In the basement under block 4B, it smelled of hairspray, crisps and.... well, let's agree - it wasn't the smell of Chanel. Kuba, the self-proclaimed president of the Losers' Club, had just finished setting up chairs recovered from the chute. He leaned against a wall of graffiti (the work of his younger brother - commander of the Stinky Socks), glancing at the three co-club members. - 'The plan is simple,' began Kuba, trying to sound like a leader, even though he was wearing a sweatshirt with a Minion on it. - 'Today we're testing the Professional Banana Slide. Version 2.0. Martha paused rolling her eyes: - You want us to crash on the stairs again like last time? - This time we have a mat! - Cuba pointed to the unfolded bubble wrap and cardboard box found by the dumpster. - 'They're not losers anymore, they're desperate,' muttered Hubert, the eldest, rummaging through a packet of crisps. On the table was the Thick Book of Ideas, into which they had written everything that could make them legends of the estate. From releasing drones through a neighbour's window to creating an energy drink out of cola, lemon and Nutella. Of course, most ended in disaster. But today was to be different. Today they were to roll out the boredom that had been squashing them for weeks. - Attention, we're going to test! - ordered Marta, setting up the camera on a tripod made of a broom and an old tumble dryer. - The publicity about our bravery will spread all over the estate! Kuba placed the banana as if it were a rocket on the launching platform. Marta gave the command, Hubert opened the cellar door so that there was somewhere to slide, and Anka, the youngest, with a notebook in her hand whispered: - If we make it, we enter the record. I... we put it on the web! Everyone lined up in anticipation. Kuba grabbed a cardboard board, Marta threw a banana on the mat, Hubert fired up the music from his phone. They counted: three.... two... one... As Kuba bounced and took off, something started bubbling strangely under the bubble wrap. Everyone froze, but it was too late - the cardboard slipped with a jolt, the foil shot out like a slingshot, and from the hole in the wall just off the floor popped out.... a long, skinny tail? Or was it a cable? Before they could realise, a low, metallic voice rang out from under the floor: - Don't start a panic. I'm taking control of the club. Everyone's eyes went to the tiny, seemingly ordinary hoover standing next to the boiler. Just why did it have lights instead of eyes and did it really move?