Dave's Dangerous Neighbourhood
To a scatter-dotted sky, planets of colour glow in flourescent orbit. A space of life and a space of death. Cycle of all.
In the far distance, cities of floating neon lights and floating buildings and shops selling all sorts of food, drinks and other wares.
Long behind the distant cities far away, Dave Dove stands. He looks along the path of stars and watches as the planets are swallowed whole. Vortex of destruction. Vortex of pitch dark. Black hole—or a gnashing ball of giant chompers, in Dave's own words.
But as the short man watches, he hears something behind him. The wobbling gargling sound of his earpiece barks down his eying ears. A spaceship mows him over.
The planet he scuttles along, muddied by liquid. Red spills the ground, dread paves Dave's face, contorted by tragic disbelief.
"You done spilled my space juice!"
Proof of pain, proof of horror. 300 Blongs down the drain. A true crime; tall order of fearless boldness. Grand theft liquid.
The two people are faced against a grand enemy, revered by all. And too a man stands with no bounty to their name, despite the many crimes they have committed. Dave.
On another note, the man before the two too has no bounty to their name despite the crimes they have committed. Spilling Dave's drink was a foolish mistake.
The man hijacked Dave's friend's friend's spaceship and he now guns Dave down with it—despite missing every single shot. It seems as if Dave is dodging every single laser being sent his way. He's not. He's simply repeatedly slipping from the juice on the slippery planet's slick, oily floor. Like a splashing dolphin.
Dave once nearly drowned in a puddle, in the days of his childhood; that shows, he's doing it again right now.
Sliding over to help his friend out of the life-threatening situation he finds himself in, John James pulls Dave out from the puddle of space juice.
"Jumping CrackerWack! Get yourself up Dave, we've got a city to burn."