Disclaimer : The city of Metropolis, the Black Dogs and most of the Keepers belong to me. The other characters belong to their respective creators.

Hunched up in the corner of his room, Mac strained his sight to have another look at the clock. It had just gone 3:00, which meant that Mike would be here soon, and for that, he was glad, no, grateful. His older brother Terrence had locked him in here for the day, and was indolently lounging around in the next room. Usually on and with volume levels of seismic proportions, the TV remained unnervingly silent today – there was nothing to stare at but static. The confines around him were murky, but that was because he'd pulled the blind down over the window. Right now he didn't want to look outside at anything; he was scared. The crackle of distant gunfire had soothed him to sleep every night for the last week; occasionally he'd been woken up in the night by an exploding shell or something. His school had been closed for almost a fortnight now, no doubt to protect their next generation of teachers. How thoughtful, Mac thought cynically.

Terrence thought it was awesome, of course, the gullible idiot. He'd tried to sign up for military service himself, even procured fake papers so he seemed within the age limit, but they'd rumbled him and sent him home. The rejection had left him bitter, and most of his pent-up aggression he vented on Mac, partly because there was no-one else around, but mainly because he was just an all-round jerk. Mac sighed and stared up at the window. A little light shone through the slats in the blind, enough for him to be able to see where he was going…as if he were really going anywhere.

He hoped Mike would get here soon; she always made him feel better about things. A few months back, he didn't care that none of the kids or teachers at school really gave a rat's ass about him, or that Terrence would torture him at his discretion at home. What mattered to him was the period in between – the time he would go round to Foster's, see his friends and let all his fears fade into the ether, at least for a little while. Now he didn't even have that anymore, and that left him more alone than ever before. But Mike would make everything better – she always did.

The sound of a key turning in the lock on his door suddenly reached his ears. He scrambled up and hid himself under his bed. The door was flung open as Terrence swaggered in. Mac held his breath as his brother scoured the room like a bloodthirsty predator, looking for him in all the usual places. "Mac," he said softly, "come out, come out, wherever you are…" His head turned, and his eyes sparkled maliciously when he caught sight of his little brother cowering under the bed. "Gotcha," he smirked triumphantly, and he seized Mac by the ankle.

"No!" Mac protested as Terence attempted to pull him out, "No, let go of me, Terrence!" He lashed out with his feet, hearing a satisfying thud as one struck Terrence smartly on the knuckles.

The teenager yelled with pain and swiftly withdrew his hand, rubbing his injury. His teeth bared themselves before he lunged for him again. "You little mother–"

But just before he could lay a hand on him again, there was a sharp knock at the door. Terrence's eyes strayed vaguely towards the hall, and he sighed in frustration. "Don't move," he growled at Mac before he got up and went to answer it. Hell, why not, he thought to himself, he'd give his frightened little brother a bit of a reprieve before he pounded the living crap out of him. He was on the verge of opening the door in his usual surly fashion and asking, "Yeah, what do you want?", when it was kicked down in front of him.

He barely had time to react as a group of armed men stormed in through the door and bowled him over. One hurried over and clamped a cloth over his mouth. Terrence struggled in vain against him as noxious fumes seeped in through his mouth, but the room began to spiral away from him, then everything went black.

"He's down," the soldier said, taking the chloroform-soaked cloth away from the youth's mouth.

"The younger one's got to be around here somewhere," Mac heard someone say from the other room. "Find him." Totally paralysed with fear, he watched helplessly as two men came in to the room and began to overturn the place, rummaging through cupboards and drawers in their attempts to find him. One threw back the covers on the bed, only for them to yield nothing. The soldier crouched down on his hands and knees and spotted him. "Found him," he alerted his comrade before grabbing Mac and dragging him from his hiding-place.

Mac was powerless to resist as one of the armed men bound his hands behind his back. He tried to call out to anyone who could hear him, still praying that Mike would come through the door any second now, but the other swiftly taped his mouth shut before lifting him up and carrying him back into the hall under one arm.

A man in front of him nodded and spoke into an intercom. "Hostage is secure."

"Excellent," the reply came. "Bring him in."

Mac's eyes widened. 'Bring him in'? Where to? Would they ever let him leave? He threshed as viciously as he could from side-to-side, but his captor held him tight as he hurried back down the flights of metal stairs, accompanied by the rest of the group. They ran up to a van parked just by the apartment block and bundled him into the back before getting in themselves. As the van took off, Mac raised his head and took one last glance out of the small window – all he could see was grey sky, occasionally punctured by a building or two. His head fell despondently back onto the floor of the van, and he tried to stop himself from crying as the van sped away into the unknown, taking him further and further away from the only person who could help him…

As she rounded the corner, Mike thrust her hands into her pockets to try and keep them warm. She was walking straight into a bitterly cold gust of wind which chilled her to the bone, but she put it out of her mind and wondered how Mac was doing. It was a bit selfish, and moreover, dangerous, for her to go and visit him at a time like this, but the entire city was surrounded by armed soldiers and tanks, and she felt an almost moral obligation to make sure he was all right. She had to admit, she was quite fond of him; the two of them shared a kind of platonic bond, like a brother and sister, and he was a smart and generally likeable kid. Besides, she thought she owed him after he saved her life.

One morning about six months ago, Mac had deliberately missed the school bus so he could pass by the Ground Zero that used to be Foster's. He'd stood in front of the cast-iron gates for a minute or so, silently reflecting on it like a war memorial, before resuming his journey to school with a dejected sigh and a heavy heart.

But as he passed by the woods that enclosed the grounds, he peered through the railings at what he thought was a person. He squinted to try and get a better view and realised that it was a girl. She looked in her mid-teens and her hair was coloured a lighter hue of red, almost reminding him of Frankie's. Without any further hesitation, he rushed back through the gates and made his way through the woods, parting branches and bushes while looking around for the body. Eventually he'd found her slumped at the base of a tree. She looked badly beaten up; her skin was deathly pale and there was a pool of dried blood on her hand. Her wrist felt cold as he pressed his fingers against her radial artery, searching for a pulse; it was there, but faint.

At that point, Mike opened her eyes and groaned weakly. Mac let go of her wrist and waved his hand in front of her face. When she turned her head to look at him, he said, "Don't worry, everything's gonna be all right…"

"What?" Mike asked, "Where am…" and then gritted her teeth as her right arm throbbed with a stinging pain.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Mac said, trying to get her up.

"No," she said, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just…I just can't," Mike said. The kid didn't look ten years old yet, and she didn't have the time or the strength to explain her situation – her vision was fading again. "Listen," she said, taking her headset off and handing it to him, "use this. The people on the other end know who I am. Tell them where you are, and that you're waiting with Mike…" Her head flopped backwards again and her eyes closed.

Checking nervously that she was still breathing, Mac pressed a button on the headset and spoke into the microphone, "Hello? Is…is there anyone there?"

"Hello?" a girl said on the other end of the line. "Mike? Is that you?"

"No," he said, glancing towards the road. "My name is Mac Lewin, and…and I'm with Mike now. She told me to contact you."

"She told you?"

"Yeah," Mac answered. "She's hurt pretty bad…"

"OK," the girl said, "where are you now?"

"I'm at Foster's…" Force of habit. He forgot Foster's wasn't there any more. "Uh, I'm at the place where Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends used to be."

"OK," she told him, "stay where you are and keep the headset on. We'll be there soon."

"OK," he said, and then switched the set off. He'd waited with Mike for about fifteen minutes, occasionally waking her and giving her some water from his backpack, when the girl's voice rang in his ear again.

"Hello? Mac?"

"Yeah?" he answered.

"We're at the gate. Are you inside?"

"Yeah, turn right and head straight on through the woods," he said.

"Got it," she acknowledged, and clicked off.

A minute later, about four people broke through the undergrowth and surrounded Mike. One of them pressed two fingers against her temple and said, "Heart's still goin'. We need to get her back to medical." With that, two of them lifted her up, supporting her on her shoulders, and carried her back through the woods.

A black-haired girl, presumably the one he'd just talked to, came over to him and said, "Thanks, Mac. You've done us a big, big favour."

"Who are you guys?" Mac asked instantly, eager for some answers.

The girl shifted uneasily. "I can't tell you," she replied. "If you knew, we'd be in danger, you'd be in danger."

Mac understood, and walked back out to the road with her with no further questions. As the van drove off, the conundrum still circulated in his mind, but he tried not to think about it.

Back on arrival at Division, Mike had been taken straight into the infirmary with a bullet in the arm, hypothermia and dehydration. She'd also suffered a slight concussion and partial amnesia – she couldn't remember anything from about a week before she was found. From what Intel was able to piece together, she'd been set up by the Keepers, ambushed and attacked, and then left exposed to the elements in the wood. She'd been put on an IV tube immediately, and it had been a week before she could even walk again. But when she was discharged, she found his address and went over to find him. The quizzical look on his face as he answered the door swiftly disappeared when he recognised her.

Over time, she'd gotten to know him a little better, and he began to seem more and more like a little brother to her. His life seemed so solitary, especially after he told her about his friends at Foster's and what happened to them. His mother was out working most of the day, heaven knew where, and his moronic older brother seemed to have no better way to while away his time than make Mac's life miserable. It was the least she could do to make him feel that he still had someone to talk to, to confide in when times were hard. She was going to do that today.

A thunderclap rumbled across the sky. Crossing the road quickly, Mike looked up at the apartment block that Mac lived in. Not exactly bleak, but all the others around it looked the same, like one sprawling, concrete prison. She climbed up the stairs and turned left on the third floor, occasionally glancing down through the drizzle into the heart of the city. It looked as grey and faceless as it always did, and the weather dealt it no favours. Something generally didn't feel right round here – it was far too quiet, almost as if the residents had been forcibly silenced. Feeling a little insecure, she turned the corner.

Mac's front door was ajar. She edged a little nearer, thinking (hoping) that someone hadn't shut it carefully enough. Her pulse began to race when she saw that the lock was broken – the door had been kicked in. Pressing herself up against the wall, Mike drew her gun. She didn't want to take it to Mac's house, but with everything that was happening today, she'd also been reluctant to leave without it. She counted to three and then pointed the gun through the open doorway. She could see no-one inside, but the place had been smashed up a bit. A table or two was knocked over, a picture frame lay smashed on the ground, but no signs of life. She crept inside, shifting her aim at any sound she heard. Her foot snagged on something, and she looked down to see Mac's older brother slumped against the wall, eyes closed and inanimate. Sweat began to trickle down her forehead. She was about to check if he was still alive before the phone rang.

Hesitantly she listened to it ring a few times before picking up the receiver and saying, "Hello?"

"Hello, Mike," a voice replied. It was definitely a man's voice, deep and resonant with a defined English accent. What the…, Mike thought, surveying the room for cameras hidden in the ceiling, but the voice continued. "Doubtless you'll be wondering where your young friend might be."

"Who are you?" Mike demanded, trying to keep her composure. "What have you done with him?"

"Rest assured, he's in perfectly safe hands. At least, for now."

"Tell me where he is!" Mike yelled.

"Come and claim him," the voice challenged her. "The Black Dogs are always prepared for someone like you."

Mike's heart missed a beat.

"It's now 3:42," the voice continued. "You know where we're holding him. If you want him, you'll come within the next three hours, or he dies." With that, the man hung up. Mike let the receiver fall from her hand, and she needed to lean against the wall to support herself. The Black Dogs had Mac, and they were threatening to kill him…she couldn't comprehend that. He was only nine years old – what could they have wanted with him? She just couldn't understand why they'd submit a kid that age to something so terrifying.

Rising slowly to her feet again, she tried to get a grip on the situation and figure it out. Even for the Black Dogs, this didn't look like an on-the-fly job to her – they'd planned this in advance. If it was a ransom demand, then why did they want Mac? And why did they call her instead of his mother? Whoever he was, the man on the other end of the line had called her by name. He knew she would answer, so the Dogs must have known she was coming round this afternoon. Early yesterday evening, she'd called Mac, just to see how he was coping; he told her he was scared with all the fighting going on, so she promised to drop by the next day. The Black Dogs must have tapped the call, got all the information they needed, then sent out a team to snatch him before she got there.

But then why did they take Mac in the first place? Since they'd known she would come here, perhaps they expected Mike to follow them to try and get him back. She sensed a trap, but it didn't change the fact that they still had him, and that she still had a vital choice to make – either get him out of the woods, or leave him there for the wolves. She wiped a tear from her eye before exiting the room and walking back out into the cold. Her coat billowed out slightly in the wind behind her as she made her way back towards Division. The world was a formidable, scary place; she received her wake-up call on that old adage long ago, but just then, it became clear again just how formidable and scary it was.