Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.

AN: The sequel to Devils in Disguise, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.

Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.

Chapter Thirty-One

The sound of the meal slot opening and the plastic tray scraping across the metal with what barely passed as food roused Scott from a fitful slumber. He cast an eye over brown sludge and groaned, flopping back onto the rock-hard bed and pulled a thin blanket over his eyes.

What was the point of getting up to go through the same monotony of the court case?

He would sit there in a suit that swam over his painfully thin body, listen to the prosecution paint him as a cold blooded killer with motive and with all honesty, Scott couldn't deny that there were times during his incarceration where he had given serious thought and planned how he would have killed the man that had threatened the lives of his family. With thoughts like that, how would a jury find him innocent?

Scott's mind wandered back over the past two weeks, since the start of the trial. The prosecution's case was strong; they had the means and motive and evidence. Circumstantial, but tangible evidence all the same. What did his defence have, except for relying on the goodwill of the jury to not punish a former member of International Rescue?

It was a weak defence, at best.

Virgil had told him that Tin-Tin had returned to the island to assist Brains – there had been a new development there, but no-one had deemed it important to fill him in on what the new development was. Perhaps it was a misguided judgement to not raise his hopes in case the development was a dead end, but not knowing irked Scott. Not knowing implied that his family didn't trust him with the information that may prove him innocent. Hadn't heard any news from Lady Penelope and Parker in recent times either, and that was odd in itself. The last time Scott had spoken to Lady Penelope was over four months ago, and that was just before she had told him she was pursuing a lead in the Malaysian jungle. Since then, radio silence.

The likelihood of him being found guilty and being sentenced to death by lethal injection was increasing in probability and was there any point in getting out of what barely passed for a bed to delay the inevitable?

Probably not, but Scott had to anyway as a guard had unlocked the door to his cell, hoicked him up by the elbow and threw Scott's suit down on the bed.

"Leaving for court in ten minutes," the guard barked as he escorted Scott to the shower block. A razor was passed to Scott and he ran a hand across stubble. Wouldn't do to turn up to court unpresentable, would it?

Scott closed his eyes as he moved in front of a blurry mirror and sighed. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at the razor in his hand, raised the blade against his throat and then stared into space, looking into a future that held absolutely nothing of worth.

John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan leaned over the balcony of the penthouse, wolfing down cereal, sipping cups of steaming coffee, and sighed.

"How much longer can the vultures hold out?" Gordon muttered, gesturing at the media that had set up camp at the entrance to the building their penthouse was in.

It had been two weeks since Jeff had gathered his family together to discuss relaxing the secrecy around International Rescue. It had been decided that the technology would always remain confidential – that could never fall into the hands of a person that would use it for their own nefarious purposes - but they had decided to let some information leak to the media to try and ensure their safety.

Ten days ago, John had leaked their first names and a few blurry images of some of the more sensational rescues that they had completed on the dark web. The media had seized on this information and instantly flocked to the bottom of the apartment block, correcty surmising that International Rescue was a family run affair.

Nine days ago, when Alan had gone for his early morning run to clear his head and stop him dwelling on his separation, and no doubt impending divorce, from Tin-Tin, he had been clawed at and harassed by the media. He ran, feet pounding the pavement, as fast as his feet could carry him. Anything to carry him away from all his problems. Arms swinging, legs pumping, Alan was hit by the realisation that he and his brothers had just become prisoners within the penthouse; there was no way they would be able to leave their house unless they were ensconced in a car and provided with a police escort so they could get where they needed to be without the paparazzi stalking them. For the first time, Alan could truly understand the future his eldest brother faced, imprisoned with no autonomy if he was found guilty.

Four days ago, tempers had frayed. The Tracy boys were used to living with each other – they had to be to live on Tracy Island – but they were not used to living in such close proximity to each other. The island provided them enough space to walk away when one or the other brother would grate on their nerves. Not that it took much to frustrate each other in their current circumstance. All of them were keenly aware that their future was hanging on a knife edge, all tied up in the verdict of Scott's court case.

John finished his cereal, letting the spoon clatter into the bowl as he headed into the kitchen. "Time to go, guys."

"John?"

John turned around at the sound of his name, recognising the tone of voice Gordon was using. It was the tone that all the brothers used with Scott when they needed reassurance from their eldest brother.

"Do you think it'll be okay?"

"I don't know. The prosecution has a pretty strong case; we'll find out the true extent of Scott's defence when they start presenting that to the jury today."

Brains groaned and slammed his head onto his keyboard in frustration. Time was of the essence, and time was running out. The last time he looked out of the window, the sun had just started to rise, the sky a palate of pinks and purples. Now, the sun was fully ablaze, bathing his lab in a warm glow and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It truly was a day in paradise. Pity the Tracy family weren't here to enjoy it, and if they weren't able to enjoy it, neither could he.

He had a job to do.

"Brains?" Tin-Tin called out from the door, carrying a tray of food and a pot of steaming coffee. "Time for a break."

Brains shot a grateful but tired smile in Tin-Tin's direction as she set a chicken Caesar salad in front of him. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes and Tin-Tin saw the full extent of Brains' exhaustion.

Lines that she had never seen before were carved deep into Brains' forehead, worry lined evident around his mouth. Dark bags circled dull grey eyes and Brains appeared more pale than usual. A five o'clock shadow covered Brains' cheeks, chin and neck; a clear indication that Brains had been so fixated on cracking the code hidden in the security footage that he had forgotten to shave, a pet peeve of his.

"Eat," Tin-Tin commanded, a hint of steel in her voice. "Then shower. Shave. Then get some sleep."

Brains opened his mouth to protest, but Tin-Tin put her foot down figuratively and literally.

"No, Brains," Tin-Tin stomped her foot to emphasise what she was saying. "You won't be good to anyone if that brilliant mind of yours is overworked and undernourished. Not that I should need to remind you," she continued acidly, "but I have a Bachelor of Software Engineering and a Bachelor of Mathematics, specialising in cryptosystems. I can continue decoding while you rest."

Too depleted to argue, Brains relinquished his chair and followed Tin-Tin's orders. Tin-Tin, for her part, settled into Brains' chair, pulled on some anti-fatigue glasses and started tapping away. She barely registered the passage of time, barely felt the lab temperature dropping as the sun set and the cool ocean breeze wafted through the open bi-fold windows.

After two weeks of dead ends, red herrings and near misses with malware corrupting their servers, Tin-Tin couldn't believe it and let out an audible gasp when the security footage of Scott leaving the hospital room dissolved into nothing in front of her eyes.