WARNING: lots of things to mention here! Broken bones, strangulation, held at gunpoint, impalement, bruising... I think that's everything?

Also, I'm sorry, this turned out to be a lot longer than I was planning, and it wound up being quite rushed at the end as a result.

What Could Go Wrong?

It all started with those infamous words. Really, you'd have thought they'd have learnt not to say them. Maybe they should make a list, titled, International Rescue's Banned Phrases. And right at the top of the list? Those words:

'Everything looks quiet.'

Seriously, maybe they should put some kind of jar in place. Like a swear jar, but for phrases that always brought them trouble. He put the idea to John, who cringed as he realised what he'd just said.

'Sorry,' he said. 'If it helps, I'm already eating my words.'

'Oh joy. What've you got?'

'A group of urban explorers slipped away from their tour guide on Hashima Island,' John said. 'They've been looking for them for a few hours now with no luck, though they suspect they've entered one of the restricted buildings.'

Scott rolled his eyes. 'Because why wouldn't you?'

'Want me to pass them off to the GDF?'

'No, that's okay. I fancy a trip out.' He stretched as he stood, working out the kinks from sitting at their father's desk for too long. 'Besides, it sounds like it'll be a quick in and out.'

John winced. 'Isn't that exactly the kind of phrase we were just talking about?'

'Hm.' Scott paused at the wall lamps. 'Oops. What's that then, a dollar in the jar?'

'You carry cash?'

'When was the last time anybody carried cash?'

'I could set up a virtual jar?'

Scott laughed. 'You know what? Go for it. We can use the money to buy ourselves pizza or something.'

'Now that's an idea!'

Virgil rolled over, blinking blearily at the time illuminated on his watch. Had it really been eight hours already? Man, that just wasn't fair. Shifting again, he returned his attention to the hologram that had just woken him up. 'Okay, I still don't get what you're apologising for, but what's the mission?'

'I'm apologising for using the q-word earlier,' John replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'You mean 'quiet'? John, I thought you weren't superstitious?'

'Generally, I'm not. But I had EOS run the numbers, and there does genuinely seem to be a correlation between us using certain phrases and things going wrong.'

Virgil shook his head. 'It only works like that if you believe it.'

'Whatever you say, but I'm trusting the numbers here,' said John. 'But as for the mission, we've got injured cavers in Wales; apparently one of them took a bit of a tumble and knocked himself unconscious. His partner says he's not sure of the way out and he's not sure he can carry him out himself.'

With a sigh, Virgil reluctantly extracted himself from his cocoon of blankets. 'It's probably better that he doesn't try, especially as we don't know what other injuries this guy might have. Otherwise, it looks pretty straight forward. Tell them to hang tight, I'm on my way.'

'F.A.B.' John paused. 'Oh, and one more thing –'

'Let me guess: local search and rescue are busy?'

'…Not what I was going to say, but yes. Apparently, they're having a busy one today, so it looks like we're on our own for this one. But Gordon's right ready to go.'

'Alright, alright, I'm going,' he replied with a chuckle. 'See you in the sky.'

Racing through the living area, he arrived at the rocket portrait and let it flip him backwards. Despite what he might say to his brothers, he did actually like his gear-up sequence. It always got the adrenaline going, and it definitely woke him up on mornings where he did not want to get going. By the time he slammed the top hatch shut and was climbing into the chair, Gordon was already sat in the passenger seat, holding out a steaming flask for him.

They sat in silence through the launch sequence, the rumbling of the engines beneath their seats kick-starting that usual pre-rescue rush. But once they were in the air, once Virgil had finally taken his first sip of coffee, Gordon turned to him and asked, 'So what's a Banned Phrases jar and why has Johnny told me to tell you that you have to put a dollar in?'

'Mayday, mayday.'

Alan tilted his head, listening to the recording play over and over again. 'That's it?'

'That's all we're getting,' John replied. 'It's coming from a ship that's just launched from orbit, only it seems to have gone off-course somehow.'

'How'd you know it's off-course if it's just playing that one message over and over?'

'Because if it continues its current trajectory it'll crash into the moon.'

'Oh.'

John shook his head. 'I just… I don't like this. Something feels off.'

'Off how?' Alan queried. 'They're sending out a distress signal because they're on a collision course with the moon. I don't think it's that weird.'

'There's not enough information. It kinda feels like a trap, but…'

'But we can't ignore it in case it's genuine.' Alan stood with a shrug moving over to his launch seat. 'Okay, no big deal. I'll just hop over and say hello, see if I can't work out what's going on. Easy as pie.'

With a sigh, John tapped two buttons just out of view. 'Well, I still don't like this, and I don't want you going alone so you better swing by Five. And FYI, you owe two dollars in the Banned Phrases jar.'

'I'm sorry, the what?' Alan shouted; his words carried away as the seats sunk down.

Scott grinned. He'd liaised with the authorities on Hashima Island within seconds of landing and established that this sort of thing happened all the time. People thinking they know better than the tour guides, as usual. But the buildings were unstable and there was a storm coming in, so they wanted to find them fast. IR's equipment was a little more state-of-the-art than what the security on the island had, so Scott was able to pick up their life signs almost straight away. Like he'd said back home, a quick in and out.

His wrist comm buzzed and he gave it a quick check before snapping his helmet on. John had set up the virtual jar and was requesting he put in a dollar. Clearly someone had too much free time on his hands today. He wrinkled his nose and popped in three dollars. The first for his words back home, the second for thinking it again now he was here, and the third for thinking the 'F-T' words in regard to John. Poor guy was probably going to wind up getting swamped now. Thoughts were every bit as dangerous as spoken words.

'Couldn't be simpler.'

'Okay, I think that's definitely on the list of banned phrases, so now you owe a dollar as well.'

Gordon screwed up his nose but slapped his wrist comm and paid up without argument. It was simultaneously a stupid and hilarious idea. Stupid, because what was a dollar to any of them anyway? That little of a charge wasn't going to stop anyone saying anything. Hilarious because… well it just was. If the press got wind of it they'd have a field day. Heck, Gordon was going to start having a field day with it because he fully intended to trick people into saying the banned phrases.

Virgil sighed. 'But I can't say I disagree –'

'Ooh, does intent count?' Gordon grinned as his brother slapped his comm, adding in another dollar.

'Yes, but that relies on us being honest about it,' he replied. 'Seriously though, all we have to do is get him on the stretcher and climb back out of there. To trek in, move him, and trek back again, I think it'll probably take us an hour. At most.'

'Well, what are we waiting for?' Gordon grinned, snapping on his helmet. 'We've got a rescue to complete.'

'Steady there, eager beaver. Let's take it slow.'

With a roll of his eyes, Gordon pre-emptively slapped another dollar in the jar. 'Virge, as long as this guy has no complications from his fall, we're golden. It'll be easy.'

'So, it's a rip-off swear jar,' Alan whispered.

'Yep.'

They were floating through the careening ship, looking for the control room. Their attempts to hail whoever was steering this thing had been unsuccessful, so now they were attempting a manual shutdown of the craft. It shouldn't have mattered really. It was only a small ship, and no one lived on the moon anymore – not since Captain Taylor had moved to Mars. And with scans revealing no one onboard, there wasn't any threat to life.

Only they'd had a call from Next Space, a travel company that specialised in holidays to space, telling them that it was one of their ships. Again, that was fine. Poor management and mis-launches on their part shouldn't have to mean a big clean-up job for International Rescue. Only Next Space insisted that their ships couldn't be piloted remotely so their scans had to be wrong. There had to be someone onboard. So now they were searching the good old-fashioned way.

'But John, I thought you didn't believe in that sort of thing anyway?'

'I don't. I believe in data.'

'I – you know, I don't think I wanna know.' Alan sighed.

The doors to the control room swooshed open and they floated through. There were three figures at the controls, all of whom jumped out of their skins at the sound of the door and whirled around.

Alan burst out laughing.

'You guys do know you're not supposed to be here, right?'

Scott was hard-pressed not to laugh as the members of the group shrieked, each sound more ridiculous than the last. But he wasn't the eldest of five for nothing, and he'd had years of practice schooling his features in the face of hilarity. If Gordon couldn't get past him, these guys didn't stand a chance.

'Woah, dude! Who the hell are you?' one of the guys, possibly the ringleader, spoke up.

He looked down at the uniform and then back at the group, raising an eyebrow. 'Seriously?'

A shorter guy wearing a beanie hat stepped forward. 'Oh, bro, are you a Thunderbird?'

'No way!'

'Brooooo!'

'That's totally rad, my guy!'

Oh boy. Scott grit his teeth through the cacophony of noise. It was like a whole room full of Brandon Berrengers. Actually… actually, no. This was worse than a room full of Brandons.

The ringleader tilted his head. 'But, like, bro… what are you doing, like, here?'

'Um. Rescuing you? Bro?' Scott frowned. 'This area's restricted for a reason. There's a storm on its way and that could bring the whole structure down on your heads. So, how about we all get out of here?'

'Oh, dude –' short beanie guy shot him a mournful look – 'you came out here for us? Oh, I feel real shitty about that, dude. I'm so sorry, man.'

'Woah, woah, woah!' Scott steadied a few of them as they began to spout their apologies. 'That's okay, dudes. I'm just glad we're all safe. In fact, I think you guys might just be my easiest rescue of the month.'

Don and Ron were really nice guys, Virgil decided. A little deluded about their ability to tackle a cave of this difficulty, sure. But they were nice. Don – the guy who had fallen, but was thankfully awake by the time they reached him – was a retired teacher who had met Ron after joining a caving club. Technically speaking they were both still beginners, but they thought that together they'd be able to manage. Now Don had a broken thigh. But still, he hadn't let it break his spirit, and after a few painkillers he was already trying to organise their next excursion.

Kinda reminded him of Gordon. He grinned at his younger brother, who was strapping Don in and trying to explain to him why the stretcher was necessary.

'I don't like stretchers either, Don,' he said. 'Trust me, on the list of things I hate most in the world, stretches sit just below wheelchairs. But it'll help us do our jobs more efficiently, and I promise you'll be more comfortable.'

Don chuckled, slapping a nearby Ron on the wrist. 'Hey, pay attention to that one. He's a charmer. Might just steal me away from you.'

'Okay, let's get this show on the road,' Virgil said, breaking up the round of chortling going around. His brother was a flirt and a menace. 'We all ready to go, Gordon?'

'F.A.B., Virgil,' his brother replied. 'Like I said, couldn't be simpler.'

Their new friends were overjoyed with the Buddy and Ellie reference, and Virgil was starting to think that maybe he should have just stayed in bed when John called him. Gordon was right, it was an easy mission, and he probably could have managed just fine without him. He did not appreciate having to wake up just to see his still-in-his-early-twenties brother flirting with a pair of pensioners and liking it.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet and everyone fell silent.

'What was that?' whispered Ron when it stopped.

Gordon raised an eyebrow at Virgil, and he smiled in return. 'Just the ground shifting, but it's nothing to worry about. We should get moving, though.'

He discretely popped another dollar in the jar. He kinda had a feeling that one might come back to bite him.

Alan wasn't laughing anymore. He actually couldn't get any air in to laugh, even if he wanted to.

It was kinda weird, being strangled by yourself. Or, at least, someone dressed up as you. Apparently, what they had stumbled across was a heist, though exactly what they were stealing was unclear. The guy dressed as John said it was the ship. The other two just said it was 'valuables' they were after.

'Look, I don't care what you're stealing,' John growled in the face of his evil cosplayer, seemingly indifferent to the gun being pointed at him. 'Believe it or not, we're not the police. But we are on a collision course with the moon, which will kill us all. So, let my brother go, and we can help you.'

Fake John laughed. 'I don't think so, pretty boy. You save us, then I'll consider letting the other one go.'

Fake Alan leaned in closer to his face, staring intently. 'Do I know you?' he asked.

And then it clicked. Alan knew them – well, two of them, at least. The one dressed as himself, and the one dressed as Scott. It was Bill and Terry. The guys who tried to rob Lady Penelope a few years ago… oh yeah, they were in big trouble. It was always the stupid ones who got you killed.

He tried to make eye contact with John. Do something, he willed him.

Scott limped into the infirmary, grumbling to himself as he went. He was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, that he didn't realise at first that he wasn't alone in the room. He blinked. Every single one of his brothers was in a bed.

'Okay,' he said, leaning against the wall, 'gimmie a run down. What's happened?'

John sighed. He removed an ice pack from his face to reveal a rather beautiful black eye. 'I may or may not have been pistol whipped because I tricked a guy into steering his stolen spaceship to a nearby GDF facility where they were waiting to arrest him and his friends.'

'It was awesome,' Alan croaked, barely audible. He was holding his own ice pack around his neck.

'Hey, no talking,' Virgil reminded him.

At Scott's raised eyebrow, John continued, 'One of his cronies was strangling Alan… while dressed as Alan. It was very confusing.'

Scott blinked, thought about it for a moment, then decided that he really didn't want to know anymore right now. Later at debriefing, sure. But not right now. He jabbed a finger at Virgil. 'You?'

'My 'straight forward' mission turned out to be not so straight forward,' he grumbled.

'Our,' Gordon corrected. 'It was our mission.'

Virgil ignored him. 'We were nearly out and then… I don't know what happened –'

'There was a cave-in,' Gordon supplied. 'We nearly died.'

'Injuries?'

'Gordon has two broken ribs, a shattered collarbone, and a sprained knee,' Virgil reported. 'I dislocated my shoulder, badly bruised my back and ribs, and sustained a broken ankle. No further injuries to our rescuees though.'

'Because you jumped on top of them?' Scott guessed.

Gordon nodded. 'We jumped on top of them.'

'And what about you?' John asked. 'Why were you limping?'

Yeah, he knew this was coming. And while he was loath to admit to any kind of weakness or injury in front of his brothers, it did seem appropriate to share. He lifted his leg to display the sole of his boot. 'Stepped on a giant nail.'

'Ew!' croaked Alan.

'Awesome,' said Gordon.

'Was it rusty?' asked Virgil.

'No idea,' Scott replied, lowering his foot and allowing John (who was now at his shoulder) to help him over to the bed. 'But judging by the look of everything else in that place, probably.'

'So, that'll be a shot and some bandages,' John said. 'I'll go get Grandma.'

'Hey, John,' Scott shouted at his retreating back. His brother looked back. 'Did we make enough money for pizza at least?'

John raised an eyebrow. 'Know anywhere that sells pizza for twelve dollars?'

'Hm.' Scott frowned. 'Going forward, we should make it five dollars per phrase. Agreed?'

'Agreed,' his brothers chimed.