ANIMATED ACTION-COMEDY · YOUTUBE SERIES
HAMMY THE
HAMSTER'S
ADVENTURES
Toon Haven · Family-Friendly · Fast-Paced
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EP01 COLD OPEN
SEQ 01 Cold Open: Wasp Invasion
TIMECODE 0:00–2:45 SHOTS 1–12
SCREENPLAY
FADE IN:
EXT. TOON HAVEN SUBURBAN BACKYARD — MORNING
WIDE AERIAL SHOT. The camera drifts lazily over a backyard
that looks like a greeting card about summer. Impossibly
green grass. Flowerbeds bursting in yellow and red. A
birdbath that catches the morning light like a tiny mirror.
A GARDEN GNOME smiles from beside a row of flowers,
eternally unbothered.
At the center of it all: a PICNIC TABLE, set with juice
boxes, paper plates, crackers, and a covered serving tray.
Buns in a basket. Napkins folded into triangles. The
perfect setup for a family afternoon that is approximately
ninety seconds away from disaster.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
In Toon Haven... every peaceful day...
The camera descends. A BUTTERFLY loops between flowers.
Two birds argue gently over a branch. The garden gnome
smiles at nothing.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
...is one pest away from total chaos.
The birds stop chirping.
A juice box on the picnic table trembles. Just slightly.
The surface ripples — like a very small, very organized
earthquake is approaching from the sky.
A SHADOW sweeps across the picnic table.
Then another.
Then DOZENS.
CAMERA TILTS UP FAST.
EXT. SKY ABOVE TOON HAVEN — CONTINUOUS
The blue morning sky is now dark with wings. Flying in
perfect V-FORMATION: a disciplined, armored WASP BATTALION,
their wings snapping in synchronized rhythm.
At the tip of the V: GENERAL STINGCOMMANDER.
He is not large, exactly. But he carries himself like he
is. Cracked aviator goggles. Tiny officer's cap pinned
perfectly over one antenna. Honeycomb shoulder armor
catching the light like something that absolutely did not
come from a hobby store. A jawline that has never, not
once, entertained doubt.
He surveys Toon Haven below him with the expression of a
general looking at a map he is about to change.
STINGCOMMANDER
Troops!
The battalion snaps to attention mid-flight. Disciplined.
Precise. Slightly terrifying given that they are the size
of thumbs.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
Today we seize the yard. Occupy the
picnic table. And establish the first
official Wasp Brigade No-Fun Zone!
THE WASP TROOPS erupt in sharp, buzzing cheers.
WASP TROOPS
BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!
STINGCOMMANDER
Formation Alpha! Barricades!
Catapults! Snack suppression!
Move, move, MOVE!
The swarm DIVES.
CUT TO:
EXT. PICNIC TABLE — CONTINUOUS — FAST MONTAGE
What follows is a military operation conducted entirely
with picnic supplies.
A STINGER TROOPER drives a popsicle stick into the
tablecloth like a flagpole — GATE established.
TWO DIVE STRIKERS carry a juice box straw between them
and slam it horizontal — BARRICADE complete.
A SPEAR GUARD positions upended bottle caps in a
defensive ring along the table edge — SHIELDS in place.
Napkins are claimed as flags. A ketchup packet becomes
a COMMAND TENT, its foil sides catching the light
impressively. A salt shaker is converted into a
watchtower with suspicious efficiency.
CAMERA: quick whip-pans between wasps hammering,
lifting, buzzing into each other. Construction SFX
pile up — tiny hammers, crunching crackers, the
authoritative THWACK of a miniature barricade being
set.
CLOSE ON: One ROOKIE WASP, struggling to carry
a cracker that is roughly his own size. He wobbles.
He spins. He leans left. He leans way too far right.
He flies face-first into a juice box STRAW with a
resonant BONK.
The straw oscillates. The rookie wasp is stuck to
the straw by his face for a full beat.
ROOKIE WASP
Sir! Minor snack resistance!
The straw pops him free. He bounces off the table
and sits up, somewhat cross-eyed, at attention.
STINGCOMMANDER
Walk it off, Private Wobblewing!
Victory has no napkins!
Stingcommander lands on TOP of the covered serving
tray, like a general claiming the highest point of
a conquered ridge.
CAMERA: LOW ANGLE. Morning sun flares behind his
wings. The tiny flag-napkins flutter in a light
breeze. This is his moment.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
By sunset... every backyard in
Toon Haven...
He spreads his wings slowly.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
...will tremble at the sound...
Beat.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
...of our BUZZ!
The troops SALUTE. Sharp. Synchronized.
A WASP BUGLER raises a tiny curled leaf to his
mouth and blows with conviction.
The leaf produces a sound like a very tired kazoo.
STINGCOMMANDER
(not breaking eye contact with
the horizon)
We will work on the bugle.
SMASH CUT TO:
TITLE CARD — slams onto screen with a massive rubbery
BOING. Comic impact lines radiate outward.
HAMMY THE HAMSTER'S ADVENTURES
Episode 1: "BUZZCUT AMBUSH"
The title holds for exactly one beat, then rockets
off screen.
END SEQUENCE 1 EP01 ACT I
SEQ 02 Hammy HQ and Gear-Up
TIMECODE 2:45–6:05 SHOTS 13–24
SCREENPLAY
INT. HAMMY'S GARAGE HQ — MORNING
ESTABLISHING SHOT. The camera pushes through a hamster-
sized garage that looks like the inside of a very
optimistic mind.
Every wall is lined with labeled tools behind glass:
MINI VACUUM CANNON. BUBBLE NET LAUNCHER. HOT DOG CANNON.
CHEESE NET LAUNCHER. MARSHMALLOW MORTAR. BOUNCE BOOTS.
Each label is handwritten in enthusiastic block letters
and slightly crooked, like someone was very excited while
hanging them.
A RADAR SCANNER mounted above the door blinks steadily
green. A corkboard covered in tactical drawings, most of
which involve circles labeled "PEST" and arrows labeled
"HAMMY GOES HERE." A mini-fridge. A coffee maker that
belongs to no one in particular but is everyone's
business.
Beneath a tarp in the corner: something large and
yellow, its shape suggesting ambition and the vague
possibility of property damage.
In a SWIVEL CHAIR at the center of this controlled
chaos: HAMMY HAMMERSNIFF.
He is asleep.
He is wearing half of his utility belt. He has one
Bounce Boot on. The other Bounce Boot is on the floor
two feet away, as if it left on its own at some point
during the night.
He snores with the complete peace of a creature who
knows the yard is safe and has absolutely no reason
to doubt it.
INSERT: RADAR SCANNER — the green light blinks once.
Twice.
Then the entire screen slams to RED.
SFX: WEE-OOH! WEE-OOH! BUG ALERT! BUG ALERT!
The scanner begins cycling through a rapid-fire
alert sequence. The corkboard rattles. The mini-
fridge hums louder. A nearby coffee mug walks
itself off a shelf.
Hammy JOLTS awake.
He spins in the swivel chair. Once. Twice. Three
times. Four. Five — the chair deposits him sideways
onto the floor. He hits it rolling, bounces upright,
and stands at full attention with one Bounce Boot on.
HAMMY
I'm up! I'm up! Nobody panic
unless I say panic!
He looks around. Nothing is on fire. The alarm
continues WEE-OOHing. He processes.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
(quieter)
I say panic.
DUSTY THE DUSTER floats in through the doorway.
Dusty is a feather duster. He moves with the
particular energy of someone who has been retired
twice and has stopped asking why he keeps coming
back. He wears tiny reading glasses perched on
whatever constitutes his face. He is holding
nothing, contributing nothing, and has clearly just
been asleep somewhere warmer and more reasonable
than this garage.
DUSTY
I haven't even had my dusting
coffee yet.
HAMMY
Dusty! We've got a situation!
Hammy scrambles to the radar scanner. The screen
shows a MAP of the backyard. Pulsing yellow-and-
black dots cover every inch of the picnic table
zone and are spreading along the perimeter.
INSERT: SCANNER SCREEN — bright, blocky text:
WASP THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME.
PICNIC TABLE: OCCUPIED.
RECOMMENDED ACTION: HAMMY.
Hammy stares at the screen. His eyes narrow. His
jaw sets. He gets the look.
HAMMY
Looks like somebody's buzzing
for trouble.
DUSTY
That line needs work. But the
danger is real.
CRASH. A TOOLBOX lid flies open and GIZMO shoots
out of it like a tiny cork out of a tiny bottle.
GIZMO is a mouse. He is small even by mouse
standards. He wears a pair of goggles that are
approximately twice the size of his head, currently
pushed up on his forehead at a jaunty, completely
unintentional angle. He is vibrating slightly from
whatever he was doing in the toolbox.
In his hands: a BUBBLE NET LAUNCHER, freshly
modified, sparkling faintly with what appears to
be either technological pride or a minor electrical
discharge.
GIZMO
Excellent! A field test!
I upgraded your Bubble Net
Launcher!
HAMMY
Does it still trap pests?
GIZMO
Yes.
Beat.
GIZMO (CONT'D)
Probably.
Longer beat.
GIZMO (CONT'D)
And now the bubbles smell
faintly like cheddar.
Beat. Hammy and Dusty process this simultaneously.
DUSTY
Why would bubbles need a smell?
GIZMO
Brand identity.
Dusty opens his mouth. Closes it. Decides this
isn't the hill.
Hammy grins. Takes the launcher. Checks the
weight, checks the nozzle, checks the cartridge.
HAMMY
I'll take it. Let's roll.
What follows is the GEAR-UP MONTAGE.
MONTAGE — RAPID CUTS:
— Hammy snaps on his ORANGE-AND-YELLOW UTILITY
BELT. The clasp clicks like punctuation.
— MINI VACUUM CANNON clips to his right hip.
— HOT DOG CANNON folds into a left pouch. It
makes a small, confident click.
— BUBBLE NET LAUNCHER swings over his left
shoulder.
— CHEESE NET CARTRIDGE locks into his backpack
port with a satisfying CHUNK.
— BOUNCE BOOTS: left foot springs on, right foot
springs on. Hammy bounces slightly in place,
testing them. Nods.
— RADAR SCANNER beeps twice on his wrist.
— TEAL CAP: straight. Badge forward.
— Dusty watches all of this. His expression is
that of someone who has seen this exact sequence
twenty-seven times and has still not decided how
to feel about it. He nods once. That's love.
Gizmo pulls the tarp off the PEST POD 3000 with
the energy of a magician who's been waiting all
morning for this reveal.
The Pest Pod is a yellow-orange hamster-ball tank.
Gray wheels. Gadget bays along each side. A front
bumper shaped like a heroic, slightly manic grin.
Headlights that flicker on with the expression of
a vehicle that is happy to be here and is not sure
it's going to stop exactly when asked.
GIZMO
I also polished the Pest Pod,
recalibrated the steering, and
added an emergency snack drawer.
HAMMY
You had me at snack drawer.
DUSTY
Please tell me the brakes work.
The Pest Pod slowly rolls forward on its own.
Bumps gently into Dusty.
GIZMO
Define "work."
Dusty stares at the Pest Pod. The Pest Pod stares
back.
DUSTY
I am going to need that coffee.
Hammy climbs up onto the roof of the Pest Pod.
An unseen fan — Gizmo, almost certainly — kicks
on, ruffling Hammy's cap at a heroic angle.
He raises the Bubble Net Launcher. Looks out
toward the yard. The radar scanner pulses steady
red on his wrist.
HAMMY
(to himself, then to the yard)
Time to HAMMER down.
PEST POD 3000 IGNITION: a low engine growl that
builds to a cheerful ROAR. The gadget bays glow
orange-warm. The headlights stabilize into the
face of a vehicle that has made its peace with
whatever happens next.
Hammy rides it out through the garage door in a
perfect hero shot. The morning sun catches him
broadside — teal cap, orange shirt, suction
blaster gleaming.
Dusty watches him go. Long beat.
DUSTY (CONT'D)
(to no one)
We're going to need more napkins.
He floats after him anyway.
END SEQUENCE 2 EP01 ACT I
SEQ 03 Arrival and Standoff
TIMECODE 6:05–8:35 SHOTS 25–30
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — BATTLEFIELD EDGE — DAY
The Pest Pod rolls to a stop at the edge of the
lawn, a respectful distance from the picnic table
zone. Hammy stands on the roof of the Pod, one
foot forward, Bubble Net Launcher at his shoulder.
He looks at what Stingcommander has built.
He takes it in.
From here, the picnic table looks different. It
no longer reads as furniture. It reads as a
fortified position. Straw barricades line the
perimeter. Bottle-cap shields hang from the edges
like battlements. Napkin flags flutter from every
corner. The ketchup-packet command tent glows at
the center like a tiny general's throne.
HAMMY'S POV: The fortress in detail — wasps
moving in patrol patterns along the top edge,
a Spear Guard stationed at the far end, a Fast
Flyer doing lazy reconnaissance loops above.
HAMMY
(low, to himself)
Big setup for such tiny
troublemakers.
Gizmo's voice crackles in over COMMS — a small
receiver built into Hammy's radar scanner.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(from HQ)
Radar shows approximately forty-
seven wasp units. Formation Alpha
configuration. One command-rank
signature at the center of the
structure.
HAMMY
Stingcommander.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Forty-seven and their general.
The snack drawer is fully stocked
if you need it.
HAMMY
Save the snacks.
DUSTY
(floating up beside him,
coffee-less, resigned)
Tell me the plan doesn't involve
the hot dogs.
HAMMY
The plan is: we take back the
picnic table.
DUSTY
That's not a plan. That's a
destination.
Hammy opens his mouth to respond.
He doesn't get the chance.
EXT. PICNIC TABLE FORTRESS — CONTINUOUS
A FAST FLYER scout does a hard banking turn and
comes screaming back to the command tent. He
lands in front of the command tent and salutes so
hard he nearly tips forward.
FAST FLYER
Commander! The hamster! He's
at the yard perimeter!
INT. KETCHUP-PACKET COMMAND TENT — CONTINUOUS
Stingcommander stands over a hand-drawn tactical
map of the backyard, rendered in what appears to
be very tiny charcoal on a napkin. He has circled
the picnic table in red and drawn arrows toward
the garden perimeter labeled "PHASE TWO."
He looks up. Slowly. Deliberately. The way a
chess player looks up when they've already
thought three moves ahead.
STINGCOMMANDER
(not alarmed)
Defensive formation.
EXT. PICNIC TABLE FORTRESS — CONTINUOUS
The wasps execute FORMATION ALPHA with mechanical
precision. Stinger Troopers drop to defensive
positions along the barricades. Spear Guards
rotate outward, shields raised. Dive Strikers
pull to altitude and hold.
Stingcommander emerges from the command tent and
walks to the leading edge of the table. He stops
there. Looks across the yard.
Hammy looks back at him from the Pest Pod roof.
This is the moment.
Two completely serious individuals, separated by
approximately twelve feet of backyard lawn, about
to make each other's afternoon considerably worse.
The butterfly from the opening shot floats
innocently between them.
A beat.
Then another.
HAMMY
Let's do this.
STINGCOMMANDER
(to his troops, not looking
away from Hammy)
Attack.
The FAST FLYERS break altitude and scream toward
the yard edge. The DIVE STRIKERS tilt and drop.
The STINGER TROOPERS surge forward over the
barricades.
The battle begins.
END SEQUENCE 3 EP01 ACT II
SEQ 04 First Battle / Buzzstorm
TIMECODE 8:35–14:15 SHOTS 31–48
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — LAWN AND PICNIC ZONE — DAY
ACTION MUSIC HITS. HARD.
The FAST FLYERS tear across the yard in a tight
formation, aiming directly at Hammy on the Pest
Pod roof. He watches them come.
He grins.
HAMMY
Bubble net — lock.
He raises the BUBBLE NET LAUNCHER. The nozzle
rotates with a satisfying mechanical CLUNK. A
faint waft of cheddar.
He fires.
A VOLLEY OF BUBBLES launches from the nozzle —
soap-gold, wobbling, and smelling powerfully of
aged cheddar. They float toward the incoming Fast
Flyers with an almost insulting lack of urgency.
The FAST FLYERS fly directly into them.
The bubbles STICK. Stretch. Wrap. The Fast Flyers
are caught mid-flight inside large, shimmering,
faintly cheddar-scented bubbles. They bounce
off each other. They drift sideways. They bonk
into the birdbath. They float, bewildered, at
roughly head height.
INSIDE ONE BUBBLE: a Fast Flyer presses his
face against the surface and stares out.
A small, cheddar-scented bubble pops near Dusty,
who has floated out a safe distance to observe.
DUSTY
(sniffing the air)
Is that—
Bubble pops on his face.
DUSTY (CONT'D)
Oh no.
THREE BUBBLES converge on Dusty simultaneously
and merge into one large bubble around him. He
is now floating inside a bubble, reading glasses
askew, drifting toward the rosebushes.
DUSTY (CONT'D)
Why am I always collateral damage?!
HAMMY
(already moving)
Dusty! Stay put!
DUSTY (O.S., from inside bubble)
I'm literally in a bubble!
Where would I GO?!
Hammy activates the BOUNCE BOOTS.
The boots take a moment to decide how enthusiastic
they want to be. Then they decide: very.
Hammy LAUNCHES off the Pest Pod roof in a long,
arcing jump over the incoming STINGER TROOPERS,
who have breached the lawn perimeter and are
advancing in a V-formation. He sails over them
at peak arc — gives a small wave on the way down,
because why not — and lands perfectly on top of
the LEMONADE PITCHER sitting on the patio table.
He sinks exactly two inches into lemonade up to
his shins.
HAMMY
(looking down)
Sticky landing.
He steps out of the pitcher, shakes each foot
once — one, two — and raises the Mini Vacuum
Cannon.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
Mini-Vac — go.
He fires. The vacuum pulls three STINGER TROOPERS
off the grass in quick succession — FWP FWP FWP —
and deposits them in a small containment pack on
his belt. Two more troopers charge from the left.
He fires again. The vacuum hiccups.
Spits one trooper back out.
Hammy watches the trooper bounce across the lawn.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
Gizmo.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(immediately)
Known issue. Next upgrade.
More DIVE STRIKERS drop from above, targeting
Hammy's position. They angle for his cap, his
blaster, his utility belt — surgical strike
precision. This is what Stingcommander meant
by FORMATION ALPHA.
Hammy ducks left. Right. Spins. Fires bubble net
three times fast. Two strikers caught. Third
one clips his radar scanner — it beeps
indignantly.
Stingcommander watches from the fortress ridge.
He is not enjoying this, exactly. But he is
studying it.
STINGCOMMANDER
(to his command staff)
He's fast. Adaptable. He uses
the terrain.
WASP LIEUTENANT
Commander, should we—
STINGCOMMANDER
Operation Buzzstorm. Now.
The LIEUTENANT blows a signal call on his
leaf-bugle. It sounds significantly better
than before — Stingcommander made them practice.
EXT. SKY — CONTINUOUS
The remaining SWARM UNIT, held in reserve above
the yard — twenty-three wasps in tight formation —
begins its coordinated descent. This is no charge
of excited individuals. This is a disciplined,
coordinated aerial assault pattern.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
Swarm unit! Operation Buzzstorm!
GIZMO (V.O.)
(urgent, through scanner comms)
Hammy! Twenty-three incoming,
two o'clock high! It's a full
swarm pattern!
HAMMY
(looking up)
That's a lot of wasps.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Use the Hot Dog Cannon!
Beat.
DUSTY (O.S., still in bubble)
NOT THE HOT DOGS.
ANYTHING BUT THE HOT DOGS.
HAMMY
Why do you always know—
DUSTY (O.S.)
BECAUSE IT'S ALWAYS THE HOT DOGS!
Hammy unsnaps the HOT DOG CANNON from his left
pouch. It unfolds with a series of mechanical
clicks, extending into a short barrel that
somehow looks both extremely silly and extremely
functional.
The barrel locks. Hammy aims at the incoming
Buzzstorm formation.
HAMMY
Serving up pest control!
He fires. A HOT DOG launches from the cannon at
respectable speed, spinning end over end, trailing
a small arc of mustard.
It hits the leading edge of the Buzzstorm
formation.
WASPS scatter. Seven of them peel away from the
pattern, diverted. The formation breaks. Three
wasps forget their tactical objectives entirely
and begin following the hot dog as it arcs across
the yard and lands in the flower bed.
Stingcommander watches this with the specific
expression of a commander watching three of his
troops abandon their posts for a condiment.
STINGCOMMANDER
(through his teeth)
...Regroup.
Hammy fires two more hot dogs in quick succession.
The Buzzstorm dissolves into a swirling mess of
confused wasps, a floating Dusty-bubble, three
hot dogs in the flower bed, and one very confused
rookie wasp who has been flying in circles since
the first shot.
Hammy drops into a low crouch, scanner scanning,
assessing the field.
HAMMY
(breathing slightly hard)
How many left?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Approximately nineteen mobile,
six contained. Plus—
GIZMO (V.O.) (CONT'D)
—Dusty.
DUSTY (O.S.)
(from inside bubble,
floating into a flower bed)
I am technically contained and
mobile. Neither is a comfort.
The bubble pops on a rose thorn. Dusty falls
eight inches into the flower bed and sits there
for a moment, covered in bubble residue and
cheddar scent. He straightens his glasses.
DUSTY (CONT'D)
This never happened to my
predecessor.
END SEQUENCE 4 EP01 ACT II
SEQ 05 Drone Cannon Escalation
TIMECODE 14:15–18:45 SHOTS 49–60
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — DAY
The yard is a mess. Hot dogs in the flower bed.
Bubble residue on the birdbath. One napkin-flag
has blown off the fortress and is hanging from
the gnome's hat. Dusty is still picking cheddar-
scented soap out of his feathers.
But Stingcommander still holds the picnic table.
Hammy stands on the Pest Pod, scanning the
fortress. Nineteen wasps still in play.
Stingcommander visible at the table's far end,
back turned, speaking to someone.
HAMMY
He's still in there.
GIZMO (V.O.)
He hasn't counterattacked in
ninety seconds. That's unusual.
DUSTY
(floating back up to Hammy's
level, glasses crooked)
Unusual is what I'd call the
entire morning, personally.
HAMMY
He's regrouping. Planning
something.
DUSTY
How can you tell?
HAMMY
He got quiet.
DUSTY
(looking at the fortress)
That's a terrifying observation.
HAMMY
Yeah.
Hammy checks his scanner. Remaining containment
capacity. Gadget inventory. Bounce Boot power.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
Gizmo, I've got eight troopers
locked and nine still mobile.
If I can push the mobile units
back to the table zone, we can
deploy the cheese net—
GIZMO (V.O.)
Oh! Speaking of the cheese net,
I should mention—
HAMMY
—and catch the whole remaining
squad in one—
GIZMO (V.O.)
—there was a minor calibration
issue with the targeting arc—
HAMMY
—push.
GIZMO (V.O.)
—specifically regarding lateral
drift at medium range—
HAMMY
How minor?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Define "minor."
EXT. PICNIC TABLE FORTRESS — CONTINUOUS
STINGCOMMANDER stands at the rear of the fortress
beside something covered in a small tarp — one
of the napkins, pressed into secondary duty.
Beside him, four STINGER TROOPERS stand at
attention, looking significantly less confident
than usual.
STINGCOMMANDER
(loud enough to carry across
the yard)
Hamster.
The yard goes quiet. Even the remaining mobile
wasps pause.
Hammy looks toward the sound.
Stingcommander grips the corner of the napkin-tarp.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
You fight well.
A pause. Not a compliment. A setup.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
For a hamster.
He pulls the tarp.
REVEAL: THE WASP DRONE CANNON.
It is, objectively, not professionally built.
It is assembled from found materials — a hollow
acorn shell, two straws duct-taped together with
what appears to be flower-petal adhesive, and a
series of small gears that Stingcommander clearly
machined himself from some material that probably
came from the garden shed. It is loaded with a
volley of STINGER DARTS, visible through the
clear straw barrel, waiting to fire.
It is also pointed directly at Hammy.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(from comms, genuinely
impressed)
Huh.
Long beat.
GIZMO (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Technically impressive.
DUSTY
(quietly, to Hammy)
That thing looks homemade.
HAMMY
(quietly, to Dusty)
That thing looks like a lawsuit.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Terrible safety rating.
Probably extremely effective.
STINGCOMMANDER
(loading the last dart with
theatrical calm)
Let's turn this yard...
He steps behind the cannon. Lines up the sight —
a small bottle-cap mounted on the top — with
Hammy's position.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
...into a NO-FUN ZONE.
HAMMY
(to Dusty, not moving)
Move.
DUSTY
Already —
HAMMY
NOW.
They scatter as the DRONE CANNON fires with a
sound like a very angry party favor. A VOLLEY OF
STINGER DARTS shreds through the air, peppering
the yard in a tight spread pattern. Hammy is
running. The Bounce Boots kick in automatically,
propelling him in an unpredictable zigzag.
Darts hit the grass, the birdbath, the patio
stones, and — importantly — none of them hit Hammy.
He skids to a stop behind the Pest Pod.
The cannon is loading again.
STINGCOMMANDER LAUGHS. It is a proper villain
laugh — genuine, full, practiced.
Behind the Pest Pod. Hammy crouches. Breathing.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(urgent)
Hammy. He's got a second volley
ready. You need to move the Pod
and cut his line of sight or—
HAMMY
Working on it.
GIZMO (V.O.)
The cheese net might be able to—
HAMMY
You said there was a lateral
drift issue.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Right, but if you compensate
by about fifteen degrees to
the left—
HAMMY
Fifteen degrees.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Give or take.
HAMMY
Gizmo.
GIZMO (V.O.)
A lot of give. Minimal take.
But probably not toward Dusty.
Beat.
HAMMY
Deploy.
He swings the CHEESE NET LAUNCHER off his back.
Compensates approximately fifteen degrees left.
Fires.
The net arcs outward. Beautiful trajectory.
Exactly right. Heading precisely toward the
cluster of mobile wasp troopers converging on
Hammy's right flank.
And then.
The lateral drift.
The net sails left. A full twenty degrees past
the target zone. Past the troopers. Past the
flower bed. Past all reasonable expectations.
It lands on DUSTY.
Dusty stands in the net. Perfectly still. Net
cheese-scented, clinging to every available
feather. One strand across his reading glasses.
He looks at Hammy.
DUSTY
...Kid.
HAMMY
Dusty, I—
DUSTY
Aim.
HAMMY
I know—
DUSTY
Away from your allies.
Long beat. Dusty does not raise his voice. He
doesn't need to. This is somehow worse.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(small)
Next upgrade will include
a targeting calibration.
DUSTY
(still in the net)
Write it down.
Hammy stares at Dusty in the cheese net. Then
at the fortress. Then at Stingcommander loading
for a second volley. He runs the variables.
Forty-seven wasps. One cannon. No clear shot
from the ground. Can't reach the table without
crossing open ground. Scanner showing seventeen
mobile plus the commander.
He needs something different.
Something that works on the specific, documented
weakness of the entire wasp species.
He looks at his backpack. At the Cheese Net
Launcher. At the empty cartridge slot.
At Dusty, sitting in a cheese-scented net,
smelling exactly like the thing wasps can't
resist.
Something clicks.
HAMMY
(slowly, quietly)
Time for the big cheese.
DUSTY
(suspicious)
Whatever expression is on your
face right now — stop.
HAMMY
I need you to stay right there.
DUSTY
HAMMY—
HAMMY
(already moving)
GIZMO! Do we have a full-size
cheddar decoy in the Pod's
emergency snack drawer?
GIZMO (V.O.)
(delighted)
Three of them!
DUSTY
(to the sky)
Naturally.
END SEQUENCE 5 EP01 ACT III
SEQ 06 Final Battle / Mega Suction Blast
TIMECODE 18:45–23:25 SHOTS 61–77
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — OPEN CLEARING — DAY
The Pest Pod 3000 rolls into the center of the
yard, engine humming. The emergency snack drawer
pops open on its left side. Three large,
extremely realistic FOAM CHEDDAR WEDGES tumble
out and are arranged on the grass by Hammy in
a loose, casual-looking cluster.
They are not casual. They are tactical.
Hammy steps back from the decoy cluster and
looks up at the fortress.
HAMMY
(loud, carrying across the yard)
Hey, Stingcommander.
Silence from the fortress.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
Nice cannon. I've got
something better.
He produces nothing yet.
From the fortress, Stingcommander watches. His
cracked goggles narrow. He knows bait when he
sees it. He is a tactician. He has read this
kind of move before. He will not fall for—
A STINGER TROOPER twitches.
STINGCOMMANDER
(without looking)
Hold.
ANOTHER STINGER TROOPER takes half a step toward
the clearing.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
(sharper)
Hold.
The cheddar-scented breeze from the foam wedges
reaches the fortress at a gentle six miles per
hour. Warm, golden, aged-cheddar-yellow in the
imagination of every wasp in range.
TROOPER
(helpless whisper)
...Commander...
STINGCOMMANDER
Hold position. That is an
order. That is an explicit,
unambiguous, direct—
WASP TROOPS
(slowly, in unison, from
across the fortress)
...Cheese?
It isn't a question. It is more of a collective
realization — the way a crowd realizes it has
been walking one direction and should, perhaps,
consider the other.
STINGCOMMANDER
(disbelieving)
Stay focused! Stay—
THREE TROOPERS step over the barricade.
Then five more.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
(turning)
HEY! NO! NOT THE CHEESE!
The remaining mobile units abandon Formation
Alpha in a warm, cheddar-directed drift toward
the clearing. The Spear Guards hold their
positions for exactly four seconds longer than
everyone else, then abandon their positions in
a dignified but rapid walk. The Dive Strikers
simply descend, no longer pretending.
Stingcommander wheels around, pointing.
Commanding. Ordering. Every word is a direct
order and none of them are working.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
OPERATION BUZZCUT IS NOT OVER!
I WILL NOT HAVE MY BRIGADE
DEFEATED BY A DAIRY PRODUCT!
He looks at the cannon. Still loaded. Direct
line of sight to Hammy in the clearing.
A beat of calculation.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
(adjusting aim)
Fine. I'll do it myself.
He swings the Drone Cannon toward Hammy.
Hammy is already moving.
He unclips the MEGA SUCTION BLASTER from his
backpack tank. The hose pulls taut with a deep,
purposeful THRUM. The circular nozzle — large,
industrial, built for something more significant
than pest control by any reasonable standard —
swings forward and locks into firing position.
This is different from everything else he has
deployed. The other gadgets were fast, improvisational.
This has weight. This has ceremony.
Hammy plants his feet. Wide stance. He looks
down the barrel of the Mega Suction Blaster
with exactly the expression of someone who has
been waiting for this moment since the cold open.
HAMMY
Mega Suction Blaster...
He reaches back and grips the charge handle.
Pulls it halfway.
The tank on his back begins to SPIN UP. A low,
building tone — the kind of sound that makes
everyone in the area aware that physics is about
to do something interesting.
Stingcommander lines up his shot.
The swarm is converging on the cheese decoy,
twelve feet from Hammy's position, dense and
close and completely unaware of what is charging
behind them.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
...CHARGE UP!
He pulls the handle the rest of the way.
The tank ROARS. The hose pressurizes visibly.
The circular nozzle GLOWS — a deep teal ring of
light forming at the rim as the suction builds
to operational pressure. The air around the
nozzle begins to move, then accelerate, then
pull — leaves skating across the grass, napkin-
flags tearing from the fortress corners,
Stingcommander's officer cap lifting slightly
from his head.
The wasp swarm — all of them, cheese-hypnotized
and clustered exactly where Hammy needed them —
begins to feel the pull.
WASP TROOPS
(various)
Whoa! Wait! Retreat! My spear!
They scramble. Backwards. Sideways. Against each
other. It doesn't matter. The vortex is building.
STINGCOMMANDER fires the Drone Cannon.
The dart shoots toward Hammy.
The suction vortex catches it mid-flight.
Spins it sideways. It pinwheels into the lawn
four feet to Hammy's left.
Stingcommander stares at his cannon.
The vortex takes the cannon next. It slides off
the table, spinning lazily end-over-end into the
pull zone.
STINGCOMMANDER
(dragged forward by the vortex)
CURSE you, hamster!
HAMMY
MEGA SUCTION BLAST!
He fires.
The vortex goes from a pull to a ROAR. A full
suction funnel opens at the nozzle — a spinning,
teal-lit column of vacuum that tears across the
yard like a tiny, very polite hurricane.
EVERY WASP in the yard — the mobile troopers,
the cheese-adjacent ones, the Dive Strikers who
never quite got their bearings back, Rookie Wasp
(mid-crash into something), and Stingcommander
himself, officer cap spinning off his head — is
drawn into the vortex.
WASP TROOPERS spin past the camera in various
states of aerodynamic surprise. Stingcommander
goes in last, reaching for something — anything —
but finding only air.
STINGCOMMANDER
(receding, furious, dignified
in spite of everything)
This is NOT over, hamster! I will
return! I will rebuild! I will —
He disappears into the nozzle.
The vortex dies down. The MEGA SUCTION BLASTER
powers off with a long, satisfied exhale.
Silence.
The yard is still.
A single napkin-flag drifts down from the sky
and lands gently on the lawn.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(awed)
...Forty-seven units. Contained.
Clean sweep.
The PEST POD 3000 rolls forward. Its side bay
pops open to reveal a built-in COOLER UNIT.
A secure, airtight, ventilated cooler — the
wasp containment destination.
Hammy pats the side of the Mega Suction Blaster.
The collection chamber loads into the cooler.
The lid LOCKS with a solid, satisfying CLICK.
From inside the cooler — faintly — the sound
of very, very agitated buzzing.
Hammy looks at the cooler. At the yard.
At the picnic table — now empty of wasps,
its straw barricades still standing, the
ketchup-packet command tent still glowing,
the napkin-flags mostly gone.
HAMMY
(to the cooler)
Looks like your buzz...
He puts his boot on top of it.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
...got busted.
Beat. He lifts his boot. Gives the cooler a
respectful pat.
The butterfly from the opening shot floats
across the yard again. Unbothered. As it always was.
END SEQUENCE 6 EP01 TAG
SEQ 07 Cleanup + End Tag
TIMECODE 23:25–25:00 SHOTS 78–88
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — LATE AFTERNOON
The light has shifted. The sharp morning white
has gone warm, amber-edged, the sun dropping
behind the back fence at a comfortable angle
that makes even a disaster zone look pleasant.
The battlefield looks like a party that got a
little out of hand. Hot dogs in the flower bed.
Straw barricades still standing on the picnic
table. Bubble residue on the birdbath. Bottle-
cap shields scattered across the patio. Three
foam cheddar wedges sitting on the lawn. The
garden gnome's hat has a small napkin-flag on it.
DUSTY floats in a patient grid pattern across
the yard, cleaning with the methodical energy
of someone who has accepted their fate entirely.
He sweeps, he collects, he deposits. Sweep.
Collect. Deposit. Not complaining. Not yet.
He stops at the picnic table. Surveys the straw
barricades still duct-taped in place.
DUSTY
(to no one)
Next time... fewer condiments.
He begins removing barricades with the specific
efficiency of someone who has done this more
times than they should have to.
GIZMO is at the Pest Pod, clipboard in hand
(a tiny, perfect clipboard), checking items off
an inventory list with the energy of someone
who just had an excellent day and absolutely
does not understand why everyone else doesn't
feel the same.
GIZMO
Post-mission inventory: Bubble
Net Launcher — functional. Mini
Vacuum Cannon — six-of-ten
troopers recovered correctly—
DUSTY
And four expelled.
GIZMO
(making a note)
Feature.
DUSTY
That's not what feature means.
GIZMO
(still writing)
Bounce Boots — excellent
performance. Hot Dog Cannon —
three successful target
dispersals, one... culinary loss.
He looks at the hot dogs in the flower bed.
Presses his lips together. Moves on.
GIZMO (CONT'D)
Cheese Net Launcher — lateral
drift noted, recalibration
scheduled. Mega Suction Blaster —
He looks up from the clipboard. A pause.
Even Gizmo, who measures everything, takes a
moment with this one.
GIZMO (CONT'D)
Forty-seven units. Clean sweep.
Zero misses.
DUSTY
(removing a particularly
stubborn popsicle-stick gate)
One duster cheese-netted.
GIZMO
That's within acceptable
parameters.
DUSTY
I AM the parameters, Gizmo.
GIZMO
(genuinely bright)
Statistically unlikely to happen
again!
DUSTY
(long pause)
That is the least comforting
sentence you have ever said.
On the Pest Pod's roof — the COOLER secured and
latched in the side bay — HAMMY sits, feet dangling
over the front bumper. He has taken his cap off
and is holding it in both hands, looking at the
yard.
From here it just looks like a yard again. Green
grass. Flowers. A gnome with a flag on his hat.
The birdbath still wobbling slightly from all
that suction. Dusty floating in slow, efficient
sweeping arcs. Gizmo checking things off his
clipboard with the diligence of a tiny academic.
HAMMY
(quietly, to himself)
Another yard saved.
He puts the cap back on. Straight. Badge forward.
Dusty floats past him, trailing bubble residue,
bottle caps in a collection bag.
DUSTY
(without looking up)
And one duster permanently
traumatized.
HAMMY
You say that every time.
DUSTY
And every time I mean it.
GIZMO
(head down in clipboard)
The trauma is statistically
manageable.
DUSTY
I WILL disassemble that clipboard.
Gizmo clutches the clipboard to his chest.
The PEST POD 3000 engine gives a low, contented
hum. The headlights blink once in what might be
satisfaction. The snack drawer slides open on
its own, as if offering.
HAMMY
(looking at the snack drawer)
Yeah.
He takes a cracker from the drawer. Eats it.
Looks at the yard one more time.
Then the RADAR SCANNER on his wrist blinks.
Not red. Just yellow. A slow, easy pulse.
All clear.
DUSTY
(finished with the last
barricade, floating back)
Well. That's everything.
A beat.
DUSTY (CONT'D)
Until next time.
He floats toward the garage. Gizmo pockets
the clipboard and scrambles after him.
Hammy watches them go.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Another day in Toon Haven, saved
by the yard's number-one pest
control hero... and his team.
The PEST POD rolls gently toward the garage.
SMASH CUT TO:
END TAG
---
EXT. TOON HAVEN — BACKYARD TREE — SUNSET
The day has gone full gold-orange. Long shadows
across the lawn. The birdbath holds the color
of the sky. The gnome still has his flag.
HIGH UP in the tree that overhangs the back
fence: a figure sits on a branch, small and
still.
LIL' STINGER.
He has been here for a while. Watching.
Small, smooth — nothing like Stingcommander's
dramatic armor, nothing like the swarm's
formation gear. Just a pair of wings folded
easy, a pair of eyes that have seen everything
that just happened, and an expression that reads
as something between amusement and interest.
He watched the whole battle. Watched the cheese
decoy. Watched the Mega Suction Blast. Watched
the cooler close.
He is not alarmed.
He looks down at the yard below. At the garage
where the light is still on. At the Pest Pod
visible through the door.
LIL' STINGER
(to himself, quiet and cool)
Cute.
He unfolds one wing slightly. Looks at it.
Folds it back.
LIL' STINGER (CONT'D)
But next comes the juice.
He steps off the branch.
Gone.
HOLD on the empty branch. The tree. The yard.
The gnome with his flag. The late light.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Next time on Hammy the Hamster's
Adventures...
BLACKOUT.
SMASH TO: EPISODE 2 TITLE CARD (TBD)
FADE OUT.
END EPISODE 1: "BUZZCUT AMBUSH" EP02 COLD OPEN
SEQ 01 Cold Open: The Silent Heist
TIMECODE 0:00–2:30 SHOTS 1–10
SCREENPLAY
FADE IN:
EXT. TOON HAVEN SUBURBAN BACKYARD — NIGHT
VERY WIDE SHOT, aerial, slow. The yard at night
looks like a greeting card about moonlight.
Silver-blue lawn. Flower beds asleep. Birdbath
holding a perfect mirror of the night sky.
The picnic table — fully restored since Episode 1,
new juice boxes in the basket, fresh napkins
folded in triangles — sits peacefully at the
center. Undisturbed.
The garden gnome smiles from beside the flowers,
as he always has, as he apparently always will.
NIGHT SOUNDS: crickets. A distant dog.
The occasional leaf. Peace.
CAMERA: slow descending push toward the table.
Somewhere in the flower bed: a SHADOW.
Not alarming, at first. The kind of shadow that
belongs in a garden at night. A leaf shadow.
A branch shadow. Nothing of consequence.
Then it moves against the wind.
LIL' STINGER drops from the fence post to the
grass without a sound. Not a rustle. Not a click.
He lands like he was always standing there.
He surveys the yard — the juice boxes on the
table, the straw basket, the garden perimeter.
He raises one wing.
From the darkness beyond the fence: ELEVEN
SHAPES lift off and drift over the yard in a
loose, silent formation. No buzz. No wing-snap
rhythm. Just movement.
THE SKEETERS.
They don't look like Stingcommander's wasps.
No formation Alpha. No V-shape. They spread
outward the way a thought spreads — individual,
purposeful, fast. Each one already knows where
they're going.
CAMERA: follows three Skeeters to the juice box
basket. They land on the rim. One Pierce
Specialist leans in over the first juice box.
Long, precise proboscis.
Positioning.
A single, surgical tap.
A tiny hole, barely visible. A thread of juice —
apple-orange, catching the moonlight —
begins to seep.
The Pierce Specialist moves to the second box.
Same motion. Same tap. Same thread of juice.
CAMERA: cuts between the other Skeeters across
the yard. Each one at a different juice box.
No communication needed. They have done this
before, or something very like it.
Boxes three. Four. Five.
CUT TO: a pair of PIPE RUNNERS stringing thin
straw piping between the first and second box
with the focused efficiency of electricians.
They test the connection — give a small tug,
get a confirming flow — and move on.
Six. Seven. Eight.
The garden gnome watches all of this. He smiles.
He does not intervene.
Boxes nine. Ten.
The last box is at the far end of the table,
tipped slightly toward the yard. A PRESSURE
KEEPER stations himself beside it — small,
still, one antenna raised to measure flow.
Box eleven: the Pierce Specialist taps it.
Lil' Stinger floats up to the table. He looks
at the network of straw piping. Eleven connected
nodes. Eleven pressurized juice reservoirs
networked together, each one waiting for the
signal that opens every connection at once.
He tilts his head slightly, the way someone
tilts their head when they are satisfied with
their work and would never say so.
He taps the last box twice.
Then he lifts off the table, drifts to the fence
post, and settles there to wait for morning.
The Skeeters melt back into the dark.
Gone as quietly as they arrived.
The yard looks exactly the same as it did before.
Except it isn't.
HOLD on the juice boxes. The straw piping,
barely visible in the moonlight. The slight
sheen of moisture on the table surface.
The garden gnome smiles.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
In Toon Haven... every peaceful night...
CUT TO: SUNRISE. A time-lapse flash of color
across the yard.
NARRATOR (V.O.) (CONT'D)
...is one pest away from a very
sticky morning.
TITLE CARD — BOING:
HAMMY THE HAMSTER'S ADVENTURES
Episode 2: "JUICE LOOSE!"
END SEQUENCE 1 EP02 ACT I
SEQ 02 Morning Discovery
TIMECODE 2:30–6:00 SHOTS 11–22
SCREENPLAY
INT. HAMMY'S GARAGE HQ — MORNING
HAMMY wakes up normally. Alarm. Chair spin.
One Bounce Boot on. Classic.
But something is different.
He blinks. Sniffs.
HAMMY
(not alarmed yet, just
noting the existence of reality)
...Why does everything smell
like fruit punch?
He checks the scanner. It's blinking a NEW
threat signature — not the familiar
yellow-and-black wasp icon. Something different.
The screen cycles through PEST CATEGORIES
looking for a match.
INSERT: SCANNER SCREEN:
UNKNOWN THREAT TYPE.
YARD MOISTURE LEVEL: ANOMALOUS.
ANALYZING...
DUSTY floats in. He is holding his tiny
coffee mug. He stops in the doorway.
He looks at Hammy.
He looks at the scanner.
He sniffs the air.
DUSTY
That's fruit punch.
HAMMY
I know.
DUSTY
In the garage.
HAMMY
I know.
DUSTY
We're inside.
HAMMY
I know, Dusty.
DUSTY
(looks at the mug in his hand)
I don't want to know what's
in here now.
He sets the mug down with great care and
backs away from it.
The TOOLBOX flies open. Gizmo erupts from
inside with the energy of someone who has
been awake since 4 AM for exactly this
moment.
GIZMO
EXCELLENT NEWS! The moisture
incursion I detected at 0300
hours has INSPIRED a solution!
He hoists the SLURP CANNON 2000 onto the
workbench with a triumphant grunt.
It is new. It is yellow and silver. It is
larger than the Bubble Net Launcher but
smaller than the Mega Suction Blaster,
which is currently disassembled in the
corner of the HQ being serviced. The
barrel is wide and smooth — designed to
intake, not fire. On its side: a pressure
gauge, currently at zero, with a red zone
labeled "DO NOT REACH" in enthusiastic
font.
Also on its side: a sticker that says
SMOOTHIE MODE next to a small blender icon.
GIZMO (CONT'D)
Introducing the Slurp Cannon 2000!
Reverses any liquid incursion,
rehydrates allies—
DUSTY
(flatly)
I don't need to be rehydrated.
GIZMO
—and doubles as a smoothie maker!
DUSTY
Those are three very different
claims.
GIZMO
It's a multipurpose device!
DUSTY
(to Hammy, under his breath)
It's going to fire something
at me at some point today,
isn't it.
HAMMY
(not lying)
Probably not.
DUSTY
(already aware)
Mm.
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — MORNING
Hammy steps out of the HQ with the Slurp
Cannon 2000 on his shoulder and stops.
The yard is wet.
Not flooded — not yet — but there are
thin RIVULETS of juice tracking across
the lawn from the direction of the
picnic table. Pink-orange in the morning
light. Trailing between blades of grass
toward the patio.
The picnic table itself: eleven juice
boxes, all sitting in a basket. Normal.
Except each one has a thin straw line
connecting it to the next, and thin
lines from those leading outward toward
the yard perimeter.
It looks like a circuit diagram made
of juice.
HAMMY'S POV: He reads it. Processing.
HAMMY
That's not a natural formation.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Correct! Those are precision-
punctured juice boxes connected
by straw piping in a pressurized
grid network.
Beat.
GIZMO (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I've never seen that before.
It's genuinely impressive.
DUSTY
(from behind Hammy,
still holding his mystery mug)
Are you complimenting
the thing attacking us?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Technically. I respect
the engineering.
HAMMY
(scanning the perimeter)
Where are they?
Silence.
The scanner cycles.
The yard waits.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
(quietly)
They're already here.
He raises the Slurp Cannon 2000.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
Let's roll.
END SEQUENCE 2 EP02 ACT I
SEQ 03 First Engagement / Slurp Cannon Fail
TIMECODE 6:00–9:30 SHOTS 23–32
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — MORNING
Hammy advances on the juice box network
with the Slurp Cannon 2000, steady and
confident. The rivulets of juice on the
lawn have gotten slightly wider. The
network is seeping.
OVERHEAD: a SKEETER drops from the fence
onto a juice box in the basket, lands
silently, and gives a single precise tap
to the straw connector.
The flow increases by half.
HAMMY
(raising the Slurp Cannon)
Gizmo, engaging now. Single
box, controlled intake.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Roger. Intake setting at
Level Two — steady draw,
fully controllable.
HAMMY
(aiming at the nearest juice
rivulet)
Here we go.
He fires the Slurp Cannon 2000.
Level Two engages.
For exactly one second, it works perfectly.
A clean intake pull draws the nearest
juice stream backward toward the barrel.
Hammy nods — good. Exactly right.
Then the Slurp Cannon makes a new sound.
Not the sound of controlled intake.
Something between a hiccup and a decision.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(concerned)
That's interesting.
The intake level climbs on its own.
Level Three. Four. Five. The cannon
barrel is now producing a serious
suction vortex — not just the juice
stream but the grass around it, two
garden stones, a leaf, and something
from the flower bed that turns out to be
the hot dog from Episode 1 that nobody
went back for.
HAMMY
(trying to hold the cannon
steady)
Gizmo! It's escalating!
GIZMO (V.O.)
(slightly excited)
Right, so the issue is the
intake valve has a feedback
loop I didn't account for —
more liquid input means more
suction which means more
liquid input which—
DUSTY
(from a safe distance)
Which means what, exactly?
A THREE-FOOT RADIUS of everything near
Hammy begins moving toward the cannon.
Including Dusty, who was at a safe distance
which has become the wrong distance.
DUSTY (CONT'D)
Oh no.
The cannon catches him broadside. Dusty
spins sideways — reading glasses flying
off his face — and gets deposited, with
more accuracy than the situation warrants,
directly into the birdbath.
SPLASH.
DUSTY (O.S., from birdbath)
THAT IS THE BIRDBATH.
HAMMY
DUSTY I'M SORRY—
DUSTY (O.S.)
I KNOW.
Hammy wrestles the Slurp Cannon. Finds the
emergency shutoff. Hits it.
The cannon powers down with a long,
reluctant WHEEZE. The pressure gauge
swings from overload back toward zero —
but not quite to zero. It settles at a
stubborn notch above empty and stays there.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Good news: the feedback loop
stopped.
HAMMY
(catching his breath)
What's the bad news?
GIZMO (V.O.)
The pressure it built up
before you shut it off —
it didn't go anywhere.
HAMMY
Where did it go?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Inside the cannon.
A beat. They both look at the pressure
gauge sitting one notch above zero.
HAMMY
Is that... bad?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Not yet! It's very stable.
Very stable. Very definitely
not a problem until it becomes
a problem.
Beat.
GIZMO (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Don't shake it.
Dusty pulls himself out of the birdbath.
He is wet. He is cold. He squeezes some
birdbath water out of a feather cluster.
He puts his reading glasses back on —
they are now slightly bent.
DUSTY
(with tremendous dignity)
I would like to note, for the
record, that I said "Those are
three very different claims."
HAMMY
You were right.
DUSTY
I am always right.
DUSTY (CONT'D)
(looking at his wet feathers)
I just wish it helped.
From the basket: a Skeeter TAPS two
more connectors. The juice network's
flow ticks up another notch.
The scanner reads: LIQUID THREAT LEVEL:
BUILDING.
Hammy looks at the Slurp Cannon's
pressure gauge. Then at the juice
network. Then at his other gadgets —
scanner inventorying each one with
a new query: water-resistant?
The Bubble Net Launcher: the display
flickers with a small icon that
looks like a melting bubble.
The Mini Vacuum Cannon: the intake port
shows a small CLOG WARNING symbol.
The Hot Dog Cannon: untouched by the
moisture threat. Completely useless
against it. Loyal as always.
HAMMY
(to himself)
I need to find their operator.
END SEQUENCE 3 EP02 ACT II
SEQ 04 The Two-Front Problem
TIMECODE 9:30–15:00 SHOTS 33–50
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — MORNING
The juice streams are getting wider.
Hammy moves through the yard in careful
steps, tracking Skeeter movements —
they scatter when he approaches,
reconverge behind him. There's no front
line. There's no fortress. They're
everywhere and nowhere.
GIZMO (V.O.)
I'm tracking eleven distinct
nodes in the network. If they
activate all of them simultaneously—
HAMMY
The whole yard floods.
GIZMO (V.O.)
The whole yard floods. Including
the HQ approach path.
HAMMY
How long?
GIZMO (V.O.)
At current flow rate, maybe
twenty minutes.
HAMMY
What's their signal?
GIZMO (V.O.)
I don't know. It's not radio.
Not sound-based. I think it's
just... tap.
HAMMY
Tap.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Two taps. From their commander.
I caught it on the surveillance
replay from last night.
Hammy processes.
HAMMY
Find me the commander.
He scans the perimeter. The Skeeters are
visible — moving on juice boxes, checking
connectors — but they're fast and spread
out. Identifying which one is Lil' Stinger
is like finding a specific raindrop.
Then: from behind him.
A SOUND.
Not a tap. Not a buzz. A BANG — metallic,
pressurized, angry.
THEN ANOTHER. BANG. BANG. BANG.
Then: SILENCE.
Then the COOLER BAY on the Pest Pod 3000
makes a sound like a seal arguing with physics.
CREAK.
The fruit punch that seeped into the Pest
Pod during Sequence 3 has been working on
the cooler bay seal for the last six
minutes. The acidic juice has eroded the
gasket. The internal pressure from
something very unhappy inside has been
building.
The seal gives way.
The cooler door BLOWS OFF.
A figure shoots out of the cooler in a
geyser of fruit punch, shoots six feet
into the air on pure fury momentum, and
lands on the lawn with a SQUELCH.
GENERAL STINGCOMMANDER.
He is soaked in fruit punch from antenna
to boot. His officer's cap is gone. His
honeycomb shoulder armor is intact but
glistening pink. His wings are stuck to
his sides with dried juice, and he is
currently trying to spread them
dramatically and failing on the second
attempt. He tries a third time. They open
about forty percent of the way and stop.
He stands there.
Dripping.
Wings at forty percent.
STINGCOMMANDER
I'M FREE!
Beat. He looks around. He looks at himself.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
And also sticky.
But MOSTLY.
FREE.
He turns. He sees the yard. He sees
the juice streams. He sees Hammy,
approximately fifteen feet away,
holding an unfamiliar cannon.
Stingcommander's expression moves
through several rooms:
Confusion. Understanding. Wrong understanding.
Fury.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
YOU did this.
The liquid!
The prison of FRUIT PUNCH!
This was a TORTURE DEVICE
and I will NOT—
HAMMY
I did not flood your cooler.
STINGCOMMANDER
(pointing)
YOU have a CANNON.
HAMMY
It's a different cannon.
STINGCOMMANDER
CANNONS ARE CANNONS.
He tries to spread his wings for a charge.
They make it to forty-two percent this time.
DUSTY
(from the birdbath,
watching both of them)
This is a new problem.
HAMMY
(to Dusty)
I know.
DUSTY
You have enemies in two
directions.
HAMMY
I know.
DUSTY
One of them thinks you
fruit-punched him on purpose.
HAMMY
I know, Dusty.
DUSTY
I'm just making sure you
understand the full picture.
STINGCOMMANDER charges — wings at
forty-three percent, enough for a low
glide that deposits him between Hammy
and the Skeeter network.
He spins. Looks at the network.
Looks at Hammy.
STINGCOMMANDER
What is that?
HAMMY
Not my doing.
STINGCOMMANDER
(scanning the straw piping)
That is a liquid incursion
network of... considerable
engineering.
He looks at Hammy with the grudging
acknowledgment of one tactician
reading another's work.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
Not yours.
HAMMY
No.
STINGCOMMANDER
(deeply unsatisfied)
Then whose?
From the fence post, very quietly,
watching all of this:
LIL' STINGER.
He watches Stingcommander put the
pieces together. His expression is
the specific expression of someone
who planned a clean operation and
is now watching it develop
uninvited complications.
He does not tap yet.
STINGCOMMANDER
(turning back to Hammy)
This changes nothing.
I am still your enemy.
I still intend to reclaim
this yard. Your temporary
distraction—
A Skeeter taps connector seven.
A juice stream blooms across
the middle of the lawn,
directly between Stingcommander
and Hammy.
They both look at it.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
(loudly, to the yard
in general)
WHOSE IS THIS?!
The Skeeters do not respond. They
never do.
HAMMY
(to Gizmo, quietly)
How many fronts am I on right now?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Eleven juice nodes, one escaped
wasp commander, and whatever
Lil' Stinger's next move is.
Long beat.
HAMMY
So: three.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Technically two and a half.
Stingcommander's wings are only
at forty-four percent.
DUSTY
(from the birdbath)
I want to go back to bed.
END SEQUENCE 4 EP02 ACT II
SEQ 05 Full Flood Activation
TIMECODE 15:00–19:00 SHOTS 51–62
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — DAY
Lil' Stinger watches from the fence post.
He has been watching Hammy manage two
problems for six minutes. Hammy is fast.
Adaptable. He keeps both threats in
his peripheral vision, never committing
fully to either. He is doing well.
Lil' Stinger raises his wing.
Two taps.
CLOSE ON: eleven juice box connectors
across the network — all eleven straw
junctions snap open simultaneously.
The JUICE NETWORK goes from seep to SURGE.
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — CONTINUOUS
Eleven pressurized fruit punch streams
erupt outward from the network like
a sudden rainstorm concentrated entirely
on one backyard. Pink-orange rivers
cross the grass, fill the low points of
the patio, flow around the birdbath
(Dusty raises both feet), and stream
toward the HQ garage door.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(alarmed, for the first time
all episode)
All eleven nodes activated.
Hammy, the HQ flood path is —
we have incoming.
HAMMY
(already running)
How long?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Two minutes before it reaches
the garage floor.
HAMMY
Close the door!
SFX: garage door slamming. Gizmo confirmed.
The yard is now a flowing obstacle course.
Juice channels cut across every path
between Hammy and the network. He can
jump them — Bounce Boots — but the
ground between jumps is wet and
the traction is gone.
He tries the BUBBLE NET LAUNCHER.
Aims at a cluster of Skeeters near
node seven, fires. The bubbles drift
into the juice stream and dissolve.
Immediately. They don't even make it
to the targets.
HAMMY
(low, to himself)
Right. They knew about the net.
He pivots. MINI VACUUM CANNON —
aims at the straw piping near node four.
Fires. The intake immediately clogs
with juice residue. The cannon makes
a sound like a straw at the bottom
of a milkshake.
Then it reverses.
It shoots a sideways jet of juice
directly at Hammy's left side.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
(soaked)
GIZMO—
GIZMO (V.O.)
I see it. The sticky residue
coats the intake. It's now
a juice gun.
HAMMY
WHY does it become a juice gun?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Honestly? It shouldn't.
That's kind of impressive
in the wrong direction.
From the yard's east perimeter:
STINGCOMMANDER charges, wings at
forty-five percent, running mostly
because flight isn't happening.
He leaps over a juice channel,
lands badly, slides three feet on
a wet patch of grass, and arrives
at Hammy's position sticky,
indignant, and still technically
in an attacking posture.
STINGCOMMANDER
The water—JUICE—is EVERYWHERE—
HAMMY
I KNOW—
STINGCOMMANDER
—and I demand — I INSIST —
on the honor of being your
PRIMARY enemy today—
HAMMY
You ARE my primary enemy—
STINGCOMMANDER
THEN FIGHT ME!
HAMMY
(running through a juice
channel in Bounce Boots)
I'M A BIT BUSY!
The juice streams around them both.
Stingcommander gets a wave of fruit
punch across his boots. He stands in
it, furious, soaking. A Skeeter
drifts past him — ignores him
completely.
STINGCOMMANDER
(to the Skeeter)
I am GENERAL STINGCOMMANDER.
I occupied this yard for
ELEVEN MINUTES this morning—
The Skeeter does not respond.
The Skeeters never respond.
STINGCOMMANDER (CONT'D)
(watching the Skeeter go)
(under his breath)
Who TRAINS these people.
DUSTY is now on top of the fence post —
the only reliably dry surface left —
sitting with his reading glasses adjusted
and his feathers slightly damp. He watches
the yard below: juice channels everywhere,
Hammy dodging Skeeters and juice streams
simultaneously, Stingcommander yelling
at a network that cannot hear him.
DUSTY
(to no one)
I would like to register
a formal complaint
about Tuesdays.
HAMMY stops in the middle of the yard.
He has been running since Sequence 3.
He has been managing three simultaneous
problems. His boots are wet. His
Bubble Net is useless. His Vacuum
Cannon is a juice gun. The Mega
Suction Blaster is back at HQ,
disassembled for service.
He has one operational gadget.
He looks at the Slurp Cannon 2000
on his shoulder. The pressure gauge:
still sitting at that one stubborn
notch above zero. It has been there
since Sequence 3.
HAMMY
Gizmo. The pressure that
built up in the Slurp Cannon—
GIZMO (V.O.)
Still there. Very stable.
Still definitely not a problem.
HAMMY
What happens if I add MORE
pressure to it?
Long pause.
GIZMO (V.O.)
That would be a problem.
HAMMY
A big problem?
GIZMO (V.O.)
Define "big."
HAMMY
(looking at the juice channels,
at Stingcommander, at
the network, at the pressure
gauge)
...Geyser-sized?
Very long pause.
GIZMO (V.O.)
I'm not NOT going to say yes
to that.
HAMMY
How do I make it worse?
GIZMO (V.O.)
You — what?
HAMMY
On purpose. How do I make
the pressure WORSE, on purpose,
in a direction I choose?
Another pause. A different quality —
this one is Gizmo realizing he is
about to describe something he built
that can do exactly this.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(slowly)
There's a manual override
on the base plate.
Red handle.
It bypasses the intake
regulation entirely and
compresses everything
currently in the chamber
directly outward through
the barrel in one—
HAMMY
Release.
GIZMO (V.O.)
In one release. Yes.
I'm calling it OVERFLOW MODE.
HAMMY
You're naming it as we speak?
GIZMO (V.O.)
I'm naming it as we speak.
Beat.
GIZMO (V.O.) (CONT'D)
(quietly, to himself)
This is the best Tuesday
I've ever had.
END SEQUENCE 5 EP02 ACT III
SEQ 06 Final Battle: The Juice Geyser
TIMECODE 19:00–23:15 SHOTS 63–78
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — DAY
Hammy moves through the flooded yard
to the largest juice confluence point —
where the most streams converge near
node six. This is the pressure center
of the network. Here, the flow is
deepest and fastest.
He wades into it. Up to his ankles
in fruit punch. His Bounce Boots
handle the traction with moderate
success.
He looks up at the fence post.
Lil' Stinger looks back at him.
A long, quiet moment between them —
the first time they've made direct
eye contact.
Lil' Stinger tilts his head very
slightly. Not a threat. Not a greeting.
More like: acknowledgment. He sees
what Hammy is standing next to.
He knows what the Slurp Cannon 2000 is.
He knows about the pressure.
He does not tap.
He waits.
STINGCOMMANDER wades up behind Hammy,
slightly out of breath, wings still
stuck at forty-six percent.
STINGCOMMANDER
Whatever you're about to do—
HAMMY
You should move.
STINGCOMMANDER
(looking at the cannon)
Hamster. I have faced your
devices before. I know your
methods. I have SURVIVED your
greatest weapon—
HAMMY
I'm pointing it DOWN.
STINGCOMMANDER
(looking at the cannon
pointed at the ground)
...Oh.
HAMMY
And I need you approximately
forty feet that way.
He points. Stingcommander looks at where
Hammy is pointing. Looks back. Looks
at the cannon. Back at where he's
pointing.
STINGCOMMANDER
(not moving)
I don't take tactical
suggestions from hamsters.
HAMMY
It's not a suggestion.
Gizmo's voice comes through the scanner.
GIZMO (V.O.)
Hammy. Pressure gauge update.
Current stored: 340 units.
Overflow Mode output
at 340 units is—
He pauses to calculate.
GIZMO (V.O.) (CONT'D)
—I'm going to say "significant."
HAMMY
(to Stingcommander)
MOVE.
STINGCOMMANDER
(moving)
I'm moving for MY reasons.
Not yours. Entirely my own
tactical assessment of—
He moves forty feet to the left,
sliding on a wet patch, maintaining
dignity by not acknowledging the slide.
DUSTY
(from the fence post,
watching)
How much of the yard
is about to get worse?
GIZMO (V.O.)
In terms of fruit punch?
All of it. Briefly.
Then much less.
DUSTY
...That's almost a good answer.
Hammy plants his feet wide in the
juice stream. The Slurp Cannon 2000
goes barrel-down into the largest
confluence. He grips the barrel
with both hands.
On the side of the cannon: the
red handle. Manual override.
OVERFLOW MODE.
He looks up at Lil' Stinger on
the fence post.
Lil' Stinger watches. Very still.
HAMMY
Slurp Cannon...
He takes a breath.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
OVERFLOW MODE!
He yanks the red handle.
The cannon ROARS — different from the
Mega Suction Blaster's charge, different
from any gadget in the arsenal. This
isn't a controlled weapon sound.
This is a pressure vessel deciding
it no longer wants to be a pressure
vessel.
The cannon's pressure gauge SLAMS
to zero in one frame.
All 340 units of stored pressure —
plus all the juice from the network
confluence — reverse-fires in one
concentrated burst.
STRAIGHT UP.
A column of pressurized fruit punch
shoots twenty feet into the air above
the yard.
It hangs at the apex for one perfect,
impossible second — a fruit-punch
geyser against the blue morning sky,
pink-orange and catching the light
in ways that are objectively beautiful
if you are not currently in the yard.
Then it comes down.
EVERYWHERE.
The geyser spreads outward at its
peak into a wide curtain of pressure,
the kind of physics that happens when
a column collapses under its own weight
and distributes sideways.
THE SKEETER NETWORK: every straw
connection in every node tears free
under the counter-pressure. The juice
boxes bounce off the picnic table
into the grass. The piping unravels.
Eleven nodes: offline.
THE SKEETERS: scattered. They're
light. They have no mass to resist
the outward wash. In the space of
three seconds they are blown to
the far perimeter of the yard in
every direction — some landing in
the flower bed, some clearing the
fence entirely, some spinning in
lazy circles near the gnome.
Not captured. Just — dispersed.
And STINGCOMMANDER:
He was forty feet to the left.
The geyser spread was forty-one feet.
He looks up at the wall of fruit punch
coming his way.
He does not have time to spread his wings.
The wave hits him. Clean. Full.
He does a complete backflip —
not by choice — and lands with
pristine accuracy in the birdbath.
SPLASH.
From the birdbath, soaked for the
second time today:
STINGCOMMANDER
(muffled)
THIS. IS. NOT. OVER.
The yard is quiet.
The fruit punch geyser has completed.
The juice network has no pressure.
The Skeeters are dispersed. Stingcommander
is in the birdbath.
The lawn is covered in a thin,
even, pink-orange layer of fruit
punch. Every surface. Every blade
of grass. The garden gnome is
fruit-punch-colored and still smiling.
Hammy stands in the middle of it,
cannon at his side, pressure gauge at zero.
He looks at Stingcommander in the birdbath.
At the gnome. At the dispersed Skeeters
slowly collecting themselves on the
perimeter.
At the fence post.
Empty.
Lil' Stinger is gone.
No drama. No cape. No visible escape.
Just — not there.
Hammy stares at the empty fence post
for a long moment.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(quietly awed)
That was excellent.
HAMMY
Where's Lil' Stinger?
GIZMO (V.O.)
...No scanner signature.
HAMMY
He was there.
GIZMO (V.O.)
I know.
HAMMY
He just—
GIZMO (V.O.)
He watched the whole thing.
Then he left. Before the geyser.
Hammy looks at the empty fence post.
DUSTY
(slowly descending from
the top of the fence,
also fruit-punch-tinged)
The quiet one is worse
than the loud one.
HAMMY
Yeah.
Beat.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
(to the Skeeter network remains,
to the birdbath, to the yard)
Looks like you bit off...
more than you could chew.
He looks at the cannon. The pressure
gauge is reading exactly zero.
The Hot Dog Cannon falls out of his
utility belt pouch and hits the wet
grass.
HAMMY (CONT'D)
(looking at it)
That thing is completely
unstoppable.
END SEQUENCE 6 EP02 TAG
SEQ 07 Cleanup + End Tag
TIMECODE 23:15–25:00 SHOTS 79–88
SCREENPLAY
EXT. TOON HAVEN BACKYARD — LATE MORNING
The yard is pink.
Every surface. The grass. The patio stones.
The picnic table. The birdbath. The garden
gnome, who is now entirely fruit-punch-
colored and has somehow become slightly
more cheerful-looking for it.
DUSTY moves through the yard in
his cleaning pattern. He does not
use his normal methodical grid.
He is using a slightly different
movement — slower, more deliberate,
with the occasional pause where
he just stands there and processes
the scale of what he is looking at.
He is not complaining. He has gone
somewhere beyond complaint.
He squeezes a feather cluster
over the grass. It produces a
small stream of fruit punch.
DUSTY
(very quietly, to himself)
I contain multitudes.
GIZMO is at the workbench beside
the Pest Pod, Slurp Cannon 2000 on
the table, writing on his clipboard.
He is adding OVERFLOW MODE to the
official spec sheet. In large,
confident letters. With a star
next to it.
GIZMO
Post-mission spec update:
Overflow Mode — classified
as PRIMARY FEATURE.
Pressure output: 340 units.
Effective range: approximately
forty-one feet in every
direction. Field testing:
complete.
DUSTY
(passing through)
It clogged itself first.
GIZMO
Secondary function.
Also listed.
DUSTY
In what order?
GIZMO
...Alphabetically.
DUSTY
(stops walking)
Alphabetically.
GIZMO
Overflow before Secondary
Malfunction. Correct order
by the alphabet.
DUSTY stares at him for a very long time.
DUSTY
I'm going back to the gnome.
He floats away. Gizmo makes another note.
Stingcommander sits in the birdbath,
contained again. He is facing away
from the yard. He has arranged
himself to look like this was his
choice. He is covered in fruit punch.
His wings are stuck at forty-six
percent and he has made his peace
with it, today. The birdbath water
is also pink.
HAMMY walks past the birdbath.
He glances at Stingcommander.
STINGCOMMANDER
(not turning around)
Say nothing.
HAMMY
I wasn't going to.
STINGCOMMANDER
(long pause)
The other one.
HAMMY
Lil' Stinger.
STINGCOMMANDER
The quiet one.
HAMMY
Yeah.
A beat. Two opponents, one birdbath,
a yard covered in fruit punch between them.
STINGCOMMANDER
(quietly)
He was here before the morning.
HAMMY
Before the morning.
STINGCOMMANDER
We are both —
(he stops)
— you are —
(he stops again, unhappy
about what he's about to say)
— facing something that works
differently from what either
of us has faced.
HAMMY
I know.
STINGCOMMANDER
(facing away still)
That is all I have to say
on the matter.
HAMMY
(walking away)
Noted.
He walks to the Pest Pod. Climbs to the
roof. Takes a cracker from the emergency
snack drawer, which was elevated and dry
throughout the entire flood. He eats it.
He looks at the fence post where
Lil' Stinger was.
GIZMO (V.O.)
No scanner signature anywhere
in the perimeter. He's gone.
HAMMY
For now.
GIZMO (V.O.)
His crew dispersed but wasn't
captured. They'll reconvene.
HAMMY
I know.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(a beat)
For what it's worth,
the Slurp Cannon performed
at a level I never predicted
and I'm extremely excited
about it.
HAMMY
(small smile)
Good work, Gizmo.
GIZMO (V.O.)
(earnest)
Thank you.
DUSTY
(from the direction of the gnome)
There's juice in the gnome's hat.
I just want everyone to know that.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Another day in Toon Haven,
saved by one hamster,
one duster, and a cannon
that was technically broken
until it wasn't.
---
END TAG
---
EXT. TOON HAVEN — SOMEWHERE NEW — DAY
Not the fence post.
Not the tree branch.
Different: the TOP OF THE GARDEN SHED
at the far corner of the yard.
Higher. Better sightlines in every
direction.
LIL' STINGER stands there.
He has been watching the cleanup from
a new position. Closer than before —
not far enough to be seen, close enough
to see everything.
He looks at something in his hand.
Small, cylindrical, the size of his palm.
A SEED CASE. From one of the flowers
in the garden. Small. Dry. It makes
a sound when he shakes it — a faint
rattle. He has been holding it for
a while.
He looks at the yard below.
At the pink-stained grass.
At Hammy on the Pod roof.
At the repaired juice box network
already being collected by Gizmo.
He looks at the seed case in his hand.
LIL' STINGER
(quietly)
The yard grows things.
Beat.
LIL' STINGER (CONT'D)
So do we.
He closes his hand around the seed case
and steps back off the shed roof.
Gone.
HOLD on the garden shed. The yard.
The fence. The gnome, fruit-punch-pink.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Next time on Hammy the Hamster's
Adventures...
BLACKOUT.
END EPISODE 2: "JUICE LOOSE!"