"Enjoy your little taste of the insanity, Tumbleweed…" a familiar, dark voice purred."I'm sure the Jellicles will be pleased to see one of their elders dying… or at least I will…"

"Mac-a…" he barely got out before freezing completely in shock and pain. The darkness overwhelmed him as the ginger tom stormed away in his view, looking undoubtedly pleased with himself…

~^..^~

A morning air came over the once- queen kits of the Junkyard. Victoria kept feeling kicks in her stomach, and she was still deciding if it was still a blessing or was just getting annoying. She wasn't trying to be cruel at all, but being with kits was just exhausting. When she woke up in the morning, or in the middle of the night, she would throw up; she was fatigued most of the day; her muscles ached; the usual mouse became a bland meal, as well as fish and any other food she could find around the junkyard; and to top it all off, she was pregnant while a disease raged over the Junkyard. Everything that was happening became less annoying and more nerve-racking. Mistoffelees was working every day, and also wouldn't let her out of his sight.

He had been fairly paranoid over her catching the toxin. Every time she vomited or felt dreadful, he wanted to take blood samples to make sure she wasn't infected. Luckily, Jelly stopped him, and insisted it was simply from the pregnancy. That had helped him worry less, but now that the light tabby was being put on barely sufficient treatments for this toxin, she felt like things would be getting worse fairly soon. The white queen took a deep breath as she stretched herself out on the TSE 1 car next to Electra. Jemima was sitting in the front seat, and was curled up in a ball tiredly.

The white queen sighed contently as she laid a paw over her bulging stomach. "Jemmi, how is Tumble doing?"

The red and black queen looked up and bit her lip. "As well as the others…" she mumbled, looking saddened by the subject. Tumblebrutus and Jemima were together beforehand, but now that he was sick, it brought her into a depressive state. "I'm doing my best, as is Misto and the twins, but they're getting worn out by trying to use their healing powers against this virus. It's just too much for them."

Electra sighed quietly and looked down. "This is terrible…Even dad's crestfallen!"

Victoria's lips curled back. "To be fair, dad acts like that a lot anyway."

The russet-colored queen turned to her sister with a raised eyebrow. "No, Vic, Dad's never crestfallen, he's stressed. There's a difference."

"Still," Jemima said gently, "Bad things are happening to the tribe, and it doesn't take a genius to figure why that is."

Electra scoffed, "Macavity, obviously."

Victoria sighed, "And the kicker is that one of our own is helping him…"

"Hey! We can't say for certain what going on at the Warehouse with Zela." Electra scorned with a sour look. Victoria wasn't sure why, but her little sister always seemed to have a stronger faith in the goodness of others. She wondered in what point in her life she lost faith in her fellow felines.

The white queen sighed, "Too many lives are lost already because of the trust we had in others… I wish my kits would be born in a better time…"

Jemima slightly smiled at her friend. "Things can't stay bad, Vic. When we hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up."

Victoria looked down at her stomach, silently listening to her friend's words. Suddenly, Munkustrap came running towards them, appearing panicked. Electra leaned up off the TSE 1. "Daddy? What's going on?"

Munkustrap shook his head, looking frantic. "Your Grandfather," He breathed, "…Old Deuteronomy, he's hurt. I was out bordering London, and he was unconscious in an alley. I need someone to come with me to help me bring him back."

Electra stood up immediately and jumped up off the car's hood. "I'll help you, Dad," She volunteered.

Munkustrap nodded, "Thank you, El. Come, we have to find a few others."

Electra and Munkustrap quickly paced away to search for volunteers, leaving the other two queens with worry and anxiety. Victoria gently turned her head over to Jemima and stared at her with her jaw agape. "Jem… have we hit rock bottom yet?"

Jemima shook her head. "I don't see how we could get any lower…"

The white queen covered half her face with her paw, and just sat there in silence. She knew that this was going to put Misto over the edge when he found out. If their leader was in danger, he would be more stressed than ever. Well… better he hear it from me than someone else… she thought calmly, quickly sitting up off the car's hood and scurrying away carefully to find her mate…

~^..^~

From Demeter's view, the room was still spinning. Between the hourly ritual of vomiting and coughing up specks of blood on her bed sheets, the gold queen lost track of her thoughts in an uprooted silence. She heard the pain of the patients that were beside her, whom she could not identify since she came in. During these conscious spells, she tried closing her eyes, and often got lost into the darkest of nightmares. She felt a force that was stronger than anything she had ever encounter gradually taking hold of her; a force that had been stronger than the love of her mate, and the anger that was built between their families.

Slowly, this force was squeezing the life out of her, reigning terror within her body, and in the bodies of the ones she loved. Every thought felt pulsing and rhythmic, yet still had a twinge of pain as the thoughts traveled through her sore head. Her aching muscles were too weakened to move, and the surface of her flesh was blanketed in a chill that wouldn't be warmed, not even when she felt the tense paw of her mate holding her. However, he was not holding her this time. She couldn't sense her mate anywhere near him. With her eyes shut, Demeter could only listen to the moans of pain that were cried throughout the medical den. She wished she didn't have a conscious mind of what was going on. She always heard the misery Macavity had brought upon them. From what she heard now, there was no one left to treat the patients. Tantomile and Coricopat had been trying to help, but their strength in healing had been weakening, even when they were just trying to help a dying Plato.

Suddenly, a presence sat beside her. She squirmed away slightly, but the cat took her paw. As soon as she felt the warmth, the gold queen relaxed, slowly opening her eyes to the tired face of her mate. '"Dem..." he whispered.

The gold queen said nothing. Her voice couldn't find the strength anymore. She just kept her eyes open, and tried to smile at her mate, though it barely showed. She mouthed the word, "Hi."

Munkustrap's face was covered over with a bandana, being used as a makeshift mask. Yet she could still faintly see his eyes smiling, which was enough of an expression to make the gold queen feel warmer inside. She wondered if this was what it was supposed to be like on the verge of death. She always pictured herself dying at an old age somewhere before or after her mate went to Heavyside as well. Yet, Demeter never thought about dying at her age, even after her experiences with Macavity. The gold queen inhaled deeply and lightly grasped her mate's paw, yet her voice was sore, so she didn't say anything else to him.

Munk was rubbing his paw on her palm. She could see through that mask that he was wearing, that he was really hiding some pain on his face. She groaned quietly as she gripped his paw tighter and a stroke of pain traveled through her. She could tell by his movements that he wanted to hug her. He looked down at her face, and the gold queen mustered her strength to gently smile at him, trying to prove that she was okay. He obviously did not believe it.

"Hi, Love…" he whispered in a muffled tone. His voice sound dry and cracked, as if he had seen life sucked out of a body. She inhaled deeply and stroked his paw. It felt terrible to know that she could hold his paw and be near him, yet every moment he spent with her was another way to risk his life. The silver tabby sighed quietly. "Darling… I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, but Zela isn't coming back."

Demeter stared at him, her heart pounding. It was clear to him, simply by her expression that he had panicked her. "She's alive, I think… but Dem… Teazer saw her training with henchcats…and she said that Macavity himself had reassured her of…Zela… Well…Dem, I wouldn't say it unless I saw it with my own eyes, but right now… there's nothing else I can do….please, please forgive me, love… I love her as much as you do, and I couldn't be sorrier about anything… Please forgive me…"

He stared at her, and all Deme could see was torture in pain in his dull, blue eyes. Yet what could she do? She was still trying to work out her emotions now. What was she feeling though? Hurt perhaps? That her mate was insinuating that she would never get her daughter back? Was she angry that he could do nothing about it?

The gold queen found herself wanting to sooth him, make him feel as though it wasn't his fault, and never was. And it was in that moment, she realized that she had been a source of his stress. She told him how much she hated him for everything that he had done, and accused him of tearing their family apart. All this time when she should have been helping him and supporting her mate, she had been contributing to his suffering.

With guilt and sadness in her, the gold queen just held his paw and tried to smile, mouthing the words, 'I love you' to him. What made her happy again was seeing his eyes smile. They quickly moved away from her and went to their paws. Munk sighed quietly and shook his head. "I love you too, Dem. More than anything… and I could never lose you… but constantly, all I can think about are the things that can happen now… Every time I come into this room, I see the tortured faces, and I keep wondering if there was anything I could have done to prevent it… but there's nothing I can do…" He inhaled deeply and shook his head, "… Deme…. I keep having horror stories running through my head… about the Junkyard going up in flames and everyone dying of this horrible sickness… Everlasting Cat, Dem… every night this week, I have a nightmare that I'm going to lose someone I love… I don't know what to do, Deme… I wish you were well enough where you could help me… but I know I have to be the one to help you now…"

Demeter slightly frowned, knowing he was blaming himself again. Even when most of what had happened was done by Macavity. She gently shook her head and patted his paw. She wasn't sure what she could tell to him. She tried to empathize for his pain, and just lightly nuzzled his paw, mouthing over and over, "I love you."

And the gold queen finally felt complete when she finally saw him mouth back: "I love you too." It felt like a confirmation of their hope. That's why she knew she couldn't die, not when he needed her so much. They may have been losing their home, piece by piece, but they had hope.

~^..^~

Misto sat, staring into the lenses of his makeshift microscope. His energy was somewhat low, but not enough to start becoming Quaxo again. He wanted to think he was feeling even more determined, but in reality, he could feel the pressure caving in on him. His tribe medic was now sick. The mystic twins could no longer help, for their healing powers weren't strong enough. They were able to stabilize Plato, but the rest of the tribe was fading fast. The tuxedo tom had been relentless day and night, taking small breaks, only to go back into his work immediately. He'd used up his weeks to study what this disease was, but there was a piece missing. Something so important, that it was preventing him to solve this whole mystery.

"Misto?"

Misto's left ear was pinned on his skull as he sensed the presence of his mate in the room. He inhaled deeply as he leaned up and pushed a magnifying glass away from him, which had been attached to wires that leaned down and positioned perfectly over several different types of lenses that magnified his view of the blood samples. The tuxedo tom spun around in his chair as both his eyebrows lifted to Victoria. She stood there was a concerned face. "Mist…. I'm really sorry that I have to be the one to say this, but…" she took a deep breath, and Misto just stared at her silently before she spoke again, "Munk found Deuteronomy unconscious on the alleyway… he has… puncture marks on his back… and he hasn't woken up, no matter what we tried to use…Munk thinks that…" The white queen paused and just moved her gaze down as she entered further into the room.

Misto frowned deeply as he sat back in his chair and brushed his paw through his head-fur in disbelief. "Everlasting Cat, help us…" he muttered, feeling his blood run cold at the latest victim of this toxin. "I…. I guess I'll have to check him out later…"

He could feel Victoria's eyes on him as he turned back around to his work. Dammit, this wasn't getting him anywhere. No matter what he tried to add to the tainted blood samples he had retrieved, nothing would eat away at the poison. He had tried several medical cures that Jelly commonly used whenever any Jellicle got sick. Misto had found treatments that at least slowed the process and kept everyone in the medical den alive. It seemed as though no matter what alternative he took; whichever direction he decided to go in, he always ended taking several steps back to the beginning. Did Everlasting Cat just want them to die?

Victoria put her paw gently on his shoulder. He expected her to tell him to take a break, or encourage him, or even put more pressure on him. "Heavyside, Vic, I don't know why I'm doing this anymore…"

"You're not the only one…" she whispered. Misto turned his head sharply at her, surprised at the answer. His mate tried to smile, but failed, "Misto, you know that I'm worried about you…"

"And I'm worried about you!" he replied, his gaze traveling from her face, down to her swollen stomach. He placed his paw on it gently, but then just took it off and moved his gaze back to the magnifying glass.

Victoria sighed quietly and sat down next to him. "You don't need to be. I've been fine, even with the kits."

"Yeah, but that's because of magic." He pointed out, scribbling out a few notes of his.

Victoria blinked and nodded quietly in agreement, "True… your magic has helped…" she grinned a little and pointed down at her stomach, "As has theirs."

Misto stared down at her stomach, some disparage was visible on his face. "Yeah… I guess…" he muttered. He still wasn't sure if he trusted the magic that his kits possessed. Even if it was saving his mate now, it could possibly kill her in the future.

As the Tuxedo tom glanced up, he already saw that his mate had caught his look. Her brow furrowed at him as she leaned up. "Misto… maybe... you should take a longer break…. I don't want all this work to get to you."

Misto just shook his head and turned away from her. "I have to solve this. For you. For the Junkyard. Who else is going to help us, Vic?"

Victoria frowned slightly. "I know you want to help, but you need to stop swimming so deep and come to the surface to breathe. I'm… I'm almost afraid that this would kill you more than the virus would. With all this stress… I'm surprised that hasn't killed you already."

How was he supposed to explain all of this to her? He had a duty for the tribe; a duty to save their lives, and the lives of their unborn kits as well! "Vic, please don't start…" he mumbled, turning back to his work. "You can't possibly understand what this tribe is expecting of me."

Victoria sighed. "I expect something of you too, Misto. I need you to be the father of my kits. I expect you to take care of yourself too."

"What do you think I'm trying to do, Vic?" he said harshly. He hated that he was gaining a temper, but she just didn't understand!

The line on the white queen's brow grew deeper as she frowned at him. "Misto, you're acting like you have everything under control, and we both know that you don't!"

Misto just denigrated her statement. "I'm busy, Vic. Can you please go?"

His mate just ignored him, "You're treating this whole thing like your life doesn't matter! But you do matter, especially to me and our future family."

"Stop mentioning them!" he told her, again in his harsh tone, "I already have to help your dad take care of an entire tribe. I can't be worrying about our kits too, dammit!" Misto smashed his fist down in the lens glass he was using to conceal the infected blood. He felt the glass slicing through his skin, but he ignored the pain and kept his stern, angry glare at his mate.

As he stared at her, he saw the surprise and disappointment in her eyes. Her whole body had grown paler than usual as she just stared into his angered face. Misto finally had to let go of his hate of the conversation, and broke their stare from each other. "Sorry…" he murmured, lifting his paw, and taking out a small shard of glass that had stuck into his paw.

Victoria quickly stood up, moving her gaze down to her feet. She inhaled deeply, and moved her hand over to the small of her back. "I don't feel really good right now, okay…?"

Misto nodded quietly as the pain finally came to his conscious knowledge. He tucked his paw away behind his back and stood up off his chair and quickly walked over to her. "Okay, Vic… I'll see you tonight, okay? I promise."

Victoria looked at his face, her brow slowly alleviated as she nodded slightly. "Okay, sweetheart… I'm holding you on that…" They both smiled slightly, but the tuxedo tom eventually just turned away from her as soon as her attention turned towards the door. They didn't say any sort of exchange of good-bye for some reason. Perhaps they had gotten tired of trying to talk to each other, not with words, but simply with their eyes.

It didn't take him long to go back to his work, though he gave a distasteful groan when he saw the disaster mess that he had made with his fist. Not only was he bleeding all over the table, but his sample was ruined, as he needed to clean up all the broken glass. He leaned down to see if he could smooth away any of the mess, but as the blood of his paw trailed over the mark he made, he noticed that the tainted blood had seeped over his own. The tuxedo tom's eyes narrowed slightly on this curious sight, as he once against spotted the difference between the blood types of the disease and his own mystical blood. Separately, there were several differences, yet put together… they had some sort of reaction with each other. Munk leaned forward, grabbing the microscope with his blood paw and put an extra lens over the blood.

The reaction seemed to have a strange effect over each other. Not only did the blood mix, but his blood seemed to be eating parts of the infection. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, taking a liquid cure out of its vial and poured a drop over the mixture. This gave it a much bigger reaction. As Mistoffelees leaned back, an epiphany came to him. With such a difference between the bloods, especially since his blood had once been infected, were mystics the answer?

He knew that mystics proved to be stronger by their metabolism. Maybe that was what he missed? It was the reason why Vitalee was still alive; the reason Giacomo throat had been slit instead of being injected like the other kits; the reason why he wasn't in one of those beds…With a sudden uplifted spirit, Mistoffelees quickly cleaned up his area, grabbing one of the shards of glass, and tore open the skin on his wrist. He allowed the blood to flow down his arm and into a test tube. He ignored the stinging pain over his arm, wrapping it over with gauze before attending his research. He knew it would only take a day now. One more day, and this nightmare may be over for them…

~^..^~

Mid-afternoon came to the Warehouse, but the sun still remain away from it. Yet that didn't seem to faze Marceth or Zela. Though the gold-red queen had explained that she now had more freedom around the Warehouse, they still found it to be a habit to stay down in the cells. It became a sanctuary for them. They could be away from the violence and darkness of the Warehouse. It amused the tortoiseshell henchcat when Zela pointed out how ironic it was that she'd rather stay in her cell with a guard as company rather than wander around freely.

That day, Marceth had stolen a deck of cards when he was roaming around during his break. They brought use of these by playing a few rounds of five-card draw poker, switched to 'Slap Jack', and then finally begun playing 'War.', all of which he had to teach to Zela.

Marceth grinned as they continued playing the latter for over an hour. "Okay, one, two, three, flip!"

She laid down a jack. He laid down a three.

Zela smiled chirpily, one of the first times he ever saw her do that, and quickly slid both cards towards her pile. Marceth's eyebrow rose further at her large pile of cards, and his pathetically mediocre pile.

He groaned, though he was still in a very good mood, despite being the loser of cards. "Okay, can we just say that we're done, since you have both the jokers?"

The gold-red queen laughed and nodded as she swiped up his cards and shuffled them. "Sure, whatever you want."

"I'm beginning to think that you take after your father's card skills…" Marceth commented, smirking slightly.

Her smile grew large and she just shrugged nonchalantly, though they both knew that she was just a little smug at that thought. There weren't many things that Zela could be proud of from her father's genes, but she seemed to enjoy the fact that she had an entertaining trait from him. "Then it will be even easier to beat you next time, won't it?"

They both shared a chuckle as she stacked up the cards in her paw and shuffled them, not as fast as he could have imagined the daughter of the Hidden Paw could handle cards. Yet it was still entertaining to watch. After a while, she sighed quietly, and put the cards down.

Marceth raised an eyebrow, and scooted an inch closer to her. "What's wrong?"

"… Nothing." She said simply, yet downheartedly. "…I was just thinking about how interesting War is… taking everything until there's nothing left… Only one side ends up with every card in the deck…"

Marceth blinked at her, not exactly sure what she was getting at, and then just took the deck of cards from her slowly. "Perhaps we should stop playing, Zel… before it makes you more upset."

Zela quietly looked back up at him before nodding. "Sure…" He looked into his eyes as he quickly set the cards behind him. Her face had gotten so close to his that he quickly had to pull himself away. He thought he would repeat the actions of their more… affectionate encounter. Then the gold-red queen's eyes widened. "Marceth… weren't you supposed to be meeting with Macavity?"

Marceth looked at her curiously before the realization came to him. His boss had wanted to see him today. "Shoot!" The tortoiseshell jumped to his feet, striding forward out of Zela's open cell.

Zela only took one moment to be a heel step away from him. "Do you want me to come with you, or something?" she asked, concern was overly present in her eyes, though she was trying to hide it.

Marceth thought about it before shaking his head. "No. He wants me, not both of us… You could come with me and wait outside the door."

The suggestion took a moment's passing before Zelaphelia just shook her head back, "My dad will know I'm there. I'd rather he not know that we seem to have a growing relationship at the moment… I don't want to know what he'd do."

Marceth raised an eyebrow. "You think he'd do something to me?"

"Or me…" she replied, looking down. "I'm not sure if he'd like the thought that we're…uh…"

It was strange to see that they didn't have a specific label of a relationship. Were they friends? Were they together? Or maybe they liked each other and just wouldn't admit it. Marceth just cleared his throat. "Yeah, I see…alright. I'll just go talk to him then."

Zela quickly took a step back and collected all the cards that had been spilled on the ground. Marceth watched her for a few moments before leaving the cells and walking back upstairs. Watching her all day and night was beginning to get to him, and he realized it too. Not like kissing her or building their relationship over a month could have made it obvious to him. But was it possible that their friendship was more than just mutual feelings of like? He didn't want to make it that way. He couldn't love the daughter of his boss. It was too absurd. It was out of his character. He was a henchcat and nothing more, trying to worm his way to the top like the rest of them. Marceth was constantly trying to accept that he was merely a pawn in Macavity's game.

Yet, even if he was a pawn, why couldn't he have the best life that an accomplice could have? What motive would his boss to keep him from having a queen by his side? His own small home outside of the Warehouse? His own success that didn't include the plans of the Hidden Paw? Marceth knew he'd have some luck. If it wasn't with Zela, then he would accept that as fate, but he wouldn't sit around and act as Macavity's guard everyday for the rest of his life. He knew he was better than that.

Finally, he came towards Macavity's den. As much as he didn't want to find out what his boss wanted him for, it would have been suicide to be insubordinate to Macavity. With a heavy sigh, the tortoiseshell tom knocked on the door of the den, until he heard the rough bark that allowed him entrance.

"You requested my presence, sir?" Marceth asked, watching the sulking ginger tom methodically sitting in a black leather chair, something the henchcats had often referred as 'a black hearted tom's throne.'

The ginger tom stayed silent for a moment, beckoning the young tom forward. Marceth slowly entered further in the den, yet stayed a good distance away from his boss. He tried to remember everything that Jezabella and the other superiors had warned him to do in the presence of the Hidden Paw. Don't come too close. Don't say too much. And only make eye contact when you speak to him.

"Marcetheus, correct?" he questioned in a sharp tone.

Marceth nodded quickly, diverting his eyes from the ginger tom, and tried ignoring his judging stair. He realized that this was the second time he was being evaluated by the Hidden Paw, but this time, he seemed to care less.

Macavity leaned up in his chair. "You're a good worker, or so I hear… Maybe it's strange of me to do this so soon, but… I'm promoting you, Marceth. You'll no longer be a guard down at the cells-"

"What?" Marceth couldn't stop the word from interrupting his boss. His face flushed and his heartbeat grew in pace, almost anticipating to get slashed in the throat.

Macavity's eyes narrowed on him, but he didn't move from his spot, to Marceth's relief. "Do not disrupt me." He hissed, and then continued in a more begrudging tone, "I'm sending you to harder work, as a… interrogator, you could say."

"An interrogator…" he repeated quietly, almost unable to believe the word. Henchcats referred to this job as being a torturer, and it was one of the most respected positions in the Warehouse. They were the toms that did the physical and mental torture. It amazed him, because only toms born with lesser supernatural abilities would get those jobs.

Macavity scowled, "You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

Marcetheus looked up at his boss, swallowing hard. He rubbed the sweat in his palm and took a half-step forward. As much as this job meant to him, the tortoiseshell tom was not ready to let go of his job. And there was only one reason why he would keep it. "If I may, sir… This promotion is… tremendous, to say the least," Marceth looked straight into his boss's eyes, though he was trying to pass off frightened for confidence. "Yet… there won't be any trainees ready to take over my job for a while now, and after all, there is only one prisoner that is staying there… Perhaps I could work two jobs, an interrogator at day, and guarding the cells at night."

Macavity's eyes narrowed on him further, staring at him with more judgment. Marceth hadn't really processed if the ginger tom liked innovating with his plans, but this was the only way he would still be able to talk to Zelaphelia without the risk of anyone else knowing about it. He needed to find out his feelings for her, and if she felt the same for him!

Finally, the ginger tom spoke, holding back no spite, "You have two days left with your regular duties… If you are able to keep up with yourself, we'll follow through with your little plan, considering I can't trust my daughter completely yet. When the time comes that I can, you'll train the next henchcat trainee to guard the cells. I'm expecting more prisoners there soon. Are we at an agreement, you pathetic negotiator?"

Marceth, despite the insult, felt very pleased with himself that he had stroke a deal with the Hidden Paw that didn't include any negative reciprocations. "Yes, Sir." He answered, rather proudly.

"Good." With a solemn nod, the ginger tom was about to raise his paw to wave him away, but he suddenly stopped. "…Just so you know, Marcetheus, I've sent for two agents of mine to come back to Headquarters here in London. Your parents, I believe? They should be coming tonight," He smirked, "In the late evening, in fact. I'll have to tell them of your… promotion."

Marceth's eyes grew large, words not being able to describe his shock of this news. His parents, coming home? But they had been out of his life since he was a kit! These were the cats he barely saw because of their agent jobs. What would they think of him when they got here? Proud that he had gotten promoted? Ashamed that he was still at the bottom for two more days? Macavity sent him away, leaving the tortoiseshell tom with the fear of meeting his mother and father again...

~^..^~

A/N: Yet another slow update… PLEASE FORGIVE ME! But anyway, I've been brewing plot twisters for the future content of this story. I promise I won't be as slow as I have been. But just so my wonderful readers and reviewers know, the rating may change after this next chapter. O.o

Thanks again!