When we broke in, there were no gaurds. It was abandoned. Not even the sound of people, rang the halls. Jumping around crates, and traps, we were sure to be careful. After making it to a center clearing we saw a man standing. He looked prepared for anything, but he was not facing us.
"Stay quiet," father barely whispered. We lowered our bodies to the floor. Moving around for a better view I saw in front of him, mum.
"Why did you start the IRIM," he demanded.
"I don't know. My company -"
"I don't give a care about your company!" He jerked her into his grip and sat her down under a bright light. I let out a small unnoticed shriek.
"Why, how'd you get the prints," he's yelled into her face. Automatically I wanted to rush to her, I wanted to kick the man over, and shove his faces to the ground. I could tell my father didn't want me there, but I wanted to be there. Slowly we inched torward her. I saw her hair shine from the small bulb which hung above her head.
"How'd you get my prints!" The man was tall, and very buff. He seased her by her throat. We could take no more. Quietly tiptoeing, I took the path directly behind the man, father moved stealthily around front distracting him. Quickly I untied the complex knot around mums wrist, looking into her face, smudged with dirt, we ran until we couldn't be seen. We stood, motionless, and silent, watching the brawl between a writer, and a crinimal. After watching father tirelessly take on the man, I took a step forward, but mum pulled me back into her arms.
Holding her hand out to me, she signaled for me to stay. She grabbed a crate, lined with metal bearings, and simply bonked the big man on the head. It must have worked because he fell to the ground, and we united.
"He's got more men, lets go now," it was odd to hear her voice sound so different. She was always the ideal mother, telling her childeren not to do dangerous things, packing lunches, wearing poofy dresses. Now, she was more like a spy, tough, and strong. Either way she looked familiar, pretty.
