The group of adolescents cautiously enters the main office of their academy, having not even bothered to set up an appointment prior. It's late afternoon, and the halls have mostly emptied out with orange sunlight brewing through the windows that line the corridors; adding to the eeriness and dreadful silence that follows them with every step they take. The doors to the headmaster's chamber creaks open, apprehensively inviting them in. Mr. Delmas greets them with sudden surprise as he casts away whatever papers he had previously been scribbling on, noting that there's certain solemnness in the aura that surrounds them. It doesn't take a second thought to realize their arrival is related to the pinkette who just so happened to miss all of her classes today.
Bravely, Yumi takes a step forward while the boys remain behind, their heads hanging low and their arms drooping by their sides as they glance at each other with nervous looks. They lack any desire to peer in and get a closer look at the detail of Aelita's trauma.
"We found this in her room," Yumi confirms as she pulls the fabric out of her bag and hesitantly holds it before Mr. Delmas. He adjusts his glasses and leans forward, before immediately jolting back in his chair. He clears his throat, trying to find the right words to say, but Yumi adds to her statement before he has the chance. "Aelita's gone missing, sir."
"What?" he gawks, tugging at the collar of his shirt as his heart skips a beat, or perhaps even two. The safety of his students has always been a top priority, and now, one of them was in uncertain danger.
"We think it's the same guy who—who did this," she stretches the underwear a bit between her hands before lowering it below the desk, keeping it out of both of their sights. "Actually, we're positive it is."
With trembling hands, Delmas reaches towards the phone that rests on the countertop. "I'll phone the police," he quietly affirms with sternness in his voice.
Not much is said after that. Leaving behind the articles of evidence, they nod their heads and exit his office, trusting that things are now in the right hands.
"Well, that's taken care of," Yumi says, but Jeremie quickly and angrily cuts her off.
"Hardly," he states, his voice cold and stale.
"What are you talking about?" Ulrich joins the conversation, sharing the same confused look as Yumi. "With that kind of evidence, they'll have a direct lead to the guy. Delmas already called the police, so—"
"That's just it," Jeremie scowls, his gaze fixed on the hardwood floor beneath his blue sneakers. "Why should any of us trust whatever cops show up looking for her, huh? That's the whole reason she's in this mess to begin with."
"But Jeremie, that guy obviously wasn't a real cop."
"Yeah," the blonde mumbles, feeling slightly hurt. "Obviously."
"Hey, come on… that's not what I meant."
He shrugs, blowing at the loose strands of hair that dangle in his face. "I think we should try and find her ourselves."
"What!?" his friends cry, taking a step back and exchanging baffled looks before gazing upon Jeremie with inquiring skepticism.
"Hey, Jeremie," Odd retorts, "You've really gone off the deep end!"
"Exactly how do you expect us to do that, huh?"
At Ulrich's meager comment, Jeremie merely smirks.
Sitting in the chair of the laboratory, Jeremie types away with surprising confidence as his companions crowd around him. Code jazzes across the screen, nearly blinding the others while the adolescent genius stares with no trouble at all.
"You already know that I have all of your phone numbers implanted into the supercomputer's interface," Jeremie half-confirms whist also half-asking a question. He glances over at his friends, peering at their nervous faces through the thick rims of his glasses as they nod in response.
"Yes," Yumi steps forward for the group.
"The reason for this is because your mobiles themselves are directly linked to the computer, which gives me the ability to dial your numbers from the interface. This also gives me the ability to trace your phones, as the supercalculator has an internal Global Positioning System that can track any amount of data that so happens to be connected to it. In this case, that is your mobiles."
Ulrich scratches his head. "Uh-huh…"
"Aelita's phone is also in the supercomputer. This means I can track hers, too."
"So you can look up on the computer and figure out where Aelita is right now?" The scrawniest of them jumps with excitement, the purple in his hair glowing underneath the lights of the factory. "Well go on, do it!"
"Hold on," the blonde replies as he removes his fingers from the rigid keys. "This kind of tracking uses a lot of data in the supercalculator, so I can't let it go to waste. We need to make sure that Aelita's phone is actually on her, otherwise it'll be a waste of power and we may risk strengthening XANA."
"Did you ever think maybe this whole fiasco is one big XANA attack?"
"Yes—I did. But I've run the superscan multiple times, and there are no activated towers."
"What if the superscan is broken?"
"Well…all we can do is hope it isn't…because Aelita isn't here to deactivate it."
Picking at the lock of her room, the door slowly opens and Odd backs away with the bobby pin tucked away between his fingers. "Bingo," he whispers.
They slip inside cautiously; looking in all directions to make sure Jim hasn't been sneaking around to stop them in their crucial endeavor. Flipping the light switch, everything remains just as it had been the previous day they were inside her room. It was both a relieving and also painful sight.
"What now?" The brunette whispers, curiously looking over at Einstein to discover his master plan. In return, Jeremie smirks and pulls out his own cell phone.
"Simple. We call it and see if it's in here. If we don't hear a ringing, it's safe to assume it's with her." Just as Jeremie begins to dial the familiar numbers, Yumi rests her hand over the keypad and stops him.
"Wait—What if someone picks up? Someone who isn't Aelita?"
Jeremie's heart skips a beat, and he glances anxiously back and forth from the mobile to Yumi's face. She's right—what would Jeremie do, in the instance that a stranger picks up? He wouldn't be prepared for that. His stomach tightens slightly at the thought, but he shrugs the feeling off and decides it's the only option. If someone picks up, then someone picks up. He'll go from there.
With his fair-skinned hand shaking oh so slightly, he raises the phone to his ear and listens to the calm, consistent ringing. It echoes from the speakers of the mobile and fills the nagging silence of the room, with nervousness boiling inside the blood of the warriors that stand so sternly in the empty room.
And then, the tiniest fear that tucked away in the back of his mind comes true. A sudden click—the click of the other line picking up. Jeremie's eyes widen, and he looks over at the others who now crowd around him, leaning in towards his ear in an attempt to understand whatever may happen.
"He—hello?" he stutters, hoping for some sort of response. Nothing more from the receiver other than a simple, devious chuckle. Jeremie's fret and apprehension is immediately replaced with anger, and he begins yelling through the line. "Where is she?" he orders, refraining from holding back any thoughts that enter his flustered mind. This may be the only chance he has to ask. "Tell me where she is!
The person on the opposite line of the call repeats the same, deep laugh as before, and follows his amusement with a foreign sentence. ""Ja sam najviša točka u Parizu, ali ja sam također najniža. Tvoj prijatelj Della Robbia može vam pomoći s ovim, on zna više nego bilo da postoji više nego što se čini."
Jeremie's brow furrows in frustration. "What?!" he shrieks. "You don't speak French!?" And finally, a response that sends chills down the boy's spine. A soft, high-pitched howl, that of resembling a wolf. The other caller then laughs once more, before the disappointing 'click' of the call coming to an end. Jeremie brings his hand down by his side, his fist clenching against his cellular.
"What did he say?" Ulrich asks, desperate to know what had happened. Instead, Jeremie snaps.
"Get a piece of paper!" he demands. "Quick!"
Odd runs to Aelita's barren desk, pulling open the drawers and scavenging for any sort of scrap that can be scribbled upon. He cries in relief as he finds a clean sheet of paper, slamming it onto the desk as he alerts Jeremie. "Here!"
Jer runs to the table and pulls a pen out of his pocket, scribbling down whatever he could possibly remember of what he had heard. He writes it only the way it could be pronounced, lacking the slightest clue on what the words themselves would be. "I don't know what he said," Jeremie finally confirms. "But here's what I heard." He hands the paper to the others, letting them exchange it as they all mumble in confusion as to what the meaning could be. "I know that he mentioned your name."
"It's a different language?" Yumi gapes. Certainly not Japanese, she could affirm that much.
"Maybe Russian," Jeremie taps his finger against his chin, his eyes narrowing with thought. "I'm not sure. I can translate it with the supercomputer…it definitely sounded Eastern European.
In a dark laboratory, two forensic scientists partner up and slave away at the computers as they investigate the case of missing Aelita, along with the gracious evidence they had so been provided. One grabs a cotton swab and delicately swipes the faded stain in the underwear, collecting a sample of the precious DNA that will surely give away the identity of her attacker, giving them a head start. More than a head start, at that—in fact, it would give them a giant leap.
The sample is run through a device that thoroughly investigates DNA and matches it to whomever so owns it—the computer containing DNA of every individual in the country. In fact, it would be simply impossible for them to not find a match.
"Running it now," one's partner says as the interface before him begins scanning through each identification card that may or may not match, the computer buzzing and whirring as it furiously scrambles through the possible criminals.
The humming of the search stops, with an alarming beep following. One of the men removes his safety goggles, peering in towards the bright screen in pure bewilderment.
"I don't believe it…" he mutters, his voice shaking with disbelief and suspicious.
"What?" his partner responds, joining his side before the calm look on his face is so suddenly replaced by the one on his co-worker's.
"There is no possible match."