Four people crowd around a map.

“You go this for your birthday, right?” the person on the couch asks.

“Yeah, I did.”

Adjusting stained glasses, the person with black hair says, “Why’d they map you? Where’d does it lead to and from?”

“Yeah, I dunno”

“Figure it out,” The last figure hisses. Three of them angrily leave the room.

“Yeah, that didn’t make any sense,” The boy, without glasses or a nose piercing, says to himself. I don’t know why he did that; No one is in the room, weird kid.

Tracing fingers along the map, He spots something familiar, if he can recall: His sofa! Desperately, he digs, hand like a worm, through the cushions. He finds it.

A bomb!! Save the bank!!! There’s a bomb!!!

He leaps out a window, glass clattering behind him, and he lands at his feat, bomb in toe (Not in his toes, it’s a figure of speech). Along the alleyway, he races. The bomb ticks down. Forty-five seconds remain to get this bomb outta da city, bling bling.

After an eventful sprinting sequence, which I will not elaborate on because I don’t have the time, the birthday boy throws the bomb into a ditch.

“Know your place, scum,” He quips as he spits.