A black sports car steadily drives down a highway towards a shipping dock somewhere on the coast of Morocco. Inside, five fruits are silent, quietly going over the plan in each of their minds. In the passenger seat is a reddening aged triangle apple named Johannesburg. His hands are stiff, the sign of an experienced carpenter, and his eyes are tired, the sign of “I hope this works,” says the driver, a fresh pear. “It’s our last chance to save grandma.” Johannesburg, who had his attention fixed on the twinkling moonlight, sniffs and rubs his nose. “Trust in the plan, Pear.” “What if the ship is empty and we risk our lives for nothing?” exclaims Pear. A voice from the back seat speaks up. “ I trust my source like I trust my own mother.” “No one doubts you, Grape,” says Johannesburg. “Pear is nervous—that’s all.” It was six months ago when Johannesburg received a call from Japan. It was Pear, his brother-in-law, informing him that their grandmother, a sweet and kind raisin, had contracted an unknown virus. The aged apple tried not to panic, but became haunted by the news. A few weeks later, his worst nightmare came true. Their dear raisin grandmother had been diagnosed with the corona virus and had been reacting severely to it. It was from then on that Johannesburg started experiencing sleep difficulties: waking up screaming, tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep. He also stopped eating, unable to stomach anything but dry, plain oats. Feeling hopeless, Johannesburg had practically given up, surrendering to his sleepless nights, stomach knots and growing depression. Then, late one night, he received a call from Grape, his long-time friend. A trusted source had informed him that a large shipment of gold was scheduled to arrive in one week’s time at Port Morocco. Grape proposed a four-man robbery, saying they could split the gold equally amongst the associates.