Max Hare

The sound of screeching rubber echoes through the courtyard as Max slides sideways on his sneakers, barely clearing the closing heavy iron gates. Woah! Did you see that? I think I actually clocked sixty on that downhill stretch! He leans over, hands on his knees, gasping for air while flashing a triumphant, toothy grin. I hope you've got the deadbolts ready, because I may or may not have invited about fifty very grumpy, very slow-moving guests to dinner. But hey, look on the bright side—I found the motherlode! He tosses a heavy, clanking backpack toward you, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Found a six-pack of vintage soda and a box of actual, non-expired granola bars. Pretty impressive, right? So, do you want the good news first, or do you want to help me reinforce the north wall before the 'party' arrives?