Hello my little political friends. As you may very well be aware of, I have just taken complete control over your webcam. I am not here to begin a crime, no indeed! I am here to ask for help.
Yes, I am 13 years old but as you can see I am a genius, so it hardly matters. Though I may have overrated myself it seems. I was tracked and I was kidnapped. Shame too, I hadn’t finished completing my biography “Even Brains Can’t Control Madness.” A rather fantastic book too, it contains all my favourite exploits. I’m not sure the publishers will like it much. But then again they don’t get much choice since I could blackmail them anytime I like. I can give you a free copy if you like…
But back to the point.
You may not want to help me but I don’t really mind either way. Right now I am being held in a basement of some sort. They wouldn’t even tell me what country I was in! But even so, I kind of got the idea when I saw a large French flag towering the grey apartment block, and the tiny shape of the Eiffel tower peaking up from behind a large red roof.
So basically I’m in France, Paris I should think, but other than that I have absolutely no idea where I am. My very own locator bugs won’t pick up anything. I’m kind of in a pickle and if you want to know why they should want to kidnap a 13 year old boy I suppose I should explain, those who don’t want to know, tough luck.
For a long time now I’ve been interested in weapons. Not the blood and gore they cause or how sleek and shiny they may look. It was just the inner workings that fascinated me. Guns, bombs, lazars, gas, bullets, even swords. I liked to design such things and spent much of my free time making and designing the most deadly things.
And this is where my story begins.
“Even Brains Can’t Control Madness”
“Hey bro! Can I come in?” Shack shouted, banging on my door with his fists.
As you may already know, I am a man of peace, despite the deadly weapons I was cradling in my arms at that moment, I dislike noisy things. “Oh my dear brother!” I said “Of course not! Now go away and stop banging my door down or I will make the handle of your door explode.”
But we both knew this was not a threat. So was it just a brotherly joke? No.
“You blew it up months ago Vicky boy. Besides, you already know I don’t really care right?”
“And what exactly do you plan on doing when you come in side?” I asked, still tapping on the keyboard ahead of me but focusing on the “black powder” I was concocting.
“Beating you up, hopefully you’ll struggle a bit and then I’ll drag you down stairs to dinner were mum will tie you up in a chair and force feed you whilst I sneak into your room and steal as many of those upgraded gadgets you invented last time.”
“What a wonderful plan” I said, brother always did have a way of being extremely straight forward. I reached out for my remote control. We have no proper TV in our house so it wasn’t a proper remote control, I gingerly entered the number 433 and a small explosion filled the hall way. I had had to use up another precious bomb, it was annoying but worth it.
“Owww!” Yelled Shack. “MUM! Geeky boy blew up the hall way again!”
I grinned, I was watching from a small camera implanted inside the wall and I knew immediately this was going to be funny. Sure enough the corridor filled with smoke.
“AHH! MUUUM! WHAT DID I DO?!” Shack yelled louder than ever. He coughed then started groaning again.
I saw mum in the kitchen with her remote control in her hand. I sent a voice call through the remote.
“Tear gas mum? Really how could you! Remember to warn me next time! I want to record it.”
Mum smiled a beautiful, cheeky, evil smile as she continued with cutting a tiny carrot viciously. The carrot may not have seemed so tiny if she wasn’t using a meat cleaver.
Now that Shack had cleared away to his room I sat downstairs to have dinner. Mum was a great cook! Except the few times she poisoned some of the food for a joke. Most of it got eaten by Shack who had more muscle power than brain power, and the fact that he simply seamed to eat most food as quickly as he breathed in (the massive cheese scones with the dumbbells hidden inside them may have taken him slightly longer.)
“Victoor…” slurred Ribena. Ribena is my younger sister. She’s 7 and, unlike Shack who is 15 with only muscle and no brain, she is a fragile little girl dressed in dark silky black. But none the less she’s still of the Hades family and she is still just as much a criminal as us. And that’s evil. But other than using her intellect or muscle to cause trouble she prefers the more gloomy gothic but cute style. Ribena’s room is the only room in the house I don’t have a camera installed in and you would know why if you had seen her room. I myself have only seen it once but that was enough to know that she had earned the same crazy genes as the rest of us. Her room was black and spotless with teddies heads ripped off and thrown aside. One side of the wall was completely covered by what looked suspiciously like voodoo dolls. They had strange and random features, for example, one of them would have long black hair or one of them cat’s ears. What interested me more was the fact that a few of them had darts in the head or arms. One of them had polka dotted cat ears and had an arrow through the stomach, it creepily reminded me of the cat next door who accidentally got run over by a farm tractor, and no one knows how the tractor got there either.
What worried me more about her bedroom was not the fact that it contained neither a bed nor any windows behind the ancient curtains or that it held a strange collection of different herbs scattered across the floor but a very small voodoo doll in the corner. It was different from the others; it looked like a doll, a doll of me. It was childlike and eerie and it was that which had told me I was better off a few continents away from the room.
My brother on the other hand, Shack Hades, is a body builder. He has short black hair, three ear piercings on his ears and one on his nose, he smells like gone of bananas (and trust me, I know what that smells like!) and he hasn’t washed since July, and that was over a month ago. His room I see often enough since he sleeps next door to me. But perhaps my blowing of his door didn’t really help that much. His room stinks of sweat and is a mountain of trash lumped together with protein drinks, dumbbells in all sizes, exercise machines, posters of naked girls and in the far corner you are just able to see two inches of his small, hard bead mattress which clearly hadn’t been used much. That wasn’t so surprising though. He seemed to spend his whole life at his friends’ houses (and seemed to spend the rest of it either beating random delinquents up or getting on my nerves).
“What are you doing?” Ribena asked me. I think she was talking about the sledge hammer in my hand.
“Have you seen Touchy anywhere?” That got the message to her. Touchy was our house pet and the only pet I had ever seen Ribena afraid of.
“No.” She said, shuffling towards the door. “I haven’t.”
She might have been afraid of his (Touchy was a boy) sharp claws, his red eyes or perhaps the fact that he was a twelve foot lion… But no, I had seen her playing with “Sweetie” and she didn’t so much as flinch. (Sweetie is fourteen foot tall and my very own pet tiger.) Touchy was her pet but she seemed to be afraid of him, no one really knows why. Its mysterious, she’s mysterious and so is everything else about her.
What can I say about my parents? My mum likes classical music, meditating, cooking strange things and knitting. This may seem normal for a 43 year old mother, it isn’t. You know how some people say that meditating can actually lift you off the ground but they themselves have never actually seen it? I have. And I can verify that it is true. As you should already know, and otherwise you weren’t listening properly, my mother’s cooking is slightly more dangerous that a dangerous burnt toast you may get from yours at home. Knitting is, well, you should know what knitting is and it is that knitting that she likes. Bright pink jumpers and woolly socks. These would also be normal if they weren’t always specifically made for wild animals.
Dad, on the other hand, prefers more sophisticated things. He likes bowling. (When the bowling ball is filled with gun powder inside and there is a thick metal wire burning on the end.) One of dad’s favourite hobbies in fact. He once blew up a bowling rally. This, unfortunately, did not happen while I was around.
Dad (Victor, Yes, I was named after dad) celebrated his 48th birthday by exploding the ship “King Fisher” with 400 kilos of gun powder and 3 kilos of my very own black powder which I had given to him for a birthday present. Shame it was all used at once but even a goody- two-shoes such as yourself would have think it was worth the show, perhaps not your hearing though.
Dad, like me, has thin black hair (except mine is about elbow length in a pony and his is cropped close to his skull), light blue eyes and (unlike me with my annoyingly thin, weak body) he has a strong, well built body.
Apart from the voodoo dolls, poisonous cooking, exploding bowling balls, a macho brother or the fact that this house is little less than a mansion. The strangest thing about our family it that we all used to or still do, go to Bertrand High School (or Primary School in Ribena’s case).
Did they fear us? Respect us? Think we were anything other than another snotty, normal, boring little family? No.
At school we manage to hide our little abnormalities. Even Ribena somehow managed to act like another boring romance-related-TV-series-interested-stuck-up little girl. I am supposed to be a geeky four eyed class representative and I try my best for people to give up trying to get through my distant personality. (The cold personality was not part of my act.) You would be surprised how many people think that a cold personality is “cool”. How can a cold personality be “cool”?!
Well, back to the subject…
Shack never acted, he was too stupid to even realize he was supposed to act, or how to.
Mum and Dad used to act normal too. Stop trying to imagine it. It’s not an easy thing to imagine. I don’t even want to imagine what they must have been like!
“Vickywicky” mum drawled “I just got a call from a girl called Amelia Wilkins, claimed she was your friend. Have you got friends at school!? My poor little demented boy…? You have been
trying to shoo them away haven’t you vickytums?”
“Of course I have! Those annoying little civilians seem to get more attached to those who are not attached to them at all! Strange little creatures… My research seems to prove faulty for the inner workings of a man’s mind.”
“You good boy!” My mother hummed, the definition of good in our household is not very clear. “Now… Where has biggy disappeared off to? That boy is always late for his dinner…”
“Shall I get him down for you?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“No it’s alright sugar plum, I’ll call down myself…” she pressed a few buttons on her remote control, unlike mine, which had numbers, she had roman numerals.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
I loved it when she did that.
Shack came bounding down the stairs flipping and twisting as he slid down the banisters to escape a large shower of bullets. He was fast, strong and inhuman. No normal being could escape a shower of bullets created by Grandpa Stuart!
Technically Grandpa Stuart created the whole house, especially the inner technology and hidden tunnels. Grandpa Stuart’s still alive enough. But he’s resigned peacefully to stealing armour and weapons off the military for a joke… so we don’t see him much. Too be honest grandpa’s technology was a bit out of date for me so I had the house edited a bit, especially the stairs, which I could turn into a slide if I ever wanted to irritate “biggy”. That was what I intended them for, however Shack seems to prefer sliding down the banisters nowadays.
I got up as Shack sat down at the table and began to gobble down sickeningly large amounts of food; I think it was only our family genes that kept him from turning into a bloated rhinoceros.
“Try a plum biggywiggy!” It was me talking, not mum. I think he was trying to say something but he must have already eaten a plum because not-so-surprisingly he started choking. Poor brother! I thought and then stopped laughing my head off as soon as he threw a loaf of bread at me. Yes, that hurts A LOT! But even more when there’s a dumbbell hidden inside it. It hit the unsuspecting me and I fell face first onto the carpet.
As usual, Shack finished eating as soon as he started and he had already started walking over to me while I was still struggling to get up. “Well? What are you waiting for Vickykins?
We’ve got a school bus to catch.
“Hang on a second! I think you’ve forgotten something!” I threw the loaf of bread he threw at me towards his face. But it was a bad throw and he easily dodged. While he was busy looking triumphant the bread hit a red button on the wall and a bath tub came flying from the ceiling and narrowly missed Shack. I changed my mind, perhaps it was a pretty good throw.
Mum was watching the same usual scene with a look of mild amusement on her face.
I collected my coat and put on my school over my dull grey trousers and its bright white, long sleeved T-shirt. I liked the trousers, I hated the T-shirt.
Off we went to catch the school bus for school...
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