A Message to Scott Cawthon: Reimagined

Prolouge

After a good five minutes of driving around the car park, the car finally rolled up into a parking space. The place was packed. They were over an hour late but that was their fault; they should have known how busy theme parks can get, especially when you are one of Britain's most visited attractions.

They did have a schedule though, and they did try to stick to it. One person would drive and pick up another. Everyone else would meet at a train station and be picked up there. All suitcases would go in the boot. That part of the plan had worked perfectly, but that was the only part that worked.

First, it was the sat-nav trying to send them off a bridge followed by a stubborn and stupid fox cub trotting up – not across, up – a road for a good fifteen minutes. It clearly didn't give a damn that morning. Then there was an issue on a country lane when a mini-bus driver had decided to push its way through, despite the lanes clearly not being big enough for it. They reversed for around a mile to get off that lane and proceeded to wait for a line of twenty plus cars to pass that had been behind the mini-bus driver. No one could have predicted how busy the motorways were going to be. Traffic moved at a snail's pace for ten miles after there was a crash between two trucks on one of the exits. Then they took the wrong exit at a roundabout followed by a wrong exit on a bypass. The driver angrily said that if everyone didn't shut up the next time the sat-nav spoke, they could get out and walk the rest of the way. The whole thing was just more trouble than it needed to be.

Bazamalam sighed, trying to ignore the cramp in his leg that had been persistent for the last two hours of the drive. He pulled the handbrake on and turned off the ignition before turning around to his friends on the back seat.

It was quite a comical sight, seeing three grown men shoulder to shoulder, with all of them trying their hardest not to make eye contact to increase the awkwardness of the situation. There was Will of DAGames; quite a skinny man with a small beard on his chin and medium length black hair that had been dyed purple at the front and he had darkish blue eyes. He was wearing a black button up shirt, dark navy jeans and had black and white Converse shoes. Baz always found him impressive, his ability in anything creative often exceeded the others in the group, which was to be expected for a talented musician like him.

Secondly there was Rhys, more commonly referred to as Razz or Razzbowski. He was the oldest out of all of them, but it never showed. He was probably the physically stronger members of the group, but the Scotsman would never hurt a fly. The greenish-brown-eyed man had a massive heart and a great sense of humour, never wasting any time to chip in a joke – no matter how inappropriate it was. He had hair which had been dyed light grey a while ago, so the brownish-blonde roots were starting to grow through to match the colour of his close-cut beard. He wore a light purple hoodie with a white shirt under it, light blue trousers and white trainers.

Next to him was one of Baz's oldest friends; 8-BitRyan. Ryan had light brown hair with a lighter coloured fringe that went over the right side of his face and had hazel eyes which were currently being covered by blue, mirrored sunglasses. He wore a tank top with blue, black and pink swirls, black jeans and black lace up boots. Ryan was always hard working - a bit of a perfectionist at times – and was always motivated and open to opportunities, with the most logical mindset out of the group. After knowing each other since they were kids, Ryan and Baz treated each other like brothers. Others often found them confusing though, as both of their real names were Ryan.

"We're here!" Baz said cheerfully, thankful that he didn't have to drive for another few days. Ryan and Will, who were next to the doors, wasted no time in getting out the car. They were swiftly followed by Rhys as he shuffled out of the middle seat.

Baz grabbed his car keys, wallet and phone before looking towards Dawko beside him in the front passenger seat. Dawko, or Lewis, was the youngest out of the group but was the tallest, with black hair that kind of dropped to one side over one of his greyish-blue eyes that were currently closed. Like Will, he was quite thin but had no facial hair, as he shaved it regularly. On his cheeks were the traces of acne scars that had faded long ago. He was wearing a black shirt with a red "Off the Wall" logo at the centre, black trousers and white trainers. He also had a baseball cap on and was holding his sunglasses loosely in one of his hands.