It all began with a banana.
Not just any banana. A glowing, humming, possibly alien banana that Julian accidentally discovered inside the cryogenic lunchbox he'd salvaged from the space junkyard. He had only wanted a snack.
"Don't touch that!" Luna screamed, bursting into the garage lab with her goggles half-on and sparks flying from her soldering gun.
Too late. Julian had already taken a bite.
The banana emitted a sharp buzzing sound, followed by a pop, and then his hair turned bright turquoise.
"...Is this...bad?" he asked, mouth still full.
Luna sighed. "Do you feel any different?"
Julian tilted his head. "I suddenly understand quantum physics."
"Yep. That's not good."
---
Meanwhile, trouble was brewing outside their rocket shed. A mysterious stranger in an all-black tracksuit—hood up, sunglasses on, and chewing bubblegum with suspicious aggression—stood across the street, scribbling notes every time Luna or Julian left the garage.
Luna noticed him while adjusting their rocket's chrome plating.
"Hey, Jules. We've got a stalker."
Julian looked up from his notebook. "Is he handsome?"
"No. He looks like an undercover substitute gym teacher."
"Ah. Dangerous, then."
They decided to confront him.
---
"Excuse me, sir, are you—"
"—Spying on us?" Luna cut in.
The man lowered his sunglasses slowly. "I'm not spying. I'm... auditing."
"Of what? Our hopes and dreams?" Julian asked.
"No. Your rocket. We've received... reports."
Luna narrowed her eyes. "From who?"
The man hesitated, then pulled out a lollipop, unwrapped it slowly, and stuck it in his mouth like he was trying to be dramatic but failing miserably.
"The Galactic Neighbors Association."
Julian blinked. "That's a thing?"
"Apparently," Luna muttered.
The man handed them a pink envelope. Inside was a fine—yes, a literal fine—for "unauthorized lunar propulsion testing within suburban coordinates."
Julian whispered, "Are we being sued… by space?"
Luna: "We need to move. Now."
---
That night they moved the entire rocket into Luna's dad's old food truck, disguising it as a mobile business called:
**"MEATBALLS & MARS."**
They drove two towns over.
And behind them, the mysterious man called someone on a flip phone made of glass.
"They've entered Phase One," he said.
A robotic voice on the other end answered:
> "Let them build. Let them believe. Then initiate the Moon Game."