Harry woke up to a pillow hitting his face. He jerked up, but said nothing. He was supposed to do nothing, to say nothing. Instead, he focused on rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Then, he saw the familiar blonde head of Alex and the short figure of Percy, and he remembered that he wasn't in Privet Drive anymore. He watched as Alex and Percy threw pillows at each other, making loud thumps as it hit their faces. Alex had surprisingly good aim, hitting Percy square in the nose.

Percy's hand leapt to his nose and he cried out. "Alex!"

Alex only grinned. "No mercy!" He yelled, chucking another pillow at him.

Percy dived behind Harry's bed. Harry took his pillow, and whacked him with it.

Percy fell over, surprised.

Alex laughed. "Good one, Harry!"

Harry retrieved his pillow from the floor and threw it at Alex. Alex dodged it, but he fell down onto the floor at the sound of the door opening.

Harry followed suit, collapsing on his bed and burying his face in the covers.

Dr. Crandall appeared. "What the devil is happening here?"

Percy shot up from the floor. "Alex did it!"

Then Dr. Wilkinson was there, a worried look on her face. "What did he do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Alex protested.

"Who threw the last pillow?" Dr. Crandall asked accusingly.

Harry's eyes went wide as Percy and Alex both pointed at him, speechless.

Dr. Crandall raised an eyebrow. "I think Dr. Oliver would like to see you this afternoon, Third."

Alex and Percy burst into arguments, Alex saying that he did start it, Percy saying that he was the one who hit Harry with his pillow, but the two

adults weren't having it.

"Get dressed, all three of you," Dr. Wilkinson ordered. "And I'll see Second this afternoon as well."

Alex paled, but quickly hid it as the doctor gave him a disappointed look. Dr. Crandall paused at the door. "Percy, I want to see you too," he said, then closed the door.

All three boys groaned.

"Well there you go!" Alex said, throwing his hands into the air. "Gentlemen, we've got ourselves doctor's appointments today!"

"That's not a very good thing, Al," Percy said grumpily, folding his arms.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

"It wasn't you, Harry," Percy told him. "You were just—"

"Doing exactly what we want you to do," Alex interjected.

Percy and Harry both turned to look at him. "Huh?"

"You defended yourself," Alex explained. "That's what we want you to do! Now try it on Dr. Oliver today!"

Harry felt uneasy. "I don't know, Alex..."

"Come on, Lightning Boy," Alex pleaded. "Dr. Oliver hasn't seen much from you. Bruise his pride a little, it'll feel good. I promise."

"What do I say?" Harry asked him.

"The rudest thing that comes to your head," Percy suggested. "Then, say it with confidence and he'll be so shocked you can kick him in the shin."

Harry hesitated, then sighed. "If it makes you happy, I'll do it. But don't expect it to be a bloody performance."

Alex laughed. "That part's your call."

That afternoon, the three boys parted ways to go to the offices of their assigned adults. Alex knocked on the door rather harder than he would usually have, and Dr. Wilkinson opened the door with a smile on her face.

"Come on in, Second," she said cheerfully.

Alex didn't say anything as he trudged grumpily into the office. He jumped onto the examiner's table and swung his legs back and forth.

Dr. Wilkinson sat down in a swivel chair and turned toward him with her hands folded. "Second," she said solemnly, "did you start the fight with the pillows this morning?"

Alex looked at his sneakers. "Uh-huh."

"And was that a very smart decision?"

Alex shook his head.

"Are you going to do it again?"

Alex shook his head again.

Dr. Wilkinson stood up, and put her hand on his chin, tilting his face up to look at her.

"Look at me, Second," she said firmly.

Alex reluctantly turned his eyes to hers, but his gaze kept drifting to her computer on her desk. What information did it have? How many adults in the building knew personal facts about him? He wouldn't put it past the doctors and scientists to gossip with each other that he hadn't reached his growth spurt yet. That thought made him mad.

Dr. Wilkinson saw him frown. "What is it?" She asked.

"We were just having a little fun," Alex said quietly. "That's all."

Dr. Wilkinson sighed, and pursed her lips together. "I know, I know. But you were extremely loud. Someone could've gotten hurt, or gotten a concussion."

All Alex really heard from that comment was "you were extremely loud." Inside his head, Alex scowled. We were extremely loud? He wanted to say. I'm deeply sorry we woke you from your beauty sleep, Dr. Wilkinson. Would you like it if I chucked a pillow at Percy and Harry a little quieter? But he refrained, and bit his tongue.

Instead, he said, "I'm sorry, Dr. Wilkinson."

Dr. Wilkinson smiled again. "That's great news, Second."

Alex hopped down from his table, and as he made his way to the door, he looked back.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "but my name is Alex, Dr. Wilkinson. Alex Rider. I'm seven years old from London, England, and I live with my uncle Ian and my housekeeper Jack. And you don't own me." He stomped out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Dr. Wilkinson watched as he left, and smiled to herself. "Oh, I know," she said softly. "But I'll teach you something, Alex."

Percy didn't really want admit how scared he was. He'd been to Dr. Crandall's a bunch of times before, but not when he'd actually done something wrong. He knocked on the door softly, and Dr. Crandall swung open the door. He took one look at Percy, jerked his head to the side, and Percy followed him into the office. He leaned against the long table with the sheet covering it, waiting, then sat on it. Dr. Crandall typed something on his computer for a long time.

Percy fidgeted with his fingers, smoothing his index finger over his thumb. It helped him deal with his stress as he thought about what was going to happen to him. Was Dr. Crandall giving him the silent treatment?

He craned his neck to see the doctor typing something on his computer. Dr. Crandall looked over his shoulder pointedly, then wordlessly turned back to his keyboard.

Definitely the cold shoulder, Percy thought resentfully. He sighed.

His mom had told him what to do when someone gave you the cold shoulder. Try talking to them first, she'd told him, and if that doesn't work, don't speak to them at all. That takes the sense out of the whole fight.

Percy cleared his throat. "Um, Dr. Crandall?" He asked. When the doctor didn't look at him, he continued. "Is this about the pillow fight?"

Dr. Crandall waited for a long moment, then turned off his computer and faced Percy. "Yes, Percy, it is," he said solemnly. "Let me impress upon you the danger and the problems it could've caused. You could've been hurt, and if we hadn't gotten to you in time, who knows what could've happened!"

Percy cocked his head to the side. "Like what, Dr. Crandall?"

Dr. Crandall straightened his gloves. "What if one of the pillows had knocked you unconscious?"

"It wasn't filled with a cinder block," Percy said, genuinely confused.

Dr. Crandall went on. "What if you'd fallen backwards and hit yourself on the bedpost?"

Percy shrugged. "I thought I was perfectly balanced."

Dr. Crandall shook his head. "But Percy," he said, his voice desperate to get his point across, "what if you'd died?"

Percy blinked. "Died? Then I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you, would I?"

Dr. Crandall's eye started to twitch. Percy thought he looked like he was slowly going insane.

Then, he took a deep breath, looked at his gloves, and seemed to get his head together. "Let's take some blood tests, shall we?" He took out a particularly sharp needle, and Percy inched away instinctively.

Dr. Crandall sighed. "Percy, we've been through this. It's not going to hurt."

"But it did last time," Percy said, squirming. "Can I please go back to lessons?"

But Dr. Crandall shook his head. "I'm sorry. I've got to do this. But I don't want to hurt you. I promise."

Percy relaxed as the doctor drew the needle into his skin, then drew it out. It pinched and burned like a fire in his veins. He yelped.
Dr. Crandall put his blood sample into a vial, and put it away in a cabinet.

"You said it wouldn't hurt!" Percy cried out, cradling his arm where the needle had pierced it. Dr. Crandall took a special, suction-cup-like device from his desk and attached it to Percy's leg.

"Stay still," Dr. Crandall droned. He pressed a button, and Percy felt fire spread up his legs and into his spine.

As the doctor removed the device, Percy said with his eyes watering, "I trusted you."

Dr. Crandall took Percy by the shoulders and squeezed him towards him. "I know, sport," he said quietly. "I didn't want you to get hurt."

Percy turned his tear-filled eyes to him, and sniffed. "But you promised."

Dr. Crandall stepped away, and said, "You're dismissed, Percy."

Percy slid off the table and left the office.

Dr. Crandall watched him leave, the boy's words echoing in his head.

"But you promised."

"Well, Percy," he said quietly, "you should be tired of plastic promises by now."

Harry was uneasy. Alex and Percy were trusting him to stand up to Dr. Oliver and to give insult after insult, but he wasn't sure he could do it. He'd given Dr. Oliver a little lip a couple days before, sure—but this was for who-knew-how-long, where Harry couldn't stalk off to go back to his bedroom. That would be considered rude.

However, he did find it easier to think of Dr. Oliver's face after he'd talked back to him. That was definitely something worth doing again.

But all of his confidence drained when Dr. Oliver opened the door to his office. The man smiled at him.

"Glad to see Dr. Wilkinson got the message across," he said. "But we're not going into my office just yet. Follow me."

Confused, Harry followed the scientist down a few hallways and through a door he'd never been through before. A sign read GYMNASIUM.

Harry anxiously walked into the big room with Dr. Oliver, who told Harry to stand by a blue line at the end of the gym.

Harry gulped. Was this some sort of test? The gym was huge, and he reckoned it would take him more than twenty strides to get to the other side.

Dr. Oliver stood with a stopwatch-like device in his hand, a silver button on top. "Alright, Third?" He called out to Harry from the opposite side of the gym.

Harry nodded with the most confidence he had.

"All you have to do is run back and forth from both sides of the gym, blue line to blue line," the scientist instructed. "I'll count how many laps you do." He must've seen Harry run a hand through his hair nervously. "Basically, just run till you puke."

That didn't make Harry feel any better. He ran a hand through his hair again, wishing he could be anywhere else. Dr. Oliver held up the device.

"On the count of three!" He called. "One. Two! Three!"

Harry started off at a slow pace, remembering the runs he'd had to endure at his old school with his cousin, how he'd been left in the dust most of the time. It hadn't been because he was slow, only because people kept pushing him to the ground. But he was the only person here this time.

There was no one to push him to the floor if he started to pick up speed, no one to sneer at him as he neared the front, no one to trip him at the last minute before he reached the finish line.

This was his race. And he was determined to win.

He'd lost count of how many laps he'd ran when Dr. Oliver asked if he was tired.

"You wanna stop?" He said. "We can stop if you like!"

Harry was sure this was a trick, so he shook his head and kept running. He started to run faster, and faster, until he was breathing heavily and his lungs were on fire. His foot barely hit the blue line before he was off again in the other direction, running and running and running.

He didn't know much later it was—a half hour? An hour and a half?—when he finally stopped. Harry fell to the floor, breathing heavily, his arms spread out. He hadn't known he could run for that long. He could barely move.

"Third?" Dr. Oliver said, coming to stand over him. He had his stopwatch-like device in his hand, and was speculating it with interest. "Just over fifty-two minutes. Impressive. Can you get up okay?"

Harry didn't answer, but his legs were sore and his throat was scratchy. It hurt. Dr. Oliver must've known, too, because he scooped Harry into his arms and held him so his head was resting on his shoulder.

Harry wanted to say thanks, but he only managed an unintelligible "gahhhrr."

Dr. Oliver just laughed.

After a few minutes, Harry realized that he recognized the hallway. "Where are we going?"

"My office," the scientist replied. "I want to run some tests."

Harry, still slow to react from his long run, didn't have that full sentence process in his brain until they reached the door. Dr. Oliver set Harry down on a table covered in a sheet of white. Harry looked around anxiously at the interior of the office—it looked pretty normal to him, but he knew better than to think it was. His aunt and uncle and cousin had been calling him abnormal for years, so he knew what it was like when something wasn't as it seemed. He sat against the wall, hugging his knees as Dr. Oliver typed something on the computer on his desk. When he turned back, he had a device in his hand with two notches on the bottom shaped like squares. He lip twitched when he saw Harry in his protective position.

"Third, it's nothing to be afraid of," he said.

"I'll know it's nothing to be afraid of when you say my name," Harry said quietly. "I don't trust you, Dr. Oliver."

The scientist folded his arms. "And why shouldn't you? You could have a different scientist. One of those who run test after test relentlessly, not caring whether you get hurt in the process or not. You want one of those? Or a sneering one, who gives you insult after insult until you're left as just a shell of yourself, shivering on the floor? You're lucky you don't have one of those people, Third. You're lucky you only have me."

Harry was positivity terrified now. His face paled, but he kept his voice firm as he said, "'Only you,' Dr. Oliver? How I can thank my lucky stars that I got only you, the one who makes me run for an hour and tells me everything's going to be okay? It's not. Whatever you're doing is not okay. It's not justice to me."

"Third, it doesn't matter if it's justice to you," Dr. Oliver said gently. "We've got it all taken care of. Now, just sit back and let me do my work."

Harry stared at him for a long time. Then, he released his hold around his knees and sat still.

"Attaboy," Dr. Oliver said brightly. "Now just relax."

He took Harry's arm, rolled up his sleeve, and wiped it with a small cloth soaked in a special liquid. Harry squirmed at the touch.

"Relax," Dr. Oliver said calmly. "Just relax."

Harry tried to stop tensing his arm. Dr. Oliver put down the cloth, and picked up the device with the square notches.

Then, in one swift movement, he plunged the notches in Harry's arm, clicked a button on top, and pulled them out.

Harry bit his tongue to keep from whimpering. He looked down at his arm and saw that there were two tiny square marks where he had been punctured.

Dr. Oliver put a Band-Aid over the puncture marks and rolled Harry's sleeve back down.

"See what I did, buddy? Everything turned out okay."

Harry glared at him. "This is not okay, Dr. Oliver."

Dr. Oliver checked his watch. "Three o'clock already? Blimey, we'd better finish up. Here, put this in your mouth." He handed Harry a thermometer, and he hesitantly put it on his tongue.

"Why do you need this?" He asked. "I'm not sick."

Dr. Oliver hit the Enter key on his keypad. "Do you know how a thermometer works, Third?" He asked, staring at his screen. "It tells me what temperature you're body is at."

"Mmm-hmm," Harry said, crossing his eyes to look down at the thermometer. He couldn't quite get it right, so he kept trying.

"And when I know your body's temperature," Dr. Oliver went on, typing a few more things into his computer, "it'll be good for my research."

"Mmm," Harry said. Why couldn't he cross his eyes like he used to? He tried again to see the numbers on the thermometer.

"And my research helps me know about you," Dr. Oliver continued, hitting the space bar, then the Enter key. "Now, I think the thermometer should be working—" he turned around, only to see Harry trying again and again to cross his eyes to see the thermometer.

"What are you doing?" He asked incredulously.

Harry looked up. "Hmm?"

Dr. Oliver laughed. "I said, what are you doing?"

"I'm—trying—to—see—the—thermometer," Harry said, crossing his eyes again.

Dr. Oliver pulled it out of his mouth and read the numbers. "Looks like you're pretty normal," he said.

"Normal?" Harry asked. "I told you I'm not sick."

Dr. Oliver shook his head. "That's not what I meant. For a little boy who just ran for an hour, you don't seem very out of breath."

Harry realized that he didn't feel so tired anymore. But... why? Just a second ago, he'd been gasping for breath, his legs sore and his throat hurting. But now the pain had just... stopped. Was that possible?

Harry felt a rush of fear. What if Dr. Oliver ran more tests because of this? He couldn't let that happen.

"I'm still really tired," he said, trying to put as much fatigue into his voice as he could. "I'm just sitting now. Could I have some water?"

Dr. Oliver filled a plastic cup with water and held it out. Harry gulped it down in one sip.

The scientist took it back, saying, "I guess you are worn out."

But he didn't toss the cup. Instead, he placed it on his desk next to his computer.

"Aren't you going to throw the cup away?" Harry asked in spite of himself. His curiosity had gotten the better of him.

"Oh, no," Dr. Oliver responded. "I'm going to study your DNA on the edge of the cup. Your temperature looked normal, so you shouldn't be as tired. Are you sure you're exhausted?"

Harry nodded, slumping against the wall. He yawned.

"You want to rest here, buddy?" Dr. Oliver asked him.

"Will you run tests on me while I sleep?" Harry asked, yawning again.

Dr. Oliver hesitated, then answered, "Of course not. Now rest there."

Harry waited, then curled up on the table and looked at the scientist with his head on his elbows. "Don't tell me what to do, Dr. Oliver."

Dr. Oliver smiled as he closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, Dr. Vanhallsen walked into the office. She looked at Harry's sleeping form and asked, "Is he out?"

Dr. Oliver went over to put his hand on his chest. "I think he's asleep," he said. "His heart's beating pretty slowly."

Dr. Vanhallsen nodded. "How'd you get him to sleep?"

Dr. Oliver shrugged. "Got him knackered from a long run. Was easy from there. Are the other two...?"

Dr. Vanhallsen said, "They both bolted from the offices. Had someone there with a tranquilizer dart or two."

The scientist's brow furrowed. "Isn't that... dangerous?"

"They'll wake up in a couple hours," Dr. Vanhallsen told him. "By then, we'll be done with our work. Now let's get this one prepped."

She turned Harry onto his back and strapped him to the table. Dr. Oliver changed him into a hospital gown as Dr. Vanhallsen typed something into her computer. She went over to take a blood sample.

"Type A positive," she said. "We'll need a lock of his hair too, Dr. Oliver."

Dr. Oliver snipped a lock of hair off Harry's head, and he slipped it into a plastic bag. When he came back to the table after giving it to Dr. Vanhallsen, he looked for the place where he'd cut it out. But it wasn't there. Puzzled, he looked again. Hadn't there been a tiny spot a few seconds ago... he shook his head. Maybe it was a smaller piece than he'd realized.

Dr. Oliver pressed on a tile in the ceiling, and it slid away to reveal a large device that was so big one might have wondered how it could fit up there. Dr. Oliver fitted it over the table and pressed a button.

Beams crisscrossed over Harry's face as they passed over him. When it was finished, Dr. Oliver shut off the machine and hefted it back into its place in the ceiling. Dr. Vanhallsen injected a serum into Harry's arm so he wouldn't wake up in the middle of their work. Dr. Oliver measured his heart rate and his vitals.

"Hmm," he said, staring at the screen thoughtfully.

"'Hmm?'" Dr. Vanhallsen echoed. "What's wrong?"

Dr. Oliver swore. "That kid was lying to me. He was perfectly healthy after the run. Maybe he was tired for a few minutes, but not when I asked him if he was. He faked it!" He turned to the doctor beside him. "Did you sedate him?"

Dr. Vanhallsen nodded. "Of course. You're saying he lied to you about his health?"

Dr. Oliver rubbed his chin. "Yes. But to what avail?"

"I have no idea," Dr. Vanhallsen answered, slipping a piece of rubber into Harry's mouth and manipulating his chin to bite down on it.

Dr. Oliver pushed a key on his keyboard, and an image of a set of teeth appeared on the screen.

"These are his?" Dr. Oliver asked.

Dr. Vanhallsen took the rubber out. "Yes. But Dr. Oliver... about the lying..."

"I'll punish him for that," Dr. Oliver decided. "I'm obviously not getting though to him if he thought it was okay to fool me. Do you have any further tests you need to run straight away?"

"Adrenaline levels," Dr. Vanhallsen responded. "I need to get his blood pumping, or his heart beating, or something. So we can use it for the future."

"That's perfect," Dr. Oliver said.

"Do you need any help?"

"No," Dr. Oliver said. "I've got just the thing."

That was a loooong one for a loooong time without updating-in other words, sorry for making you wait. But I made up for it, didn't I? ;) I hope you liked it, I got a little more coverage on all three boys this time.

As always, review and constructive criticism is always welcome!