Defender of Bensworth: The Frog Boy (Sampler)

Sampler

Sgt. Dratner crept up the steps to the warehouse building. They croaked with every step of his shoes. Trying to remain silent, Dratner crouched slightly, holding his gun out beside him while he went into the warehouse. Inside it was dimly lit and covered in dust. This place used to hold old cellular communication parts for Forward-Phones. Crates holding plastic molds were lined up in stacks. Stacks of three. Each stack was about ten feet tall. The crates were moldy and smelled of must.
Through the crates ahead he spotted the man they were supposed to meet up with. He was clicking away at a keyboard, not seeing that Dratner was there.

"Professor Barton ... The doctor sent me. Wanted me to check in on you!" Dratner called out in his direction. The professor's head vanished from Dratner's line of sight. He had slid over behind an old metal container filled with a nasty liquid, typing faster. Dratner began walking quickly towards where he saw Barton. Barton held his laptop on his knees while he hid behind the container. Barton wiped the sweat from his dark colored brow and hit enter on the laptop's keys. A loading bar appeared. BANG! Dratner shot the screen. The bullet went into Barton's knee; causing him to accidentally toss the laptop off onto the concrete floor.

The sound of it bouncing on concrete echoed throughout the warehouse. Barton winced from the pain while holding his leg. He let it go limp and held the container for strength. Dratner reached around, picked him up by the collar of his shirt, he aimed the gun right at his neck. "I believe you wanted to deliver some important information to the authorities." He pretended to question him. "Welp. Here I am." Said Dratner, almost smiling.

"You!? You lost. It's over."
"Barton, Barton, Barton." Dratner shook his head in disgust. "Doctor Mad always wins."
"Not ... This time." The professor groaned.
"No, this time, the doc is gonna make sure you never pull a stunt like this again. And you know what that means."

"No! Not--" Dratner pushed his long gray hair aside using his gun's silencer for dramatic effect.

"Yes."

KSSSH, the walkie on Dratner's shoulder buzzed. "Dratner. Report."
Came in a very deep and ominous sounding voice. Dratner used his two fingers he had not holding the gun to press the top button on the walkie.

"Mission accomplished, Doctor."
"You'll pay for what you've done! You're a sick mad-man!" Shouted Barton. Dratner let go of the push-to-talk-button.

"I believe that's how I got my name. Let's see what name I give you when you're nothing more than my slave." Dr. Mad chuckled with sinister glee from wherever he was through the small walkie-talkie's speaker.

"No.." Barton mumbled, fearing what would happen next. Dratner hauled the Man back with him as he left the place, dragging him on the floor by his arms. He didn't notice that the screen on the broken laptop, read out: "// File Sent successfully".

Three years later:

That defining moment in your life when you know that you need to do something.

Mike Wornhouse was nine years old when he found this urge to do something, and couldn't. He was peddling along on his black & green bicycle, along the street from his suburban neighborhood.

His parents and he had moved to Bensworth three months ago. It was a nice spring day, and he was going to visit his favorite location in the massive city: "Frog Land". That's what he called it. Danny P. Jones (his best friend) and he had been visiting there together after school every day.