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…Now resuming...
...now resuming transmission.
The envious green flames choked the children.
It seared into their skin as Father strolled deeper into the room.
He unabashedly shotgunned the can of iced coffee, finishing with a crude belch before tossing the crumpled can aside. His litter clinked forgotten into the corner while he flexed his fingers, hot sparks tingling his tips.
The sweet, rejuvenating burst of caffeine was only enough to summon forth one measly inky black glove of his silhouette suit, but hey, we take what we can get.
"Appreciate you squirts not raiding my office mini-fridge. Just the pick me up I needed to get some kindling going," he humorlessly breathed.
Father marched up to Nigel, eyes narrowing to glare at the confined boy still writhing due to his wound. After giving his one good hand a look, Father flicked a finger and pressed it against Nigel's temple.
Sector V tensed.
Rachel and Harvey seemed puzzled when Father jerked his hand away, disgruntled.
"Figures," he said, sneering. Nigel remained unchanged besides the light hiss of a burn and fingerprint scorch.
Un-perfect.
Father glared at his ebony hand, blaming it for his glorious new power deserting him. He took a shaky breath to center himself. "One thing at a time, Father. We'll figure that out later."
"You," Rachel hissed. She fought valiantly against the hot bindings. The more she struggled, the more it burned, but that didn't stop her. Her panicked eyes landed on Nigel, her blood chilling as she saw him slowly fading.
All at once, she raged, arming herself with the vile anger and bitterness she had just laid down. Only now, it wasn't aimed inwards. It wasn't aimed at an unsuspecting world.
It was aimed at the man at the heart of all the suffering.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"
"I missed, by the looks of it," Father idly commented, stroking his chin as he gauged the burning wound in his nephew's chest. "Wanted to be poetic—shot through the heart, and all—but it seems I aimed a tad too high." He shrugged. "Butter fingers—what can ya do?"
Rachel screeched, overwhelmed by fury.
From her restraint, Abby channeled a similar hate, concentrating it on the adult as a strand of hair fell between her glare. "I am going to kill you."
"Nice try, Ms. Lincoln, but I already called that bluff not even ten minutes ago," Father said, almost disinterested. Even without the full might of his suit to amplify his voice, his normally nasally droll carried a sinister undercut that sent shivers down their spines despite it all. He arched a brow before casting a sarcastic smirk. "Ah, but perhaps I'm not giving you fair due. Unlike sweet little Sonia, you might have the initiative. You certainly have the…incentive, I'll concede that, at the very least."
The mention of sector W's leader doused waves of anger and replaced them with icy dread. If Father was here…
Kuki snapped first. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY KIDS!?"
"Pipe down, why doncha? Flying off the handle is most unbecoming of the Soopreme Leaduh, don't you think?" he taunted. He then casually adjusted his glasses as if shooting the breeze at the water cooler. "And your 'kids' are fine. Just dandy. Villain's honor."
Hoagie growled. "Then how did you get here?"
"The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, Mr. Gilligan. Your little brother is quite an innovative genius. But once again, Tommy Gilligan has FOOLISHLY delivered unto me the means to enact my most fiendish counterattack." From his shoulder, he pinched off a piece of burnt booger, grinning wildly. "Now, I'm no stranger to fancy parkour tricks, but teleportation? Gotta say, kids, that's quite the gimmick. Going to have the boys in R workshop that once we're done here. Hopefully without the need to go digging for your brother's snot candy. Ugh."
"…what is it with you and picking other kids' noses?"
"SHUT UP!" Father boomed. Even without the full tower might of his power, his timber was thundering enough to quake the room's foundations and nearly ruptured their eardrums. "No more petty jabs. No more cheeky witticisms. No. MORE! Not when I'm finally about to undo my greatest defeat ever!"
The kids faltered at that. "What are you—"
"Oopsie, did I forget to mention that?" Father manically switched gears. "Yeah, those whippersnappers were no joke. They gathered all their pals and whooped my hindquarters all up and down the lane! Even somehow managed to strip me of my shiny new power temporarily." His tone carried a light, whimsical air as he chuckled. "The butt-kicking those kids gave me…ol' Pappy himself would be jealous! Never has my hide been so tanned and raw!"
Sector V and Rachel shared uneasy glances. Even Nigel was wary as he swallowed his pain. For someone who got handed the most embarrassing "L" in the history of fumbles and washouts, Father seemed to be…taking it all in good stride and reminiscing about it like a distant boyhood memory.
With an uneasy breath, Wally braved to ask, "Uh, why are you tellin' us all this?"
"Because, Mr. Beetles, we never turn down a good teaching moment," Father said with a stern wag of his scolding finger. "We have to hit rock bottom before we can look up and see where it all went wrong. Sometimes we all need a little sense knocked into us—a little…humbling to cool the hotfoot. And boy, that heaping slice of humble pie those brats served me opened my eyes. It made me realize what it's really—TRULY all about." He smiled his most sincere and grateful smile. "Destroying the Kids Next Door."
It wasn't anything they hadn't heard before. It had been done to death a thousand times over Father baking up a new scheme to annihilate the Kids Next Door with a boastful proclamation for garnish. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and commemorative photo.
But… the way he spoke now.
So confident. So sure.
So…final.
What was old was new again, and the scarred, exhausted children before him grimly realized that this may indeed be the last time.
Father strolled up to Nigel, a green flame hand presenting the boy to him, like a bloodhound relinquishing its latest kill at its master's feet. As it dangled the woozy teen before him, Father clucked his tongue as he pressed his burning hand directly onto Nigel's wound.
Sector V squirmed like terrified newborn babes as an agonized scream from their leader's throat. Father's face was devoid of emotion as he seared the boy's flesh. The low scorching hiss looped for what seemed an eternity. The putrid, thick acrid odor of singed skin and rotting fat soiled the air they breathed. The grotesque dance of flesh and flame forever poisoned their memories.
Again, Rachel stilled as she could only watch - watch as Father cruelly cauterized Nigel's wound at the expense of marring him with his brand. She could taste it on her tongue, an intrusive, unforgivable vile that seeped deep within her. She couldn't escape it—it would linger in her clothes, hair, and very soul forever. Watching as the boy who risked everything—everything for her—was made to writhe and burn.
Father unceremoniously jerked away his hand, coolly tucking it behind his back as he glared down at the boy who defied him at every turn.
And for his part, Nigel glared back. Even as he took labored, painful gasps of air, he stared up at Father with a withering scowl that screamed unrelenting rebellion.
Father snorted.
"Years. I spent years searching for you," he said, glowering at Nigel. "Dedicated countless days of scouring. Allotted precious minutes pouring over every lead. Every stinking, waking moment these past three years obsessed over you: the child who made a fool of me. The boy who laughed at my authority. The brat who DARED!"
Father's roar soon gave way to a tired sigh.
"Quite the nuisance you turned out to be. And biding my time to reap my ultimate revenge upon you? It was like trying to go to sleep on Christmas Eve, waiting for Saint Nick to come crawling down the chimney. But here and now, I finally realize…it wouldn't have been worth it. And you want to know why? I thought you were the root of all my woes, but you're not. You're not the source of the problem, Numbuh One," Father leaned in to gaze viciously into Nigel's eyes. "You're just a symptom of a far worse disease."
He whipped back, lazily circling the room to drag a scorching finger across every one of their cheeks."For every sector Z I delightfulize, there will be a nosy Supreme Leader poking around my doorstep, trampling my Sunday paper. For every 2x4 toy I confiscate, another misplaced MARBLE or MUSKET will randomly litter my floor, tripping me up on the way to the potty. For every Numbuh 1 I obliterate to cinders, there will always be a whiny Numbuh 2, 3, 4, or 5 aiming to avenge him and TRESPASS ON MY LAWN!" He brought his hand to his chest, steam escaping the creases in his fingers as he clenched. "As long as there is a Kids Next Door to keep inspiring you little cretins to go against the natural order—the rule of law we adults poured blood, sweat, and tears into constructing for you ungrateful whelps…my wonderful, delightful utopia will never flourish.My dream will never come true…"
Father laughed maniacally as he harshly ruffled Wally's and Kuki's hair. "So for my dream to thrive, yours has got to hit the road, kiddies. Them's the breaks, I'm afraid! But don't worry, in the end, you'll see that I was right. I always am." He snapped his fingers, hamming up his grand 'eureka!' moment. "But for us to get my 'happily ever after,' I gotta stop sweating the small, useless, insignificant bald details and see the bigger picture! I gotta go back to basics: eliminating every facet of your silly little kiddie club from the face of the Earth. And while I'm a bit rusty, I know just the perfect way to do it. Once and for all…"
To their horror, they watched as he waltzed to the spot between Nigel and Rachel. He leaned down, pinching the small thumb drive between his fingers.
"Because I wasn't blowing hot air before," he teased, wiggling the USB stick in their faces. "The Kids Next Door will destroy themselves eventually. And thanks to Rachel T. McKenzie, 'eventually' is TODAY! When I insert this doohickey into my satellite, hard, undeniable evidence of you brats endangering yourselves will be broadcast to the entire world! I get to rub it in everyone's faces as it proves that I, FATHER, without a shadow of a doubt, was 110% RIGHT ON THE MONEY!"
They expected him to laugh. They expected him to gloat. Father had a rotating portfolio of infuriating, albeit predictable, reactions and responses whenever he believed he was on the cusp of total victory.
So, it threw them all for a loop when he settled for a tiny smile.
A tight, foreboding little smile.
The gleefully seedy smile of a demented psychopath about to unveil their twisted, malicious punchline.
"And you wanna know the best part?" he whispered, bouncing excitedly on his heels. "While they're all busy tripping over themselves to apologize to me? Giving me free rein of everything but the kitchen sink to steamroll you, scamps? I won't have to lift a finger. Your oh-so grandiose Important Ones will have their GKND do it all for me!"
Father could barely contain his giddiness at the sight of their expressions dropping.
"That's right, kids. I was paying attention," he cooed in a sing-song voice. "Paying attention to that juicy little detail of how the real head honchos of the space-baby-brigade won't take this blunder sitting down. Unlike you dolts, I know how to read context clues. Once I leak this evidence, the stars themselves will fall and wipe the slate squeaky clean." He spun around, outstretching his arms to the window as if to embrace the void of space. "And I, for one, welcome our new alien overlords…from afar, of course. Yes, things will get really exciting really fast once this pops off, and I'm no spring chicken. Think I'll hunker down in my private evil-get-away lair in the Cayman Islands and take a much needed vacation. Relax and unwind while it all blows over. Always wanted to give yoga a try."
Father eased on his heel, slowly turning to flash the kids a smarmy grin. "I'm small potatoes compared to an alien invasion. No time to indict little ol' me when they're busy freaking out over extraterrestrial life lobotomizing their children and hunting down every active operative to ensure no trace of this failed 'Kids Next Door' experiment is left."
Father's grin spread wider as he let the USB drive dangle precariously from his fingertips, its weightless swing punctuating every sinister word. His voice dropped into a low, serpentine whisper, but it carried with the force of a gale, suffocating the room with its oppressive gravity.
"And then…" He leaned forward, his yellow eyes gleaming with malicious delight, "When the dust settles, when your precious Important Ones have abandoned their little pet project and scurried off back to the cosmos, leaving behind a world of chaos and questions…" His voice softened, feigning an almost paternal tenderness. "Who do you think they'll turn to for answers? Who will they beg to make sense of the mess you kids left in your wake?"
Father straightened, his voice rising now, steady and unrelenting as the clinking of a relentless clock. "They'll look to me. And I'll give them what they're so desperately searching for. A solution. An end to their suffering. A cure for the sickness you brats have infected them with."
He raised his scorched hand—the lone remnant of his shadowy suit—and flexed his fingers. Wisps of blue fire flared from his fingertips, coiling like restless serpents eager to strike. His expression darkened, his tone sharpening into a blade of absolute conviction.
"I'll fix them. Every last one of them. The parents. The children. The ADULTS they'll grow to be. Every man, every woman, every sniveling creature who has ever dared to dream, to hope, to rebel."
His hand snapped into a fist, the flames surging before extinguishing in a flash of heat and ash.
"I'll erase it all—the disease of childhood whimsy, the poison of ambition, the vile spark of defiance that birth suffering."
Father's stride was methodical and deliberate. His shadow loomed large in the flickering green light, an oppressive silhouette that seemed to swallow the room. "No more noise. No more ruckus. No more disobedience. They'll all fall in line. They'll behave." He paused, glancing down at Nigel, who lay gasping for breath, the embers of rebellion still burning in his defiant gaze. Father sneered. "And no one—no one—will ever get hurt like I was again."
He stopped before the children, spreading his arms wide to embrace his twisted vision. "There will be no more dreams to shatter. No more hopes to crush. No more ridiculous stories about the powerof friendship and adventure. Only order. Only perfection."
His voice rose to a crescendo, the fervor of a zealot resonating in every syllable. "A world remade in my image. A world where I am the architect. The one who brings peace. The one who ensures no child, adult, or soul ever dares defy what's right. Because they won't even need to think, Father knows what's best for them."
Father exhaled slowly, his smile returning, but now it was tight, controlled, chilling in its sincerity. "And once I'm fully rested, back to my prime, with my power restored to its rightful glory…" He let the sentence hang in the air, his unspoken promise as heavy and inescapable as a guillotine's blade.
He turned back to Nigel, kneeling so close the boy could feel the residual heat radiating from his smoldering hand. Father leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, evil murmur. "You'll see, Numbuh 1. You'll see that I was right. And when you finally do…" His grin widened, impossibly cruel. "It'll be too late to do anything about it."
The USB drive popped as he slipped it open. He straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his charred sleeve, and looked to the others with mock benevolence. "So, chin up, kids. It's not all bad. You'll thank me someday."
He stepped back into the flames, the fire parting to welcome him like an old friend. "This is the end, my dears. The end of the rebellion. The end of chaos. The end of the Kids Next Door."
His voice echoed one final time, dripping with certainty and contempt.
"And the beginning of my perfect world."
Father slid the USB drive into his computer, and the monitor lit a menacing green glow.
Lines of code scrolled across the screen as he unraveled the remnants of the Kids Next Door. His shoulders relaxed, and he planted his hands on his hips, exuding triumph.
Hoagie, Wally, and Kuki writhed against the green fire binding them, frustration and fear etched into their faces. Abby tugged at her restraints, baring her teeth in defiance, while Harvey huddled unnoticed in a shadowed corner. His arms clutched his knees tightly, and his trembling frame shrank inward as he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to disappear.
Rachel was frozen, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on Father. His smug satisfaction radiated from his posture, a grotesque echo of her reflection.
This is me, the thought crashed into her. This is who I almost became.
The realization knocked the wind out of her. Her mind spun through the choices that had led her here: bitterness toward the Kids Next Door, resentment festering into betrayal, anger twisting into something unrecognizable. She had walked the razor's edge of becoming another Father, destroying everything she once stood for in her quest to right perceived wrongs.
Her gaze shifted to Nigel. He lay crumpled on the floor, his battered body motionless except for shallow breaths. Even in this state, his presence radiated defiance, every fiber of him refusing to surrender. The sight of his exhaustion—the deep, soul-wrenching weariness etched into his features—shattered her.
He had given everything not just for the KND but for her.
Tears welled and spilled, streaking her face as the full weight of her actions bore down on her. Her mistakes, destruction, and the harm she had inflicted surged through her.
What had she done?
Her tears fell harder, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
What had she done?
The words escaped her lips, soft and trembling, before she realized she had spoken aloud. "...What have I done?"
"What indeed?"
Father's voice startled her.
Her head snapped up, her tear-streaked face meeting his gaze. His expression didn't hold mockery or disdain but something worse—something chillingly close to empathy.
"I'll admit," Father said, his tone eerily conversational, "I owe you an apology. You were right, sweetheart. I should've listened to you from the start." He gestured to the glowing USB drive. "If I'd taken your advice instead of getting sidetracked by your stubborn little friend, we would've ended this days ago. Clean. Efficient. Perfect."
Rachel's stomach churned. Her lips trembled, but no words came. Disgust and rage clawed at her throat, but all she could manage was a strangled gasp.
Father continued, his voice dripping with insidious praise. "If I'd trusted you from the beginning, I wouldn't have wasted so much time."
Each word cut deeper, twisting her stomach into knots. Her knees buckled slightly as the weight of his praise crushed her.
Father chuckled, his gaze growing distant as if savoring a memory. "And you know," he mused, "it's almost funny. If I'd done this earlier, I could've achieved the ultimate revenge on dear Numbuh 1. Imagine…" His sharp smile turned back to her. "Destroying the thing he loves most: his precious Kids Next Door."
Rachel's breath hitched, her vision blurring with fresh tears. Did he mean for her to hear that? Was it a deliberate jab or a careless slip?
Either way, it hit her like a dagger to the chest.
One truth that had always defined her relationship with Nigel was his love for the Kids Next Door. The mission, the dream—it always came first.
Before everything.
Before her.
Her composure crumbled. A raw, guttural sob tore from her as her face contorted in anguish. With her hands bound, she couldn't cover her mouth, her cries ugly and unrestrained. Through the haze of tears, her gaze landed on Nigel again.
His one uncovered eye locked with hers. Bloodshot and heavy with pain, it carried no anger, no judgment—only forgiveness. Deep and aching, it looked straight into her soul.
The sight broke her all over again.
Father watched Rachel's breakdown with a bemused smirk, his head tilting slightly as if appraising her. Then, with a theatrical sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck, his tone mockingly bashful.
"Y'know, Rachel, I've been thinking," he started, a touch of false self-deprecation in his voice. "Maybe I might've gone a teensy bit overboard earlier. Sending my entire evil lair after you? Yeah, okay, I'll admit—my bad!" He laughed awkwardly, shrugging in an almost boyish manner. "But hey, water under the bridge, right?"
Rachel lifted her gaze just enough to glare at him, her tear-streaked face contorted in disgust and despair.
Father ignored her look, pressing on with his sickeningly jovial tone. "So, here's a nifty idea—why not let bygones be bygones? Join me. We made quite the dynamic duo before, didn't we? You, me, reshaping the world..." His grin widened. "Besides, the least I can do after our little misunderstanding is offer you a seat at the big girl again. Whaddya say?"
Rachel opened her mouth, her lips trembling as she tried to form words. The weight of everything—Father's offer, her guilt, Nigel's battered form—pressed down on her, making her feel like she was sinking into the floor. She managed a hoarse whisper:
"No…"
Father raised an eyebrow. "No?"
Her voice cracked as she repeated, barely audible, "No."
Father sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "Suit yourself, kiddo." He turned away from her, his movements loose and carefree as though her refusal was a minor inconvenience. "But hey, I'm not a total showboat. I can be generous."
He spun back toward the group, clapping his hands together once. "How about a consolation prize?"
Everyone froze, exchanging confused glances. In her haze of despair, even Rachel blinked at him in bewilderment.
"What's the catch?" Abby growled, narrowing her eyes.
Father's smirk widened as he gestured toward the computer, where the USB drive glowed ominously. "Oh, no catch. Just a little peek at the treasure trove of goodies on this bad boy. I mean, come on, I can't be the only one curious about what's on here, right?"
The room fell deathly silent. Then, as if on cue, every eye darted toward the USB drive.
Even Nigel, struggling to lift his head, winced as he stared at it. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Father chuckled, folding his arms. "Oh, don't give me that look. You're all curious, admit it. What's on here that's got these Self-Important Brats all tangled in knots? Galactic secrets? World-ending revelations? The formula for the perfect macaroni and cheese? The possibilities are endless!"
Hoagie groaned, his head falling back against the green fire holding him in place. "…he's not wrong."
"Hoagie!" Abby snapped, glaring at him.
"What?" he shot back, wincing against the fiery binds. "I'm just saying, it's not like you're notcurious too!"
Wally snorted despite himself, earning an incredulous look from Kuki. "What? You mean to tell me you don't want to know what's on the thing? Might be somethin' cool, like… I dunno, alien superpowers!"
"It could also be something terrible!" Kuki retorted, but her wide eyes betrayed a hint of guilty curiosity.
Rachel, still trembling, couldn't suppress a flicker of intrigue herself. She clenched her fists, hating how, even in this moment of utter despair, the question clawed at the back of her mind:
What is the drive?
Father leaned against the desk, his grin widening as he saw the subtle shifts in their expressions. "Ah ,there it is. That delicious little itch you can't scratch." His voice dripped with mockery. "Don't worry, kids. I'll scratch it for you one last time. Let's see what's behind door number one, shall we?"
The monitors flickered, one by one, their displays turning an ominous shade of deep blue, eerily lighting up the room. A chorus of beeps and hums filled the air as if the entire computer system was groaning under the pressure of something massive. Lines of alien symbols, glowing and intricate, scrolled across the screens in perfect synchronization, filling the space with their strange, almost hypnotic cadence.
Everyone sans Nigel blinked at the displays, their heads tilting in unison.
"Uh… is it broken?" Wally muttered.
Kuki squinted. "Maybe it's loading?"
Father frowned, hands on his hips. "Oh, for goodness' sake." He leaned toward the keyboard, his fiery aura flickering impatiently. "Don't just stand there gawking; this is high-tech alien-y intelligence, not some cheap arcade machine!"
Abby rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, it's not much good if none of us can read it, now is it, jackass?"
Father straightened up, glaring at the screens. "Ah, right. The translation issue. Hold your horses!" He cracked his knuckles dramatically before fumbling with the mouse, squinting at the screen. "Let me just… uh, where's the thing? The... the translation doodad…"
Rachel blinked through her tears, her gaze shifting from Father to the scrawling symbols. The lines of alien code felt mocking in their unintelligibility.
Meanwhile, Nigel's battered form stirred, his one open eye scanning the monitors. His brow furrowed, lips moving silently as if parsing the lines.
"Wait a minute…" Nigel murmured to himself, barely audible. His heart sank despite his exhaustion. He knew this language. He'd spent enough time with the Galactic Kids Next Door to recognize Galactic Common when he saw it. Against his better judgment, curiosity won out.
What was so vital that the Important Ones would risk an entire planet to keep it secret?
Father, oblivious, grumbled as he struggled with the mouse. "What is this? Why is it right-clicking? I don't want to right-click! I want—oh, is this the settings? Where's the—oh, blast it!" He jabbed at the keyboard in frustration, the screens momentarily flashing an error message in alien script and human English: "User Error: Retry?"
Wally snorted. "What are ya, like, 500? You look like my grandpa trying to set up a HoloTube account."
"Quiet!" Father barked, glaring at the screen as he awkwardly maneuvered the mouse with both hands. "This technology is fiddly! Where's the 'Geegle Translate' when you need it?"
After a few more agonizing seconds of him squinting at menus and accidentally opening irrelevant windows, he finally exclaimed, "Ah-ha! There we go! I —heh, whoops—was right-clicking the whole time. My mistake!" He gave a sheepish shrug, a laugh bubbling up as if he hadn't just wasted precious minutes.
But before Father could hit the final button, Nigel's eyes widened. He stared at the monitors, his breath hitching as the truth sank in. His voice cracked, his disbelief cutting through the room:
"You… have got to be kidding me."
Father paused mid-click, his finger hovering over the mouse. "What? What is it?"
"Don't do it!" Nigel croaked, struggling to push himself up. "Don't—"
Too late. Father's finger slammed down triumphantly, and the symbols translated into English with a mechanical hum. Every monitor displayed the same thing: a private log from the Important Ones.
The room fell into stunned silence as everyone processed what they were seeing.
The galactic symbols danced across the screens in perfect synchronization, like a ritual none could understand.
Even translated, the meaning wasn't obvious. Hoagie squinted, his head tilting as his eyes scanned the arrangement of symbols, numbers, and patterns. His face scrunched up, confusion quickly morphing into suspicion.
"I don't know what this is," he murmured, leaning as far forward as his restraints allowed. "But I do know a leader-board when I see one."
Wally frowned. "A what-now?"
"A leader-board!" Hoagie said, the gears in his brain turning faster. He jabbed his chin toward the largest monitor. "And you wanna know what else? I definitely know a fudged leader-board when I see one!"
Kuki blinked, tilting her head. "Leader-board… like… from a video game?"
Hoagie's concentration was razor-sharp as he tried to piece it together. The arrangement of names, percentages, and timestamps were all too familiar. But the alien terminology was still throwing him off.
All eyes shifted to Nigel, their stares heavy with unspoken questions. Nigel sighed, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice flat with frustration.
"Yes," he muttered. "It's from a video game."
Kuki gasped. "Seriously?!"
Father raised an eyebrow, leaning against the desk. "A video game?" His tone was half incredulous, half amused.
Abby cut through the murmur of disbelief. "Okay, hold up." She glared at Nigel. "What the hell are you talkin' about? Why would the Important Ones care care so much about some nerdy gamer trash?"
Nigel groaned but relented, his voice taking on a dry, tired tone. "It's not a game you'd find on Earth," he explained. "It's called Star-Void Legends. It's one of the biggest MMORPGs on the galactic extranet. Players form factions, battle across entire star systems, collect rare loot, and climb the galactic leaderboard. It's huge. And the Important Ones…" He paused, his disgust evident. "…are obsessed with it."
Hoagie perked up at the description, his interest piqued. "Wait a second. They're galactic kid overlords, and they're out here gaming? Sounds kinda…" He trailed off, his mind piecing together the next part before anyone could answer. His jaw dropped, and his face lit up in horrified realization.
"Oh. My. JELLYBEANS!"
"What?" Abby demanded.
"They're cheating!" Hoagie exclaimed, his voice rising. "That's why they're hiding this! Look, I don't even know what half of this stuff means, but you don't need to speak weird Galactic-whatever to see what's going on!" He pointed at the screen, almost manic. "They've got programs running in the background—they're using aim-drones to auto-lock on targets, and that over there? That's some kind of… quantum loot predictor! They're hacking the loot system to always get the rarest stuff!"
Everyone turned back to Nigel, their expressions begging him to tell them Hoagie was wrong.
But Nigel's exhausted look only deepened.
"He's right," Nigel said dryly. "They're running hacks. Farming resources illegally. Exploiting bugs. And…" He winced. "They've been rigging the leader-board in their favor."
Silence.
Abby broke it with a low growl.
"You're tellin' me," she said, her voice simmering with barely restrained fury, "that everything we've been through—everything we've fought for—is because the Important Ones are galactic-level griefers?"
Nigel nodded grimly.
The kids sat in stunned silence, the absurdity of it all hitting like a sucker punch. Wally slumped against his restraints, muttering. Her lip quivering, Kuki could only whisper, "All that… all those lives… for this?"
Rachel barely heard them. Her mind spiraled back to that night—when she'd cornered Numbuh 74.239, demanding leverage against the Galactic Kids Next Door. She'd threatened him, blackmailed him, pushed him into stealing this.
And she'd never even asked what it was.
She never cared.
The realization hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her paralyzed in the wake. She'd risked everything, sacrificed everything, for… for this.
Her lips trembled, the words escaping before she realized she'd spoken. "…What have I done?"
Father looked between the kids, his triumphant grin faltering at their stunned reactions. "Er…" He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Going to be honest: not exactly what I was expecting either. Bit of a let down." He shrugged, the grin returning. "But oh well! A win is a win!"
His hand shot forward, slamming the button to start the upload.
The upload began, the bar creeping forward at a glacial pace. A tense silence gripped the room, broken only by the hum of Father's computer. The kids stood frozen, heads bowed under the weight of inevitability.
It was over.
It was all over.
…All. Over…
... any second now…
...um?
Everyone, including Father, slowly lifted their gazes to the progress screen.
The loading bar inched along agonizingly, its sluggish movement almost mocking them.
Father rubbed his temples, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Good things come to those who wait," he muttered, clearly trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.
Wally twitched his nose, glancing awkwardly around the room before yelling, "So, uh, what now?"
Father's shoulders slumped. He turned toward them with an exaggerated, sarcastic groan. "As much as I'd love to sit here and twiddle my thumbs with all of you… I suppose I might as well destroy you now while we wait. You know, for old time's sake."
The air in the room turned icy. The kids stiffened, fear rippling through their ranks. Nigel managed to prop himself up slightly, his voice hoarse but still defiantly sharp. "What happened to letting us see you were right?"
Father tilted his head, a smug grin curling his lips. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you'll have a fantastic view… from that big ol' playground in the sky."
His words sucked the air out of the room. Father stepped forward, his hand lazily waving as he started singing slowly, cruelly. "Eenie… meanie… miny…"
His finger drifted across the group, stopping on each child with the beat of the rhyme.
"Moeeee."
Father's gaze landed on Nigel. He smirked. "Well, well, well. Guess it's fate, eh?"
Nigel glared back at him, his jaw set. "Do your worst," he spat.
Father chuckled, his grin widening. "Oh, I intend to."
But instead of striking Nigel, his finger slid over to Rachel.
His eyes gleamed with malice as he added, "On second thought… maybe I'll start here. Call it pettiness."
Rachel's expression faltered. Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in. She turned to Nigel, her heart twisting. Even now, as he lay battered and bruised, he cared enough to try and draw Father's wrath to himself. A small, grim sense of comfort swelled in her chest, knowing she mattered enough for Nigel to want to shield her—even at the end.
But that feeling twisted into something bitter as her gaze returned to Father. His smug grin and casual cruelty laid bare everything he was.
A petty, spiteful little boy who wanted nothing more than to drag the world down with him so he wouldn't suffer alone.
Rachel's fists trembled at her sides, nails biting into her palms as she stared at Father. The sight of his smug, self-satisfied grin was like a mirror that twisted her insides. But it wasn't her reflection she saw—it was the image of everything she had almost become.
For a fleeting moment, Rachel saw the tragedy of it.
Father had grown up under Grandfather, a monster so vile that even the word "tyrant" felt too small to encompass his cruelty. She had heard the stories and pieced together the fragments: the force-feeding broccoli punishments, the psychological torment, the suffocating shadow of favoritism and abuse. And Father—then just Benedict—hadn't even been the favorite. No, that dubious honor had belonged to his older brother.
Rachel could barely imagine the pain, the rejection, the sheer weight of being treated as less than nothing. A part of her wanted to feel sympathy for that child, that boy who must have felt so invisible, so unloved.
But standing before her wasn't that boy. It was an adult.
An adult who refused to hold himself accountable.
An adult who denied his flaws and blamed the world for his misery.
An adult who turned his pain outward, spreading it like cancer to everyone around him.
Trauma explained him. Trauma shaped him.
But it didn't absolve him.
It didn't justify what he had done—not to them or anyone. Father had inflicted abuse on countless innocents, even on his own children.
The Delightful Children from Down the Lane.
They hadn't just been his pawns; they were victims. Lives he had stolen, twisted, and manipulated. He had robbed them of any chance at a better life, and the world was supposed to forgive him because he had suffered first?
He kidnapped them.
Brainwashed them.
He molded them into his loyal servants, stripping them of their individuality and their humanity.
He hadn't been content to break their bodies; he'd broken their minds.
Rachel felt a tremor run through her. When she was a field spy, when she snuck around evil villain cafes, she overheard how easy for other adults were to romanticize someone like Father, to frame him as a tragic figure, misunderstood and mistreated.
"He was hurt as a kid," they'd say.
"He had the worst dad. Ever," they'd kept bringing up.
"He didn't know any better!"
But Rachel knew better. Everyone had a choice. Everyone had a moment to decide what kind of person they would be.
Father had chosen hatred.
Father had chosen cruelty.
He could have been better. He could have broken the cycle.
Instead, he continued it. A man who used his pain as a license to hurt others. A man who demanded the world bow to him because he'd been denied love as a child.
Rachel's teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.
How many kids had suffered because of him? How many had been swept into his schemes, forced to fight his battles, and endure his wrath?
How many lives had he destroyed, all because he couldn't bear to look in the mirror and see himself for the shame that he was?
Her gaze drifted toward Nigel, still battered and bruised on the floor. He and his team fought against Father's cruelty firsthand for years, standing tall as a beacon of everything the Kids Next Door stood for. He'd never let Father break him.
And neither would she.
Father's voice dripped mockingly into her thoughts. "What's the matter, dear? You look like you've got something to say."
Rachel snarled, wishing her throat wasn't dry so she could spit in the man's face. "You are a monster."
"Yeah, yeah. Been hearing that one all night," Father said with a dismissive shrug. His eyes narrowed as he ambled over to her and leaned down to gloat. "But you know how the saying goes: it takes one to know one."
Her eyes widened. "W-Wha—"
"I owe all of this to you, y'know," he said. "I'd still be mopping in my office halfway to loony town if not for your idea. Your vengeful little spark rekindled my evil flame, you showed me life was worth loathing again!You gave me the golden ticket, the silver bullet—the final nail in the coffin of their beloved Kids Next Door."
Rachel looked to the floor, thoughts running rampant. A scorching hand squeezed her cheeks, sizzling her skin as it forced her to look Father is his gleaming, yellow eyes.
"Face it, sweetheart. None of this would've ever happened if it wasn't for you. It's because you got bitter. It's cause you got old," his eyes narrowed in delighted slits as he hissed, "It's because in the end? You're not better. You're not even worse. You're just like me."
"…you're wrong."
Rachel gasped at Nigel's voice.
"She's nothing like you," Nigel said, voice shaking with pure resolve despite the grievous charred hole above his heart. Father crossed his arms, disinterested, but Nigel didn't care about him. He cared about the girl staring at him, eyes in awe and hanging on his every word.
"She made mistakes, but she…owed up to them. She let down her friends but is willing to do the work to make things right. When all seemed lost, she didn't go home, mope and munch on rocky road…she picked herself… and fought back!"
Father rolled his eyes. "She's a spoiled brat."
"Her name... is Rachel T. McKenzie. She is Numbuh Three-Sixty-Twoof the Kids Next Door," he said, smiling with pride. "She's the best Supreme Leader I've ever known."
Rachel sniffled, touched by the adornments.
Abby and Kuki looked affronted, both shouting, "Hey!"
"Oh! I-I mean, the best Supreme Leader I've ever known and, uh, served under," Nigel hastily amended as he looked at the girls. His eyes darted around, he sweat bullets, and nervously chuckled as they gave him deadpan glares. "C-Cause, y'know, you guys were Supreme LeadersafterI left and all, s-so technically I never got the chance to, er, um—"
Kuki broke out into giggles, and Abby chuckled, "Ah, we're just yankin' your chain, baby. You good."
Nigel groaned. He shook his head before glaring back at Father. "Point is, sure, she stumbled. But like any good operative, she never truly gave up. In the end, despite the whole world—the whole universe saying otherwise, she pulled through with flying colors."
Father glanced at his wristwatch, tapping his foot impatiently. "Uh-huh, neat. Sure sounds like you believe in her, sport."
"I do. I'd follow her lead anywhere." Nigel's eyes softened as they gazed lovingly and proudly at the girl. "Now and forever."
A lone tear of happiness trailed Rachel's cheek as she returned his look with a resolute nod.
"And that's about all the mushy slop I can stomach this year." Father hocked up a retching noise from the back of his throat. The two leaders gave the man a dry look as he straightened and wound up his shoulder. "Any-who, about time we finally put on a bow on this—I don't know about you, but it feels like we've been dragging this thing out for fourteen years or something. And I'm a busy guy, you know? Got kids to enslave, dreams to crush, dry-cleaning to pick up…standard Tuesday, honestly."
Father readied his fingers once more, a second vermilion bullet searing into existence. He made a show of cocking his fire-bolting hand and aiming the hypothetical sights straight at Rachel's head.
"So, Ms. McKen—oh, excuse me," Father said mockingly. "I mean, Numbuh Three-Sixty-Two; any last words you want on your tombstone?"
Rachel tore her gaze from the fiery bullet, looking around the room. Her gaze trailed over each member of sector V—four operatives she treated unfairly yet risked their entire lives to save her when they could have left her to rot.
Finally, her eyes landed on Nigel—the boy who came back.
She looked at him—really looked at him.
She looked at all of them. Here, at this moment, she could see it now. This was Sector V. This was Numbuh Five, Four, Three, Two, and One. This was Abby, Wally, Kuki, Hoagie, and Nigel Uno. They were them, yet also so much more.
They were the embodiment of everything she used to believe in with all her heart—what she could still believe in, even at the very end. They were what built her back up with blood, sweat, tears, and a helping of chewy pellets for good measure. They were the reason the kid inside her was still alive.
They were her misfits. They were her rowdy delinquents, causing all sorts of mountains of paperwork and endless stream of bureaucratic headaches. They were her sector V. They were her operatives.
They were her reason.
They were her hope that would never die
They were her…
"…Kids. Next. Door," Rachel intoned, head lowered and golden bangs shadowing her eyes. For a moment, she was quiet. She was solemn. And then, all at once, she was snapping her head up, eyes crackling with mischievous defiance at the evil warped adult before them, smirking and shouting loud and shouting proud, "RULZ!"
And then with equal pride, Sector V answered, "KIDS NEXT DOOR RULZ, SIR!"
"Tsk. Of course, taking advantage of my charity. How very expected of you. Do you have any idea how much that engraving's going to cost me? They charge by the letter," Father grumbled. His eyes lit back up, and he gleefully snapped his fingers for one last 'ah-ha!' "Oh wait! Silly me, I can shorten it to 'KND RULZ.' Ah, you little whippersnappers and your acronyms," he shook his head fondly as he aimed his fiery finger gun at Rachel's head. "I think I'll miss that most about you." A beat passed. "Eh, not really. Acronyms are hard."
Rachel's eyes clenched shut as Father's fire-charged hand loomed closer. She steadied herself, accepting what was to come.
"STAY AWAY FROM MY SISTER, JERK!"
The cry rang out like a shot. Harvey emerged from the corner of the room, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. Despite the visible tremble in his knees, his expression burned with determination.
In one swift motion, he charged forward, a wild yell spilling from his lips. It wasn't graceful—more like a bull running headlong into a matador—but it was enough to make Father pause.
"Oh, for—" Father sighed in exasperation, snapping his fingers. A green flame hand erupted from the floor, snatching Harvey mid-leap and hoisting him into the air like an unruly kitten.
The room went still.
Father squinted at Harvey, dangling upside down and flailing indignantly. He tilted his head, brow furrowed. "Where the heck did this kid come from?"
Wally snorted, unable to help himself. "Looks like he was hiding in the corner like a wuss."
Kuki's elbow shot out, jabbing Wally in the ribs with enough force to make him yelp. She shot him a glare that said knock it off.
Father ignored the squabbling, leaning closer to inspect Harvey. "Wait a minute…sister? Ohhh!" He clapped his hands in mock realization. "Of course! You must be Rachel's little brother. Well, well, the family resemblance is just uncanny."
Rachel's stomach dropped as she watched Harvey squirm in the fiery grasp. "Let him go!"
Father chuckled darkly, glancing at her with mock pity. "Oh, I don't think so. You lot—you're unruly teens, lost causes. But this one? He's still young. Impressionable. Moldable. My new delightful family's got to start somewhere!"
He turned his attention back to Harvey, his grin widening. "Let's see… Harvey McKenzie," he mused, stroking his chin theatrically. "I read your file. Let's say your reputation precedes you."
Harvey glared at him, his lip curling. "Shut up."
"The Most Hated Operative in the Kids Next Door. A real firecracker, weren't you? Bossy, temperamental, and ohhh, sooo spoiled…"
Rachel's stomach twisted. "Don't," she begged, barely audible.
Father smirked, ignoring her. "They hated you, you know," he continued, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "That chip on your shoulder, the temper tantrums—reminds me of myself at your age." He leaned closer, his hand pinching Harvey's cheeks like he was a doting uncle. "Such a delightful little scamp!"
And that was his final mistake.
Harvey froze, his entire body going rigid. His breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, and his eyes widened into unblinking saucers.
Rachel's heart caught in her throat.
Hoagie and Kuki exchanged worried glances, but Nigel and Abby? They both froze, then smirked at each other. They didn't need words.
They knew exactly what was about to happen.
"...don't touch me."
Father blinked, tilting his head in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
"Don't," Harvey snarled, louder this time, "Touch!" his voice rising like a gathering storm. "ME!"
The air vibrated with his fury as he ripped free from the fiery bindings with an explosion of strength. Before Father could react, Harvey's fist rocketed forward, smashing into his jaw with the force of three years' worth of frustration, anger, and righteous indignation.
Father's head snapped back, and he flew across the room like a rainbow monkey rag-doll, crashing into the main control terminal with a deafening CRASH. Sparks flew, glass shattered, and the room descended into chaos.
Harvey stood in the aftermath, chest heaving, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"DON'T. EVER. TOUCH. ME!"
For a moment, nobody moved.
The green flames fizzled out due to Father's lapse of concentration.
Then, everyone sprang into action.
Abby rushed to Nigel, helping him to his feet as Hoagie, Kuki, and Wally scrambled behind. Rachel darted to Harvey, catching him as his legs buckled.
"Harvey!" she cried, kneeling as he staggered, his adrenaline fading. He collapsed into her arms, his small frame trembling as the shock of what he'd done began to sink in.
"I-I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean—"
"You were amazing," Rachel whispered, cradling him tightly. "Absolutely amazing."
A groan cut through the moment, and they all turned sharply toward Father, who was stirring in the wreckage.
"Oh no, you don't," Abby growled, cracking her knuckles as the others stepped forward, ready to finish him off.
But then they froze, their expressions shifting to wide-eyed horror.
"What?" Father grumbled, pulling himself up. He noticed their stares and scowled. "What are you all gawking at?"
The others didn't respond; their gazes locked on something near him. Slowly, Father followed their eyes down to where his elbow rested against the control panel.
Specifically, a large, glowing red button with the words "BLOW UP THE ENGINES."
Huh.
Always did wonder where the kid who designed that button interned at once the KND gave him the boot.
Father blinked. "…Well, poop."
The satellite station shuddered violently as the experimental engines ruptured, sending shockwaves rippling through the structure. Smaller, non-essential sections of the station crumbled under the strain, fragments spiraling into the void like sparks from a dying ember. The command deck was a storm of chaos, jagged cracks snaking through the floor as explosions ripped through the walls.
A loud roar tore through the room as a massive blast jostled everyone, throwing them off their feet. Father was blown across the floor in a cacophony of flailing limbs, his signature jacket catching on protruding metal shards as he tumbled painfully. He careened like a human pinball, slamming into consoles and broken machinery with cartoonish THWACKS! and CLANGS! before skidding toward a gaping hole in the fractured floor.
"AAARGH!" he yelled, clawing at the edge just in time to stop himself from plummeting. His fingers gripped the jagged ledge desperately, the metal creaking and groaning under his weight.
Below him, the lower decks were a hellish inferno, flames devouring everything in their path with terrifying intensity. The fire howled like a living beast, its tongues licking upward, eager to claim its next victim. A searing blast scorched Father's heels, and he yelped, kicking his legs in a futile attempt to escape the ravenous heat.
"No, no, no!" Father gasped, panic overtaking him. His arms trembled as he tried to pull himself up, but his strength faltered—his head still spinning from the McKenzie brat's punch. His feet slipped against the smooth edge, the flames reaching higher, almost as if beckoning him into their fiery maw.
"Not like this! Not like this!" he sputtered.
A shadow fell over him.
Father looked up, squinting through the swirling smoke to see Hoagie P. Gilligan Jr. standing over him, his face illuminated by the flickering light.
"Oh, for crying out loud," Father groaned, his voice dripping with disdain. "You. What are you here for, Gilligan? Come to gloat? Get your revenge? Have the last laugh while I meet my untimely doom?"
Hoagie didn't answer right away, his expression thoughtful. The flames roared below, but the boy remained still, his gaze locked on Father.
Finally, he sighed.
"Unlike you," Hoagie said, his tone measured, "I'm not that petty."
Father blinked, staring in disbelief. "You're kidding me."
"I never kid!" Hoagie declared with an earnest grin.
Father paused, his wide eyes narrowing slightly. But then, slowly, his lips curled into a small, almost sheepish smile. "Well... gee," he said, one hand tentatively reaching up. "Thanks for—"
But just as Father began to shift his weight, Hoagie abruptly pulled his hand back.
Father's smile vanished instantly, replaced by wide-eyed terror as he slipped further down the ledge. His grasp on the crumbling metal faltered, his weight dragging him down as he let out a panicked screech.
"YOU LITTLE BRAT!"
The last thing the others saw was Father's flailing form disappearing into the roaring flames below, his scream swallowed by the firestorm.
Hoagie remained standing at the edge, staring at the inferno with an unreadable expression. After a long moment, he straightened up, dusting his hands off.
"But I'll make an exception," he muttered coldly, "just this once."
Hoagie pulled back from the edge, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. He turned to the others, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Rachel knelt on the trembling floor, still cradling Harvey, who was limp but breathing. Wally and Abby were on either side of Nigel, carefully helping him to his feet. Kuki knelt nearby, desperately stabilizing Nigel's wounds with her last bits of glitter duct tape and a tube of first-aid glue that had seen better days.
The room flickered with the light of distant flames, and Hoagie's eyes met Nigel's for a moment. Slowly, Hoagie raised his goggles, his expression conflicted. What he'd just done—letting Father fall—it wasn't exactly the Kids Next Door way.
Nigel stared back, his gaze steady. There was no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. A truth passed silently between them:
They weren't kids anymore.
They'd grown up.
And sometimes, growing up meant making choices you never thought you'd have to make.
A sharp, insistent beeping snapped everyone's attention to the nearest terminal, its red screen.
Abby's eyes widened in dawning horror. "The broadcast!"
Everyone turned, panic spreading through the group. Despite the station breaking apart around them, the terminal buzzed away, uploading Father's evidence of the GKND at an alarming pace.
Hoagie was closest. He glanced back at the others, then at the yawning gap in the floor, and decided. Backing up, he ran toward the edge and leaped.
"HOAGIE, NO!" Rachel cried.
He hit the deck on the other side in a sloppy roll, wincing as his knees scraped against jagged metal. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled toward the terminal, which was miraculously still functional despite its destruction.
Sliding into place, Hoagie cracked his knuckles and started working furiously. "Alright, let's see what we're dealing with... Oh, great, Father smashed half the keyboard. And the mouse is gone. Fan-flippin'-tastic." He groaned, jabbing at the controls. "Man, I could really use Ctrl-Alt-Del right about now. Seriously, does anyone in the house know how to stop an upload without a functioning 'Escape' key?"
The progress bar on the screen ticked forward with eerie speed, already nearing 65%. Hoagie's brow furrowed. "Why is it moving so fast now?! It was crawling before!" He froze mid-complaint, his face twisting into a grimace. "Oh. He had, like, a gazillion tabs open. What is with adults and not clicking out of—"
Before he could finish the quip, another explosion rocked the station. The terminal sparked violently, and the force blew Hoagie backward. He was thrown off his feet, tumbling toward the same gaping hole Father had fallen into earlier.
"HOAGIE!"
Wally, Kuki, and Abby reacted instantly. Without hesitation, they formed a human chain, Wally grabbing Kuki, who grabbed Abby, who lunged forward and snagged Hoagie's wrist just before he slipped out of reach.
Hoagie dangled precariously over the inferno, the searing heat licking at his legs as he clung to Abby for dear life. Abby's grip was firm, but tears welled in her eyes as she looked down at him.
"What did I say about suicide runs?!" she shouted, her voice cracking.
Hoagie's free hand reached up, gently cupping Abby's cheek. His smile was faint, but the sincerity in his voice was unshakable. "You know I had to try..."
Abby's tears spilled over, her hand tightening around his. She leaned her face into his palm, her voice trembling. "You're a damn fool... and Abby loves you for it."
Hoagie's smile grew just a little wider. "Hoagie loves Abby too."
Nigel winced as he took a step forward, his legs shaky and his wounds screaming in protest. He reached out, his balance teetering dangerously.
But before he could collapse, Rachel was there. She caught him, steadying him against her shoulder.
"Easy," she murmured, her voice gentle despite the urgency crackling through the room.
Harvey hovered nervously near them, his face pale as the reality of everything began to settle in. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "Did…have we won yet?"
Nigel's gaze fell on the screen, and his heart sank. The progress bar was still ticking upward, relentlessly. "It's... still uploading?" he croaked, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
"I'm sorry, Nigel," Hoagie shouted over the roar of the fires and the creaking metal as the station began to collapse. He was sprawled on the floor, Kuki and Abby helping him up while Wally stood guard, watching the room for any sudden shifts. "The CPU's still intact. It's pre-programmed. That transmission is going out no matter what!"
Harvey's voice cracked as he stumbled toward them. "Then we... we get out of here, right? Just let the whole thing blow itself up!"
From the back of the group, Wally groaned. "Beaver teeth's got a point." (Harvey gave Wally a dry glare.) "Let it blow and take the evidence with it!"
But Hoagie, grim and exhausted, shook his head as Abby helped him stay upright. "At this rate, the station's going to blow after the transmission goes through. Father still wins. It's... it's over." His voice broke slightly, his usual optimism crushed under their failure.
The group fell silent, the crackling of flames and the groaning of steel filling the void.
Rachel looked at them, each face etched with exhaustion and pain. Hoagie drained but still clinging to the fading chance of a solution. Wally, battered and bruised, who'd fought harder than anyone thought possible. Abby, fierce and resolute, yet visibly shaken. Kuki, still desperately patching wounds, her hands trembling. And Nigel, broken and bleeding, yet still standing, fighting.
Her heart ached as she thought about everything they'd endured—not just today, but over the years.
Hoagie had lost years of his life to Father's cruelty.
Wally had been branded a traitor, enduring scorn and isolation.
Abby had carried the impossible mantle of leadership, making decisions no child should ever have to make.
Kuki had stepped up despite seeing the toll leadership took on those before her.
And Nigel…
Nigel had sacrificed everything, leaving those he loved behind to fight for a better world.
Her gaze lingered on him, her heart swelling with an ache she couldn't describe.
Nigel caught her looking, his expression softening despite the chaos around them. He didn't say anything—he didn't have to.
Rachel's breath caught in her throat as Kuki's words from earlier echoed in her mind:
"That's our right... our privilege. We help keep the dream alive. We give them HOPE when it seems like there's none left."
Hope.
That's what being Supreme Leader was about—not the title, power, but the responsibility of keeping the dream alive for others. It protected the dream of a world where kids could be kids, free from the tyranny of adulthood. Free from the shackles of oppression.
Free to just…be.
She'd forgotten that once, but now, as she looked at the team standing before her, she understood.
It wasn't just about saving herself, her brother, or even their organization from itself.
…it was about saving kids—all kids. Kids still in their diapers, and kids old, wrinkly and weary with families of their own to love and protect. It was about saving them and their right to believe in tomorrow.
Her jaw tightened as determination flared in her chest.
"There has to be another way," she said.
Hoagie shook his head, slumping against Abby. "There isn't.The system is locked. Nothing short of going up there and destroying the transmission tower itself can stop it. But... there's just no way."
Rachel's gaze swept over the group again, taking in their injuries, exhaustion, and unwavering resolve. They had done everything they could to stop her, not out of hatred but out of love. They came here not to stop her—but to save her.
It was her turn now.
"I'll find a way," Numbuh Three-Sixty-Two said.
Nigel's brow furrowed as he wobbled to his feet, his voice a weak rasp. "Rachel...?"
She turned to him, a small, sad smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Nigel. For everything. But I can't let him win. Not now. Not after everything you've all done to stop him."
Still kneeling nearby, Harvey reached for her hand, his voice trembling. "Sis?"
Rachel smiled down at her brother, tears in her eyes. "You were brave today, Harvey. Brave and strong. I'm so, so proud of you. But I have to do this."
Nigel hissed as he took a step toward her. "Do…what, exactly?"
"You and your team have done enough, Numbuh 1. I'll take things from here. Evacuate ASA-NOW," she commanded. She eyed a new hole in the ceiling, and checked the status of Steve's jacket hanging onto her by a thread—just enough juice left for one more blast off. "Get Harvey home safely. And tell my Mom and Dad that…that I'm sorry for how things turned out. "
His hand caught her wrist, and she held her breath.
"You can tell them yourself," he said firmly.
Rachel trembled as she gazed ahead, focused for the first time in forever. "I gave you anorder, Numbuh 1."
"A little late to play that card now, sir," he smirked even as his body struggled to stay standing. "And with all due respect…you know how I feel about following bad orders."
Finally, she faced him. Brown eyes swimming in coal-blue one last time. She laughed in a way that warmed his heart in a way she could never imagine—not a hundred, quadrillion lifetimes. "Have I ever told you how much you make me wanna bash my head into the surface of the moon?"
"Usually only over cookie breaks."
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you, soldier?"
Nigel withdrew his hand only to bring into a firm salute. "To the very last. I meant it before, sir. I'd follow your lead anywhere."
The sharp smell of smoke filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the station crumbling around them. She stared at him, her expression softening, making Nigel's heart stutter in his chest.
And then, like a dam breaking, Rachel surged forward, her hands framing his face as she kissed him.
It wasn't hurried or frantic, though the chaos of their surroundings screamed for urgency. It was everything it shouldn't have been—warm, deliberate, confident. Her lips pressed to his like she was pouring every unsaid word, every stolen glance, and every late-night regret into him.
Nigel froze at first, stunned even, but then he melted into it, his good eye fluttering shut. This was everything. Everything and more. A world away from childhood crushes and playground giggles, this was uncharted, awkward, exhilarating territory—yet somehow, it felt like home. Her touch anchored him, her presence washing over him like a tidal wave he didn't want to escape.
But as the kiss lingered, Nigel felt the truth creeping in—the undertow.
This wasn't a beginning—it felt too much like an ending.
And when Rachel finally leaned away, her breath ghosting across his lips, her voice came in a whisper, soft but sure.
"...Not this time."
Before he could even process the words, she pushed him. It wasn't rough, but it was firm enough to send him stumbling backward. Nigel's arms flailed, and for a moment, he almost yelled—but then he saw it.
Rachel's eyes met his one last time, her resolve burning brighter than the flames licking at the edges of the station. She smiled—not sad, not regretful, but something else entirely.
A smile filled with peace.
He wanted to shout, but it was too late.
She turned away and activated Steve's jacket, its last power reserves surging to life. A burst of light and propulsion engulfed her, and with a loud whoosh, she rocketed upward through the gaping hole in the ceiling. Sparks and smoke swallowed her trail as she disappeared toward the station's peak, where the transmission tower loomed.
Nigel stumbled forward, grasping at the air where she'd been, his body betraying him as his legs gave out. His teammates caught him, their faces mirrors of his grief and shock, but all he could do was stare after her.
The jacket's jets sputtered and sparked out, but Rachel didn't falter. The tower came into view, a jagged silhouette against the glow of Earth below. Her mind was calm for the first time in years. No more second-guessing. No more running.
This was where she was meant to be.
Because this was all her fault…
The wind tore at her hair, her gaze fixed on the beacon ahead.
All her fault for falling in love with the kid who was never supposed to grow up….
Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile as she let the thought settle in her chest, no longer a weight but a warmth. And for the first time, she didn't wish it away.
"...And I wouldn't change it for the world."
Rachel T. McKenzie—Supreme Leader, sister, soldier, and friend—embraced her destiny. She had a new mission to finish
—and this time, she wouldn't fail.
Nigel's knees hit the fractured floor as the sound of the propulsion jets faded into the chaos above. He could still see her in his mind's eye—Rachel, rocketing through the gap, a blur of determination and finality. His throat burned, a mixture of the smoky air and the scream that lodged there, unable to break free.
She was gone.
His fingers clawed at the broken floor beneath him, the jagged edges cutting into his palms. But the pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache that swelled inside him. He tried to breathe, but each gasp felt like it wasn't enough, like the weight of what had just happened was crushing his chest.
"Rachel…" he whispered, the name slipping out like a plea, like a prayer, as if it could somehow bring her back.
Harvey knelt beside him, his face pale and wide-eyed, but Nigel barely registered him. His mind raced, spinning between fury and despair.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
They'd fought too hard and come too far for this to be how it ended.
She'd kissed him. She'd kissed him and then left him.
For years, Nigel had been the one to leave.
Every mission, every cause he'd thrown himself into, every goodbye he'd delivered with that same fierce resolve Rachel had worn moments ago—it all came rushing back.
He had been the one who left Lizzie behind one time too many until she decided enough was enough. He disappeared into the stars without so much as a proper explanation for his family. He'd been the one to walk away from his team and his friends because he believed the mission demanded it. Because he thought the greater good was worth the cost.
Now he understood.
Now, he was the one left behind.
It was unbearable.
The very thing he had done so many times—to put the mission first, to make the hard choice for the sake of everyone else—was now happening to him. And it was her doing it.
She was the one person he had now never wanted to lose.
"You selfish...inconsiderate idiot…" he murmured, his voice trembling.
But underneath the anger was something rawer, more honest. The truth he couldn't ignore, the truth he saw in her eyes in those final moments. She'd made her choice not out of despair but out of love—not just for him, but for Harvey, her parents, and the Kids Next Door. For everyone.
And she'd left him behind.
His hands clenched into fists, blood dripping from where the jagged edges of the floor had cut deep. He hated this—hated feeling so powerless. He hated the way her smile haunted him and her kiss lingered like a promise she couldn't keep.
But most of all, he hated that he understood.
"Nigel!"
He didn't move. He couldn't stop replaying it.
Rachel had always been there, steadfast and unwavering, even when he had been too blind to see it. And now? Now she was gone, and it was because of him. Because she thought he was worth saving.
"This is what I get," he muttered bitterly. His voice cracked as he stared at the broken floor where she'd been. "This is what I deserve."
"NIGEL!"
Abby's voice finally broke through his haze, sharp and urgent. He blinked, reality rushing back in chaos—flames roaring, metal groaning, the station trembling underfoot.
But it was too late.
The floor gave way beneath him with a deafening crack.
His body plummeted, weightless as the air roared around him. He could hear his team's and Harvey's terrified screams above the discord.
The flames licked at him as the heat surged upward, ravenous and unrelenting. His ears rang with the din of the station tearing itself apart, yet somehow, one voice cut through the noise.
"Nigel."
It was Abby, her voice trembling, desperate. It grounded him for a fleeting moment before the inferno engulfed everything.
"Nigel…"
This time, it was softer, quieter. It wasn't Abby.
It was Rachel.
Her voice was faint, a ghost of a whisper against the roar of flames, but it pierced through him like nothing else could.
His eyes fluttered shut as the heat grew unbearable, and her voice echoed one last time:
"Nigel…"
And then, nothing.
Darkness consumed him.
It was over.
end transmiss—
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