CHAPTER TWO Painful Tasks and Teleporting Kids

My name is T.RedEye. I'm employed as Mickey Mouse's personal assistant. Today I'm scouring Disneyland in pursuit of his lost keys. Now, I've done some weird shit for Mickey in the past...

...so this job isn't exactly beyond my capabilities, though it obviously isn't the most exciting task I've ever been assigned.

I find myself at the park's entrance. The sun's out, it's about twelve noon...the time of peak attendance. So where is everybody?

The exits are sealed. I'm obviously not meant to leave the Magic Kingdom. Mickey trusts me, but it's certainly not above him to take precautions. You don't build an empire by being polite.

Heading northbound, I notice something else out of the ordinary. The shops on Main Street seem...odd. All of the rooftop signs are gone. In their places? Bird shit. This is odd for two reasons. First, because it would be nearly impossible for vandals to make it all the way to the rooftops with their legs intact, let alone with enough strength to steal Ye Olde Candy Caine Shoppe's billboard. And secondly, I can't conceive how any birds could have made it through Mickey's top-notch air defense systems unscathed. He's very protective of his kingdom. Nothing's allowed in without a pass.

He's fair about it, though. He spent millions in research and development to build a miniature floating ticket booth for winged guests. The birds don't seem to understand. I'm not sure, but I think bird logic says that you can exchange excrement for admission to Disneyland. Which, as many can regretfully attest to, just isn't true.

Am I rambling again? I'm sorry.

Proto Difference #2

(Beta)

(Final)

The shop signs had not yet been implemented in this beta copy. See what you can spot in the placeholder garbage graphics! I see: a fish skeleton, the nation of Japan, and a man's necktie.

Continuing northbound, I find that I'm not alone. A young man, no older than eight or nine, suspiciously marches in place in front of Cinderella's Enchanted Castle, the location of the golden key! Before I can light my cigarette, bring out my notepad, and interrogate him, the little bastard starts asking me questions.

	"Pardon me?"

	"Oh, um...I could argue Dopey, I suppose. But you're probably looking for 'Doc.' Alright, my turn. Where have you hidden the keys?"

	"Now hold on a second. What do you..."

	"...the hell?"

Gone. Vanished before my eyes. I don't know what sick game he's playing, but I just want the goddam keys. I decide to play along. East, then, to Space Mountain.

	"Okay, sweetie, can the jig. Where are the keys?"

	"Look, I don't have time for your games. Either you start pulling keys out of your frilly prebubescent panties, or wherever the hell you're hiding them, or I'll be forced to do something that neither of us wants me to do."

	"FUCK. Um, I don't know. I don't really remember it having a name..."

	"Bull. I was just there."

	"God DAMN it."

The job wasn't always this bad.