"Go fuck yourself. Please connect me to the internet."

Mr. Munoza sighed. His son Gabriel was unhappy, which meant that he was a horrible father.

They had been driving on the country roads together for close to three days. In his head, Mr. Munoza had pictured the trip as a chance for them to bond. They would have seen the mountains and the crisp clean air and the wide open skies and then all the teenage angrybittz boiling inside his son's heart would turn to pure lovesparket. They would stop to eat at diners and catch baseballs and accidentally run over a deer. The deer would be bleeding out and it would be clear that it wasn't going to make it so Mr. Munoza would take a shotgun out from the back of his trunk and load it and aim it but his hand would start trembling a little and his son would put his hand on his shoulder and say, "I got this, Dad," and then he would take the gun and shoot it himself and they would hug and stare at the majesty they had destroyed together and bask in the ultimate glory of the circle of life.

It was the stuff of magic.

That did not happen. Mr. Munoza hated to blame others for his failures, but he had to admit that WonkaSolver was at fault. Gabriel had refused to go on the trip unless Mr. Munoza agreed to take his new invention along with them, which had required him to mount a large four-hundred pound brick of metal to the top of his van.

He would not have minded that, but the brick was very distracting. Every minute or so it asked politely to be connected to the internet, and if it wasn't, Gabriel was busy ordering it to tell Mr. Munoza to go fuck himself for not driving faster. This meant that there were no chances for bonding or catching baseballs or even semi-intentionally murdering wildlife and it broke Mr. Munoza's heart.

"Maybe when we get to the manor you will feel more like talking."

"WonkaSolver. Inform my father that I don't care about anything at the manor except for Mr. Glunka, and that I won't be speaking to anyone else unless they give me eggs to drink."

Mr. Glunka Cervantes was a nobel prize winning scientist famous for his work in the field of physics. As his name implied, he was a direct descendant of Miguel de Cervantes, the writer of Don Quixote, a scathing 17th century diatribe against the viability of wind power.

Under normal circumstances, it may have been strange to imagine a generic factory worker like Mr. Munoza and his son attending a gala with such an important person present. But Mr. Munoza had personally met the host of the party, boy detective Chillenial Lee - who, for the sake of brevity, was often called Chill Lee - when he solved a murder mystery at his generic factory.

Chill Lee in Mr. Munoza's opinion was a particularly interesting person. His parents were themselves famous detectives, and he had already made a big name for himself in the mystery-solving world by the age of nine. He did not have an official Watson, but whenever he traveled somewhere to solve a mystery, he would pick someone he found interesting at the start of his investigation and make them his temporary sidekick, which he loved doing. Mr. Munoza had filled this role for several days during the factory escapade and enjoyed it greatly, finding himself very good at saying things that were almost smart so the detective could say smarter things immediately after and seem more competent by comparison. It had been great fun.

He had remembered thinking to himself that Chill Lee would have made for a fantastic protagonist of a novel, or in lieu of a novel, some other silly thing.

Since the Bucket puzzle had involved the entire world, it seemed that Chill Lee had been unable to choose only a single Watson, so he invited many important people to his manor so that everyone could be Watson. It made enough sense. The detective had taken a liking to Mr. Munoza during their short time together, so was invited (along with a plus one) to come as well.

"Gabriel will not be speaking to anyone at the party except for Mr. Glunka unless they give him eggs to drink. Please connect me to the internet."

Mr. Munoza had tried for days to explain all this interesting exposition to his son but Gabriel would hear none of it. He was egg-deprived and frustrated and with that computer by his side there was simply nothing that could be done until they arrived.

Mr. Munoza continued to drive. Soon, hopefully, there would be love.

Love and dead deer.

W

Chillenial Lee had destroyed the detective industry. People said it about him frequently, and while standing at the entrance to his manor and greeting all the famous and important people who had accepted his invitation he thought to himself that it had to be true.

He was nine years old but he looked closer to fifteen than he did ten. He was missing both of his index fingers, which had fallen off from overuse, and his head was shaped like a tall head-shaped pinecone. As he always did, on the top of his head he had balanced a thick glass of Peachtown Peachy Peach Juice, which was his favorite drink both to consume and head-balance.

In the distance of the evening darkness, he saw two more guests, old friends of his. They had chosen to walk rather than drive, and one sat perched on the shoulder of the other, both smiling big friendly grins.

"Miss Sophia! BFG! So wonderful that you could make it. Please, come right in and have a glass of Peachtown Peachy Peach Juice. The Queen already arrived an hour ago."

The BFG smiled and tipped his hat, having no trouble fitting through the door. Chillenial Lee had a big house because he was an important person and most important people had big homes.

In the next hour, many more guests came, adding to the hundreds already in attendance.

The President of the United States entered confidently, along with his secretaries, who were very space-hating and unconfident respectively. Chill Lee did not make a big deal about it since had also been very confident, but the Vice President Nalak decided to be incredibly rude when entering with his coworkers, not responding to his greeting. President Kalan apologized on his behalf. Apparently he had been feeling very flat as of late.

He recommended that he have some Peachtown Peachy Peach Juice, which was supposedly excellent for that sort of affliction. He smiled and thanked him.

Marama Jewel and her deformed reverse-albino pet pomeranian arrived after that, both drenched in the blood of astronomers. She seemed upset. When Chill Lee asked her why, she explained that she had recently lost an important battle against her nemesis and had been going on a hunting spree to try and make up for it. He patted her on the back and insisted that she have a glass of Peachtown Peachy Peach Juice, which would doubtlessly comfort her and give her the strength needed to continue her anti-astronomy crusade. She smiled and thanked him.

Next came Ned Brillbusker and his crew, who were there for the promise of news and had traveled by Air-Zamboni. Chill Lee had his bees taken in by the bee valet, and promised that his snipers would kill any rival newscasters who attempted to sneak into the premises, and he need not worry about it. Ned didn't really seem like he had any immediate problems but Chill Lee told him to drink Peachtown Peachy Peach Juice anyway because it was delicious and that had been the established pattern anyhoo.

Ned was filming, but he had promised not to do it live. The event was going to be streamed, but on a thirty minute delay to ensure that no one tried watching it and solving it after hearing part of the answer. Although Chill Lee did not expect any of his guests to try and cheat and solve it themselves while hearing it live, he used a special force field to block all internet access in and around the manor except for the streaming cameras. Each person at the party also had three designated snipers who watched them at all times and were ready to take them out the moment they attempted to solve the puzzle.

After Ned was very rich man Manny Billsanbuxx, who made sure to mention that he was not illiterate because he wasn't, and Supreme Leader Urkel, and Max Engelmen, who owned and operated ORPHANAGES S.A., and Dr. George, who was the greatest doctor who had ever lived and who could cure any illness, and Wilma V. Pleasant, the newly elected leader of the New Royalty Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and Extremely Annoying Mice, and poultry legends Boggis and Bunce but not Bean, who had not been invited due to his strong preference for apple cider over peach juice, and finally JUROR, who was the only Golden Ticket winner who had answered Chill Lee's phone calls. Chill Lee hadn't been sure if he was coming based on the conversation they had since JUROR had only said "I am," before hanging up, but he was pleasantly surprised to see him there.

Like all great detectives Chill Lee had a special appreciation for art and had bought several of JUROR's paintings and art pieces, which were all extremely expensive. He had one hanging in his grand staircase and from the door he could hear his visitors admiring it. It was called "Here is an Unfinished Banana: Judge Cultivation", and it was an unfinished painting of a banana.

"I never thought I'd ever see a painting that would genuinely make me gasp in only six brush strokes," said one guest.

"I rather enjoy this painting, if this is what it is. It really shows a fickle and playful attitude from the artist," said another.

"What an awful painting," said the correct person, who admitted to themselves that contemporary art was probably too easy of a target for satire but decided to go ahead and do it anyway because why the heck not it was okay to be lazy sometimes.

After JUROR came many more before Dr. Glunka Cervantes, who was wearing his famous funglasses, along with a helpful pin reminding everyone that he hated space as much as everyone else did. Chill Lee paid his shades a compliment and asked if he was happy to hear about his estranged daughter having won a Golden Ticket.

"Oh," he said, frowning sadly. "Her. Yes. Definitely. I am very proud."

It was public knowledge that Tide Honey had not been in contact with either her mother or father for a long time. No one knew why.

He slumped his shoulders and trudged forward, and Chill Lee insisted that he drink some Peachtown Peachy Peach Juice in order to cope with his complete failure as a father.

The one person Chill Lee had wanted to come most, his greatest hero, had not been able to make it. That was understandable. It was a long way from the clouds.

The final two guests arrived, Mr. Munoza and his son, as well as a large rectangular machine the latter was wheeling around. He greeted them both.

"Do you having fucking eggs around here?" asked Gabriel.

"No," said Chill Lee. "But I have plenty of Peachtown Peachy Peach Juice, and it is pluzzploppingly delicious. Please have a glass."

Gabriel spit on the floor.

"Disgusting. The only thing I hate more than that stuff is gazztromples."

Gabriel stomped in, ignoring a flapperpasted Chill Lee, who couldn't believe that a guest would say something that horrible. Mr. Munoza began to apologize for his son, but Chill Lee stopped him.

"It's fine, Mr. Munoza. It isn't your fault."

"Of course it is. I'm his father. I'm trying to fix it, you know. As soon as I can find a deer for us accidentally murder with our car, I'm sure everything will improve."

"Obviously," said Chill Lee. "I hope you enjoy the evening. I'm sure it will be exciting. Still. Maybe keep a close eye on him, if possible."

"Of course," said Mr. Munoza, who joined everyone else inside the manor.

Chill Lee shook his head and smiled. He was a detective, and detectives were around horrible people all the time. It was fine to have one or a few at his party.

Besides, now that everyone had arrived, it could finally begin. The cameras were ready to roll and everyone was feeling good and peachfluzzed from all the juice.

He entered and shut the door behind him, feeling giddy. The answer was so close, and there was nobody that loved coming up with one as much as Chillenial Lee.

W

Ms. Ownreewhard was a kind woman. No one had ever told her that, but she was sure of it. Every night before she went to sleep she put on her noise-canceling headphones, stared at the mirror and took a little time, three hours or so, to remind herself why she was as great as she was.

Tonight it was easy. In one day, she had done three good deeds! She wondered if anyone had ever done as many good deeds in one day as that. No, she decided. Definitely not. She had set a record and deserved some type of award.

In the morning, she had gone out for brunch at a luxurious outdoor cafe, enjoying a breakfast of merde de béton et d'oie, when a man sitting behind her began making a ruckus. He was a street performer and a terrible one at that, clutching his throat and dancing a boorish jig with his back to the floor. Everyone around her thought it was as bad as she did or worse, many of them screaming and trying to get to him presumably so they could wipe the awful purple paint off his face.

The authorities were quick to arrive and try to take him away, but the only way to him was through her seat, and they all yelled at her to stand, trying to bring along a Stop Dancing Bed. It was clear that they were very desperate to put an end to his shameful performance.

Ms. Ownreewhard had a personal policy of taking exactly forty minutes to finish any meal she ate with no breaks, and allowing for them to pass would have required her to pause her meal twenty minutes earlier than intended, but due to the intensity of the situation she only forced them to wait ten.

A remarkable good deed, even if it had already become a redundant one. By then he had already stopped dancing himself!

Her second good deed was somehow more amazing. After leaving the cafe, Ms. Ownreeward had been crossing the street when she noticed a rather plump woman carrying a large transparent sack of chocolate candies. The bag had the words 'FOR THE CHILDREN OF DARK-PAIN-LEECHNOSE ACADEMY - MAY THESE SWEETS HELP YOU FEEL BETTER ABOUT THE BLINDNESS AND THE HORRIBLE CHRONIC DISEASES AND LEECHES IN YOUR NOSES' printed on the side.

Ms. Ownreewhard stared at the woman and her bag before she came to understand what was happening. Clearly, the woman was about to give up on a diet and stuff herself silly with treats, and she had come up with a fake sign in order to feel less embarrassed about it. She had been so hungry on the walk home she even licked off all the opacity off her own bag.

Ms. Ownreewhard decided that she couldn't let the woman ruin all of her hard work in a moment of weakness. She came up from behind her and shouted, "Look! Over there! A cure for leech noses!"

The woman turned and Ms. Ownreewhard snatched the bag out of her hands and ran away. As she theorized, all the horrible plumpness had reached the woman's brain and slowed her thinking; she had been chubbygunked enough to believe her own silly story!

When she was far enough to be sure that she wouldn't be caught, she stopped, took a look at the inside of the bag and one of the bars inside it.

'DELICIOUS WONKA TONGUESCRONGGLER! WILL SCRONGGLE YOUR TONGUE LIKE NO OTHER! NOW WITH TEN TIMES THE AMOUNT OF THEOBROMINE!"

Ms. Ownreewhard was too full to eat, and she had plenty of chocolate at home, so she decided to make her own deed better by giving away the chocolate she had fingersmithed. She didn't know who to give it to until she came by an adorable animal shelter that had many happy doggies and kitties peacefully playing together in an outdoor area, so she unwrapped as many bars as she could and tossed them over the fence. She didn't stay to watch them eat; she had never had a doggie or a kittie before, so she wasn't used to seeing that much cutieflubble at once! It would have stopped her heart!

Her third good deed was the best of all. That night, she was walking in a local park, enjoying the wonderful classical music playing from the speakers, when she came across an ugly little boy holding a bag of chocolate of his own, much larger than the one she had fingersmithed earlier. His mouth was covered with the stuff. He was very skinny so it couldn't have been his bag, and Ms. Ownreewhard was sharp enough to piece together how he had obtained it.

"You tried too, didn't you? She must have relapsed, even after I offered her so much supportive motivation… nothing to be done about it. You shouldn't feel bad if you see her strolling about with another bag tomorrow, young man. It's how they are. The plump never learn."

The boy didn't say anything back to her. He was clearly too inspired by her good deeds to speak. She got down on one knee.

"I understand, little boy. It can be hard to be around people like me. We are very inspiring. But remember. If you work hard and keep doing good deeds like me, someday you too can be inspiring and look fantastic and own a large, non-password protected computer with access to the internet."

She stood up and said goodbye, but after she turned around she heard the boy starting to cry. She went back to his side and asked him what was the matter.

He told her that it wouldn't be fair to tell her, on account of how inspiring and nice of a person she was.

"Nonsense," she said. "Go right ahead."

The boy wiped his tears away and explained his life story. His father had been gobbled up by the plump when he was a baby, and his mother had died from the Dreaded Shrinks, and his aunt had been killed by a mysterious carpet snake, and his uncle had murdered with a leg of lamb, so he had no one else to turn to. He also had incurable brain chickens and Back-to-Front-to-Back Dyslexia.

"And I knew," said the boy, "Like I always do, that my life will never ever get any better. But when I saw how inspiring you were, I briefly let myself imagine that you might become my new guardian and take care of me and also teach me how to do so many incredible good deeds, but I remembered that I was being silly. No one like you would ever want anything to do with someone like me."

Ms. Ownreewhard was almost brought to tears, and she ushered the boy home with her, promising that she would adopt him and give him everything he could ever want.

She was lying. It was for the best. If she was honest and told him that she was going to send to an orphanage the next morning, he might have tried to run away.

As soon as they got to her house, she locked him in a closet. It might have seemed like she was doing something evil, but if he had gotten a chance to see her possessions he would have quickly become accustomed to a lifestyle he could never have. The closet was the safest place for him, no matter how much he tried to scream otherwise.

Satisfied with herself, she turned away from the mirror and went to sleep, forgetting to take her headphones off.

W

The largest room of Chillenial Lee's manor was shaped like a great big circle, with a spot in the middle where the floor was raised up like a small round stage.

On this little stage had been placed a desk and a computer. Chill Lee stood in front of the desk, staring out at the audience, all of his guests having been ushered into the room for the answer. No one was talking anymore. They were all ready for it.

"Well," said Chill Lee. No one is talking anymore, so I guess you're all ready for it."

The continued silence spoke for itself. They all had very high expectations.

"You know," said Chill Lee. "Your silence reminds me of a completely tangential, unintelligible dream sequence I once had-"

Everyone booed. Chili put his hands up and smiled.

"Okay, okay. You got me. Let's get on with it."

He pointed with his stump finger to the first person he saw in the crowd. It was Mr. Munoza.

"Tell me! If you were looking down at a giant swarm of zingerflies, and wanted to pick out a handful of only the best ones, how would you do it?"

"A net?" Mr. Munoza answered.

"Exactly! You would use the net. There is no greater place for gathering whatever it is a person might need and having very reasonable conversations. But there is still a big problem. How can one figure out which of the zingerflies are best?"

"A search?"

"Yes," Chill Lee shouted. "Excellent, Mr. Munoza! A search. And when we look at the colored wings of the zingerflies, flapping about as zingerfly wings do, we come to understand-"

"This analogy is boring," said Gabriel. "Hurry up and finish so we can go home, you fucking gunktwit."

Chill Lee frowned, but after giving the crowd a once over he saw that the rude teen probably had a point.

He sighed and signaled for the men waiting above the ceiling to axe the zingerfly release. It would have helped the metaphor, but fine. Nobody appreciated fun anymore.

"Fine then. Simpler question: what do all the winners have in common?"

"They all have Golden Tickets," said Mr. Munoza.

"And?" asked Chill Lee.

"They all have eyeballs," said Mr. Munoza

Chill Lee frowned.

"Does anyone else have any better guesses?" he asked.

"They all should connect me to the internet."

"They are all less confident than me."

"They are all children that I don't want to turn into mice and then put inside a blender."

"They."

"They all love a certain thing more than anyone else in the entire world," said the correct person. "When the puzzle asks for someone to 'INPUT WHAT I LIKE BEST INTO ME', it is asking what the person individually likes best: what they literally appreciate more than everyone else does. JUROR loves nothing, Mahuika loves vaping, Tide loves the ocean, Lim loves Chopin even though he's unable to admit it to himself, and Keerthi loves herself. The puzzle uses both some secret global panopticon and an advanced form of Wonka technology mentioned by Mike Teavee in his online memoirs that allows someone to physically reach into their computer and literally insert their answer into the bucket, the technology only activating when the right answer makes contact with the screen."

"Well," said Chill Lee, who snapped his fingers right before three muffled shots fired into the crowd. "I guess nobody here got it. But have no fear! I will reveal all, the clever protagonist that I clearly am. You see, all the five winners so far, they all love a certain thing more than anyone else in the entire world!"

"Wow," said everyone, who were all extremely impressed.

W

Chili had been staring at the bucket for three hours.

It had been a long hard night. Breaking the lock to the closet had not been difficult, and neither had operating the computer on Ms. Ownreewhard's desk once he found the manual (not counting a slight confusion while trying to locate a 'computer mouse'). But the puzzle itself was not so easily conquered.

He had tried everything. He watched the interviews, he read discussions people had online about it, he searched and searched. He tried not to let the insanity of the technology he had found confuse or dazzle him. He could spend time marveling at it once he had won.

His hands shook as he typed and typed answer after answer. His stomach hurt and not in the usual way. It was full. Between the dozens of bars he took from the kid and the hundreds more he found in the cabinets of the woman's home, he had consumed more chocolate and sugar than he ever had in his life in the span of twelve hours.

His body had never done it before but it wanted him to stop. He refused. No pain was enough to make him stop eating chocolate. He could have been on fire and he wouldn't have stopped.

His stomach would simply have to deal with it.

He was almost out of time. The stream was happening live, as he was thinking about it. He was out of options. He only had three theories left on his list, ones he had found online, in strange ugly places with strange ugly people, and he went through them and decided what to try in the few minutes that remained.

1. Find a snozzcumber, chop it up into pieces, mix it with Royal Jelly and one large tin of brown paint and drink it up. In the answer section, type up what you think it tasted like.

2. Buy a microphone. Don't plug it into the computer, and don't even unwrap it. Instead, go out and use it to accidentally murder some deer with your son.

3. Type up what you love most, better than anyone else.

Chili knew which one was most plausible, but he didn't have any snozzcumbers on him, so he went with number three.

He tried thinking of what he liked more than anyone else. Did he like anything more than anything else? Was there anything that he wanted or needed more than anyone else on the entire world?

There were so many people out there. What were the chances that he liked even one thing more than all of them?

He typed up 'WINNING'. Nothing happened.

He typed up 'WATCHING THEM LOSE AND SUFFER'. Nothing happened.

He typed up 'HATING EVERYONE'. Nothing happened.

He grumbled and bit his lip. He had the idea for one other answer but he hated it. There was one last thing that he might have wanted more than anyone.

It had been when he was looking at Keerthi when she won that he realized what it was. It was something he guessed he had wanted for a long time, deep down. He hated that he wanted it as badly as he did but he did. He wanted it. It hurt so bad to admit it because he hadn't had it and he probably wouldn't ever get it but he really really did. He wanted it and felt empty without it and hated everyone who got it and wouldn't have minded if they all died for getting it and not sharing any.

He took a sad breath, typed it up, and hit enter.

Nothing happened.

Chili realized that he was crying. He wiped his tears away and stuffed a chocolate bar into his mouth. And one more. And one more. And one more. And one more...

W

Chill Lee had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.

"When the puzzle asks for someone to 'INPUT WHAT I LIKE BEST INTO ME', it is asking what the person individually likes best: what they literally appreciate more than everyone else does."

"But it uses the word I and then the word me in the same sentence," said Boggis. "That doesn't make any sense if the 'I' is supposed to be the puzzle-solver and the 'me' is supposed to be Bucket himself representing the bucket."

"Wonka is using the unroyale I," Chill Lee explained.

"Huh," said Wilma V. Pleasant.

"JUROR loves nothing more than anyone else in the world, you see. That is why he was the first to solve the puzzle. As soon as he tried to solve it, nothing was already in the bucket! As for Mahuika, her vape smoke must have been floating around her computer screen when she opened the page, so it floated into the bucket instantly. Not complex at all!"

"But the ocean is extremely big," said Bunce. "How could Tide Honey fit all that inside the screen?"

"Good question," said Chill Lee. "She didn't. Her pet crab and best friend Jeremy must have stuck his claw inside the screen himself. Since she loves the ocean more than anyone else, she also must love everything inside of it more than anyone else!"

"Crabs in a bucket," muttered Miss Sophia, who didn't really get the logic behind that but okay whatever sure.

"And Lim?" asked Ned.

"Lim is a baby, and is not emotionally mature enough to admit that he has awful taste and loves the work of Chopin. He probably asked his mother to stop playing it while subconsciously knowing that it would only make her play it more, so when she tapped the screen with the sound waves traveling through her body, they entered the bucket and interpreted his influence as enough for him to be the puzzle solver."

"Uh," said Dr. Cervantes. "I guess that might make-"

"And yes, yes. You are right. How can Keerthi love herself more than anyone on the planet? If that could be an answer, wouldn't any narcissistic person have been able to solve it as well simply by entering the screen themselves? Of course not! A narcissist is someone who loves a false image of themselves, not themselves as they actually are. Only a child raised in a loving home can love themselves the most while also having a perfect understanding of who they really are!"

"But-"

"You are right, Malama," said Chill Lee. "We have been using 'love' and 'like' interchangeably, even though they are very different. Obviously Keerthi's mother and father love her more than anyone... but she likes herself more than anyone, since she has good parents! And that was the word used in the puzzle. So she put her finger on her screen or tablet and solved it on accident when it fell in the bucket!"

"I."

Chill Lee raised his arm high into the air.

"No need to confirm my findings, JUROR! I already know that I'm right! And I, Boy Detective Chillenial Lee, love one thing more than anyone else: finding the right answer! And here I have written a note with all I have said and wrapped it up into a ring on my right finger-stump. I will now put in inside the bucket and become the sixth Golden Ticket winner. This is my moment! This is my time! No matter what anyone says, this is my Chill Lee and the Chocolate Factory: Fudge Revelation!"

Chill Lee winded his arm back and sent it flying towards the screen. His finger glided through the air, watched by every available pair of eyes in the room.

It ploinked against the screen. Nothing happened.

"Oh," he said.

"You were right about that one part with the screen," said JUROR. "If it makes you feel any better."

"No, look," said the BFG, who knew how to read. "It says that he won! But it also spelt his name wrong."

"Yes, we can all see that," said Manny Billsanbux.

Chill Lee looked closely at the screen and frowned. He wasn't feeling like much of a protagonist anymore.

W

There was brown vomit everywhere. It was on Ms. Ownreewhard's carpets, and on her floors, and on her many framed paintings of all the good deeds she had done.

Most importantly it was on the computer screen, which it had gone inside. The bucket was now filled with chocolately vomit. Chili stared at it, not knowing what to do. He had severely misunderstood how computers worked.

Little fireworks began firing on the top half of the screen. They formed words.

'CONGRATULATIONS! YOU WIN :D! YOU DID A VERY GOOD JOB OF SOLVING THE PUZZLE! I OWN A CHOCOLATE FACTORY SO OF COURSE WHAT I LIKE BEST IS CHOCOLATE! AND ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS PUT IT INSIDE THE BUCKET! YOU ARE VERY GOOD AT RIDDLES! REACH IN AND TAKE IT!'

An arrow pointed inside the bucket. Chili followed it, reached inside, then pulled out the sixth Golden Ticket.

He wiped the vomit off of it and began to read. There was the long formal congratulatory message that Ned had read on television the day JUROR had won, but beneath it there were also more instructions on what he was to do next.

'SERIOUSLY GOOD JOB I MEAN IT ;D! THAT WAS A HARD RIDDLE! YOU ARE INVITED TO MY FACTORY THE DAY AFTER THE LAST PERSON WINS THE CONTEST! YOU CAN TAKE TWO ADULTS OR GUARDIANS WITH YOU! WE WILL HAVE A TON OF FUN TOGETHER XD!'

Chili read it twice over before putting it in his pocket and leaving Ms. Ownreewhard's house.

He felt weird. Part of it was the sugar, he thought. Part of it he didn't know. He was happy but everything also seemed completely pointless. The air was cold and somehow he was already hungry again. It felt like walking in a dream.

He made it home after four long hours. The sun was beginning to rise and Grandpa Groinfogger had died in his sleep.

He was still warm. Chili gave him a hug and draped the blanket over his head and stayed perfectly still until he heard the Air-Zamboni land. He said bye and walked outside without spitting on his face or pushing him off the bed like he had always planned out in his head.

Ned was there.

Chili didn't smile and he didn't cry as Ned approached. He didn't feel like doing either.

News was reported.

End of Bar I.