"He's waking up." The boy, who was no older than nine heard an unfamiliar voice hiss.

"Wha… Where…?" the boy groaned as he opened his eyes. That was when the laugh started. That hyena-like, crazed laugh that would haunt the next few years of his childhood. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper, "Classified…?!"

"What's your name, kid?" the man asked as he crouched behind the crate, gun in hand.

"B… Barry, sir," The child replied nervously. He honestly had no idea how the agent would know if one of the strange people chasing them were directly in front of his face, so impenetrable was the darkness "What's yours?"

"That's classified."

"Oh. That's a strange name." Barry commented. 'Classified' was about to correct this when Barry continued: "where's my mommy…?"

"Keep focused." Classified interrupted. He wasn't going to answer that question, at least, not if he could help it.

"But…"

"Shut up or they'll hear you."

"Who are they?"

"You really don't want to know."

"But…"

"Shut up already." Classified hissed. He'd spotted something in the shadows of the surprisingly large basement. Classified removed his radio from his pocket, "I've spotted a Fossa in the basement, cupcake. Anything on your end?" The only reply he received was static, "Rookies. Always gotta be the hero," he muttered, then instructed his charge: "Don't go anywhere, tree frog." And with that, the man vanished into the darkness. Barry sat there for a few minutes, trembling with fear, waiting for Classified to return.

"Fossa hungry…"

Barry almost at once saw the man who looked down on him was not Classified, though the light coming in from the large windows was blinding to the child who'd spent so long in darkness, turning the man who stood directly in front of him and the stone pillar he was shackled to into blurred smears of colour. As his eyes began to adjust, he saw there were others in the room: figures wearing gold cloaks embroidered with strange designs in brown thread. However, the man in front of him remained blurred and unrecognisable as if a memory he couldn't quite recall.

"Fossa like?" a figures spoke in unison.

"Hm… You ninnycompoopees may have lost the target, but this child is a decent consolation prize. I want him trained. I think he may be useful if my profiles of the target are correct."

Then world seemed to blur, morphing into another room, this time more detailed. He could now see the rest of the room, though this time he was alone. It was the gigantic, vaulted training room he remembered so well: the grey stone floor, designed so bits of rock jutted out randomly, surrounding a circle of black marble. The room was illuminated by torches, which flickered against the walls and ceilings, also of grey stone. However, he wasn't alone for long.

The sound of the huge wooden doors opening had the young boy on his knees in seconds, just as he was taught. He could hear the swish of the cloaks moving across the floor, followed by an unfamiliar sound: screaming. Still, he daren't look up until he was told.

"Please, please, I beg you…!" an unfamiliar voice screamed.

"Fossa hungry…"

"Rise dirt." Barry was ordered. Immediately the boy shot to his feet, his eyes falling on the source of the unfamiliar voice. It was a tall, skinny man, with fluffy white blond hair, and big green eyes, "This is the moment you prove yourself," the cloaked man announced, "this is the moment you display the skills we have taught you, that years of training have not been for naught."

"Fossa yes." Barry replied obediently.

"Good," his trainer grabbed the unfamiliar shackled man, by his hair, holding him in front of Barry. At the same time another one of the many faceless, nameless Fossa cultists extended a wooden box, a poison dart frog carved on the top, "Kill him."

"Please no!" the man begged in his strange accent. The cloaked fossa member placed the box at Barry's feet, opening it to reveal twenty small glass vials containing various coloured liquids.

"Kill him!" his trainer hissed. For several seconds the words didn't register in Barry's mind. He was so mesmerized by the man in front of him, the first person he'd seen in a long time, apart from his trainer, who didn't add 'Fossa' before 90% of sentences. Barry looked down at the man who seemed so helpless, "Kill the Lemur!"

"Fossa hungry." Murmured some of the cloaked figures in the rows behind. Barry reached into the box removing one of the vials, the one that would bring the quickest death to the unfortunate man. Suddenly Barry's back exploded into pain, his hand dropping the vial which smashed onto the ground.

"Wrong answer," His trainer, holding the cat-o-nine-tails, shouted. Barry hissed, and struggled to remain standing, fighting back tears, knowing from experience that displaying it would only bring more, "No mercy. No kindness."

"Fossa sorry." Barry choked. His master reached into the box, removing a dark green vial, and placed it in Barry's hand. Barry made a quick examination.

"State the name and effects, dirt." His trainer demanded.

"Fossa yes. Rare dart frog venom, attacks nervous system and liver. It would take the victim n… nine hours to die."

"Good. You know how to administer it. Show me."

Barry looked down at the vial in his hand. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the image of the man before him.

"I… I…"

"Do it."

"I… Can't…" the cat-o-nine-tails lashed his already pained back, breaking the skin. Barry screamed and dropped to his knees. The whip hit his back again. And again. And again.

"Kill him, or I will flay the skin from your back, dirt!"

Private dragged the bleeding and semi-conscious, semi-delirious form from the car.

"… No Fossa… Can't…" Barry muttered, his eyelids fluttering slightly. Private had found his friend running half dead in front of the car, which skipper had permitted him to take, though on auto pilot so he wasn't really driving, to pick up some much needed fish for tomorrow's coffee. Barry had collapsed before he could tell private whom he was running from, and Private had immediately returned them to the HQ.

"It's okay, Barry. K'walski will fix you up in no time." Private comforted. Suddenly Barry's head jerked to the side.

"… Not the penguins!" Barry almost shouted, thrashing feebly in his sleep, "… Hoboken… No more doors… Skipper… lock me up again…" and with this Barry's mutters returned to incoherent sounds.

"Um… Right," Private stuttered, somewhat surprised by the outburst, "I guess that's a no to K'walski."

"Private?" Skipper shouted from upstairs, "Are you alright?"

"Yes Skippah!" Private returned nervously, "Everything's fine."

"You're back early?"

"Yes, well, they were out of fish."

"It takes a minimum of three minutes and 15.354 seconds to drive to the supermarket and back, Private." Skipper shouted back.

"I checked online, they were out." There was a pause for a few seconds, and then Skipper continued:

"They don't have a website."

"Alright, I've been watching the lunicorns," Private shouted looking desperately around the room for a place to put Barry, lest his acting was as bad as Skipper often stated it was. Then he spotted his winky stash room. Kowalski had built it for him and not told skipper as a birthday present, though Private had doubts about whether it stayed a secret after he'd accidentally set one of the scientist's inventions on fire during a lesson. Still, it was the best he had, so he quickly opened the fish trophy, and stuffed Barry into the small, winkie filled room behind, "I'll go right now."