Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

--

Elder Kettle was just minding his own business, tending to his garden and humming a tune on that fine afternoon. It was a lovely summer day, a perfect day for young cups to be out and about, and he was sure Cuphead and Mugman were off somewhere having a perfectly wholesome adventure.

Whistling absently, he watered his shrubs with great care, a smile on his face. After this, perhaps he’d take out the lawn chair and have a nice nap.  No sir, not a thing could ruin this day!

“Elder Kettle! Elder Kettle!” Suddenly, loud voices broke through the peaceful stillness.

Huffing and puffing like they’d just run a marathon, Cuphead and Mugman erupted and stumbled through the foliage and down the path leading up to the home they shared with their Elder Kettle.

“Goodness! Where have you boys been?” Elder Kettle asked sharply, hoisting Mugman up as the younger brother sank to his knees in exhaustion and a barrage of sniffles. “Tell your Elder Kettle what’s wrong!”

The two boys both burst out at once.

“CASINO! DICE…SLEAZY! CUPHEAD-GAMBLED! ALL LOST! THE DEVIL-!”

“Shut up! One at a time!” Elder Kettle shouted, losing his temper.

“Now tell me, slowly, one at a time!”

A good solid 30 minutes later, the brothers finally managed to explain what had happened.

Elder Kettle was quiet for some moments, a solemn look on his face as he rocked in his chair.

Finally he spoke.

“You never should have trifled with the Devil, boys….” He sighed, eyes closed and giving a weary sigh. “Now it looks like you have a tough decision to make.”

He paused. “But I don’t blame you Mugman, it’s Cuphead’s fault,” He added, flicking a finger to the older brother with some annoyance.

“Oh, come on!” Cuphead groaned.

“Should you go face these so-called ‘debtors’…” Elder Kettle continued, “You’ll have to collect their contracts…and no doubt they’ll fight you to their dying breath. Some may even turn into terrible monsters with the powers of the Devil himself!”

Just the thought of it sent a shiver down the older gentleman’s spine.

“Aw, I can take ‘em! Bring ‘em on!” boasted Cuphead, that childlike glisten in his eye.

“Elder Kettle, how do you know so much about it?” Mugman asked, looking curiously up at his senior.

Elder Kettle gave a heavy sigh. He’d hoped to never have to tell them this- but it looked like the time had come.

“Because, boys…I had my own run-in with the Devil. A long time ago.”

Both Cuphead and Mugman’s jaws dropped in shock, and the older vessel took another moment to mentally prepare himself for the story he had to tell.

“It was a very long time ago…in the times of the Inkwell Turpentine War. I was a soldier, fresh out of school. Young, confident. Ready to show the world what I was made of!”

Closing his eyes, Elder Kettle could see himself, shiny and new in his uniform.

“That was before I woke up to the reality of war. The struggles, the pain, the loss. 50 years later, I still have nightmares like it was yesterday.” Even now, he could hear the shouting, the hail of gunfire.

“One day…in the midst of a losing battle, a figure appeared before me.” Elder Kettle spoke slowly, recalling the guise of the mysterious stranger- a carnival man, dressed for show, arriving in a puff of smoke. “He offered me a way out- an escape. ‘Just in exchange for your soul’. And I knew right then- it was the Devil.”

“You musta really wanted out of there,” Mugman said quietly, fully invested in the story.

“I did,” Elder Kettle agreed, “But I knew I could never abandon my friends and that I had my place there. And I would never sell my soul…for any price! And just like that, the Devil lost all his power and disappeared.” He smiled. “And in time, we overcame the challenges all on our own!”

“Wow, Elder Kettle! You’re a real hero!” Mugman cheered, giving his guardian a hug of new appreciation.

“Yeah, never knew an old fart like you had it in you!” added Cuphead with admiration.

Elder Kettle smiled and rubbed a medal on his table until it gleamed to a shine. “Remember boys- always fight for what’s right!”

--

“Golly, what do you think we oughta do Cuphead?” Mugman asked worriedly as the brothers marched out of the house, list of debtors in hand. “I don’t think we can fight all of these people!”

“I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’!” Cuphead snapped, rubbing his chin and deep in thought.

“M-maybe we could just try talking to them-” Mugman offered sheepishly, and Cuphead cut him off with a sarcastic scoff.

“What a stupid idea!”

Then he brightened. He snapped his fingers.

“Hey! I got it!” He turned back to Mugman. “Let’s just talk to them!”

“Hahaha!”

Suddenly a peal of laughter rang out, startling the two cups.

“You two sure got into a sticky mess…!” said the voice. There on the fence, prim as you please, sat a golden goblet the two had never seen before in their lives.

“Who in heck are you?!” demanded Cuphead, and the girl grinned back at him.

“Name’s Chalice,” she said, folding her hands and looking down on them smugly. “Now, let me guess…the Devil gave you until midnight to seal some kind of nasty deal with him, am I right? Word travels fast in my part of town.”

Mugman and Cuphead exchanged uncomfortable glances as she hopped down off the fence then, approaching them. “But what you don’t know is just how often I’ve seen this scam go down- and I’ll tell ya right now. Ya fetch those soul contracts for the devil…”

Suddenly serious, she jabbed a finger in their faces. “Then it’s only a matter of time before he sends another schmuck to go after yours!”

“Wh-what are you saying?” Mugman asked, horror sweeping over his face.

“I’m saying you’re just delaying the inevitable,” Chalice responded. “Do your dirty deed for the Devil, he’ll still get your souls one way or another.”

Mugman turned frantically to Cuphead, who looked just as perplexed. “Gosh, do you think she’s telling the truth? Can we trust her?”

Cuphead narrowed his eyes, scowling and looking at the newcomer. “No way! She’s suspicious!”

“Cuphead, you say that about every girl,” Mugman said irritably.

Watching the discussion unfold, Chalice stepped in. “How about this, boys? I help get the army of Hell off your back- and then you help me with an itty-bitty problem of my own. Sound fair?”

She swooped in, putting her arms around the two. “Besides, you’re gonna need someone who knows these islands like the back of her hand! Like me! Hehe!”

Cuphead groaned in clear disgust. “F-fine.”

Mugman smiled and held out his hand. “Well, I’m Mugman and this here is Cuphead!”

Chalice beamed, giving a little curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet ya both!”

But there was no time for pleasantries!

“Now that that’s over with, how ‘bout we get moving?” Chalice urged, skipping ahead. “Clock is ticking! And we’ve got all these islands to visit!”

“She seems nice!” Mugman said, following right behind her. Cuphead just rolled his eyes. Girls.

 --

Cuphead and Mugman’s humble little home sat on the top of a hill surrounded by a grove of trees, right near the coast of one of Inkwell’s Isles.

Coming down the slope, there was a fine view of the beautiful meadows and forests that spanned the rest of the island for as far as the eye could see. Inkwell Isle One was rural- compared to the other islands in the chain, it was made up of only the smallest towns and villages.

It’d been an entire day’s trip, by trolley and train, for Mugman and Cuphead to get to Inkwell Isle 3, the big city, and the Devil’s casino.

“Heya, fellas!” a friendly voice chirped, and Mac the apple gave a wave from his usual hangout on the wooden bridge.

“Hiya, Mac,” said Cuphead, walking past his old friend and classmate with a sniff. “Sorry, no time to talk today.”

Mac gave Mugman a meaningful look. 

“I bet you’re really in for it now,” he said knowingly, in reference to Cuphead’s well known criminal record around the isle. 

“It’s none of your business!” Cuphead turned red and stomped ahead, grumbling. “Why that jerk…he’s just spoutin’ nonsense ever since he done got chomped on the head!…”

“So, listen up,” Chalice spoke up, catching up and taking Cuphead by the shoulder. “If we’re going to be looking for these people, it might be a good idea to get some advice and perspective from the locals. Do you two know a friendly face that can steer us in the right direction?”

Cuphead and Mugman looked at one another, a smile spreading across their faces.

“We know just the fella!”

“Porkrind!”

“He’s the friendliest face in all of Inkwell!”

 --

SLAM!

Moments later, the door to Porkrind’s Emporium was flung open with a bang, its owner jolting a foot in the air.

“Hiya Porkrind!” called out the horrible little voices he’d hoped he’d never hear again.

With a deep, agonizing sigh, the pig shut his magazine and resigned himself to look down the counter at his new customers.

“Oh. It’s your twerps.” He didn’t try to disguise his annoyance. “Store’s closed. Clear out.” He jabbed a dirty finger at the door.

A girly cup he didn’t recognize approached. “Excuse me, sir, but we just need some information. Do you know anybody by the name…” She glanced at what looked like a long sheet of parchment. “…’Root Pack’?”

Porkrind paused a moment, letting the word sink in. Wait a minute-

He cackled.

“Wait, wait, do ya mean, ‘The Root Pack’?” He corrected, a sly smile growing on his face. “Now whaddaya kids wanna mess around with a nasty gang like that for?”

Mugman stopped fiddling with the merchandise,  and turning to look in concern. “G-gang?” He repeated, face growing pale.

Porkrind grinned even broader. “That’s right! Ooh, a  whole nasty bunch of ‘em!” He started scrawling on a sheet of paper, and held up a hideous fanged monster to show the kids. “They’d eat ya up like a garden salad!” He gave the three of them feigned looks of horror.  “Don’t tell me you three plan on pokin’ ‘round their hideout!”

Mugman looked ready to break, trembling, while Cuphead just seemed excited at the prospect.

Chalice, on the other hand, was getting annoyed.

“And where is their hideout?” She demanded.

“Oh, come on, kiddies, it just wouldn’t be right to tell ya! Least…not without makin’ sure you kids got some kinda protection.” Porkrind’s pout turned into another sly grin and he clapped his hands, rushing out from behind the counter.

“SO! I’m havin’ a blowout sale, right here right now! Take yer pick off selected items, limited time only!” He bellowed, shoving the cups into his collection of fine power-ups and potions.

After all, he was a salesman first, and a concerned citizen second!

“And as for the hideout…check by the old farmhouse. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya!”

 --

“This doesn’t sound like such a good idea Cuphead.”

The three made their way down the fields from Porkrind’s shop, headed for the acres of farmland to the south.

“I really, really, don’t think we should mess around with an entire gang…”

Most of the farms around Inkwell Isle One were picture perfect, and there was an abundance of them. But the one the young cups were seeking was one that hadn’t been in proper use in a long time.

“Cuphead!”

“Don’t be so chicken, Mugsy!” Cuphead snapped, finally giving in to his brother’s whimpering. “Besides, how tough can they be if they hang around a farm?” He pulled back a bush to reveal an old barn, siding faded and a broken down tractor rusting on the side. “This has gotta be the place.”

 “Seems like it,” Chalice confirmed, and the three took some tentative steps across the grounds.

A tire swing hanging from a branch swayed in the light summer breeze and the tall grass rustled.

After a few minutes of looking around the seemingly abandoned area, Cuphead chuckled with obvious relief. “Well! Looks like there’s nobody here! Guess we sent those roots packin’! Haha! Geddit!?”

The words had barely left his mouth when the ground started to shake.

“Ahhh!” Chalice and Mugman yelled, jumping to the side as out through the soil burst an enormous, tuberous shape covered in filth.

“Hahaha! Well, well, whadda we have here, huh!?” crowed a deep voice.

Caught in the blast, Cuphead tumbled down a wall of falling soil and came face to face with the biggest- and ugliest- potato he’d ever seen in his life.

A giant hand reached out to grab him, to peel him and mash him  up no doubt, revenge for all those times he’d eaten taters in the past, and Cuphead bolted, straight into another giant body bursting out from the earth.

“Visitors! Oh! We haven’t had guests in forever!” squealed the newcomer, a giant yellow onion, tears welling up in his eyes and looking down on Cuphead with amazement.

Cuphead gave it one more shot, turning the other way and making a mad dash of escape.

“Going somewhere?!” cackled a third voice, and a nasty looking carrot suddenly erupted into his pathway.

And then, as if gravity itself had ceased to exist, Cuphead felt himself hoisted by his pants upwards into the air and floating back towards the center of the vegetable patch, screaming and flailing all along.

“Lemme go! Lemme go, you vile veggies!”

Abruptly, the psychic power dropped Cuphead back to the ground, and he found Mugman and Chalice beside him, all three now closed in by the giant vegetables.

 “How rude! You was gonna leave without sayin’ hello?” said the potato, leaning in with a nasty smile on his face. His skin was covered in wrinkles and blemishes, and he had the kind of face that clearly said he was not the patient type. “Ya hear that, boys?” He turned to the others, shaking his head. “Kids these days just ain’t got no respect.”

The carrot, lean and mean looking, rubbed his forehead, and for a second, Cuphead thought he saw what looked like a third eye in his wrinkles. “Lemme teach ‘em some manners, Sal!” He snickered, looking at the cups with some sinister glee.

“Now, now,” said the potato, holding up a hand and looking expectantly at the cups.

“Uh-I-I’m Cupman and this is Mughead-“ the brothers bumbled nervously.

“Chalice.” Said Chalice, gathering herself and standing back on her feet.

The potato crossed his arms and chuckled.

"Well, I'm Sal Spudder, and these here are my buddies Ollie Bulb and Chauncey Chatenay. The little guy is Horace. Careful, he bites!" 

The little horseradish opened his mouth and chomped down, showing off vicious sharp teeth. 

"And together, we're da Root Pack!" Finished Sal proudly, and the group of vegetables began to lean in with menacing smiles. 

Mugman and Cuphead both gulped.

"Now tell me- what are three sweet lil kids doin' around a place like this?" Asked Sal nonchalantly, "Dontcha know its dangerous?" He sideeyed his companions with a smirk. "Lotsa shady characters around here!" 

Chauncey the carrot leapt in their faces, agitated. "So what's the deal? Are you with the coppers? Are you spies?!" 

"Actually we were sent by the dev-" Cuphead started, but Chalice clapped a hand over his mouth. 

"The truth is, we've heard all about you in the papers!" Said Chalice, coming up with an excuse on the fly, "and we just had to come and see for ourselves if the rumors were true!"

"Th-that's right!" Agreed Mugman, nodding. "We wanted to see if you really had done all the things they say you did!" He forced a smile, but he was still shaking a little. 

"We just had to talk to real living legends!" Cuphead added, getting free of Chalice's grasp and joining in. 

"Oh? Well ain't that flatterin'!" Sal said with a softening expression, and the other three seemed to relax a little, taken in by the compliment. "Though I'm sure all you've read in the papers has been, uh, exaggerated a bit-" he chuckled.

"Can we hear it from you?" Chalice asked, hands together in a pleading gesture. 

Ollie immediately got excited, tugging on Chauncey and huffing and puffing as he spoke. "Ooh, please, Sal! It's been so long since we told anyone our story!" 

The potato and carrot exchanged looks of amusement and then Sal spoke, an aura of smug authority radiating from him. "Arite, you kids wanna hear the origins of The Root Pack? Sit back and listen."

"It's so sad!" Ollie wailed, tears peeping up in his eyes, and Horace gave the onion a hardy pat on the back.

 Sal rolled his eyes and looked back at the cups, who listened in with both fear and curiosity. "...And in the meantime, I'll even set the record straight."

Chapter Text

Back in the day, there was this orphanage called St. Ives Home for Lost Boys. 

There were three young boys in particular who had ended up there, either unwanted or forgotten. Regardless, their families weren't in the picture, and the boys ended up spending their entire childhood growing up in the orphanage. 

First was Sal, a stubborn kid with a penchant for trouble, and then there was Chauncey, a hothead who entertained himself by teasing the younger boys. The two of them were the bane of the caretaker's existence and would constantly butt heads over who should lead the next mission to steal cookies from the kitchen. 

Ollie was a bit younger than them, and a bit of a wet blanket. Too timid to do any of the dirty work himself, but always just as eager to join in on the victory when a cookie heist was successful. 

It might have been the years and years of seeing the younger, cuter kids being adopted, being placed in smiling families, while they were left to rot, that did it. 

But something drew them together. And they became inseparable friends. 

There was only one thing that seemed to pacify the group of brats, and that was the movie night the orphanage held every Friday night in the great hall. All the children, tots to teens, would gather and watch the feature film in awe as a treat before bedtime. 

Even Sal and Chauncey would be entranced by the black and white moving pictures projected onto the screen, ceasing any mischief they had planned and taking in the movies with relish, while Ollie gasped and hid his face with every intense moment. As time passed, this was one of the few comforts the boys kept.

When the boys finally reached their teenage years, things took a turn for the worse.

"We're never gonna get our happy little home now," spat Sal, lying on his bed in the nearly empty bedroom chamber one hot, miserable summer afternoon. Down below, a young boy was being ushered into a car with his new adoptive parents. All smiles and laughter. Well la di freaking da! 

"Maybe someone might still want us!" Ollie reassured his friend, trying to hold on with a smile.

Sal just scoffed. "Ya don't geddit, do ya Ollie? We're done! Expired produce! Garbage bin! Kaput!" Leafing through a secondhand newspaper, he angrily threw it to the edge of his bed.

"He's right," assented Chauncey darkly, who was at the window's ledge and looking peeved. He'd been having these awful headaches lately, just crazy pain and swelling in his forehead for the past several weeks. The doctor who came by said it was nothing but growing pains, but Chauncey knew it was a lot more than that. 

"We're just gonna waste away here til the day we die." He said, closing his eyes and slumping into the shadows. 

Ollie made a high whimpering sound and put his quivering hands to his face. He couldn't take it when his buddies talked all depressing like this!

"So why are we stickin' around?!" Sal abruptly shouted, jumping from his bed and startling the other two. 

"I say we're done with this dump! We hightail it outta here and make our own way!" 

"What?!" Ollie gasped, hands going to his mouth in shock. 

But Chauncey was already keen on the idea. 

"Yeah, why not?" He agreed, a smile coming over his face as the possibilities dawned on him. "Won't haveta follow the rules around here no more!"

"No bein' given dish duty! No curfew!" Sal laughed.

"No more prissy families comin' in and judging us!" 

"No more weekday classes learnin' manners 'n etiquette!"

"And cursive!"

"Y-yeah!" Ollie gave in. "All that dumb stuff!"

"And imagine what the three of us could really do in the big city!" Sal went on, "Limitless! We could reach our true potential! The city is where dreams are made of, y'know?" He'd seen enough movies to know this as a true, indisputable fact. 

Guy goes to the city. Guy makes it big. Maybe meets his dream girl. Happy ever after!

He picked the newspaper back up and smacked a black and white photograph showing a grand metropolis skyline.

He knew he had the other two hooked on his every word. "Whaddaya say, fellas?"

"Let's do it!" Chauncey said, already shaking with excitement.

"Alright then, here's the plan," Sal said, gesturing them in and speaking in low tones. "We get together, after supper and when the lights are goin' out…"

And just as they planned, that very night when the lights went out, the three boys made their escape. 

The doors and gates weren't even padlocked, because who in their mind would want to steal from an orphanage? So down the stairs, through the kitchen, across the courtyard, and right through the front gates they marched. 

And into the unknown.

As the gate opened with a decrepit screech, the boys paused for one moment to take a last look back at the only home they'd ever known. 

What the world was like beyond the walls of St. Ives the boys had only speculated.

But surely, surely, it had to be just like the movies. Like how all the songs proclaimed it was! 

For as far as they could see, it was all small townhouses and cobblestone roads, but in the distance there was the faint warm glow over the horizon. 

"That's it!"

And so they walked, all night long. 

It was in the early hours of dawn that the trio reached the outskirts of the city. Half asleep, exhausted, discombobulated…and then Sal looked up at the silhouette of skyscrapers backlit by the rising sun, just about a mile or two in the distance. Was he dreaming?!

"We've made it boys!" Sal crowed, violently shaking his partners to their senses. The three of them cheered, and the race to get there was over in a flash.

Stepping onto concrete was a whole new experience from stepping onto the old soil of home. As the trio took their first steps onto the sidewalks, looking up at the dizzying heights, it felt like the veggies had been completely uprooted. 

For a while, the three of them were on top of the world, just walking around and enjoying all the things they could see in this new place. 

The sights! There was something to see, everywhere you looked! The smells! The air was thick with the smells of food on every corner! The sounds! Music was being played in every store they passed!

Sal sighed contentedly, "Now we ain't got no troubles."

It was then that Ollie's stomach rumbled. "I'm getting a bit hungry," he said softly, looking shamefaced.

Chauncey turned to Sal. "Yeah, me too. And tired. Can we take a break? We walked all night." 

"Sure, sure," Sal said, the three of them walking back towards the steps of a large hotel with a big, shaded awning. 

"Just sit tight here while I go and hustle up some grub, Ollie. I hear tha hotdogs in this place can't be beat!" 

Now, Sal knew in the city he'd need money, because money could be exchanged for goods and services. What he hadn't counted on was just how darn expensive things really were. 

"Ten whole cents for a hot dog?! That's theft, I'm tellin' you!" 

Sal was one hot potato, just seconds away from throttling the salesman in blind rage. "This is an entire week's allowance of scrubbing floors back at the home, y'know!" 

He was certainly making a scene, and a small crowd was gathering. 

"Look buddy, I dunno what to tell you- this is gourmet stuff!" 

"Stuff this!" 

"SAL!"

Sal whipped around, scowling, to see both Chauncey and Ollie approaching quickly through the crowd. 

"I told ya to stay behind!" snapped the potato, but the trembling look on Ollie's face stopped him.

"We got chased off," Chauncey said with visible, shaking anger. "For 'loitering'! Loitering! Me! An upstanding, green thumbed citizen! I wouldn't so much as toss an apple core on the ground!"

"Let's just get outta here," Sal grumbled, pushing people out of the way for the three of them to make their way out, and charging across the street without so much as a look.

The cars honked and blared, screeching to a halt, and Sal jumped back swearing every dirty word in his vocabulary. "Watch where you're driving!" 

With the summer sun rising high in the sky, and the hundreds of people milling around them, Sal tried to get his bearings and lead the gang back on track. But all the buildings were starting to look the same. 

Dog tired and running on empty, it took another hour of aimless circling before the trio found a back alley where they could rest their roots in peace. 

Life on their own was turning out to be no picnic. 

Evening bled into night, and the boys huddled close for warmth, drawing up a makeshift shelter with some boxes and clutter left behind in the alleyway. It was their first night without a proper bed to sleep in- but it would be far from their last. 

The blaring sounds of traffic abruptly woke them that next morning. And none of them were in the best spirits.

"So, Sal, what're we gonna do?" Chauncey asked angrily. "We've got no money, no food, no place to go…!" He rubbed his temples, feeling another headache coming on. 

"Hey, hey, whaddaya blamin' me for?!," Sal snapped. "Youse da one who kept griping about those stupid visions and how we had no future!"

"You're the one who said how life would be all peachy keen if we went to the city! But ya know what! It's the peach pits!" 

"Guys, please don't fight!" Ollie begged, the shimmer of tears starting to dew in his eyes. "Th-things aren't so bad…!"

Suddenly there was a loud honk and some raised voices from the other side of the building, and curiously the three crept out to see what the hubbub was.

A truck idled on the curb nearby, loaded to the brim with produce of every kind.

"Hey mister, you need directions to the market?" A man was shouting at the driver over the rumbling motor. 

While they seemed to be locked in conversation, Sal looked at his two companions with a sly smile. "You two thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Within a few quick minutes, the trio snuck on and boarded the pickup, grabbing and carrying out as much food as they could carry, and sneaking it back to their hideout in the back alley.

"Hoo-ee! Nice work boys!" Sal crowed as they buckled down, looking at the crates of food they’d looted as they finally heard the truck rumble away. 

“What a maroon!” Chauncey said, munching down on a corncob. “I betcha, the fella won’t even notice the stuff’s gone missin’!” 

“It was almost too easy!” Ollie had to agree, wolfing down an apple and smiling for the first time since they’d left their home.

And from there they started making their way. 

It started with a few simple commodities, taking things nobody would miss. An unfinished bagged lunch on a park bench, a leftover slice of pie left on a cafe table.  

At first it was just food, but in a few days the trio were broadening their horizons; swiping just the everyday necessities, of course- like a forgotten umbrella or discarded newspaper that might be lying around. The things they collected they brought and kept at their new hideout in the back alley, the center of operations. 

As the weeks went on, They knew they’d found their new way of life!

Yeah, things were alright getting scraps and secondhand. But the city is a concrete jungle, and only those at the top of the food chain ever succeed. The boys knew if they wanted a chance at the real life they had dreamed of, they needed something more…cold hard cash. 

With the market crash and no skills to offer, there was only one choice.

At first, it was just minor pickpocketing. A quick flick of the wrist off a passing fur coat, grab a satchel of coins, and run. None the wiser. For some months, they played it relatively safe. 

But that just wasn't cutting it. As they grew more confident, the trio upped the ante. They stole more and more, and made riskier heists.

It soon escalated to looting, minor break-ins, and then stand-ups!

"We're makin' a name for ourselves," said Chauncey, browsing the headline of a paper with some malevolent pride one cold autumn morning. 

"'The Root Pack,' huh?" Sal grumbled, looking over his shoulder at the big letters of warning across the page. "'A loomin' threat on the rise against our fair city…'" 

"Gee, should we be worried?" Ollie asked. "What if the police come snoopin' around?" They'd never so much as hurt anybody, but they'd certainly put a good scare in the peaceful community.

“Nah, it’s nothin’ to worry about,” Sal brushed it off, tossing the paper aside. 

But that very night, everything went sour. 

“Fork over your valuables!” Sal ordered. “And ain’t nobody gotta get hurt.”

They surrounded an elderly gentleman, decked head to toe with a fancy suit and tie. Unfortunately for him, he’d wandered into Root Pack territory- and they were going to make him pay, quite literally, for it. 

Ollie and Chauncey moved in on the other sides, closing off the escape route.

“Please! I’m just the Chairman of the Blue Blood Aristocracy Committee! I haven’t a thing! Oh, woe is me!” The gentleman burst into wails, trembling so hard they could hear the coins clanging his pockets.

Sal growled. “Give me a break! C’mon, gramps, don’t make us get physical.”

“Okay, okay!” Their old friend whimpered. “M-my home isn’t far from here! I have many items of great value there! If you let me go home, I can bring some back to you-!” 

“Do we look like we were born yesterday?” Chauncey snapped.

“Hold on, hold on,” Sal thought for a moment. “Not such a bad idea. Gramps, here’s the plan. We go with you to your place, and pick out some niceties of our own. Nice and friendly like. In exchange, we don’t butter, smash, and mash ya here in the backstreets. Sound like a deal?” 

The elderly gentleman simply made a nervous gulp, before nodding. “Y-yes, of course!” His eyes darted around the streets, as if looking for help, but there was absolutely no one around. 

“Sal, we don’t-” Ollie began worriedly, but Chauncey cut him off with a warning glance.

Their captive had really told the truth- his condo wasn’t far away, and within a few minutes of following his lead, the Root Pack had arrived. And what a place!

As soon as the gentleman opened his door, the Root Pack bustled in, taking in the opulent beauty. The vast amount of riches! A spiral staircase! Marble statues! Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling!

“Gramps, you were really holding out on us!” Sal hooted, sprawling out onto a velvet sofa and raising his arms into the air. Now this was the life he’d always dreamed of! 

“Guy’s got cash coming out his ears!” exclaimed Chauncey, fervor growing as he looked around the room and found more and more treasures. “Let’s just take it all!”

“Maybe not all of it,” Ollie refuted gently.  

“Hey, hey, all in good time!” Sal laughed, grabbing a bottle of wine that sat on a table by the sofa. “Gramps doesn’t mind entertaining us for a little while, right, Gramps?”

But their host was nowhere to be seen. 

“Huh, well, that doesn’t matter,” Sal shrugged. “Let’s see what our pal’s got to eat!”

At his request, Chauncey began to tear up the kitchen in search of food, bringing up all kinds of things from the cabinets and refrigerator. They had a whole banquet ahead of them! 

“And now some music!” Sal shouted, sidling up to the radio in the room and turning it all the way up. The blasting sound of big band swing music filled the air, trumpets and saxophones piercing the otherwise quiet night. 

“Haha! Yeah! Now it’s a party!” Sal laughed, taking a swig from the bottle.

Even Ollie was starting to loosen up.

 “You know, we should do this more often!” he said with a chuckle, starting to dance to the music.

“No kidding!” Sal agreed. He poured a glass of wine for Ollie and Chauncey, and the three clinked them all together. “To us!”

Ollie downed his drink in a gulp and series of hiccups. 

“This sure is the life, ain’t it, Chauncey?” Sal asked, slumping back onto the sofa and continuing to drink. 

Chauncey smiled in return, though he looked a little uncertain. “Something just doesn’t feel right, Sal. Where’d the guy go?” 

“You worry too much!” Sal chided. “The deal was we get to take anythin’ we want from Gramp’s place, and we let him go. But there’s no part of the deal that says we can’t overstay our welcome first.” He smirked. “See, this is why I’m the boss.” 

Chauncey wanted to make a sharp comeback at that remark, but he was feeling more and more unease with each passing moment. He could hear the music pounding louder and louder in his head, the smell of the wine starting to overwhelm him. His sight was starting to get a little fuzzy- but he could see Ollie was falling asleep on the other side of the room, slumping into a large armchair. 

His head suddenly hurt with sharp pain.

“Hey! Hey! Chauncey, bud, you okay?” Sal asked, patting his friend on the shoulder. 

“He called the cops,” Chauncey hissed through the pain, his fingers digging into his temples painfully. 

“What?!”

And just as he’d said, over the sound of the radio, there was the unmistakable sound of a police siren in the distance. 

There was a moment’s pause as Chauncey and Sal looked at one another, and then chaos. 

“Ollie! Come on!” They grabbed their friend and abandoned everything else, rushing from the building. But even as they fled, the lights from the apartments nearby flashed and flooded the streets as the ruckus of the sirens grew louder. 

Flocks of people coming onto their stoops or onto the sidewalks began to crowd the scene. And now that everyone on First Avenue had gotten a good look at their mugs, the Root Pack knew their cover was blown.

“Oh mulch…!” 

“What do we do? What do we do?” Ollie whimpered as the trio turned tail and split back down into the dark alleys.

“We skip town, that’s what,” Sal snapped. 

“Leave?!” Chauncey asked with shock. “But what about-”

“The cops are all over the place by now, we can’t go back!” Sal insisted. “We’ve got no choice.”

Out of breath and resigned to their fate, they fled to the trainyard and hopped a boxcar heading west. By the time the police found their hideout, the Root Pack was long gone. 

--

The next morning, once they’d put miles and miles of track between them, the trio hopped off the train and headed for the next city on the horizon. They’d laid it all out in a heated discussion overnight- new home, new gameplan. They were going to be more careful, watch themselves this time. No getting sloppy!

One of the first things the Root Pack noticed as they reached their destination was the tangible difference.

While the last city had felt sophisticated and bustling, this one was rundown and desolate. After several hours of wandering the streets, the trio passed by a rundown inn to take a break. A burnt out vacancy sign flickered in the window, and after taking a peek inside, the trio stepped inside. 

A pot of soup was bubbling on the stove and the smell was just heavenly. 

“Nobody’s here,” said Chauncey, looking around. 

Ollie’s stomach rumbled. 

Sal’s eyes darted around the room. “Well, in that case-” The potato started towards the pot on the stove. If nobody was here, nobody would miss it!

“‘’Scuse me,” a voice with a heavy accent suddenly spoke. “Can I help you with somethin’?”

In the doorway, a round, pumpkin-headed man was smoking a gigantic candle cigarette and watching them with narrowed hollow eyes and a sharp sneer carved into his face. Taking a huge puff of cigarette, he blew smoke rings into the air. 

“The three of ya’ll new in town?” He asked, approaching with his hands in his pockets and the wick of the candle blazing. “I don’t recognize you.”

“We are!” Ollie said with a smile. “We’re orphans!” 

“Ollie!” Sal snapped, giving him a look. What was he thinking, giving away information like that?

“Easy, easy,” the pumpkin raised his hands, grin unwavering. “Not too often folks come around this part of town. Gots a bit of a reputation, y’know? And…if youse don’t mind me saying so, you looks to be in a bit of a spot.” 

“We’re just passing through,” Sal said with some hostility. 

The pumpkin’s eyes widened with surprise. “So you need a place to stay? This is an inn, I’m sure you noticed.” He took another big puff of his cigarette, before continuing.

“Always been a bit of an unlucky man myself. Mayhaps because I made the mistake of gambling with the Devil once when I was a lad, but all the same, now I get pleasure out of doing good by others. Trying to atone for the things I’ve done, I suppose. I can’t just turn orphans out onto the street. If you’re willing to work for me, I’ll give you three a warm place to sleep at night.”

The Root Pack looked at each other, baffled.

“What kind of work?” asked Chauncey. 

“Oh, just simple jobs,” the pumpkin man replied, “Maybe painting the fence, fixing a door.  A few things that need to be done around the neighborhood to help people out. In exchange I’d give you room and board, capiche? The whole lot of you.”

It sounded too good to be true. 

 “What are your names?”

“Moe. Moe Tato,” Sal interjected quickly, continuing to look warningly at Ollie. 

“Um, yeah, I’m Weepy,” Ollie added. “And that’s, uh… Psycarrot!” 

Chauncey didn’t seem too pleased with his new name. 

“And why should we trust a complete stranger?” he asked, turning to the newcomer.

A shine glinted in the dark eye holes of the pumpkin’s face. “Well, then, now let me introduce myself.  Gourdy ‘O Hallow. There. We ain’t strangers no more.” 

--

And for a while, things were going pretty swell. 

Their new friend, Gourdy ‘O Hallow wasn’t too big on good fortune himself, but a more generous soul you’d be unlikely to meet. Like the Root Pack, he was scraping by with barely a penny to his name. He was, however, the landlord of a small inn in the slums that had been passed down through the years, falling apart with age, which he rented out to the poor and destitute for almost no charge. 

With the new arrangements, Sal, Chauncey, and Ollie were given a small room in Gourdy’s tenement, which resided on a block in one of the poorest areas of the city. But while it was far from their grandeur penthouse they’d dreamed of, it was still miles better than living in the alley.

And as promised, they had the place to stay, just by helping out with the occasional odd job for Gourdy and the neighbors. While most of the money went to maintaining the building, the three got to keep a small percentage of the money they made, which they put to good use making themselves a home.  

Whether it really be putting a new lick of paint on the fence in the yard, changing tires, carrying loads of heavy supplies, or doing everyday tasks for the less able bodied neighbors, the Root Pack kept busy, and they were quickly accepted and embraced by the community. 

And as this happened, the Root Pack began to like this new, honest way of life. 

Through word of mouth, more people in the city began to learn about the three strange drifters who would take just about any job for cheap pay. Several months passed, and The Root Pack finally felt like they belonged. 

--

That was when she walked in- trouble. Miss Beetrice Lutz. 

She came out of nowhere one afternoon, eyes watering and carrying three small, sniffling children in a paper grocery bag.  

“I heard that the three of you are open to helpin’ a lady out?” the purple beet asked in an anxious tone, looming in the hallway hesitantly. In the paper bag she cradled in her arms, one of the children started to cry softly. 

“With what?” asked Ollie, looking her over.

“We’re always open to helpin’ a lady!” Sal butted in, grinning and pushing his friend out of the way. “What, uh, can I do you for, ma’am?” 

“Please, call me Beetrice,” she simpered.  “You see, I’m a widow with 6 children. My late husband left us drowning in debt with no way out. My children are starving. I hardly have a roof to put over their heads. And if anything were to happen to me, they’d be all alone…”

“That’s terrible!” Sal gasped, and Ollie rubbed a tear from his eye. 

“What is it you want us to do, exactly?” Chauncey then spoke, shoving in and looking at Beetrice with a frown. 

Beetrice lowered her voice. “I want to discuss a job with you. But I can’t talk about it here. Can you meet me at the park tomorrow at noon?”

“That sounds fine!” Sal said automatically, not even pausing to think. 

Beetrice’s tears stopped almost immediately. “Perfect. Then we’ll meet then. Noon. On the dot.” Turning, she swung her bag full of crying babies ungraciously and started down the stairs without another word.  

“Why did you agree to that, Sal?” demanded Chauncey the moment she was out of sight. 

“Whatcha mean?”

“Don’t you think that was just a little weird? Asking to meet in the park? What happened to not trusting complete strangers?”

“This is different, she’s a dame, she’s harmless,” Sal argued. “Asides, sounds like she needs help.”

“And those poor kids!” said Ollie, nodding enthusiastically. “We have to help them out!”

“I’m telling you, fellas. My spine shivered when she set foot on our doorstep,” Chauncey continued, “I can’t explain it. I have this feeling that it just ain’t right…”

“I told you, she’s harmless!” snapped Sal, getting his face up close with Chauncey’s. “Now just relax, it’s gonna be like any other job! We’ll do the work, make the money, boom, back home!”

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

--

The next day broke heat records all over the Inkwell Isles. Combined with the blistering heat and dry air, it was a day almost everybody wanted to spend indoors. 

The Root Pack arrived at the park a little early. 

And just as she had said, on the dot at noon, Miss Beetrice Lutz appeared, the paper bag stuffed with children in her arms, and another three children scurrying after her. 

“I’m so glad you’ve come!” she said when she saw them, a wide smile on her face. 

“Aw, of course. We’d never turn down someone who needs help!” Sal gushed, and Chauncey thought he could see him blushing a little. 

“Are these all your children?” Ollie asked. Five of them were small little beets, the spitting image of their mother, Beetrice, but the last one looked different. He looked like a young radish, probably 7 or 8, with vibrant violet skin and bright green eyes. 

“That’s right!” Beetrice said, “Of course, there’s my own kids. Such a handful! And then, here’s Horace,” she motioned towards the last child. “He lost his parents the same way I’m afraid mine might lose me.” Her lip trembled as she put her hands on his shoulders. “I adopted him outta the kindness of my heart. We need all the help we can get.” 

Ollie waved, but the little radish just stared back at them blankly. 

“Well, we’d love to help you and your lovely family!” Sal beamed. “What did you want us to help you with?” 

“Yeah! We’re good at all kinds of stuff!” added Ollie. 

“Oh, I know you are,” Beetrice remarked, slowly lowering her bag to the ground. 

Chauncey’s eyebrow twitched. 

“See, the job I have for you requires certain skills. It’s why I chose you specifically. That’s why I’m hiring you to rob the jewelry store for me.” 

There was a long silence. 

“I’m sorry?” the trio said in perfect unison. 

Beetrice dug into her paper bag, tossing her three children onto the ground, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. The Root Pack recognized it immediately.

ROOT PACK AT LARGE! 

It was a newspaper article with a drawing of the three of them from several months ago, asking the public for any information that could lead to their arrest.  

“Didn’t think you could outrun this, did you?” she asked, her voice becoming snide and mocking as she looked at the article. “Oooh…’and wanted for burgling, vandalism, and attempted murder of the Chairman of the Blue Blood Aristocracy Committee…!’” 

“That’s a lie!” Sal gasped, and Ollie clapped a hand over his mouth in horror.

Beetrice scowled and snapped her fingers. At her command, her six children rushed in and surrounded the Root Pack on all sides. 

“Listen, I’m a hardworking woman,” she chided, “with hungry mouths to feed. You three know a thing or two about larceny, and I need this money. So either you help me out and help me rob the place, or I leak this paper to everyone in the city. And you get handed to the law.” 

“B-but…we don’t do that anymore! We’re clean now!” Ollie objected. 

“And we’ve never looted from a store like that, either!” Chauncey added. 

“What about security?” Sal was regretting his decisions more by the second.

“It doesn’t matter to me how you do it, just do it,” she said, holding the paper tight in a closed fist and scoffing dismissively.  “Or I guess it’s jail time for you. I’ll just have to settle for the reward money I get turning you in.” 

Ollie, Sal, and Chauncey exchanged nervous glances. Their backs were against the wall, and there didn’t seem to be a way out of this. If they said no, they were as good as done for- either they’d be locked in the slammer, or they’d have to keep running. And they’d come so far in the past months- turned over a new leaf, found a home, made friends, really started to take to this city. Maybe it wasn’t the dream they’d started out with, but they’d come to be happy with it.

They couldn’t risk losing it all. 

“Uh, what exactly is your plan?” Sal asked hesitatingly, looking at the group of children surrounding them. On closer inspection, they seemed to be listening quite intently and their faces were set firmly. They didn’t look so innocent at all. 

"That's better," Beetrice said coolly, crossing her arms. "Until a few months ago, I worked this place. The manager let me go when I told him I needed time off to care for my kids. Can you believe that? Anyhow. I know that he and the other workers all have a habit of taking their lunch break just about an hour from now. They all head out for a solid thirty minutes and the entire store will be empty. That's when we strike." It sounded like she'd been planning this for quite some time.

Keeping her eye on them closely, Beetrice continued, "My boys and I are going to help. We already have a van prepared. You just break in and swipe what you can, and then we all make our getaway together." She smiled. “Simple.” 

And like a whirlwind, the Root Pack was pulled back into a life of crime.

About an hour later, the three of them found themselves hiding out in the rear of a large, debilitated van, surrounded by Beetrice’s five children on all sides, and with Beetrice sitting upfront in the driver’s seat, watching them closely. The van was parked just down the road from the Spiffany and Co. Jewelry Retailers, with a perfect view of the store front, and the engine idled loudly as they sat in wait. 

“Uh- where’d did you get this car?” asked Ollie, trying to make conversation and ease the tension. 

“We stole it,” Beetrice replied shortly. “Pretty easy to pick the lock and get it started up. Too bad the thing isn’t worth its weight in scrap metal. Not even worth trying to pawn it off.” She shrugged. “Was a fun experience for the kids, though.” 

Some of the little beet children giggled. Ollie’s face went pale. 

After a few more minutes, two gentlemen came out of the store and flipped the sign from Open to Closed. Together, the two of them walked down the sidewalk and disappeared around the corner. 

“Now! You three go to the back alley behind the store!” commanded Beetrice. “Horace will go with you and be the lookout. You should have a solid thirty minutes before they get back. Then I’ll drive the van ‘round and you all jump in. Don’t mess it up!” 

Ollie, Chauncey, and Sal were almost kicked from the van and dumped onto the road. Right behind them, the little radish Horace hopped out, and the sliding doors of the van slammed shut. 

“Follow me!” snapped Horace, looking up at them with defiant green eyes. He waved them over and hopped down the street with surprising speed, and they hurried right behind him. 

Reaching the doors of the store, the group stopped and looked round the deserted streets. Most days, there would be people walking around outside, but today was so muggy out, nobody wanted to leave their homes.

“Hey, uh, kid, how are we supposed to get in?” Sal asked. The place looked to be just about impenetrable. 

Horace rolled his eyes, and scampered to the side of the building to where two small low windows were hidden.

“Just watch and learn,” Horace said with a rebellious sneer, and before their eyes the little radish began to spin faster and faster on his root, like a tornado. Within a few seconds, he’d gathered enough speed, and crashed through one of the windows in a blast of glass. 

“Holy mulch-”

The Root Pack peered down into what was clearly the basement of the store, and saw Horace staring up at them. “You dirtclods coming or not?!” He shouted up at them. 

Carefully, Sal, Ollie, and Chauncey slipped in through the busted window, clambered down a set of antique dressers, and onto the floor.

“The whole city will have heard that!” Sal sputtered, “doesn’t a place like this have an alarm set up?”

“Moron,” Horace snorted indignantly. “There’s no alarm system set up in the basement. I oughta know! Miss Lutz went over the floor plans with us and made sure we memor-a-tized it.” 

“You tellin’ me she was planning on hitting this place with you and your brothers and sisters even before we came around?” Chauncey asked, disliking the situation more by the second. 

Horace bristled. “They’re not my brothers and sisters! And she is not my mom!” His sharp fang-like teeth gnashed angrily. 

“Geez Louise, kid, did ya eat some bad fertilizer or somethin’? Ease up! We’re just here for a job!” Sal retorted, thumping around the chests and drawers and finding absolutely nothing of value. “C’mon, upstairs.” 

The others followed him up the steps and he rattled the doorknob for a moment before it finally gave in, and they stepped into the dimly lit jewelry store. “Aha!” 

The store was lined with several glass displays, all filled to the brim with collections of antiquities and jewelry. And all locked up tight. 

“Sal, I think we should just go,” Chauncey murmured, rubbing his temples and making a pained expression. He could just feel that things were about to go wrong… 

“We’ll be in and out, thirty minutes, tops,” Sal assured him. “And then we put all this behind us. For good.” 

Sal and Chauncey began to examine the displays carefully, looking for a weak point.

“Hey, Horace,” Ollie spoke up gently, turning his attention to the smaller vegetable. Horace was watching Sal and Chauncey with unblinking eyes, dead set on making sure they didn’t make a mistake. 

“What’d you mean back there? About Beetrice and the other kids?  Ain’t they your family?” Ollie asked him. 

The little radish’s nose crinkled in anger and he scowled, turning his attention to Ollie. “Like I said. Miss Lutz never wanted me. She might have taken me in, but she just keeps me around to do dirty work. The rest of the time she forgets I exist! And the others? They don’t even like me! All they ever do is call me names or shove me around. Just ‘cause I’m different.” 

Ollie sniffed, a tear forming in his eye. The story was just too sad!

“But I’m just as good as they are,” Horace continued, tone tinged with aggression. “Just watch. I’m gonna prove it!” 

“Enough talk! Let’s get the job done and get outta here!” Sal exclaimed, brandishing an expensive looking ceramic lamp he’d found close to the cash register. Swinging it hard against the display, there was a loud crash as the lamp smashed through the glass. 

That’s when the alarm went off. 

Chauncey and Ollie gasped.

“What did you do!?” Horace shouted, eyes widening in fear. 

“You idiot!” snarled Chauncey, turning on Sal. 

“Quick, just grab whatever you can!” Sal yelled, plucking up a handful of silver watches while the alarm continued to blare. 

Chauncey and Ollie both managed to grab some gemstone earrings, while Horace rushed in and snatched a diamond necklace. 

In the distance, the howl of sirens filled the air.

“They must have their alarm connected to the police system!” Sal groaned. “Great job, kid! You coulda warned us about that!”

Horace didn’t stay to argue, and bolted for the door and out the store as fast as he could go without a look back. 

The three members of the Root Pack chased right behind him, panic setting in as the siren grew louder.

The van was still parked nearly a street length away, given that Beetrice had expected she had more time before she needed to pull up for the getaway. Now she had the doors all flung open, waving her arms.

“Hurry it up!” She screamed as Horace rushed to the van with the necklace bundled in his arms. “Hurry up, why can’t you do anything right-!” 

The sound of sirens was then upon them, and the cop cars were just around the corner. 

Swearing, Beetrice didn’t waste another second and stomped on the gas. Doors swinging closed, the van sped down the street, into the distance, and out of sight, leaving Horace behind, coughing, in a cloud of smog.

“Put your hands in the air!” shouted the police as they drew up in their car. 

Sal, Ollie, and Chauncey all came together with their hands in the air and dropped what they were holding. 

“That nasty, two faced, rotten-” Sal snarled, eyes locked on the horizon where the van had vanished.

“This looks bad,” Ollie whimpered.

Chauncey groaned suddenly, buckling over and clasping his forehead in pain. 

“Chauncey, you ok?” asked Ollie. 

“I said hands in the air!” shouted the cop. His partner slowly moved in on the other side. 

And then the unexpected happened.

A third, giant, staring white eye, slowly began to open up in the middle of Chauncey’s forehead, its pupil darting frantically in all directions. 

Sal, Ollie, and Horace all drew back in shock.

“What in the world!?” one of the cops uttered, aiming his gun at the group.

Chauncey’s giant eye widened, pupil dilating, turning to look directly at the officer. And then, without warning, a crackling beam of yellow light shot from his eye like a projectile, sending the officer tumbling head over heels and flying into his vehicle. 

Where he’d been standing, the sidewalk was cracked and singed like it’d been struck by lightning.

“Officer down! Officer down!” shouted the cop’s partner into his radio, terror rising in his voice. His hands shook as he tried to keep his aim steady, the gun shaking in his hands. “Stop right there, or I’ll shoot!” 

Chauncey whipped around, giant eye narrowing, and with another beam of psychic power, the cop’s gun was shot out of his hands and far into the distance. 

Without a weapon, the cop turned tail and retreated, screaming into his radio for reinforcements. 

“Quick, let’s get out of here!” shouted Sal in the middle of the chaos, not waiting for an explanation, and grabbing Ollie and Chauncey by the hands and urging them to follow him. Sal and Chauncey quickly split down the sidewalk in the opposite direction to make their getaway, but Ollie hesitated for a moment, turning back towards Horace, who had fallen facedown on the ground.

Ollie helped the child up quickly. “Horace, come with us!” he said anxiously. “We might not be family…but that doesn’t mean we’ll abandon you!”

Horace hesitated only for a second, looking over his shoulder to see the cop running for his gun.

“Alright, you sold me!” He yelled, and he and Ollie ran to catch up with the others. They all ran until they couldn’t run any more.

The Root Pack was never seen by anyone on those streets ever again. 

--

For weeks, they roamed the countryside, avoiding towns and cities, keeping a low profile. They had nowhere to go, but couldn’t stay in one place too long. They were wanted men.

In the weeks that followed, Chauncey and Sal barely spoke to one another, each blaming the other for what had gone wrong. Ollie and  Horace- who was now an official member of the gang- tried to settle the disputes, but it seemed there was little they could do.

Chauncey was constantly troubled by his psychic powers and painful headaches, and while he had come to terms with his powers, he knew he had to learn how to control them. 

The group was planning their next move and walking through an empty lot in search of shelter from the oncoming rain, when a newspaper suddenly floated by on the wind. 

Snatching it from the air, Chauncey glanced down the page, scanning the headlines.

Thankfully, there wasn’t a mention of the Root Pack anywhere. At least not on the front page.

“Guess we’re old news, now,” Ollie said lightly, trying to make a joke.

“Yeah, well, I get the feeling some bums like to see themselves in the paper,” Chauncey said snidely, pointing out the mugshot of an aggressive looking orange flower leering from the front page.

“Well, well, well,” a voice suddenly spoke. “Just the fellas I was hoping to see.”

Suddenly Sal came to a stop, and the four of them jumped in surprise, shocked to see a bizarre looking man standing right in front of them, grinning ear to ear. He’d appeared so suddenly, they hadn’t even heard or seen him approach.

Twirling his mustache, the man smiled and continued. “Have I got an opportunity for you,” he said, eyes alight. “How would you fellas like the chance to make some real money?”

Sal scoffed, but he couldn’t hide that he was feeling unnerved. This guy was definitely suspicious. “Buddy, whatever you’re selling, we’re not interested.” 

The man laughed. “Selling? Oh no, friend! I’m offering you the chance to join me on a big heist that’ll make us all rich. You see, I’m planning on robbing the big casino up in Inkwell Metropolis. And I think the four of you would be perfect candidates for the job.” 

“No way!” said Sal angrily. No way he was going to fall for this and make the same mistake twice! “We’re out of that game. No more of that stuff!”

“Yeah!” Chauncey added. “We don’t want more trouble.”

Ollie and Horace nodded in agreement. 

The man’s smile grew wider. “I thought you might say that. What a shame. Have you really given up on your big dreams, fellas?” He slinked closer. “Living the high life? A penthouse overlooking city square? Come on, I’m offering a once in a lifetime deal here, the deal of a lifetime.”

Sal, Ollie, and Chauncey didn’t know how this stranger knew so much about their childhood fantasy, and they were getting more uncomfortable by the minute. 

“Who are you?” demanded Sal. 

“They call me Old Scratch, The Big D,” the man replied with an even bigger grin, tipping his hat.

There was a gasp from all of them.

“The Devil!”

“Oh, it sounds so boorish when you say it like that,” The Devil fretted. 

“Look, we don’t want any more trouble!” Sal snapped, trying to remain his composure. 

“Yeah, we just want to be left alone and have a place to call home!” Ollie said meekly.

“And be left in peace!” Chauncey added aggressively. 

Horace said nothing but nodded his head up and down, glaring at the Devil. 

The Devil let out a hooting laugh.

“Is that all? Well why didn’t you say so!”

With a snap of his fingers, suddenly the dingy little lot they were all in had vanished- and the five of them were standing in a grassy, green field of all manner of fruits and vegetables, a quaint farmhouse off in the distance. 

“What the-!” The Root Pack all gasped, looking around themselves at the sudden change of scene. It was magic, clearly, and the kind of magic only the Devil could do.

“What do you think? Take a look! It could be yours!” He exclaimed, gesturing to the grand, picturesque farmland that laid before them. “If you want a place to call home, a place that’s peaceful and you won’t be disturbed, then look no further!”

The scenery was dazzling. The grass was so green and lush, the fruits and vegetables so full of life, even the air was the freshest they’d ever breathed.

“What’s the catch?” demanded Sal, knowing full well the Devil never gave things away for free. But he was so dazzled, he knew he couldn’t resist.

“Oh, nothing! Just a couple quid pro quos, you know. Don’t worry, just sign your names on this dotted line!” The Devil then conjured up a scroll, glowing in a bright aura, and a dark feather quill that he handed to Sal, grinning and wringing his hands.

Sal, Ollie, Chauncey, and Horace looked at one another.

“Sal?” questioned Ollie worriedly.

“Sign it, stupid!” Horace shouted excitedly. 

“I say sign it!” Chauncey urged. “What have we got left to lose?”

Taking the quill, Sal hesitantly signed the scroll: The Root Pack. 

“Fabulous.” The Devil said, and the scroll and quill vanished. With one last dark smile, the Devil gave them five parting words. 

“I trust we’ll meet again.” 

And just like that, as suddenly as he’d come, he was gone.