AN: I don't own H.I.V.E because the last time I looked in the mirror, I was not Mark Walden or Dr Nero. Then again, that was about a month ago... Do I have to do a disclaimer for every chapter?

Pietor believed the Tudors had got some aspects of life right- they had some interesting torture methods and the nerve to discipline people. These days, the worst punishment was jail or (in some countries) execution. How does that do anything to prevent riots ruling the streets; sons turning against fathers; and, one of the worst offences in his mind, acts of purjury? He despised liars with every atom of his person. Especially those who said everything will be OK. They weren't just liars. They were complete fools who practically invite depression and failure over for tea with their little statements of reassurance. There was only one thing worse than them. Those who swore loyalty, knowing from the start they would break it. He knew their name: traitors, but to him they were little more than diseases. And what did they get in the 20th century? A middle finger, a slap across the face, a quick death. Back then, what did they get? Skeffington's Irons, the Rack, the Press, Thumbscrews, the Boot or death. He had adopted those methods for the Glasshouse- a substitute for History but unfortunately he couldn't use any of them for Alerton. Not today. But he wasn't going to restrict himself to common, boring techniques all throughout either. Though he had to admit, with no small amount of reluctance, that some methods these days were alright. The electric chair was certainly fun. Another issue with modern penalties was that- although they did have something usable- they didn't know who to hurt and were too much of cowardly imbeciles to punish the suspects. He, on the other hand, stood by eagerly for the next opportunity to arise, always ready to strike. However, he was aware that his imperceptible fury had to wait to be satisfied due to a frustrating lack of evidence- evidence being adding too much information into simple answers, stammering, whispered conversations in the flimsy cover of darkness. And the bound, shirtless man before him had shown all of the mentioned painfully obvious signs. Silly boy. Oh well, more fun for him.

"I am a cruel man and nothing will ever change that," he told Alerton, "but I can be perfectly capable of reason when I want to be. I will give you three chances to own up to whatever you did. Should you deny it thrice, may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Do you believe in a God?"

"No, sir," he replied, curious about what that had to do with anything. Too late, he realized it was part of a basic stratagem to give Furan a reason to make him suffer more than he had to.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" Furan yelled, hitting the side of his head viciously. He shook it, partly to answer his question; mostly to get rid of the black squares swimming in his vision. Passing out would do him much more harm than good.

"Answer me!" He snapped.

"No, sir."

"What did I just say? Why do you have functioning ears it you never use them?"

The conversation was all trickery, an excuse for harming him Alerton more than he deserved. He walked over to an area where whips were kept, conscious of the fact that he had all the time in the world. He grabbed the largest one and a gag that he knew was going to be useless. Walked back, just as calmly. It was at times like this he loved his job.

He aggressively shoved the gag in Alerton's mouth and hit him with the whip harsly, resulting in him bleeding profusely but- as per his sister's instructions- he made sure no lasting damage was done. He screamed as Pietor allowed himself a short, crazed laugh. He never laughed anymore- not genuinely and it was faked even now. Its purpose was to cause fear to surround the man with its icy hands. He started to squirm. Pietor hit him again. And again. And again. Thirty more times and they had both lost count. By this point, the gag had fallen out and Alerton was sobbing, screaming and pleading; a futile attempt to make him see reason. But that was now a lost cause. For, at that point in time, he was craving the spilt blood like an addict would cocaine. After all, if his sister's life had to depend so greatly on others, why shouldn't Alerton's. Or his? Pietor watched coldly as the man's crimson blood mixed with his sweat, knowing it would be stinging like Hell, the knowledge giving him a sickening glee. And this was just the warm up. He knew he should be paying attention to the things. The way his fingers curled with each strike, the way his eyes darted around the room helplessly. At the end of the day, this was like a plane jouney to him. He knew where he would begin and where he would end up. There was nothing but minor turbulence to interfere; nothing to see; nobody to witness the events unfolding in the chamber. Another comparison was that this made him happy, something that- in his mind- a person could only experience when high or intoxicated. And planes could fly very high indeed. Before either of them knew it, Alerton had fallen into a merciful oblivion.

"I didn't even get to ask him once."

He left the room, knowing there would be no more entertainment that night but it was alright with him. Maybe it was his old age or something else entirely, but he just wanted his bed which was a possesion he hadn't wanted since he was six. Maybe he truly was getting old, he mused. His phone rang.

"Anastasia, " he greeted.

"Come to my office, please."

"Oh no," he muttered sarcastically, "have I been a bad boy? Do I need a slapped bottom?"

"I have an errand for you after I give 665 her-"

"You have lost your mind, haven't you?"

"Just come over here," and with that she hung up.

Anastasia sat at her desk, her drumming fingers the only sign of her mild impatience. They were the only thing that broke the dense silence apart from the soft, constant ticking of the clock as the hands gradually edged towords 10 P.M. and the small beep of the phone as she hung up on Pietor. She had summoned 665 approximately five minuites ago to give her her assignment and with each passing second she was doubting her decision. This was a rare occasion and so she was not sure how to eradicate the uncomfortable prick of uncertainty from her mind. What if Pietor was right and she did turn against them? What then? A knock at the door shattered her thoughts as easily as a sword slicing through butter.

"Madam Furan," 665 adressed her, her face and tone betraying no emotion.

"Let's not beat around the bush. I have called you here to send you on a mission."

"Who is the target?"

"There is an organization- UAUP or the Unity Against Unnatural Persons- which has been a thorn in our sides for much too long. I do not ask you to take out the entire enterprise. Just a couple of people working for an undercover branch somewhere in the outskirts of London. It is your task to locate and eliminate the targets as soon as possible."

"Who are the targets?" She repeated.

"Patrick and Harrison Blake," Anastasia replied, to conscious of the risks that saying those names could be for her liking. Fortunately for her, 665 didn't seem to recognize them.

"When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow. I shall give you the targets' files', weapons and mask then. You are dismissed."

665 left the office and Anastasia let out a breath she didn't realize she had somehow been holding. So far, so good. She heard a small cough which caused her to look up as she reached for her gun instinctively.

"Hey," her brother said in mock hurt, "why do you want to kill me all of a sudden?"

"It was sudden?"

"Why am I here?"

"Because I need you to have a... word... with agent Jay."

"What's he done?"

"I have a suspicion he is the one who told UAUP that Lenny is alive."

The building seemed deserted but 665 knew all too well that appearances could be deceptive. Like her, for example. She had a mask to conceal her unnatural apperance and it looked strangely familiar. From where, she had no clue but... Focus, she scolded herself. She had been discreetly watching the building from a bench in a park for a couple of hours. It looked like a typical household: it had three storeys including an attic, a garage and a Ford Fiesta parked outside. She reckoned it would have a few underground floors as she had been informed that it contained at least a dozen labatories. All of the lights were off, the curtains were drawn and no one had left or entered the building while she had been observing it. Unless...

It would make no sense if hundreds of people turned up at that particular house and rang the doorbell every day. That would serve just one purpose- to cause suspicion. And so they must have had a different entrance. She felt like kicking herself. How could she be so stupid for so long? The next question was where it would be. UAUP's base was surrounded by a main road, the park and more housing so it couldn't be in the immediate area. But it didn't need to be close to the base at all, meaning her search area had expanded quite drastically. But there were very few places where a ton of people could show up (either together or staggered, it didn't matter) and remain invisible. She mentally listed the places in the somewhat local area where this could happen. There was a showground, a school and a train station. Thinking the latter was her best bet, she set off at a brisk pace in its general direction.

In a train station, there are always one or two doors that remain firmly shut and locked. Nobody knows what is behind these doors and why they are supposedly never opened while the public can see the room they guarded. Not that many people pay attention to these mysterious doors- they are always in a rush to get out of the building or hurrying to get their trains. So they fail to notice the people who managed to slip through them, without whatever it concealed being displayed to the rest of the world, on a daily basis. Through a specific door, there was a passageway constructed of smooth, plain stone with dim lights every few metres which extended for a mile before coming to a halt so abrupt that if you didn't know it was there, your nose would hate you forever. For, at that point, you were directly beneath level -6 in house number 4. 665 was rapidly approaching that point and showed no signs of stopping until she did as suddenly as the 'slab of evil' -as she knew some employees called it- came into her vision. She had been walking for what felt like ages down this cold, empty pathway, beginning to wander if she was wasting more valuable time.

"Freeze!" She had, of course, been instantly aware of the man the moment she came to the end of the tunnel where he was stationed. Obviously, they would have security of some form or other. But she had anticipated more of a challenge- lasers, guns and trapdoors at least. Not the shaking, timid man in front of her.

"You do not know what you are dealing with," she said, her tone bored.

"Neither do you."

"Enough talk," she replied, barely suppressing a snort. She body slammed the man into the wall quicker than he could sense. He never stood a chance. She took the keys off of his belt and promptly dropped them on the floor. The tiny clash it made echoed ominously.

"Too easy..."

As if on cue, sirens started to wail and lasers shot out of the wall. If she had reacted a split second later, her head would've been fried. The ground collapsed beneath her as men with grenades, guns and an unidentifiable net burst into the narrow space. One guard twitched his hand slightly before deciding against whatever he was going to do.

"Drop any weapons and put your hands on your head!" He yelled. He seemed hauntingly familiar...

"Now!" Another man snapped, interupting her memory recall process. He dropped the net into the ditch on top of her. The parts that touched her bare skin realeased what felt like an extreamly high voltage which rattled about in her veins, despite her being made to resist pain.

"What... the fuck... is this... thing?" She gasped through deep breaths.

"This?" The first man answered, holding what she assumed was its on/off switch, "well, that's for us to know and for you to question. But I will tell you that what you feel is only detectable to freaks like you. You are at our mercy."

"If I go down, I won't go down without a fight."

"We already know that."

There was a faint pop and a piercing sting in her neck just as she was going to reply. The last thing she heard before she was taken under the sedative's effect was a short, involuntary gasp of her name. Her real name.

"Do you think it will be enough?"

"Probably."

Harrison raised an eyebrow with scepticism and repeated, "probably?"

"Yes. Certainly. Of course. Yes," Patrick corrected.

"It better be because we have no idea when they will know that we know. It could be a year, a month, never or it could be right now."

"We're lucky we're not in some Hollywood movie or some shit like that. "

"Eh?"

Patrick rolled his eyes, "because if we were, the second you said that, there would have been a major emergency."

"I don't get it."

"You never do."

"You sure that's enough power for the Net to work?"

"Oh, for God's sake! Yes, I am bloody sure!"

"Just checking, " Harrison said innocently, raising his hands.

Sirens sounded excruciatingly loudly, cutting off whatever reply Patrick had. They and everyone else who filled laboratory 3B started shutting down computers and cramming work into storage cupboards with practiced speed and efficiency. About a third of the scienists (Patrick included) grabbed rifles from a shelf and took up strategic offensive positions for the rare occasion that any infiltraters managed to bypass the the advanced, high- tech locks and security systems. The rest siezed hold of semi automatics and left the room single file at a well diciplined pace.

They marched into an area where they would be issued orders by a security general. The corridor had a widening in the middle which resembled a round- a- bout, where General Abara stood on a raised section, barking out instructions to the people who were swiftly filling the space.

"And those coming from 3B, you go down to the entrance," he commanded them after a little while.

Thankfully, it was a short distance from where they were to the entrance; the more unfortunate units had to run for miles down the long, twisted corridors.

When they arived at their destination, barely a minuite later, the situation seemed to be in control. Alec had ben knocked out but he was used only as a distraction. There was one girl, standing alone and umarmed in the middle of the ditch caused by the large trapdoor opening. He was about to radio control, to inform them that this was a misunderstanding when he saw the child had a crack down her face, possibly from the fall. It was a mask. She wasn't an innocent victim after all. And now that Harrison actually looked at her, he realized she wasn't a stranger either.

"Drop any weapons and put your hands on your head!" He yelled, sister or not, he was taking no chances.

When she didn't comply immediately another man added, "now!"

The same man dropped the Net he and Patrick had been working on and he felt nauseating guilt as he saw the agonized expression on Lilia's face.

"What... the fuck... is this... thing?" She hissed out, breathing heavily.

She deserved an answer but he couldn't break protocol so he held up the Net's power switch. "This? Well, that's for us to know and for you to question," he hoped the phrase he had always used with her growing up would help her remember him. "But I will tell you that what you feel is only detectable to freaks like you."

Freaks. That's what everyone in UAUP called them but he now hated the way the word casually rolled off his tongue. The Lilia he knew and couldn't help but still see was no freak. She had just been changed by those bastards.

"If I go down, I won't go down without a fight. "

He fought the overwhelming urge to smile; it seemed she hadn't completely changed. He simply replied, "we already know that."

She opened her mouth to say something- possibly question the source of his knowledge, but another man shot her before any words could form.

"Lilia..."

"What's up?" Patrick asked once Harrison returned to 3B. The confused, slightly betrayed but livid expression he wore was not one he had seen before.

"Our sister."

"What about her?" Patrick wasn't sure if he should be worried or overjoyed. Their sister had been missing for years and assumed dead. They had not heard anything since.

"She's one of them."

"One of the-"

"Yes, one of them."

"Well, shit. What happened? When did she-"

"I don't know, alright?" Harrison slammed his fist on the table, creating a dent. He sighed, "I need a drink."

"Not on the job, Blake," General Abara said sternly as he walked into the room, enmitting his typical aura of authority. "I understand you were the leader of the unit sent to the freak."

"Yes, sir."

"The Superior Commander wishes to speak with you."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"Scienists and their questions, honestly," as normal, it was impossible to tell if he was joking, "you are certainly welcome to ask, but I'm afraid it's above my pay grade."

"Which communication rooms are free, sir?"

"C-5A. I suggest you do not keep the Superior Commander waiting."

"Of course, sir," he turned to his brother, "I will elaborate later."

"Damn right, you will," he started but Harrison had already left the lab.

"You wished to speak with me, sir."

"Ah, yes," the Superior Commander had his voice altered in real time so it held no trace of emotion or accent. His image was replaced with red on Harrison's screen as it would be on any potential hackers'. "You and your brother are in grave danger."

"Why are you warning us, sir? With all due respect, you have never done that for anyone else, sir."

"Because you are a dead man walking. Because of the stuff in your head. Because I'm your uncle, for Christ's sake. On a less personal note, I need you, for the sake of this organization, to hand over all information to a trusted colleague. We don't want the details of phase seven lost or becoming known to hostile agents, do we?"

"How much time do I have left, sir?"

"How fast can you run?"

A message flashed across the screen as the red faded: CONNECTION DISCONTINUED.