“Gaz!” said Joel, urgently beckoning the eldest of the Tereson brothers over to the window. “Come here, quickly!”

Gaz walked across the landing and peered through the gap in the curtains with his brother.

“No way,” he said in a panic. “They've come to get us. We've gotta warn the others!”

The brothers rain down the stairs and ushered the whole family into the back room.

“Mick! Where's Mick!” he whispered urgently.

“I sent him to the shops,” answered Teresa, their Mom.

“No!” screamed Chris, the youngest. “He's gonna be arrested and be sent to prison forever!” The boys huddled around the crying nine year old, comforting him and telling him it would all be fine.

There was a knocking at the door.

“We gotta go,” whispered Gaz. “We can get him later.”

More knocking, slightly more urgent.

“Go!” he urged, pushing his brothers out of the front door.

A third set of knocks came, followed by a familiar voice.

“Gaz! Let me in! I forgot my keys!”

“It's Mick!” whispered Joel. “He's here!”

“It could be a trap,” warned Gaz, tip-toeing towards the front door. “They've probably captured him already.”

He reached the front door and peered through the keyhole. Seeing that Mick was alone he breathed a sign of relief and opened the door, pulling him in quickly.

“What are you doing?!”asked Mick indignantly, fully expecting a fight after being man-handled in such a way.

“They're after us? Can't you see?”

Mick laughed. “They're not. They're after that slob from next door.”

“Jaundiced Jake?” asked Gaz. “Jaundice” was the rather cruel nickname the Teresons had given Jake due the pasty complexion he had gained by hiding from sunlight.

“Yeah, Jaundice. What that pathetic waste of space could have done I'll never know. He can barely leave his house nowadays.”

One by one the Teresons pushed past Mick, out into the street. If there was one thing they liked more than anything else, it was a scene. Especially one that looked like it might turn into a fight.

One hundred and fifty armed and uniformed guards were surrounding Jake Spencer's house. That was more people than had ever been seen in Schmingleton before. A helicopter circled above, blaring an ultimatum from a loudspeaker.

“JAKE SPENCER, COME OUT OF YOUR HOUSE WITH YOUR HANDS UP. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST.”

Eric Smythe, Head of the Secret Police element of FOG shrugged his shoulders.

“I think we're gonna have to go in.”

After a couple of nods, the door was burned down using one of the tiny lazer guns each Policeman had latched to their belt. Four officers hurried in, shields up, guns at the ready. Five minutes passed. They came out, empty-handed.

“He's not there,” one summarised. “We're too late, he's escaped.”

Eric calmly picked up his SignaPhone and spoke to FOG HQ. A couple of minutes later and he was teleported back to the busy control room.

“Find his picture again and send it out to all of the news stations, every single one in the universe” said Eric. “There is a reward, I want him brought in. Dead.”

“Erm...Sir?” piped up a voice from the back of the room. “Don't you mean dead or alive?”

“No!” replied Eric. “I mean dead!”

Another unsure voice questioned him. “Sir? He won't be much use to us dead and he might have useful information. Don't you think you should wait a while before making this decision?”

A third voice made a suggestion. “Sir, are you sure? Maybe have a coffee or something first. After all, you are quite pissed.”

“ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY JUDGEMENT?” bawled Eric, slurring his words together a little. “Of course I'm pissed! I'm always pissed on a Friday afternoon and it's always fine! Send it out now!”

The FOG staff knew better than argue with Eric when he was like this, he'd only send the bulletin out himself otherwise. If that happened not only would a reward be offered for Jake's murder on every news station in the universe, but the fucking message would be riddled with fucking expletives, and probably some highly racial slander on Jake Spencer's humanoid race too. There was already one war going on, they didn't need another.

So the message went out on every television station, to every podcast, every newspaper and every radio show in the Outer Galaxies. “Jake Spencer. Looks weedy but may be dangerous. Wanted dead. Substantial reward.”

Within half an hour of trying to kill himself, Jake Spencer had become the unlikely hero of the fearsome Crawkling race, and the most wanted man in the universe.