Universal Studio Unleashed

The Universal Studios lot glittered under a brutal LA sun, a sprawling maze of noise and color that slammed into the EVO trio as they spilled out of Marcus's dented sedan. Elliot stretched like he'd just won the lottery twice over, his grin wide enough to rival the Hollywood sign. "Day one of the victory lap—Hyperion's cash, Universal's rides, and me proving I'm the undisputed king of this chaos!"

Marcus adjusted his sunglasses, scanning the crowd like it might demand a cover charge. "King of chaos, sure. Just don't faceplant like you did at the victory dinner."

Esterio locked the car, smirking as he pocketed the keys. "He's still got the rugburn to prove it. Give him a pass—he earned it."

"No passes!" Elliot shot back, already charging toward the gates, VIP passes flashing like golden tickets. "This is our reward for owning Hyperion—two days of pure, unfiltered fun. Let's milk it 'til it hurts!"

The entrance buzzed with sunburnt tourists and overpriced souvenirs, but their passes cut through the madness like a hot knife. First stop: The Wizarding World. The castle loomed ahead, all jagged spires and tourist chatter, and Elliot beelined for the butterbeer stand like a man possessed. He emerged juggling three frothy mugs, foam sloshing onto his sneakers as he thrust them forward. "To EVO—legends of AI, conquerors of Hyperion, and soon-to-be lords of this park! Drink up!"

Marcus caught his mug, wiping a drip off his shirt with a look that could curdle milk. "You're wasting good money on sloppy toasts."

"It's not waste, it's vibes," Elliot insisted, chugging half his in one go. "C'mon—Forbidden Journey's calling. Time to fly!"

The line was a sweaty zoo—kids waving sticks, parents juggling overpriced snacks—but their VIP status zipped them through like they owned the place. The ride's dark twists and sudden drops had Elliot whooping, arms flailing like he was dodging a swarm of bats, while Marcus gripped the bar, muttering, "This is why I stick to spreadsheets—less vertigo." Esterio let out a rare laugh, the rush peeling back the tension Dain's cryptic galactic pitch had left coiled in his chest.

They stumbled off, Elliot's hair a sweaty mop plastered to his forehead. "That was unreal—I'm a pro flyer now, no question!"

"You're a pro screamer," Marcus said, smoothing his damp shirt with exaggerated care. "Sounded like a car alarm on a sugar high."

Esterio steered them toward the next hit, still grinning. "Let's cool him off—Jurassic World's up."

The boat ride loomed ahead, water crashing below like a promise of chaos. Elliot dragged them into the line, hyping it up with wide-eyed glee. "This is our big adventure—I'm the hero, you're the sidekicks, deal with it!" The drop hit hard, soaking them to the bone as Elliot's yell echoed louder than the splash, a high-pitched wail that cut through the roar. Marcus, drenched, glared as water dripped from his sunglasses. "Sidekick? I'm demoting you to mascot—loud and useless."

Esterio wiped his face, chuckling as he shook out his sleeves. "Mascot fits—he's got the energy for it."

"Rude!" Elliot laughed, shaking himself off like a wet dog, spraying them both. "Minion Mayhem's next—I'm winning this one, no contest!"

The Minion ride was a whirlwind of spinning nonsense—bright lights, goofy voices, and Elliot's cackles bouncing off the walls like a ricochet. Marcus endured it, arms crossed, muttering, "This is my personal nightmare—trapped with a human tornado." Esterio leaned into the silliness, the absurdity a perfect balm for the galactic static humming in his skull. They spilled out, Elliot still buzzing, fists pumping. "I'm unstoppable—king of the minions, bow down!"

"King of hot air," Marcus quipped, sidestepping a high-five with practiced ease. "Let's grab food before you spontaneously combust."

The trio crashed at a shaded table, churros and overpriced sodas in hand, the park's chaos swirling around them. Elliot tore into his snack, grinning through a mouthful. "Day one down—this is the life, boys. Hyperion's bankroll's our superpower."

Marcus sipped his soda, eyeing the crowd. "Superpower's not blowing it all in one weekend. Pace yourself."

Esterio nodded, the butterbeer's sweetness lingering on his tongue. "He's right—day two's still ahead. Save some ammo."

Elliot waved them off, undeterred. "Day two's my redemption arc—watch me shine!"

Day two hit like a caffeine jolt, the air thick with heat and the promise of more madness. Elliot burst from the apartment, wielding a fresh churro like a baton, his energy dialed to eleven. "Round two, team! We're owning the Mummy, Simpsons, everything—Hyperion's vault says go big or go home!"

Marcus trailed behind, coffee in hand, his voice dry as the cracked pavement. "Go big somewhere else—I'm one meltdown away from bailing."

Esterio locked the door, smirking as he pocketed his phone. "Too late—I've got your Jurassic scream on loop. You're in this."

"Cruelty!" Elliot waved the churro like a flag, leading them back to the park. "Today's my comeback—mark my words!"

The VIP passes flashed again, slicing through the morning crowd like a cheat code. First up: Revenge of the Mummy. Elliot strutted in, chest puffed like he was about to claim a throne. "This is my domain—dark, fast, unbeatable!" The ride's twists and jolts hit hard, and his yelp cracked through the darkness anyway, a wild squawk that had Marcus muttering, "Unbeatable's not even close—try unhinged." Esterio laughed so hard he nearly missed the exit, the trio stumbling into sunlight with Elliot's hair a sweaty wreck.

"Still a ten!" Elliot panted, brushing it off. "I'm a curse-breaker now—where's my treasure?"

"You'd lose it in ten seconds," Marcus said, sipping a water like it was the last sane thing in his world. "Next—Simpsons. Less noise, more food."

Springfield hummed with cartoon energy—bright signs, fake beer cans, and a donut stand that screamed Elliot's name. He bolted over, emerging with a massive pink monstrosity, grinning like a kid on Christmas. "This is my fuel—watch me level up!"

Marcus eyed it, unimpressed. "You're leveling up to a sugar coma—good luck."

"Worth it," Elliot mumbled, mouth full, dragging them to The Simpsons Ride. The virtual madness—tilting, spinning, pure cartoon anarchy—had him howling, "I'm the MVP of this park!" Marcus clung to the rail, grumbling, "This is why I hate fun—too much of you." Esterio smirked, leaning over. "You're the anchor—you just won't admit it."

"Anchors sink," Marcus shot back as they stumbled off, Elliot still amped. "Water ride rematch—let's cool this clown down."

Jurassic World loomed again—Elliot insisted on a do-over. "No screams this time, I swear!" The drop hit, water exploding everywhere, and his yell rang out anyway, a banshee wail that soaked them all. Marcus, dripping, yanked off his sunglasses with a glare. "You're a broken record—turn it off."

Esterio, shaking out his shirt, laughed until his sides hurt. "A loud one—keeps us honest."

"Loud and proud!" Elliot splashed them, grinning like a drenched lunatic. "I'm the spark—you're welcome."

They crashed on a bench as the sun dipped low, churros and exhaustion piling up. Elliot, sugar-crashing, sprawled out, mumbling, "Best sequel ever. We're the ultimate trio—Hyperion's just the sponsor."

Marcus smirked, stretching his legs. "Sponsor with deep pockets—I'll take that deal."

Esterio nodded, the day's madness drowning out the faint hum of Dain's galactic warning in his head. His phone buzzed—an EVO alert: Unidentified subroutine detected. Source unknown. It flickered off before he could dig in. Weird. Probably nothing, right?

Elliot propped himself up, churro stub in hand, grinning dopily. "Hey, you think we'll end up competing against Harry Potter in that galactic whatever Dain was on about? Me versus a wand—epic showdown!"

Marcus snorted, nearly choking on his soda. "You'd lose—Potter's got spells, you've got screams."

Esterio chuckled, the image absurd enough to lighten the weight. "I'd pay to see that. You'd trip over your own broom."

"Rude!" Elliot laughed, tossing the churro wrapper at him. "I'd charm the aliens—watch me! Anyway, we gotta hit Hollywood next—see the stars, dodge the weirdos. LA's ours 'til MIT drags us back."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "MIT's not dragging—you're just dodging that thesis."

"Maybe," Esterio said, smirking. "But this? Worth the dodge."

Elliot raised his empty soda can like a toast. "To dodging, then—and us owning every second of it!"

Marcus clinked his can against it, muttering, "Fine, but you're buying next round." Esterio joined in, the clatter of metal a quiet anthem to their win. For now, the warehouse in NYC, the galactic stakes, all of it could wait—LA was their playground, and they weren't done ruling it.