A/N: Thanks to my reviewers; feedback is always most welcome.

Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.

Robbie slowly returned to consciousness, crawled out from the bushes, and put a tentative hand to the back of his head. When he looked at his fingers in the pale moonlight, they were covered with bright, sticky blood. How long have I been out? he thought groggily. He checked his wristwatch: 11:15 P.M.

A single unspoken word cut through his confusion like a surgeon's knife: Cat!

He wobbled to his feet and searched about for his phone, only to find it smashed to bits on the ground. They really didn't want me to warn her – whoever 'they' are.

But he would not be thwarted – not when his precious Cat might be in danger. He barged into the house, not caring whether he woke his parents with the slam of the front door, and grabbed the receiver from its wall cradle, then dialed the first number that sprang into his still reeling brain.

"Jade?"

He was greeted with a burst of profanity, and held the phone away from his ear until it died down.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what time it is. But listen – Cat's in danger."

Those three words were enough to make the Goth girl fall silent instantly.

Robbie explained the situation as quickly as he could. "Call the others. Tell them to rendezvous at my place."

"Right. But what do we do then?" The anxiety in her voice was palpable. "We've got no idea where to start looking."

"Oh, I think we've got a starting place," he replied through gritted teeth. "A certain son of a bitch named Gunther Stantz."

/

Oh, God, the light…

The light was everywhere. Ferocious beams flooded the white room from every angle, searing through Cat's half-open eyes and burning themselves into her retina. She wriggled in discomfort, but the straps holding her wrists and ankles to the chair allowed her little range of movement.

A blurry figure stood silhouetted against the glare. "Wakey wakey, little pussycat."

"Let me guess," she said with difficulty, her lips and tongue still numb from the tranquilizer's effects. "You're here to interrogate me?"

"You're just as perceptive as Gamma said."

"Gamma…that would be 'Gunther'?"

"That's his handle for the moment, yes. I have no idea what his real name is – security protocols, you know. Hell, with all the aliases he's been through over the years, he probably can't remember his real name."

"Quite a busy life for someone who's only a senior in high school – or is he older than he looks?"

"Oh, you have no idea," the man called Psi said with a chuckle. "But enough about my none-too-competent comrade. Right now, it's all about you, Caterina."

"Only my grandmother calls me that."

"Is that so? Well, no worries. By the time I'm through with you, you'll be spilling secrets even your grandma would never be privy to."

Cat shut her eyes against the agonizing light. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," said Psi. "That'll never do." With powerful fingers he forced her eyelids open, then fixed them in place with small pieces of electrical tape.

"Very Clockwork Orange," said Cat. "You're not the most original torturer in the world, are you?"

"Hey, I go with what works," he replied, seemingly unruffled. "The important thing, my dear, is that you not be allowed to doze off while we're having our little…session." Suddenly the playfulness vanished from his voice. "No sleep. No food. No water. No mercy. Not until you tell me what I want to know."

"And that is?"

"Well, for starters, my employers are very intrigued by that miniature black hole you somehow devised. The prospect of infinite energy is a great one – as long as the secret is in the right hands."

Cat snorted derisively. "Somehow, I don't think that your hands are the 'right' ones."

"But you don't know the whole story." He leaned over her, so close that she could smell the tobacco on his breath. She saw that he was wearing a surgical mask. "My employers are very much like you, Caterina. Their minds are as far beyond ordinary men's as ordinary men's are beyond Labrador retrievers. It is their right – no, their duty – to rule those inferior to themselves. The truth is, you belong at their side."

"Thanks but no thanks," she answered curtly. "I'm only interested in helping mankind, not ruling it."

Psi sighed. "I expected as much. Gamma warned me that you're afflicted with that troublesome disease known as 'morality'. But, like all diseases, it can be cured." He bent even closer. "And lucky for you, there's a doctor in the house."

Cat's mind, meanwhile, was performing calculations at an unimaginable speed. Keep him staring into your face. It means he can't see your hands. And these straps were built to hold people much larger than you. You can get out – but it's going to hurt.

"What's with the mask?" she asked, quietly twisting her right wrist at an unnatural angle. "Afraid to let me see your face?"

"It's just for security's sake, that's all."

"But you're either going to succeed in breaking me down and get me on your side, or you're going to kill me. Either way, there's no point in disguising yourself." Almost there. But the next step is going to make some noise. Need to find a way to cover it up. "Why don't you just take the damn thing off?"

He chuckled. "As you wish."

The moment he slipped off the mask, Cat screamed, "Oh, my God! Your face! It's hideous!" And so loud was her cry that Psi, enraged at the insult, failed to hear the snap as she successfully dislocated her wrist.

"Okay, just for that, little girl, I'm going to skip the warm-up and go straight to making you bleed." He turned to a tray of surgical instruments and selected a scalpel. Seizing the opportunity, Cat surreptitiously drew her hand out from the strap. Only going to get one shot at this – better make it count.

"It's such a pretty face you have. Shall we change that?" He pressed the scalpel against her cheek.

"RrrrAGH!" Ignoring the pain, Cat cupped her free hand and slammed it into Psi's ear, then quickly pulled it away. The vacuum it created nearly ruptured the torturer's eardrum. He howled in agony, and the scalpel fell from his fingers – right into Cat's waiting left hand. With a deft movement, she cut the strap; then, before Psi could fully recover, she swung the scalpel across his mouth, slicing a clean line from his chin to the opposite cheek.

He lurched backward with his hands to his face. Cat freed her feet and made for the door, but despite his wounds, Psi was quicker, and seized her around the midsection. She swung her head backward and slammed it into his jaw; he released his grip, and Cat spun, then delivered another blow to the jaw, this time with the heel of her palm. The torturer fell, sprawled across the chair, and did not move.

I hope I didn't kill him, she thought as she studied the door lock. It was a simple alphanumeric keypad, posing no difficulty for her newfound technological wizardry, and in a few moments the door slid open. Cat thrust her head into the corridor – no guards in sight. That was the good news; but the bad news, as she realized with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, was that she had no idea where she was in the complex, how to reach the exit, nor, indeed, how to get home once she did make it out. For all she knew, this facility might be somewhere deep in the desert.

But no matter. She was resourceful; she would find a way.

Whatever it takes, I'm going to make it home.

I'm going to see my friends again.