Numbuh 60/Patton, KND Head of Arctic Training Base/Sector Moonbase [Delightfulized]

I gaze upon the population of troubled, lost children. So foolish, so so foolish they are! All they need to do is submit themselves to Father. He'll gladly take them in, just as he has done to Francine and I.

The children scream and yell in profanity and protest. How impolite! My, they should be punished if you were to ask me! I turn to Francine and my dear friends. Francine and I are not siblings like they are, but they are like ones to me. They're so accepting, obedient, and just... delightful. Francine is a refined lady; she's so kind. Why can't these kids see that? It's as if we are savages, not saviors.

"Oh, my Delightful Children," great ol' Father says. "I believe you all know what needs to be done. Go on, save as many as you can! They will resist, but you must prevail. Go, go!"

Oh, Father! Always a god! He's so concerned for these youngsters, he should be rewarded. Relieving them of their tainted mindsets and cleansing them until they shine in perfection.

What am I doing?! I musn't dawdle when Father has given me orders! Bad boy, very bad boy.

The shield of protection vanishes, and I unsheath the laser gun I have recieved. Though it is very rude to use such a weapon, these troublesome children need to learn a lesson. Many charge at me, defense in hand. Why can't they come quietly?

My could-be siblings and Francine enter the mass of naughty children. They wield bottles of mustard, guns of gumballs, and painful contraptions that snap in my face. Where are their manners? A boy in a quite ratty orange sweatshirt tackles me to the dirty floor. He grins like a maniac, a weapon of mustard in his hand. Rude boy! I touch his shoulder as he growls, and it morphs to an expression of sympathy and regret. He removes himself from his place on me, and he scampers off into the crowd to save more. While I am glad I changed him, he hasn't said thank you. Maybe he will later, with the rest of these meddlesome kids I manage to save.

I clamp my hand on about three more, and their evil souls evaporate. They too stream out into the mass. Even though this room is full of potential, I am outnumbered. Surely Francine or the other five are still here, rescuing the lost kids. I should cover other ground, make sure we are efficient.

I sprint from the unprofessionally made space and into a branch of a hallway. It is vacant, but a gut feeling leads me on. I kick open the doors to labs, offices, and meeting rooms. However, they have been evacuated. Each room is filthy, a box of pizza or similar garbage thrown about. How irresponsible!

The light patter of footsteps run to my left. I twist just in time to spot a wisp of dark hair disappearing behind the corner of a wall. I follow suit. I round the edge, but there is no one in sight. I continue down the long hallway of the same hasty architectural design as the room in which I have arrived in. Though haphazard and poorly done, it is still sturdy and intricate. Where did these children find the time to construct this? They should've been at home, helping their parents.

I glance left and right as I near the end of the narrow strip. There is the person I saw, down the passage at my right. She is typing away on some device, the locks that gave her away in pigtails. A lady shouldn't be on technology all day! I approach the clearly misguided girl, and she yelps when she sees me. Without a flash of hesitation, she draws a gumball launcher and shoots. I bat the projectile away. She persists, and so do I. She deserves justice.

I am mere feet from her, and she begins to back up. Her hand pulls something from her pocket.

"Feel the wrath of the Kids Next Door, you brainwashed dingus!" she screams. "Try, but we're not giving in, especially not Numbuh 23!" She hurls whatever she has withdrawn at me.

What improper speech! Her slur is intolerable. What appears to be a small transparent sphere of pink smacks me in the face. Some thick, sticky substance explodes on me. Rude! I open my mouth to reprimand her, but she's gone.

I flick what I can off of me. Father will be so disappointed when he sees my soiled clothing!

Feel the wrath of the Kids Next Door! My inflictor had said. Savages! I am helping, not destroying. How corrupt are they?

I growl, marching down the hall. Discomfort is not an excuse to disobey Father. I grip my laser in my hand. Father will not be let down!

The racket of a battle echoes throughout the walls. It grows louder as I walk forward. I break out in a run. My 'siblings' may be trouble! I sprint down corridors until I enter what appears to be a port, natural lighting dead as the heavy metal coats the windows. There on the ground is Francine, held down by two incompetent boys sneering at her.

I aim and fire at one with a spaghetti strainer on his head, 44 engraved in yellow on a dark plate on it. He ducks, and my flash of a laser collides with his accomplice The boy falls. '44' squirts a blast of mustard at Francine, but she scrambles back before it could hit her. I shoot at the wrongdoer. He tilts his head forward, and my laser redirects at my as it bounces of his makeshift helmet. I slam to the floor so it crashes into the wall behind. How rebellious!

"You can't beat the Kids Next Door!" he yells. He leaves Francine and rapid fires at me. A bit of the condiment enters my eyes, and they sting in agony. What a brat! I blink away the sauce, ready to defend myself against the ruthless child. What stands before me is a different boy. This new one is like me in appearance.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" he exclaims. "How very rude of me! Can you find the forgiveness in your pure heart of gold for the thoughtlessly reckless scoundrel I am?"

Finally, manners! "Why, of course."

"Thank you, oh thank you!"

Francine steps out from behind the improved youth, a smile of satisfaction on her face. "Come," she says to us, "there are more in the cafeteria." She grabs her own laser gun from the floor, and she exits with our new addition on her tail. I copy, glancing at the defeated boy on the ground, freshly transformed.

'44's words seem to be carved into my brain. You can't beat the Kids Next Door!

...

Numbuh 2, KND Sector V

I know he should be cracking lame jokes, but for the sake of this story, let's just say he's too worried and scared to be joking around.

I peer beneath the door of the supply closet, the shadows of fleeing operatives scattering across. At least here, I'm safe. Numbuh 4 and I's plan to take down Numbuh 60 was foiled when he got infected. All I can do now is wait for opportunity to present itself.

I look at the W.A.T.C.H. on my wrist, the newest invention of 2x4 technology yet. The small arms are concealed as I flip on the screen. I punch in the communication code 2043. I sit back as it rings, searching for an active W.A.T.C.H. Sure enough, the din ceases and a list of seven options arranges itself on the little device.

Numbuh 44b, KND Guard
Numbuh 363, KND Sector W
Numbuh 23, KND Sector K
Numbuh 65.3, KND Moonbase
Numbuh 142, KND Sector T
Numbuh 10, KND Sector L
Numbuh 1-Love, KND Sector J

I evaluate them, eventually deciding on Numbuh 65.3. He has access to the cameras and everything; he could know something.

'Calling' flashes across the W.A.T.C.H. It flashes off.

"Numbuh 2?" a voice says, and it's not Numbuh 65.3's.

"Hello?" I reply. "Who is this?"

"Numbuh 23. Numbuh 65.3 isn't here."

I huff. "'Kay. Hey, who're you holding up?"

"Not very well. I had a run-in with Numbuh 60. I'm basically camping out on the ceiling rafters now."

I nod even though she can't see me. "I'm in a closet. Numbuh 4's gone."

"Who got him?"

"Numbuh 60."

"Ah. I've seen so many people get... you know."

"Like who?" A mental list erects in my head.

"Like Numbuh 439, 13, 20/20, 101, you name it."

A pang of worry strikes. "Numbuh 362 isn't infected, is she?"

"Naw. She's running around right now, I see her."

"Good. No Numbuh 5? 1? 3?"

"Not that I know."

"Alright."

The shuffle of something sounds from the W.A.T.C.H. "Hello?" Numbuh 65.3 inquires with his lisp. Just imagine it. Besides, how the crud does one write with a lisp?

"Oh, Numbuh 65.3! Have you seen anything?" I ask. This isolation has been killing me.

"Just Numbuh 72 getting Delightfulized, and Numbuh 3 locking herself into an office."

"Have you seen the rest of my sector?" Numbuh 23 asks.

"Nope." Numbuh 23 huffs, but it quickly turns to a scream. My stomach drops.

"Numbuh 23? Numbuh 23?"

"She's gone," Numbuh 65.3 says. "I can see her. Numbuh 44a got her."

I swallow my fear. "Where are you?"

"Under the cafeteria chairs."

"Is anyone el-" I'm cut off by static. He's probably Delightfulized now. I silently mourn the loss of Numbuh 23, Numbuh 65.3, and everyone else that's brainwashed.

Why is Father doing this?

...

Father, Villans

I chuckle at the long feed of the Kids Next Door's classified information. Passcodes, passageways, strategies, everything is at the tips of my fingers.

I gaze out the window of the truck, mayhem rocking Moonbase. My army has expanded, as well as those dreadful operatives' terror. The demise of the Kids Next Door has come, and I am responsible for it. The accolade I am sure to get is music to my ears. Why haven't I thought of this before?

I scroll through the deepest darkest secrets of the stupid organization. I drink it in. Glorious, absolutely glorious! I basically hit the jackpot when I gained Numbuhs 60 and 86. Mr. Boss was overjoyed when he saw his daughter get perfectionized (he loved her already, but the abolishment of those rebellious thoughts made him adore her). In reward for his services, I took his request when I asked for suggestions for my first victim. He now sits in the back room, patiently waiting for his son to join.

I beam as my Delightful Children transform a meddlesome child. Of the millions of operatives, about one million remains. My smile turns to a laugh as I watch the Kids Next Door slowly dwindle to an end.