Okay, so I was listening to "Top of the World" by Greek Fire earlier. The entire time I was listening to the lyrics, and I thought the first part totally described some's motives for runnning away from/betraying the KND. During the second part, the fangirl in me thought of 86/60 and my headcanon of them having a serious but secret relationship (covering it up with lies), and 86 ends up really sad after she has to decommission 60. The last part was a whole mashup of how decommissioning drives kids to the edge, and I caN'T EVEN!

Numbuh 60, Head of Arctic Training Base/Sector Moonbase [REVIVED]

I stomp down the hallway, Fanny trailing me. I don't have to turn around to see her expression that screams, You are the biggest idiot I've ever met. She has tried to reason with me, claiming that Father still has that plethora of KND info and an army that's ready to do his bidding. She argued that it's too dangerous. But I don't care. She isn't going to get hurt, anyway. Now way is she coming with.

No, I am not a sexist douche with an ego the size of the universe. There is just simply no way in heck she is walking out into battle. Hail. Naw.

The cruddy Delightful uniform sends continuous waves of discomfort through me. I lift my right sleeve and I scratch until my skin is raw. It's red, the same shade as my hatred for Father. He controls children and exploits them, us. He taps into our lives and destroys everything we care about. He strips us of the paradise that is childhood and converts us to brainwashed slaves. Well, no more. When Fanny and I passed a break room, I deliberately stained my shirt with Kool-Aid. If anything tears or wrinkles, I let it be. Obliterating physical ties to Father is one of my top priorities.

The thick silence is disrupted by distant murmurs. Clutching my curtain rod, I continue on my route. The voices slowly increase in volume. A light ruffle of fabric causes me to turn. Fanny is extracting her wire and circuit from her waistband, fire extinguisher tucked under her arm.

"Let's kick some Delightful butt," she mutters so quietly, it's a wonder I can hear it.

The outlet is soon in our faces, the dim emergency lighting threatening to reveal us. We press our backs to the shadowy wall, and we inch our way to the exit. When we reach the division between light and dark, I raise my hand to stop her. I peer around the corner and into the main room. If Delightfuls have lingered back, they're not showing.

"It's clear," I whisper. Fanny throws herself out, extinguisher at ready. At Silence's greeting, she beckons me forward. Together we pad our ways across the spacious area, weapons at ready. With my foot, I overturn anything and everything in my path. I kick at a stray paper. When it flips over, it's text is displayed.

Operative: Numbuh 86
Position: Global Tactics Officer, Head of Decommissioning
Contact: globaltactics
decomhead
DOB/DOD: 04-18-1996

Kids Next Door: Private Message (PM)
Month of June, 2008

soopremeleaduh (25)
numbuh1love (1)
numbuh14 (2)
numbuh363 (1)
arcticbasehead (374)
numbuh74.239 (3)
numbuhjebadiah (1)*
numbuh10 (1)
numbuh114 (1)
numbuh1 (2)
numbuh122 (1)
PAGE 1/2

*message delivered via pigeon

I pick the file up delicately like it may disintegrate in my fingers. It's a print of Fanny's PM records. Rachel rarely taps into PM archives due to morals pertaining to privacy, so this must've came straight from Fanny's computer. I grimace at it. There's still another page out there, and those dang Delightfuls most likely made copies of everything. I look over my shoulder, Fanny still inspecting our surroundings out of sheer paranoia. As discreetly as I can, I fold the document up and I slip it into my pocket. We have enough on our plate as it is.

The near calm of our lack of company is ruined with a crash. I spin around, the wall opposite of me deeply dented. With another bang, it worsens. Racing across the tiles, Fanny and I stop just before it. The plaster has begun to crack, the sleek face of a spaceship peeking through.

At the third blast, Fanny shrieks, "The heck is this?!"

Sighing, I reply, "If only I knew."

Suddenly, it dawns on me. It's Father. It has to be. Who else would be trying to break into here? Glancing at Fanny's expression, I can tell that she has realized as well.

"Here's my revenge," I say before I can stop myself.

"I'm coming too." She doesn't even tell me to stay behind. She already knows I'm not going to listen.

"No you're not." When the ship slams into the wall again, I smash my bar into the most damaged site. Timing my blows with Father's, I slowly beat my way out.

"Oh, yes I am." When I don't acknowledge her, she huffs. "You're not facing that freak alone."

"Oh, yes I am," I respond mockingly. "You're staying out here and keeping watch."

"Girls can do everything just as well- if not better- as boys!" she cries incredulously.

"I didn't say anything about genders."

"But you implied it!" Fanny insists. I swing the bar again.

"No I didn't! That has nothing to do with this, okay? Just stay out here, and you won't get hurt." My patience slowly ebbs.

"Heck no, I won't!" She grabs my shoulder and wrenches me away from my work, forcing me to look into her seething green eyes. "Listen boy, I ain't no bodyguard, and neither are you. If you're going in there, so am I!"

Upon her last word, the spacecraft crashes in just far enough to show it's windshield wipers. The glass is concealed with a fine layer of crushed wall. Hopping onto the front, I give the window a good hit with my makeshift bat. It shatters, granting me entrance. I jump in, careful to avoid the glass shards. After a moment, Fanny joins my side. I open my mouth to order her resignation, but she pointedly moves on. Stubborn as always, I see.

The cockpit we've landed in is deserted, the control board still blinking. I touch both the seats; they're still warm. Before us is a metal wall and a matching door. Not a soul is in sight. Fanny jiggles the doorknob, the exit unmoving.

Without warning, a cry sounds from behind. I whip (FIRST LEMME HOP OUT MY MF PORSCHE) around, and I instinctively swing. The Ice Cream Man topples over with a howl, his nose leaking red. A similar clang and shout causes me to turn. Fanny stands with another Man at her feet, extinguisher in her hands, and an almost maniacal expression on her face. Drawing in a staggering breath, she lets a smile out. She drops to her knees and reaches for the Ice Cream Man. A light jingle sounds as she raises a ring of two keys. Without a word, Fanny turns and jams one into the door. She nearly pushes it open when I stop her.

"Wait!" She quirks a brow, clearly questioning the delay. After dancing across the floor of glass, I twist the ignition key from its place. "He isn't going anywhere."

Her grin widening, Fanny nudges the door open. We're in the doorway when a Man groans in pain. Fanny's gaze zips past mine for a second. She's silent when she settles in the pilot's seat and spins it around to face me, her feet propped up on a Man's back.

"Go on," she says. "Get your dang revenge. I'll watch 'em for you." A spark of surprise flits through me; she has never willingly forfeited before.

"Thanks," I say with genuine gratitude. Relief lifts a weight from my gut, my conscience eased with the knowledge of Fanny's safety. I turn to the room, a chilled area with shelves of ice cream, and she speaks again.

"Pat?" I look at her from over my shoulder. She tosses me the key ring, and I catch it. "Make 'em sorry for me."

For the first time in forever (THERE'LL BE MAGIC, THERE'LL BE FUUUN), I smile. A real, actual smile. "I sure will."

With no further interruptions, I enter the fridge after shutting the door. In any other circumstance, I would've been esctatic to be alone with this much ice cream. However, I ain't got time for that. Nobody does.

Ignoring the sugary treats, I walk to the next door. Selecting the unused key and twisting it into the hole, I halt. Staring back at me is, well, me. The cold temperature has coated this door with a layer of ice and frost, therefore allowing the presence of my reflection. An ugly bruise has formed at my hairline- courtesy of Fanny- and my hair is still meticulously shaped. In a moment of rebellion, I ruffle it. The gel flaking away, it has returned to its messy and untamable state.

You don't own me, Father. Never have, never will.

I kick the door open, and I slip in. The room is ironically tranquil. The cozy sofa in the center of the polished tiles, the steaming coffee cup on an ornate table, and the crackling fire creates such a relaxed atmosphere. A figure in a vibrant pink and yellow robe looks at me in shock.

"Patton?" he asks. "What are you doing here?"

An inferno of rage roars in me. He has absolutely no right to call me that. Patton is hardly used by anybody. Only those who are extremely close to me are allowed to use it. Father is anything but close. Who does he think he is? What, does he seriously believe that he can call me Patton after kidnapping and brainwashing me?

Anger still burning me alive, I jump on him.

"THAT'S NUMBUH 60 TO YOU!"