A/N: So, I just realized I hate the way I did the end of the scene with 10E, Patton, and Fanny so I've tweaked it and edited that spot of last chapter. Not really anything major, just less "dramatic". Allows for less relationship drama this early and allows for real plot progression. I would like to thank those who have reviewed so far for their support and enthusiasm. I'm especially glad that the Wreckers have been so well received. I don't own CN: KND or any professional media. Aaaaanyway, now onto the chapter at hand.


The stars seemed less magnificent at 2 A.M., especially after the worst Halloween night of Nigel Uno's life. Besides the bruises, cuts, and concussion Nigel had three broken ribs and a dislocated left shoulder. How can a kid hit hard enough to dislocate a shoulder, much less crack ribs? Now he was staring out the window of the Wreckers' heavily armored S.C.A.M.P.E.R., left arm in a sling, torso wrapped in bandages, and being carted down to Artic Base by an armed escort. He felt so useless, helpless. Over and over again he replayed his "battle" with the enemy Rachel had temporarily dubbed Gray.

"You know brooding isn't healthy for a boy your age, soldier," said a voice to Nigel's left. Patton had joined him by the window. Throughout the years there were seldom times Patton and Nigel had agreed on anything. Nigel was a maverick and calling him unorthodox was being moderate, while Patton was a fundamentalist. But regardless of ideology they were still comrades. And on rare moments such as this, even friends.

"True. It also isn't healthy for a boy your age to totally whipped," Nigel countered playfully, enjoying the first lighthearted moment he'd had in hours.

"Oh, you're one to talk Uno," Patton returned, referencing Nigel's ex. Patton did have a point there.

"It's very late. Aren't your parents going to be worried?" Nigel asked to change the subject.

"No worries Uno, they think I'm spending the night at Lance's house," Patton answered, slightly grateful to be off the topic of love lives. He still did not know what to think of the note Numbuh 10E had slipped him:

Welcome party for you in my room, 199 Deck 14.

XO, Fiona

While Patton glanced over at the girl in question whom was piloting the Wrecker's ship, a moment of silence fell. Nigel went back to staring out the window, watching atmospheric friction turn the armor plates of the S.C.A.M.P.E.R. red-hot.


The little red blip on the radar screen seemed so tiny, so insignificant, so easy to just snatch up and destroy. Probably because it was. So why weren't they taking action and ending this silly little intergalactic squabble?

"Because it is too soon, Infinity," Omega-1 spat, blatantly irritated. Infinity nearly jumped right out of his skin, wheeling his desk chair around to find Omega-1 right behind him, leaning against his filing cabinets.

"T-too soon?" Infinity growled, just regaining composure, "How is it too soon Jim? The longer we wait, the longer they have to prepare themselves!"

"Wrong. This is why you need me, Daddy-Dearest, because you are a terrible hunter," Omega-1 mocked as he circled around to the front of Numbuh Infinity's desk, "They can try to prepare, but no amount of time will save them because they know next to nothing about us…about me. They'll construct a quaint little "defensive perimeter" or something equally as mundane straight out of an amateur strategist textbook."

Omega-1 bowed his head and snickered. Then chuckled. Then howled. His laughter was malicious. Insane. Demonic. He continued, "Bwahaha! But you see, hehe, the best part about waiting, HA!, is the boy's FEAR! For, tehehe, for the first time in his little life Nigel Uno is scared! And he, oh ho HO!, he has no idea how to cope. His fear is going to build, and build, and build, and build until he's just a trembling little mass of wretched whelp on the floor of their little frozen funhouse!"

Omega's laughter overtook him. He fell to the floor in such a state that he shouldn't have been able to breath. Good thing Jim Franklin didn't need to breath anymore.


"Perimeter is established, sir, and the extra air support you requested has arrived from Sector E."

"Thank you Numbuh 53."

"Keep us posted on any and all further developments."

The 44 twins set their phones down simultaneously. They had an extra line put into Numbuh 60's old office so they could both be in on the same conversation. Pete looked to Peter and offered a weary grin. Stepping into Numbuh 60's shoes had been the brothers' dream ever since they had begun working at Artic Base, and it was everything they had dreamed…just a lot more exhausting.

"Defensive perimeter set," said Peter.

"Air support ready," said Pete.

"Numbuh 2+2 working to optimize the sensors," said Peter.

"And only one root beer left to celebrate a successful first day on the job," said Pete.

"You ready to settle this?" asked Peter.

"Always," said Pete, "Winner take all."

"Rock, Paper, Scissors!"

Numbuh 44 couldn't tell which tasted sweeter: victory or the root beer.


Zack had no idea why he was there. Well, technically he did. Numbuh 1 himself requested Zack to be his personal assistant while the living legend recovered. Apparently, when Numbuh 3 found out she would be unable to come to Artic Base to watch over Numbuh 1 she ordered that the battered Brit choose an operative to monitor him around the clock. Numbuh 1 asked if he could choose, and he chose Zack. And that's what Zack was confused about: why him? Zack Zimmermn, A.K.A. Numbuh 553, pondered this question as he sat somewhat uncomfortably in the corner of his and Numbuh 1's temporary quarters.

I guess he technically isn't Numbuh 1 anymore, is he? He's not officially in the KND. But then what do I call him, Nigel? No way. Too weird. Like calling your Dad by his first name. Numbuh 1 will do for now.

Numbuh 553 jumped a fraction when Numbuh 1 tossed down his pencil with a sharp exhale. For the last hour Numuh 1 had been writing down a little personal debriefing of what happened tonight (well technically last night, seeing as how it was 4 A.M.) with paper and pencil.

"I've been doing this ever since taking command of Sector V," Numbuh 1 had told Zack, "After typing up the official post-OP report, I hand write a personal one. Kind of like a journal I suppose. No one knows I do it, not even my team. It's to make the mission a physical memory; to make sure it remains real."

Zack wanted so badly to ask more questions about the mission journal, about why he made them. What it just sentimental value? Maybe to resurrect the memories after decommissioning? Did he want to write a book? Could it be just for sentimental value? But he didn't dare. For some reason Zack Zimmerman was still stiflingly afraid of Nigel Uno, and it wasn't until two hours ago that Zack had managed to subdue the physical sign of his fear, like flinching when Numbuh 1 looked at him too quickly or trembling when Numbuh 1 paused for more than a second.

Numbuh 1's clear British accent broke Zack's reverie, "It's miserably late. We should sleep. I don't know about you but I'm beat."

It took a full five seconds and the Brit's sly grin to make Zack realize that his companion had just made a joke. Zack's laugh was more of an awkward, shaky series of exhales, but the amusement was communicated. It was also then that Zack found it amazing that he hadn't nodded off until hours ago. Needless to say, it was way past his bedtime. Zack was suddenly struck with the drowsiness that had built up from the day that had until then been kept at bay by the apprehension that something crazy was going to happen in a moment or two. It was just that kind of day. Heck, it was that kind of week. And it probably wouldn't be the last for quite some time.

Zack numbly clambered onto his cot that stood against the far side of their quarters, and he heard Numbuh 1 do the same a few feet away. A moment after both boys were settled in, Numbuh 1 switched off the lights.

"Goodnight Zack."

"…Goodnight Nigel."

There, in the dark, during the most uncertain moment of both of their lives, the boys became friends.


A/N: I find the more I work on this story, the less I want it to be a non-stop action/adventure and the more I want it to take on an introspective, Noire type vibe. Is that coming across? If so, this is one seriously stoked author. I hope you all can dig that. There will still be action, fear not but this is by no means a shoot-em-up, Die Hard type deal (if you don't know what the Die Hard movies are, you have some serious cinema to catch up on. Not that there are Die Hard references in this thing ((although now that I think of it, that is a VERY tempting idea)), it's just a pop culture section that's good to know). And now I'm babbling. I apologize for the babbling and the weird-ish way I may describe (or not describe) things, but I'm an actor and I like to communicate in vibes and feelings. And intangible abstracts are a hard medium to translate into writing. Especially during the more miserable hours of the morning. So yeah. Bye.