Chapter 1

The flight was long and boring. They showed Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. He was having flashbacks all day. Images of teenagers flying on broomsticks, of a Chinese girl with black hair, a man with fangs, and a mysterious blue door were what he saw.

Strolling down the street, he saw the Kendo's Gun Shop. He walked inside and browsed the wares. "Is there anything in particular I can help you with?", the clerk asked, his nametag reading Kevin Kendo. "I am looking for a handgun with excellent sighting, can fire eighteen shots to a clip, and is easy to holster. I also need seven clips of eighteennine millimeterrounds.", Peter replied. The only thing he remembered was how to describe his favorite gun but he couldn't remember the name.

"How old are you, boy?", Kendo asked, looking awestricken that a minor as young as him could describe a gun so well. "I...", He thought for a moment," I dont know." Kendo raised an eyebrow. "Well, you look eighteen so I'll let you buy the gun... besides.. you gotta be related to Barry Burton. He's the only other person in this city who can describe a gun as well as you.", he replied, "The gun you just described was a Glock 17, the standard issue for the Raccoon Police."

Kendo went into the storage room and returned with a box of clips and containers of 9mm bullets. He reached under the counter, pulled out a Glock and set it on top. "Do you sell gunbelts?", Peter asked, loading a clip into the empty chamber. "Yes we do.", Kendo replied, handing him one, "Your total will be two hundred and twelve dollars." Peter handed over the money, fitted the extra clips in his belt, holstered his weapon, and stepped outside. He had thirty eight dollars left over, so he walked to the Big Apple Hotel.

"I would like to rent a room.", Peter said. "Im sorry sir, but we currently have no vaccancies.", the receptionist said, even though Peter saw multiple keys on the wall behind him. "What are those keys for then, if you have no vaccancies?", He asked. "Maybe I wasnt making myself clear enough...", the man said, snobillyleaning over the counter, looking like christmas had come early... maybe he liked being indecent on the verbal level, " We currently have no vaccancies for people who are, how do I say, inadequate for our services." "What! IS THIS HOW YOU TREAT YOUR CUSTOMERS!", he screamed, slamming hisfist down on the counter. "Security! Get this ingrate out of here!" Two security officers, one white and one black, grabbed him and threw him from the building. "PRICKS! GEEZ! STUCK UP PIGS!" The officers unholstered their weapons. "CRAP!", He screamed, running down the street.

He came to a fork in the road, to his left was the R.P.D, to his right, J's bar diner. Even though he thought that the Big Apple was pretty rude, he didnt think he needed to report them. He stared towards the diner, his stomach growling beyond belief. He ordered a hamburger and some mashed potatoes. After he got done eating, which was an hour later, a R.P.D. officer came in, followed shortly by the same two security guards from the hotel, and a journalist. Time to leave..., he thought. He paid his bill and left, sneaking in the shadows as not to be seen. He continued down the street and found a small two story motel. He paid for a room and collapsed on the bed when he got in. Peter fell asleep immediately.