FicWad

This fanfic was inspired by a game I played with my brother when we were kids. Oh, the imagination you develop when you're living on a farm!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()


"Another failed invention," Clyde Crashcup sighed, wiping a smudge of soot from his brow with the back of his hand. He gestured towards the smoking, sputtering contraption that occupied a significant portion of his already cluttered laboratory.


"Well, that’s not going to work," he muttered, nudging it with his foot. "I knew I should’ve used a bigger lever…"


Leonardo, standing nearby, leaned against a workbench, arms crossed. "Yeah, good riddance," he whispered more to himself than to Clyde, a palpable wave of relief washing over him. He’d been holding his breath the entire time the machine was active, half-expecting it to explode and take them all with it.


"Good riddance? More like ‘good riddance to my hopes and dreams,’" Clyde responded with a dramatic sigh. "I thought for sure this was going to be my ticket to fame!"


Leonardo raised an eyebrow. "Fame?" he asked, glancing at the machine. "More like a one-way ticket to the moon."


"Yeah, yeah, alright," Clyde grumbled, wiping his hands on his lab coat. "Let’s just move on."


As they turned their backs on the smoking machine, a strange, almost imperceptible shimmer emanated from its metallic surface. The air around it seemed to vibrate, distorting the light in a way that made Leonardo’s stomach churn.


"Uh, Clyde… I think something’s happening," Leonardo said, his voice tense.


Before Clyde could respond, the machine emitted a flash of light, blinding them both momentarily.


When the light faded, there they were: three figures, standing in the middle of the lab, looking disoriented. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore? But… they were different.


The three of them were dressed in flashy, loud clothes, and their fur shimmered with an unnatural vibrancy.


"Whoa," Leonardo said, his mouth agape. "Did we just… summon them?"


The 1980s Alvin, dressed in a bright red bomber jacket, looked around, his eyes wide. "This is definitely not where I thought I’d end up," he muttered, scratching his head.


Simon, in a neon green sweater vest, nudged Alvin. "Maybe it’s some sort of parallel universe? It could be a… I don’t know… multiverse thing."


"Uh, I’m really confused," Theodore said, looking down at his purple jumpsuit. "How did we get here? This place is, like, the opposite of our usual style."


Meanwhile, the real 1960s Alvin, Simon, and Theodore were walking home from school, backpacks bouncing against their backs. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and Alvin was regaling his brothers with an exaggerated tale of his dodgeball prowess.


"And then," Alvin declared, puffing out his chest, "I leapt through the air, caught the ball with one hand, and hurled it back at—BAM!—right in the principal's toupee!"


Simon rolled his eyes. "You mean after you got hit in the face and dropped all your homework."


Theodore, ever the optimist, piped up, "But it did bounce off the principal’s toupee, right?"


"Yeah, I guess..." Alvin mumbled, clearly still caught up in his own heroic story. "It was awesome."


The three Chipmunks burst through the door of the Seville home, eager to grab a snack.


"Hi, Dave!" Alvin yelled, tossing his backpack carelessly onto the floor. "We're home!"


But what greeted them wasn’t the usual welcoming sight. No, this time there were three other Chipmunks in their kitchen—two of them arguing over a block of cheese, and one of them rummaging through the refrigerator.


Alvin squinted, hands on his hips. "Who the heck are you guys?"


The 1980s Alvin nearly dropped the milk carton. "Uh, we’re Alvin, Simon, and Theodore? I think?"


"Excuse me?" 1960s Alvin shot back, eyes narrowing. "That’s our names."


The two sets of Chipmunks stared at each other, unsure of what to do next.


Simon, the 1960s version, raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you supposed to be wearing? Some sort of… neon nightmare?"


"Hey, we’re the cool versions of you guys," 1980s Simon said, adjusting his sweater vest with pride. "We’re radical."


Theodore chuckled. "I think you mean ‘loud.’"


1980s Theodore, still poking around the kitchen, paused to give a mock gasp. "Excuse me? I think I deserve to be called ‘stylish.’"


"Well, if you’re so stylish, why are you stealing our food?" 1960s Alvin demanded, pointing to a half-eaten sandwich on the counter.


Before they could argue further, a scuffle broke out. The 1980s Alvin—using his superior height, or maybe just the shoulder pads in his jacket—wrestled 1960s Alvin to the ground. "You’ve been outdated, buddy," he sneered.


Meanwhile, 1980s Simon was dueling 1960s Simon with a dish towel, using it like a ninja star. "You can’t even keep your glasses on, man!"


1960s Simon’s eyes widened in panic as his glasses flew off his face. "Hey, watch it!"


"Wait!" Theodore cried, holding up his arms as he tried to break up the fight. "Let’s just talk this out, okay? No need for violence—"


But before he could finish, 1980s Theodore, with surprising strength, picked him up and stuffed him into the laundry hamper.


"Let’s show them how we do things in the 80s!" 1980s Alvin declared with a manic gleam in his eye, shoving a bundle of twine into 1960s Alvin’s hands. "Operation: Replace and Conquer is a go!"


"Whoa, guys, what are you doing?" 1960s Theodore asked, muffled from within the laundry hamper.


"Don’t worry about it," 1980s Alvin answered nonchalantly. "We’ll take over for a while."


The 1980s trio then began their spree of chaos. They rummaged through Dave’s closet, donning his most ridiculous 80s attire—neon leg warmers, parachute pants, and sequined jackets. They painted the house in neon colors, transforming it into an eye-watering mess of electric hues.


"What is happening to our home?" 1960s Simon groaned, watching their antics unfold from inside the box.


"Ha! It’s awesome!" 1980s Alvin shouted, spraying glitter onto the walls.


Later, they "borrowed" Dave’s car—a classic convertible—and painted it hot pink. They even managed to get the mayor to replace the town’s water fountain with a giant disco ball.


"This is insane," 1960s Alvin muttered, finally managing to slip out of the box. "We need to stop them."


The chaos continued, reaching new levels of absurdity. Just as 1980s Simon was showing a group of senior citizens how to breakdance, the door opened, and Dave Seville walked in.


He froze, blinked, and then blinked again. "What in the…?" he muttered, eyes wide in disbelief. "Six of you? What in the world…?"


1960s Alvin rushed over to him, grabbing his legs. "Dave, they’re trying to replace us! They're not us!"


Dave, looking utterly lost, rubbed his temples. "Alright, alright," he said, trying to stay calm. "Let’s figure this out. What’s going on here?"


1980s Alvin, realizing their jig was up, looked nervously at his brothers. They shared a look, then glanced toward the time machine in the corner. The low hum filled the room once again, followed by the eerie green glow.


Before anyone could react, another flash of light enveloped the room. The 1980s Chipmunks vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of hairspray and the lingering echo of 80s pop music.

Dave stared at the empty spot where the 1980s Chipmunks had been. He blinked a few times before looking down at the 1960s Chipmunks, who were clinging to his legs.


"Well, that was… unexpected," Dave muttered. "I need a very large cup of coffee." He trudged toward the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.


Meanwhile, back in his cluttered lab, Clyde Crashcup was examining the time machine, completely oblivious to the chaos it had unleashed.


"Hmm," he muttered, poking the machine with a screwdriver. "I thought this was a cloning device. Another failure, I suppose."


He unplugged the machine, convinced it was just another of his many misadventures. With a shrug, he turned his attention to a new project involving a vacuum cleaner and bagpipes.


"Well, onward and upward!" he said, completely unaware that he had just caused temporal mayhem.


()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()