The slamming of the barred jail door along with the sickening clicking of the lock echoes through the corridor of Los Chupacabras' hostage room as Gareth locks in the last of the four of the Pro 12 into a cell.

"Thank you, Vincent, for helping me get these guys," the Welsh tells the Nigerian as he puts the keys into his pocket.

Vincent is standing proudly with a huge smile. "You are very welcome." He then strolls out of the room.

Gareth in looks in front of him, seeing the four cells spread out in his vision. Each of the four are in a separate cell, sitting on the cold, stone ground. Before he could say anything though, Bryce speaks up.

"How long are we gonna be in here for?" the baseball player asks as he has his eyes on his hand-held mirror; he brushes his fingers through his hair. "Because my hair is in dire need of products."

"Well, let's say after we take over your guys' leagues." He smirks at his response with crossed arms.

Bryce's eyes widen as he gazes up at the soccer player. "Are you kidding me? My hair will be a mess by then! Trust me, you don't want to see me in a bad hair day. It's...bad. Really bad."

"Too bad, no one's gonna look at your hair anyways from here!" Gareth extends his hand at the baseball player.

"But...I am..." Bryce frowns as his reflection with fearful eyes.

"But dude," Patrick starts saying, "how are you so sure that you dudes are gonna take over our radical leagues, man?"

The soccer player turns to the left to face the hockey player. "Can't you see? We already have four of you guys here!"

"Well, there's twelve of us into total, so if I'm doing the math right, since I'm not gnarly in math, you don't even have half of us dudes! So in your face!" He throws his fist toward him, but of course it doesn't even come near touching him since he's so far away from him. "Boo-yah!"

"With the same method we used to get you guys here though, we can have all of you twelve here in no time!" Gareth snaps his fingers. "And what's your group name again?"

"The Pro 12!" Tim exclaims happily. "With the goalie that can save anything!"

"Pffft, but can't save himself," the Welsh mutters with a roll of his eyes. "But your team, the Pro 12, should be renamed to the Pro 8, since, four is missing!"

"Your mom is missing!" Brady calls out.

Gareth snaps his eyes over to the football player with a disdain look. "What about my mom?"

"Yo Mamma's so old I told her to act her own age, and she died!" He then bursts into fits of laughter.

The Welsh narrows his eyes at the joke and shakes his head. "That's gonna cost you guys an extra year in here." He then turns around and walks out of the jail room.

He immediately enters an enormous room made out of stone with torches filling in as the light.
Lined up in the centre of the room are the football, basketball, baseball, and football players that Juan recruited.

"Alright," Gareth begins to say as he halts in front of them with his hands clasped behind his back. "Go guard the four captives in the jail room." He nods toward behind him, which was were the jail cell is located.

"Yes, sir!" They then all march past the Welsh, going to their positions.

Gareth then strolls across the now empty room and into another corridor with the same features as the huge room. He turns left and makes his way down, until a entrance to another room comes into sight to the left. He saunters through the opened doorway, walking into a room similar to the room that is in front of the jail room.

Except to the right, is a royal throne that is up high, meaning there are steps leading up to it. Sitting on the throne is the one and only El Jeffe Chupacabra: Luis Suárez. He has a table over his lap since he was eating, but his face is crumbled like as if he tasted something really abominable.

In a raspy, squeaky voice, Luis says, "I ate a whole lemon. Bale?"

"Uh..." Gareth looks around his surroundings anxiously. "It's not my fault, it's Juan's!" He points to Juan, who sashes into the room right on cue.

Juan halts next to Gareth. "Yeah, it's my fault!" he exclaims, pointing to his chest with his thumb.

Luis clears his throat. "You know, that's not a good thing..." He eyes the Colombian with narrowed eyes.

"That's fine, I'm evil!" He throws his hands into the air with a huge smile.

"Bah...!" the Uruguayan shakes his head, knowing that it is nearly impossible to put sense into Juan's head; he drops his eating utensils on the table. "Anyways, I got news that the four people, who are in the group that is forming against us, are secured in the jail room. That is very good to hear. Good, good!

"Now, I would like you two to stand in the room in front of the jail room to make sure none of those guys escape in anyway."

"But I already placed guards in the jail room!" Gareth protests.

"But not in the room in front of the jail room, hmmm?" Luis raises his eyebrows with a closed smile.

The Welsh dips his head with a sigh. "Right." He the straightens up and gazes at the Colombian. "Come on, Juan, let's go."

"Yipee, we get to guard!" Juan jumps into the air and skips out of the room.

Gareth follows him back into the other huge room. He parks himself behind a lonely wooden table with a chair, sits down, pulls out a Welsh cookie from his pocket, and begins eating with his feet propped on the table.

"Hey, can I have your Welsh cookies for my Colombian chocolates?" Juan asks, placing three, yellow wrapped up chocolate bars in front of Gareth.

Gareth gazes down at the bars while chewing; he swallows. "I want your chocolate, but I want to keep my cookies as well." He reverts his gaze at him.

"But you're cookies is soooooo good!" the Columbian squeals. "Pleeeease...!" He interlaces his fingers and shakes them in front of his chest in a pleading manner.

"Hmmm..." the Welsh looks up and points to the ceiling. "Hey, look, there's a bird!"

Juan looks over his shoulder, gazing at the ceiling. "Where?"

Gareth quickly swipes a bar off from the table and onto his lap. "It's more over there..." He waves his hand towards the entrance of the room. "...you'll see it over there--it's flying around there."

"Ohhh, I wanna see the bird!" He strolls excitedly over to the other side of the room as the sneaky soccer player grabs another bar off from the table. "I don't see it!" he shouts.

"I see it exiting the room," the Welsh tells his sidekick. "Go look in the hallway."

Juan exits the room while looking up dazedly.

Gareth takes the last bar and gets up with the three chocolate bars and sidles out of the room from the other door that is located to his left.

---

Three hours later...

Juan finally enters the room again, disappointed. "Hey, Gareth! I-I didn't find any bird!" He looks down at the empty table. "Heeey...where are my chocolate bars?" He puts his hands on his hips.

Gareth enters the room from the same way he exited, licking his fingers. "What?"

"Where are my chocolates?" Juan jabs an angry finger at the table with a pouty look.

"Oh, maybe you might find them in the dictionary where they're wedged between the pages that holds the word 'gullible.'" He then strides out of the room, trying to stifle his laugh.

Notes