This was an alternate plot starter for way back when Four first went through the truth serum. I think, way back at that time, a lovely reader named Hooda was helping me pick my next steps. So, you probably have her to think for "not another abduction" story. Cheers Hooda!

Four wasn't aware of moving his feet or being settled into the elevator. He registered the warm, hard pressure of hands on his torso and a shoulder under his armpit.

"What happened to your hand?" Amar tried to take advantage of the serum still slowing his reflexes.

"Finger got cut off."

"Why?"

He pressed the answer back under his tongue and examined the line where the doors met. The solid, straight line was bent and arched just enough in his perception to remind him that he didn't have to answer. Amar stared at him, trying to evaluate the outward appearances of still being under the effects and the unexpected silence that colored Four's face red.

Four shook his head let his body burn off the serum cloudy bit by bit until he was fully feeling his anger towards Amar. "What the fuck?" He asked, a pinched headache forming between his ears until he was convinced there was a ringing squeal to the movement of the elevator.

"Yeah, I know. It wasn't my idea. But you passed." He smiled small and begging forgiveness.

"Fuck you." He shrugged him off, choosing to stand in the corner until the little bell went off and the doors slid open at the third floor, the control room just down the hall.

"Look, all that fun wasn't just for your benefit." Amar started to push him along and down the hall, "It's the bare minimum to get them to approve your access." He waved a band in front of the lock and then handed it to him.

"Yesterday, these came out of the printer in Max's old office, Fiona's been sorting through stuff, she was there when they came out." He put them in front of him. It was solid text words and symbols.

"Where'd it come from?" Four asked while he relaxed into a chair to peruse the patterns that jumped out at him.

"You tell us." Amar pushed the keyboard to him.

"You haven't tried?"

"Some asshole encrypted and passworded the damn system and left for Milwaukee." Amar reminded him.

"Oh, oh my God." He looked at Amar with horror, "You haven't been in the system since I left?" It was his turn to look disapproving. "Database problem my ass." He grumbled.

"How were we supposed to get in?"

"Fucking meatheads." He spat, pulled out the top right drawer and the notebook from within. "I don't know, look for a notebook in the drawer and cut the fucking lock off." He suggested, producing the item, tapping in the code to disarm the latch binding the covers. "I was at a loss for something better, but I didn't think it would hold anyone up for more than a few minutes. More of a joke than anything." He explained, "When I log in, it'll send off emails to a dozen people so they know someone's been in the system." He flipped through the pages and set it in front of Amar so he could see the neatly written password.

"Really?" Amar chastised, "We have to work on your protocols."

"Like I said, basically a joke." He turned the monitor on and found the cursor blinking, "I firewalled us off of the main network. I would have disconnected us entirely, but it would have meant losing the cameras and Tori didn't want to lose our eyes on the outside." He explained then settled his hands on the keys, he found it frustratingly awkward to type without his pinky. It took effort and concentration his head didn't want to give.

In a few minutes he was traipsing through the network looking for logs of activity. Amar watched him intently, like any moment would bring the answer. Four generally preferred to work alone, but his resentment of Amar for the truth serum added to his annoyance with being watched.

"Get out," He snapped.

"Are you sure?"

"Get me a sandwich and some water. I don't need a babysitter."

"Just some manners." Amar couldn't keep himself from responding as he exited to do exactly as he was told.

Four trained his attention on the screen and on securing the location of the print outs. He didn't notice when the sandwich appeared, but by the time he turned to eat it, Amar was gone and so was the daylight. The dots he was connecting were painting a picture of a highly organized and intelligent use of the city-wide network to communicate between both legitimate and pirate portals. The frustrating fact was that all the messages were coded.

He scripted a program to track the known entries and to snipe the coded messages without leaving much of a trace, at least one that they'd have to try to find. His eyes burned each blink and he was parched, pained ready for sleep.

Thoughts on that possibility are always welcome