With his back against the ground—technically another kind of wall—Colby stared up at the group of LeMonkeys perched high up in the branches above him. They glared down at him and pointed their baguettes straight at his face.

  The LeMonkeys looked like regular monkeys—for the most part. They had lemon-yellow fur, and the top of their heads looked like half a lemon. On top of those lemon domes, they wore navy-blue berets.

  A fresh citrusy smell drifted through the air as several of them dropped down to the ground, never breaking eye contact.

  Thornlius kept on barking, hoping to scare off the monsters.

  Yeah, he might’ve bitten off more than he could chew.

  One LeMonkey? Easy. All he had to do was promise Thornelius some more planty mozzarella, and the deed would be done. Two of them? Well, he’d throw some cheese until they were defeated.

  But there were at least twelve LeMonkeys here. And those were only the ones he could see. How many else were hidden up in the canopy?

  Now was the time to heed his mother’s advice: run away.

  Colby scrambled up to his feet as fast as he could, dirt clumping under his fingers. He sprinted away from the LeMonkeys, Thornelius following right behind him.

  A streak of yellow blurred past his face. All of a sudden, a LeMonkey stood right in front of him, a baguette pointed straight at his chest.

  Colby raised his hands in surrender. The LeMonkey apparently didn’t like that. It screeched before jabbing him in the chest. For a piece of bread, it was surprisingly hard. The LeMonkey stabbed him again and again, forcing him back until Colby got the hint and started retreating on his own. It was better to play along rather than risk death by baguette.

  Thornelius didn’t get the memo. The Thornwolf lunged straight at the LeMonkey, stretching his bushy maw open.

  The LeMonkey screeched even louder this time. It dropped its baguette and brought its hands to its lemon-shaped dome. Squeezing it, a spritz of yellow liquid shot straight into Thornelius’s mouth.

  Thornelius skidded to a halt and whimpered. His face was puckered up so hard, it looked like it might implode.

  Colby bent down and scooped up the whimpering Thornwolf into his arms.

  “Come here, Thornelius. Don’t worry. It’ll all be okay.”

  Thornelius dug his head into Colby’s chest, his leaves trembling in fear.

  Colby had given the Thornwolf some reassurance, but who was going to give him some reassurance? Since there was no one else around, he’d have to do it himself.

  Don’t worry, me. Everything will be okay. When there’s a will, there's a whey.

  The LeMonkey yelled in lemony gibberish before it snatched its baguette and started stabbing him again. It was probably telling him to walk back, and walk back he did. Colby shuffled backwards, keeping one eye trained on the LeMonkey and its baguette, the other squeezed shut.

  He was scrambling inside his Core, trying to whip up a cheese that could help him get out of this nightmare.

  What could he even make? Maybe a full body armour made out of cheese? A couple of [Hard as Cheese] [Cheese Shots] at the LeMonkeys?

  Just as his Core Constructs were about to finish a batch of mozzarella using the Daisy cow milk that he had just procured, Colby slipped on something again.

  The other LeMonkeys—both in the tree tops and on the ground—burst into laughter, waving their baguettes in the air.

  As he picked himself back up, still cradling the trembling Thornwolf, he saw what he had slipped on. It was some sort of slimy substance that coated the grass and soil. When he looked up, he saw the source of his slippery misery.

  Right, it was all coming back to him now. He had heard of these monsters before, but since they weren’t really part of the cheesemaking process, he never paid much attention to them.

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  Blocking his path was a snail monster. Not a typical small garden snail, this one was many times larger. Its main shell was roughly one and a half LeMonkeys tall. Beneath it were four smaller, perfectly circular shells, acting as wheels. Each one slick with a thin coat of ooze.

  That must’ve been what he had slipped on—both now and earlier.

  This was an Es-cart-got.

  The LeMonkey screeched at him once more, jabbing him in the back with its baguette and shoving him forward. The shell opened up, its plates drawing back to reveal the hollow interior within.

  Another stab forced him inside the Es-cart-got’s shell. Before he could even turn around, the plates slid back into place, sealing him away, not allowing even a single ray of light to illuminate his prison.

  It was cramped, clearly meant for the much smaller LeMonkeys. He was forced to uncomfortably curl himself up. Thornelius whimpered beside him in the dark, still affected by that spritz of yellow liquid from the LeMonkey.

  At least the floor wasn’t snail guts. It was just a solid shell all the way.

  Stuck with literally nothing else to do, it gave him time to plot a getaway. As long as he wasn’t taken too far away from Brinebrook, everything would be cheddary—hopefully.

  Fortunately, his wish was granted. Not even five minutes after he had boarded the Es-cart-got, the shell opened up, bombarding him with a burst of bright light. The LeMonkey screeched at him once more. It was probably the same one, but honestly? They all looked the same.

  Colby stepped out of the shell, carrying Thornelius in his arms and glad to finally be free from the tight confines. At the same time, he was peeved. There was hardly any time for him to plot an escape plan. Come on, cut him some slack.

  But where was he? As far as he knew, Es-cart-gots weren’t exactly known for their speeds. He looked around, and all he saw were leaves with LeMonkeys, leaves with more LeMonkeys, and leaves with even more LeMonkeys.

  Don’t tell me.

  Colby glanced down and immediately regretted it.

  Yup, he was in a tree, standing on a particularly thick branch. His stomach lurched and did three somersaults. He was so high up. Even higher up than a two-story roof, back when he jumped onto a beach. Were his [Cheese Pillows] soft enough to cushion his landing? Well, they better be. If not… He couldn’t think of a threat right this moment.

  The LeMonkeys, sensing his fear, laughed at him.

  Rude. See how you’d like it when brought out of your element.

  Taking extra precaution to not fall off the tree—although that seemed like a really great way to escape—he begrudgingly walked forward. Though the constant pokes from the LeMonkey’s baguettes weren’t exactly helping his balance.

  As he was being forcibly escorted to his destination, Colby took the opportunity to look around. Amongst the many leaves, branches, and even more leaves, the only thing that stood out were the holes carved into the trunks.

  Were those their homes?

  Walking along, he managed to get a better angle, peering inside one of the holes. It was just filled with baguettes. Another one had a boiling pot of…something, with a LeMonkey stirring it using a baguette. That was definitely a fire hazard.

  And that’s when he saw it. Inside one of those little caves carved into the tree was a pile of yellow powder. Two LeMonkeys, bigger than the one currently poking him in the back and with much longer baguettes, resting on the ground like a long thick spear, stood guard outside.

  That was it!

  That was what he had been searching for: citric acid made by the LeMonkeys.

  Though normally, the citric acid he worked with was liquid rather than a powder. It was definitely lower in quality, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Eventually, he was shoved into his very own little hole in a tree. Two more LeMonkeys entered along with him. Once again, a baguette was pointed at him, though these ones were different. Instead of the plain, brown bread, their tip was now coated with some sort of slick yellow substance.

  One sniff was all it took for him to identify that unknown substance. It was butter.

  Butter? What would they need butter for? Unless…

  Oh, Gouda! They were going to cook him. Was that what the pot was for?

  Using their baguettes like brushes, they dragged the piece of bread from head to toe, lathering him with butter. Once they were done with him, they moved on to Thornelius.

  The poor Thornwolf was still traumatised from being forcefully fed that sour yellow liquid. He whimpered, leaves trembling as he slowly backed up until he was pressed against the inner wall of the tree.

  With nowhere to escape, he looked up at Colby as the LeMonkey smeared butter all over his leafy fur.

  “It’s okay, boy. Everything will be okay.”

  And everything will be okay. His goal was in sight—technically, currently blocked by a bunch of LeMonkeys and trees—but still well within sight.

  All he needed to do was get past these two LeMonkeys guards, get over to the tree where they stored the citric acid powder, somehow either fight or avoid those two burly LeMonkeys with massive baguettes, all while being surrounded by a bunch of LeMonkeys in their home turf, and then run home.

  Did he have a plan?

  Yup, he had literally just listed it out.

  Was it a solid plan? Not in the slightest. It was barely even a liquid plan—maybe gaseous at this point.

  That’s okay, all he had to do was string the plan together using cheese. And after that delicious refill of Daisy Cow milk, arguably the most expensive ingredient in the cheesemaking process, he didn’t have to feel guilty if he exceeded his stored-up cheese allowance—he only had to feel marginally guilty because of all the other ingredients.

  It was going to be Cheese-mageddon for the LeMonkeys.