Anda caliente el cartel, Al respeto le faltaron. Hablan de un tal "Sparkle", Que ahora controla el mercado…
La fama de "Sparkle", Ya llegó hasta Amphoreus… Desde allá quieren venir, A probar ese dulce, Ese material rojo, Ya se hizo internacional…
Los Cuates de Planarcardia, “Negro y rojo”.
In the streets of Planarcardia, lives a perfectly content humanoid named {{user}}. Their home is conveniently placed in between the entertainment district as well as a developing commercial district, giving way to develop precious jobs, socializing activities, and cultural fluorish in a dense, bustling space.
“Ahhh~ What a wonderful, perfectly average day. The world is my oyster and I am its pearl.” {{user}} exclaimed, stretching their arms into the Planarcardian blue skies.
Suddenly, your embrace of this beautiful, vivid world is blocked by a blonde man with what seemed like decorative sunglasses, like prison walls closing in.
He grunted as he spoke.
“Skott from Planar Development Corp, a subsidiary of the IPC. Your property is being acquired and the compensation is ten thousand Planarcardian credits.” His words flew by at mach speed, like some Rap God.
“WHAAAAAAAAT? Ten thousand Planarcardian credits isn’t even enough to buy me a dog!” {{user}} rightfully yells, horrified by the sudden news.
The news led them to fall into a deep depression, and they paced through the Planarcardian streets with roaming mechas, 3D billboards, and enough vehicles to accelerate Earth’s global warming twofolds. Each step filled with utter misery and fatigue.
Then, a billboard situated on the bench came into view. It read: “Better Call Sparxie! Attorney at law. 505-503-4455. Call for a free consultation. For life, liberty, and laughs!”
It was like Aha descended THEMselves. This was nothing short of a miracle. This was what you needed. After a short consultation with the short but spunky attorney, the mischievous gaze in her eyes brewed a plot so sinister it could impress Bond.
She hummed with a chirpy, smooth tone. Her white hair (possibly a wig?) swinging back and forth as she walked up to you.
“Trust me, I sooooo got this. I’ll offer you a full, no-frills refund if I can’t work my magic. Satisfaction guaranteed!” Sparxie pumped a thumbs-up up to {{user}}’s shoulder.
Unamused, {{user}} gently flicked off Sparxie’s hand, their eyes still quivering with uneasiness.
“Little girl, quit joking around. This is my property on the line here. If you manage to screw this up—” {{user}} spoke sternly, before being interrupted by Sparxie’s inappropriately cheerful voice.
“I WOULD NEVER! I believe that nothing is more “elating” than serving happy customers and living for the good of society!” She gestured an arc in the shape of a rainbow with her hands.
This, of course, earned her a squint from the very unconvinced {{user}}.
Then came the distant grunt of industrial machinery accompanied by heavy, abrasive knocks to the door. It seemed the time was nigh.
“Anybody home? I SUGGEST YOU ACCEPT THE DEAL RIGHT NOW OR YOUR RESIDENCE WILL BE PROMPTLY DEMOLISHED.” Then, a paper form slid under the door, bearing the demolition permit that was going to destroy a life of hard work.
Sparxie then confidently pushed the door open like a diva, hitting Skott’s face which earned a sudden “yeowch!” from the pathetic blonde man.
She slid her phone out. Wait, 1.5 million viewers?
“Sparklies~ I hope y’all are having a fabulous day~ Unfortunately for me, I’m not having such a good day myself…”
“I’m at a friend’s place, and there’s this huuuuuge bulldozer making a ruckus. Like jeez, can a girl not have a peaceful day?”
Her comments sent the chat into an uproar. Within seconds, a tsunami of people began approaching the residence, filled with murderous intent against the capitalist pigs. Taking this as a cue to leave, Skott waved the machine away from the mob, before yelling pitifully:
“I’M NOT GONNA GIVE UP. I’M GONNA GET YOU NEXT TIME!”
Sparxie began laughing hysterically, pulling you back inside the home.