Chapter Text
"So," said Tommy, his voice echoing off the cold walls of the cell he was placed in. "How did you guys end up in here?"
The bald, buff guy sitting next to our lovely protagonist looks at him. "I tried to sell a baby," he explains in very elaborate detail. Everyone understood that.
"Oh, I see. Human trafficking, eh?" said Tommy, giggling a little. He's feeling a bit high right now, which is always very pog and good if you just so happened to be in a prison cell. Actually, how did he end up high? Hmm, we'll get back to that later.
"Yes," said the bald, buff guy. Everyone applaud him for his amazing skills, please.
"Well, what about you then?" Tommy turns to the other guy next to him. He's also bald and buff, how interesting! We'll get back to that later too.
"I tried to buy a baby," said the second bald, buff guy. He looks at the first bald, buff guy while he said that.
Tommy giggles again. He's still kind of high. "Wow, you're also doing human trafficking, right? The other guy over here does too! Maybe you guys could be friends."
"We're brothers," informs the bald, buff guy. "Well, cousins twice removed, but we tell everyone that anyways."
"Woah," said Tommy. "That's cool."
"Thank you," said the two bald, buff guys. How polite! I wish some people in this world were more like them.
"Anyways, have you guys got any family to bail you out or something," asks Tommy.
The first bald, buff guy puts on a sad look. "No, our parents died a few years back. Our other siblings are all in jail somewhere too."
'Oh," said Tommy. "I'm sorry for what you've been through."
"Thank you for your condolences."
Actually, Tommy wasn't sorry for them at all. He thinks it's just shit luck that they ended up like this. But since he was taught manners back in kindergarten and primary and all that and wasn't like the vegan teacher he very nicely said sorry anyways. He's just so amazing, really.
The three of them continued to talk about whatever came to mind (pineapple on pizza, kite-flying, destroying little kids' sandcastles because they can) until one of the (pretty smexy, might the narrator add) police officers came over to let one of them out.
"Hey kid," said the officer with that typical police accent. "You're out."
Did his children finally come to their senses and came to save their poor father? "Wow, thanks. So, uh, who came to bail me out? Was it some kids?"
The officer stares at him. "...children? No? Why in the world would ki- you know what? Never mind. I don't want to know. Just...come over here."
Tommy decided he doesn't like him, which basically means declaring war in the narrator's eyes, but got up anyways because there's just no way he's staying in this trash cell with no clean water and a fugly sink and toilet. And brothers who are totally not cousins twice removed with a different grandmother because their grandfather decided to be a whore.
As he leaves, he gives a sad wave to the bald, buff guys left inside cause he's probably never gonna see them again and when they meet once more it's gonna be at a hotel with the sunset and they're gonna have no idea who the fuck he is so that's great. He wishes them luck.
He ignores the way the officer stares at him with complete despair and pain.
"So," said Tommy as they make their way out. "Who bailed me out again? Also what happened to my coworker Gred? Did he get bailed out too?"
The officer sighs. "Firstly, you're not going to be going home. One of the High Rankers bailed the both of you out because they've got beef with that manager of yours, so you'll be with him answering his questions."
"Oh," said Tommy very intelligently. "But I have a family to feed!"
"What?" said the officer, slightly mortified. "But you're like, twelve or something."
Offended, Tommy goes off to defend his tarnished, broken-down honor. Like he had any in the first place. "I'm not twelve! I'm old enough to drive and drink!"
He stops to think about the logic for a moment.
"I think, at least."
The officer stares. "How do you not know your own age? Are you mentally okay? Do you need help? Assistance for anything?"
This is a fantastic opportunity to scam someone! Tommy thanks thy o great and loving gods for giving him this chance. "Actually, I do need help with something."
Mr About-To-Be-Scammed raises his thick like your mom's cups eyebrows up. "....what is it?"
Tommy smiles his scammer smile (which his kids often say has no difference to the one Wilbur Soot has) and says. "I need money."
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....
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
The disrespect. The audacity. The utter mockery of his morals!
"What's wrong with wanting money?1111!!!?!!111!11" Tommy exclaims with the air of the angry emoji kids nowadays use to make themselves look cooler. "Money is what makes the world go round!! It's what makes our lives easier! But it's also what causes poverty and all that and everyone always says eat the rich even though I have no idea what that means and I would really like to but I haven't searched it up yet so that's got to go onto my to-do list BUT BUT BUT-"
Suddenly, a loud bang is heard from behind the two.
"Johnson! What in the world is taking you so long?? The Wilbur Soot is right here and he wants to see the kid right now!!! Hurry up!" a man with that stereotypical shiny bald head barked. Like literally barked, since he's a dog hybrid. I think. None of us are particularly sure, to be fair.
The officer, who is now known as Johnson, pales and nods vigorously. "Sir yes sir!!" he yells back. The poor guy was probably in the army if his reaction was like that.
Hold on. Let's backtrack for a second here. Did that shiny guy just say Wilbur Soot?
Because if he did, then Tommy might have to leave. Like right now. For a bit of context: Tommy Innit once accidentally picked up the wrong order in Starbucks, which also happened to be Wilbur Soot's order, which also happens to be the same drink he accidentally spilled onto the same guy who ordered the order and before either of them could say anything Tommy had bolted out of the place with more speed than when he was forced to do cross country back in the old days when he was thirteen.
"Wilbur Soot? The Wilbur Soot is here?" he cuts in quickly, slowly feeling the day of doom happening upon him.
Mr Baldy Basics kinnie nods and beams like his hair just grew back. "Yes! I even got an autograph!" he says gleefully. He pulls out a book and practically saunters up to them and shoves it in Tommy's face.
On the cover, it was a peepee.
Tommy is starting to like this Wilbur Soot guy. Not that he hadn't in the past of course, but after the Starbucks Incident of January 6th he was too mortified and embarrassed to even look at a picture of the man. If he did, he might genuinely faint from shame overload.
But back to the more important things.
"So sorry lads," said Tommy, backing away from the still-in-awe Dwayne Johnson in that one movie and the now sickly-looking Dwayne Johnson except the only thing they have in common is the last name Johnson, and eyes the window nearest to him (which appeared out of nowhere) with clear interest.
"Sorry for what? That you exist?" mumbled the officer, but Tommy heard it anyway and glowered at him from where he was standing next to the window. "Wait, why are you so close to the windo-"
"I can't face Wilby Scoot after that humiliating ordeal!" he shrieks like a rabbit, opening up the window and climbing out of it. The two men, now stricken with panic, hurried over and tried to pull him back up.
"Wait, kid! We're on the third flo-"
A bit too late for that warning now, Henry Stickman.
Well, at least Tommy has healing powers right? Surely he won't die, because the author isn't that mean and they won't pull a tumoasd right? Right????
...
Well, you better pray they're not.