Let me tell you, being in the midst of a Shadstorm is even less fun than you'd think. After all, you've stirred up trouble, right? Sit back, grab a soda and some popcorn, and watch where the splatter action takes place. Since, y'know, I'm a kid and kids are generally safe from getting into REAL trouble! Right?
You couldn't be more wrong if you wore plaid and pokadots. Seriously.
In my case, the Indian powered armor combat helmet was potentially an act of war. Indian infantry, uninvited, on an American planet was, at best, a serious problem. As in, big space warships start jumping into systems and rattling proverbial sabers sized problems.
It was an even bigger problem for me.
After all, I derpably chased Kyle who tripped over it while chasing the Awknerds. That made it my problem. I'd have gladly handed it over to Kyle for it to be his problem, but for some reason the problem was labeled mine and left in my inbox. No way to get out of it. No way to escape. No way to play dumb. Everyone knows I am not and knows even better I am HORRIBLE at playing dumb.
So, instead of getting to go off on a hike to see if I could find some small bit of meteorite - note, no one has ever actually found one, but we go for the hike the next day as part of tradition anyways - I got grilled.
In fact, I was so grilled, I thought a grilled cheese sandwich had it too easy. I had the adults from town tearing me apart. I had my PARENTS tearing me apart. And if you knew my Mom, when she gets into Grand Inquisitor Mode, you'd understand just how miserable I was. And when my parents, even in their no-longer-together-and-not-real-comfortable-around-each-other-state work together like this, its bad. Really, really bad. Not for them. For me.
Grilled cheese. You have it too easy!
IT GOT WORSE!
Some Feds from the main office from the Bureau of Interplanetary Investigations showed up. They ripped and ribbed and tortured me with questions. Why, oh why couldn't they find something small and fuzzy to be cruel to instead of me.
(actually I don't mean that, but they did seem like evil sadists: they took away my booster when we talked so I couldn't access the greater world or talk with my friends or anything! Sadists, I tell you!)
The US Marine Corps showed up.
No, I am not kidding. There is a small garrison on Jefferson. There are about 200 marines and they mostly train and act as a group to train others if there was ever a war on Jefferson. The likelihood of that depends on whether I get back my booster in time to wreck utter havoc on the Awknerds for this predicament.
They grilled me for another day. I was mental apple sauce by then. Mush with a side of fried brains meant only for zombies. Maybe that's the origin of that horrible stuff called poutine?
BBQ Steak had it easier! IT WAS LESS GRILLED THAN I WAS!
AND I'M ONLY 12!
After it was all said and done, I was released back to my parents. I went back to my mom's. I wanted her precise and utter organization after the headaches of the last few days. Days that were meant to fun. My right of passage from 6th grade into 7th. Just at the end of 'childhood' and into the drama of the teenage years.
But, no, instead I ended up having to see if the BBQ had left burn marks on my butt when I finally got home.
And, no, I did NOT really look in the mirror to see if there were burn marks despite what my little brother might say.