THIRD CHAPTER. Woo-hoo!

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one as much I enjoyed writing it. So, yeah, enjoy. xD

...

Disclaimer: I do not own TDI.

"The world is quiet here.."

"This place really it?" Commander Hatchet snickered, sticking his nose up in the air as he walked into the old theatre, looking more like some abandoned ghost-town if anything. The rest followed hesitantly, trailing a few metres behind with flashlights. He looked over to Fred, the one who was assigned to gather the group over to the area.

The startled gopher, taken by surprise, quickly nodded. "I'm positive," he replied, even though he really wasn't.

Jimmy shot him a look, then added, "Yeah, there hasn't been a show in over twenty years. It's kind of deserted now, I guess you can say."

'Kind of' was an underestimate. It was definite. The room had a strange presence to it, the feeling you got as if someone else was there, but really wasn't. Shadows bounced off their flashlights, dancing upon the walls in sudden motions. A few of them pointed theirs to the stage, where several cobwebs and collections of dust were put on display.

Another voice piped up, hands in his pocket with a slight frown: "My mom used to take me here when I was just a little kid."

"You saw that play about lions in the streets, didn't you, Jack? I think you told me about that once."

He smirked. "Yeah, to tell you the truth, the storyline was pretty whack. Mom woulda never taken me if she knew it was about-"

Hatchet growled. "Focus, soldiers."

No one messed with the commander. Especially one as intimidating at first glance as Commander Hatchet, the respected chief with a strange fetish for catering. It's a side job, Maclean whispered the second his back was turned. The group turned mad when they heard this, and when someone revealed he also wore this pink, frilly apron while he worked…

Not that anyone dared bring it up.

Well. "Sorry, sir, but I really can't take you seriously without that apron of yours on-"

It was awfully hard to resist, though.

"What you say?" Hatchet stomped towards the unlucky man, grabbing hard grip of his collar. When they heard the sound of a flash moving approximately two and a half miles a minute, feeling further away each second they listened, everyone froze.

Eventually it was over, and then Commander Hatchet shoved him to the ground with a grunt. "Better watch what you say next time, a'right?"

He told the rest of them to stay and check every inch of the old theatre, then muttered a few muffled words as he charged out of the building.

--

Coach Lewis, garbed in a baggy green sweatshirt on a sunny day in September, blew his whistle so hard he nearly shot up. His sideburns, anyway. "You there, Anderson! Pass the goddamn ball already!"

Anderson fumbled with the ball, before he oblige-fully passed it to Geoff, who smacked past one of his buddies for a touchdown. She was still the center-point in his mind when he performed that play. Since that day, she always had been. The crowd burst into wild cheers, forgetting this wasn't an actual game (officially, anyway) and it was merely just tryouts.

Geoff grinned, then went on to slap sweaty high-fives with potential future teammates before taking a seat by the sidelines, snagging a bottle of Gatorade.

"Nicely played, Collins," Coach slumped into the space next to him, then also drew a soda from the cooler. "Consider yourself automatically on the team."

The teenager boy beamed. This would be his fourth year, starting out as a freshman then making his way up to an upperclassman. The rest of the guys within earshot pumped their fists into the air and gave him a few good slaps on the back. Owen offered him a food coupon to Arby's (as hard as it was), and DJ proposed a speech, bursting into tears when he concluded. So maybe it wasn't much of a surprise, but Geoff was stoked. Maybe he'd even throw a party that weekend.

This went forth for another ten minutes. York High's (official, as of ten minutes ago) senior quarterback, they prematurely announced, was going to lead them to the provincial finals. It was too much. He didn't deserve this.

And, from the corner of his eye, he found her, probably walking home from the school's library, carrying a stack of notebooks in her arms. For a second, he thought he saw the tiniest of a smile, curved on her lips, but then he seriously doubted it.

He wouldn't be able to handle that.

--

They ran. Well actually, she ran, while he held onto her for dear life as she ran two and a half miles per minute.

Needless to say, it didn't take long to get there, wherever they were.

"We're here," she said bluntly, while he made her slow down so he could get a better look at wherever they were.

His eyes widened and his piercings nearly popped right off.

"W-wow."

--

The next day at school, Geoff squeezed past the crowds of fan-girls and big football fans alike, and found Cody sitting at their usual table, demandings five bucks from everyone who asked to sit at the star's 'usual' seat. Geoff frowned, wanting his space.

"Can I talk to you?" He asked his best friend since third grade.

"Sure." Thankfully, the people had gone, resuming to their own business for that time being.

Geoff planted his two feet firmly onto the cafeteria floor, then took a deep breath. "I'm a mess."

"And I'm Pamela Anderson."

This conversation would be harder than he thought.

"Look, can you-" She chose this moment to walk by, then switch to a light jog as she left through the cafeteria doors. His first instinct was to follow her. He remembered the day he got her number. He had her on speed dial a few seconds after. Maybe he would call her, tell her to slow down and maybe they could go walk. Together.

"I'll be back," Geoff announced, finally. "You think you can swing by my place later and drop off the tape recordings of Mr. G's history lesson last Wednesday?"

Cody nodded, sipping his juice-box, like usual. "Uh, sure. I guess."

"Thanks," and he took off after her faster a bunch of criminals being chased by the investigators.

Well, not exactly.

--

"You're bluffing, soldier. Everyinch of that rathole? Now, I find that hard to believe."

From left to right-Jimmy, Jackson, Fredrick, Bobby, and Frank. Wedged between Jack and the just-recently-hired Frank Simmons, Fred found himself in a most uncomfortable position, forced to stare right into the sharp eyes of Commander Hatchet. Yep, most uncomfortable indeed.

Chris Maclean chuckled, sitting at his desk watching carefully. How could he find this funny? Fredrick thought, at the same time glancing towards the clock, the shorthand fixed at three.

"They're gone, sir," he meant to speak up, but it ended up a whisper. A brief silence followed, breaking through the tension, then building it up all over again.

He cleared his throat, then went for the kill-"However, we collected several traces of evidence that prove someone was living there, quite recently."

The commander blinked. "Well. That wasn't clearly what I was expecting. Show us that evidence immediately."

Fred nodded towards Jimmy, who went to claim his briefcase sitting at the table by the door. He unlocked it, revealing plastic bags of 'the evidence' piled up, then explained each piece. "Here, we have a toothbrush," he lifted it up so the others could see. "We're planning to run by some DNA samples later.

"…a few empty cans of tuna fish we found lying around the place…" A few nods.

Jimmy took a deep breath. "And a single strand of bright red hair."

After that, no one knew what to say. For a few minutes, they all just remained there, thinking to themselves, trying to process what that could mean even when all of them knew the answer right away.

Maclean chose to break that silence. "I think we've got ourselves a lead."

--

Geoff was lost. It took him awhile to figure that out.

"I'm lost," he said to no one, a worried expression replacing his usual features. There he was, standing on an isolated street, because he swore, he saw her go left.

Or was it right?

He took another good look around. "I'm lost," he repeated, because it was the one another thing he couldn't get out of his head.

--

"You're trespassing, you idiot."

Geoff didn't mean to walk right into an alleyway. With about fifteen punks gathering around him in a circle, pushing up their sleeves and holding out their fists. It also took him awhile to realize he was trapped.

The rest was a blur. They threw punches, he got a few good shots himself. The last thing he remembers was that he was knocked to the ground out cold, and then he hears a voice. Then suddenly, it's just him, in an enclosed white space, wondering where he is.

Sometime before he also remembers dialing her number, but he isn't certain if he was dreaming or not. All he knows for sure is that he was knocked to the ground, and something was about to happen. Something big.

I love cliffies, don't you?

Anyway, this arc's pretty much halfway done. Probably two more chapters after this, hopefully longer than the last three. xD

R&R, guys!