Okay, here I am with a new story!

Fair warning: this gets political quickly.

This story is dedicated to those who lost their lives in Gaza on that infamous day: 10/7. Please pray for their souls, and pray that terrorism comes to a stop.

On with it!

I am Amos Darvosky.

And I am a Jew – and totally proud of it.

I know the hate I get for it. The name-calling, the jeers, the desecration of my star. But you know what? I'm used to it. I've come to expect a little teasing and hate. Besides, I'm a VLADJI – a Virtuous Lived Adolescent Dealing Justice Impartially. It's part of my job to deal with this sort of trouble, and perhaps that puts some people off.

And perhaps I attract more trouble than I should. Again, part of the job as a VLADJI. I'm a liaison for the avatars – the tech-magic hybrid creatures (that, by the way, take on the forms of video game characters) who hang around Philadelphia and defend it against monsters. Defending the humans, specifically.

Which is great for us, except they can't exactly intervene between humans when their disagreements get physical. Something about equal duty and fair play. And that makes it much harder for them when humanity gets as polarized as it is today. (Don't believe me? Just look at the news.)

At the peak of this disagreement (which was four months ago), the Vortex – the godlike portal-summoning being who created the avatars – decided to pick out a set of humans to go along with them. And by a set of humans, I mean VLADJI – which is me, DJ, Vinny Lee, and Imira, in case you wanted any names.

Oh. I know what you're probably thinking. Gosh, Amos, isn't that just totally awesome? Being able to hang out with video game characters – real, live video game characters? Isn't that fun?

Honestly? A lot of the time, being a VLADJI kinda blows chunks. It makes you a target. And it's a pain in the neck to deal with the attention it gets you – good or bad. I've gotten used to it over time, I will admit. But one Sunday… Let's just say things were uglier than normal on my way to meet my friends.

I was out early at 7 am, as usual. I'm a stickler about showing up on time, so I always leave early for appointments – in case of any delays like construction, muggers, or monsters. You know how it goes. In retrospect, that habit turned out to be my smartest move yet. What with getting assailed and everything.

I was heading to Fadjir's Fancies – Imira's family's restaurant and home, which was where we'd set up for a meeting with Tails. I didn't want to miss it. For one, Tails was one of my favorite people, and I didn't want to disappoint him. For another, the food at FF was excellent, and I wouldn't pass it up for the world.

I was just heading down 4th Street, walking fast, whistling to the tune of "Titans" (I have a fondness for Major Lazer when I'm in motion – and, fine, just in general) – overall, just minding my own business – when I heard, "Hey, check out this loser."

I whipped around, looking to see who had dared to speak up – and who was asking for my belt in their face.

My standby weapon was in my hand immediately. I knew the streets of Philadelphia were dangerous – especially for a VLADJI. We're very special targets for even the smallest baddies – either to get rid of us or just for bragging rights. I half expected monsters or a crook or something just as annoying.

I wasn't expecting several juvenile delinquents at once.

Yeah, I realize that's not exactly a fair comparison. I was much the same age as they were – high school aged, I mean – and I'd been kicked out of several private schools on account of pranks myself. But I mean leather jackets, blue jeans, leery eyes staring into me – probably some tough guys playing hooky from school, which I'd never stooped so low to do, even when I decided to stir up trouble.

"What the heck you doing down here, yid?" the biggest kid growled. I guessed he was the ringleader of the gang. He looked big and stupid enough for it – more so than his buddies. If he'd ever been in school, he'd been held back at least three times. And he probably had eighty to ninety pounds on me.

I still stared back at him. I had training under avatars – which was pretty intense given their nature. It was more so than this guy's had been, probably. I also didn't like his slur that much. (How did he know I was Jewish?) Basically, he was asking for trouble.

Of course, I was probably asking for trouble myself. Par for the course. But he made me mad with his comments. And I was in a bit of a rush. I didn't need any trouble.

"Heading to a meeting," I replied as evenly as possible. "Like you guys should be. I reckon you missed the bus?"

I probably shouldn't have aimed that jab at their staying out in the streets. But that's just the way I am. I was nerve-racked by their sudden arrival, and very anxious to get to my friends before 8 am (the time for breakfast). And when I'm really worked up like this, I crack jokes. Often at others' expense.

Judging from the juvies' sour expressions, they weren't too pleased by my unnecessary comment. Hardly a surprise. Such guys were so sensitive. In short order, the thugs surrounded me.

"Don't need a bus," the lead guy replied. "Not when a little boy can probably hitch us a ride."

I clenched my fists. I didn't like that "little boy" crack. So I was a tad short for my age, so what? They didn't have to point that out to me.

Nor was I anxious to hail a taxi for a bunch of thugs. They'd just as soon throw me under it, and I didn't have the money to pay the bus fare for a dozen people anyway. Besides, whether violence was involved or not, the errand would make me run late to the VLADJI rendezvous at Fadjir's Fancies.

Tick off the thugs – or tick off DJ and the other VLADJIs. It was an easy decision – for me, at least.

"No thanks," I replied, shouldering the thug out of the way. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go. I'll be late for my meeting."

"Not until you've paid, little boy."

I turned around and started to walk off, not interested in any sort of "payment." Which was right when he sucker punched me.

Now, I'd been trained on dodging punches – by the avatars themselves. Dodging the sucker punch apparently wasn't among them. I fell to the ground from the sudden blow, scraping my hand on the asphalt.

I mean my right hand, the one that wasn't holding my belt. I glanced at my belt, which was wrapped around my other hand (I fought with my left hand) and had taken the brunt of the pavement. Luckily, it hadn't been scraped or shredded on the street, or else I'd be out a weapon. Thank goodness for small favors.

But now I was really ticked off. I took a deep breath, recited my lines to keep myself from detonating – breathe and relax, cool your head, everything's fine, nobody's dead.

Why was I doing this, you might ask? I often go into states of unchecked rage when I'm really stressed or provoked – states where there is mass property destruction. I didn't need that happening right now. I didn't want to frighten anyone – even if the thugs were being, well, thugs, I didn't want to traumatize them in that manner. I'm a decent person like that. Besides, I had a bit of trouble calming down from those temper flares when I was out on my own.

But I was also not keen on being held up from my rendezvous by a bunch of street thugs. Those guys should've stayed in the juvie hall.

The other guys laughed, and one moved in to grab at my shirt. But I was better aware of my tormentors this time. I swung my leg around and hit him in the shin, tripping him. He went down, and I jumped up to my feet, wincing at the pain in my palm. I hefted my belt, still coiled around my left palm.

"Well, a fighter, I see," said the head thug, observing my kung fu move. "Looks like I'm going to need a little more than my fists to beat you."

I didn't like the sound of that. I uncoiled my belt and flicked it into his face.

I'd used my belt as a weapon practically since childhood. I'd added an extra strap to the belt so I could convert it into a slingshot if I wanted to, but the whip function was my default for melee. It was quick, painful, and effective – and I didn't even have to think too much about it. And – bonus perk – the belt buckle could really pack a wallop.

I caught the head thug recoiling as the buckle flashed across his nose. At least I hurt him, but it seemed to make him more angry than injured.

"Oh, you want some?" the head thug demanded, though his busted nose made him sound like he was gargling syrup. "After the big takedown yesterday, I'd think you were more concerned about independence. But you don't seem to be."

I didn't know what the head juvie was talking about. Nor did he seem interested in telling me up front. But it sounded like some major event…

Nope. I had to get to the restaurant. Pronto. Chatting with some high school drop-out was not going to get me there. Nor was fighting him.

The head thug frowned at me. "I think I'll just rough you up now," he said, grabbing a baseball bat. "Teach you to–"

That was right when a voice yelled, "HEY!"

And just who's come in to save Amos's butt? We'll have to see.

Verse for the update: Joshua 24:15.

Please review! No flames, puh-leeze. And stay tuned.