Author's Note/Disclaimer: I think I lost a few people after the debacle recently. Feh, forget them. They're not worth anything if they stopped reading because I defended my friends.

At any rate, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends belongs to Craig McCracken and Cartoon Network. DIE and Virginia belong to me.

Chapter Nine: Sunset

Twilight, the time when creatures' activities dwindled down and people headed home. However, in any other world, returning home might be less of an ordeal than here. At sundown sharp, Berry's troops marched outside DIE headquarters and stationed themselves anywhere she thought Foster's might have an entrance. Fortunately, her knowledge proved faulty, but it made any spies' progress through the town to procure nourishments cumbersome at best.

A few garrisoned outside a local convenience store twiddled their transformers idly but were chary not to effect a transformation themselves. Like Foster's imaginaries, they had belts to change their guises and, like Foster's belts, contained tracking devices. However, these belts also had a shocking device- if the imaginary in question drifted too far from assigned stations or decided to go for a jaunt in a bar, he'd be electrocuted. Nothing like a little shock therapy to ensure fealty and obeisance.

One such soldier shrugged, glancing in the direction of HQ, and then inclined his head towards the conversation. In the corner, twiddling his own transformer knob, stood a dirty blonde haired teenager with rather thin, sharp fingers that curved like claws. His face wore an incredibly hard look and his blue eyes were like steel, cold and stoic. Unlike the others, he offered nothing to the conversation, but silently recorded everything. He had a mind like a trap and the cunning to undermine them all, if given the chance.

"I heard her singing in the shower the other day," one said offhandedly and it took no amount of brainwork on anyone's part to figure out who he was alluding to. Shuffling a cigarette between their freezing hands (both gloves and cigarettes were forbidden, since one was a drug and the other something that prevented pain), they casually drew a long drag and then passed it on. Bendy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, singing to some girl named Virginia," a female piped up, face in the shadows and lit up only by the fire at the end of the narcotic. "Saying she loved her and she didn't have the right to leave her."

Bendy's eyes widened and he cocked his head, inclining it further without sticking out of the alley. Well, wasn't this interesting? Truthfully, he'd always suspected Berry wasn't entirely sane, but this certainly proved his theory. Who on earth was Virginia, anyway? She obviously meant a great deal to her at one point, but in order to gain her confidence and have her expose such an Achilles' heel was impossible at the moment. Maybe she'd reveal herself more as time went on.

"You know, I'm starting to think maybe we'd make better rulers of DIE," the third murmured. "I know the person who tried to head DIE before he disappeared and he wasn't as easy on imaginaries as she is. Sometimes I wonder if she is an imaginary. She has that belt…"

Bendy frowned, twiddling his own nervously. The last one wasn't an imaginary and therefore, a possible threat. At the moment, he had no weapons and therefore, only his one body to defend himself. These imaginaries were clearly traitors and would join his side in a heartbeat. He'd best keep his position.

"You know, if she is one, we ought to kill her. I know I'm not taking any shit from an imaginary and she's put me, I mean, us, through the ringer. Why the hell should we listen to some little fucker who is just a bad idea?"

The other grunts mumbled assertively and, given new strength, the pariah continued. He stood atop a rather rotten looking wooden crate and then, spreading his arms wide (he whacked the side of a building and Bendy snickered into his hands), proceeded to speak from his bully pulpit. He cupped his hands to direct more soldiers their way and Bendy rolled his eyes once more. What a fool. Someone was bound to be loyal here and would put a dozen bullets in his corpse, then alert her to the mutiny.

"Kill her!" he chanted and, to Bendy's shock, a group of five soldiers joined. Before long, they were screaming it to the high heavens and he slipped away, wondering if he ought to alert her or wait for them to make prats of themselves. Maybe he'd luck out and they'd get drunk and shoot themselves. That would make her happy and he'd get a dark chuckle out of it.

Humans really were stupid, though. Look at his own creator who had abandoned him because he couldn't deal with his deeds. He'd created him to do his dirty tasks and then couldn't handle him? What a little wimp. He'd deserved to be shot in the back by DIE soldiers. The look on his face had been priceless- finally, he understood the sting of the betrayal Bendy felt every day. Fool.

Sticking to the alcoves and alleyways, he arrived just as Berry contemplated her own plans for the evening.

Though most transformer belts had only two forms- human and their proper, imaginary forms, Berry had two imaginaries and two humans. She never used the second imaginary form but had always kept it in storage just in case. Now, idly twiddling her own belt, she wondered if it might come in handy. After all, Foster's knew what one guise looked like, but not the other. Maybe she could infiltrate it, steal Bloo away, and then kill Herriman and Madame Foster in their sleep. Three birds with one stone.

Of course, the fact remained that she had no idea where Foster's was located, but that could be remedied. If she waited outside long enough, surely a spy, imaginary in hiding, or creator would wander out and then, she'd trap them.

…

Mr. Herriman rested his head against the chilly metal doorframe and glanced occasionally into the small hole inserted at eye level. Every once in a while, he ended up with look out duty, which usually entailed a couple boring hours of watching out for any new imaginary friends in need of a place to crash. At least, that was the positive idea behind it. The negative usually wasn't considered until it became a possibility (of DIE soldiers knocking brashly on their front door).

Today, Frankie sat, curled up in a chair off to the right side. She'd insisted on joining him and wouldn't take no for an answer. Despite the fact look out duty was boring (as she herself knew), she'd perched herself on the only folding chair in the immediate vicinity and then obstinately refused to move. Beneath the façade of assuring him company, he had the keen notion she was really looking out for the imaginary who had threatened him. Her fist balled into her palm gave it away as well as her narrowed eyes and intimidating countenance. The famous Foster temper brewed beneath the quick smile she offered him.

"Frankie," he murmured, exasperated, "what makes you think that she would arrive here of all locations and then demand our help? It makes little sense."

"She's an imaginary friend, isn't she?" she snapped, wrapping her arms around her legs. "She'll come."

Sighing, he removed a glove to stroke her face with his paw. Normally, such an act would calm her, but snow crunching outside combined with her suppressed fury only caused her to narrow her eyes to slits and slap his paw away. She didn't like being patronized and, in her mind, offering false assurance was nothing less. The girl would come and she would have her vengeance for threatening him. No amount of caresses and sweet nothings would stop her.

A swift knock on the door diverted his attention and she mouthed at his back, "you see?" Of course, he couldn't at the moment, but the point was still valid. Nonetheless, until she verified this was who her target was, she might as well sit back. If she leaned over the armrest, she just barely distinguished tufts of orange hair spurting out over a blobby, grotesque head and two left feet (literally). Far be it for her to critique imaginary friends' appearances, but there was something off about this one.

Meanwhile, unseen by either Herriman or Frankie, a small, blue, imaginary blob crept up the stairs and then halted, arm on the banister. As the disguised Herriman answered the door, an ominous feeling churned his stomach. Somehow, he knew instantaneously no one they ought to consort with lay beyond that door. He glanced at Frankie, who was frowning like he. She sensed it too.

In his human form, grey and white hair covered his head and then ended curtly at his neck. He was of indeterminate age, but he looked to be at least fifty. A handsome, sleek black tuxedo hung sharply about his chest and black trousers were (naturally) folded up to meet polished black dress shoes. Every inch of his human form was immaculate, much like his normal guise. Still, the slight crouch and his awkwardly upright legs betrayed the fact he wasn't normally a human. That and his nose was pinker than usual, rather like a rabbit's.

He stood, either in rabbit form or human, at the same height as Frankie, but Bloo supposed his human form had its advantages. At the moment, he preferred to keep down his chips and not ponder what those were. Still, the smile that arose whenever he transformed was missing from her face. Both she and Bloo were preoccupied with determining what exactly was out of place with this imaginary.

"May I help you?" he said curtly, chary not to reveal who he worked or what exactly he did. Experience taught him mentioning Foster's and what they stood for was a dangerous notion. Besides, he thought he'd heard this voice before, but he couldn't put a paw on where. Some time in the past, had he encountered her? And there was that belt, a green instead of the navy blue the imaginaries from Foster's wore.

"You," the girl growled, orange blobby arms contorting into fists. Every cell in her body exploded into anger. Though she hadn't recognized the form, the voice she would anywhere. Visions of a dying rabbit flitted through her head.

"I beg your pardon?" Herriman responded politely, though Frankie vacated her chair to glower at the girl from behind the door. She too, had balled fists and wasn't afraid to use them. Besides, anyone who distinguished him by his voice had to be either someone here who'd known him for years, Berry herself, or an imaginary friend trained by her. She wasn't taking any chances.

"You filthy rabbit!" she screeched, launching herself at him. A switchblade flashed, but before she could use it, Frankie ripped her hands off him and then shoved her into the alley. Taken aback, he watched as she proceeded to slap the blade away and kick her hard in the stomach.

Berry clutched her sore stomach, but recovered quickly enough to slam her into the wall. She swung her fist to careen into her face, but the redhead ducked at the last split second and Berry hit solid brick. Momentarily dazed, Berry stood there dumbly as Frankie put her in a headlock and then rained no less than a dozen punches on her head and chest while the girl struggled madly. Howling in pain, Berry managed to free herself only to headbutt her in the stomach. Frankie once again slammed into the wall and groaned as it struck her back painfully.

"Miss Frances!" Herriman cried, panic stricken. "Miss Frances, stop!"

"Never," Frankie snarled and he had to duck behind the door because she flung her into it. Metal clanged and Berry shrieked, shuddering as her head connected with the steel. She twiddled a dial on her transformer, turned into a human, and then proceeded to wrap her hands around her throat. Disgruntled, Frankie stepped on both her feet, elbowed her in the throat, and karate chopped her in the back of the neck. The world spun in varying shades before Berry's eyes and Frankie smirked, kicking, punching, and lunging whenever applicable. She wasn't going to give her the chance to recover.

"Who the hell are you?" Berry rasped, spitting in her face. "And why the hell should you care what happens to that stupid fucking rabbit? He deserves to be dead.

"That's why I threw the rabbit foot at your little friend- as a reminder his days are numbered."

That last comment plunged her into a state of adrenaline driven, righteous fury and, so pissed she could barely see straight, she cuffed her in the back of the head, kicked her in the back, and then continued striking at random until she finally ended up punching her in the back of the head and sending her face first into the brick wall. Berry stumbled, attempting to right herself, when Frankie kneed her in the stomach once more and, like a sack of lead, she crumpled.

"Bitch," she spat, still fairly quaking in anger. She pivoted on her heel and, after a second thought, picked up the unconscious imaginary friend by the scuff of her collar. Blood trickled down the wounds she'd inflected, though Frankie herself was not without a few scratches and bruises. Still, she was conscious and the other creature passed out by her hands, so she considered herself the winner.

Meanwhile, completely nonplussed, Herriman stared blankly. He wasn't certain how to address what had just happened. In fact, he was having a bit of trouble making eye contact with her. Her lack of inhibition towards Berry and her sudden recklessness unnerved him. Swallowing hard, he glanced at the floor, the switchblade, and understood. It wasn't unprovoked in the slightest. That came as a somewhat relief.

"Frankie…" he murmured, eyeing her capriciously. "I think that was the head of DIE you just, er, disposed of."

Stunned, she dropped her onto the cold, unyielding icy asphalt. Her face smacked and, maliciously, she wondered if she'd heard a crack or merely imagined it. Still, if this was the head of DIE, then she'd probably bring reinforcements next time she arrived. She glanced at Herriman, who glanced determinedly back. Maybe those blows to the head would erase her recollection of how she got here in the first place (hopefully).

Then again, this wasn't the only entrance into Foster's and it definitely wasn't the most used. With any luck, she thought as she carted her off into a dumpster far away, she'd forget the entire exchange. But if worst came to worst, they could always shut that one down. It wasn't that big a deal...

Frankie leaned against the dumpster for a second and glanced at her hands. Were she as ruthless as Berry, she'd have killed her opponent. Instead, she lived to torture them and everyone else another day. But if she had killed her, could she have lived with herself afterwards? She doubted it.

Herriman was waiting for her at the door and hastily shut it after she entered. With any luck, that'd be the end of the excitement for the day.