Nine Hundred and Ninety-Seven Nine Hundred and Ninety-Eight Nine Hundred and Ninety-Nine One Thousand. I collapsed to the floor on my chest noiselessly and gradually as the mental tally finally hit its end mark of one thousand push ups. I quickly rolled over onto my back and placed the palms of my hand over my collar bones on the floor and performed an anemic kip up, landing on my feet. My arms now felt like strands of spaghetti and my shoulders tingled as I awaited my father to announce the pathetic time which had elapsed since the first push up. One minute and forty-five seconds Twenty seconds better than yesterday. Pathetic. My father said as he placed the stopwatch atop his mantel piece. See? Son He walked over to me and crossed his arms, When I was eight years old, I did one thousand pushups in fifty seconds. Now, I dont expect you to be me but I do expect you to be your fathers son. He turned around slowly and looked over his shoulder. And that role entitles you to excellence He walked back over to the mantel piece and uncrossed his arms. I heaved a silent sigh and prepared to go at it again as he reached for the stopwatch. VigilanteBased on a True Story One Thousand Nine Hundred and Ninety-Seven One Thousand Nine Hundred and Ninety-Eight One Thousand Nine Hundred and Ninety-Nine Two Thousand. I glanced at the time on the stopwatch which lay on the floor beneath me. Sixty seconds. Ten years later and I finally understood what excellence meant. I went down as if I were going for one last pushup and instead pressed off of the floor with the palms of my hands sending me into an erect standing position. There I stood alone in a chamber located within a gigantic bomb shelter built below my basement in the late 50s. It was no longer just a pantry of expired food and obsolete medical supplies. I waltzed out of the chamber and into the heart of the bomb shelter. To my left were three supercomputers connected to a plasma display 1/4th the size that of an IMAX Screen. To my right were the medical chamber and several air ventilation systems. Behind me was the gymnasium/training facility and forensics. To the northeast was a gigantic hole I had began digging months ago when I first found out how to get into the shelter. At the time I called it excavation. With the help of a map, I had been able to manipulate the tunnel I had been burrowing throughout the town in a beneficial course. The passageway was big enough to fit any toys my gadget maker produced that went or were mobile. Via the passageway I could get to pretty much anywhere from the shelter in half the time and vice versa. Speaking of toys, to the southeast was the contraption chamber where over two thousand contrivances were kept not counting weapons like swords and bo staffs. I had made my way to the spiral staircase in the upper right corner of the refuge and began my flight up their 15 steps. Each step was inscribed with a piece from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8: For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to seek, and a time to lose; A time to keep, and a time to throw away; A time to tear, and a time to sew; A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; A time for war, and a time for peace. I opened the door after reaching the top of the stair case and closed it behind me. I was now in the basement making sure no trace of the doors existence was presentable. The door had no handle, it opened by applying 1 PSI to the upper left corner and 2 PSI to the center of the door at the exact same time by way of the fists. No more, no less. I made my way upstairs to the kitchen where my mom was cooking. From the smell of green onions, maple syrup, Soya sauce, sake and boneless chicken I could tell she was making Yakitori. Its Japanese. All she needed was wooden spears and Brian, pass me the sugar please. She asked as she pulled several shish kabob sticks from their plastics baggies. I walked over to the nearest pantry and grabbed a bag of sugar and laid it down on the counter next to her and went back to close the pantry door. Thanks she had turned her elbow and knocked over the open bag of sugar. On instinct, I grabbed a measuring cup from the cupboard farthest from me and caught what very little sugar fell out of the bag and grabbed the bag itself before it, and all of its contents, fell to the floor. Seven milliseconds. Oops! Clumsy me She went back to her shish kabob sticks as I placed the bag in a safer place and dumped the tiny grains of sugar within the measuring cup into the sink. For some odd reason, I felt she had knocked the bag over on purpose. So, what were you doing downstairs this time? She asked as she began sliding the chicken onto the shish kabob sticks. Nothing really...just trying to find some of the toy cars I used to play with as a kid They were in the attic, not the basement. I knew this. She knew this. Theyre most likely next to those old vases I used to buy keep looking, Im sure youll find them honey Yeah I slowly backed out into the living room and made my way over to the caller I.D. High Tech Toys had called twenty minutes earlier. In other words, Nick, my gadget maker, had finished his latest project.