancing a serving tray across his arm.

"Here ya go, Ozzy," Sheen said while handing him a golden goblet.

Ozzy stared at the chunky yellow-brown sauce inside. "What is this?"

"Applesauce," Meagan magically said while wiggling her fingers and waving her hands.

"That's not dessert," Ozzy growled. "We wanted cookies or-"

"Ozzy," Nick warned, "eat the freaking applesauce."

Ozzy glowered at the boy until Sheen said, "Please, try it."

Ozzy rolled his eyes but picked up his spoon. He scooped up a heaping helping and sniffed it. The spices before him were more than familiar; he'd been surrounded by them nearly every day of his childhood.

Ozzy swallowed the lump in his throat and hoarsely asked, "What's in this?"

Alex answered, "More than you can imagine."

Ozzy stared at the dish and shoved the spoon into his mouth.

"Well?" Kristen eagerly asked.

Ozzy fell completely still and stared straight ahead.

"Ozzy?" Sheen asked with a hint of concern.

Warmth spread through every inch of the boy's body. Ozzy's eyes dilated, his skin tingled, and his jaw slackened. The gooey delight in his mouth melted and filled every crease in his cheeks. It felt like coming home; like the ocean finally flowing into empty and waiting tide pools.

Nick watched in concern and whispered to Meagan, "You didn't put any Xanax in that, did you?"

Meagan shook her head. "No, I took it all. Remember?"

Ozzy's body trembled as the warmth blossomed into an overwhelming heat. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and heard his name once more.

"Ozzy?" asked a voice that he'd started to forget.

Ozzy's heart stopped mid-beat at the kindly woman's tone. His eyes shot open to reveal he was sitting in his favorite rocking chair before a crackling fireplace. He glanced to his left and saw a bookcase full of his favorite novels - lackadaisical whodunnits that he and his grandmother had spent hours trying to solve before finally flipping to the last page.

A turn to his right revealed a spotless window whose sill was adorned with a dozen porcelain figurines that mirrored his family. The thick pane of glass shielded him from the raging blizzard outside.

"Ozzy?" the woman repeated. "Are you okay?"

Ozzy swallowed hard, turned around, and saw his grandmother.

She looked exactly how he remembered. Her red and white apron was stained with apple pie filling. Her wedding ring hung from a necklace around a liver-spotted neck. Her white hair, still boasting a few streaks of black, was tied in a neat bun. The woman adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses and smiled at her grandson. "Cat got your tongue, child?"

Ozzy's face shattered as he leapt from his armchair. He dashed into his grandma's open arms and desperately savored the warmth of her embrace.

"How…how…how," He could only repeat that one word and gasp for breath. He buried himself against her, tried to burrow so deep into her heart that they could never be separated again.

"Easy, love," the woman stroked Ozzy's curls. "We don't have long."

"Don't let it end," Ozzy moaned. "Please, I can't lose you again."

"Listen to Meemaw." Ozzy allowed himself to gently be peeled away from her. She slowly knelt down on wobbly knees and said, "I wish we could have had more time; made more memories. But what we shared was beautiful, Oswald. It was only ours, the most beautiful masterpiece God ever drew for an audience of two. I know you're angry it got cut short. We all spend our lives wishing for more. But once you reach the end, you become so grateful for what you got to have."

The woman gently grabbed Ozzy's cheeks and planted a kiss on his forehead. He savored her scent - cinnamon, clove, and nutmeg. Ozzy closed his eyes and listened to the last words from his grandmother that he would ever hear.

"Grieve me and remember me, but don't ever stop living. Spend your days loving, growing, and being the man I know you can be. For when we meet again, we shall sit by the fire and read the story you spent a lifetime writing."

"Ozzy!" Sheen screamed while shaking the comatose boy. "Meagan, you're up!"

"On it!" Meagan shouted while hopping atop the table and slapping the eighth-grader twice across the face.

"GAH!" Ozzy gasped as his dilated eyes shrunk to pinpoints. He shoved himself away from the table, collapsed to the floor, and stared at everyone around him. Tears streamed down his face, he covered his mouth with quivering hands, and then wrapped himself in a hug.

Everyone stared at the boy in confusion until Alex asked, "Uh…did you like it?"

Ozzy locked his manic eyes onto Alex's gaze and sprinted towards him. Before anyone could react he wrapped the stocky boy in a vice-like embrace. "Thank you," Ozzy moaned before breaking into sobs. "Thank you so much."

Alex cast Kristen a confused look, who flashed a proud thumbs up. He gingerly clapped Ozzy's back and said, "No problem, dude."

Ozzy swallowed hard and stared at his army. "I was wrong. We can't give up on this school. We can't give in to fear." He clasped Alex's hand and lifted it high above his head. "We can save this place if we work together!"

His army and the Alliance club cheered. Ethan suggested, "If you all want to save R.M.S., could you head down to the loading docks? There's a huge mess there to clean up."

Nick added, "Also, so many injured kids."

"We'll all go," Alex promised. "But first, I think it's time we had a feast!"

The Alliance Club eagerly dashed behind the serving station as all of Ozzy's followers formed a queue.

Nick managed an exhausted smile and took the walkie-talkie out of his pocket. He thumbed it to life and says, "This is Agent Dean reporting that the cafeteria and loading docks are clear."

Nick pocketed the radio and motioned for his team to follow. "Come on, guys. Let's get back to headquarters and meet with the others."