Sorry, this is a little late, guys, but here we are!

If you're new here, do not read this story first! Start with Stockholm Syndrome, then Lima Syndrome, then Nightingale Syndrome, and read this last!

If you're not new here, but you don't follow my blog, this is a "what-if" story about what would have happened if Kaia had met the gang in the first game rather than the second. This means Kaia is fifteen, Sly is eighteen, and everything is slightly more liable to explode.

If you're not new here and you DO follow my blog, you already knew this and I won't delay you any longer!

Enjoy!

He inhaled deeply, taking in the slight humidity, the smell of gasoline, foliage, and sweat. All the smells of a big city, in this case Paris. The City of Lights... he liked it here. Maybe someday he could live here permanently.

But that was 'someday'. For now, down to business.

In a parallel universe, if I were to tell my dad offhand that working for Interpol sounded interesting, he would have talked me out of it by pointing out that it involved a lot of paperwork. In this particular universe, however, he was a little more overprotective and decided that the best way to prove me wrong would be through experience.

That's how I found myself loaned out to his friend in Interpol, Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox, for the first three weeks of summer.

The upsides of this were that she was fairly nice and I got to spend the first three weeks of my summer in Paris, France; which was quite appealing to a fifteen year-old. Those were the only upsides.

I'd taken a year of French that school year, but I'd failed out second semester; this meant I knew just enough French to be able to order ice cream and realize when I was being insulted. And Carmelita was nice, as previously mentioned, but she took being an Interpol officer seriously; which meant that she took any interest in it seriously as well.

I'd been there for two weeks and had spent most of that time curled up on the small couch in Carmelita's office, reading file after file after file about the criminals she was currently pursuing. I think the whole point was to show that being an Interpol officer wasn't all running around after bad guys (even though it totally was for Carmelita, seriously, the woman hadn't been in her office for more than an hour the whole time I'd been staying with her), but what she didn't know was that first, I was lazy, second, I loved reading, and third, I hadn't actually been serious about joining Interpol, I'd just been trying to making conversation with my dad.

Still, it could have been worse. My friends could have talked me into going to rock-climbing camp with them. Now that was torture.

Lacking a driver's license and being quite a few miles (or kilometers, as she often liked to correct me) from Carmelita's flat, I wasn't about to walk back when I realized that it was midnight and she still hadn't come back from 'checking out that one lead really quickly' six hours ago.

So I took my trusty backpack, stuffed my jacket inside to make it a little more comfortable, propped it up on the arm of the couch, and settled in for a nap.

I woke up about four hours later in the most unexpected of ways, by the sound of someone trying to knock down Carmelita's door.

The shock of the noise sent me tumbling onto the ground, where I lay glaring in consternation at the ceiling for some moments, wondering if I really had just heard that. It wasn't unusual for me to imagine hearing things just before falling asleep, though usually it was the godforsaken doorbell.

After thirty seconds of silence, I'd climbed back onto the couch and just about convinced myself that nothing odd was going on (after all, I was in the heart of the Interpol headquarters, what fool would break in here?). Then the raccoon came in the window.

I stared at him. He stared at me. I reached over to the pile of books balancing precariously on the table, selected the file on top, and stared at the picture there, then back at him.

"Sly Cooper, I presume?"

His expression was very deer-in-the-headlights for a split second, then his eyes narrowed, his shoulders relaxed, and a smile curled over his lips, "Now that's not fair, you know my name, but I don't know yours."

Oh, he was one of those flirt-your-way-through-life people. I had a friend like that back home, Kurt. He learned very quickly not to try that with me.

"And it's going to stay that way. Can I help you?" I wasn't exactly scared of the guy, his file said he was only eighteen and, in person, he looked it. Besides, in all of the heists he'd pulled, he'd never even seriously injured a guard, so I could see he wasn't exactly violent.

He frowned slightly. Obviously, he'd been expecting the whole 'I'm handsome and older than you' thing to work on me just because I was a teenager. Silly boy. "I'd like that file you're holding."

I looked down at it. He wanted his own file? He should know everything that was in it, did he have amnesia or something? The only reason I could think of why a criminal would want their own file would be to find out how much the cops knew about them, and how many of them would walk into the office of the lead investigator on their case just to find out what they knew? "What the hell for?"

He was openly scowling now, "I just need it."

He really should have looked around a bit more, he would have seen the paper shredder was under the side table if he had. I swung the file around and poised it just over the gaping maw of the machine.

"Don't you dare."

"Or what?" I swear, it was like poking dynamite with a struck match.

He was obviously racking his brain for a reason I shouldn't destroy the file. He looked me over for a second time. I could just hear the wheels turning in his brain, "You don't work for Interpol, that's obvious." His eyes landed on my backpack, "Just visiting. And your accent says you're American. What do you think Inspector Fox would do if you shredded one of her most important files?"

"Haha, no." Now this was fun, "First, she could just print off another one. Second, even if she couldn't, she memorized this thing ages ago. Third, even if she hadn't, I have; I've read this thing at least twice a day for the past two weeks, I could recite it in my sleep." That was actually true. That file was good reading, very interesting. "So to answer your question, if I were to prevent you from taking classified police materials, she'd probably give me a medal. Points for effort though." Since he was looking like he was seriously contemplating rushing me, I quickly stuck the file in the machine.

Carmelita had one of those industrial paper shredders that ate rainforests for breakfast. By the time Cooper got to it, the only part of the file it hadn't devoured was the paper clip at the top.

He glared down at me while I tried not to look too terribly pleased with myself. To be fair, I didn't try particularly hard. He looked livid, then his expression change. For a split second, his face went completely blank, then he gave a nasty smirk and loomed over me.

"You memorized the file?"

When I realized what he was on about, the triumphant smile on my lips quickly turned into a swear.

"Get back here, Cooper!"

Carmelita had really bad timing, Sly seethed as he dodged another exploding car. Honestly, you'd think she'd have been more careful. It was getting really hard to dodge and still hold on to the writhing creature on his shoulder.

So far, he didn't exactly have a shining career as a kidnapper. Of course, if he'd had a choice in the matter, he'd have picked someone quieter to kidnap.

"Put me down!" She screeched in his ear, "I'm going to kill you! I'll disembowel you and buzzards will feast on your entrails! I'll tie you onto an anchor and drop you into the Mariana Trench! I'll bite you really, really hard, just you wait and see!"

He had never been so happy to see the old van Murray had restored. The back doors were thrown open (presumably by Bentley) and he dove inside, "Drive, Murray, drive!"

If he'd thought trying to keep a hold on the girl was hard when he was running and she was scared of falling off, trying to keep her from leaping out the back doors of the van before Murray could get up to speed was like trying to hold onto a greased eel. She actually got the doors open once before he grabbed a fistful of her shirt and pulled her back inside the van.

"This is bad," Bentley panicked after they had hit the highway and secured their passenger (Sly practically had to sit on her to get her to be still), "This is really, really bad."

"That is brand new information!" Sly snarled, pinning the hybrid's (she had to be a hybrid, no wolf or husky had eyes that color) right wrist to the small of her back with one hand while trying to find somewhere to put the other where she couldn't bite him (something she had attempted several times now).

Somehow, even though she was lying on her front, she managed to throw her leg up and kick him between the shoulder blades. "Get off!"

He winced as the heel of her foot barely missed his spine, "Bentley, don't we have any rope?!"

"I don't know, Sly, I wasn't planning on kidnapping anyone today!"

"Wow, you guys are really bad at this whole hostage taking thing, aren't you?" The girl asked, trying to figure out a way to contort her free arm so she could pinch the raccoon on her back.

"Well it's not like we've had a lot of practice," Sly growled, grabbing her left wrist and forcing it to join her right when she got a little too close to his leg for comfort.

She twisted her head so she could see him over her shoulder, "You are not a very nice person."

"You should see me on a bad day."

"Is this a good day?"

"Can we please focus?" Bentley snapped.

"Guys, please don't fight."

"It's fine, Murray, just drive."

"Tell me there was another way, Bentley; one that wouldn't alert Interpol to what we wanted and cause them to make it even harder to get. Tell me there's still a better way and I will throw her out of this car right now, I will do it."

"I would love to see you try. I will so take you down with me."

Bentley scrubbed a hand over his face, "I can't think of one, no. Provided you think of a way to get her to tell us what we want to know."

"What can you not know from your own file, I am honestly curious. Did you take a knock on the head or something?"

"Hits to the head rarely cause amnesia like that, it's usually caused by psychological trauma and it rarely lasts more than a week or so anyway."

"Yes, thank you for the psychology lesson Bentley." This night was not going how Sly planned at all. Get in, get the file, flirt with Carmelita, get out. Was that really so hard?

"As for the hamsters that are inevitably burning rubber in your silly little minds about how to get the information out of me, you could try torture or threats, but you don't really seem the type and I would lie to you anyway."

"Yeah, and what will make you talk to us?" Sly asked suspiciously.

She shrugged, as much as she could lying face-down with her hands behind her back anyway, "Tell me what you want to know and why you want to know it and we'll go from there."

"You are seriously not scared at all, are you?"

She scoffed, "For real? You guys are about as scary as a set of bunny slippers. In the last twenty minutes I've ruined the thing you were trying to steal, kicked you in the back, and mouthed off more times than I can count. I am still in remarkably good health. This is not exactly a typical hostage situation."

"You know... she's got a point." Bentley said.

"Yes, listen to the turtle with the bow tie. Bow ties are cool."

Still, Sly hesitated. He didn't exactly feel like spilling his life's story to this kid. He looked to Bentley for help, but the turtle could only shrug. They didn't exactly have a lot of options.

"You read my file." He said softly, "You know what happened to my dad. I need to find the people who killed him. And before you get all up in arms, this isn't about vengeance. They took something. I need to get it back. In order to do that, I need to know who they were."

She hummed lightly in thought. Then, after a moment, "Alright, fine. Now get off me so I can list my conditions."

"Now the hostage gets to make the demands?"

"Yup, cause that's just how I roll. Now c'mon, get the lead out, I think you're pinching a nerve in my back!"

Oh, thank God that worked.

I sat back on my knees, making a point to roll my shoulders and pop the vertebrae in my back loudly. It had been a bit of a leap to bargain that they wouldn't attempt to force the info out of me, but apparently my first impression of them had been sound. It was a bit surprising, but I wasn't going to scrutinize it too much.

"Alright," I said shifting into a cross-legged position and closing my eyes, trying to recall. I hadn't been bluffing, I could remember the file. One of the few talents I could claim, aside from the ability to hold my breath for nearly a full minute, was a good visual memory. Not photographic by any means, but still pretty good. I called up the file in my mind.

Sly Cooper's father, Connor Cooper, had evidently been slain by a group known as 'The Fiendish Five'. While sounding like they stepped straight out a of a children's game, this wasn't a group you wanted to mess with unless you had something substantial to gain, which Cooper clearly did.

"'The Fiendish Five'," I muttered, trying to recall exactly what I'd seen, "There are several people who are thought to be part of the group, but the only one that Interpol has really confirmed is someone by the name of Sir Raleigh the Frog. He was originally born into quite the inheritance, but apparently got bored, tried out piracy, and found that it was a lot more fun. He's got a criminal talent with machines and was last sighted near the 'Isle O' Wrath'. It's in the middle of the Welsh Triangle. Well," I sat back and enjoyed the slightly baffled looks on their faces, "That takes care of that, then." I draped myself over the back of the front seat and addressed the pink hippo there, 'Murray' apparently, "You can just drop me off anywhere in the next town."

"Not a chance."

"Huh?" I looked over my shoulder at the turtle. "Why not?"

He was giving me slightly amused and slightly annoyed look, "We're criminals, we're not stupid. You're coming with us. You could be lying about where to go and even if you're not, you'll just go back to Interpol and tell them where we're headed."

I frowned and pointed at him, "You are anti-nice."

The raccoon was smirking now, "Want to change the info you gave us?"

I scowled at him, "No, I actually told you the truth. Raleigh was sighted at the Isle O' Wrath shortly before the surrounding waters became exceedingly dangerous, causing the area to be known as the 'Welsh Triangle' in reference to the 'Bermuda Triangle'. That was almost a decade ago, so the information is old, but it's what was in the police report."

"Alright, looks like we're going to Wales."

I chewed on the inside of my lip, thinking. If I really was going to be stuck with them... "We do need to stop in the next town though. Seriously."

"Or what?"

"That is disgusting."

"I warned you," I said, after having Murray make an emergency stop on the side of the road so I could empty the contents of my stomach all over the beautiful French countryside. I sat heavily on the asphalt and squinted against the rising sun. "'We need to stop and buy medicine', I said. 'I get motion sick', I said."

"Yes, well you can hardly blame us for thinking you were lying," Bentley poked his head out from where he was inside the van. He passed something to Cooper, who passed it to me, "Drink that, it should make you feel better until we get to a town and can get some medicine."

I took the can, "Ginger ale, classic."

"Yeah, yeah, hurry up, we need to get back on the road." The raccoon was scowling, looking down the road like he expected Carmelita to crest a distant hill, shock pistol blazing.

"Oh, come off it, Princess, you can wait a second." Mmm, the ginger ale was nice and cool. I was already starting to feel better. Motion sickness sucked, it really did. There was not a word for how much I envied people who didn't have it.

"You are the most antagonizing person I have ever met."

I was scowling now too. "Oh right, and you're Prince Charming, are you? You're eighteen, right? You have the patience of a six-year-old."

"Patience?" He hissed, "You want to talk about patience?!"

"No, I-!" I'd gone to take a dramatic step toward him, but then my foot missed the ground. Fortunately, I was saved from making a rather spectacular and painful faceplant by Cooper, who was, y'know, right there.

"Wow, Bentley," I heard him say, "Did you up the potency for that stuff?"

"I just made it so it's absorbed more quickly by the body. Now bring her into the van, we have to get going."

I felt... funny. Like someone had stuffed a bunch of cotton inside my skull. I dimly registered that I was being hauled inside the van and we were driving again, but I was a bit distracted.

"Faeries," I mumbled vaguely, waving my fingers toward the blurry lights floating overhead. When did I end up lying on my back?

"Really, you don't say?" Now the raccoon sounded like he found something hilarious.

I let my head flop over in his direction. He was sitting nearby but he was all... fuzzy, for some reason. "Mmhmm..." I reached over and poked his nose, "Bipolar."

I didn't have to be able to see well to know he rolled his eyes, "That's nice, go to sleep."

"Moooooooodswings..." I twirled a finger, watching it in fascination until being distracted by something else and just letting my arm drop to the floor, "Your tail is mesmerizing."

"Sleep, before I decide it's not worth the hassle and smother you."

I let my eyes slide closed because that sounded like a lovely idea. "I feel like now is a good time to mention that my dad works for the FBI."

The last thing I heard before drifting off was the strangled noise Cooper made that sounded rather like an angry cat.

"You can't actually smother her, you know." Bentley pointed out, upon looking up from his laptop and seeing the death glare that Sly was giving their passenger.

"I can entertain the thought as much as I want." He grumbled, "Tell me that her dad doesn't seriously work for the FBI."

The turtle shook his head, "Sorry, he really does. So does her uncle, for that matter."

The raccoon rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Lovely. You got her info already? That was fast."

Bentley shrugged, "Not really. She's a second generation hybrid, those are about as easy to come by as leprechauns. Her existence is practically public record."

"Alright, so what've you got?"

"Her name is Kaia Gardenia Jenks, daughter of special agent Stephen Jenks and journalist Melissa Bellingham. She just finished her freshman year of high school and is fifteen years old."

"Fifteen?" Sly snorted, "She looks about thirteen at most."

"Well, she's a hybrid, she's short." Bentley rubbed the back of his neck, "The info she gave us about Raleigh was solid, though. Chief machinist for the Fiendish Five, last sighted near the Isle O' Wrath. I'm in the process of acquiring a ferry to cross the water with the van."

"Fantastic." The thief nudged the hybrid with a foot, which he immediately retracted when she blindly reached for it in her sleep, "What about this thing?"

"I was serious before, we have to keep her with us until we finish our business with Raleigh at least, we can't have her going back to Interpol and letting them know what we're up to."

Sly grimaced, "Do we have to?"

Bentley rolled his eyes, "Yes, Sly. Give it a chance, you might get to like her."

His friend gave him a look as though he were seriously worried for his sanity.

End chapter one!

There are going to be ten or eleven chapters of this, so it'll be the shortest and last installment in the Syndrome Saga. I don't have a title for the next part of the Limits of Sanity series, but the Syndrome Saga is only the beginning. My blog is the most up-to-date source of information, the address is on my blog, so check it out if you're so inclined and I'll see you in a couple of weeks!