CHAPTER 11. LIVING COOL

Simba could not believe his eyes, Timon and Pumbaa's house was a huge three level mansion overlooking a beautiful valley, there was waterfalls, mountains and dense jungle in the valley; the view was even better than the one from the roof of the palace. "You live here?" Simba asked stunned. "Yeah, I inherited the place from my Uncle Max, who made quite a bit of money through mining." Timon said. "It's beautiful." Simba said awestruck. "Well I guess I'll be going then." Simba said sadly and turned away from the house. "Where are you going to go?" Timon asked concerned. Simba kept walking towards their front gate. " I dunno, I'll try and find a job at the local Deli or something." Simba said. "So you don't have a home?" Timon stopped him. Simba shook his head sadly. "Aw gee kid, why don't you live with us?" Pumbaa offered. "I don't want to be trouble to you guys, are you sure." Simba's face lit up as he spoke. "No of course you won't, adding another member to the family ain't gonna hurt anyone." Timon smiled at him. Simba couldn't believe his luck, he liked these guys and now he was going to live with them. "Really?" he said. "Yeah sure, now come inside, I'm starving." Timon lead them inside.

"What sort of cereals do you guys have, I can't wait for breakfast." Simba said rubbing his stomach. "Cereals? Pah! Simba, I come from an Italian background and over there, it's a sin to eat cereals." Timon told him before shouting out: "MARIA GET SOME PASTA COOKING!" An Italian woman in a white apron appeared from around the corner. "Of course Mr. Timon." she said in heavily accented English, before scurrying into the kitchen. "That's Maria our chef, she makes the best Italian food this side of the border." Timon told him.

About an hour later, breakfast was served. Maria entered the dining room carrying three bowls of steaming hot spaghetti and meatballs. Simba looked at the bowl in front of him, it looked good all right, but he hadn't eaten pasta in years. He twisted some spaghetti around his fork and took a bite. "Ti Piace?" (Do you like it?) Maria asked in Italian. Simba looked at her with a smile. "Delizioso!" he said back; that was one of the few Italian words he knew. "That's the spirit kid." Timon encouraged him before chowing down the rest of his meal.

Simba lived with Timon and Pumbaa for the next nine years, he loved the cooking of Maria and the 'no worries' lifestyle. Timon and Pumbaa home schooled him and made sure he exercised, but they made it all fun for him, occasionally singing classic rock songs to help with his 'education'." Simba now felt better as a person too, he enjoyed life and eventually got over the loss of his father. Everyday he would go for a jog to keep fit, and sometimes visit the gym; he would never do so without some music, he would sing along to his music playing on his iPod as he bench pressed or ran on the treadmill. People around him admired him for his positive attitude and strived to be like him, little did they know about his shocking past. He also liked to go for drives in Timon's other car, a 1966 Mustang convertible. They would drive around town with the top down and music on full blast. They loved to sing Rock classics such as Smoke on the Water, Shoot to Thrill, Sunshine of your Love, Black or White and Fortunate Son. They lived uninterrupted in their rich and carefree lifestyle for years. Simba grew into a young man that much resembled his father: Tall, slightly long reddish-brown hair and quite muscular.

9 Years later, in Timon's backyard.

Timon, Pumbaa and Simba sat around a small table under the moonlight. BUUURRPP! Simba belched out loud. "Nice one buddy." Timon congratulated him. "Thanks." Simba said, smiling like an idiot. Maria suddenly appeared, carrying a large birthday cake with 21 candles poked in. "Tanti Auguri a te!" (Happy birthday to you!) Maria said. "Aw guys, you didn't have to." Simba said overwhelmed. "Of course we did, our best buddy has turned twenty-one! What did you expect us to do?" Timon said. Simba hugged Timon and Pumbaa and kissed Maria on both cheeks. "And I got a present for you." Timon said as he reached inside his pockets to produce some car keys, he handed them to Simba. "Thanks, what are they for?" Simba asked. "Come with me." Timon lead him into his underground garage, he then pointed to a car Simba hadn't seen before that had a cover on it. Pumbaa walked over and pulled the cover off to reveal a blue 1968 Shelby Mustang GT500. Simba stood there awestruck. That can't be for me. Simba thought. "Happy 21st kid." Timon said smiling. Simba embraced him again. "Thanks Timon, It's gorgeous." "And fast, tomorrow we're going to take her for a spin." Timon said enthusiastically. They made their way back upstairs and got changed into their board shorts before going back into the back yard.

The three of them jumped into Timon's outdoor hot tub and began to relax for the evening. They looked up at the stars. "Ever wonder how many stars there are up there?" Pumbaa asked solemnly. "Google it Pumbaa." Timon said sarcastically. Simba looked long and hard at the stars. "Well I always thought that scientists were never quite sure." Pumbaa said. "Whatever you say Pumbaa." Timon said, uninterested. Simba was reminded of his father and the night he told him about the great leaders in the stars. "Someone once told me, that the great kings of the Pridelands look down on us from those stars." Simba said quietly. "So a bunch of royal dead guys are watching us?" Timon and Pumbaa burst into laughter. "Pridelands? That place is communist bro, what kind of idiot told you that, huh?" Timon said through laughs. Simba felt slightly insulted, but tried his best not to show it. "Yeah, pretty dumb huh..." Simba stuttered. He looked up at the stars again, and wondered if his father was up there. He needed to be alone now, and try and recover from that awful memory of his father's death, and how he was responsible for it. He jumped out of the hot tub and wrapped a towel around him before walking inside. "Was it something I said?" Timon said, concerned. He turned to Pumbaa. "Whatever it was, we'll have a barbecue tomorrow to make up for it."

Simba walked upstairs and into his room. He sat on his bed and placed his head in his hands. His new car keys then slipped out of his hands and ended up under his bed. Simba bent down looking for them, he eventually came across them lying next to dusty looking box. He took the keys and the box so he could see what was in it.

He pulled off the lid and gasped. His things were in there; from nine years ago. A 9mm pistol lay in the box, loaded and ready for use. He also found his old mobile phone in there. He picked it up and tried to switch it on. Dead. He thought and tried to plug it into his computer, and remarkably the charger cable fit and worked. After a minute or so, the phone buzzed to life. Simba turned it on and began flicking through his pictures, shots of him and his father standing next to his Aston Martin. Simba fought tears as he looked. He eventually came across the picture of him and Nala posed in front of Banzai's liquor shop. I took that the day before the accident. He thought. He then opened up the Facebook application. He scrolled through his wall, not updated since nine years ago. Time to update that. Simba thought. He changed his profile picture to an image of him with Timon and Pumbaa and posted a status: 21 today, if only you could see me now dad.

Same time, PRF (Prideland Resistance Force) HQ.

Sergeant Matthew Weaver sat behind his computer, keeping track of any movements by Scar's forces. Nothing. Coast clear as usual, Scar's army knew better than to wander about the streets at night; if they did, snipers would pick them off for sure. Weaver was ashamed of what his country had turned into; a once bright and prosperous country had been turned into a war-torn wreck. He sat behind his computer bored, and decided to check his Facebook. That was as usual too, all depressing posts about the war and Scar's regime. Weaver noticed something unusual, there was a post from his old school friend Simba. 21 today, if only you could see me now father. The profile picture had changed as well, and it did look like an adult version of the kid he used to know. Something's not right. He thought. He clicked on the profile picture. He can't be alive. He immediately got on the phone. "Miller, I need an ID check on a suspected V.I.P, Call-sign: 'Kingfish', I'm sending you the pictures now." He copied the picture and copied another from when Simba was a child, he then emailed them across to Miller, an ex detective now working for the Resistance. "Okay, I should have a result for you in 24 hours. Miller out."

24 hours later

Weaver's phone rang, he knew who the call was from and scooped it up anxiously. "Hey Matthew, I got something. That ID check came out positive, the two guys match. What's this about anyway?" Weaver sat there stunned. "I'll tell you this, our cause might have just gotten a whole lot easier...Scar will have no response to this." Weaver muttered. He's alive, how's that possible? He thought, shocked. He hung up the phone and charged down the corridor and into the command room. He spoke into the PA: "Nala to the command room ASAP" He ordered.