Chapter Ten

Author's Note: Ah, Franz's perspective. A Grammar Nazi's nightmare. Amusing sometimes, incomprehensible at others and once in a blue moon incredibly frustrating. But all the time hilarious.

If anyone at-all-at-all has read this story, you might remember (in a distant, dusty corner in your mind. That is, if minds have corners), that the Fab4 and Co. have been separated, had close encounters with bears, buried under avalanches, had deep meaningful thoughts at completely inappropriate moments, taken hostage by evil ninja's (well – evil in this case meaning against Big Blue and the rest of G.L.O.V.E.) and taken delightful midday swims to relax. This chapter will be one of the first in aaages where most of the characters are in the same place.

I apologise for not updating sooner – I was caught up with musical, projects, work experience and feeling sorry for myself. But while I was stressing over subject choices, and wishing I could be anywhere else but a small town in the middle of nowhere in a bankrupt country that my children and my children's children will have to pay for for years to come, I somehow realised, at least I have these choices. I have a family, and they're content running around the place like maniacs playing this sport and that, finishing college assignments and correcting tests, and speaking a dying language like it's going out of fashion. I still have them, and they still have me.

This is why I'm dedicating this chapter, not to Blue Eminems, Spoon, Ruth or Síne, but to the Belgian schoolchildren, their teachers who died in a coach crash on the way home from a ski trip and the children and teachers killed in Newtown, Connecticut, U.S.A. They will never grow up. They won't make subject choices, sit exams, choose their careers. They won't have boyfriends or girlfriends, get married and live to old age, their homes filled with the sound of their grandchildren laughing. Their families will have been torn apart, their lives filled with grief. The world has been robbed of 42 young minds who could have cured breast cancer, stopped deforestation, won the lottery or learned how to brew a proper cup of tea.

I am aware that H.I.V.E. is a small fandom, but full of good and bright and amazing people. An even smaller number will perhaps read this story, and might actually read chapters 1-10. But if you are reading this, remember that we all have the potential to do amazing things. Maybe once a month, read fact instead of fiction. Perhaps, study sometimes instead of daydream. You might be human rights activists, good and honest and true politicians (something that's in demand these days), the next Meryl Streep or just a milkman (or woman) who brings smiles to peoples faces everyday. Whatever you have been, are and will be – be the very best that you can.

At least you have that chance.

H.I.V.E.

Franz yawned and stretched and promptly curled back up in a ball again.

"Franz!" came a hiss. "Franz!"

Franz ran through fields of daffodils, hand in hand with a girl whose face was eternally shrouded in mystery.

"FRANZ!"

He sat up with a start and banged his head on the low ceiling. He looked around with curiosity. He appeared to be sitting in a cot of some sort – no pillow, no blanky. Through the bars of the cot he could see some other bars built into the floor and extending from one wall to the other. Franz gave a nonplussed shrug and hopped out…..

…..noticing far too late that…..

…..there was a six foot drop…..

…..between his former position and the floor.

He slammed into the harsh, unforgiving concrete. He lay curled up in the foetal position, mewling softly. The pain coursed through his back, hwihc had taken the brunt of the fall. A pair of familiar standard combat boots moved into his view. He automatically noticed the boots were dry and size four. Nigel? Or Otto? They both had small feet. The left started tapping impatiently and without warning kicked him in the Argentblum family jewels.

"Idiot!" growled Laura Brand. "We've been here six hours and all you've done is sleep. I, on the other hand, was dragged by my ankle to the infirmary, strapped down and given stitches for the wound in my head. Seventeen stitches, Franz. Without anaesthetic. SEVENTEEN GOD-DAMN STITCHES! And then flung in here and finally finding you (who I had surmised after SIX HOURS AND NO ANSWERS was dead), catching up on your nap-time. YOUR NAP-TIME!"

Franz whimpered.

Laura looked down at the snivelling wreck cowering beside her foot and felt a smidge guilty. She had kind of had experience of almost being blown up and garrotted but Franz usually stayed at home and ate. And then eaten some more.

A door opened along the corridor.

Laura raced to the second set of bars that Franz had seen earlier and peer down the corridor.

Where the hell are we?

A man in some kind of uniform marched down the corridor and stopped in front of her cell. Withdrawing a key, he unlocked the door and resisted Laura's attempt to escape by delivering a vicious punch. Laura collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Franz could hear a stern voice squawking through the guard's walkie-talkie. Synchronised marching could be heard coming their way. Franz closed his eyes tightly to give the illusion he was asleep. Wasn't that hard considering he had had just six hours of sleeps in 36 hours. Not that impressive, but this was Franz. Sleep took the number two spot in his priorities.

Four thuds hit the floor of the cell and the marching continued out of the enclosed space and down the corridor.

Franz cracked his eyes open just a sliver.

And then let out a cry of joy.

"OTTO!

"ES HAT SO LANGE! WO BIST DU GEWESEN? WURDE ALS SICHER MEINE TAGE GEMACHT WURDEN! ABER JETZT BIST DU HIER ! WIR SIND GERETTET ! HURRA!"

Otto's face slowly turned purple. "Too-" *Huff, gasp.* "– tight Franz! Can't – breathe," he wheezed.

Franz released him, embarrassed. Adeline, Stephen and Arty looked bemused behind him. Franz could almost hear the H.I.V.E. rumours about his sexual orientation. His dreams of becoming H.I.V.E.'s Sirius Black were doomed.

Laura groaned from her corner. Franz shifted his weight awkwardly as the others ran to the Scot. There would be hell to pay once Laura realised how many times he had ignored her. Otto turned from examining his kind-of-girlfriend/long-time-crush/fellow-lab-rat-gremlin and gave Franz the evil eye. The German's life was over.

"What happened?" demanded Stephen.

Franz did not appreciate his tone. The newbie had the same expression Nigel generally wore when Franz forgot a project. The one that meant how-dare-you-lower-my-academic-grades/I-will-not-take-your-nonsense/I-had-claimed-that-last cookie.

Laura opened her mouth and coughed violently. Once her coughs subsided, Franz waved away her explanation. This was not a time for words. Words could not describe what he and Laura had been through. There was only one way. One, fail-proof method to convey their actions and emotions.

It was time. For some interpretive dance.

Two women disembarked the train. One had dark hair and an even darker expression. The other was waifish, blonde, idly checking the time as the porter got her luggage. She felt strange being away from her young children. She turned to ask did her friend feel the same but thought better of it. Anyone could be listening.

It was rush hour in King's Cross Station, and people were everywhere. Businessmen in tailored suits strode confidently into the mêlée, harried-looking assistants trailing in their wake. Mothers tugged young children behind them, their young eyes wide with all the people. What must have been a school tour jumped onto the train, teachers trying in vain to keep them quiet.

The taller woman looked at her watch, irritated. The chauffeur should have been here by now. And today, of all days, she had wanted everything to go smoothly. A strand of black hair fell escaped from her bun.

"Ma'am?"

She turned, a scowl on her face. "Yes, Worthing?"

The newest member of the family's staff bobbed his head in a pathetic bow. "The, uh, car's ready now."

The women turned their backs on him in disdain, and walked towards the exit. The woman with her blonde hair cut in a chic bob cursed under her breath. "As if anyone bows to their employer even more. What is this, the seventeenth century?"

Her friend nodded absentmindedly. She fingered her watch, calculating the different time zones to where her significant other was. Or at least where she thought he was. Stock markets these days are such a bore.

She froze.

A familiar shaped object was pressing into her back.

She stiffened and thought of the poisoned knife in her sleeve, the gun in her shoe and the ornamental dagger in her hair. The attacker behind her seemed to read her mind and dug the gun into her spine. A bullet through the C-4 vertebra would at best kill her and at worst leave her paralysed.

"No sudden moves, ma'am. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you," said the chauffeur, a note of triumph in his voice.

The blonde clutched at her friend's arm. "What's going on?"

They all heard the familiar click. The chauffeur continued in an undertone.

"Walk naturally out to the car. If either of you motion to anyone, you're dead. Miss Christine, walk ahead and don't try anything foolish."

"It's Mrs-"

The chauffeur's slightly manic grin silenced her. He rammed the gun further into his captive's back.

The black haired woman continued walking, swallowing the bile that rose up in her throat when the man slung an arm around her.

"Just to make things easier."

Beginner's mistake. Clearly never educated at H.I.V.E. Lt. Morhange would be rolling in his grave.

"How did you do it?" she asked, trying to casually put her hand up her sleeve.

He smiled victoriously. "Too easy. Working for the last family was just an excuse. Your family's security is slipping."

The woman nodded, pretending to be interested. Fingers slid over the blade of the dagger and moved it ever so gently.

"Who hired you?"

"Oh you will find out. But I guess you could you are both acquaintances…"

Her mind raced. By not using words such as 'you're', 'you'll', etc., he was clearly trying to be clever. But figuring out why psycho she was dealing with now wouldn't help. Who could have sent him?

An old woman walked into her, causing a moments confusion. Taking the opportunity, she slid her right hand further up her left sleeve. Gently does it…

The trio made their way through the crowds. The car was parked in a secluded corner. Away from the crowds, the din lessened. A sidelong glance showed no passerbys.

The dark haired woman spun, and the gun went off. Her friend ducked for cover as shots ricocheted off the walls.

Bang!

A bullet skinned her cheek. Blood trickled down her neck.

Bang!

She dropped to the ground and swung out a leg to trip him over. He stumbled and a quick jab broke his nose. He flailed after another jab to the eyes and shot wildly.

Bang!

Bang!

A solid jab to the midriff winded her and she dropped to her knees. Her dagger flew like a bird and landed in his jugular He howled in rage and shoved the Glock in her face.

"You won't shoot," she said confidently. "Because of who I am and who I know, I'm too valuable."

The man leaned in closer, practically sitting on her as he wielded the gun.

"Guess again."

Bang.

Author's Note

Boom! Chapter Number 10! And considering I started this about nine months ago, I'm struck with the reality that I am a procrastinator. Darn. As for the academics, it's back to the grindstone. Picking subjects like History and Geography make free time scarce. Languages are getting better though : )

While all these alternating views may make little sense now, one will (eventually. I hope) understand. They all allow me to focus on different aspects of H.I.V.E. and deepen the story.

Also my German friend is away so until she can correct me, I will have to do with Google Translate. Sorry if (cough, when, cough) you notice the mistakes.

As always, please review. I've been rereading the previous chapters and I think I stopped just short of breaking the law in asking for reviews. I apologise for my blissfully immature and enthusiastic self of one year ago (Note: you may have noticed I use excessive hyperbole).

Thank you for reading to this chapter! And no, this is not the end. I have about four or five chapters left. All depends on editing.

Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Have some fun this winter : )

Cairdiuil Paiste