by Dillon Fisher (7th

Dark Side of Groceries: The Parington Files
Chapter 1: Forward Assault
November 15th – December 2nd, 2037

MerryMart 2037. Those were the exact words painted on the blue banner surrounding the newly established location at the Metroplex. Families gathered around, ready for the founder, Darnel Parington, to cut the banner with a pair of scarlet scissors. Thus marked the first day of MerryMart—a store that operated like a normal place for eleven years, until the fateful day of December 2nd, 2048.

Nobody expected the headline in the newspaper that day. It was an event that would ruin Parington forever.

The day started as a normal day. MerryMart had become a very popular tourist shop because of a robot named Bobby, who was an advanced piece of technology for the age. Bobby consisted of two modules: Happy Bobby and Hungry Bobby. Happy Bobby would interact with people and give encouraging messages and affirmations. Hungry Bobby would clean up all the food and other materials off the floor using his vacuum to store and deposit them later.

Aside from a water spill on Aisle 3, the workers at MerryMart were laid-back and carefree. However, at around noon, Mr. Parington and his wife, Greta Parington, were scheduled to come in for a maintenance test.

When they arrived, Mr. Parington was impressed with how the employees had kept up the standards. Meanwhile, his wife, Greta, was all alone in the dairy aisle when she heard a beep. She turned around and saw an innocent-looking Bobby. But when she turned back to check the freezer temperature—Bobby struck.

Greta was never found and is still presumed missing to this day.

This event led to a chain of occurrences that, once set in motion, would change the world forever. And soon, a third Bobby module appeared.

---

January 1st, 2049 – 12:37 PM

Raquel Parington read the newspaper clipping on the wall over again, as he did every morning. But the mystery of his mother’s disappearance—and his father’s mysterious vanishing shortly after—weren’t on his mind that morning. He was on a mission: to rescue a pair of hostages.

They were being kept in a small, unassuming rancher home. His squadron had been tipped off that something was amiss—suspicious figures standing outside at all times, odd sounds coming from within. His job was to infiltrate and rescue the hostages, hopefully without issue. But he knew that was never going to happen.

His partner was Rona Cardins, probably the most gifted and skilled police force officer in the area. His detective and combat skills were unmatched, and he always managed to make the best of any situation.

“Parington, are you in position?” asked a muffled voice over the radio.
“Affirmative,” replied Raquel. “Let’s do this.”
“Don’t screw up.”
“Yes, sir.”

He climbed down from the rendezvous tree and crept into the entryway through an unlocked window.

“Hehehe, big mistake, boys,” he chuckled to himself.

He crept farther into the home and saw ten guys unconscious, lying on the ground.

“Looks like Cardins took care of this,” he muttered with a slight smirk.

He kicked one of the men to the side and punched the door, which flew off the hinges immediately. As he walked in, he adjusted his sunglasses and peeked around the kitchen corner to make sure no one was there.

Raquel stepped into the living room, careful not to make a sound with his heels. But as he entered, he felt an ominous presence. He looked over his right shoulder—and there stood a man, knife pointed at Raquel’s chest.

The man was wearing all black with a mysterious, yet nostalgic, mask.

Raquel rolled his eyes and pulled something from his pocket: a slick black pistol with a loaded silver bullet. The man backed up, but Raquel pressed forward.

“Where are the hostages?” Raquel said coldly.

The man looked up in fear and trembled.

“I—I can’t tell,” he stammered, dropping the knife. “Please. I never meant to get wrapped up in this business. It’s just... it pays good money, and my daughter is in the hospital. We don’t know if she’ll make it.”

Raquel hesitated, coiling his gun back.

“Prove it.”

The stranger took off his mask and pulled a photo from his pocket. In it were three people: on the left, the stranger, smiling—clearly more joyful than now. On the right, a woman, presumably his wife, who looked like she had just recovered from the flu. In the center, a tiny blonde-haired girl, smiling with crooked teeth.

“That was the last photo,” the stranger said shakily. “Before the incident that almost took my little girl’s life. I swore I’d never go back to this life again.”

A familiar-looking street was in the background of the photo, but Raquel couldn’t place it.

“I’m Baynes. Greg Baynes. That’s my wife, Monica, and my little girl, Eliza. Named after the uncle who raised me after a cursed drunk took my parents’ lives.”

Raquel tossed the gun aside—but then, he heard footsteps.

They were coming.

“Stab me,” Raquel said.

Greg looked at him like he was insane.

“But—”
“Did you not hear me?” Raquel caught his breath. “If you don’t, they’ll know you weren’t attacking. Put the mask on and stab me in the chest. I’ll be fine.”

Raquel handed him a fake knife. After a pause, Greg pushed the blade through Raquel’s ribs. Even though it was fake, the pain was real.

“Run away,” Raquel grunted. “Go to the police station. Tell them I sent you. Tell them not to press charges—and that you had no idea this was going to happen.”

Greg stuttered, dropped the knife, and bolted.

Raquel felt like he was dying inside, but he knew he would be okay.

Soon, he was surrounded by five men. His vision blurred.

When he hit the ground, he stayed there, counting the seconds, holding his breath as long as he could. When it felt like they weren’t focused on him anymore, he sprang up and knocked out two men with a jump roundhouse kick. The others, stunned, went down quickly.

He surveyed the damaged room, then made his way downstairs—where Rona was.

“Why so late?” Rona said in a bored tone. “Parington, I’m twenty. I want to live a full life. Don’t make me wait here and die like an old man. Also—how’s that wound?”

“It’s fine. It’ll close back up in an hour. I had a special injection so the wound wouldn’t have any lasting effects.”

Raquel winced every time he moved his waist, but told himself he was fine. He couldn’t tell if Cardins was joking about dying like an old man. Nobody ever could.

It always felt weird to Raquel that Cardins would boss him around, despite only being a year older. But Lieutenant Ashley had always taken a liking to Rona—he was a prodigy in everything a police officer needed to excel in.

According to Cardins, he killed a bear in the woods at age seven with his bare hands (get it—bear hands). Kids at school called him “Hercules” for a month—until he was sent to juvie for getting into a fight with a kid who made fun of his sister... and breaking ten of the kid’s bones.

“It’s fine. Just—what happened down there?”

“I was bombarded. Knocked them all out. But one of the guys wasn’t so bad. I sent him to the police station so his coworkers couldn’t hurt him.”

“That’s jolly. You led a criminal right into a trap.”

“It wasn’t a trap. The man has a really sick daughter. This was the only job he could find. From what I could tell, he’s a harmless pacifist.”

Rona let out a deep, hearty laugh.

“Anyways—did you get the guy?”

Rona sighed.

“Not here. Must’ve left hours ago. Took the hostages too.”

“Maybe I… knocked him out downstairs?”

“You’re not that lucky.”

Raquel picked up a sheet of paper from the wardrobe next to the bed. It was from the farm’s owner, Bertha Sweety—the same farm where the famous Sweety’s ice cream was made.

The letter was addressed to a store regarding an overdue shipment.

The store was MerryMart.

Raquel crumpled the paper and shot it into the trash bin.

Not only was the store a reminder of his parents’ supposed deaths—it was a reminder of his father’s hatred for him.

Heh. Speaking of the owner... the current owner was Raquel’s cousin: Derrick Prod.