Warnings: Boring stuff prefacing act 2. No poetic stuff, just LOTS of details and dialogues from peoples.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or any trademark brands used in this fic. Any numbers, characters, and places that match real life are merely coincidental.

START OF BOOK 1 ACT 2

Words Get in the Way

MCCALL HOUSE

The door bursts open to a dark living room. Derek grunts as he drags the Sheriff onto the open couch. Melissa follows quietly behind him, turning on the lights. She goes straight to the bathroom and shuts the door. The teens hear the water running from the sink, as silence fills the empty living room.

Stiles limps through the front door, clinging to a wall. His torso still had little control, and Scott was keeping him up. "Well that's done and over with, I think," Stiles remarks, clearing his throat. "Victory on our part, right? I mean, the town didn't go boom."

No one replies. "I guess everything is still sinking in," Stiles thinks.

"Hey, Scott, help me to a seat please," Stiles says. They limp over to the empty love seat. As Stiles plops down, he sees his unconscious dad, and hides a miniature frown. Scott wasn't doing too well either. His eyes kept trailing to the bathroom in the hall. With enhanced hearing, they still hear Mrs. McCall's sobs wracking her fragile frame.

They instinctively and serendipitously look at the clock at the same time. It's almost 3 in the morning. Thankfully, no school tomorrow/today. They do have lacrosse practice later that afternoon. The championship is coming soon. That idea is still… a little over a light year away right now. It's as if they were just checking something off a list, heart not really in it at the moment

"I'll be the first to say it, as always," Stiles declares to the room. Derek looks at him, leaning on a wall by the doorway. "We almost died again. Nothing new."

"So?," Scott asks.

"So, we get over it. And, we kind of need to get over it a little bit quicker than usual," Stiles answers.

"It's different this time, Stiles. My mom and your dad were in the crossfire."

"Yeah, and now your mom now knows our furry little secret," Stiles adds. "But, we need to get over it quick. Because, if you haven't noticed, the hunters are stepping up the danger levels here."

"Speaking of danger, who is that guy who helped us earlier? What is his deal?," Derek finally says.

"His name is Troy," Scott replies snce he had more time to interact with the unlikely hero. Not that the amount of time clarified the situation. "And I'm not really sure I can tell you what his deal is. He said some pretty cryptic stuff last night. Stuff about bugging phones, and being allies. It's a blur at the moment."

"I think this will all make more sense after some rest, Scott," Stiles suggests. "Derek, I know you're the Alpha and all that, but would you mind if your pack and us two meet later after lacrosse practice? There are some stuff that need to be laid out on the table for everyone to know. Including the two things I've discussed with you in the past?"

Scott looks at Stiles, barely able to put the pieces together. "You discussed stuff with Derek?"

"Not now, Scott. I need to tend to my dad. And you clearly need to talk to your mom. Later, okay? After we get some rest," Stiles pleads. He then looks to the Alpha. "And our parents might need to come with. And Scott, before the meeting, you decide if we should invite Troy. Derek, is that okay?"

"6 pm. Warehouse district," Derek answers, then motions to leave.

"Cool. I'll bring snacks," Stiles calls out to the departed wolf. "Hmmmm… You know, Scott, he might not show it, but he must've been hella tired too. Oh c'est la vie."

This is when the water stops running in the bathroom. Melissa McCall crawls out, face damp and eyes red. She's holding a first aid kit and walks over to the Sheriff.

"Scott, c-could you get me some hand towels and warm water? I need to look over all of your wounds before I have to go to work," she said.

Scott chose to just follow the orders quietly, and normally. Supernatural speed might not be helpful at that moment.

Melissa took out the tranquilizer darts off of Steven Stilinski and disinfected the little bug bites left over. She grabs a small pillow and puts it in the unconscious man's mouth. He may be passed out, but the pain of resetting bones could shock him back to consciousness. And as always, biting cloth is better than biting your tongue off. She takes a deep breath and—

*CRACK CRACK CRACK* "ERRRRRRRMPH ERMPH PRMPH PRM P-tooey! Motherfuckin Jesus Mary and Joseph on the Cross! AaaaAAAAAAGH!," the Sheriff screams, waking up.

Stiles had to take a moment to close his eyes and calm down. This was not a time to lose control. "Um, hi, Dad…. Glad to have you back."

"Huh? Wha-who-why? What happened? Where am I?! The last thing I remember is… is that coffee guy! He shot me! I'll have that bastard arrested so fast, his head will spin!"

"Easy, Steven," Melissa calmly intervenes. "I'm sorry to wake you up, but I had to reset the bone before I splint your wrist," she said, wrapping the hand in bandages. "And it's a long story, but Troy actually saved all of us last night. I'm sure Stiles will fill you in, after you both rest."

Sheriff Stilinski winces after he realizes the pain emanating from his left hand. He counts himself lucky that his right side is his dominant side. Writing, driving, even aiming a gun would be a bitch otherwise.

After Melissa's okay, the sheriff is given two pain pills, a pillow and a blanket. She then walks over to Stiles to check him over only to give up within the first minute. "Honestly, Stiles, I don't know how to fix this for you."

"Fix what?," the worried father in the room asks.

"I'm paralyzed neck down again, Dad," Stiles answers. "Part of the long story for later. Uhm, Mrs. Scott's Mom, I'm pretty sure this lasts only half a day more. You could disinfect any cuts you might see, if it will make you feel better. Ooooh, and if you could scratch my nose, that will be sooo awesome! Aside from that, I'm fine."

The sheriff sighs in relief. But before he relaxes, a stray thought passes him and then he suddenly stiffens and pales. He looks cautiously at Melissa and gathers the courage for the next question on his mind: "And… and Scott?... Was the gunshot wound pacified?... I-is he… okay?"

Melissa smiles a melancholic smile, tears in her eyes. "I-I guess so, Steven. I mean, h-he's alive."

She breaks into tears and excuses herself, saying she needs to get ready for work.

Scott walks in with the towels and water, clearly avoiding his mom. "Hi, Mr. Stilinski. Here, let me clean you up a bit." He wipes dirt grime and blood of the Sheriff's face, arms and shirt. He does the same for Stiles, before laying his friend onto a futon he setup in record time.

"Anything you guys need, before I head to bed as well? Water? More blankets?," Scott asks,

"No, we're good, Scott. Get some sleep." Stiles replies.

Scott nods silently, locks the front door and heads to bed.

The Sheriff shuddered at the awkward silence that was left behind. He must have missed a lot—these two kids said so much, without saying anything to one another. Steven decided to get some rest (and figure out in the morning how to pay back Melissa for the first aid and the hospitality). Apparently, tomorrow has him catching up a lot.

It was 3:11 in the morning, and the men in the household fell asleep almost immediately. It was 3: 17, when Melissa snuck out the front door to head to work, leaving her supernatural problems behind, at least for a short while.

She started the car, set the shift to drive, and went on her lonely way.

…..oooooOOOOOooooo…..oooooOOOOOooooo…..oooooOOOOOo oooo…..oooooOOOOOooooo…..

(A/N Reminder: JORDAN = codename. His secret identity is Troy. )

MEANWHILE, AT THE BEACON HILLS BEANERY…

It's still cold out when CONRAD and JORDAN ran inside, carrying Jackson Whittemore's limp body.

"You know, you still have some explaining to do. Going into the middle of a bomb scare is just not wise at this point, JORDAN," CONRAD nags.

"Yeah, give me a moment to stabilize these kids in the back room. I'll catch you up, I promise."

They rush to the back room, where the two of them run into Danny, who chose to restock shelves to pass the time. Danny sees the stranger and his eyes move to the body they are carrying. "Jackson!"

Danny drops the bags of coffee grinds on the floor and rush to take one of Jackson's arms. "What happened to him?!"

"You know this kid?," Troy asks.

"Yeah, he's my best friend. What the HELL did you do to him?!"

"Would you believe me if I said I found him passing out from a midnight run?," Troy attempts with a forced smile on his lips.

Danny's eyebrows furrow as he stares the man down.

Troy just sighs. "CONRAD, quick background check please."

"Don't order me around, JORDAN."

"It's Troy. Keep it together, man."

CONRAD pulls out a little handheld and taps like crazy. "Danny Mahealani, 16 years old, Hawaiian descent, 2 cases of public disturbance, 3 cases of internet hacking. Motives seem stable and acceptable."

Troy just looks back at the teen with a poker face. "If you explain these cases, I'll explain what happened. And I mean the TRUTH, Mr. Mahealani."

"The hacking cases were to help this idiot-," Danny points to Jackson's body. "-find clues on his birth parents. The public disturbances… they were for cases of gay bashing. It should state on those, what I guess are, police files that I'm the victim in those."

"He's right," CONRAD confirms. "Witness reports and confessions from the offenders check him out as the victim in the cases."

Troy looks him over. The Hawaiian teen is staring at them angrily. His fists are clenched, seemingly ready to start a fight. He's obviously protective of his friend. Huh, loyalty. That's good.

"Well, you did keep my shop safe. Any customers while I was gone?," Troy asks, smiling.

"Just some nurses from Beacon Medical on a coffee run," Danny replied, not backing down his stare one bit.

"Well, okay then. Let me fix your friend up, settle your payment, and then I'll see what I can fill you in," Troy muses. His tone changes next to a rehearsed and imperative voice. "Mr. Mahealani, as a fellow shall we say computer security enthusiast, I understand your curiosity for things hidden from the common man's point of view, and I understand your rebellion against internet status quo. HOWEVER, if you are following me to where I will be holding your friend for his recovery, you will see things you're not supposed to, things kept secret for your own safety. Again, should you follow us; it is IMPERATIVE that you keep the following details secret. It is a matter of national and international safety, do you understand?"

Danny blinks in disbelief. A moment passes and what comes out next is: "REALLY?! Oh great, I'm taken hostage by a bunch of nut jobs again. Look, I'm not into the whole alternate world fantasy game you guys are into, okay. Just let us go so I can take care of my friend. I am in no cosplay or LARPing mood."

Troy just sighs and hands Jackson's arm to Conrad to hold. He walks over to the back room's thermostat controls.

He grabs the entire console and twists it clockwise 90 degrees clockwise and 90 degrees counterclockwise. The thermo stat clicks and opens up to reveal a small keypad in a hidden panel. Jordan types in a code, and closes the panel and waits.

Troy looks back at the two occupants of the back room. "Sorry, it takes a moment to warm up, since the thing is relatively new. Anyway, gentleman and gentleman- Welcome to my Batcave."

A panel opens from the floor to their right, to reveal a small metal staircase to a hidden basement. Conrad just shakes his head and heads on down ahead of Danny. "I'll take the legs and you take the arms, Mr Mahealani. Troy, you have a first aid station here?"

"Yes," he replies.

Danny moves slowly down the staircase, Jackson's arms in tow. As his eyes adjust to the different fluorescent lighting, he is amazed by what he sees.

The description of "Batcave" definitely gave it justice. The hidden lair has twice the square footage as the store above and somehow every inch is used for its potential. The room they are in opens to a large computer area to the right; the screens span the whole eastern wall. Right in front of them, another wall is covered top to bottom with various firearms and weapons. On an island close to the arsenal, parts of what seem to be a dismantled rocket launcher lay untouched. And to the western wall, there lies a not-so-modest living area, consisting of 3 beds, a small kitchen, and an entertainment center. Everything even had a primary color scheme, green for the computer section, red for the weapons, and blue for the living area. Probably what was most curious is a spiral staircase that is dead center of the room.

Conrad whistles in awe, and Danny, well; it took him a moment to realize his jaw was dropped wide open. Troy was now walking down the stairs behind them. "Sorry, I had to close up shop upstairs. I will have to run up if drive through rings. But yeah, mi casa es su casa."

"Damn it, JORDAN. I did not give you this much money. How the HELL did you afford all this?," CONRAD asks.

"I went through some casinos in Nevada, and I stopped a bank robbery in Utah. Let's just say that all of the money didn't safely return after the foiled robbery."

"The Director isn't gonna like this, JORDAN. You're not supposed to plant roots," CONRAD groans.

"Uhh excuse me, but my friend here still needs medical attention," Danny chimes.

"Oh yeah, unfortunately, I didn't plan the floors very well and the medical station ended up on the second floor, to the left. I might have to rearrange this somehow later."

Conrad groans again as Danny and himself maneuver Jackson's body down the spiral staircase. "Why the hell did it have to be spiral, JORDAN?!"

"Because, style is important in a lair, Conrad. And the name is Troy. You'll blow my cover if you keep on forgetting."

As they reach the first aid room, CONRAD and Troy strap and wire Jackson down. Troy took a vial of Jackson's blood and started on some machines, while CONRAD dressed some cuts like a pro. Danny just stood there confused and feeling helpless. He felt like he needed to help, but he didn't know how. Computers were his forte. Anatomy and medicine is a whole alien entity to him.

As if reading his mind, Troy starts talking to Danny. "So…. What keeps you at my shop 'til midnight? I know it's not the food and drink. You hardly order anything."

"It's your firewalls. I couldn't get in through the wifi to your router. I've been able to do that everywhere else in the town except for your shop. It was a nice challenge."

"I can say the same about your laptop, you know," Troy replies, as he drops some slides of blood into a machine. "All the other kids, I was able to bug their laptops in seconds. Lydia and Stiles, took me a few more minutes. But your laptop, man, I still can't get in."

Danny just nods in reply. It felt like they were playing cyber-chess and didn't know it.

"Done," Troy said. "Blood levels normal, except for this unknown toxin, and extremely high levels of iron and platelets in the blood. There are also a lot of what I have to guess are stem cells in there. They haven't specialized yet."

"That could explain why his wounds are healing so fast over here," Conrad adds. "I don't know why he's still out though. No contusions or signs of blunt force trauma."

"I can probably explain that a bit later," Troy replies. "Right now though-"

Troy suddenly stands up, and handcuffs Danny to a wall post in the room.

"What the HELL, man?!," Danny screams. "I told you I'm no criminal! And I'm not going to blab about this to anyone! No one will believe me anyway!"

"I know. But you might not like what happens next and I can't risk you reacting very well," Troy explains.

The man pulls out four more handcuffs and shackles Jackson's arms and legs to the gurney.

"This kid… he killed 7 officers tonight… and until all motives and alibis are clear, he is under medical arrest."

Danny is shocked once again. Oh, what a pattern of shock and awe tonight must have been.

"I have to take care of another kid in the back of my car, Danny," Troy starts. "I'll be right back. When everything is settled with our patients, I promise, PROMISE, to recap my entire weird evening to the both of you. Right now, some evidence might help you guys believe me more. I have to back those up from the hard drive too. So please be a little patient.

In the meantime, would you like something to drink or eat? Conrad? I have a fully stocked kitchen upstairs. Make Danny something too, if you can."

CONRAD mutters something about not being anybody's maid or cook but, knowing JORDAN, what he said wouldn't change a damn thing. "I make a mean bowl of cereal, or I can get you some grits. Take your pick," Conrad says, offering Danny a chair. "It's gonna be a long evening, I could get you some coffee too."

"No, I'll be fine. If it's all good, it's been a long night and I'm tired. I trust you guys enough to attempt to sleep, so please wake me up if something improves with Jackson."

"Sure, kid." Conrad offers the kid his jacket as a makeshift blanket and goes upstairs. At least one of them should get some sleep. And he's sure he'll be in deep trouble once he has to report these things back to the Director. God, he sure hoped Troy stocked his fridge with some beer. He sure could take a hit right now.

…..oooooOOOOOooooo…..oooooOOOOOooooo…..oooooOOOOOo oooo…..oooooOOOOOooooo…..

MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL….

The tables were covered by various beakers of chemicals and ethers, but this room isn't the chemistry lab. No, far from it. It isn't the janitor's closet, nor is it the gardening shed. This room once housed the school's observatory for the now defunct astronomy club. It was practically an attic above the gym's rafters, dingy and decrepit. No one knew it was there unless they intensely analyzed the school's blueprints. And nowadays, no one really cares for blueprints anymore unless- well, unless you have something to look for or something to hide.

Dr. Adrian Cyrus Pascal, aka "Pacman" by Stiles Stilinski, aka "PASCAL" to The Organization, was a 6' 2" tall Hispanic male, stocky build, and a man who always dressed like a professor- sweater vest, lab coat, or corduroy. For this man, everything is a puzzle that could be solved, every day is a game to play, and every rule is a test to be broken. I mean, come on, with sufficient force, pigs fly just fine.

And for a vile piece of swine such as he, of proud pedigree and the skin of finest leather, he could fly to the moon whenever he wanted. This is because he is the best at what he does. And anyone who says otherwise- they tend to disappear in some gruesome manner unexplainable by Newtonian mechanics.

But how does a creature such as he, though average of looks yet above average of brains, become one of the top 12 killers of an organization bent on world destruction?

I could tell you, but that would be a story of little or no merit. At least, in PASCAL's point of view.

What IS important, is that his purpose be known. Plain and simple, PASCAL is known for his brains (and not his brawn, though he can hold himself in a fight.) His raw intelligence makes for an excellent strategist. His only flaw, one he won't openly admit, is his disdain of social structure. He is a hacker by profession and a loner by vocation.

So when The Organization's Head of Cyber Crime calls for backup, it shouldn't be ignored.

Four holograms shone before him, ready to start this conference.

"Hello, PASCAL, dear!," one of them chimes seductively. "How's my favorite Urkel doing? Hihihi.. Are you looking for a little fun time? I have some toys for us to play with."

"Not another one of your sickening advances, TRAGIC," another one replies huskily. "The wimp probably got a little paper cut and wanted to whine about it."

"Now, now, PHENIX. No baiting, please," the rightmost hologram reprimands. "I have no time for games. I have two press conferences in the morning and a bill voting to sabotage in the next 24 hours. Unless it benefits my campaign, I will have to leave this meeting in 5 minutes."

The three holograms start to bicker and taunt. ("Oh, you're no fun!" "Quiet you stupid wench!" "Oh Mr Rich and Famous can't stay. What's new?")

"Oh I believe you might want to stay for this, STRIKE," PASCAL interrupts. "The same for TRAGIC and PHENIX. I have found… new specimen for our little endgame… and I believe you are in charge of each one."

"Oh, please," PHENIX scoffs. "You're just scared TROJAN will come after you. You probably think we could be your little bodyguards."

"My, my, my, dear PHENIX. That move is pure CERTAINTY," PASCAL replies. "Though you might not understand it anytime this century, going after me will be TROJAN's only logical and probable move. I even have proof that his lackey, Agent CONRAD, is living within a 20-mile radius of my current position.

And once I find him, his death is something I can easily handle."

"No," the fourth hologram speaks.

"What?"

"No, you will not kill him, PASCAL," the figure orders.

"Why not? It is the only logical step."

"He is integral to my portion of the endgame, PASCAL," the man tuts.

"And what portion might that be? You still haven't informed us of your charge," PASCAL baits.

"That- is on a need to know basis. And none of you need to know….

… especially for losing the damn blueprints to TROJAN in the first place."

"Ugh, not this again," PHENIX whines.

"I'm sowwy, dear. I am trying to make it up to you. You know that, right?," TRAGIC apologizes.

"Picking at old wounds, much?," STRIKE retorts.

"Fine. We get it," PASCAL surrenders. "That said and done, you three still have potential charges here in California. Are you planning to scout them out personally or not? I need your answers now so I can end this stupid meeting."

"Give me three days," STRIKE answers. "I am close to starting a rebellion in Egypt, and I have two assassination attempts to construct."

"I'll be there around the same time," PHENIX adds. "Our team is close to accessing a fault near Mt. Rushmore and a couple of faults by Mt. Everest. The local flora and fauna are putting up a fight and I ain't missing that bloodshed."

"I'm coming too!," TRAGIC squeals. "It's a date!" She winks at PASCAL and blows him a kiss.

"So? Is this meeting over?," PASCAL asks the last hologram.

"Yes, but before you leave, I need to make two things clear:

1. Do everything in your power to reclaim the blueprints from TROJAN.

2. However, TROJAN must SURVIVE any encounter you meet. Break him all you want. But if he dies, let's just say, you all know there are fates worse than death…

… and when I find out who is responsible for this man's death, intentional or otherwise, will experience all these fates AT THE SAME DAMN TIME. Am I clear?"

"Yes, ALFRED," they reply in unison.

"Good. Dismissed." ALFRED orders.

And with that… well, I guess the only thing you can say is that Beacon Hills is FUCKED, with a capital F-U-C-K-E-D. No other words would describe it.

Author's Notes: I will post two chapters next time. But expect it in like two weeks or so. Writing so much is new to me. I need a break. Or motivation, like reviews, or just plain views. But I prefer cookies.

Please review. This chapter ending is bothering me, but how do I fix it? Ugh.

Also, I think I broke the 4th wall in this chapter once or twice.

Oh, btw, I don't know what a beta is, but I don't have one. (Not necessarily looking for one since that social construct confuses me.) I'm pretty much stating this fact to point out that I try to fix my own spelling and grammar, so any and all mistakes are mine.

Announcement: The next hidden-message-blog-post-chapter thing requires internet access. So apps that download stories to your smartphonepad things might not get to see them. Just a heads up.

Also, a miniature password protection will show up later in this act. It will not affect the flow of the story. But if you solve the query, it will hopefully enhance the story.

So keep those thinking caps on!

End A/N, Announcement, Chapter