The Broken Silence

by MangoKat

A massive misunderstanding causes several operatives to defect from V.I.L.E. Carmen must now protect them before they're hunted down and killed. As Team Red fight against V.I.L.E, they begin uncovering a disturbing web of mysteries involving kidnap and murder. Everything always seems to point back to a certain mime. Who is Mime Bomb, and why does everyone seem to want him dead?

37. Goodbye Team Crackle

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The Broken Silence

Chapter 37

Goodbye Team Crackle

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August 1st

Player was becoming more and more on edge as the days slowly dragged by. He missed his friends and family, and he was feeling lonely and angry. He knew his captors could have been worse, since the men always made sure he had enough food and water, but he still hated them. Viktor sometimes sat with him to talk a while, but for the most part he was left alone. Now Player knew how horrible it had been for Neal, and Player had a new level of respect for the villain. Neal had no television and zero human interaction, and the thought of that was horrifying to him.

Player wasn't quite sure how long he had been in that room, but figured it had been a few weeks. Every day Player tried to plan an escape, but he was closely watched and there was no opportunity to get out of the room. Player spent most of his time spying underneath the door and so far he had heard the name Volkov used hundreds of times, and he had a feeling these men were incredibly desperate to find Mime Bomb. Player overheard a phone conversation between Boris and Team Red, and when they told the Russian that Mime Bomb was too injured to be moved, it had not been pretty. Boris had smashed the phone to the floor and screamed in Russian until the others managed to calm him down. Viktor then called Team Red back on a different phone and told them they would wait thirty days, and then contact them again.

When Player realized he was going to be there at least thirty days, he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His parents would probably think he was dead by then. He knew Carmen would never trade one team member for another, and so he put his trust in the fact that Carmen must have a plan. He just had to be patient, and wait for his chance to escape. He may not have gone through crime school, but he was still a part of the team, and he refused to be a damsel in distress.

Player fiddled with the piece of metal in his hand, trying to bend it into the shape he wanted. He had no idea how to pick a lock, but he knew it was probably his best bet for escaping. He had pulled a bit of metal from the back of the old box television in the room, and now the screen flickered a bit, but it still worked. He'd been working on the piece of metal for two days now, and he almost had it bent small enough to fit inside the keyhole.

He suddenly heard the door opening and he hurriedly shoved the piece of metal inside his sock out of sight. Facing the tv to pretend he was engrossed in the cartoons, he looked up as Viktor entered the room. Viktor offered him a smile which Player did not return.

"Cheer up, Matteo," Viktor said, trying unsuccessfully to soften his gruff voice, "Only a few more days and you'll be going home."

Player gave him a long and calculating look. "Why do you want Yuri Volkov?" he asked.

This had been the first time Player asked about this and Viktor hesitated. "It is very complicated…"

"I'm smart, try me," Player challenged.

Viktor approached and took a seat on the bed beside him. "Little Yuri has been missing for a very long time," he explained, "We've been tasked with bringing him home."

"Home? Where is home?" Player asked suspiciously.

"Sorry, that is something I can't say," Viktor replied.

Player knew Viktor was the nicest out of his kidnappers and hoped he might be able to appeal to his sense of compassion.

"Mime Bomb-er I mean Yuri has been through a lot. He was put through unbelievable torture and psychological pain as a child, and even now he still hasn't recovered. He's been getting better with therapy and support, but he's still a long way from being perfect. Why do you have to do this to him? He's a really sweet person, and he doesn't deserve this! Why can't you people just leave him alone? He was finally happy, but then you ruined it!"

A strange and fierce emotion crossed Viktor's face and he clenched his hands into fists before he replied. "You do not understand, Matteo. We are doing what is best for Yuri. He must be brought home."

"Of course I don't understand!" Player snapped, "You haven't explained anything!"

Viktor shook his head with a sigh. "I will explain to Yuri, but to no one else," he said firmly, "This is private business that is between us and no one else."

"You're going to put him back in that horrid place aren't you?" Player said, looking away.

Viktor reached out and gently took Player's chin in his hand and turned his face so they were making eye contact.

"Never," he vowed, "Yuri is never being returned to that lab. I give you my word that I will not harm him."

Player frowned. "None of this is making any sense. You shot at him, tried to run him off the road, kidnapped me, and you expect me to believe that?"

"I am many things, little Matteo, but a liar is not one."

"Why don't you just speak with Yuri over the phone?" Player demanded, "Explain to him what you need to so he can make his own decision. Stop hurting him like this!"

Viktor looked even more regretful, and he shook his head. "I have to speak with him face to face after a DNA test confirms his identity. My employer is taking no chances."

"Is...is Volkov still operational?" Player asked hesitantly.

Viktor stood up abruptly. "If I were you, Matteo, I would stop asking such questions in case you find out something you shouldn't."

"I'm just trying to understand!" Player cried out in frustration.

Viktor shook his head and then turned towards the door. "I'm sorry, but please don't ask about this again."

Without another word, Viktor left the room and closed the door after him. Player was about to let out an angry yell, but then his eyes widened. Viktor hadn't locked the door…

Player scrambled up off the bed and threw himself down onto the floor and peeked under the door. There was no one in sight. Cautiously he reached out a hand and slowly and quietly turned the knob. The door opened and Player held his breath, worried he'd make some noise to give himself away. Peering out into the hallway, he saw it was empty, but he could hear distant voices in the other end of the house. Player glanced around and his eyes fell on the window at the end of the hall.

Tiptoeing out of the room, he headed for the window, knowing he'd likely never get a chance like this again. Unlocking the window, he peeked over his shoulder, saw the coast was still clear and slid the window open. There was a screen over the window and it wouldn't budge even when he pushed on it. Giving another glance over his shoulder, he slipped the piece of metal out of his sock and then sliced a large hole through the screen.

Slipping the piece of metal back into his sock for future use, he crawled out the window onto the slanted roof. The heat of the sun hit him full force the second he was outside and the roof was hot under his sneakers. Balancing as carefully as he could, he made his way down the slant of the roof, hoping no one would see him. Making sure the yard below was empty, he hung down by his fingertips and then let go, falling the remaining five feet and landing awkwardly on the grass below. The hot roof had burned his fingers and he winced and blew on them as he got back to his feet.

Player stared at the ten foot wall that surrounded the property, and realized these guys really didn't want any surprise visitors. Looking all around for a way to get over the wall, he eyed the nearby gate, but knew that was too risky. Spotting a dip in the grass near the wall, he headed for it and saw a small storm drain. Biting his lip at the thought of getting stuck, he removed his hoodie and then stared into the narrow hole, trying to figure out if he would fit.

"Okay, time to channel my inner Neal," he whispered quietly to himself.

Carefully sticking his legs through the narrow gap, he very slowly began lowering himself into the hole. The metal scraped painfully against his hips, but he managed to get halfway down. For once in his life, glad he was so small and scrawny, he released all the air in his lungs and then began twisting and bending his way into the drain. When he finally made it, his belly and hips were all scraped up, but he had made it. Glancing down the concrete storm drain, he began crawling as fast as he could away from the house.

He had escaped.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It had been three weeks and there was still no sign of Team Red. Crackle checked the tracker several times a day, but it always showed the exact same spot in Kazakhstan. It never moved, and so he had a feeling the tracker had either been dropped, or it had been buried with Carmen Sandiego. As the days turned into weeks, Crackle was starting to come to the conclusion that Carmen probably was dead. There had been no interference in missions, and it was like her entire team just just dropped off the face of the Earth. They patrolled San Diego twice a day, and none of them had seen any sign of Team Red.

Crackle honestly wasn't sure how he felt about Carmen's death. On one hand he was glad their enemy had been eliminated, but on the other hand a small part of him was saddened. Fuzzy memories of a short-haired Carmen kept coming to his mind, and in these memories he'd been happy and content. It felt like his mind was being torn in two, and Crackle's migraines seemed to only get worse as the days went on.

Everyone on the team was getting bored and irritable, and Crackle was beginning to have a few problems with them. Neal and Dash were constantly bickering, Double Trouble and Moose Boy were always taking off and disappearing for hours at a time, Paper Star sometimes disappeared for a day or two with no explanation, and that left Crackle constantly in the company of Otterman.

Otterman had almost all but recovered from his addiction, and he'd started joining him on the patrols, wanting to be useful. Otterman tried his best to help Crackle, but his eyesight was too bad for him to be of much use. The one time Crackle sent him to patrol on his own, he got lost and ended up in a really sketchy neighbourhood. Crackle and Moose Boy had to go rescue him.

Crackle knew he should have been cracking down on all of the disrespect and bad behaviour, but he was honestly feeling like there wasn't much point. They had nothing to do without Team Red, and he couldn't really blame them for going stir-crazy. The fighting got on his nerves more than anything and he'd finally lost his temper with Neal and Dash, and threatened to use the crackle rod if they didn't knock it off.

He ordered them to talk out their differences while the rest of the team were gone on patrol, and if they weren't getting along better by the time he got back, he informed them they would be severely punished. When he came back later that day, he returned to a completely destroyed motel room. He had not been impressed.

Crackle's expression was thunderous as he glared over at Neal and Dash. He stood, arms crossed, as he watched them clean the motel room, and was severely tempted to give them a few more shocks from the Crackle Rod. Dash was scowling as he picked up the slivers of glass out of the carpet, and was clearly not very happy with this situation. Neal didn't seem overly bothered and was repairing the holes in the walls without complaint.

"This is ridiculous!" Dash whined, "Why do I have to do this when the motel has cleaning staff?"

"Don't start," Crackle warned, his tone bordering on dangerous.

Dash slammed a handful of glass into the nearby garbage bag, and flashed him a dirty look. "Why do you even care?" he demanded, "This is just a stupid motel room. We could just move to a new motel, and the problem would be solved."

Crackle narrowed his eyes. "You two destroyed our room and nearly burned down the motel!" he snapped, "The fighting has gotten out of hand!"

"It wasn't that bad," Dash grumbled.

"You smashed nearly everything in the room, burned the carpet, got blood on absolutely every surface, you put holes in the wall, and the telly is in hundreds of pieces. Don't even try defending your behaviour."

"Neal started it," Dash muttered, tossing a bit more glass into the bag.

"I don't want to hear it!" Crackle snapped angrily.

"You threw the first punch, fancy," Neal commented from the other side of the room.

"Only because you threw a can of beer at me!" Dash snarled viciously.

"That was an accident, and I apologized for that," Neal pointed out, "It slipped out of my hand."

Dash glared at him and tossed a piece of the broken television into the garbage bag. "This whole team is a ridiculous mess! How did I even get stuck with you guys?"

Crackle removed the Crackle Rod from his belt, and Dash quickly crossed the room and busied himself with stripping the beds of the ripped and bloody sheets.

"I don't even know how you two managed to make this much of a mess!" Crackle commented, "You'd better get everything spotless before the others return!"

"Where'd everyone go?" Neal asked, putting the finishing touches on the wall.

Neal had done a good job repairing the wall, and it looked as good as new.

"I gave them permission for free time until nine," Crackle replied, "They'll be back in an hour, and you'd better have everything spotless by the time they get back!"

Neal limped his way across the room and began helping Dash pick up the glass and debris from the floor. Crackle didn't lift a finger to help them in any way, simply watching their progress furiously. The only positive thing that came out of this, was that Neal and Dash finally seemed to be getting along a little better. They hadn't said one snarky thing to each other the whole time they'd been cleaning, and Dash seemed to be going out of his way to avoid Neal. If they ignored each other, Crackle could live with that.

"Hey, fancy, I think we're going to need a vacuum. Can you go see if the front office will lend us one?"

Without a single word, Dash turned and left the room, presumably to locate a vacuum cleaner. Crackle watched him go, and then crossed his arms, glowering at Neal silently. Neal simply pretended not to notice, and hefted up the bag of debris, and crossed the room to continue cleaning over there.

When Dash returned, he plugged in the vacuum and began sucking up the tiny shards of glass out of the carpet without complaint. Neal was finished with the large debris, and he tied up the bag and then headed for the door to toss it in the dumpster. Crackle watched Dash work, still feeling annoyed, but he was at least starting to calm down a little. The room was starting to return to its former shape, but they still needed a television and sheets.

"I'll be back in two minutes," Crackle yelled over the vacuum, "Don't go anywhere."

Dash gave him a dirty look but didn't answer. Crackle left the motel, glanced over to where Neal was tossing the garbage bag into the dumpster, and then he waved for him to follow. Walking two doors down, Crackle picked the lock on the door, and entered the unoccupied room. Neal approached and then stood in the doorway, watching as Crackle yanked the sheets off the bed.

"Grab the tv," he ordered.

Neal nodded, and unplugged the television. Just as he was lifting it up, Crackle grabbed the two lamps, and then carried everything back to their room. Neal followed after him and then they went about making the room look completely untouched. There was nothing they could do about the burn-spot on the carpet, but overall, the room now looked intact.

Finally finished cleaning, Neal collapsed backwards onto his bed with a groan. "Well, that was fun," he commented, "Let's not do it again."

"Agreed," Dash said, his tone a little bit bitter.

"Are you two finally going to stop fighting?" Crackle demanded, narrowing his eyes.

Neal and Dash exchanged a silent look between them, and Dash averted his eyes to the floor.

"Yeah, I think we're good now, love, we just needed to get that out of our system. I promise I won't hit Dashie unless he hits me first."

Crackle then turned his attention to Dash. "Dash?" he questioned.

"I'll learn to ignore his idiocy," he promised, "This is a mistake that won't be repeated."

Crackle felt relieved, and he clapped Dash on the shoulder. "Good, we all need to start acting like a team. It's one for all, and all for one when it comes to teams, and I want to know we can all depend on each other if we need it."

"Sure, wombat, I wouldn't leave any of you behind," Neal assured him, "You guys are my pals!"

Dash rolled his eyes, and didn't answer. He simply crossed the room and opened the bathroom door to let Steve out. Steve sped by him, still puffed and upset from earlier, and hopped up on Dash's bed looking ready to fight.

"Aw, Steve," Dash said softly, sitting down next to him, "Neal, look how much you scared him! He's still all stressed out!"

Neal rolled his eyes and simply watched Dash fuss over the cat. He honestly found it hilarious that out of all people to get attached to the mangy street-cat, it was Dash Haber. The cat's fur had been rapidly growing back, and the new fur was soft and clean since Dash almost obsessively brushed it. Steve still hated everyone except for Dash, and no one else could even go near the cat without getting hissed at. Theodore was determined to win the cat over and kept trying again and again to make friends, and he got scratched every single time. Dash was unsympathetic to his plight and simply said to leave Steve alone.

"Anybody care if I watch rugby?" Neal asked, turning the tv on.

"My show is on in ten minutes," Dash informed him, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "Channel 102."

To Crackle's surprise, Neal simply switched the channel to the fashion network without a word and then leaned back to watch whatever boring fashion show Dash was interested in. Dash seemed a bit surprised as well, but he didn't say anything.

Crackle got undressed for the night, and he took a seat beside Neal just as the door opened. Double Trouble entered the room laughing, and they grinned widely in greeting at the others. Paper Star slipped in after them silently and Crackle waited, but there was no sign of Moose Boy or Otterman.

"Where are Sven and Henrik?" he demanded.

"They both had a bit too much to drink and so they went back to their own room," Theodore explained.

Crackle nodded, and glanced to Paper Star who was staring at the burnt spot on the carpet and then around the room with an odd expression on her face. Crackle cocked his head as he observed her, wondering if she could actually tell things were different. Her gaze settled on one of the lamps and she frowned, but she didn't ask about it. Instead, she grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom.

The twins began telling Neal about their fun night at a nearby club, and Crackle listened, feeling like perhaps his team could finally move past all of their issues. They'd had a rough couple months, but he was honestly getting attached to each and every member of his team, and he wished they just had the chance to prove themselves to V.I.L.E. Dash joined in with the twins discussion, and they told him all about the music, and the drinks they'd tried.

Dash told them about how he'd been forced to mix drinks for Cleo when he'd worked as her assistant, and he'd had no idea what he was doing. He had to watch YouTube videos on how to mix drinks, but she'd never been satisfied with them.

"What did you do, fancy?" Neal asked in interest.

Dash smirked. "I began adding sugar to every drink I made. She didn't even like the taste of alcohol, and the sugar made it more palatable to her."

Neal's eyes widened. "And she didn't notice?"

Dash snorted. "I just told her I was taking an online bartending course and that's why there was an improvement."

Crackle frowned. "And she believed that?"

"She asked me if the drinks were sugar-free, I told her yes, and she didn't question it further."

Neal grinned widely and let out a laugh. "Who knew you had the balls, Dashie? That's hilarious!"

"I like the taste of alcohol just fine," Roosevelt stated, "I don't like mine sweet."

"Sometimes sweet is good," Theodore disagreed, "I like that lemonade stuff they sell."

Roosevelt pulled a face. "Ugh, no."

"I like it all…" Crackle stated thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but you're Australian, wombat," Neal replied, waving a hand at him dismissively. "Australians would drink hand sanitizer out of an old boot."

Crackle felt offended, despite not actually having that many memories of Australia. He felt like he should defend his home country, but had no idea what to say. He gave Neal a mild glare and then responded.

"Yeah, well even completely pissed, Australians can still wipe the floor with New Zealand in every sport!"

Neal blinked, and then sat straight up. "Oh, now those are fighting words, you Aussie bastard! You're a few roos short in the head if you think Australia even stands a chance against New Zealand!"

Neal's tone was joking, and Crackle shot him a smirk. "Kiwis are better suited to sticking to their skills," Crackle retorted, "Like basket weaving and sheep herding."

"You just had to bring the sheep into this!" Neal mock yelled, "Well, this is war, wombat. You and I are now in a feud."

Crackle laughed, and then noticed everyone else was just staring at them in disbelief.

"What?" he demanded.

"Er… nothing," Theodore responded, "You two aren't really mad ar-"

He cut off when there was a sudden loud knock at the door. Crackle tensed up, knowing they were not expecting anyone and immediately reached for the crackle rod.

"Maybe it's Sven and Henrik?" Neal suggested.

Crackle frowned, and slowly approached the door. "Who's there?" he called through the door.

"The Cleaners," came the simple response.

The whole room took a collective deep breath of alarm. Crackle's eyes widened, and he clenched the crackle rod tightly having no idea what to expect. Opening the door a crack, he peered out and sure enough the two V.I.L.E Cleaners, Boris and Vlad were standing there, expressions completely indifferent.

"What do you want?" Crackle demanded.

"We are here for Dash Haber," Vlad stated, pushing the door open.

Crackle took a step back and then glanced to Dash who was staring at the Cleaners with wide eyes. The Cleaners had a reputation of being the execution squad and so the whole room was tense and silent as they stepped into the room.

"What do you want with Dash?" Crackle demanded, finger slowly moving towards his weapon's switch.

"He is to return to New V.I.L.E Island immediately," Vlad explained, "The Countess Cleo has requested his return to her services. He is no longer a field operative, and he is once again a courier."

Everyone turned to stare at Dash who looked completely stunned. He seemed speechless for once, and the Cleaners began approaching him.

"Where are your bags?" Boris demanded.

Dash mutely pointed to his dufflebag and Boris immediately hefted it up.

"Come along now, Haber," Vlad ordered, "A helicopter is waiting for us."

Dash slowly stood up, glanced around at his former teammates and didn't seem like he knew what to do. He glanced down at Steve in his arms, and he frowned. Cleo would never permit him to have a pet, and she'd likely have Steve killed if he brought him along. She hated animals and believed them to be dirty, and classless. Gently setting the cat down on the bed, Dash turned to Crackle.

"You'll take care of Steve, right?" he asked.

Crackle gave him a nod. "We won't let anything happen to him," he promised.

Dash was being pulled by an elbow towards the door and his expression was still completely bewildered. He knew he had no choice in the matter, and there was no arguing with the Cleaners. He could keep his dignity and go with them willingly, or be dragged back to V.I.L.E like some kind of degenerate.

Straightening his back, and masking his uncertainty, he glanced back at his former teammates.

"Well, um, goodbye I guess," he said.

"Bye, Dash," Neal said, frowning.

There were a few other murmured farewells, and then Dash was gone, the Cleaners pulling him into the waiting car outside. Everyone stood in the doorway watching the car drive away, and there was a sudden heavy mood in the room.

"He...he's gone…" Theodore said hesitantly.

Crackle said nothing, furious over the fact the faculty had done this without warning him first. Without a single word, he slammed the door closed, and then reached for his com to make a phone call.

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Siren sang quietly to himself as he worked, trying his best to ignore Braxton who was standing just behind him. He never would have thought he'd miss Terry, but after being beaten every day for three weeks, he just wanted things to return to normalcy. V.I.L.E had reassigned Terry to a different compound after the incident in the lower basement, and Siren was trapped with the gorilla, Braxton.

True to his word, Braxton welded the vent in his bedroom closed, and now Siren had no chance to escape. His every step was shadowed, and if he so much as took a step out of line, he was struck. Siren hadn't been able to do anything to stop it, and his complaints to Vess fell on deaf ears.

The only positive thing that Siren could see about this situation was that Braxton also didn't hesitate to strike Michael. If the boy attempted to hit him, push him or even get too close, Michael ended up getting beaten with Braxton's baton. Michael was incapable of learning and so now the boy was covered in tiny bruises from continuously trying to get at him. Siren suspected Michael was more bored than malicious, but he still found it irritating to be constantly ambushed.

Vess glanced up from his research with a disapproving glare, but Siren wasn't paying him any attention. Siren had added lyrics to classical music, and it was beginning to bother him on a very deep level. He didn't comment however, since Siren was actually working hard for a change and had translated a massive amount of paperwork.

Siren was trying to come up with a plan to get rid of Braxton, but everything he had tried so far failed, and only ended with him getting another beating. He needed something to happen that was so bad that they couldn't ignore it. If he could somehow sabotage something and blame Braxton, it might be enough to get him fired.

"Lunchtime, Siren," Vess called over to him.

Siren didn't look up from what he was doing.

"Go eat something," Vess ordered impatiently.

"Not hungry," Siren responded distractedly.

"Tough. It's lunchtime, and you're taking a break," Vess said, "Go eat a sandwich or something."

Siren silently shook his head and reached for another translation. Vess narrowed his eyes, knowing he couldn't allow Siren to make himself sick from malnutrition. They'd been fighting about this for two weeks now and he was quickly getting fed up.

"You have three choices," Vess informed him, "Eating actual food, drinking a meal replacement shake, or me putting a feeding tube in your stomach."

This caused Siren to look up in horror. "You wouldn't!"

"I definitely would," Vess replied, narrowing his eyes. "The choice is yours. You skip this meal and I'm putting a tube in. I'm sick of fighting about this."

Siren stared at him in disbelief, but Vess' expression was anything but joking. Siren heaved an irritated sigh, and then reached into his desk for one of the shakes. Vess had been nagging him for 2 weeks straight to drink them, and Siren hated the taste of them, but they were fast and easy. Twisting the cap off the shake, he downed it, made a face at the bad taste and then tossed it in the garbage can.

Vess went back to ignoring him, and so Siren reached for another piece of paperwork. Singing a 90's pop song just loud enough to annoy everyone in the vicinity, he once again began plotting as he translated.

Siren's schedule was all decided beforehand, and it was impossible to get Braxton to deviate from it in the least. If he wanted any hope of coming up with a plan, he needed to find a way to escape the gorilla for at least a while.

The door suddenly banged open, and Siren jumped in surprise but then quickly scowled when he saw it was Michael. He went back to his paperwork, but paused when a piece of paper was shoved right under his nose. He pulled back and stared at the folded piece of paper Michael had placed on his desk. Michael wasn't even looking at him, instead heading over to see Vess.

Siren narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the piece of paper. He poked it with his pen, and when he was sure there wasn't anything hidden inside it, he reached over and unfolded it. Inside was an incredibly detailed sketch of Siren having his limbs torn off and fed to a shark. 'Your a pussy, and I'm going to kill you' was written below it, and Siren glanced over at Michael who wasn't even looking at him.

"Did you draw this?" he asked in surprise.

Michael turned to look at him. "Yeah? So what?" he snapped, tone defensive.

"Huh," Siren stated, staring at the morbid picture with a frown.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "You have something to say?" he demanded, clenching his fists.

"No, nothing like that, it's actually quite good," Siren commented with a shrug.

Michael blinked like he wasn't quite sure how to take this, and he gave him a suspicious look.

When Siren said nothing more, Michael turned to Vess. "Are you almost done work?" he asked hopefully.

Vess sighed and didn't look up. "It's only lunchtime, Michael, my day has only just started," he replied.

Michael groaned. "All you do is work!" he complained, "I've been here almost a month and you haven't taken a single day off!"

"I'm the lead doctor for V.I.L.E, Michael, I'm incredibly busy with the new vaccine research."

"Can't you make the eunuch do it?"

"Siren's not a doctor, he's a scientist. He'll be able to help with the vaccine after I've made the basic formula, but he's not qualified to do everything by himself. He'd probably end up poisoning half of V.I.L.E."

"I resent that!" Siren called over.

"Shut up, wuss!" Michael shot back. "No one's talking to you!"

"Yeah, but you're talking about me, and so I have a right to defend myself."

"Mind your own business!" Michael snapped, "Or I'm going to come over there and drown you in your own blood!"

Siren rolled his eyes, but he did go quiet, and so Michael turned back to Vess. "One little day off isn't going to make that much of a difference." he argued, "I'm lonely and bored! Come spend some time with me!"

"I told you I'm too busy," Vess stated, still not looking up from what he was doing.

"But I'm bored!" Michael protested, "This place is shit!"

"Why don't you go play your Nintendo X-Station or whatever it is?" Vess suggested.

Michael pursed his lips, knowing very well Vess knew what the PS4 was. Taking a seat on the edge of Vess' desk, he leaned over and peered down at what Vess was reading. Seeing a lot of complicated-looking math, he grimaced, and instead glanced around the room.

His gaze settled on Siren who was ignoring him, and then he shot an uncertain glance to Braxton who was watching him like a hawk. The guard had hit him dozens of times over the last few weeks for bullying Siren, and he was sick of it. Michael glowered at the guard, and then looked back at Vess.

"You should take a short break," he suggested, "I want to spend some time with you, and we can get lunch together."

"Some other time, Michael," Vess said impatiently, "I really need to concentrate on this right now. Please stop distracting me."

"Come onnnnn!" Michael whined, reaching out for Vess' hand. "Take a little, tiny break!"

Vess slapped his hand aside, and then flipped to a new page of paperwork. Michael rubbed at his hand with a frown, and then let out a long and over-dramatic groan. Vess continued ignoring him, and so he groaned even louder, hoping for some sort of reaction. Vess said nothing, and so Michael flopped down on the desk his head resting directly on top of Vess' paperwork. He then stared up at Vess who let out a deep sigh.

"Take a break?" Michael asked, offering him his most charming smile.

"You have five seconds to get your gel-covered hair off my paperwork before I lose my temper," Vess warned him, eyes narrowing.

Michael's eyes widened in alarm and he abruptly sat up.

"Off my desk and leave, Michael."

Michael hopped down from the desk, but didn't seem overly bothered by this. Walking around to the other side of the desk, he leaned over Vess' shoulder, trying to get in his field of vision.

"Lunchbreak," Michael whispered in his ear cheekily.

Vess let out another exasperated sigh, and turned a glare towards him.

"I said no, and I mean it. I'm busy, Michael, busy. Do you understand what that means?"

"Well, I-" Michael started, but he was quickly interrupted by Vess.

"No, of course you don't since you've never worked a day in your life! Leave me alone while I work, Michael, and go do whatever it is you do all day. I will see you later after I finish my research."

Michael took a step back, and a momentary flash of hurt crossed his face, before he quickly masked it.

"But, Numa, all I wanted was to spend a little-"

"Michael, I am about five seconds away from banning you from entering this lab," Vess warned, "Go do something, now!"

Michael flushed, and then clenched his fists. He stood in silence for several long seconds, and then his expression became determined. To Vess' complete surprise, Michael reached down, snatched the papers out of Vess' hand, and then slammed them down onto the desk. He then forcibly spun Vess' chair around. Vess looked up at Michael, his shock evident, but before he could utter a single word, Michael sat down in his lap facing him, placing his hands on the taller man's shoulders. Vess' eyes widened, and for once he seemed completely speechless. Michael met his gaze directly, his eyes defiant and clearly saying 'ignore this!'.

Neither said a word for a long moment, and then Michael's eyes flitted towards the door. Vess swallowed heavily, and then glanced over to Siren, and then back to Michael. Finally Vess allowed a small smile to cross his face, and then he shook his head in amusement.

"Honestly, Michael, you're going to be the death of me," he said with a sigh, "I don't know how I manage to get anything done with you around."

Michael simply beamed at him, knowing he'd won.

He gave a slow nod, and Michael slid off his lap, looking triumphant. Michael took him by the hand then began tugging him towards the door, and Vess once again glanced back to Siren.

"I'm taking a lunch break," he called over.

Siren let out a snort. "Yeah, I bet," he responded, not looking up.

"I'll be back in an hour."

Siren finally looked up. "May I use your laptop while you're gone?"

Vess paused. "What for?" he demanded suspiciously.

Siren gave him a flat look. "Porn. Lots and lots of porn."

Vess let out a sigh. "Don't you dare break it."

"All the mountains of porn might crash it though," Siren responded earnestly, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

Vess simply shook his head and continued out the door. Michael glanced back at him and stuck out his tongue, and Siren rolled his eyes.

Siren didn't bother answering, not especially caring. Once they were gone, Siren glanced over towards Braxton who had his eyes glued to him, expression as stern as always.

"Why don't you go for a lunch break as well?" Siren suggested, shooting him a dirty look.

"You know I'm not going to let you out of my sight," Braxton replied, "You might as well give that idea up right now."

Siren rolled his eyes a second time, and then set his paperwork aside. He'd finished everything he was supposed to for the day, and could play on the laptop for a bit until Vess demanded it back. Siren used to have his own laptop, but every time he lost his temper he would chuck it across the room, and after he went through a dozen or so laptops, V.I.L.E banned him from owning one. Vess would sometimes allow him to use his as long as he was careful with it.

Siren got up from his desk and crossed the room, trying to ignore the eyes he could feel following him. Unplugging Vess' laptop, he carried it back to his desk and then took a seat. Opening the lid, he typed in Vess' password and then stared at the research currently on the screen. He clicked through a bit of it, but it didn't interest him, and so he minimized everything.

"Turn the screen so I can monitor what you're doing," Braxton ordered.

"Whatever, gorilla," Siren responded, not moving the laptop in the least.

Opening a new browser window, Siren went to ebay to look for a replacement toy for patient D.D. He hadn't had the chance to look for anything until now since Vess had been too angry at him to allow him use of the laptop. Three weeks was a long time, but he'd had no other way to order items.

Siren considered what he should search for and frowned. What sort of things did little girls like? Would she want another car? A doll? A stuffed animal? Typing in the phrase 'female toys' in the search bar, he immediately regretted this decision and quickly hit the back button. Okay, apparently he needed to be a LOT more specific in what he wanted.

He typed in children's toys, and this time the proper results came up. Scrolling down through the results, he clicked on a rainbow pony toy and thought this might be something a kid would like. He didn't exactly have a lot of experience in this department however, and so he wasn't sure.

Suddenly the laptop was grabbed and spun around and Braxton stared at the screen suspiciously. When he saw what Siren was looking at, he gave him a look of complete disbelief.

"Are you buying a My Little Pony doll?!" he asked.

Siren glanced to the screen, and then gave a shrug. "So what if I am?" he challenged, "I earn my money, and I can spend it on anything I want."

Braxton gave him a look of disgust, and then turned and walked away without further comment. Siren pulled the laptop back around, and then continued looking down through the list of toys. What was something he'd enjoyed playing with as a kid? Siren thought long and hard, and then searched for Lego. Staring at the hundreds of different box sets, he spotted a pirate ship set and immediately added it to the cart, thinking it looked neat. Using Vess' account, he paid for it, and then felt like he'd actually accomplished something.

Now he just had to figure out how to get it to her. He glanced at Braxton out of the corner of his eye, and saw he was still watching everything he did. If Siren could even just lose him for an hour, he'd be able to come up with a plan to hopefully get rid of the gorilla permanently. The problem with this plan was the fact Braxton never left him alone for even a moment when Vess wasn't in the room. Vess was too smart to let Siren sneak off when the guard was out of the room, and so Siren hadn't managed to slip away.

Thinking of the vent in his room, he doubted he'd be able to unweld it without anyone noticing. How else could he lose Braxton? Tapping his fingers on his desk as he thought, his eyes suddenly widened. Braxton was only human and so he still needed to eat and drink. The man kept a bottle of gatorade on hand at all times, and Siren began getting an idea. If he could put something in Braxton's drink…

Siren glanced at Braxton out of the corner of his eye. There was no way he could get his hands on poison or anything even remotely similar, since Vess checked every package that entered the lab. He'd have to order something that wouldn't be subject to suspicion.

Siren thought for a moment and then brought up Amazon. After a quick search, he added a powerful liquid laxative to his cart. He shot Braxton another quick glance, but the guard wasn't looking. Knowing Vess would be suspicious if that was the only thing he bought, he began adding dozens of random things to his cart. When he had over a hundred items, he checked out and used Vess' credit card number that he had memorized.

Siren didn't own a credit card or have any way to pay for online purchases himself, and so he hoped Vess wouldn't bitch about this. Once he had completed the purchase, he logged into his V.I.L.E bank account and sent a transfer to Vess for the money he had spent. At least this way Vess couldn't accuse him of stealing from him. Hopefully this purchase would be able to slip by unquestioned. The packages would arrive at the V.I.L.E warehouse in Moscow and then be forwarded to him with the regular mail.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, Siren began to hum to himself, and logged onto his facebook so he could check his farm. For some reason he had put his name as Ted Roo, and shook his head knowing his mind was still pretty messed up. Although he had his memories, the moments of confusion seemed to be getting more frequent, and Siren was beginning to suspect he had some sort of brain damage from Vess' experiments. He'd have no way of knowing the extent of any damage until he finally managed to escape.

About twenty minutes later, Vess and Michael returned, and Siren didn't bother looking up.

Michael had his arm wrapped tightly around Vess' waist as they walked, and he was all smiles. He seemed in a much better mood than before, his entire posture relaxed. Vess glanced down at him affectionately, his own arm wrapped loosely around Michael's shoulders. Vess then turned his gaze to Siren who seemed to be concentrating very hard on the computer screen.

"What are you looking at now?" Vess asked him as he passed by his desk.

"Porn," Siren replied, watering his strawberries in farmville.

Vess rolled his eyes, but Michael approached to peek over Siren's shoulder.

"Are you playing Farmville?!" he demanded.

"Nope," Siren answered as he began harvesting corn.

Michael was immediately indignant, and he looked over to Vess. "How come he can have Facebook but I can't?" he demanded in outrage.

"Siren has no friends on his account, he isn't an idiot, and he's not a threat to our security," Vess replied, taking a seat at his desk.

Michael seemed annoyed, and leaned over Siren's shoulder again to watch him play. Siren flashed him an annoyed look, and then closed the laptop, causing Michael to scowl at him.

"You can go take lunch, Braxton," Vess instructed, "I'll watch Siren while you're gone."

Braxton gave a nod and then left the room, clearly glad for a break. Siren watched him leave, and then turned his attention to Vess who was already going back to his research. Michael stared at Braxton as the guard left the lab, and once he was gone he immediately turned back to Siren, a large grin in place.

"You're such a loser," he commented.

"Uh huh," Siren answered without interest.

Michael reached out and grabbed a handful of Siren's hair and jerked his head back hard. "Your fucking guard is a menace," he hissed into Siren's ear, "Because of you, that bastard has been beating the shit out of me for weeks!"

Siren grit his teeth at the pain, and looked up at Michael. "It's not my fault you're too stupid to stay away from me," Siren replied.

Michael's eyes widened and then with a scowl, he yanked Siren's hair hard enough to make his eyes water. "Don't call me stupid!" Michael snapped angrily, "I'm not stupid!"

"Whatever you say," Siren said, yelping as Michael yanked his hair so hard he was almost pulled out of his seat.

Vess looked up at the yelp, and then sighed. "Michael, leave Siren alone," he ordered.

"But, Numa!" Michael whined, "He called me stupid!"

"I don't care what he said," Vess snapped, "Now let him go!"

Michael let go of Siren's hair and he gave Siren a look of complete loathing. "You're such a pathetic crybaby," he commented, "Why don't you try sticking up for yourself, instead being a fucking coward and depending on everyone else to save your ass?"

Siren rubbed at his sore head, and then replied, " Is fearr rith maith ná drochsheasamh ."

Michael blinked. "What the hell does that mean?! Are you making fun of me? What did you say?"

Siren gave him a confused look. "...aren't you Irish?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You're Irish, and don't speak Irish?!" Siren asked in surprise.

Michael's face flushed. "Shut up! Irish is fucking hard! Just speak in English!"

Siren stared at him a moment and then looked over to Vess. [[Numa, I sent you an e-transfer of money,]] he said in Arabic.

Vess glanced up, answering in Arabic by reflex. [[What? Why?]]

[[I didn't have a credit card and wanted to buy a few things online.]]

Vess narrowed his eyes. [[You used my credit card without permission?!]]

"What are you saying?" Michael demanded angrily, "Speak in English!"

[[Yeah, your account too.]]

Vess looked mildly annoyed. [[It's incredibly rude and unprofessional to use someone's credit card without their permission!]] he scolded, [[You better not have entered my details on any suspicious websites!]]

[[You mean I shouldn't have given all your info to this nice Nigerian Prince I was chatting with? He insisted he would send me a fortune if I just gave him access to your credit card!]]

Vess sighed heavily, realizing he had better things he could be doing. [[Just ask permission next time.]]

Vess went back to working, and Michael was glancing back and forth between them, looking confused and angry.

"You were both talking about me, weren't you!" he accused, "What were you saying?!"

Siren shrugged and Michael grabbed a hold of him and yanked him out of his chair, causing the chair to crash to the floor. Vess looked up again and his brows knitted in pure frustration.

"I said leave him alone, Michael!" he snapped, "Don't make me tell you again!"

Michael glared at Siren, but he did reluctantly release him.

"Go do something else, and leave this lab right now," Vess ordered, "I need to concentrate and I can't do that with you constantly distracting me!"

"Just take the rest of the day off!" Michael suggested, shooting him a charming smile.

Vess didn't even bother answering.

Michael gave Siren a light shove, and then made his way across the room. "Can I help, Numa?"

"You can help by leaving the lab."

Siren righted his chair, and then picked up the laptop to return it to Vess. Michael glared at him as he approached, but neither said anything. Siren set the laptop down, and then turned to head back to his own desk.

"Numa, play PS4 with me?"

"No."

"Just for a little while?"

"No, Michael, I already took a break, and now I'm behind on my work."

Michael did his best to look sad and pathetic, but Vess wasn't swayed. He just ignored him, and Michael let out a groan.

"I want to play PS4," he complained.

"Then go do that," Vess replied, giving him a not so subtle shove towards the door.

"It's boring by myself! Come play Call of Duty with me!"

"I'm busy, Michael. No."

"But I want someone to play with!" Michael whined, "I'm boooooored!"

Siren suddenly had an idea. It was a dangerous and possibly stupid idea, but he didn't see a whole lot of other options.

"Michael, leave this lab now," Vess ordered, "Go play your games by yourself!"

"I'll play with you," Siren found himself saying.

Vess' head snapped up and he stared at Siren in disbelief. His eyes then narrowed suspiciously, certain Siren was up to something. Michael gaped at him, genuinely taken by surprise, and then he scowled.

"Who says I'd want to play with you!?" he sneered, crossing his arms.

Siren gave him a shrug. "Fine, then play by yourself."

Siren then took a seat at his desk and pulled a pile of paperwork in front of him. He could see how Michael was fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't look up.

"Okay, fine," Michael snarled, "I'll let you play, but you better not be a weirdo!"

Vess was still staring directly at Siren, trying to figure out what Siren was up to. He knew very well how much he hated Michael, and so this was extremely odd. Siren would never dare try to hurt Michael, knowing the rage he'd be faced with when Vess got his hands on him. No, whatever Siren was planning had nothing to do with Michael. This was something else entirely...

Siren gave Vess a quick glance and knew he would have to tread extremely carefully.

"Come on then, crybaby," Michael said, turning towards the door.

"Wait a second," Vess ordered, never taking his eyes off Siren.

Michael paused. "What?" he demanded.

Vess gave Siren a long and searching look, trying to figure out what he was planning. "Siren, look at me for a second."

Siren hesitantly turned his gaze to Vess, and he shifted uncomfortably at the direct eye contact. Vess didn't trust Siren for an instant, but he couldn't think of a single thing Siren could be up to. He didn't really like the idea of giving him the opportunity to do something he wasn't allowed to, but the thought of having the lab completely to himself was tempting.

"You will never once leave Michael's side," Vess said firmly, "I will be asking him about everything later."

Siren wasn't actually expecting Vess to give in this easily. He was now going to be out of Vess' sight with no guard. Siren gave him a nod, and then got up from his seat. He made sure to avoid looking at Vess as he followed Michael out of the lab, his mind already planning how he would ditch Michael. The second they were in alone in the hall, Michael rounded on him and grabbed him by the front of the shirt.

"No one to protect you this time!" he said with a smirk, raising his fist.

"Wait!" Siren cried out, reaching out to grab Michael by the arm. "Just a second!"

To his surprise, Michael actually hesitated. "What?" he demanded.

"We need to talk."

Michael gave him a wary look. "About what?"

"Well," Siren said, trying to think of how to phrase it, "You and I have a common problem…"

Michael's expression turned angry. "I don't have anything in common with you!"

"We both hate Braxton," Siren stated bluntly.

Michael couldn't deny that, and he frowned. "Yeah, so?"

"You interested in getting rid of him?"

Michael seemed surprised for a moment, but then his fist came down and hit Siren hard in the kidneys. Siren let out a startled cry and doubled over, wheezing from the unexpected hit.

"Fine, forget it!" Siren said, clutching at his side in agony. "Forget I said anything!"

"No, I'm listening," Michael responded, "Get rid of him how?"

Siren looked up at him in disbelief. "Why did you hit me?!"

Michael gave him a shrug.

Siren scowled and rubbed at his sore side before straightening back up. "Let's discuss this somewhere a little more private, and I'll tell you."

Michael glanced around at the empty hallway, and then rolled his eyes. "Fine, come on then, nerd."

Michael walked away, and Siren followed along behind him, keeping a wary eye on the other man. Michael led him to Vess' private quarters, and when the door was opened, Siren saw it was about 5 times the size of his own living space.

"What the hell," he complained seeing Vess had a full living room and his own kitchen. "How is this fucking fair? I live in a closet."

Michael wasn't listening however, and hopped over the back of a nearby couch, where he grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. Siren glanced all around Vess' apartment and his gaze immediately fell on the electronics. He stared at them for a long moment, and knew a few would have parts he could use. Vess would definitely notice if he started stealing parts, and that was attention he definitely didn't need right now.

He took a seat at the other end of the couch, and Michael tossed a PS4 controller at him.

"So what about your guard?" he demanded.

"Braxton has to go," Siren informed him, knowing he couldn't trust Michael with very much information.

"Yeah, and?"

"I need your help."

Michael powered on his PS4, and then shot him a frown. "And what would I have to do?"

"Not much, just help me distract Braxton when the time comes, and I'll figure it out from there."

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Why should I help you? What's in it for me?"

"You'd never have to see Braxton again?"

Michael snorted. "I could just avoid him," he pointed out, starting the game.

Siren raised a brow. "Then why don't you?"

Michael glared at him and then slumped down in his seat as he turned his attention to the screen. "I could if I wanted to," he muttered, "I just keep forgetting."

"Distract him and I'll make sure Braxton disappears," Siren promised.

"You gonna kill him?"

Siren gave a shrug, and Michael stared at him a moment and then mirrored the shrug, deciding he didn't really care.

Michael still looked somewhat skeptical however, and he glanced towards the door. "That's it? That's all I have to do? Distract him?"

Siren nodded. "It will take me a few days to get everything ready."

Michael shook his head. "No, if I agree to help you, I want something in return."

Siren let out a deep sigh. "What do you want?"

"I want my weed back."

"I told you that I flushed it," Sire replied, "I don't have it."

"Then no deal," Michael replied, "I won't help, and I'm going to tell Numa about this conversation."

Siren let out a frustrated curse, and glowered at Michael angrily. "God, I hate you," he commented, "Fine, I'll return your damn bag of weed. It will take me a couple days to get my hands on it."

Michael seemed pleased with this and he gave him an infuriating smirk. "Get me the weed, and then we'll talk. Until then, I'll keep my mouth shut. Now play Call of Duty with me."

"Fine," Siren agreed, grabbing the controller.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Chase and Julia returned from Ontario, Canada, they explained everything that had happened, and it was obvious A.C.M.E was once again starting to take action. Team Crackle had decimated A.C.M.E during the fight in the parking garage, but it looked like they were still going to be a threat. Carmen was incredibly tired and weak, but she made it clear they had to lay low until they could make it back to San Diego. She had no idea what Player's password was, and knew it was much too risky to just make a guess.

Knowing they had to buy a little time to figure out how to break through Player's encryption, Shadowsan told the Russians that Mime Bomb was too weak to be moved out of the hospital right now. The man he spoke with had been furious and he vowed to kill Player before disconnecting the call.

There were a few minutes of utter terror before a different man called them back and assured them Player would not be harmed. He seemed incredibly concerned about why Mime Bomb was in the hospital, and Shadowsan explained that Mime Bomb was recovering from a serious surgery, but he didn't give any further details. The man stated they would give them a month, and then call back to arrange the trade.

Team Red all began researching how to get their hands on a military grade code breaking device, but after two weeks of planning, they were no further ahead. Carmen couldn't so much as sit up in bed, and she was angry and frustrated she couldn't help more. Mime Bomb was faring better and by the second week, he was almost feeling as good as new. He still wasn't allowed to walk, but he was awake and alert and eager to help in any way he could.

Shadowsan wanted him to concentrate on recovering instead, and so the decision was made for the rest of the team to handle the mission to break into a military base. Mime Bomb had been furious, but Shadowsan could not be swayed, and so Mime Bomb was forced to sit by the sidelines, and simply watch. Zack stayed by Mime Bomb's side at all times, and having nothing better to do, they started spending hours every day practicing sign language.

The team struggled without a tech guy, and every plan they came up with was flimsy at best. Tensions began to develop between team members as no one could agree on anything, and finally after a particularly nasty argument, Le Chèvre stormed from the hospital in a fit of temper. El Topo followed after him, worried about the stress getting to them all.

"Jean Paul!" he called out, catching him by the elbow, "Wait!"

Le Chèvre paused, and then glanced back at his partner. He could see the worry in El Topo's eyes, and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"I don't think I can keep doing this, Antonio."

"What do you mean?" El Topo asked, gently pulling Le Chèvre around to face him.

Le Chèvre gestured angrily towards the hospital. "This team is complete chaos, and no one is ever going to agree on anything ! Player was the only thing keeping this team together and it's pathetic. How these idiots were ever a threat to V.I.L.E I'll never know. They depended on a small child to do everything for them!"

"Mi amor… "

Le Chèvre shook his head. " Non , I am right and you know it. Carmen is too injured to be of any help, and everyone else is just spiraling. We are going to get ourselves killed if we go ahead with this foolish plan!"

"We have to save Player, Jean Paul," El Topo said firmly, "He's just a kid."

"Exactly!" Jean Paul exclaimed, once again gesturing towards the hospital. "They put the life of a thirteen year old boy in danger, and they don't even see what they did was wrong! I had no idea Player was that young, and it's pathetic and disgusting!"

El Topo shifted a bit uncomfortably. "...I did not even think of that," he admitted sheepishly.

Le Chèvre's expression softened, and he placed a reassuring hand on El Topo's shoulder. "We are new to this team, and neither of us realized this. Player sounded young, but he was so reliable and smart, that I never even questioned it."

"What are you saying, Jean Paul?" El Topo asked worriedly, "Are you thinking of quitting Team Red?"

Le Chèvre let out a deep breath. "I just need some time to think," he stated, turning away, "I'm going for a walk and I'll be back in an hour or so."

"I'll go with you!"

Le Chèvre shook his head. " Non , I wish to be alone," he said, averting his gaze, "It has nothing to do with you, mon amour , I just need some time alone with my thoughts."

El Topo gave him a somewhat lost expression, but nodded all the same. "I understand," he told him, "Do you have your inhaler, just in case?"

Le Chèvre held the inhaler up to put El Topo's worries to rest, and then said, "I'll be careful, I promise."

El Topo watched Le Chèvre walk off down the sidewalk, and he hoped by the time he returned he would be cooled off enough to have a rational discussion about all of this.

Le Chèvre walked fast and hard, not really having a destination in mind. He wanted to go for a run, but he knew that would be a mistake considering his breathing problems. He was furious at how Team Red was handling the current situation, but he knew he wasn't much better. What use was he to anyone like this? He didn't know computers, he wasn't overly smart, and now he couldn't even offer his athleticism to the team. He felt like he'd done nothing, and it was seriously eating away at him.

His breathing was starting to become strained, and so he stopped walking and took a seat on a nearby bench to catch his breath. Taking a puff from his inhaler, he stared across the paved walkways, feeling his frustration only grow. It was pathetic how much he whined about his breathing, but Le Chèvre couldn't accept it no matter how much time passed. He thought about it constantly, and longed to once again run and leap like he used to.

His phone dinged, and he pulled it out of his pocket, expecting to see a text from El Topo. Instead he saw a text message from an unknown number.

'Are you alone?'

Le Chèvre scoffed at the message and dismissed it. What kind of stupid scam was this?

He sat for ten minutes or so until his chest loosened a bit, and then he got to his feet, to head back towards the hospital. He had no idea what to say to El Topo when he returned, but he knew they needed to have a long conversation. Things couldn't continue to go the way they were. His phone dinged again and he pulled it out, seeing a message from the same number.

'We need to talk, Le Chèvre.'

He stared at his phone and furrowed his brow. This wasn't a scam, someone knew who he was. Glancing all around, he didn't see anyone around, and so he took a seat on another bench.

'Who is this?' he typed back.

The reply came immediately. 'I can help you. Are you currently alone? I don't want us being overheard.'

Le Chèvre was unbelievably suspicious, and he knew he should immediately report this to the others, but his curiosity was piqued. Who was this, and how did they find out his phone number? He stared at his screen in silence as he debated, and finally his curiosity won out and he once again replied.

'Yes, I'm alone right now.'

His phone immediately began to vibrate as the strange number began calling him. He stared for a long moment and then swiped his finger to accept the call. Dr. Vess' face appeared on his screen.

"Good afternoon, Le Chèvre," he greeted, expression giving nothing away.

Le Chèvre gave him a look of complete disgust, and reached out a finger to hang up the call. "I think not," he stated.

"I know how to fix the scarring on your lungs."

Le Chèvre's finger froze just above the end-call button. Slowly he withdrew his hand, and then stared at Vess with narrowed eyes.

"I studied your medical records, and this is something I can correct," Vess informed him, "You know I'm one of the world's best surgeons."

Le Chèvre narrowed his eyes even further. "Why are you telling me this?" he demanded, "Trying to rub it in?"

Vess rolled his eyes. "Of course not," he replied, "I'm proposing we make a deal."

Le Chèvre snorted. "I will pass."

Vess raised a brow and then leaned towards the screen. "Give me Mime Bomb and I will remove the scarring from your lungs."

Le Chèvre wasn't impressed. "Oh yes, I will definitely give myself right over to V.I.L.E to be killed. I'll get right on that."

"This has nothing to do with V.I.L.E," Vess replied, "They have no idea I'm making this call. This is a deal just between you and I."

"Not interested," Le Chèvre said, once again reaching to hang up the call.

"You're not tired of being a shell of who you were previously?" Vess demanded, "You're not tired of the pain, of the fear, and of feeling useless?"

Again Le Chèvre paused.

"Do you really care that much about the little tattletale mime? He's nothing to you, but your ability to climb is what you live for. Give me the mime, and you have my word that I will repair your lungs, and you'll be better than ever."

"Do you honestly think I would betray my own team?"

Vess met his gaze directly. "Yes," he answered with absolute certainty, "Don't delude yourself into thinking you care about them. You already know what's important to you, and the mime means nothing."

"And you think I would trust you why?" he demanded.

"What other choice do you have?" Vess challenged.

Le Chèvre fell silent, and simply stared at the other man. The thought of getting his life back was tempting, but he would be giving up a teammate to achieve it. He'd never liked Mime Bomb and found him to be useless and weak, but that didn't mean he wanted him to get hurt. Could he really hand Mime Bomb over like that? What would Vess do to him?

"Keep this conversation between us, or else this offer will be revoked," Vess warned him, "I will contact you in 7 days, and will expect your response."

Vess disconnected the call and Le Chèvre continued staring at his phone, feeling angry and conflicted. He knew Vess had the knowledge and experience to complete the surgery, but Vess had proven that he couldn't be trusted. Le Chèvre shoved his phone into his pocket, and glared at the ground as he thought. Did he want to spend the rest of his life barely able to breathe, barely able to function at life?

His thought turned to Mime Bomb and everything the other man had been through. What meant more to him, his lungs or Mime Bomb's freedom?

Cursing under his breath, Le Chèvre turned and headed back to the hospital, knowing he had a lot of thinking to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Player ran as long as he could before he finally had to stop to catch his breath. The town seemed to be quite poor, with old stone houses and dirt roads, and Player had no idea where in India he was. Everyone stared at him as he passed, and he knew it was probably uncommon to see a foreigner in such a remote area. He tried asking for help, but no one seemed to speak English and simply stared at him as if he were some kind of curiosity. The town was so remote that he saw no signs of electricity, and so his search for a payphone proved to be fruitless.

The blazing hot sun beat down on him mercilessly, and Player's tan skin was burning as he walked along, but he didn't stop. Finally coming across a well, he stopped and peeked down inside it, unable to see the bottom. Terribly thirsty, he eyed the bucket and rope and unlatched it from where it was hung. There were several women gathered around the well chatting, and when they saw him, they began watching him, and clearly talking about him to each other.

Tossing the bucket down into the well, he heard a distant splash and then began pulling it back up. This seemed to amuse the women and they laughed, but made no move to help him. The bucket was far heavier than he expected, and by the time he got it up, he was breathing hard.

Looking into the bucket, he was relieved at the sight of the fresh and clear water. Raising the bucket to his lips, he was suddenly given a hard smack across the back of the head. Startled, he almost dropped the bucket and turned around to see an old woman scowling at him.

She pointed to a metal cup hanging nearby, and then motioned taking a drink. He unhooked the cup, dipped it into the bucket and then held it out to her, thinking she was thirsty. The old woman sighed, rolled her eyes and then gently pushed the cup towards him. Player now understood and drank desperately from the cup. He refilled it several times, finally feeling a little bit better.

"Do you speak English?" Player asked the old woman hopefully.

She simply stared at him.

" Parlez-vous Français ?" he tried.

Again the woman simply stared at him. Letting out a disappointed sigh, Player emptied the rest of the bucket over his head to cool down, and hung everything back up. Knowing he couldn't stay still for long, Player waved goodbye to the women, and then continued on his way through the narrow streets. He walked and walked and then walked some more, and by the time the sun began setting, he was absolutely exhausted.

He'd assumed this was a town, but now he realized it must have actually been the outskirts of a larger city. If he kept walking long enough, he'd have to eventually reach an area that was more developed. Taking a seat on a set of stone stairs, Player leaned against the side of a house and yawned. His stomach was growling, but he was much too tired to do anything about it. Just wanting to rest his eyes for an hour or so, he relaxed and curled up, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible. When Player awoke hours later, it was to someone poking him painfully.

Opening his eyes, he saw it was now sunrise, and there was a small boy staring at him.

"Hello," Player greeted, sleepily.

The boy gave him another poke, and Player winced in pain. Pain? Why was he in pain? Sitting up, agony coursed through him when he realized his entire body was badly sunburnt.

"Oh, ow!" Player complained, looking down at his arm.

His arm was bright red and blistered, and he realized wearing shorts and t-shirt when you're not used to the sun probably wasn't the best idea. The boy gave him another curious poke, and Player yelped in pain.

"Stop that!" he ordered, getting to his feet.

Stretching as carefully as he could, Player stepped out of the alley, and saw vendors were just starting to set up for the day. His stomach gave a loud growl, but he didn't have any money to buy anything. Once he got to a police station, or an embassy he knew they'd feed him there. He just had to keep moving and eventually he'd find someone to help him. Glancing back at the small boy, he saw there were now two other children staring at him, and so he simply smiled, waved and then continued on his way.

Player tried to stay to the shade as much as possible as he walked, but every part of him was in agony and his hunger was getting worse and worse. Player had never missed a meal before, and with all the exercise he'd been doing, he felt like he was starving to death. The street food smelled amazing and once or twice Player found himself standing next to the stalls, simply looking at the food. He was hoping someone would offer him some food, but the vendors were poor and they had nothing to spare. He found himself chased away again and again.

Player was resting after a few hours of walking when he saw a man watching him from one of the nearby alleys. Player waved to him, and then the man waved back, his gaze making Player a bit uncomfortable.

"Hello!" Player greeted, "Do you speak English!"

"Yes," the man replied, taking a step forward, "I know a bit,"

Relief flooded Player and he got up to head for him. "Can you please help me?" he asked.

The man scratched his bearded face for a moment, his eyes still a bit too intense for Player's liking. "What is the problem?" the man asked, his accent thick.

"Some bad men kidnapped me, and I need to get to the police or an embassy! Can you help me?"

The man gave a slow nod. "Yes, yes, I will help you. Safiq will take good care of you. Come, come!"

Player let out a deep breath and followed after the man, glad to have finally found someone able to help him. Safiq was incredibly thin and he walked with a slow limp, and Player saw that one of his feet was twisted.

"Is it far?" Player asked, concerned for the man's leg.

"No, it's just up ahead!" Safiq assured him.

As they walked through the allies, it became less and less crowded, and the houses became shabbier and shabbier. Starting to get a bad feeling about this, Player glanced around, not liking how isolated they now were.

"Um, I think I'll just wait on the main street…" Player told him.

Safiq glanced back at him, his intense eyes making Player suddenly afraid. "Nonsense, I am going to call for help," he told him, "The phone is just up ahead."

Player stopped walking, and then slowly shook his head. "No...sorry, I have to go…"

Safiq suddenly grabbed a hold of him, and began dragging him further down the alley, all hints of a limp gone. Although thin, the man was strong, and Player yelled and struggled but couldn't break his hold. He screamed as loud as he could, but there was no one to hear him, and he spotted a building that Safiq was dragging him towards.

Everything in Player was screaming that if he entered that building, he would never make it out again. Sheer panic coursed through him, and he fought with everything he had, and Safiq struggled to keep a hold of him. Player kicked out with both of his feet and aimed at Safiq's kneecap, and the man went down hard, landing on top of Player. Player struggled underneath him, and Safiq drew a knife, expression furious. Player kicked and thrashed underneath him, and then he remembered the piece of metal in his sock. Reaching down, he pulled it out, and without even thinking about it, he stabbed Safiq hard in the eye.

Safiq howled in agony and he reared back, clapping his hands to his bleeding eye. Player scrambled away, and without looking back, he ran for it as fast as he could. He ran and ran through the streets, terrified, and just wanting to find someone to help him. He ran until he collapsed, and then he curled into a tight ball in the shade of a tree, hoping no one would notice him.

He felt really stupid, and he knew he never should have trusted Safiq. He'd been told hundreds of times to never go with a stranger, and he'd done just that and almost paid for it with his life. Player pulled at his hair in distress, and wheezed as he fought to catch his breath. He had zero street sense, and he knew he'd made a terrible mistake. How could he be so stupid?

As soon as he caught his breath, he got up and forced himself to keep running, just trying to put as much distance as he could between him and that alley of death.

Player drank every time he came to a well, but water only took away the hunger for a short time, and then it was back worse than ever.

Player then realized he'd somehow been going in circles when he passed by the same fruit vendor for the third time. Unbelievably stressed and frustrated, Player felt like he was in a maze. By the time it was once again sunset, he was even more sunburnt, and felt absolutely awful.

Rubbing his growling belly, he stared at the piles of fresh fruit on the stand, and wondered if he could get away with stealing a piece of fruit. He needed to keep his energy up, and he was feeling weak with hunger and exhaustion. Player had worked with thieves daily for the last two years, and so he was confident that he'd probably picked up a few things from watching Carmen over the last couple years.

The vendor was a large and slightly overweight middle-aged man, and Player was willing to bet he could outrun him. Stepping off to one side, he subtly eyed the fruit, trying to decide what to go for. The mangos were probably the easiest thing to go for, and also the most filling. He slowly began edging his way closer to the stall, and once he saw the vendor turn his back, he reached out for a mango.

The vendor spun around faster than he could blink and he had Player by the wrist before he could so much as take a step. Dropping the mango, Player yanked on his wrist, but the vendor's grip was strong and he began yelling at Player in a language he didn't understand.

He suddenly slapped Player hard across the ears, and Player felt tears come to his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Player protested, pulling desperately at his arm. "I was just hungry!"

He received another swat across the ears, and this time Player did begin to cry. All of the pain, hunger and stress of the last several weeks finally spilled over, he began to sob, just wanting to go home. The vendor's expression changed when he saw the tears, and he really looked at Player for the first time. Seeing the sunburn, the dirty clothes, and fear in the boy's eyes, the vendor frowned, and then let out a sigh.

He asked Player something gruffly, but when it became clear the boy couldn't understand, he softened his tone and said something else. Player wiped at his eyes and looked up at the man who pulled him over to take a seat on a nearby crate. Too tired and upset to protest, Player remained sitting there as he watched the man gather his produce into bags. The man then hefted the heavy bags over his shoulder and then motioned for Player to come with him.

When Player didn't move, reached down and pulled him up by the shirt. The man then pointed, and Player nodded, not really knowing where else he could go. Was the man taking him to jail? Jail meant police, and the police could get him home! Player honestly hoped he was getting arrested, and he eagerly followed after the man, finally having a bit of hope. They walked through the maze of streets, but to Player's surprise the man led him to a small house.

Player stopped dead in his tracks remembering the man from before, and didn't want to take any chances. It was then that several small children burst out of the house, large smiles in place as they ran to greet their father. The vendor smiled warmly at his children and knelt to hug them, and Player relaxed, realizing this man didn't mean him any harm.

The children then swarmed Player, looking at him in absolute delight, and to his surprise they began pulling him towards the house. The vendor followed along behind him, and when Player entered the home, the smell of delicious food hit him and his stomach growled loudly.

The vendor's wife entered the room, and when she saw Player, her eyes widened and she spoke to her husband, seemingly alarmed. He spoke with her calmly and then ushered Player to sit down on one of the cushions on the floor. Player took a seat, and the other children quickly chose their own cushions to sit on. He watched the vendor and his wife quietly argue, and then the wife stormed away from him, clearly exasperated.

She came back carrying a massive platter of food, and Player's stomach gave another loud growl. She set the platter down on the table in front of them, and she then set a gentle hand on Player's cheek and motioned towards the food. Player hesitated, but when he saw everyone else digging in, he reached for a naan and broke off a piece and dipped it into the dish of curry. The sweet taste of the Indian spices was delicious, and Player dipped another piece in and then another. He was so hungry that he didn't even notice when the wife got up and went into the kitchen to bring in more naan for him.

Player ate until he could barely move, but no one seemed bothered by the fact he had taken so much. The wife gave him another pat on the cheek as she cleaned up, and then the vendor placed a mango into his hands. Player's face flushed at the show of kindness.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

The man gave him a small nod, patted him on the head and then left the room to speak privately with his wife. Player tore into the mango with his fingers, and tried a bite, the sweet fruit tasting better than any fruit he'd tried in Canada. He ate the whole thing, and by the time he had finished, the vendor and his wife returned. He was given a damp cloth to wash his sticky hands, and then he watched as the vendor left the house. Player didn't have much time to consider this, because he was soon ushered into a room with the other kids, and as the others all laid down on the soft mats, he realized he was being put to bed.

"I need to get to the police!" Player told her, pointing towards the door.

She lifted her hands and made a sleeping motion and then pointed towards the mat.

"But-"

She gave him a not so subtle nudge, and Player found himself obeying, crawling onto the mat with the others. The wife selected a book from the bookshelf, settled herself down with the children and then opened to the first page. Player listened as she read the story, the children clearly enthralled, and by the pictures, he assumed it was a story about a princess and an elephant. Not understanding what she was saying made all of her words seem to blend together, and Player found the gentle hum of her words began making him sleepy. He fell asleep before the story had finished, and he didn't see the way the wife smiled at him gently. Once she settled all of her children, she covered them with blankets, and then quietly snuck out of the room, closing the door after her.

It was the smell of food that woke Player, and when he sat up, he saw he was the only one still in the room. Rubbing at his eyes, he slowly got up and then made his way towards the doorway. The family was eating breakfast and Player was waved over, and he eagerly joined them, remembering the delicious food from the night before.

Breakfast was naan, fruit and spiced chickpeas, and he eagerly had some of everything. Just as the wife was clearing the table, there came a loud knock at the door. The vendor got up to answer it, and when he opened the door, Viktor and Boris stepped inside.

"No!" Player cried out, scrambling to get up.

As he made to run for the other room, Viktor ran after him and quickly caught him by the arm. Player kicked and struggled, and then to his surprise, Viktor slapped him incredibly hard across the seat of his shorts. Player let out a sharp yelp and went still, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"Ow!" he complained. "You hit me!"

"Enough," Viktor said, his tone dangerous, "No more trouble, Matteo!"

Player glanced over at Boris just in time to see the man hand a wad of cash to the vendor. He'd been sold out.

"I trusted you!" Player yelled as Viktor began dragging him towards the door. "I trusted you!"

The vendor and his family seemed puzzled and somewhat concerned by Player's reactions, and Player wondered if perhaps they didn't know these were kidnappers. Did they think the Russians were his family? He saw the vendor try to refuse the cash, but Boris pressed it into his hand, and then Player was once again being dragged towards the door.

"Help!" he called out to the family, "Please help me!"

They said nothing as Player and the Russians left the house, and Player felt like all hope was gone. It was obvious the men were furious, and he wondered what they were going to do to him. They wouldn't break his legs so he couldn't run away, would they? He paled at the thought, and struggled uselessly against Viktor's hold. Viktor flashed him a warning look, and Player stilled, not wanting to be struck again. There was nothing he could do; he was completely at their mercy.

Player was taken to a nearby car, and he was made to get in. There was complete silence during the drive back, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

When they made it back to the walled house he'd escaped from, Boris and Viktor spoke in Russian with each other and seemed to be having some sort of disagreement. Player was pulled roughly out of the car and then dragged inside the house. He was shoved into his room, and the door was immediately locked. He heard a lot of yelling from the other room, and then a few minutes later Viktor entered carrying a jar of cream. Closing the door after him, he gave Player an angry look.

"I am supposed to give you a beating while I'm in here, but I'm not going to do that."

Player slowly took a seat on the bed. "Oh..okay," he said hesitantly, "Um, thank you?"

"You have betrayed the trust I showed you," Viktor informed him, "Do you have any idea how stupid and how dangerous it was to run off by yourself? You could have been killed!"

Player thought of Safiq and he averted his gaze. "You're kidnappers," he pointed out.

"Yes, we kidnapped you, Matteo, but haven't we treated you well? Haven't we been fair?"

"I want to go home," Player told him miserably.

Viktor sighed heavily. "I know you do, and you'll be going home in just a few days, I promise. Just hang in there a little while longer and we'll return you to your mother."

After the experience Player had on the streets, he knew it would be dumb to try it again. He gave him a resigned nod.

"Your sunburn is very bad," Viktor informed him, "I brought you some burn cream. Take off your shirt and I'll help apply it to your back and shoulders."

Player stared at the cream, and was desperate for a little relief from the agony of his sunburn. Pulling his t-shirt over his head, he saw Viktor wince at the sight of the blisters. He opened the jar, and the strong smell of chemicals filled the air as he scooped out a generous handful. He smeared it across Player's back and shoulders and then placed the jar into his hands.

"Don't rub the cream in, leave it to sit on your skin as a thick paste," he instructed, "I trust you can apply the cream to the rest of your body by yourself?"

Player flushed, and nodded. "Yes," he said in a small voice.

"I really should put those chains on you, little Matteo, but they would hurt your burns a lot. Just this once I will show mercy and not shackle you."

Player shot a frightened glance to the chains and hurriedly nodded.

"If you do something like this again, I'll have no choice but to use them, is this clear?"

Player gave another nod. Viktor nodded and then ruffled Player's hair with a sad sort of smile.

"If anyone asks you, tell them I gave you a beating," he instructed.

For a third time, Player nodded.

"I'll return shortly to check on you," Viktor promised, turning for the door.

Player watched him leave and then heard the lock click shut. As he applied the cream to his chest and stomach, Player felt like a complete failure. He'd accomplished absolutely nothing. He gave another glance to the chains and shuddered at the thought of having to wear them. He couldn't do anything stupid like this again or he could get himself killed.

Player had no choice but to depend on Team Red to save him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

August 7th

Neal stared out the motel window, a troubled look on his face. It had only been a week since Dash left the team, but he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was wrong. The team felt the fact that Dash was gone, and it left a rather somber mood. It was quiet without him there, too quiet for Neal's tastes, and he didn't like it.

Steve clearly missed Dash, and he stayed curled up on Dash's spot on the bed as if waiting for him to return. It was actually a bit sad, and Neal tried to make friends with the cat, but Steve made it incredibly clear that his attention was unwelcome. Neal glanced down at the scratch across his arm, and shook his head in amusement. Go figure that Dash would have found a cat with the exact same personality as him.

"Are you okay, Neal?" Crackle asked, approaching to stand next to him.

"I was just thinking about how quiet it's been lately."

Crackle's gaze shifted over to Dash's empty spot, and he gave a slow nod. "It is a lot quieter without the two of you always bickering," he acknowledged.

"Dash didn't want to work for Cleo any more, he wanted to be an operative. How can they force him to go back to being just a pretty accessory? How could they do that to him?"

"I'm sure V.I.L.E has their reasons, Neal," Crackle replied, feeling the need to defend his superiors.

He had called Dr. Bellum immediately after Dash had been taken, but it was obvious she didn't care. She'd dismissed his concerns, refused his request to return Dash, and then scolded him for wasting her time.

"They tore apart our team for absolutely no reason," Neal challenged, turning a glare on Crackle, "Cleo could have chosen absolutely any pretty guy to be her assistant, she didn't need Dash. Dash wanted to fight, he wanted to go on missions."

Crackle crossed his arms loosely and frowned. "I'm sure he's fine."

Neal narrowed his eyes. "I have no doubt he's physically fine, but is he happy? You heard the stories he told about how wretched Cleo is to work for. He didn't want to return to her."

Crackle averted his eyes. "There's nothing I can do about it, Neal, Dash is gone. We'll just have to get used to not having him around."

Neal went silent, but it was obvious he was still agitated. Crackle continued standing by his side, simply watching the other man's face as various emotions crossed it. Finally Neal glanced back to him with a frown.

"Our team feels broken now, Graham."

Crackle felt those words like a slap, and his eyes went back to Dash's empty spot. "...it does," he agreed.

"You hated Dash," Paper Star suddenly said from across the room.

They glanced over at her, and saw her expression was somewhat puzzled.

"I didn't hate him," Neal responded with a shrug, "I can't really think of anyone I hate to be honest."

"All you did was fight, why would you care whether he's gone?" she asked.

"We've all been together for a couple months now, love, aren't you even the slightest bit attached to us?"

"No."

Everyone turned to stare at her when she said that, and Neal gave her a smirk. "I think you do like us, but you're just not admitting it."

Paper Star cocked her head. "No, I don't care about anyone," she responded, expression as blank as ever. "I'm only here, because I was made to join this team in an attempt to control me. The head faculty thought I was killing too many people."

"It's okay to get attached to your teammates, love, we do spend a lot of time together. It's only natural."

Paper Star simply shook her head. "No, I really feel nothing for any of you."

The others stared at her in surprise, but had no response to that. Crackle frowned at her for a long moment and then let out a resigned sigh.

"Let's go for an afternoon patrol," he suggested, "There's no point in us just sitting around the motel moping all day. We should at least do something constructive."

"Carmen Sandiego is dead," Otterman stated, crossing his arms.

The atmosphere in the room became heavy, and no one said a word. They'd all been thinking it, but none had voiced it out loud. Crackle grimaced, knowing it was probably true, but he still turned towards the door.

"Come on," he ordered, "We'll do a quick circle of the neighbourhood, and then come back."

The others all exchanged looks, but they said nothing as they got up to do as they were told. Everyone followed behind Crackle silently, and they didn't so much patrol as just go for a walk through the park as a group. Double Trouble chatted with Moose Boy quietly as they walked, but the overall mood was pretty lousy.

"Perhaps we could go to Kazakhstan to see if we can find Team Red?" Otterman suggested, falling in step beside Crackle. "At least we'd be able find out where the tracker is."

"I already asked for permission to leave San Diego and the request was denied," Crackle said with a frown, "I think the faculty are planning something, but they're not sharing their plans with me."

Otterman frowned, and then reached up to adjust his glasses. "I tried doing a little poking around online, and I'm not seeing any mention of Team Red. I could see hints of Team Red's computer guy a few weeks back when he hacked into sensitive information from the Russian government, but after the shooting, he went silent. He seemed to have been doing a lot of investigations into Russia, but I'm not sure why."

"Everything always seems to point back to Russia," Neal said thoughtfully, "I know V.I.L.E has a 'secret' compound there that they think no one knows about, but I don't actually know what they do there."

"Well, we know there was some sort of battle," Otterman replied.

Crackle cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Almost everyone in our graduating year was killed during that fight, and the whole thing was incredibly hush hush," Otterman explained.

Neal nodded his agreement. "That was about ten years ago, wasn't it?"

Otterman nodded. "That was the same time my eyes were damaged in that accident."

"That was no accident!" Moose Boy suddenly said angrily.

Otterman hesitated, and he gave Crackle an uncertain look. "No...I suppose it wasn't."

Neal frowned in concern. "What do you mean it wasn't an accident? You've always told everyone that one of Bellum's inventions malfunctioned!"

Otterman averted his gaze, and Neal placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What aren't you telling us? What happened that day ten years ago?"

Otterman flashed a look towards Crackle, and Neal instantly understood.

"You can trust him, love, you can trust all of us! We won't tattle on you, I promise!"

Crackle considered Neal's words and then nodded his agreement. "I won't repeat anything you say to me," he promised.

Otterman shot an uncertain look towards Moose Boy who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Well, when we first became operatives, Henrik and I were good at our jobs; really good. Dr. Bellum sent us on a pretty standard mission to destroy all electrical devices within a compound located in Botswana. We were to place the device in a specific room and then activate it, and leave before it activated."

"And?" Neal prompted, "What happened?"

"We went to the room we were supposed to and instead of computers, we found a man. He was middle-aged, Russian and very full of himself. When he saw the device, he snatched it from my hand, saying he'd been waiting for a communication device to be sent from Bellum. He activated it, and instead of the electrical pulse it was supposed to do, it was a weapon of some sort. Hundreds of lasers burst out of the device and killed the man instantly. The lasers bounced off the walls around us and I got struck in the eyes."

Everyone was completely silent as they listened to this, and even Paper Star seemed surprised.

"We were meant to die on that mission," Otterman said, clenching his hands tightly. "Whoever that man was that we killed, V.I.L.E wanted no one to know about it. We only survived because of Henrik's fast reflexes, but I was nearly blinded. We pretended to believe the device malfunctioned, and we were allowed to live. We never did find out who the man was."

Neal frowned and scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Something suspicious has definitely been happening in Russia. I remember Dash told me that he'd been sent to Northern Russia five years ago and his group was attacked. He'd been forced to kill to survive, and he was the only one to make it out alive."

"Hundreds of operatives have died in Russia," Paper Star stated. "This is why there are so few left worldwide right now. V.I.L.E still hasn't recovered from the losses."

"The V.I.L.E compound in Russia is a lab," Crackle explained, "I spent a very short time there before Dr. Bellum brought me to her lab."

"A lab?!" Neal repeated, "Why have hundreds of operatives died over a lab?"

"The Russian man we met in Botswana said he was with an organization called Volkov," Otterman said, "He was working with V.I.L.E at the time, but he was clearly betrayed."

Neal looked a bit taken aback. "Volkov...that sounds really familiar to me somehow…"

"I've heard Dr. Bellum say the word a few times, but I don't know what it means." Crackle said, getting a really bad feeling about all of this.

"Why was Team Red investigating the lab?" Neal asked, "What are they doing up there?"

Crackle shrugged. "I have no idea," he replied, "That is the lab Dr. Vesalius operates at."

Otterman's eyes widened. "So...Team Red was investigating Dr. Vess' lab, and then it just happens to be Dr. Vess who shoots Carmen?"

Crackle stopped walking.

"What is it they're hiding that's worth killing so many operatives over?" Otterman asked.

Crackle had no answer, but suddenly everything seemed to be connecting.

"Maybe they're the reason your brain is so messed up?" Theodore suggested, "Maybe they did something bad to you?"

Crackle raised a hand to his head, knowing his memory problems were caused by V.I.L.E. Dr. Bellum had ordered him to not fight the fog, but he couldn't seem to stop, just wanting to know.

"Maybe Carmen Sandiego was taken by Vess back to Russia?" Roosevelt suggested.

"Hmm, I wouldn't put it past Vess to kidnap someone…" Neal said thoughtfully.

"If she's in Russia, then V.I.L.E must already know about it," Otterman pointed out, "Why would they keep that a secret?"

"It doesn't make sense…" Crackle acknowledged, "...unless they're doing something they don't want regular operatives knowing about…"

Everyone fell silent and exchanged a long look.

"Should...should we investigate Russia?" Neal asked hesitantly.

Crackle immediately shook his head. "No, if V.I.L.E doesn't want us to know, then we shouldn't pry into things. If Carmen has indeed been captured, then it's of no concern to us."

"Uhh, wombat?" Neal said with a frown, "Our whole job was to take down Carmen… If they have her in Russia, then what's the point of our team?"

Crackle went silent again. He stood there, simply looking lost and troubled for several long moments, and then he turned away. "Let's just get back to the motel."

Everyone gave him murmurs of agreement and they walked along in silence, every single one of them lost in thought. When they made it back to the motel, they saw their motel door was wide open.

"Someone robbed us?!" Roosevelt said in alarm.

"What in bloody hell?" Crackle exclaimed, drawing his crackle rod, and stalking towards the door.

The others followed after him, expecting a fight. When they stepped into the motel, they were met with the sight of the Cleaners and a tall dark-haired man with a clipboard stripping the room bare of absolutely everything.

The man looked up at them, and then gave Crackle a nod. "Team Crackle is now disbanded," he informed them, his tone crisp and business-like.

"What?" Crackle demanded, "Who are you?"

"I am the executive assistant to Professor Maelstrom," the man replied, "My name is Mal Evolence."

Neal snorted in amusement at the name, and the man narrowed his eyes in disapproval at him.

"We have collected your belongings, and you're to get in the car immediately to be taken to the airport," Mal told them, "Effective immediately this team no longer exists."

Everyone looked at each other somewhat helplessly, and Crackle crossed his arms.

"Where are we going?" he demanded.

"Crackle is to return to New V.I.L.E Island, Neal the Eel is to be stationed in New Zealand, Double Trouble are being stationed in England, and Paper Star is being stationed in Japan."

Neal let out a gasp. "You can't send Paper Star to Japan, there are people there who would kill her the second she gets off the plane!"

Mal gave a shrug. "Not my problem, I have my orders."

"What use is she dead to V.I.L.E?" Crackle demanded, stepping protectively in front of Paper Star. "There's been a mistake."

Mal glanced down at the paperwork in his hand and then he shook his head. "No mistake."

"No, they can't send her there!" Roosevelt insisted, "We'll go instead and she can go to England!"

Mal shook his head. "Those are not my orders. If you continue to argue, then I will have to report this as disobedience to the faculty."

Everyone looked to Paper Star who was standing very stiff and straight, her expression revealing nothing.

"I'll speak with Dr. Bellum," Crackle promised her.

"What about us?" Otterman asked, "Where have we been reassigned?"

Mal glanced down at his clipboard with a frown. "Nope, nothing at all about you. Looks like you're remaining in San Diego for now."

"What? Why?" Otterman demanded, "What are we supposed to do here?"

"I really don't care, and I doubt the faculty do either," Mal responded rudely.

"So we have no mission at all?!" Otterman asked in disbelief.

"It appears so," Mal answered, glancing through his paperwork.

Without saying a single word, Paper Star suddenly turned towards the door, and Mal's attention was instantly on her.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mal demanded, narrowing his eyes. "You have to stay here until it's time to leave!"

Paper Star didn't answer, and left the room, expression still suspiciously blank. Mal let out a frustrated sigh, and walked after her, clearly not in the mood to deal with this.

"Stop walking away from me, Paper Star," Mal ordered, "Get back here!"

Other than her shoulders stiffening, she gave no indication she heard, heading across the parking lot away from the motel.

Mal let out a muttered curse and then stomped after her. "Get in the car, right now, or I am going to get the Cleaners to restrain you! You have no choice in your assignment! Stop being difficult, and don't make me complain about you! You will obey the head faculty, and do as you're told!"

Paper Star didn't stop walking away from him and so he reached out and caught her by the wrist.

"Get in the ca-"

Mal didn't get a chance to finish that sentence because he suddenly found a paper star buried deep into his skull. His mouth opened and closed a few times in surprise, his hands fumbled a bit like he was reaching for the star, but then he fell backwards onto the pavement, dead before he hit the ground. Paper Star stared down at him coldly and then rubbed her wrist where he'd grabbed her.

Everyone stared in shock at the dead operative, watching as the blood began pooling under him. Suddenly Paper Star let out an exclamation of surprise and clapped a hand to her throat. She pulled a tiny dart out of her skin and stared at it, and then folded a star, turning murderous eyes to the Cleaners. She staggered a few steps as she took aim, threw the star, missed by about ten feet, and then fell to the ground. She blinked a few times, her eyes glazed, and the Cleaners approached her without saying a word.

"What are you going to do?" Crackle demanded, "What is going to happen to her?"

The Cleaners said nothing and simply bound Paper Star and then carried her to the nearby van. Paper Star's gaze was on Crackle, and for just a moment a look of deep sadness entered her eyes. She then closed her eyes, and went limp in the Cleaner's hold. They buckled her into one of the seats and then turned to deal with the body.

Team Crackle looked at one another in silence, realizing this could be the last time they saw each other. Crackle reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed Otterman all the cash he had, and the others quickly did the same.

"Will you take care of Steve for us?" Crackle asked, shooting a glance towards the motel room.

Otterman pocketed the wads of cash and nodded. "We'll take good care of him," he promised solemnly.

Crackle clapped him on the shoulder, expression somewhat distressed. "Thank you."

As Otterman and Moose Boy headed for the motel room to locate Steve, everyone else crawled into the van with Paper Star. The Cleaners were used to disposing of bodies and messes, and after a few minutes, they were done hiding the evidence and got into the van. As they began driving, there was complete silence in the van. The whole drive to the airport was a solemn affair, and they knew they would now be separated onto separate planes.

As they grabbed their bags out of the van, no one knew what to say. Neal threw his arms around Crackle in a bone-crushing hug, and then did the same to the twins. Theodore ruffled Neal's hair, and then they went their separate ways.

Team Crackle was no more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

August 7th

Siren eyed the absolutely enormous box that one of the guards dragged into the lab, and Vess looked up from what he was doing with a frown.

"What's that?" he demanded, "I don't remember ordering any new equipment."

The guard was breathing hard from the weight of the box and he took a second to respond. "Something for Siren," he replied.

Vess stared at the massive box with raised brows, and then glanced over at Siren. "What did you order?!" he demanded in disbelief.

Siren gave a shrug. "Dunno, don't remember," he responded evasively.

"You know I have to inspect everything you purchase," Vess reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

As the guard left the room, Vess got up from his desk and approached the box. Pulling out a letter opener, he sliced through the tape, and then opened the box. He then stared inside at the dozens upon dozens of seemingly random items. Reaching in, he pulled something out and then gave it a suspicious look.

"A fitbit?" he said skeptically, "You bought a fitbit?!"

Siren gave him another shrug. "Gotta get in those 10,000 steps. You're the one who keeps trying to get me to go to the gym."

Vess frowned at him. "You're actually going to exercise?" he demanded, not believing it for a second.

"I might," Siren replied, knowing hell would freeze over before he ever stepped foot into a gym.

Vess pulled out the next object. "A 25,000 piece jigsaw puzzle of a unicorn?"

"I get bored in my free time."

Vess pulled out the next item. "Glow-in-the-dark ghostbuster tube socks?"

He grabbed another item without waiting for a response.

"A ten pound bag of sour candies? A 50-pack of National Geographic? A calendar of elephants? An ant farm?! No, you are not releasing thousands of ants into this lab. This one is being confiscated."

Siren rolled his eyes but didn't comment.

"Cherry Dr. Pepper chapstick. Peanutbutter Oreos. A Yo-yo that screams. Ghost Pepper potato chips. An Airzooka? What's an Airzooka?"

"Something people use to clean dust out of corners," Siren answered innocently.

Vess looked over the plastic object, but it didn't seem dangerous and so he set it aside.

"10,000 live ladybugs? Those are confiscated as well. Emu jerky. Dill pickle bubble gum. Five identical WWJD t-shirts. Bootlaces. Headphones. A mug with breasts. A box of 500 clothespins. A skein of yarn."

Vess then let out an exasperated sigh, and glanced inside the massive box briefly, didn't see anything else that seemed to be contraband, and so he tossed everything back into the box.

"Oh, I don't even fucking care," he muttered to himself, "Just take it. I don't have time for this. Why did you order so much garbage?"

Siren shrugged once again. "I was bored."

"Get this box out of my lab," Vess ordered, heading back for his desk.

Siren set down his pen and then got up to approach the box. Knowing there was absolutely no way he was going to be able to lift it, he began pushing it in the direction of the door. Vess watched him in silence for a few seconds and then rolled his eyes when it became clear Siren wasn't going to ask for help.

"Braxton, carry that box for Siren before he ruptures a disc or something," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," Braxton responded, reaching down and easily hefting up the heavy box.

Siren gave Braxton a nasty look and didn't say a word as he left the lab, the guard following at his heels. They walked in complete silence, and once they made it to Siren's room, Braxton tossed the box carelessly into the room.

"Hey, watch it!" Siren snapped, "Those are all extremely valuable items!"

"The box has been delivered, and so now back to the lab," Braxton ordered, giving Siren a shove to get him moving.

"I want to put my stuff away!" he protested.

"Do it in your free time," Braxton responded, shoving him again. "You're scheduled to be working right now."

Siren knew any further arguments would end with him getting hit, and so he turned and walked away without another word. Braxton followed behind him like a threatening shadow, and Siren felt his hate only grow with every step they took. Today was the day. Today he would be rid of Braxton forever. When he re-entered the lab, he saw Michael was once again bothering Vess. Perfect.

"Do you want to play PS4, MJ?" Siren asked before he'd even fully entered the room.

Michael turned and stared at him in confusion. "No, I'm here to get Numa to take a lunchbreak with me," he answered, "Besides, you're a fucking cheat at games."

"Just because you suck, doesn't mean I'm a cheat," Siren replied.

Michael puffed up angrily. "You kept shooting me when I was on your team!" he bellowed, "You were literally helping the other team kill me!"

Siren gave him a shrug.

"Well, I'm not playing with you again, you cheating crybaby. I'm going to lunch with Numa!"

"And I told you I'm too busy," Vess replied.

"You always say that," Michael pointed out.

"Yes, and I'm always too busy," Vess answered impatiently, "Go hang around Siren if you're bored. He hasn't been doing anything productive anyway."

Michael frowned. "No, I want to spend time with you, not captain dickless!"

"Tough," Vess said, not looking up.

"MJ?" Siren interrupted.

Michael turned a glare towards him. "What?" he snapped.

"I think you do want to play PS4," Siren said, as he mimed smoking a joint.

Michael stared at him in confusion for a few seconds before realization crossed his face. "Oh...yeah. Okay…"

Vess glanced up and looked between Michael and Siren suspiciously, knowing they were up to something.

"Braxton, go with them and keep an eye on things," Vess ordered.

"Yes, Sir."

"Aw, i don't want this creep in our apartment!" Michael protested.

"Tough," Vess said for the second time.

"It's fine," Siren told him, "We'll just ignore him. I have some snacks in my room I can bring."

Michael glared at Braxton, but then nodded. "No cheating this time. Play the game right."

Siren rolled his eyes. "Fine."

As they left the lab, Siren could sense Braxton's annoyance, but he did his best to ignore it, knowing soon the other man would be gone forever. Braxton stayed out in the hall as he and Michael entered his room to grab snacks.

"You got the weed?" Michael whispered, glancing towards the door.

"Not yet, but I will today," Siren promised, "As soon as I can slip away from Braxton, I'll get it."

Michael seemed annoyed, and Siren backed up a step in case he lashed out. Michael then glanced around the very small room and frowned.

"Geez, who'd you piss off to get such a shitty room?"

"I've always had this room," Siren replied with a shrug, reaching to dig through the box of amazon items.

Pulling out the oreos, jerky and chips, he shoved them into Michael's hands, pocketed the laxatives, and then grabbed the massive Lego set. Michael stared in bewilderment at the box, and Siren gave him a shrug.

"Part of the plan," he explained, "Long story."

"This better end with me getting my weed back or I'm going to shove every single piece of that Lego-set up your ass until you're coughing up Lego dogs."

Siren raised a brow. "Lego dogs? Is that what you used to build when you were a kid?"

Michael flushed. "Lego is hard!" he defended. "All I could build were dogs!"

"For you, everything is hard," Siren muttered, turning towards the door.

Michael scowled angrily, and shoved him into the door hard, and Braxton opened the door to see Siren clutching a bloody nose. Without even asking what had happened, he raised his baton and began bringing it down hard across Michael's back and shoulders. Michael screamed and lashed out at the other man, but Braxton was stronger and couldn't be stopped. Siren grabbed Braxton's sleeve, and to his surprise, Braxton actually paused to look down at him.

"Michael didn't do it!" Siren lied, "I tripped and hit my face on the door! He had nothing to do with it!"

Braxton narrowed his eyes, but did reluctantly lower his baton. Michael was cursing up a storm, and Siren knew things were about to escalate, and so he grabbed Michael by the elbow and then pulled him towards the door. Michael allowed himself to be pulled, looking angry enough to murder.

"Today?" he snapped.

Siren nodded.

"Forever, right?"

Another nod.

"Good."

Braxton kept his baton out, and Siren had a feeling he was just waiting for an opportunity to use it. Surprisingly enough, Braxton didn't question the massive box of Legos, and a few minutes later they made it to Vess' quarters. Braxton took up position near the door, and Siren and Michael headed for the couch to pretend they were going to game.

"I'm going to put on Minecraft so you can't cheat," Michael informed him, tossing him a controller.

"I've never played Minecraft, but I know what it is," Siren replied.

Michael squinted at him. "How have you never played Minecraft?" he demanded, "You're my age, aren't you?"

Siren knew he looked a lot younger than he was, and so he said nothing, simply powering on his controller. They played in silence for a few minutes before Michael glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"When?" he demanded, ripping open the oreos.

"Very soon," Siren promised.

An hour later, Braxton shifted a bit and then started glancing around.

"Bathroom is to your right," Siren called over his shoulder.

Braxton glowered at him, but did head to the right for the bathroom. As soon as the door clicked shut, Siren grabbed the Lego set and turned to Michael. "He's going to beat me for this, and so you'd better keep up your end of the bargain!"

"I want that asshole dead," Michael hissed, "I'll help you, just get me my weed."

Siren nodded, and ran for the door, knowing he would only have a minute head start before Braxton was after him. Once out in the hall, he ran for it as fast as he could, just trying to put as much distance between them as possible. He plowed past a group of guards and didn't even slow down when one of them yelled after him.

Wishing he was in better shape, he kept running, taking the stairs down one floor to where the special patients were kept. Stopping at room B1-12, he stared at the metal plate fastened to the door. It had the two letters D.D engraved onto it, and he turned his attention to the lock. Having no idea if he was authorized to open these doors, he placed his hand against the reader. To his surprise, the lock clicked open and the lights next to the lock turned green.

Siren pulled open the door and slipped inside, closing the door after him. At first it seemed like the room was empty, but then he saw a foot underneath the bed.

"Creepy little girl?" he called out.

The foot disappeared and a moment later, DD peered out at him, expression wary. When she saw who it was, she scrambled out with a hesitant smile.

"Siren, you came back!" she whispered.

Siren stared at the little girl and saw she did not look well at all. Dark circles were under her eyes, and there were bruises all along her arms. Frowning, he reached out a hand and gently took her arm and turned it over so he could see the bruises. He saw the unmistakable marks caused by injections, and he thought of the little red-haired boy who used to always be covered in similar injuries.

Siren's hand went to his own arm that was also covered in scars from repeated injections, and he grimaced. DD stared at him, her eyes far too intelligent for her age, and reached out a hand towards his arm, clearly understanding his actions. Siren flinched away from her, and she pulled her hand back slowly, expression still concerned.

"You look sick," Siren commented, looking away from her.

"So do you," she responded worriedly, "You're skinny and tired looking. You need to eat more, and maybe take a nap."

"Mind your own business, you creepy brat," he snapped defensively, "There's nothing wrong with me."

DD stared at him for a long time, and then decided to change the subject.

"Where were you?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. "You were gone a long time!"

"I was getting your stupid toy!" Siren snapped, narrowing his eyes. "You have no idea how hard it was to get this to you!"

"Is that my toy?" DD asked, pointing at the box.

"Yes, it's a damn toy," Siren replied, turning it so she could see.

Her eyes got impossibly wide. "I've never seen a toy that looks like this!" she exclaimed, "What do I do?"

Siren set the box on the floor and then began prying the tape off. DD hovered right by his elbow watching, and when he opened the box, she deflated in disappointment.

"Oh," she said sadly.

"What is it?" Siren demanded, "You don't like it?"

"I love it, really...it's just...um...well, it's broken. Did you get mad and throw it?"

Siren blinked in surprise. "What? No! It's supposed to be like that!"

DD cocked her head and reached for a piece of Lego. "But...what do I do?" she asked.

Siren tossed the instruction booklet at her. "You put the pieces together to build the ship," he responded.

DD opened the booklet and stared at the words within. "I can't read yet…"

"Not my problem," Siren responded, "Now tell me where I left my stuff."

DD nodded and then crawled back under her bed. Siren got down and peered under to watch her, and DD pointed to a section of the wall.

"Here!" she instructed.

Siren crawled under the bed, and stared at the place she was pointing, realizing someone had cut a section of it out and replaced it. Had he done that? He had no memory of this. Using his fingernails, he pulled one of the tiles out of the wall, and saw there was a small empty space behind it. The bag of weed was there as well as the lighter, paper, wallet, and a long and sharp knife. Had he put that there?! Where did he get a knife?! Taking everything out, he crawled back out from under the bed and pocketed everything. There was no way he was leaving a knife in a room with a small child.

"Thanks," Siren said, turning to leave.

DD caught him by the sleeve, and he paused.

"Do you want to play with me, Siren?" she asked uncertainly, "Will you show me how to put the pieces together?"

Siren jerked his sleeve out of her grip, and rolled his eyes. "No."

DD seemed to shrink, and she nodded. "Oh...okay," she said quietly.

Siren frowned down at her, having no idea why he suddenly felt guilty. He hadn't even done anything! Siren glanced towards the door and knew Braxton would have already discovered he was missing, and was probably searching the whole building for him. Not especially looking forward to another beating, he let out a deep and over-dramatic sigh and then took a seat on the floor across from her.

"Let me see those instructions."

DD smiled and eagerly handed him the instructions. Siren flipped through them once, memorized them and then reached for the first piece.

"So, with Legos you can either build what's shown on the box or you can build something else," he explained, "This is the first piece we need if we build the pirate ship!"

DD bounced on her knees excitedly. "Yes, yes, let's build the ship!"

Siren and DD spent the next hour or so building the ship, DD relaxing the more she got into building. Siren recognized the same fear she displayed that the little red-headed boy had also displayed. What was that boy's name? Siren struggled to remember, but his memories were still somewhat jumbled. That boy had been older than DD and had endured many more years of the abuse and experiments. It had taken a long time to gain his trust.

Siren stared at DD as she smiled and put a piece in the incorrect spot, and he knew nothing but pain and death waited for this child. Dozens of children had died during the first experiments, and already DD was looking weak and sick. Correcting the piece's location, he sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do.

Siren would never admit he was enjoying bossing her around as they built the ship, and was snarky and rude every time she did something wrong. DD didn't seem bothered at all by his tone, and was clearly having fun, even if she didn't fully understand what they were doing.

Suddenly the door beeped, and began to open, and Siren quickly rolled under the bed out of sight. There was the sound of heavy boots entering the room and then Braxton's voice spoke up.

"Clear!" he called out loudly.

A moment later the footsteps disappeared, and the door closed. Siren waited a few moments, and then DD peered under the bed at him.

"You're not supposed to be here," she stated knowingly, "Don't worry, I won't tell on you. You're my friend, and friends don't tattle."

Siren peeked out from under the bed and when he saw it was safe, he crawled out. "I need to go," he told her, "Keep the Legos hidden underneath your bed so they don't try to take it from you."

DD frowned. "You're leaving?"

Siren nodded. "I can't get caught in here," he explained, giving a quick glance towards the door.

"But we didn't finish the ship!"

"Finish it yourself!" Siren snapped.

DD crossed her arms and gave him a scolding look. Siren let out a sigh, and then stared down at the half-finished ship.

"I'll try to come back another day," he promised.

DD smiled up at him. "Really?"

Siren nodded, and to his shock and disgust DD launched herself at him and hugged him tight. Whenever people made physical contact with him, it was always to hurt him, and he couldn't stop the instinctive gasp of fear that escaped him. Siren tensed up, expecting pain at any moment, but when there was none, he relaxed and frowned down at her.

"Get off me, you creepy little gremlin!" he complained.

DD looked up at him, her dark eyes clearly amused. "Goodbye, Siren!" she said, finally releasing him.

Siren made a big show of dusting himself off, and then turned towards the door. "Goodbye, Deedee," he said, pressing his hand to the keypad.

The door clicked open, and he peered out into the hallway but didn't see any signs of Braxton. Stepping out of the room, he took off running, heading for the stairs, hoping Braxton had gone the other way. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made it to the main floor, and then ran in the direction of Vess' quarters. Once again out of breath, he burst into the apartment, and Michael glanced up and paused his game.

"Braxton's pissed at you," he commented, clearly not caring.

"I bet," Siren agreed, approaching the couch.

Flopping down beside Michael, he reached over and grabbed the nearby can of Pepsi and took a large gulp.

"Ugh, that was mine!" Michael protested, giving him a dirty look.

"I'll buy you another damn Pepsi," Siren muttered, sagging in exhaustion.

"Did you get my weed?"

Siren rolled his eyes and then reached into his pocket. He tossed the bag, lighter wallet, and papers at Michael who was instantly all smiles.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, wasting no time in rolling himself a joint.

"Don't forget our deal," Siren reminded him.

Michael sighed and then stuck the joint behind his ear instead of lighting it. "Yeah, yeah, so what do you need me to do?"

"While Braxton is busy beating me, slip this in his gatorade." Siren ordered, handing over the bottle of laxative.

Michael stared at the bottle and then grimaced. "Ew, no way! He is not having volcano-butt in my bathroom! I live here, dumbass!"

"You'd rather Braxton stay around forever?" Siren challenged.

Suddenly Michael's phone began ringing, and the boy pulled it out of his pocket. "It's Numa," he stated.

"Don't you dare tell him about any of this!" Siren hissed.

Michael kicked him, and then answered the phone. " 'lo?"

"Michael, where are you?" Vess demanded, his voice sounding concerned.

"I'm playing my PS4," he replied, "Why?"

"Siren went missing, and Braxton is unable to find him anywhere," Vess explained, "We have to presume he's in a bad mental state and dangerous. Go lock the door and do not leave, do you understand?"

Michael frowned at him. "What are you talking about? Siren's right here."

Vess blinked in surprise. "What?"

Michael turned the com so Vess could see Siren sitting beside him. Siren waved and Vess narrowed his eyes.

"Hand Siren your phone," he ordered.

Siren took the phone and Vess stared at him angrily.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, "I just received reports that you went missing!"

"I've been right here with MJ," Siren responded with a shrug. "Braxton's been acting really odd today though. I think he may have mixed cocaine with liquor. He's been ranting and pacing around a bit erratically."

Vess sighed. "Siren, where were you?"

"Right here," Siren repeated, taking another swig of Michael's Pepsi.

"We will discuss this later," Vess promised, "Do not move from that spot. I'm going to let Braxton know where you are."

"He's dangerous, Numa," Siren stated, "Aren't you worried he could do something to Michael?"

It was obvious Vess didn't believe a word he was saying, and simply sighed. "Don't move," he repeated.

The call then disconnected, and Siren tossed the phone back to Michael.

"He's gonna wreck you as soon as he gets here," Michael stated, cracking open another Pepsi. "I'm not going to help either."

Siren knew this was true, and didn't see any way to avoid it. "Just make sure to pour the whole bottle in once he's distracted."

Michael sighed but still nodded in agreement. "Fine."

Siren didn't have to wait long, and within minutes the door crashed open and they both glanced over to see a frothing angry Braxton. Siren sank down lower on the couch, and Braxton crossed the room, not saying a single word. Braxton slammed his gatorade bottle down onto the coffee table and then reached for Siren.

"Erm, hi," Siren greeted, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

Still saying nothing, Braxton grabbed a hold of him by the front of the shirt and ripped him off the couch. Braxton then carried him away from the couch to a more open area, Siren's feet a good foot from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michael tampering with the gatorade, and so now he just had to make sure he was still able to walk after this beating.

As Braxton removed his baton from his belt, Siren reached a hand into his coat pocket for the knife.

"You never learn!" Braxton hissed out between clenched teeth. "How many times do I have to beat you for the same thing?!"

As Braxton raised the baton over his head, Siren lashed out with the knife. He cut across Braxton's hand and as predicted he was reflexively dropped to the ground. Scrambling away from the enormous man, Siren clenched the knife tightly, and took on a defensive pose, ready to defend himself.

"Oh, shit!" Michael called out excitedly, "Knife fight!"

Siren didn't answer, never taking his eyes from Braxton as the man stared down at his injured hand in shock. His expression then turned absolutely murderous, and he began stalking towards Siren, baton once again raised over his head. Siren was small and skinny, but he was fast and he jumped back as Braxton took a swing at him.

"Stop!" Siren yelled out, "Just calm down for a second!"

Braxton said nothing at all, instead coming at Siren again and again. Siren remembered going through training at the academy, but hand-to-hand combat was never his strong suit. He'd passed all his classes, but Brunt only passed him because he stabbed his competitor with a pencil, not because he actually had any real skill. She stated she liked his ingenuity, and said it was a useful skill to have in the field. Siren never got to see his first mission because V.I.L.E kidnapped him before he got the chance to graduate.

Siren jumped back again, and his back hit something which fell to the floor and shattered. Not taking his eyes off Braxton, he stepped away from the broken glass on the floor, and then swung the knife at Braxton who was a bit too close for comfort. The knife didn't make contact, but it did make Braxton take a step back.

"Stop trying to attack me like a fucking gorilla and just listen for a moment!"

"You will drop the knife, or I will make you drop it!" Braxton threatened.

"I will drop the knife if you just listen to me!" Siren responded, swinging out at Braxton wildly as the other man once again came too close.

"Drop the knife now, or I am going to double your punishment!" Braxton threatened, "You will learn to obey, Siren, and it's your decision whether you want 20 or 40 blows."

"Wait, you're planning on hitting me twenty times?!" Siren asked in alarm.

Braxton had never hit him more than ten or twelve times previously, and the thought of twenty was horrifying.

"Soon to be forty," Braxton stated, once again swinging at him.

Siren readjusted his grip on the knife, and knew he was screwed. Braxton outweighed him by like two hundred pounds, and there was no way he would win this fight. He doubted he could do anything after getting hit that many times, and this whole plan would have been for nothing. Siren's mind raced, and tried to think of anything at all he could do. A hundred possible scenarios played out in his mind, very few of which played out in his favour. The only way he could see possibly getting out of this was lying, lying, and more lying. If there was one thing Siren could do, it was tell a believable lie.

"I don't deserve to be beaten!" Siren announced, "I was only following orders!"

Braxton took a swing at him, it almost made contact and Siren ducked away.

"Calm down for just a second, and I'll tell you what I was doing!"

"I don't care what you were doing," Braxton replied, "You disobey, and you get a beating. It's as simple as that."

"I didn't disobey!" Siren insisted, "I received a call from the head faculty, and they assigned a mission to me."

Braxton narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

"I'm not only a scientist, but also an operative," Siren explained, "I attended the academy, and I was assigned here years ago. I have been working in secret for them for over a decade now!"

"Bullshit," Braxton snarled, "I was assigned to be your prison guard because you're a lunatic. The faculty doesn't give a shit about you!"

Siren's palm was sweating and he tightened his grip, eyeing the bigger man warily.

"No, it's actually the opposite," Siren corrected, "I'm the genius they protect at all costs because I alone know the secrets of this lab. I'm V.I.L.E's most valuable asset, and this is why they assigned you to protect me."

"What utter garbage," Braxton snapped, "They would have told me this."

"Naw man," Michael suddenly commented from where he was watching, "The eunuch's actually telling the truth. He was the only survivor of the original lab, and he's the only one who knows the secrets. Numa told me that when we were in Kazakhstan."

Braxton stared at Michael and scowled, clearly not believing it.

"The faculty contacted me about an hour ago," Siren explained, "I had to follow orders, and I only did what I was supposed to."

Braxton's hand lowered a fraction, and Siren knew this was progress.

"Okay, look, how about I tell you everything that happened, and you can decide for yourself? Take a seat on the couch, and I'll drop the knife. If you decide I still deserve it, then I will willingly submit to a beating and not give you a hard time about it."

Braxton looked angry enough to rip off his head, and he stayed silent for nearly a full minute as he considered the request. Siren shifted during the uncomfortable silence, and when Braxton finally lowered the baton, Siren let out a breath of relief.

"Fine, but you're not going to talk your way out of this." Braxton said, "Now drop the knife and kick it away."

Siren shook his head. "Not until you sit down so I know you're not just going to grab me."

Braxton gave him a monstrously angry look, but he did take a seat on the couch beside Michael.

"Aw, no one got stabbed," Michael commented in disappointment.

"Drop the knife," Braxton ordered.

Siren dropped the knife to the floor and kicked it under the couch, knowing he could get it back if he needed it.

"Alright, now talk," Braxton ordered, reaching for his gatorade.

Siren watched the man take a large gulp and then knew he just had to buy some time. "To completely understand the situation, I need to explain my mission in full," Siren said, cautiously taking a seat on the other side of Michael. "It all started ten years ago…"

Siren had always had a gift for lying, and he could spin a story on the spot. Even Vess, who was incredibly smart and perceptive, had a difficult time discerning when Siren was lying to him. Siren had no problem maintaining eye-contact when lying, and his tone was always steady and believable.

Siren began telling a tale that began all the way back in the academy days about an ultra secret mission that he was personally selected for due to his eidetic memory. He described special training the head faculty had provided him, and then they sent him to the labs with one mission: discover the secret to eternal life. He described in great detail the progress the lab had been making on the subject, and how they were trying to keep this information a secret from V.I.L.E. Through careful work, he discovered the secrets, but when they realized there was a spy, they lit the entire lab on fire to destroy all evidence.

Braxton sat there through this very, very long explanation, sipping his gatorade, and Siren hoped the laxatives would kick in soon. Michael was staring at him in awe, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, listening to every word he said with rapt attention.

Siren went on to explain how he was injured during the destruction of the lab, and he had trouble remembering the entire formula. Every time he remembered a bit more of the formula, he would send this information to the head faculty, and they would order him to test it out. He explained how he'd been sitting there on the couch with Michael when they called up and ordered him to once again create a new vaccine and test it out on one of the lab mice.

By this time, Braxton was starting to shift uncomfortably, and Siren knew it wouldn't be long now. He continued to blather about the details of these missions he was sent on, and he watched as a sheen of sweat began appearing on Braxton's face. The man's eyes started to look a bit panicked, and still Siren kept talking, simply watching and waiting.

Braxton suddenly stood up. "I'll be right back. Don't you dare move!"

Braxton then ran for the bathroom as fast as he could, and Siren let out a snort.

"I didn't know any of that!" Michael exclaimed in awe, "How come Numa never told me about this?"

"Because it was all bullshit," Siren replied, standing up from the couch.

Michael's eyes widened. "You made everything up?!"

Siren nodded. "Yep," he replied, reaching for something on the couch.

Braxton had left behind his baton, and Siren immediately pocketed it, not wanting the other man anywhere near it.

"So, how is this going to get rid of Braxton?" Michael demanded. "Is he going to shit himself to death?"

"Unfortunately no," Siren replied, "There's only one way I can see us getting rid of Braxton."

"Oh?" Michael questioned.

"I need to go right now, but I'll be back," Siren promised, hurrying for the door.

Siren knew he had a good while before Braxton would be able to leave that bathroom, and so he began hurrying down the hallway. He needed to be able to make a mental map of the entire facility, and so he began opening every single door he passed, glanced inside for only a moment, and then went on to the next door. His eidetic memory was constructing the map for him as he went, and everything he saw was carefully filed away for later.

He ignored everyone as he made his way through the building, simply opening doors without a single word. He accidentally came across a few too many people 'secretly' making out, but he said nothing and just kept going from room to room. The building was absolutely enormous, and after two hours, he had finally looked inside every room he had access to.

Knowing Braxton was likely already on the warpath, Siren ran in the direction of the lab to start putting his plan into motion. When he burst into the door of the lab, Vess visibly jumped and then he glowered over at Siren angrily.

"I wish you wouldn't enter the room like that!" he snapped, "Where is your guard?"

Perfect. Braxton hadn't reported his disappearance for the second time.

"Numa, Braxton is out of control!"

Vess turned his attention back to his laptop. "Uh huh."

"No, for real this time! He's seriously messed up in the head! I really think the drugs and alcohol are making him lose his mind!"

"Siren, we've been over this again and again. Making up lies about Braxton is not going to make me fire him."

"I'm not lying!" Siren snapped, "He just trashed your living room, and now he's going to kill me!"

Vess sighed and didn't comment.

"Don't you care that he's trying to kill me?!"

There was no response.

"Numa! He's seriously going to kill me if he gets his hands on me! I need your help! Please don't let him get me!"

Vess turned unamused eyes to him.

"Dammit, Numa! If I'm dead, you'll never get what's inside my head!"

Vess' eyes widened. "What do you remember?!" he demanded in alarm.

"Are you going to help me or not?" Siren demanded.

"I'm not firing Braxton, Siren. He's not going to kill you, and I'm not going to stop him from beating you. If you would stop disobeying him, you wouldn't have this problem!"

"Then it's your fault when he kills me," Siren replied, leaving the lab once again.

Siren smirked to himself once he was out of sight. The seeds were now planted in Vess' mind, and now he just had to complete his plan. Running along the hallway, he caught sight of Braxton ahead, and ducked into a room just before he was seen. Braxton charged past the room, and Siren waited a moment and then continued down the hallway, heading back to Vess' living quarters.

Once he arrived, he opened the door, and once again Michael looked up at him, this time with a scowl. The entire apartment reeked of diarrhea and Siren gagged, and clapped a hand to his nose.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you for this," Michael snarled at him, "He ruined our apartment!"

"Later," Siren told him, pulling the baton out of his pocket. "I'm about to get Braxton fired."

"How?" Michael asked.

Without a word, Siren began smashing everything he could in the living room with the baton. Michael stared at him completely dumbfounded, and simply watched. When Siren was finally done, the living room was completely destroyed, and Siren then approached Michael.

"Okay, now I just need you to do one thing for me," he told him.

Michael glanced around at all the destruction around him, then looked up at Siren in question.

"What do you need me to do?"

Siren held out the baton towards him. "Beat me as hard as you can."

Michael simply stared at him. "What?"

"Beat me so badly Numa can't ignore it, and you tell him Braxton did it. Tell him Braxton went crazy, destroyed the entire room, and then he tried to kill me."

Michael squinted at him suspiciously. "You mean I can beat you as hard as I want and you won't tattle on me?"

Siren nodded. "Exactly."

"For real?"

Another nod.

Michael reached out and took the baton. Siren was never very good with pain, but he was smart enough to know that one bad beating was better than months of smaller ones. Braxton had to go, and this was the only way he could think to get rid of him. Siren knew how valuable he was to V.I.L.E and if Braxton endangered his life, V.I.L.E would choose Siren over Braxton any day.

"Please don't knock out any of my teeth," Siren requested.

Michael got to his feet, and then stared at the baton in his hand. "You're really serious about this?"

When Siren nodded, Michael swung the baton at him as hard as he could, landing a powerful hit to Siren's stomach. Siren let out a cry of pain and then hit the floor.

Michael grinned down at him, a manic look entering his eyes.

"If you really insist!" he said, bringing his arm down again and again.

Siren screamed and cried as he was beaten, but Michael didn't stop for an instant, obviously having the time of his life. The agony was beyond anything Siren had ever felt before, and he felt his ribs snapping as Michael brought the baton down. A blow to the head made his vision blur, and he felt the warm stickiness of blood begin to pool under him. When Siren finally lost consciousness, it was to the sound of Michael's laughter.

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TBC