After about half a year since putting out the last chapter, this one is finally ready to be put up. I would like to thank both Numbuh 777 and Rioludoodle. This chapter would not be nearly as good as it is without their help.

The piece below is by far the longest single chapter that I have ever written to date and is longer than some of my multiple chaptered stories. Including my notes, it is just short of 8,000 words.

And now it is complete. I hope that you find that it was worth the wait.

How On Earth: Chapter 12

"Another cup," Grandfather's duplicate called out, having finishing his third. It was the best prune juice he'd ever had the fortune of tasting. And to think, it had been hidden under a school playground, and accidentally uncovered by his own grandson, no less!

"Um, sir?" the citizombiefied Principal Saurbraughten asked nervously, earning himself a glare,"Don't you think that your original might want to hear about this?"

The duplicate glared at the citizombie and said, "I'll tell him when I'm good and ready and not a second before. Don't question me again."

He'd been playing errand boy ever since he'd been summoned into existence. 'Go deliver a message to the other duplicate,' 'Go check and see why supplies are being diverted…' Well, he'd done that already, and now he was going to sit and enjoy the benefits of freedom for as long as he pleased. What was the worst that could happen, that his original would recall him? It was bound to happen soon enough anyway, he might as well enjoy himself while he could.

Suddenly, another citizombie came running up to him as fast as his arthritis-ridden legs could carry him.

"Sir! There's a group of children on the school grounds, including Kids Next Door operatives."

The duplicate turned to him immediately, growling, "What?"

"Children…" huffed the tired citizombie, "They were running back and forth between a truck and some hole in the ground when my scouting team found them."

"And where is this scouting team?"

His minion replied, "They were sprayed with some fluid that made them younger. It changed them back from being citizombies."

The doppelganger clenched his teeth. He didn't like the sound of that one little bit.

"Show me," he ordered as he snatched up another cup of juice that was being offered to him before following the scout out the door.

Taking a path running between the hodgepodge of nests, the rodents finally rounded a corner where they could again see the chief's spot. Joaquin could see the guinea pig leader sitting in a makeshift throne. The chief's fur was brown and tan. He wore a white crown on his head and a stubby pencil through his nose. Dangling around his throat was a necklace of purple buttons, and wrapped around his midsection was a waistband hung with aluminum soda tabs.

Joaquin tried not to look nervous. He was about to ask for the help of one of the most feared beings of hamster legend. This was the leader of the rodents who were cast aside for Joaquin's kind and banished to the darkest corners of the treehouse. This was the guinea pig he had braved the entire, crazy night to find.

The chief was talking to another guinea pig at the moment, but when the one escorting Joaquin called out to him, he looked up and saw the hamster in tow. The guinea pig chief studied the smaller rodent for a moment before giving a command to the one which had brought him. Joaquin figured the larger rodent was probably demanding something along the lines of an explanation for his presence.

In response, the other guinea pig lifted his spear and hooted like the monster they had encountered earlier. Then, he made a throwing gesture as he said something else, which was greeted by a few cheers from the other guinea pigs in the room. The chief allowed the ruckus to continue for but a moment before silencing the crowd with a gesture.

Joaquin's chaperone tapped the butt of his spear on the ground three times, and then he pointed at the hamster present. Joaquin realized that the guinea pig was describing the encounter in which he and his team had been found.

Another guinea pig appeared and looked at Joaquin with a dumbfounded expression before erupting into excited chatter, a flurry of words too fast for Joaquin to try to grasp any of them.

Apparently, this was also true for the guinea pig chief, who huffed in annoyance and warbled something at the other that prompted it to slow down.

As the talkative rodent continued speaking at a more reasonable pace, surprise crossed the chief's features. His astonishment was followed by disbelief as he gestured first to Joaquin and then to himself as he talked. The fast-speaking guinea pig nodded.

Joaquin put two and two together that the gabby guinea pig recognized him as the treehouse's top hamster. Apparently, while the hamsters had been avoiding the guinea pig tribe, the tribe had been busy watching the hamsters.

The guinea pig chief stood up and approached Joaquin. The hamster drew himself up as tall as he could and tried not to look scared. Stoically, the larger rodent stopped in front of Joaquin, crossing his arms and studying him with scrutiny.

Said hamster thought about everyone back at the base in order to fortify his courage, which was being stretched to its limits in this situation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Joaquin decided to swallow his fear and take the initiative. He smiled and waved, greeting, "Hehwo."

It was a gesture that worked for humans; he figured it might work for the guinea pigs too. They had once lived with the humans, after all - or at least their ancestors had.

The chief lifted an inquisitive eyebrow but replied in kind.

"Hehwo."

Joaquin let out a deep breath. Before beginning to explain why he had come, he took a moment to contemplate how to proceed. He was thankful for the abilities he'd developed in his need to communicate with the humans, immensely glad that those same skills would be useful in overcoming the current language barrier. The hamster desperately hoped that these negotiations would not turn out to be all for nothing.

Grandfather's duplicate landed next to a still modern-looking tanker truck and glanced back at the citizombie who had led him there. He asked, "Is this the one?"

"Yup," affirmed the citizombie, "The kids were unloading the back when we found them."

Grandfather's duplicate nodded, taking a sip from the cup in his hand as he circled around the vehicle. It was an unremarkable tapioca courier, one that had been around before he had awoken and agified the world.

He telekinetically opened the back and saw that all but a few boxes had already been removed. One of the leftovers was lying sideways, its cup sized containers spilling tapioca haphazardly across the floor.

This was what those snot nosed brats were unloading? What did they even want it for? They had about as much use for tapioca as he did for the garbage that Robin Food and his cronies brought to the retirement home. He cringed at the memories and made a note to find those lazy, singing annoyances and get vengeance for the dietary issues they'd caused him in his more helpless, brainwashed state. Only a week ago, they had dropped a meatball sandwich onto his plate, bragging about how the kid they had captured as the first place prize in the Villain's Choice Awards wouldn't have any need of it.

Okay, so they had dropped it onto his original self's plate - but both the original and duplicate Grandfathers had the same memories, so what difference did it make?

At that, he shook his head to clear it of distractions and returned to contemplating the mystery of the tapioca stealing children…. Why do it? To what end could those brats possibly use it?

… Well, he was not going to find any more answers in the back of the truck.

"I suppose I could always go over and ask them," he said aloud as he left the tanker, hovering a few feet above the ground. Of course, he wouldn't actually ask them before he personally terrorized them to the point that they'd be begging to talk. It was a pity that as a duplicate he was incapable of agifying the brats.

Suddenly, he was interrupted from his thoughts by an unexpected presence.

"I sent you out here to find out why supplies are being diverted hours ago. What have you been doing?" questioned the newly-arrived Grandfather duplicate. Then, noticing the cup in the first duplicate's hand, he pointed to it and asked, "And what is that?"

"We have more important things to discuss now," still, the first duplicate drank from the cup before continuing, knowing that such a display would only further annoy his counterpart. He said, "A bunch of brats just freed some of my citizombies out here…"

"Here, too?" asked the other, concerned, "To have this happen at one location is bad enough, but two? We could have real trouble on our hands if we don't quash this problem quickly." He slammed his closed fist into his other open palm to emphasize his point.

Rather than rag on the other for stating the obvious, the more informed duplicate instead queried, "And do you know what they were doing before they were found?"

"What?"

"They were smuggling tapioca! Explain that one."

The other frowned confusedly at his look alike, glancing first into the back of the truck and then back at him, still bewildered. "What do you think they're up to?" he questioned as the hoard of citizombies finally caught up.

The first responded, "I have no better idea than you, but whatever it is, I don't like it."

"Then perhaps we should go find out," the other said before he turned to the citizombies, shouting impatiently, "Well, what are you waiting for? Go find out where those brats went!"

For some time, the citizombies searched fruitlessly. Then, one found the entrance in a ditch not far from the school's fence, camouflaged by a series of holes where children had dug their way out of the main building. The citizombie, with his wrinkled hands, lifted away the scrap metal that blocked the entrance, only to meet with a spray of de-aging water to the face. The others noticed just in time to see a now younger, dripping wet figure dart down the hole, past whoever had freed him from the agification. The entrance immediately closed up behind him.

The duplicate holding the prune juice took another sip as he watched his doppelganger approach the hole. The clone blasted a fireball at the trash, which was being used to block a dingy opening. Glowing red around what was left of its edges, the sheet fell down into the hole, warped and smoldering from the heat of the blast.

The duplicate stuck his head into the space below, laughing, "Ha! You expect me to be scared of a water toy?"

From somewhere within the opening in the ground, a young girl's voice answered in an obnoxiously confident tone, "Yes."

Suddenly, the duplicate filling up the entrance disappeared right before his counterpart's eyes. His dispersal was accompanied by a flash, a popping noise and a hiss of steam.

A moment later, the girl, a freckle faced brunette who couldn't have been older than eight, poked her head out of the hole. Her little hands rapidly pumped the multicolored water gun in her grasp. Immediately following her appearance, three more children came up behind her, similarly armed. Then, even more followed. They came outside with water bottles - the kind whose caps could be pulled open or pushed closed and whose walls were made of such annoyingly thin plastic that the things squirted at the slightest squeeze. All of them wore excited looks on their little faces, clearly anticipating a battle.

"Fall back!" Grandfather's surviving duplicate ordered the citizombies as he swiftly backed out of any range that the guns could possibly have.

Unfortunately for him, some of the citizombies were not fast enough - a side effect of being agified and having to deal with all the physical issues that came with it. He could hear them moaning and complaining as they stumbled ever-slowly away.

The children were hot on their tails, spraying citizombies left and right and occasionally getting a little younger themselves. Whether this was because of leaky guns or because of backsplash from their shots, it was hard to tell.

Half the citizombie hoard was lost before they got out of range of the brats, who had ceased in their chase partly because the water bottles no longer squirted and partly because the few who possessed actual water guns were more invested in holding a defensive line for their ammunition-less compatriots and the newly freed than in chasing after the enemy.

As soon as Grandfather's surviving duplicate and the remaining citizombies were out of range of the aquatic arms, the copy used his limited powers to summon a wall of fire, guaranteeing that they were cut off from pursuit.

The clone looked back through the flames at the cocky runts, who cheered victoriously or openly mocked him from the far side of the inferno. The ex-citizombies, freed from his control, simply stood there, shocked, dazed, and dripping.

How dare they? Didn't they know who he was? He was Grandfather, ruler of the world. He was descended from long line of powerful villains, whom anyone would be a fool to disrespect. Furthermore, he was the soon-to-be destroyer of the Book of KND, and they dared mock him?! He bared his teeth, growling as he summoned a fireball to each hand, the sight of which caused the children's jests and jeers to morph into screams of terror as they fled. He lobbed his flames at them, prompting the pack of brats to scurry away faster.

Eventually, the children retook a defensive position just beyond the reach of his burning assault. This time, they seemed chastised enough by his display of anger to hold their tongues and show him due reverence.

After taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Grandfather - no, Grandfather's duplicate - finally asked himself, "What in the world was that?"

Numbuh Two glanced curiously at the small set of dusty tracks running across the wooden floor as he entered the living room. It was just one of many similar trails he had seen throughout the base this evening - or was it yesterday evening, now?

He was distracted from these musings as he felt a cool breeze waft through the room. He gazed up at the hole that the Citizombies had made in the wallboards earlier. Some kids were working on making it a little more defensible, nailing new boards across the giant gap. They haphazardly maintained slits of space between the wooden planks so that people could look outside and point guns at any enemy who might try to approach the most obvious weak point in the base.

The Big Badolescent may have been enough to win the battle earlier, but a temper-driven super monster who lost her strength if she calmed down was hardly a reliable source of protection. They'd been extremely lucky last time - they might not be during the next attack.

As Numbuh Two looked out into the night, he hoped that a storm wasn't on its way. It was already a little chilly in this part of the base. The last thing they needed was rain blowing in; if any of the kids who had to stand guard caught a cold, it would not bode well for the now crowded treehouse.

"Hello, Numbuh Two," a voice suddenly called out from behind him.

Sector V's mechanic turned his head and greeted, "Hey, Numbuh Forty Two. How are things going?"

"Well enough," replied the other boy, "We've been building birthday suits and ray beam weapons that are sturdier than the ones we used earlier, now that we finally have a break from the fighting. The next time those citizombies attack, we'll be more than ready for them." He paused for a moment before adding, "I've even come up with a few designs that I think'll help. They're based on your alterations to birthday suit technology."

As he spoke, he pulled out a sheet of paper and offered it out to Numbuh Two.

"Cool," said Numbuh Two, taking the sheet from him and looking through the designs drawn on it. As he studied the diagrams, he exclaimed, "Hey, these are really good! I can't wait to see 'em in action."

"It's nothing," Numbuh Forty Two brushed off the compliment, but he still drew himself a little taller with pride. He briskly pointed out, "You're the guy here who figured out the proper settings to fight off agification. And you're the one who designed the laser that weaponized it. Nothing here would be possible without that."

Numbuh Two declared, "Well, either way, it's a big deal because I bet that the citizombies are gonna have a more organized attack planned for next time, not to mentioned better ships and weapons for it. They'll have fixed up some the damaged ones at Moonbase by now, and there's no doubt that they've gathered some of the villains' technology together, too."

Clearly not at all comforted by this thought, Numbuh Forty Two winced and replied, "We'd be able to focus more on the treehouse's defenses if you weren't having us reroute so many of our resources to the MOSQUITTOH. There has to be something better we could do with the amount of gear you're directing to the treehouse's cargo bay."

Numbuh Two suddenly realized that he had been so busy scrambling to get everything done that he'd failed to keep the other operatives updated on what was going on. He blinked in surprise, thinking that he was usually better about that kind of thing.

He clarified for his friend, "I'm having the MOSQUITTOH refitted to hold fluids instead of ice cream. Tomorrow, when the fuel supply comes in, I'm gonna fly out with it and a team. We'll head straight for Gallagher Elementary - that de-aging water is the best weapon we have against Grandfather. Maybe we can even get some of the teenagers to cover us. But we can't make the run without alerting Grandfather's citizombies, and I won't leave the people at the school undefended."

They were also planning on sending another set of ships out for water guns and other weapons that might be useful against Grandfather's forces, but Hoagie didn't have the time to sit and discuss the entire plan. Numbuh Forty Two only needed to know enough to understand why they was diverting supplies which would have otherwise found use in further fortifying the base.

Numbuh Forty Two nodded, satisfied with the explanation. Then, after a moment, he asked, "Does this mean that we'll be taking the fight to them, soon?"

Hoagie smiled as he replied, "Hopefully, we'll be ready to roll by lunch time."

The conversation ground to a halt as the two were distracted by motion in the corner of their vision. They watched confusedly as a hamster ran by, rolling with it what was clearly a large, dusty running wheel that was far too big for the small rodent. The old guinea pig wheels, if Numbuh Two wasn't mistaken. Behind it, the wheel left a familiar set of marks.

"Well, that explains the tracks across the floor," shrugged Numbuh Forty Two.

"What do you think they're up to?"

"No idea."

"What were we talking about again?"

After having finished the school play, both Unos had to agree that the video was the way to go.

Grandfather was digging through the rest of the stack of movies. His search probably would have been easier if the films were still DVDs rather than actual reels of film. At least they were in color, Monty supposed, although that detail made him question just how selective Grandfather's powers were.

Monty watched the old man straighten from his slouch as his rummaging stopped.

It seemed that Grandfather had finally come across an interesting option, pulling the film reel out of the pile and reading aloud the label stuck onto its side, "The Delightful Children Have Their Cake and Eat It Too."

Monty nodded with familiarity upon hearing the title of the video. While unable to put into context the not particularly hushed conversations that Nigel and his friends so frequently had while he had been under the effects of decommissioning, looking back now, their topic was obvious. He commented, "Nigel seems to have made it his team's duty to ensure that Ben's delightfulized kids are never allowed to eat the cakes he bakes for them."

"So this is a defeat?" said Grandfather.

"I don't know!" Monty exclaimed, offended for his son's sake at the idea that Nigel had lost at the hands of the Delightful Children.

"Well, if it is, I suppose I should see how he reacts to such things."

Monty crossed his arms and asked, "Pappy, can't we watch something more upbeat?"

"Later."

Grandfather took a moment to telekinetically switch the reel in the projector with the one he had just found. Then, he sat down in his chair.

The two men stared at the screen, immensely confused when the image of two puppets banging each other on the head with bats appeared as the footage began playing.

"... Did someone record over the fight?" Monty asked after a moment.

Grandfather followed up with a question of his own as the puppets continued to beat each other over the head, "Is this really what passes for child entertainment?"

"Jolly well, at least it's not singing dinosaurs," retorted Monty.

Suddenly, there was a jarring burst of static. It was followed by the appearance of the Delightful Children, seated in a custom built chair for all five of them. They were smirking as they bragged about eating an incredible looking cake on live TV, interrupting kids shows everywhere to do it.

"Interesting use of the media to inflict misery on more brats than ever."

Monty rolled his eyes. Of course his dad would notice THAT right off the bat.

As the footage got to the part where Nigel and his team burst in, Grandfather asked, "So, if that cake is what Ben's adopted kids eat, what does your son get?"

"From Ben, absolutely nothing."

"Nothing?!" Grandfather exclaimed in disbelief, slamming his fist on the living room table with enough force to rattle the floor.

This violent act of temper distracted Monty from a giant pile of presents morphing into a robot on screen.

Grandfather scowled, "Are you telling me that your boy, a child of this family, hasn't ever tasted one of our great recipes? This is an outrage! Those five brats don't deserve to eat that cake when a flesh and blood member of our family has never known any such delicious goodness!"

Monty retorted, "Of course he's had our cakes. I made some for him."

At this point, neither man was looking at the screen any longer.

Grandfather raised an eyebrow and remarked, "Monty, you and I both know that despite having no powers, you're the most likely person in our entire family to make a charcoal cake. I'm sorry, son, but you really can't bake."

Monty was genuinely offended by the statement. He claimed, "I can, too!"

"Don't be too upset. It probably came from your mother's side. I remember the first time she tried to make me dinner," the old man grimaced, clearly recalling something extremely unpleasant.

"Nigel has never complained about my…" Suddenly, Monty's eyes were pulled back to the screen. He interrupted himself, "...What the heck?"

Grandfather looked back at the television to see what had surprised his son. He witnessed footage of Nigel being carried off by hundreds, maybe thousands, of baby birds which proceeded to create a giant suit of armor around him.

At the boy's exclamation of 'for Mommy!' signaling the birds to beat the stuffing (in the form of teddy bears) out of the Delightful Children's birthday robot, both adults winced. For a family whose villains used generational monikers as titles, such a statement was just setting him up to be the butt of jokes and insults for generations.

"I'm going to have to dispose of all copies of this as soon as possible."

Monty shook his head, replying, "Pappy, if this broadcast was really transmitted all over the world, it's surely made it to the web by now. There's no getting rid of this."

"What's 'the web'?" Grandfather asked, completely bewildered by Monty's declaration. As his son gave him a surprised look, he dismissed the line of inquiry, "You know what, tell me about it later. Right now, I want to see how this ends."

Within moments, Nigel and his baby chicks had destroyed the Delightfuls' robot. Then, naught but a few seconds after victory, the birds became frantic. With a practiced air, the boy gave them permission to rush off. As soon as they left, he proceeded to begin ranting at the Delightful Children From Down The Lane.

"He has the family temper, I see," Grandfather remarked.

"Look at the birds flock to the cake," said Monty, "Do you think they would eat…Oh, dear."

Grandfather winced, probably feeling the defiling of a family delicacy, even one made by Ben, as an almost physical blow.

In the footage, Nigel trailed off and his anger dissipated. When he next spoke, he had switched gears completely, going from raging at the Delightful Children to stating that this time, he'd let the Delightfuls, clueless to what was going on behind them, eat the whole cake themselves.

Monty's jaw dropped.

Grandfather crowed, "Yes! Now there's the type of nastiness I was talking about!"

As the Delightful Children approached the cake, encouraged by Sector V to enjoy it, Monty said, "Surely they're smart enough to know that they shouldn't… and yet they ate it anyway."

"You overestimate the ability of children to resist our family's cakes. Mind you, Ben must be an incredible baker, considering that those five didn't stop. Don't ever tell him I said that," Grandfather paused before adding, "On live television, too… Wow. You know what; I don't feel so upset anymore that they got to eat the cake before Nigel."

Grandfather turned off the machine and removed the reel once its spinning came to a complete stop.

He gloated, "I do believe that our family's qualities skipped a generation though you. That was absolutely vile," as the old man spoke, he wore a twisted smile on his face that matched the proud tone of his voice. He looked stack of movies and said, "I'm going to see what else is… Well, would you look at that?" He picked up one which had fallen to the side, exclaiming brightly, "There's a video here completely dedicated to assorted rants! He does that, too!"

Meanwhile, Monty reflected upon the time that the KND Decommissioning Squad had interrupted a fishing trip he and Nigel were having. They had chasing them across a lake. He remembered with particular clarity how Nigel had reacted when the 2x4 ships exploded. His boy had laughed what could only be described as an evil chuckle, smiling a sinister sneer that had clearly been inherited from the old man before him now.

Nigel had a dark side, and Grandfather had been given a glimpse, if only a quick one. Now that he knew that the potential was there, Monty knew the old man would do everything in his considerable power to exploit it, to make Nigel into the next generation of villain in their dysfunctional family.

Still, Monty knew that this dark side was only that: one side of his son. Overall, he knew that Nigel wanted to be a good person. If the boy could be shielded from the general family influence, Monty was confident that his son would turn out perfectly fine. Of course, that was looking less and less likely to occur with each passing minute.

"Cree," crackled a familiar voice over the radio.

"Numbuh Three Sixty Two. What do you want?"

"I'm calling to let you know that we've found evidence there may be someone of considerable importance at the mall. I wanted to inform you that I plan on approaching the current occupants in hope of gathering more information.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes. I'll be at the mall in a few minutes. I'll contact the enemy when I get there."

"Fine," Cree stated in annoyance, "Just don't do anything to compromise our position."

"I won't."

Rachel landed her ship just behind the safety of the border the Citizombies had set up. Cree had already warned them to expect her. After she talked with the citizombies on watch for a few minutes about the current situation, she walked across the no man's land that was the parking lot.

The citizombies had supplied her with a megaphone. She held it up to her mouth and announced, "I wish to speak to someone about a person of interest you may have inside the mall."

She waited patiently while the teen guards talked in front of the main entrance of the building. Eventually, a familiar blond pushed past them and strutted out.

Rachel growled, "Chad!"

"I guess some parts of your mind haven't changed. My betrayal of the KND would hardly matter right now otherwise."

She didn't deign to respond to that line of conversation. Instead, she taunted, "I heard you ran away from Grandfather like a little baby."

"Hey, I needed some excuse to get outta there besides 'I've gotta warn the Teenagers!'"

"Sure you did."

Chad rolled his eyes before asking coolly, "What do you want?"

"Grandfather wants Numbuh Zero's wife located."

"And he sent the ex-head of the KND to do it? Stooping low, aren't you?"

"I don't get along very well with Grandfather."

Chad chuckled almost nostalgically, "There was a reason I let you work alone, you know, before I left. Some of the traits that made you such a good spy also caused problems when taking orders. You always had trouble following the chain of command when you weren't at the top."

Rachel's wrinkled face cracked a small smile at that comment. She replied, "Speaking of chain of command, where's The Steve? I thought he'd come out to negotiate for himself."

"He's too busy to talk right now," Chad stated before moving on, "So, who exactly do you need to find so desperately?"

"Katherine Uno."

Chad's eyes widened in shock.

He asked, "Isn't that Numbuh One's mom?"

Thoughts whirling at Rachel's respondent nod, he exclaimed, "Wait, you're telling me that Nigel Uno is Numbuh Zero's son?!" He shook his head in disbelief, blithering, "That brat's dad...? Really? There's gotta be some kind of mistake here. I mean, Mr. Uno is nice and all, but he's completely clueless! He lives right under one of the Kids Next Door's most frequently targeted tree houses and he doesn't notice anything, for crying out loud. He can't even remember that the 'club' his son spends so much time with is called the Kids Next Door!"

Three Sixty Two replied matter-of-factly, "Well, that's what the Decommissioning Chambers are supposed to do, isn't it? Make operatives forget. You know as well as I do what the old studies have shown: the more involved the operative, the more dramatic the effect decommissioning has on them."

"True," Chad replied. He'd never been comfortable with anything involving the mind-wiping devices. He generally tried to avoid thinking about that sort of thing, but, now prompted, he easily recalled the reports from the Deep Sea Lab. Numbuh 100 had been the commissioner of the most recent research, if his memory served him correctly.

"Trust me," sneered the citizombie girl, "There's been no mistake. Numbuh One's dad is Numbuh Zero."

Chad pushed his dark thoughts of decommissioning from his mind as he barked a laugh, "Ha, doesn't that figure?" The teenager shook his head and added, "That little runt really was born for the KND. And I thought he was a good fit for those shades before."

Rachel doubted that Chad had noticed the trace of awe that had crept into his own voice. For a moment, she considered mentioning it just to tick him off a little more, but ultimately, she decided that she needed to keep the conversation on track.

She declared, "If we don't find Katherine Uno, people will get hurt. I know better than to demand that you hand her over… I just need to know if she's here."

"We can do that."

Chad pulled out a walky-talky, passing her query along to whoever was on the other end of the line.

They waited in silence for a few minutes before he received a response. "Yeah, she's here. Is there anything else the agified brat wants to know?"

Chad looked back at Rachel. She shook her head.

"That's a negative," he said into the receiver before putting the device away. He asked, "By the way, have you seen the little squirt himself? Numbuh One seemed to be taking the situation pretty hard, last I saw him."

"Be careful," cautioned Rachel sarcastically, "Some people might think you actually care about him, if you keep asking questions like that."

Chad rolled his eyes, grumbling, "All he is to me is a dangerous player. One who I hear compared to my previous position in the Kids Next Door more and more often."

Rachel sent him a twisted smile and said, "Well then, in that case, yes. I've seen him. Nigel mounted an attack on Moonbase. The kid was planning to detach it and slam the thing into Grandfather."

The teenager's smile widened, "Gee, I wonder where the inspiration for that came from?"

"He would've thought of it anyway." Rachel replied, knowing that Chad was thinking of the time he'd detached and launched the very same Moonbase toward the sun.

"Maybe, maybe not."

It was Rachel's turn to roll her eyes, saying, "Well, wherever he got the idea, clearly, it failed. My soldiers captured him, and I personally handed him over to his grandpa."

No point in mentioning 'little' details like his entire sector being freed from their agification and escaping in the process.

She watched slow, horrified realization sink into the teenager's eyes, the note of genuine concern unmistakable among a storm of other emotions. Chad at last voiced the connection had just clicked in his head, "Of course. He's Grandfather's grandson..."

"Yes. And now, Grandfather has given him the powers that are their family legacy."

Chad paled at these words and exclaimed, "What have you done?"

"I have served Grandfather, as is the ultimate goal of any citizombie," She paused for a moment, trying to think of any other business she might have with Chad before concluding this meeting with the teen. Nothing came to mind. "Goodbye, Chad. The next time we meet, the terms will be very different."

"I have no doubt." It certainly seemed like there was a little less confidence in his posture than there had been at the start of the conversation. He replied, "Well, until then…"

Rachel nodded as Chad trailed off, and with that, they turned away from each other, walking back to their respective sides.

The two ships made use of the smog from the tapioca factories to hide their movements as they headed toward the school. As they neared the building, Tommy pulled out his map to check where the entrance Jessica had described was located. However, when they looked down at the spot, they found that it was now under watch by several citizombies and either Grandfather himself or a duplicate.

"What now?" asked Numbuh Eighty Five.

"We'll try to find another way in. Maybe there are more entrances inside the school. You know, besides the one that collapsed."

"Sounds good to me."

They circled the building, flipping the lights off on their ships and going high, relying on their familiarity with the school grounds to navigate. Eventually, they got inside by breaking through the windows of the gymnasium and landing their ships on the beams running across the ceiling. From there, they lowered themselves on the climbing nets and ropes currently set up for the gymnastics portion of the phys ed curriculum.

"Where should we start looking?"

"Apparently, The Big Badolescent collapsed a wall into the secret underground school. If we can find that, maybe there'll be another entrance nearby." Tommy pulled a set of walkie-talkies he'd grabbed while they were at his house from his bag and passed them out to the others in case they became separated. Then, he looked at Sonya, inquiring, "Sonya, you said you've gotten better about the dark?"

She nodded, answering, "A little."

"Do you think you'd be up to walking around the school without a flashlight? I was thinking that there's plenty of illumination from the security lights outside. It should be enough for the most part."

"I don't know..."

Lee asked, "What if we all stayed together?"

She looked around thoughtfully, "Maybe."

"If it gets too dark, just let us know."

"Okay."

The kids considered the main entrance to the gym for a moment, but they agreed that they were more likely to avoid detection if they left through the locker room.

The small party entered the halls and moved quietly down the passageways, their path lit only by the security lights shining through the windows from outside. The beacons threw up squares of brightness in the otherwise dismal corridors.

The kids walked for a while, searching for any sign of what they were looking for. After several minutes, Paddy called out, "I found the right way."

"How can you be sure?" Tommy asked.

Lee pointed at a hole in the wall where something had burst through - something that had left a Big Badolescent-shaped hole behind.

As the kids poked their heads through the space, Lee chuckled and said, "I'd say Numbuh Eighty Five found a solid lead. It hardly takes your brother's detective skills to figure this one out."

They followed the path of destruction through three classrooms and into a hallway. At the far end, they could see a wall reduced to nothing but rubble.

"That must be the place where she got into the secret school," said Tommy.

"Too bad they had to collapse the entrance to stop the Citizombies from getting in," Lee remarked.

"Well, at least we know we're close," Sonya said, "There's gotta be another way in close by."

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise behind them. The kids all jumped and yelled, startled.

"Quiet!" hissed a small boy wearing a large cowboy hat on his head and carrying a pair of water guns in his belt. He stepped out of the shadows and said, "There might still be some of those confounded citizombies running around."

"Runt?" Tommy questioned in recognition.

"The Tommy," acknowledged the leader of the Six Gum Gang in an almost mocking tone. He commented in irritation, "Of course they'd send a Gilligan. Do you have any idea the trouble I went through to make sure your brother delivered a note on time last month?" he sighed and grumbled, "Come on. The entrance is this way."

He led them to a girl's bathroom, walked up to a dirty sink, and turned the knob. A length of wall slid open to reveal a dark chasm within. "There's a ledge wide enough to walk, but be careful not to lose your balance. It's long fall, and some of them tiles are awfully unstable."

As the small group trailed after Runt in single file, Tommy asked, "Where's the rest of the Six Gum Gang?"

"Didn't make it." The answer was quick and sharp. "I slipped through a space the others were too big for so as to do some reconnaissance and saw some kids using the opening back there." He gestured to the now closed space from which they had entered. "I came back to get 'em only to find they'd left the hiding spot where I'd told 'em to wait and been citizombified. I had to leave so they wouldn't get me too. Haven't seen 'em since."

"I'm sorry."

"Won't matter once we get this mess fixed," Runt replied. Only the strained way he said the last word hinted at any of the turmoil beneath his calm demeanor. Of course, Tommy supposed that Runt wouldn't have wound up leading a group of kids bigger and older than he was if he couldn't keep a cool head.

Tommy smiled and, hoping to cheer him a little, stated, "Yeah, and that de-aging water is really going to help."

As the party entered a system of underground hallways, they began seeing other kids around.

"How the heck did those A students make it? You'd think they'd be targeted just for being jerks."

Runt responded, "You'll have to ask Mrs. Thompson. They seem to all answer to her. They've even been able to slip onto the surface relatively unbothered by the adults. In all honesty, though, there's something off about the whole thing."

As Tommy caught sight of said fourth grade teacher, wearing a green pendant and followed very closely by her very attentive students, he found that he had to agree. The situation felt fishy. It might be something for either him or the KND to look into, once the rest of this mess was cleaned up.

Numbuh Eighty Five saw a group of soaking wet adults that included their principal. "I take it that they're from the fight we saw a few minutes ago."

Runt nodded. "I wish I'd been there, but the other KND kids were sure you'd try to find another way in. I was among the kids chosen to stand watch for you, on account of having certain… skills."

"It's a shame you usually use them for personal gain," Paddy interjected, "I've read about Sector V's encounters with you. You're skilled with weapons and highly resourceful. Not to mention how rare it is to find a kid with the ability to keep control over others so much older than them. We could use someone like you for the soda and ice-cream smuggling rings."

"Well, excuse me if I'm not one for the whole crazy, child military, mind wipe cult thing."

"We're not a cult!" Paddy exclaimed defensively.

"Actually," Lee said, "We kind of are, when you think about it. A really old one, if the archives are right."

Runt nodded and added, "I don't need a target on my back. I've heard stories about the kind of crud that happens to kids who join up. You have to choose code names to protect your own darn families from what you deal with. Kidnapping, torture, mind scrambling, and brainwashing are all just occupational hazards for you. Oh, and let's not forget who was the first group Grandfather specifically targeted once he had his armies." He shook his head adamantly, "No, I'm fine doing work for hire around the school with my crew, thank you very much."

Numbuh Eighty Five was about to say something in response when Sonya exclaimed, "Look, there's the others!"

And there, indeed, they were.

As the other kids went to reunite with their team mates, Tommy hung back. He'd been thinking about the Six Gum Gang's smuggling operation. He asked, "Hey, you guys have access to some decent supplies, don't you? Building equipment that's on par with some kinds of KND technology."

Runt adjusted his hat and proudly answered, "Sure do."

"Look, I need all the tools I can get around here so that I can help and maybe plan for later. Your stash of materials would come in handy."

"And you want me to show you where we keep it."

Tommy nodded.

Runt looked thoughtfully at the other boy, glancing at the group behind him for a moment and then back. "Alright, what'll I get in return?"

"The knowledge that you helped save the school and maybe the world."

Runt shook his head, "I need more than that. You're asking me to distribute our entire cache of goods among not just other kids, but people of assorted ages. When all this settles down, that'll leave my gang mighty vulnerable." He paused a moment before adding caustically, "Or do you think that maybe everyone's just goin' to give our stuff back to the kids that frequently rob them out of the goodness of their hearts."

"So you're going to risk everyone's lives for what might happen later?"

"I'm not doing that. I know you'll give me what I want, because things are so bad right now. Everyone still gets their weapons. I just benefit a little more from my contribution when this thing blows over."

Tommy sighed and asked, "Alright, what do you want?"

"We're good at collecting the equipment and we can cobble stuff together fairly well, but I've seen your work. You have the knack but you lack access to the goods." Tommy frowned, recalling how he'd occasionally seem members of the other boy's group on occasion when he was scavenging in a nearby dump. "After this is over, you'll set up an exclusive business venture with us. We get supplies you want, and you build and repair our gear when need be."

"Why would you set up a deal like that?"

"Who's to stop you from backing off your deal the moment all this is over? If you continue to benefit, you're much more likely to keep your side of the bargain, partner. Plus, you won't be outsourcing your work to others. Having access to a KND trained technician will give us a big edge on most competitors," he paused for a moment before asking, "So, do we have a deal?"

Tommy considered his options. Sure, there were a few KND operative lockers around the school and undoubtedly some other storage areas that Numbuh Fourteen was probably informed of, but that was likely to be secondary equipment, since Gallagher wasn't a base. The Six Gum Gang, on the other hand, would probably have their best equipment on site, since the majority of their work was done during school hours. They needed that stuff. Additionally, having a stable flow of supplies to work with in the future would be nice as well. It was really hard to work on major projects when he had to find everything for himself.

But to be the one equipping the Six Gum Gang… Sure, they helped kids often enough, but they also did a lot of unpleasant business, too. Did he really want to make them more effective at the kind of shady business they did?

After debating with himself, despite his own misgivings, Tommy shook the other kid's proffered hand.

My next goal with this story is to go back and make some corrections. If I make any changes beyond spelling and grammar, I will mention them when I post the next chapter. I will say that, if I described the movies Grandfather and Monty received as being in videotape or DVD in an earlier chapter, I will be changing that to reels for a couple reasons, one of which is the fact that they seem like something movies would change into with agification.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading.