Have you ever buried your face in your hands
Cause no one around you understands
Or has the slightest idea what it is that makes you be
Have you ever felt like there was more
Like someone else was keeping score
And what could make you whole was simply out of reach
Well I know . . .

-"Have you Ever" by the Offspring

Chapter 27
By the Book


Dimitri blinked awake, a cold sensation running up his spine along with the dim realization that he was somehow spread-eagle, a series of cables holding his wrists, ankles, tail and neck in place. He glanced around, his eyelids limp, as though drugged — a conclusion he quickly accepted as fact once he noticed Clank in a similar series of restraints, except for the fact that his were being toted around by the strangest-looking Lombax Dimitri had ever lain eyes on. For some reason, he couldn't help but smirk at noting that even though he couldn't hear what the stranger was saying, he should be thankful for that fact right about now.

Clank had no such luxury, though.

"Get a load of this one, Jack!" The orange-furred Hobbit smirked, holding up Clank by the framing that held him prisoner. "You can't tell me they picked this guy for those spy films with a straight face!"

"Dexter, DOWN!" a voice barked, and the wise-cracking Hobbit whose name was apparently Dexter winced, sliding Clank back into place. "Those two are dangerous!"

"No, my boy, we two are dangerous!" Dexter grinned. "Seriously, now, who was it that led those DZ-Seekers all over the Aridian Desert, just to find their deadlock collar left behind on a greased-up sandshark? Who rode that Arbiter round all the way through Orxon's sewer system? And who just captured the biggest Public Hero Number One this Bob-damned galaxy has to offer?"

"Not the point!" A quick series of keystrokes into the console, and the pilot's chair spun around, causing Clank to blink. He'd expected 'Jack' to look a little like Dexter, but he seemed . . . taller, sleeker, cleaner. More like an Anyr than a Lombax, since that strange chartreuse gradient didn't look like any color he'd ever spotted on a Lombax before now. "You are talking way too much, and they're not talking enough. You know what Mom said about prisoners as well as I do."

"Rule 249: 'A prisoner is either talking or escaping.' Swear to Jehovah-One, Jack, if you start quoting the whole damned book I'll make you eat the book." Dexter rolled his eyes as Jack spun his chair back around to the controls, and Dexter looked back to Clank, and then back to their still-armored 'Ratchet'. "You got a point, though. Tin-Tin and the Lone Danger over here ain't exactly said much."

Clank glared at Dexter, a sidelong look in his eyes. "We have no reason to speak with you."

"Come on, Bolt-Brain, you'll have it easy enough. We've got contingency plans out the yin-yang on you two, and we know you have a price." Dexter smirked. "A nice new movie deal, a few non-disclosure agreements . . . If keeping you in the spotlight is what it takes to keep you shut up, you'll be doubling your filmography in no time!"

Clank blinked, insulted, before glaring at the Hobbit. "I'm already on important business."

"Yeah? Well business just got cancelled!" Dexter shot back. "As for your friend here . . . So sorry to say he'll be gettin' cancelled too . . . which reminds me, Ratchet; would you prefer being gassed, vaporized, or will you settle for a simple, low-tech beheading instead? For a fee we'll be willing to send you back with your head in the same box rather than selling it to the highest bidder."

Dimitri lolled his head, glaring at Dexter with a look of disdain that didn't leave his helmet. Now wish I could hear . . . what weird Lombax want?

"Come on, Ratchet, it's a simple question. We can't just give you a nice contract like Clank's or bully you into workin' for us the way Gleeman used to. We still have all those DreadZone tapes, after all . . ." Dexter grinned at him. "So what's it gonna be?"

Dimitri blinked, giving Dexter a vacant stare, his head still lolled halfway to one side. Dexter glared, slapping Dimitri with a forehand that drove his helmet against the metal. "Damn it, man, I want an answer!"

"We'll deal with that later." Jack remarked off-handedly. "He's a marked man, and as long as that paralyzing agent we pumped into him is working, it doesn't matter. Just get Clank to agree a little more handily to our offer, so he won't have as much incentive to work against us."

Clank narrowed his eyes. "You won't get away with this."

"I'd say 'we already have', but it's not over till we've got your friend's head in a basket." Dexter smirked. "But hey, once Nate works your little circuits over, we'll have the deal of a lifetime set up for you . . . and besides that, we're still waiting for the other shoe to drop on this whole capture anyway. Whether you figure out a way to cause some trouble or a few of your friends try to stage some freaky suicidal rescue, we'll be waiting on it. Because in all honesty, we know we're going to have to execute somebody . . ."

meanwhile . . .

Ratchet snarled to himself as he primed up as many of his weapons as he could, concealing them away for quick recall later. He had to keep up this charade as long as he could, sure, but he had as good a feeling as any that he'd need to shoot something before this mission was over.

The good news, of course, was that if this place was as cocky about executing 'Ratchet' as they were about capturing 'him', they'd be broadcasting half of their movements in their own haste. If he had any clue about how this was going to go down, they'd likely take 'Ratchet' to one of the head honchos on board, most likely in a massive room where he'd be able to blend in with the other soldiers, giving Ratchet the perfect chance to either intervene or take an officer of some sort hostage just long enough to bargain for Dimitri and Clank, preferably with them both still alive.

Ratchet slipped out of the bathroom, strolling away from where he thought Miss Gears might be, keeping his wits about him as he glanced around, looking for a good place to get information, bolts, anything . . .

"Hey! Where's your buddy, pal?"

. . . Anything as long as it wasn't 'getting captured'. Ratchet winced, not daring to turn around. "He went to take a piss, sir."

"Don't you 'sir' me!" The voice shot up again, and Ratchet cringed upon his error. "You think they made me an officer for nothing?"

"No si-. Er, ma'am." Ratchet hissed back again, checking his gloves. He'd need something strong but quiet, and the best thing he had to that right now was his wrench. He had to maintain the illusion as long as he could, to buy the few extra inches he'd need to nail her in the head just right.

She didn't sound convinced, though. "Soldier, I want you to get back in there and get . . . oh, what's your friend's name-."

"Dimitri!" Ratchet barked out, before clapping a hand over his mouth. Why the hell didn't he learn to lie properly sooner?

"Strange name . . ." She spoke up, and suddenly Ratchet heard a pistol cocking. He spun around, his mind half on just whipping out his SuperNova and blowing his cover entirely, before he blinked and saw what had to be the sweetest little face you thought you'd ever see on a half-Lombax-half-human, except for the fact she was pointing a very large, very mind-blowing (along with skull, spinal cord, jaw, and ear-blowing for that matter) weapon at Ratchet, and he was caught so off-guard at the size of the weapon he even noticed a three-eyed smiley face painted on the side. "Very, very strange."

Ratchet took a step back, half-convinced that even his SuperNova wasn't about to be nearly powerful enough to force a standoff, as he noticed several soldiers encircling him, armed with pulse rifles and all starting to notice just how different Ratchet really looked from them. Ratchet tried to force a smile, glancing back at the superweapon-toting Hobbit girl. "I don't suppose I can just offer to work KP for this?"

"Yeah, right. Just don't move, hitchhiker . . . I'm not afraid of a little splash damage to hit you with this."

Ratchet glanced around, pulling out his wrench. "You don't have the guts."

"Get him!" She barked, and instantly the soldiers swarmed in on him, stunning him with one of the pulse rifles before wrenching his arms behind him, yanking the wrists up into an otherwise impressive chickenwing crossface. Ratchet kicked, but another pair of soldiers quickly gained hold of his legs, twisting them around until Ratchet was facedown on the floor, his lungs on fire and finding it hard to breathe.

"He's down, Miss Archanis. Your orders?" One of the soldiers spoke up, causing Ratchet to try to turn his head, despite the pain.

The Hobbit girl smirked, putting up her weapon before pulling out what looked to be a tranquilizer gun. "Let's go see what other sorts of information our Hitchhiker has . . ."

Ratchet continued to struggle in shock, but one firing of the tranquilzer into the back of his ear, and it was just a matter of waiting out the nanotech until he passed out.

When he came to, Ratchet noticed himself being dragged, although all he could really 'feel' were the cables wrapped around his body. His visor and cowl had been removed, but the rest of his clothes were still on him. His weapons weren't, though. He simply no longer 'felt' them there.

"We've brought the prisoner!" Ratchet heard 'Archanis's voice speak up again. It didn't make any sense, though. He thought Daisy was human, and dead to boot . . . and even if it was a daughter or a niece or some other relative, a half-breed like that wasn't supposed to be possible. The soldiers dragging him along didn't vanish in a puff of logic, though.

"Hold it." A new voice shot up, cold and tempered. "I thought Jack was bringing Ratchet here. What are you doing with him?"

"This is Ratchet?" Archanis blinked, shocked. "I would've shot him on sight if I knew that!"

"Prop the prisoner up. I want to check something." The voice spoke up again, and Ratchet suddenly found the frame he was bound to spun around and set vertical, with a series of clamps shooting out of the floor to secure him upright. He found himself held up and out in spread-eagle fashion, and looking into the finely-powdered face of evil.

All the ruffles and petticoats of her ankle-length skirt did nothing to dissuade that opinion, as Ratchet looked up to see a finely dressed older woman standing there, mostly dressed in black dress with white trim, holding a black parasol in one hand that seemed to double as a cane, blood-red gloves, and — strangest to Ratchet, though he'd long-since convinced himself that nothing was strange anymore — a tight black hijab that fit her like a cowl, with her powdered-white face being the only part of her body showing to him, if that. She smiled, but it was a thin, knowing smile.

She walked behind him, and Ratchet's head turned to follow, trying to figure out what she was up to. In one fluid swipe, she reached for the back of his neck, and Ratchet reared back on instinct, rocking his frame, but not hard enough to make it fall over. One gloved hand rested on the frame as she went for his neck a second time, taking hold of him by the scruff, and yanking down his collar so hard that he gasped for breath.

She smiled, holding the collar down further, as though directing the others to see. "This is why I convinced Gleeman to 'mark' all his DreadZone contestants. The tattoo is a dead giveaway."

"Rub more salt in the wounds, why don't you . . ." Ratchet growled, closing his eyes. The less he was reminded that he had the DreadZone logo inked into his skin, the more he could just pretend it didn't exist at all . . . He hated that damned thing. He'd even had to go so far as to wear the pulse pack around his neck back during that game of Strip Revolution so he didn't have to answer any questions about it.

"Shut up, Ratchet." The cold woman snapped. "You'll speak when I'm done educating my young officer here . . . isn't that right, Miss Archanis? Or would you rather I called you Maggie?"

"I get it now!" Maggie Archanis jumped, smiling. "Wait . . . if this is Ratchet, then who did Jack and Dexter pick up?"

The woman gave a soft chuckle. "Someone who is probably scared halfway to his death as it is. See to it that those two bring their new 'friends' here to me. Make sure to bring a few more officers with you as well, preferably the ones that don't mind dressing up so we can claim some plausible deniability afterwards. After all, hostage situations can be milked so much harder than war crimes . . ."

"On it, Mrs. Avon!" Maggie smirked, running off and leaving Ratchet with the few soldiers and bodyguards he could see in the room, along with the slinky, strange woman.

She walked around to Ratchet's front again, prompting Ratchet to stare at her once more. "So . . . you're Dahlia."

"And you're a dead man walking, but we don't need to state the obvious every time we meet, now do we?" Dahlia smirked, tapping her parasol ahead of her. "I'm actually disappointed in you, Ratchet. I know I run my ship well to prevent 'stowaways' and other unwanted creatures from sneaking aboard, but for some reason I thought a hero like yourself would at least manage to work yourself further inside to test my security systems properly."

"Makes two of us." Ratchet mumbled to himself, looking away.

Dahlia looked down at him, standing up straight. "Not had much experience at getting yourself into deeper trouble, I see." She glanced around at the soldiers around her, before returning her gaze to Ratchet. "I hope your mission orders were at least better thought out than your execution of them. What are you doing here?"

"I'm not telling you." Ratchet snarled, but right after he did so a large electric shock went through him, stunning him once again.

Dahlia raised a carefully-drawn eyebrow. "Tell me what you want, little Lombax. As shrewd as I am, I still know when to work a deal."

"Bullshit." Ratchet hissed. "You'd just kill them anyway."

"Them?" Dahlia knelt down, using her parasol to prod at Ratchet's neck, and right then Ratchet noticed the muzzle of the barrel in the tip of her parasol. "So you're just here for your friends, is that it?"

Ratchet winced, trying to wriggle loose, before collapsing back in the frame again. "Just . . . just let them go. I can't go back without them."

"I don't think you'll be going back at all at this rate . . . but tell me, why are they so important to you?"

Ratchet glanced over at a nearby doorframe, where he saw another pair of prisoner's frames being toted in by another gaggle of guards. "CLANK!"

"Ratchet!" Clank shouted out, just as bound as Ratchet was, followed soon after by a equally bound (and still hidden behind concealing armor) Dimitri, with the two of them propped up and their frames secured to the floor in short order.

Jack and Dexter walked in right behind them, their ears perked up in shock. Dexter spoke up first. "Hang on, 'Ratchet'? I thought we had him!"

Jack shrugged. "Well, we have him now, apparently . . ."

"Thank you, Jack." Dahlia spoke up, turning to one of the guards. "Remove his helmet. He never should've been allowed to keep it on this long."

Dimitri gasped for air as the helmet popped off, revealing his face and his silver ear-cuffs, prompting Dahlia to take a step back in shock. She glared at Ratchet, her cold veneer dropping just long enough to show the shock on her face, and shouted "You risked your life to come rescue a deaf-mute? I knew heroes did stupid things, but that's messed up!"

"You were going to execute him! What was I supposed to do?" Ratchet snapped back, losing his temper in short order.

"So you decided to be an honorable little hero and turn yourself in to save your friend's necks . . . how noble. Foolish, but noble." Dahlia chuckled, as Ratchet dimly noticed a pair of hands clapping around his neck, the chill making it clear that they were slipping a deadlock collar on him, and Dahlia sat back down. "I don't suppose you would be willing to allow yourself to be executed, just to save the boy and the robot?"

"Ratchet . . ." Clank cried out again, concern in his eyes. Dimitri said nothing, but was still looking around with fear in his eyes.

"Come on, Ratchet. I want an answer." Dahlia remarked again, looking at the seething anger plain on Ratchet's face. "I want you dead, and preferably I want to accomplish this without having to worry about any more 'rescuers'. You want your friends alive and released. Name your terms so we can both get what we want."

Ratchet glared at her. "Why the hell would I trust you? How am I supposed to know you won't just kill them anyway?"

Dahlia covered her mouth to suppress a smile. "That's for you to include in the terms then, isn't it?" She glanced down at him. "I already said you're as good as dead, Ratchet. You can either attempt in vain to prevent this, which will result in the deaths of both you and your friends, or you can strike a deal with me to at least ensure that those two are taken care of, in exchange for your cooperation. Your total cooperation, to be precise. Anything I perceive as deviance or defiance will nullify the terms, but as long as you are honorable enough to hold up your end of the bargain, I will hold up mine."

"Damn it, what about Rule Fourteen?" Jack barked.

"Don't you dare quote the book at me! You're not one of my advisors, and I already know Rule Fourteen well enough to know it doesn't apply right now." Dahlia snapped, turning back to Ratchet. "Which reminds me, your terms can only apply to those two prisoners and their treatment prior to your execution. The actual terms of your imprisonment leading up to and including your execution will be my terms, of course."

"Ratchet, please . . ." Clank cried out again, straining against the cables. "Don't do this! We're not-"

"Clank, stop." Ratchet sighed. "She's wanted me dead from the beginning anyway."

Dahlia blinked, looking at Ratchet with a cocked eyebrow again, slightly confused. "To be fair, I'd rather put you to use . . . but I know you're better off dead for my purposes."

Ratchet hung his head low, eyes at half-mast. "I want them transported back to Veldin, unharmed. No wiretaps, no tracking systems, no explosives, nothing except what they came here in. Once they're safe at Elysium and I see proof of as much . . . I won't resist."

Dahlia nodded some. "You'll need to remain obedient until we can return them safely as well, you realize. It's a bit of a trip from here to Veldin still."

Ratchet looked up at her, even though his ears had already started to drop in resignation. "I also need to deliver a message back to-."

"That's not within the scope of your terms." Dahlia narrowed her eyes. "Their safe return and release to Veldin is acceptable, but that's all I'll allow. Do we have a deal, Ratchet?"

Ratchet felt his throat drop into his stomach on a bungee cord, lifting his head up to see Clank and Dimitri looking back at him. "Deal."

Dahlia smiled her thin grin again, before turning her head towards Jack and Dexter once more. "Take our bargaining chips somewhere safe. See if we can't get something useful out of them without violating our new 'agreement'."

"Yes, Mrs. Avon!" Dexter perked up. "We kinda need a cart, though. Those frames are a little heavy."

Dahlia shrugged. "Handcuffs and collars ought to be sufficient, now that we've reached an agreement."

"Mrs. Avon?" Clank spoke up, wide-eyed. "My friend here needs his hands free in order to speak."

"Your 'friend' can talk all he likes once he's in a cell. I see no reason to risk allowing him use of his hands like that."

Clank looked over at Ratchet, whose head was now bowed down in defeat. "I believe he'd at least like to say goodbye."

Dahlia made a quick glance over at Dimitri. "Cuff his hands in front of him, and make sure he's collared. Both of them." She turned to Clank. "Make it clear to the mute what's going on, and that Ratchet won't be able to sign back at him. I don't have time to waste."

Dimitri stumbled forward out of the frame, his hands quickly corralled together and another Deadlock collar clapped on. He blinked, looking over at Clank being given similar treatment, and found himself struggling to get the words out despite his restraints. ((What happening? You look sad. He looks worse. What going on?))

Clank sighed, his eyes looking even more forlorn. ((We're going home. He's not coming with us.))

((Where they taking him?))

Clank sighed, touching the collar on his neck gingerly before continuing. ((He's not coming back.))

Dimitri blinked, twigging it right then. "Raht-chi?"

"Dimitri, no . . ." Ratchet spoke up, weakly. "Don't . . ."

"Ratchi . . ." Dimitri eked out again, running over to him, prompting several of the guards to pull out weapons on instinct. ((What you doing? Fight back! Save yourself!))

"Dimitri . . . don't. Just don't." Ratchet sighed. "I just hope it's worth it."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow, looking down at Clank. "Are those two even able to understand each other?"

Clank shrugged. "Not really."

((Can't believe you're doing this.)) Dimitri signed back, his hopes fading.

"It'll be okay." Ratchet looked back at him. "I can't save the galaxy every time, right?"

Dimitri said nothing, and signed nothing, but quickly moved to grab hold of the front of Ratchet's shirt, before moving his hands to his face, catching Ratchet completely off-guard with a kiss. There wasn't much to it — a dry kiss, but a forceful one still — but it was still enough to cause Clank to drop his jaw in shock. Dahlia and the guards, however, made no movements, scrutinizing it carefully in case they needed to intervene. Ratchet looked shocked for an instant, but dropped his guard and accepted it soon after, eyes shut as though trying to imagine himself back to the safety of the Gangrel.

Dimitri pulled back, looking at Ratchet as carefully as he could, as though trying to study his face. ((Thank you. For everything.))

"That's enough!" Dahlia hissed. " Now come on. We've got three cellblocks and three prisoners here. You know how to sort them!"

"You heard her! Come on, Dexter." Jack spoke up, grabbing hold of Dimitri by an ear. "Explains a lot, really."

"All right, tin can, you're coming with me!" Dexter shouted, grabbing hold of Clank by his restraints. "The mute already kissed your boyfriend goodbye. We're not letting you do it too!"

"Ratchet!" Clank shouted out, trying to stall as long as he could.

"Clank . . ." Ratchet looked over at him, eyes drooping again. "Take care, will you?"

Clank nodded, finding himself dragged along by Dexter. "I'll get the others to-!"

"Don't." Ratchet barked. "We made a deal. Now get out of here."

Clank blinked, speechless as Dexter pulled him away, unsure what to say anymore. As Clank left, though, Dahlia walked back over to Ratchet, kneeling down so that the bound hero would be able to look her in the face. "Resigned yourself already? I must say, that's a good sign. You really must care for those two."

"My mission was to rescue those two. That's the only reason I agreed to this." Ratchet snarled. "And I still don't trust that you won't try to kill them anyway."

"Please. The only reason I agreed to even give you a choice in the matter is because I know why you want to rescue those two." She smirked. "The more they believe I can be reasoned with, the better it is to convince them to work for me later. You, on the other hand, are too stubborn for such tactics. Fortunately, you're also too bound to be able to stop me, at least for now. Better to at least maintain the facade of 'honor' than to threaten you outright with detonating their collars should you get out of line."

"Speaking of which . . ."

"I already know your friend Clank understands how to remove them, and he'll be able to do just that once they're released and off my ship, assuming he doesn't go ahead and remove his own once he's in a cell. The other one is smart enough to figure it out himself, given enough time. Right now it's more of a deterrent than a true threat." Dahlia quipped. "All we really did was spin the decryption algorithms around a bit, since I'm no longer researching into improvements on it. Damien was disappointed, but he'll deal."

Ratchet glared at her, before sighing to himself and bowing his head back down in defeat. "Great . . . over a year since Vox caught me in the first place, and I'm right back where I started, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't say that." Dahlia smirked, reaching one hand under her hijab, fidgeting with her neck a little before pulling out her own collar, albeit currently inert. "You're in a whole lot worse."