“Oh no, not again.....” groaned Al.

Coming towards him down the busy city centre street was what could only be described as an angry mob. Upwards of thirty people were waving knives, bricks or just rubbing their hands together in anticipation of a good fight.

“I'm not him!” he shouted as the mob broke into a run towards him. “I'm not Jake!”

His words didn’t seem to register on a single person, they were far too pre-occupied by the reward of three billion Timorean dollars which had been offered in return for Jake's head. That was enough money to fund a whole town living like rock stars for the rest of their lives.

Al was getting used to this. After knocking out around twenty attackers already today he was starting to appreciate the karate lessons he'd been forced to have as a kid. If he hadn’t had them he'd have been killed for certain.

“This is insane,” thought Al. “I don't even look that much like him.”

It was true. He was skinny, with short black hair and glasses but that was about as far as the likeness went. Try telling that to crazy bloodthirsty people with dollar signs in front of their eyes though.

There was only one thing he could do. Run. Fast.

Al turned and sprinted down the road, pushing and dodging through the crowd. As he did so he heard cries and shouts, new people joining the pursuing mob. That's the trouble with running, it makes you look guilty even if you aren't.

He looked over his shoulder to see how much the mob grown. To his dismay it had more than doubled, and it seemed to be getting closer. As he turned back, a wrinkly old pensioner pushed her wheeled tartan shopping bag in front of him. Al collided with it and they sprawled together across the pavement.

The old lady stood over him, waving an umbrella violently.

“That'll teach you for helping them invade, sonny Jim!” she squawked.

Al tried to stand, but she smacked him hard around the face with the brolly.

“Don't move!” she screamed, almost spitting her teeth out, such was the venom in her voice.

Hearing a “thud” of heavy feet landing next to him, Al closed his eyes, a knowing acceptance of a lost battle. “Floored by an old lady. Not exactly how I'd imagined dying.”

He looked up just in time to see a baseball bat flying through the air.

The old lady's head nearly broke in two.