Technically I wrote this at 11pm, so it totally counts! Curse work for keeping me in all day. Ah well, here's day 7! Hope you enjoy!

DISCLAIMER!: I don't own Thunderbirds Are Go! This is just a series meant for entertainment.

WARNING!: These stories will contain dark themes, if you are not comfortable with this, please, do NOT read!

"'Dis is a bad idea."

A heavy accent carried through the ghostly remains of a former city street. Two pairs of worn boots picked their way through rubble, keeping close to the shadows.

"Shuttup! And what be'er choice do we 'ave?" Another voice snapped, keeping between broken girders before ducking back behind a broken wall.

"You 'eard the bloke. We get the runt and he'll give us 's much cash as we can carry."

"Why th' runt though?" The first asked. "Bloke said 'e wanted any of 'em."

"'Cause e's easy pickin's! Kid always gets left on 'is own by the biggun's." The second huffed, voice raising in exasperation.

"Hello?"

"Shit!" The second hissed, yanking the first back as footsteps moved past them.

"Is anyone there?" Alan called out, looking around. "International Rescue! You can come out!"

"Whatdda we do?" The first asked quickly. The second tsked, shoving past his accomplice and into the light.

"Follow my lead." He murmured as he walked past. The other's voice rose several octaves in horror.

"But whadda you-?"

"Over 'ere!" The second yelled. Alan turned, surprised to receive an answer as a man approached him. For a disaster zone, the stranger was remarkably unscathed. Glancing him over, he didn't appear to have any injuries on his pale, almost translucent skin.

"Are you okay?" Alan asked him, ignoring the blatant alarm bells ringing in his skull. An impeccable man in a ruined city. The entire thing screamed suspicious. The stranger chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He shrugged, quickly adding. "Uh- considering. Y'know."

"Didn't you hear the evacuation broadcast?" Alan frowned. "You can't be here. C'mon, I can get you back to the emergency crews and-"

"No, no!" The stranger answered quickly. "We was uh- just goin'."

"'We'?" Alan asked. The man eyes widened. His head whipped around snarling as another figure burst from behind a chunk of rubble. Alan had no time to react as a well-aimed fist collided with his gut, sending him stumbling back. A strong pair of hands gripped his wrists, and tight plastic soon bound them. Alan squirmed, unable to reach his comm. Knowing his siblings wouldn't be far, and with panic starting to settle in his gut, Alan shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Scott! Gordon! Virgil!"

"Shut 'im up already! Be'ore the bigguns come running!"

Another blow, hitting the back of his head hard enough to see stars. Alan cried out, quickly muffled by the dirty fabric stuffed between his teeth, effectively silencing him. His comm flared to life, making his attackers yelp in surprise.

"Alan! What's going on?"

"Are you okay?"

"Stay put! I'm coming after you!"

"Oh no, you ain't!" The ghostly man growled, jabbing something into Alan's sash. It gave a whine, and an electrical 'pop!'. And his brothers were silenced.

"Now we can do 'dis th' easy way," The stranger began, dragging Alan back to his feet. "Or I c'n knock yer ass out. Yer comin' with us. So start walkin'."

Given the options, it seemed like Alan was left with little choice.

Didn't stop him from headbutting his attacker, grinning as he gave a shout, clutching his nose.

"Fucker." He snarled, wiping the blood across his palm. He turned to his accomplice. "Hard way it is. Smith, knock him flat."

The last thing Alan heard was a distant shout as a final blow landed on his temple, and the hard ground catching his fall.