Simeon was on call. He was always on call, it was the story of his life. He
didn't mind because he felt needed. He had been in the Kids Next Door for,
what, 14 years? At 23 he was hardly a kid but still... this was his home...
And everyone had been so supportive... 10 years ago, when he had turned 13, they had let him stay on. Why? Because they knew he had nowhere else to go. 5 years ago, at 18, they had funded his university education through the Kids Next Door account. Even now everyone accepted him. Except Numbuh 86, the head of decommissioning, who, it seemed, was desperate to get his name on the list of people she had decommissioned.
But then, even she had benefited from his services after three particularly nasty missions when he had patched her up. She had to admit – grudgingly, of course – that his expertise had, on more than one occasion, saved her life.
The majority of the kids trusted him, he knew that. He trusted them, too. Every new leader that was appointed after the decommissioning of the previous one (Numbuh 362 was the current global leader) accepted his work. He did not charge wages, living off the KND account as he did. All he required was a day off. Once a month. Every month.
He sighed and, leaning heavily on his walking staff, made his way to the emergency vehicle that was waiting for him to take him down to the accident zone.
---
Simeon was in high bad temper as he casually flicked his greying hair out of his face. That idiot Numbuh Four had gone against team co-operation regulations and had somehow managed to get himself run over by a large number of pianos. And to cap it all off, Simeon was beginning to feel rather peaky himself. Surely it wasn't that time already?
August was fast approaching. It was the middle of the summer holidays and that was, apparently, incentive for kids everywhere to attempt to kill themselves by going on dangerous missions.
"Simeon. At last. I've been looking for you." Simeon recognised the voice even though he couldn't see the accompanying face. He inclined his head towards the sound.
"Numbuh 362." He responded coldly, silently wishing she could have chosen another time to find him. He needed a drink, preferably something strong. She ignored his less-than-warm welcome.
"It seems that The Idiot has unleashed a piano on his team mates." She informed him. He did not have to ask who "The Idiot" was. "We think it was revenge for them appointing a hamster to replace him while he was indisposed. According to Numbuh One," she added bitterly, "he has an allergy to cute fluffy things, the regulation treehouse hamsters included."
"I'm on my way." The healer answered, turning around and limping back down the corridor he had just come along. He'd only just returned from The Idiot's treehouse and now he had to go bandage up the whole team because of The Idiot's aversion to hamsters? He smiled, but it was without humour.
The Idiot was annoying enough but at least he still had his day off to look forward to.
Once a month. Every month.
And everyone had been so supportive... 10 years ago, when he had turned 13, they had let him stay on. Why? Because they knew he had nowhere else to go. 5 years ago, at 18, they had funded his university education through the Kids Next Door account. Even now everyone accepted him. Except Numbuh 86, the head of decommissioning, who, it seemed, was desperate to get his name on the list of people she had decommissioned.
But then, even she had benefited from his services after three particularly nasty missions when he had patched her up. She had to admit – grudgingly, of course – that his expertise had, on more than one occasion, saved her life.
The majority of the kids trusted him, he knew that. He trusted them, too. Every new leader that was appointed after the decommissioning of the previous one (Numbuh 362 was the current global leader) accepted his work. He did not charge wages, living off the KND account as he did. All he required was a day off. Once a month. Every month.
He sighed and, leaning heavily on his walking staff, made his way to the emergency vehicle that was waiting for him to take him down to the accident zone.
---
Simeon was in high bad temper as he casually flicked his greying hair out of his face. That idiot Numbuh Four had gone against team co-operation regulations and had somehow managed to get himself run over by a large number of pianos. And to cap it all off, Simeon was beginning to feel rather peaky himself. Surely it wasn't that time already?
August was fast approaching. It was the middle of the summer holidays and that was, apparently, incentive for kids everywhere to attempt to kill themselves by going on dangerous missions.
"Simeon. At last. I've been looking for you." Simeon recognised the voice even though he couldn't see the accompanying face. He inclined his head towards the sound.
"Numbuh 362." He responded coldly, silently wishing she could have chosen another time to find him. He needed a drink, preferably something strong. She ignored his less-than-warm welcome.
"It seems that The Idiot has unleashed a piano on his team mates." She informed him. He did not have to ask who "The Idiot" was. "We think it was revenge for them appointing a hamster to replace him while he was indisposed. According to Numbuh One," she added bitterly, "he has an allergy to cute fluffy things, the regulation treehouse hamsters included."
"I'm on my way." The healer answered, turning around and limping back down the corridor he had just come along. He'd only just returned from The Idiot's treehouse and now he had to go bandage up the whole team because of The Idiot's aversion to hamsters? He smiled, but it was without humour.
The Idiot was annoying enough but at least he still had his day off to look forward to.
Once a month. Every month.