A/N: Holy crap this took forever. I mean, really, it took forever. PS, don't kill me when you reach the end.

Chapter Six: A Good Boy

Buried deep within the confines of the Psychonauts Headquarters, in an uncharted corridor where the janitors rarely dared to tread, there was an office that belonged to one Senior Agent Murphy, a man whose renown was equal to that of Sasha Nein, and maybe even Ford Cruller. He was a thin man, wiry, with red hair, pale skin, freckles, and the worst luck in the world. In the past month he had managed to destroy no less than two cars, break a door, cause his vacuum to inexplicably break in half, and have a red pen leak all over his favorite shirt during an important meeting. Despite all of this, he was a cheerful man, always looking on the bright side.

In his current situation, however, he was finding himself struggling to find the good through the bad. His luck had once again made his life complicated and miserable--Kyle Andrews had assigned him the task of tracking down one Truman Zanotto and his errant bodyguards and to do so as quietly as possible. The latter half of the assignment he understood; Murphy was by no means an expert on politics, but he knew the media would have a field day if they found out Zanotto was missing--and god forbid they find out he was the one in charge of finding him. He shuddered even thinking about it. Murphy was infamous for his bad luck; one of the two cars he had recently destroyed had been Truman's. It certainly didn't help that most of his fellow agents considered him to be nothing but a nuisance at best and a hazard to everyone's well being at worst. Everyone he's gone to for aid in his assignment turned him down, saying that they had more pressing matters to attend to. What was more important than finding their kidnapped leader was beyond him.

That didn't mean he wasn't willing to at least try to get their cooperation. One of the latest additions to the rumor mill had an interesting bit of information about the Shaded Glen branch... Shuffling through the papers on his cluttered desk, he searched for the number to the secure line he knew he would need to reach the Shaded Glen, managing to spill his cup of coffee in the process. A band-aid, some burn cream, and a string of curses later, he succeeded.

You know, Razputin thought to himself, it would be so much easier finding this guy if I had the slightest idea of where I needed to go...

The young Psychonaut was currently hanging upside down along some pipes that threaded through the decidedly more forbidding hallways beyond the boiler room. His invisibility had worn off awhile ago, and he had taken to hiding along the shadowed ceiling until he had enough energy to use his power again. The walls were made of some sort of cheap cement that was lined with cracks from the pressure of the building above it and the shifting earth surrounding it. There were a few flickering fluorescent bulbs that illuminated the hallways. For the past several minutes he had crawled through the dank hallways, battling rats the size of small dogs as well as a few spiders that he wasn't ashamed to say made him mentally shriek like a little girl (spiders were just nasty). And he had found nothing of any interest whatsoever. Absolutely nothing. Just dank halls, poor lighting, and possibly a few spider bites for his trouble.

With a small sigh, Raz flipped himself down to the ground and turnedto face back the way he had come. He was about to head back to Sasha and the others and just write off the entire network of hallways as clear when a high, raspy voice echoed down the hall behind him.

"Vasili!" The tone was that of a teacher scolding a mischevious student. "Skipping class again, hm? Well, not on my watch, young man!"

Oh, crap. Raz thought as he twisted around to look at the source of the voice. It took a moment for Raz to distinguish thefigure from the darkness in the hallway. The woman was hunched over, wearing a pair of dirt stained slacks, a ragged violet shirt, and a pair of tattered brown shoes. Greasy locks of black hair trailed down froma mostly bald head to hang in front of her face, her wide bloodshot eyes focusing on Raz.

"No, you aren't getting away this time!" The woman shook her head, stalking towards the young boy with an eerie sort of grace. She moved in a way that was just wrong. Her movements were jerky, sudden, as if her body was made of some wooden material rather than flesh and bone. "Not until you turn in that homework!'

Okay, gotta think fast... He'd reflect on the fact that he was being accosted by a psychotic ex-teacher in the middle of an abandoned school in Kansas and find it somewhat amusing later. Right now, he was just creeped out. But he knew that it was in his best interest to play along with whatever delusion the woman was under. People took offense if you didn't follow their own particular version of reality. "I, uh, forgot it Mrs...?"

"Bittersbaum! Honestly, child, you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your body." The woman put on a sudden burst of speed, halving the distance between them. In the flickering light, her appearance was even more grotesque. Raz made a small noise in the back of his throat.

"Uh, yeah..." Oh my god, this woman is ugly. Raz slowly backed away from the approaching teacher. "Sorry, Mrs. Bittersbaum. I forgot my homework in...my locker."

"Then go get it!" She snapped, bits of spittle flying from her lips. She motioned angrily down the hall behind her, taking her eyes off of the Psychonaut for a brief moment. "And make it snappy, boy! I haven't got all day!"

Raz was already halfway down the hall and around a corner before the woman turned around. He was hidden in the shadows, with his invisibility on to boot as he moved along the cracked walls and thought over his current situation. He couldn't help but feel that he had narrowly escaped a horrible fate... Or that the woman was supposed to have kept him from going this way. His invisibility began to fade away again--he only had so much regenerate when that crazy lady started yelling at him. Leaning against the cool wall, he sighed.

He didn't notice the shadows above him shift ever so slightly. Nor did he notice the darkness swirl and form into a clawed hand directly above his head. He did, however, notice it when the hand flashed down, wrapped itself around his head, covering his eyes, and snatched him upwards.

Raz's cry of surprise fell on the ears of tiny rodents and a woman too far gone to help.

Twisting, writhing, doing his best not to panic, Raz struggled with all of his might to get free. He shifted through every psychic ability he could think of-- he tried to erect a shield, but the grip was too tight; he tried setting it on fire, but thought better of it when his hair started smoking. Levitation was useless, and telekinesis did you no good if you were blind. Throughout his struggles, the young Psychonaut could hear oddly familiar voices...

"Eh? What've you got there, mate?"

"Uh, I don't know actually." The second voice was low, strained, as though he was struggling against a powerful force. That wasn't a bad description. "Too small to be one of the bad guys..."

Raz felt something along the edge of his mind, a twinge of pain, like something was trying to get in. He felt the exact same thing only a short time ago, when he had snuck into Whispering Rock and Oleander had tried to enter his mind. Something instinctive took over, shielded him, protected him. He hearda third voice grunt in frustration.

"Man, those are some serious shields! I can't get in. Hey, kid, what's your name?"

Raz struggled some more against the darkness that covered his eyes. "Let me go! I can't see anything!"

"Hey, that sounds like--Neverhome, let 'im go. I think we just snatched up one of our own."

The darkness lifted, and Raz found himself laying on his back in one of the many dank hallways that made up most of Pinecroft Academy's basement. Once his eyes readjusted to the dim lighting, he sat up, looking at the others. He recognized them as the agents who were in the Jeep earlier. The spiky haired agent he remembered back in the parking lot was crouched before him, his pale blue eyes watching Raz intently.

"Hey, mate, sorry about that. You're the kid with Nein and Vodello, right?" He grinned then, a look that made the agent look no older than his early teens, though Raz suspected he was in his early twenties. "Heh, ya even look like Nein, sorta. Guess that makes ya agent Nein-Point-Five."

This earned a groan from one of the other agents. A dark skinned man with his hair in dreadlocks, wearing a dark brown trenchcoat over faded jeans. He scowled. "We have a mission to perform, Meads."

"Right, right. Sheesh, don't get yer panties all up in a knot, mate. There's always time to be polite." He rolled his eyes before shoving a gloved hand at Raz. "Name's Nick Meads, kid. Never caught yer name earlier."

Raz blinked at him before taking the offered hand and pulling himself up. "I'm Raz. What're you guys doing down here?"

"Well, we were sent in ahead of you guys to take care of any guards. The thing is, there weren't any. Well, not unless ya count that crazy lady back down the hall. This is our second time through the building; we're just making sure nothing got past us." Nick stood up as well, stretching a little before nodding to the three other agents surrounding them. "Alrighty mates, let's get goin'."

"Whoa, wait!" Raz ran after the four other agents."Where are you going?"

"Well, like I said, we've been through most of the basement already. But Neverhome keeps picking somethin' up with that...uh, gift, of his." Nick said this as he called his squad together and had them form up with Raz in the center.

"I'm telling you, someone is screaming in there." Neverhome said. He had tanned skin and was a little taller than Nick, and wore simple clothing. A loose, black t-shirt and dark jeans made up the core of his outfit. Dark brown hair was kept at the level of his ears, a few stubborn strands hanging across his forehead. He had sad eyes.

Raz followed Nick and Neverhome while the other two agents followed behind him. He noticed that they seemed very confident for being in enemy territory. They were treating this as if it were a walk in the park; there was no sign of the professional detachment he saw in Sasha or the cautious grace of Milla. These were just junior agents casually going about a mission. One that just happened to involve the rescue of the Grand Head.

He looked at Neverhome curiously. "I don't hear any screams..."

"No, I didn't think you would. The power I have is rare, even for psychics." They turned a corner and began to edge down another of the dank hallways. A rat scurried across the floor, squeaking angrily. Raz had a flashback to Thorney Towers and had to keep from psi-blasting the rodent on sight. "They call it Ghost-Sight. And you, Razputin Aquato, have a fairly loud group of ghosts following you." He looked further down the hall and nodded towards a door at the end of the hallway. "It's in there."

Nick broke open the door, no preparation whatsoever. He just psi-blasted it open and walked inside. A few moments later, his voice was heard. "Okay, so I owe you five dollars, Neverhome. Get in here, mates. I think we just hit the jackpot."

Neverhome walked inside with Raz a few short steps behind. He came to a screeching halt when he saw what was inside, however. "Uhh..."

The room had been a small office of some sort back when the school was up and running. A rickety wooden desk sat in the middle of the bland room lit by a swinging flourescent bulb that cast eerie shadows across the abandoned furniture. Rotting wallpaper peeled away from the walls, some of it curling all the way down to touch the cold floor. Now, however, it served a very different purpose. Inside of the room, bound and unconscious, was middle-aged man in a decorated Psychonauts uniform slumped against the wall. He was not alone in this room. On the opposite side, there was a little boy in ragged clothes, strapped to a chair. He was restrained by a straightjacket around his torso and heavy chains that threaded over his small form and around the metal chair he was placed in. The boy's greasy blonde hair hung in awkward clumps around his ears. His hazel eyes were focused on the doorway, a sickening grin spread across his youthful features.

Raz made a move to step further inside, but stopped when Nick grabbed his shoulder. "Easy, mate."

"But, that's Truman!" Raz said, frowning at the Australian agent.

One of the other agents spoke up from the hallway. Raz recognized the guy's heavy metal band t-shirt. Metal Head spoke, "Yeah, and this was too fuckin'easy. No guards? Nothing to hold us up but some crazy old lady? Now we find what we're lookin' for and a little kid chained to a chair. This is a trap, man."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, I think we better back out and call--"

The door slammed closed behind them, bent outward towards the hallway, and sealed itself shut. As Nick struggled with the door, they could hear Metal Head's voice. "I so totally called that!"

Raz looked around the room, then edged his way over to the man slumped in the corner. Or he tried to anyway. He found himself hanging upside in mid-air, slowly being dragged towards the boy chained to the chair. "Uhh, guys?"

The child giggled happily. "Daddy says I've been a good boy..."

Back in the hallway outside of the boiler room, Sasha, Milla, and Screak waited in silence, hidden in plain view. It was not a very comfortable silence—there was rarely any comfort involved at all when it came to a mission. Even Sasha was prone to the occasional nervous fidget, tracing the seam along his dark gloves with his thumb. By that same token, it was a bit tenser than it should have been. Perhaps it was because they just sent a ten-year-old boy alone into enemy territory without any knowledge of what lies ahead, or the nature of the mission they were on. Or perhaps it was because Screak kept watching Sasha and Milla with thinly veiled suspicion and contempt. All three of their auras were connected, and Sasha could easily see the dark emotions that played across the agent's mind. That was one thing he generally disliked about revealing his aura—you could be read too easily by others. Thankfully, Milla had long ago learned to keep from asking too many prying questions.

Sasha looked at the younger agent, regarding him carefully. "Tell me, Agent DeLucion, is there a reason why you're so…disagreeable?"

Screak sneered at him. "Simple. I don't trust you. Hell, I don't even like you."

Well, that was very blunt. Sasha gave a dry reply. "Yes, I can tell. Why?"

Screak shook his head. "Because I think you're going to double-cross us. And your actions don't add up. Nein, you've never been one to disagree with an order, or do anything that'd put your job in danger. Hell, they praise you at the academy for it." He glared at him. "Yet here you are, disobeying direct orders from the second in command—idiot though he may be—and doing something that could very well put you in jail or get you fired. Aren't you afraid you'll lose your license? How about your equipment you need for all those weird experiments? What makes an obedient dog turn against its master anyway?"

"I beg your pardon?" Despite his control, Sasha couldn't help but feel annoyed at the boy's insinuations.

"I think Andrews sent you here to rescue Truman instead of us under the pretense that you're not working under orders. That idiot's just petty enough to do that to us." Another sneer. "Until I see proof otherwise, you're all here to get the glory from rescuing the Grand Head in Larry's own backyard—just to humiliate him."

Sasha could sense Milla's shock and disbelief, and he was sure Screak did as well. He was surprised himself. He had worked with people he hadn't liked before, but even in those situations there was some level of trust involved. They were all there for the same reason and, even if they didn't particularly like each other, they could at least trust each other to cover their backs. Sasha had a feeling that Screak would gladly leave them to their own devices if a situation turned ugly.

Milla sighed, shaking her head. "Darling, what happened to you to make you so distrustful of your fellow agents?"

Screak opened his mouth to reply, but paused. The emotions swirling through the Psychonaut's aura suddenly changed from fierce hostility to a cold dread. When he spoke, his voice had changed from the growling tone to a calmer, if cold, one. "Something happened. That kid's in trouble--and he's dragged some of my guys into it."

Milla's aura shifted colors, turning darker much in the same way Sasha knew his own aura was doing. His voice matched Screak's tone perfectly. "Lead the way."

"Alright, just stay calm, mate..."

"He's eating my goggles. I'm about as calm as I can possibly be." Raz's reply was surprisingly calm, though there was a glint of panic in his eye.

"Well, at least he hasn't bit into your head yet, eh?" Nick gave a slight grin, preparing a telekinetic handhold on Raz's arm as Neverhome stalked towards the boy. A strange energy crackled around the dark haired Psychonaut, and a strange skeletal, blue tinged hand formed out of a white mist around the boy.

"But...but I was a good boy..." The boy grew nervous at the sight of the ghostly hand, then agitated, pulling Raz against him, then throwing him aside to deal with this new threat. Raz smacked into the wall and slowly slid down, breathless and dazed. It took him a moment to realize that he was actually laying on top of Truman. "No! I'm not bad!"

Nick cursed and ran over towards Raz and Truman, erecting a shield across the three of them. He looked at Neverhome and nodded. Suddenly, the ghostly hand shot up and wrapped the child into a tight embrace, stretching across his mouth and winding around his head to cover the boy's eyes as well. The child screamed and struggled against his bonds, both physical and mental, psychically rattling the chains bolted to the floor until they strained under his power. The desk shifted along the ground, then lifted up and propelled itself towards Neverhome. The Psychonaut sidestepped the attack and the desk crashed into the wall, the wood splintering and shooting off in every direction. A few pieces buried themselves into Neverhome's cheek, though he didn't seem to notice. The air crackled, sparked even in some places. Parts of the splintered desk began to smoke, the smoke carried off and swirling around a vicious wind that tore sheets of the wallpaper free.

Over the furious roar of power, Raz was barely able to hear Nick shout to his squadmate. "Keep hold of him, mate! Don't let up!" Raz's vision was blurry, and his thoughts were jumbled together, but he heard Nick clear enough. "You, kid, see that window?"

There was, indeed, a small half-sized window up near the ceiling of the room. Dirt and grime covered it, but the dim light of the moon could still be seen beyond it. Raz guessed he could fit easily through there; the others could as well with a little difficulty. The young Psychonaut nodded, and Nick continued.

"Good. Blast it. Then jump through it--take Truman with you. I'll let the shield down in a few moments, so make it quick."

Raz shook his head, standing up on shaky legs and preparing to psi-blast the window. Then a thought occurred to him. "Wait, what about you?"

A wicked grin formed across Nick's features. "Don't worry 'bout us, mate. Now get going!"

The second Nick's shield went down, Raz was struck by the wind. Temporarily thrown off balance, he had to struggle to stay up on his own two feet. When he regained control of himself, he psi-blasted the window--sending pieces of glass flying outward. Now came the hard part... Raz jumped up, concentrating his thoughts into the form of a ball beneath him, and then using the ball to bounce up towards the broken window. Catching the edge of it, he pulled himself through, then turned around and telekinetically grabbed Truman--and grunted.

He shouted back down to Nick. "He's too heavy! I can't lift him up!"

"Aw, bloody hell--hang on, mate. I'm gonna toss him through." No sooner said than done, Raz's hold on Truman was broken and the unconscious Grand Head of the Psychonauts was unceremoniously tossed into the young Psychonaut. Raz fell backwards, then struggled out from underneath Truman, staggering to his feet and grabbing hold of Truman's arm, dragging him away from the broken window.

Once they were a safe distance away, Raz wearily dropped down next to Truman and shook him. "Agent Zanotto? Hey! Wake up! Uhh...what usually wakes up an unconscious father... Oh! Hey! I kissed your daughter!" Truman stirred, groaned weakly...and then promptly went still again. "Wow, that actually worked..."

A glowing, sickly green colored ball of light slowly rolled to a stop in front of Raz. It occurred to him that it was a confusion grenade half a second before it exploded, sending his already unsteady mind reeling. A green haze fell across his vision, and Raz saw the strangest things. A shadow formed in the center of his vision, in the shape of a man. A thought almost occurred to him, but the ground buckled beneath the young Psychonaut and he had to cling to it for fear of falling into the sky. The grass tickled his cheek, and the ants crawling across the ground sang a song to him about shadowed men and the number six. Then they laughed at him and skittered away, leaving the very confused boy to stare in wonder at the twisted world around him.