"Yeah, like hell he is," Dom Hughes stared at Sarah Craine with raised eyebrows.

"It's true," Christopher Kennedy confirmed, his face pale. "At least that's what this says." He brandished a slip of torn paper worriedly.

"Oh, give me that." Dom Hughes snatched the note out of Chris' hands impatiently, his eyes scanning the words scrawled there. "Has Poirot or Luna seen this?"

Christopher Kennedy blushed deeply. "Well ... I was going to tell Poirot but he's with, er, you know..." His face went even redder as he glanced towards the peculiar blond girl; her pale eyes staring right back at him. Dom Hughes coughed pointedly before walking over to the stout Belgian detective.

"Monsieur? Christopher Kennedy found this."

Hercule Poirot took the paper from Dom, a concerned frown upon his forehead. His dark eyes scrutinized it expertly, before murmuring a noise of approval.

"Ah, he's really done this thing well, hasn't he?"

Dom raised his eyebrows, leaning closer to the detective; because the nearby hysterics of a couple of Cadets made it quite hard to hear Poirot's hushed words. Hercule repeated himself, and then stood up grandly.

"Mes amis!" Poirot called, holding up his hands for attention. The Cadets around him stopped to listen, but those at the back of the room were still screaming. Christopher Kennedy suspected a few were enjoying this a bit too much; Greg Knight was taking advantage of the drama to restart his beret-throwing with Will and Mike.

"MES AMIS!" Christopher Kennedy yelled, without thinking as he spoke in French. That silenced the Cadets, one gave an embarrassed giggle before being silenced by Luna's scowl.

"Merci, monsieur. Enfants, you have all, have you not, recently be informed of Michael Szuplewski's death? I would like to tell you that this ... is ... a ... LIE."

Stillness greeted these words; each Cadet was as shocked as the other.

"But –" Alex Roberts was the first to find his voice. "–that's absolutely preposterous! H-he can't be alive, he's dead! That note thing says so!"

Poirot grimaced, doing a fancy gesture as he read the words on the paper aloud.

"'Cadets, sorry, but Michael Zoop-uhl-skee is dead. He was murdered. From ME.'"

A few people sniggered.

"It's written in blood," Alex offered. That shut them up.

"It's not blood," Hercule Poirot explained, waving the paper in Alex's face. "It's just red ink. Used by a lot of, how you say? ... Wannabe murderers. And, without further ado, Christopher Kennedy?"

Chris Kennedy glanced once at the Belgian detective before promptly leaving the classroom. Alex Roberts ordered everyone back to their seats, his face clearly giving away the fact he knew nothing more about this than the Cadets did.

A Part-3 Cadet raised his eyebrows at Dom for information, but Dom just shrugged and sat down with his friend.

"Wait." Mike Walsh was the only one standing now; he stared at Luna and Poirot furiously. "If Michael Szuplewski's alive, where the hell is he?"

Poirot's face came as close to a smirk as ever; his black eyes glinting happily. He rocked triumphantly on his heels while his fingers curled his spectacularly styled moustache.

"M. Szuplewski, monsieur, is currently situated in the library. Monsieur Kennedy has gone to retrieve him before notifying the younger Recruits of the latest updates."

Mike Walsh nodded slowly, still looking extremely confused.

"And now," Sergeant Alex Roberts gestured to the whiteboard, "we shall learn about clouds."

"MICHAEL SZPUPLEWSKI! HOW DARE YOU PULL A PRANK LIKE THAT! YOU'VE PUT SHAME ON THE RAF, NOT TO MENTION THE CHAOS YOU CAUSED IN THE MIDDLE OF A VERY IMPORTANT LESSON!" Major Adcock, the Head of Calday's CCF, narrowed his eyes at Michael. He was in a very bad mood. Not only was his reputation ruined, oh no. He now had to do the one very thing he had feared since starting the job.

"MICHAEL SZUPLEWSKI!" he roared. "YOU'RE EXPELLED!"