The house was quiet.
Mom was in the kitchen, humming softly as she finished washing the dishes.
Dad was in the living room, reading.
And you were crouched behind the bushes outside, staring through the leaves.
Something was wrong.
Two men had been hanging around the street for the past twenty minutes.
They weren't neighbors.
They weren't deliverymen.
And they kept looking toward the house.
You narrowed your eyes.
Absolutely not.
Mom was kind.
Mom was beautiful.
Mom was the sort of mom who would pray for someone who had just tried to rob her.
Which was wonderful.
It also meant that sometimes somebody had to make sure she didn't have to deal with people who mistook kindness for weakness, or wonderfulness for...
...opportunity.
Fortunately, Dad had just bought you an RC helicopter.
A chunky PS1-era mid-range RC copter with a terrible camera, three minutes of battery life, and a controller that looked like it belonged in a toy store.
You had made one modification.
A small semi-automatic BB launcher, with a punch.
Dad had helped with the installation.
He had also given you one very specific instruction:
"You have been well-trained, they will be no match for you.
Also, don't be stupid."
You had nodded solemnly.
Now you gently pushed the throttle.
The helicopter rose quietly from behind the bushes.
BZZZZZZZZZZ.
One of the men looked up.
"What the — ?"
The helicopter drifted toward him.
Pfft.
A BB bounced harmlessly off his jacket, or, so it would have appeared, to the uninitiated.
He jumped.
"Ow!"
Another BB.
Pfft.
"Hey!"
The second man turned around.
"What's shooting at us?!"
The helicopter swooped behind the hedge.
They followed it.
That was their first mistake.
It disappeared around the corner.
They hurried after it.
Second mistake.
It reappeared directly in front of them.
Pfft-pfft-pfft.
"GET OUT OF HERE!"
Your eyes narrowed with a (deadly, only in appearance, probably) focus.
Inside the house, Dad looked up from his book.
He heard shouting.
Then turned to the next section of the newspaper.
Mom continued with the dishes, her hum and her smile threatening to attract an army of woodland forest creatures.
You realize this could work to your advantage as a screen-clearing attack, but dismiss the ideation for now.
As you chased the two grown men down the sidewalk, they quickly became not just bewildered, but furious, and one pulled a baseball bat from the car they had probably driven up in.
Unacceptable.
This was the only word that your mind locused.
A BB shot directly into the "wingman's" right-eyebrow, with force.
And then, came the forehead of baseball "boy".
"I'm bleeding Jammy!
Get in the car!"