Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own, so formatting not be the greatest.

A/N - I was so certain this story in all of it's self-indulgent glory would never be posted, and yet here I am! This fic is essentially the product of a Coronavirus lockdown where I hammered out ⅘ of it months ago and just recently picked back up again, but here I am close to 200p later and deciding to post. Originally the first chapter here was meant to be a flashback sort of scene to another fic I had in mind (I might still write it maybe?) then things just got kind of crazy. Like I said, quarantine gave me way too much time. Considering this fandom was so miniscule even during its time and that it's been forever since it last aired, I would be genuinely surprised if I even get one kudos or readers, but I still feel like I should give a disclaimer. I know this story is super over the top, especially considering the source material. I am really good at taking cute, light-hearted and funny things often made for kids and turning it into something ridiculously dramatic, and I'm no stranger to that on my other accounts, but I think I touch on some sensitive subject matter in this particular fic I wanted to address. There are multiple sensitive topics like child abuse, mental illness and trauma, and I am by no means glorifying or even worse, sexualizing that, which is why I was skeptical on labeling this as 'whump' and decided not to. I just tend to gravitate towards the darker 'hard-to-talk-about' subjects and know the internet, especially AO3, can be a weird place sometimes and I would hate for someone to think that's what I'm trying to do. That said, I also realize that my idea of Past Frogg is living in a very political and historical state in time, and I tried to write that point of time from his point of view - it may not be necessarily objective or accurate from how we look at those events now.

Other than the prologue, because of the nature of this story, there are going to be a ton of OC's and rather than introduce them chapter by chapter just wanted to list them all now. Voltar and Red Menace are of course going to be coming back, but it might be some time til they do.

I took a ton of artistic liberty with this one and decided to label it as AU, mostly regarding the last episode of LOSE aired. In my canon, I mostly see that episode as Red doing some quite story-telling. You'll obviously see what I'm talking about.

List of OC's (as they appear) -
Viktor Frogg
Hans Reinhart (Professor)
Gisela Reinhart
Lisbeth Vogel
Mister Arthur
In the Lab - Ishaan, Flynn, Emma (colleagues) and Doktor Fischer (PI)
Doctor Huxley

I can't help but apologize for this dumpster fire of a fic based on something as light-hearted as The League of Super Evil, but here it is in all it's extra glory. Like I said, if I even get one reader or two I would be pleasantly surprised, but if you're out there throw me a review or your thoughts, feedback is always appreciated.
(can anyone spot the easter egg surrounding my OC's names and how they pertain to Doktor Frogg?)
Cheers!
- Scrambles

PROLOGUE
Dreams

" Archie? "

It took several moments for him to realize he was being addressed. It was the name that he had not been referred to in years, let alone a variation that sounded so cutesy it would have irritated him if he recognized own name. It was one that did not have Doktor tacked on at the beginning, whether he truly deserved that title or not, so that it slipped right past him, and in his usual way of trying to ignore the only kind of attention that he received - the unwanted kind, the sort where eyes blatantly lingered on the metal parts of his body to look perturbed at what they saw - he did not even hear or notice the girl who had taken a passing glance at him, did a double-take with a gasp, and stopped right in her tracks as if she had seen a ghost.

Doktor Frogg did not notice it from the over-stimulus of the crowded banquet room, because it was a far cry from his usual socially isolated life, and his usual state of anxiety was only exacerbated by the exact occupants of the room - the last place he and the League of Super Evil needed to be was the National Superhero's Gala. And yet here they were, surrounded by not only the local heroes of Metrotown, but possibly another two hundred or so more from all over the nation. It was how the bow-tie that he wore was so tight against his neck it was almost making him sweat as he worked a claw against the material - it was something close to unbearable, just another one of his neurotic quirks he could not quite explain, but damn was it distracting, and he was regretting wearing it at all.

He felt small and stupid in their cheap attempts at a 'disguise' for the Gala that they should not have snuck into. In addition to many of the guests wearing their usual eye masks or helmets to conceal mysterious, secret identities, the heroes and their entourages looked refined and distinguished in expensive suits or elegant ball gowns. In the meantime, he and his teammates were wearing 'Rent-A-Tux' clearance suits that they 'borrowed without permission' because the League's mission budget was desperately low, and Frogg was certain all these people could see right through them, see that they did not belong and they were really a rag-tag group of wannabe villains in the middle of a hero's event under the pretense of some silly mission conjured up by The League of Super Evil's leader…

"Archie."

It was finally the hand grasping at a set of his metal claws that brought Doktor Frogg's attention away from the mission at hand - one that involved the home-made truth serum that currently rested within his inner coat pocket being poured into the bowl of punch sitting at the other end of the banquet hall - and his stressful surroundings. And when he became aware of the soft hand that rested on his claws, his gaze going up the arm to the woman to which it belonged, that mission was suddenly wiped clear from his mind.

"Archie... It's me."

She was repeating herself, and Frogg was aware he was openly staring in what was both confusion and embarrassment so that his face began to redden around his goggles. Women just did not talk to him at all, he was never good at all around the opposite sex in his awkward ways, and he was all stutters.

"Uh, um…"

"Don't you remember who I am?"

He met her in a dream. That had to be it. Of course Frogg would remember talking to a woman such as herself… She did not fit the ideals of what most men would fawn over, but he found her to be stunning in her teal cocktail dress and jewelry, and her face was so indescribably familiar. As if he had looked into her hazel eyes hundreds of times, but no, Doktor Frogg was certain this had to be a stranger. And the fact her face looked somehow hopeful, and that it was directed at him of all people made no sense whatsoever. "I- um-"

He was only half-aware that the other members of The League of Super Evil were blatantly staring at this odd interaction until Voltar's shrill voice interrupted his trance, snapping Frogg back into reality.

" Doktor Frogg! Will you hurry it up!"

The little villain glared in annoyance through his crimson helmet, one that was now accompanied by a cheap tuxedo of similar color, and tapped a foot impatiently. Quite unlike the leader of the League of Super Evil, even in a room full of large and powerful heroes, the Red Menace was like a sentinel that stood over all others and smiled in good nature to those who passed by. Doomageddon, in his usual ways, was slithering a tongue across his fangs and eyeing the buffet table that they had been making their way towards until Frogg was intercepted.

And she was still gently holding him, and Frogg's eyes flicked between her and his teammates, and he was so lost, certain that she had to be mistaken or they had been found out, that must be why his heart was beating so fast-

"Don't you remember who I am?"

"I-I'm.. I don't-sorry..."

And awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself, he softly pulled his claw so they slipped from her fingers.

The gesture was almost… haunting . It was Deja Vu. Has he been here before?

She seemed hurt. Crushed even, and then she was mumbling some sort of rushed apology that she must have been mistaken, but it looked as if she had been slapped right in the face. She turned to go, and uncertainly, Frogg did the same. He slowly went to where Voltar, Red Menace and Doomageddon were impatiently waiting.

"Took you long enough, Frogg!" Voltar huffed and spun on his heel to lead the way. "We've got evil to do, and I can't have you go off schmoozing with the goody-goodys!"

"Who was that nice lady, Frogg?" Red innocently asked as the mad scientist fell into step beside him, frowning.

"I… don't know…"

And when Frogg looked behind his shoulder one last time, he saw that she was doing the same. There was a little voice in his head- go back , go back , don't let her go .

Of course the mission would fail. Did it ever go a different way?

Whereas a villain such as Skullossus or Commander Chaos infiltrating the Superhero's Gala would have caused a massive battle worthy of world-wide news and the coordinated efforts of the many heroes of the country, the League of Super Evil could not compare at all - only getting unceremoniously thrown into the back alley where the dumpsters lived, immediately forgotten so the party could resume. They had landed in a heap, effectively man-handled so that their limbs were caught together and it took much coordination and frustration to disentangle themselves.

"How was I supposed to know Justice Gene was gonna be there to tattle on us," Voltar snapped, wiping the dust from his suit and tossing the V-Mobile's keys to Red as they limped to their sad excuse of transportation. "I swear next time I see him I'm gonna rip that unibrow of his right off!… Oh, and Doktor Frogg - maybe next time you make a truth serum make sure it doesn't change the color of things! That was mistake number one!"

"I think it's Catering Gene now he got a new job," Red offered. "Although his hor d'oeuvres were amazing..."

Doomageddon snorted his affirmations, having eaten about half of the buffet (table and all) before they were caught and ejected. Frogg did not fail to notice the prior snide comment on his work and huffed.

"Well when you rush a truth serum like you made me do," he started, accent thick from his bad attitude, "I can't control for every little thing such as - oh I don't know, how it might react to fruit juice!"

"It could have been an easy victory! You three are getting sloppy!"

Frogg rolled his eyes. When Voltar had announced that his most recent evil idea was to go the National Superheroes Gala (conveniently hosted by their very own Metrotown this year) with a truth serum, Frogg had been pleasantly surprised despite his anxieties about being near so many do-gooders in one place - what kind of hero secrets could they learn with a truth serum? Their weaknesses, secret hideouts or weak spots in their defenses? But no, Voltar wanted to learn embarrassing childhood stories instead, like who peed their pants in elementary school or who might still sleep with stuffies so he could mock them for it. What a waste of time and potential in Frogg's science! This kind of stuff was infuriating, not at all what Doktor Frogg would consider villainous, and he was ready for the night to end already.

It was a weird one, and he thought back to the woman in the teal dress holding his claw and waiting for him to answer, and Frogg frowned. He was relieved when Red cheerily announced, "Let's get back home for a movie and order pizza! Extra pineapple!"

It hit him on the drive home. From where he sat in the backseat of the V-Mobile and rested his chin on a claw as he idly gazed at passing streets and the few nighttime strollers, thoughts churning, he suddenly sat straight up at his revelation.

"Wait! How did she know my name?"

It had been such a very long time since he had been referred to as Archibald (let alone a nickname of it) it was to the point he had not even realized the girl was addressing him at first. But what were the chances? Apparently his first name was so uncommon in the States he had been mocked for it, and he was calculating the odds when he became aware that his teammates whispered between themselves.

"-one he erased?"

It was Red mumbling it to the Great Voltar, and he was so caught in his own thoughts, Frogg's absent question of 'what?' was not very sincere. But their reaction certainly caught his attention.

"Nothing!" Red announced far too quickly and stiffened his hands around the steering wheel- his usual awkward way of trying to 'act natural', though it appeared anything but that, and Voltar was doing something similar. "I didn't say anything!"

Frogg narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "No, you said something."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Are you sure?"

"Frogg, he said he didn't say anything," Voltar chimed in with irritation, and his tone only interested Frogg more - their leader liked pointing out other people's bad acting more than anyone else… especially Red's, who was practically physically incapable of a lie. Now he was positive there was something they weren't letting him in on, probably some sort of joke at his expense.

"You guys are acting weird!"

"No we're not!"

To his left, Doomageddon was rolling his eyes at the conversation, contemplating teleporting home to avoid their constant state of bickering.

"Did you say erase ?"

"No! I, uh, said, 'the case'?"

"So you did say something."

"I-uh, meant-"

"Just tell me!"

"We promised we wouldn't!" Red suddenly blurted, and he immediately slapped a hand over his mouth in regret. Beside him, Votlar was sending a pointy elbow into the super soldier, hissing for him to shut his trap.

Now Frogg was genuinely confused. And he did not like it.

"...what's going on? Promise me what?"

But he was only met with similar resistance.

They had not stopped bickering for the entire drive home, and the conversation - or lack thereof - was still in full swing when they arrived back to the familiarity of the Secret Lair. One that could have actually been very clever if they did not practically advertise their villainy with the metal-enforced house, the League's signature skull logo adorning the front of the home - certainly the last place a person would expect to find a villain's hideout would be on Happy Valley Road in the suburbs, but they practically advertised the group's evil intent to the community instead.

"You guys are acting weird!" Frogg whined, and with relief he was unfastening the bowtie that was so tight against his neck (he found himself asking for the hundredth time why the sensation was so tortuous for him), and Doomageddon was happily shedding the fancier suit-version of his familiar sweater with a contented croon as well. "I don't remember any kind of promise, and it's not fair for you to keep it from me! I'm the scientist here, it's my job to know things!"

"But you made us swear not to tell!" Red was saying, ignoring Voltar's urges to just drop it and to stop talking because he was only making the situation worse, "We're not supposed to say anything."

"Promise me what! This night has already been stupid and bizarre enough, just tell me already!"

"For Evil's sake you two," Voltar groaned, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Just drop it! Both of you shut up!"

Doomageddon, who could not care less about these human affairs, padded to where his doggy bed laid and spun in a circle before lowering himself down for a nap as tensions rose.

"Tell me!"

"No!"

"I'll quit!" Frogg warned.

It was not the first time he threatened to do so over not getting his way. Hell, Voltar did the same thing on almost a weekly basis over some trivial thing, and had actually walked out on one occasion. Frogg, however, never followed through with the warnings, and deep down he knew he did not mean it, but it was vexing to know something was being held from him. And it only made it worse that Red - the worst person at keeping quiet - was still holding out on him. Even Voltar normally would just cave in for the sake of making everyone shut up or to rub it in that he had actually been in on a secret, but not this time, and it was concerning. It must really be something big.

"You wouldn't!"

"Watch me!" Frogg snapped back.

Voltar cast him a disbelieving and judgmental stare as if to say 'oh, really?' The mad scientist did his best to defy the natural way his body settled in an attempt to look confident - squaring his shoulders, straightening his back, scowling as he stubbornly folded his arms. Moments of tension passed.

"...fine! Whatever," Voltar spat out. "As long as you're not storming out of here! Only 'cause mad scientists aren't exactly easy to come by. Jeez , so sensitive .."

"Are you sure, Voltar?" Red warily asked.

"Yeah, whatever, it's been a pain keeping this stupid secret anyway," Voltar mumbled, and he sauntered over to the couch and flipped the TV on, even if he truly wasn't watching the usual images of his favorite show - Buffalos Watching Paint Dry. He impatiently gestured to Red. "Well go on, tell him!"

Frogg felt odd as he stood there, and his facade of confidence fell. He suddenly felt foolish, feeling small and stupid in his attempt at dressing nice in the suit and at Red's big hands now resting at his shoulders.

"You might want to sit down for this one, Frogg."

He could not decide what was stranger - them trying so hard to insist that nothing was wrong only for him to be right, or how the atmosphere of the room became just a bit more serious. More somber. He found himself getting lowered onto the couch, and he wanted to laugh at how Red - with his boyish face - looked so concerned, but could not find the humor in it.

"So, uh. what? What's going on?"

"Well… you made us make you a promise. A while ago I guess you decided that there were some things you wanted to forget. You said it would make you better, and that there were parts of your life that needed to go away if you wanted to be a real villain one day… so you made an invention that would make them go away. You said it would 'suck your memories out'.

It took a moment for the German to process what exactly he was told.

"Suck.. my memories..? Excuse me, did you say suck my memories out? "

"Yeah… and you said for it to work we'd need to not talk about it. That it could 'compromise your experiment'."

"Is this a joke? Why would I do that?"

"I don't know!" Red insisted, and his freckled face looked troubled, "I tried to tell you not to, but there was no changing your mind! You said there were things you just needed to forget, and it would be like they never happened-"

"Forget what exactly!"

He was still unsure whether this was all some big joke or not, but if it was, Red was an incredibly good actor. The strongman was awkwardly working his gloved fingers, and he said it meekly, "Bad stuff.."

Frogg's mouth opened and closed, but words were unsuccessful. So many things were running through his head - still the idea that this was all some sort of prank, how Red said 'bad stuff' in a way so unsettling, that even if it wasn't a joke there was a sort of pride that he could invent such a device…

"Voltar, is this right?" was what his tongue decided on. "Why would I do that? And that girl from earlier, does she have something to do with it?"

"You tell me! Your inventions got a little shoddier from it," Voltar haughtily answered, confirming Frogg's suspicion that the little villain had only been pretending to watch the TV, instead fully immersed in the conversation happening beside him. "Guess some of the good stuff went away with it, too. And I don't know about your weird girlfriend or whatever! She clearly knows you... Archie ."

The last word was a mocking one, but Frogg 's jaw was practically on the floor.

"This makes no sense! Red, what kind of 'bad stuff' are we talking about!"

"Well. Germany. What happened there. You said the whole thing could be reversed, but I don't know if I should say-"

Frogg was already thinking about it before he finished the sentence. The gaps in his life… being 'crazy' from the chunks missing…

Did it truly make zero sense? Or, rather, was it perfect sense ?

Frogg's stomach lurched with nerves - this was no joke.

"You say it could be reversed?"

The calculation on his face was clear, the idea already in his head. The need to know.

"Yes...?"

"How? Where is it?"

Red faltered. "Wait. I don't know if that's a good idea."

Frogg was beginning to breathe a little harder. "No, I need to know! How long have you kept this from me? How could you do that?"

"Hey! Don't be getting an attitude with us, Frogg!" Voltar snapped, "It was all your crazy idea! We did everything right according to you!"

"I need to know."

Though he had no idea where this supposed device was, he stood quickly from the couch - the urge to find it and get to the bottom of this entire thing was strong, pushing him to the edge of one of his signature freakouts, but Red was grasping firmly at his skinny shoulders and it took no effort from the super soldier to subdue him.

"But you've been so much more happy- or at least less miserable," Red corrected himself as he pleaded. "I know you still get in your moods, but before you sucked all those memories out, sometimes you wouldn't leave your room for days . And you haven't had a real panic attack since- it's just- it's been better."

Frogg was just trying to swallow the news. His greatest asset was his brain, how could he possibly want to tamper with it? He engaged in all sorts of risky and questionable methods of science, but he was certain that he would never in his right mind risk that . Sure, the entire 'Strong Frogg' fiasco was the closest to him tampering with it in a moment of insecurity, but he had learned his lesson. Was that even before or after? He had no idea and was so lost - What could possibly be bad enough that warranted wiping it from memory, something that seemed so stupid, and he realized he was scared to know.

"Show me now ."

It was in Voltar's room beneath his bed.

The three villains were gathered around it, and when Voltar had pulled the large box from beneath his bed, he sneezed at the dust that coated it before blowing it off and stepping back. Exactly how long had this been hidden there?

"Well, it's all yours."

The mad scientist felt like a stranger in his own body as he awkwardly kneeled down to it… still somewhat sick, just trying to process that this was actually happening, and the atmosphere in Voltar's room was somber and quiet - something nonexistent within the walls of their chaotic Lair. As if for encouragement, he frantically looked between his two teammates as a claw rested on the lid of the box. Voltar was watching with folded arms and narrowed eyes, and Red looked hesitant.

He opened it.

Red Menace really meant it literally when he said Frogg had 'sucked his memories out' - the device itself was what appeared to be a modified handheld vacuum. Of course, being a broke mad scientist, Frogg was unfortunately used to having to use spare parts and creative dumpster diving to get much of the materials for his engineering endeavors, so the fact it was a modified machine did not surprise him… but this looked different. More sleek, not as clunky as the work currently scattered in his labspace in the garage. Something tugged inside at his brain - some strange familiarity with what he held, though he was experiencing it for the very first time. Just like the woman in her teal dress from earlier within the night as she had said it as if seeing a ghost - " Archie? "

The thought made him shudder, and he realized that the controls seemed so straightforward and clearly marked that he was sure he could operate it without trouble, and that was when he realized there was something else resting within the cardboard box. ...a rock?

Frogg curiously held it up, examining it with an extended goggle. No, it wasn't a rock, it seemed to be a piece of concrete - some sensation deep within his mind told him that something was missing. It just felt.. So incomplete as it was now. Red, who was watching, quietly offered, "You said you couldn't keep it anymore for the experiment. But you didn't want to throw it away either."

He gently placed it back, not sure why he handled the thing so delicately.

"How did I do it?" Frogg murmured, and he was holding where the vacuum had been modified to form a sort of 'trigger', and his other claw typed and worked the keypad he had installed. It only took a moment for him to figure it out - it apparently was his invention, after all. The thing still had power, and in a tiny font, he saw the command 'reversal' come onto the installed digital screen.

Red frowned, as if unsure to demonstrate, and raised his hand to his head. Frogg's stomach turned when Red made the hand symbol for 'gun', and his index finger was pressed against his temple.

"Like this."

Frogg warily replicated the motion. The nozzle of the 'vacuum' was cool against the side of his face. Where there would normally be the opening for dirt to be sucked in, there was an intimidating panel of red instead - the signature lense of a laser - and it was disconcerting pointing such a thing at his own head. It was then he realized his claws were trembling. Something about this gesture felt hauntingly familiar, and yet he would have remembered doing such a thing.

"And you're sure? Absolutely positive?"

Voltar had yet to say anything for a change, just watching on in what appeared to be some sort of displeased curiosity, and Red just softly nodded. Frogg took in one deep breath to steady himself, and screwed his eyes shut.

Well, this was it.

He held down the trigger, and the machine let out a long beep that grew and grew to a high-pitched whistle, it's buttons glowing. Frogg was already wincing, expecting a shock of pain to hit him - the fear that with his forever-present bad luck, his work would backfire, like a red-hot laser through the skull or an explosion to maim him further than he already was.

It happened. From where his eyelids were closed Frogg could still detect the burst of light, the sound of something discharging, of something happening. He was waiting for the pain to come, to smell his own burning hair, and as the seconds passed he warily allowed a cautious eye to peek open. He was safe. He was in one piece. So then he tried to remember .

His mind went to the place it would go to when he tried to make sense of his blackouts, of the missing chunks of time, the events unaccounted for. The place he mentally spent what could have spent hundreds of hours in, just searching.

...Nothing.

Again, his claw pulled the trigger. Now he was clicking the mechanism repeatedly, but nothing was happening. The confusion, he even gave the side of the invention a good whack, but nothing was happening. And then he realized what this all was, and his voice was eerily flat when it left him.

"..Wow. How long did you have to rehearse for this one?"

They almost had him.

"Huh?"

"Ha ha," Frogg rolled his eyes, but he was not laughing. He stood from where kneeled on the floor of Voltar's bedroom, his knees sore from it, and his accent came out thick in his bitterness. "I get it. Make fun of the mad scientist, it's so hilarious how insane I am…"

"Wait! Frogg, I swear we're not pranking you," Red began and started after him, but he was stalking off now and was simmering inside at what he had just been put through. "I don't know why it didn't work, but it's not a joke!"

"Sure, Red."

"I mean it-"

But he had made it to his lab, and the door was sliding behind him so Red was cut off.

Frogg was alone now, and his lab was dim, the darkness only illuminated by the low light of his home-made super computer's screen or of machines and inventions - functional and failed alike - being fed power. The German sighed, a long weary breath from what felt like his very core, and ran a claw through his unruly dark hair before shuffling over to where his bed (if one could call a single mattress on the floor that) was and threw himself onto it. He realized he was still dressed in the suit, and it was odd being out of his usual navy lab coats for so long, but he was suddenly exhausted and changing his clothes seemed so menial.

What a roller coaster of a night.

It wasn't funny. Having big gaps in your life where time just seemed to be missing, it was more distressing than he would ever let the others know. How many hours he had laid awake at night just trying to patch the jumbled pieces together, just trying to tie events and ages and holes in his life so something actually made some sort of sense… he knew that the title of 'Mad' Scientist was quite literal in that he clearly was mentally broken. Hell, he had spent half a year at A New Hope for it in his youth. And his unwellness was so blatantly clear he had learned to embrace it in some sort of bitter way… But it did not mean he liked being insane, and this was not funny in the least to him. Frogg was used to being the butt of the joke, but this time it hurt hard.

The Lair was quiet. Outside on the street, not a thing stirred on Happy Valley Road, and it would be hours until the earliest risers would begin their day. The temperature dipped down from where it sweltered in the last days of summer, and the coolness softly whispered between cracked windows into the dishevelled home.

Downstairs, Doomageddon had pulled his mauled doggy bed onto the couch and had his legs kicked over the side and front paws drawn up, chest heaving and nostrils dully glowing from his radioactive diet, dreaming of chasing semi-trucks and snapping at their tires. On the top floor of the Secret Lair, which really wasn't so secret at all, Voltar was hugging his comfort blanket Mr. Wubbie close to him and was murmuring. Even in sleep the little villain had not taken off his helmet. Downstairs, Red Menace would be waking up in an hour to use the bathroom and grab a glass of water but was currently dead to the world in his signature fruit-pattern pajamas, barely fitting on his twin mattress, an arm draped down so his knuckles grazed the floor as he snored.

In the Lair's garage and makeshift lab, Doktor Frogg shivered.

It was cold in his dreams, and the chill was comforting, yet the German was tossing and turning. It was disjointed what he saw behind goggles and closed eyelids in his sleep, and it was far from the first time, his claws clutching a corner of the bed so hard it could have ripped were their metal edges not dulled.

" Vat- Lis-"

The mumbled words were faint and nonsensical, and the images he saw were fleeting and faint, just slipping past his consciousness. Just like they always had. But then from where a windowpane on the garage door was cracked, the cool breeze blew in so it ruffled the short hairs along the nape of his hairline, and even in sleep, gooseflesh travelled across his arms from it.

It all came back. Frogg shot straight up in bed with a raking gasp, eyes wild.

He remembered.

It all came back - he went back to that place so very far away, the places he had pushed from his mind - long fingers, fat snowflakes falling and high walls above his head, a girl with hazel eyes on an icy pond, his father - and it came out in a whisper, the language he had not spoken for years, " Oh mein Gott… "

Dialogue in Bold - German

DESCENT

CHAPTER ONE
Tabula Rasa

They were the earliest memories that Frogg could look back on.

Little slips of a childhood that took place across a wide ocean, in a Germany split right in two during the Cold War. What would come to his mind were times when his father was still affectionate, when he would still give Frogg hugs, or hold his little hand when they would walk together, or push him on swings and participate in his games of pretend with toys - when Frogg would still play like the other children, rather than focus solely on academics as if it were the only thing that mattered in his small world. When even if it was just him and his papa, he was never lonely, though in years to come the same company could feel so very isolating.

In those earliest years, his father Viktor would still show him the old photos of Frogg's late mother, the mama who he never got to meet, and describe what she was like to him. Frogg would hold the grainy pictures of her happy face with fascination, imagining what it would be like to have two parents, and what her voice might sound like, or how her arms would have felt around him. This was before where even mentioning his mama could send his father into either rage or tears depending on the number of empty bottles littered across the kitchen counter.

He had memories of being almost uncomfortably bundled up, looking quite like an oversized marshmallow in his thick winter clothes, when his father would take him on day trips to see the Baltic Sea when it was cold and the wind froze his face and rustled his hair. It was these memories, in his favorite place, that Frogg looked on most fondly - when things were easy, before the anxieties of everyday life, just watching the cold sea waves lap on the snow powdered shore, his small hand warm in his papa's.

It was at the age of six in a small rural town of Eastern Germany, Frogg really learned just how different he was from all of the other children. It was the day that changed everything.

He did not see the car with tinted windows roll into their gravel driveway or hear the sound of someone knocking at the front door. He was far too engrossed in the book he was reading to notice, laying in the damp grass of the backyard where the fireflies lazily hovered and blinked, the ones he and his papa would catch and put in jars to glow next to his bedside. It was only when he took a break to splash around the creek near their house and scraped his knee on a rock did he finally go inside, and he was not expecting to see two strangers.

Frogg, who had always been a rather shy and quiet boy, instantly put himself behind his father's legs as he looked on the visitors with apprehension. He could tell that something did not seem right, like his father's normally inviting demeanor was more guarded and these two strangers had something to do with it.

"Hello, you must be Archibald. What are you reading?"

It was a man and a woman, and she kneeled down to be closer to his height. Frogg mumbled something unintelligible, and his father put a hand on his shoulder to encourage him, but his fingers felt much too stiff for the words he said next. "It's alright, you can speak up."

Frogg uncertainly held out the book in his hands, his voice small. "It's about outer space..."

The woman accepted the book and flipped through it's pages. "These are a lot of big words for a six-year old. There aren't even any pictures. Do you like to read a lot?"

She spoke to him in the slow way people do to small toddlers, and there was something in her smile that he did not like. He nodded timidly, subconsciously reaching up for his father's hand. The woman began speaking to the strange man beside her in Russian so that Frogg did not understand. He did not realize it at the time, but these were people who worked for the Soviet Union. And they had quite an interest in him.

When they wanted Frogg to sit at the dining room table and complete a series of tests, he quietly obliged. Even for a child of his age, he always enjoyed challenges of this nature, and it did not take long for him to forget the discomfort of the room, scribbling down answers to equations and making sense of questions of logic. These sorts of things got him excited, and he would become lost in his concentration. When finished, the pair of visitors looked over his performance with an answer key, and even Frogg could tell by their expressions that they were astounded.

That day was the first time that he heard the term 'child prodigy.'

Archibald Frogg had always been an insatiably curious boy. He learned to read at an incredibly early age, but had a natural inclination for sciences and mathematics. He loved to tinker with his hands and build things with them, taking things apart just to put them back together and applying all of the things he learned into his little toy inventions. This fascination was only fueled by the fact that his father was a Nuclear Engineer himself, and though she passed away during his childbirth and he was never able to meet her, his mother had been a medical doctor. If these sorts of things ran in the family, Frogg was certainly proof of it.

And being raised by a single father, it was not uncommon for him to spend his days in the power plant that his papa worked in so that he did not need to have a nanny - the very one whose remote twin stacks he could see over the treeline of their small village. It was there that little Archibald Frogg was only encouraged by his father and his coworkers to pursue his curiosity and love for all things science, and though too many parts of his life would become gravely unfortunate, and even seem cursed, he did consider himself lucky to have that opportunity. How many children could say that they spent their earliest years playing and observing in a nuclear power plant surrounded by the newest technology and top-tier scientists?

The two strangers in his home might have visited him even earlier if his father had him enrolled in optional preschool. Frogg certainly knew that something was amiss in his first year of polytechnic school, his first introduction to a classroom. He remembered being so excited to start his first grade lessons, and in the end was confused by how little of a challenge it all was. He stuck out like a sore thumb not only with his shy awkwardness and poor social skills amongst the other children, but with his intelligence as well, breezing through the material like it was nothing... appearing bored to death with their unstimulating lessons. It did not take much time for the adults in his school to recognize that he was different and something special. After all, what kind of child still did not know how to tie their own shoes but could perform long-division?

So this must have been how the communist Soviet Union, whose fingers always rested within the German Democratic Republic, found him.

At the time, he had no idea how significant that moment was - the two strange visitors in his home assessing and scrutinizing him. Looking back, he would wonder if this was the point when his father began to turn into a completely different person and if it was all his fault. Frogg did not understand why they so suddenly had to move from their town, away from the childhood home he had known for his first six years. He had no idea that one simply cannot say 'no' when the communist government told people that they were to be relocated.

"Papa, " he had whined one day while his father was packing up one of the few boxes they were allowed to bring, "Why do we have to go? I don't want to."

"Because you will have a better opportunity for your education. You can't get the special attention you need here."

"But where are we going?"

His father, Viktor Frogg, sighed. He did not want to go either, and his son's whining and belly-aching was becoming exhausting on top of his own extreme stress regarding it all. "To Berlin."

Even then, little Frogg had been surprised into silence. At that time, though he was too young to understand the complexities of war and the politics that had divided much of Europe, his country, and the capital of Berlin, there was a certain word that sprang to his mind upon hearing it's name - trapped .

Though he could never quite put his finger on it, Frogg had suspected before that something was amiss where he lived. Perhaps it was the rare glimpses of the outside world that he saw on TV when the censorship failed, or from overhearing whispered conversations between his papa and other adults. He had asked plenty of questions about it to his father, usually in the form of the endless loop of "Why?" that children seemed to fall into. Sometimes he would be reprimanded for it when he did so in public, like when they stood in line to be given their weekly allotment of groceries, his papa quickly shushing him as if he had done something wrong and he did not understand why.

It was when he was five years old that his father finally had the talk with him - that day, his father announced that they were going for a drive.

It took close to four hours. Frogg had been idly watching the land roll past the window, quiet and bored, when they pulled over to the side of the dirt road. Here, there were fields of wildflowers to either side of them but no other cars on the road despite the pretty view - this was a place no one wanted to be. His father had pointed at something far ahead.

"Do you see that, Archibald?"

Frogg, with his poor vision, had to squint and push his big glasses further up his nose. A sort of structure, like a high fence, was laying further in the field. A single tower stood in the distance like a sentinel.

"What is it?"

"It's called the Iron Curtain. Some time ago, the Soviets put it there to keep us in."

"Why?"

"It's because of the World War. This is why we don't travel to the West. We're not allowed to, it keeps us in. It only looks like a barrier, but there's more to it than that. It's an idea , too. We're not going any closer to it and we're safe now, but people get hurt when they try to get to the other side. That border is a very dangerous place to be."

Frogg was still trying to grasp the concept and frowned. How could a fence be an idea? He would learn later exactly how right his papa was - that landmines and trip-wires littered the field around the border and armed men were trained to shoot anyone from the East trying to cross.

"This is why I tell you to be quiet when you ask too many questions about why things are the way they are, when people can hear. Some of them might think you want to go over the Curtain or question it being there, and they don't like it. They're like the police, but not the kind that you call when you need help. These police are bad. You need to be careful about what you say around others, alright?"

That was his first lesson on the Stasi , the secret police that could make people disappear for thinking differently, and what the divide of Germany really meant for him as an Easterner. And it seemed that he lived on the side where one did not want to be. From that moment, he learned from his papa to always be skeptical, to always seek the truth and facts even if his teachers or adults told him to think otherwise. In the future, reflecting on this, Frogg would later thank his father for instilling this lesson in him - his first introduction to life outside of the border was a rude awakening, but it could have been much worse had he not been taught the value of skepticism in a communist half of a country.

So after this lesson and gaining more awareness of it all as time passed, when he heard where his new schooling and their new home would be, the first place his mind went to was an ominous one - The Berlin Wall .

The first time he saw it, Frogg became afraid and he sank down in the passenger's seat of the car. He and his papa were following the man and woman who had visited unannounced only a week earlier, and they approached one of the checkpoints into East Berlin. He had never seen anything like it before.

"Papa... " he began nervously.

"Everything is alright."

But Frogg could detect the lack of confidence in his father's voice, and he did not feel any more assured.

It was not in fact one large structure - it was a set of two. The walls were three metres tall, and at their tops were rounded tubes so one could not gain a grip, as well as threatening curls of barbed wire for good measure. When the soldier at the gate spoke to his father to ask for documents, Frogg's eyes widened to see the automatic rifle slung at the man's side. He had never seen a gun in real life before. Then they were passing between the sinister concrete barriers.

Frogg would soon learn the name of the space between the walls - the Death Strip , or No Man's Land - and he yelped when suddenly a German shepherd lunged towards the procession of cars with a snarl. It was pulling against a tether and snapping its jaws, barking ferociously. Frogg could see that there was a long strip of sand running down the entire length of the walls in the middle. Tank traps were occasionally positioned alongside the strip, and that was when he realized that on the inside of each set of walls near their base, there were what appeared to be several-inch long nails with their points facing up. It took a moment for him to realize what they were for, and his stomach flipped when he figured it out. He reached for his father's arm and tugged at his sleeve urgently.

"Papa, turn around! I don't want to go!"

His voice cracked and tears were forming in his eyes, and it only upset him more that his father just gripped the steering wheel so that his knuckles turned white but did not look at him.

"No, we can't do that. We don't have a choice."

"Please, I can go to school somewhere else, I don't want to be in here-"

"You need to be brave, Archibald."

"Papa, no-"

"Stop it now !"

He had shouted it, and his father rarely raised his voice. So Frogg shut his mouth and sniffled quietly for the rest of the car ride. He was still crying when they stopped and began taking their few boxes from the car. The woman who had led the way made a comment on his crying as if to make him feel better, something about their relocation being for the greater good to his fellow comrades , but he didn't listen. He was still scared of what he saw at the wall, and he did not like these people who made them have to move.

Frogg had never seen a city so big, and the buildings and towers loomed above him so that he was almost dizzy - this was far different from their isolated home in the countryside. He had not expected that they were to live in an apartment building. Like much of the new modern architecture in this place, the building was bland and looked no more than a monotonous block with dreary windows... a far cry from the cozy house he had grown up in. He was confused when the Russian man from earlier got in their car and drove it away, leaving him and his father alone. Most people in Berlin did not have vehicles and now theirs was gone, too.

He was still crying when the boxes were put in their apartment and he saw the inside for the first time. Something about the furnished apartment was so lifeless and plain, and he was already missing home terribly and did not want to live here one bit.

But then on their last trip inside with Frogg carrying some blankets, he heard a noise, a soft little mewl. He glanced down the hallway and saw a box with the words 'free to a good home' written on it sitting outside an apartment door, and heard the squeak again. He rushed over and gasped at the little furball inside.

"Papa! Please,please,please can I keep him?"

The gray kitten, maybe four or five weeks old, could just fit in his cupped hands and blinked up at him. Frogg felt the cat begin to purr and was instantly in love.

His father let out a long, weary breath. "No, Archibald."

"I'll take care of it! I swear, I'll do everything! Please?"

"No. It has a bad leg."

Sure enough, one of the front legs of the kitten was underdeveloped and there was a soft nub rather than a forearm and paw. It explained why it might have been the only one left - undesired because of its abnormality. But Frogg, who liked animals more than people and never had a pet before, just looked pleadingly at his papa. Maybe it was the fact that Archibald's sad eyes were still red and puffy from all of his crying, or that he regretted the fact he had snapped at his son earlier when he was only scared... his father shook his head in exasperation but relented, "Alright, alright. Fine . But you need to take care of it. I'm not scooping litter."

For the first time since they stepped foot in Berlin, Frogg smiled through his tears and held the kitten close. At least he had a new friend in this place.

Reentering their new apartment, Frogg cradled the baby cat close and watched as his father began to do something peculiar. He was looking around, sometimes up into lampshades or in drawers, and it was when he began to pull cushions off the couch and unzip their covers Frogg finally asked, "...What are you doing?"

But his father just held a finger to his lips as if to shush him, so the six-year old closed his mouth and trailed his father like a shadow, observing with curiosity.

It was when the entire apartment was completely torn apart and thrown upside down did he finally stop. All of the kitchen cabinets were wide open, their shelves pulled out and every piece of furniture was deconstructed. Even the covers of electrical outlets had been thrown to the floor and appliances were taken apart. Viktor Frogg seemed satisfied and had gained a sweat from his incessant mystery search. Later, Frogg would learn exactly what he was looking for - a hidden listening device, the Soviet's favorite flavor of surveillance.

"I think it's safe to talk here."

Frogg was just petting the kitten, still looking quite confused, and his papa crossed the room to kneel before him. He put his hands on Frogg's shoulders, and he had never looked more grave.

"Archibald, you need to listen now and not forget what I'm about to say. Do you remember me telling you about being careful about what you say and where, when I showed you the Curtain?"

Frogg nodded solemnly.

"We're starting a new life now, so I'm going to talk to you like an adult. We need to be very careful here. This is not like back home, it's worse- you need to act like anyone can be listening to you at any time. If the Stasi ever has any little suspicion that you or I might not think like a communist, they will take you away from me. They're bad people, they'll hurt us."

Frogg made a sound like a whimper. He did not want his papa to get hurt.

"And most importantly, you stay away from that Wall. Those men with the guns from earlier, they are trained to shoot anyone who gets too close. Even a little boy- they won't hesitate one bit. Do you understand?"

His eyes were beginning to water again and he was squeezing the kitten close to him as he could not find his words, but his Father tightened his fingers around Frogg's small shoulders so that it almost hurt.

"I said, do you understand ?"

Frogg nodded his head fervently and tried to blink back his tears in an effort to be brave. "Yes, papa."

But he felt anything but brave. This new city was scary to him, and whatever was planned for him and his special education already seemed so big and daunting to the frightened six-year old. What his father warned him of gave him vivid mental images of scary shadow-like people listening and watching him, and he visualized men with guns and impossibly high walls towering over him.

Mind filled with these distressing things, he quietly helped his father tidy up the trashed apartment, trying his best not to start crying again. They did not make it far though, when his father realized that putting an apartment back together was much more tedious than ripping it apart, and they ventured out into the city for dinnertime groceries. As they walked through the unreasonably wide streets, the ones built in such a way so the military could display their power in the form of grand parades, he warily clung to his papa's side. When an armored vehicle drove past carrying several soldiers, Frogg ducked behind his papa's legs, who urgently whispered to him not to act so suspicious. He had a lot of learning to do.

But he was at least content to find out that even though this place seemed so different from the small northern town he had grown up in, he could still eat much of the same foods. After they returned from the grocery store with a few bags, Frogg using both his arms to carry a bag of kitty litter to put in a box, his papa made them his favorite dish of Kartoffelpuffer.

It was nighttime now, with Frogg feeling a sliver bit better after eating his potato cakes, and he was spooning a can of kitty chow into a dish for his new friend. The gray kitten, which was all fur and was going to be very fluffy one day, hobbled awkwardly on it's three legs and lapped contentedly at its dinner. Frogg already loved the little animal and knew he was going to take very good care of it. Behind him on the couch, his dad was unboxing things when he said, "Come here," and patted the seat next to him.

Frogg obediently crawled up onto the couch beside his papa and saw what he was holding - a notebook. Frogg beamed and immediately snuggled in close as his father opened it's pages to show the neat cursive inside. It was his Mother's. Frogg had always liked hearing about her. Even if he was never able to meet her - Amalia Frogg - it always made him happy and was the closest that he ever had to knowing his mama. He did not realize it, but his father wanted to end his son's night on a better note after their bizarre and incredibly stressful day.

Of course he would never disclose the morbid details - such as phrases like torn placenta or hemorrhage - to his son, but his father had never been dishonest to Archibald that it was childbirth complications that took her away. Many parents would have found ways to avoid the conversation or try to explain it away with the kind of rhetoric used for babies, but Viktor knew his son was too smart for that. And Frogg was never once led to believe that anything was his fault, and his father would tell him how he saw pieces of Amalia in his son everyday.

Frogg knew that she was a medical doctor, and a very good one at that, and that she had liked to read mystery books and snorted when she laughed hard. He had inherited her downturned eyes, the ones that made adults coo and tell him he looked sweet, and his father teased him in good-nature that Frogg also took after his mama in terms of hair - it was dark, thick and hard to manage. In the photos that Frogg would get to see of her, she often appeared embarrassed that her picture was being taken, usually having a hand slightly raised to block the camera's shot, but was smiling nonetheless.

They flipped through her old notebook from her years at University, looked at photos as his papa explained where they were or what they were doing at the time, or held some jewelry that she used to like. All the while, Frogg was asking endless questions he already knew many of the answers to.

"Would she have liked my kitten? Do I look like her? Did she like Kartoffelpuffer, too?"

His father was chuckling and answering as best as he could, and Frogg then innocently asked, "Would she have wanted to live here?"

The smile was wiped off of his papa's face, and it took a long moment for him to reply.

"No… She wouldn't. But she would have been happy that you are getting a good opportunity for your education."

Frogg thought that his father suddenly looked older and exhausted, and wondering what went wrong, he did not protest when he was told that it was suddenly time for him to brush his teeth and go to bed. He scooped his kitten up along the way, and after putting on his pajamas and rinsing the toothpaste from his mouth, he solemnly stood in his new room. They had not been allowed to bring their own furniture, and the bed that was waiting for him did not seem as inviting as the one he left.

It was unusually light beyond his window, quite unlike the deep black sky where you could see all of the stars back home. Frogg wandered towards it for the first time, standing on his toes to peer out. He gasped and immediately drew back.

It took several moments for him to gain the courage to peek out again.

The Berlin Wall was practically outside of his bedroom window. From his view from the fourth floor, he could barely peer into the space between the two concrete walls - the Death Strip - and he realized it seemed so much lighter than normal outside because there were occasional floodlights erected along the structure. In reality the closest barrier was probably one hundred metres from his window, but in his imaginative six-year old mind, it was pressing right against their apartment building. Something twinkling on the flat horizon caught his eye, and he lifted his gaze to where the land went beyond the walls… where the lit windows in West Berlin dotted the horizon like stars. For a moment, he was transfixed, wondering about that place which was so foreign, forbidden, and yet so close.

But then a dog began barking from somewhere within the walls, and with a frightened squeak Frogg rushed back to bed and threw the covers over his head. He waited and waited expecting his papa to come and tuck him in. Sometimes, however, it seemed as if he could get very sad after talking about his mama and become quiet or distant. Still, Frogg was suddenly scared again and hoped that he would be told goodnight, and maybe that it was all going to be okay. Even if it didn't feel like it.

When it finally occurred to him that it would not be happening, the boy frowned and curled up with his blankets pulled close. The lights of the wall in the distance kept the room much brighter than he would have liked, but he was much too scared to approach the window again to close the drapes.

Frogg hated this place.

After only one day in East Berlin, he ached for his old house tremendously and found that his pillow was becoming wet from the tears that leaked from his eyes. But he had to be brave like his father said, so he tried his best to wipe them away. From where he had set his kitten on the bed, the little animal mewled and crawled closer to his face. It curled into the tiniest ball to tuck itself into the space between his neck and shoulder and Frogg clutched it, the only thing of comfort in his new home, and that was how he fell into an uneasy sleep.