Chapter 82.

With lockdown returning to England in less than 24 hours, I'm going to have a lot more time to write (YAY!). I know this story has a decent number of followers and for that I am very grateful. If there's anything in particular you would like to see more of in the upcoming chapters, feel free to drop a review with your suggestion(s). I'd love to hear from you.

-x-

John hated shopping.

Food shopping, in particular.

He'd only visited a supermarket twice in his life. Once when he'd been called down to help Virgil clean up after an earthquake in western Iran, and once when he, Virgil and Scott had been young and still living at their mother's ranch in Arizona. Lucy had been heavily pregnant with Gordon and developed a sudden and unexpected craving for strawberries. Unable to locate any in the house, she'd bundled her three boys into the car, fishtailed to the nearest supermarket, raided the fruit and veg section and blown her credit card on five acres of berries she'd proceeded to puke up ten hours later.

John had found the entire experience rather unsavoury. The way certain people insisted on experimentally squeezing every single piece of fruit before selecting one had haunted him well into adulthood. Talk about a complete disregard for hygiene. No wonder the world had struggled so badly with pandemics during the first quarter of the century…

The 'convenience' store Gordon had led them to turned out to be lot bigger than any of them had anticipated. It spanned two floors and looked like the Argentinian equivalent of Harrods.

Scott's thinking appeared to be travelling down the same path.

"Gordon!" the eldest snapped, dread pooling in his stomach when he saw Alan's eyes widen in excitement, "I thought you said this was just a convenience store!"

The aquanaut shrugged and merrily grabbed a trolley, "It's located a convenient distance from the house, isn't it?"

Scott's face was a picture of artistic exasperation.

"Look on the bright side," Virgil interjected, "It looks as if we've got the place to ourselves. I've always said that late night shopping is the way to go if you don't like crowds or queuing."

The scowl on John's face almost summoned a rainstorm, "Yeah, there's a reason nobody else does it, Virg. People who shop at night only do so because they don't want to be seen during the day. We'll probably get picked off one by one as we make our way around."

"If that's the case, I'm heading straight to the alcohol aisle," Scott announced, "Virg, make sure Gordon doesn't end up executed in the dairy section, would you? Then again, I'm fairly certain he could weaponize his lactose allergy and defend himself if absolutely necessary."

Gordon ignored Alan and Kayo's snickers of amusement, his attention preoccupied with the much more purposeful task of locating two spare shopping carts.

"Laugh if you must," the aquanaut sighed, sliding the trolley he'd already secured over to John before scampering off to retrieve another one, his savaged arm cradled against his chest, "But shopping at night really is the best time. The empty aisles and lack of staff make for the perfect battleground."

John could feel a few greys begin to make an appearance, "Battleground for what, dare I ask?"

Gordon beamed and vaulted into the basket compartment of the second cart he'd just retrieved, "Tracy Trolley Wars!"

A turquoise eye twitched slightly.

"I am ashamed to share your DNA."

-x-

Havoc was completely and utterly stumped.

Her ass was well and truly stuck.

She heaved and hoed and, god forbid, screamed at the offending chimney she'd crawled up and subsequently gotten wedged in.

Damn those Tracy boys. Damn the Hood's obsession with them. Damn their nine figure net worth. Damn their state-of-the-art biometric technology. Damn their rich asses. Damn her own ass for being a lot bigger than she'd realised.

And damn Scott Tracy for being so easy on the eyes. Sure, she'd snogged him purely for DNA purposes, but she'd be lying if she said her brain hadn't done a little dance number afterwards. How many women could say they'd had lip action with the leader of International Rescue?

Eat that, Kayo!

A cloud of soot and loose cement suddenly crumbled down the chimney, dusting Havoc's hair and making her cough. Scowling, she squinted upwards, her pulse quickening in case it was one of the Tracys in sniffer dog mode.

"Sis?" came the nonplussed voice of her brother, "What're you doing down there?"

"Fuse!" Havoc wheezed, squirming feebly in an attempt to dislodge herself, "I didn't get the DNA. Have you told the boss yet?"

Fuse shook his head and braced his hands against the chimney's crown, "He thinks you've deactivated your comm as a security measure. He's clueless beyond knowing that you gained entry to the party without tripping any alarms."

Havoc groaned loudly, "I'm so dead."

"Not yet," Fuse corrected, "I just saw the Tracys and Kayo head outside. If we follow in the Cruiser, we should be able to corner one of them long enough to get whatever samples the boss wants. Sit tight, I'm going to get a rope to pull you out."

"Hurry up!" Havoc snapped, "It's dark, it's cold, and I can see a pigeon about to do a crap on my head."

A quiet chuckle filtered down from the rooftop. Havoc chose to ignore it.

"I could rig some detonators up outside the store they're currently in," Fuse carried on, "No casualties, but they'd be trapped under debris until the GDF rocked up. Reckon that would give us enough time to grab the spit and fingerprints before legging it?"

Havoc shuddered upon remembering how intent Gordon and Kayo had been on catching her. The Tracys would probably chew their own arms off before allowing themselves to be financially exploited by her or her dolt of a brother.

More to the point, they would probably chew their own arms off before allowing themselves to be financially exploited by the Hood.

There was an old saying that money couldn't buy happiness, but Havoc begged to differ.

She'd much rather cry in Scott Tracy's brand new Lamborghini.

-x-

"Okay guys," Gordon began, propelling his trolley forward by rocking his weight from side to side, "The rules are simple: teams of two compete against each other to find all the items on a single shopping list first. The person in the basket grabs the items, while the other person pushes the cart. No switching of roles is permitted. Lady Penelope just sent me a rundown of everything she reckons we'll need and the quantities. Virg, you're with me, whether you like it or not."

The engineer schooled his expression into one of mock disappointment, but didn't object. He knew he and his fish brother made a formidable team.

John wasted no time in snatching Alan and manhandling him into the spare cart Gordon had acquired, ignoring the youngest's frantic squawks of protest. As the smallest and lightest, he'd be the easiest to both push and bully.

"Looks like you're stuck with me," Scott commented, throwing Kayo one of his flirtatiously lopsided grins. Thunderbird Shadow's pilot smirked and held her hand up for a high-five.

"How are we supposed to know what to get if you're the only one with a copy of the list?" John asked, absently sanitising the handles of his trolley.

Gordon braced one hand against the side of the basket he was sat in and swiped his phone screen with the fingers of the other, "I've just sent you and Scott a copy. Given the number of people Penelope's managed to invite back, getting three trolley loads shouldn't be too excessive. Okay, now we're going to need a referee of sorts..."

Six sets of eyes locked onto the snoozing security guard by the entrance.

"Excuse me, sir?" Gordon approached the slumbering man with the same level of caution as if he were disarming a bomb, "Sir? Excuse me?"

A snort, a grunt and an irritated scowl, closely followed by a heavily accented, "What do you want?"

Gordon threw the man an apologetic smile, "My brothers and I need someone to independently verify which of us wins the 2062 Tracy Trolley War. Would you be kind enough to partake? I promise it'll be the most fun you've ever had while on duty."

A shrug, "Whatever, kid. Just don't steal anything."

Satisfied with the rather blunt verbal consent he'd been given, Gordon motioned for Virgil to push him through the electronic doors. John and Scott had the decency to look embarrassed as they followed with Alan and Kayo.

"On your marks!" Gordon yelled, leaning over the front of his trolley like a dog with its head out the window, "Get set!"

John felt his heartrate quicken as he hastily pulled up Penelope's list. He had no clue how the supermarket they were in was laid out and couldn't ask EOS to send him a scan of the building's blueprints either (Gordon had forbidden the AI from 'helping' her creator in any way). All he had were his instincts and Alan's terrible sense of direction.

Scott and Kayo shared a look of silent confidence. Virgil was strong and John was smart, but Scott was fast.

And the Tracy Trolley Wars were all about speed.

"GO!"