Author's note:
Due to popular demand and my own reluctant acceptance that there was kind of a big jump between chapters 2 and 3, I decided to make a bridging chapter to make it a slightly smoother transition. Apologies for no reviews, but I plan on catching up in my next normal chapter.
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Chapter 2.5: Home Invasion to Homecoming
(Age: 14)
A good idea, this is not.
"That is quitter talk, Yoda," I say. "I will have you know that I did extensive research to find the perfect house for squatting in oppulent luxury. This massive waste of space is owned by a retired actress who is currently on a trip to the Caribbean with her daughter for the next month. I even disabled the security system's connection to the alarm monitoring center. It could go off for hours and no one would be the wiser."
What I mean, that is not. Immoral, it is.
"She is absolutely loaded," I reply to the grumpy gremlin grandpa. "Unlike most actors, she actually invested her money. She has made way more off of the stock market than she ever did as an actress. I truly doubt she will care that much about someone eating her food and sleeping on her couch."
Unbefitting for a jedi, this is. As a felony, it is known.
"I could really do without the holier than thou vibes," I snort as I microwave a frozen burrito. There wasn't much in the fridge since the lady and her daughter were out of the country, but I made do with what I had. It was pure luck that I found the daughter's secret stash of Oreos when I was looting, I mean looking around.
Looting, you meant.
Yoda gets awfully snippy when I break the law or cross 'moral and ethical boundaries.' Apparently, it tarnished the legacy of the Jedi for their successor to be nothing more than a delinquent and a felon. At least I make sure to keep 'homeless' off of the list by squatting in the mega mansions of the rich and powerful while they are off galivanting around the world. With a little hacking and a touch of low level Republic tech I have been able to replicate, I can stay for weeks without being caught and they are none the wiser when I leave. It is practically a victimless crime in my book.
Bullshit, it is. Enjoy it, you do.
"No shit I enjoy it," I scoff. "It might have something to do with years of isolation from people who thought that their mild success made them better than everyone else. If I can rip off people even worse than the Dursleys to get by, I won't lose too much sleep at night when I am lying in their beds with ten thousand thread count sheets to dry my tears."
To warn you, I was going. Feel like it, I do not.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask as the microwave chimes in time with the front door being blasted off its hinges. "What the fuck?!"
"LAPD!" a voice booms out. "Get down on the ground!"
Fuck that.
I bolt deeper into the house as I make my way to one of my prepared escape routes. I glance over my shoulder to see I was in the clear before grinning in victory. Cops are always one step behind.
I turn a corner to find myself blinded by a flashlight and staring down the barrel of a shotgun. I reflexively grab the side of the barrel and turn it to the side before it goes off. The gun bucks as it blasts the side of the doorway into wooden splinters.
Jesus Christ, these SWAT guys suck literal ass! Take a gun safety course, you trigger happy fuck! I thought Americans were supposed to be used to using guns!
I yank the gun forward out of his grip before slamming the butt back into his throat. He drops to the ground choking as I rapidly rack the shotgun to empty it. Once it is nice and safe, I promptly use it like a club to deck the next cop before throwing it at the third. Cop #2 collapses to the ground with a concussion while Cop #3 reels back from the hit only to be sent flying by my running dropkick.
Now you might be wondering how am I beating up several full grown men who are trained SWAT officers while I myself am a fourteen year old teenager who stand a half foot shorter and probably weighs at least fifty pounds less than any of them.
Would you believe I used dramatic childhood flashbacks and the power of friendship to give me a power boost?
Nah, I am just kidding. My childhood may have been full of many memories a licensed therapist might refer to as 'trauma', but I am severely lacking in the friend department. No shonen anime bullshit for me.
Instead, I have a healthy dose of Force energy reinforcement. With my excessive use of spiritual doping, I can hit like a heavyweight boxer and jump around like a spidermonkey. Sure, I might never be able to legally compete in the Olympics without getting disqualified, but fuck that. I am far too busy being a chronically homeless space wizard.
I grab the pistol from one of the incapacitated cops and make a break for a different escape path. They were probably watching my original exit if these guys were coming from that direction.
In the effort to make my way out as unnoticed as possible, I decided to go with my last choice instead. If they are already blocking most spots on the ground floor, I just need to get out from the second.
I was almost to the staircase when another group of cops finds me. I fire at the first with my freshly acquired pistol, the 9mm rounds striking him in the armor plate of his vest. He goes down hard as the impacts definitely knocked the wind out of his lungs and probably broke a couple ribs.
I repeat the process on the next couple guys who promptly joins their friend on the ground. I was about to give the last guy a lead chest massage when the gun just clicks. That is when I notice the slide had locked back since the clip was empty. Fuck, Hollywood lied to me about endless pistol clips!
The final guy opens fire with his assault rifle as I duck out of the way. The rounds punch through the walls like they were tissue paper and make me very thankful I was lying on the ground. I thought walls stopped bullets! Goddamn action movies!
I pop out just long enough to throw my empty gun at him and distract his aim. From the way his rifle-mounted flashlight moved to the side, it seemed to work. I just gave a quick prayer to God and the Force that I don't get shot because of this. Sue me, I like to hedge my bets.
I tackle him to the ground and spring off of his body as I keep going. I totally didn't stomp on his stomach in the process on purpose. Promise.
I dash up the stair two at a time before I bolt down the second floor hallway at breakneck speed. I see my planned window nice and inviting on the far wall, almost like it was beckoning me. Well, I don't want to keep it waiting.
I leap forward, the glass shattering against my body as the force of my jump sent me sailing through the triple-plated window. If I wasn't actively reinforcing my body, I probably wouldn't have managed to break all the way through. Even if I did, I would have been shredded by all of the jagged shards of glass.
As it stands, I just got nicked by a couple with only some superficial bleeding to show for my trouble.
I manage to land in a roll that helps to disperse the energy of the fall decently well. It still kind of hurt, but not nearly as much as jumping from the second story should. It was more like tripping onto concrete. The general softness of grass covered dirt definitely helped, but Force powers are the real MVP.
I hop to my feet as I come out of the roll and brush myself off. 10/10 escape, would use again.
My happy mood is ruined when a couple darts stick into my neck and I feel lightning run through my nerves. Yeah, I just remembered something about Force reinforcement as everything goes black. It was great for resisting cutting and blunt force trauma.
It was sorely lacking when it came to tasers.
--
"We have been tracking you for a while, kid," the detective says as he leans against the table of the interrogation room. "Over a dozen break-ins across the county over the last six months. Roughly a hundred grand in valuables unaccounted for. Security systems that never seem to work right. I guess you can understand why we wanted to bring you in."
"I can't believe you guys tasered a fourteen year old kid who was just minding his business," I remark. "I can't wait to use my phone call and get a lawyer to sue the department for police brutality."
"Of course," the detective says. "Just curious, why would a fourteen year old minding his business open fire on police officers with a gun he stole from one of them?"
The detective sets a piece of paper down on the table before sliding it over. I glance at it only to see that it is a screenshot of the bodycam footage from one of the SWAT officers. I have to admit, they did a great job picking such an awesome shot. Not gonna lie, it makes me look like an action movie protagonist.
"Can I get this framed?" I ask. "I want to put it on the wall of the next house I rob, I mean randomly walk near during a police raid."
"Wow, great recovery," the detective drawls. "That totally didn't sound suspicious at all."
He was about to say something else when there was a knock on the door. The detective gets up and leaves the room for a moment to talk with whoever had shown up.
Hmm, I wonder what that is all about.
Your lucky break, it is.
Oh, the gremlin finally returns! I can't believe you let me get arrested by the cops!
Warn you, I did. A criminal, you are. Doing their job, they were.
Oh yeah, laugh it up. I can hear your spectral chuckle from here. I guess you aren't going to give me any extra hints are you?
The silence seemed to answer that on its own.
The detective comes back into the room with a scowl on his face as he sits down again. "It appears you have some friends in high places," he comments. "Despite the mountains of evidence we have on you, you are going to be a free man in a couple minutes."
"I should probably be worried, but I can't help but enjoy the look of frustration on your face," I say. "It's like you tried to take a shit, but only a fart came out."
"I am done pretending I give a shit about you," the detective sighs. "You might be a kid, but you can die in a ditch for all I care."
Hehe, I made a cop give up on giving a shit. Score one for me!
"How on Earth am I being let go?" I inquire. "I doubt everyone decided to randomly drop the charges against me."
"That's exactly what happened," the detective says.
"What about the homeowners?" I ask. "They have to be pretty mad about someone squatting in their expensive house."
"They are all happy after being heavily reimbursed for the inconvenience," he answers.
"What about the cops that got hurt by that handsome devil who seems to share a passing resemblance to me?" I offer.
"Their medical bills have been paid, they were gifted a six-figure hazard pay check, and the department received a ten million dollar donation to our pension fund," the detective says with a shrug. "No one really sees the point in keeping you."
"So you all sold me to some multimillionaire," I comment.
"See it as the good luck it is, kid," the detective replies as he gets up. "Your new legal guardian is coming to talk with you."
"Can I get these cuffs off?" I ask. "I am technically free to go, aren't I?"
"We wouldn't want you running away, now do we?" the detective responds with a grin before leaving.
Asshole.
I just fiddle with my thumbs and wait for whoever is supposed to show up. My boredom is thankfully ended and a woman walks in. Shit, I recognize her.
Carla Conners, the retired actress whose house I was arrested at. She might have been out of the business for over a decade, but it seems star power doesn't fade that quickly. The woman had the confidence of someone walking off of the red carpet and into the interrogation room.
She sits down in the chair across the table from me and we just look at one another, sizing each other up. Finally, she breaks the silence with a single word.
"Money."
I wait for a moment since I naturally expect her to follow that up with something. Sadly, it seems she wants me to respond before she continues. So, I just wave my hand to say, 'Go on.'
"People like money for two reasons," she says. "Well, three reasons if they just like having money. The first is for the power it gives you. The power to fulfill any desire that you might have. With all of the money you have made stealing, you could probably afford to have a decent apartment or go someplace nicer than California. Yet, you seem to stay and use what you make for those bits of tech they found in my house. Apparently, the IT guys with the police couldn't make heads or tails of them since it was more advanced than anything they have ever seen."
I just give her a blank look which makes her smile as she goes on.
"How about you work for me instead of stealing from me?" she offers. "You would have plenty of money to build whatever tickles your fancy and I would make a disgusting amount of money off of copyrights and manufacturing."
I mull it over before my eyes lock on hers again and raise an eyebrow at the fact that she stopped halfway through her pitch.
"The second reason," she continues, her smile a little wider than before, "is because they want comfort. The comfort of safety. A roof over their head, food, and companionship that you need money to maintain. I can let you stay with me so you don't have to spend the rest of your life hopping from place to place, alone and on the run. Everyone needs someone."
"You would really let a random stranger into your home?" I ask in surprise.
"More let you back, but yes," she answers. "I have always been a great judge of character. It has helped me in the film industry and the corporate world. I can see who someone is beneath all of the layers of cool restraint and sarcasm they try to hide behind. Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?"
"A devilishly charming hacker and a grizzled rogue?" I offer.
"A boy, drowning in the weight of his loneliness," she answers.
I bristle at the statement but I can't find any reason to dispute her claim. After all, I have Yoda harping in my mind about it on a daily basis. Everyone, Jedi in particular, need people. It keeps us emotionally stable and helps to balance out our own internal darkness. If you are alone, you have the tendency to bottle everything up until it explodes.
So, I just look back at the victorious smirk already playing on her lips at her success and say the only thing that comes to mind.
"You had me at 'money.'"
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