One day—but probably not the day you're thinking about, and definitely not a random one—a great beast named Taavantuli roamed the shores. I was a little baby when my dad died. I myself don't remember it. All I know about the subject is from my mother. I have very few memories of him, but the few I do have, I hold very dearly.
I'm thirteen years old now. I live with my mom in the outskirts of Omttar, the great homeland. As I finish unwrapping my new computer, I hear my mom calling me.
"Nathan, come down here! I made scrambled eggs with tuna mixed inside—your favorite!"
"Not now, Mom! Gotta do a little thing!"
Damn it. I really needed to figure out how to download the deluxe edition of Minecraft Dungeons. Little did I know that I would be bursting with joy if I knew what was getting discovered in the faraway land of Normat.
As I got on the bus, my best friends Robert and Pedro greeted me. "Hey, how are you, bro?" they said rhythmically. We all laughed.
"Yo, kids, we're here!" said the bus driver.
Me, Robert, and Pedro said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.
In class, my teacher Mrs. Colly announced we would be going to Vatis-Tormel with another class—Robert's and Pedro's, to be precise. A few hours later, we arrived at Vatis-Tormel. I instantly needed to go to the bathroom.
As usual, Robert and Pedro were waiting outside for me, and then Pedro said, "Let's do something fun."
"Like what?" Robert asked.
"Let's stir up some mischief, and then get caught, but the second they turn around, do it all over again."
"Sounds like a plan," Robert agreed.
When we finished doing mischievous boy stuff, we were expecting an order to get back on the bus or to our hotel rooms. Instead, there was no order to get back to the bus or to our rooms. All there was was an eerie quiet.
A strange man entered the hallway. I can't quite explain how he looked—something like the standard movie murderer: black clothes, a black hood, and a pocket where he could have a weapon or two.
The strange man came over to us, and as he saw us quivering in fear, he said to us in such a fatherly tone it felt like he was my dad, "Are you lost?"
We were so moved by his tone of voice that we never thought before answering. It would become something we would regret.
"Yes," I said.
"We are lost," added Robert.
Then he said, "Do you need a ride home?" He used that fatherly tone again and melted away all our bad feelings.
Robert's phone buzzed. "It's my mom. I think I should answer. She could ground me," he whined.
"Okay, okay," I said.
"Robert, where are you?" his mom said, holding back tears. He hung up.
"Well, that's embarrassing," I said.
Now Pedro took control. "My friends need to get home," he said to the strange man. "We accept your offer."
As my nose adjusted to the car, I inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself down. The side effect of this was that I got a sense of the car's rotten smell. To my surprise, he had a very old limousine that smelled horribly, like skinned animals left to rot.
"I'm thirsty," Pedro complained to the stranger.
The man gave Pedro a glass water bottle filled to the brim. "Thank you," said Pedro to the man. "By the way, what's your name?" Pedro asked.
"Jack Jackson Hills," the man answered.
Suddenly, but not surprisingly—or at least not for Pedro—the man pulled out a tranquilizing dart gun. Then I tripped, Robert slipped, and Pedro hit the bottle on the murderer's head. So with a flurry of trips and slips and a bottle to the head, we knocked out the creepy man.
Just as we started to celebrate, the police arrived with sirens blaring. They handcuffed us and took us to juvenile.
An hour later, we arrived in a dark hallway. We could see a few jail cells with people in them. Then they put us in one too. Pedro burst into tears. I tried to comfort him. "We'll find a way out of here," I said confidently, but not as much as I hoped I would. It did the desired effect, though. He stood up and said, "Okay, Nathan. What are we going to do?"
Then they took us to court. They put us in a great white room with a golden chandelier and a tall brown table. A minute later, the murderer came in. I started shouting at the murderer. A loud voice quieted me—the judge must have snuck in while I was shouting.
A second passed, but it felt like an eternity. Then the questions began.
The judge's first question was as cold as Antarctica. "You are accused of knocking out a young man while driving a car. Do you deny this?"
"No," I answered confidently.
"Then you confess to attacking a young man with no reasonable intentions?"
"No!" all of us said at once. "He tried to kidnap us!" I told the judge, but his mind seemed to be made up.
Then in a loud voice for everyone to hear: "The accused is found guilty. Get them out of my sight," he added matter-of-factly.
Then two thugs grabbed us and put us in a black military transport that had a musty smell. I fought the urge to scream. Pedro, on the other hand, was screaming. I tried to shut him up, but the job was completed when those thugs came back and put gags in our mouths.
Then I saw the jail. I only had a few seconds before I was knocked unconscious by one of the thugs.
I woke up in a gloomy room. I'll describe it like this: a dark room. It was freezing. I looked around. Pedro was unconscious on the floor, but Robert was nowhere to be found. I tried to give him a little shake to wake him up.
"Huh? Huh?" He woke up immediately. He quickly looked around, then asked me, "Am I going to die here?" he said in a baby-like voice.
"No," I said confidently. This time I said it so confidently I sounded like a god.
I heard a harsh voice saying, "Think you can't survive? Well, think again, because this is the Nighthawk Prison for Very Naughty Boys, also known as PVNB." Then he went down the corridor.
I heard a clinking sound before I was grabbed into the vent by someone. Then I heard a man's voice—it sounded like an order. Now, please believe me: after everything that happened today, I fell unconscious.
My head throbbed uncontrollably. I was moving. Then it stopped. I felt myself being moved with gentle hands. I sat up. I saw my father. I must be dreaming, I thought. It felt like I woke up—it felt like I was woken up—but my father's face was still there.
"Go away," I mumbled.
"Nathan, Nathan, wake up," my dad said to me. I got up. My dad dragged me into an office, then he hugged me. It was the greatest feeling ever. All my worries would have melted away if it wasn't for his next sentence: "Run. SOGC is here."
At the time, I had no idea what that meant, but I couldn't think of anything except where my friends were.
Pedro ran smack into me. "Let's get out of here!" said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Robert. He popped into the corridor.
A bomb exploded down the hole. The floor cracked underneath us. We ran and ran, out of breath and panting. We swerved around the terrain. It was a plain rocky surface. It started snowing.
Weird, I thought. We were in Normat?
"This is Normat," Robert confirmed happily. "My dad lives here."
A sudden sinking feeling in my belly appeared. Then Pedro shouted out loud, "This is Carbale!"
"Ha!" responded Robert.
While they had an argument, I started to understand. Normat was the only place that had a space launcher, and SOGC was a reckless company that my dad told me about when I was younger. If there's anything that I remember about it, it's one long, cold winter night. My mom and my dad were talking about SOGC and codes. Turns out that SOGC stands for the Secret Organization of Genetic Companies. Therefore, SOGC.
A loud sound blasted me out of my thoughts. Gunshots rang out in the open air. I didn't need to look—I knew what was happening. SOGC was here.
If I'd learned anything today, it's that SOGC, murderer, and cover should always be used in the same sentence. Due to my earlier statement, I dived for cover.
I fell, as any normal person would do. I screamed, and so did Robert and Pedro. Suddenly, my belly felt like it was going to fly out my nose. I think Robert and Pedro felt the same, due to the fact they were saying, "My belly's gonna fly through my nose!"
My body cracked—I hope it wasn't literally cracked. I shuddered from the view. I had no idea—I knew where I was, but how I got there remains a mystery.
Anyway, it was a gloomy space station. Where Robert and Pedro were, I had no idea. There was one thing I knew—I don't know how I knew it, I just did. The knowledge sent a battalion of icy-footed beetles up my spine.
48.4284, -123.3656, 6371.
The numbers kept racing through my mind: 48.4284, -123.3656, 6371.
I hid behind a nearby crate. I saw the dim silhouette of guards talking. I tried to listen. It was either "dime store eruption" or "time for corrupt production." I think it's the latter.
Three figures walked into view. One of them was Robert, the other one was Pedro, and the last one was a thug.
I already let them be captured twice. I'm not gonna let it become thrice.
I grabbed a big, heavy wrench-like thing and bonked the guard on the head.
"Whoa, that was cool!" said Pedro.
"Definitely," agreed Robert.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. "Quick, in here!" I said.
We jumped into a dark crate full of food cans—stuff like tuna, chickpeas, etc. I hoped the footsteps would go away. Needless to say, they didn't. They started talking instead. It was something like this:
"Another day of work."
"It's not—ah, it's—dang it! Another hard, horrible day, you say? I can't enjoy work!"
"Yes! SOGC is a hard-working, devious, evil company. To prove my point, I'll tell you our genius plan."
Intrigued, we leaned forward.
"Well, tell me the plan!"
"Yes, yes, I suppose so. First, we built a big metal python that was so realistic we called it Taavantuli. Then we ordered it to kill some people."
Me, Robert, and Pedro exchanged frightened looks.
"So we had a few murders, but then we massacred the Tai Changas Islands. Ha! That was the best massacre I've ever seen! Then we made a robot—a robot that looked exactly like Chris, Nathan's dad. And when it got destroyed by Taavantuli, Nathan's grandfather came to investigate. We captured him and tortured him, for he was supposed to be the only one who knows the only metasite mine. In case your muddy, stinky, smelly mind doesn't know what metasite is, it's only the strongest, most powerful, and destructive metal ever!"
I saw Robert suppress a scream.
"And now the only one who knows the coordinates for the metasite mine is Nathan. Oh, if only he knew that he could just press the self-destruct button, then press lockdown, and our plan would be foiled!"
A sudden gush of fear overwhelmed me. I crumpled down, crying. Then Pedro asked me, "Is there any hope left?"
Seeing him so hopeless reminded me that SOGC's officer gave us exactly what we needed to defeat SOGC. A sense of determination took its place. All the fear inside me disappeared, replaced by courage and determination. I stood up and said, "Let's go press some buttons."
We snuck into another crate. This one was full of heavy wrench-like things, like the one I used to bonk the SOGC soldier earlier. I grabbed one, then said, "No harm in being armed."
I tossed one to Robert, who almost dropped it, but Pedro lent him a hand. Pedro was armed with a broken can opener, which had its blade sticking out of the safety mechanism, so it jutted out like a chainsaw, kind of. He argued that he likes light and sharp—like a knife—rather than heavy and powerful, like a club. I think that's a stupid argument, but I don't want to argue.
"Okay, now we're all suited up," I said encouragingly.
We snuck along the corridor. Robert tripped. His wrench fell. It echoed down the hallway. Three pairs of footsteps came crashing down the hall.
"You ready?" I asked my best friends.
I threw my wrench at one of the soldiers. It hit him with a satisfying crack. Robert brought his wrench up and over and brought it crashing down. It ended very badly for the soldier—that's all I can say for Robert. Pedro used a backhanded slash to give his soldier a nasty cut across the face. Then I joined in, bringing my wrench into a perfectly staged attack at his arm, ending with a loud clunk.
All three of us ran down the corridor, escaping. I dived into the vent. Pedro was already in. Robert followed me in.
The vent was very cold—freezing, even—but we snuck along. The officer that had told us the plan—not meaningfully, but he still did—had also dropped a map of the Murderer, the space station we were in. Having the map, we forged a plan. We would go along Corridor 54.3. You see, there are sixty corridors, and each quarter has ten subsections, hence "point three."
Okay, back to the—I can't say story because this is a book, so I'll say novel. Let's get back to the novel.
So Corridor 54.3 is the least-protected zone on the Murderer. Still, that didn't mean much, with seventy-three cameras and twenty guards. But we needed all the advantages we could get. If we went down Corridor 53.0, with ninety-eight cameras and fifty guards—it was the closest, and we seriously gave it some thought—but reason got the better of us. So we went to Corridor 54.3.
To minimize the chance of being caught, we crawled through the vents, stepping out and running to the next vent. We did this for an annoyingly long time, until the turn to Corridor 54.2. This one was very well-guarded, with eighty-one cameras and forty guards. Normally, we could never get past, but we planned for this corridor.
I sent Robert and Pedro on a mission. They imitated a man screaming, lowering it to seven guards in 54.3 and thirteen in 54.2. They stayed awake because I sent them to Corridor 52.8.
We kept creeping down the vent. I held up my hand—a symbol to stop. I pulled out the map we got from the officer.
"We are at the top of the vent," I said.
Me and Robert used our wrenches to unscrew the bolts holding the vent in place. I threw a flashbang grenade that we took off one of the soldiers we fought. It exploded with a flurry of light and sound.
Alarms went off. Twenty guards came running down the corridor. I kicked the vent. Bolts and the door took out seven guards. I threw another flashbang grenade that exploded, turning the remaining thirteen guards deaf and blind for a few seconds. But it was enough.
We jumped into the corridor and ran down it. At that second, our luck ran out. Gunshots rang out behind us. Panting and out of breath, I wanted to stop. A bullet whizzed past my head. With a surge of fear and adrenaline, I blasted forward.
This is the end, I thought, between dodging bullets and running. For a minute now—though it feels like a week—I kept thinking about how we were doomed. We couldn't change corridors—too well-guarded—and we were nearing the end of Corridor 54.2.
I'm gonna die, I said to myself. My four-leaf clover had one petal fallen off. Now it's a three-leafed clover.
Then our luck ran out. Ah, true. Now it's actually gone.
Pain burst in my thigh, sharp and powerful. I tripped. I felt myself going into shock, but I couldn't actually feel it because it was shock.
"You are stupid," a voice said to me.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Doesn't matter," it said. "You're at the command room, end of Corridor 52. Now wake up and lead your friends to the command room."
It sounded smart, so I listened to it. My eyes snapped open, the voice inside me gone. I called out to my friends in coded gibberish: "Cool con row go on!"
My friends understood. We used to play pretend spy games just like this, except this is real.
We rolled into the command room. I slammed the door shut button. We turned around to face forty guards.
"Let's rob this joint!" me, Robert, and Pedro said rhythmically.
Sparks flew. My dad and grandpa entered the scene. My dad dived into action—he was the mechanic of the century, our world's type of soldier. He activated a gun field, a type of force field. It's pretty simple: it has twelve tubes and a chunk of foregowder (compacted gunpowder), an igniter, and a handle. It works like this: the lighter lights the foregowder, and the blast released from the foregowder carries into the twelve tubes, releasing a large wave of air pointing downward. You get it? Okay, didn't think so.
My dad threw me a curved taser sword. He threw Robert a rocket-propelled hammer, and for Pedro, he gave a gun that said "FireShot" on it. I think I studied FireShots in private school: shooting a stabilized, one-holed bullet. The hole releases gas, which is ignited by red phosphorus on the outside of the bullet—the stuff you find on matchboxes to light the matches—creating a flaming bullet that leaves a smoke trail behind, hence the name FireShot.
All this happened in about 5.2 seconds, but who's counting?
I risked a glance at my grandpa. He was armed with Tectonic Shifters that use magnetic pulses to rip metallic chunks out of the walls and floor. Luckily, there was a lot of magnetic metal since we were on a space station.
The gun field dropped. My dad rolled into cover and started constructing his latest weapon. Grandpa used his Tectonic Shifters to grab all the guns from the enemy's hands. Then he said through gritted teeth, "Send 'em to hell, boys!"
"Gladly!" we said rhythmically.
Robert brought his hammer up and over, completely obliterating two guards in one shot.
"Only forty-eight to go," Pedro said sarcastically.
Six guards came charging at me. I dodged and sliced a guard under the ribs, tasing him to unconsciousness. Two more fell down—smoking bullet holes explained that this was Pedro's work. Dad blasted in with blazing armor. He cut down four more guards. I struck again, cutting down two more with inhuman speed.
The forty remaining guards turned tail and ran down Corridor 98.5!
Three men remained: the officer from earlier, a lean and muscular guard, and an old-looking general whose skin looked like it was hanging by a thread.
"You've made it this far, but you won't get any further!" the general said.
"Okay, that's just lame," Grandpa responded.
"Eat my biscuits, weirdo!" Pedro said as he released five rounds of flaming bullets.
The guard intercepted them. He didn't even flinch. It looked like he was a bioheart, capable of undergoing biological surgery to strengthen vitamin effects on his body. His body was strengthening his vitamin C, making his body impenetrable. They were incredibly powerful and dangerous.
Robert brought his hammer down for a crushing attack on the bioheart's ribs. It happened in a blur, and it ended with Robert sprawled on the floor, moaning.
The voice from earlier returned. "Dodge right!" it said. I did so. The bioheart's fist appeared right where I was a second ago.
"Duck and slash him under the thigh."
I followed its orders. I ducked. The bioheart's foot slashed through the air where I was two seconds ago. Then I slashed him under the thigh. He gasped and fell to the floor.
Oh yeah, I had a theory that all biohearts have one weak spot where they're vulnerable. How the voice inside my head knew where his weak spot was, I didn't know and didn't care.
Robert was already right beside the button. "Hit it, Robert!" I called to him, and he did.
"Override activated," said a robotic voice.
"Mini blackhole trap activated."
A mini blackhole appeared under Robert, and he fell in, screaming. It started growing, but I didn't care, for he was gone.
"Robert's gone," I sobbed.
At that moment, I took a vow: I would get Robert back, no matter what.
"I'll get you back, Robert. That I swear," I said confidently. And this fourth time, I did it right.
THE END...