Alright, you probably read the title of this story and thought this: "Wait, didn't he already write this story?! What?!"

Well, the answer to that is yes, I did write this story. In fact, it was the first story I've ever written. It got about 30 likes and follows, which was quite nice, in the end.

But with all good things, there is a bad. See, I realized halfway through the story when I was writing that, well, my story SUCKED. There was nothing but basic plotlines, in your face description, and SO. MANY. SPELLING. MISTAKES! I was honestly surprised at the end how many people liked it! I felt like I didn't deserve all the love I got for that story, and I certainly didn't think I deserved as many author follows.

So, I've pretty much decided to correct a personal wrong and write the remastered edition! It's gonna be 10 times better than the original! Added content, maybe extra chapters, hopefully less grammar mistakes, and definent enjoyment! And honestly, I will be happy if this story doesn't get any recognition whatsoever. This is just my attempt to make myself feel that I didn't let people down with the original. So without further ado, get reading!

San Diego, California: Late Summer...

It was a normal day for the small neighborhood on the outskirts of San Diego. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as far as one could see, and the air was unusually calm. Unusual, sure, but nice, nonetheless.

Unfortunately for the small cornerstore on the edge of 19th and Gordon, the tranquility could only lead to bad news.

SMASH!

The front window of the small ghetto cornerstone was reduced to rubble in a matter of seconds. The store clerk on duty looked up at the sound, sheer terror in his eyes.

"Alright, who's there?! I'm armed!" He shouted into the street, pulling a baseball bat out from under the counter. But, unfortunately for him, he didn't notice the mountainous man standing behind him.

"Alright, on the ground!" He yelled, forcing the clerk to his knees. From where he stood, he could make out 2 more people climbing through the window.

"Grab the register, Frackle. And make sure you get all the 50s!"

He turned to the mortified clerk, who looked as if he had just died a bit inside.

"You know why I'm here, Jorge. Where is that punk!"

"L-look, Butchie, I-I don't know where he is, ok? I'm just working the day-"

"Liar!" He yelled, holding up a tube of metal to his head. "You don't want this bullet in your forehead, do you?"

"I-I..."

"Don't answer! But I know that YOU know where he is! So, TELL ME."

"H-he works the night shift on weekends! He's getting here round 8, ok? T-thats all-"

"Alright. I'll lay it on you, buddy. This here? This is Mace. Now, Mace doesn't like a lot of stuff, but you know what he DOES love? Pain. And he'll make you feel a LOT of that if you don't-"

"OK, OK!" Jorge screamed, terrified. "He's at his house! He was talking about going back to school today. Beats me why, though!"

It was at that moment that Butchie heard the overhead doorbell ring. He turned around to find who he had been looking for, clad in a pair of old shorts and a worn Chargers Jersey.

"Gomez..."

"Butchie," he said with a nod, acting as nonchalant as possible. "Mace, Frackle."

"You're just the guy I was looking for, you know. I know it was you who broke into the store!"

"What? Butchie, I think the crack shots you've been taking are getting to ya..."

He was stopped as a hand grabbed his throat and slammed him against a wall.

"I KNOW IT WAS YOU, GOMEZ! You've been trying this shot since you was 7! You can't get past me this time!"

"-sigh- Fine, whatever. Just let Jorge go, ok? He ain't done nothing wrong."

He looked back at Jorge, and motioning for him to get up was all he needed to sprint out the door.

"Now, then...where were w-"

Butchie wasn't able to finish the sentence, for the teen ghad landed a half decent punch on his right cheek. He dropped him and held his face in agony, which gave the kid plenty of time to flee.

"Ugh! FRACKLE! MACE! GET THE KID!"

The 3 men stopped what they were doing and quickly gave chase to the the Hispanic boy, which is about where our story begins...

As Colin Gomez ran away from his tormentors, he realized that he hadn't screwed up in the normal way this time. To him, "screwing up" was a fancy way of saying that he, say, hit his head off the overhang in his apartment. Or maybe accidentally gave someone the wrong amount of change at Mamas now vandalized storefront. Not his fault, but embarrassing nonetheless. Today, though, it was different. In his life, hitting his head or counting money wrong was no death sentence, but false accusation was punishable by firing squad.

Colin was 16, Hispanic, with tanned skin, jetty black hair that could be cornrowed (but he preferred it to stick out), and 6' 6". His mama had always told him that his dad was at least 6'11", but he couldn't prove that. His father had left when he was 2, pretty much like every other father in the small ghetto. His face was thin, with caved in cheekbones, a thin outline of a beard growing in, and an overall "sunken, depressed" demeanor. Ladies acted like they didn't pay attention, but Colin knew they all had a thing for him. At least, he THOUGHT they did. He happened to fancy himself a ladies man...but whether they did or not, he didn't really care. He was one of the few people in his circle of friends that believed in waiting for the right girl to come along, not prostitutes or whores.

As he ran, he thought about the incident. it was big news when it happened and it wasnt even remotely his fault, but who else would that dumbass blame for punching him and robbing his store? Butchie: Pissed. Blames: Colin. Colin: At home with Mama and Chica. Still, even after proclaiming his innocence countless times to him, Butchie had the nerve to break in, hold him cornered, with a gun in hand, ready to avenge his father's business. Colin couldn't do anything except hit and run.

He heard the sound of a pistol fire behind him, the bullet whizzing by his head... this was serious this time. Not like other threats, this? He could die right there on that sidewalk, in front of the old abandoned alley...the alley!

He ran into the alley, cornered between the walls of the apartments. Looking around, he spotted something rather unusual: In the place the dumpster was usually located, a small doorway he hadn't noticed was, instead. He had come down this place many times, mostly to just loiter, but never had he seen a doorway there.

"Questions later," he mumbled to himself before opening the door and ducking inside. Not a second later, Butchie, Frackle and Mace came into the alley.

"Oh, where did he go?!"

"I swear he came down this way!"

"Find him, you dingbats! Find him!"

They searched the area. Fire escape still not working, moldy pizza from about 2 years previous, and the dumpster in its usual spot against the wall. They saw nothing. Not even a door.

"FUCK! Frackle! Mace! Cmon! We're leaving!"

"Butchie, what about-"

"I don't want to hear it. He probably just jumped the fence. They all can do that."

"I know all about it, Butchie. Now come on! There's looting to be done!"

Inside...

Breathing heavily, Colin regained himself. As he raised his head, he realized he was not in someone's home, but in a small shop. Behind the counter sat an old, empty chair. The nameplate on the counter seemed to be the only new thing in the shop, and it simply read "Insert name here."

"What brings you here, my friend?" A voice behind Colin said, making him jump.

"Ah! Oh..."

"Yep. Typical reaction, they get scared..." the old man said to Colin in a surprisingly younger voice. "What brings you to my humble store?

"Oh, you know, the usual," he replied. "Crime, Guns, and an angry ass hornet of a shopkeepers son."

Colin had a thing for sarcasm. It may have gotten him in trouble once or twice, but it made his Máma and Chica laugh.

Secretly, Colin had always dreamt about becoming a comedian. Walking up onto the stage with nothing but your smile and a good sense of humor, making the audience hold their sides in laughter... he thought that maybe making other people smile would lessen the pain of his current situation. And maybe, just maybe, he could give himself, Mama, and Chica hope. but every time he thought of the idea, he'd shake the feeling off, telling himself that no one would listen to him. What did a kid from a slum in the middle of San Diego know, anyway?

"Well, welcome to my store," the old man said, snapping Colin back into reality. "Customers have been slow to come in lately, but I know Business will pick up eventually."

"Well, maybe your first step should be to get a shop, umm, I dont know, ON THE STREET?" Colin said as he examined the shop. Junk lined the shelf on the decrepit wall, old tin cans and papers everywhere. But one item caught his eye. In the corner, buried behind some old newspaper, was an old satellite television.

Colin had never owned a TV. The closest he ever got to owning technology was an old MP3 player his friend Gomez had sold him, and all the music on it was by a country rock group, the Zac Brown Band. He still loved it, though the same 15 songs on full repeat aren't exactly mind altering.

"Hey, can I get this piece of junk out of the way for you?" He asked, not taking his eyes off the electronic.

"Hey, now, don't be talking about yourself that way, kid," he chuckled. "50 bucks."

The smile on Colin face quickly changed into an unhappy smirk. He barely ever has any money, and when he did, it was usually only coins he found on the street. Even those he would waste on candy bars and soda at his cornerstore.

"Damn...I don't have that mone-"

"Let me ask you something, Colin. Do you have a dream? A purpose in life?" The old man interrupted. Colin stepped back, startled at the question.

"How did you know my- nevermind. A dream? Like, what do you mean?"

"I mean a passion! A hobby, something that makes you happier!"

Uhhh..." he pondered, trying to dig something up. At last, he decided to be honest.

"Hmmm...no, not really. Unless you count that one about the Grizzly Bear, but I don't think you're talking about those kinds of dreams..."

"I see..." the old man said, his eyes narrowing. "Well, you want the TV? It's yours. No charge."

Colin couldn't believe what he was hearing. A free TV?! Anything in his neighborhood wasn't free! And this was the neighborhood that a bike cost up to 2 grand off of cheap drugdealers!

He had to earn and pay for everything in his life, plus help to provide for Chica with Máma. And now an old man was giving him free electronics?

"Hold up now, Abuelo. This thing works, right? I mean, I don't want you giving me some piece of trash," he said, looking for indents.

"As good as the day I got it. That thing opened up a WORLD of possibilities, Colin. Maybe it can for you, too?"

Colin eyed him suspiciously. "Alright then. But, why are you just giving it to me?"

The old man smiled, his toothless grin showing.

"Son, you'll find out that answer ione day."

"...ummmmm, ok, then. I'll be off."

And with that, Colin picked up the TV, hoisted it into the old shopping cart outside, and walked out the door. But little did he know that this was the start of one of the biggest (and LOUDEST) adventures of his life.