Cold Reception

by Numbuh Phenon

When a rogue operative threatens to reveal the GKND, Nigel is sent back down to stop them by any means necessary. But people have changed and the boy is tangled in a web of love and betrayal as he finds out just who he has been assigned to hunt down.

20. The Pilot's Plight

The moon cast a silvery glow over Rachel as she crouched in the shadows of the old oak tree at the edge of her parents' backyard.

The wind rustled the leaves frantically above her, echoing the turmoil in her mind. Clad in dark attire, she gripped the edges of her hoodie, pulling it tighter against the night chill. Despite it all, her heart raced as she peered through the branches, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in her living room. A police officer, stern and unyielding, presented a collection of evidence to her unsuspecting parents. The air thickened with dread, and the flickering glow of the television highlighted their tormented expressions.

Rachel sharply inhaled through her nose as she recognized the doctored photographs neatly laid out on the coffee table. She should, she made them herself. One final arts and crafts project using the tools of the Basement before disappearing into the dark. One last thing to cut any ties she had left. It was better this way. This way, they would have definitive "proof" that their sweet little girl wasn't coming home.

Something in her twisted when she saw her mom collapse to the floor, muffled sobs as her father went down to comfort her. His face was equally stricken, and the two elder McKenzies missed how the officer quietly excused himself to the kitchen.

Her face was stoic as she looked away. People never truly appreciated something until it was gone. She found it darkly humorous that it was like some genetic trait that ran in her family. She was not expecting such a strong reaction from her parents, parents who appeared only concerned with the image of the perfect girl they tried to cultivate, not the overwhelmed daughter behind it. Honor roll, after-school meetings, even the stinking chess club of all things; they kept piling things on top of her.

Now they care? Rachel made a point to ignore her mother's cries as she balanced on the branch, inching towards her target destination. The window easily opened, and she made a firm, yet quiet, point to click it shut once she was inside to drown out the misery in her mother's voice.

Too little too late, she tried to tell herself.

Rachel scanned her old room, pleasantly surprised to find it nearly in the same state she left it in. Bed sheets were askew, poster residue sticking to the now barren walls, and a trash bin filled with discarded knick-knacks and photos. It seemed no one truly cared to clear out her space once she ran away. Or maybe it hurt too much for them to enter, some voice inside her said. She ignored it with a roll of her eyes.

She went to the door, stopping when something crunched under her heel. She bent down, the crumpled photo now between her fingers. An old photo of her, Numbuh Sixty and Numbuh Eighty-Six on the eve of the latter's official first day as Global Tactical Officer. The three children in the photo smiled, so obliviously happy with soda fizz coating their upper lips. Fond memories tried to surface the longer she looked, but forced herself to feel jaded that the red-headed girl was more concerned about getting a picture with her hero, and how the beanie-wearing boy kept a respectable distance because he had to be "professional around the Supreme Leader."

Rachel crushed the photo before chucking it over her shoulder.

She quietly stepped into the hallway, her footsteps light against the carpet. Her eyes were focused on the ceiling hatch to the attic, and her ears trained on the voices below in case someone decided to venture to the second floor. While it was a short visit, she had gone too far to get careless now.

Her hand grabbed the pulley to the attic hatch, giving it three precise, rhythmic tugs a beat only she knew. Instead of the attic opening, a compartment on the floor hissed before sliding away to reveal a secret nook. Rachel reached down, pulling up an old staff wrapped in Doctor Time Space-themed blankets. She undid the cloth, greeted by a scarred and burnt Yield sign.

If there was one thing she was thankful for, it was that Fan—Numbuh Eighty-Six was overly sentimental. Stealing this from her was almost too easy.

Rachel fashioned the staff against her back. If she had known no one was going to mess with her room, she would've left it in there when she last hid it. No reason left to linger, she began creeping back to her room. However, she found herself stopping at another door to her left, one she ignored the first time, but now couldn't help but notice it was ajar ever so slightly.

She quietly breached the threshold despite a voice screaming at her to just leave.

The room was that of a typical ten-year-old boy. Yipper Squadron posters lined the walls, a Joy-station 3 plugged into the small TV set, and various action figures littered across the floor. Rachel ignored how the fine layer of dust laid over said objects and had her attention on the body curled on the bed.

Harvey lay on his bed, face red and stained with tears after succumbing to a fitful sleep. As she stepped closer, her lips quivered at how small he looked, and how he desperately clutched a faded, but familiar, orange tiger-striped sweater like a security blanket. A draft blew in from his cracked window, and her cold facade melted at his shiver.

Rachel took the Doctor Time Space blanket and gently draped it over the boy, taking care not to disturb the slumber he needed. He flinched at the contact, subconsciously rubbing against the wool, and she took a bittersweet comfort at how his shivers lessened and his face softened just enough for an ex-spy like her to notice. She smiled, hand slowly reaching to stroke his hair soothingly. But she stopped just short of making contact, before hesitantly pulling away.

During her tenure as Supreme Leader, Rachel had been a lot of things. Patient. Understanding. Mindful. It was only now, she realized, that she wished she'd been more of those things as an older sister.

Rachel moved to Harvey's window, stopping to turn on his night light because Numbuh Eighty-Three of sector W was not the only one with a fear of the dark. She pried open the window, hoisting her leg over. She gave one last look at her brother, her old home before departing to continue her crusade.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek as she said, "Goodbye, Harvey."

Three blocks down the street, Rachel huddled in an empty bus stop, hands painfully gripping the fabric of her jeans as she composed herself. Fat, hot tears dripped against the pavement, and she surrendered to her emotions as her hands cupped her face.

As if making itself known, Rachel pulled the scarlet invitation meant for a certain bald operative and glared at it. What was she doing? She had gone to Father of all people. Had she let it get this far? Was it even worth it anymore? It had to be. Her entire childhood was spent fighting for the Kids Next Door, and for what? For it to leave her with nothing? It took everything. It took her friends, it took her family, it took Harvey, it took—

Rachel dug into her pocket, and with a frustrated snarl, jerked out a jail-broken music player and slammed its headphones into her ears. She fiddled with the frequencies, shooting a glare at an elderly woman who sauntered up to ask what was wrong, but left in a huff leaving the moody teen to her horrible "hip-hop music". Rachel rolled her eyes, her thumb scrolling through volumes and track numbers; track numbers that were code for secure teen covert-op channels. She wanted to curse into the night when static filtered through her headphones. Of course, the idiots chose now to finally get wise and change their decryption algorithms. Only took them two stupid months. How was she supposed to track Nige-Numbuh One now?

She flipped frequencies. Might as well see if the Kids Next Door knew anything, though she didn't expect much from the babies unless someone like her, or Numbuhs Five or Three were holding their hands.

"—told you, Numbuh Hyphen 2, you can't use this channel to talk to your grandma—"

CLICK

"—and then I said, 'Well you look like someone who's easy to draw!' Shoulda seen the look on her face when she heard that—"

CLICK

"—had a nickel for every time a hamster hijacked an Arctic Base ice-cream transfer, I'd have two nickels. Which, yeah, isn't a lot, but ain't it weird it happened twice—"

CLICK

"—flight paths show you stopped at the Gilligan's residence and now you're with sector W? What's going on, Numbuh 85?"

CLI-

Rachel blinked, fingers slowly skipping back to that last channel.

"Oh, y'know, just stuff that, uh, happened," the familiar voice of Patrick 'Paddy' Fulbright's voice said over the line. It didn't take a keen ear like Rachel's to hear he was flustered. She still found it curious. "Figured I'd stop and say hi to Tommy. I worry about the guy, y'know? Plus, uh, Numbuhs 83 and 84 were in the neighborhood and it's been so long since I hung out with my old sector—"

"Wait, now the computer-ma-bob is saying you're at the Seriously Cool Museum of Artifacts and Stuff," the other voice said. Rachel raised a brow. "What the heck are you doing there? Numbuh 3 had it locked down due to a potential lice infestation!"

"Oh, no, it's cool! She's here with me and—"

"The Supreme Leader is with you!?"

"Yes, I am." Rachel's eyes widened when Kuki's voice cut in. "Very important stuff going on, Numbuh 365. And very busy. ZIP-YER-LIP about it. Talk to you later. Kay, thanks, bye!"

Patrick's (and apparently Kuki's) side went dead silent, leaving a very confused Moonbase communications rep and a very scrutinizing Rachel. She knew of Numbuh Eighty-Five's recent promotion to Head of Decommissioning, following in his elder's sister footsteps no doubt. While playing hooky to see his old sector wasn't that odd, the fact he went out of his way to visit the Gilligans—especially after Numbuh Two's incident—was suspicious.

Numbuh Three's involvement was another interesting wrinkle. She remembered seeing the girl back at the Moonbase with him. And now she was invoking top-security-clearance to keep operatives out of her business. ZIP-YER-LIP protocol was not invoked lightly.

Her headphones fell from her ears as she dropped the device on the sidewalk and crushed it under her foot. It had served its purpose, and she didn't need a snot-nosed baby getting curious. It was quite obvious to piece together what was going on and who Kuki was with. And knowing Nigel, she knew exactly where he was headed next.

His name escaping her filter caused her to curse. Her hands held the invitation Father expressly made for him. The more she looked at it, the more she remembered her job. Thoughts of that made her think of her last encounter with Nigel. That heartbroken look when he found out the truth ... she didn't like how much it haunted her.

And then she thought of all the happier times before that. When they were younger.

The red envelope felt like hot coal burning her palms and more childhood memories played in her mind's eye.

It was exam day. She had botched her routine. Again.

She remembered punching the ice wall in frustration. She remembered crumpling to the floor and almost crying because maybe she wasn't good enough.

"Hey," she remembered an accented voice cutting through her fog. She remembered looking up at the new bald recruit who had just arrived the other day. She remembered his awkward smile as he offered her a ginger-snap treat. "Wanna take a cookie break?"

Rachel looked up to the sky, noting a passing shooting star.

She pocketed the invitation, hiding it deep down.

"One last chance, Nigel," she promised to herself, mind made up. "One. Last. Chance."

---

The sun hung low in the sky, the last few rays of light fighting to give the cozy suburb just a few more minutes of activity before things settled for the evening. Children finished up games of four-square, adults packed in the last of their barbeque equipment, and teenagers sat huddled on the curb exchanging a few more memes on their phones before taking their hang-out indoors. One particular group sat at a small intersection, cheeky grins illuminated by the screen of their devices. In the distance, the roar of a rocket came in loud in clear, and they paused to look at the commotion. They held onto their loose clothing and attachments as a cerulean bullet zipped by, the backdraft leaving them in the flurry of autumn leaves. The teens oooh-ed and ahhhh-ed at the marvelous bicycle they barely managed to glimpse.

When a second, pink streak blurred by them a moment later, their awe turned to raucous laughter.

"Nice trike, baldy!" one jeered as the tricycle sped by. Their taunting continued until they noticed a shadow enveloping them. The teens looked up and then screamed. They scrambled like ants as a refrigerator crashed into the spot that they occupied.

Further up the road, Nigel's face paled looking back at the teenagers. He hesitantly looked down, the tricycle retracting the canons of its own will and letting off a satisfied ding of its bell. Nigel gulped. "Uh, Tommy?"

"Oops, sorry about that! The ol' Hoagiemobile is still working out some anger issues," Tommy yelled back over the wind, a few feet ahead of the bald operative from the comfort of the Cruisemaster.

Nigel looked down at his pink ride, it moving along mostly by itself without input from his person. Heeding Tommy's warning, he smiled an uneasy smile and gingerly stroked its fluttering ribbons. "Uh, hey, don't pay those losers any mind. I, er, think you're pretty neat."

The tricycle's bell trilled affectionately.

"Aw," Tommy cooed as Nigel caught up alongside him. "They like you!"

The two 2x4-enhanced vehicles strode along the road. Tommy piloted the Cruisemaster—sorry, the Tommymobile—with Abby tucked behind him, kicking her feet up and cupping her hand in the breeze. Beside them, Nigel teetered along carried by the will of the pink tricycle, apparently having reclaimed its title of the Hoagiemobile after years of maintenance and intensive therapy. Abby looked up to the sky, the dark clouds a cruel mirror for her inner thoughts. Forcing her mind elsewhere, she shot a forced smirk Nigel's way after Tommy's comment. "Look at you, a regular Casanova."

"Gross! I'm not trying to flirt with the stupid—" Nigel was interrupted by a growl beneath him. He hastily walked back his remark, petting his ride soothingly. "S-Sorry, that was mean. You're not stupid." The tricycle rang its bell, appeased. Nigel sighed, crossing his arms, and leaned against the handles. "I'm just tired."

Abby nodded in sympathy, biting back a yawn. "Yeah, the night was long enough before we had to cross over two different time zones."

"The Tommymobile makes excellent time!" Tommy said, grinning back at Abby. "And no worries, you guys can stay over at our place. Mom's making meatloaf tonight. Plus I bet Hoagie's gonna wanna hear all about what you guys have been up to!"

"Uh, we appreciate the offer, but let's not get ahead of ourselves," Nigel quickly said, noticing the dark look seeping into Abby's expression. "Your mom doesn't even know we're coming."

"Oh, she'll be cool with it! She keeps saying I should bring more friends over," Tommy said, Nigel's subtext flying over his fedora-wearing head. "Besides, Abby used to stay over a whole lot. It'll be just like old times!"

Despite himself, Nigel curiously looked at Abby. She noticed his inquisitive stare and wanted to ignore him. However, exhaustion and anxiety got the best of her, so with a weary groan, she said, "Abby checked in frequently after the accident. To try and help…and keep Tommy company."

"Yeah, she even let me teach her how to play Yipper Squad Force. She's actually pretty good," Tommy smiled, old memories popping back up. After a moment, his smile disappeared, features overcome with melancholy. "But you don't come by so much these days…"

Abby winced. Unsure, her hand reached out and gave his shoulder a soft squeeze. "Tommy, I'm—"

"It's all water under the bridge!" Tommy said, smiling again as he shoved down his depressive thoughts and gently pried off Abby's hand. "Because now that Numbuh 1's back, everything's gonna go back to normal. My brother will be fixed and we can all hang out again, you'll see!"

Nigel stole a glance at Abby, but the girl turned her head away. He looked at Tommy, a tiny bit of dread bubbling in his bowels. The boy's mood did a complete one-eighty since Nigel agreed to help. While he would do everything in his power to assist Hoagie, Tommy's overbearing optimism made him worry. Nothing was guaranteed, and he remembered the extreme reluctance Abby had to even make this detour. Part of him wanted him to say she was solely focused on stopping Rachel, but another part was telling him it had something to do more with Hoagie and the possibility they might fail.

He shook his head. No need for thoughts like that right now. "So how much further is it?"

Tommy said nothing for a moment, eyes narrowing as he quickly scanned the street signs. He then grinned, pulling into a power slide and stopping parallel to the sidewalk. He chuckled as Nigel parked behind him and majestically motioned to his abode. "Ladies and germs, welcome to Casa de Tommy! …oh! And the other Gilligans too."

Nigel dismounted from the tricycle, the trike giving a faint ring as he walked onto the curb. He looked up at the house and it screamed standard cookie-cutter suburbia. No 2x4 prototypes littered the lawn, no aero-vehicular-themed memorabilia hung from the rafters, and not even a single Yipper sticker crest the mailbox. The house lacked any signifier that the once acclaimed Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr. called this place home.

"It's...quaint," Nigel said, taking a moment to use his words. "I wasn't aware you guys moved."

Tommy grunted while guiding his bike to the garage. The two teens stumbled as the tricycle rushed past them. The door slowly opened with a rusty crinkle, and the pink steed rolled over and hopped into an oversized pet bed. Its hind wheels kneaded the cushion before its entire metal frame seemed to relax into the material. Tommy propped the Tommymobile against the wall, Abby looked at an old, covered 2x4 workbench in a trance, and Nigel curiously looked at the little food bowl labeled Hoagiemobile next to the tricycle's resting place.

Nigel was morbidly curious why the food bowl seemed to be filled with broken scrap from other bicycles but decided there were some answers he didn't need to know.

"Mom got a new promotion, and the folks figured a change of scenery might help," Tommy said. With a snap of his fingers, the garage door closed. His expression became thoughtful. "Come to think of it, she got the promotion right after the accident happened. The company CEO covered the moving fees and the extra salary's been helping take care of Hoagie."

"Really? That's good to hear," Nigel said. His eyes narrowed, leaning close to Abby to whisper, "And suspiciously generous of Mr. Boss."

Abby was still staring at the workbench, snapping from her trance as Nigel addressed her. She raised a hand to ward off his paranoia. "Oh yeah. Uh, he… don't really mess with us anymore."

The fact a man who once threatened to send his employees' children to Pluto decided the Kids Next Door wasn't worth his time anymore was a shock, to say the least. Nigel quietly hummed in thought, analyzing Tommy walking to the door and thinking about what lay on the other side. "It wouldn't happen to be related to what happened with Numbuh 2, would it?"

Abby sighed, briefly hating how quickly Nigel could piece things together when he wanted to. "I'll explain later, I promise."

"The Tommy has returned!"

Both looked up to see Tommy kicking down the door, rolling into the kitchen with heroic zeal. Holding the end of his cape, he shielded everything but his eyes as he regaled the household of his grand venture. "Hark, and behold The Tommy's triumph," he shouted, his free arm extended into the air. "For he has returned with the chosen one, and demands desert before dinner as his reward!"

"Oh, Tommy, now what did I tell you about not wiping your feet."

Nigel and Abby stepped into the kitchen, the heavenly aroma of Gilligan home cooking invoking memories of long-ago afternoons spent stuffing their faces with five-alarm chili during the winter and guzzling gallons of blueberry lemonade in the summer. The source of those delicious memories strolled in wearing an apron and a tired, bemused smile. A warm feeling tickled their throats as her face brightened upon seeing them.

"Well I'll be; if it isn't Abigail," said the motherly voice of Betty Gilligan. The woman looked just as the teens remembered her, casual blue clothing, kind eyes behind her glasses, and curled brunette curls atop her hand. She doffed her oven mitts as she addressed her new guests. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, you look even lovelier than the last time I saw you."

Despite the circumstances, the girl blushed under the praise. "It's nice to see you, Mrs. Gilligan."

"Oh, and still so polite. Tommy, you could learn a thing or two from her, don't you know," Betty chuckled and Tommy pulled his hat over his face. Betty turned her attention to her third guest, eyes glinting with similar happiness. "And my stars, is that you, Nigel Uno? Look how much you've grown! I haven't seen you since you left for permanent international boarding school!"

"Uh, h-hi, Mrs. Gilligan," Nigel awkwardly greeted. His eyes locked with Abby, the girl seeming equally surprised as the matron Gilligan greeted him with such familiarity. He gulped a bit, schooling his expression to one of nonchalance. "I'm surprised you remember me."

"Well, of course, I remember you," she laughed, coming in to gently pinch his cheeks. "You little rascals used to come over all the time, what with your silly pretend games and 2x4 gadgets. Oh, the boys used to be so terrible, just leaving them around the house for us to trip over." Her face softened a bit, and up close, Nigel could note a few new wrinkles under her eyes. They spoke of years of struggle, yet the persistent flicker of kindness never left her eyes. "And you came out all this way too. You must be here to see Hoagie."

There was the slightest hitch in her voice near the end, one he could only pick up with years of training under his belt. He returned Betty's smile, nodding his head, determined. "I had to see him before I left. He's my best friend."

"We're wasting precious time!" Tommy interrupted. He scurried under his mother, making for the living room and connected stairway. He ascended two steps at a time, calling out to say, "Come, Nigel Uno. Time to fulfill your oath!"

"Oh, that boy. Ah, but it's been so long since I've seen him so lively," Betty said, shaking her head. She turned to the two teenagers. For a moment she said nothing, some silent comprehension befalling her as she smiled at the two. Nigel and Abby felt like they were missing important information, but Betty patted both of their shoulders and said, "Well, I won't keep you. But you're welcome to stay for dinner afterward."

Their stomachs let loose a synchronized grumble, daring them to rebuff Betty's offer. The unspoken challenge would go unheeded as Abby caved and answered, "We wouldn't mind some grub, Mrs. G."

Betty, content there were no arguments to her invitation, playfully shooed them from the bustling kitchen, where the aroma of her herbs and spices lingered in the air. Nigel and Abby exchanged an uneasy glance, a silent acknowledgment of the peculiar atmosphere. Before they could voice their thoughts on Betty's behavior, Tommy, perched on the stairs above, eagerly urged them onward. Nigel ascended the staircase, each step echoing a soft rhythm of anticipation. Abby, trailing a few moments behind, couldn't shake off the growing dread she felt rise from within.

At the top of the stairs, Nigel was greeted by an excited Tommy who took his hand and jerked him down the hall. He allowed it without a fuss, so much on his mind. Only a few feet away was the last of his team, and mystery and concern guided him with equal force.

They reached the door to Hoagie's room, and he once again couldn't help but notice it lacked any creative flair. No Yipper poster, no pun stickers, not even a tongue-in-cheek "no girls allowed" sign. While Nigel was weary of what to expect, the lack of personality or signature charm that alluded to anything "Hoagie" was unsettling. Tommy was going on and on about something, too excited to notice or care about Nigel's apprehension. The fact that Abby stayed and leaned against the railing, the girl far too meek looking for his liking, was definitely not helping.

Instead of being ready to tear off the doorknob to see an old friend, Nigel found himself bracing as if about to cross the threshold of a terrible dungeon.

"I won't sugarcoat it, it's not pretty." Nigel blinked, finally registering Tommy as the child's voice lowered to a somber tone. The younger Gilligan slapped his cheeks, the brave mask of The Tommy hiding away any insecurities of what was about to transpire. "But like Hoagie used to say, sure the book may have an ugly cover, but it's just hiding all the cool comics waiting inside!"

Nigel forced a smile, willing himself to siphon some of Tommy's bravado. He looked at Abby, seeing that she hadn't moved from her position. "Are you coming in too?"

Abby flinched, startled from her little world. She glanced at Nigel and Tommy, eyes darting around. She hesitantly pushed herself from the railing, about to take a shaky step toward them. But a rumble from within Hoagie's room stopped her cold. Nigel's expression dropped as Abby went to lean against the railing again, shaking her head and pushing up her sunglasses to hide whatever her eyes were trying to convey. The boy took a breath, fighting back a grimace as he turned the knob to enter without his friend at his side. The door creaked open, and Nigel had to adjust to the low light to get a feel for his new surroundings.

Tommy followed in after him, but Nigel was too busy judging the state of Hoagie's room. He bit the inside of his cheek. The room, a haven for the young inventor, resembled a chaotic blend of creativity and frustration. Papers scattered like confetti covered every available surface, from the desk to the floor, creating an abstract landscape of failed equations and seemingly useless diagrams. The walls were adorned with sketches and blueprints, some crumpled in frustration, while others clung desperately to their positions, showcasing the remnants of countless failed ideas. The air carried the faint scent of graphite and eraser dust, a testament to the hours spent hunched over the desk in deep contemplation. In one corner, a shelf overflowed with discarded prototypes, a graveyard of inventions that never quite cut it. Wires, gears, and spare parts littered the room, giving it an almost steampunk aesthetic, a glimpse into the lost mind of a young visionary.

Amidst the disorder, there was a peculiar order to the chaos—a method to the madness. Each crumpled paper and misplaced gear told a story of experimentation and perseverance. The room, despite its apparent disorder, held the whispers of a mind constantly at work, navigating the thin line between success and the inevitability of failure. Nigel bent over, picking up a half-finished model airplane. This was once a space where creativity flourished, and the residue of countless attempts lingered in the air, a tangible, yet fading, reminder of the relentless pursuit of innovation.

Finally, Nigel noticed the hunched figure at the desk itself. An older, haggard Hoagie sat under the oppressive light of his work lamp. His back was to Nigel, but the bald boy could tell he was mechanically fidgeting away with something as the scribbles were loud in the silent atmosphere.

Tommy said nothing as Nigel stepped closer, trudging through the field of abandoned paper and scraps.

"Numbuh 2?" Nigel asked cautiously. Steeling himself, he got alongside his friend and gasped. "Hoagie?"

His former wingman gave him no acknowledgment. Hoagie methodically scribbled away at the formula in front of him. His cracked aviator goggles hid the haunted, empty eyes behind him. While still retaining a portly visage, it distressed Nigel to see signs of thinning. Broken mumbles spilled from the boy's mouth, his hand crumpled the paper and tossing it away in favor of another. As he continued working, his agitation waned as he became enthralled in the random assortment of math.

Nigel's hand gingerly reached out but stopped as he got a closer look at his friend. Hoagie's normal casual attire had been replaced with something far too formal. A dark navy blue uniform was glued to his torso, a dull gray badge shining in the light. A red tie clasped so tight around his neck that he could see the bulging skin of Hoagie's neck.

"No," Nigel whispered in horror. He quickly ducked under the desk, inspecting the slacks that stuck to Hoagie's legs and the polished brown dress shoes shackled to his feet. "It can't be…" But the evidence didn't lie. The authoritarian dress code, the hollow look in his eyes, even the stiff body movements that lacked any spirit or ambition. Nigel recognized the cruel fate that befallen his beloved friend, yet he had never witnessed it to such a gruesome degree. "He's been delightfulized."

"It's worse than that," Tommy said, his head low as his fists clenched. "Father delightfulized him but…he did something else too. They didn't tell me a lot, but it's like…it's like whatever happened was eating him away. It wasn't like normal, it just didn't stop…"

Nigel looked back down at his friend, mind blazing with all the terrible possibilities. "But he's not acting like a Delightful. Not even like the Delightful Children. I've…I've never seen this before."

"Neither did the Kids Next Door. They had to decommission him. The science nerds claimed it was the only way to save what little of Hoagie was left," Tommy explained. "But now he barely responds to anything. He hardly eats, hardly sleeps, he's…it's like he's not all there. All he does is sit in his room, trying to solve some problem. He's stuck."

Hoagie grumbled, slowly ripping the paper in front of him and shoving the pieces aside. Nigel flinched as they were deposited onto him, and he picked the shreds from his clothes as Hoagie continued as if nothing had even occurred.

"What do you mean stuck?" Nigel asked, desperately wishing the nightmare before him to stop. "What's the answer to this problem?"

Gathering his nerve, Tommy reached down and started straightening out a discarded equation. He waded through the mess as if in a chest-high swimming pool. He reached over the trash, handing the document over for Nigel to inspect. "I think it's you."

Nigel scrutinized the gibberish before him, trying to make sense of it. A daunting task to be sure, for in Wally's elementary school days, even his handwriting was more legible than what Nigel was currently deciphering. But he pressed on, starting to see a pattern, starting to make out random numbers that weren't as random as they first appeared.

2+3-4=

5-4=

2+4-5=

4-3=

"One," Nigel put together. He lowered the paper, Tommy gazing up at him with hope. "What if it's coincidence?"

"But what if it's not?" Tommy had come too far to give up now. "What if you're the only one who can get through to him? No one else could. Not Kuki, Wally, Abby…not me," he admitted taking off his fedora and holding it to his chest. "You…you just gotta try, Nigel. Please. I just want my big brother back."

Iron-hot resolve fueled Nigel's determined frown. He neatly folded the ruffled paper, depositing it in his pocket. He gave Tommy a stern look, then let loose a confident smirk.

Excitement bubbled in Tommy's veins. That cocky grin, that steadfast march towards his brother…Nigel was the key to bringing Hoagie back to them. He just knew it.

Outside, Abby stared at the ceiling, though her ears were straining to hear the conversation flowing inside. She heard Tommy's plea, then silence. Then, she heard purposeful steps and Nigel clearing his throat. Her grip on the wooden railing turned her knuckles white.

"Hello, Hoagie. It's me, Nigel," he said, acting as if he was casually greeting an old friend. And he was. But when his old friend didn't respond, he ventured closer and opted for a firmer approach. "Come on, Numbuh 2. It's Numbuh 1 speaking. Can't spare a few words for your superior officer?"

The scribbling stopped.

Nigel took Tommy's gasp as a sign to keep pushing. He easily rested his hand on Hoagie's shoulder, smiling a bit when the boy didn't react negatively to his touch. "Sorry it's been a while, old friend. You know how it is, saving the galaxy one kid at a time and all."

Hoagie said nothing. His writing hand went lax and his head craned upwards ever so slowly, staring at the blank sketchboard in front of him.

"I heard about what happened, and I'm sorry I wasn't there," Nigel said, remorse thick and sticky on his tongue. "But I'm here now. We'll get through it together, like we always do, right? Don't tell me you're going to let Father of all people get the last laugh?"

Hoagie gently sat down his pen. He slowly raised his hands looking down at them. His brow twitched, and his neutral expression went into a frown.

Nigel grinned. He knew it. He knew good old Hoagie wouldn't roll over that easy. "Come on, buddy. Morale is down and we could really use some of that Gilligan charm right about now. I bet you could even get a chuckle out of Abby, lord knows she needs it."

"Nnn," Hoagie muttered, a hand going to his temple as he winced. "Nnn—"

"That's it Numbuh 2, fight it."

"Nnn…"

"Come on, man. Fight it. That's an order!"

"Nnn…" Hoagie's body was racked with light tremors, eyes clenched shut behind those fractured goggles. He rested his head down on the table, both hands rubbing circles in his hair, ruffling the neat comb-over. "Nnnuu…!"

Tommy chewed the rim of his hat, daring not to utter a sound. This was a dream, it had to be. In all these past two years no one had provoked such a response from Hoagie. No one had torn him from his obsessive calculating with such ease. Countless nights of praying were about to pay off. The universe was here to collect on the endless offers of his entire mint condition Yipper Card Number 78 for his brother's recovery. His fervent birthday wishes were about to come true before his very eyes.

Outside, Abby's breath hitched as she listened in.

Downstairs, Betty sighed, looking forlornly to the ceiling.

"You can do this, Hoagie," Nigel chanted. His hand had a vice grip on his friend. "Come back to us!"

The tremors ceased and Hoagie's hands went flat against the desk. Nigel tore his hand away, anxiously awaiting a response. Hoagie raised his head from the desk and turned to fully face Nigel. His features were blank, a neutral slate Nigel couldn't comprehend. Time slowed to a standstill as the two boys locked gazes.

Then, Hoagie raised his hand and put it on Nigel's shoulder…

…and firmly pushed the boy out of his space.

"N-Need to focus," Hoagie droned as he went for his pencil. He acquired another piece of paper as he went back to his formulas. "Focus."

Tommy's hands went limp at his sides, his fedora hanging by a thread to his fingers.

"Wha—no!" Nigel panicked. He saw it. He saw Hoagie about to break through, he just had to push! "Don't let him win, Numbuh 2! You have to keep fighting it!"

"Good children focus," Hoagie mumbled, jaw tightening. "Need to focus."

"That's not true, don't fall for it!"

Hoagie's shoulders tensed, his penmanship deteriorating. "You'll make me…lose focus."

"That's good! Stop focusing on this nonsense and remember the good times! Remember the team, the treehouse! Remember Farfigtoobin—"

"I HAVE TO FOCUS!"

Hoagie exploded. His nostrils flared as he pounded his fists against the desk. His hands then slammed against his ears, shielding them from the relentless distracting flickering light of the lamp intensified, casting dark shadows that danced around the room. The scratchy tie around his neck became an unbearable irritant, and the environment, once a backdrop, now pressed in from all sides. Frustration and fear surged, culminating in a guttural cry that pierced the quiet house. The sound echoed off the walls as tears streamed down Hoagie's face as he rocked back and forth in a desperate attempt to find some semblance of control. "Stop distracting me! I have to focus!"

Nigel staggered back, terrified as his mind fumbled with what to do. He was out of his depth and his friend was suffering for it. A soothing hand on his shoulder cut through his panic. He looked up to see Betty, a gentle smile on her face as she ushered Nigel and Tommy towards the door. The boys watched Betty wander to Hoagie with measured steps, then knelt next to him careful not to invade his personal space.

"Hey, Hoagie," she murmured, her voice a gentle breeze, "Is it okay if I sit with you?"

Hoagie, his eyes tightly shut, continued to rock back and forth, seeking solace in the rhythm. Betty sat beside him, maintaining a respectful distance. She spoke softly, weaving her words like a comforting melody. "I'm right here, dear. If you need some space, that's okay. If you want me close, I'm right here beside you."

Hoagie cracked open his eyes for a moment, finding solace in the familiar contours of his mother's face. Betty offered a reassuring smile, understanding the storm raging within her son.

"You're doing good, Hoagie" she continued, her hands reaching to his bed, "Take your time. I've got this cozy blanket here. If you'd like, I can wrap it around you."

With a delicate touch, she draped the soft blanket over Hoagie's shoulders, a gesture of comfort rather than intrusion. The room settled into a serene hush, as Betty remained a steady anchor in her son's turbulent sea. The gentle embrace of understanding and love enveloped them both, creating a haven where Hoagie could navigate through the shock at his own pace. The two sat in silence, Betty remaining even after Hoagie continued with his equations.

Tommy gently shut the door from the other side. He stood there, staring at it quietly.

Nigel looked at the poor boy, a thousand useless apologies and sympathies on his tongue, but he knew none of them would soothe Tommy's suffering. He looked down, seeing that Tommy had dropped his hat after exiting Hoagie's room. The bald boy bent over, picking it up and holding it gently. As he looked at the younger Gilligan, he wondered how much of The Tommy was left now.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out. "Tommy, I—"

Tommy shook off his hand and bolted down the hall. Nigel simply watched and didn't flinch when he heard the slam of a door.

Abby approached Nigel. The two silently mourned in their own ways. Minutes passed before Hoagie's door opened again and they saw Betty exit with a tired, sad look on her face. She let loose a breath and put on a gentle face for the teens.

"Hoagie…has his episodes, sometimes. But it'll be okay," she said softly. At that moment, they appreciated her matronly aura and maturity. It almost made them believe there was a light at the end of this dark tunnel. She noticed the hat in Nigel's hold and carefully took it. "I'm gonna go check on Tommy. Why don't you two go downstairs and freshen up? You're not leaving until you get some food in you."

Betty ventured to Tommy's room, and Abby sighed. Upon noting Nigel's serious expression, she rubbed soothing circles against his back. "You go get some air, spaceman. Abby can take it from here."

With a nod, Nigel slowly descended the stairs, taking the much-needed time to sort his thoughts. Abby turned to Hoagie's door, a cold pit forming in her stomach. Before she realized what her body was doing, her hand turned the knob and she walked inside the dim room.

There he sat, same as always. Ignoring her and scribbling away. Abby walked up to the boy, her tears picking at the corner of her eyes. She went to touch him, but when he shrugged her hand away, she collapsed in the chair Betty previously occupied and let her tears pool in her hands.

---

"Whoa!"

Hoagie leaped up, eyes wide and covered in sweat. He fumbled against the restricting sheets, the fabric coiling tighter the more he struggled. He huffed, puffed, and pushed until his efforts were rewarded with him unceremoniously crashing into the floor.

"Well, that could've gone better," he groaned into the planks. He peeled his face from the wooden floor and studied his surroundings while he rubbed at his cheeks. "Now why am I back in the treehouse?"

The twelve-year-old boy recognized his room in the sector V treehouse; he really should clean up that broken mustard-fueled converter in the corner. He got to his feet, dusted himself off, and kicked his sheets off his foot before doing a roundabout of his quarters. Everything looked the same, his race-car workbench coated with half-finished designs for a taffy-grappling hook, and his personal insta-warming chili-dog oven's standby light was blinking. He stopped at the mirror, taking in his portly image. His eyes locked with his reflection, and a quick flick of the finger accompanied by a self-satisfied smirk completed his little ritual of swagger. However, he found his smirk replaced with a frown as he noted something off. There were no wrinkles in his sky-blue shirt, his fly wasn't down, and his sneakers were perfectly tied. What gives? His eyes ventured upward, and he found himself staring at the center of his aviator cap. It was blank, but he felt like there should be something there. Like a symbol or something?

"Meh, probably just overthinking it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He began scratching under his cap, realizing that his memory seemed a tad foggier than normal. "Did I hit the sauce last night? Man, and I finally just hit two years dry."

He shook his head, tempting thoughts of chocolate sauce screeching to a halt. No time for all that. He headed out of his room and ventured down the hall, walking under the archway leading to his boisterous blond best buddy.

"Hey, Numbuh 4, you remember what happened last night?" Hoagie asked as he entered Wally's room. "'Cause I am drawing blanks and…Numbuh 4?" Silence answered and Hoagie peered around to note the room was barren and empty. No sign of activity or a short Australian were to be seen.

"Um, ok?" Hoagie said, a bit unnerved as he backstepped into the hall. He frowned. Maybe Wally was playing video games in the lounge? The confused pilot hustled further into the treehouse, hoping to find answers somewhere.

"Yo, Numbuh 3? You seen Numbuh 4?" Hoagie asked as he entered Kuki's room next. He grumbled as he was met with a similar silence and the absence of another teammate. Hoagie went to the mountain of dolls and plushies, digging his way to the center to find that sweet grinning face he could really use right about now. "Numbuh 3? Come on, not you too!"

He spent a good few minutes searching for the elusive Sanban to no avail. She didn't even respond to his bribes of buying her that new rainbow monkey she was gushing over the other day. That was weird.

No, not weird; unsettling. Everything about this was starting to give him the creeps. Seeing no point in continuing, Hoagie rushed from Kuki's room to the next one.

"Abby? Please tell me you've seen Kuki and Wally because I can't find them anywhere—and of course, you're not here either," Hoagie finished lamely as he burst into Abby's room only to not find a trace of her. "Shoulda seen that one coming."

A few minutes later, Hoagie ambling had found himself at the entrance of his sector leader's quarters. He frowned, hands going to his hips as he noted the closed door. Numbuh One always preferred his privacy. Hoagie considered peeking inside but scoffed and decided it was pointless. If he hadn't found the other three in their rooms, why would his leader be home?

"Eh, besides, why would Numbuh 1 be here anyway? Heh, he up and left a while ago to…to…" Hoagie blinked, a headache coming on as he tried to remember his old bald friend.

Flashes of distorted memories played across his mind's eye. One of himself handing off something—a backpack of stuff?—to Nigel while both of them cried. Why were they crying? And why wouldn't Nigel be at the treehouse? It was one of the places he could always count on Nigel being. Wasn't it?

"Alright, fellas, this is getting weird. What's going on?" Hoagie called out as he continued to explore the much too quiet treehouse. His voice echoed off the walls and he found it just a tad bit too creepy. Where was everybody? It was like they were hiding from him or something—

Hoagie chuckled as he smacked his forehead. "Oh, I get it. Nice one guys. Numbuh 3 put you all up to one of her crazy games of hide-n-seek and you made me the seeker. That's gotta be it." He reached into his back pocket, flicking out a detective's fedora and placing it snuggly over his head. "Well, sad to say, you guys aren't gonna be pullin' a fast one on old Super Sleuth Numbuh…! O-On Numbuh…"

Panic rose like puke as gripped at the straps of his cap. What in the name of gum was going on? Why couldn't he remember his codename!? He had to have hit the chocolate sauce full throttle for his brain to be this gunked up. He sprinted back down the hall to his room. All the other rooms had the guys' codename marking the way. Yeah, all he had to do was go back to his room, look at his door, and it all would come back to him faster than a—

The signage on his door was blank.

"Okay, that is the last straw!" Hoagie said with a stomp of his foot. His face contorted. So he could remember his name, but not his codename? Peachy. He growled, reaching in his pocket for a magnifying glass too, and decided to get to work. "I don't know what's going on here, but I will get to the bottom of it. Or my name isn't Hoagie P. Gilligan; at least I can remember that much."

Hoagie spent the next little while pouring over the base for clues. Despite his best efforts, he came up with zilch. Nada. Not a trace of his chums nor what fate befell them. Abby, Kuki, and Wally's rooms were bare, and the door to Nigel's quarters was sealed tighter than Fort Knox. It was like they all abandoned ship and left him out to dry. So caught up in his musings, he yelped as he walked face-first into the wall.

"Hey!" he fussed at no one in particular. He grumbled, sizing up the wall he was certain shouldn't be there. "What, did I remodel the treehouse while I blacked out too?" He squinted his gaze, plucking a splinter of the wall and analyzing it. "Wait, this is willow wood. Our treehouse isn't made of…"

The questions kept piling up as Hoagie did an about-face, finding himself in a new hallway that was not indicative of any floor design of sector V's base. He ambled down the corridor, puzzled to find medical equipment and insignia with every new turn he took.

"I've got a funny feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," he weakly chuckled, trying to crack a joke to disarm his creeping paranoia. It wasn't doing the trick. The more he looked around the more it was obvious he wasn't on home turf anymore and wound up somewhere completely different. But the medical equipment, the willow leaves, and the hospital-focused 2x4 tech caused him to believe there was only one location he could be.

"How in the heck did I end up at the Medical Boo-Boo Grove?" It was one thing to take a wrong turn and end up in the hamster generator room, it was another thing entirely to end up at one of the most secret KND bases known to kid-kind. Pulses of pain brought him to his knees. Hoagie held his head in his hand, assaulted by an overload of senses: the oppressive heat in the air, the smoke clogging his lungs, the screams of terrified children, and the overwhelming urge to move it because Kuki would be dead meat if he didn't—

Wait, Kuki?

"Get in there and extract Numbuh 3 before it's too late!"

"I-I was here," Hoagie hissed through the headache. The chaos and a faint voice that sounded frighteningly like Abby's blew away some of the fog. It was here he was meant to be, not home. They responded to a distress call from the Medical Grove. Father was attacking. He had to drop what he was doing and save—"

He gasped as he broke into a wild sprint.

"Kuki! I'm coming!" He had to get to Numbuh Three. She'd gone back for the hamsters, but Father followed her and he had lost it. Hoagie jumped into the night, the fire only slightly subdued by the sudden storm. The water pelted his skin. So much rain. Not enough visibility. But the target was in sight. All he had to do was focus—FOCUS—on that. She would die if he didn't get his butt in gear.

Hoagie vaulted over a wall of flame, coming up to see his dear friend take the brunt of an attack. Kuki went down, fire flickering across her armor as a shadowy figure loomed over her. He hit the floor running, fueled by protective rage as he barreled straight towards Father.

"Get away from her!"

The world blurred, his field of vision distorting as he crashed into darkness, then rolled into a sloppy heap. Hoagie snapped up, a bit dizzy from the vertigo. He frantically reached out for Kuki, only to come into contact with a carpeted rug and even more questions. The scene had shifted again. The fiery discord of the Medical Grove was replaced was the eerie quiet of the Delightful Manor.

Fists pounded into the carpet, Hoagie needing a more primal way to vent his frustration. Nothing made sense. One moment he was at the treehouse, alone and not even remembering his codename, then he was spirited to the Medical Grove running through flaming hell to save his friend, now he was in the lion's den, Father's house of horrors of all places.

He was quitting the sauce cold turkey once he got out of there.

The ominous creak of a door tore him from his thoughts. They opened to reveal a private study, the low crackling of a fireplace burning beyond their threshold. Hoagie gulped but gathered the last of his resolve to march forward. His friends were still missing and he had to find them. They needed him. Hoagie walked into the study, half-expecting the door to slam shut behind him. The armchair was empty, the window curtains were drawn, and the silhouette of Father stood silent in front of the hearth. The man's back faced the boy, and Hoagie wasn't even sure if he noted his presence yet.

The boy's eyes darted around, suddenly painfully aware of how unarmed he was. An old-timey knight statue looked promising, and he carefully reached up to grab its mace before hoisting it threateningly at Father's backside.

"Ok, Father," Hoagie broke the quiet of the study, voice shaking with fear. Remembering the four faces waiting on him, he pushed it all down and took a brave step forward. "You got until the count of three to tell me where my friends are, or else I'm gonna go all medieval on your butt!"

Not peep out of Father. The adult stood calmly, his hands folded behind his back. The silence only emboldened Hoagie, the child tightening his grip around the mace.

"I'm not kidding," Hoagie said, voice low and teeth fixed into a snarl, "One."

Father didn't react.

"Two!"

Father was quiet.

" …two and a half!"

Silence.

"…two and three quarters—"

Father exploded.

Literally.

BWWWOOOOOOOOOOOSSH!

The recoil sent Hoagie slamming into the wall. He swiftly brushed away the embers on his shirt and looked up aghast as the spot Father once occupied was a smoldering black mark on the floor. Ever so slowly, Hoagie got to his feet and tip-toed over. As he reached the edge of the singed rug, his finger loosened his collar as he confirmed that, yep, Father had just spontaneously combusted right before his eyes.

That was a new one. "Uh, I guess that takes care of that?" he said, not sure what to make of this. After a moment, he shrugged and went to place the mace back in his holster, missing how the shadows of the room coiled around the scorch.

Hoagie lowered his hand, glaring at the knightly display as if it were to blame. The tips of his fingers massaged his temples. Snapshots of memory and information were there, but they were all jumbled. He remembered the treehouse, the medical grove, and other random assortments, but nothing was painting a full picture. It was like someone took a brain-scrambler and just went to town inside his head.

"C'mon, Hoagie, your friends need you. You gotta think," he said to himself, not noticing the new figure forming and stalking up from behind. "You just gotta—"

"Focus."

In the recesses of his impressionable mind, a relentless mantra echoed an insidious symphony that etched its commandments upon the canvas of his consciousness.

"Focus," it whispered, a demand veiled as a soothing melody, threaded through the labyrinth of neural pathways. This singular word, an omnipresent beacon, forged an unyielding tether between himself and the expectations of a society woven tight with conformity. Hoagie groaned, swaying as if he was ill.

"Focus." Every synaptic connection resonated with the rhythmic chant, each repetition reinforcing the paramount virtue of adherence. He shook his head. No, that wasn't right.

"Focus on obedience, concentrate on the prescribed path," the mental chorus murmured, an invisible shackle forging an unbreakable connection between his psyche and the stringent dictates of a world devoid of dissent. In the pursuit of compliance, he would become a silent vessel, molded by the relentless insistence of the word that encapsulated their every thought – "Focus."

Hoagie managed to open his eyes. The last utterance of the word did not come from within. It came from behind him. He turned around, and pure terror stole his scream as he bore witness to his new nightmare.

"Be seen, not heard," was the venomous whisper from the mouth of himself. Or rather, the mouth of the evil shadow that stole his face. A twisted mirror of himself looking back with soulless eyes dressed in an oppressively delightful uniform.

"Focus on the silence of compliance," it said, entwined with the ever-present chant echoed through the corridors of Hoagie's thoughts. The benign call for focus evolved into a malevolent force, a relentless dictator demanding the suppression of individuality. "Focus on conformity," it decreed. With every step the entity took towards him, Hoagie felt his identity being systematically erased, replaced by the hollow echoes of adult admonishments. "Focus on being…delightful."

A terrified scream erupted from Hoagie as he bolted to the door. He leaped through just as it closed and continued to flee. He had to put as much distance between him and that thing as humanly possible.

Hoagie ran through the maze of the Delightful Manor, every twist and turn more treacherous than the last. Each haggard breath burned in his chest, but he kept pushing on. He kicked down a door, hoping for an exit. Instead, he was greeted by two more deligtfulized shadows of himself as he yelped and backpedaled away.

"Resistance is useless. Your struggles are unruly." The sinister metamorphosis continued; the mantra now a weaponized tool, an agent of mental subjugation. It urged as they hunted him, extinguishing the flickers of rebellion that dared to spark within. "Give up on futile ambition. Focus on the inevitability of your submission."

"No thanks! Rather focus on getting the heck outta here!" Hoagie yelled, panic fueling his every move as he erratically barreled through every door. But with each new passage, he only found more of them. More of these delightful reflections reaching to grab. He ducked, weaved, dodged, but it was getting harder to avoid them. Harder to fight back. He just needed to find a way out.

Any way out.

Like a beacon on the foggy coastline, Hoagie wandered into the entry foyer and he nearly laughed in joy. One hop and a skip, and he was home free. His friends may still be missing, but he had a much better chance at rescuing them if he could get back to—

Wait—his friends!

"—We'll get through it together, like we always do, right?"

Hoagie's hand froze mid-turn of the doorknob. He looked to the source of the voice, it faintly emerging from the dark hallway to the left. Everything in him was screaming to forget. To just turn the knob and accept what was coming. The other side of the door promised the end. It guaranteed release from it all.

But that voice…

It couldn't be him, could it? He was gone. Gone and was never coming back.

"That's it Numbuh-, fight it."

"It can't be," Hoagie whispered. His hand shook against the knob, his fear itching to take control. But he couldn't give in. Not when he needed to know. "N-Numbuh 1?"

"Come on, man. Fight it," the faint voice of Nigel called, the urgency in his voice bordering on desperation. "That's an order!"

Hoagie narrowed his eyes. He tore his hand from the knob and charged back into the thick of it.

"I'm coming, chief!"

But the mantra returned. The force of its voice was nearly crippling. Hoagie stumbled, almost falling but he caught himself. He couldn't give up if Nigel was here. Not when his friend needed him to keep fighting. He entered another hallway, two knight displays at his sides. At the other end was a door left ajar, a light breaking through the cracks.

Hoagie took a step forward, then meekly ducked behind a statue as a mass of shadows appeared.

"Children should be seen, not heard," they spoke in unison as they approached to devour him. "Turn back and give up. Submit and do as your elders say. Forget these needless attachments and focus on being delightful."

His body was wracked with terror, no idea of his next move. But the light of the door glimmered against something from above. He looked up to see one of Father's many chandeliers, The boy then looked to his left, noticing a sword grasped in the knight statue's hand. Smirking, he unsheathed the blade.

"You guys wanna focus?" he taunted as he chucked the sword in arch upward. "Then focus on THIS!"

Hoagie darted forward as they stopped. The chandelier came dropping down, crushing the shadows with a crash as he flipped over the chaos. He turned around to stick his tongue out at his fallen delightful clones as he kicked down the door.

"Nigel! I'm here, buddy!" Hoagie said as he ran into the room. "Come on, we need to find the others and…what?"

The room was not of the Delightful Manor. No, this room was his own. His room back home, or at least a messier variant of it. Paper littered the floor, dust gathered on some of his old airplane models, and his bed was a disaster area. And was that an uneaten chili dog? What monster would leave such a treasure untouched?

But all that couldn't hold a candle to what was going on at his desk. There was a figure hunched over, covered in the blanket mindlessly penning away. Seating beside the figure was a girl, head in her arms on the desk as she quietly sobbed.

"No way," Hoagie murmured as he walked closer. Under the light of the desk, he gasped. She was older to be sure, but there was no mistaking those frizzy locks and that stricken expression he vowed to never let cross her pretty face. "Abby?"

The older, teenaged version of his dear friend cried into her arms, sobs muffled but the fabric of her blue jacket. Teenager or not, Hoagie went to comfort her with a gentle hand, but his eyes widened as it phased through it as if he were some ghost.

"I'm sorry, Hoagie," Abby said. She lifted her face, using the sleeve of her jacket to wipe away tears. Hoagie was ecstatic. At least she could see him! But his elation morphed into confusion as she didn't even spare him a glance. She just looked forlornly at the miserable figure writing away. "Didn't wanna let him see you like this, but you know how he is."

"Abby, I'm right here!" Hoagie shouted, trying to get her attention. There was no reaction, and he groaned. He looked over to the figure at the desk, only to stutter in shock as he finally recognized an older him. "What kinda B movie horror flick is this!?"

"I…better go now." Hoagie turned his attention to Abby who slowly rose. Her eyes shone with more tears and he could tell it was a struggle and a half for her to not let them fall. "He deserves to know what happened to you. How…how Abby couldn't save you."

"Save me? Abby stop talking crazy," Hoagie said, only to flinch as she walked right through him. "W-Wait just a minute!"

The furious pencil strokes behind him made him turn. His older, pathetic-looking self just sat there as if nothing happened. Not a care in the world as the most important girl in his life was walking out the door.

Hoagie furrowed his brows together, and rolled up his sleeves as he marched over to the teenager.

"Hey! You! Ya just gonna sit there and ignore her?" he yelled at himself. The older him ignored him. Something snapped inside of him, and he pulled his fist back. "Why won't you do something!?"

A hand latched onto his wrist.

"He is focusing." Hoagie's face went stark white as the delightful shadows gathered around him. "And you will too."

"GET OFF OF ME!" Hoagie struggled, but for each hand he slapped away, two more took its place. He fought against the encroaching shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. The room seemed to darken even further as the shadows intensified, wrapping around him like cold, unseen tendrils. Desperation fueled his struggle, but the shadows only tightened their grip.

"Focus on the silence of compliance," they repeated, extinguishing the flickers of rebellion that dared to spark within him. Hoagie felt shackles ensnare him, becoming a mere specter of his former self, a vessel drained of autonomy, all semblance of free will consumed by the relentless indoctrination. "Focus on being delightful."

As he grappled with the malevolent force, he cast a frantic glance back at his older self, still hunched over the desk, scribbling away in a frenzy. The older Hoagie remained oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him, absorbed entirely in whatever had his focus.

"Abby!" Hoagie called out, hoping against hope that somehow she could hear him. "I-I can't—"

"I'm so sorry, Hoagie."

Her voice silenced him and time seemed to slow. His own struggles and peril ebbed away as he looked at Abby. She was at the door, one foot in and one out. The look on her face broke his heart. The Abby he knew was confident, always easy with a smile, and a warm lure to those close to her. What he saw now was a scared shell of that girl he used to know.

It broke his heart.

"I couldn't save you. Couldn't save any of you. But…but I'm gonna try and make it right, even if it means I won't be coming back," she continued. "But, maybe it's better that way."

A cold, sickening dread gripped his being at her words. The imminent danger enveloping him was insignificant to the fear for Abby that tore through him. "Don't…don't talk like that. We're—we're a team! Where you go, I go!"

"Hoagie, I…" she started, trailing off as her hand reached for him. His heart skipped a beat, her unspoken words ringing loud and clear.

She flinched, jerking her hand away and he wanted nothing more than to grab it and never let it go.

"Goodbye."

Abby left, the door disappearing along with her. Hoagie's eyes bored where the girl used to be, numb to everything but the hurt and pain evident in Abby's last gaze.

The grip of the shadows tightened, reminding him of his predicament.

"Focus on being delightful."

Instead of fear for his own life, righteous anger took over as he fought back against the mantra.

"Let. Me. Go!" he seethed, fighting tooth and nail. His fist connected with shadows, his head butted against the dark, and his feet shoved back the onslaught of despair. "She needs me!"

But the shadows would not relent, and his vision blurred as it became darker and darker. Still, despite it all, he could only think of them.

Nigel.

Kuki.

Wally.

Abby.

"Abby needs me," he struggled a hand pulling back on his head and dragging him to the depths. "My friends need me!"

"Focus on being delightful."

Hoagie thought not of himself, but only of those four faces, as his soul faded away.

My friends need me…

---

Across the street, a lone little girl probably no older than seven sat in a playground sandpit. She laughed, consulting her crimson, well-loved rainbow monkey about the design of her final sand castle.

Nigel sighed as he watched her. He sat on the steps of the Gilligan's porch and the girl's antics just reminded him of simpler times. Simpler times when a problem could be solved but kicking Count Spankulot's butt, or swiping contraband root beer for a birthday party at Lime Ricky's. Times where no matter what life threw at him, he could bounce back and find another way, another angle to win in the end. Kids were neigh invincible unless you told them otherwise.

As he watched the girl play, he realized he just simply missed youth. Growing old just made him see perhaps he was never invincible in the first place.

"Are you okay, dear?"

Nigel turned to see Betty Gilligan offering him a comforting smile. He tried to return it but was doing a miserable job if her expression was anything to go by. "I'm okay, Mrs. Gilligan."

"Oh, now don't go turning into a liar on me, mister," she said with a playful wag of her finger. She came to sit beside him. "Keeping all those feelings bottled up ain't doing us any favors. Hoagie certainly wouldn't want you being so down."

At the mention of the boy, Nigel frowned. "I guess I wasn't prepared for how bad it was."

"We're just going through a tough time right now," she said softly, rubbing his shoulder. "But nothing is forever, Nigel. Everything passes, even the bad times."

"Doesn't feel like it," he mumbled, hiking up his knees and burying his head in his arms. "Seems like the only constant is how much life sucks."

"Yes, things may suck right now but don't miss the forest for the trees. You'll never see a way out with that attitude," she said. "You and poor Abby. I hate how unfair things are for you right now. You're just kids."

Nigel grumbled. "I'm not a kid, I'm a teenager. Practically an adult."

Betty only laughed. "Oh, no. You most certainly are still a kid, Nigel. And I mean that in the best way, dear. In times like these, you gotta have hope." She gently prodded at his chest, close to his heart. "And sometimes hope is all kids have left to hold onto."

Nigel mused her words, then looked up earnestly. "Then how do you do it? How do you still have hope despite everything that happened with Hoagie?"

Betty was quiet for a moment, her smile more subdued as she looked at the playground. "I sometimes ask myself the same question. Some days…they're harder than others. But then I turn to that little girl inside of me and she says, 'You gotta keep going, you can do it.' And gosh, if she can believe in me, then there ain't no reason I can't either. Sometimes it's good to rely on your inner child. Well, except during tax season…"

Nigel was quiet, staring off into space. Betty halted his dissociation by wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in a gentle hug. This kind of warm embrace…

Suddenly, Nigel became all too aware of how he missed his mom.

"But sometimes that inner child isn't mine. Sometimes it's my little Hoagie. And no matter what tomorrow brings, he'll always be my Hoagie. He'd never want me to give up on myself," Betty said. "And he wouldn't want you to give up either."

Nigel sniffed and Betty simply gave him all the time he needed until he gently pulled away. "It's just…hard, you know?"

"Of course I do. But I believe you'll see this mission through. You always do," Betty reaffirmed as she stood up. She noticed movement near the door and decided it was best to excuse herself. "Oh, would you look that, I nearly forgot to take the meatloaf out. I better see you and Abby inside soon, you hear?"

Nigel didn't have time to process her words before she wandered back inside, Abby passing her on the way in. The girl looked at the retreating Gilligan, brow quirked before she settled in beside Nigel. She looked at the bald boy, curious at his perplexed gaze. "Penny for your thoughts, spaceman?"

"Uh, about Mrs. Gilligan: do you know if she ever…" Nigel trailed off, repeating Betty's words back to himself. Any epiphany he was on the verge of puttered out as he shrug it off. "Never mind. Hoagie's mom was always an odd one."

"Umm hmm, preaching to the choir there," Abby said with a nod. "Gotta be crazy to let Abby anywhere near him after…what happened."

The somberness capping off her statement reminded both operatives of the elephant in the room. Or at least the one upstairs formulating away. Nigel said nothing, opting to let Abby speak when she was ready. She gave her word she would tell him everything, and he was fine to wait for her to make good on it. Thankfully, his patience would be rewarded as she cleared her throat and steadied her voice.

"It was a little over a year after you left," she started as Nigel gave her his undivided attention. "By that time the team had been split up, but we kept in touch. Well, tried to when we could. Was hard with Abby being Supreme Leader, and the others busy with their new jobs."

"New jobs? Why did the team split up?"

"Wasn't exactly our choice," Abby said, a clip to her voice as she recalled the day her sector had been disbanded. "Ya can thank Numbuh 362 for that one. Gave 'em all fancy 'promotions' to the Deep Sea Research Lab, the Arctic Base, and even the Medical Grove. All while Abby was visiting her brother for the holidays."

Nigel winced at being confronted with another one of Rachel's less-than-stellar decisions. "You should've been well within your rights to call a code: TAKE-BACKSIES. A sector can't just be up and reassigned with the leader in the dark about it."

"Yeah, see, I tried that, "Abby said dryly. "But you'd be surprised how little that matters when your Supreme Leader TAGs you, then stuffs ya in a broom closet."

"She did what?"

"Yeah, don't know how else to spell it out for ya, boss, but I don't think your girlfriend took you ditching her to go play in space all that well."

"She wasn't my girlfriend at the time," Nigel said with a roll of his eyes. After Lizzie dumped him, he was certainly in no proper state of mind for a new relationship. His look softened, recalling how Rachel tried to extend an olive branch of friendship afterward, and how he ignored it, deciding to busy himself with work. His eyes then widened at his poor wording and he snapped at Abby as his cheeks pinked a bit. "And she's most certainly not my girlfriend now!"

Abby raised a brow. "Y'all were getting awful touchy-feely 'fore Abby showed up, least according to that SCAMPER footage she failed to scrub."

"Y-You as a fellow teenager should understand that hormones are a big thing for us right now, and s-sometimes feelings get complicated after surviving a riot so—"

"We should really stop talking about this."

"Yeah, fair enough," Nigel mumbled into his fist, beyond embarrassed. He forced a cough and schooled his features. "Anyway, sorry to hear she did that. I never imagined she could be so…petty."

Abby's fists clenched as a shiver of rage tore through her. "Wanna know the worst part? She was right. The team did so much good when she forced us outta our comfort zone. Numbuh 2's research pushed our 2x4 tech out of its rut, Numbuh 4's whooped the new cadets into shape so much that his last graduating class are either sector leaders or working in Moonbase operations, and making Numbuh 3 Head Nurse at the Grove brought so much warmth and joy to that place… The KND was in a good place with them in charge."

Nigel noted how Abby didn't seem to include herself in the accolades she went over, but decided to remain silent. He wrung his hands together, the benevolent results of Rachel's decisions contrasting heavily with her harsh implementation. "Do you…do you think she still cared? At least, back then."

"Had a messed up way of showing it," Abby hissed. She shut her eyes and shook her head. "Sorry. Don't really wanna talk about it." Nigel opened his mouth but Abby shut him up with a finger. "And don't apologize. It's not your fault. She made her choices. Not you."

Nigel opted not to argue as Abby's hand retreated. He decided it was best to table Rachel-talk for now and get back to the main topic at hand. Though, he wasn't sure how that would be much better. "So, what happened next?"

"Everything…kinda went back to normal once we all adjusted. Was a lot harder to just chill off-duty, but we tried to make it work. For a while, things were lookin' pretty good." Abby tensed. "Until the day Father showed up at the Medical Boo-Boo Grove with a whole army of adults behind him."

Nigel reeled as if slapped. "How did he find the medical grove? It's one of our most secret bases—why did he even mount an attack? There's nothing there of strategic value to adults. It's supposed to be a haven for seriously injured operatives and runaway kids!"

"To this day we still don't know how he found it. The new grove is a rotating base now to ensure it never happens again. As for why he did it," Abby said, her voice trailing off like a parent deciding the best way to break a hard truth to a child. "He was lookin' for you."

"Me?"

"After that last cake fiasco and you making off with his pipe, he was furious. Wasn't like the old times, the back-and-forth where we whooped his ass, he'd just go mope, then make a big show of getting back at us later: to him, you up and vanished and there was nothing he could do about it." Abby explained. "You made a fool of him, got off scot-free, and it made him the laughing stock of the Villain News Network for an entire month. You ruined his reputation, and no one took him seriously anymore."

Nigel growled. "He always was a sore loser."

Abby said nothing for a moment. Then she inhaled before saying, "Out of nowhere, we got a class F code: WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE from the Boo-Boo Grove. Never got one from there before. I called all hands on deck and even postponed Fanny's decommissioning cause she was helping whether we let her or not. When we got there, Father had the whole place surrounded. Told me either to give you up, or things were going to get ugly." Abby hid her face in her hands. "I told him to stick it where the sun don't shine."

There was no humor or levity as she started shaking. Nigel gently put his hand on her shoulder.

"…then he called my bluff," Abby whispered, "and started burning down everything."

The dread Nigel felt from within made him go numb. The Medical Boo-Boo Grove was special among KND bases. It was a hidden sanctuary for severely hurt operatives, the last resort before making the tough call to send them to an adult hospital. It was a safe place for runaway, abused children, and a base that even among super villains was considered "off limits". Only the lowest of the low would even think about trying to attack a place full of defenseless children.

Nigel nearly punched a hole through the floor. Sounded just right up Father's alley, the more he thought about it.

"It was terrible," Abby continued. "That place isn't designed for combat. We were all running around just trying to get kids out alive, but Father just wouldn't let up."

"What about the other adults?"

"Half of 'em tried stealing what wasn't nailed down, the other half wussed out and retreated, wanting nothing to do with it," Abby said. She then let out a bitter laugh. "But a couple of 'em…the Toiletnator, Professor Triple Extra Large, Mr. Boss…guess they decided they weren't complete jerks and helped us out."

Abby's arms folded around herself protectively. She became only faintly aware of Nigel's presence next to her. "I was fighting off Sir Toasty so sector W could evacuate the last of the cadets. Then I got a call that Kuki went back for the hamsters and was still trapped inside. Father followed her." Her eyes scanned the fading sunlight of the horizon but winced. The lingering embers of the sun burnt just like the fires of that night. "I-I was too far away. Wally was pinned down. Hoagie…he was the closest but he barely had anything on him. But Kuki…" Abby clenched her eyes shut, the screams echoing in her mind as she shrunk in on herself. "Hoagie was barely armed but I ordered him in anyway. And when I got there…it was too late."

"Abby, you know in an impossible situation there's hardly ever a right call to make," Nigel interrupted, not willing to lose his friend to despair. "Hoagie knew the risks and would've gone anyway. It's not your—"

"It is my fault," Abby cried, shaking as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I provoked Father by opening my fat mouth, I had to rely on adults of all people to save my kids when I couldn't, and I ordered Hoagie to go in there knowing he didn't stand a chance. Everything that went wrong that day is all on me. Me."

Nigel pulled her into a hug, the girl slowly easing herself into the embrace. Nigel closed his eyes, fighting back his own tears as he held her close. "You're not being fair to yourself."

"Does it matter?" she said, voice trembling. "We tried everything, but nothing could stop it. It was like watching him turn into a Senior Citi-Zombie but slower and he kept screaming. We'd never seen delightfulization that bad. All we could do to stop it from taking over completely was decommission him, and you saw how that turned out."

They pulled away from each other, and Nigel took her hand, refusing to break contact. Abby half-heartedly squeezed their fingers together, but still let loose a shaky sigh as she collected herself.

"He's gone, Nigel," she finally said. "And it's all my fault."

Nigel narrowed his gaze and silence coated them like a shroud. The dying sunlight barely provided any warmth as he was faced with the cold reality that one of his best friends was forever out of reach and the other was blaming herself for it.

"If it's anyone's fault, it's mine," Nigel said. "Father was looking for me. You all got hurt protecting me. I should've been there."

"Ya think I was just gonna sell you out?" Abby asked. "That was never gonna happen, man. We'd all sooner die than hand you over to him willingly."

"And I'd sooner die than let my team suffer for me," Nigel said, standing as he took his hand from Abby. That same hand clenched with purpose. "No. I'm not accepting this. I'm not giving up on Hoagie."

"Nigel, we tried everything."

"But you didn't see what I saw!" he said turning to pull her up. "He's still in there, Abby. He's still fighting! He was nearly there, I just know he was. When the chips were down, Hoagie was never one to fold in the face of the impossible. He'd never let us live it down if we just rolled over and let Father win!"

It had been a long time since she had been so vulnerable around Nigel, and even longer still since she heard the vigorous determination fueling one of his "do-or-die" motivational speeches. He spoke just like that kid who refused to back down once the Delightfuls made him bald. He sounded just like that boy who believed in Numbuh Zero when the entire world said he was chasing after fairy tales. The spark of conviction flickering in his gaze was so bright, that she was afraid to admit that something…something was trying to ignite within her as well.

That sinister voice kept trying to douse the budding flame, but just being in the presence of her old leader was just enough to mute it out. "How can you be so sure this time will be different?"

"I…have hope it will," he finally admitted, a slightly goofy smile in place. "Because sometimes, that's all we kids have left to hold on to."

Abby blinked. There was a long stretch of silence before her lips started twitching. She bit her cheek as snorts threatened to burst forth. Finally, the girl doubled over, laughter escaping from deep within as tears of relief broke behind the dam of her eyes.

"Who you tryin' to fool, man?" she laughed between breaths, giving the boy a playful slug to the arm. "You jacked that crud right off Mrs. Gilligan not even five minutes ago!"

"Well, maybe she has a point?" Nigel weakly rebutted, but honestly, he was just happy to see Abby warming back up to her old self. Despite it, he chuckled himself. "If she of all people still listens to her inner kid, then why can't we?"

"What the heck, if you got any ideas, then lay 'em on me, baby," Abby said, easing back down onto the steps, resting on her back to allow herself a view of the sky. She allowed herself a secret smile. "Ya gonna pull a Kuki and get your answers from the stars?"

Nigel followed Abby's gaze, half enjoying the pleasant view above them and half thinking of some means to get through to their friend upstairs. After a moment of looking, he smirked as he confidently folded his hands behind his back. "That's not a bad idea."

"Ya lost me, spaceman."

"I've been all across the galaxy, Abby; met people you didn't think existed and seen technology indistinguishable from magic," he said. "I'm even friends with a giant cat alien and an operative who can read minds! Surely, there's something out there that can help Hoagie."

Abby straightened, staring at the boy seriously. "I don't know, man. We asked Numbuh 74.239 for help, and he wasn't even sure he could cure Hoagie, even if he had spare re-commissioning tech."

"Well, he hasn't been off Earth in a long time, besides, we know he probably had ulterior motives, even before all this mess," Nigel argued. He then slammed his fists together. "But I only have one motive: helping Hoagie. I'm not going to stop until I've brought him back. I'm down here to cover the Important Ones' butts; they'll owe me."

"Don't know if they'll see it that way."

"Oh please," he said, hamming up his suaveness with a twist of his wrist. "I've been on auto-pilot these past few years, it's about time I push back against top-brass and remind them who they're dealing with."

Abby rolled her eyes but still smirked along with him. "Just like the good old days, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it; I can be quite the squeaky-wheel. Heck, it'll be nothing compared to all the times I had to butt heads with Rachel to get her to see that—"

His sentence died and his posture went rigid as words left his mouth without thinking. Abby could only look on sympathetically. "C'mon, talk to Abby."

Nigel slowly sat down beside her, a slump to his figure. "Guess I got so ahead of myself I almost forgot what I have to do before I can even get the Important Ones to help me."

Abby looked ahead across the road, cars slowly passing by.

"She was…a good friend," Nigel said, wistfully thinking back to the girl in an orange tiger-striped sweater. "Always there for a cookie break, send me on bogus 'scouting' missions to Hap-Happy Land when I worked myself too hard, even gave me slaps on the wrist when any other operative would be sent on lunar latrine duty. I respected her so much, she wasn't like any other leader I had. Protecting the KND and kids everywhere was always a top priority, even above herself. I can't believe she would ever let it come to this."

Abby could only nod, pushing her feelings about the blonde aside to comfort her ailing partner. "Was the same for Abby when Cree betrayed us. She was everything Abby wanted to be, and she just…threw it all away. It didn't make any sense. Still don't."

"Do you think Cree ever regretted it?"

"Maybe? She tried…talking when she thought I was decommissioned, but Abby never let her. Now she's at college, away from it all. Probably for the best. Better tryin' than to figure out if she was honestly sorry, or was just tryin' to worm back in 'cause she thought Abby forgot all the terrible things she did." She buried her head in her arms as some streetlights started to flicker on. "It's hard tryin' to guess what goes on in the heads of people you care about."

"Guess there's something to that," Nigel muttered. "I…still care, even if Rachel doesn't."

"It don't change the fact we gotta stop her, or the whole world's gonna pay for it," Abby said, a serious tone entering her voice. "It's not a matter of if we face her again, it's when. And when the time comes, if you can't talk her down, you think you can do what needs to be done?"

Nigel was quiet. He then took a slow breath. He wanted to say yes. Yes, he could and save the day like always. But then the image of a short bald kid would pop up, staring him down behind sunglasses.

You made a promise. A promise to keep kids safe everywhere. Give up your childhood so they can keep theirs. But you're changing. You're getting older. Are you ready to walk down the other path? Are you ready to grow up?

For his part, Nigel was silent. The short kid was still waiting for an answer he didn't have.

"I don't know," he said, voice tapering off as he looked at his shoes, almost ashamed.

A playful nudge freed him was his reverie.

"Then it's a good thing Numbuh 5 ain't letting ya do it alone this time," she said with a smirk and a wink. "When the time comes, you just let her take the brain cell. She'll pull the trigger so you don't have to."

Nigel smirked back at her, the two operatives reaffirming their bond with a handshake. "Do I detect a hint of eagerness in your voice?"

"Abby would be lyin' if she said she didn't have some aggression to work out," Abby said, arms reaching into a stretch as she stood. She loosened her limbs before turning back to the door. "Gonna head inside and see if Mrs. G wouldn't mind us staying the night. We do need the rest. Plus, maybe Abby should go let Tommy know that maybe all this wasn't for nothing."

Nigel smiled as a flicker of faith entered her eyes. "Look who's coming around!"

"Oh, stuff it," she said with a shake of her head. "You comin'?"

"In a bit," Nigel said, looking back towards the park. "I want to enjoy some peace before it all hits the fan."

"Well, don't blame Abby if there ain't any meatloaf left," she chuckled. She flicked his ear, then turned to disappear inside the house.

Nigel rubbed at his ear, his smile dimming a bit as he went back to watching the neighborhood. It was a nice way to pass the time. It reminded him of his younger days, setting up shop on a random bench and surveying for anti-kid activity under the guise of reading a comic book.

Suddenly, he was reminded a little too much of his younger days as he noticed a group of rowdy teenagers picking on the girl from earlier. Old habits die hard, he thought as he was already halfway across the road.

"No!" the young girl cried, jumping to no avail to reclaim her doll that was just always out of reach. "Give me back my rainbow monkey!"

"Hold your horses, pipsqueak," the leader of the bullies said as he dangled the doll above the girl. His other hand flicked up the rim of his hat while he swished around the lollipop inside his mouth. "Word around the block is somebody got a raise to their allowance. So, fork over the extra lunch money you owe, and maybe I'll think about returning your dollie."

"I think you should save yourself the hassle, and return it now."

The leader yelped then turned, staring down the stoic mug of one ticked-off Nigel Uno. The bully growled as he marched up to the other teen. "And who are you, baldy? Some loser tryn' to muscle in on my turf?"

"Oh, just someone who needed to cross off their good deed for the day," Nigel said, glaring at the bully. "And that good deed is either making you see reason and hand over the doll, or it's gonna be me kicking your butt up and down this playground in front of your little pose there," he said, flicking his head to the bully's two stooges. "Go on, choose. I'm feeling generous."

The bully narrowed his eyes. "That a threat, punk?"

"You seem like a smart fellow," Nigel said, inching closer to the boy's face, "you tell me."

The bully snarled, leveraging his full height and glowering down at the bald dork who wanted to play the hero.

Nigel didn't move an inch, raising a brow daring the bully to make the first move.

A lone bead of sweat slid down the bully's neck.

"Uh, h-hey, Ernie," one of the other two said, trying to reign his leader in. "M-Maybe, we 'em off easy this time, yeah?"

"It's Ernest," the bully snapped, his lackey flinching away. He turned back to Nigel, and his expression faltered as Nigel cracked his neck. With a huff, he shoved the doll into Nigel's hands. "Fine! Take the stupid doll. I'll remember this, baldy."

Nigel said nothing, keeping up his glare as Ernest and his entourage walked out of sight. His look softened as he turned to the girl, and carefully approached her.

"Everything's fine now," he assured as he held out the doll for her to take. "I believe this is yours."

The girl gingerly took the doll, eyes unsure. "What's your angle, mister?"

"No angle. Just don't like bullies, is all."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Really really?"

Nigel chuckled, extending his pinky finger. "Really really."

At seeing his gesture, the girl smiled and returned with her own pinky shake. "Thanks, Mister Bald Guy. I guess maybe some teenagers aren't big doo-doo heads."

Nigel waved as she skipped home. A few more streetlights clicked on and the sun was finally beginning to set in this time zone. The bald boy saw a nearby bench and decided to take a breather as the calm of the evening settled in.

He looked out to the playground, himself its sole occupant as the bullies scattered and the last of the kids rushed home before they broke curfew. He allowed his mind to wander, old memories of pre-school, kindergarten, and even grade school coming to the forefront as he remembered the joys of recess. Back when times were much simpler.

"Still playing hero, huh, soldier?"

Nigel's eyes widened as he froze. He slowly turned his head in time to see a figure saunter up behind him and lean forward against the back of the bench. The older girl looked over the playground, expression neutral until her eyes met his. When they did, a subdued smirk danced across her lips. As he looked up at his old boss, old friend—and current target, Nigel was cruelly reminded that times weren't simple anymore.

"Rachel."