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There was an old man, sitting by the fire. A pale rug tucked into his chin, long folds and creases resembling his aged face snaked away into his seat. He rocked slowly, listing to the faint chimes of the wireless, turned to full volume. Outside, a nurse knocked. She waited, then knocked again while entering. She brought a young man behind her, his face gleaming with youthful exuberance.
 "You have a guest Max", she explained
 "Are you my grandson?" Max asked the young man.
 "No," I replied. "Not quite."
I don't know why I said that. I wasn't nearly his grandson, after all. After fussing for a few moments, the nurse left us alone, and I poured Max a drink. He drank it slowly, a few drops trickled down his chin and dropped onto his blanket. As they spread out, the colour returned to the aged knitwear. When I looked back to Max, his youthful countenance looked back at me. He smiled, turning his hand this way and that in front of him.
 "Wow, thanks for that!" He exclaimed. "Are you my grandson?"
My smiled faded away. Throwing the rug over Max's head, I threw him out the window, and jumped after. Bundling him into my waiting van, we fled before the guards could catch us.
 I'll never know why Max was in that place, or what they wanted of him, but I can live with that for now. Behind us, the sirens started and the giant old man burst through the wall again, smashing aside the cars in the car park and ripping up lamp-posts.
 But that wasn't my problem any more. I look to the future now.
 My show's on at nine, for one thing

Something happens.

Sitting in the early morning sun, itching myself occasionally, but generally staying still, I watched. I'd heard that some mystery surrounded the local nursing home. Old people acting peculiar, even for old people. Strange equipment was taken to and from the place. High staff turnover, and a few disappearances. A huge satellite attached to the roof. Nuclear warheads placed underground as a self-destruct fail-safe. You know, the usual mysterious signs that could only trigger the suspicions of a genius like me.

 Dressing the blind alsatian man in my clothes and sending him to a coffee shop, I managed to doge my suited followers. Camped out near the carehome now, I searched the area with binoculars, looking for any signs. Any clues that Max could be here.

 After about an hour, something happened. A wall near what I understood to be a harmless genetic manipulation room (I understand old people often need such manipulations to jeans) exploded open in a shower of bricks and plaster. A giant figure, 20 feet tall, burst forth on muscular legs. Pulling with him a colossal zimmer frame, the Goliath Grampa made an energetic hobble for the exit. A team of armoured men ran from the hole in the wall, jabbing at him with stun batons or shooting tranquilizer darts. Another group ran from a doorway to cut him off, offering a similar treatment to the geriatric giant. Eventually, the figure collapsed, smashing a small car and a wall on his decent. Lashing him with ropes, the security guards dragged the ancient big person back into the facility.

 I sat back, putting the binoculars down. That, I'll admit, was rather strange. Still, this wouldn't be the first time I had to infultrate a carehome that experimented on the elderly, and it wouldn't be the last.