Thunderbolt Network present’s “Crayonoids” | The Prismatic Protocol: A Pencil Meadow Origin Story

 

The Prismatic Protocol: A Pencil Meadow Origin Story

Published by Flyah Entertainment

Page 1: The Rhythms of Pencil Meadow

Pencil Meadow was a city built on color. Not just brightly painted houses, but a deep, vibrating spectrum of life. The air smelled like freshly sharpened crayons and lemonade. And nowhere was this vibrancy more focused than in the life of three third-graders: Channing, Allison, and Jett.

In the back room of the Dragon’s Den Dojo, Channing, a pale-haired boy whose gi was always perfectly pressed, moved with the precision of a wind-up toy. He wasn't just practicing a kata; he was studying leverage. Every block and strike was about maximizing kinetic efficiency, a subject he called "Martial Physics." Channing loved the hard science behind soft movements. "Perfect center of gravity," he’d whisper to himself, landing a perfect, unmoving horse stance.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away at the city park track, Allison, fast as a flash of cobalt blue, flew around the curve. She wasn’t just running; she was tracking her stride length and oxygen consumption. Allison was Pencil Meadow Elementary’s star athlete, but her true obsession was biomechanics. She wore a wristband sensor that tracked her heart rate, speed, and muscle output. "If I decrease my air resistance by 2%," she calculated mid-lap, "I shave 0.05 seconds. It’s science, not luck."

Page 2: The Lab and the Shared Obsession

Jett was tucked away in his garage, which he had converted into a bustling, if slightly chaotic, home lab. Surrounded by circuits, beakers, and humming magnets, Jett was the brains of the trio, a tiny, scientific whirlwind. His current project: analyzing the molecular structure of their favorite after-school snack, the Colorful Jello Cubes.

“A perfect balance of sucrose and gelatin, yet it delivers a burst of primary color energy when ingested,” Jett muttered, scribbling complex equations on a whiteboard. “Hypothesis: these cubes are the key to Pencil Meadow’s ambient color saturation.”

The three kids didn't just share a grade level; they shared a secret, intense fascination with the physics of everything. They met at the corner store every afternoon, grabbing their mandatory Colorful Jello Cubes—the orange ones for Allison's speed, the purple for Jett's focus, and the fiery red for Channing’s strength.

“Jett, did you calculate the optimal angle for a spin kick using a variable pivot point yet?” Channing asked, chewing a red cube with fierce concentration.

“Still running the simulation,” Jett replied, swallowing a purple cube. “But Allison, your vertical leap is 1.5 standard deviations above the mean for a child your height. The data is beautiful.”

Allison grinned, flexing. “That’s sports science, baby. Everything is better with data.”

Page 3: Monochrome’s Arrival

The harmony of Pencil Meadow shattered on a Tuesday afternoon. The sky, which was normally a cheerful, bright cerulean, felt heavy. A wave of oppressive gray seemed to settle over the hills like old dishwater.

It began at the Grand Central Mural, a masterpiece painted by the founding mayor.

Monochrome, a woman whose skin was the pale white of untouched paper and whose robes were pure, suffocating black, floated above the mural. Her presence was a sucking vacuum of creativity. She was the witch who hated color, hated fun, and especially hated the joyful chaos of third-grade energy.

“Pencil Meadow,” her voice hissed, thin and brittle like dried ink, “you have lived in a disgusting, vibrant lie long enough. I shall reclaim your wasted color!”

With a wave of her skeletal hand, a swirling vortex of gray energy erupted.

Page 4: The Colorless Attack

From the swirling vortex stepped the Colorless: tall, shadowy figures made of solidified regret and dullness. They were completely devoid of color, like newspaper print bleached by rain. Their only mission was to drain the city’s light and joy.

The first thing they attacked was the Grand Central Mural. As a Colorless figure touched the canvas, the vibrant yellows, reds, and blues were sucked away, leaving behind a dead, sterile slate of charcoal and ash. Panic erupted in the streets.

The three kids watched from a news screen in Jett’s garage.

“Jett, what is that?” Allison asked, her usual athlete confidence replaced by shock.

Jett frantically pulled up spectrometer readings. “It’s an unnatural light frequency drain! Look at the visible spectrum—it’s compressing all wavelengths into the 500-600 nanometer range, essentially nullifying the saturation index! This is… organized entropy!”

Channing, however, focused on the Colorless's movements. "They have no form. No stance. No discipline. They are physically weak, but they move with an unnatural, draining momentum. We can’t fight them with regular punches."

Page 5: Seeking the Unconventional Expert

The city was slowly turning into a black-and-white movie. The fire hydrants were now matte gray. The school buses were slate. People walked around in hushed, confused silence.

The trio knew the police couldn't help. They needed someone who understood color and creativity on a fundamental level. There was only one person: Mr. Artisan.

Mr. Arthur “Artisan” Penfield was the K-5 art teacher. He was famous for wearing a different neon-colored bowtie every day and having paint-splattered hands that always smelled faintly of turpentine and imagination. While everyone else wore muted colors in response to the gray wave, Mr. Artisan was still rocking a shocking lime green sweater.

They found him in the empty art room, calmly sketching a massive, six-foot canvas with only a single, ordinary graphite pencil.

“Mr. Artisan, sir!” Allison burst in. “The Colorless are draining the city’s light!”

“We’ve calculated the saturation collapse,” Jett added, holding up his data tablet. “The monochromatic conversion rate is accelerating exponentially!”

Page 6: Artisan’s Revelation

Mr. Artisan didn't look up from his drawing, which was turning into a breathtakingly realistic black-and-white rendering of a sunflower.

“Yes, I know, children,” he said, his voice quiet, yet calm. “Monochrome has always hated the messiness of creation. She believes order is purity. But true power comes from the splash.” He finally looked up, his eyes twinkling under his bright green bowtie. “You came to the right place. You understand the physics of force, the biomechanics of movement, and the logic of matter. But you need to understand the magic of color.”

He walked over to a locked glass cabinet, pulling out a hidden, brass key shaped like a paintbrush. Inside were not clay pots or glitter glue, but three worn leather sketch pads and a set of twelve pencils that pulsed with an internal, vibrant light.

“These are the Prismatic Pencils,” he whispered, his voice resonating with ancient knowledge. “They don’t just draw; they manifest. They turn thought into tangible, colored energy. And the Colorless? They are simply voids. Voids hate color, form, and imagination.”

Page 7: The Prismatic Pencils

Artisan distributed the tools. The moment Channing touched his sketch pad, it felt like an extension of his own arm. Allison's felt light and kinetic. Jett’s felt perfectly balanced and responsive.

“These pencils respond to your core strengths,” Artisan explained. “Channing, you must draw with the perfect form and stance of your martial arts. Allison, your stroke must be the fastest, most powerful velocity you can muster. Jett, your lines must be drawn with precision and logical intent.”

He handed Channing the Crimson Pencil, Allison the Emerald Pencil, and Jett the Cobalt Pencil.

“The first lesson: a sketch is a blueprint. Color is the power source. The Colorless are terrified of both.”

The kids exchanged a look. Science, sports, and martial arts were about to collide with magic. This was the ultimate applied physics problem.

Page 8: Training in the Gray

Their training ground was the now-monochrome school gymnasium. It was silent and oppressive, but the kids were buzzing with nervous energy.

Channing, Crimson Pencil in hand, closed his eyes, adopting a Crane Stance. “If a perfect block requires force applied at a 90-degree angle to the opponent’s momentum… then the drawing must follow that force.” He opened his eyes and, with a powerful, rigid stroke, drew a perfect, sharp crimson spear on the pad.

“Now, launch it,” Artisan instructed.

Channing shouted a martial arts Kiai and thrust the pad forward. The drawn spear peeled off the paper, hardening into a shimmering, three-dimensional crimson spear of light that zipped across the gym, embedding itself harmlessly in the wall.

“Woah,” Channing breathed.

Page 9: Kinetic Artistry

Allison took her turn. She didn't draw with precision; she drew with speed. She ran a few steps, accelerating her heart rate, and then, in one blurring, athletic motion, slashed a looping, aerodynamic Emerald green ribbon across her page.

“The fastest way to transfer energy is through a parabolic arc!” she yelled, throwing the pad down slightly as if performing a slam dunk.

The ribbon detached instantly, moving faster than the eye could track. It curved around the gym perimeter before impacting the spear Channing had drawn, exploding in a burst of green light.

“Kinetic art!” Allison pumped her fist.

Jett was next. He ignored speed and form. He used a ruler and a compass he’d quickly sketched to draw a perfectly engineered, hexagonal shield using the Cobalt Pencil. He even added vector lines and labels before finishing the outline.

“A perfect six-sided defensive matrix provides optimal force distribution against an unknown variable impact,” Jett explained, pushing the pad forward with quiet focus.

The Cobalt Shield manifested, hovering perfectly in the air, humming with quiet, calculating power.

Page 10: The First Encounter

The emergency alert system crackled over the PA: a new squad of Colorless was attacking the school playground, turning the bright plastic slides and swings into dull, heavy metal.

“Time to apply the theory,” Artisan said, his lime green sweater practically glowing in the gray light.

They rushed outside. Four Colorless figures were slowly advancing on the sandbox, draining the colors from children’s toys. They moved slowly, deliberately, their shadows stretching unnaturally long.

“Jett, targeting solution!” Channing commanded, adopting a defensive posture.

“Their core saturation is weakest when attempting a full-drain lock,” Jett muttered, observing the targets. “The third one on the left. Angle 45-degrees from our current position.”

Allison was already moving. She sprinted toward the perimeter, drawing a massive, Emerald green Velocity Net with three quick, fast strokes. She flung the net, snagging the third Colorless.

Page 11: Application of Force

The Colorless figure struggled against the green energy net, his shadowy form flickering. The others turned toward Allison, raising their draining hands.

“Channing, NOW!” Jett shouted.

Channing was ready. He focused all his body’s energy into his arm, using the perfect leverage of a Shuto Uke (knife-hand block) to strike the pad. He drew a Crimson Crushing Fist, perfectly centered on the captured Colorless figure.

“HAAAA!”

The crimson fist launched, hitting the captured figure with the force of a battering ram. The color-deprived form exploded instantly into a shower of harmless, inert gray dust, which settled quickly.

The remaining three Colorless were momentarily confused by the burst of color. Their lack of discipline was their weakness.

Page 12: Precision and Counter-Attack

One of the remaining Colorless lunged at Channing.

“Wait, Channing, hold position!” Jett yelled. He was already drawing a small, bright Cobalt Caltrop—a perfectly geometrical spike. “Impact velocity vector requires a ground strike 10 centimeters ahead of its leading foot!”

Jett launched the caltrop. It landed exactly where the Colorless’s foot was about to touch down. When the shadow-figure stepped on the perfectly rigid spike, the disruption in its footing caused its form to ripple and destabilize.

Allison, seeing the opening, executed a perfect standing long jump, clearing the remaining two Colorless figures and drawing two Emerald Flash Bombs as she flew.

Boom! The flash of color was too much. The last two Colorless shrieked—a sound like static on a radio—and dissipated into dust.

The playground color immediately snapped back, slides turning bright red, swings turning sunny yellow.

Page 13: Monochrome’s Final Gambit

Their small victory was short-lived. A massive, echoing voice boomed across Pencil Meadow.

“Insolent, colorful children! Your parlor tricks mean nothing against true emptiness!”

Monochrome appeared high above the City Hall, where the massive clock tower was now entirely gray. She was channeling all her power, surrounding the tower with a vortex of pure, light-sucking gray. This was the target: City Hall, the symbol of Pencil Meadow’s democracy and creativity.

“She’s overloading the central hub! If the clock tower goes, the gray will be permanent!” Jett panicked, his voice high-pitched.

Artisan appeared beside them, looking grim. “You must combine your strengths. A single color isn’t enough. You need the Prismatic Triple Threat.”

Page 14: The Prismatic Triple Threat

The three third-graders stood at the base of the tower. They had one shot.

“Jett, where do we strike? We need to hit her core, not just the swirling dust!” Channing demanded.

Jett used his Cobalt Pencil to quickly sketch a diagram of the tower, calculating the point where the gray vortex was weakest—a tiny, fluctuating point of pure entropy near Monochrome’s staff. “The weak point is 30 degrees elevation, 2.5 seconds after the vortex completes its fourth rotation! It requires a focused projectile no wider than 5 centimeters!”

Allison took a deep, athletic breath. “I’ll launch the energy. We need maximum power, Channing. I’ll give you the speed.” She drew a massive, sweeping Emerald Turbo-Booster on her pad, ready to act as a launch ramp.

Channing, calm and focused, adopted the most stable, rooted stance he knew, the Iron Mountain Stance. He took his Crimson Pencil and began to draw the perfect projectile: a single, thin, powerful Crimson Needle, ensuring the line was straight, the tip was perfect, and the form was flawless.

Page 15: Victory and The Glow

“GO!” Jett screamed.

Allison slammed her pad onto the ground, launching the Emerald Turbo-Booster. The green energy rocketed up the tower toward the weak spot.

Channing focused his intent, channeling all his martial discipline. He punched the Crimson Needle off the page and onto the booster.

The needle was accelerated by the Emerald energy, guided perfectly by Jett’s calculation, and slammed into the tiny weak point just as the vortex completed its fourth rotation.

KRAKOOM! A massive, colorful explosion erupted. Monochrome shrieked, a high-pitched wail of defeat, and was enveloped by the blast, vanishing in a shower of thick, inert gray dust.

The clock tower instantly snapped back to its original golden-and-teal color. The city cheered.

Later, the kids sat on the newly colorful park bench, exhausted but victorious. Mr. Artisan approached, smiling, his lime green sweater blindingly bright.

“Well done, my young Prismatic Heroes. The city is safe. For now.”

He tossed them a bag of their favorite reward: a mix of colorful Jello Cubes. They popped the sticky, sweet cubes into their mouths, laughing with the pure, unadulterated joy of third-grade heroes who had just saved the world.

As they celebrated, Jett’s discarded data tablet, which lay forgotten on the ground, began to quietly hum. A single speck of Monochrome’s inert gray dust had fallen onto the Cobalt Pencil drawing of the hexagonal shield they had used earlier. The dust fused with the drawn lines, and the gray shield drawing began to pulse, not with life, but with a cold, metallic, organized light. Jett’s notes next to it blurred, rearranging themselves into a new equation: Monomolecular Density + 2X Prismatic Energy Absorption.

The threat wasn't banished. It was calculating.

TO BE CONTINUED...