Bo and Daisy entered the kitchen to find that Clayton had pulled all of the chairs out from the kitchen table and was in the process of climbing underneath said table.

"Clayton, what're you doin'?" Daisy asked, folding her arms.

"Helpin'," the little man replied quickly.

He somewhat stood up underneath the table, straightening his legs and bracing his back against the underside of the table. He shuffled it forward, clearing the kitchen of an area of about twenty square feet. Clayton scurried out from under the table and back outside, leaving the other occupants of the house to wonder what he was doing.

Marie, who had been displaced to the living room, now stood looking into the kitchen. "Hell is he doin'?" she asked.

Daisy shrugged as she and Bo walked to meet her out in the living room. "Helpin'."

"How's the job search goin'?" Bo asked Marie.

Marie seemed to think on this. "Oh… shitty. Most of 'em haven't returned my calls and I got turned away from the feed mill because I'm a female. But I've got a interview with the hardware store next week so I guess that's somethin'."

"Y'know, my offer's still open."

"Yeah, no thanks Goldilocks."

Bo had a comeback to that but it was lost as his gaze turned back to the kitchen where Clayton had reentered. "The hell is he doin' now?"

Daisy and Marie followed his gaze, finding that the little man had just stood up from painting something on the floor. The three of them followed suit, perhaps maybe to berate him for painting the floor.

In the kitchen, in a dark, red-colored paint, was a circle emblazoned with an array of figures, indecipherable and very wicked-looking. And Clayton stood over it, studying it, as if making sure it was correct.

"Clayton, actually, what are you doing?" Bo asked him.

"Helpin'," Clayton replied, striking a match.

"Say anythin' other than that!"

Clayton tossed the match into the circle and the kitchen was suddenly engulfed in heat. The Dukes and Marie shielded their eyes from it. The heat grew hotter and there was a sudden wind in the house that blew strong and loud and spun the heat into a vortex that caused their image of reality to waver and become liquid. As if the intensity of the heat was enough to melt space and time. But that wasn't even half of it.

What happened next, I'm glad to have witnessed for myself so that I can provide an accurate description of the events. Otherwise, I don't think I would've been able to believe that any of these things happened without havin' seen 'em for myself.

At some point in the past of this narrative there was a description of the feeling often induced by Clayton's presence. Much like that, it was an evil presence, however, believe it or not, was stronger. There were chills of the spine and the pounding of heartbeats. Ragged breaths came and went in the heat. There was fear in the air. So much fear.

It was as if the kitchen was suddenly being exposed to the deepest pits of Hades and under the circumstances, that didn't seem all that impossible. If one were to listen well enough, they could hear distant screams, perhaps those of the damned. Either way, there was evil surfacing and festering. Then, suddenly, it came. Like a firework, shooting off and exploding into colors and light. However, this description is figurative.

The visual of what happened is what can be described as a shadow shooting through the house and disappearing as soon as it had appeared.

And then it was quiet. The heat and the wind were gone, however, that feeling of evil was not. The circle was gone, seemingly having been evaporated by the heat. There were no longer screams in the distance, save for one that suddenly came from the bathroom. The Dukes stood frozen, not yet having processed what'd happened and still recovering from the sudden burst of heat.

Meanwhile, Luke, who had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror, wondering whether or not he should shave, without any recollection of the event, suddenly found himself thrown to the floor, into the wall of the bathtub, and met with a sudden, searing pain in his head and an overwhelming sense of fear. A scream of fear and pain escaped him, and the members of the household were running in not a minute later.

As he sat against the bathtub wall, pressing a hand into his temple, he watched as Bo, Daisy, Clayton, and Marie crowded around him.

"You all right?" Bo asked, giving him a hand up.

"Yeah… I think so," Luke replied, his vision beginning to grow dark, however, he shook it off. "What happened?"

"So y'know how you told Clayton to 'help'?" Daisy asked.

"Yeah…?" Luke's voice trailed off as he looked at each of them, gaze resting on Clayton. "What'd you do?"

There was no immediate answer and Luke grew nervous.

"What'd you do?" he exclaimed.

"There's a demon," Clayton said.

"Yeah, I got that, that's why I asked you to-"

"Inside you."

"What?"

"Sorry. You're possessed. Uhh, taken over, demented, enthralled, cursed. In need of an exorcism, either way."

"I'm what?"

"Oh, sorry, you need me to repeat that, cher?"

Bo caught a twitch of Luke's eye and realized his cousin was just barely keeping it together.

"What exactly did you think you were doin'?" Luke asked.

"Fightin' fire with fire. Helpin'," Clayton explained.

"This ain't what I meant by help."

"Really? You should've been more specific."

Luke grabbed at Clayton, having to be held back by Bo and Daisy. Clayton flattened himself against the opposite wall of the hallway as the Dukes struggled to keep Luke from lunging at him and inevitably tearing him limb from limb.

"Now, now, let's just talk about this," Clayton said.

Luke pointed a finger at him. "Tell me how to fix this or so help me…"

He struggled against his other cousins, nearly getting away from them but Bo held him.

"Luke, please count ten!" he exclaimed, their family's common phrasing to get one to calm down lost on the older Duke.

"Well, I'd recommend an exorcism but I doubt that that's a process you'd want to go through. Very traumatic, very tedious, slight chance you might not survive."

"Ain't there somethin' you can do?"

"Not presently, see I don't control 'em, I just keep them from runnin' rampant."

"So you're sayin' I'm stuck like this?" Luke asked, the smallest fleck of fear running in his eyes. Bo and Daisy let go of him as he came down from the high of his rage. "You sayin' I could go berserk any minute?"

Clayton shrugged. "I suppose, but it seems to me you're in control. You should be fine."

"And no thanks to you," Luke growled, finally reasonable. "Y'know what, hell with it, I'll figure somethin' out on my own."

Daisy grabbed his arm. "Luke, are you sure you're all right? Especially your eye."

"What's wrong with my eye?"

"Go look!"

Luke ducked back into the bathroom, leaning over the sink to study his right eye, which was now a red flood of bloodshot.

"Oh, that ain't worryin' at all," he said sarcastically.

"Look on the bright side, me ami, now you got a chance against our New Jersey friend, and the Dallas Defects situation, but more importantly, Allen Ridgefield," Clayton explained.

"So he's like the Hulk?" Bo asked with enthusiasm.

"I guess you could say that."

Daisy crossed her arms. "What now, Luke?"

"I'm gonna find a way to put myself back to normal. Y'all figure out how to get ahold of 'em over in Dallas and warn 'em of what's goin' on."

Bo and Daisy nodded.

"And me?" Clayton asked.

"You can get hit by another truck for all I care."

"Noted."

With that, Clayton nodded and stepped away.

General had wasted little time the next morning, climbing on the bus and taking it to the glass building. He didn't bother with the security guards by the front doors, they let him in anyway. The secretary with her bouncy hair called after him as he stormed to the elevator, however, her words fell on deaf ears.

He only had a guess as to which floor the Lady of the Defects was on, so why not try all of them? And so he did, and on the third floor, found he was successful. As the elevator doors opened on the third floor, there was a single security guard that stood by the doors at the end of the hallway. General walked up to him, looking into his dark sunglasses.

When that door didn't open for him, he spoke.

"I need to see the Lady," he said firmly.

"You don't have an appointment," the big man argued.

"Tell her to make time for me, I'm the General. And this's important."

The big man let out a low grumble and pinched the radio microphone on his shoulder. "Ms. Fleetwood, the 'General's here to see you."

There was, to General's surprise, an immediate reply. "Send him in!"

The big man sighed and opened the doors, General pushing through before they had parted more than five inches. The big man rolled his eyes and shut the doors behind him.

Ms. Fleetwood was sitting at a big glass desk, reading through a stack of papers. Her red, beehive hair could be seen over the clutter, though her head was bent over her work, studious and concentrated, her hair still stood.

"I need a word with you," General demanded, walking up to the glass desk.

Miss Fleetwood looked up from her work, not seeming the least bit worried. "Yes? Is something wrong, General?"

"You're damn right somethin's wrong!"

Miss Fleetwood seemed taken aback by his outburst.

"Thunder disappeared last night. Taken by some guy wearin' a pin with your face on it."

"So naturally you thought I was behind it?" Miss Fleetwood asked emphatically, putting a hand to her chest.

"Yes, I did. Now, unless you got an explanation…"

Miss Fleetwood sighed and stood up from her desk, circling around it slowly. "I see your confusion," she said, folding her hands in front of her. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation-"

"I know the logical explanation; my friend was kidnapped! Did you have somethin' to do with it or not, answer the damn question!"

Miss Fleetwood blinked a few times and slowly started again. "General, I know where Thunder is and who has him."

"So you are in on it."

Miss Fleetwood shook her head. "I didn't say that, I said I know where he is."

"Then where is he?"

"The HRO. It seems they got ahold of him before we could spread the word that he doesn't have his powers anymore."

"So… what? My best friend's some kinda lab rat now?"

Miss Fleetwood nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, c'mon, we gotta get him outta there!"

Miss Fleetwood sighed, unclasping her hands and resting one on General's arm. "That's easier said than done, General. There are no laws protecting Defects in this country. The HRO has legal documents giving them clearance to conduct research on Defects. You can't just break in there and steal your friend back, there will be consequences."

"Worse consequences than his death?"

Miss Fleetwood was silent.

General shook his head, pulling his arm back from her touch. "Y'know what, forget it, I'll figure this out on my own. Good day, ma'am."

Miss Fleetwood opened her mouth to speak again, but General was gone before she could reason.

For a long time it was dark. The floor was cold beneath his skin. The air was stagnant. It smelled of oil and a variety of other chemicals unknown to his nose. And he was so damn tired. Drifting in and out of sleep felt out of his control, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept as long as he did, or as long as he thought he did, but it felt like a lot.

When he woke again, he was sitting upright, having been dozing in a chair. How he got in said chair, he hadn't the slightest clue, and he had even less of an idea as to why his wrists were secured to the armrests by leather straps.

His heart began to pound and he looked up at the sound of clicking heels coming closer. It was a woman, tall and blonde, her body moving fluidly in a tight, black dress.

Thunder looked her up and down, body tensing. There was something about her that made him uneasy, like she scared him, but he didn't know why.

Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor as she approached, long, red fingernails like a monster's claws reaching for his face. And he was frozen, heart pounding in his ears as he watched the nails come closer and closer. They caressed his cheek, leaving a scratched sensation on his skin that didn't necessarily hurt but still gave off heat. The nail of her thumb pressed into his lower lip. The other fingers moved to curl underneath his chin and lift it toward the woman's face, like that of a wolf. The thumb parted his lips and she lifted his face, leaning in close as if for a kiss.

"You're the one they call Thunder?" she asked in a soft voice.

It was seductive and quiet, just above a whisper. Her face was slowly moving past his, mouth going toward his ear.

Thunder swallowed, trying to get words out. "I'm Thunder."

He could feel her hot breath on his ear, like the fire of a dragon, and for a moment he thought she might bite his ear. "You're even better than I imagined." Her face came away from his ear and moved to look him in the eye. "And the fear in your eyes is delicious."

Thunder jerked his head away, freeing himself of her 'claws', not caring if the gesture would hurt her feelings somehow. Unbothered, the woman began to circle, keeping him fixed in that same, predatory glare. She ran a slender hand through his hair as she did, toying with the shock of white that ran through it.

"They'll want to cut your hair. I'm surprised by how long it is. Is the white from the lightning?" she asked.

"I think so," Thunder replied. "Why d'you wanna know."

"Oh, I just love the way you talk. But I'm just making conversation, sweetie. And your voice makes me want to melt. Do you sing?"

"I've never tried."

"You should. I'm sure you'd just blow an audience away."

She was back in front of him now, slowly easing down onto his lap. Her hand was back on his cheek and she was leaning in again, and this time Thunder thought she really would kiss him. He tried to turn his head away but there was nowhere to go, and he really didn't want to share his first kiss with this woman.

At the sound of a door opening and closing, his heart gave a hopeful little flutter and he could've breathed a sigh of relief.

"Am I interrupting something?" a voice asked.

Thunder watched the woman open her eyes and her gaze slowly turned toward the door. Gracefully, she stood, letting Thunder see who had entered the room.

"Nothing at all," the woman replied.

A man had entered the room, though it wasn't the one Thunder had met at the convenience store. This one was shorter and had no facial hair. That, and he was younger.

The woman walked over to him, clasping her hands behind her back as she moved to stand next to him, watching him. The man met Thunder's gaze, taking a few steps toward him but keeping his distance.

"So you're the Defect they call Thunder," he said.

Thunder nodded. "That I am."

The man returned the nod. "Cam, short for Cameron." There was a pause as he looked him up and down. "The doctor's going to have a hayday with you."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"Because you're one of a kind," the woman replied. "From what I hear, you can do amazing things."

"And you just believe everythin' you hear?"

"No, but it's true, isn't it?"

"No, it ain't."

"I beg your pardon."

"I'm just a regular old Defect, all those things you heard ain't true. They never were."

"But you are the Defect Thunder?" Cameron said.

"That I am," Thunder confirmed. "But everythin' you know about me is a lie."

There was quiet for a while before the woman before him scowled and came toward him again. "He's lying," she snarled.

"'Scuse me?" Thunder said, by now looking quite smug.

The woman came close again. "You're a liar," she said, poking him in the chest with her long, pointed fingernail. "I can see right through you. Now, I want the truth or else I'm going to start getting real handsy."

Thunder hesitated. At this point, he was surprised that they hadn't killed him already, but if he told them the truth, the odds of that were likely to double and they weren't looking good as it was. Now, he began to worry about the state General and the others would find him in. Or if they found him at all.

Finally, he took a breath and looked the woman in the eyes, feeling as though he was facing death itself.

"I am the Defect Thunder, and my powers don't work. I'm broken," he said, his voice as clear as he could make it.

"We'll just have to fix that, won't we?" said a new voice.

Again, there was silence except for the sound of approaching feet. Just then, the woman stepped aside and straightened herself, looking back to see who it was.

Walking past the man called Cameron, though Thunder was about 99% sure he was a Defect, was another man, or rather, the man from the convenience store. However, this time he had no pin with Miss Fleetwood printed on it.

To put it very simply, this was a bearded man of average height and possibly 40 to 50 years of age. In his eyes there was wisdom but also a form of cruelty that burned so damn cold. And it scared Thunder. If he hadn't been strapped to that chair, he would've run, because every instinct and fiber in his body was telling him to. But he couldn't, so he faced the danger, only hoping that his death would be quick and painless.

"Look at it, like a caged animal," the man said.

Cameron and his seemingly woman companion each exchanged a glance.

The man drew closer, looking down at Thunder through his bifocal glasses. "I'm going to have fun figuring out what makes you tick."