It was usually quiet and peaceful in the countryside. Well, before Nathaniel Rodgers moved in. He was a boy from the city. The extroverted, center of attention, life of the party type who just couldn't keep it in his pants. For having only been there about three weeks, he'd already gained top popularity. His persuasion and suave charisma had allowed him to convince one of the richest girls to throw an epic party. Complete with drugs, alcohol, sex, and pool party fun.

However, Nate had, perhaps, drunk one too many cherry vodkas.

"DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" - The crowd of equally drunk teenagers chanted as he revved the engine of his uncle's beloved cherry red Ford Mustang. He screamed out the window, throwing his hand up to the night sky and spilled his drink over the side.

The car revved again, this time jolting forward. The crowd screamed.

In Nate's drunk mind, he could think of only one thing. How right this felt. How absolutely deserving his uncle was to lose his most prized possession. It felt like a fair trade for ruining his life.

Nate jolted the car forward again, teasing the anticipating crowd. Finally, the hind tires kicked up mud and sprayed the drunk teens. Their cheers only paused for a moment, until they saw Nate leaped from the car door. Under the light of the full moon, they watched in drunk silence as the car gargled its final goodbye, sinking to the bottom of the lake.

The crowd erupted into pure hysteria at the morbid crime their new king had just executed. He got to his feet, brushed off the dirt from his vodka stained clothes, and watched just in time to see the tail lights disappear into the water.

Suddenly, he was laughing too. A rush of adrenaline took him away. He spun around, double fist pumped the air, and let out a wild scream. The crowd followed suit.

Just in time for the sounds of blaring sirens to blend in with their cries. Suddenly, the crowd went dead.

"SCATTER!"

The teens disbursed and ran for their cars. Some were far too drunk and just collapsed on the ground, others did their best but ultimately couldn't tell right from left or up from down.

A few of them were high off their cracker and formulating a strategy to fight off the ‘Invaders’. Unfortunately, despite their brave efforts, it was their inability to divide reality from high fiction that made them the easiest to catch.

Nate stood perfectly still. In his drunk state he wanted, no, he craved for his uncle to endure the embarrassment of picking up his nephew from the police station. He couldn't wait to see the look on that man's face when he discovered the fate of his beloved Mustang. In fact, Nate wanted it so badly that he walked through the mob of drunk teens and literally every cop, the four of them, and approached the first one he saw. A very large, clearly athletic, man of mixed race - very likely Asian and Caucasian - and held his wrists out.

"I sank a Ford Mustang." He said.