The Council had been informed of young Kenji's actions, as well as what had happened to the boy before and after he had ended the life of Luggnagg de Krumeggnik. Now he was left to await the arrival of the rest of the Council and wonder what had become of Kenji since the boy had been brought to this place. Standing up and leaving the communications unit that he had been using, Fried'rich headed for Dr. Hekkaring's laboratory.

He was well aware that Hekkaring, as the highest authority in Zoaform production aside from Dr. Balkus himself, would have been given the task of caring for the young Zoalord and finding out what had been done to him. The laboratory Hekkaring was fond of using was, as luck would have it, merely two floors above where he currently was, so he would be able to find out what had happened. By this time he was almost overcome with curiosity.

It could not have been anything but a deliberate act; nothing other than some powerful – and specifically formulated – tranquilizers would have been able to render even a comparatively weak Zoalord as Kenji so deeply somnambulant as he had been. As much as he hated to even consider the idea of yet another traitor among the ranks of the Council, it was possible that Luggnagg had deliberately introduced some of Dr. Balkus' sedatives into the boy's system. As feckless as he might have been, Kenji was not one to drug himself.

The elevator ride up to the laboratory was mercifully short, and soon he was well on his way to finding out just what had happened to the youngest of Chronos' Zoalords.

"Greetings, Dr. Hekkaring," he said, not wanting to be rude even in spite of his worry. "What have you discovered?"

"The boy has been dosed with a rather large amount of Dr. Balkus' high-strength sedative," the aged man stated flatly, "most likely over a week or slightly more for this dosage. Any more time and his immune system would have filtered it out; any less and there would have been the risk of adverse complications."

So this, then was Luggnagg's doing—Kenji had not known of the existence of such a thing, much less the optimum time and dosage needed to achieve those results. "I see," was all he said. "Thank you for informing me of this."

Hekkaring nodded, clearly becoming absorbed in his work once again. As well he might be: it would take some time to counteract the effects that pronounced withdrawal would have on even a Zoalord. Kenji's own physiology would be of some help in that respect, as it could cleanse itself more quickly than that of any other Zoaform in Chronos, but he would need time to fully recover unless he was placed into a processing-tank.

There was really no call for such a thing, however: it would take time to convene the rest of the Council, and explaining just what had happened would also require some time. He was pleased to know that the boy would be well cared for—at the very least, it would keep Imakarum from worrying himself overmuch or going on the kind of destructive rampage that Fried'rich had learned to associate with either an appearance by Sho Fukamachi or even the slightest hint of a threat to his son.

The man's dedication to his child would have been far more admirable if he had not been so unstable and prone to overreacting. It was obvious that such things were the result of whatever had been done to change Masaki Murakami into Imakarum Mirabilis. He, even with the distance between his own former Section and the location of the former Proto-Zoalord's attacks, knew that Masaki Murakami had been calm and deliberate in his attacks.

Imakarum, conversely, was the polar opposite. Those unlucky enough to be the targets of the Twelfth Zoalord's rage were not likely to survive the experience, and even if they were left alive, they would not be so foolish as to anger him again. Imakarum's temper was swiftly becoming the stuff of legend: to cross him was to court death. It was not an impression Fried'rich would have worked to cultivate, were he in Imakarum's place. Still, anyone with eyes could see that Imakarum Mirabilis was not entirely stable even at the best of times.

XxXxX

He'd let King Bastard know that he wanted to talk to him and had even been so kind as to tell the guy where he would be when he wanted to talk. Now, standing in front of the stove with a pot of water that was just starting to boil, he looked over his shoulder to see that King Bastard himself had just walked in. Biting back a smirk, he continued to watch the bubbles as they burst at the surface of the liquid.

"Is that all you wanted to speak to me about, Crouger? Your attempts at cooking?" King Bastard demanded.

"What's the matter, you haven't seen anyone multitask before?" he shot back, smirking slightly so he wouldn't give himself away.

"I don't particularly care about your cooking skills, Crouger," King Bastard sneered. "Just say what you wanted."

"Do you know how I feel about my family?" he asked, both because he was curious about what the other guy would say, and because he needed just a little more time for the water to boil properly.

"I hardly see how that has any bearing on our current situation, Crouger."

"No." He chuckled softly as the water began to boil properly. "I guess it wouldn't mean much to someone like you."

Firmly gripping the pot handle with both hands, he whipped it at Agito, liberally covering the older guy in scalding water. Slamming his full weight into his opponent, Ryan pinned him against the stove, grabbed one of his flailing arms, and pinned it to the still-hot burner with his right elbow. Leaning his head against his right hand, Ryan grinned slightly.

See how King Bastard liked it.

"I certainly hope I've got your attention," he called cheerfully. Pain seemed to motivate most people, so he figured he had a very good chance of making at least some kind of impression. "Now, we're going to have a nice little chat," he grinned, digging his left thumbnail into the bastard's right cheek. "More specifically, you're going to listen while I tell you just what I'm going to do to you if you ever threaten my family again."

The almighty King of Bastards gritted his teeth, obviously struggling not to make too much noise. It was really kind of funny.

"Now, you might be thinking that this is the worst I can think up." His grin widened. "I'm here to tell you that you're not even close to being right about that. I'm also going to tell you that you don't want to know the worst I can think up. It's not pleasant." Chuckling deep in his throat, he dug the tip of his pointer finger under the bastard's eyelid. "Now, I hope this has been an enlightening discussion, but I think we should leave off before things start charring, eh?"

Standing back up, he took the pot to the sink so he could toss out the rest of the water and give the thing a good scrubbing. Then he turned and slammed the bottom of the pot into King Bastard's face as the guy tried to jump him from behind.

"Nice try, but you might want to move a little more quietly next time," he chuckled as King Bastard growled and tried to staunch the blood flowing from his nose.

As the king of bastards lunged at him, Ryan backed up and quickly opened the drawer closest to his left hand. He'd done some exploring in the kitchen beforehand—he'd wanted to have everything just right for when he had his little "friendly chat"—and right now what he needed was a knife.

And, lucky him, he just happened to be digging around in the knife drawer.

Swatting King Bastard with the pot when he got a little too close for comfort, Ryan found himself impressed by the bastard's stamina. Not many guys would have been able to shove aside being smacked in the head with a pot and having their hand smashed against a heated stove burner, both in quick succession. King Bastard was pretty damn tough. He liked that—it would make things interesting.