Danny had just wanted a simple weekend off, visiting with whom he thought of as family. He wanted to catch up with Jean about life, get a chance to piss off Lawson with a glib comment or two and see that familiar frown. Hell, sometimes he missed it even back in Melbourne. His commanding officer was an okay guy, but he never got really... passionate about stuff. While Danny was happy not to be on the receiving end of an angry rant, ever so often he just missed Lawson's dedication to the job.

If he really thought about it, he also missed the occasional craziness that living in Ballarat and under the Doc's roof brought. His life in Melbourne seemed almost boring compared to it, although he did have his ways of livening it up, Danny thought with a small quirk of his lips.

When Blake asked if he missed this... Danny said no. He didn't miss being worried about people he cared for. But he would be a liar if he didn't admit that yes... the adrenaline surge as he drove towards the station, blood pumping in anticipation of action, wasn't a startlingly welcome feeling.

He parked the car just a street down from the station. They could see the front entrance of the building, although there didn't seem to be any movement.

"It looks normal," Danny commented, sounding almost disappointed as he peeked ahead, squinting. It was dark outside but the street lights in front of the station worked fine.

"Maybe. I'd rather this was just a prank than anything serious," Blake muttered and started looking around. "Where did you tell the others to meet us?"

"Here," Danny said and grinned as there was a knock on the window. Blake startled a bit, not expecting it.

"Bloody-" he sighed. "Stop snickering, Danny," he growled.

"Sure... old man," Danny added with a smirk, though he kept it under his breath. After all, he still remembered one of the wild theories circling in Melbourne that perhaps it was Blake who was behind the large number of murders in Ballarat. Of course Danny had laughed it off the first time he heard, but then it became a fun little game. Especially if whomever was spreading the rumours was met with a smirking Danny, who never forgot to mention where he came from and under whose roof he lived for over a year. He could appreciate the wary looks afterwards or the occasional invite for a drink, if the perpetrator was more curious than scared.

"Parks... Blake?" the man that knocked on the window was now leaning inside the car, giving them both a look, as if assessing whether they were drunk or not. Danny would have rolled his eyes but knew that if he had gotten the phone call, he might've just reacted the same.

"Sergeant Lewis," Blake said, clearly not appreciative of the doubtful look or the scare he got.

"Heya Lewie... how's life treating you, mate?" Danny couldn't help it. He just had to try and piss the man off. The sergeant was just a few years older than Danny himself, but he was one of those... uptight types. He wasn't someone Danny wanted to associate with or rather... not someone he would go out to grab a beer with. But he was fairly decent at his job and also one of the few that could be counted on to pick up the damn phone and get his ass back to work on a moment's notice.

Lewis of course totally ignored Danny's comment, his frown only deepening.

"Have you seen anything strange, sergeant Lewis?" Blake asked, getting out of the car and rather softly closing the door.

Lewis shook his head.

"I've arrived only few minutes ago. No movement as far as I can tell. Are you sure there is actually a problem there?"

"I've already told you on the phone what happened," Danny said annoyed as he joined them leaning against the car, eyes turned towards the building at the far end of the street.

"And it sounded so believable too," Lewis rolled his eyes.

"Well, you are here, aren't you?" he said challengingly.

"I just wanted to make sure you wasn't drunk off your ass and trying to pull some stunt, Parks. After all, you are quite far from your jurisdiction, aren't you?"

Danny bristled at that but before he could get into Lewis' face and tell him what he could do with his attitude, Blake stepped in.

"Gentlemen... we are here for a reason. And as you can see, sergeant Lewis... none of us is drunk. So... perhaps we should try to figure out what the bloody hell is going on?" Blake spoke, standing between Danny and Lewis. The two men exchanged a glare and a huff, but they both stepped back.

"I'm listening then. Why did you call me after my shift?"

Danny opened his mouth, most likely to answer something unflattering like: 'Well, I doubted you had anything better to do.' But Blake shot him a glare and he deflated.

"We might want to wait for the others. I'd rather not lose time repeating this to everyone separately."

Lewis begrudgingly nodded and they looked around.

"Who did you call?" he asked, rather neutrally after a second.

"Cunningham and Jamieson. They were the only ones available at the moment."

Lewis grimaced but Danny thought it might've been more about the small number of coppers coming rather than whom. He was pretty sure Lewis was on good terms with both of those guys at least.

"No one else?"

Danny grimaced.

"Well, it isn't like I have everyone's number. I've been out of town for a few years now," he reminded Lewis.

"And what a relief that was," the man had dared to smile about that. Danny just rolled his eyes while Blake let out an audible sigh.

They waited for the other two cops to arrive. Fortunately, it didn't take more than a few minutes. Once they were all present, Blake had repeated the content of the phone call and all the things that simply didn't add up. The result was three frowning faces.

"I'm pretty sure Peter haven't had a girlfriend for the last two months at least," Cunningham noted.

"And everyone knows Lawson is sticking around at Blake's place," Jamieson added.

"What are the chances Petey hit the bottle?" Lewis asked but all he got in reply was a glare.

"Do you care explaining where is Lawson, Davis and Hobart then?" Danny still asked. Lewis raised his hands.

" Hey. I was just going over the possibilities."

Blake shook his head.

"This isn't the time for bickering," he reminded them. "Judging by the unexplained absence of several people and the call, we can assume there is indeed a problem at the station. Now we need to solve it."

"So what are you proposing? One of us stopping by to check out the situation?" Lewis asked with some sarcasm.

Blake grimaced and Danny felt like sending Lewis back home. He didn't remember the man being that much of an ass, but it seemed the years didn't help with the attitude.

"I wouldn't exactly advise that," Blake noted, thinking. "I think we should first try and see what's the situation."

"I agree. Let's try and take a look inside. We should be able to take a peek through the windows, without being seen. And check the parking lot at the back entrance, see if the Boss had really left the station or not."

"Good idea, Danny," Blake agreed and surprisingly there was no arguing. Even Lewis seemed okay with the proposition. Until Danny suggested it would be him and Cunningham doing the check.

"Like you even have any jurisdiction here," Lewis snorted, shaking his head. "I'm coming along. Blake and Jamieson can keep an eye on the front."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," he muttered, shooting an exasperated look at Blake. The Doc just gave him an understanding smile and nodded, indicating they better move.

At least Lewis knew when to shut up, Danny thought. As soon as they got closer to the station, Lewis fell in alongside him, silent and focused. Danny looked at Cunningham, and the man had his eyes wide open, feet as silent as possible on the tarmac. Danny just now noticed Cunningham's right hand laying on his knife holster. The man was an avid bushman, spending most of his free time out in the wilderness. At least he was armed. That was more than could be said about Lewis or Danny himself.

As they had circled the building, one thing became clear right away. Two cars were missing. Lewis just confirmed it with a nod and two raised fingers. Danny felt at least partial relief. Perhaps this was indeed some mistake and Lawson and Charlie were already home, relaxing on the couch and joking with Jean and Rose about the false alarm. Gosh, Danny really hoped so.

His relief was short lived however. As Lewis circled the parking lot, Cunningham had walked up to the back entrance, hand poised on the doorknob. Danny shook his head. Not yet.

Cunningham grimaced, but settled for standing by the door, listening. There were sounds coming from inside. Voices. Moaning.

Danny gritted his teeth, moving towards one of the lit windows. It was at a height above his head so he couldn't really peek inside. Until Lewis joined him. Using some hand gestures, Danny made his wishes clear and albeit not happily, Lewis joined his hands and moved into position, nodding at Danny that he was ready.

Danny put his right leg into the improptu step created by the locked hands and grabbing at the windowsill as silently as he could, he pulled himself up. He was careful to stay by the wall and only risked a quick look by the corner of the window.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

He had to bite down on his tongue to stop the curse on his lips. The hands helping him up shook just a bit and there was movement not that far from the window. He quickly stepped down, pushing flush to the wall. Lewis followed, and for a moment none of them dared to move or breathe. Lewis gave him a questioning look but Danny shook his head. He waited.

Nothing happened.

Once he was sure they weren't spotted, he nodded for Lewis to move. They joined Cunningham still standing by the entrance, keeping watch.

"Well?" Lewis asked, voice low.

"Trouble," Danny whispered, looking at Cunningham. "You heard anything?"

"Someone was moaning, as if hurt. There is lots of movement inside," Cunningham noted and Danny gave an unhappy nod.

"Let's go back."

Lewis looked like he wanted to protest, but he wasn't stupid. If there were hostile people at the station, they couldn't just barge in without a plan.

When they returned to Blake and Jamieson, the two were leaning against the corner of the street, trying to blend in with the shadows. The damn street lights were keeping the sidewalk and the road fairly well lit, which Danny thought might be to their advantage as well as disadvantage.

"Any news?" Danny was the first to ask Blake, as the man seemed to be frowning at something down the road. Blake nodded, peeking from around the corner.

"There's a van parked few meters from the station. We didn't notice it at first, but... it has no plates."

Danny's eyebrows went up.

"Escape car?"

Blake pursed his lips.

"Escape? I take it you found something?"

"Two of our cars are gone," Lewis jumped in. "I'd say Lawson and Davis took one... and perhaps Hobart took the other out on a call. That's the best case scenario."

"Right. The worst case would be if whomever came in that van decided to leave in a police car and go for a jolly ride with a few hostages," Blake muttered under his breath.

"I don't think we have to worry about that yet," Danny jumped in.

"Why's that?"

"What did you see, Parks?" Lewis asked gruffly. He obviously wasn't happy to be kept in the dark, even if it was just a few minutes. Danny ignored the urge to shut up just to spite Lewis. This wasn't about him, but about his friends. And they seemed to be in trouble.

"I saw Peter. He was sitting behind the desk."

"That's not that bad so far..." Jamieson said, but Danny shook his head.

"He was tied up, blood running down his head. There was a masked guy, going over the cabinets, throwing the files all over the floor. I'm pretty sure he had a gun."

The whole group groaned and cursed in unison.

Danny couldn't but agree with the sentiment.

"One man?" Blake asked with some hope, but Danny shrugged, nodding at Cunningham to speak.

"I heard at least one more in the hall, from the back entrance. And some moaning. I'm pretty sure that wasn't Peter."

Blake grimaced.

"How many people could be inside as possible hostages?"

"Three prisoners. Peter. Kelly and Hobart. Possibly Lawson and Davis. Depends on who took the two cars."

"And at the least two attackers," Danny added with a sigh.

The situation wasn't good. Hell, who was he kidding... the situation was bad. They didn't know how many attackers were inside, or what they wanted. They didn't even know whether Lawson was there. Danny was essentially on a holiday in a town outside his jurisdiction, while Blake was a police surgeon, but technically still a civilian. The highest ranking officer in their group was Lewis and they all knew it. Danny cursed and wished he would've just stayed in Melbourne. The curse of Ballarat seemed to catch up with him.

Peter wasn't sure what these men wanted. He counted three of them total, all masked. All dangerous. But two of them left and hearing a scuffle and some pained shouts, Peter feared the worst for Johnny. He tried to struggle in his bonds but then he felt the nozzle of the gun brushing against his temple in warning and he went still.

He might not have a wife to go home to, but hell, he did want to get out of this alive.

"Settle down," the man warned and as Peter begrudgingly did so, he let out a chuckle and gave him a not so friendly tap on the head. "Good boy," the man said, as if he was a damn dog. Peter felt like barring his teeth and sinking them into the hand, but it was pulled away and he knew he would have paid for that.

There wasn't much he could do. He kept wiggling his legs, trying to at least loosen up the bindings around his ankles. He could do nothing about the rope around his chest, but if he managed to loosen the legs, perhaps he could stand up and use the chair as a weapon in itself. The handcuffs on his arms were inescapable, not while put on top of the desk, all too visible. But they were in front of him, which was some advantage. If needed... he could still use his hands, even if his motion was limited.

He watched as the man started rummaging around. At first he was just looking at files, but it was clear his patience was running out. No wonder, Peter thought. It might've been a small station, but they had lots of files and cases. He wanted to offer his help, if only to find out what they were looking for, but thought better of it. If he knew, he would have to either tell them or be subjected to more punches, as he was sure the guy wouldn't take 'I don't freaking know' as a proper answer.

Some time had passed, with Peter just sitting and watching. The man grabbed a few files, reading through them, then quickly throwing them on the floor in the middle of the room. After several minutes, he didn't even bother with reading. He pulled out desk drawers, opened the filing cabinets. Every damn file they had in the room ended up on the floor, on an ever growing pile.

Peter cringed. So much work... if they got out of this, it would be so much damn work putting all those files back together. God, Lawson would be furious-

Peter's thoughts came to a halt. Lawson. Hobart and most likely Davis. They were out there, but... they weren't calling back. Not for backup, not to say the call was bogus. Nothing. Total radio silence.

Something was wrong and Peter feared the worst. Did he send his superior officer and colleagues to their deaths?

He shuddered.

He saw the man just show whole drawers from Lawson's desk into the middle of the pile angrily.

Well, if his boss wasn't dead... he would either get a heart attack seeing this, or... bury each and every one of the bastards that dared to mess up his office. Lawson was just like that.

Peter hoped the man was fine and on his way back to the station. Perhaps he and Blake were already planning a rescue. If not, well. Peter wasn't sure he wanted to know what lie ahead of him.

There was a sound of moaning and a string of curses coming from the hall. Both Peter and the man looked up, their eyes catching sight of a fuming guy, the third baddie leaning heavily against a cop.

Peter blinked.

That wasn't John Kelly.

But it was his uniform.

"What the hell?" he uttered under his breath. Fortunately the men ignored him.

"What happened?" his captor asked, equally taken aback as he headed towards his fallen comrade.

"The copper got him," the uninjured one growled. "His own stupid mistake."

Peter saw the blood running down the man's leg and thought 'Good!'. But then he fully realized that the uniform belonged to Johnny and he didn't see how they could've gotten it without a fight. And the man wearing it...

Peter's eyes widened.

It was their prisoner, the one Davis brought in. The one that was supposed to be transported to Sydney the next day...

He didn't look to be in distress. Well, not more than one would, when having to support another bleeding man. But no one was pointing a gun at him... and judging by his stance, he knew these men well.

So that's what they came for. Not files, not... whatever. They came to free a damn prisoner.

He closed his eyes. Couldn't these idiots have done so a day later? During transport perhaps? It would have saved him the headache for sure.

"What the hell is taking you so long?"

Peter's eyes snapped open. That was a new voice. He turned his head as much as his binds allowed and tried to catch sight of the fourth man. Where did he come from? Who was it?

He caught sight of a face. Peter blinked. No mask?

He averted his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. His heart was beating rapidly. Why didn't the man have a mask? Wasn't he afraid of being identified?

Though he had stayed mostly out of sight, Peter still feared that meant only one thing for him.

As if hearing his thoughts, the guy who had tied him up stepped out into the corridor.

"We hit a bit of a snafu. There's too many files around, can't find the right one."

"So? What's the problem?" the fourth guy asked offhandedly.

"The problem is that you are still standing here like an idiot, instead of bringing in the cans!" came the gruff reply and Peter realized the guy that rumsacked the main office was the leader of the group.

There was a snort and some grumbling, but not much else. The injured man kept whimpering, while the prisoner – Eddie Korbyn, Peter remembered his name - was supporting him awkwardly.

"Anything else that needs to be done?"

"Yeah. Sit that idiot down, Eddie, and make sure he's quiet. I hate listening to wussies crying. Tee... go ahead to the evidence locker. Look around and grab anything you think we can get some money from. Then make sure it's soaked properly," the man said and Peter could feel the smirk in his voice.

Cans? Soaked through? Just what the hell were they planning to do?

Peter's eyes landed on the pile of files in the middle of the room... was that a pile... or a pyre?

He swallowed, mouth dry. His feet resumed their wiggling. If what he thought was right... he didn't want to stay around and wait for it.

The hallway seemed to be endless, albeit Charlie logically knew it couldn't have been all that long. After all, they passed half the building in the upper level relatively quickly.

It was different... walking in full health, with plenty of light and backup. It had been scary and creepy anyway, but at least he knew they could protect themselves if need be or run.

Having Bill's weight on his shoulders, along with the incessant throbbing in his side and head made for a much slower walk. Or hobble, as it was. Not to mention that all they had was one torch that both of them kept praying and cursing at whenever it dared to blink or dim even for a second... scared they would be left in total darkness. Charlie wasn't sure how he would be able to handle that particular event.

Fortunately, so far the torch kept shining... even though the things it revealed weren't thrilling. After the room with the dilapidated baths that were supposedly 'therapeutic', Charlie decided to ignore most of the rooms they passed... as much as he was capable of. His other senses were trying to make up for the lack of visual input instead. Charlie felt the skin at the back of his head and neck crawl after they managed to pass through a rather large spider web. Neither men would admit the startled grunts and the little dance they made had ever happened as they tried to make sure there were no spiders on top of them. It took Bill's pained yelp as he accidentally put weight on his leg for them to stop and just breathe. They glanced at each other, Bill hissing through the pain and shooting daggers at Charlie as if it was all his fault. Charlie for his part was also trying to catch his breath as a stab of pain ran through his chest. It was over fast and he let the grimace touch his face only for a second.

"Stop... dillydallying," Bill growled testily.

Charlie glared at him. It was hardly his fault Bill was holding the torch in such a way it didn't reveal the cobweb.

"Sorry for being too slow dragging your heavy ass around," he muttered, a bit fed up himself.

Bill looked like he wanted to flip him off and took a step forward in an attempt to continue by himself. But his pride couldn't surpass the fact his leg was useless and too painful to walk on at this moment. He gritted his teeth and turned back to Charlie.

"Lawson is alone up there," he reminded Charlie coldly and that had cut off any more arguments or comments. Charlie nodded, understanding. Without a word he reached out and put Bill's arm back over his own shoulder. They continued walking.

The air felt musty and too hot. Charlie felt tired from the effort of lugging Bill, his lungs pleading for more oxygen, but his ribs shot out a protest every time he tried for a deeper breath. Sweat was running down his face and back and it stung the small cuts he received in the fall. Still, he trudged on, eyes set forward into the single ray of light that kept wavering from Bill's torch. Ears perked, trying to hear past their own raspy breathing, fervently hoping they wouldn't catch the sound of another set of footsteps. Both Charlie and Bill jerked occasionally when there was a crack under their feet, or what sounded like a sound of dripping water. A strange wailing and clanking sound of the pipes that led above their heads. They always stopped to listen, breaths bated until they could identify the source of the sound or deem it as not a threat.

Then they continued.

Until the light of the torch caught a strangely shaped shadow in front of them.

Charlie gave an undignified yelp, while the torch wavered, almost falling out of Bill's hand. They both froze. Bill hesitantly turned the torch back towards the shadow and Charlie let out a relieved chuckle.

"Chair. It's just a chair!" he said, feeling almost giddy at the revelation. Bill let out a snort.

"Course. Don't know why you screamed like a girl," he said, as if Charlie couldn't feel how his muscles tensed in the first moment.

Charlie decided to ignore the quip and strained his eyes to see better. Was it a chair? Or... wait.

"It's a wheelchair!" he exclaimed and in his elation quickened his steps. Bill hissed, digging his fingers into Charlie's shoulder in warning. Charlie slowed down but not even the pain could dampen his mood. He was already seeing himself free of Bill's weight, happily pushing the chair through the rest of the building.

His eyes were only on the wheels. They looked a bit rickety, but they were attached. Charlie just needed to free both his hands for a moment to check...

"No."

Bill's fingers dug like claws into his shoulder as he was about to lean him against the wall.

Charlie frowned.

"Just a moment. I'll check the wheels, then you can sit down and-"

"I said no! I'm not sitting down in... that!"

Charlie blinked.

"Are you serious?"

Now was hardly the time to play the macho man. He understood that Bill had his pride and always tried to present himself as 'the man', but hell. Charlie was tired. He hurt, he was afraid and he was worried... for all their safety. And Bill decided now of all times he would kick up a fuss. That was just wonderful.

"You can... ride that thing if you want. I'll crawl if I have to, but I'm not using that!" Bill practically spat.

"What the hell is your problem?" Charlie asked, his own temper boiling over.

Bill's jaw clenched.

"I'm not a damn cripple. I can walk."

Charlie couldn't help the snort that escaped him.

"Really! Why don't you do that then? And it's nice to know how much respect you had towards Lawson after his leg got messed up."

"That was hardly my fault, Davis. Wasn't it you who didn't look both ways?"

The two glared at each other for a good minute, both seething at the words.

Something clanked in the pipes.

Charlie blinked, realizing he was glaring at a dark shadow that most likely couldn't see the anger in his eyes anyway. The torch was still aimed at the bloody wheelchair.

Charlie shot it a wistful look, then shuddered.

He had just noticed the strange and rather disgusting looking stain covering most of the seat.

"Fine. Let's move," he acquiesced finally. Arguing was just a loss of time after all. Charlie wasn't sure he would willingly seat himself in the chair either now. It looked like it had... history. Bad history, if the half disintegrated restraint hanging from the right armrest was anything to go by.

Charlie offered his shoulder to Bill, who despite his own words didn't really make an attempt to go ahead by his own powers. Even he must've realized the bluff was up.

They resumed their hobbling walk, both trying to keep their grunts of pain to themselves, for whatever illusion of pride they had. For several minutes they didn't utter a word as they tried to navigate the continuously worsening state of the floor. It looked like someone had just came down there with a cricket bat and decided to smash everything to pieces... pulling long sheets of old paint off the walls, smashing every light bulb, leaving bared cables and contacts. Even the pipes above their heads seemed to be bent in places.

Charlie wanted to be out of this place. He didn't imagine it could've felt very welcoming even in pristine condition, right now though it all felt like they were trapped in hell. Charlie wished to be back outside. Even if he had to walk the whole way to the station on his feet in the darkness, he would prefer it to this.

He could see they were nearing a corner and his heart jumped a beat. That meant they were almost halfway done. Charlie wasn't sure he wanted to see what the other half of this floor looked like, but there was no choice. They had to keep going.

Before the corner though, there was one more room.

Charlie tried hard not to look that way, but Bill was shining the torch so it could reveal what lie at the corner. They were now both looking for any shadows and movement. The light caught the plate with the room number and designation.

Room 108 - ECT.

"ECT?" Charlie asked out loud, a bit confused.

Bill froze in spot, causing both of them to come to a sudden halt.

"What?" he asked and Charlie was dismayed to note his voice sounded shaky.

"What is ECT?" Charlie repeated the question, pointing his free hand at the plaque. Bill turned the torch back to that, then slowly shone it at the room.

It was empty.

Well... mostly, Charlie amended.

There was a heavy looking gurney in the middle of the room. It was bolted to the concrete floor, a mouldy, stained mattress lying on top of it. Charlie thought it looked like rubber. There was also an empty, dusty cart lying haphazardly behind it, one wheel missing.

Charlie thought the room looked remarkably normal, compared to all the others they had seen.

But Bill didn't seem to think so. Charlie could feel the shivers running through the man's body, now leaning even more heavily against his. He grunted a bit, adjusting his grip and stance so they both didn't fall over.

"Bill? What-" Charlie started but Bill finally spoke.

"Electroshock therapy. ECT. It's electroshocks," he stated, dully. His eyes, and subsequently the light of the torch, were trailed on the gurney. The restraints that Charlie was becoming expectant to see. He wanted to ask what was wrong, if Bill felt sick, if he had hit his head. This wasn't normal behaviour for the man.

But all Charlie could think of was...

"How do you know?"

Because the plaque only read ECT. And there didn't seem to be any machines around.

Bill didn't reply. He just stared ahead, as if hypnotized.

"Hobart!" Charlie hissed after a moment, nudging the man bodily.

Bill blinked, shook his head. Then as swiftly as possible, turned to move away.

Charlie caught sight of something wet trickling down the man's face, but didn't have time to ponder as he had to follow the movement and offer his support or Bill would have fallen.

"I just know, Davis," Bill muttered. "Drop it."

Charlie frowned, then shook his head. He was quite fed up with Bill's strange behaviour.

"I was just wondering when did you have time to read up on asylums," Charlie commented a bit snappishly. It was one thing to be always 'schooled' by the Doc or hell, even Lawson. It was different coming from Bill of all people.

Charlie didn't really mean much by the comment, he was just letting out steam. But Bill tensed and pulled away.

"Maybe when my mother was institutionalized in one of them," Bill replied all of a sudden, his voice so cold it could've frozen water.

Charlie stood, gobsmacked. Of all the things, he didn't expect to hear that.