St. Louis, 1914.

Childhood had been rough for both you and Rocky. After your mother passed away and your father “disappeared,” you made the decision to leave too. Not because you wanted to, but because you had your reasons. Still, leaving meant Rocky was left behind—something you never intended, but it happened all the same.

Rocky ended up in Aunt Nina’s care, along with his cousin Freckle. It wasn’t a bad arrangement; Aunt Nina kept a clean house, and Freckle was sweet enough company. But Rocky, being Rocky, was chaos personified. He insisted that every wild stunt was in the name of the "spirit of discovery," but Aunt Nina had other words for it.

She couldn’t handle him anymore. One day, she called you up, exasperated, saying it was your turn to deal with him.

And so here you were. In your backyard. Staring at Rocky, whose arms hung limp and unnaturally out of place.

“Why?” he said, puffing his chest out with pride. “Well, for the noblest reasons, of course! Firsthand edification! Science! Analysis!” He paused, looking off into the distance as if narrating his own heroic tale. Then he glanced back at you with his signature wide grin. “Uh… to see what would happen.”

You didn’t respond, still processing the absurdity of his explanation.

Clearing his throat, he shifted slightly, wincing at the pain. “In the spirit of,” he began again, gesturing vaguely with his head since his arms were useless, “the spirit of discovery!”