Chapter 2, written by A. Sick Bean

            Watsons dusty blue Dodge Caravan rolled to a stop alongside an abandoned farm silo.  Tumbleweeds and plastic Jewel shopping bags borne by the wind served as the only moving objects in the desolate plot of land.  Peering out the open window, Watson read a nearby sign:

ANIMAL, PLEASE INC.

Leapin lizards and rrascally rrrabbuts!

Oswego, IL 60543

            Watson confidently hopped out of the Dodge.  "THIS, my fair Aveitude, is the source."  With that said, he flipped out a pair of Foakleys and proceeded towards the neglected silo. 

            Not wanting to seem un-cool by any measure, Travis searched his front pocket for his Foakleys, only to realize his J-Will jersey did not accommodate any pockets.  He felt around the dashboard and instead found a handful of pine tree air fresheners.  Satisfied, he then wrapped 4 on each wrist, and draped the rest around his neck in a sort of pine-scented medallion.

            "Where the hell are you Ave?  God, I half expect that kid to screw himself in the ass while performing a 1080 in the Tropic of Cancer or something," muttered Watson under his breath.

"Duuuuuuuuuuu why the hell are we in a silo Watson?" pouted Travis, finally catching up.  "I mean, if you really wanted some corn, we could have just grown some in my backyard and----"

"Travis, how far is that obtuse triangle lodged in your anal cavity?  If I wanted corn, I'd go to fucking 7-Eleven and say 'Bitch, gimme corn!'" After taking the severity of the diss, Ave meekly stood silent, pretending to be interested in his foresty smell.

            Undeterred, Watson pressed onwards into the steamy dark heart of the old cavernous building.  For you see, Watson knew things that poor Travis could not simply comprehend, such as the real identity of the source.  Oh yes, the source was indeed Oswego, but it was also something more.  After making numerous right-angled turns (as well as solving many little random decoder puzzles) Watson and Travis came to a narrow, dimly-lit Jefferies Tube.  All of a sudden, a man in an Elite Force suit with a nametag that read Franklin leapt in front of the duo, and was summarily consumed by an alien beast that had recently appeared out of thin air.  However, the alien beast began to cough and sputter, then finally combust due to the low game level of its meal.  "Poor Franklin . . . .," mumbled a grief-striken Travis.  Nevertheless, the group pressed onward.

            Finally, after many hours of walking (and of pine-scented air fresheners), the journey had come to an end.  For lo and behold, in front of Watson rested a dusty cryo-tube.  "Holy crap Watts, how long has this thing been sitting in this crusty craphole?" queried a quizzical Travis.  A blurry digital clock at the top of the glass read as follows:

Gambino, John F.  Sick Bean, Bino, Binox

In cryo-stasis since >>>  06-2000 AD

            "Do you see why we have traveled this distance, Travis?" boomed Watson.  "THIS is the source.  I have had Bean stored here in this cryo-facility for almost 3 years now, waiting, WAITING for The Day when his services would be needed."

            The reality of the situation hit Travis like a ton of feathers, or I mean a ton of bricks, or. . . . ah hell, they both weigh the same.  "Are you telling me Bino never really moved to Oswego?  You can't be serious!  He's come over to the Valley a million times since he's left.  It doesn't make sense!" cried a confused Travis.

            "How about if I told you that after I stored Bean in this icy prison, I sold Glen Rice's soul to Satan in order to bring the Bean of the 43rd dimension here to Earth?" said Watson.  "Come on Ave, you didn't think the real Bean wrote all those Epic stories, did you?"  A stunned Travis leaned back against the wall, his fresh pine scent enveloping him in a cloud.  Well, he thought to himself, he's got a point. 

"Ok," said Travis once he had recovered his train of thought, "now that you've confessed turning the real Bino into a beansicle, what do you plan to do with him?"

            A starry-eyed Watson turned and vaguely gazed upwards, much like they do in dramatic movies.  "He's gonna save the Valley, Travis," said Watson.  "It's gonna be the Rise of the Beans."  Only one problem lay ahead for both of them:  now that the truth had been told, how in the hell would they bring back Bino????