The eighth chapter! This story has been getting long, hasn't it?
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Night fell on the Tree House and its grim occupants. Numbuh One wasn't up yet, and they had a lot of repairs to do on the base. Not to mention that they had lost their captive in the battle.
"Numbuh Five is sure those Delightful dorks were behind this, they even let Spyder out."
"Man, that tears it! Those Delightful Dorks are gonna pay!" Numbuh Four screamed, throwing down his hammer. He paced around the room in that angry way of his.
"Calm down, Numbuh Four, we can't get back at them yet, Numbuh One hasn't woken up yet..." Numbuh Two tried to calm Numbuh Four down.
Numbuh Three was the medic, she returned from the room they were keeping Numbuh One in. She looked sad.
"I patched him up best as I could, but he isn't up yet." Numbuh Three said, holding her hat in her hands.
"LET"S GO AND KICK THEIR PRISSY BUTTS!" Numbuh Four raged, he already gotten up and pulled up his sleeves and was walking towards the door, when Numbuh Five stopped him.
"Hold On, Numbuh Four. Not until everythin's taken care of here. We still need to take care of repairs, then we need to fix Numbuh One, then we need to THINK of a counterstrike!"
"Hmph!" Numbuh Four grunted, walking back to the place we was repairing. He mumbled incoherent, dirty things as he continued to mend the tree house.
"What happened? I feel like I was hit by an ice cream truck." Numbuh One stood in the doorway. He looked better, although covered in bandages. He was standing upright, at least, and his glasses were perched rather awkwardly on his nose, the bandages positioning them in a rather odd way.
"NUMBUH ONE!" his teammates chorused, glad to see their leader was somewhat okay.
"Ben's creepy clan showed up. They attacked, and we managed to beat them by collapsing the floor." Numbuh Five said, summing it up into one sentence.
Numbuh One felt guilty for sleeping the day away while his teammates worked hard with injuries, I might add, to fix the tree house. He limped over to where NumbuhFour had been working to repair the floor. Before he had even picked up the hammer, Numbuh Five pulled him to his feet. She pushed the protesting leader to his room, saying, "Nuh-uh, you got the most injuries out of all of us! You need some sleep!" She send him to bed, closing the door behind her.
"Man, he must think he's invincible!" Numbuh Five said, getting back to work.
A long silence streaked between the friends. It was quiet, except for the construction noise. There were no words to break the silence.
#############
Spyder stopped for a moment and stared up at the heavens. Night. He sighed, his mother would be furious for coming home late. Probably be throwing things while his father and mother's father looked on with silent amusement. Asian moms were the worst when it came to discipline. His only option would be taking the bus. The bus. A form of transportation and amusement, all rolled into one. The mongrels of America took the bus. Businessmen took the bus. An entire look at American culture could be found on the bus. Hobos, hippies, potheads, druggies, musicians, revolutionaries, preachers. Conservatives and liberals. Catholics and protestant, Muslims and Jews. A look into American society. And all for a quarter.
Spyder sat on the hard fake leather seats of the bus, and examined his surroundings. A Goth boy sat not too far from him. He was milk white, with yellow eyes and shiny black hair that fell to his chin. He wore an unbuttoned black jacket resembling a military uniform dress jacket, but for the red star emblazoned on the right arm. Under that, he wore a short sleeved dress shirt with a plaid red tie with a jolly Rodger. Black pants and shiny, mirror-like combat boots completed the look. On the collar of the jacket, a red pin said, 'I am loved.' Next to the gothic boy, sat the Tolinater. Spyder had heard of the Tolinater having a weird son, but not very many had actually seen him. He was a teenager, went to an entirely different high school, and as a teenager, he never took the time to bother with the neighborhood kids. But here he must be. Discussing something with his father. Spyder wondered what it was. Well, none of his business. He got off at the next stop.
Dinner was quiet. A form of silent punishment for Spyder, and he knew. Dinner was Japanese-style, sitting on mats. A scene right out of an anime. Except spaghetti and fettuccini was served alongside pot stickers and egg rolls. Vintage wine alongside green tea. Okay, his diet was a bit weird, with Italian and Japanese cooking in a single meal, but you probably have a meal that stands for health and happiness and fond memories that most wouldn't approach with a bomb squad and a Geiger counter. Spyder hoped that Mikey or some of his other cohorts would be on the computer. He had much to talk about. He wanted DeathStrike back and new information would greatly help *la causa. He knew, however that Clover wouldn't be available, for she had a mission tonight.
#################
The Delightful Children lay panting on the floor. Punishment had been severe. Although nothing was broken this time around. Getting first aid was a must. Ben had suffered the most. Insubordination was unspeakable. Ben could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He was bleeding all over, bruised and beaten; he thought he looked worse then Numbuh One. Well, KND missions must have gotten easier over time, because what ever Ben had done to Nigel was light compared to what Father had done to him now. Even when on missions, Ben had felt worse. The KND must be getting softer, he thought through all the pain. Ben was unable to stand; his siblings had to carry him to their wing of the house. Anne patched him up. They carefully sipped drinks, quietly. Andy seemed to be having a conversation with himself. His lips moving, but no sound coming out, and staring into space. Chelsea listened to techno and John was removing the scratches from his helmet. Chelsea was redoing the John's hair. She sung very quietly to Daft Punk's Digital Love.
"Last night, I had a dream about you, in this dream; I'm dancing right besides you. It looked, like everyone was having fun, the kind of feeling, I've waited so long for. Don't stop, come a little closer, as we jam, the rhythm gets stronger."
Ben joined in, singing, "There's nothing wrong, with just a little, little, fun. We were dancing, all night long. The time is right, to put my arm around you, you're feeling right, you wrap your arm around, too. But suddenly, I feel the shiny sun. Before you know it, the dream is all gone."
They were feeling better thanks to the music, so they turned it up. They were too busy licking their wounds that they didn't notice the figure sneak into the manner.
Andy suddenly spoke up. "Everyone. Get down. Hind under something. I think I felt a shock wave." Andy was weird, but he made plenty of hunches. And they were usually right. With that logic, they turned over the couch and covered together for comfort.
###########
The silent working hours were suddenly interrupted with a deafing blast. It seemed like all hell had broken loose. Volcanic eruption, Earthquake, Flooding. All were comparable to the sound. The blast pushed the children some narrowly avoiding falling into the hole. The loud bang woke the sleeping Numbuh One up. He got up. By getting up. He GOT UP. The blast sent him out of his bed, and into his desk.
"WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!" All operatives seemed to say together. They rushed over to the window where the blast seemed to have some from. There was billowing smoke, and a glow that seemed to be fire. And it was coming from Delightful Manner.
They ran to the scene, 2x4 technology armed and with all the spirt of marine recruits. Numbuh One partially had to be tied to the bed to keep from going. The damage was worse at ground zero. Half the manner was gone. A remaining third was on fire. Fire trucks were already on scene, and someone was being rushed away on a stretcher. The young operatives looked over. It was Father, looking a lot less intimidating injured and unconscious on a stretcher. Cree was running alongside the paramedics.
"Don't worry, Father, you'll be okay! I'll take care of everything!" She said before she was guided away from the ambulance. Numbuh Five looked peeved. They looked for the remaining members of the household. Maids and butlers giving and receiving first aid. Chaos was everywhere. They were finally able to find the Delightful Children, humbled by the blast, and with injuries. Their expression changed, however, when they saw their greatest rivals. They went from utter shock and pain to a neutral angry look. Their voices dripped with sarcasm; however, they felt it was unnecessary to speak in unison. Why? Give them a real shock. Andy clutched his arm in pain, but removed his hand and stared at the blood. Finally, he offered the bloody hand to his enemies.
"What? Surprised that we're normal children that bleed too?" He asked. His twin sister laughed. They all sat under a tree, with John's head hidden by the shadow of it. His helmet was off, and he was trying to glue the shattered pieces back together. The effort was heroic, but in vain. Ben smiled wickedly at them. Anne couldn't give them the time of day, as she was too busy trying to patch up her sibling's wounds, ignoring her own.
"Hey, let me help." Numbuh Three said, sympathetically. They were too tired to care, or they were actually grateful for her help, they let the Asian operative help clean the mess. Numbuh Five was quite sure that most of their injuries weren't from the explosion. With everyone being sympathetic, Numbuh Four was the only one to notice the green-haired girl from the bar, straight from across the street.
'Hey!" He yelled the green haired girl ran, and the operatives perused. This green girl wasn't giving up. They were running for a full block, then two. Numbuh Two had to drop out of the chase and rest. This girl was doing everything in her power to avoid capture, she threw things in their way, trash cans, outside toys, other kids. Finally, they came to a cemetery. The other operatives were too tired, now, and the green girl was gaining distance.
Some blue things streaked past them, and tackled the green girl, next to a family plot. Interrogations were already underway when the Kids Next Door got there. Numbuh Five caught up with the quintet. She decided it was wise to stay quiet. Chelsea turned the tackled girl over and gasped.
"Clover!?"
Clover gave a meek smile and an apologetic smirk. "I'm sorry, Chelsee' jus' doin' mah job." That got Chelsea going. The pounded her fists everywhere she could on Clover. "You bitch, you bitch, you bitch, you bitch, you bitch, YOU BITCH, YOU BITCH!!" she screamed. "WHY?!" she sobbed.
"B'cause it's mah job, Chelsea," The Irish lass said weakly. "Mikey told me..."
"Mikey!? You're in with THAT freak?" Chelsea gasped. Clover could only nod.
"GAHHH!" The petite blond screamed to the sky. "God. Dammit."
############
Drama! Well, turns out Chelsea and Clover are/were friends. Now what will happen?
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Night fell on the Tree House and its grim occupants. Numbuh One wasn't up yet, and they had a lot of repairs to do on the base. Not to mention that they had lost their captive in the battle.
"Numbuh Five is sure those Delightful dorks were behind this, they even let Spyder out."
"Man, that tears it! Those Delightful Dorks are gonna pay!" Numbuh Four screamed, throwing down his hammer. He paced around the room in that angry way of his.
"Calm down, Numbuh Four, we can't get back at them yet, Numbuh One hasn't woken up yet..." Numbuh Two tried to calm Numbuh Four down.
Numbuh Three was the medic, she returned from the room they were keeping Numbuh One in. She looked sad.
"I patched him up best as I could, but he isn't up yet." Numbuh Three said, holding her hat in her hands.
"LET"S GO AND KICK THEIR PRISSY BUTTS!" Numbuh Four raged, he already gotten up and pulled up his sleeves and was walking towards the door, when Numbuh Five stopped him.
"Hold On, Numbuh Four. Not until everythin's taken care of here. We still need to take care of repairs, then we need to fix Numbuh One, then we need to THINK of a counterstrike!"
"Hmph!" Numbuh Four grunted, walking back to the place we was repairing. He mumbled incoherent, dirty things as he continued to mend the tree house.
"What happened? I feel like I was hit by an ice cream truck." Numbuh One stood in the doorway. He looked better, although covered in bandages. He was standing upright, at least, and his glasses were perched rather awkwardly on his nose, the bandages positioning them in a rather odd way.
"NUMBUH ONE!" his teammates chorused, glad to see their leader was somewhat okay.
"Ben's creepy clan showed up. They attacked, and we managed to beat them by collapsing the floor." Numbuh Five said, summing it up into one sentence.
Numbuh One felt guilty for sleeping the day away while his teammates worked hard with injuries, I might add, to fix the tree house. He limped over to where NumbuhFour had been working to repair the floor. Before he had even picked up the hammer, Numbuh Five pulled him to his feet. She pushed the protesting leader to his room, saying, "Nuh-uh, you got the most injuries out of all of us! You need some sleep!" She send him to bed, closing the door behind her.
"Man, he must think he's invincible!" Numbuh Five said, getting back to work.
A long silence streaked between the friends. It was quiet, except for the construction noise. There were no words to break the silence.
#############
Spyder stopped for a moment and stared up at the heavens. Night. He sighed, his mother would be furious for coming home late. Probably be throwing things while his father and mother's father looked on with silent amusement. Asian moms were the worst when it came to discipline. His only option would be taking the bus. The bus. A form of transportation and amusement, all rolled into one. The mongrels of America took the bus. Businessmen took the bus. An entire look at American culture could be found on the bus. Hobos, hippies, potheads, druggies, musicians, revolutionaries, preachers. Conservatives and liberals. Catholics and protestant, Muslims and Jews. A look into American society. And all for a quarter.
Spyder sat on the hard fake leather seats of the bus, and examined his surroundings. A Goth boy sat not too far from him. He was milk white, with yellow eyes and shiny black hair that fell to his chin. He wore an unbuttoned black jacket resembling a military uniform dress jacket, but for the red star emblazoned on the right arm. Under that, he wore a short sleeved dress shirt with a plaid red tie with a jolly Rodger. Black pants and shiny, mirror-like combat boots completed the look. On the collar of the jacket, a red pin said, 'I am loved.' Next to the gothic boy, sat the Tolinater. Spyder had heard of the Tolinater having a weird son, but not very many had actually seen him. He was a teenager, went to an entirely different high school, and as a teenager, he never took the time to bother with the neighborhood kids. But here he must be. Discussing something with his father. Spyder wondered what it was. Well, none of his business. He got off at the next stop.
Dinner was quiet. A form of silent punishment for Spyder, and he knew. Dinner was Japanese-style, sitting on mats. A scene right out of an anime. Except spaghetti and fettuccini was served alongside pot stickers and egg rolls. Vintage wine alongside green tea. Okay, his diet was a bit weird, with Italian and Japanese cooking in a single meal, but you probably have a meal that stands for health and happiness and fond memories that most wouldn't approach with a bomb squad and a Geiger counter. Spyder hoped that Mikey or some of his other cohorts would be on the computer. He had much to talk about. He wanted DeathStrike back and new information would greatly help *la causa. He knew, however that Clover wouldn't be available, for she had a mission tonight.
#################
The Delightful Children lay panting on the floor. Punishment had been severe. Although nothing was broken this time around. Getting first aid was a must. Ben had suffered the most. Insubordination was unspeakable. Ben could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He was bleeding all over, bruised and beaten; he thought he looked worse then Numbuh One. Well, KND missions must have gotten easier over time, because what ever Ben had done to Nigel was light compared to what Father had done to him now. Even when on missions, Ben had felt worse. The KND must be getting softer, he thought through all the pain. Ben was unable to stand; his siblings had to carry him to their wing of the house. Anne patched him up. They carefully sipped drinks, quietly. Andy seemed to be having a conversation with himself. His lips moving, but no sound coming out, and staring into space. Chelsea listened to techno and John was removing the scratches from his helmet. Chelsea was redoing the John's hair. She sung very quietly to Daft Punk's Digital Love.
"Last night, I had a dream about you, in this dream; I'm dancing right besides you. It looked, like everyone was having fun, the kind of feeling, I've waited so long for. Don't stop, come a little closer, as we jam, the rhythm gets stronger."
Ben joined in, singing, "There's nothing wrong, with just a little, little, fun. We were dancing, all night long. The time is right, to put my arm around you, you're feeling right, you wrap your arm around, too. But suddenly, I feel the shiny sun. Before you know it, the dream is all gone."
They were feeling better thanks to the music, so they turned it up. They were too busy licking their wounds that they didn't notice the figure sneak into the manner.
Andy suddenly spoke up. "Everyone. Get down. Hind under something. I think I felt a shock wave." Andy was weird, but he made plenty of hunches. And they were usually right. With that logic, they turned over the couch and covered together for comfort.
###########
The silent working hours were suddenly interrupted with a deafing blast. It seemed like all hell had broken loose. Volcanic eruption, Earthquake, Flooding. All were comparable to the sound. The blast pushed the children some narrowly avoiding falling into the hole. The loud bang woke the sleeping Numbuh One up. He got up. By getting up. He GOT UP. The blast sent him out of his bed, and into his desk.
"WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!" All operatives seemed to say together. They rushed over to the window where the blast seemed to have some from. There was billowing smoke, and a glow that seemed to be fire. And it was coming from Delightful Manner.
They ran to the scene, 2x4 technology armed and with all the spirt of marine recruits. Numbuh One partially had to be tied to the bed to keep from going. The damage was worse at ground zero. Half the manner was gone. A remaining third was on fire. Fire trucks were already on scene, and someone was being rushed away on a stretcher. The young operatives looked over. It was Father, looking a lot less intimidating injured and unconscious on a stretcher. Cree was running alongside the paramedics.
"Don't worry, Father, you'll be okay! I'll take care of everything!" She said before she was guided away from the ambulance. Numbuh Five looked peeved. They looked for the remaining members of the household. Maids and butlers giving and receiving first aid. Chaos was everywhere. They were finally able to find the Delightful Children, humbled by the blast, and with injuries. Their expression changed, however, when they saw their greatest rivals. They went from utter shock and pain to a neutral angry look. Their voices dripped with sarcasm; however, they felt it was unnecessary to speak in unison. Why? Give them a real shock. Andy clutched his arm in pain, but removed his hand and stared at the blood. Finally, he offered the bloody hand to his enemies.
"What? Surprised that we're normal children that bleed too?" He asked. His twin sister laughed. They all sat under a tree, with John's head hidden by the shadow of it. His helmet was off, and he was trying to glue the shattered pieces back together. The effort was heroic, but in vain. Ben smiled wickedly at them. Anne couldn't give them the time of day, as she was too busy trying to patch up her sibling's wounds, ignoring her own.
"Hey, let me help." Numbuh Three said, sympathetically. They were too tired to care, or they were actually grateful for her help, they let the Asian operative help clean the mess. Numbuh Five was quite sure that most of their injuries weren't from the explosion. With everyone being sympathetic, Numbuh Four was the only one to notice the green-haired girl from the bar, straight from across the street.
'Hey!" He yelled the green haired girl ran, and the operatives perused. This green girl wasn't giving up. They were running for a full block, then two. Numbuh Two had to drop out of the chase and rest. This girl was doing everything in her power to avoid capture, she threw things in their way, trash cans, outside toys, other kids. Finally, they came to a cemetery. The other operatives were too tired, now, and the green girl was gaining distance.
Some blue things streaked past them, and tackled the green girl, next to a family plot. Interrogations were already underway when the Kids Next Door got there. Numbuh Five caught up with the quintet. She decided it was wise to stay quiet. Chelsea turned the tackled girl over and gasped.
"Clover!?"
Clover gave a meek smile and an apologetic smirk. "I'm sorry, Chelsee' jus' doin' mah job." That got Chelsea going. The pounded her fists everywhere she could on Clover. "You bitch, you bitch, you bitch, you bitch, you bitch, YOU BITCH, YOU BITCH!!" she screamed. "WHY?!" she sobbed.
"B'cause it's mah job, Chelsea," The Irish lass said weakly. "Mikey told me..."
"Mikey!? You're in with THAT freak?" Chelsea gasped. Clover could only nod.
"GAHHH!" The petite blond screamed to the sky. "God. Dammit."
############
Drama! Well, turns out Chelsea and Clover are/were friends. Now what will happen?