Chapter 8

After I thanked the guys in desert camo dropping me off at the helipad conviently located about 3 miles north of my hideout, Richie pulled up in some kind of segway(or however you spell it) looking thing. I eyed it, and he looked at me with a sly smile. "I've just always wanted to ride wunna these, ya know?" He said. Richie is a guy who's about 5''6', very thinly built, with a mop of dirty blonde, shoulder length hair like a curtain around his head. If you look closely, or so I've been told by his most recent ex-girlfriend, he's got a tiny stubble on his chin. I'm talking like, you might be able to see it if you hold his chin under a microscope, maybe. He's always wearing a plain T-Shirt under a short sleeved plaid jacket, loose and unbottoned. If, you're looking for a reference, picture Kurt Cobain, on really short and with bad singing skills. I'm 5''8', and I'm more muscularly built than Jonah, too. I've got short, light brown hair.If I'm not in shrunken army fatigues, then I'll usually be wearing a hoodie and T-Shirt, with some ripped jeans and tennis shoes. "Up for some sparring?" I asked. Instead of speaking, he replied with a roundhouse kick I blocked with my forearm. I brought up my knee to, well, knee him, but he did a back handspring, then charged at me with his shoulder. He knocked me onto my back, but I rolled, turned, and ran towards the wall. He gave chase. As I neared the wall, I ran up it two steps the flung my left leg out in a spinning kick. He did some kind of crazy how-low-can-you-go back bend, so my leg flew over his head. "That all you got?" He taunted. "You wish" I called. As we continued our fight for another few minutes, a sleek black car pulled up beside us. As the passenger got out, I said, "what's up, boss?" "Some sparring, I see." Blade, who's name I had figured out, said. "I bet we could whoop you!" Richie challenged. We charged, but Blade caught Richie's fist with his left hand, flipped him, and did the same for me in his right. "Oh, you kids," he sighed with a shake of his head.

Chapter 7

Okay. He's down. I reach for my headset that isn't there. Right. Oh, well. I'm on my own. Good news, though, they didn't notice the 6 and a half inch knife hidden in my boot. As I near the door, I hear gibberish coming through. Sounds middle Eastern. S**t, now I gotta deal with some kind of clones AND terrorists. As I peek through the door, I see there are 2 guys. One's holding a Desert Eagle standard issue military sidearm, while the other is resting his elbow on an AK-47 Assault Rifle. Now, any normal 12 year old would be shaking is his converse sneakers, but not me. Not Jonah Lagunaz, a kid who's already fluent in English, French, and German. Not a kid who's already certified to be a United States Special Forces Unit as well as a British S.A.S. Officer. So, I did what any kid like me would do. I threw my voice to outside their door in English, "Soldiers! Storm the house on 3! 1! 2! 3!" They oth turned to face the door, so I rushed forward, grabbed the shoulder stock of the AK-47, clubbed one guy in the head, and unleashed a burst of fire on the other guy. Aha! THere's my headset, on the dresser. I scan for a signal, detect a U.S. military outpost a few miles out, and call for some assistance. A few minutes later, I'm sure the guys who pulled up in a military chopper weren't expecting a 12 year old with a gun slung over his shoulder. Ha.