A/N: Yeah...

Zathura, Leo doesn't get a break, aside from literal ones. LOL *Bricked*

Guest, Yes, yes it does

Sciencegal, I'm sure Leo and that spider have a mutual dislike for each other. HAHA.

Duckie, welcome back. Leo has so much wrong going for him, OTL. But things will start turning around; you'll see.

CHAPTER 05: FOUND

Xander Hyde had no qualms with his new assignment. In fact, he saw perimeter duty as a blessing. It gave the EPF agent a moment for reflection. And complaints.

"Damn Quincy," he said. "And damn Rook."

Honestly; anyone could've made the same mistake. Their dictator for a boss enforces two-day work shifts then expects his underlings to be fully alert?

Xander rolled his eyes, grumbling, "Man, I can't wait until next rotation."

"Think next shift will be any better, Xan? Knowing your luck, you'll join Bev on the front lines."

Xander grimaced. "What do you want, Quincy?"

Quincy Noel chuckled. "Come on, Dude. You ain't still mad, are ya?" Quincy joined Xander along the forest's path, his brown skin shimmering with oil and sweat. "Grow some balls. It was light teasing, at worst."

"At worst?" Xander parroted. "Rook extended my stay because you wouldn't shut up about me falling asleep. Gracias, Man."

"No need to whine."

"Why are you even here? My headache's bad enough."

"Like it or not, I'm staying. Rook doesn't trust"—Quincy paused with a smirk—"well, you."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I'm more of a messenger, actually. Bossman sent you out here in hopes a Panther would maul you or hurl you from the Safe Zone. You know that, right?"

"Like it matters."

"It matters. You have enough things in Ecuador that wanna kill ya."

"And that bothers you? Why?"

"Because we're buddies?"

Xander scoffed. "Spare me."

"I'm trying!" Quincy sported a broad smile—a youthful look for a guy who'd lived well into his forties. "Listen, I met Liz last time we were on leave."

"You met Liz?"

"Don't say that like I mean her harm."

"Why would she meet you?"

"Because she's worried. Regulations prevent you from telling her details, but she's smart enough to understand that no one's 'okay' in a war."

Xander's bad leg folded and he braced against a tree to keep upright. "She has enough worries."

"Leukemia."

Xander's leg twitched again. "She told you."

"She's a nice, honest lady."

"Too nice. And too honest."

There was a pause as Quincy's smile died. "You're fighting here when you wanna be fighting beside her. Medical research at The Island has been setback ever since the Kingston mishap, but I'm sure Bishop's—"

"Return to HQ, Agent Noel," Xander spat.

"Dude—"

"We're not discussing this. I can handle my own shit."

"Really?"

"Sí!" Twisting, Xander met Quincy with a frown. The darker man quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Alright, Mister Can-Handle-My-Own-Shit, notice anything?"

"Like?"

Quincy gestured around. The sour scent of urine had stricken Xander before he noticed a sizable clearing. He stood with Quincy in its center, at the crossroads of a dilapidated tent, Solar Still, and underused fire pit.

"Another camp?" Xander asked.

"Not tribal," Quincy added. "Everything's modern."

"Researcher?"

"Can't be. Researchers check in with Rook. Been that way for decades. If we didn't know about this place…"

Xander knelt at the tent, peering inside. "Doesn't seem military."

"That's a plus. Still, Rook will hate the idea of any interference. The big-wig's already had one meltdown this year."

"He'll catch Rizzo sooner or later," Xander muttered. He pulled out a duffle bag from the tent to rummage inside it.

"Anything good, Xan?"

"Candy wrappers. A broken box. Papers. Kneepads? Wait." Something smooth yet bubbly caught Xander's attention. He pulled out what resembled a turtle-shell-shaped phone, and his eyes widened.

"How come that's familiar?" questioned Quincy.

"Mutants," Xander answered.

"Say again?"

"We've heard about them, but I never thought we'd—"

"Hold it. You mean the 'Palermo-like mutants' or the 'stop us at every turn' mutants? The ones from New York."

"You attended the same seminars I did. How can you not recognize this technology?"

"I slept."

Xander shook his head, clenching the cell phone. 'Maybe my luck is turning around,' he thought. 'If I find the mutant before the others, maybe Rook will let me leave this hell hole. But the question becomes…where the did he go in such a hurry?'

"Cō-hōl-shall-ski."

Coyolxauhqui heard her name punctuated and flinched. She knew the person behind her was neither her brother nor any disproving Elder. Still, she faced her best friend with a sheepish grin.

"Yes, Iz-ehl?" she asked.

Izel puckered her blue lips, a hand on her breechcloth's belt. "Where are you going with so many Tetani leaves? Someone injured?"

"Oh, these?"

"No, the herbs in your other basket."

Coyolxauhqui forced a chuckle, hoping her voice would not wake those slumbering in the straw hut beside her

"Coyo"—Izel's pucker turned into a smirk—"let me join."

"No! I mean, you cannot."

Izel looked unconvinced. Naturally; she had spent her whole life fighting what was expected of her.

"Are you betraying me?" Izel asked.

"Yes and no," Coyo answered. "An animal needs help."

"What sort of animal?"

"A...big one."

"How big?"

"Big enough to require many Tetani leaves."

"And I cannot join because?"

"You make animals uncomfortable?"

Sighing, the younger tribeswoman approached Coyo to grab her free hand, saying, "Please tell me this creature is not another Mizton. Or something worse."

"Since when has danger worried you, Izzy?"

"What worries me are the Elders. Any scrutiny towards me is worsened by your actions. And I see no reason why. I am not Chieftain."

"Neither am I," Coyo whispered. She swallowed, reclaiming her hand. "Perhaps our Elders would be more lenient if you grew back your hair."

"Were my hair long again, it would only snag on trees. Like yours." Izel chuckled as Coyo combed her wild tresses. The older woman pulled out several leaves and felt a twig buried somewhere at the base of her neck.

"Izel, please," Coyo said, "keep this secret."

"Is the animal a threat?" Izel narrowed her bright eyes as if they could physically squeeze a guarantee from Coyolxauhqui.

"No," answered Coyo.

"Honest?"

"Honest. So if Huitzi wishes to know my whereabouts, tell him I am visiting Huelicha." Coyo clasped her hands then pouted. When Izel waved in submission, she hugged her friend. "Thank you!"

"I have a request, however."

"Oh?" Coyo stepped back and knew what Izel's grin meant. "As you wish. You may come in the future, but the animal—"

"Is no threat. You said."

"I did. But that may change once he wakes. He has been sorely beaten."

"Abused, accident, or mauled?"

"Possibly a mix. His bones are broken, and he has bite marks. Give me until the moon is halved. Let me earn his trust."

"Our great Coyolxauhqui," Izel said. "The first to aid anyone."

Coyo felt her cheeks burn with blush and smiled.

"Do what you must," Izel added.

"Thank you, Izzy," Coyo said.

Gripping the basket's handle, Coyo nodded at Izel. She then exited the village, following an uneven pathway that led from a secondary gate into the lush rainforest beyond.

What was this warmth? Was it death? If so, why had Leonardo waited so long to embrace it? Every ache and worry were gone—just as he thought it would be—and he didn't miss them.

Leo inhaled, hoping for dry air. Or maybe he'd discover he no longer needed oxygen. Wrong. Moisture clung against his tongue. It tickled his throat, yet he couldn't cough, not fully.

'The spider paralyzed me?'

Which meant he had survived the fall. Then how come he couldn't feel any broken bones?

Leo fought for control over his eyes. They opened in short spurts, and the world spun as he adjusted to the scant lighting. The shapes ahead were nothing more than a kaleidoscope. Brown, green, and yellow? What sort of animal or tree was that?

Leo blinked—long and hard—then opened his eyes again. Before him was not a tree nor beast, but a woman.

Shit. What was she doing? What did she want? Was she a poacher? A drug runner? Was she harvesting him?

The mutant begged his limbs to move. They never twitched.

'No, no, no,' Leo thought, trembling. 'Not again. I won't do it. I won't be another prisoner. I won't—'

"Oh, this is priceless. Look at the great Fearless!"

Leo glared behind the woman, where Donald literally rolled with laughter.

"So pathetic!" the brunette added.

Even if he could speak, Leo wouldn't have defended himself. He was pathetic. Here he laid at the mercy of yet another human, his heartbeat thumping like a war drum in his ears. And what could he do? Nothing.

Something frigid touched Leo's shoulder. It lured his attention to Joseph. The Chinese man smiled and spoke, although Leo's pulse made it impossible to hear him. He read Joseph's lips.

Watch her.

Watch who? The woman?

Joseph kept smiling, so Leonardo focused on the figure whose existence he dreaded accepting. Dark-skinned. Unkempt hair. Blue-green tribal paint from her face down.

She seemed less monstrous than Annabelle. At least she didn't stare with disturbing disassociation or scowl like his skin was nothing more than an inconvenience to bypass. Either determination or frustration kept her nose scrunched as she massaged him with some mysterious paste. The task enraptured her, leaving her unaware that the mutant had awakened.

A lack of company didn't stop her from talking, though. She grumbled in a language Leonardo had never heard before. She sat on her feet, paste in hand, and sighed before rummaging through several leaves that, frankly, looked useless. She inspected them, yet chose none.

What was that crap? Leo tried asking. His question left him in a low, raspy groan.

The woman fell on her butt. She scrambled over the forest floor and panted at a pace that almost busted her breasts from their halter wrap top. Then, she met the mutant with eyes so wide Leo could see their orange-ish hue.

Gradually, her pants slowed. She licked her lips and then crawled forward, a hand outstretched. When she touched the numb flesh across Leo's face, he wished more than ever to run. Or at least squirm. But he could only screw his eyes shut.

'No!' he thought.

He didn't care that the woman touched him without shuddering. He didn't care how she studied him without a cringe or paled expression. And he sure as hell didn't care about the shit she applied against his lacerations. Wherever or however she had found him, she should've let him be!

'I just wanna be alone,' he thought. 'Is that so hard?'

"Stupid turtle," Donald whispered. "Ya'll never be alone."

How true. Leonardo's consciousness slipped away as the kaleidoscope of colors returned. There'd be no escape: not from his ghosts nor his founder.