In this A.U, the contestants are preschoolers and the hosts are the teachers\guardians!
Sort of like a slice-of-life and questionnaire ask or dare book. The kids (and the adults) are willing to ask any question you may have for them.
So asks are op...
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....
The atomic-like blast settled, the forest dying down into tranquil green noise. Lights shimmered into dusk as a frail young girl collapsing onto the grassy terrain below was heard. Her mouth remained sealed, eyes wide with horror: the only indication of her genuine emotions.
Clicking the device, a small orb popped out: radiating rays of merry holidays and sunshine. What she had seen wouldn't spoil them in the slightest. Her childhood was hers to keep, and it was their duty to make sure nothing would go back to those horrible days.
Grabbing the device, barely able to be up and running, the figure ignored its beeps of pleading and tucked it into a backpack. Another figure grabbed ahold of the orb. Grabbing a permanent marker, they wrote, "Taco: 0019".
They'd hoped every time they wouldn't have to keep doing this: alas, the young girl's inquisitiveness got the best of her yet again. At least, number twenty wouldn't be coming anytime right now.
Sneaking off into some bushes, the two peeked a glimpse of the young girl waking up. A puzzled yet gleeful expression was seen: no signs of damage or trauma, good. Her friend, Pickle, ran to where he saw the blast, and though he might have had one eye, he didn't-waste a second to help his closest friend.
"Taco!" The young girl turned her head in the general direction where the voice came from. Pickle, followed by his worry-stricken parents, ran with relief over to her.
Pickle's mother knelt down to the young girl's height. "Sweetie, are you okay?" Her voice shook with fear.
Taco stuck out her tongue playfully. "Yes way, Jose! Wait... no no, it's 'no way Jose', but I'm okay, so that doesn't make any-"
Pickle hugged his friend, wrapping into her warmth from her cloak. "She's still Taco, she's alright!"
"Not quite, seems as if you got a little scratch on your knee, hon," Pickle's father pointed out. Taco stared where he was looking: indeed, her right knee had a small scratch that didn't seem like much but did kinda sting.
"Owwie... boo boo hurts..." Taco whimpered.
"I knew we shouldn't let them play in this part of the forest," Pickle's mother muttered to her husband, lifting Taco from her spot. "It's alright, sweetie. We have some bandages at home that'll make you all better."
"Sour Cream!" Taco giggled, her pain disappearing with that exclamation.
As Pickle's family carried Taco to their home, the figures left satisfied knowing nobody will get harmed, for now.
