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n Great Britain 2015 by Jelly Pie an imprint of Egmont UK Ltd The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2015 The moral rights of the author-illustrator have been asserted.

      ISBN 978 1 7803 1430 3

      www.futureratboy.com www.jellypiecentral.co.uk www.egmont.co.uk

      A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

      Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Group

      56628/1

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

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      Hello, my name is Colin Lamppost and this is the story of how I got zapped millions of years into the future and turned into a superhero rat.

      5

      It all started one Saturday night when I was at home in Shnozville, sitting on the sofa with my cuddly toy bird, Bird.

      My mum and dad and little sister were on the sofa too, and we were all waiting for . . .

      to start on our really old TV.

      6

      said my mum, and my dad scrabbled his hand down the side of the sofa, looking for the remote control. He pulled it out and pointed it at the TV.

      7

      ‘Stupid twiddler!’ he grumbled, banging it against his knee, and the volume zoomed up to a hundred.

      cried my mum, and my dad got up and plodded over to the telly. ‘Blooming telly!’ he growled.

      8

      Suddenly there was a tap on the window. A raindrop had hit the glass and was zigzagging down it like a tear.

      ‘Aw, don’t cry, little window!’ said my sister, who’s one of those sisters who feels sorry for things like windows.

      9

      ‘Hmmm, looks like we’ve got a problem, Bird,’ I said to Bird, even though he was just a cuddly toy bird who didn’t understand anything. ‘Mr Window’s sad, and if we don’t cheer him up, my sister’s gonna be going on about it all the way through ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROBOT GRANNIES!’

      Bird’s shiny plastic eyes stared at the bowl of popcorn on the table. But only because that was the way he was facing.

      10

      I grabbed a tissue, leapt off the sofa and forward-rolled across the living room towards the glass.

      ‘Colin Lamppost to the rescue!’ I boomed in my best superhero voice, and I handed the tissue to the window. But because the window didn’t have hands, it couldn’t take it. ‘Argh, foiled again!’ I said, crumpling the tissue up in my hand.

      11

      Another raindrop tapped against the glass, then about seventeen more. ‘Hmmm . . . must be that storm the weatherman was talking about,’ I said to Bird.

      ‘Brilliant thinking, Colin!’ I squawked, doing Bird’s voice for him. ‘Thanks, Bird!’ I smiled, and I forward-rolled back to the sofa and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

      12

      ‘WAAAAAHHH!’ screamed my sister, and I threw my popcorn in the air, which is something I’ve always wanted to do.

      ‘Nobody panic!’ said my dad, or at least I think it was him, because all I could see was pitch black. The TV had turned off, as well as all the lights in the living room, and everyone else’s in the whole street too. ‘The lightning must have blown the electrics!’ said my dad, and just as he said it, all the lights came back on.

      13

      ‘Phew, that was close!’ I said to Bird. ‘Thought we might miss ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROBOT GRANNIES for a second there!’ I grinned, looking at the TV, which was still black.

      ‘RIGHT, THAT’S IT!’ boomed my dad, pulling the plug out and lifting the TV off its stand.

      cried my mum.

      14

      ‘I’VE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF THIS PIECE OF JUNK!’

      he shouted, marching into the hallway and out of the front door, towards our wheelie bin.

      15

      ‘NOOO!’ I cried, running out of the living room and diving into the cupboard under the stairs. I grabbed my anorak and put it on, pulling up the hood.

      Hanging on a hook was an old scratched-up scuba-diving mask. I’d need that too, what with all the rain outside. ‘Operation Save The TV!’ I shouted, heading for the front door with Bird tucked underneath my arm.

      16

      ‘COLIN SWEETIE, COME BACK HERE!’ shouted my mum, as I stretched the scuba mask over my head and zoomed out of the front door, past my dad who was coming back in, minus the TV.

      ‘I’VE GOT TO SAVE THE TELLY!’ I shouted. ‘OTHERWISE I’LL NEVER SEE ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROBOT GRANNIES!’

      17

      A bolt of lightning hit the little apple tree in our front garden and a branch exploded, spraying tiny little bits of bark through the air.

      ‘WAAAAAHHH! BE CAREFUL, MY DARLING!’ screamed my mum, as I lifted the lid of our green plastic wheelie bin and dived into it, which is another thing I’ve always wanted to do.

      18

      ‘Phew, that was close!’ I whispered, giving Bird a stroke and patting the TV. My eyes were getting used to the pitch blackness, and I noticed I was sitting on a half-filled-up bin bag, which was actually quite comfy.

      ‘Squeak!’ squeaked something, and seeing as it couldn’t have been Bird, because he was just a cuddly toy bird that couldn’t speak, I looked around the bin for something else that might have made the noise. AND THAT WAS WHEN I SPOTTED THE RAT.

      ‘RAAAAAT!’ I screamed. Not that anyone could hear me, what with the lightning bolt hitting the bin.

      19

      I woke up and didn’t know where I was. Then I remembered I was in a bin.

      I lifted the lid and jumped out. It was morning and the little apple tree in my front garden was now a gigantic, ancient one. ‘Coooool!’ I said, and I looked up at my house, which was two times taller and more metal-looking than I remembered. ‘Also coooool!’ I smiled. I like saying ‘cool’, in case you haven’t noticed.

      20

      ‘Mu-um! I’m ho-ome!’ I shouted, knocking on the front door.

      The door whooshed open like one of the ones at my local supermarket, andan old lady with a shiny metal headand red traffic-light eyes peereddown at me. ‘HELLO DEAR,’she bleeped,in a roboticvoice.

      21

      ‘Hmmm . . . you’re not my mum,’ I said, scratching my chin and lookingher up and down. She had skinnymetal legs, just like a robot would,except at the end of them wereclippy-cloppy brown shoes. Dentedinto her metal skirt in scary-lookingcapitals was the name ‘MAVIS 3000’.

      bleeped MAVIS 3000, her mouth notmoving.

      ‘So

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