Lemon Sorbet

Alex was merrily speeding along in his curdmobile. He was happy; He’d discovered that he’d only been rhyming because he’d gotten into the habit, he didn’t actually have to as a kid.
“Whoo! Yeah! Go Lemon Sorbet!”
Since grumbling at M & M, he’d changed his mind, deciding it was actually pretty cool they had new names. Why worry about outside-the-game pain, when you were a kid again, with a kart, and a new name?

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The sinister schemers’ gazes were fixed to the big screen. The visiting fools had probably begun to forget the details of their real, adult, lives by now. The game, and the name changes, were designed to influence them - help them lose who they were and why they were here. It shouldn’t take long. All being well, they’d be easily wiped out by the in-game players, and their remains would likely be smushed up into swamp-stuff. Trebor Toad fodder.

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Alex hugged a corner, trying to stick to the optimum racing line. He was concentrating so hard that his tongue poked from his mouth.
He felt quite stylish; When he’d reached the track, his shrunken jester clothes had transformed into snazzy racing clothes of the same colours (yellow, red and green) and a nice matching helmet had appeared on his head.
He realised his tongue-pokery and re-mouthed the organ, in case he crashed and bit it off.

Back on the straight, he accelerated, reveling in the speed. He could get used to this. He went to overtake one of the other racers, a pretty kart, covered in colourful hundred-and-thousand sprinkles with tasty looking marshmallow wheels.
As he passed it, the young driver waved. How friendly everyone was here. This place was awesome!
Then, out of nowhere, the other racer’s vehicle belched and bucked horribly, transforming into a violent, bespiked death-race machine with an array of guns mounted upon it.
“Oh… Poop.” Not so awesome after all.

Young Sorbet finished overtaking and, in slo-mo, realised Mini-Plisk was almost parallel. Suddenly time sped back up and Jay zoomed past in a very cool kart, going the wrong way. The reckless micro-man had many death-cars hot on his tail. Luckily Alan… no Alex… that was his name, Alex… Alex’s pursuer turned and followed.

Plisken and Alex seemed to be out of immediate danger for now.
“What the hell was that all about?” Alex yelled at Plisken, his higher voice carrying pretty well.
“Buggered if I know." He pulled over and Alex copied.
"What happened to all the sweeties?" Plisken asked, getting out of his vehicle. "Where’s that green chap? I’m hungry now…”
Alex got out of his own kart and removed his helmet. Despite the danger, he laughed. Plisken was still seeming a bit like an old man, even as a kid.

Wait a minute... 'like an old man'? Why would Plisken seem like an old man? He was just a kid, just the same as Alex was.

He shook the confusing thought from his head and looked around, scoping out the area for more danger.
“We should probably carry on…”
“I’m just gonna go for a ‘pit stop’ if you know what I mean, lad.”
Why was he calling him ‘lad’? Weren’t they about the same age? He shrugged. Oh well, he had more pressing things to worry about. Like why the other cars had suddenly turned EVIL on them.
He squinted about, as Plisken went for a pee in some bushes under the shade of the cliff which overhung this part of the track.
“Hurry up pissing” Alex called, sniggering at the grown up word. He’d used it on purpose.
“My name’s not Pissin’!” Plisken retorted.
“Come on! Hurry up in case them spiky people come back.”
“Aye, and we’ve still got a race to finish... Haven't we?”
As Plisken emerged from the bushes, Alex scratched the back of his neck in thought.
"Uhm, can I ask a question?"
"Go on..."
"... Is 'Squarange' a word?"
Mini-Plisk squinted at Sorbet's freckled face and blinked.
"... What's that got to do with anything?"

What the two adorable littluns didn’t see, was the large boulder high on top of the cliff, being pushed by one of the death-race cars.

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<Tag Plisken. Tag everyone.>
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