Despite your clever tactics and ferocious command of a Super Soaker, the blue team, has captured you. Your squad of red commandos fought well, but their wet bodies glisten in the sun all around you. You are a prisoner of water-war.
With their water pistols trained on the back of your white t-shirt, two of the cerulean cretins shove you into a windowless, dilapidated tool shed on the edge of the battlefield. Transitioning from the bright afternoon sunlight of the meadow, your eyes struggle to see in the darkness of the shed. The blue brutes force you to your knees.
“Nice of you to join us, Teagan,” a nasal, high-pitched voice greets you.
“Freddy,” you reply, recognizing the voice as belonging to the blue team’s leader.
Your eyes adjust to the low light of the tool shed and your eyes confirm what your ears have already told you. Freddy’s slight frame rests in a rusty lawn chair on the far wall of the tool shed. The meager sunlight coming through the doorway casts a mirror sheen against the lenses of his coke-bottle glasses. He smiles in the evil way that only a huge dork who has recently acquired a great amount of power can.
“You’ve fought well, Teagan, but not well enough. It seems it’s down to just you and my minions,” he says, gesturing first to you, then to the gregarious goons that brought you here.
“She was armed with this,” the left lug says to Freddy, handing over your green and orange Super Soaker. “We’ve drained it, sir; it’s safe.”
“Now this is the weapon of a true water-warrior,” says Freddy, “…or should I say, it was.” With this, Freddy drops your gun on the floor, picks up a cinderblock from nearby, and hurls the block down onto it. Your weapon smashes into a hundred plastic pieces as Freddy laughs his dorky laugh. “I guess this is the end for you, Teagan.”
“If you wet me down, I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine,” you declare defiantly.
Freddy chortles and draws his pistol, He wastes no time pulling the trigger, and your chest is covered in warm water. Your pink-and-purple polka dot bra shows through your wet white t-shirt. Freddy’s jaw drops at the sight, undoubtedly his first view of a woman’s undergarments outside of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.
He points a single finger at your chest. Intrigued, his minions circle around for a better look and are likewise enchanted by your bustier.
“Now, Penny!” you shout.
On your signal, Penny, bursts from her hiding place outside into the shed, opening fire with her Super Soaker 400. She makes quick work of Freddy and his goons – in seconds flat they’re sopping wet.
“Looks like Team Red wins again,” you say to Freddy, giving a sarcastic smirk. “Maybe next time you shouldn’t be so insistent on boys versus girls.”
You turn to walk out of the shed with Penny. Almost as an afterthought, you throw a casual remark behind you as you exit.
“Boys are so predictable.”