Ratguy’s Rampage

The machine was comprised of three layers of movement, one more than most scramblers: the first spinner, holding onto the higher-up carts, which themselves would spin, as par the course. The twist was that each of these spinning carts were also attached to a “lower floor” of carts that were even more erratic than them, each one being attached to multiple of these chassis, all holding two people on each side of them for a total of four. 

It was one of these many carts where Frankie and Katie sat. Thankfully for the more anxious of the pair, not having to face the other riders and being separated by a few inches of metal made conversation between the two parties highly unlikely.

Waiting for Stamos to start the ride, they sat in silence. Katie was too hyper to speak and Frankie was too worried. Before their ex-boss pushed the button, he called out on the intercom like he’d been doing every single time he started the ride all day.

“THANK YOU FOR RIDING RATGUY’S RAMPAGE! HAVE A REAL RAT OF A TIME, FOLKS!”

It looked bad from the outside, but Frankie wasn’t ready for the twisted vomitron’s true power. Within moments of it beginning to turn, the girls were being thrown from side to side, quickly finding themselves in a man-made tornado in which all you could hear was a deafening cacophony of screams and the painful bangs every time the side of your head smashed against the walls of the chassis. How anyone could find this even a little bit enjoyable, she had no idea.

Looking at the blurry image of Vincent Stamos that popped into view before disappearing every few milliseconds as they spun, Frankie figured now was the time to get her little souvenir of payback. Katie was having so much fun on the torture device that she didn’t notice what was happening until Frankie’s middle finger was already firmly extended just inside of the corner of her vision, her hand stretching far outside the ride to display her obscene gesture in the direction of the psycho.

“FRANKIE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” She yelled at the top of her lungs over the metal orchestra.

“Don’t sweat it! What, it’s not like he can see me at this speed!” Frankie assured the very moment she looked down to see a single blink of the man no longer standing where he was.

Katie could just barely hear her sister swear more intensely than she ever had before just seconds prior to the roar of the ride screeching to a halt as they slowed down. Before they knew it, everything was coming to a stop.

“Frankie!”

“Shit, shit, shit…” She panicked, finagling with the terribly constructed seatbelt.

All had stopped. As the people complained, confused- the angriest adult man she had ever seen was headed straight towards her, muscles nearly bursting out of his suit. She tried to free herself, but of course, most carts on a ride so dangerous didn’t open or close without the operator’s help. Sure enough, Vincent Stamos was about to kill her, too.

Just then, as she gave it one last tug, fear in her eyes, the cheap thing broke and came loose.

“FREAKING RUN!” She cried, the sisters instinctively jumping from their restraints and heading straight towards the line, a furious ridestock close behind in pursuit.