Argost's manner was disgusting, and Zak knew it. Yet, he continued to allow himself to get tangled in the supervillain's snares.

"Today, boys and girls, I have a special message for all of my avid, faithful watchers."

Despite holding up after watching season after season of Weird World, Zak now felt himself shudder slightly in disgust and huddle slightly closer to Fisk's warmth. It was almost as though Argost's menacing yellow eyes were entranced upon him through the virtual border of the screen – like Argost was entirely confident that Zak was watching on the edge of his seat. The sheer presence of Argost's cold voice was enough to set him on edge, but he forced himself to sit through the gruelling minutes, if only to wait for encrypted advice from the mastermind plotting his demise. It made him pray for the days, the much easier days when he was blissfully unaware of the threat Argost his biggest worry was standing up to his Dad's contribution to cryptozoology, or beating Fisk at a video game. Y'know - before he was revealed to be an ancient evil Sumerian cryptid with a destiny to overthrow mankind. Before he had to sneak down the halls late at night to make contact with Argost, someone likely plotting to destroy their family at that very moment.

His parents had enough on their plates as it was, they didn't need the revelation that their son was conspiring with the enemy. Especially his mother, who had been reduced to a weakened state emotionally after learning that one of the men working to capture her son could be her long lost brother. Zak tried to remain optimistic for his mom that this could be his uncle - her brother that she had given up searching for, hopeless about the prospect that he could have survived. Though, even if they were related - this man was still loyal to either didn't know, or care, about the sister or nephew that he had deserted, and Zak tried to remember. He tried to visualise the sharp, steely contours of the chrome mercenary mask on top of the soft, cherubic features of the boy from he aged family photos. He had caught a momentary glimpse of the man when his Mom had pinned him to the floor with her firesword to his throat. They shared similar features, the man and Zak's mother - but the man at the end of the blade was almost an imposter, a mockery of the youngest child in the photos. He was hauntingly different, like he was only a shell of the brother that his mother has known. His face had been pale and gaunt, and Zak had noticed the skeletal appearance of his cheeks and jaw. His eyes had been wide, darting back and forth looking for escape routes. He remembered the terror on his mother's face, the frantic panic as she sifted through the photos, desperate to find the truth.

"You are in for a delightful treat. I have scoured the world for the most powerful of the cryptids, a beast capable of destroying our cosy, uniformed world, a creature of woe that could turn humanity to bones and ashes if unleashed by an unworthy ruler."

Zak felt the few strands of self confidence and esteem he had managed to hang onto crumple like paper at Argost's words, sighing defeatedly. He wanted to be able to disassociate himself from those monsters of old, he wanted to be able to quell the guilt he felt about the massacres that happened centuries ago. Fisk seemed to notice his discomfort and wrapped his arms around him, drawing him closer. Zak squeezed his brother's hand gently, unable to peel his eyes away from Argost's sickening display of entertainment on the screen.

"Lock yours doors and windows tight and curl up tight boys and girls, pray that this monster doesn't find out where you live"

Zak cringed, sickness threatening to crawl up his throat as he curled up into Fisk, who was growling protectively, glaring at the twisted man on the screen.

"The very scourge of our world-."

Argost's pixelated face was suddenly reduced to an empty black screen, as the lights around them dulled to a faint orange glow. The whole ship gave a shudder and then a groan echoed through its frame in protest as the mainframe powered down. Zak and Fisk looked at each other in worry, Fisk's bold red eyes shining through the darkness.

"Why is the airship powering down?" Zak directed the question more towards himself than his brother as a horrible wash of scenarios started to stream through his head. It could have been a simple, random power outage - the ship was being stored inside and was undergoing repairs, meaning that it was difficult for it to regain a solar charge. In retrospect, however - that shouldn't have been possible. The ship could go onto back up power, but it would have to be manually turned off from the control station in the lower areas of the ship. There could have been an electrical fault, but more worrying thoughts were running rampant through his mind. What if it was Argost? What if he was sneaking in for a final time to try and snatch him away. What if Argost had laid a trap, let loose a cryptid or some kind of parasite? What if he had sent someone in to get him? He was in the right mind to go running to find his parents, like he did as an infant when he had trouble sleeping. Though, if Argost was being secretive, it likely meant that he wanted to meet him to discuss something in private. Thus, maybe he shouldn't alert his parents to the problem. He edged his way to the edge of the sofa slowly, but Fisk grabbed onto his arm. The Lemurian looked at him with worried eyes as he wagged his index finger at Zak, suggesting that he knew what his brother was thinking and immediately knew it was a bad idea.

"Fisk, c'mon. If this is Argost he might need to give us a message," Zak reassured. Fisk shook his head and babbled worriedly. "Fisk, if we don't go to him, he might come looking for me, and then Mom, Dad and everyone else might be in danger." He peeled Fisk's hand off of his shoulder and tiptoed to the door. He dragged it open slowly and peered down the dimly lit hallway, half expecting Argost to be standing there. He was both relieved and anxious about the fact that there was nobody and edged further into the hall, cringing at the loudness of his quick breathing. He could hear Fisk following, his footfalls lighter given his thick fur and pads to cushion his feet and hands. Zak wasn't quite sure where he was going, he wanted to get it over with, but his body wanted to procrastinate from going to the power room for as long as possible. Fisk was right beside him with his comforting presence. With the ship void of power, the reassuring, rumbling sounds of the generators were gone, leaving a disturbing, eerie silence behind that blotted out everything else. Zak was expecting to witness Argost loitering in one of the doorways, or standing at the end of a corridor, or maybe waiting in the generator room. He was waiting for Munya's ferocious growls to start echoing down the corridor, or for the roaring sound of Van Rook's jetpack to come speeding up behind him. Nothing but empty air.

The same, silent atmosphere was lingering in the generator room. Zak had pulled the heavy iron door aside and brandishing the claw, he illuminated the room in an orange glow. His eyes scanned the walls, the floor, the pipes on the ceiling, the engines – he couldn't see anything moving. This allowed his body to relax a little as he lowered his shoulders. He beckoned Fisk to follow him inside, gazing around cautiously as he shuffled forwards, shoes clacking against the metal grate flooring - obnoxiously loud. Though, immediately he found that he was being consumed by the odd spectacle that nothing had been touched, or moved, or damaged. Everything was in place, with none of the dials or screens having been smashed or sabotaged. All of the lockers remained shut and securely fastened, with no sign of breaking and entering. It made him want to lean towards the conclusion that the event was nothing more than a system failure. Maybe Argost wasn't here?

He reluctantly moved his free hand towards one of the levers, hesitating before he used the claw to pull it downwards. He startled a little, when the screen came to life, white light filling the monitor screen. He could feel Fisk's breathing on his neck, the Lemurian leaning over him as they read the tiny message displayed on the screen in sync: System manually powered down. Manually. Zak scratched the back of his hand anxiously. His Dad's programming was extremely efficient and several actions needed to be taken by hand first before the ship could completely shut down. Someone would have had to have hacked in, or done this here, by hand, if they had wanted to cripple the system. Zak's eyes were attracted back towards the screen as a second line of text: force system reboot? He paused for a moment and then confirmed. There was soft whirring in the background, drowsy clicking sounds as the system slowly came back to life. He supposed that was all they could do at the current time. He and Fisk could leave and the system would be back online on its own by the morning. He backed away from the monitors, still reluctant to accept the idea that it could have been a simple system issue. He made his way back towards the vault door with Fisk following behind him.

He was about to wrap his still shaking fingers around the latch, when a sharp clinking sound sliced through the suffocating quiet that blanketed the room. A piercing ringing of metal against metal that reverberated off the walls and caused him to spin around and project the light of the claw towards where he thought the sound had come from. The orange beam illuminated a metal object as in fell against a shelf and then clattered to the ground, rolling towards them. Pressed back against the door, he tried to figure out what it was. Shaped like a grenade or a canister, Zak had no doubt that it could have been a weapon. It rolled to a steady halt against one of Fiskerton's feet as the Lemurian stared at it with curious, red eyes. To Zak's horror, Fiskerton bent down and picked it up, examining it in his hand.

"Fisk no, don't-!"

There was a loud 'popping' sound, followed by a harsh hissing noise as gas began to pour from the canister. Fiskerton cried out, dropping the can like it was piping hot as it continued to spew gas, engulfing the cryptid in a cloud of grey-green smog. Zak started forwards, yelling for Fisk. The dense fumes were starting to burn his throat as he got closer. The particles of smog were brushing his skin and stinging his eyes; he felt more and more drowsy as he swam further into the gas cloud. Suddenly, he felt a firm hand roughly grab the back of his shirt, tugging him away. He had been left incapacitated by the gas, but he was still coherent enough to know that it wasn't Fisk who had grabbed him. He started to shout, writhing around, trying to squirm out of the attacker's grip. Whilst drowsily scrambling to slip out of his shirt to escape, Zak felt a strong arm wrapping around his abdomen, struggling to drag him upwards and away from the clearing gas cloud. He fiercely pounded on his captor's arm as the claw was forced out of his hands.

The terror that had been simmering in his stomach was now boiling over in his throat as the orange glow pooling in his eyes flashed intermittently, plunging them into darkness and then reeling them out of it. Zak's fear had reached breaking point, leaving rational thought processes behind and clawing at the more primal behaviour that he tried so hard to bury at the back on his mind. So when the man clamped his palm over Zak's mouth to muffle his cries - Zak sunk his teeth into the calloused skin pressing against his mouth, biting hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. The man let out a startled grunt in pain, pressing down harder and almost pinching Zak's nose. Zak was flailing his limbs in a panic as things started to turn dark, blacking out with the man's bleeding palm still pressed against his face.


Zak's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his windpipe as the dense air came rushing into his lungs. He tried to blink away the grainy static dancing across his vision as he struggled to sit upright, fighting the nauseous burning in his throat. Whilst trying to claw his way out of the drowsy haze, Zak found that his hands were bound tightly behind his back and his anxiety throttled him forwards into a blind panic. He scrambled to scratch at the rope on his wrists, his breathing and quaking becoming more erratic. His mind was awake, and replaying the moments before the attack. Where was Fisk? The bindings were restricting his circulation, starting to chafe his skin raw. Where was he? The fragmented thoughts in his head clouded any sense of rational thinking he had and he started to thrash, pounding his feet against the ground and hoarsely calling out into the felt his heart lurch into his throat as his protests were muffled once again by a rough hand clamping over his mouth. Zak had wanted to run, but he could only freeze, the blood in his veins running cold and solidifying as he felt a presence behind him breathing down his neck.

"Quiet. Or else."

The voice hissing in his ear was low and throaty - laced with a tough epidermis of gravel and harshness. The deep, tremulous tone sent shivers down his spine as it drifted across the back of his neck. He began to shiver - the arm wrapped around him was bitter and sodden, like thawing ice. The breath, though warmer, was still crisp and chilled, like frosty outside air creeping under a doorway. The man's bony shoulder felt like an uneven shelf of ice imposingly pressing up against his back, holding him in a deathly grip like their lives depended on it. Despite the gruff breathing and erratic heartbeat that surely meant the man was alive, the figure felt like a shell of stone, as inert as an old statue. Zak fell silent and stopped struggling and immediately the pressure of fingers and soft gripping of nails on his cheeks ceased as the man took his rough, calloused palm away from Zak's mouth, leaving an icy tingling sensation on his soft skin. Zak felt the aura of coldness move away from him, standing up and taking feather-light steps around to face him. His eyes flashed a nervous amber in response, brightening the dark face of the shadowy figure towering over him. That's when he came to realise who it was.

His mind flashed back to the firefight, where his mother had Van Rook's apprentice pinned to the ground, then to the terror of being held captive by the same masked man and his iron grip, with Abbey taunting him. However, this time, there was no Abbey, no parents and no mask on the face of the man that his mother thought was her long lost sibling. Then Zak's fear turned to worry. He couldn't place the expression on the man's face. Out of all of the villains Zak had ever faced - mercenaries, underhand cryptid dealers and minion's of Argost - he was used to the hate filled words and grins tinted with malice. He was used to the lack of sympathy and thirst for power. Though, he was unprepared for the complete lack of visible emotion on the man's features. The daunting face of Munya came to mind as their eyes met, in the uncanny way in which the man's jaw was set into a cold frown, how the dark skin under his eyes sagged and how his brow was furrowed into an emotionless stare. The orange light of Zak's eyes illuminated the sharp curves to his face and the ghostly tones of the skin seemingly stretched taut over the bones. Zak stared right back at the man's face, studying his features and trying to connect them to the photos of Doyle that his Mom had kept safe since his disappearance.

The apprentice's auburn hair was soaked and messily plastered to his forehead, darker than the light ginger locks in the photos, darkened by age or grime. The man had icy blue eyes, a lot like his would-be uncle's and a lot like his Mom's. Though, where her eyes meant everything warm and comforting to him - the mercenary's were harsh and imposing. His mother's eyes were bright and alive, like a soft summer sky, or a settled lagoon of water. They were perfectly tranquil, and glimmered with confidence. The mercenary's eyes were paler and clouded like a winter front that repelled any warmth. His pupils darted and trembled, like erratic ripples of water on the surface of the same lagoon. There was no steadiness, and no normality to the man's focus - his composure flickered at every slight noise and his eyes held the ignited terror of a cornered wild animal. It made Zak uncomfortable and the room was filling quickly with a layer of tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. He wanted to speak up and shatter the sheet of ice, but his mouth was dry and the words piled up on his tongue when he tried to speak. The only sound was the shuffling of fabric as he fought to free his hands. The man seemed to notice his frenzy and bent down in front of him, leaning closer, close enough for the shimmering orange light to highlight the man's abnormally sharp cheekbones.

"Trying to escape is fruitless." The man's voice was stony, almost forcefully low. It was as though he could predict whatever Zak was thinking, and the glassy wizened tint to the man's eyes certainly made it seem that way. Zak released the breath he had been holding, and worked up the courage to look the man in the eye. Burying the prospect that this man could have been his uncle was proving to be difficult. He was twindling the ties between his fingers, trying to work at the knot that held his wrists together - though it was more difficult to find the breakthrough with his hands out of view. He wondered if he could bring his arms under his legs so that he could look at the bindings, but it would be difficult with his every move being observed by the man crouching in front of him.

"What do you want with me?" Zak challenged, his burning eyes channeling into the hard cold of his captor's. Neither backed down - Zak couldn't thaw that icy stare and the apprentice found it just as difficult to cool the nervous flames swirling in Zak's eyes. He hoped that he could maybe distract the man long enough with conversation for his parents to catch up, wherever they were.

The man took a long pause, long enough for it to startle Zak when he finally spoke again. "I don't want anything from you." Zak couldn't quite place the man's tone - it wasn't quite bordering on disgust, but it made him seem that he was disinterested in engaging with intimidation tactics.

"I know you work for Argost." Zak finally noticed something register in the man's face. The mention of that name seemed to instill momentary worry into the man's face as he recoiled. He continued, having found a new leg of confidence to stand on. "How much is he paying you and Abbey to come after me?" The expression of worry seemed to drop as the man's faced resettled into an unreadable mask.

"I came here alone." Zak looked for any hints of venom in the man's frown, but there wasn't any. The man's statement was blunt and he felt calmed by the possible absences of the other mercenaries or Argost, but he didn't believe in the man's words with completel validity. After all, Abbey lied, Van Rook lied, why would this time be any different? "I came to talk."

Zak felt a shiver run down his spine, wondering if this had anything to do with his mother's theory, or possibly his own status as Kur, ruler of the cryptids. If Doyle had come looking for his sister, Zak had a miserable amount of information that he could give him. Though, if they did turn out to be family, would that prevent him from siding with Argost? He scratched at the bindings once more, his arms aching as he tried to pull them out from behind his back.

"So you decided to ambush and kidnap me?" Zak couldn't help his defiant tongue, refusing to back down from a challenge was something that he had inherited from both of his parents - and it almost seemed to intrigue his potential uncle as he blinked curiously and made a noise that sounded like an amused scoff.

"You're in no position to bargain," the man reminded him with a sudden growl as his disinterested attitude was flipped on its head once more. Again, there was no toxicity to his tone, but his tongue was sharp, and quick in regaining control of the situation. Zak cringed with effort as he pulled his hands over his feet and rested them, still bound, against his shins. The orange light from his eyes was poor and now that he had started to calm down, Doyle's weary face was bathed in an unnatural, ghostly glow.

Zak sighed, blinking and composing himself to meet the icy eyes burning through him. "Neither are you - I'm sure my parents are looking for me right now," Zak tried boldy. He didn't know if he was bluffing or reassuring himself that help would come soon. 'Doyle' tugged at his collar almost nervously as his eyes flashed back to Zak's hands, like he knew the boy was trying to get away, but chose to ignore it. The mercenary's eyes narrowed, but he didn't retaliate.

"They likely don't know that you're gone, and your cryptid acquaintance is quite incapacitated," he chastised, strangely with a shaky edge to his voice, like the threats were shallow and the man was grasping at straws for the opportunity to blindside him.

Zak scowled at him. "So you would rather work for a creep like Argost than your family?" Zak knew it was a wildcard, but he had to try and turn the man's attention to something other than this. The man's eyes roamed over him for a moment before he turned away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he refused in a tone possibly more emotionless than the last. Zak wanted to hope that he was chipping away at the man's tough exterior, but he was giving very little away.

He tried again, taking a deep breath to tell the story that he had kept on the tip of his tongue for the past few hours. "27 years ago in the himalayas, something attacked my Mom and her family." He looked into Doyle's eyes, hoping for any sign of recognition to spring up on his face. "A cryptid attack killed her parents and she searched for years to find my uncle."

The harsh exterior gave little away. "That has nothing to do with me."

Zak met his eyes again, more softly this time. This was extremely risky, but Drew had been almost certain that this man was her long lost brother without hesitation. It set him on edge that the man was so undeterred, but his Mom had mentioned previously that Doyle was very young when it happened, he could have been in denial, or he may not have remembered having a family at all. Or this might not even be Doyle at all. This man might be Argost's most ruthless assassin who's willing to do anything to appease him.

"She said that when your mask came off, it was like she was looking at her brother's face again." Doyle's face flickered as he seemed to put the pieces together and Zak could feel him burning holes into him with his unwavering stare. For a moment, his face contorted into an expression that Zak could only describe as terror, and his body began to quiver more violently then it had been doing before. Then he was completely silent, eyes fixed not on Zak, but on the nothingness around them. Zak remained motionless in the suffocating tension for what was probably a few minutes, but seemed like an eternity.

"Are you okay?" He was aware that his words were trembling and that he had to force them past his lips, but it was a force of habit. He felt obliged to ask.

"That's not possible." Zak's voice seemed to snap the man out of his bizarre trance and now, when he spoke, Zak could hear traces of malice lingering on his lips. "I don't have family. I don't have a sister. I know I don't."

"Are you sure you don't? Really think about it," Zak challenged, thinking he was slowly worming his way into the man's thoughts, despite how deep in denial he was. He could almost see the old, disused cogs in his mind turning as he dug deeper, trying to find some validity in his beliefs.

"You're deluded," the man snapped, his lips twitching.

"Everybody has family, Doyle." Zak said, more softly this time when he picked up on the utter confusion on the man's face. He loosened the last knot around his wrists. "...You really don't even know your own name?"

Doyle opened his mouth, about to speak, but echoing, metallic bangs from outside diverted his attention away from Zak. A door came crashing down, spilling light into the room. They were still on the ship, in the power room and his parents had found them.

"Zak!" They both yelled in sync as the pre-teen took the opportunity and scrambled towards Fiskerton and his parents. Looking at them, his mom seemed to be in shock, her stare locked onto the mercenary, though she hadn't even bothered to unsheath her fire sword. His dad on the other hand had an expression of anger etched onto his features, and the erratic glow of his power glove was reflecting his mood. Zak's eyes flashed back to Doyle, who scrambled back. With one hand raising his wrist blaster and the other plucking a grenade from his belt, he dropped it in a flash. The cannister erupted, but wasn't filled with gas like the other. No, this one exploded, sending sparks roaring up the walls that soon ignited into hungry flames. From his Mom's arms, he saw the flames reflect the wild expression on Doyle's face momentarily before he moved back from the wall of fire, scrambling up a ladder as the fire advanced in all directions. Zak's dad didn't even hesitate. They watched as he raced through the flames after the mercenary, the build up of smoke and residue swirling and wavering as he charged through it.

"Dad!"

"Doc!"


Once again this took longer than expected, but enjoy! By now everyone has likely figured out the plot and the family dilemmas will be pilling up in the next chapters. Once again to the fabulous Ashblackrabbit who helped me make the tricky dialogue between Zak and AU Doyle. If you haven't already read their TSS fics, I highly recommend it.