Author's Note: Hey you guys. So, I've been up all night writing three new chapters! Woah! Yup, so, I will release them as quickly as I get more reviews. It's not that I don't appreciate those who have been reviewing so far, it's just that I need some new faces in that review box. So, don't be shy, other readers, tell me what you think too! (I kinda wanna know if my chapters run too short xD) Thanks and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own K.N.D and blah blah blah.


"She's dead? So, you mean to stand there and tell me that my number one agent is dead?" Father asked with a touch of anger, "You also mean to tell me, my dear imbecile, that it was the fault of my other agents?" He sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples.

Father's study was lavish and smelled of rich mahogany. There were huge glass double doors accompanied by brass siding and handles that served as an entry to the magnificent space. Books lined the walls and the only available spaces were filled by some of the rare original works of art by Matisse and Da Vinci. His desk was also very large, crafted from the finest painted redwood money could buy. Two glorious exotic plants stood on either side of the desk which added a hint of rainforest to the overall smell. Everything in the room seemed to lead up to the desk which sat in front of the most comfortable office chairs one had ever laid eyes on. The room was designed for a man with the most exquisite of tastes, and that unquestionably described Father. Although malicious, father only craved the finer things in life.

"I'm so sorry, my lord," said a nameless agent apologetically, "Agent Amanda was caught in the crossfire between our militia and the army of the K.N.D. The smoke was thick, and a lot of our men perished due to the utter confusion out on the field. We were unaware, at the time, that she had been included in the list of casualties. It was simply chaos."

"You know," Father said, standing up and igniting a small blue fire in his palm, "I should absolutely kill you and all of the other idiots that fought that night who are still alive. Agents like Amanda are the ones you keep safe!" Father's rage boiled inside of him. The agent stood in his spot trembling as he watched the massive figure grow angrier.

"Father, my lord," the agent breathed, gripping his composure, "On behalf of myself and everyone who fought alongside me that night, I humbly apologize. I'll be sure her family gets the best compensation pos-" Before the agent could finish talking, he found himself pinned to the wall by his neck, air escaping his lungs. Father had moved with lightning speed to take the agent by the throat. His flesh burned by the fire Father continued to blaze within his palm.

"You think you can just stand there, apologizing, while my top agents are dying out there on your watch! I trusted you, in every battle, my friend, to watch over my most important allies. This is the third death that has happened on your hands. So, do you know what that means? Three strikes, you're out, my dear fellow!" With that, Father strangled the agent with both fire and force. He clutched the agent until his neck snapped and dropped him to the floor. Fixing his tie, he walked back over to his desk and sank into the chair. He lifted the case over the button for the intercom and pressed it.

"Dianne, I need you to come quickly and clean up a spill in my office. Thank you."


Late August rolled around and Nigel had spent many of his days working out and sulking around his home base. Not only did Amanda's death continue to sting, but the young operative was also about to turn 18 years old in a matter of months. It was all happening so fast and he couldn't get a handle on any of it. Abigail had desperately tried to help him return to his regular self. She wanted the Nigel who held his head high to return, she wanted the Nigel who wasn't afraid of life to return and be her friend again. Nigel was undeniably a lost cause in the eyes of his friends. It wasn't long before the head of commissions got wind of his lack of performance and sent him to get some counseling.

"Nigel, please tell me what ails you." The psychiatrist had a Middle Eastern accent which gave away the fact that he hasn't particularly been an American citizen his whole life. Nigel chuckled to himself at the thought of immigrants sneaking into the country just to be psychiatrists.

"Oop! Now, there's a smile." He said, trying to encourage Nigel.

"Doc, I honestly can't tell you what's wrong," Nigel said, "I'm just still thrown off my game. Amanda was a dear friend, and I'm just… trying to pick up the pieces."

"Were you two, perhaps, romantically involved?" This question rang in Nigel's ears like a Christmas bell. He slightly blushed and rubbed his short haircut.

"Well, a little. We kissed a few times but, it never got farther than that. She didn't want our partnership to get complicated, or something."

"I see."

"Yeah, and let me tell you, she was so hard to get. She didn't let anyone do much with her, as far as going out. She only had a boyfriend once, and that was when she was 11. I felt like I was close to breaking the barrier with her sometimes."

"So, you had a passion for the young Amanda?"

"I did. The romance factor, or whatever you'd call it, is making the loss harder on me, I suppose."

"Are you interested in anyone else?" This question stirred a warm feeling in Nigel. He instantly thought of the more consistent love interest in question.

"Her name is… Abigail. We have, literally, been friends forever, but she never showed a romantic interest. I've always had a desire for her, as well as Amanda."

"Perhaps," said the psychiatrist, stroking the trimmed white hairs on his chin, "You should try channeling the aimless romance into someone who is physically here with you; especially since there is some there already. Placing your love and affection in young Abigail will aid you in coping with the death of young Amanda by finding comfort in another special lady." These words made Nigel think long and hard about the next step to overcoming the obstacles that plagued his life. He sat in silence while the doctor stood up and grabbed his coat.

"Come," he said, "You were my last session today, so I would like to leave with you. I think we're done here, but if you feel like you have any more troubles, I urge you to come and talk about it if you cannot find the means to elsewhere." Nigel stood up and exited the office door with him. A small smile crawled onto his face and, for the first time in months, gave his form the luster it once had long ago.