You will all hate me for this chapter, but it has to happen. Maybe I'll get my first flame :D
Disclaimer: I don't own club penguin, only Jezzie, Memory, my version of the Director, and Cerebrum *wiggles eyebrows mysteriously*
Jetpack never really could keep his mind on work when in the air. The whistle of the wind in his ears, the brisk breeze that ruffled his hair… it all had a way of wiping all other thoughts of the world below him from his head.
In the sky above the Island, he slipped off his glasses and made sure to tuck them safely away in a time-practiced way: he would take his right hand from the controls, go into a brief glide, shove the folded glasses into the neck of his sweatshirt, and regain control, going up at such a pace that his glasses would slip down until they were safe at his waistband. Most of the other kids at the academy had found this storage method strange, but Jetpack didn't care. Now, to reclaim his identity, all he had to do was pull the band out and catch the glasses in his palm.
It was pretty fun, too.
His glasses away, he brought down the PSA spy goggles, giving him an instant focus on the ground. He could count the heads of Islanders going about their business, and he leaned his weight to the right to bank, and, in the middle of the thought process, he leveled out and simply glided for a moment, drifting peacefully until he hit a cloud. Instantly he was soaked all the way through, and he gasped, spitting out a mouthful of water that he had been close to inhaling. Someone, far below, got a very wet surprise dumped on their head.
Justin shook his head, flinging water droplets out of his hair, and banked again to the right, out of the way of any incoming clouds. His eyebrows came together, and he glanced at the controls. It hadn't been a machine malfunction; the stop had been completely mental. Jetpack glided around for a few more minutes, waiting. When the next wave of mindlessness hit him, he was ready, one hand at his neck.
He slowly felt himself refuse to touch the controls. His left hand slipped off the handle, and he glided without a motor for a few meters as he counted his pulse and then slapped himself with a sluggish, numb hand.
Fumbling, he took out his phone and dialed Jezzie's number. Something was wrong.
Something was wrong.
Miles below, beneath the sky and the Jetpack and the ground, something was very wrong.
Agent Cerebrum, his brow slick with sweat from the heat of the old-fashioned torches on the wall, was standing before his leader, head bowed. Behind him, silent troops stood at statuesque attention, eyes fixated on nothing.
"This is a problem." The leader stated simply, and glared down Cerebrum, who squirmed slightly. "You were supposed to allow the Director to come without the protection of Squad Delta."
"It was an unseen obstacle." Cerebrum replied. "I was just as surprised to hear the news as you are."
"You were supposed to get the Director alone!" the leader hissed. Instead they have the best asterisking agents at her beck and call! Explain to me how we can get past this!"
Cerebrum allowed himself a small smile as again, he is proven to be smarter than his boss. He lifts his eyes from his shoes and blinks up at the leader, on his raised platform, and gives an innocent "I already took care of it."
The leader absorbed this slowly, nodding and sitting down at his desk. "Good. Good." He whispered, then sat back and propped his feet on the desk. "Has Herbert reported to you yet?"
"He is in position."
"Good…" the leader repeated, and trailed a finger down the side of his computer, flashing numbers and symbols out at him. "Everything is coming together. Soon, we will reach total control." He looked down at Cerebrum and his ready troops, easily spotting the two islanders, a male and a female, standing near the back.
"Ready the insurance." The leader said, dismissing his top agent with a flick of a hand. Cerebrum nods and makes his way to the man and woman, taking a hold of their arms just above the elbows to lead them into a different room.
Finally alone with his hundred or so soldiers, the leader smiles again at his computer screen, now showing three small green dots on a screen. One above the ground, and two in the town.
"We're almost there." He promised himself.
It was two o'clock. Four hours to go.
Jezzie stood by the Directors side silently; mentally berating herself for volunteering for the most boring job that she could have possible gotten. The Director never really acknowledged her after their first meeting, instead letting Jezzie shadow her steps and look subtly around, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious in the magically transformed Night Club. Instead of the usual bright lights and loud, beating music that hits you square in the chest, the lights were golden and low, reflecting off of polished silver and clear glass. The music was provided by Cadence, sitting pretty at a white piano on the stage. Jezzie noted with a smile that she had refused to dress up, wearing her torn and colorful outfit like a ball gown.
The director moved away from the group she had been entertaining, leaving all fo the agents in awe. Fighting the urge to face palm and or sigh dramatically, Jezzie followed, and lightly slipped her hand into her pocket to touch her phone, which should have been beeping as Memory or Jetpack noticed something odd. Or at least Rookie, panicking about something.
Speaking of Rookie…
Jezzie grabbed him by the back of his tux when he walked by, his tray of drinks held high. "Rookie," she muttered down to him, "I haven't gotten any reports from Memory or Jetpack. I just need you to take a peek outside and tell me if you see anything suspicious. Think you can do that?"
He gulped once, nodded, and quickly handed off his platter to another young agent. He scurried off into the crowd, adjusting his glasses, and Jezzie once again settled into silence.
No need to think.
No… no, he needed to think, to stay awake. Stay awake!
Sleep… so nice, sleep…
Don't sleep, Justin. You can't sleep up in the air.
You are not in the air. You are in your bed, in your home, in your mother's arms, inside your head, your heartbeat rocking you away…
That sounds nice.
Sleep, Jetpack. Sleep and dream.
Why?
Dream of what you want, what you need.
What I need… What do I need?
Stay awake. I need to stay awake.
Release your hold and let your mind carry you off, all will be well…
No.
Yes.
No. I won't!
Let your eyes close, dream of the future… dream of flying until the horizon is above you and below you. Dream of your parents.
He sees it before he can stop himself. His head takes one final slip forward and he is asleep, walking down a sidewalk, coming to his igloo, and opening the door. His mother is inside, opening her arms to him. His father stands beside her, smiling. Justin can no longer hold himself back, and runs to her, feeling her warm arms enclose around him.
I am so happy to see you, Justin.
His father steps forward and adds his crushing strength to the hug.
Close your eyes, Justin.
He does.
Let go of your mind, Justin.
He does.
His parents continue to squeeze, until he cannot hear, or speak, or see. All he can do is hear, some hidden depths of his senses, talking to him, telling him something, a whisper of a forgotten dream. He tries to run, to get back, remembering a jetpack and a mission. He breaks from their arms to find that he falling, falling so fast he cannot breathe, and fights to open his eyes.
Welcome home.
Jetpack woke up with a smothering yell, and discovered that he was no longer dreaming, but he could still feel the warmth and reality it coming on, from somewhere deep in his head. His hair whipped past his face, and it took his mind a second to become aware that he was falling.
Falling.
His eyes flickered shut again, but this time he realized it in time, and he opened them. Still falling.
His right hand was numb, so he reached across with his left to grab the accelerator. One of his readouts on his goggles told him that he was low on fuel. Fighting against the cement in his muscles, Jetpack forced the toggle down, leveling him into a more or less decent glide. But he was still so low. He would never be able to reach a safe place to land. All he could do was pick out the softest piece of ground ahead of him, the forest, and pull out his phone.
Rookie stepped outside and shivered internally. Away from the crowd, the Town was eerily deserted, and the snow crunched like a detonating bomb under his shiny dress shoes. He first looked to the left, at the Coffee Shop, serving about four or five customers, and then to his right quickly.
Out of the corner of his eye, obscured by the red arm of his sunglasses, something moved into the shadow of the Gift Shop doorway. Counting that as suspicious, Rookie slowly approached the Gift Shop. He pushed open the door and saw that it was dark inside- a sign told him that it the Shop was supposed to be closed.
His first footstep creak, his second heartbeat jumped. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw the outline of a very tall, very pale man sitting on a chair beside the vault. Herbert lifted one hand and brought it down on a remote held firmly in his other, and the door behind Rookie slammed. The lock clicked into position.
Rookie took out his phone.
Jezzie heard a beeping sound from her pocket, and her dark brown eyes darted around to make sure that the engrossed Director wouldn't notice her chatting. She took out her phone, flipped it open, and pressed it to her ear.
"Hello?" she whispered.
"Jezzie!" Rookie's voice was hard to miss, and it neared a frighteningly crescendo at the end of his outburst. Jezzie could hear wood creaking around him.
"Rookie?" she gasped. "Rooks, talk to me! What's going on?"
"He's here!" Rookie shouted, and she could detect him scrambling away quickly from something. "He's here, Jezzie! What do I do?" Jezzie opened her mouth to answer, but she was cut off by Rookie screaming "Get away fro me!"
"Who's there, Rooks?" Jezzie asked in a hushed frantic voice, plugging her other ear so to hear him better. She moved farther away from the Director. "Who is it?"
"Herbert-!" Rookie grunted, and she could hear the clack of his phone falling to the floor. Already she was running through the crowd, bolting for the door.
Once she was outside, her long legs carried her to the Gift Shop, all the while with her throat screaming out "ROOKIE!"
Her phone beeped in her hand. Breathlessly, she stopped right outside the Gift Shop and answered it "Rookie?"
"No. Jetpack." His voice was hard to hear, and a sharp whistling was in her ears, the sound of wind whipping past him, miles away. "We have a problem."
"I realize that." Jezzie snapped, and paused in the entrance of the Gift Shop to let her eyes adjust.
"I mean that I have a problem." He clarified. "I can't… my jetpack is malfunctioning. I'm going down, over the Forest." His voice was calm, even serene, and a thick slur began to form over his words. Jezzie had no response to his statement, so he continued. "I'll be hitting ground in about a minute. I'm sorry…" he trailed off, and she could hear the deep, easy breathing of sleep. The phone she could hear falling away, and a burst of static chatter as it shattered on the ground.
Her own phone soon followed it as she was grabbed and pulled forward, into the darkness. Her scream was lost as a pill was forced into her mouth, melting away on her tongue and carrying her away into sleep.
It was three o'clock. Three hours to go.
The first thing Jezzie felt was pain in her wrists, somewhere over her head. The first thing she heard was Jetpack muttering and clanking his chains. The first thing she saw was a single torch mounted on the opposite wall. Leaning against the wall beneath it was a familiar man with spiked yellow hair and a loose Blue Team jersey.
"…Memory?" Jezzie muttered, and looked around; she was chained to a wall, her wrists held up by metal cuffs. Jetpack was on her right, his head rolling around and his arms flinching. Rookie was held a few feet off the floor on her left. Her head swam and her stomach turned. She shook her head to clear it and honed in on Memory again. Beside her, Jetpack straightened and also looked on in bewilderment at their teammate.
"Memory? What are you doing?" she finally asked.
Memory scoffed and took a step forward, playing with a ring of keys in his hand. "Really." He scoffed, his French accent completely gone. "You didn't see this coming? I did." He smiled grimly. "Come on; tell me that you saw this coming."
Jezzie couldn't say that she did, but it slowly came to her, and to Jetpack, who was slowly panting harder and faster, straining against his chains.
A blue sleeping pill cupped in an open palm. A man with arms outstretched, keeping G from knowing how much Herbert had told Jetpack, a gear held from limp fingers, a story of a running man that got away, a tale of how no one could get into the Boiler Room, a simple request: split up Jetpack and Jezzie, the pair that could become the biggest obstacle for the enemy if they remained a team.
A false smile and a false accent hiding true intentions.
Memory grinned, watching the faces of his teammates transform as they realized how many lies they had been told, how many things that they had allowed the enemy to know, just how deeply the PSA had been corrupted.
"Now, that's more like it." Agent Cerebrum said. Memory said. The one person that had betrayed them all said.
He tilted his head back and laughed.
Oh, yes, I've been planning this for quite a while :) I am sooooo evil :) Review with your various thoughts/reactions/exclamations of disbelief :)