Chapter 5: Childhood Rebels

To understand Little Col, you have to rewind to the beginning.

Born in 1991 on Camano Island, Washington, Little Col grew up in a place famous for its beaches, cedar forests, and sleepy vacation towns. For tourists, it was heaven. For Little Col, it was sometimes a prison.

His story began in tragedy.

His father was violent, beating him daily.

He remembered hiding under the porch, counting bruises, wishing for a way out.

His mother was an alcoholic, barely noticing him even when he was hurt.

She spent nights passed out on the couch, TV buzzing with static. Little Col learned early to fend for himself.

Most kids from homes like that are lucky just to survive.

Social workers came and went, teachers tried to help, but nothing changed. Little Col grew tough, suspicious, and fiercely independent.

Some kids are born for trouble.

He was restless—a spark waiting for gasoline.

Little Col’s path was especially crooked.

He skipped school, wandered the woods, and dreamed of escape.

At age seven, after his father went to prison, Little Col ran away and lived in the forest.

He built shelters from branches, learned to fish, and scavenged for food. The woods became his safe haven.

Survival was hard.

He went days without eating, shivered through rainstorms. Hunger gnawed at him, but pride kept him going.

Just when things seemed hopeless, he met Harley—aka Little Ha—on the street.

Little Ha wore a faded hoodie and a sly grin. He handed Little Col half a granola bar, and just like that, they became friends.

They were the same age and bonded instantly.

They compared scars, swapped stories, and plotted how to take on the world.

Little Col had no clue his life was about to turn into a real-life video game.

They watched older kids play GTA at the rec center, dreaming of wild escapes and fast cars.

During a chat, Little Ha learned Little Col hadn’t eaten in three days and felt bad for him.

He offered to help, but not in the usual way.

So, Little Ha decided to show him how to survive by any means necessary.

He winked, "Stick with me, kid. I’ll show you how to never go hungry again."

You’d think he’d buy Little Col a burger or candy bar.

But Little Ha had bigger plans.

Nope.

He was about to teach Little Col the art of survival—by breaking the rules.

In this story, nothing is ever simple.

Little Col learned early that life was full of twists.

That afternoon, Little Ha led Little Col to a row of vacation homes.

The houses were massive—glass walls, perfect lawns, sports cars in the driveway. It felt like another universe.

He told Little Col to pick any house—they were all “familiar.”

Little Ha had already scoped them out, memorizing which ones were empty and which had the best snacks.

He planned to break in and steal food.

He explained: "Rich folks only come here for holidays. The rest of the time, these places are ours."

It wasn’t holiday season, so the owners were away—prime time for a break-in.

The neighborhood was quiet, the perfect spot for their first job together.

Most kids would’ve run home at this point.

The front doors looked huge, intimidating. But Little Col’s hunger was stronger than his fear.

Little Col simply asked, “How do you steal?”

He was curious, not scared—he wanted to learn.

Little Ha explained it was easy—just know how to pop the lock.

He showed off his wire, bending it like a pro. "It’s all about the angle," he said, sounding like a magician.

He slipped a piece of wire into the lock and popped it open in seconds.

The click sounded like victory. The door swung wide, and Little Col’s eyes went wide.

Little Col was hooked and begged Little Ha to teach him.

He practiced on every door they could find, picking up the trick in just two tries.

He grinned, proud of his new skill. For the first time, he felt powerful.

After their first break-in, they ate their fill and Little Col soaked in a luxury tub.

They raided the fridge, microwaved frozen pizza, splashed in the jacuzzi. It felt like winning the lottery.

After that, Little Col never went home again.

The houses became their playground and refuge. They slept in guest beds, played video games, and pretended to belong.

With their skills, the two lived carefree—"do it yourself, and you’ll never go hungry."

They called themselves "The DIY Kings," proud of their independence.

Over the next few months, Little Col and Little Ha hit more than a hundred vacation homes.

They kept a list, rating each house by snacks, TV size, and swimming pool.

But soon, Little Col grew restless.

He wanted more—more excitement, more challenge.

He convinced Little Ha to start stealing cars.

He dreamed of speeding down back roads, wind in his hair. Little Ha hesitated, but Little Col’s enthusiasm won him over.

They quickly agreed, leveling up their childhood thievery.

They practiced on bikes first, then moved up to real cars.

Hard to believe, but it’s true.

They were just kids, but their skills rivaled grown-ups.

They used the vacation homes as their base—stealing bikes at age eight, BMWs by age twelve.

They watched YouTube tutorials, tinkered with ignition wires, learning by trial and error.

While other kids played Mario Kart, they learned to drive for real.

They raced around empty lots, dodged potholes, laughing at their own daring.

Cruising by day, drifting by night.

They left tire marks in the sand, feeling like movie stars.

Even Takumi Fujiwara from Initial D would’ve been impressed.

They joked about joining street racing leagues, but kept their adventures secret.

Were they scared of getting caught?

Sometimes, but mostly they felt invincible—the thrill was everything.

It’s not the tough troublemaker you should fear, but the polite one.

Little Col always said "please" and "thank you," even when breaking the law.

After every joyride, Little Col would refuel the car and return it to its spot.

He wiped down the steering wheel, picked up trash, and made sure everything looked normal. It was his way of staying invisible.

For a long time, nobody suspected a thing.

Neighbors shrugged off missing gas, blaming forgetfulness. The kids were ghosts in their own town.

Just as Little Col was getting bolder, disaster struck—the master and apprentice were caught.

A nosy neighbor snapped a photo, and the police came knocking. Their run was over—at least for now.