Mr. Williams was on the phone, and he was not pleased “I told you we would take care of it!” he boomed. He waited as whoever was on the other end of the phone spoke. “No, we didn’t know about the chip,” he continued. Mr. Williams sighed. “Yes, if we had known about it sooner, we might have prevented it.”

     The other end said something that probably infuriated Mr. Williams, because his face turned as red as a fire hydrant. “You try to maintain an all-successful agency and see how you like it!” He hung up.

     There was a knock on the door. “What!” he yelled. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

     A head peeped in. “It’s me, sir,” it squeaked.

     Mr. Williams’ face softened. “Come on in, Sarah,” he said.

     Sarah came in and set some files on the desk. “Sir, the specialists have analyzed all the possible alternatives,” she said.

     Mr. Williams sat up straighter. “And?” he urged.

     Miss Sarah shook her head. “Nothing,” she clarified.

     He leaned back in his chair. His secretary could see the wrinkles of worry that had multiplied since he started here as a young man; it now filled his entire face. He cursed the specialists. His voice was full of resignation when he spoke. “We have to do it, Sarah.” His voice was a little more than a whisper. “We have to do it, or disaster will rain upon us all.”

     “Sir, it’s a very risky move.”

     Williams resisted the urge to shout at the tiny birdlike woman in front of him. “Don’t you see, Sarah?” It is the only option I have left.”

     She nodded sympathetically. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

     The man reached down to open the lowest drawer; he groaned as his muscles ached. There was a single folder in there. He took it out and placed it on the desk. “Here lays America’s ruin or her savior,” he affirmed. “Only one can choose. Let us hope it is the latter, Sarah.”

     Not knowing what to say, the woman nodded.

     It was one hour past midnight. The junkyard passed shadows as black as the corruption in everyday life. Five boys walked in the midst of all the thrown out trash. Like a troop of soldiers, they walked in a line, following their leader.

     Jason shuddered. It did not feel right to walk under mountains of junk. This must be how miners feel, he thought, on a job with the possibility of things tumbling down on them. He summoned up his nerve and asked, “Hey, are you sure we’re going in the right direction?”

     He said this to both Bear Phenol and Tiny Tom, but Bear Phenol answered. “I’m as sure as ‘ole Tom there that we’re going the right way.”

     It was a good answer, no doubt, one that answered the question but not saying exactly yes or no. Jason had to give him credit for that. Although the boy was not a very good leader, he was great with words.

     He glanced back at worried face of Tiny Tom; for a genius who sucked at technology, he was doing pretty well with the GPS. Then again, Jason had checked in on him an hour ago. Right now, though, they were going in the complete opposite direction.

     Usually, Jason would just let Tom figure out everything for himself, but that would mean wandering for a few more hours; and Jason wanted to go to sleep. He held out his hand backwards, and Tom gratefully gave him the device. Reprogramming it and handing it back in the right position only took minutes for Jason.

     It took them about half an hour to reach their designated location. There was a fridge in front of them. The fridge was large and dirty. Jason guessed that it had been here for perhaps a month.

     “What are we looking for again?” said Jason.

     “This.” Bear opened up the fridge.

     Someone had emptied the fridge out and placed a sinister-looking object inside. Jason took a step back. “Whoa. That is a lot of TNT. What are you trying to do? Build a pipe bomb?” he added that last bit jokingly.

     “A what bomb?” repeated Ted.

     “He said a pipe bomb, dummy,” replied his twin.

     “Well, of course I knew that! I meant, what was a pipe bomb?” Ted shouted his voice heavily dipped with sarcasm.

     “Make yourself clearer next time!” shouted back Tim.

     Bear stepped in before a fight could break out. “Whoa, whoa, let’s all calm down.”

     He turned to Jason. “You mind explaining yourself?”

     Jason nodded. “A pipe bomb is a bomb inside of a pipe. The most common one is to stuff TNT into it, place wooden blocks into the holes, light it up, and throw it.” He thought for a while. “It is very dangerous, though.”

     “That’s not a bad idea,” said Bear.

     Jason was uneasy. “What do you mean by ‘not a bad idea’,” he asked.

     Bear’s face grew excited. ‘I meant what I meant, man. It’s going to be like 9/11 all over again!”

     Jason took another step back. “Look, this was all fine and all, but I didn’t sign up for this.”

     Tom took a step closer to him. “Well, consider this free experience.” His voice was incredibly menacing for a boy as scrawny and small as he was.

     A light shined on them. “Hey! You! What are you doing here?” a man shouted.

     “Run!” yelled Bear, grabbing the TNT.

     The boys scattered. As they ran, the man stepped out of the shadows; he was a security guard. His radio called. “Report?”

     Jason ran as fast as he could away from the junkyard. His thoughts flew in all directions in his mind. Jason had blinded himself to the evil they were doing for too long. It was time to wake up.

     It was a while before the adrenaline wore out, and Jason started to feel the toll of sprinting so long, but he was used to it, having known the world of running as fast as your legs could carry you from angry shopkeepers, homeowners, and furious bakers alike. However, the boy stopped when he reached a bus stop; he had always wondered why people built bus stops and telephone boxes in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, he was glad of it now.

     Honk! Honk! Honk! The bus driver horned. Jason woke up, startled. He looked around; he must have fallen asleep.

     The sun was peeking over the horizon, spreading rays of warmth to the country. The driver honked again. “Hey, kid! You coming or not?” he yelled. “I’ve got a whole bus full of tourists here, and frankly, I don’t even know why I stopped!”

     Jason wisely kept silent. Instead, he paid and took one of the numerous empty seats. Yeah, he thought sarcastically, the whole bus was full.

     He shifted his back to the rest of the passengers, ignoring one especially questioning look from a five-year-old boy. It was not as if he blamed them or anything; he would have been surprised if a boy turned up in a bus stop in the middle of nowhere. He just wanted them to stop staring directly at him, and you know, perhaps hand him a tidbit or two of food.

     After a few minutes, he began to feel sleepy. Through his subconscious mind, he thought, I wonder if any one missed me?

     Then, he almost cracked his skull. The bus had crashed into something. Luckily, all he got was a bump on his head. It still hurt though, a lot. Jason got up, gingerly rubbing the sore part of his head. He had heard of heroes in books feeling no pain although they had a bullet in their arm, but in his mind, hitting your head so hard you had a bump was even worse.

     He looked out of the window. They had crashed into a tree. How could there be a tree in the middle of nowhere? That is what Jason wanted to know. And how could they have hit it? It was a one in a hundred chance!

     He moved to the aisle. Everybody seemed okay, just a few minor injuries, mostly head sores. He glanced outside. They had swerved to avoid a car that was parked in the middle of the road. Who would do that? As he watched, Jason saw two men get out of the car.

     They both wore T-shirts and jeans. Jason guessed that they might have been 25 to 40 years old, somewhere around there; so the outfit did not suit their age, adding the fact that they were also wearing sunglasses. Jason could not shake the feeling that he had seen these two men before.

     It is just the heat. He told himself. They did not wear sunglasses because they did not want you to memorize their faces. No, it was because of the sun’s glares. No, that bulge under their shirts is not guns. However, he could see the tip of it from where he was standing.

     Although every instinct in his body screamed at him to run, he slowly went outside. “Hey!” he yelled at the men. “Can you help us with the wounded?”

     In response, they fired the first shot. Jason “felt” it before he heard it. He had obeyed his instincts, ducking and rolling to his left. He heard the bullet hit the right tire of the bus, deflating it. He was panting now.

     Who were these men? He did not have time to answer. Jason ran. He ran as fast as he could away from the bus, the men quickly in pursuit of him.

     A voice appeared in his head. It was a feminine voice. Jason recognized it: it was his mother’s voice. He let it order him on what to do. In response, his body turned around to face the men.

     Hook Kick! While in the middle of his kick, he turned sideways to hit one of the men’s ribs. Side Kick! Then, while still in that sideways position, he lifted up his foot to kick the man again, this time on the stomach. The man hunched over.

     Spin! He spun around, taking the man’s partner by surprise. Now, the partner was close enough to do a series of punches. As he punched the man, he was amazed by the sickening crunch as he broke the man’s nose. Then he stopped.

     He had let this voice control him for too long. He was not like this. Jason felt something sticky on his hand. He looked at it; blood covered his hands.

     Jason backed away in horror. He stared at the man until Jason was sure he was still breathing. What had he done? Was he really like this?

     His mind flashed back to an incident about seven years ago. They were in a martial arts room. The floor was padded, and wood made up the walls.

     “Kick, Jason, kick harder!” ordered his mother.

     “I can’t!” whined Jason. “It’s too hard!”

     His legs were aching from kicking for so long. “Can we do some punches now?” he asked.

     “No!” said his mother. “You have to strengthen your legs!”

     “I can’t do it!” Jason gave up and sat down.

     His mother walked over to him. She looked at him in the eyes. “Look at me, boy.”

     Jason met his mother’s gaze. She continued, “You don’t fail until you give up. You understand?”

     Jason nodded. His mother put on the punching boards and slapped them together. “You ready?” she asked.

     “Yes,” replied Jason meekly. “I’m ready.”