~Dedicated to you wishers~

I feel like crud.

My stomach gurgles in agony, and my skin is screaming in pain. My throat is unbearably parched, and my eyes feel like they were dunked in acid. What happened?

I lift my heavy lids a millimeter before letting them back down. Am I going to open them to my bedroom ceiling, or am I still under a tree?

Feeling foolhardy, I forced my eyes to open. I hiss as they burn at the light exposure, but I manage. As the glare clears up, I can make out a roof of wooden planks. They seem to be in no specific order, yet they appear to be sturdy. I know that style like I know my own name.

The still, overbearing silence is quickly disrupted by a scatter of footsteps that nearly makes me jump ten feet high. Gulping down bile, I shut my eyes.

"Intruder's still asleep, Numbuh 1362," a boy says not too far away. Numbuh?

"I see that, Numbuh 304," a feminine and authoritative voice says. "Numbuh 25, background check?"

"He's nowhere in the system."

So-called Numbuh 1362 sighs in exasperation. "I guess all we can do is wait."

"Is he bad?" a high-pitched, oblivious voice asks. "'Cause if he is, I can give him a dose of p-"

"There'll be no need for that, Numbuh 7. Gosh, Numbuh 34, how hard did you hit him?!"

"I didn't do it!" another boy exclaims. "Devan just told me that he was going to the house and that he seemed really suspicious. We can't take chances!"

"He's right," says 'Numbuh 25'. "We really can't risk another spy." Excuse me? I'm no spy! If anything, they're the ones that people should be wary of.

Curiosity taking over, I open up my eyes. I grit my teeth, and I sit up. The sudden rush of blood makes my head spin to the point of slight nausea. A girl screams, and my arms are seized immediately. I wrench out of the grip.

The glare passes over, and I see that I'm in a small, wooden room. A tree branch breaks through the wall above, allowing a thin shimmer of sunlight through. I'm on a plain board of wood, and three girls stand in the doorway. I turn to my left and right; two boys flank me.

"DETAIN HIM!" a blonde girl in a purple sweater commands. In an instant, the boys grab my shoulders.

"Wait!" I blurt out before I can stop. The kids freeze. "Who are you? What're you doing here?"

"We were about to ask you the same thing," one of the boys say. "Where do you want him, Numbuh 1362?"

"Preferably out of my sight," she replies, "but I guess interrogation'll do. Numbuh 25, you're up."

I'm pushed from the makeshift bed, and I'm roughly dragged to the archway. I'd fight back, but, honestly, I'm just as confused as they are.

"W-where are the others?" I ask.

"Back there," one replies. His black hair flips a little as he motions behind us.

"No, that's not what I meant. Where's Sector V?"

"We are Sector V," the other says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"W-" I stop myself. We pass by a door, my bedroom door. However, instead of my own code name, 1362 is crudely painted across. I frown, my eyes unable to look away. Up on Cyndihkit, one of the earthly aspects I've missed is this door and the number on it. It kept me anchored. I've dreamt of the day in which I see it again. And now, it's not even here anymore? Why? Did that girl that everybody's listening to taken over?

As we round a corner, the mislabeled door disappears.

I shake my head, and I turn back forward. The corridor has come to a dead end, the lighting dim. Embedded in the wood is a metal door, a stark contrast in comparison to everything else. I look at the boys' similar faces, intimidation absent in their expressions. The dark haired one catches my eye, and he flashes a sympathetic smile before I can turn away. They bring me to a halt. The boy with pity digs in the pocket of his green hoodie, and he procures a small set of keys. After selecting one, he sticks it into the lock. It whinnies open. In a second, they release and push me in. The door quickly slams shut.

The rectangular room is rather small and windowless. The only furniture is a long, wooden table and two chairs, one on each side. Upon further investigation, I notice how it appears cleaner and fresher than the rest of the treehouse. Everything is immaculate and polished, and there's not a dust bunny in sight. The scent of sawdust is fresh. This is clearly a new addition.

A sudden, quiet bang behind me causes me to turn. Before the door is a girl from the other room, her hand still on the knob. She studies me with blue, emotionless eyes, a red Snapback creating leaving them in a shadow. She tugs on her red plaid, unbuttoned flannel and adjusts her black top beneath before crossing her tan arms. I bring myself to full height, and I return the hard expression.

"Why don't you take a seat, kid?" she says in a faint yet projected voice.

"Who are you?" I ask. "Who do you work for?"

"Took the words right outta my mouth." Immediately, a light surge of dislike takes me by surprise. Though this mystery girl has done nothing to me and appears harmless, I hate her. I hate her, I hate her friends, I hate them being in my treehouse.

"I have nothing to say," I snap. "You shouldn't even be here."

She quirks a brow challengingly. "Oh, is that so? I've known this place my whole life, I've lived here for five years, and you say that I don't belong?"

Despising her suddenly becomes so much easier. She's clear a liar, a fake. I've only been gone a year, and I've never seen her. The way she can speak at such a low volume and still be heard clearly makes me so mad. Her voice is devoid of any feelings, nearly robotic. Her lips hardly move with words. She never loses her cool, never raises her voice. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

"Well, you don't. I've known this place my whole life, I've lived here for five years. Heck, it's even sprouting from my house!"

She stares at me a moment, like she's sizing me up. "Take a seat."

"No," I say with all the defiance I can muster. "Why should I?"

"Because I have the upperhand, dishrag. Take a seat, and maybe I can work something out for you." I loudly rip the far chair out, and I obnoxiously sit with force. The girl calmly takes the opposite. She leans back, her arms crossed again.

"Who are you?" What a clever question.

"Num-" I catch myself from falling. Never reveal to an enemy. "Name's Nigel."

She has obviously caught my slip, but she clicks her tongue and moves on. "Who do you work for?"

I assume her dramatic, calculating pause heading dialogue. "That's classified," I say with more sass than I intended. Naturally, she caught that too.

"And why is that?"

"Secret, exclusive." I resist the urge to kick her from under the table. "Who do you work for?"

"Kids Next Door," she replies smoothly. "Numbuh 25, Sector V."

"That's funny." Not.

"Why?"

"No reason, no reason." I almost smile, knowing that that's not the answer she wanted.

Numbuh 25 (if that's even her real code name) leans over the table, her elbows supporting her. "Tell me, Nigel, why you're here."

"For a walk down Memory Lane," I say.

"How'd you get here?"

"When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

"And that means?"

"Exactly what you think."

"So, you just randomly popped up here with absolutely no idea how?"

"Yep." I pop the P. Not a wave of doubt hits her. If one did, she's doing an amazing job at concealing it.

"I know this is a little late, but how 'bout some intros?" She perfects her posture and plasters a smile across her face. "My name's Kyla, but everybody just calls me Kylie. What's yours?"

"I already told you," I point out. For a split second, her professional facade cracks. It happened so fast, I just barely caught it. She pursed her lips in irritation, I saw it!

"How 'bout a last name?"

"You really don't need that. You didn't even give me yours." Just like before, she doesn't push it.

"What brings you here?" For the first time, her face softens, like she's becoming human. Trustworthy. Whether it's a trick or genuine, I don't know. "You can tell me the truth, Nigel. I'm just a V kid, ain't no Prison guard. If it's possible, I can save you from ever meeting one."

"I don't need your help," I spit.

"Perhaps not. Nigel, I know that you're just as confused as I am. You don't even know why you're here. Why did you come to this treehouse first?"

"It's the place I know best," I reply honestly, only because there really isn't any ammo in it.

"And why is that?"

"I live in the house down there. I shouldn't be interrogated for trying to go home."

"You don't live there," she says in that quiet, emotionless voice that I despise so much. "Numbuh 1362 and her family does."

"My parents must've moved out." But I know that's not true. Dad loves that place like he loves that dang tuba.

"Nobody has moved from there since, ever. It's been in 1362's family for years." I frown.

"But that's been my house since I was, like, two!"

Numbuh 25 cocks her head slightly. "Do you mind telling me why you're bald?"

"Actually, yes," I say harshly. Again, she doesn't force it. She slides her sleeves up.

"Do you mind telling me why you wanted a 'walk down Memory Lane'?"

I shrug. "I haven't been here for a while. Left my parents, my friends. I just wanted to visit."

"And you believe that your Mom and Dad live in the house, and your friends are in this treehouse?"

"Yes." Numbuh 25 nods her head in an understanding I don't get.

Out of the blue, she stands up. Walking towards the door, she opens it. Turning back, she says, "Excuse me." And she's gone.

Wary of a quick return, I still myself for a solid few seconds. I hear nothing. That is mind, I rise. I try the doorknob, which, naturally, is locked.

Should I even be running? Though a bit of me is skeptical, they seem legit. However, real or not, that still doesn't explain why they're here.

Sighing in defeat, I retake my seat. Only a few moments later, Numbuh 25 slips back in. She sits, and she slides a paper across the table. As it nears and halts, I see that it is a photograph. It depicts a man and a woman, both smiling. That's strange.

"Nigel." My name causes me to look up. "In all honesty, do you recognize the people in this picture?"

"No." I look at it again. "I've never seen them in my li-"

Mid-sentence, I begin to pay attention. The man has auburn hair, the woman has black. Light blue eyes, deep brown. Pale skin, dark skin,

Slowly, ever so slowly, those details construct a bigger picture.

It's vague, the ghost of familiarity. Something, something at the back of my mind is bugging me. Words form at the tip of my tongue, but they simply refuse to make sense. As if the gods have taken pity, everything clicks into place.

"Yeah." I pick the photo up like it's a delicate butterfly. "Yeah, that's weird."

"Do you know who they are?" Numbuh 25 is resting on the table, her face intrigued and egging me on.

"Yes," I say, "but it doesn't make any sense."

"What're their names?" she asks, her eyes sparkling.

"I-" I close my mouth, preventing any further speech. "Do you know who they are?"

Numbuh 25 sighs with a small smile. She leans over until our noses are a mere inch apart. "I know them, just like I know you," she whispers.

Those eight words make me shudder. They sound so sinister, so creepy.

"W-what do you mean?"

She doesn't move. "Who are they, Nigel?"

I stare right back at her, straight into her piercing blue eyes. "Hoagie and Abby, but they're so old."

Her smile widens. "Wannna know how I know them?" She doesn't let me answer. Her voice lowers considerably, but I hear everything. "They're my parents."

Make sure to check out our other ongoing stories, OPERATION: SWITCH and OPERATION: DELIGHTFUL.

In OP: DELIGHTFUL, please ignore the initial constant POV changes. They do smooth out, so please stick to it!