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.

25. The Book's Last Hope

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From the shadows of her living room, Betty Gilligan watched as Nigel Uno strode out of her garage, down the street, and finally out of sight.

The woman watched where the boy disappeared over the horizon, a deep wistful sadness stirring in her heart. She thought of Nigel, even after he left her sight. She thought of all the worries, doubts, and regrets that must be eating away at his already fragile well-being.

Her thoughts turned to Abby—poor young Abigail who blamed and punished herself for things out of her control. Taking on the burden of the world's failures and denying herself the relief of her countless triumphs; too overshadowed by phantoms of her own making.

She thought of Hoagie, her dear little Hoagie always at the foot of her bed when he was younger, proudly displaying a new gadget intended to make her chores and life easier before it exploded in their faces. She remembered of how she would laugh, wiping away his disappointed tears and encouraging him to soar to even greater heights next time.

Betty thought of brash little Wally and how she would ice his black eye gained in the defense of Tommy from an onslaught of schoolyard bullies. Betty thought of innocent little Kuki, the girl regaling her with tales of her new rainbow monkeys and their odd little personality quirks over the numerous dinners their families once shared.

Betty thought of all those kids and thought of how it just wasn't fair. Those kids were hurting more than any child had any right to. No child should ever know of such hurt.

But there were rules.

There were reasons for those rules.

Betty frowned, reaching for her old landline, fingers dialing up a number she memorized by heart.

"Hello? I'm sorry for calling so early, or is it late for you?" she spoke into the receiver. The other voice was muffled, but what she heard put her at ease as she softly smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't be so understanding in your shoes."

Betty's smile dropped, some hesitation gnawing at her mind.

There were rules.

There were reasons for those rules.

And the rules said the kids had to do this without them holding their hands.

"…oh, sorry," Betty suddenly apologized, realizing she had let her mind wander. "Got lost in thought. Why did I call? Oh, I…I just felt like catching up and…"

There were rules.

There were very important reasons for those rules.

…but she thought of those poor kids again.

"…no, you're right. There is a reason," she said, pushing through her doubts. "A very important reason…sir."

The man on the line was silent for a good two minutes before he spoke again.

"I know you're retired. I know we're not supposed to interfere. But there's something I think you deserve to know…" she started, eyes steeling in determination, "Do you know that Numbuh 1 is back?"

The other voice gasped.

There were rules.

There were very, very important reasons for those rules…

…but then her inner child snorted and claimed, "We're kids! Since when do we follow dumb rules?"

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"—and as you can see, if we adopt a standard 80-hour work week as opposed to the traditional 40, our profit margin could increase by an outstanding 100 gazillion percent!"

Genki Sanban slowly raised a shrewd brow. The Werk Co. conference room was bleeding into hour three of this originally allotted thirty-minute business presentation. But of course, her new, brown-nosing Junior Head of Accounting Assistant (whom she was probably firing after this) just kept going, and going, and going.

Around her, the interns were slamming their clipboards against their faces, two mid-level executives were playing paper football, and beside her, Mr. Boss was hunched forward, eyes closed, head resting on his fist, and hearty snores echoing in her ear.

Genki's left eye twitched when her assistant began detailing another string of made-up business mathematics. She quickly jammed her elbow into Mr. Boss' rib before schooling back into her neutral demeanor as her superior was jostled awake.

"I paid the alimony, I swear!" Mr. Boss spluttered as he returned to the waking world. He blinked away the remnants of his nightmare and glanced around confused.

Genki coughed into her fist while motioning towards the presentation screen.

"Huh. Oh, right," he grumbled, squinting his eyes as he skimmed the data. "100 gazillion percent? Is that even a real number?"

"Um, technically, no," the assistant mumbled. He frantically pointed to the screen. "B-But the charts never lie, sir!"

"Your 'charts'," Genki said, a healthy amount of disdain coating her voice, "do not consider employee retention rates, Chester. They have lives and other responsibilities to attend to outside of this office." She thought of her daughters. "Taking care of their children, for example."

Chester blew a raspberry. "Ah, that's what babysitters are for. Who wants to spend time with their dumb kids anyway?"

Mr. Boss glared. "I like spending time with my 'dumb' kids."

The assistant began to sweat. "W-Well, I mean other dumb kids, sir, not yours! Besides, you're the boss! You'll still get to make your own hours while making me—er, um, I mean, YOURSELF oodles upon oodles of cash!"

Mr. Boss scratched his chin, contemplating the idea.

Genki rolled her eyes as Chester went into yet another mind-bogglingly boring explanation of profit-sharing.

THAT'S IT!

Genki gasped, clenching her chest as a shiver ran up her spine. A strand of hair fell out of place, and her eyes darted around, trying to search for the source of that sudden wail.

But no one had reacted. Chester kept babbling on, the interns cried tears of boredom, and the executive types seemed ready to join Mr. Boss for another quick cat nap. Perhaps this meeting was getting to her, it was cutting into her lunch, after all.

Genki tried to calm herself, but a feeling itched at the back of her mind. Her fingers rattled nervously against the wood of the table, and her eyes narrowed as she tried to pin down why she was feeling so on edge. Something was amiss. Something was wrong.

I…I can't do this…I-I can't…

Her eyes widened.

"AHEM," Genki coughed loudly, bringing proceedings to a halt. Mr. Boss blinked at her drowsily, but she ignored it as she whipped out her calculator. "Sir, I feel this farce has run its course. After crunching some numbers, I propose prioritizing employee well-being and a healthy work-life balance. We'll maintain morale, attract top talent, and continue to focus on optimizing current processes while fostering a positive environment to drive sustainable growth and success." She finished curtly before sliding the calculator towards her boss. "And you make even more, quote-unquote, oodles of cash."

Mr. Boss took the calculator, using his free hand to put on tiny reading glasses as he analyzed Genki's numbers. He nodded, satisfied, and snapped his fingers. "Good enough for me. We're going with Sanban's thing. Meeting over! I'm starving."

Chester's jaw dropped. "B-But what about MY idea?"

Mr. Boss narrowed his eyes. He pointed at Chester. "Junior Head of Accounting." He then slowly, and purposefully pointed at Genki. "Senior Head of Accounting." Point made, he stood and began stuffing documents into his briefcase. "You're not gonna last long if you don't respect the pecking order."

Genki was already out the door but paused to poke her head back in and add, "Actually, sir, I believe Chester's…unique business perspective would be better suited elsewhere."

Mr. Boss shrugged. "Sure, whatever. I don't care."

Chester scratched his head. "What does that mean?"

"Means you're fired," Mr. Boss said bluntly as he pressed a button under his chair. "Pick up your severance package in the lobby."

Chester's eyes bulged as the floor opened underneath him. His fading scream of terror slowly morphed into a childish wheeeeeeeee as the built-in company slide whisked him away to the unemployment office.

But Genki paid it no mind. She had found the nearest balcony and stepped into the cool night air to take a steadying breath. The elder matron Sanban leaned against the railing, her free hand tightening her business coat against the breeze and trying to calm her fraying heart. Accounting numbers, business projections, even the annual company pizza party coming up tomorrow; it all meant nothing as one singular subject occupied all space in her mind:

Kuki.

Genki could not explain, nor felt the need to. From the moment she had been blessed with her sweet little girl, she had vowed to herself right then and there that her daughter would have a happier childhood. Her daughter would have all the toys she wanted, she would be allowed all the joy she could stomach, and she would treated to all the love and affection Genki could muster.

And so she watched her daughter grow. From her first steps, her first time on a bicycle, from when she first came home one afternoon proclaiming the amazing friends she made in her new treehouse fort. Her daughter embraced the light and small wonders of the world with a full, open heart, and not a day went by where Genki ever had reservations about bringing such a miracle into this world.

But Genki was perceptive. Genki was scrutinizing. The past few years she continued to watch her daughter grow and noticed the tiny changes. Her daughter's smile was more reserved. The breaks in her laughter lengthened between each birthday. Kuki's once endless whimsy was more contained, and Genki remembered holding her little girl in her arms one fateful day when one of those dear friends moved away and her naivete died.

The past few years her daughter wore a new mask, one of extreme seriousness and maturity that seemed like overcompensating. Kuki buried herself in her studies, busied herself with after-school activities, and excelled at everything thrown her way. Genki and her husband were so proud of their darling little girl.

But Genki noticed the cracks. Genki was aware of the tension building. Kuki, just like herself when she was younger, was on the verge of putting too much on herself. Forgetting to acknowledge the joys of the world and embrace the beauty that could be found if one looked a bit closer.

And just now, her motherly instincts were telling her that Kuki was on the verge of losing all hope.

Genki took a long breath before gazing up at the moon.

With one hand, she flipped open her phone, while her other reached for a secret compartment of her coat.

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Each step was heavy as Wally ascended the stairs.

"Stupid nosy parents."

His nostrils flared as his face contorted.

"Stupid so-called 'friends'."

A new hole appeared in the wall as he retracted his fist, continuing down the hall.

"Stupid…stupid me!"

Wally turned the corner, pressing on with his furious march as clouds of anger fogged his mind. He put his neck on the line, abandoned his principles, was willing to be vulnerable in front of those he cared about, and what did it get him?

They ignore him. They thought he was useless. They didn't think he was good enough.

Fancy, smart-alec-y words only carried so much weight with him. Actions spoke louder than any long-winded word ever would, and Wally had listened loud and clear.

He wanted to help Nigel, but the boy held him back, rushing off into danger all alone.

He wanted Kuki to ask for help, but she hid her pain behind smiles to save him the suffering.

He wanted to show Abby she didn't need to carry it all alone, but she banished him home because she was that freaking determined to destroy herself.

"Y'know what? Fine!"

Wally continued to grumble, continued to rage, and kick as he made his way to his room. So consumed in his bitter pity party that he failed to notice the shadow creeping up behind.

"T-They don't want my help? Then fine!" he screamed, angrily wiping away tears before they fell. His friends were out there hurting—and suffering and their stupid pride wouldn't let him in. He growled, hand crushing the knob to his door. "Let 'em get themselves killed. See if I care!"

A string of four-ply toilet paper ensnared his hand, holding him in place.

"Where do you think you're going?"

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"I love you too, Abigail…"

The low voice of Mr. Lincoln reverberated throughout the household, his dulcet tones only outdone by the sound of rushed footsteps and the frantic slamming of a door upstairs.

From the kitchen, nursing a cup of cocoa in her hand, Mrs. Lincoln frowned as she watched her husband's posture deflate. Her eyes then traveled to the ceiling, locked on the spot where her youngest child would be hiding away.

Pain seized her heart at the idea of her little angel besieged by the woes of the world. Mrs. Lincoln wept for the children of today, so burdened with problems and struggles they should not have to face. She wept for Abigail most of all, having to wake each morning wondering how much light would be left in her little treasure's eyes.

Mrs. Lincoln watched Abigail brush in past her father and noted the flicker of light was almost completely gone. Face set, she gently sat down her steaming cocoa and made to move to stride up the stairs and comfort her little girl.

But something made her stop. Her eyes wandered to the table, watching its lone occupant. An old, worn red cat sat nestled on her head. Its brim shielded her eyes, which were no doubt glued to her phone, searching for any excuse not to acknowledge the reality around her. But Mrs. Lincoln was sharp. She saw how the figure perked up ever so slightly when she heard Mr. Lincoln welcome Abby home. She saw the protective twitch in the woman's frame when Abby rushed up the stairs and retreated to her room.

Mrs. Lincoln saw all of it, yet the woman still had not moved from the table. Holding herself back.

Mrs. Lincoln frowned. Enough was enough.

"Go talk with your sister."

The figure paused mid-text, lips thinning in hesitation.

In a rare show of frustration, Mrs. Lincoln slammed her hands flat on the table, shaking its contents. Her stare was heavy with conviction before saying. "Now, ma chérie."

The woman at the table was silent, waging some internal struggle as she continued to stare down at her phone. A few minutes passed where nothing happened, and something in Mrs. Lincoln was on the verge of shattering.

But then, finally, the seated woman sighed and gently pocketed her phone.

Mrs. Lincoln smiled, eyes full of hope as Cree tucked her hands in her pockets and slowly strolled up the stairs.

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On a lonely hillside, long after the sun's warm rays had vanished, Rachel still sat, keeping vigil over the city.

She rocked back and forth, her endless parade of tears giving her no quarter. She tucked in her knees, a childish effort to appear smaller, and desperately cuddled herself to calm the waves of anxiety and despair. Yet they never ceased, only festering; ugly, toxic dread slugging through her veins as her mind forced her to replay the last few days. Hell, the last few years of her sad, miserable life.

It didn't seem to matter what she did, what she gave up, what she risked, or what reasons she gave herself. There was no denying the outcome of the next few hours. She would either commit to her last-minute gambit and go out in some blaze of self-conceived glory or just waste away on this desolate hillside and rot until someone stumbled across what remained of her.

Either way, the outcome would be the same.

She would be truly, definitively alone.

"Hey, you alright, kid?"

Rachel's eyes widened. Instinct and training took over, as she rolled away before leaping up into a defensive stance. Her face hardened as she saw an older boy, dressed in red with a dark jacket coating his torso. His hands were slipped into the pockets of his olive green pants. His brown, shaggy hair was slicked back, and a pair of sharp shades hid elusive eyes that were no doubt gauging her every shift in posture.

Recognizing the young man, Rachel raised her fists.

"Take it easy, blondie," he said, raising his hands calmly. "It ain't The Steve's style to kick someone while they're down."

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"…pardon the intrusion, old bean."

Nigel's finger froze, the booger a mere millimeter away from the EVAC's acceptance slot.

An umbrella shielded him from the rain, creating a small cocoon of warmth in the never-ending storm.

Words failed the boy, slowly turning up to look in pure disbelief. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to damn all caution and wrap his arms around the taller figure and never, ever, let go again. But Nigel did none of those things. He could only stand there dumbfounded, like a deer in headlights as he analyzed every contour of his dad's face.

Monty Uno adjusted his umbrella, giving an awkward, yet welcoming smile as he shielded the lad before him from the cold. "But…you seem to be in quite the predicament."

Nigel blinked, trying to process the sight before him. It was Monty, his father, standing there as if he had never disappeared, as if he had never been decommissioned, as if he had never been forced to forget his own son.

His heart raced with a mixture of emotions — confusion, disbelief, hope, and a longing he had buried deep within himself. How was this possible? Why was his dad, Monty, here when just moments ago Nigel had been convinced he was utterly alone in his struggle?

For a brief moment, Nigel allowed himself to entertain the fantasy that perhaps Monty remembered him after all, that maybe he had found a way to break through the shackles of galactic-level decommissioning.

But reality crashed back down on him like a wave as he refused to set himself up for that heartbreak. If he looked into his father's eyes right now and saw nothing but blankness, a void where memories should have been, then it would truly be his undoing.

Nigel swallowed hard, casting his gaze downward trying to compose himself despite the storm raging—both around and within.

Monty's smile faltered slightly, a hint of confusion flickering across his features. "What seems to be the trouble, son?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

Nigel felt a lump form in his throat, choking back the flood of words and emotions threatening to spill out. How could he explain everything to his father, knowing that Monty wouldn't understand, couldn't understand?

"I…" Nigel started, voice low and weak. So many questions burned in his mind - fought for dominance. Instead, the only one that could emerge was a dumb, "What are you doing out here so late?"

"Oh," Monty blinked, then jiggled a brown paper bag at his side, nestled with apparent groceries. "Well, the Missus and I were having trouble settling in for the night—probably this storm making quite the fuss. Then, we got the strangest hankering for some pistachio ice cream."

Bittersweet memories were yanked to the forefront. Nigel could recall the tingle of excitement running up his spine as his parents took him to the ice cream parlor after his first day of kindergarten. He could still taste the rich, creamy texture of nutty pistachio on his tongue after the first lick. The joyous laughter he shared with his parents when some ice cream coated his nose still rang loud in his ears.

Nigel clenched his eyes shut, cursing the universe for tormenting him so.

"…so, I decided to take a midnight stroll to the 24/7 convenience mart. Jolly good place, it is. Felt a bit flustered for bothering them at this hour, so I left a few pounds with the cashier for the trouble," Monty continued to regale. Upon noticing the young man recoiling in on himself, Monty cleared his throat, before kneeling in closer to the boy. "Ah, but I should be asking you the same question, ol' chap. What the devil are you doing out alone at this time of night? Quite dangerous, you know."

Nigel's lips thinned, looking off into the night, trying to find a way out of this. He…he couldn't take this. "I'm…I was looking for someone."

"I see. Might I be of some assistance? Was quite the seeker back in my hide-n-seek days, let me tell you."

Nigel shook his head. "I don't think you can help me."

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't try. Oh, take this," Monty said, shrugging off his red, button-overshirt and covering the boy with it. He was now down a layer, the wind nipping through his white cotton undershirt, but the boy beneath him was all the more drier for it. "Don't want you catching pneumonia, for heaven's sake."

Nigel trembled as he gripped the dark, red material of his father's overshirt. "I guess not..."

The downtrodden tone set Monty on edge. His bushy brows furrowed together as he asked, "Where are your parents?"

Nigel recoiled at the question, the icy knife in his heart twisting as his voice cracked. "They're…they're gone."

"…oh dear," Monty said. He gently dropped his grocery bag, unfazed as the slick sidewalk soaked the bottom. The man's expression softened, and he put a firm, comforting hand on Nigel's shoulder and gave a tender squeeze. "I'm so sorry, my boy."

"It's all my fault," Nigel whimpered, on the verge of another round of tears. "I-I just up and left and—"

"None of that now," Monty interrupted, kneeling to get eye level with the teenager, unknown thoughts warring in his mind as he tried to reassure the young lad. "I'm…confident that whatever happened, they wouldn't want you blaming yourself. It was not your fault, understand?"

Nigel said nothing at first, still unable to meet Monty's eyes. "I…thank you for your concern. But I…I need to go. I'll be fine."

"You don't sound fine."

Nigel sniffled. "It's…way too complicated. I'm sorry."

Monty stroked his chin, his mustache twitching in thought. He silently considered Nigel and the poor state he was in. Coming to some decision, Monty nodded to himself as he said, "Sounds like you could use someone to talk to. I happen to be a good listener." He chuckled before adding, "Despite what my wife would say."

Nigel rubbed at his arm, heart pulling him in opposing directions. "I…wouldn't want to be a bother…"

"Nonsense! How about this then?" Monty readjusted his load, shrugging his groceries under one arm while tilting the umbrella Nigel's way. He jerked his head towards the curb and said, "I live just a few blocks away. Why don't you escort this old man home? The rain is coming down something fierce and my old eyes aren't what they used to be."

The boy gulped, emotions unstable and turbulent as he debated Monty's offer. It…it was a bad idea. He would only be torturing himself. Even if his dad didn't remember him, Nigel shouldn't take advantage of him like this. How cruel would it be to take solace in the presence of a son that abandoned him?

He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve Monty's time. Nigel glanced down at the EVAC again, its siren song calling to him. He should pack up and run away again like the coward he was—

A hand cut through his thoughts as it extended towards him.

Monty looked down with a smile. "Could be a little walk and talk, eh?"

Nigel finally braved to look into his dad's eyes, terrified of what he would find. He expected emptiness; cold obliviousness designating him as a true stranger to the man he once cherished so dearly.

Instead, he saw a twinkle. A twinkle that brought forth memories of sousaphones, afternoon fishing trips, and hot summer days lapping away at pistachio ice cream. These memories did not feel bittersweet…

…these memories felt so, very warm.

Nigel hesitantly took Monty's hand. "Okay."

And so, father and son began walking home together against the wind of the storm.

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It was dark.

"Give up."

So very cold and dark.

"Give up and focus."

The soul writhed, the last of its light finally fading.

"Focus."

Focus? It heard voices. Voices of those calling out to it.

Its friends…

…his friends.

"Focus."

…but he couldn't…

"Give in and focus."

…he can't…

"Focus."

…he was so tired.

"That's it."

…so very tired of fighting and not knowing why.

"Focus."

Yes…he should just stop wasting time and submit.

"Focus."

He needed to focus.

"Give up and focus."

It was all pointless. It was meaningless. He had no fight left. He had no friends. It was time to stop pretending. It was time to cease dreaming.

It was time to give up.

"Yes," was the soothing hiss that coiled around him. "Give up and focus…"

He let the dark undertow pull him under. The shadows were right.

It was time to give up and focus.

"Focus on being more DELIGHT—"

"Now, that's quite enough of that there, Hoagie."

"…wait, what?"

…wait, what?

Both Hoagie and the dark shadows spluttered, equally dumbfounded as a hand reached out. Hoagie shielded his eyes as the small flicker of light became a blinding beam.

All at once, the whispers were silenced as his eyes popped open. Hoagie glanced around, patting his chest and seeing himself back in his twelve-year-old body. Confused, he searched his surroundings, off put by the darkness that encroached around this small alcove of light, this shore of respite against the raging sea of shadow.

It was then noted that the darkness gave way to a familiar carpeted rug. The shaggy carpet of his living room. As he slowly regained his sense of self, Hoagie saw that he was seated on his living room couch, that upholstery still as weathered as it was comfy, as long as you didn't let your butt sink too deep.

But something was off. His hand felt around, the cushion feeling more solid than he remembered. He looked down surprised to see he was sat not on the couch, but in someone's lap.

"Grown up a bit there, haven't ya, Junior?"

Hoagie gasped, tears flooding his goggles as he snapped his head up. "D-Dad?"

Hogarth Gilligan Senior sat comfortably on the couch, his large frame as bulky and huggable as Hoagie remembered. The light of the lamp was so radiant, it blotted out his face. Though even though he couldn't see it, Hoagie could feel the warmth of his father's smile.

His dad chuckled as he patted his son's head. "Nice of ya to drop by, son."

"Dad," Hoagie whispered. He lifted his goggles to wipe at his eyes. "I-I don't understand. How are you here?"

"Well, it seems like you lost your way back there," his dad said with a wag of his finger. "I'm just here to help push ya back in the right direction."

Hoagie considered his words, then looked down, ashamed. "I did more than lose my way…I went and just 'lost' in general."

"Oh?"

"I can't do it, Dad," Hoagie mumbled. "I tried. I really, really tried, but I couldn't do it. It's too hard."

His dad sighed. "Life isn't always easy, son. Sometimes the things worth fighting for put up the toughest dukes."

Hoagie snorted. "I can't even remember why I'm fighting."

His dad chuckled again, lifting a finger to poke Hoagie's forehead. "'Course you do, son."

Before Hoagie could question his father's actions, it all flashed before him. Images of an older him, a hermit in his room. Days upon days crawled by, him scribbling away at some nonsense, the occasional glimpse of his mom and brother.

"You're…you're probably not hungry." Hoagie watched a specter of Tommy laying a plate of chili dogs next to his older brother.

Hoagie didn't know what horrified him more; the fact his older self just ignored the dish of deliciousness next to him, or the heartbroken expression creeping up Tommy's face as he walked away. His younger brother gave him one last pleading look before he disappeared. "J-Just promise you'll eat it later, okay?"

The imagery shifted to another memory, that of his older self seated beside his mom.

"I'm right here, dear," she said, voice soft and welcoming. Hoagie could see the pain behind her eyes, but also see how she stayed strong in the face of it all as his older self leaned into her loving embrace. "If you want me close, I'm right beside you."

It changed again, his mom and brother fading away as more faces appeared.

"'C-C'mon mate, you're way tougher than this," yelled an image of Wally. Hoagie gasped at the sight of the blond boy, now older and openly crying next to his older self who barely responded. Wally slammed his fist against the table before burying his face in his hands. "Fight it, man! I-I need you here. We all do!"

"H-Happy birthday, Hoagie." His heart fractured into pieces as he saw Kuki next, the contrast between her wobbly smile, red eyes, and tears too much for him to bear. She trembled as she sat a rainbow monkey on his desk, and nearly broke down when his older self coldly pushed it aside as he reached for a pencil. "I-I'm sorry. I should've been stronger. I-I should've been…p-please come back. I'm sorry…"

Hoagie reached out to the weeping Kuki, screaming in protest as she disappeared in a wisp of smoke. He froze as another voice, another memory assaulted his vision.

"I couldn't save you. Couldn't save any of you," the phantom of Abby whispered. Hoagie looked at her. Still hauntingly beautiful despite the passing of time, her image flicked into the recesses of his mind like a fragile flame dancing in the wind. Each delicate feature was etched with the bittersweet scars of a life lived, her eyes betraying the weight of unshed tears and untold burdens. The soft curve of her smile, once a beacon of warmth, is now vacant as a poignant reminder of the laughter lost to echoes of the past.

In the silence of reminiscence, Hoagie witnessed Abby's beauty emerge like a melancholic melody, stirring the depths of his soul with its whispered lament for what once was, and for what he feared would never be again.

So lost in her sad eyes, her voice only just barely broke his trance as she continued to speak, "But I'm gonna try and make it right, even if it means I won't be coming back," she vowed with grim finality that scared him more than any shadows ever world. "But, maybe it's better that way."

As her visage disappeared Hoagie wanted to scream. He almost did had it not been for the final specter. His scream clogged his throat as he looked down at a dear, old friend he never dreamed he would see again.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for failing you, for failing all of us." Hoagie watched Nigel break down beside his older self. His leader—his best friend since kindergarten was suffering and his older, teenage self was doing nothing. Hoagie wanted to rage and howl as Nigel continued. "I should have been stronger, braver, better…but I wasn't. And now…now I don't know if I can ever make things right again."

"That's not true," Hoagie whispered. Something lit under his belly as his voice gained volume, desperate for Nigel to hear him. "That's not true!"

But Nigel couldn't hear him. Of course, he couldn't hear him, because Hoagie was too far away.

"I wish you were here right now," was Nigel's final cry as he faded away. "…I could really use my wingman to fly me out of trouble."

Hoagie could only sit paralyzed as his friends and family vanished before him. Finally, his muscles started to respond again, but he found he could only make himself look down at his useless hands.

Behind him, his father gripped his shoulder. "Looks like they need you, bud."

"What good am I to them now?" Hoagie seethed, balling his fists as he glared at them. "I-I'm just a big fat doofus. I'm a washed-up clown who wasn't strong enough. I'm just deadweight to my friends—my family. I'm a loser."

His dad 'hmmed'. "That so?"

"It's no use, Dad. I'm never gonna win this fight. I'm never gonna win anything," Hoagie muttered, utterly defeated as he slumped over. "What am I supposed to do now?"

From under the radiant light of the lamp, his dad smiled. "Farfigtoobin."

"…Farfigtoobin?"

"You heard me."

Hoagie blinked, slowly looking around, wondering if he was being set up. "Uh, Dad? I get you're trying to do a whole miraculous, deus ex machina kinda bit here but…yeah, not gonna lie, I don't see what tubing has to do with anything."

"It has to do with everything, Hoagie," his dad laughed. "Ya see, life's a like river: sometimes it's smooth and calm, other times it's wild and wavy. All sorts of twists and turns… can pull you under if you're not careful. Sure, you can try and fight it, change course, and sometimes, yeah it works. But more often than not, you end up just burning yourself out.

"But that's where Farfigtoobin comes in! The perfect union of a kid and his tube. You become one with the tube, one with the river, and learn to just go with the flow."

Hoagie blinked. "Go with the flow?"

"Yep. Go with the flow; see where it takes ya and try and enjoy the ride. Sometimes, you'll end up right where ya need to be, even if ya don't know it." He nodded. "Farfigtoobin, son. That's how ya win."

Hoagie absorbed his father's words, his weird, age-old philosophy that he lived and died by. He squinted his eyes, willing himself to try and see that familiar face past the light one last time. "Really?"

"Really."

The essence of Hogarth Gilligan Senior began to dissipate before Hoagie's eyes, flickering away in brilliant gold, embers. Hoagie nearly cried, hand reaching up to stop his dad from leaving again. But then, a warm hand settled on his shoulder.

There, just beyond the light, Hoagie could make out the outline of a smile, brimming with pride. "A true winner—a true Gilligan trusts his tube." His other hand reached out, giving Hoagie an affectionate flick of the nose before poking his chest. "He trusts his heart."

The darkness returned in full force swallowing Hoagie's island of serenity in a mighty wave. He screamed as he fell, looking down to see an inky, black void rippling, crashing, and ready to swallow him whole.

The embers of his Dad shot down, encircling him.

Hoagie grunted as he landed on something. He looked down. The firm, comforting rubber of Besty greeted him with a glimmering golden glow.

"Do you trust her, Hoagie?"

Hoagie's lips trembled, and he wiped away his tears.

"Yeah, Dad," he whispered, settling himself on his belly in the tube as he glared ahead, determined. "I do."

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"THAT'S IT!"

The scream tore from her throat and shook the entire Moonbase. The sea of operatives before her were silenced, petrified of the fact that their illustrious Supreme Leader may have finally reached her limit.

Kuki's chest heaved, tufts of air coming out short and frantic. Her pupils dilated, and her eyes darted around as she collapsed to the floor. Like a caged animal, she paced back and forth, her movements jittery and restless. Her once bright eyes were clouded with worry, darting around the space as if seeking an exit from her own mind.

"EVERYONE BACK OFF!"

Everyone present yelped as Paddy's voice erupted from the lower deck. Using signature Fulbright fury, he broke through the crowd. The Head of Decommissioning positioned himself between his leader and his fellow operatives. He raised his hands, trying to gain some image of control despite trembling and unsure himself. "Give her some space! That's an order!"

But if she noticed his sudden arrival, Kuki could not acknowledge it. Each shallow breath she took felt like a struggle, the weight of unseen demons pressing down upon her chest. Her fingers trembled as they traced invisible patterns on the floor, a futile attempt to find solace in the confines of her prison.

Beads of perspiration dotted her furrowed brow, betraying the intensity of her inner turmoil. Thoughts raced through her mind like wildfire, consuming all semblance of peace and clarity in their wake. She stood on the precipice of a breakdown, the edge of sanity threatening to crumble beneath her fragile facade.

Her operatives backed away, terrified and no idea of how to handle the sight before them. Some of the younger children began tearing up, and the older ones tittered anxiously.

In that moment of vulnerability, Kuki feared she might lose herself entirely to the darkness that lurked within.

I…I can't do this, was the only thought racing through her mind. They needed her to be a serious leader, and she failed. They needed her to be strong, and she crumbled. They needed her to be someone she wasn't because her true self just wasn't good enough. Kuki's nails dug into her scalp, clenching her eyes shut and willing the world away. I—I can't…

Of course you can't. You never could, the nasty voice inside her chortled with sinister glee. Because you're a klutz. A ditz, a silly little girl. You're just the sad, pathetic, useless baby Numbuh Three—

"Rainbow monkeys, rainbow monkeys! Oh-so very round and super chunky!"

All present did a double take, and Kuki blinked.

"Bringing love wherever they go, everyone's made of a big rainbow!"

Shocked, she glanced down at her pocket. The music was coming from her cell phone, her ringtone, she was starting to remember. Kuki didn't know what came over her, but her hand moved on its own as she pulled out the phone and read the caller ID.

It was her mom.

Kuki dumbly looked up to Paddy.

And Paddy just dumbly shrugged.

Kuki kept staring ahead with a faraway look as she put the phone up to her ear. "…Mom?"

"Kuki," was the calm reply of Genki. "Are you okay?"

"I…" Kuki started. She was suddenly aware that even though they backed off, she was still encircled by a ring of operatives.

Realizing her dilemma, Paddy turned and quickly ordered. "E-Everyone turn around. And cover your ears! Supreme Leader's taking a call!" All kids present blindly did as they were told, facing away from Kuki and plugging their ears with their fingers. Kuki blinked lamely as Paddy did the same.

Well, that ... kinda helped ...

"Kuki?"

"Um…" Kuki said, quietly as the situation started catching up to her. "I-I don't know, Mom."

"Do you need me to come get you?"

Kuki's lips trembled as she whispered. "Maybe…"

On the other end, Genki clenched the item she held in her other hand. "What's wrong?"

"I can't do this mom," Kuki sniffled. She curled in on herself, voice small and meek. "T-They all need me to be super serious and I tried. I tried my hardest. I just wanted to make everyone happy and feel safe, but I couldn't do it because I'm just a stinky doo-doo head who can't do anything right and I'm gonna let everyone down and I'm gonna lose my friends and things are gonna get bad because it was all my fault because I was selfish and I lied and I wasn'tgoodenoughtobetheleadertheyneededandI—"

"Breathe."

"…wha?"

"Breathe," Genki said once more. Her voice was a soothing balm as the woman took a deep intake of breath. "In."

Kuki followed her mother's instruction and took a trembling breath.

"And out," Genki continued, her voice a steady anchor amidst Kuki's frenzy. "Focus on your breath. In... and out."

Kuki closed her eyes, clinging to her mother's guidance like a lifeline. In the darkness behind her eyelids, she felt the chaos of her thoughts begin to quieten, replaced by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest with each inhalation and exhalation.

"That's it," Genki murmured gently. "You're doing great, Kuki. Just keep breathing."

As Kuki focused on the simple act of breathing, the weight on her shoulders seemed to lighten, and the suffocating grip of anxiety loosened its hold on her chest. With each breath, she felt a glimmer of hope begin to stir within her.

"Remember, sweetheart," Genki's voice broke through the silence, "you are strong, you are capable, and you are loved. You don't have to bear this alone. We'll face it together, just like we always do."

Kuki clung to her mother's words, allowing them to wrap around her like a warm embrace. At that moment, amidst the craziness and uncertainty, she found solace in the simple act of breathing and the unwavering support of her mother's love.

"Thank you," Kuki said, gathering herself. "I love you, Momma."

"I love you too, sweetheart," Genki said. "And I mean you. You are perfect just as you are, Kuki. If you want to be serious, be serious. If you want to act mature, be mature. But only if that's what you want. I don't want a daughter who thinks she needs to honor me. I don't want a child who feels they can't be who they want. The only thing I've ever wanted for you and Mushi is to be yourselves. Whoever you end up becoming, know you will always be my little, precious breath of fresh air. Free to be happy."

New tears blossomed in Kuki's eyes. That nasty voice from before was pushed further and further away with each word of affirmation, each declaration of love. Not caring who saw, Kuki hugged the phone tightly to her chest, channeling all the love and fuzziness she could to the woman on the other end.

As if receiving her vibes, Genki laughed. "Now, do you need me to come pick you up? I'll leave work early and we can go get mochi."

Kuki wanted nothing more than to accept that offer; spend an entire evening with her mother pretending to be a normal little girl.

But then Kuki glanced up, all the operatives around her still turned away, giving her a moment of privacy. It was then Kuki realized that's exactly what she would be doing: pretending to be a normal little girl. She couldn't do that. She didn't want to do that.

Because that's not what she wanted to be. Not anymore.

"I'll be okay, Mom," Kuki said reassuringly. "My…my friends need me."

On the other end, Genki smiled. "Then go do what you need to do, Kuki. I believe in you."

Kuki sent one last coo of love to her mother before she hung up. She let out another breath, raising her hands to steady herself. Just as she went to address the crowd, another beep went off on her phone. Curious, she opened it to see a text from her mom with a picture attached.

mama: and he believes in you too :)

Attached was a picture of her smiling mom, taking a blurry selfie with Kuki's old, faded, but still well loved My First Rainbow Monkey.

Kuki beamed.

"Okay, everyone, listen up!" she called out, voice dropping to her leadership-type tone. All operatives around her, Paddy included, turned and stood at attention. Face neutral, Kuki coughed into her hands. "I had a moment, but it's fine. Sorry you had to see that." Her eyes trailed up in thought. "Actually, scratch that. I'm not that sorry. Maybe it's time I was real with you all."

All the kids around her began to shuffle nervously.

Kuki closed her eyes. "Look…I know things are iffy right now. It won't be long before my thirteenth birthday arrives. I know you're all scared of what comes next. I…I am too. I'm scared. Super duper doubly scared."

The kids began to whimper.

"I'm scared because things are going to change. But you know what?" she smiled. "That's a-okay."

The kids tilted their heads, letting loose a collective, "huh?"

Kuki took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her impending departure settle upon her shoulders like a heavy blanket. But she refused to let it suffocate her spirit.

This was her moment, her chance to truly lead by example.

"You see, for the longest time, I've been living by this idea that I needed to be serious, that I needed to be the epitome of maturity to lead you all effectively," Kuki began, her voice gaining strength with each word. "But I've come to realize something, something important. Something that I want to share with all of you today."

She paused, letting the anticipation build among her fellow operatives. Their eyes were locked on her, hanging on her every word.

"I've been a big fat dummy head," Kuki continued, her voice ringing out clear and unwavering. "I've been so caught up in being serious that I forgot the most important lesson of all: it's okay to be silly. It's okay to embrace the goofiness, the fun, the sheer joy of being a kid."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. They had never heard Kuki speak like this before, never seen this side of their usually composed leader.

"I've spent so much time trying to hide my silliness, my quirks, because I was afraid of being judged, of not being taken seriously," Kuki admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "But you know what? That ends today. Because being a Kids Next Door operative isn't just about being serious, fighting evil adults and saving the world. It's about being true to ourselves, embracing who we are, flaws and all!"

She looked around at the faces of her fellow operatives, seeing the realization dawning in their eyes.

"So let's go out there and show the world what it truly means to be Kids Next Door," Kuki proclaimed, her voice ringing out with conviction. She jumped into the middle of the crowd, taking two operatives by the hand and swinging them around. "Let's dance!" she said, smile brimming ear to ear. "Let's laugh! Let's tell spooky-stories!" She tripled flipped over, expertly picking up the disc that had smacked her. "Let's play whizbee and go long!"

The two boys from before cheered as they chased after the flying toy.

"Let's fight for what's right. And together, we'll make sure that the legacy of the Kids Next Door lives on, stronger than ever before!

"So yes, things are going to change. Yes, it's natural to be super duper scared of it, because nothing is ever gonna be the same," Kuki declared, her voice rising with determination. "But remember, in the end, change isn't something to be afraid of; it's something to be embraced with a big ol' hug! Maybe it can be a new best friend! And even though I may not be there to face it all with you physically, know that I'll always be with you where it matters. Because I believe in each and every one of you."

A swell of emotion washed over the crowd, tears glistening in their eyes as they listened to Kuki's impassioned words.

"Evil Adult Industries Inc. making a comeback? We'll show 'em why that's a stupid idea!" Kuki rallied. "Adult bad guys want to try kicking our butts? We'll kick back harder! Because it doesn't matter what they say, what they do, or what kind of monsters they send our way! We'll face it down like kids do! Because as long as there are kids, there will always be Kids Next Door!"

The crowd was energized, bursting and teeming with energy.

Paddy was the first to speak. "Kids Next Door rule."

Kuki smirked. "What was that?"

Numbuh Fifty-Three-point-Six saluted. "Kids Next Door rule!"

Kuki cupped a hand to her ear and in a sing-song voice, "I can't hear you~"

Everyone, from every corner of the command deck, hanging from every rafter, all at once shouted loud and proud, "KIDS NEXT DOOR RULE, SIR!"

"Then go out there and make me proud!" With those final words, Kuki raised her fist in the air, a symbol of unity and determination.

And as her fellow operatives cheered and rallied around her, Kuki knew that no matter what the future held, the Kids Next Door would face it together, with laughter in their hearts and courage in their souls.

With a healthy helping of rainbow munchies, of course.

Kuki inhaled through her nose, a confident, silly smile stuck to her face as her hands went to her hips. Activity resumed, more energetic than before. She noted movement at her side, and turned slightly to see Paddy walking up to her.

The redheaded boy shared a stare with the girl. Then he firmly raised his hand into a salute and grinned. "It's an honor to call you my Supreme Leader, sir."

Kuki giggled, dipping into a curtsy. "It's an honor to be your Supreme Leader, Numbuh 85. Now, and until the very end."

Paddy stood a bit straighter. "Orders?"

"Hmm," Kuki mused to herself, stroking her chin. "All these inspiring speeches have made me hungry. Think your old sector can handle a pizza delivery?"

At the thought of seeing his old teammates again, Paddy practically glowed. "Sector W hasn't failed a mission yet, sir!"

"Then go around, ask everyone what toppings they want, and I'll…" Kuki's order trailed off into a confused mumble as her phone went off again. "Is that my mom again? Geez Louise, I wish she wouldn't worry so much."

But as she read the text, her heart skipped a bit.

Big Sis: Call me. Code F.

Color drained from Kuki's face as she processed Abby's short, yet concise text. A Code F.

Father.

Paddy noticed her expression and grew concerned. "Uh, everything alright, sir?"

"Taking another call. This time in my office," was all Kuki said. She leveled the boy a serious, yet pleading expression. "You have the floor until I get back. Don't let anyone bother me for a minute, understand?"

"Aye, sir," Paddy affirmed with another salute. Despite himself, he asked, "Is it, um, about 'current events', sir?"

Kuki glanced to the side, considering her words. After a moment, she nodded. "Yes."

Paddy's lips thinned. "I'll be on standby."

"Good. ZIP-YER…" Kuki frowned, then waved her hand. "On second thought, hold off on that until I know more."

Kuki then spun around, fast-walking up the stairs. Paddy nodded, then turned to gaze over the command deck, intent on following his leader's orders to the letter.

But then his little mind wandered. Wandered to all the things that could have Kuki in such a state, especially after everything that had been going on recently. His eyes lowered, and his hands clenched the railing.

After a moment of debating, he slapped his cheeks, hyping himself up as he moved to follow Kuki.

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"Where do you think you're going?"

Wally could glare a hole through his cruddy door right now. Of all the bull he had to stomach so far, dealing with him now of all times was going to make his head explode.

He jerked his contained hand, growling at how it didn't budge against the toilet paper's grip. He let loose his most intimidating snarl. "Buzz off, Uncle Lou."

The snarl had some effect, causing the fully grown man decked head-to-toe in his signature lavatory-themed attire to flinch. However, fueled by some unknown moxy, he took a careful step forward and proclaimed, "T-That's the Toiletnator, to you, Numbuh 4."

Wally's head met the wall with a resounding thud, followed by a heavy groan of annoyance.

Finding out that he was related to Lou Pottingsworth III, a.k.a the freaking Toiletnator of all people, was probably the third worst day of his life, overshadowed only by the day Nigel left and the day Hoagie fell victim to Father's new form of Delightfulization. The fourth worst day of his life was when Lou decided to catch up with his long lost twin brother Sydney and make himself a common element in the Beetles household when he wasn't busy being the lamest of the lame super villains in the history of lameness.

As much as going 'rogue' from the KND and putting a target on his back sucked, Wally at least could take solace in the fact his uncle would probably leave him alone since he was no longer affiliated with the KND. Only, the exact opposite happened; Lou was on his case even more, convinced Wally was 'faking it', and was actually acting as a 'sooper secret-y secret teen spy' for the Kids Next Door. Lou vowed to prove it!

(And also spend time with his recently found family; Lou loved these guys.)

Wally didn't know what was more sad, the fact that Lou was half right about the teen spy thing, or the fact he kept using it as an excuse to weasel into his life.

Like this moment, for example.

"I already told you, uncle," Wally grumbled, "I ain't in that baby's club anymore. I betray-a-fied 'em! Ya saw 'em shooting at me just last week!"

"Oh yeah," Lou said to himself. He then shook his head and pointed an accusing finger at Wally. "Hey! You can't fool me, mister! All the other adult villains may think I'm crazy, but my powers of potty perception see right through your ruse! The toilets…they tell me everything. That, and you should really up your fiber intake."

Wally…was not sure he even wanted to acknowledge that last part.

"You can take the Kid out of the Next Door, but you can't take the Next Door out of the, um, wait…" Lou paused, scratching around his toilet roll helmet. "That sounded better in my head. What I mean to say is—"

"Just shut up," Wally groaned, beating his head against the wall. "I walked out of the KND, it's ancient history! 'Sides, they made it cruddy clear they wouldn't want me anyway. Ain't got no friends left now."

Lou paused. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, like you would care," Wally growled. "Nobody cares! Why would they? I'm just dumb ol' Wally Beetles. Just a stupid bully no one needs anymore."

Lou was quiet for a moment. Then, he set his eyes and narrowed them at the teen. "You're right. You are just a big bully!"

"Oh, thanks. Can sleep like a baby now!"

"It's true! Only a mean old bully would make his parents worry like you have the past few years!" Lou said as he stomped his foot. "And as their most favorite brother and brother-in-law, it's my job to help set the record straight! Fact is, you're just a big old jerky-McJerk face!"

Wally's muscles tensed, his jaw clenching at the mention of his parents. Guilt churned in his gut, mixing with the frustration and self-loathing that had been festering inside him for far too long.

"And what example do you think you're setting for little Joey? A big brother should be a stellar role model. I would know, seeing as I was born two-point-five seconds before Sydney. He looks up to me…unlike your little brother!"

"Stay out of this," Wally muttered, his voice strained. "Ya don't know what you're talkin' about."

The Toiletnator's expression hardened. "I know exactly what I'm talking about. You think you're some tough guy? You're not as tough as you pretend to be, buster. You can't fool me. Deep down, you're just scared."

Wally's fists clenched at his sides, his temper bubbling dangerously close to the surface. How dare his uncle presume to know him? How dare he speak of fear when he'd faced down some of the most fearsome villains the KND had ever known?

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Wally spat, his voice trembling with suppressed anger. "Well, news flash, Uncle Lou: you're not. You're just a washed-up has-been with a toilet kick!"

The Toiletnator flinched at the barb, but he didn't back down. Instead, he squared his shoulders, meeting Wally's gaze head-on.

"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not the greatest villain in the world. But at least I'm not afraid to be myself! Be there for my friends and family when they need me! Can you say the same?"

Wally's breath caught in his throat, his uncle's words hitting home harder than he cared to admit. For years, he'd hidden behind a facade of bravado, afraid to show weakness, afraid to admit that he was scared. But now, faced with his uncle's unwavering gaze, he couldn't deny the truth any longer.

"You can't, can you?" The Toiletnator said with a wicked grin. "Because you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Wally whispered, more to himself than to his uncle. "I'm not..."

But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were a lie.

He was terrified.

Terrified of failing, of letting his friends down, of never being good enough.

And worst of all, he was terrified of admitting it. It was so much easier to blame the others. Blame them for not reaching out, for not taking the time to talk to him.

But what had he done?

Had he tried reaching out?

Had he tried talking to them?

No, he hadn't. He hadn't because he was terrified of them seeing him for what he truly was. Terrified of not being able to pull his weight. He was terrified of them seeing him as a—

"Coward."

Wally tensed, slowly turning to stare at his uncle. "What did you just call me?"

Lou smirked smugly, satisfied. "You're a coward."

Wally's lips twitched. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Am. Not."

"Are too."

"AM. NOT!"

"Are too times infinity!" Lou jeered, making a mocking face. "Coward! Crybaby! Scaredy Cat! Little—"

"SHUT UP!"

Lou yelped as Wally used his free hand and gave the string of toilet paper a firm yank. The potty-based villain sailed through the air, bracing himself for the impact of Wally's fist he knew was coming. He blinked, shocked when Wally simply grabbed him by the scruff of his light yellow spandex. He made a small "eeep!" as the shorter boy hurled him around, slamming him into the wall and snarling down his face.

Lou gulped as Wally exploded on him.

"I AIN'T NO COWARD!" Wally roared. "I'm sick of hearing that! From you, from people who don't know me, and most of all, MYSELF!"

Wally's voice echoed through the hall, each word a declaration of defiance. Unbeknownst to him, his tirade laid bare all his insecurities, his fears, and his doubts, for the world to see.

But deep down, beneath the rage and the frustration, a spark of determination flickered to life.

"So listen up, Toilet-lamer! I don't care what jerks like you say or what anyone else says for that matter! They're just big prissy words! I ain't got no use for big prissy words; actions are my bread and butter! I may not be the smartest bloke on this side of the cul-de-sac, but I know one thing for certain: you can't keep Numbuh Four down! 'Cause at the end of the day, it don't matter what you think, don't even matter what I think! No matter how scared I get, no matter how terri-ma-fied I feel, I'm gonna stop thinkin' and keep fightin' til I can't fight no more! Because that's who I am!"

With a final, primal scream, Wally pushed past his uncle and stormed towards the stairs, his mind set on one thing.

"I'll kick your butt later," Wally said, flicking bits of toilet paper off his knuckles. "Got some mates to bail out of trouble."

Lou rubbed at his sore throat. "I thought you didn't have any friends?"

"Don't be stupid, course I do," Wally snorted, talking more to himself than the Toiletnator at that moment. He looked down at his scarred palm, slowly curling it into a fist before slamming it into his other. "Just…slipped my mind for a second, is all. I'm helpin' 'em whether they want it or not. Cause they ain't getting rid of me; not without a fight."

Lou watched him go, saying nothing as his nephew marched down the stairs. For a second he sat there, processing what just occurred.

Then, a giddy, self-satisfied smirk graced his lips.

"Just what I would expect from my greatest nemesis." There was no honor in defeating your archenemy when they weren't at their best. Little Numbuh Four had been in quite the slump the last few years, so Lou finally decided to give him a gentle kickback in the right direction. Who else would?

So let him go tend to his little friends. Wally could probably use the warm-up.

Lou would have plenty of time to bide and prepare for his nephew's return when he would have his full attention. When Numbuh Four returned from his mission, they would, at long last, have their final battle.

And it would be glorious.

Downstairs, Wally slammed on the ground and kicked up the last step in the staircase, revealing a crudely hidden compartment. He fumbled around, picking up an old, dusty backpack filled with some old 2x4 gadgets he had been saving for a rainy day. Sure, it wasn't raining right this second, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

He swung the strap over his shoulder, about to break for the back door. However, he stopped when a frowning Joey blocked his path. The toddler glared up at him, and before Wally could protest, Joey sharply pointed toward the living room. Wally followed, and his face softened at what he saw.

His mom was on the couch, hunched over with her face buried in her hands.

Wally looked at Joey, and the little boy did not relent. Sighing, Wally stuffed his hands in his pocket and made a detour.

Aly Beetles slowly lowered her hands, red eyes staring blankly ahead. Her eyes flickered over the shards of the shattered kola vase, hundreds of tiny reflections of her pathetic, disheveled expression staring back at her.

"Um, Mom?"

Aly's eyes widened as Wally's face entered the shards. She then looked up to see her son standing before her.

"Er, sorry 'bout the vase," he mumbled, shuffling the toe of his shoe through the glass. He clenched his eyes shut, looking away ashamed. "I'm sorry about a lot of things, actually…"

Aly was silent as she watched her son speak.

"Look," Wally started, fumbling over his words. "Uncle Lou talked to me, and er, well it was a bunch of crud as usual. Okay, maybe not all of it was crud… He said I've been bein' a jerk to you guys and maybe he was kinda, sorta…right a little bit?"

Aly's face softened.

"I jus' wanna say that…what I mean is I know sometimes I'm…ah crud!" Wally snorted a frustrated huff, kicking away glasses and running his hands through his hair. "Why can't I ever just say what I wanna say!?"

Two hands rested on top of his. He looked up to see Aly taking them into her own.

"I think ya got that from me, bud," Aly admitted as she tenderly caressed her son's rough hands. In that moment, Wally could feel her hands too, equally as rough with years of untold struggles and hardship, yet soft and comforting just like a mom's should be. Aly sighed. "Words…weren't exactly my bright spot either."

Wally cautiously laced his fingers with his mother's. "It's a lot easier to yell."

"Yeah," Aly agreed. "Don't make it right though."

"These last few years have sucked. I thought no one wanted me around, and the rest of ya were just coddling me 'cause ya thought I wasn't strong enough," Wally said, pressing through the fog of embarrassment. "But I guess that was me bein' dumb again, and forgettin' that ya do care about me. You, Dad, Joey…heck, even Uncle in his own, dorky way."

Aly sniffled up a smile. "And maybe that shelia you're so secretive about?"

Wally was quiet for a moment, then looked to the floor as his cheeks burned red. "…her name is Kuki."

"I figured," Aly said, tears pricking her eyes. "But I was…jus' hopin' you'd trust me enough to tell me to my face one day."

"I do…even if I don't say it. Which is why I need ya to trust me too," Wally said. He then inhaled, bracing himself. "I gotta go out again. There's something important I gotta do."

Aly frowned. "What's so important ya gotta run off again? Where are ya goin'?"

"I wish I could make ya understand, but it's…really complicated," Wally said, trying to be as forthcoming as he could. "But what ain't complicated is that my friends…they need me. I know they ain't called or asked for my help, but I got a gut feelin', ya know? I'm gonna whether they want me or not. If they're real friends, they'll understand. And if they ain't, well, I guess I'll know for sure, won't I?"

Aly narrowed her eyes, some thoughts brewing behind her furrowed brows.

Wally noticed and fumbled with excuses. "I know it's basically me sneaking out again, but, uh, I'm tellin' ya about it, so it technically it ain't real sneaking out! So, this way, you ain't gotta be all mad and—"

"You're grounded."

Wally blanched. "That's not—"

"You're grounded," she interrupted, "so we can finally maybe look into that smart alec-y family therapist yer Dad keeps yammerin' on about." She looked off to the side, flustered for admitting, "Maybe…maybe they can help me and you with those words we got trouble with. Learn…learn how to say what we mean without all the yellin'."

Wally's arguments died in his throat as he considered his mother's proposition. The prospect of being under the kid equivalent of house arrest didn't seem such a punishment if it meant more time to help bridge the gap that had formed between him and his mom. He groaned, in defeat. "I guess…"

"So yeah. You're grounded," Aly finished with a nod. She then slyly smiled. "After you get back from this important bizzo ya gotta handle. And you better come back, ya hear me?"

Wally's eyes widened. With trembling lips, he tackled into his mom, wrapping his arms around her.

"I will. Promise," he declared, nestling his face into her shirt. "I…I love ya, Ma."

"I love you too," Aly said, burying her face in his moppy blond hair. "My lil marsupial."

"Ah, c'mon, Ma," Wally said, groaning as he pried himself away. He shrugged back on his backpack and shuffled toward the door before she could see his flustered expression. "I ain't lil no more!"

Aly watched her son run off, and a proud, sad smile bloomed as she finally accepted that maybe her baby was turning into a young man before her eyes. "I guess not…"

Wally ran to the back porch, finally ready to head out. He stopped as once again Joey tugged at his shirt.

His little brother looked up at him, eyes curious and hesitant. "…Kids Next Door?"

Wally smirked as he ruffled Joey's hair. "Yeah, mate. Kids Next Door."

Joey laughed.

"Hey, family! I'm back!" Sydney Beetles proclaimed as he marched into the kitchen, setting down trays of food. He noted Wally and smiled. "Hey there, sport. I got Chinese with those noodles ya like."

"Eat it later, Dad!" Wally said, swiping an egg roll and swallowing it in one gulp. "Gotta save the world! Love you!"

"Love you too, champ!" Sydney waved. He jiggled his keys. "Need a ride?"

"Nah!" Wally said as he burst out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

…only to poke his head in a moment later, sheepishly scratching his head. "Um, actually, yeah. It's kinda far away…"

01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001011 01101001 01100100 01110011 00100000 01001110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00100000 01000100 01101111 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110111 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101110 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100100 00101110

"…so Father knows?"

"Yeah. Most likely about everything," Abby said into her cell phone, spread eagle on her bed and staring listlessly at the ceiling of her the other end of the call was Kuki. Abby sighed. "Don't know what Rachel plans to do without her bargaining chip. Regardless, he's gearing up to make an announcement in the morning. Evidence or not, it's gonna get bad, Kuki."

Kuki cursed under her breath. "What about Nigel?"

Abby flinched and closed her eyes. "Probably headin' to the Delightful Manor."

"You mean you let him go alone?" Kuki screeched. "Father… whatever his game is now, he's dangerous. It's not like before. Nigel can't beat him alone!"

Abby groaned. "Why do you think I'm callin' you, girl?"

"…oh! Duh," Kuki said. "Right! I'll leave my Global Tactical Officer in charge and prepare what I can. You go get Wally. I gotta make sure the kids will be okay in case things go south and—"

"Go fetch him yourself, Kuki," Abby said as she rolled over, hiding her face in her pillow. She barely muffled out, "Abby's not coming…not this time."

"WHAT!?" Kuki was furious, but Abby would be offended if she wasn't. Kuki's rant was expected, and Abby took every last bit of it. "Are you BANANAS? Nigel needs us—he needs you! We can't let him down now."

Abby bitterly laughed. "Too late for that. I tried to help him, but just made it all worse. I couldn't help him. Couldn't help you, Wally, or even Rachel." She paused, staining her pillow casing with tears. "And Hoagie…everything I've done since I became Supreme Leader has just been one big disaster. You all counted on me to step up, and I just ended up falling on my ass. I can't do it anymore, Kuki. I'm tired of failing and you all having to pay for it. Abby's…Abby's calling it quits before she messes up again."

"You can't think that!"

"Won't matter what I think, especially after tomorrow," Abby darkly mused. "I called Maurice. Going to be decommissioned in the morning. The Kids Next Door, or whatever's left of it, will be better off without me. You all will."

"I'VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOU, MISSY!" Kuki exploded. The force was enough to cause Abby to jump, bouncing her phone off the bed. The teenager scrambled to catch it while the younger girl went on to shout. "Reality check, Abby: you're not the first person to screw up! But the difference between you and all the other screw-ups out there is you owned up to it! You learned from your mistakes, you kept going when it all seemed pointless! Whenever we were scared or running around like headless chickens, you were there to keep us grounded and help us not lose our way!"

Abby stared into her phone, at a momentary loss for words. She looked away ashamed. "Kuki…why won't you just give up on lost causes?"

"Because that's not what you taught me," Kuki firmly declared. "You taught me the difference between a complete jerk and someone who was hurting or just didn't believe in themselves. You believed in them when they couldn't. You believed in me when I told you me being Supreme Leader was the worst idea ever. That's why I believe you'll get your head out of your butt and do what's right! You always do!"

Abby was quiet for a long moment, mulling over Kuki's words. Then finally, "…I'll just prove you wrong."

"No," Kuki said, "you'll prove me right."

With that, Kuki hung up, no doubt going off to prepare. Abby stared at her phone. Her hands tightened around it, and she screamed as she tossed it to some unmarked corner of her room. She slammed her face in her pillow again, her curly hair framing her like a chocolate halo.

For better or worse, Kuki was still just a kid; foolishly believing in hopeless ventures and past, faded glory. Abby both pitied and envied the naive girl.

Plink.

It didn't matter what she believed, or what Abby used to be. The keywords were 'used to be'. Abby was no longer that cool, plucky operative and she never would be. Ever again.

Plink.

She had failed Kuki, making her Supreme Leader, promising to help out when she could, but ultimately left the girl to shoulder everything while Abby chased after a hollow vendetta. She had failed Wally, not trying hard enough to help him see that becoming a free agent was a road paved in tragedy, and refusing to bail him out when he got too deep, content to let him learn his life lessons the hard way.

Plink!

She had failed Rachel, not willing to put herself in the other girl's shoes; not willing to ignore her own pain and consider for a second that maybe someone else was suffering just as badly. Maybe even worse. Abby failed Nigel, promising him to keep sector V together, promising to stay young forever, but let it all crumble and fall apart as she succumbed to bitter old age.

Plink!

And worst of all, she failed Hoagie. The sweet boy who had always been at her side despite his reservations about the danger she led them into. The kind of boy who was quick with a joke or silly pun when she was at her lowest. And how had she responded? Berating him, because she was the cool kid, she couldn't admit a 'nerd' made her laugh, made her smile. But despite her jeering, despite her back-handed abuse, he followed her loyally. Faithfully. Lovingly.

And thanks to her, he would never be the same again.

Abby had failed them all, and this was what she deserved—

CRASH!

"JESUS!" Abby leaped several feet in the air as something tore through her window. Pieces of glass went everywhere and she snapped her head up to see something landing with a rocking thud in the center of her room.

Was that a freaking cinder block!?

"I know you're up there!"

"Wally?" she spluttered, running to the remains of her window.

And there he was, in her backyard, having the audacity to impatiently tap his foot and look annoyed after he destroyed her window. "Geez, took ya long enough!"

Abby's mouth opened and closed several times, trying to process the shock and settle on an emotion. She then glared.

Anger; anger was always good. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, FOOL?"

"Well, sooooo-ry! How else was I supposed to get you to answer?"

"I dunno, maybe COME INSIDE AND KNOCK LIKE A SANE PERSON?"

"I didn't have time for all that!"

"YET YOU HAD TIME TO BUST DOWN MY WINDOW WITH A GODDAMN CINDER BLOCK!?"

"Oh, bill me later or something," Wally shrugged off. "Now c'mon! We gotta go!"

Abby was about to yell, but stopped, considering why he would be showing up. "Did Kuki call you already?"

Wally blinked dumbly. "Huh?"

Abby slapped her forehead. "That is why you're here, ain't it? Kuki was gonna call you and get you to convince me to help you guys."

Wally, however, seemed far away, eyes lighting up as some unknown clouds of doubts from earlier were blown away. "She…she was gonna call me for help? Really?"

"WALLY!"

He jumped. "Oh! Uh, no, she didn't. I decided to come and get ya in case you were home. It's on the way, and all." He then paused, narrowing his gaze suspiciously. "Hold up, 'help you guys?' What's wrong? There really is trouble brewing, and I wasn't being crazy?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Crud has hit the fan in the worst way possible. Rachel went to Father and he knows. Everything. She's gonna get herself killed, Father is gonna expose the GKND to the world, and Nigel has gone running straight after 'em."

"Damn it, I hate it when I'm right," Wally said as he smashed his fists together. "Well then, what are ya waiting for, a written invitation? We gotta save their butts!"

"'We' ain't doin' nothin'," Abby said, slumping against her shattered window pane as her anger-fueled adrenaline whimpered out. "Abby ain't no good to you guys anymore. You're better off without her."

"For the love of…" Wally groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ya gotta be pullin' my leg; why on Earth would ya think that?"

"'Cause it's true," she mumbled. "I ain't done nothin' right lately. Just ended up causing more trouble and hurting the people I care about."

"Oh, no, I just did this song and dance," Wally fussed, reminded of his encounter with his uncle not even a half hour ago. "So ya feel useless, weak, and all that crud. Spoiler alert; ya ain't! Glad we cleared that up. Now let's GO!"

"It ain't that simple, Wally."

"Sure it is! You're awesome. Case closed. Now c'mon."

"No!"

"ARE YOU BEING FOR REAL RIGHT NOW?" Wally snapped, stomping around her lawn, leaving an angry little footprint. "OUR FREAKING FRIENDS ARE IN DANGER AND YOU JUST WANNA MOPE AND FEEL SORRY FOR YOURSELF!?"

"I'M NOT GONNA BE THE REASON YOU ALL GET KILLED!" Abby screamed back. "I REFUSE!"

The scream echoed into the night, silencing both teens. Wally looked up, frowning. Abby leaned against the broken frame, tears flowing as she nervously wrung her fingers in her hair.

"I can't risk failing you all again, Wally," she cried. "The last time? I lost Hoagie. Losing the rest of you? I'd never live with myself. I won't let you all get hurt because I got all caught up in myself again." She buried her face in her arms, fighting back sobs. "I won't…"

Wally slowly lowered his gaze to the ground. The desolation in her voice…some would say Abby was too far gone at this point. She was too stuck in her head to be of any use to them, becoming some self-fulfilling prophecy. Time was running short, not much left to waste. The smart thing to do would be to cut his losses and just push on without her.

Good thing Wally was never known for being the 'smart' one.

"Look, I get it. I really do," he said. "Ya feel like you're weak, that you'll hold everyone down. Ya think ya ain't tough enough. Well, guess what? People say I'm the tough one, but they're dead wrong. You're the tough one. The toughest there ever is. That ain't me trying to make ya feel better, it's me statin' cold hard facts."

He raised his head, staring up at his former kid-in-arms. "I know what it's like feelin' like ya gotta prove yourself. That ya can't pull your weight. But ya ain't gotta carry it all on your shoulders, none of us do. Because we're a team—family." He slowly raised his fist towards Abby. "We do all that stuff together; just like we always have, and just like we always will."

Abby looked down at Wally through a tear-stained lens. "I…I don't know…"

"Well, ya better figure it out," Wally, retracting his fist. "Cause there are kids out there countin' on us: all those innocent operatives, Nigel. Heck, even Rachel, I bet."

Abby looked away. "Those two ain't kids no more, man. None of us are."

"But deep down, they want to be," Wally said, crossing his arms, and giving her a challenging stare. "And a big kid once told me that we save kids, 'cause that's our job."

Abby sniffled. "Sounds like a smart kid…"

Wally nodded. "Yeah, you are."

Another beat of silence passed between them, the wind blowing. After a moment, Wally turned and began walking away.

"I can't wait on ya forever, Nigel and Kuki need me," he said, stopping short of the curb. "They need you, too."

Abby gingerly reached out her hand, only to yank it back as fear seized her heart. Too many 'what ifs' holding her down. "Guess you owe me that pounding, sport. I…I let ya down again."

Wally didn't turn around. Only clenched his fists as he walked away. "Not yet, you haven't."

After he disappeared around the bend, Abby collapsed back into her room, sliding down the wall as she found herself in a vortex of conflicting emotions, her mind swirling with doubts and fears. She sat there in her shattered room, feeling the weight of her choices pressing down on her like a King Two-Tons-of-Candy's sweet horde, suffocating any flicker of resolve.

Wally's words echoed in her mind, a persistent reminder of her duty, but also her inadequacies.

With trembling hands, Abby wiped away her tears, trying to steady her breathing. But each breath felt like a struggle as if she were drowning against a tide of her own making. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the chaos raging within her, but the images of her failures haunted her like ghosts refusing to be exorcised.

What if she went and only made things worse? What if she stayed and regretted it for the rest of her life? The weight of responsibility was crushing her, threatening to engulf her in its suffocating embrace.

But amidst the turmoil, a small voice whispered in the depths of her soul. It was the voice of determination, of resilience, of the old Abby who had faced insurmountable odds and emerged victorious.

She couldn't let her fear dictate her actions.

She couldn't allow herself to be consumed by self-doubt.

She had a choice to make, a choice that would define her legacy, her identity.

Slowly, Abby pushed herself up from the floor, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced at the shattered window, a stark reminder of the chaos outside, but also of the opportunity that lay beyond it.

Abby took a step forward—

Do you think it matters at this point?

—only to crumple down, as the voice of her self-doubt came back with vengeance.

You can't change anything, too late for that. Abby looked up, trembling as her reflection sneered back at her. The reserved, cold persona she had built up the past few years, laid in all its twist glory. Her reflection's lips curled with a hateful chortle. You'll just remind them of how much of a failure you are. Remind them of how this is all your fault.

Abby curled in on herself, resigning herself to her grim fate. To hide away from the world forever.

"Tsk, stubborn friends, am I right? Always leaving you to clean up their messes."

Abby's eyes widened, snapping her gaze to the young woman leaning against the door.

"…Cree."

Cree had herself propped against Abby's girl, leg kicked up, and armed cross. She dimly surveyed the mess of the room and raised a brow at the cinderblock that had made itself home as a new centerpiece. The woman flipped up the rim of her red hat, her eyes finally locking with Abby's for the first time in years.

Cree smirked. "Heya, sis."

Her sister's unexpected presence in her room sent a jolt through Abby, breaking the suffocating silence that had enveloped her. For a moment, Abby couldn't find her voice, her mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions and memories.

Finally, she managed to stammer out, "What are you doing here?"

Cree pushed herself off the door frame and sauntered further into the room, her gaze never leaving Abby's. "Well, I heard through the grapevine that my little sister was in a bit of a pickle. Thought I'd come to offer some sisterly advice."

Abby's brow furrowed in suspicion. "Sisterly advice? Since when have you cared about that?"

Cree's smirk widened. "Touché. But believe it or not, I do care. Despite our... differences."

Abby wasn't comfortable with how she said that last word. Differences. Sure, in the last few years since her 'decommissioning', they had a spat here and there, but nothing major. Nothing like when they were younger. It was mostly Cree trying to slip back into "protective big sister mode" and Abby silently shutting it down. It continued up until Cree left for college and the two haven't shared more than two words since.

But now…

Differences?

Abby was guarded as she coolly said, "Think you're looking too much into things, sis. The silent treatment is simple: means I don't wanna talk to ya. Don't go takin' it personally. Or do. I don't care."

Cree's smirk dropped as she rolled her eyes. "I see we're still doing this bit, huh?"

Abby's fingers gripped the sheets of her bed. "Don't know what you're getting at, Cree."

"Uh huh," Cree said, walking past Abby. She flicked a piece of jagged glass off the sill, then leaned forward gazing out into the night.

There was a tense, moment of silence between them. Cree struggled with some inner debate, and Abby wondered what scheme her sibling was cooking up this time.

Finally, Cree sighed and peered over her shoulder, eyes landing on the cinderblock. "You know," the young woman slowly started, "Never thought lead-for-brains Wally Beetles would make the cut for Teen Covert Operations, but I guess it just goes to show how much I know these days."

All of the breath whooshed out of Abby. Her eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing several times trying to form a response, but her mind was blank. No, not blank—swarming with millions of thoughts and concerns.

Cree…Cree knew.

Cree knew.

"You knew?"

"Had a huuu-nch," Cree deliberately drawled out, moving into a leisurely shrug, "but you just went and pretty much confirmed it."

Abby's heart raced as the realization sank in. Cree knew about the teen spies all along. The weight of keeping this secret from her sister for so long felt like a lead ball in her chest. She struggled to find her voice amidst the chaos of her thoughts.

"How... how did you figure it out?" Abby managed to choke out, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Cree turned to face Abby fully, her expression unreadable. "Oh, you know, just a little deductive reasoning," she replied, her tone casual despite the gravity of the situation. "Father's attack on the Grove was a real eye-opener, to say the least."

Abby's mind raced, trying to piece together Cree's thought process. "But... why didn't you say anything? Why keep it a secret?"

Cree's smirk returned, though it held a hint of bitterness now. "Oh, I don't know, Abby," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe because you made it perfectly clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. Why bother sharing information with someone who hates your guts?"

"BECAUSE I HATE YOU!"

Abby felt a pang of guilt, the last real words she screamed at her sister echoing in her mind. She had then pushed the woman away countless times, convinced that Cree was only trying to manipulate her or undermine her. But now, faced with the truth, Abby couldn't help but feel a sense of regret.

Abby hardened her expression, channeling that regret into anger. Because anger was so much easier to fall back on when it came to Cree Lincoln.

"Ain't like I didn't have a good reason," Abby said, jumping to her feet. "In case it slipped your mind, traitor, you sold us out! Disabled our best spies, stole Global Command's secret communication codes, and gave them to Father!"

Cree said nothing, still staring out the window with her back to Abby.

Abby snarled. "Became his apprentice, tried to chuck the Moonbase into the sun, scramblified injured operatives' brains." She took an angry step forward. "You betrayed us. You betrayed me!"

Cree lowered her head, the rim of her red cap veiling her eyes. "You done?"

"I can't believe you," Abby whispered. She looked at her hands, trembling with anger. "Rachel was right. You turned into a villain and I didn't do a damn thing about it. You threw away everything we ever believed in and I just sat back and watched!"

Cree's fists slowly clenched. "So why didn't you try and stop me, Abigail?"

"BECAUSE YOU WERE MY SISTER!"

With a roar, Abby leaped at Cree, surging forth with her fist. But in one fluid motion, Cree simply twirled on her heel and caught Abby's hand. The younger girl gasped, then screamed as she swung her other fist. Cree simply caught that too, her head still bowed low, eyes hidden as she held her sister in place.

Cree's grip on Abby's fists was firm, her touch sending shivers down Abby's spine. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Abby struggled against Cree's hold, her anger and frustration boiling over, but Cree remained eerily composed, her silence unnerving.

"You were my hero!" Abby shrieked, voice cracked with pain, tears welling in her eyes. "I looked up to you! Wanted to be just like you!" Her breath came in ragged gasps as she poured out the years of pain and disillusionment. "But every day, I had to die a little more inside as I watched you become a monster."

Her words hung heavy in the air, a weighty silence descending upon them as Abby's emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

And Cree still said nothing, her grip on Abby unyielding, her eyes hidden beneath the shadow of her cap. The room seemed to shrink around them, stifling in its stillness.

Unable to bear the weight of her emotions any longer, Abby collapsed to her knees, her body wracked with sobs. Each tear that fell felt like a piece of her soul unraveling, leaving her raw and exposed.

"I trusted you," Abby's voice cracked with anguish, the words torn from her heart. "I loved you."

But Cree said nothing, her silence a damning indictment of the shattered bond between them.

"I loved you and wanted to believe you could be better. Would come to your senses and be Numbuh 11 again. But instead, you just kept stabbing us in the back. Kept trying to kill us," Abby cried. Cree finally let go of her, and her hands fled to her face. She shivered, forcing herself to confront the horrible, horrible truth as she finally asked, "How many kids did you kill, Cree?"

"None."

Abby's heart lurched at Cree's unexpected response. "None?" she echoed, disbelief coloring her voice.

Cree remained stoic, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the room. "None," she repeated, her voice devoid of emotion. "Believe it or don't. It's up to you."

Abby's mind reeled, struggling to reconcile Cree's words with the reality she had come to accept. How could it be possible that Cree, the person once hellbent on destroying them, had not taken a single life?

"But... but you tried," Abby insisted, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "You tried to hurt us, to kill us. How can you say you haven't?"

Cree's expression remained unchanged, her features masked by shadow. "Don't get it twisted. Ain't denying what I did, that I did try," she said softly, her words weighted with regret. "I was angry. So damn angry. I wanted to do it…" Her face suddenly twisted as rage consumed her. "I wanted to!"

Abby flinched.

"…but I got lucky," she softly said, her face stoic once more. "Every time I came close to crossing that line, something stopped me—someone stopped me."

Abby's brow furrowed in confusion. "Someone?"

Cree nodded solemnly. "Sometimes it was some stupid, shaggy-haired Supreme Leader refusing to accept that there wasn't something left in me worth saving…"

Cree remembered that day. Freshly thirteen, and weeks of planning coming to fruition. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, so might as well see it through. She delighted in the smell of the Moonbase burning around her. Felt vindictive glee as she broke those spies that thought she didn't know were keeping tabs on her. She reveled in the fear of in, back then, Numbuh Six-Eight-Six's eyes, realizing he had failed the decommissioning squad. Perhaps for the last time.

But she also remembered Numbuh One-Hundred running into the chamber, how her heart skipped a beat as he stood there. Scared for his operative because there was no way he could reach him in time…

…but also scared for her.

"Please," he begged, extending his hand, his helmet gone and eyes vulnerable, "I know this isn't you…"

She remembered screaming, Father's promises loud in her mind. She remembered sparing Six-Eight-Six, tossing him to distract One-Hundred, because back then she justified it as overall escape being better than the bonus of getting even.

"Sometimes it was a hamster protecting her owner…"

Cree remembered that cold morning. A random babysitting gig promised a much more lucrative payoff, but her brat of a client was so insufferable that it almost wasn't worth the stress. She recalled how things just kept falling to pieces and then Numbuh Three-Sixty-Two showed up.

Cree was ultimately better, but Three-Sixty-Two was good. Cree's savage assault kept her in the green, but Three-Sixty-Two was ruthless in her refusal to back down. So much talent, so much potential and the brat was wasting it all for some club that would chew her up and spit the remains out. In her rage, Cree had finally pinned Three-Sixty-Two down, aiming for the kill because, at the time, Cree's demented logic assured her this was a mercy compared to the slow death the KND would reward unto Three-Sixty-Two.

She recalled seeing red as something bit into her ear. In her rage, Cree reacted on pure, furious instinct as she squeezed the frightened hamster. Her mind clouded, her body acted, and the realization that she carelessly threw the innocent pet off the side of the mountain only came when Three-Sixty-Two's heartbroken wail pierced the red veil. By then, it was too late.

"And sometimes..." Cree paused, her gaze shifting to Abby. "...sometimes it was you."

Abby's breath caught in her throat.

They both remembered that stormy day. Both remembered fighting with all their might, each of their convictions blazing red hot.

Both sisters remembered the hateful words slung, and how Abby clumsily tripped and grimly accepted her doom.

And they both remember Cree catching her, setting her up, and then flying away.

"Every time, I got lucky," Cree said, lifting her head, trying to push back the wetness building behind her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. "…so I decided to stop before my luck ran out."

Abby looked up at her sister, seeing the cracks forming in her uncaring, stone-faced expression.

"…then why, Cree?" Abby demanded, her voice breaking with emotion. "Why did you do it?"

No more context was needed. Both knew the question being asked.

Cree finally opened her eyes, her hazel irises darkened with remorse. "Because I thought it was the only way," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I could beat the inevitable. But I was wrong. So wrong."

Abby's anger faltered, replaced by a flood of conflicting emotions. She searched Cree's face for any sign of deception, but all she found was genuine regret. It was a side of her sister she hadn't seen in years, a defencelessness that felt foreign yet strangely familiar.

"Back then, the closer you got to thirteen, the more they started taking bets," Cree said, lips trembling. "Back then, if you got unlucky and aged into a middle school while serving? You got put on a watch list. It didn't matter how loyal I was, how I would do anything for the Kids Next Door… the closer I got to thirteen they already saw me as a teenager. Already saw me as an enemy." She smiled a bitter, terrible smile. "So I figured, if they were already expectin' a show…then why disappoint them?"

And there it was. Just like with Chad, just like with Rachel, just like with herself, Abby darkly mused, despite the best of intentions, despite all sorts of precautions, sometimes it was their own fear, isolation, and anger that created their own monsters.

Abby looked to the floor. "I…I ain't never heard of no watch list."

"Of course you wouldn't. After me? The last thing Numbuh 100 did as Supreme Leader was to get rid of it," Cree revealed. Then Abby watched as, curiously, some new sort of sadness etched across her face as she said, "…which is why I guess someone higher-up decided to get rid of him."

Another moment of silence passed, the long-estranged sisters simply absorbing each other's presence as the past picked and prodded at them.

"I know I can never make up for what I've done," Cree continued, her voice thick with emotion. "But…I'm trying to move on and be here now. After you turned thirteen…it was never an act. It was never because I just thought you forgot…"

Abby's resolve wavered, her heart torn between resentment and forgiveness. She wanted to believe Cree, to believe that her sister was truly remorseful for her actions.

But the wounds ran deep, and new trust was not easily earned.

"You expect me to just forgive you?" Abby asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Cree shook her head, her expression pained. "Nah. Don't honestly expect forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But I hope, one day, you can find it in your heart to see past my mistakes…and remember the sister I used to be."

Abby felt a lump form in her throat, her anger dissipating with each word Cree spoke. She wanted to hate her sister, to hold onto her resentment and never let go.

But beneath Cree's facade of indifference lay a vulnerability that Abby couldn't ignore.

"I don't know if I can," Abby admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Understandable," was all Cree said, stepping back to give her sister space and lean against the wall. She bitterly chuckled. "Not right to expect you to come around after finding out the whole reason I turned traitor was that I thought things were unfair."

"…you ain't wrong, though," Abby decided to say. With a sigh, she pressed her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. "This…teen spy gig? Ain't a lot of us. Only two per sector rotation. And it don't even matter how good you were or if you passed the written test. Crud's a lottery. A rigged one if you're 'lucky' enough to be Supreme Leader." Abby snorted. "Guess it's their way of saying, 'Hey, thanks for doing that job no one wants to do. Wanna be a spy and lie to your friends?'"

"Shame they decided to make an exception for Numbuh 100," Cree grumbled. "Who makes up these stupid rules anyway?"

Abby looked past Cree and out the window, sending a heated glare to the stars. "Trust me, you don't wanna know."

Cree's brow perked curiously at her sister's tone. "You sound bitter, sis."

"I am. I got bitter. I got old," she mumbled then folded in on herself a bit more. "I got useless."

"Where the hell is this coming from?"

Abby buried her face in her knees. "There's…a lot you still don't know, Cree."

Cree looked down at her sister, Abby all weak, meek, and open to be sculpted into whatever Cree desired. Not even a few years ago, she would have relished in this. Would have cried tears of joy that her sister was teetering so close to the precipice of despair, realizing the whole Kids Next Door was a sham and would finally see things her way.

Her thumb propped up her old red hat a bit as she walked over to Abby.

Abby heard Cree shuffling but paid it no mind.

Cree simply sat behind Abby, legs crossed, hands resting on her knee, and their only connection being the slight brush of the small of their backs against one another. "So catch me up."

Abby raised her eyes, peering at her mirror. She saw her sad, crumpled reflection, but the strong, back of his sister so close.

That nasty voice inside her hissed, telling Abby to remain silent.

Instead, she leaned a bit more into Cree and began sharing everything.

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The only sound that came from the hillside was the whistling wind as Rachel and The Steve stared one another down.

The Steve kept his hands raised, expression neutral as his eyes scanned over the girl from behind his shades.

Rachel kept her body poised to strike, eyes like sharp daggers at the older man.

The Steve scratched his nose. "So, we like, just gonna do this all night, or…"

"Beat it," Rachel growled. "I don't need your help. I'm fine."

The Steve glanced over her, noting her tattered clothes and bruised face. He slowly raised a brow as he noted her knee wobbling ever so slightly under the stain. "Sure don't look like it."

"Just leave me alone."

"Wait," The Steve murmured, lowering his shades and squinting his eyes. "I know you…"

Rachel swallowed her panic, quickly glancing around for a possible escape.

"Yeah. I remember you now," The Steve said, flashing a self-assured smirk as he snapped his fingers. "You're one of my old 'Teen Ninjas'. Wassup, dude?"

Rachel faltered, nearly tripping over herself. "I-I was never a Teen Ninja!"

"Hey, s'cool, I get it. Kind of a 'cringe' phase. Wanna pretend it didn't happen. I dig it," he chuckled. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking upward as he reminisced. "Man, we got up to some gnarly hi-jinks back in the day, eh?"

Rachel stared blandly. "You nearly destroyed the Kids Next Door after lying to them that you wanted to make peace."

The Steve had the decency to appear sheepish. "C'mon, we've all done stupid things to try and impress a girl…"

"People almost died!"

"But they didn't! Parachutes." He pointed out. He then grinned, confident he cornered the blonde in some sort of 'gotcha!' moment. "And I totally knew it. You were one of my guys. How else would you know about that ol' shindig?"

"N-No! I was—" Rachel stopped herself, letting off a frustrated groan as she turned away from Steve and sat on her butt, pulling her knees to her chest. "Just forget it. It doesn't matter anymore."

Silence once again engulfed them, The Steve looking down at the girl curiously, and Rachel just huddling in on herself, burying her face in her arms willing the world to just disappear and leave her to her misery. Her stomach had other ideas, letting out an audible grumble. Rachel hid her embarrassed grimace.

Then the tantalizing aroma of beef and spices wafted through the air, sending ripples of hunger through her senses. Rachel risked a peek upward and saw The Steve wiggling a taco in front of her.

"'Ey, The Steve knows that sound," he teased. His other hand reached behind him to reveal a greasy bag. "Go on, take it. I got, like, five other ones."

Rachel frowned and pointedly looked away. "I don't like tacos."

The Steve scoffed. "Have you ever even tried a taco?"

Rachel opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. "Um, not really…was more of poutine sorta gal."

"Then as the old sayin' goes; don't knock it 'til ya try it." The Steve slowly retracted his taco-baring hand, pointing to the sky to declare some sort of oath. "How 'bout this; you wanna be depressed and brood by yourself? Be my guest, The Steve will leave you to it…after ya get a taco in you."

Her eyes lingered on the taco, the savory scent of seasoned beef mingled with hints of tangy salsa and warm tortilla, teasing her nostrils and igniting a craving deep within. With each inhale, her stomach growled in anticipation, yearning for the flavorful explosion promised by the first bite of that irresistible Tex-Mex.

Rachel licked her lips as she regarded Steve warily. "For real?"

"For real." Rachel's hand shot out to swipe the taco, but Steven expertly weaved and jutted a finger in her face instead. "And no scarfing it down in one bite. Deal?"

"Deal," Rachel grumbled, accepting the hefty taco. She took a large first bite, nearly regretting it as the hot sauce sizzled on her tongue. After opening her mouth to let the night air cool it, she began chewing, inwardly denying just how good it tasted. She was just hungry after being on the run. That's all.

"Man, do I love tacos," Steve said, ignoring his advice and stuffing an entire one in his mouth. His cheeks bulged obscenely, lessening with every chew until he swallowed with one big gulp. Rachel's look of disgust went unnoticed as he procured a second one, intending to savor it. "They're like, bundles of awesomeness rolled into one sweet package. I mean sure, they get messy, but hey, what's life without a little discord, huh?"

Rachel swallowed another bite before groaning. "Please spare me the lecture."

"Huh?"

"Setting it up to make tacos some big meaningful metaphor that's supposed to solve all my problems," Rachel bemoaned, staring at the half-eaten foodstuff with a new level of disdain, no matter how yummy it tasted. "What? Are you gonna tell me how the meat falling out means the more we try and control our destiny, the more we just lose our way? How the stain of the salsa is a symbol of a regret that will never truly fade?"

The Steve looked at Rachel as if she had grown a second head. "What are you on, blondie? I just like tacos. Geez."

Rachel blinked herself, then shrunk a little under his bland stare. "…oh."

Steve polished off another taco, suckling the last bit of flavor from his fingertips as he arched a brow. "You, uh, want some advice or something? I ain't exactly a fortune cookie."

"No," she sighed. She took a small nibble and sulked. "Not like it would make a difference anyway."

Steve's lips crinkled. Reminded of the girl's poor state and what strange feeling dragged him out here, he blew a tuft of hair from his face before asking, "What the heck are you doing by yourself, anyway? You miss the bus home or something?" He jerked his thumb back to his motorcycle leaning against a park tree. "I could give ya a ride."

"I don't have a home to go back to anymore," Rachel said, eyes heavy as she scanned the city horizon, wishing she could just lose herself in the crowds and disappear forever. "And I'm…just trying to see something through. Until the end."

"Now that doesn't sound ominous at all," he said sarcastically. "And that something is…?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Steve pulled out another treat from his bag. "Try me."

Rachel sighed, mulling it over. She closed her eyes. "Guess I had no right to be all judge-y towards you earlier. I'm out here trying to finish what guys like you started…" A lump formed in her throat, and she forced it down. "I'm…about to destroy the Kids Next Door."

"Ah, figures. Trust me, it ain't gonna stick," Steve said nonchalantly as he bit into a burrito. His eloquent 'been-around-the-block-more-than-thou' attitude was contrasted with how he spoke between mouthfuls of beef. "Those little dorks got serendipity out the wazoo. Always seem to bounce back in the last round."

Rachel hugged herself tighter, the chill of the night seeping into her bones. "Not this time, I think."

"Oh ho, The Steve senses some over-confidence here," he chuckled before swallowing. His lips fixed into another smirk. "S'cool. He can dig it. More power to ya, blondie."

Rachel gave him a side-eye. "You don't know what I know."

"Oh sure, I was only the leader of all the teenagers, doing the same shtick you're trying now. Got years of finesse and expertise under this belt, but you're right," he said, waving his arms around in extravagant fashion. "What do I know?"

"I know you were a menace to be reckoned with, had them all on the ropes numerous times," Rachel admitted with a sneer. "At one point you could've just finished the job, but didn't follow through. Instead, you randomly vacated your throne and disbanded the Teen Ninjaz, leaving them to scatter or make up copycat factions that never lived up to your hype."

The man took it all in stride with a cocky shrug. "The Steve's a tough act to follow."

"So why just give up?" Rachel growled, facing him fully. "Why even lead them at all when you were gonna just wuss out and abandon them from the start?"

"Ooof. Seems a nerve has been struck," Steve 'tsk-tsk-tsked'. "The Steve is an enigma; one that cannot be summed up so crudely. Wuss out and abandon? You wound me! The Steve makes his own beat, marches to his own drum, takes his own destiny in these two, totally cool hands you witness before you." He smirked again, wiggling his dexterous fingers in front of the girl. "Witness them, blondie."

Rachel scoffed, smacking them away.

Steve shook off the sting before coughing into his fist. "Ah, but considering you're all mopey, guess I can let ya get a sneak peek behind the curtain. Why did I lead the Teen Ninjaz? Well, I had to. Doy. Who else was gonna lead 'em?"

Rachel stared at him, confused. "Father?"

"That old jerk? Puh-lease," Steve said with scorn, waving off the mention of the villain's name. "Sure, the guy provided the scratch to get 'em started, and supplied some wickedly cool tech to rival the babies' laser, four-by-two thingies, but the guy only cared about his vision: making all those younger than him cogs in his stuffy machine, little tools to craft his boring, hyper-conformist design. He didn't care about those teens."

"But you did?"

"Correct-a-mundo, blondie. The Steve needed to introduce some chaos. He needed to show 'em how to swing to their own tune. He needed to serenade them with the righteous sounds of re-belli-on, yee-aaah!" He sang, kicking up onto his feet and shredding a stellar air-guitar solo. "Us teens had it hard too, y'know? Folks always telling us to 'turn down our music', or 'don't hang out with so-and-so cause they're from the bad side of the neighborhood', or even like 'I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it'. Father was funneling teens down into his Oppression Express. Of course The Steve had to step up and take 'em on a detour!"

His words reminded Rachel of the failed TREATY proposed all those years ago. She thought of Numbuh Infinity's words that day, of how they shouldn't come together as kids or even as teenagers, but join one another as youth, because wasn't that what they were at the heart of it?

She then frowned. The Steve always had a way with words, his charismatic flair and knack for theatrics pulling out of dire straights not even the most seasoned of operatives could survive. It was why she almost fell for this bit before, why that treaty failed in the first place.

"But what did it amount to?" she countered. "All that talk of fighting back, fighting for freedom and you just went around tried to do the same thing—tried to destroy the Kids Next Door."

The Steve spread his arms, letting himself fall on his back. He hiked his leg up, crossing it over the other, and folded his arms behind his head. From this angle, his sharp shades were lowered, and she could see wizened eyes trying to catch a glimpse of stars struggling against the city's light pollution.

"Like I said," he sighed. "You do pretty stupid things trying to impress a girl."

Rachel mulled over Steve's words, a mixture of frustration and curiosity brewing within her. She couldn't deny that something was intriguing about his perspective, something that resonated with her despite how much she wanted to deny it.

She frowned, munching away at her taco. "Must've been some girl…"

"Hooo boy, was she ever," he said, fondness painting his tone. "Wicked as hell and cooler than me. She once turned an entire treehouse upside down—all by herself. Had a major grudge against those KNDorks, though. Kinda reminds me of you." He waved his hand in a 'so-so' motion. "Y'know, minus the wanting to impress ya part, no offense."

"None taken," Rachel groaned. "So why'd you throw it all away?"

"My band was picking up some crazy steam. Couldn't be tied down leading a teen rebel group, y'know? Had to spread my wings and fly." He slowly furrowed his brow. "Least, that's the crock I told 'em. Truth is when you do stupid things tryin' to impress someone else, sometimes you lose your true self along the way. The whole destroying the KND thing? The Steve's heart just wasn't in it, in the end."

"That's it? You just didn't feel like it anymore?"

"There you go tryin' to tie it all up with a neat little bow. Way more baggage to it than that, blondie," he said. "My heart wasn't in it. I was doin' it 'cause I felt like I had to, and kept it going to be a symbol to the guys. But if I was lyin' to myself, doing something without really knowing why, that how fair is it to all those dudes? They looked up to me, and I loved those guys. Couldn't stand the thought of forcing out another encore when the show's way past over. If you're gonna do something halfway? Then better to just not do it at all."

Rachel blinked, staring at the remains of her taco in thought. Her face contorted, a mix of uncomfortable emotions bubbling underneath the surface.

"And there you have it, the mighty rise and whimpering fall of The Steve. Hold for applause, kiddies," he said, closing his eyes, chest raising as he took a deep breath. "Your turn, little miss; why are you trying to destroy the Kids Next Door?"

She scowled. She had gotten sick of being asked that. "They took everything from me."

"Fair enough," he said. He slowly opened his eyes, looking into the night sky. "Not everything needs to be deep and stuff."

Rachel reeled on him, indignant rage clouding her vision. "I'm sorry my pain and suffering is so surface level to you!"

"I ever say those words?" he shot back, still not looking at her. "Just sayin' if that's all the reason you need, then more power to you."

"It is! My friends, my life, even my baby brother—they took everything and I…" she started yelling, but tapered off into a whisper. "…I just…let it all happen. I didn't even truly appreciate what I had until it…until it was all gone. Forever."

Steve nodded his head, flicking his shades back over his eyes as his expression became impassive. "Bummer."

"…you know," she began, her voice softer now, "I used to think I knew exactly what I was fighting for. But now... now I don't really know."

Steve shifted slightly, his gaze still fixed on the stars above. "Yeah, that tends to happen when you start questioning junk. But hey, questioning is good. It means you're thinkin' for yourself."

Rachel frowned, her thoughts drifting to her recent actions. "But what if I'm wrong? What if everything I've done has just been a mistake?"

"Hey, mistakes happen. We all make 'em. The important thing is what you do next." Steve turned his head to look at her, his expression surprisingly serious. "So…what's next for you, blondie?"

As Rachel stared into the depths of Steve's serious gaze, her mind churned with conflicting emotions. The aroma of tacos still lingered in the air, but it was overshadowed by the weight of her own doubts and fears.

She had embarked on this mission with a singular purpose, fueled by anger and grief.

But now, after all that had transpired these past few whirlwind weeks, and faced with the uncertainty of her ultimate fate near the end, she felt lost.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel closed her eyes, searching within herself for clarity.

The glimpses of operatives gone missing under her command—operatives like Omar. The burn of those she hurt—sector V, Seventy-Four-point-Two-Three-Nine, Abby. The memories of her friends—Fanny and Patton. Images of her family—her parents, little Harvey. And all she had lost flashed before her mind's eye—Bon-Bon, Chad, Nigel.

Each one was a painful reminder of the stakes of her mission.

But alongside the pain, there was still an ember of stubborn resolve, a spark of resilience that refused to be extinguished.

Slowly opening her eyes, Rachel met Steve's gaze. "I…I have to keep going."

Steve raised a brow, urging her to continue.

"Because I need to." She stared down at her hands, watching as they balled into fists. "This has to be for something. I've lost so much—I've been hurt so badly, and did it all alone. But…I'm not the only one who's lost something, I'm not the only Supreme Leader who had to suffer through this."

Rachel stared ahead at the horizon, eyes lingering on the moon. "If I do nothing, then the cycle just keeps going. More and more kids are gonna turn out like me. I will not allow that to happen. I will not let any more children suffer because of a system that failed them."

"That what you think?"

"That's what I know. Something has to change. The Kids Next Door aren't coming to save me. They can't," she said. She said with a deep desolation, and firm resignation set heavy in her soul. But it only emboldened her, because at least now, finally, she could accept it. "So if that means I have to make sure they don't get the chance to fail another kid…then I guess that's how my story ends—with me at least saying I tried."

"Be the change you wanna see in the world," The Steve said as he stood up, moving into a slow stretch. "I can respect that."

Rachel looked up at the young man, watching skeptically as he dusted himself off and turned away. "So, that's it, huh."

"Yep. You have finished your taco, and The Steve is a man of his word." He stood, taking a few steps down the hill toward his bike.

Rachel closed her eyes, content to return to her brooding thoughts.

Steve stopped just a few feet away. His hands went to rest on his hips as he stared at his bike. His face was blank, intention impossible to discern beyond those reflective sunglasses.

"Offer for that ride still stands."

Rachel's eyes snapped open.

"Could just…let it be, and I could take ya home," he said. He managed a small smirk, despite his back facing the girl. "And hell, if that don't seem appealing, could roll with me for a bit. My ScumBucketPunks are still in need of a bass guitarist since our last one ditched us."

"…I don't know how to play."

"You too old to learn or something?"

Rachel closed her eyes once more, resigning herself to her fate. "My mind's made up."

The Steve's smirk fell. "So it seems."

The wind blew.

Rachel couldn't suppress her shiver.

She also couldn't contain her gasp of shock as a jacket was draped over her.

"Can't let a little babe go catchin' a cold." He pulled his hands away, bare arms now exposed to the chill. Small goosebumps appeared, but he didn't flinch. No, he just lowered his shades just enough to slip out a cool wink. "Got a rep to keep."

So stunned by his act of kindness, Rachel could do nothing as her body greedily relished in the second-hand body warmth. Legends of The Steve's super cool, mega-rad jacket were known from the shores of Rainbow Monkey Island to the leafy green valleys of La Spinachia. The former leader of the Teen Ninaz wasn't too keen on accepting Father's BRAs ("Just not my style, yo."), and instead went into battle with only his trusty jacket tied around his waist.

Rumors say it was an old relic from his past, sown and newly fitted to his growing body with loving care by his mother before she passed.

Whispers claimed he had only worn it once and none came back to tell the tale.

She stared down at the ebony cotton with the tiniest bit of reverence sneaking through. "I…didn't think you were the type of guy to help out a random kid down on her luck."

"Me neither, but what can I say? Figured I'd step out of my comfort zone," Steve said, once again shrugging as he walked off. "Hang on to it for me. Might come in handy."

Rachel wrapped the jacket around her trembling frame, a sad look enveloping her face. "I don't think you'll be getting it back."

"That's life, I guess," Steve said as he swung a leg over his bike, nestling himself in. He looked up to the hillside, taking one long, final look at the girl.

Then, he held up a signaled a peace sign and said, "Later, Rachel. If ya gotta go out, then go out in a wicked blaze of glory."

As Steve revved up his motorcycle, Rachel remained silent, her thoughts swirling in the tempest of uncertainty. She watched as Steve prepared to depart, the sound of the engine roaring to life echoing in the quiet night air. Just as he was about to ride off into the darkness, Rachel's voice pierced through the stillness.

"Wait!"

Steve paused, turning to look back at her with a quizzical expression.

"How did you know my name?" Rachel asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

From behind his helmet, his eyes narrowed in confusion, taking a moment to rack his brain…

Then, his lips curved into a smirk, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Lucky guess," he said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

Rachel stared at him, a mixture of surprise and suspicion clouding her features. She knew there was more to Steve than met the eye, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Yet, despite her lingering doubts, she couldn't deny the memory of the shaggy-haired boy who found her in the mall all those years ago.

"Lucky guess," she said softly, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a casual wave, Steve revved the engine once more, the motorcycle rumbling beneath him as he rode off into the night.

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The rain fell in a steady rhythm, tapping against the umbrella held firmly by the older man's hand. His silhouette hunched slightly against the elements, cast a protective shadow over the teen walking beside him. The dim glow of streetlights painted the wet pavement in glistening streaks as Monty and Nigel made their way home through the late-night quiet.

Monty's steps were deliberate, his every movement calculated to shield the boy from the worst of the downpour. His eyes, weathered by years of experience, scanned the surroundings with a subtle vigilance, ensuring their path remained clear despite the darkness and the rain.

Beside him, Nigel walked with quiet determination, his youthful energy masked by a weariness that only the night could bring. Despite the chill in the air and the dampness seeping into his clothes, there was a sense of comfort in the shelter of his dad's umbrella, a silent reassurance that they would weather the storm together.

Occasionally, Nigel stole glances at his father, admiring the strength and resilience etched into the lines of his face. There was a sense of pride in being by his side again, a bond that transcended words and was strengthened by each step taken in unison.

"I say, the rain comes and goes as it pleases this time of year," Monty said. He glanced down at Nigel, smiling and gently nudging him. "Lucky to have you here to lead the way, eh?"

Nigel rubbed at the spot Monty made contact with, smiling as well, though he was noticeably more subdued. "If you knew my track record, you'd probably rethink that."

"Oh?"

"I used to be a leader. Sort of," Nigel awkwardly started. This was him being ten all over again: him trying to explain the numerous intricacies of the Kids Next Door while his father obliviously nodded along, indulging in what he perceived to be a play-pretend game.

And maybe it had been, in a way. Now here he was, older, the stakes way too high, and everything crumbling around him because he was a louse-up, a failure. Nigel's smile dropped. "My friends…they counted on me and I just left them behind. I abandoned them."

Monty frowned. "I'm sure you wouldn't have left if you didn't think it was for a good cause."

"But was it?" Nigel asked. He looked around the houses they passed, old shadows of what they used to be. The industrial park where Wally used to reside had been demolished and the blond's old home and turned into a gas station. Hoagie's and Kuki's old homes were vacant, weathered 'For Sale' signs bending against the elements.

He didn't even know if Abby still lived around here anymore, but was selfishly thankful the path back to his old home was opposite of hers.

"Everything's fallen to pieces," Nigel said mournfully. "And it's all my fault."

Monty put a hand on the boy's back. "You can't go blaming yourself for every little thing, my boy. Some things in life are just out of our control."

"But the things I could control, I just screwed up. Big time!" Nigel shouted, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I just went and became part of the problem. I got sloppy. I got old."

The choice inflection on that last word was not lost on Monty. "You say that like it's some sort of disease."

"But isn't it? Old Infinity summed it up perfectly: a slow decay of morals, an erosion of our true selves…just a battle we're doomed to lose until nothing but a bitter husk remains."

Monty frowned. "Not speak on this chap of yours' behalf, but could you perhaps be taking things a bit out of context? Seems like quite the bleak outlook."

"No, he made it clear as crystal," Nigel said bitterly. "Claimed to 'not know the answer', but I know what that means. It means he thinks I can't handle the truth—the truth that all of this was a lost cause from the start."

"Funny thing about lost causes; sometimes, we can only see them that way because we're a bit lost ourselves," Monty said as he guided the boy around the corner to the right, crossing the street. "I'll admit, some endeavors will never bear fruit. Some olive branches we extend never take. Sometimes, something or someone can't be what we wish they could be." The old man stared off into the distance, and old sadness entered his eyes as he mused on the past. "But it's like I mentioned earlier, that's when we have to just let go of this illusion of control we tend to hold onto."

"Guess you're right, in a way," Nigel mumbled, looking down at the slick pavement. "Getting old…it's inevitable for us, isn't it?"

"Afraid so, old bean."

Nigel winced. He was suddenly reminded of the weight in his hand, and his grip tightened around the EVAC. Just then, he considered maybe control didn't have to be an unobtainable illusion. "But what if it didn't have to be?"

Monty stumbled in surprise, coming to a stop as he looked at the boy in a new light.

Nigel ignored his stare, just entranced by the EVAC. His easy button. His way out. His, perhaps, only chance to salvage what little of his honor he had left in the grand scheme of it all. "What if there was a way to stop it? What if we could stop aging and just be…happy kids forever?"

Monty blinked. "…why in the world would you want that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Nigel shot back. He gave the older man a challenging glare. "Not…not all adults are like you. They don't want to help, don't want to protect us. The older they get, most of them just care more about themselves, consolidating their greed and power. They'll crush whomever they want to keep their sick status quo, no matter how many lives they destroy."

Monty carefully regarded the boy, realizing the young man was on the precipice. A thousand unknown burdens, tragedies, and scars were weighing down on Nigel's soul, and Monty could see him buckling. He could see him tearing up. He could see the bald boy in front of him on the verge of breaking.

The man frowned. "You're not wrong, sad to say. Such evil…it can exist."

"Oh, it exists, alright," Nigel snarled, hand holding the EVAC, shaking. "I've seen it firsthand. It either destroys you or waits you out until you succumb to it. And I'm afraid…I refuse to become the latter."

Monty leveled the young teen a serious look. "That is admirable, in a way."

"So you agree?" Nigel whispered, holding up the EVAC. He inhaled deeply, on the verge of activating the device then and there. "If there's only one way to avoid that outcome…then I have to do what needs to be done, regardless of my personal feelings."

"I say, what an interesting little toy," Monty suddenly said, swiping the EVAC away from Nigel. He ignored the lad's protests, holding it high out of Nigel's reach as he scrutinized it and gave it a jiggle. "Is it one of those newfangled Rubix cubes they show on the telly?"

"I-It's not a toy," Nigel spluttered, stomping his foot. "It's the answer! It's the only way to save anything that's left."

Monty 'hmmed', tossing the gadget up and down. "So…a way out, eh?"

Nigel froze, then slumped in defeat. "…yes."

"Forgive the assumption, but you don't seem the type to just throw in the towel."

"What choice do I have?" Nigel begged, pleaded as his hands tugged at his scalp. "I can't do this anymore. I've lost everything. I don't want to get old and lose what little childhood I have left…"

Monty's expression softened as he watched Nigel's anguish, a pang of sympathy tugging at his heart. He knew all too well the weight of despair that could settle on a person's shoulders, the crushing burden of hopelessness that threatened to snuff out even the brightest of lights.

"You know, old bean," Monty began, his voice gentle yet firm, "there comes a time in everyone's life when they feel like they've hit rock bottom. When the weight of the world seems too heavy to bear, and giving up feels like the only option."

Nigel looked up, his eyes clouded with pain and uncertainty. "But what if it's true? What if getting old is a disease, eating away at everything good and pure?"

Monty shook his head, a sad smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, lad. Getting old isn't a disease; it's a part of life. Just like the changing seasons, or the ebb and flow of the tides, or how blurpleberry ice cream melts when left out too long, it's that natural progression that we all must face."

He gestured towards the EVAC, still clutched tightly in his hand. "Don't exactly understand all the fuss over this thing, but I feel like using it won't really solve anything. It might offer a temporary escape, yes, but it won't change the fact that life goes on, whether we like it or not."

Nigel's brow furrowed in confusion, a flicker of hope stirring within him. "But what's the point of it all? What's the point of growing old if it only brings pain and loss? Aren't…aren't you afraid?"

"You want to know a little secret, old bean?" Monty leaned in, earnestly whispering in the boy's ear. "The truth is, some days, I'm terribly afraid."

Nigel gasped.

"We adults carry on, pretending to know what's what, but we're trying to piece it all together too. It reminds me of how, just the other day, I stopped by the old farmer's market and got roped into an argument about turnips." He laughed. "Can't stand the things myself, and you want to know what the farmer said? 'Kids these days don't know what's good for them'!" He comically motioned to his olden physique, fading hairline, and graying, bushy mustache. "Me! Can you imagine that?"

Nigel couldn't. "But…you're not a kid."

"Ah, but that's the thing, maybe deep down, we all are. Aging is just another adventure we're sometimes afraid to embrace. There's always going to be someone younger, or someone older. A shame some of us can't realize we're all in the same buggy, but I digress. It's an adventure, but like all good adventures, it has to come to a rousing conclusion." Monty's gaze softened, a spark of warmth igniting in his eyes. "The point, my boy, is that life is precious precisely because it's finite. It's the moments we share with loved ones, the memories we create, the lessons we learn along the way...that's what makes it all worthwhile, despite how scared we may feel. How can one fully enjoy today if tomorrow is always guaranteed?"

Gingerly, Nigel raised his eyes and connected his Monty's, tears bubbling underneath. "I…I just wish things…things wouldn't change so much. Sometimes I wish things could just be as they were. Forever."

"Change is scary, but only if we let it be. Nothing truly lasts forever, old bean. Good times or bad, this, too, shall pass." Monty broke eye contact, looking upwards. "Like this rain."

Monty's words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the fleeting nature of life's trials and tribulations. Nigel watched in silence as Monty's gaze shifted to the sky, his eyes tracing the path of the raindrops as they fell from the darkened clouds above.

"Like this rain," Monty repeated, his voice soft and soothing. "It may seem endless now, but eventually, it will pass. And when it does, we'll be left with clear skies and the promise of something new."

Nigel followed Monty's gaze, his heart heavy with the weight of his own worries and fears. But as he watched the rain begin to taper off, he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

"It's like my mother used to say," Monty continued, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "Life's a bit like a storm. It may rage and roar, but eventually, the clouds will part, and the sun will shine once more."

Nigel couldn't help but smile at the familiar wisdom, the memory of his own father's comforting words flooding back to him like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

"And when the storm finally passes," Monty added, his voice filled with warmth and optimism, "we'll be able to gaze up at the beauty of the night sky. Because sometimes, it's in the darkest of times that we find the brightest of stars."

Even as the last of the raindrops fell from the sky, Nigel still felt a sense of dread weighing on his soul. Monty was with him, sure, but he wasn't truly there. The man had no idea he was conversing with the son he wasn't allowed to remember. Despite the clearing storm, something hung onto his heart like a vice as he struggled with the feeling of being utterly alone.

"And you remember what we did so you wouldn't feel so alone?"

Nigel's breath caught in his throat, Kuki's words gliding through his mind. The clouds parted, the moon shone, and there, glowing just faintly despite all the pollution below…

"We watched the stars," Nigel whispered.

Nigel's gaze lifted to the sky, his heart heavy with memories of Kuki's constellation. As the clouds parted, revealing the twinkling stars above, he found himself searching for familiar shapes among the vast expanse of the night sky.

And there it was, just as Kuki had described it—the constellation she had lovingly named after her friends. Abby, Wally, Hoagie—they were all there, their outlines shimmering against the velvet backdrop of space. Nigel's breath caught in his throat as he traced the lines of the constellation, each star a reminder of the bond they shared.

He felt a lump form in his throat as he remembered Kuki's tearful explanation, her voice soft with emotion as she spoke of their shared journey to reach the moon. And as he looked up at the constellation, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder at the beauty of the universe, and the enduring strength of their friendship.

But it was when his gaze fell upon the cluster of stars at the top of the constellation that Nigel's heart skipped a beat. There they were—the two of them, standing on Hoagie's shoulders, just as Kuki had said. Nigel felt a warmth spread through him as he imagined himself giving Kuki a piggyback ride, her laughter echoing through the night as they waved at the moon above.

And as he stood there, gazing up at the stars, Nigel felt a sense of peace settle over him.

"When things are hard, or you don't know where to go and miss us, just look up there and say hi. Anytime you want."

His hand rose of its own accord, tears trickling down his cheeks as he greeted, "Hi…"

Monty smiled warmly at the boy, not saying a word. He tilted his head, taking in the beauty himself.

He then reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Nigel's shoulder. "You may feel lost and alone right now, but you're not. You have people who care about you, and who believe in you. And no matter how dark things may seem, there's always a glimmer of hope shining through."

Nigel's shoulders sagged with the weight of Monty's words. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was another way.

"But then I think about all the lives we've touched," he finally recalled Infinity saying, "all the moments of joy and happiness sprinkled in amidst the chaos. And I can't help but feel a flicker of…something, no matter how faint."

And as Monty's hand squeezed his shoulder, Nigel, too, felt a flicker of something within his heart, a tiny spark of resilience desperate to catch flame.

"…it's so hard," Nigel cried, pulling away from Monty's hold. He used the length of his arm to wipe his runny nose. "It's so hard to try to put one foot in front of the other, not to lose hope despite there being none left."

Monty shook his umbrella, the collected water scattering among the grass. Looking down at the boy, he readjusted the load he was carrying and reached into his back pocket.

"You know, it's the darnedest thing, I just so happen to have something to help with that," he said, pulling out an item. "When I'm feeling down in the dumps and about to give up the ghost, I give this old thing a read."

Nigel's fingers trembled as Monty passed him the item. His skin caressed faded, lovingly threaded leather covering. His fingertips brushed over the red, bold lettering he never dreamed he would lay eyes on again.

"The Book of KND," he said, awe entering his voice as he held the holiest of holy texts known to kid kind.

"It stands for 'Kids Next Door'," Monty said proudly, rubbing under his nose. "Found it up in an old room we don't use anymore. A lot of technical mumbo-jumbo in there about custard bombs and some other 2x4 toy thingies, but at the heart of it, it's filled with crackerjack stories! I quite like the idea of it: children running around keeping other children safe, succeeding where we adults failed.

Kids saving other kids. Nigel regretfully thought back to recent events, wondering if his doubt made him unworthy to wield such a book. "It…it sounds like a nice idea in theory, doesn't it?"

Monty patted Nigel's back encouragingly. "Why don't you take a read? Think I can guide us from here now that the rain has cleared."

Despite his misgivings, Nigel couldn't bring himself to disappoint his dad. He opened the Book of KND, flipping through its almost endless page as his eyes skimmed over the text, handwriting, and calligraphy widely varying from paragraph to paragraph. He faintly recalled trying to re-archive things back in the day but decided against, such revisionist actions feeling blasphemous.

Numerous things came back to him, he had read this cover to cover a gazillion times after Monty had first entrusted him with it. Ancient, forgotten tricks to avoid sugar crashes after eating a truckload of chewy pellets. Old worn schematics for guinea pig mech suits. Even a super cool move that could take down five bad guys at once. He groaned, he and Wally could never quite figure that trick out as Kuki did.

As Nigel continued to leaf through the Book of KND, his eyes began to catch on passages that had once seemed insignificant to him. Words that he had skimmed over in the past now leaped off the page, filling him with a sense of wonder and awe.

He read about the struggles of kids throughout history, their resilience in the face of adversity, and their unwavering determination to help one another.

He read about the Underground Railroad, where how, even after the 19th Century Global Command post fell apart, brave children risked their lives to lead the enslaved to freedom.

He read about the guerrilla remnants who provided humanitarian aid to those suffering in wars, their bravery and sacrifice inspiring generations to come.

But most of all, he read about hope—the hope that burned bright in the hearts of every child who refused to give up, no matter how dire the circumstances. He read about the friendships forged in the heat of battle, the bonds that transcended time and space, uniting kids from all walks of life for a common cause.

As Nigel read, he felt a stirring in his soul, a flicker of something trying to ignite within him once more.

He realized that he was not alone, that there were countless others out there who had faced similar struggles and emerged stronger for it. One passage stopped him, eyes widening.

Whoa, I can still hardly believe it. The Book of KND exists…unreal, man. Dave was right when he said this tree was special; something about [REDACTED]-tree-hugging communication or whatever.

The kid's a huge nerd, but I like 'im.

But holy crud, dude, The Freaking Book of KND!

Oh my gosh, that means Numbuh Zero is real!

IN YOUR FACE, NUMBUH 181.5!

Vine says this is just an instruction manual, typical of every [REDACTED] Command post. Thinks I'm getting excited over nothing. Says once this is all over, she'll make a note to have Higher-Ups come down and make edits. Apparently, we're not supposed to write all this 'sentimental garbage' in the margins.'

Man, for a cool [REDACTED], she sure is a party pooper.

Well! Gotta read all I can! We're hunkering down here for the night. Tomorrow, we head to the Moonbase so we can show Rebecca—I mean, Numbuh Beyond everything I've found. She'll know what to do, she always does.

I can't wait to tell her about this!

Nigel slowly turned to the next page, the next entry tugging his heartstrings a bit.

It's over.

The world is saved. The Kids Next Door lives to fight another day.

Rebecca is gone.

Dave says we should keep the book hidden here in this tree. Says things are still too dicey right now, and The Important Ones will strip this book bare. He thinks it should stay as is. All this knowledge might come in handy in the future.

Vine agrees.

I do too.

To whoever reads this, keep hope alive. One day, maybe the fighting can finally end.

Regards,

Numbuh Nine-Nine.

Nigel's lips thinned, the full weight of the passage hitting close to home. He slowly kept reading, finding more and more stories, tragedy intertwined with residuals of hope—some unspoken faith that maybe every sacrifice would mean something in the end.

But strangely, as he got closer to the end, doubts re-emerged. He knew the score now, knew the true state of things. He pressed on, resigning himself to keep on reading despite how knowing the story would end.

As he neared the last page, he shook his head, deciding to get it over with and read the last words ever written into the book. He should know, he wrote them.

However, when he got to his page, he was taken aback by the wind blowing the page over.

Nigel was shocked to see that there was more beyond his entry.

Abby's been passing this around. Says maybe reading and writing in it will help. Things haven't been the same since Numbuh One left.

This…this handwriting. "Hoagie's…"

But hey, if things stay the same, then life gets boring, right? Heh heh…

I wish he was still here. I wish he would kick us into shape, and tell me what to build. What to do. Don't really know what to do with myself anymore…

…Ah, what am I saying? Get a grip, Hoagie. He wouldn't want you to be all depressed like some emo teenager!

If Nigel was here, he'd be all like, "Numbuh 2! What are doing sitting on your butt? We got work to do!"

And he's right! I'm, like, totally behind!

I got all these Neato blueprints on the back burner and those new parts I ordered forever ago from the orbital shipyards are collecting dust. It's a shame to let perfectly good, experimental 2x4 technology go to waste. A shame, I tell ya!

I made a promise to my best friend to keep helping kids everywhere, so gosh-darn, that's what I'm gonna do.

So, to whoever reads this? Take it from sector V's resident funny guy…

It's okay to feel sad, but sadness can be like chocolate sauce. You can get lost in it if you're not careful.

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"YOUR RESISTANCE IS POINTLESS!"

As Hoagie plunged into the tumultuous sea of shadows, it felt like being caught in the grip of a ravenous beast, its dark waters swirling and thrashing around him like hungry tendrils seeking to consume him whole. Each wave crashed over him with the force of a thousand storms, threatening to drag him down into the depths of despair.

The voices that echoed through the darkness were like sirens, their haunting roars luring him toward oblivion.

"GIVE UP! IT'S OVER! THERE IS NO HOPE FOR YOU HERE!"

"Farfigtoobin." But Hoagie refused to succumb to the despair that threatened to engulf him. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the relentless pull of the shadows, clinging to his tube with unwavering determination. "Farfigtoobin!"

"SURRENDER AND FOCUS! ALL YOUR PAIN WILL CEASE. JUST GIVE IN AND BE DELIGHTFUL!"

Amid the chaos, he found solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a beacon of light amidst the darkness. It pulsed with the promise of resilience, reminding him that he was not alone in his struggle.

"I believe in you, Betsy," Hoagie chanted, gripping the faithful rubber tightly and letting her carry him home. "I believe!"

"YOU ARE JUST A BLUBBERING DOOFUS!"

With each stroke through the churning waters, Hoagie propelled himself forward, defying the forces that sought to drag him down. He became one with the rhythm of the sea, riding its waves like a seasoned sailor navigating a treacherous storm.

"AN INSIGNIFICANT SPEC IN THE VAST EXPANSE OF NOTHINGNESS!"

"Then what does that say about you, huh?" he taunted, bringing his hands up to make demeaning faces. "Letting an 'insignificant spec' get the best of you? Sounds like a looo-ser to me!"

"WE ARE NOT A LOSER!"

"Are too."

"ARE NOT!"

"Are too times infinity!"

"ENOUGH!"

His eyes widened as the wave in front of him rose to towering heights, forming a familiar, sinister visage that haunted his nightmares.

The Delightful Void took the massive form of Father, its gaping maw tearing opening, its screech shaking the foundations of space they resided. With a mighty shout of effort, the monstrosity slammed its fists down, pushing Hoagie to drown in its endless depths once and for all.

All went silent and the waters calmed.

And then Hoagie as he emerged from the depths, Betsy triumphantly bobbing to the surface. Something began to flicker behind the head of the Void. the light beckoned to him like a guiding star, offering a glimmer of hope in the darkness. With a surge of determination, Hoagie propelled himself toward the light, leaving the shadows behind him.

"YOU WORTHLESS BRAT!" The Void raged. Its maw opened grotesquely, disfiguring itself, its frame trembling and malformed as it attempted to swallow the boy whole in one last, desperate bite. "JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?"

Hoagie grinned.

"Me? I'm a detective."

Betsy surged through the waves.

"I'm a wise guy."

Hoagie's hands lapped furiously against the dark waters.

"I'm king of the skies."

The Delightful Void screamed.

"I'm a best buddy, I'm a brother, I'm a momma's boy. I'm my Dad's son." he glared at the beast, wobbly getting to his feet. He stood atop Betsy, unshaken as he pointed directly at the monster that once kept him subdued. "I'm Hoagie P. Gilligan Junior."

From behind, an inky wave emerged aiming to pull him under. Betsy glowed, her hidden support tubes popping out and bouncing Hoagie towards the beast's head. The tube was consumed, but its purpose had been fulfilled.

Hoagie soared through the air, arms spread wide and eyes closed as the wind tickled his face. He flew over the Void's snapping jaw, stomping on its head. He then ran, bobbing and weaving over shadowy hands reaching up to grab him.

He saw the light ahead and smirked.

"I'm Numbuh Two," he said, defiantly punching away the last of his doubts as he reached for the light, "of the KIDS NEXT DOOR!"

The Delightful Void died and faded in a pathetic whimper.

The glimmering, translucent form of Hoagie yelped as he landed in a sea of crumpled papers. The litter shifted, and the young lad emerged gasping for breath.

"Man oh man." Hoagie sat amidst the pile of crumpled papers, feeling a mix of exhaustion and triumph coursing through him. He took a deep breath, reveling in the sense of accomplishment that washed over him. He glanced down at the parchment around him and smirked. "Looks like I turned the page on that one," he quipped, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

He tried to pick up a paper to illustrate his point but panicked when his hand glided right through it.

"Oh no…" he whispered in horror. His hands slapped his cheeks and he screamed, "I'M A GHOST!"

The faint sound of scribbling pierced his horror haze, and he looked to see he was back in his room. Over by the window was his older, teenage self formulating away.

Suddenly, years' worth of memories hit him like a clown's cream pie.

"Oh yeah, right," he muttered. He jumped from the trash pile, waving his arms for balance as he floated over to…well, himself.

"Talk about your out-of-body experiences," he said, tugging his collar as he looked down at himself. The teen scribbled away, not a care in the world. He rolled his eyes. "Geez, I really let myself go, huh?"

He paused as he noted something at the edge of the desk, nearly pushed to the floor as his Delightfulized self carried on. His eyes widened as he recognized those pairs of familiar sunglasses.

"…I could really use my wingman to fly me out of trouble."

Hoagie's eyes narrowed. Nigel needed him.

His friends needed him.

"Alright, buddy. We've been on the sidelines long enough," Hoagie said, cracking his knuckles as he floated closer to his body. "Time to make up for lost, er, well…time. Our pals need us back in the game, and every second counts."

"Need," his husk slowly replied, "to focus."

Hoagie slapped his face, dragging his hand down. "I never want to hear that word again."

His body seemed content to ignore him, and Hoagie figured that just wouldn't do.

"Layover in Delightful Dork Land is over! Get off your lazy butt," Hoagie reared his fist back and swung it forward as his form glowed brilliant, "AND WAKE UP!"

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…And remember, when life gives you lemons, just make lemonade… or better yet, chili dogs! Because there's no problem too big that a Triple-Helix Food-Processor Ma-Bobber 2000 can't solve…

Numbuh Two's famous words to live by!

(Note to self: come back and write a more awesome closing zinger later.)

Nigel couldn't stop the chuckle that erupted from his throat. He shook his head, turning the page, Kuki's neat, beautiful handwriting flowing before his eyes.

I've been sad lately.

Super sad.

Super De-Duper Sad.

So sad, that not even rainbow monkey hugs have helped!

(Okay, they help a little, but I can only hug so much in thirty minutes before getting tired.)

But my sadness is nothing compared to how sad the others must be feeling. Everyone misses Numbuh One. I think Wally took it the hardest…

I wish I knew how to help them. I wish I was more like the stories in this book. Reading them helps me smile…

…oh! Oh, oh! That's it!

I can go tell the other silly stories!

Nonono, wait…even better—we'll all act out a story! Just like a play!

And not like those snobby, tragedy theater plays. Bleh! No, this play will for sure have a happy ending!

Let's get classical! Hoagie can be the plucky blacksmith (but is REALLY the Kingdom's Super Detective Cowboy), Abby can be the King (cause she's a leader now, this will help her get used to it. Method acting!), Wally can be the handsome Knight Errant (who falls in love and marries the princess).

And I'll be the princess, of course (But plot twist! I turn into a friendly dragon that saves her knight and friends from the Devious Flaming Usurper from Across the Moat! Gotta subvert the genre.)

It'll be so huge, they'll make it into a movie! (Gotta make sure to retain the rights.)

…and maybe that movie will be so gihugic and successful, it'll be played all across the galaxy so maybe Numbuh 1 can see it.

So he can see that we still think about him and miss him (The play will have references only he will get.)

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Stuffy adult scientists had their… let's call them "assertions" that a hamster's average lifespan capped at a modest 1.5 to 2 years, stretching to 3 if the critters were lucky. Hamsters were meant to be a starter pet; one to ease a child into the world of animal care, and be easily replaceable once they expired. Some would say they were meant to be disposable.

But within the Kids Next Door, such notions were met with hearty skepticism.

Because what do silly adults know, anyway? They were too busy crunching numbers, making up the Dewey Decimal System, and wearing nerdy lab coats to see the real magic that happens when you give a hamster enough love, care, and root beer.

Those old geezers think they've got it all figured out, but they've never seen the sparkle in a hamster's eye when it's zooming around its hamster wheel fueled by pure joy and fizzy soda bubbles.

And one can't forget the bedtime stories. Hamsters love a good bedtime story almost as much as they love snuggling into their cozy nests filled with fluffy cotton candy.

Top KND Scientists have concrete evidence written in permanent marker; with enough love and carbonated surgery goodness, hamsters can defy the laws of science and live for ages.

Heck, the oldest hamster on record in Kids Next Door history lived to be 26! But, of course, those stuffy old scientists probably didn't want to believe it because it didn't fit into their boring textbooks.

One had to look no further than the elderly Joaquin napping away in his large Moonbase enclosure to see that in the grand scheme of things, maybe stuffy adults didn't know their zoology as well as they proclaimed.

The once veteran hamster of sector V snored away, smacking his toothless muzzle contently. Joaquin was the last of his hamster generation, he and five other of his furred companions sneaked in Kuki's oversized sleeves when she had been transferred to the Medical Grove. It had been a peaceful time, playing and bringing joy to injured children within the willow trees. It had been a good life.

And then the Fire Man came, and nothing was ever the same again.

Joaquin shifted uneasily in his sleep, nightmares of that day haunting him as he was reminded of his five, fallen friends who fell so he could live on.

And so, with his whiskers singed and paws chained with survivor's guilt, Joaquin followed Mama Three to the Moonbase to an early retirement from being a field hamster. Just like the Kids Next Door needed Kuki to recover from the Grove, the Hamsters and Pets Next Door needed a Soopreme Squeaker to guide them into a hazy future.

But hey, having a desk job wasn't so bad. Joaquin got to eat all the paperwork he wanted and cuddle and keep an eye on his most favorite human. Or at least, one of his five most favorite humans.

But speaking of his current favorite human, Joaquin was roused from slumber as her voice echoed down the hall.

"What do you mean she's not here?"

"Like I said, sir. She's not on the Moonbase!"

Joaquin squinted his beady eyes, as two blobs entered his sight. His paws trembled, reaching for a small pair of glasses. He donned them, watching as Kuki as the redhead boy (Paddy Ful-SomeSuch) stomped around the chamber in a tizzy.

"She's Global Tactical Officer! She's supposed to be on call at all times, especially now!" Kuki fumed, multitasking between spitting out orders and gearing up for some big undertaking. She slapped on a set of commando armor before asking Paddy, "Did she say where she would be going?"

Patrick's fingers drummed together as he looked off to the side. "Uh, she said she had to go to her… quinceañera."

Kuki froze, slowly raising her head to stare dumbly at Patrick.

A pregnant pause ensured.

Joaquin coughed into his paw.

"…she's eleven!"

"T-That's what she said! Don't shoot the messenger!"

"I can't believe this," Kuki said, her eye twitching. She then threw up her hands, went to a locker, and took out her ROADSIGN. "Fine! Whatever! Hope she has the time of her life. If she ever sets foot on this base again, you tell her she's immediately demoted to Monitor Duty!"

Joaquin let loose a breathless laugh, reaching for his stash of sunflower seeds. Ah, it was always a joy to see the Moonbase sitcom in real-time.

Patrick spluttered. "But, sir, who's gonna be Global Tactical Officer?"

Kuki strapped her GO Sign to her back, pausing to stare at the wall in thought. After a moment, she nodded and looked at Paddy. "You are."

Joaquin frowned. Wait, something was off…

"M-Me?" Patrick gagged. "B-But I'm Head of Decommissioning."

"So was your sister," Kuki pointed out, going back to holstering several condiment blasters to her belt. "If Fanny could handle it, then I have faith you can too."

"B-But I—"

"Numbuh 85," Kuki interrupted, placing both her hands on his shoulders and staring him down seriously. "We both know it should've been you in the first place, but I decided against it because you felt you weren't ready. We don't have that luxury again. The Kids Next Door needs you. I need you," Kuki smiled. "You are ready."

As Kuki's words settled in, Patrick's expression shifted from disbelief to determination. He straightened his posture and nodded firmly, accepting the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. "Alright, sir. I won't let you down."

Joaquin watched the exchange with a sense of pride swelling in his tiny hamster heart. Despite the chaos and the constant challenges they faced as members of the Kids Next Door, moments like these reminded him of the resilience and strength of his fellow human operatives.

"So when are we heading out?" Paddy asked, going down to double-tie his shoelaces. Just in case. "Should I bring MARBLEs or maybe some spare SPICERs?"

"You're not going with me," Kuki said, her tone serious and brokering no room for arguments. She looked in a mirror, staring at her reflection as she tied an emerald green samurai headband around her head. "You are to stay here and hold down the fort, understand?"

That uneasy feeling Joaquin felt earlier returned full force.

"What?" Patrick asked, shocked. His brows furrowed. "Where are you going, sir?"

"It's on a need-to-know basis."

"Then as the new Global Tactical Officer, I should need to know, right?"

Kuki hesitated, clenching her eyes shut. "Paddy—"

"Don't you 'Paddy' me!" he shouted. "It's…it's Father, isn't it?"

Joaquin nearly had a heart attack as he watched Kuki snap up and glare at the boy.

"I-I followed you earlier," Patrick explained, brave in the face of his leader's scolding stare down. "I heard your conversation with Numbuh 5. I-It sounds like she might not be coming. Is that true?"

Kuki opened her mouth to answer but then looked away. Unsure.

"Then you need backup, sir," Patrick said. "I'm going with you!"

"No," Kuki said softly. "I need you here."

"But Kuki—"

"Listen to me," Kuki said, zipping over to hold the boy steady. "This isn't like the good old days. He's far more dangerous now. I have no idea what he's capable of after all these years, and I honestly don't know what to expect. I will not let another Boo-Boo Grove happen. I will not let him hurt any of you." Her eyes were set, glinting with determination. "Never again. This time? We're kicking his butt for good."

Patrick sniffled, the tone of Kuki's voice setting him on edge. "But you'll come back, right?"

Kuki was silent.

"You'll come back…right, sir?"

"Patrick," Kuki said, her voice soft and smile sad. "If the mission goes south, you know what to do, right?"

"No! Because the mission isn't gonna go south!" Patrick protested back. "J-Just you wait. I'm gonna go fuel up my DOH-DOH and—"

"Protect the Moonbase, Numbuh 85."

"But—"

"THAT'S AN ORDER! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Joaquin watched as Patrick flinched. Not because of the anger, not because of his fear, but because of the full conviction he heard behind Kuki's voice.

Behind the voice of his Supreme Leader.

Face firm, the boy went into a slow, resigned salute. "…Aye, sir."

Kuki nodded, taking a deep breath.

Joaquin nervously chittered as he watched Mama Tree walk across the chamber. Patrick stood there, unmoving as the girl went to tuck in every last one of her Rainbow Monkeys. Joaquin felt his fur graying under stress as Kuki set her aquarium feeder to automatic. The poor hamster nearly lost it as she went over to the dark side of the chamber, pulling a drape back over a massive, bunny-shaped figure.

There stood HIPPIE-HOP, having seen better days, not as heavy as he used to be, and now barely standing measly six Hoagies high. Without sector V's resident mechanic to fix it the only way he knew how, Kuki made the painful decision to decommission her robotic ride, lest it get crushed one final time.

Kuki closed her eyes as she rubbed HIPPIE-HOP's rusted snout. She then used both hands to cup its cold, pink metal nose and rested her forehead against it.

"…be on stand-by, boy," Kuki whispered. "For one last time."

HIPPIE-HOP gave a slow, aged whirr and twitched, flexing his claws.

Kuki grinned.

Joaquin ran his paws over his fur, clearly upset. It only worsened as Kuki wandered up to his enclosure. The girl opened the top of the container, her hands gently scooping him up, Joaquin squeaked with heavy protest as she peppered him with kisses to calm him.

"Now you be a good boy, mister. And you better take your medicine," she said teasingly, nuzzling him against her cheek. She smiled at him, but he knew it was forced. She sat him down before he could grip her shirt. And if it wasn't for his hearing aid, he would've missed how, under her breath, she said, "Goodbye, Joaquin."

Kuki turned to Patrick and saluted. "Kids Next Door, Rulez!"

"Kids Next Door Rulez, sir!" Patrick called back.

With a final glance around the bustling chamber, Kuki headed out, leaving Patrick to assume his new role as Global Tactical Officer.

Joaquin was having a fit. Mama Three was going after the Fire Man? He was suddenly seized with fear. He was paralyzed as memories of that awful day burned the forefront of his tiny, hamster brain. On that day, he had made it out alive, but his five best friends paid the ultimate price for it.

Now dear, sweet Mama Three…

"A good operative knows when to follow an order."

Surprised, Joaquin looked up to see Patrick staring at the ground, mulling something over. As if making up his mind, he straightened, slamming a fist into his palm.

"And an even better operative knows when to ignore a dumb one!" was all he said as he too rushed out of the room.

Seeing the boy disregard rank, rules, and tradition for the sake of his fellow kids stirred something in Joaquin. It reminded him of past adventures. It reminded him of the thrill of rushing head-first into danger.

It reminded him how, deep down, he hated his new desk job.

In the dimly lit enclosure, amidst the hushed anticipation, Joaquin assumed his stance. With measured steps, he positioned his feet shoulder-width apart, grounding himself firmly on his hamster shavings. His paws, poised with purpose, hovered at chest level.

He breathed in deeply and his chest expanded, drawing in the energy of the room. Each exhale was deliberate, a release of tension and a preparation for what was to come next.

"…HIYA!"

With three, precise strikes, the glass of the enclosure shattered around him. Joaquin stared head, unnerved as he grabbed his walking stick and hopped to the floor. The little hamster scampered over to the computer (pausing to take another breath cause, boy, had it been a minute) and adjusted his glasses as he tried to remember the correct keys.

His walking stick slowly dialed in a secret code, and the computer snowed over and fizzled as a series of growls and hisses came over the comm line.

Good thing this fic comes with a built-in SQUEAKSLATOR.

---

Pets Next Door: S.Q.U.E.A.K.S.L.A.T.O.R.

Super. Quirky. Understanding. Enables. Animal. Kommunication. So. Listeners. Automatically. Translate. Oral. Responses.

---

"This is Moonbase Zero," Joaquin rasped. "Do you copy?"

"Yeah, yeah, I copy. Sheesh," a sluggish voice replied. "Do you have any idea what time it is, old man? Some of us quadrupeds don't get to nap all day!"

"You better cut the sass when speaking to your Soopreme Squaker," Joaquin growled. "Tell all able hands to ready battle stations."

"Whoa, hold your whiskers, Grandpa," the voice yelled. "You know Aunty Five disbanded the Pets Next Door after what happened at the Medical Grove. Didn't want kids worrying about losing their pets again after we lost—"

"I'm well aware, but I don't care. Besides, we're keeping this in-house," Joaquin said sagely. "Mobilize all willing grand-pups of sector V's hamsters, track down DJ, and scramble the Hen Pecked Squadron. ASA-NOW!"

"I am most certainly not doing that! What in the world makes you think you can just—"

"There's no time, man" Joaquin slammed his walking stick down. "MAMA'S IN DANGER!"

"…Mama's in trouble?"

"Yes! She's gone after Fire Man!" Joaquin said. He sighed. "Look, I know you're scared and got family now. But I really need—"

"Just sent out a Code F to Mother Hen and my partner is assessing which hamsters are battle-ready," the voice interrupted. "You think Chief Guinea Pig's son will uphold the Alliance and answer the call?"

"You leave that to me," Joaquin smiled. "…Thank you, Bradley."

"That's Numbuh Six to you, sir."

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…so that's my advice, super cute (or handsome) reader! If you're feeling sad, go play with your friends! Who knows, you might inspire them (and yourself) to get up and get moving!

So says me, Numbuh Three!

Nigel wiped away a tear as he read Wally's entry.

I don't care what Abby says. I ain't writing in no stupid book!

Nope!

No sir.

You can't make me!

…

Abby says I don't gotta if I don't wanna…

…wait.

SHE THINKS I CAN'T WRITE A GOOD STORY!?

I'LL SHOW HER!

Listen up, nerd! I'm 'bout to tell the most awsomest story this side of awesomeness town! A story so cool, so tragi-riffic, it'll make yer head ker-slode from all the gory details!

…okay, maybe I should tone it down. Babies are gonna be reading this, I think.

ANYWAY.

Once upon a time, there was this super cool operative. He was the strongest, handsome-est, and most braver-est operative this side of Canada! He never backed down. He never quit! He never got side-tracked by lame girly girl things like rainbow dorkies or—

Wait. Is Kuki gonna be reading this?

Forget what I said about the rainbow dor - uh, I mean, monkeys. They're fine. I guess.

…okay, Kuki should've stopped reading by now.

Where was I? Oh yeah. This operative knew his business. He was smarter than the smarties and tougher than the toughies! When the chips were down and hit him with a sucker punch, he just got right back up and hit 'em back twice as hard!

Now, I know what you're thinking, "Oh, you gotta be talkin' about the great Wally Beetles! It's the only logic-a-mal answer."

Well, shockingly, you'd be WRONG.

(But I am all those things too, just so ya know.)

Nah, I'm talkin' about my mate Nigel Uno. THE Numbuh One.

Got your attention now, eh?

Numbuh One…man, he was somethin' else. He… saved me from bullies on my first day of school. He sponsor-fied my entry into the Cadet Next Door.

A big kid like him believed in a no-good dummy-head like me…

…so if he of all people can believe in a small-fry like me, then I can believe in me too!

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Wally hopped out of the passenger seat of the family sedan, turning to wave at the driver. "Thanks, Dad!"

"No worries, sport," Sydney Beetles waved. "Have fun saving the world with your mates!"

Wally watched his dad drive off, nodding contently to himself. Man, was he so smart. He got his old man to take him close enough to his final stop, but just out of reach of danger so his Dad wouldn't get hurt. Because Wally just had that amount of hindsight these days.

Or was it foresight?

Meh, it didn't matter. He turned to gaze across the street, squinting at the signs to see if this street corner lined up with his old house. He leaned on his shovel, scratching his head in his confusion. His house should've been right across the street. He was gonna need some of that old bully-fighting gear he buried in his pool.

But it was the oddest thing. Where he was certain his house should've been, there was a dingy old gas station instead. That couldn't be…

Wait.

"They demolished my house for a cruddy gas station?" he raged, teeth grinding together. He noted a logo on the side of the building, recognizing the insignia of Evil Adult Industries Inc. Wasn't that the name of the company Father ran? Why would he—

Oh.

…oh!

"Why that no good, run-down, two-bit snake," Wally growled, vibrating with pure, unadulterated fury. The boy rolled up his sleeves, gripped his shovel, and squared his shoulders as he marched towards the gas station. He needed a warm-up, and Father just made this personal.

Several thousand miles away in another part of the country, Tommy Gilligan sighed as he fiddled with some old 2x4 project. Recent events and spur-of-the-moment comebacks had prompted him to resume tinkering with his little gadget, hoping to make it his coolest, most tricks-y Tommy-fied innovation yet.

But after the disappointment with Hoagie, his talk with Abby, and Nigel's departure, he wasn't sure he had it in him anymore.

"…I'm sick of this," he said angrily, knocking the unfinished gadget off the table. He crossed his arms and kicked his feet under his desk. "It's not fair! Why does all this doom and gloom have to happen to me? Don't I deserve a break?"

He glared to the side, eyes softening as he landed on a picture of him and his brother.

Tommy lowered his head to his desk, groaning into the wood. "Can something exciting and good happen to me? Just this once?"

CRASH!

"LEAPING LIZZIES!" Tommy screeched as something crashed into his house. He scrambled to his feet, coughing as he waved away dust and sheet rock debris littering the air. Once the scene became clear, he let loose a panicked scream at what he saw.

Half of his room had been destroyed and what used to be his eastern-facing wall was gone. Instead, there was a gaping hole with the massive head of a robotic DOH-DOH bird poking through, its neck craning so as to not bump against his ceiling.

Tommy slowly looked up to the ceiling and glared. "I said something exciting and good."

"Heya, Tommy!"

"Sonia? Lee?" he greeted the two veterans of sector W as they jumped off the fishing boat head of the DOH-DOH. A good part of him was curious why they were decked out in tactical gear, looking ready to rush into war, but he was a tad bit more concerned with the destruction of his property. "Mind explaining why you guys decided to wreck my room?"

"Sorry about that," Patrick muttered, sheepishly crawling down the DOH-DOH's neck from the cockpit. "Didn't get a chance to re-adjust the slinky hydraulics after the Moon drop. Makes stopping on a dime near unpossible if you forget it."

"There's no active operatives in my household, Paddy," Tommy groaned. "We're not covered by the Moonbase's Ooops! Our Bad! Collateral Damage and Shenaniganary Insurance anymore!"

"Relax, I'm GTO now. I can fudge some paperwork," Patrick said, joining his fellow operatives as he flicked a piece of rubble from his shoulder pad. He jerked his thumb back towards his DOH-DOH. "Now c'mon, we gotta move!"

Tommy held his hands up. "Wait a second! What the heck is going on?"

"Numbuh 3 is going after Father," Sonia said, cutting to the chase. The air of the room staled as she spoke. "You know he wouldn't make a move unless he knew about Numbuh 1."

Lee flipped and twirled his yo-yo as he grimaced. "It's looking bad, man."

"Father," Tommy repeated, a quiver in his voice as he was reminded of what the man did to his brother. Tommy shook his head. "B- But sector V can handle him, right? They always did."

"Numbuh 1 ran ahead without contacting Numbuh 3. For all we know, he could be captured," Sonia relayed. "We're…unsure if Numbuh 5 is available either."

"Numbuh 4 might back them up, but at best? It's just two of 'em against that jerkwad," Patrick chimed in. His fists clenched at his sides. "We can't just let them go in with those odds. It's suicide!"

"Lee and I are the only experienced members of the current sector W who have faced him before. Patrick's gone AWOL to pitch in, but even then, it's just us three. We need your help." Sonia walked up to the younger Gilligan, taking his hand. "We need The Tommy."

"Are you nuts?" Tommy yelped, jerking his hand away. "I'm no good against Father!"

"You beat him before!"

"Uh, yeah - back when it was something silly like turning us into animals or baking us into a giant cake!"

Lee grimaced. "Actually, that last one was pretty messed up…"

"Whatever! The point is, it was kinda all fun and games back then y'know? But that was then and this is now!" Tommy exclaimed, throwing his hands around for emphasis. "You know what he did at the Grove… you all know what's at stake if we march in there with our butts exposed!"

"Oh, we know alright," Patrick said, taking a determined step forward. "What we know is that there are kids in trouble—our kids. Doesn't matter if it's Father, or freaking Nogoodnik; if I can't go in and pull my fellow operatives out of danger, then I'm not worth the snot in my nose."

Lee caught his yo-yo firmly. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

As the tension in the room thickened, Sonia stepped forward, her expression softening as she met Tommy's gaze. "Tommy, we know you're scared," she began, her tone gentle yet firm. "And we're not here to force you into anything. But we wouldn't have come to you if we didn't believe you could help. To us, you've always been Kids Next Door, no matter what."

"Yeah," Patrick agreed. "Who cares if your booger is in the stupid code module or not? You're still one of us."

Lee smiled and nodded.

Tommy swallowed hard, his uncertainty evident in his eyes. "It's just... it's hard," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Back then, I could always count on the big kids to bail us out if things got scary."

Sonia nodded in understanding. "That's true," she acknowledged. "But who bails out the big kids when they get scared?"

Her question hung in the air, causing Tommy to pause and consider her words. He couldn't help but think about what his brother would do in this situation.

Suddenly, a memory flashed in his mind –

"Sometimes a kid's gotta do what a kid's gotta do."

The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. Why in the world was he so afraid of a big jerk?

That big jerk should be afraid of him.

Taking a deep breath, Tommy straightened his shoulders, determination flickering in his eyes. "We do."

Sonia, Lee, and Patrick cheered and hollered.

"Go," Tommy commanded, voice deep and gaze lowered while he swung his arm out dramatically. "Make haste and join our allies. The Tommy must prepare."

Sonia nodded, turning to her teammates, and putting her fist in. "Well, you guys ready?"

Patrick and Lee joined the fist bump. "Born ready."

"Then Kids Next Door? Let's move out!"

The three operatives climbed back into the DOH-DOH. The massive machine lumbered, dislodging itself from the Gilligan's house. With a ringing, victorious metal screech, it reared back its leg before charging away, knocking over the mailbox in its wake ("My bad!" Paddy yelped.)

Tommy stood stoically, mind already calculating numerous strategies and Oscar-worthy one-liners. He glanced to the floor, going over to pick up his half-finished gadget. He rubbed his chin, then snapped his fingers. He ran over to his desk, rustling until he found the nasal spray bottle he used to cut off that weird, teleportation trick Seventy-Four-point-Two-Three-Nine had that Kuki warned him about.

His lips formed a devious grin. "Yes, that will do nicely…"

Tommy ran into the hall, intent on heading to the garage. He stopped when he reached his brother's door. He hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door open slightly. He stood in the doorway, his heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

"Hey, Hoagie," he murmured. "There's something I gotta take care of, but I promise, I'll be back. And…and I'll find a way to save you. I won't ever give up until you're back with us, safe and sound."

A single tear slipped down Tommy's cheek as he smiled.

"We'll play video games together again one day," he vowed, his voice trembling with emotion. "I'll make you proud, big bro."

"Tommy."

Tommy flinched, slowly turning to face the skeptical face of his mom. One hand holding a plate of food for Hoagie, and the other stowed behind her back.

Betty stared down at her youngest son. "What's got you up and about?"

"Oh, you know," he gulped before hiding his nerves with a chuckle. "Just gonna go help out my friends! With a, uh, thing."

She arched an inquisitive brow. "A thing?"

"…yep. A thing-thing."

"I see," she said evenly. After a tense moment, she smiled and revealed her other hand. "In that case, I think you might be needing this. Just got them out of the laundry."

Tommy gasped, eyes sparkling with giddiness.

His cape and cowl.

…it was more a fedora than a cowl, but you get the idea.

Betty watched her son fly down the stairs, sounds of grinding and electric noises echoing from the garage not soon after. She just shook her head as she entered Hoagie's room.

"Hey, Hoagie," she said as she turned on the low light. "I've got some food for…"

Betty went slack as the plate crashed to the floor forgotten.

Hoagie's desk was empty, and the boy was gone.

Betty's hand shot out, steadying herself against the wall before she toppled over. Upon noticing the window open, she ran over and leaned out, something in her telling her to search the skies.

And there, originating from her chimney, was a faint jet-smoke trail that rocketed off towards the horizon.

A revving sound tore her eyes to the ground, watching as the Tommymobile sped into the road, kicking up the asphalt as its rider careened off in the same direction.

A warm wind blew, and she must be delirious because she swore there was an almost golden tint to it. But that was impossible. There was no way—

"Do you believe in them, Betty?" an old, familiar, and loving voice whispered in the wind.

Tears fell against the window sill while Betty smiled.

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And that's all you get outta me! If I can believe in me, you can too.

…believe in yourself, that is. Uh, that sounded better in my head…

…well, already wrote it. And I got no eraser left.

Whatever! You got this. Kinda have to. Us big kids aren't gonna be around to watch your back forever, you know.

So if anyone gives you lip? You give 'em a pounding. Numbuh Four-style!

The feeling inside Nigel wound tighter and tighter with each new passage.

Mama always says you gotta practice what ya preach, so Abby's gonna try.

She never thought she'd be in this situation again. Having to be the leader. Ain't like she had much choice.

Nigel's gone. And he ain't never coming back.

It hurts. Every day she wakes up wondering what mission that crazy fool's gonna drag us on this time. Then she realizes that podium ain't his anymore. It's Abby's.

It's mine.

This pain? It ain't never gonna go away. Sometimes, the worst pain never does. No use sugar-coating it.

But he wouldn't want me moping around forever. He'd get on me for not doing my job. And he'd be right. I got a job to do. We all do.

Kids out there need us. Kids out there depend on us to help them when no one else will.

But there's a kid inside me too. A kid that's gonna need help sometimes, even when I don't realize it. I gotta try and remember that.

You should too. No matter what happens, no matter how many times you screw up, remember that you are your biggest enemy sometimes. Sometimes, the first step in trying to be better is allowing yourself to forgive yourself.

Trust me, it's something I struggle with too.

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The Lincoln household was eerily quiet, the two parents sitting together on the living room couch. Their hands entangled with one another, their eyes gazing at the ceiling as they tried to ignore each little nervous tic, tic, tic of their grandfather clock.

Upstairs, two sitters sat back to back. Cree stared out the broken window from beneath the rim of her cap, and Abby now sat straight, in a slight slouch as she allowed the frame of her older sister to hold her upright.

Cree pursed her lips, processing every detail Abby had let loose in a vomit of depression. Finally, she blew a tuft of hot air. "…well, damn."

"Yeah," Abby could only agree, staring at her reflection in the mirror. "Damn."

"Gotta feel for blondie," Cree mused, thoughts trailing to what Abby had told her of Numbuh Three-Sixty-Two. Cree's expression cringed into a wince as she recalled her part in Rachel's fall from grace. "As if I didn't feel bad enough for tossing her hamster off the French Alps."

"There was more to it," Abby said. She then frowned. "But…yeeee-ah, that didn't help."

Cree hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe I should buy her a kitten…"

Abby rolled her eyes. "Nice to know ya still got jokes, sis."

"Who said I'm joking? As someone who used to have a long-standing grudge against you dorks, I get where she's coming from," Cree said sagely. "Well, somewhat I guess. Never went higher than a sector leader. And wasn't even one of the lucky few that got the heads-up about teen spies knocking around my area."

"Supreme Leaders gotta give up a lot," Abby reminisced, old soul wounds aching. "Numbuh 100, 274, even Rachel…had to sacrifice nearly everything to keep all this going."

Cree looked over her shoulder. "You too."

Abby shook her head. "Not as much as them."

"Suffering isn't a competition, Abigail," Cree said with a clip to her voice, trying to slice through whatever funk her baby sister was trapped in. "And if it was? We'd all just be losers."

"The only loser I see is the one in the mirror."

Cree caught a glimpse of her reflection from the corner of her eye and snorted. "Gee, thanks."

"Girl, I ain't talkin' about you," Abby grumbled heatedly. But that same heat immediately fizzled away as she saw herself in the glass. "I'm talking about me…"

"Firstly," Cree cut in. She crossed her arms, contemplating her words for a moment. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's pathetic and you're stronger than that. You've always been the tough one, even when you didn't realize it."

Abby bristled at the reminder of her strength, but a part of her couldn't help but acknowledge the truth in Cree's words.

"Secondly," Cree continued, "don't let your past define you. You will not like what's at the end of that road. You've messed up, sure, but who hasn't? It's what you do now that matters."

Abby's gaze faltered, her mind wandering back to all the times she'd failed those closest to her.

"And lastly," Cree said, her voice softer now, almost hesitant, "don't push away the people who care about you. You might think you're protecting them, but all you're doing is hurting yourself."

Abby's lips wobbled at Cree's words. She was reminded of all the ride offers, all the times Cree covered for her, all the nightmares and shadows her big sister chased away when she was younger. The overwhelming cavalcade of warm memories and the joy they shared enveloped her in a feeling she honestly never expected to feel again.

Abby sniffled. "I'm…sorry I pushed you away."

Cree trembled, her fingers lowering the rim of her cap as a tear slid down her cheek. "I…ain't talking about me."

A gasp sprung from Abby's throat. She looked over the cinder block, reminded of Wally's unflattering belief in her despite letting him down time and time again. Her mind went to Kuki, the girl so confident Abby would find her way despite herself not knowing which path to take.

And her heart clenched at the thought of Nigel. Nigel, who she had promised to stand by no matter how hard it all got.

"Why does Abby keep doing this?" she sobbed. "Why does…why does she keep hurting them despite just wanting to keep them safe?"

"Hurt-people hurt people, baby," Cree muttered softly, reaching her hand back to find Abby's. "Most times without even meaning to."

Abby's sobs quieted, replaced by sniffles as she absorbed Cree's words. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, taking a shaky breath as she used Cree's grip to steady herself.

"But... I keep messing up," Abby whispered, her voice barely audible. "I've let them down so many times. What if I can't be what they need me to be?"

Cree turned to face Abby fully, her eyes soft with empathy. "You ain't the first person to mess up and you won't be the last. But it's what you do after the mistakes that matter."

Abby's gaze flickered with uncertainty, her mind swirling with doubt.

"You're still strong, Abby," Cree insisted, her tone unwavering. "Maybe even stronger than you realize. You've been through so much, waded through so much crud, and you're still standing. Still glowing. That takes real strength."

Abby bit her lip, her doubts slowly giving way to a flicker of hope.

"And you know what makes you different from me?" Cree continued, her voice gentle. "You never truly forgot what it's about. It was never about helping yourself, it was about helping other kids."

Abby's brow furrowed, confusion etched on her face.

"You never stopped caring about others, even when you were at your lowest," Cree explained. "That's what sets you apart, Abby. You said you wanted to be me? Girl, you failed at that. You became somebody better." Cree managed a wink. "Sometimes…we fail upward."

Abby's eyes widened, a glimmer of understanding dawning in them.

"You have a heart of gold, baby," Cree said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "And I do not doubt that you'll find your way back to where you belong."

Abby shook, ripping her hand away from Cree and staring at it in shock. She then glanced at the mirror, her sinister reflection sneering at her "But what if I've already given up?"

Cree slowly stood, and without a word, walked around to stand in between her sister and the mirror. She stared down at the trembling girl, stoic.

Abby whimpered.

"Kids Next Door," Cree said seriously. She then smiled, extending her hand, "Never give up."

Abby's hand hovered in the air for a moment, her fingers trembling as she stared at Cree's outstretched hand. It felt like a lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume her.

With a shaky breath, Abby reached out, her fingers intertwining with Cree's in a firm grip. It was as if a surge of electricity passed between them, igniting a spark of determination within Abby's heart.

"Never give up," she repeated, the words echoing in her mind like a mantra. It was a promise, not just to Cree, but to herself and all the kids counting on her.

Cree's smile widened, a glimmer of pride shining in her eyes as she squeezed Abby's hand gently. "Now there's my stubborn lil sis."

Abby felt a rush of emotion flood through her, a sense of purpose and resolve washing away the doubts that had plagued her.

She may have stumbled and faltered along the way—

This is all your fault!

—but she refused to let her mistakes define her.

Then time to start makin' things right, baby.

They would not define Abigail Lincoln anymore.

Together, hand in hand, Abby and Cree stood in front of the mirror, facing their reflections with newfound appreciation and love. Abby hesitantly smiled up at Cree. "We...I could really use Numbuh 11, y'know."

Cree smiled back, sadly. "I can't be Numbuh 11 again, Abby. I threw away that second chance." The woman frowned, looking up at the stars through Abby's window. "I'm not Kids Next Door anymore, and if what you've told me is true, whatever happens next? I think they need to prove they can still do it by themselves. They need to earn their future."

Abby's expression faltered, but before doubt could creep back in, Cree's hand cupped her cheek.

"'Sides, you haven't needed ol' Numbuh 11 to watch your butt for a long time. She ain't gotta hold your hand no more," Cree said with a teasing smirk. "And when you come back from this, cause girl, you better come back from this, Cree…" Her smirk morphed into a vulnerable, hopeful smile. "…Cree will be here. If you still want her to be."

The older woman bit back a gasp as the younger girl collided with her with a fierce hug.

Abby sniffled into her sister's chest. "Abby thinks she's cool with Cree stickin' around ... if you wanna."

Cree's expression broke, eyes welling with hers and lips wobbling as she crushed her sister into her frame. After a moment, she schooled her features, awkwardly coughed into her hand, and shoved her away. "Alright, alright, enough mushy junk. You're gonna ruin my new shirt."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Sure, sure."

"Don't you got somewhere to be?"

"Right," Abby nodded, she reached into her pocket and then froze. She sheepishly looked to the corner she threw her phone towards and winced. "Um, can Abby borrow your phone?"

Cree groaned but tossed her cell to the girl.

Abby flashed a thankful smile before dialing some unknown number. She tapped her foot, and her expression perked when a voice answered. "Hey, girl! Yeah, sorry it's been a minute…look, I know I ain't got any right to ask, but I really need a favor."

Cree went back to leaning against the door as Abby paced around the room. Try as she might to follow the conversation, she couldn't help but let the words blur into the background as she studied her sister in a brand new light.

She couldn't help but feel a surge of pride swell within her chest. She watched her little sister, once just a toddler wielding a loofah pretending to be a Kids Next Door operative, now standing tall and confident, and barreling into an impossible task with mesmerizing style and grace.

In that moment, Cree couldn't help but reflect on the journey they had both been on. From their childhood days of playing make-believe to facing the harsh realities of duty and betrayal. They had come a long way. And through it all, while Cree fumbled and faltered, Abby had grown into a strong, capable woman, carrying her ideals with her every step of the way.

Cree couldn't help but marvel at the resilience and courage her sister possessed. Despite the challenges and setbacks they had faced, Abby remained steadfast in her commitment to helping others and fighting for what was right.

And as Cree watched her sister, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. No matter what the future held, she knew that Abby would always be there, ready to face whatever challenges came her way with unwavering determination and a heart full of love.

Abby hiked herself up to onto the window sill, looking back at Cree. "Take care of Mama and Daddy, okay?"

"We'll be fine," Cree waved off. "Now get out of here."

Abby smirked, giving a two-finger salute as she dived and flipped out the window.

Cree crossed her arms, nodding in satisfaction. Her hand jumped to the rim of her cap, and she paused.

The day she left for college, Abby had been nowhere to be seen. But when Cree ventured up to her room to pack away the last of her sweaters, there, on the pillow, was her old worn hat. Abby's way of returning it to her, signaling closed communication and one final goodbye.

"Numbuh 5!"

Abby skidded to a halt, glancing back confused.

Cree smirked, twirling her hat before chucking it. "Think you're forgetting something."

Abby's hand reached up, her fingers clenching the familiar cap.

It glowed a brilliant crimson under the moonlight.

Abby smirked.

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So yeah. You ever screw up? Fail? First thing you do is own up to it and at least try and forgive yourself. It's the first step to being better.

You can do it, baby. Abby believes in you.

Numbuh Five, out.

Nigel wiped away his tears. These passages of his team, his friends stirred something in his heart. Despite all their suffering, and all their misfortune, they still found a way to push through a face tomorrow.

A thought still nagged at him, however. As heartwarming as the entries were, his smile couldn't help but dim as he was reminded of their fates long after putting words to the page. Were those operatives who wrote these words still there? Were they still out there somewhere despite having lost it all? He didn't know, and it shook him to the core.

Just as he was about to close the book, a dog-eared page caught his eye. He frowned in thought. From the looks of it, there was only one more entry. But who could it be from? Perhaps something his Dad jotted down when he re-found the book? Or maybe even his mom?

He turned the page, and his heart thumped widely as he recognized the beautiful calligraphy.

Numbuh 5 thinks she's so clever. So sneaky. I think she sometimes forgets that despite it all, I was the Best Spy. Doesn't take a genius to piece together how this 'mysteriously' ended up on my desk.

I don't know what she expects this book to do. Help? I'm tired of her 'help'. She refuses to really help. To give me the real answers.

This book won't help at all. It just reminds me that he's gone.

Stupid book.

…

Okay, that's not fair to the book.

This book…it's way more than a book, isn't it? It's a book of hope, a book of dreams, a book of how you shouldn't give up and stop thinking about tomorrow. It's a book of all those things and more.

I don't know how many hopes and dreams I have left these days, but I can appreciate the book trying to share some with me.

This is where I should write my story, but forgive me, future reader. I just don't think mine is one worth sharing.

But yours will be. Please share. That's an order.

Supreme Leader Numbuh Three-Sixty-Two.

Nigel gripped the sides of the book tightly, letting loose a mournful sigh. The words on the page, etched in stark pencil strokes, felt like an epitaph. If Rachel couldn't glean solace from the book's pages, what hope did he have? While she neglected to share her story in its pages, he had become intimately familiar with it. It was intertwined with his own, at one point.

The thread was broken now. Now they were ill-fated to drift apart and he sadly could read the writing on the wall and see clearly how the story would come to a close.

But his gaze shifted to the margins, where unfamiliar symbols danced at the edges of his vision. Though foreign, they stirred a sense of recognition deep within him, like fragments of a forgotten song. His heart quickened, a surge of anticipation coursing through his veins like wildfire.

A stumble, a jolt, and Monty's steady hand halted his fall, grounding him in the present moment. With trembling fingers, Nigel traced the intricate patterns of the code, his mind racing to decipher its hidden message. It was a PENPAL code.

His and Rachel's PENPAL code.

Despite it having been years, his mind worked out the cipher like picking back up a bicycle. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced his old PENCIL laser (which, funny enough, also functioned as a pen. Who knew?) and began transcribing the code on the next, blank page.

With each word he wrote, Rachel's final message became clear.

It's over. I'm not a Supreme Leader. I'm a traitor.

That's the role I decided to go with.

Numbuh 5 has stayed Supreme Leader despite how I tagged her in. The Moonbase is saved, and the Kids Next Door lives to fight another day. It only cost me my honor, my reputation.

I just…threw it all away.

I'm honestly surprised the TND still wants me. Numbuh 9 is giving me a few days to get my head straight. Was I trying to get decommissioned? Was I just trying to save them and then give myself a way out? I don't know anymore.

I think about everything, losing Bon-Bon. Losing Chad. I felt so alone. But then Patton, Fanny, Harvey…

They tried to be there, didn't they? Did I push them away because I felt I had to?

Why is everything so hard!?

It's all so damn hard.

But…I guess it has to be, right?

Nothing worth having ever comes easy. Numbuh 100 told me that once. Told me that the day before his decommissioning. Barely even a month after Numbuh 11 betrayed us all.

He took it hard. At the time, I didn't understand. People go traitor all the time. Operatives come in and out like it's a revolving door. Sure, she was great and all, but I didn't understand how the Supreme Leader could get so hung up on the leader of Sector V.

…boy, I sure asked for that one, huh?

When you left, it felt like the world crumbled underneath me. You were always there, and now, you aren't. You're gone. You're out there somewhere and there's a very real chance I'll never get to see you again. I'll never get to tell you that I…

I'm sorry about taking you off the CAKE mission.

I'm sorry about blowing up your LUNCHBOCKS over every little thing.

I'm sorry about taking my anger out on your team.

I'm sorry for making you choose between the Kids Next Door and Lizzie…between me and Lizzie.

I'm sorry was I unfair to you.

I'm sorry I stole the last bite of your meatball sandwich that one time.

And I'm sorry I didn't appreciate how much you meant to me until you were gone.

You wanna know a secret?

I don't know what comes next and I'm terrified. I'm supposed to get answers soon. Answers that will probably tell me what really happened to you and I'm so scared of what I'm gonna find that I think I'm gonna throw up…

…I just finished throwing up. Gross.

Still nervous.

But you wanna know a crazier secret?

I think of everything I've lost. Everything I've given up. I think of every choice I've made that's led me to this point and imagine there's a reset button. I imagine there's a chance I go back, decide not to be Supreme Leader, decide not to leave Sector Q, heck, decide not to even be in the Kids Next Door and live a normal life. I decide to take my childhood back and live it the way I've always dreamed.

But then I think of Numbuh 100. I think of Bon-Bon. I think of Patton, I think of Fanny, I think of Harvey. I think of all the good I've done, the moments of fun I've had, and even the few laughs had along the way.

And I think of you. I think of how if I press that reset button, despite getting everything back, there's still a chance I would have never met you.

So the secret is that I don't care what happens tomorrow, next week, or even a year from now. What matters is what I'm feeling right here, right now in this moment. Because this moment? This moment is real.

This moment is my story and I want to share it with you!

And my story is this:

If given the chance to press that reset button? I'd chuck it straight into a sun.

I'm never going to stop looking. For you, for the real answers, or for whatever this all truly means to me. Whatever happens, I'm going to follow this road to wherever it leads me.

I'm going to leave this in your room. Maybe whenever they reinstate a new sector V, an operative will come down and read all these stories. Maybe you'll come back and grant my selfish wish of finding my story because I wrote it just for you.

But if you're reading this Nigel? Whatever has happened or whatever will happen, I want you to know one thing:

Our story? No matter how it ends?

I wouldn't change it for the world.

With all my love,

Rachel T. McKenzie

PS: The T stands for—

As he read that last word, Nigel smiled as tears fell like rivers.

Monty looked down at the boy, placing an arm around him. "Read some crackerjack stories?"

"Yeah, I did," Nigel uttered, a mix of a laugh and sob escaping him. "They…they were good stories. Hopeful, stories."

"Hope is a funny thing," Monty mused, stroking his mustache. "It's not a bad thing. But…it's not inherently good either if you think about it."

Monty gazed thoughtfully into the distance, contemplating the endless intricacies. "Hope is like a double-edged sword; it can uplift us, spur us forward, fuel our determination even in the darkest of times. But at the same time, it can blind us, deceive us, lead us down paths fraught with disappointment."

Nigel furrowed his brows together. "So, what you're saying is... it's about what we choose to do with it, right?"

"Exactly," Monty affirmed a glint of admiration in his eyes at the young boy's insight. "Hope, like any tool, is only as effective as the hands that hold it. It's what we do with hope that truly matters. Do we use it to inspire others, to persevere against all odds? Or do we allow it to consume us, to blind us to reality, to lead us astray?"

Nigel felt a surge of determination coursing through his veins, fueled by newfound understanding. "Rachel chose to hold onto hope, even in the face of uncertainty and loss. She chose to write her story, not knowing if anyone would ever read it. That…that takes courage, I think."

Monty nodded in agreement, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Indeed it does, lad. Her story, like all stories of hope, serves as a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there is always a glimmer of light. It's up to us to nurture it, to keep it burning bright, and to share it with others."

Nigel shook his head with a rueful. "That sort of pure hope…not sure if it's real. Sounds like something only a kid could believe in."

"Then maybe they're onto something, eh?" Monty said with a wink. He then stopped, gazing in front of him. "Well, I do believe this is my stop."

Eyes wide, Nigel looked in front of him, a flurry of emotions as he witnessed the white wall, red-roof two-story home.

His home.

Above his home, there it was.

His treehouse.

Sector V's treehouse, though dormant, stood tall and proud as ever. The old paint and number stood proudly, albeit chipping in some places. The wind rustled the orange and red leaves, carrying their tales and songs across the neighborhood to be shared.

Nigel simply stood there, stunned. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would be so close to home. That with only one hop and one skip, he would be back inside. A faint porch light glowed, and a window was illuminated to illustrate activity happening somewhere inside. No doubt his Mom was up and about, worrying over her husband's return.

Monty looked down at Nigel and smiled. "Thank you for walking me home, old bean."

Nigel forced a smile in return. "And thank you. For…talking with me."

"I only hoped it helped," Monty said. He seemed to be considering something. "So, what will you do now?"

Nigel looked down at the book, torn. "Would you…think less of me if I said I'm still not quite sure?"

Monty chuckled. "Not at all, lad. Not at all."

The two Unos stood there in the shadow of sector V's treehouse, the night pressing on despite their momentary pause. Nigel stared down at the Book of KND, its words, marvels, and stories tugging and twisting at him. It had pulled something from the dredges of his soul, yet he was at a complete loss for what to do with it.

Monty, for his part, stared at his home, eyes alight with thoughts only he could understand. His mustache twitched wildly as if debating something.

Finally, he stood a bit straighter.

"This…might sound terribly improper," he spoke into his hand, his voice muffled but still instantly entrapping Nigel's attention. Monty was quiet, but then nodded, sure of whatever decision he just made. "But on the subject of stories, I can't help but ponder yours. Can't but help but consider what if…what if we decided to end it here?"

Nigel blinked. "I…don't understand."

"Now don't misunderstand me, my good fellow. You seem the capable sort; bet you can barrel through anything life tosses your way," Monty roused with his arms swinging to and fro. "But don't feel like you have to keep going. Why don't you join me and the Missus inside? Could rest your laurels while we get you all sorted out."

Nigel spluttered. "I-I…no. No, I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Nonsense, wouldn't be any trouble at all. Plenty of pistachio ice cream to go around! And the Missus did mention something about making ginger-snap cookies."

That last offer nearly had Nigel undone. Warm memories oozed through his body, the phantom scent of cookie dough mix invoking long-suppressed tears. "G-Ginger-snap?"

"Indeed! Hasn't felt the urge to make them in years, now that I think about it. I know it sounds strange, but you could come inside in join us." Monty's jovial air thinned a bit, the man leaning down as his voice softened with earnest intent. "If that were something you wanted, of course."

And once again Nigel stood there, caught in the whirlwind of emotions and possibilities, his mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Once again, he was being given another way out.

Monty's offer tugged at him, promising comfort, security, and the chance to reclaim a semblance of the life he once knew. If Nigel was being honest, it was all he wanted.

But deep down, Nigel couldn't shake the other feelings that had been stirring.

His gaze drifted back to the Book of KND, its pages fluttering in the breeze like whispers from a distant past. Memories flooded his mind, of missions completed, friendships forged, and sacrifices made. He thought of Hoagie, Kuki, Wally, and Abby.

His team, his friends, and their unwavering determination in the face of adversity even when it all seemed pointless.

And then, he thought of Rachel's words, her refusal to let go of her hope. Her refusal to stop following her road no matter where it headed.

In that moment of reflection, Nigel made a silent plea to the universe, begging to give him a sign.

The wind blew.

He reached out and caught the book as it threatened to slip from his grasp, his fingers brushing against the worn pages. Guided by some unknown hand, his head tilted downward, hand slapping down and stopping the pages as it went back to show him one last story.

His story where there were five words only:

We Are Kids Next Door.

He smiled.

How could he ever forget?

"You want to know something stranger?" Nigel said, a sad smile as he took a deep breath, staring up at the towering tree. "I'd love nothing more than that, to follow you inside. It's…it's all I could ever want."

Monty crossed his arms, or the best he could given his grocery load. "Hmm, it appears I'm hearing a 'but'."

"Nothing gets past you, eh?" Nigel chuckled. He stared down at the book. "But I can't. I've got a job to do. There's a kid out there who needs me. I won't give up on her. Not now," he nodded as he gently closed the book and handed it back to Monty, eyes burning with resolve. "Not ever."

Monty sat down his grocery bag, taking the book back into his hand. The hand holding it went to his hip as he regarded the boy. "Sounds like your mind is made up."

Nigel nodded. "It is."

"Quite the turnaround from earlier, wouldn't you say?"

"Before…I didn't know my up from down. I kept trying to think about what I should do, what the right decision to make was and it almost made me make a terrible mistake," he admitted. "But then I stopped thinking what I would do…and started asking what my Dad would do."

Monty stroked his chin. "And what would he do?"

"He'd tell me to keep a stiff upper lip," Nigel said, looking down at his fist as it clenched with purpose, "and believe in myself."

Monty smiled. "You know, it's funny; that's what I was about to say."

With a sudden surge of emotion, Nigel couldn't hold back any longer. He took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and Monty in a single stride. Ignoring any reservations or doubts, he threw his arms around his father in a tight embrace, holding on as if trying to anchor himself to the moment.

Monty's initial surprise quickly melted away, replaced by a warmth that radiated from deep within. Without hesitation, he returned the embrace, his arms encircling Nigel in a protective embrace.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as father and son held onto each other, sharing a connection that transcended words.

As they finally pulled apart, Nigel looked up at Monty with eyes brimming with uncertainty. "Do you think... do you think he would be proud of me?"

Monty's expression softened, a fondness shining in his eyes as he gazed down at the boy. "Oh, Nigel," he said softly, his voice tinged with emotion. "I'm confident your father is quite proud of the remarkable young man you've become."

A sense of peace washed over Nigel at Monty's words, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he finally allowed himself to believe in his own worth. "Thank you," he whispered, a grateful smile spreading across his face.

Monty returned the smile. "Think I've kept you long enough, old bean. Don't want to keep this girl waiting, eh?"

"Yeah." With a nod of understanding, Nigel took a step back. "I better get going."

"Now hold on there, lad," Monty called out. "I do believe you're forgetting something."

Nigel was confused, then laughed as his eyes landed on the EVAC in the adult's grip. "I don't think I need that anymore."

"Hm? Oh, no. Think I might use it as a paperweight," Monty said. "I was talking about this."

Nigel's hands leaped up to catch the Book of KND. He looked back at the man, unsure if he was worthy.

As if reading his mind, Monty gave a wink. "Something tells me it may come in handy."

Nigel held the book proudly. Not caring if the significance was understood or not, Nigel gave a firm, proud salute before turning on his heel with his resolve renewed and his heart filled with gratitude. However, he stopped and looked back at Monty one last time. "Goodbye…sir," he said softly, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

Monty shook his head with a chuckle. "Call me a stubborn ol' chap, but I'm not a fan of goodbyes. How about we say 'see you later' instead?"

A warm smile tugged at Nigel's lips as he nodded in agreement. "…see you later."

Mind made up and heart set, Nigel began his sprint to his final objective.

He began his treacherous trek to a certain manor that resided right down the lane.

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The New Head of Super-Boring Accounting Numbers, Karen, buckled under the immense heat.

A towering shadow of a man dusted off an old record from the shelf.

Five pairs of eyes, devoid of any inkling of free thought or will, watched on with the rapt attention they were forced to give.

The man carefully placed the record on an antique player, meticulously placing the needle down as the music began playing.

Crackling flames roared to life from the fireplace as a voice began to sing with haunting, demented childlike glee.

"I'm Mister Green Christmas."

The once decrepit Delightful Mansion echoed with the haunting melody of the song and the adult merrily singing along with it, the sound twisting and warping into something sinister as it filled the air. A figure of darkness and malice stood at the center of the room, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering flames dancing in the fireplace.

"I'm Mister Sun."

Karen trembled in fear, her eyes darting nervously around the room as she clutched a stack of papers to her chest.

The five others present, their faces devoid of emotion, stood stoically by the adult's side, unaffected by the eerie atmosphere that enveloped them.

"I'm Mister Heat Blister."

The man's low and gravelly voice joined the song in a macabre duet, his lips curling into a twisted smile as he sang along with the chilling lyrics. With each word, the flames in the fireplace seemed to leap higher, casting dancing shadows across the walls like tortured souls trapped in eternal torment.

"I'M MISTER ONE-HUNDRED-AND-ONE!"

But it was not just the fire in the hearth that obeyed his command; his very presence seemed to radiate heat, a palpable aura of infernal energy that enveloped him like a cloak of darkness. And that cloak was far more than a suit that matched his devious little eyes.

"Might as well call me Heat Miser…"

As he sang, he gestured with outstretched hands, fingers curling as tendrils of flame snaked from his fingertips, writhing and twisting in the air like serpents from the depths of Hell.

"…cause I what-ever I too-uch…"

The temperature in the room rose steadily, the air thick with the scent of burning leather and scorched carpet. Karen's breath came in ragged gasps, her skin flushed with heat as she struggled to maintain her composure in the face of her superior's overwhelming power.

"…STARTS TO MELT IN MY CLUTCH!"

As the song reached its crescendo, his voice rose to a triumphant roar, his laughter mingling with the crackling of flames as he reveled in the pure chaos he had unleashed.

And in that moment, surrounded by fire and darkness, he was a demon of pure, unbridled terror to all across the world, a living nightmare made flesh.

The one true boogeyman that children feared lurked in the dark.

All the while, the five faces at his side watched with cold detachment, their eyes fixed on the patriarch with an unwavering gaze that sent shivers down Karen's spine. In their silent vigil, they seemed to mirror what lurked within the man's soul, something that threatened to consume everything in its path.

An empty smirk graced their lips, and in collective, dreadful synchronicity said, "You're too much, Father."

"Aw," Father cooed, eyes scrunching up with saccharine adoration. "Why thank you, children. Nothing like classic show tunes to get the evil mojo flowing."

He leaned down, an ebony-clad hand going in to pinch one of their cheeks. The fingertips connected with a sizzling hiss, and the smaller boy didn't even flinch as the burn seared his skin.

"Now, you all run along and tidy up. Our guest of honor will be arriving shortly," he said, deviously rubbing his hands together.

The five children turned and went to obey, for that was all they were allowed to do.

Streaks of fire rippled across his form as he wagged a stern finger at their retreating backsides. "And you better wash behind those ears…OR ELSE!"

The five children let loose a chorus of appeasing agreement, for that was all they were allowed to do.

Karen gulped while tugging at her collar. She was keenly aware that with the children departing, she was left alone here with this…thing that signed her paycheck at the end of every month. In fact, Karen was the only Evil Adult Industry executive within Father's immediate vicinity; ordered to stay behind to tend to some 'pesky last minute paperwork'.

All other executives had been thrown elsewhere, to be set up like pawns for a fiendish game of chess.

Others had fumbled one time too many, and shared a fate similar to Williamfordson…or worse.

She was desperately trying not to end up like the latter.

Despite the blistering temperature the closer she got to him, Karen shivered like a naked mole rat in the middle of the Antarctic. "Y-You're in quite the f-festive mood, s-sir."

"Well, gosh, I just can't help myself, Karen," he politely chuckled, swinging his fist good-naturally and ignoring how his assistant hit the deck at the move. "Christmas has come early! I'm tanned, I'm rested, and I'm ready to give my nephew the biggest welcome home party this town has EVER SEEN!" He roared, a back draft of flames flaring up. They died down as he peered at Karen's cowering frame, confused. "Uh, would ya mind getting off the carpet? Just had that dry cleaned."

"Apologies, sir!" Karen squeaked, leaping up into improvised jumping jacks. "It's just that, uh, y-your excitement is infectious! N-Nothing like some isometric exercises to burn away the pre-party jitters!"

"Yes, it is quite the cause for celebration, isn't it?" Father asked merrily. His expression darkened. "Ever since that little miscreant absconded with my pipe, I've been in such a tizzy. Numbuh 1 getting off Scot-free? It sets a TERRIBLE example. What the world must think of me for losing track of a child. You don't just DO THAT, Karen. If you don't know their every whereabouts, their every little breath, who knows what sort of mischief they could get into? HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO PROPERLY PUNISH THEM, KAREN?"

Karen yelped, raising her clipboard to bat away the flames on her chest. "I-I don't know!"

"Of course, you don't. That's why I'm here," Father said, calming down and tucking his hands behind his back, standing straight. "I know what's best for children like Nigel Uno. I know what's best for all of them. Only I know the proper way to handle such matters. Because I'm an adult."

"So…you punish him…by throwing him a party?"

"Karen, Karen, Karen," Father said, shaking his head like the disappointed parent he was manifested to forever be by a higher power. "You attract more flies with honey. The boy ran away like some self-important delinquent because he didn't feel," he paused for finger quotes, "'appreciated'. But you know what? Pains me to admit this, but hey, maybe he was right."

Father draped an arm dramatically over his face. "I always saw him as just another brat. Another obstacle in my way of complete and utter world domination. But I'm the adult here! I can be the bigger guy and admit I was wrong because that's what respectable, mature adults do."

He swirled his index finger in a circular motion, conjuring a fiery mirror image of his bald nephew. He patted the duplicate's head affectionately. "I didn't see him for what he really was…a child lacking proper guidance. A scared little boy acting out for attention. He was more than just another whiny brat—he was my whiny brat. He was family."

The hand's grip on the fire-clone's hand trembled.

"And family, Karen?"

The hand crushed the fire clone's head, reducing it to mere cinders its hold.

"Nothing is more important than family," he said, voice low, precise with sinful intent. His hand raised to his eyes, and he slowly uncurled his fingers, mesmerized by the ashes in his palm. "I see that now."

As Father trailed off, Karen felt a cold knot of fear tighten in her stomach. She tried to steady her trembling hands, but they shook uncontrollably, betraying her terror to the man who held her fate in his grasp.

Father's eyes, pools of darkness that seemed to drink in the flickering firelight, bored into Karen's own, sending a shiver down her spine. She could feel his gaze probing her, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of defiance that he could exploit to assert his dominance.

The flames danced hypnotically in the fireplace, casting eerie shadows that seemed to reach out for her, threatening to swallow her whole. Karen's breath came in ragged gasps, her chest tight with the weight of her fear.

"And when he comes running—and trust me, he will come," Father's voice, low and menacing, echoed in her ears, each word dripping with malice and contempt. She could feel the heat of his presence pressing in on her from all sides, suffocating her with its intensity. "I'll let him have his little soiree. His fifteen minutes of fame. And once he's all tuckered out, filled with sweets and snacks, that's when I'll sit him down for a good old-fashioned talking-to and show him the error of his ways." His eyes glinted. "He'll realize I'm right, because of course I'm right, and never want to leave. Ever"

"B-But what if he doesn't show?" she couldn't stop herself from asking, couldn't ignore the ballooning budget and the possibility this was all wasted effort. "W-What if that girl, uh, McKenzie? What if she doesn't—EEP!"

And then, without warning, Father moved, his form looming over her like a specter of death. Karen recoiled, her back pressing against the wall as she tried to shrink away from him, but there was nowhere to hide from the darkness that surrounded her.

"Oh, don't you worry about her," Father said, voice sickeningly dismissive. "Why, she wizened up faster than the rest of them. She realized how right I really am and she needs me for her little sad 'revenge' tantrum or whatever. She's a scared little girl backed into a corner. She doesn't have a choice."

"B-But, what if you're…you're wrong about her?"

"Well, firstly, I am never wrong. Let's clear up that nasty little misconception." Father said, closing his eyes and confidently holding up a finger to silence her arguments. He opened his eyes, making a show of looking under his shoe and over his shoulder before leaning in to whisper, "But, between you and me? Wanna know a juicy little secret?"

Despite her instincts telling her otherwise, Karen nodded.

"I DON'T REALLY GIVE A DOODIE!"

His hand reached out, fingers curling around her throat with a vice-like grip, cutting off her air supply. Karen gasped for breath, clawing at his hand in a futile attempt to free herself from his grasp.

But Father only tightened his grip, his eyes burning with a cruel satisfaction as he watched her struggle. She could see the twisted smile curling his lips, the glint of madness in his eyes as he reveled in her fear.

And in that moment, Karen knew that she was utterly helpless, at the mercy of a monster who cared nothing for her well-being, a creature of pure evil who would stop at nothing to achieve his twisted goals.

"Only two roads left for Miss-Crybaby-Betrayer-Britches, Karen: she either follows through like a good girl and gets her just, de-light-ful desserts," he chuckled darkly, his hair morphing into horns. "Or? She tries to sneak a peak at her present under the tree and burns like the rest of 'em. What do you think I am, a dummy? Ha! Like I'd hand over my house keys to a turncoat—got a whole stinkin' alphabet of contingencies for Rachel T. McKenzie, don't worry your sweet little head."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she realized the depth of her predicament. She, too, was nothing more than a pawn in Father's twisted game, a plaything to be toyed with and discarded at his whim.

As the flames danced around them, casting their flickering light on the scene of terror unfolding before them, Karen could only pray for a miracle to save her from the clutches of the monster who held her captive.

But deep down, she knew that in the world of Father, there were no miracles, only darkness and despair.

…don't give up…

Her eyes widened.

The voice echoed in Karen's mind, a faint whisper amidst the suffocating darkness. It was a voice she hadn't heard in years, a voice she had long since buried beneath layers of fear, resignation, and the world weighing her down.

"Don't give up," it repeated, stronger this time, its words like a beacon.

Karen's fingers clawed desperately at Father's hand, her nails digging into his skin as she fought for her life. She could feel the warmth of the flames licking at her skin, the air thick with the scent of burning hair and flesh.

But despite the pain and fear that threatened to overwhelm her, Karen clung to that voice, that small spark of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

"Don't give up," said the voice of her inner child, raging to reach to the surface. "There's still hope. There's still–"

"—the Kids Next Door."

Father did a double take. "Pardon me?"

"The Kids Next Door," Karen said with a sneer. "They…could still stop you."

Father blinked.

Then burst out with raucous laughter.

"PFFFFF-HA HA HA! 'The Kids Next Door', she says," he laughed. "Now THAT'S a good one! Those brats? Spare me! If there's one thing I've finally learned these past few years, it's that those sad, little tikes are one big, fat, JOKE!"

With a surge of determination, Karen summoned every ounce of strength she had left, pushing against Father's hand with all her might. And then, miraculously, his grip loosened, his fingers faltering for just a moment.

It was all the opening Karen needed.

"All they care about is their candy, their little comic books, dollies, and silly Saturday morning cartoons! The best thing I've done in years is leave 'em to destroy themselves, Miss McKenzie is proof of that! They're USELESS. It's all just a stupid game to those idiots!"

With a final burst of energy, Karen broke free from his grasp, stumbling backward into the darkness.

Father doubled over, slapping his knees as his laughter echoed in her ears, mocking and cruel.

"But you know what? I'm in a sporting mood. If they wanna play with the big boys? Fine! I can play games too," he said, wiping away a laughter-induced tear. His chortles continued, however, his frame shaking as they devolved into something more sinister. "And old Father doesn't do handicaps. No…I play…FOR KEEPS!"

Karen was knocked by the force of the blast as Father exploded, she hissed, nursing her burns as she looked up at the man in horror. His cloak once dulled and worn, now shone with a new frightening sheen. A devilish, ebony glow that paired oh-so-well with those corrupted eyes.

But Father's cloak was far more than a suit that matched his eyes,

It was a manifestation of his twisted desires, a symbol of his insatiable greed and burning malice. The silhouette that adorned his body was not merely an accessory; it was a vessel for his darkest impulses, a conduit through which he wielded his power over the lives of children.

Every cruel word of condemnation instead of affirmation.

Every scorn-filled admonishment of fun and whimsy.

Every scheme concocted to inflict misery and pain.

Every 'it's for your own good, champ!' spanking veiled as betterment hiding abuse.

Forged in the depths of strict, rigid oppression, the silhouette pulsed with malevolent energy, its shadows fueled by each child's cry of miserable submission. With every beat of its twisted heart, it whispered promises of pain and suffering, its hunger feeding the belly of Father's all-consuming desire to control and dominate.

To Father, the silhouette was more than just a tool; it was a reflection of his own twisted worldview, a reminder of the righteousness of his cause.

In his mind, he truly believed that by making children miserable, he was teaching them the harsh lessons they needed to survive in a cruel and unforgiving world.

And as he stood amidst the flames, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns to etch into a new portrait—his self-portrait to hang proudly above the fireplace to finally claim his dark destiny, he felt a surge of satisfaction wash over him.

For in that moment, he was not just a supervillain; he was a god, wielding power beyond mortal comprehension, shaping the destiny of innocent lives with a single, malevolent stroke.

"So come on down, Kids Next Door! Come on down, NIGEL UNO!" he roared, fists surging into the air. "Let's keep the game going forever and ever! Because it doesn't matter what he thinks. Doesn't matter what he does! He's still just a snot-nosed brat. Still just some stupid kid. I'm the adult here! ME!"

With a newfound sense of purpose and seeing a chance, Karen turned and retreated down the hall.

"Adults like me are always right! ADULTS LIKE ME ALWAYS WIN! BECAUSE I'M FATHER!"

Karen struggled to breathe as she ran.

"AND FATHER ALWAYS…"

Karen yelled as she kicked down the front door, fleeing into the night.

"…KNOWS!"

Five pairs of eyes watched disinterestedly from their window as Karen leaped over the manor gates.

"WHAT'S!"

Karen ran. Ran, ran, and ran.

"Best," Father finished, confidently, fires flickering out as he closed his eyes, nodding in satisfaction. He opened them, blinking once he realized he was alone. "You still here, Karen?"

Silence was his answer.

"Whatever," he shrugged. His tummy grumbled, and he whistled as he walked toward the kitchen. "Boy, these evil monologues sure do work up an appetite. Time for a bowl of some good old rocky road!"

But outside, Karen continued to run.

And as she ran, the voice whispered in her ear, a guiding light in the rainy night.

"Don't give up," it said. "There is still hope."

And for the first time in a long time, Karen believed it.

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Monty continued to wave as the plucky young lad wandered down the street.

A voice inside him scolded him. Why, the poor thing was soaking wet and needed a change of clothes! He should've pressed for him to come instead and warm up. But ah, it seemed destiny's call was too great and who was Monty to interrupt such an extravagant cause?

The old man watched as the boy disappeared on the horizon, noting where he was headed. Why, if he didn't know any better, he'd say the little rascal was headed straight down the…

Monty frowned.

His mustache twitched. He then raised a brow as he looked down at the strange device. With a grunt of effort, he crushed it in his palm, let it fall, and then expertly used his heel to kick it into the nearby garbage bin. With a satisfied nod, he bent over to pick up his groceries. He gave one last look down the road and then hobbled back inside his home.

"Oh, there you are dear," his wife greeted him. Mrs. Uno rose from her armchair, cradling a cup of tea. She rushed to the door, planting a chaste kiss on her husband's cheek. "You had me worried."

"Had a bit of detour, but everything turned out fine," he assured. He noted the scent from her cup. "I say, is that chamomile?"

Mrs. Uno nodded. "Thought it would us settle down. After the ice cream of course." She peered back towards the kitchen. "Also put some cookies in the oven. The strangest urge came over me."

Monty chuckled as he followed her, setting down the bag on the table. "Counting on the sugar crash, I see?"

She waved her hand. "You know me." She watched as he began storing the ice cream in the freezer. "So what was that detour that had you held up?"

"Oh, just ran into someone I hadn't seen in a while."

"How quaint," she muttered. Before taking a sip of her tea, she nonchalantly asked, "Who was it?"

Monty tossed the ice cream carton up and in down, wiggling his mustache in thought. "…Nigel."

Mrs. Uno's tea was spat out in a dramatic spray as the full weight of the revelation hit her. She began coughing, forcing herself into composure as she stared wildly at her husband. "N-Nigel? Nigel who?"

"Nigel Thornberry," Monty mumbled, trying to inject some levity into the situation, despite wondering if it would be in bad taste. His wife's glare answered that question, and he let out a heavy sigh. "You know very well who I mean, dear."

"B-But that's impossible, isn't it?" Mrs. Uno fretted. "How is he back? Why is he back? Why didn't that—that Infinity or what-have-you boy tell us!?"

"I don't know," Monty said slowly, brows knitting together, irritation evident as he thought of the mysterious diplomat. "But…I'm sure he had his reasons."

"What reasons could he possibly have?" Mrs. Uno then blinked, realizing she was asking all the wrong questions. "Forget all that! Nigel was here? Did you speak with him? Where did he go?"

"He was. I…did, as best as I could considering circumstances," Monty explained. He closed his eyes. "And while I can't say for certain…I do believe he was headed down the lane."

"YOU LET HIM GO TO BEN!?" Mrs. Uno screeched. She then straightened, deadly intent fueling her stoic moves as she briskly turned and marched down the hall.

Monty gulped, fumbling after her. "Now hold on, dear!"

The woman ignored her husband, heels clacking over the carpet and roots that curled through the floor. As she approached a section of tree bark, she slammed her fist against it with a series of rhythmic, harsh knocks.

A panel opened, revealing an arsenal of 2x4 weaponry.

"Now, honey!" Monty stuttered, hopping on one foot as he took a sharp turn. He paled as his wife pushed past him, a modified BAJOOKA more than half her size strapped to her back. "We agreed to stay retired in exchange for Infinity keeping us recomm—" He squeaked as a finger pressed into his nose.

"You agreed to be retired," Mrs. Uno hissed before turning and heading towards the door. "I made no such promises to that little snot!"

"Dear, you know what's at stake," Monty said, following his wife outside and managing to block her advance. "I've already interfered enough, any more and we risk jeopardizing his mission!"

"I have not begun to interfere, Monty!" she yelled. "And I'll jeopardize his mission as much as I please! I'm not losing my son to that monster!"

Monty flinched at the mention of his brother but stood firm. "Agatha…they have to do this on their own."

"They don't have to!" Agatha cried. "Because I'm going."

"You know you can't."

"The hell I can!"

"Agatha, please," Monty pleaded, taking his wife's hands. "You're the smartest woman I know. For Nigel to be back, for Infinity to be so secretive…the Important Ones must be involved. You know what might happen if we get sloppy and cause him to fail. We can't risk it any further."

Agatha gripped Monty tightly, frustration warring against her logical mind. "What do you expect me to do, Monty? He's our boy…"

"I know he is," he said reassuringly. "That's why we must believe in him."

"How can you expect me to after all this? You know as well as I do what Ben has become. All alone, Nigel's odds against him amount to zero!"

Something in Monty wavered. Agatha…Agatha had a very compelling point. Despite what he wanted to think, no matter what he wanted to believe, Monty couldn't deny the reports he had seen. Couldn't ignore the damage that had been done. His brother was determined to follow in their own father's footsteps, no matter what damnation awaited him on the other side.

Monty was close to giving in. To hell with the Important Ones and to hell with rules. He opened his mouth, about to tell his wife to warm up the car while he did some stretches.

But he stopped, catching sight of something.

From the moon, a green light twinkled as it descended towards Earth.

Across the road, a rowdy blond boy sprinted down the street.

Quick as a flash, a strange-looking bike zipped by, sporting a determined girl clutching to her red cap.

Monty smiled.

"That may be. But you're forgetting something, dear. Our son is Numbuh One," Monty pride filtering his voice as he spoke. He smiled as his eyes trailed out to the treehouse. "Besides, who said anything about him going alone?"

Agatha's face contorted with confusion. "I don't understand."

"Like any good operative," Monty said as he looked above, watching something leaving a jet-trail in the sky. It flew straight towards the treehouse above his home, and landed square in the old abandoned hangar bay marked '2'.

Monty grinned as the lights flickered on, the sounds of whirring and hammering playing like a triumphant symphony.

"…he's only as good as his team."

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INCOMING TRANSMISSION.

PLEASE STAND-BY…