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.

35. 0: The Codename Kids Next Door

Cold Reception: FINAL FINAL TRANSMISSION

---

Everything was dark. Everything hurt. And everything stank.

Father groaned a deep creak that vibrated through his chest. His nose crinkled as rancid air filled his lungs. His brow furrowed.

Why is everything dark?

Why does everything hurt?

And why does everything stink!?

He smacked his lips, grimacing as a strange, lingering flavor coated his tongue. It was sharp, cloying, and unmistakable.

He froze.

"Why," he whispered, his voice growing louder with mounting indignation, "does my mouth taste like blurpleberry?" He clenched his fists, his body jolting upright. "I HATE blurpleberry!"

A voice—soft, wavering, and far too familiar—echoed faintly in his mind.

"…goodbye, Ben."

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, everything blurred—the brightness, the noise, the sense of wrongness that clawed at his gut.

Father groaned again, forcing himself up. His body protested every movement, each joint stiff and aching. Owie, ow, owwww…

A sharp, metallic clang echoed as his elbow struck the side of what he now realized was a dumpster. He blinked rapidly, taking in his surroundings with gross-i-fied horror.

Garbage bags and rotting refuse surrounded him, the stench a vile cocktail of decay, filth, and… ew, moldy yogurt.

Bleh!

He shivered in disgust, fighting back a gag as he clambered over the mound of trash. His head peeked above the dumpster's edge, revealing an alley bathed in searing morning light. The honking of car horns and the hum of a city waking up assaulted his ears, and he winced.

Disoriented, he stumbled out of the dumpster, landing unceremoniously on the pavement with a dull thud. He leaned against the cold brick wall of the alley, clutching his throbbing head.

"What… what happened last night?" he muttered, rubbing at his temple.

"Where am I?" he grumbled, leaning against the grimy side of the dumpster he'd been dumped into. His mind swirled with fragments of…of what? Memories? Dreams?

This is why nightlife is overrated. And people wondered why he was a homebody.

"Okay, think… I was…" he started, his voice trailing off.

But no matter how hard he tried, there was nothing.

Wait! Of course, he was—

…Nope.

Still nada.

"I can't believe this," he griped, brushing foul-smelling muck off his shirt. Quite the filthy conundrum he found himself in.

At least he could count on his five adorable brown nosers to fill in the blanks. They were never too far away.

"Children! Seems you need to fill in a few blanks for me. Ah, but first, make yourselves useful and fetch me some ibuprofen!" He waved his hand dismissively. "And while you're at it, bring me a double espresso. No, make it a triple!"

Silence.

Father's scowl deepened. He crossed his arms, turning in place with an annoyed huff. "Children?" he called, louder this time. "Are you deaf? I said I want ibuprofen and coffee! NOW!"

Only the sound of distant car horns and the hum of the waking city greeted him.

"Don't make me ask again!" he barked, his voice rising like an indignant parent catching their kids' hands in the cookie jar before supper.

Still nothing.

"ANSWER ME!" he roared. His nostrils flared, and his hands clenched into fists. He couldn't recall ever feeling this furious.

…Well, he couldn't recall much of anything, but still!

He stomped through the alley, kicking over discarded boxes and sending trash flying. "This is unacceptable! I demand an explanation for this insolence!" He grabbed a nearby garbage can lid, flipping it up as if one of them might be hiding beneath it.

"Ungrateful little—WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!" he howled into the emptiness, shaking the lid before throwing it aside with a crash. "WHERE ARE YOU!?"

He panted, his fury boiling over, when suddenly…

"…gone."

Father froze.

He turned his head, startled by the sound. Slowly, his gaze was drawn to a dirty puddle at his feet.

There, staring back at him from the rippling surface, was a similar reflection but quite his own.

It was him, but not as he was now. It was him as a child.

Father blinked, confusion and disbelief warring across his face. He leaned closer to the puddle, his breath fogging the air.

The boy in the reflection looked ragged, his clothes stained with soot and tears. His eyes were wide, filled with fear…and something else.

Defiance.

"…gone," the boy whispered again, his voice trembling. He was fading, the edges of his form blurring, as if he were struggling to hold on to his existence.

Father opened his mouth to speak, but the boy cut him off, his tone sharper now.

"Just…just leave them alone…" the boy choked out. His glare burned through the puddle, though his form continued to flicker and fade. "They'regone…"

And then, in the blink of an eye, the child was no more.

Father stared at his reflection now, the lonely adult image distorted by the rippling water.

His Delightful Children…gone.

The words rang in his ears, louder and louder, until they drowned out everything else.

Breaths came in short, ragged bursts…

Body trembled as the realization stabbed his heart…

His Delightful Children.

They were out there. Somewhere.

He knew it.

He could feel it in his gut, like a pull that had always guided him to them.

He'd always known where they were, always. You don't lose your kids.

YOU DON'T!

But this time…

This time, they were gone.

And something deep inside him knew—no, screamed—that they weren't coming back.

Not now.

Not ever.

Father's chest hitched, his throat tightening as an unfamiliar heat prickled behind his eyes. He sniffled, startled, as a tear slipped down his cheek.

"What…" he murmured, his voice barely audible with disbelief. He wiped at his face furiously as though trying to erase the evidence.

But the tears didn't stop.

So he resorted to what he had left:

Anger.

"No!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he stomped his foot. "No, no, NO! You want to leave? FINE!" He kicked a nearby trash can, sending it clattering to the ground. "SEE IF I CARE! You think you can just abandon me, huh? After everything I've done for you!?"

He paced back and forth, hands shaking, his voice rising into a shrill, bitter rant.

"I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING! The best toys! The best food! A home! You wouldn't even exist without me!" His fists clenched, his body trembling as he tried to convince himself—and the empty alley—of his own words. "You owe me! YOU OWE ME EVERYTHING!"

The memories surged forth like a flash flood.

He remembered their maniacal laughter, synchronized voices echoing in unison as they praised him for his villainous brilliance.

He remembered the little games they used to play—Pin the Tail on the Tied-up Operative, a family favorite.

How they'd clamber into his lap with their perfect little smiles—they got so tuckered out after eradicating his critics to atoms.

But now, he felt forced to remember something else.

The fear.

The way their shoulders tensed when his temper flared.

The way their voices wavered when he demanded an A report card, not some pity A-.

The countless punishments, the threats, the iron grip he held over them.

They had loved him…because he'd made them.

Because they had no choice.

The thought made his stomach churn involuntarily, and the tantrum began to wane.

Father stumbled to a stop, his chest heaving as he begrudgingly accepted the truth.

For whatever reason—whatever cruel twist of fate—he was never seeing his Delightful Children again.

And that made him feel…

…made him…feel…

Nothing.

He crossed his arms tightly, his fingers digging into his sides as he stood rigid, glaring at the puddle at his feet.

"I don't care," he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained. "I don't care. I-I never cared, so it doesn't count! Nyah-nyah!"

The words came faster now, tumbling out like a mantra.

"I don't care. I DON'T CARE!"

But no matter how often he said it, the hollow ache didn't go away.

He clenched his jaw, staring at his reflection, and repeated the lie.

For as long as he needed to make himself believe it.

"I don't care… I don't care…I don't…"

Father's trembling voice tapered off, his bitter chant cutting off mid-syllable. He blinked, his focus shifting to the puddle at his feet.

His reflection stared back at him, warped by ripples in the grimy water.

For the first time, he really saw himself.

The white dress shirt, wrinkled and smeared with filth, and the faded, torn suspenders dangled uselessly over his shoulders. His face, once sharp and imposing, was now pale and exhausted. He looked like a loser who had lost the farm in Vegas.

The ache dulled, replaced by a sharp, stinging realization.

He wasn't in his suit.

Frowning, Father raised a hand, flicking his fingers out with practiced precision. He waited, fully expecting the familiar lick of flames to dance at his fingertips.

Nothing.

Not even a phantom heat.

His frown deepened. He stepped back, rolling his shoulders, summoning every ounce of fury and determination left in his battered body. With a grimace, he concentrated, his face scrunching up like he was preparing to crush the world under his will.

…or drop a massive log. Whatever came first.

He waited for the shadowy tendrils to rise, coil around him, and restore his commanding presence.

Not even a whimper.

Father slumped forward, his arms dangling limply at his sides. A mirthless chuckle escaped him.

"Well…" he muttered, "that figures."

He fumbled in his pocket, fingers curling around a small, familiar shape. With a flicker of promise, he pulled out his spare lighter.

The thing was rusty, dusty, and neglected, its tarnished metal casing a testament to how rarely he ever needed a spare. He held it up to the dim light filtering into the alley, grumbling, "Well, at least something hasn't abandoned me."

He reached into his other pocket with his free hand, pinching out a tiny, crumbling bit of tobacco. He inspected it with a scowl. Not exactly fresh, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"This day couldn't get any worse," he grumbled, flicking the lighter to life, the tiny flame sputtering weakly. He brought it closer, preparing to pack his pipe—

—and the tobacco fell, crumbling into a mess across his shirt.

Father froze, staring down at the mess. His lip curled in a snarl. "Oh, for crying out loud…" he growled.

Then it hit him.

His pipe.

His eyes flicked down. His fingers grazed his lips.

Nothing.

Hmm. A lot of nothing this morning. He was sensing a pattern.

Then, the realization hit him like a slap.

"Oh, look at that. My pipe is gone, too" he said, his voice dangerously low. "Neat. Cool. Coolcoolcool, cool. Cool…"

…

Well, at least he seemed to be taking this fairly–

A strangled scream pierced the silence of the alley as Father slammed the lighter down onto the ground.

–oops. Spoke too soon.

Father stomped on it furiously, spewing vile curses under his breath. Once the lighter was sufficiently flattened, he paused, catching his breath.

Then, with one last frustrated grunt, he turned and sulked out of the alley.

…

…

A few moments later, he returned, gave the lighter a final vicious stomp—grinding it into the ground with his heel for good measure—then spun on his heel and stormed out of the alley for real this time.

Stepping into the bustling street, Father's face twisted in discomfort at the noise and sunlight. He rubbed his head, trying to piece things together.

What did he do last night?

Party too hard with the crossword puzzles? Stay up past ten-fifteen? Knock back one too many diet root beers?

None of it made sense.

His kids were gone.

His suit and power weren't working.

And now his pipe was missing!

Must have lost it in the fall, he thought grimly.

Fall?

He stopped dead in his tracks, finally taking a moment to look at his surroundings. His eyes swept over the area, and his breath caught in his throat.

He was standing in the plaza of his Evil Adult Industries Inc. corporate headquarters.

"…Huh!?"

Before Father could even ask himself what he was doing outside his office, his surroundings exploded with dizzying activity.

Dozens upon dozens of flashing red and blue lights flared to life, flooding the plaza in a kaleidoscope of color. The piercing wail of sirens assaulted his ears, and he flinched at the sudden noise. Police cruisers screeched to a halt in every direction, surrounding him with dizzying efficiency.

Officers poured in from the corners of the plaza to the rooftops, even out of the sewers. Like ninjas. Or turtle.

Or even ninja turtles. Now, there's an idea.

A booming voice blared through a megaphone:

"FREEZE!"

Father squinted against the lights, hissing in irritation. His hands instinctively shielded his face as his mind scrambled to catch up.

For a brief moment, he stiffened. But then, a sly smile crept across his face.

"The police?" he muttered, already feeling more at ease. Ah, the boys in blue were always on the side of law-abiding, upstanding citizens like himself.

Why, they probably needed his help!

Straightening his torn, filthy shirt as best he could, he plastered on a broad grin and stepped forward with an exaggerated swagger.

"Gentlemen! Officers!" he called out warmly, his arms spreading wide as if greeting old friends. "Man, oh man, am I glad to see you! I'm sure there's been some sort of—"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

With a cacophony of shouting and clattering boots, the officers swarmed him instantly. Before he could blink, he was comically dog-piled by at least half a dozen.

"Gah—! Get your filthy hands off me!" he sputtered indignantly as they pinned him to the ground.

Father struggled against the pile of officers, his face pressed awkwardly into the pavement. Overhead, the muffled sound of childlike bickering reached his ears.

"I'm handcuffing him!"

"No way, I saw him first!"

"Doesn't count, I called dibs!"

"Dibs? What are you, twelve!?"

"Enough! You two hold him down, I'm doing it—"

Father's eye twitched violently.

"Would someone care to explain the meaning of this hoo-ha?!" he roared, his voice strained.

"Benedict Wigglestein?" a calm, professional voice queried.

Father tilted his head up with some effort to see the source of the voice. Two federal agents loomed over him, their faces shadowed against the flashing lights. Their crisp suits and cold stares radiated authority.

Father groaned. "In the flesh," he grumbled irritably. He shot a glare over his shoulder. "Now, would you mind getting your overgrown kindergartners here to SHUT UP AND GET OFF ME?"

The bickering officers froze, exchanging sheepish glances before reluctantly getting off him, allowing the feds to step closer.

One of the agents adjusted his tie. "Benedict Wigglestein," he said formally, "you are under arrest."

Father blinked, sitting up slightly. "Under arrest? For what?! This is preposterous! I demand—"

The agent continued as though he hadn't spoken. "Thanks to an anonymous tip, we have evidence of all your shady dealings and questionable practices, which were uncovered and delivered quite thoroughly, I might add, straight to the IRS."

Father blinked, then scowled. "That's ridiculous! I don't even—wait, what shady dealings? What practices?"

The first agent smirked faintly. "Oh, don't be coy, sir. It's rather…impressive, honestly."

Father opened his mouth to protest, but the second agent began listing off offenses from a clipboard:

"Let's see here: Embezzlement, taking candy from babies, illegal dumping, fraud, tax evasion, unlicensed use of radioactive baking materials, child labor law violations—somehow more egregious than usual—trading card price-fixing, tax evasion, unreported offshore accounts…"

As the list went on, Father's scowl deepened.

"—Oh, and tax evasion. Multiple counts."

Father groaned. "WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY THAT LAST PART THE FIRST TIME?"

The first agent raised a brow. "Because they're REALLY upset about that one," he said, his tone dry. "And after you and your fellow CEOs got such generous tax cuts this year. Tsk, I say. Tsk!"

The second agent nodded gravely. "Of all the ridiculous and, dare I say, cartoonishly evil crimes you've committed in this dossier, you crossed the one line the United States federal government can never ever forgive."

"And that is…?" Father muttered bitterly.

The agent leaned down slightly, his voice low and sharp. "You cheated Uncle Sam out of a fair piece of the pie."

Father dusted himself off, flashing a suave grin as he adjusted the lapels of his rumpled shirt. "Ah, is that all?"

The agents exchanged a glance but said nothing, observing him.

"Gentlemen, no need to worry," Father continued, waving a dismissive hand. "I'm a reasonable man. I know how to settle a little misunderstanding like this." He turned to the lead agent, his grin widening. "Your name, good sir?"

The agent arched a brow but answered, "Special Agent Brooks."

"Brooks! Splendid name," Father said, reaching into his back pocket. "Strong, respectable, and just the sort of man I can trust to handle this matter discreetly."

To his relief, his checkbook had survived the ordeal. He flipped it open, scribbled out a check, and left the amount blank. With a conspiratorial wink, he patted the check into Brooks' breast pocket.

"Now," Father said in a low, confidential tone, "you just go ahead and add as many zeros as you like to make this all…go away."

Brooks didn't react, his face stoic. He calmly retrieved the check, scribbled a few numbers on it, and handed it to his junior agent. "Run this," he ordered.

The junior agent took the check and strode off purposefully.

Brooks turned back to Father, his expression easing into a faint smile. "Well, Mr. Wigglestein, I think we're just about done here."

"Fantastic," Father said casually, rolling his shoulders. "Glad we could sort this out like civilized adults."

As the agents watched, he turned his attention inward, frowning as he tried to recall how the heck he ended up here.

"Now then," he grumbled, "the last thing I remember is…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing. "It's all so…fuzzy. Why, it's almost like I have a funny notion that I'm missing the last, oh, I don't know, three years or something—"

"Sir!" the junior agent's shout interrupted his musings. He jogged back, waving the check in the air. "The check bounced!"

Father froze; his eyes bulged. "WHAT?!"

Brooks' pleasant smile vanished, his face hardening into a steely glare.

Father chuckled nervously, fumbling for his phone as he forced a smile. "Ahaha! Well, you know how it is, gentlemen. Maybe we got a little too overzealous with all those zeros. My bank probably did one of those silly holds they love to do."

He unlocked his phone and opened his banking app, his forced smile fading as his eyes scanned the screen. His face went pale. "A …hold? Oh…oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no!"

He nearly dropped the phone, his hands trembling as he stared at the glaring red numbers. "Exorbitant overdraft fees?!" he spluttered, his voice pitching higher with each word.

Father frantically scrolled through the charges, his expression shifting from shock to horror. "Renting out Tasty Taste? Truckloads of rocky road? Catering?! Elaborately themed death traps?Kajillions on building a—what is this—'secret device?!' I don't remember building any–" His voice cracked as he reached the final charge. "SIX FIGURES FOR A PARTY CLOWN?!"

Brooks raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Father lowered the phone, his face frozen in a grimace of disbelief. He sheepishly looked up at Brooks, his voice barely above a whisper. "Uh…would you settle for an IOU?"

"Book him."

Watching the spectacle with varying degrees of amusement, the surrounding officers leaped into action.

"No, no, wait—" Father protested, but it was too late.

They all dogpiled him again, this time with even more enthusiasm.

Father's protests grew louder as the officers dragged him toward the squad car. "Unhand me, you imbeciles! I'll have all your badges for this!" he screeched, thrashing like a spoiled child.

The officers weren't exactly gentle as they "helped" him along, shoving him this way and that, occasionally "accidentally" stepping on his toes or knocking his glasses askew.

"Watch the pocket protector! Watch the—OW! That's my arm, you oaf!"

One officer grabbed his legs, causing Father to yelp, "I'll sue you all for police brutality!"

Across the street, sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, was Mr. Jelly, better known as Knightbrace. The retired dental-themed villain looked like he'd crawled out of an outlandish explosion, his once-white uniform charred and soot-streaked.

An officer stood nearby, jotting down notes as Knightbrace recounted his tale of woe. "...and that's when the flames engulfed my entire house! I had JUST finished paying off my mortgage!"

Father, his anger briefly forgotten, spotted him. His eyes lit up, and he smiled like they were old pals meeting for brunch. "Knightbrace! My old chum!"

Knightbrace's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing into a murderous glare.

Father flexed his face, trying to appear friendly. "Tell them, old buddy, what a fine, upstanding member of adult society I am! Go on! Put in a good word for ol' Father, eh?"

Knightbrace shot to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger. "That's him, Officer! That's the jerk who burned my house down!"

Father's grin froze. "I beg your pardon?"

Knightbrace's voice rose with indignation. "HE'S THE ONE WHO DID IT! I SAW HIM! ARREST THAT MONSTER!"

The officer's pen paused mid-scribble as they exchanged glances with Brooks.

Father blinked.

What did he do last night!?

Brooks clucked his tongue in mock disapproval, folding his arms. "Tax evasion, bribery, and arson?" He whistled low, shaking his head with faux pity. "Benedict Wigglestein, you're going away for a long time. A very long time."

Father blinked, slack-jawed. "Wait! That's not fair!"

"Life's not fair," Brooks smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. "But hey, maybe they'll let you off for good behavior."

As the officers slammed the paddy wagon door shut, Brooks leaned in, grinning. "After all, you are a 'responsible adult,' right?"

Father snarled, his words slurring with rage as the door locked with a final, ominous clang.

He sat stiffly in the dim confines of the vehicle; his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were fit to kersplode under pressure. His breath was shallow, his teeth grinding as the agent's words and Knightbrace's accusations played on a loop in his mind—tax evasion, bribery, arson—a party.

A party?

His eye twitched. His brow furrowed.

What party?

"WHAT. HAPPENED?!" he roared into the empty vehicle, his voice bouncing off the metal walls as he slammed his cuffed fists against them. "What party are they talking about?! Tell me!" he demanded, as if his memories were living things that refused to answer him.

His ragged breathing slowed enough for the words to swirl through his mind. A party. Yes…a party…for who?

His children?

Yes, it had to be for them. Who else? He hated everybody. Even himself.

…okay, forget that last part. He's under a lot of stress.

His glare softened slightly as the faintest glimmer of memory teased his mind.

A cake.

The most fantastically, devilishly, sinfully scrumptious cake he'd ever made.

He could almost smell the buttery frosting, the rich vanilla bean paste mixture, the perfect symmetry of every inch.

Ah, yes...that cake.

His lip curled. That cake he had slaved over, pouring his heart and soul into every whisk of batter and every piped swirl of icing—that cake—stolen.

By a snot-nosed, indoor umbrella-twirling, meddling little nerd!

His fists unclenched as fragments of the past slowly unfurled.

Yes…he remembered now.

The stupid scavenger hunt!

His children came to him, begging him to intervene after those irritating Kids Next Door dared to use his masterpiece as a prize.

He sneered. "Handle it yourselves," he had told them. "I've already done my part making the blasted thing!"

He had dismissed their pleas, retreating to his chair to enjoy a nap.

But then…then there was a ruckus.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to piece it together.

He woke to find his pipe—gone.

A handful of nobody brats.

A fight.

And then…Sector V showed up–

The memories stopped just short, but a boiling rage surged in their place. His face contorted, his hands curling into fists again as the name spilled from his lips like venom.

Sector V.

It was always Sector V

Which means, at the heart of it, it indeed was–

"Nigel Uno."

Father's teeth ground together, his jaw tightening as his fury bubbled from a low simmer to a blistering boil. That infernal boy, that insufferable brat, had to be behind this.

Nigel Uno.

Father spat the name in his mind, each syllable slicing through his thoughts like jagged glass. Oh, he didn't know how—he couldn't prove it—but he was, positively, without question, certain this was all his nephew's fault.

The scavenger hunt. The raid on his precious office. His missing children. The charred remains of Knightbrace's mortgage. The bounced check. The overdraft fees.

THE MISSING PIPE!

The idea of that insufferable twerp making off with his pipe ignited something primal in him. Once rooted in cold, sticky bitterness, his anger devolved into something manic, unhinged—a rancorous inferno that burned away what little composure he had left.

That punk probably thought he was clever, didn't he? He probably had it tucked smugly in his stupid little pocket, twirling it around like some trophy!

The sheer indignity of it—HIS pipe!—being manhandled by that self-righteous, bald-headed little pest!

He hated Nigel Uno.

Hate, hate, hate!

The word churned in his mind, growing heavier with every iteration. It burned him from the inside out, searing his chest, coiling like molten metal in his gut. The KND's noisiest advocate, the perfect brat soldier, the so-called savior of kids everywhere?

Bah!

Nigel Uno was nothing but a sanctimonious, meddling thorn in his side, an obnoxious upstart who had ruined his plans too many times to count.

Father's breathing quickened, his vision blurring as the shadows of the paddy wagon seemed to grow darker, pooling around him like a thick, oppressive fog. His rage wasn't just anger anymore—it was an insipid rot, licking at the edges of his mind, warping his thoughts into one singular, venomous mantra.

Nigel Uno must pay.

His hands twitched, the calloused fingers curling into tight fists as he gritted his teeth. His hatred burned so fiercely it almost felt real, tangible, a heat that threatened to consume him entirely.

And then, suddenly—

He noticed it.

There, on the tips of his trembling fingers, something faint. Something small.

A spark.

Father froze; his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the flicker of light. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

A tiny ember danced on his fingertips, pulsing faintly like the heartbeat of some long-dormant beast.

A slow, wicked grin stretched across his face, his lips curling to reveal his teeth as a dark laugh rumbled deep in his chest.

Oh…

They thought he was done, eh?

That this was over?

Oh no, not until he allowed it to be.

The paddy wagon jolted as it rumbled through an underpass, and the darkness around him shifted. The shadows curled unnaturally, coiling around his form like snakes. For a fleeting moment, they outlined his silhouette like they were forming the inky black suit that once cloaked him in power.

He'd let the oven preheat.

It would take time, but when the fire fully returned, it would burn brighter and hotter.

Father's cruel, yellow eyes gleamed in the dark, glowing like two smoldering coals.

Oh, he would cook up the perfect revenge.

And when the time came, Nigel Uno would burn.

---

With the morning dew still fresh, four children were reunited with their families in their private corners of the world.

Abigail Lincoln was carted into a hospital room, stunned eyes locking with those of her equally stunned elder sister holding hands with a former rock-star teen leader while their parents conversed with the Unos outside the door.

Wallabee Beetles' mother smothered as he kicked through the front door, the woman crying while her husband was torn between concern over his son's mangled knuckles and confusion about where his long-lost brother was with his other son and the flapjacks.

Kuki Sanban tip-toed through a dark living room, freezing as her mother flipped on a light from her recliner. Genki's stern frown quickly morphed into a relieved whimper as she flew from the chair to embrace her firstborn. Kuki blinked, letting tears fall as she embraced the woman back.

And as for the Gilligans…

It'd been years since Betty tried building a model plane, and it's hard to say how many. Ever since Hogarth passed, she stopped keeping count.

Betty had been fascinated by planes ever since she was a child. Why, when she was four years old, she was already in the backyard, cobbling together cardboard and thrown-out tinfoil to make the best-est, most sophisticated airplane ever. She'd glide with the greats, her name up there with the likes of Amelia Earhart herself! It'd always been her dream to fly. To soar.

Her mother was never too supportive of her dreams, yelling and raving at her to get her head out of the clouds. The older Betty got, the more grounded she became. The earth's stability coaxed her further away from the intrigue and call to the skies. It's why, in the end, she settled for that business tract in community college and never dared test her mettle in aviation school. A life in accounting was more sustainable and more secure—more adult.

Hogarth always teased her for that. He joked she was becoming a fussy, nervous old stick in the mud. He always knew how to yank her free, to remind her of the wind that tickled her skin and the breeze that gave life to her wonder. Hogarth always did that, and he always bought her a new model plane every birthday, all the way into her thirties.

The last one came on her first birthday after he died. Somehow, he had the foresight to plan ahead.

She could never bring herself to open it until now.

Now? She needed it desperately.

Betty's fingers nervously guided the plastic bits into the joints, a trembling tube of glue spewing carefully to join the wings. The dining table was a junkyard of tubes, tiny cylinders, and dusty paint packets. She picked up the fuselage halves of the biplane, aligning the pieces as the sharp chemical tang of glue summoned memories of summer afternoons in her dad's garage. Memories of when, after they had all taken down the Evil King of World, the only real worry they had was missing the passing of the ice cream truck.

She wasn't that girl anymore; the quiet room only reminded her of that.

Her mother had passed.

Her Hogarth was gone.

And her boys…

The biplane clattered to the floor, Betty sharply cursing to calm her fidgeting.

They were out there. Her sons were out there, and she…she had to believe. She had to believe.

She had to hope.

But the discipline of hope was so damn hard sometimes.

"…woof, woof…"

Grumbling, Betty knelt to scoop up the remnants of the plane. Hoping was unpossible, knowing the odds her boys were up against. Believing might as well have been labor as the faint morning sunlit rays reminded her they still weren't home.

"…woof, woof."

The plane was supposed to help. The aircraft was supposed to call forth that kid in her to say everything was a-okay and she could stop dreading. But she was a mom; how could she stop dreading—

"Woof! Woof!"

Especially with that darn dog making such a racket!

Wait. Dog?

"DJ?" Betty jerked her head up, banging against the table. She hissed, rubbing out the ache in her noggin as she wobbled to the back door. It had been weeks since that floofy rascal had been sniffing around; she'd been sure he wasn't coming back this time. She was secretly relieved to be proven wrong.

Ah, but of course, he probably caught a whiff of her leftover meatloaf miles away and decided, y'know what? He could grace her with his presence as if he hadn't made her worry sick.

He was so like Hogarth in that regard, good heavens.

"DJ," Betty said, voice low and un-amused as she opened the door. "Don't think you can waltz back in all honky-dory. Where have you been, boy? I swear, I'm calling the vet, and we're getting you chipped the first chance we—"

"Mom, we're back!" Tommy greeted as he barreled past her, sending her spinning. Despite the singes and burns on his clothes, the boy made a beeline to the fridge, one track mind as always. "You shoulda seen me, I was so awesome!"

"Tommy?" Betty said in a daze. She shook her head, then let her hands snap to her hips once her eyes landed on him. "Thomas! What have I told you about drinking from the carton?"

Tommy flinched, lips mere inches from the OJ box's opening. He sheepishly grinned, gently setting the carton aside as he hopped to procure glasses from the cabinet. "Uh, sorry, Mom. But serving up ultimate justice and do-gooder-y builds a mighty thirst!"

Betty welcomed the tentative relief trickling through her nervous system despite his antics. Tommy was home. Bruised, battered, and smelling faintly of…skunk? But home, nonetheless. "So, I take it your 'thing' went okay?"

"Better than okay!" Tommy exclaimed through cupfuls of juice. Pulp splattered against his chin and shirt, but that didn't stop his passion-fueled recap. "Picture it: there we were, in our darkest hour, and the dominoes of defeat mere seconds away from crushing us, once and for all. But then, at the very last butt-clenchiest of moments…HUZZAH! The Tommy unveils his trump card and seizes complete and total victory!"

Betty allowed herself a bemused smile as her son regaled her with his heroics. Still, though the sight of him warmed her heart, there was something ebbing the edges of her motherly instincts.

Where was—

"Woof! Woof!"

"For goodness sake," Betty muttered. She turned to the door, Tommy still rambling in the background (explodey sound effects and all), and sharply called her their dog. "DJ! What in the world has gotten into you—"

"Hey, Mom! Did I miss breakfast?"

Betty gasped.

There he was.

He reeked of smoke and ash, yellow goggles collared loosely around his neck, pilot cap askew, and strolled up the driveway as casually as a self-assured alley-cat.

There he was.

Her boy…

Hoagie P. Gilligan Junior lumbered in the kitchen, eyes closed and grinning as he gave his belly a hearty pat. "I sure hope not, 'cause man, am I starvin'! It's not too late to request some pancakes, is it? Oh! Ones with extra blueberries, pretty please, and thank you!"

Betty's knees might as well have been jelly. Still, the gravity would work in her favor. She let the inner kid take the wheel, piloting her into a stellar crash landing as she toppled into her oldest son.

"Whoa!" Hoagie squeaked, finding himself on the floor. Before he knew it, he was entangled in two massive arms gripping him with a vigor that would give Numbuh Three a run for her money. He blinked a few times, then found his lips wobbling as his Mom's sobs broke the sound barrier of his hunger. He melted in her embrace. "Sorry to keep ya waiting, Mom…"

"My boy," Betty wailed. That whole tentative relief from before? Forget all that. The pure flood of solace swept her under, drowning her. Yet she still inhaled mouthfuls and mouthfuls like a woman dying of thirst. She buried his head under her chin, crying warm, soothing tears that spilled into his messy, chestnut hair. "My, sweet baby boy…"

He was here.

He wasn't broken. He wasn't forcibly addled. He was no longer soullessly Delightful.

He was her Hoagie, and he was here, here, here.

"Mooom," came a whine. Tommy rounded the table, pouting. "You're gonna miss the part telling me how I saved—HOAGIE!"

Grandiose epics of heroics could suck it.

Tommy bounded in one great leap, seamlessly melding into the Gilligan heap as Betty instinctively swept him into her hold. Her wails softened to joyous blubbers, and she memorized the feel and weight of both her babies in her hands—where they should be, where they would always be welcomed.

Hoagie somewhat recovered first, humbled by his Mom's tears and Tommy's leaky snot. Hot huffs of breath stole his attention, and he looked up. Upon seeing a wally of fur towering over them, he laughed. "Talk about your dog piles, eh?"

The comment spurred Betty to glance up, too, and DJ's panting snout greeted her. The old sheepdog stood over them, a shaggy vigil as his tail wagged excitedly behind him.

Just like when DJ invited himself into their home.

I hadn't even a full day after Hogarth's. Her mother's belligerence and smacks were just too much for her oldest son. Hoagie snapped, gathering his things and running away in the dead of night, refusing to dwell with a cruel old hag who spoke so ill of his freshly buried father.

Betty remembered screaming at her mother, the sound enough to silence Lydia long enough for Betty to banish her to a nursing home, finally. But the damage had been done. Her baby boy was gone.

It had been days, and even the Adult Branch hadn't found a trace. Her Hoagie was too clever, even back then.

She had nearly given up when she heard it.

That faint, woof woof.

"Hey, Mom! Meet Hoagie P. Gilligan Junior Junior! Or DJ. Y'know, Double J?" her boy greeted her, smiling as if nothing with his four friends behind him, looking like they survived a warzone and the panting sheepdog that had guided him home. "Can we keep him? I'll feed him my chili dogs!"

Since then, the lovable mutt became an occasional fixture in their home, coming and going when he pleased. More often than not, coming back to herd her mother back to the Sure Would Forest Center when her addled visits had overstayed their welcome.

DJ panted happily.

Betty was overwhelmed, pulling the dog into the hug. DJ took it in stride, lapping up her tears. Her wet laugh was a beautiful morning melody.

DJ brought Hoagie home again. He brought both her boys home.

All her boys were home.

Hogarth P. Gilligan Senior chuckled and looked down at his reunited family before fading into the golden sunlit sky.

---

Credits:

"Towards a Dream" – Lyn Inazumi, Atsushi Kitajoh, Daisuke Kaneda and Jasmine Webb

0

The Codename: Kids Next Door

---

My earliest memory

Doesn't know who I used to be

---

a little over a week later…

"…so these kids fight adult tyranny?"

"Yes."

"From bases built in giant treehouses?"

"Correct."

"With special gadgets made of…2x4 wood, cardboard, duct tape, and chewing gum? Gadgets that shot laser beams? And it somehow doesn't blow up in their faces?"

"Not usually."

"…and we used to be part of all this?"

"Are ye daft or just plain STEWPID?" Fanny had enough. She reeled over the table, knocking her knuckles against Patton's thick skull. She scoffed at his whining, leaning back in her chair and looking toward the ceiling. "How many times are ya gonna ask her the same questions? She's been over it a gazillion times!"

Patton winced at his latest addition to his ever-growing 'Fanny-Love-Tap' collection before yanking down his beige beanie—one he felt the urge to dig out from the back of his closet. He rolled his tongue, frowning at Fanny before speaking. "I'm just saying; it's a little…out there, don't you think? Buncha kids running around being secret agents?"

Fanny arched a brow and dryly said, "We was literally fightin' alongside 'em last week. In flying armor. That shot lasers."

Patton raised a finger and opened his mouth. His breath stalled, eyes narrowing in thought. Finally, he huffed, side-eyeing the cafeteria school club poster as he crossed his arms. "You got me there…"

Fanny snickered, victoriously tucking hair behind her ear.

Opposite of her and beside Patton, Georgette only smirked, shaking her head at their antics. Her eyes hooded over, teasingly leaning into Patton's shoulder to coo, "Don't be too hard on him, Fan. Poor thing just looks for any excuse to hear my award-winning voice."

Patton rolled his eyes. "If what you're saying is true, then those awards were given to you by kids, you know."

Georgette's mouth thinned as she arched a brow.

Patton blinked, then sheepishly winked in good humor.

Georgette softly flicked his nose with a dainty finger.

Patton rubbed his nose and grumbled, "Was only fooling."

"And it's adorable," she said with a lazy smirk, easing her head forward to brush her nose against his. His face immediately flushed red, and she snapped back into position, hands folded in self-contentment of her teasing. "But Patton isn't wrong for being curious. It does sound like a crazy game of make-believe. And we lean into it. Helps with public PR and somewhat explains our…recent brush with near and total collapse. " She absentmindedly gave her nails a once over. "There's also a running theory with the lab nerds that decommissioning adds a touch more skepticism. Especially when the recipients are willing."

Patton leaned back in his chair. "So, you're saying there's some...lingering side effects of being brain scrubbed? Like, what, we just forget the memories but not the feelings?"

"Exactly," Georgette said, smoothing the front of her blouse. Her voice dropped into a gentler tone as she continued, "It's why so many ex-operatives still gravitate toward things that don't quite make sense to them. You digging out that beanie, for example." She gave him a knowing look before glancing at Fanny. "Or you, Fulbright, suddenly getting involved in that community center project for kids. You can't put a name to it, but something inside you remembers what it means to protect them."

Fanny stiffened. She tilted her chair back down and folded her arms, staring at the table. "It ain't exactly rocket science," she muttered. "We've been there. We know what it's like to have folks turn their backs on you. Some of us had to grow up too fast." Her voice wavered slightly before she cleared her throat and set her jaw. "Course we wanna help the little buggers."

Patton frowned, his gaze softening as he glanced at her. "Fan…"

"I'm fine!" she cut him off, her tone clipped. "Just…stop tryin' ta explain it like that lame-o Doctor Time-Space trash; I can't stand it. And I don't need some stupid fancy sci-fi mumbo-jumbo to explain why I still care about kids. I'm ME!"

Georgette's smile softened, but there was a flicker of hesitance in her eyes. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "But you have to admit, it does explain why you two were able to step up during the fight with Father. And why you both made a bigger difference than you realize."

Patton furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means this." Georgette's tone grew earnest, her hands folding on the table. "You still have what it takes—both of you—not just the instincts but the heart. And now that the KND is trying to rebuild from the ground up, they could use people like you—people who've lived both sides of it, people who know what it means to fight for something bigger than themselves."

Fanny squinted at her. "Are ye askin' us to come back? Is that…allowed? How's that supposed to work if we don't even remember half of it?"

Georgette sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not saying it would be easy. But you've both proven you don't need every memory to make a difference. And who knows?" She glanced at the cafeteria windows, her expression hopeful. "Infin—, er, my boss' boss says many things are changing. It might not be impossible to restore memories one day. Until then, you'd have the chance to protect kids like you did before."

Patton scratched the back of his head, his expression unreadable. "And if we say no?"

Georgette straightened, though her voice remained calm. "If you say no, that's your choice. No one's going to force you into anything. But…" She hesitated, her gaze shifting between them. "You deserve to know it's an option. And that the Kids Next Door hasn't forgotten about you. No matter what you decide, it never will."

The table fell quiet.

Fanny tapped her fingers against the edge of her chair, her gaze distant.

Patton rubbed his hands together, the weight of the decision hanging between them.

The quiet stretched, the hum of the cafeteria filling the space.

Around them, the usual din of teenage life carried on: laughter, the scrape of chairs, the chatter of friends exchanging gossip or weekend plans.

But the world crawled for the three of them, and Georgette's words sank in. Really sank in.

Fanny's eyes flickered toward the window, watching a group of kids playing in the schoolyard across the street. They were loud and carefree, racing each other toward the swings.

She bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve hem.

Patton, meanwhile, stared at the table, tracing invisible patterns on its surface. His beanie slipped slightly as he leaned forward, propping his chin in his hand.

A crease formed between his brows, his thoughts churning.

Georgette didn't press them. She leaned back in her chair, giving them the space to think. Instead of speaking, she pulled her compact mirror from her pocket and flipped it open, dabbing at a non-existent lipstick smudge. But every so often, her eyes darted toward them, gauging their reactions.

Finally, Patton broke the silence, though his voice was quiet. "I don't know. It's like…I want to help, but…" He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

"But somethin' doesn't feel right," Fanny finished for him, her tone soft. She turned back to the table, resting her arms on its surface. Her gaze flicked to Georgette, searching for understanding. "It's not that we don't wanna help. It's just…" She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Georgette tilted her head, waiting.

Fanny hesitated, glancing at Patton for reassurance. When he gave her a slight nod, she exhaled deeply. "It's just…not who we are anymore."

Georgette leaned forward slightly, setting her compact aside.

She didn't look upset, just…curious.

"Not who you are anymore?"

Patton shifted in his seat, adjusting his beanie again as if it gave him something to do. "Yeah. Look, I don't remember everything, okay? I don't remember being Numbuh 60 or…or running missions or any of that. But I do know who I am now. And that guy? He's not some secret agent kid running around in an ice block of a treehouse. He's…" Patton hesitated, searching for the right words.

Fanny rolled her eyes but softened her tone. "He's a big oaf who makes the best pierogi this side of town."

Patton gave a small, grateful smile. "Exactly. And you? You're Fanny, who chews me out during study hall when I forget to bring a pencil. And Georgy, you're—well, you're still you. And you are amazing. But the point is…" He gestured vaguely, his words trailing off.

"The point is, we've built lives for ourselves without the KND," Fanny finished, her voice firmer now. She looked at Georgette, her eyes steady. "And sure, maybe some part of me still feels…somethin'. Maybe I used to be this loud, bossy girl who yelled a lot and scared the snot out of people."

Patton snorted. "Used to be?"

Fanny elbowed him lightly. "Maybe. But that's not all I am now. And maybe it's selfish, but I don't wanna go back to bein' a part of somethin' I don't even remember."

Patton nodded, his expression serious. "We're not those people anymore. And yeah, we helped take down Father or whatever, but that was different. That was about protecting kids. Protecting Sonia and Lee, and…and your brother, Fan." He glanced at her, his voice softening.

Fanny looked down, her fingers tightening on the table's edge. "Aye. That's different. And if somethin' like that happens again, sure, we'll do what we have to. But full-time? Nah. I don't think that's us anymore."

Georgette listened quietly, her expression unreadable. She crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knees as she studied them.

Finally, she spoke, her voice gentle. "You know, there's no shame in that. You've done more than most people could, whether you remember it or not."

Patton smiled faintly. "Thanks, Georgy. And hey, you've still got us here, even if we're not, like, in the field or whatever. You can always count on us."

Fanny nodded firmly. "Aye. Once we left, it weren't the KND that brought us back together. That was all you. I mean, ye nearly got decommission-ized or whatever yer'self 'cause of us!"

Georgette laughed a nervous laugh. "Yeah…I love you guys, but I'll admit…I'm very relieved higher-ups let me and Numbuh 513 get away with a slap on the wrist."

Patton threw an arm over Georgette's shoulder. "Glad to know helping save the world isn't wholly thankless."

"Well," Fanny said, "even if they didn't, I'd kick their asses and pull ye back anyway! We've got yer back, no matter what. Spy or no spy."

Georgette's lips quirked into a small smile. "I'll hold you to that." She winked at Patton. "Especially you, handsome."

The conversation slowed, the air between them quieter now. Fanny swung her bag over her shoulder, her expression pensive. "Ye know," she started, her voice softer than usual, "there's somethin' else that's been naggin' at me. Ever since last week."

Patton frowned. "What's that?"

Fanny hesitated. "It's…hard to explain. But it's like…I feel like there's someone I'm supposed to be mad at. Someone who hurt me. Hurt us." She glanced at Patton, then Georgette, searching for the right words. "But I don't even know who they are. Just that it's there. That feelin'."

Georgette stiffened at the mention, her hand tightening on her purse strap.

Patton leaned against the table, pulling his beanie lower over his ears. "Yeah," he admitted after a moment, his voice low. "I've felt it, too. Like there's this…thing, this person, right at the edge of my mind. Someone I should be furious with. Or maybe even forgive? But I can't pin it down." He looked at Fanny, his brow furrowed. "Does that make any sense?"

Fanny nodded, her gaze distant. "Aye. It's like…there's this hole. And I don't know if I want to fill it in or leave it be. But I hate that it's just sittin' there, making me feel…confused. Like I don't know whether to scream or cry."

Georgette stayed silent, the urge to say something—anything—itching at her throat. She couldn't decide whether she was relieved or uneasy that they couldn't remember Her name or face.

Instead, she gently placed a hand over both of them. "Maybe…it's not about what you should do, but about what you can do."

Fanny and Patton turned to look at her, their expressions innocently curious and weary.

Georgette straightened, her voice calm but edged with something that felt like guilt. "Being transparent with my bias here, but …there's no right or wrong way to deal with a feeling like that. Whoever they were, whatever they did…maybe it doesn't matter that you don't remember the details. What matters is that you acknowledge it. That you let yourselves feel it. Anger, sadness, confusion—it's all part of moving on."

Fanny frowned, her arms tightening across her chest. "But what if they don't deserve it? What if forgivin' them…turns out to be somethin' we can't do?"

"Then you don't," Georgette replied simply. "Not until you're ready. And maybe not ever. Forgiveness isn't about letting someone else off the hook. It's about letting yourself breathe. And if you're not there yet, that's okay."

Patton rubbed the back of his neck, his face thoughtful. "So…what? We just live with this weird…void-thing forever?"

Georgette's smile was faint, bittersweet. "Living with it doesn't mean letting it define you. It just means accepting that some questions don't have answers. Not yet, anyway."

Fanny chewed on her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I don't know if I'm ready to do that. Not yet. But…thanks, Georgy. That helps. A little."

Patton nodded in agreement, his smile faint. "Yeah. I don't love it, but…maybe it's a start."

Georgette nodded, her smile softening. "It is. And you don't have to figure it out right now. Just…don't ignore it, okay? Whatever you're feeling, it matters." She let the sentiment rest in silence, her eyes darting between her friends.

Fanny tapped her foot against the linoleum floor, arms crossed tightly, while Patton stared down at his shoes, brow furrowed.

"I think…" Fanny started, her voice cautious. "I think, deep down, my inner kid remembers. Not fully, not the way I want to. But that somethin'—that someone—they left a mark. They…they were important to me. They're part of me, even if I can't remember them."

Patton nodded slowly, his fingers tightening the strap of his backpack. "Yeah. Like…there's hurt there, but there's also good. Real good. Something warm." He paused, letting the words settle before looking at Georgette. "It's weird, you know? Being mad at someone you can't remember. But at the same time…" He hesitated, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I have this weird, stupid hope. The kind of hope kids have."

Fanny quirked a brow. "Hope for what?"

"That one day, maybe I can forgive them," Patton admitted quietly. "Not for them, but for me. And maybe, just maybe…they can forgive themselves too."

Georgette froze, her smile faltering slightly.

Patton turned toward her, his expression softer than she'd ever seen. "And, Georgette… I think I owe a lot of that to you."

Her eyes widened. "Me?" she asked, her tone light but her shoulders stiff with surprise. "Don't be ridiculous, Patton. That's all you."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "It's you. You gave me hope when I didn't think I had any left. You believed in me, in both of us. You took a risk and made me feel like it's okay to believe in something—even if I don't have all the answers."

Georgette tried to wave him off, the edges of her smile wavering. "You're…you're giving me too much credit. Really—"

"I mean it," he interrupted, his voice resolute. "Because of you, I want to be better. And because of you, I think I can be. So yeah, I hope that one day, I can forgive that person. And I hope they'll find it themselves to do the same."

Before Georgette could respond, Fanny groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. "Oh, for cryin' out loud! If yer gonna have a whole heartfelt moment, at least include me! Don't leave me out like some daft third wheel!"

Georgette laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and reached out to pull Fanny into a tight group hug. "Alright, alright. You're part of this, too."

Patton grumbled, squished between them. "I can't even have a moment with my girlfriend without you barging in, huh?"

"Shut it, ya big lug," Fanny retorted, jabbing him lightly. "Yer both mine anyway. Make all the kissy faces ya want over the summer while I'm off visitin' family in Ireland with me Ma and Shaunie."

Georgette snorted, leaning her head against Fanny's shoulder. "We'll miss you too, Fan."

Fanny smirked, tilting her chin up. "Of course, ye will. Who else would keep you both from bein' hopeless saps?"

Patton rolled his eyes, though a fond smile crept across his face as they broke apart. For the first time in a long while, his heaviness felt lighter.

Though none of them said it aloud, they all felt it—the quiet, hopeful connection to their inner child urging them forward with a belief only kids could have: hope for closure, hope for forgiveness, and maybe, just maybe, hope for something good waiting for them on the other side.

Like the ringing of the school bell!

…wait.

The shrill ring pierced their moment. All three teens sighed, rising in unison.

"Guess it's that time," Patton groaned.

"Yep," Fanny muttered. "See ya after third period."

"Don't hold me to that," Georgette wryly smirked. She holstered her purse and flashed a wink before making for the door. "Duty calls."

Patton and Fanny exchanged confused glances. "Uh, Georgy? Home Ec is the other way."

"Alas, I have to report to the Basement and file out some last-minute paperwork to make my suspension all laminated and official," Georgette said quickly, flexing her fingers to reveal an excuse notice like a birthday magician parlor trick. She grinned. "And I'd hate to be the reason Herbie got held up and missed the midnight release of Grand Siege: Daimyo 2 with his lady friend."

Patton blinked. "You're serious?"

Georgette scoffed with mock offense. "Patton! Don't be so heartless. Nerds need love, too. You should know."

"Nay, I think he—HA! She called ye a nerd," Fanny snickered. Patton flipped her off, but she ignored it. "I think he means the part about ye ditchin' school for your spy thing. You can do that?"

Georgette adorably fluttered her lashes while hiding her smile behind her forged note. "It never occurred to you why I'm always missing gym? Spy work is exercise enough. And I'd rather be found dead in a sewer than in those awful gym shorts. Gag!"

Fanny slumped. "Aw, ya mean if we became spies, we'd get to skip class? Why didn't ye mention that before we said no!?"

"Trust me, I'm slowly learning that the short-term relief is not worth the long-term stress," Georgette sighed. "Keeping up my workload and my GPA is a nightmare. Exams were a pain last year."

"Wait a minute." Patton narrowed his eyes, slow comprehension nestling in his mind. He fumed and pointed at his girlfriend accusingly like a mark, realizing they'd been suckered. "Is that why you're always copying my notes and making me do your algebra homework!?"

"Yes, and work on your handwriting, dear. Mr. Umberbusch is getting suspicious." She blew him a kiss and flitted out the revolving glass door. "I wuv you, bye!"

Patton groaned, head lowering in defeat. Fanny snorted a laugh, getting a healthy shot of schadenfreude from his predicament. "Just like a wee boy getting' all whipped up over a lass."

Just then, Serena Fairchild, the sweet but clueless Queen Bee of McClintock High, sauntered by, daintily commenting. "Hi, Fanny. Love your new haircut!"

"O-Oh! T-Thanks, Serena," Fanny stuttered, cheeks flushed pink as she giddily tucked in a curly strand to highlight her undercut. The muffled snicker made her growl, and she snapped at Patton. "WHAT'S SO FUNNY!?"

Patton wiggled his brows. "What were you just saying about getting, ah, how did you put it? 'All whipped up over a lass?'" Fanny responded by socking him in the shoulder, stomping away in a huff. Patton wasn't too far behind, rubbing his bruise as he snorted. "Why are we friends again?

Fanny rolled her eyes as she allowed him to catch up. "I'm sure we'll be all gray and pruney and still not know the answer."

Patton considered it as he fell in step with her. He shrugged. "I think I'm fine not knowing." His look became sheepish as he leaned in, whispering, "So…when do ya think the next phase of RMCU will be out?"

Fanny blinked at him. Then, her excited squeal pierced his ears.

Strolling outside, Georgette answered a few lingering texts before snapping her phone shut. She hugged her purse, gazing at the sun, braving a peek between clouds. If Mother Nature could manage some silvering linings, there was no reason Georgette, of all girls, couldn't.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she slowed to a stop. She frowned, glancing over her shoulder. To the casual observer, she was alone in the courtyard, the last rumblings of chatter dying as teens hurried to class. There she was—all by her beautiful lonesome.

Pft. As if.

"I know you're there," she said, raising her voice to echo around her. She flipped her hair dismissively over her shoulder. "I was hounded by the KND He Said She Said paparazzi squad enough to know when I'm being watched. I can't blame them. Who wouldn't want to watch moi?"

The rustle of forgotten class notes across the sidewalk was the only reply she got.

Georgette scoffed. "Play brooding and silent all you want; I've had you pegged, even during lunch. You get all that, by the by? Eavesdrop on all the juicy details of their decision?"

Silence. It only annoyed Georgette more.

"I know you did. You just can't help yourself, can you? Still trying to worm your way back into their lives," Georgette said, voice low as her nails dug into her purse. "So how did it feel, huh? How'd it feel when they decided to stay as they are? That they decided to move on without you?"

Not a peep from the environment.

"I hope it was good. I hope it was delicious; you getting a taste of your own medicine. Getting to know what it feels like when they decided that, at least on some petty level, they can't bring themselves to care anymore," Georgette said, teeth grinding. "Which, honestly? Says more about them than you anyway because I wonder if you even cared at all."

"I cared."

Georgette hissed. She just had to find some way to one-up her. Why did she waste energy being surprised? Georgette turned on her heel, glowering at the girl who pulled a reverse Houdini.

"Even…even if I wasn't good at showing it," Rachel said, voice soft and tinged with remorse. She was bundled in a baggy brown sweater, hair tucked back, and band-aid gauze covering her cheek. Her eyes stared at Georgette's feet, her fingers curling and uncurling unconsciously. "I always cared. About them both."

Georgette tapped her chin, eyes skyward in taunting thought as she said, "Oh, but don't be so hasty! Let's step back and unpack how you did show it. Girl, I've got nothing but time."

Rachel's lips twitched, and, despite things, said, "So much for not holding up Herbie…"

"You don't get to act all hoity-toity with me. Not. Any. More," Georgette snarled. "So you decided not to go through with it. Finally went, 'You know what? I am being selfish and hurting innocent people. Maybe I shouldn't do that!' Our oh-so wise and smarty pants of a former Supreme Leader decided to save the world from the disaster she caused." Georgette's hands moved into a languid, slow clap. "Congratulations, sir. I'm relieved you haven't lost all your marbles. Truly, darling, I am. However, I do so wish your miraculous change of heart didn't have to come at the expense of Numbuh 60 and Numbuh 86."

Rachel flinched.

"The Moonbase Trio. The Moonbase Tri-oooo. Who even started that horseshit? Was it me? God, I hope it was me. It sounds like the sort of bogus Numbuh 10 would toss at the wall on a slow news day. At least that way, I can make sense of…this guilt for ever letting it get this far. Cause I saw the train wreck coming and didn't do a damn thing about it until it was too late."

When Rachel's fingers curled, they stayed clenched this time.

"I watched. We all watched as Fanny idolized you and worshiped the ground you walked on. She'd throw herself out the airlock with no helmet if you told her to—she'd do it smiling like a kid on Christmas! And how did Numbuh 362 repay all that? By screaming at her for accidentally screwing up your mission. By shading her in front of an entire cadet graduation ceremony for losing the Code Module, like it was all her fault for being tricked by Chad and Cree.

"You repaid it with you and Herbie sitting back and laughing when she got partially decommissioned that one time and went kiss crazy. And let's not forget you handing her the pity prize of being your Global Tactical Officer when your numbuh one option wasn't gonna work out." Georgette smirked cruelly. "Shall I go on?"

Rachel trembled.

"Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't leave out your Drill Sergeant Supreme, even though you sure were keen to." Georgette mockingly swiped at her crocodile tears. "Oh, boo-hoo, Numbuh 60 couldn't fight off the military doctrine his parents drilled into his head and risk being all casual and high-fiving his superior officer when it obviously made him uncomfortable during meetings. Woe is you. You're something, you know that? Huffing and puffing when my cousin won't obey every silly order and acts a bit too cozy with his status when you let him trash MY STUDIO during that MOON farce, yet turning around and pouting when Patton respects you as a default. And they say I'm high maintenance. The utter nerve!"

Rachel stood there, silently baring the verbal lashing while Georgette circled like a lioness on the prowl.

"And don't get me started on that little 'tiff' you two had over a certain cadet I shall not mention," Georgette laughed, devoid of all pretense of humor. "Because I wanted to talk about that speech you gave the Thursday before during a sector leader meeting. How you said, nepotism in the KND was like 'candy corn infecting the trick-or-treat bowel with its yuckiness,' and we should all take steps to recognize and address it. I remember being so inspired…glad to know that all amounted to diddly-squat." Georgette paused before coyly asking, "How's your little brother, anyway? Heard we owe him for saving our butts. At least one McKenzie remembered their common sense. Never expected it to be Numbuh 363."

Rachel's eyes snapped up at Georgette. "Don't go there," she said, warning edging in her tone.

"Ha! You must be new to this. Hi, I'm Georgette, and I love being a petty bitch," she said, all smiles. "We all liked gossiping about how terribly Numbuh 363 treated his teammates but never once wanted to talk about where he must have learned it. Let me be the first to say you did a great job! Compared to how you treated your Moonbase Trio, sector W got off pretty easy."

"I know," Rachel whispered harshly.

It was enough to give Georgette pause.

So, upon seeing an opening, Rachel eased in. "I thought…I thought I was above it all and mature for my age. But I was a kid. A stupid, selfish kid who didn't appreciate two friends who tried to be there for her. She didn't bother to let two friends in until it was too late…"

Rachel's eyes fell again, blinking back tears she didn't deserve to shed. She replayed Fanny and Patton's decision on repeat. Each word and reasoning picked at her heart and reminded her of how… she never truly bothered to let her guard down with them completely.

"I was so obsessed with being the perfect leader, perfect sister, perfect everything that I…I couldn't see two kids who didn't care if I was perfect. They just wanted to be a part of my life. I never allowed myself to know those two kids; now…now they're gone. All because of how stupid I was."

Georgette let out an angry huff, arms tight against her sides, as she stormed over to a nearby bench. She slammed down, ignoring the ache in her tush and staring bitterly ahead—not at Rachel, no.

At the glass window beyond Rachel.

The glass acting as a mirror Georgette didn't need right now.

Well, if they were laying it all out there…

"I admired you, you know," Georgette slowly spat out. "You inspired me; you were always so willing to put other kids before yourself. But I was also jealous. So furious. Don't get me wrong, I had the looks, the talent, and the irresistible TV presence that made the cameras swoon. I had everything to make it come easy. But I didn't want it easy. Things that come easy are surface-level and empty calories. No, I wanted what was worth it. The stuff you have to put real blood, sweat, and tears in for. But that meant the risk of dirtying up my pretty makeup. It meant leaving it all bare and risking exposing my real personality for the pile of steaming hamster crud that it was."

Her eyes flicked to Rachel. "But you could. You could do it without even trying, without being afraid of the risk of being a dolled-up phony. Because your personality? What was underneath? It's what made everyone follow your lead. What made Nigel and Fanny put you on some infallible pedestal." She closed her eyes as she rubbed at them. "It's what made Patton never speak ill of you even as he got decommissioned. I should be thanking you; he only deals with my scraps because you were too much of a wuss to tear down those paper-thin walls between you."

Georgette leaned against the back of the bench, trying to find the sun hiding behind the graying clouds. "So give yourself a pat on the back. Even after everything, you're still better than me. Am I angry for you hurting Fanny and Patton? Oh, absolutely. But if I'm being honest...I think I'm even more angry you had what I wanted and threw it all away. You had true beauty and just let it rot and ugly-ify." She frowned. "Ugh, is that even a word? What is it with us operatives and making stuff up instead of bothering to read a dictionary?"

Rachel politely chose not to comment on that latter tangent and instead ruminated on the other bit. She risked a glance at the window, her reflection eyeing back at her.

It… still was hard to look at, not going to lie. Reconciling with the girl in the mirror wasn't going to be an overnight thing.

However, she'd be lying if she said it didn't hurt less than yesterday.

Rachel allowed a smidgen of kindness to herself to leverage it back toward Georgette and said, "Not that you want my opinion, but…I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"Pfft. Guess you would know, huh?" Georgette said with an ugly snort. "It doesn't matter. In the end…I'm a stunt double. I'm filling in some emptiness for Fanny and Patton you left behind. I'll never be able to fill it, but I'm selfish enough to ride it out until they wise up, and this thing crashes and burns like a motor derby."

"You're not," Rachel argued. She looked at Georgette. "We both…want what the other has. I wanted Fanny not to see me as some bigger-than-life superhero girl. I wanted Patton to see me for me under my title and not shy away when I got too crude. You have that. They don't see you as an ideal but as you. Because you did the dirty work, Georgette, you put yourself out there knowing they could throw you back like a smelly fish." Rachel smiled to herself. "You took the chance to try to get to know them, and they wanted to get to know you back. Like when you found Patton again."

Georgette stiffened, caught off guard by Rachel's mention of that day. Of course, Rachel would bring it up. She probably knew every detail already.

Still, her mind couldn't help but wander back to that morning.

It was her first day of high school, the official start of the so-called "best years of her life." She hadn't expected much. Maybe some new faces, a few awkward introductions, the usual teenage drudgery. But then, in the chaos of homeroom, she saw him.

Patton Drilovsky.

She froze in her seat, unable to believe her eyes. He was older now, taller, broader in the shoulders—but there was no mistaking him. Patton, the boy who used to drive her up the wall, challenged her in every conceivable way and pushed her to improve.

The boy she'd lost after everything fell apart.

The boy who looked at her back then like she was somebody.

It wasn't a decision. It was instinct.

She had to have him back.

It didn't matter if it broke the rules, if it was selfish if it made her a hypocrite. He belonged in her life, and their reunion had to be perfect.

Like a Hollywood blockbuster.

She spent the entire day trying to engineer the perfect moment.

Take #1: The Locker Scene.

She waited by his locker during the passing period, leaning casually against the wall like some rom-com protagonist. When he walked up, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and said, "Long time no see, stranger."

It would've been flawless if she hadn't leaned too hard and knocked herself over when the locker popped open. Patton blinked down at her sprawled on the floor, mumbled, "Uh… excuse me," and stepped over her like she wasn't even there.

Take #2: The Cafeteria Encounter.

She timed it perfectly, striding toward him with her tray as he grabbed a sandwich. She'd practiced a thousand times what she'd say: "Is this seat taken?" Simple, cool, perfect.

But as she approached, someone called her name. She turned, slipped on a stray milk carton, and sent her tray flying. The mashed potatoes landed squarely on his shoulder. He didn't even look back.

By the time school let out, Georgette was a complete wreck. Her hair was frizzed beyond repair, her clothes were wrinkled and stained, and her eyeliner had smudged to give her an unfortunate raccoon look. She sat on the school's front steps, wondering what on Earth had possessed her to try.

But when she saw him walk out, something broke inside her. She ran to him, her composure shattering like glass.

"Patton!" she cried, her voice catching. "Please—just—can you give me a chance to make it perfect? Just one more chance. I can do better, I swear."

He stopped, staring down at her with that blank, unreadable expression she'd come to know so well. She expected him to laugh, walk away, and tell her she was crazy.

Instead, he tilted his head and said, "…Whoa. You're pretty."

She didn't know whether to cry harder or laugh herself hoarse.

In the present, Georgette smiled faintly at the memory, but the warmth quickly cooled. Her smile faded, and she slowly turned her glare to Rachel.

"Wait a minute," she said, her voice edged with suspicion. "Were you stalking them even back then?"

Rachel's cheeks flushed. "I wouldn't call it stalking per se…"

Georgette groaned, throwing her head back. "Unbelievable."

Rachel opened her mouth to defend herself but wisely decided against it.

"You really did dupe us all into thinking you were perfect," Georgette muttered. "Cause now it's like seeing a doofus choke at the Oscars while accepting the award for Best Actor."

Rachel's eyes drifted to the ground, her voice sincere. "I don't blame them for not wanting to come back. Fanny. Patton. I mean, if I were them…" She trailed off, her shoulders slumping. "I wouldn't want to come back to me either."

Georgette's head snapped up, and she groaned. "Oh, for crying out loud, would you stop trying to make this about you?"

Rachel blinked, caught off guard.

"Because then," Georgette continued, waving a hand, "I'm gonna turn around and make it about me, and then we'll be stuck in this endless pity party spiral until we're both wrinkly old women in college or something."

Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "You're right." She exhaled, rubbing her arms. "It's not about me. It's about them. Fanny and Patton. What I did to them."

Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed through.

"It's why I came here. I wanted to make sure they were okay. They deserve to be happy. To live their own lives without me dragging them down. I just…" She hesitated, glancing toward the window as if she could glimpse them. "I just felt like I had to see it. To accept it. To let go of what I took for granted."

Georgette studied her silently, arms crossed but her usual scowl softened.

"I still have a long road ahead," Rachel admitted, her voice steadier now. "I have to make amends. I have to earn the second chance I've been given. But…" She glanced back at Georgette, her expression sincere. "I want you to know I'm sorry. For everything. And… thank you."

Georgette blinked. "For what?"

"For being there. For Fanny and Patton." Rachel's lips curved into a faint smile. "You don't have to worry about filling a void or measuring up to something. The three of you? You're more of a trio than Fanny, Patton, and I ever were."

Georgette stared at her for a long moment, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Rachel took that as her cue to leave. She turned, shoulders squared as she walked away

Behind her, Georgette's mind spun, fragments of the past swirling together: the pain, the betrayals, and everything Rachel had taken from Fanny and Patton.

But then, there was hope they'd both spoken of.

She thought of the love in Patton's eyes, that quiet, steady devotion he reserved for Georgette alone. He'd said he owed all that hope to her, holding Georgette's hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.

Georgette sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Without looking, she called, "Wait."

Rachel froze but didn't turn around.

Georgette finally said, her tone uncertain, "I don't know if I'll ever forgive you." She crossed her arms, her voice thick with conflicted emotions. "I… honestly don't even know if I want to. Nigel forgave you—of course he did. He's a sap. Maybe I just wanna be a rebel and stay bitter at you forever."

Rachel's back stiffened.

"But…" Georgette raised a lazy finger in the air. "Call me crazy, but I think Fanny and Patton might forgive you. Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. Or even five years from now. But maybe one day. Maybe even before we hit thirty."

Rachel glanced over her shoulder, just enough to catch Georgette's silhouette.

"Until then," Georgette continued, "keep earning it. And while you're at it? Forgive yourself because I'm not gonna do it for you.".

Rachel turned her gaze forward and said softly, "You know, you were wrong."

Georgette frowned. "Huh?"

"About what's underneath," Rachel clarified. "It's not ugly at all. It never was."

Before Georgette could respond, Rachel departed, leaving her alone in the quiet.

Georgette stared after her, lips pressed into a thin line.

After a moment, she snorted, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, please. Like I don't already know I'm beautiful."

---

I take a glance at the trail left behind

I trekked on and on living a world of influence

---

Enter Tie-beria.

The endless, blizzardy wasteland stretched like a white canvas torn by jagged mountains and vicious, swirling winds. Long ago, it had been a vibrant back-to-school outlet mall that sprawled an entire countryside, but now, (thanks to greedy private equity firms and someone forgetting to turn off the AC) it was a quiet, desolate home to one of the most feared enemies of kids everywhere:

Ravenous, sentient articles of pre-historic clothing of a time far gone: The Sixties.

Steel Wool-y-Mammouth Socks, Lycan-linen Scarves, and even rogue Octo-Overalls prowled the icy terrain, waiting for any unfortunate soul who crossed their path.

Breaking through the storm was a KND vehicle—a hybrid of a snowplow and a monster truck, its design unmistakably resembling a cute Arctic hare. With oversized treads to plow through the deep snow and floppy ear-like antennas to pick up signals, the Hare trundled forward until it stopped atop a frozen ridge. Its "nose" twitched—a radar dish made from parts of an old game console—and the top of its head popped open.

---

Kids Next Door: B.U.N.N.I.-B.O.P.

Battle. Utltracar. Navigates. Nefarious. Ice. - Boasting. Offensive. Power.

---

Sonia emerged from BUNNI-BOP in a puff of red and white fluff, bundled so tightly in layers of winter clothing that she resembled a strawberry-flavored marshmallow with legs. She raised a handheld radar cobbled together from a vintage Game Girl, squinting at the blinking screen. The icy wind howled as she called down to the others, her voice muffled through her scarf.

"We're at the coordinates! This is the spot!" she yelled.

A figure bounded out behind her, leaping from the vehicle to land in the snow with surprising agility.

It was Kuki Sanban: Numbuh Three, the Supreme Leader of the Kids Next Door.

Just in case you needed a refresher.

She stood proudly in her winter gear: a fluffy pink Rainbow Monkey coat, neon green snow goggles perched over her wide grin, and matching pink earmuffs framing her face.

"Come on, slowpokes!" she teased, her voice as chipper as ever despite the frigid conditions. "We're burning daylight, and I've got hot cocoa waiting back at base for whoever finishes first!"

Sonia groaned, climbing down from BUNNI-BOP as Lee and Patrick followed close behind. Lee casually twirled a yo-yo, its string glowing faintly to double as a flare, while Patrick stumbled out, shivering and grumbling.

"Does it have to be this cold?" Patrick muttered, hugging himself. "I'm just saying, we probably shouldn't even be out here in the first place!"

Lee smirked, tossing the yo-yo into the air and catching it effortlessly. "Don't trust our Supreme Leader?" he asked with a mischievous head tilt.

Patrick flustered, waving his hands. "No, no, of course I do! It's just... the guide she hired!" He pointed back toward the vehicle with a wary glance.

As if on cue, a voice called out from atop BUNNI-BOP, dripping with New York Italian charm. "Ah, relax, kid! You're makin' me feel unwelcome!"

From the vehicle stepped a living pair of underwear. Despite his cotton nature, he was dressed appropriately for the cold in a tiny Sherpa-inspired outfit, complete with a miniature parka and a scarf wrapped snugly around his waistband.

"Don't you worry," Mr. White said, voice warm despite the chill. "Youse are in good hands. Or, uh, good elastic." He chuckled.

Kuki clapped her hands together. "Thanks again for helping us out on such short notice, Mr. White!" she said brightly. "You're the bestest!"

"Eh, think nothin' of it," he replied, brushing her off with a dismissive wave. "Youse patched me up real good when those rogue Hitman speedos nearly unraveled me last year. Least I could do! My elastic's never felt stretchier."

Kuki giggled. "Oh, stop!"

Meanwhile, the three Sector W veterans huddled together, shuffling nervously away from the sentient undergarment. Patrick leaned in close, whispering, "Does Sector V always know the weirdest people?"

Lee shrugged, but Mr. White's voice boomed through the blizzard before he could respond.

"I heard that, pipsqueak!"

The group trudged forward into the snowy wasteland, following their peculiar guide as the storm howled around them.

The wind screamed across the endless expanse of Tie-beria, drowning out all but the crunch of boots against packed snow. The group marched on, faces red and raw from the biting cold. Patrick pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, glaring ahead at the peculiar pair of underwear leading them through the blizzard.

"Can someone explain," Patrick began, his voice muffled by his scarf, "why we need underwear's help to track down some adult? Aren't we supposed to be, I don't know, the best organization for that kind of thing?"

Sonia sighed, glancing at him over her shoulder. "Considering who we're looking for, it makes sense."

Patrick furrowed his brow. "And what's so special about this guy?"

"It's not about how special he is," Sonia replied, her tone softening. "It's about how little time we have left."

The weight of her words settled over the group like the snow falling around them. No one said it, but they all knew.

Their Supreme Leader didn't have much time left—not for this mission, not for any mission.

The unspoken truth hovered in the air, freezing their thoughts as much as the cold did.

Patrick, eager to shake the feeling, cleared his throat. "Okay, fine. Who is this guy, anyway?"

Sonia and Lee exchanged glances, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, voices barely audible over the wind.

"They say he's the greatest," Sonia murmured, "like no one else when it comes to hunting kid-hungry clothing predators."

Lee nodded, grinning. "Yeah, and he's unstoppable. 'Killer slacks to the left of him, rogue belts to the right—'"

"'—and he defeated them all in a single night!'" Sonia finished with a dramatic flourish.

Patrick blinked. "So, what, we're looking for some kind of clothing-hunter Raspu—"

"SHHH!" Mr. White suddenly stopped, snapping his waistband. His voice dropped to a hiss. "Quiet. All of youse!"

Everyone froze, instinctively reaching for their weapons. Sonia's rocket skates hissed as she tested the throttle, Lee's yo-yo spun quietly in his hand, and Patrick's ketchup blasters powered up with a low hum.

Kuki stepped forward, her GO! Sign scythe gripped tightly in her hands. "What is it?" she asked, voice whispery.

"I got a bad feelin'," Mr. White muttered, glancing around. His elastic trembled, almost like goosebumps. "Somethin' ain't right..."

Before anyone could react, the ground beneath them exploded in a blinding spray of snow and ice. A deafening roar echoed across the tundra as an enormous white abomination towered over them.

Patrick's eyes widened in horror. "It's a— it's a Yetee!"

The beast stood nearly twenty feet tall, its "body" composed of a giant, snowy-white t-shirt. The sleeves hung like arms, claw-like frays whipping around menacingly. The Yetee's neckline twisted into a gaping maw, threads snapping with every growl. Snow clung to its fabric, giving it the appearance of a yeti made of frostbitten cotton.

Patrick didn't wait for orders. "Time to fold you like the laundry you are!" he shouted, raising his ketchup blasters. Twin streams of red goo shot toward the monster, but the freezing wind turned the ketchup into icy popsicles mid-flight. The Yetee swatted them aside effortlessly, sending the frozen projectiles hurtling back toward Patrick. He dove to the side, barely avoiding being skewered.

Sonia activated her rocket skates to zoom around and flank the monster. But the uneven, snowy terrain tripped her up, sending her tumbling face-first into a drift. "Ugh, seriously?" she groaned, spitting out a mouthful of snow that tasted oddly of detergent. "Yuck!"

Lee stepped forward, spinning his yo-yo in wide arcs. He lassoed the Yetee around the torso with a flick of his wrist. "Gotcha!" he yelled triumphantly.

The Yetee roared, thrashing wildly. Ice formed along the yo-yo strings, snapping them clean in half. Lee stumbled back, wide-eyed, as the monster lunged toward him.

"Hang tight, kids!" Mr. White bellowed. He launched himself into the air with a heroic cry, wrapping his elastic frame around the Yetee's "face." "Get a load of this, ya overgrown hand-me-down!"

For a moment, it seemed like he had the upper hand. The Yetee staggered, clawing at Mr. White as the sentient underwear tightened his grip. But then, with a powerful tug, the Yetee tore Mr. White off its face and slammed him into the ground with brutal force. Snow exploded around him as he landed in a crumpled heap.

Mr. White groaned, trembling as he tried to rise. "Guess... I've been outta the game too long..." he muttered weakly.

The Yetee loomed over him, its neckline maw opening wide for the final strike.

"NO!" Kuki shouted. She darted forward, her GO! Sign scythe gleaming as she swung it with all her might. The blade sliced into the Yetee's torso, sending a spray of snowy fabric into the air.

The Yetee recoiled, roaring in pain, but instead of retreating, it turned its full attention to Kuki. Its once-lumbering movements grew faster and more frenzied as rage consumed it.

Kuki tightened her grip on her scythe, planting her feet firmly in the snow. "Bring it on," she whispered, her breath visible in the frigid air as the Yetee roared and lunged. She braced for the fight of her life, knees bent, heart pounding.

And then, like thunder rolling across the tundra, a voice echoed through the howling wind:

"Where Mooks goes…"

The sound froze the Yetee mid-charge, its gaping neckline maw snapping shut as it turned toward the source. Before anyone could react, the snow beneath the monster erupted. A massive figure burst forth, launching directly into the air like a cannonball.

"…EVIL SHALL STAND ASIDE!"

A devastating uppercut collided with the Yetee's "chin," sending it staggering backward. The sheer force of the punch created a shockwave, scattering snow in all directions. The figure landed in front of the monster, his boots crunching against the ice with a weight that made the kids gape.

He was enormous, more muscle than man. Despite the icy gale, his broad, hairy chest bulged proudly through the torn remains of an accountant's suit. His sleeves were ripped clean off, exposing arms as thick as tree trunks. Around his forehead, a red polka-dot tie was tied like a bandana, the tails fluttering in the wind.

Kuki's eyes widened. "Moosk!" she gasped.

The kids and Mr. White could only stare as Vin Moosk, former accountant turned legendary tie-hunter, flexed his fingers and grinned. His dark, bushy mustache twitched as his deep voice rumbled with amusement. "You dare to challenge me, Yetee? Nyetee! Ha, ha, HA!"

The monster growled, attempting to swipe at him with a claw-like sleeve, but Moosk dodged effortlessly, his movements almost too fast to follow. He retaliated with a flurry of punches, each landing with a resounding crack that made Patrick flinch.

Moosk struck with precision and ferocity, his fists a blur. "You think cold scares Vin Moosk? He drinks frost for breakfast! And dinner! And sometimes linner in the pinch!"

The Yetee tried to fight back, but Moosk grabbed one of its flailing sleeves, yanking the monster forward with a roar. "You call yourself abomination? I have wrestled diapers with more fight than this!"

He delivered a final, crushing blow to the Yetee's torso. The impact sent the monster skidding back, where it whimpered pitifully before turning tail and scrambling into the white abyss of the storm.

Moosk threw his head back and laughed heartily, hands on his hips. Snowflakes clung to his mustache, making it glisten like frost. He twirled the ends of it with flair, his voice booming: "Ties and t-shirts get the butt-kicking, da? Ha ha ha!"

For a moment, all was still. The blizzard howled around them, but the snow seemed lighter now, less biting, as if it, too, feared Moosk.

Kuki recovered first, her scythe clattering to the ground as she rushed forward. "Moosk!" she cried, throwing her arms out. "Hi, you!"

Moosk turned just in time to catch her in a massive bear hug, lifting her off the ground with ease. "Ah, Comrade 3!" he bellowed, spinning her around once before setting her back on her feet. "Little one, you grow so strong! Moosk is proud!"

Kuki beamed, looking up at him like he was her favorite uncle. "You haven't changed a bit, silly!"

Moosk slapped his chest with a grin. "Moosk never changes! Except maybe mustache—it gets more majestic every year, no?"

Behind them, Sonia, Lee, Patrick, and even Mr. White stood frozen, mouths agape. Lee finally whispered, "Okay, this is the weirdest person Sector V knows…"

Moosk shot them a wink. "Ha! Vin Moosk hears all, little yo-yo boy."

Kuki perched herself comfortably on Moosk's massive shoulder, grinning ear to ear as if she were a kid riding a carousel. She waved back at Sector W and Mr. White from her vantage point. "Everybody, meet Moosk! He's an old friend—literally! I've known him since, like, forever!"

Moosk puffed out his chest proudly, his mustache twitching with glee. "Da, Comrade 3 and I go the way back! Many adventures together, though little Soopreme Leader always the bigger hero!" He looked down at Sonia, Lee, and Patrick, his sharp eyes gleaming warmly. "And you! The infamous Sector W! Moosk has heard many tales about you!"

Lee blinked, confused. "Wait, us? Seriously?"

"Of course!" Moosk boomed, setting his hands on his hips and shifting Kuki to balance better on his shoulder. "The little ones who led final charge against Father himself? The stories do not do you justice!" He gestured toward them grandly. "Such strength, such bravery! When Moosk heard of your deeds, he knew: these are Kids Next Door worthy of legend! Film adaptation, even!"

Lee and Patrick exchanged wide-eyed glances, while Sonia scratched the back of her neck, trying to hide her embarrassed grin. "Oh, uh... thank you, sir. That's... really nice of you."

Moosk's expression sobered, and he placed a massive hand over his heart. "No, no. Moosk must apologize." His voice dropped, growing softer. "When Father made move, Moosk was not there to help. He was hunting terrible kid-eating Adacon-Tie in small village far away. Children there needed him, too."

Sector W exchanged humbled looks, the weight of his sincerity cutting through the lingering cold. Finally, Lee shrugged and waved it off. "S'cool," he said casually.

"Nyet, it is not 'cool,' little yo-yo boy," Moosk insisted, but his somber mood quickly lifted. His gaze shifted to Mr. White, narrowing in mock suspicion. "And you, assassin underwear! Have you come to claim the mighty bounty on Moosk's head? Lots of zeros last he checked."

Mr. White smirked, folding his elastic waistband smugly. "Temptin', but I'm happily retired. The sooner I get back to my condo in Florida, the better."

Moosk let out a booming laugh, clapping his hands together so loudly it echoed over the tundra. "HA! Then follow Moosk! He takes you to HIS condo—much better than Florida! Warm! Cozy! It even has free dryer sheets."

With that, Moosk led the way, trudging through the snow with heavy but surefooted strides, Kuki still riding on his shoulder. The group followed him closely, the biting wind less daunting with the mountain of a man cutting a path for them.

Eventually, they reached what looked like an abandoned laundromat. Its neon sign flickered faintly with the words "SPIN-ME-RIGHT-ROUND!" half-buried in ice. Moosk pushed open the frozen glass door with ease, gesturing grandly as they stepped inside.

The interior was shockingly warm and inviting. Old dryers and washers lined the walls, converted into makeshift storage cabinets and furniture. A roaring fire crackled in an oversized drum barrel in the center, casting golden light across the cozy space. Thick blankets made from patched-together scarves and ties were draped over every surface. A string of mismatched holiday lights blinked cheerfully along the ceiling.

Moosk grinned proudly. "Welcome to Moosk's humble abode! Not much, but it keeps the chilly out and the laughter in, da?"

Kuki clapped her hands together, her voice brimming with excitement. "It's perfect and homey! I loooooove what you've done with the place!"

Moosk fawned under the praise. "Ah…well, Moosk is tie-hunter first, but interior designer? Close second. Is good to have hobbies, no?"

The others stared in amazement, momentarily forgetting the icy blizzard outside as they stepped further into the warmth of the laundromat.

Sonia, Patrick, and Lee couldn't resist the childish urge to tinker with the machines. Lee began flicking switches on an old dryer, watching the drum spin as he tried to time his yo-yo toss perfectly to the rotation. Sonia laughed as she popped a washer door, pretending it was an escape pod. Patrick leaned against another machine, only for it to suddenly roar to life with a vibrating hum that sent him scrambling backward in a startled yelp.

Moosk chuckled warmly at their antics, his voice booming across the cozy laundromat. "Ah, to be young again. Play, little ones! These machines are relics but still have much joy to give!"

Meanwhile, Mr. White strolled past Moosk's "trophy" collection—a daunting array of defeated clothing beasts hung neatly from oversized hangers. There was a shredded blazer with patches of moth damage, a scarf with a frayed end that looked like it had teeth, and what could only be described as a quilt made entirely from socks with eyes.

He stopped short in front of the centerpiece: the frozen remains of a megalodon-sized pair of boxers, icicles hanging from its waistband like jagged teeth. Mr. White grimaced, muttering, "Now that's just wrong."

Moosk noticed and gave a hearty laugh. "Ah, the Megalo-Drawers! That beast was tough! Took three weeks, much courage, and two rolls of duct tape to subdue!"

As the kids explored, Moosk busied himself, setting up a modest table. He poured fresh, hot apple cider into mismatched mugs and set them on a patched-up tablecloth made from colorful handkerchiefs. Once everything was ready, he turned to Kuki, his expression growing serious. "Now, Comrade 3, what brings you all the way to Moosk's tundra? You did not even wait for him to return your messages. This makes Moosk worry."

Kuki waved a hand to calm him, her usual cheerful demeanor softening into something more thoughtful. She sat cross-legged on one of the chairs, her pink rainbow monkey coat puffing up like a cloud. "Don't worry. Everything's okie-dookie. But… I do have a favor to ask you. A huge one. Probably the biggest favor any kid could ever ask."

Moosk's mustache twitched, and he nodded solemnly, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. "For Comrade 3, Moosk will do anything. Except maybe wear the tie. What is this favor?"

Kuki reached into her coat, drawing everyone's attention. The kids paused their antics, and even Mr. White stopped inspecting the trophies. From her pocket, she pulled out a worn but beautifully bound book. The cover gleamed faintly in the firelight, its embossed emblem of the KND unmistakable.

Gasps filled the room, even from Moosk, as Kuki held the book reverently.

Mr. White frowned. "Wait a minute. We came all this way to return some overdue library book or somethin'?"

Kuki giggled softly. "Not exactly." She cradled the book as if it were a living thing. "This isn't just any book. This is the new Book of KND."

"The new one?" Sonia whispered, stepping closer to get a better look.

Kuki nodded. "After Father destroyed the original, Numbuh Eleventy Billion decided to make another for us. It's not finished yet, but it's already full of everything we've been working so hard to rebuild—all our plans, rules, and stories—everything kids need to keep fighting adult tyranny."

She placed the book on the table, sliding it toward Moosk. "We can't risk losing it again. That's why we made this." She reached into her pocket again and pulled out a small, sleek device resembling a bookmark with glowing blue edges.

---

Kids Next Door: B.O.O.K.M.A.R.K.

Biometric. Organizing. Oracle. Kinetically. Manages. Archive. Realtime. Kooly.

---

"Numbuh 2 invented it with some help from… some friends from 'Canada.' It'll transcribe everything we write back in Global Command into the book, no matter where it is."

Moosk stared at the book and the device, his expression unreadable.

"I know it's a lot to ask," Kuki said softly, her usual bubbly energy fading into something far more earnest. "But you were the first adult Numbuh 1 ever trusted outside his parents. If Nigel had faith in you, I know I can, too." She reached out, resting a hand on his arm. "Moosk, will you protect the Book of KND when… when I can't anymore?"

The room fell silent, everyone watching Moosk as he gently picked up the book. His massive hands dwarfed it, yet he held it as delicately as if made of glass.

Moosk's eyes softened as he gazed down at the book in his hands, running a thick finger gently along its cover. "Comrade 1…" he whispered, his deep voice heavy with emotion as memories of Nigel Uno flashed through his mind. The boy had changed Moosk's life, shown him there was honor even in the simplest of hearts, and now here was another child entrusting him with something just as monumental.

The room held its breath as Moosk straightened, his shoulders squaring and chest puffing with pride. He planted one heavy boot on the table's edge, lifting the book high with one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other.

"Then it is decided!" he proclaimed. "I, Vin Moosk, swear upon my honor, my name, and the sacred ties of this world—I shall protect this book until my very last breath! As long as Moosk lives, the world's children will have a place to tell their stories! And Moosk…" He paused, his voice lowering with solemnity. "Moosk will listen. Listen for the children who cannot be heard. Speak for the little ones who cannot speak for themselves! Moosk even knows the sign language."

His tone shifted suddenly, warm and heartfelt, as he directed his gaze back to Kuki. "Wherever Moosk goes, hope shall follow not far behind. Moosk shall even retire from hunting ties to dedicate his life to this noble purpose!" He paused, a sly grin forming beneath his twirling mustache. "Well… except for weekends. Slaying vile capitalist ties is too much of the fun!"

Kuki couldn't help it—the tears spilled over as she let out a teary laugh. She ran up and hugged Moosk tightly, her small frame enveloped in his powerful arms. "Thank you, Moosk," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Thank you so much…"

Moosk returned the embrace gently, his voice dropping to a soft rumble. "No, Comrade 3, thank you for trusting Moosk with such a glorious purpose. He…I shall not disappoint."

Touched by the moment, Mr. White stepped forward, clearing his throat. "You know, big guy, if you ever can't handle it, you can pass the paperweight to me. I may be retired, but I can still do my part to keep it safe. Least I can do."

Moosk cocked an eyebrow, smirking as he looked the sentient underwear up and down. "Ha! Moosk did not think a vile assassin would care about such things!"

Mr. White crossed his arms—or rather, his waistband. "Retired assassin," he corrected with a smirk. "And hey, put a passage in that fancy book that tells kids to fold their underwear, and you got my services locked down for the rest of my shelf life."

Moosk let out a roaring laugh, clapping Mr. White on the back—gently, for once. "Then it is a deal! Moosk shall pass the book to you, should the day come. But do not be holding your elastic for too long! Moosk is like the mighty wool socks: tough, durable," he flexed his massive muscles, "and built to last!"

Nearby, Sonia and Lee exchanged smiles, the warm scene melting away the cold tension that had followed them through the tundra. Sonia nudged Patrick, catching his attention. "Hey," she teased, "you sure you're okay trusting an adult with something this important?"

Patrick watched Kuki and Moosk, a rare smile spreading across his face. "Yeah," he said, his voice quiet but sure. "If Numbuh 1 and Numbuh 3 trust him, I do too. Besides… we fight evil adults all the time. It's nice to be reminded that not all of them are jerks."

Moosk clapped his hands together, his mustache twitching with excitement. "Now then, comrades! How about Moosk share famous dessert? Ah, yes—Syrniki! Little golden cheese pancakes with sour cream and jam! Perfect to warm the spirit after snowy adventure!"

The kids cheered, and Sonia and Lee practically bounced at the idea. Even Mr. White muttered something about giving it a try. Kuki, however, shook her head, glancing down at her watch. The cheers faded slightly as her smile softened, then lessened altogether.

She was going to miss this...

...only three more days.

Before the mood could dim, Kuki's ears perked at a faint, familiar sound—a skittering noise that made her heart leap. Her eyes lit up, and she hurried to the corner of the room, where a thick curtain was draped. Pulling it aside, she gasped in awe, her excitement bubbling over.

"It's a hamster!" she squealed, trembling with joy as she clutched her cheeks.

Behind the curtain was a large hamster enclosure crafted with care. The shredded remains of fallen ties served as bedding, scattered around the edges of the enclosure like soft confetti. In the center, an adorably plump chestnut-furred hamster sat obsessively cleaning itself with its tiny paws.

"Oh my gosh, Moosk, tell me ALL about this cutie!" Kuki pleaded, her excitement practically contagious as the rest of Sector W crowded around to get a look.

Moosk blinked in surprise before letting out a booming laugh. "Ah, Comrade 3, you have good eye! Meet little Bonnie, the mighty hamster warrior princess!"

Sonia reached out cautiously, her fingers brushing the edge of the enclosure as she cooed, "Hey there, little Bonnie…"

But the hamster startled, letting out a nervous squeak and darting behind a toilet paper roll, its tiny nose poking out just enough to watch the newcomers warily.

Moosk frowned, holding up a hand for patience. "Apologies, comrades. Little Bonnie is still shy. She is not even one year old, and she… well, she and Moosk mourn her mother. Stolen from us not long after she was born."

The kids' curiosity turned somber, their hearts aching for the tiny creature. Sensing their mood, Moosk softened, a nostalgic lilt entering his voice as he settled into a nearby chair. "It was over three years ago," he began, his accent thick and dramatic, "on a dark and stormy night in the French Alps…"

He launched into his tale, spinning a vividly exaggerated account of a hunt for a ferocious breed of tie. He described the beast with relish, claiming it had "fangs like icicles and stripes sharp enough to cut steel!"

As the children leaned in, hanging on his every word, he detailed his pursuit through the treacherous snow, only for the creature to elude him in the blinding storm.

"But!" Moosk declared, raising a finger triumphantly, "Fate, she is tricky mistress! For in my frustration, I stumble upon small lump in snow—a hamster, frozen like cherry popsicle!"

He mimed scooping up the tiny creature, his voice softening. "The poor thing clung to life, trembling in tiny paws. Moosk knew then—hunt could wait. Saving this little one became mission most important."

He went on to describe how he brought the hamster home, nursing her back to health with warmth and care.

"But…" Moosk sighed, stroking his chin, "when she awoke, it was clear. The little one, she had amnesia."

Kuki gasped, deducing with an expert's confidence, "It must've been frostbite! Or lingering damage from a severe brain freeze coma!"

Moosk nodded gravely. "Da, Comrade 3, you are likely correct. With no memory of her life, Moosk allowed her to make new one with him!"

His tone brightened as he recounted the adventures he and the hamster shared, battling evil side by side.

"She was Moosk's greatest ally! But alas, age comes too quickly for all…" His voice softened, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "Her last gift to Moosk was miracle of little Bonnie. Ha!" He laughed heartily. "That is what Moosk gets for leaving old partner house keys while off hunting ties for Labor Day!"

The kids laughed along with him, their earlier sadness mingling with admiration as they returned to the enclosure.

Sonia tilted her head curiously, watching the nervous little hamster fidget in the bedding. "What was Bonnie's mother's name?"

Moosk scratched the back of his neck, his thick brows furrowing in thought. "Ah, for longest time, Moosk called her his little Boo. Over the years, Moosk learned some hamster language tried to ask her proper name, but it always eluded her. She… did not remember." His gaze grew distant, his voice softening. "In her final days, though, it seemed… memory returned to her in pieces, like the puzzle. My brave partner, she was no stray. She was a beloved pet, tragically torn from her human child. And with her last breath, she was able to recall her true name… Bon-Bon."

Kuki, mid-bite of the golden, syrup-drenched syrniki Moosk had made, choked in shock. She coughed, pounding her chest as her eyes widened.

Unaware of her reaction, Sector W murmured among themselves. "Bon-Bon," Sonia repeated softly. "That's a nice name."

Moosk nodded, his mustache twitching as a wistful smile played on his lips. "Da, is beautiful name. That is why Moosk named little one Bonnie. She deserves to carry her mother's light." His eyes shifted to the anxious hamster, who peeked cautiously from behind her toilet paper roll shelter. He sighed, the weight of his emotions momentarily grounding him. "But sometimes, Moosk wonders… the life he leads may be too much for her. And Moosk…" His voice faltered. "Moosk mourns not being able to let Bon-Bon's human child know she lived a full and happy life."

Before he could continue, Kuki suddenly sprang to her feet and crawled into the hamster enclosure. The kids watched in wide-eyed confusion as she crouched low and began chittering, her voice mimicking the soft squeaks of a hamster.

Mr. White blinked, his mouth falling open. "What the heck has gotten into her now?"

Patrick shrugged as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "She's just talking to it."

"Talking to it?!" Mr. White exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "She can talk to animals?!"

Sonia gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah? Can't you?"

He grumbled, "Must've skipped class that day…"

Ignoring the banter, Kuki continued her gentle chittering, her gloved hands outstretched to Bonnie. The little hamster hesitated, her whiskers twitching as she studied Kuki carefully. Slowly, she inched closer, drawn in by the soothing cadence of the girl's voice.

Then, with a determined smile, Kuki reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small scrapbook. She flipped through the pages rapidly, stopping at a photo of Numbuh 362.

Carefully, she slid the photo into the enclosure, holding it up for Bonnie to see.

The tiny hamster sniffed at the photo, her whiskers quivering. Then, as if something clicked, she squeaked excitedly, bounding forward into Kuki's outstretched hands. She jumped up and down in her palms, her energy vibrating through her tiny frame.

"I knew it!" Kuki exclaimed, spinning on her toes with a triumphant grin.

The rest of Sector W exchanged confused looks. "Uh, knew what, sir?" Patrick asked, his brow raised.

Kuki ignored them, turning to Moosk with a determined expression. "Moosk, I have one more favor to ask. I know it's a lot, but…" She glanced down at Bonnie, who chirped in excitement. "Can I take her with me? I think I know the perfect home for her."

Moosk studied her for a moment, then looked at Bonnie. Seeing the little hamster's excitement—the first real spark of life in months—he chuckled warmly. "Of course, Comrade 3. Bonnie deserves to find happiness. Moosk cannot think of better hands to leave her in." He extended a finger, and Bonnie nibbled on it lovingly. "Send postcards, little one. Moosk will not cry…HE WILL NOT CRY."

Kuki beamed, gently cradling Bonnie as the kids clamored with more questions. "Where are we taking the hamster?" Sonia asked, still baffled.

"Over the river and through the woods," Kuki sang merrily, her eyes sparkling as she held up the photo of Rachel. "To her Gran-Gran's house, we go!"

---

I trekked on and on

Living a world of influence

---

three days later

Little Bonnie scurried, making one last fussy inspection of her new enclosure before deciding, eh, this was good enough for now. The neurotic hamster curled into a defensive puff ball, keeping one beady eye vigil on her new surroundings.

Rachel released a breath she'd been holding, a tuft of hair blowing past her eye. She'd forgotten how picky hamsters were with their décor after relocation. But thankfully, Bonnie was all adjusted…after squeakily complaining about where to put her hamster wheel for the past two and a half hours.

Satisfied Bonnie was finally resting with one eye open (literally—she had never seen such a paranoid critter), Rachel let herself fall back and sink into her bed. Her eyes trailed over the faded and halfway-peeled star stickers on her ceiling before turning to her side. She unconsciously coiled into her comforter (Doctor Time Space themed, naturally) and gripped it like a security blanket as she quietly studied the layout of her room.

It had been an emotion-laden week and a half—in a good way, but no less draining. Between her parent's tears, their helicoptering, and their indecision to put her on house arrest for life or just be over the moon, she was home safe ("for til college" is what was being deliberated on right now). Her room had been a sanctuary. It was an interesting change of pace, considering she couldn't recall spending more than ten minutes here after she turned eight. The Moonbase had always been her de facto home. Now, being home?

It was different—a nice kind of different—the rare moments she was kind to herself. Hopefully, with time, those moments will be less scarce.

From her side-laying vantage point, she caught a glimpse of a crumpled ball of paper poking out behind her dresser. Rachel rolled out of bed, landing softly on her knees as she stretched to pick up the last bit of litter she missed. After she curled the paper, her curiosity melted a wistful gaze.

It was an old photo of her, Numbuh Sixty, and Numbuh Eighty-Six on the eve of the latter's official first day as Global Tactical Officer. Rachel memorized the soda-staches fizzing on their lips, Fanny barely holding back tears of pride, and Patton allowing himself one of his rare relaxed smiles. Fond memories swirled at how happy Fanny was to be in a picture with her friend and how Patton subtly leaned toward the smaller Rachel, putting up a professional front while leaving himself open in ways only she could see.

The memories evaporated as she closed her eyes, fingers gently folding the photo while moving toward the waste bin. Numbuh Sixty and Numbuh Eight-Six—her Moonbase Trio was gone. She had pushed them away and now had to accept their loss. They made the mature decision to move on with their lives, so she had to honor them and do the same. With the two opting to remain decommissioned, their paths were never likely to cross again.

Before she could drop the photo, something in her chest gave her pause. A tiny, teasing voice dared her, and she opened the photo again. Her eyes lingered one more time on Fanny and Patton before looking into the eyes of her younger self.

Photo Rachel's childish eyes gleamed with a teasing challenge.

Real Rachel's lips tugged into a ghost of a smile as she turned to her desk, tucking the photo into an empty frame.

Kids never did like saying 'never,' after all.

There was a hesitant ruffle coming from behind her door.

Rachel chuckled. "You don't have to eavesdrop, Harvey."

The door opened, and in strolled a frowning and flustered Harvey. "Wasn't eavesdropping. I was tactically listening. Y'know, for the perfect moment to come in."

Rachel crossed her arms, leaning against her study desk with a bemused, quirked brow. "Ah, I see. Enlighten me, is there a difference?"

"There is!"

Rachel smirked, waiting.

"I just haven't thought of it yet," Harvey muttered, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pouch. He dug his heel into the carpet, eyes drawn to the knapsack at the foot of his sister's bed. "Guess you're all packed, huh?"

Rachel's smirk dimmed, following her brother's gaze. "Looks like it," she sighed.

Silence settled between the McKenzie siblings; them looking anywhere but at each other. Like a good 'ol Candy Pirate Stand-off, waiting to see who would throw the first gumball.

Bonnie gazed at them and made an annoyed squeak.

Harvey obnoxiously huffed as he plopped on Rachel's bed, angrily pouting at the floor. "Don't see why you hafta go."

Rachel shook her head as she sat a comfortable few inches away from him, just enough for her presence to coax him without the physicality he dreaded. "It's something I have to do, Harvey. There's a lot I need to answer for."

"But you saved the world," he protested. "Isn't that, like, the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card or something?"

"Not when you're the reason the world needed saving in the first place," Rachel sighed. "There's still the people I've betrayed. The lives I ruined. All the innocents that got hurt because of me. Sometimes we gotta suck it up and swallow the yucky cough syrup."

Harvey grimaced. "Even if it's grape-flavored?"

Rachel's face mirrored his. "Especially when it's grape-flavored."

"Gross," he gagged. The moment passed, and he roughly swiped at his eyes. "It's…it's just not fair."

Rachel smiled sadly. "It's not about what's fair; it's about doing the right thing."

"But it's barely been two weeks," he said, voice strained as his eyes watered. "Stupid Infinity didn't give you enough time!"

"He gave me plenty. Said I could turn myself in whenever I was ready. And I've decided I am." Rachel's resolve hardened as she inhaled a steadying breath. "I…I need to do this, Harvey. I won't be able to move on until it's done. For good."

Rachel gasped as she was knocked off-balance, Harvey trembling as he nestled and hugged into her mid-section. He sniffled and felt moisture against her shirt.

"Y-You're leaving me again," he sniffled. "I just got you back."

Rachel blinked away her tears as she cradled him, burying her nose in his hair and rubbing soothing circles.

"And you'll get me back again, you'll see," she affirmed, though her voice wobbled. She leaned back, fighting through her grief with a confident grin. "This isn't forever. This isn't goodbye. Infinity gave me his word."

Harvey snorted.

"And if you don't trust him, trust me," she consoled. "No matter where I am, no matter where I finally decide where home truly is, I will never leave you behind. I'll always come back to you. Promise."

He scooted away, a shroud of hesitance raining down on him. After a moment, he shakily extended his hand in an age-old gesture. "Pinky promise? Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Stick a needle in my eye," Rachel laughed, her pinky securing his in a warm, iron grip. Mirth twinkled in her eyes as she pulled back. "Look at you, I think this is a new record!"

"Ugh. Don't remind me. It still feels all super weird," he grumbled. He winced, then looked apologetic. "Uh, no offense."

"None taken."

With a hop, Harvey fled her bed, running to her knapsack. Rachel watched, touched as he went to his knees, pulling bags of chewy pellets from his pockets and stuffing them in her side compartments. She rose, walking over as he brought over and held up her luggage. She slung the strap over her shoulder, securing it to her jacket with a clip chain.

Harvey nodded, content she had proper fuel for the journey. Who knows what kind of weird candy they had in space? He looked to the open window and frowned up at the night sky. "I'll try and throw Mom and Dad off, but it's gonna be hard. They set up new home security cameras everywhere. I don't know if I got enough duct tape for 'em all…"

"Former 'Best Spy,' remember?" Rachel winked. "Besides, Numbuh 9's sending Numbuh Double-Take to cover for me. She was my under-study back in covert ops, so I'm confident she can handle fooling our parents for a while."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "Great, having to live with a complete and total stranger cosplaying as my sister. Just how I wanted to spend my summer vacation."

"It's only until we know how long I'm going to be…gone," Rachel finished carefully. Before worry could take him, she whispered, "Also, she's lactose intolerant. So, someone's gonna have to 'dispose' of all the extra cheesecake Mom's been buying me lately."

Harvey was unconsciously licking his lips as his tummy grumbled in excitement. However, upon seeing Rachel make one last round of her room, reality pressed down like an itchy sweater from Aunt Carol. "I'm still gonna miss you. It's…gonna be lonely again."

Rachel stopped, finding herself at Bonnie's enclosure. She stared at the hamster, an idea invoking a tiny smile.

Harvey watched as Rachel on a glove. She lowered her hand into the cage, coaxing Bonnie into her hand with a hamster-y chitter. He figured she was prepping some suped-up hamster ball to take her new pet with her, so he was mildly shocked when she brought Bonnie to him.

"I was gonna let Numbuh Double-Take watch after her," Rachel softly said as she cupped the hamster. "But…I think I'd rest easier knowing she was with family."

Harvey and Bonnie grimly looked at one another. Harvey tugged his collar. Hamsters were never really his thing (think of all the touching involved. Barf!) But at the earnest, hopeful gaze in Rachel's puppy dog eyes, he puffed his chest, reaching a finger out gingerly. Bonnie mimicked him, slowly extending her neck and her whiskers wiggling as she took cautious sniffs.

Harvey's finger gently connected with Bonnie's wet little nose.

Both their eyes widened.

Rachel's did, too.

There was a pause…

...until Harvey and Bonnie both flinched away. Bonnie licked and furiously brushed her paws over her nose, and Harvey pumped excessive amounts of his emergency sanitizer into his palms.

Rachel blinked, then nearly doubled over giggling. "Looks like you have more in common than you realize."

At that, the boy and hamster froze, looking at each other in a new light. A flicker of fascination crossed Harvey's face. Bonnie picked up on it, spinning excitedly in Rachel's hand as she stood on her hind legs and grabbed her paws at Harvey.

Encouraged, Harvey held out his arm and nodded. Bonnie leaped from Rachel's hand to Harvey's elbow, scampering up his arm until she reached the shoulder summit. The fuzzy ball of chocolate fluff nuzzled into his sweater, settling in the crook of his neck. To Harvey's amazement, the content didn't repulse him. In fact…it felt rather nice.

"The best hamsters chose their kids," Rachel said. Her heart warmed at the sight. "Looks like you have a new friend to keep you busy."

"Cool," Harvey awed. Come to think of it, he had always wanted a pet! Sure, he was thinking of something like an iguana or something, but hey, a hamster was fine, too. Rachel's words caught up with him, and despite Bonnie's nuzzles, he could hold in his bitter laugh. "Ha, friend. The only one I got…"

Rachel frowned. "What about sector W? Numbuh 3's letting you stay recommissioned, right? You should talk to them."

Harvey's bangs hooded his eyes as he darkly glared at the floor. "I was a jerk."

"But you're not anymore. You've grown up a lot, Harvey—more than I did when I was your age. You're not the same kid anymore. You're trying to change for the better."

"Does it matter," he mumbled, rubbing his hands together nervously. Bonnie offered comforting squeaks, but a smile never reached his eyes. "After everything that's happened…they probably don't wanna see me anymore. Why would they? No matter how much I—" he stopped himself, looking away, ashamed. "It would never work out."

Rachel was quiet, looking up at the photo on her desk—the one of younger her, Fanny, and Patton—her Moonbase Trio.

They would never be that same trio again.

But maybe, a small voice cooed inside. One day, when she was ready, they could be something new.

Recalling Harvey's dilemma, a mischievous smirk lit up Rachel's face. "Kids Next Door never say never, Numbuh 363."

Harvey looked startled. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Harvey," his Mom's voice rang through the house. "Your friends are here!"

"Huh?" Harvey looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as he stuttered at the door. He spun around to accuse his sister. "What did you—"

Rachel was already gone.

Former Best Spy, remember?

Harvey's heart seized with panic, mind running rampant with all the terrible possibilities. All the horrible ways this stunt Rachel pulled would blow up in his face. Like a Cat-Eye edition MARBLE with an extra spicy mustard payload!

In a flash, he zipped to his sister's bed, bundling himself in a safety blanket cocoon to hide away from the world for all eternity. Or at least until his Mom stopped calling for him.

"Harvey McKenzie," his mom called again, gently warning lacing her tone, "Don't be rude."

"I-I can't," he wheezed to himself, breath shortening as his pupils shrunk. "T-They…they're gonna hate me…"

Bonnie looked up at her new child, anxiety spewing out of him like root beer from a shaken soda bottle. She looked between him and the doorway. Mind and heart made up, she puffed her cheeks and did the only thing a hamster could do in this kind of situation:

Bonnie lightly nipped his cheek and scrambled away.

"HEY!" Harvey yelped. The love nibble caught him off guard. He looked down, scandalized, as Bonne blew him a raspberry before taking off for the door. Harvey growled, chasing off after her. "Get back here! That's an order!"

Bonnie bounded out of Rachel's room and out the hallway corner, prancing as if to tease, "Catch me if you can, slowpoke." Harvey was hot on her tail, skidding and stomping at the floor like a cartoon cat hunting down a trickster mouse.

"Got you!" Harvey cackled as he grabbed Bonnie right as she reached the stairs. He held her aloft, and her smug expression only flustered him more. "What's the big idea? I thought we were bonding!"

"…Harvey?"

Oh. Crud.

He can't believe he fell for that.

Harvey's grip around Bonnie loosened as he lowered his hands and looked to the base of the stairwell. Bonnie took position on his shoulder again, but she was small beans compared to the kids staring back up at him.

Patrick stood to the side, nervously scratching his head. Occasionally, he eyed up at Harvey and gave an awkward wave. Beside him was Lee, his expression calm as he twirled around his yo-yo. But Harvey knew better. Lee was busying himself with a classic Split the Atom trick. Lee only did that trick when he wasn't quite sure what to say next.

But in front of them both, looking significantly more confident and assured, was Sonia. She folded her hands together, smiling a soft, earnest smile as she stood on the tiptoes of her sneakers.

"Hey, Harvey," Sonia greeted.

Harvey gulped. Bonnie rolled her eyes, using her hind leg to nudge his cheek. That snapped him from his stupor, and he said, "H-Hey, Sonia. What, um, what are you guys doing here?"

"Well, a little birdie told us you were recommissioned. They also told us what you did," she said. "That…that was very brave of you."

"Oh. Um, thanks," he said back. Great, now his palms were getting all sweaty. "You, uh, didn't need to come all the way to say that. A card woulda saved us time."

Harvey flinched, the crassness a defense mechanism he wished he didn't have right now. Stupid! He was stupid, stupid, stupid—

"And make us lick the icky part of the envelope?" Sonia shot back with a coy smirk. "Must be pretty high on your sugar supply to think you're worth that and the postage, huh?"

Harvey blinked. The vice around his heart eased as a small laugh escaped. "Yeah. That's fair."

Sonia continued to smile. "But we didn't come here for that. We came to invite you to a party."

"Invite…me."

Sonia nodded. "Your Mom said it was okay."

There were so many questions. The biggest one was why anyone would want to invite him to a party. Somehow, he asked instead, "A party where?"

"Nowhere too fancy," Sonia said, eyeing the wall as she rocked her heels. "Just Kids Next Door Moonbase Zero-point-One."

Harvey looked guilty. He looked torn. "But…non-Kids Next Door operatives aren't allowed on the Moonbase."

Sonia covered her mouth, some juicy little secret dancing in her eyes. "Oh, I don't know…Numbuh 85 might be able to pull some strings. Isn't that right, sir?"

"Yeah," Patrick nodded. His smile grew more sincere. "I am the new Global Tactical Officier now, after all."

Harvey gasped. "No way! You?"

Lee smirked and simply confirmed, "Yep."

Still, Harvey hesitated, fists clenching and unclenching. "I…I don't know. Sounds like a pity invitation. No one wants me there."

"We do," Sonia argued. She took a purposeful step up one stair. "I do."

To no one's surprise, Harvey forgot how to use his words.

"I know a lot's happened. A lot has changed. Change can be scary…but it doesn't have to be. Not if we talk about it. And maybe we can talk about it. On the ride over. We can take the long way around," she said. Then, slowly and surely, Sonia raised her hand to reach out. "If…if you want to."

Harvey's emotions surged and bubbled inside him like bile, threatening to vomit out with each passing moment. Bonnie nuzzled his cheek, grounding him. He looked down again, Patrick grinning with both hands behind his back and Lee easing into a relaxed Around the World, encouraging.

And there was Sonia, reaching out with her hand.

Harvey took a wobbly step down as he reached back.

---

For what feels like eternity

I let their every word control me

---

Rachel trudged through the empty streets, her sneakers scuffing against the pavement as she clutched a small bag under her arm. The faint glow of streetlights painted the deserted neighborhood in shades of gold and gray, but the brisk evening wind carried an eerie quiet. She paused at the gate of a nearby playground, pushing it open with a metallic creak that echoed far too loudly for her liking. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring the coast was clear before entering.

Her eyes scanned the area: empty swings swayed faintly in the breeze, a solitary slide gleamed under the moonlight, and the distant hum of passing cars felt miles away. Satisfied that she was alone, Rachel huffed out a breath and dropped her bag on the ground.

"This better be worth it," she muttered to no one, crouching down to unzip the bag.

Inside, nestled amidst her usual gear, was the most absurd outfit she had ever seen. She pulled it out gingerly—a cow-print onesie complete with floppy ears, a tail, and even a set of plush udders dangling from the front.

Rachel held it up at arm's length, staring at it with dread and disbelief. "This is so stupid."

Still, orders were orders.

She stepped behind a nearby jungle gym, re-emerging in full cow regalia a moment later. The tail swished as she adjusted the hood over her head, tucking her blonde hair inside. She glanced down at the udders and groaned.

With a deep breath, she tapped the wrist communicator strapped over the fabric and muttered, barely above a whisper, "Moo."

Nothing happened.

Rachel frowned, glancing at the communicator's blinking lights. "Moo," she tried again, a bit louder this time.

The silence stretched on.

Grinding her teeth, Rachel rolled her eyes and clenched her fists. "Fine, you wanna play this game?!" She cupped her hands around her mouth, took a deep breath, and bellowed:

"MOOOOO!"

The sky above her shimmered as if the universe had been waiting for maximum humiliation. A beam of light shot down, illuminating the playground as a sleek, disc-shaped craft appeared overhead with a faint hum. The tractor beam latched onto her, pulling her upward with all the grace of a claw machine toy being yanked from the back prize bin.

Rachel deadpanned into the light. "I hate this so much."

The beam pulled her into the ship, the door snapping shut behind her. The UFO zipped into the stratosphere a moment later, leaving the playground silent again.

Harsh, fluorescent lights bore down on Rachel inside the ship as she squinted and shielded her eyes. The smell of metallic polish and something vaguely sweet lingered in the air.

"Welcome aboard," came a neutral voice.

Rachel blinked, her vision adjusting to reveal a makeshift office. The decor looked as if it had been cobbled together from every alien-themed kid stereotype in existence: a desk made of silvery, extraterrestrial wood was cluttered with items like a squishy green stress ball shaped like a planet, a stack of neatly organized papers, and a framed photo of an alien kid hugging a human child.

The walls were plastered with what looked like official posters, one of which read, "WE DON'T TALK ABOUT PROBING."

Behind the desk sat Numbuh Infinity. He was intently focused on a Rubik's cube, the multicolored sides only half-completed. Without looking up, he gestured toward a chair in front of him.

Rachel stomped over and plopped into the chair, her udders bouncing against the desk as she leaned forward. "So, the cow thing. Was that necessary?"

Infinity finally looked up, his expression one of absolute seriousness. "Protocol 78-B of the Galactic Kidnapping Directive dictates that all abductions be conducted in accordance with planetary cultural norms."

Rachel's eyebrow twitched. "Planetary cultural norms?"

"It's the rule. Earthlings expect cows to be abducted by aliens, therefore…" He gestured vaguely at her outfit.

"You're joking."

"I've no sense of humor that I'm aware of."

Rachel groaned, slumping in her chair. "Can I take it off now?"

"No." Infinity casually tossed the Rubik's cube off the desk without breaking eye contact, a metallic clunk followed by a faint crash reverberating through the room. He folded his hands, his expression deadpan. "Now," he said, leaning forward, "let's get straight to it."

Rachel shifted uncomfortably in the chair, the plush tail of the onesie draping awkwardly over the backrest. Numbuh Infinity flipped through a sleek, transparent tablet on his desk, the display casting a faint glow over his sharp features.

"Let's start with the basics, shall we?" His voice was measured, almost bored, as if he'd done this sort of thing a thousand times. "You joined the Kids Next Door at the ripe age of six, recruited personally by Numbuh 100. Quite the feat, considering he didn't make a habit of handing out commendations." He scrolled further. "Moonbase Covert Sleuth Operations—two years running as Best Field Spy. And, of course, your tenure as Supreme Leader."

Rachel straightened slightly in her seat, her cow-onesie udders swaying with the motion. "Well, I mean—"

"You made history," Infinity continued, cutting her off. "First operative to ever willingly hold the title from the get-go. Oversaw over eight hundred four successful missions, revolutionized candy resource allocation, and managed to keep the Moonbase cafeteria from serving burnt mac and cheese for an entire year. Truly legendary." He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. "And, of course, your leadership during the Grandfather incident. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were on the fast track to becoming a galactic operative yourself."

Rachel swallowed, already bracing for the turn.

"And then…" Infinity sighed dramatically, setting the tablet down. His posture shifted, and his piercing gaze locked onto Rachel like a tractor beam. "Let's talk about your recent… contributions, shall we?"

Her stomach tightened.

"First, there's the little matter of you blackmailing a galactic-level operative." Infinity leaned forward, his tone hardening. "Do you know how many protocols that violates? I do because I've had to read all eighty-seven of them twice to file the incident report. Let's not forget you didn't just blackmail him, no—you harassed him." He emphasized the word as if it were the gravest sin in the universe.

Rachel's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Poor Numbuh 74.239." Infinity's voice took on a faintly bitter edge, though he covered it quickly with a veneer of professionalism. "My best frie—a loyal operative who was already juggling gihugic responsibilities, Earth-based undercover work, and the occasional existential crisis about aging, and you—" He gestured broadly at her. "—decided to shake him down for classified intel."

"It wasn't—"

"Classified. Intelligence." Infinity repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable. "Do you even know what kind of clearance level you need for that information? I'll tell you—it's Level Uber Cumulonimbus. And do you know who has Level Uber Cumulonimbus clearance?" He slammed a finger down on the tablet. "Not you."

Rachel tried to shrink into the folds of her cow suit, but Infinity's withering glare? No escaping that.

"But wait, the plot thickens." Infinity stood now, pacing behind his desk. "After obtaining this highly classified intelligence—under Nubmuh 74.239's duress, I might add—you brokered deals with shady sugar czars, rogue Teenz remnants, and finally settled on Father.Father, Rachel. The single most dangerous adult on the planet. Probably the entire galaxy, the more I learn about this Boogeyman stuff."

Rachel blinked. "Boogeyman?"

"Did I say you could ask questions?" Infinity scolded. "Where was I? Oh, yeah. Father. The guy who turned our non-combatant hospital into a barbecue pit. Him." He threw his hands up. "Why not just hand him a doomsday laser while you're at it?"

Rachel's hands clenched in her lap, but she bit back a retort.

"And speaking of doomsday—shall we discuss how your actions almost got the entire planet destroyed? Because I have charts." He gestured vaguely to the wall behind him, where an animated hologram of Earth flickered to life, complete with exaggerated PEW PEW sound effects as a laser beam obliterated the planet.

"That wasn't—" Rachel started, but Infinity cut her off with a raised hand.

"Evidence doesn't lie," he said sharply. "Satellite feeds—intercepted transmissions. And let's not forget the fact that you harassed and blackmailed Numbuh 74.239. Did I mention that part?"

"Yes! Several times!" Rachel snapped, her frustration boiling over.

"Good," Infinity shot back without missing a beat. "Because I really want to make sure we're clear on how monumentally idiotic that decision was." He sat down heavily, folding his hands on the desk. "Let's review: blackmail. Father. Planetary destruction. Blackmail. Oh, and you almost got Numbuh 1, our best operative and his team, vaporized in the process. Bravo, Rachel. Truly stellar work."

Rachel's jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her eyes fixed on the desk as Infinity's words hung in the air.

Infinity's gaze lingered on her, his tone softening slightly though his frustration was still palpable. "You're better than this," he said finally. "You were supposed to be, anyway."

Rachel's fists tightened in her lap, her knuckles pale against the dark fabric of the onesie. She could feel Infinity's gaze, sharp and unyielding, but it was nothing compared to the weight of her self-condemnation.

"You're right," she said harshly, her voice cracking under the strain. "I am better than this." She looked down at her hands, her voice growing quieter but no less intense. "I blackmailed Dave because I thought it was the only way to get the truth. I hurt people who trusted me. People who deserved better. And for what? To prove something? To try and fix something I barely even understood?" Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to continue. "All I did was make everything worse."

Infinity didn't say anything; his silence was a judgment and an invitation.

Rachel's shoulders sagged, her bravado peeling away to reveal the raw, bruised guilt underneath. "I don't know how to make it right. I don't even know if I can make it right." She finally looked up at him, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "But that's why I'm here. I can't fix it on my own. So, whatever you've planned—whatever this sentencing is—I'll face it."

Infinity's expression softened, almost imperceptibly, but Rachel caught it. His fingers tapped idly against the desk as he leaned back, studying her like an intricate puzzle.

"Well," he said after a moment, his tone losing its earlier edge, "that's a step in the right direction. One I wasn't entirely expecting, to be honest."

Rachel blinked, caught off guard. "You weren't expecting me to turn myself in?"

"Not entirely," Infinity admitted, pulling the tablet back toward him. "I'll give you this much, Rachel—you're unpredictable. But it does make this next part a little easier." He swiped at the screen, his gaze flicking over something unseen. "You don't realize it, but your actions had… unintended consequences."

Rachel tensed, bracing herself.

"For all the damage you caused, you also forced a lot of things into the open," Infinity continued. "The Important Ones? Gone. The chain of command they abused? Severed. And Numbuh Eleventy Billion is back, for the first time in…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing as he did the mental math. "I'd have to check, but it's been a long time. Or so I keep hearing."

Rachel's chest tightened. "You're saying… I succeeded?"

"In a way," Infinity said, a faint note of irony in his voice. "The Kids Next Door will change because of you. Hopefully, it's for the better. But that doesn't mean what you did was right."

Rachel's lips thinned, her guilt returning in full force. "Was there ever a point," she asked, her voice low, "when you weren't going to come for me? If I hadn't turned myself in, would you have just… let me go?"

Infinity was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting to something distant, something heavy.

"Someone," he said finally, his tone vague but deliberate, "took on dangerous, extensive responsibilities to ensure that outcome."

Rachel's breath caught, her vision blurring as the meaning behind his words hit her like a tidal wave. She didn't need him to say it.

She knew.

Rachel fought back the tears, her nails digging into her palms. "He… he doesn't have to do this. I'm here now. This is my punishment, not his."

Infinity's lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable. "He's already gone."

The quiet that followed was suffocating. Rachel's throat tightened, but she refused to cry. Not here. Not now.

Infinity let the silence linger before speaking again, his voice softer but no less firm. "With that in mind," he said, "do you still want to go through with this?"

"Yes," Rachel said, the word leaving her mouth without hesitation. Her voice was unwavering, her conviction absolute. "I'm ready."

Infinity reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek black pen. He twirled it between his fingers with practiced ease, his expression unreadable. "In the spirit of things," he said, curling two fingers in exaggerated air quotes, "I'm going to offer you a choice."

Rachel straightened, wary.

Infinity stopped twirling the pen long enough to point it at her. "Option one," he began, "is the cleanest: galactic-level decommissioning." His tone was so casual it felt almost cruel. "We wipe the slate. You're cleared of your rank, memories, experiences—everything. To lessen the paperwork load and avoid any unnecessary revelations about Galactic Command too early, we'll file it under 'after completing a sooper duper deep cover mission, Numbuh 362 resigned for personal reasons.'"

Rachel frowned. "That sounds too clean."

"Because it is. I like things clean. Bleached, even." Infinity's voice sharpened as he stopped spinning the pen entirely, his fingers tightening around it. "Galactic-level decommissioning isn't like the usual procedure you know on Earth. This isn't just wiping your memories of the organization. This is permanent. Every connection and trace of who you were as an operative is gone. Erased. There's no coming back from this and no guarantee what will come out the other side. But that won't be our concern anymore."

Rachel swallowed hard. "And Harvey?"

"Harvey will be spared," Infinity said, leaning back in his chair. "He'll be informed, of course, but if anyone gets ideas funny about trying to bring you back…" He paused, his meaning hanging heavy in the air. "It won't matter. It's impossible. Numbuh 362 will be gone. Forever."

Her gaze flicked to the pen in his hand, then back to his face. "Are you sure?"

For a moment, Infinity didn't respond. His eyes drifted to the photo on his desk—a snapshot of him, Lizzie, and Dave in a rare moment of laughter. His fingers twitched, his gaze lingering on Dave.

"I'm sure," he said finally, his voice clipped.

Rachel's hands clenched in her lap. Her mind raced, darting between fear and disbelief before Infinity continued.

"It's a clean break for all of us," he said, his tone measured. "Your debt is paid. We close the book on this chapter, and everyone moves on. You get a reset button. A normal life, whatever that means for you."

Reset button.

Rachel stiffened, the phrase yanking at the edges of her memory. Images and emotions bubbled to the surface—of her desperate drive for perfection, her failures, and how she'd tried to rewrite lives by force. She forced the thoughts down before they could overwhelm her, focusing on the kid before her.

"What's option B?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Infinity's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "Option B?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Grueling."

"Grueling," she repeated, her tone flat.

"Grueling," he confirmed, the faintest hint of a smirk curling the edges of his mouth. "I can't go into detail until you agree, but I'll tell you this: it won't be easy. It'll be long. It'll be hard. It'll mean giving up parts of yourself you'll never get back. It'll demand everything you've got and more." He leaned in. "It's gonna take a lot. No guarantee you'll get anything out of it."

Rachel's stomach twisted. He wasn't talking about some vague punishment; he was describing the same fears that had driven her down this path in the first place. The fear of losing control. Of failing. Of breaking apart under the pressure.

Infinity's gaze bore into her. "The choice, as always, is yours."

The pen twirled between his fingers again, almost mocking in its rhythm.

Rachel closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Decommissioning would be the easy way out, the clean way, a way to escape the weight of her actions, to say goodbye to the pain and the mistakes, and to start over.

But starting over wasn't the same as making things right.

Her hands were unclenched, her breathing steady.

"What's right never comes easy," she said, her voice resolute. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. "I'm done running away from who I am."

Infinity studied Rachel with his usual neutrality, though his gaze seemed to sharpen as he asked, "You're sure?"

Rachel's thoughts turned inward, a flood of faces flashing through her mind. Fanny, who had always pushed her to be better, no matter how much they bickered. Patton, who'd stood by her with unyielding loyalty. Herbie, whose quiet, steadfast support had never wavered.

Then Sector V. Abby, Hoagie, Kuki, Wally. They had risked everything to save her, even after all the ways she had failed them.

And Harvey. Her brother. She thought of the example she wanted to set for him—the strength she hoped he'd see in her, the redemption she hoped to achieve not just for herself but for both of them.

Finally, she thought of Nigel.

Her chest tightened, but she straightened her shoulders, her resolve firm. She nodded, her voice steady and confident. "One hundred and one percent sure."

Infinity's lips twitched, a faint smirk breaking his otherwise composed demeanor. "Cute," he said dryly, pressing a button on his desk.

Before Rachel could respond, a camera sprang from the ceiling with a sharp whirr. The flash caught her completely off guard, leaving her blinking and dazed.

"Wha—?" she started, but before she could finish a cheerful DING! chimed.

A hidden slot on Infinity's desk slid open with a mechanical hum. He reached into it, casually slipping on an oven mitt as if it were completely normal. From the slot, something popped out with the energy of toast from a toaster. Infinity caught it in the mitt, gave it a few exaggerated waves to cool it off, and then nonchalantly tossed it to Rachel.

"Here, catch."

Rachel barely had time to react, snatching the object out of the air. The moment it hit her hands, she yelped, "Ow!" as heat singed her palms.

"Whoops," Infinity said, not sounding sorry at all.

She let the object cool in her lap, blowing on her hands before carefully pinching it up by its edges. Her eyes narrowed as she examined it. The alien text etched across its surface was unreadable, but its purpose was clear: it was an ID card, complete with a glossy photo of her in the ridiculous cow onesie. Her expression in the photo was one of pure, unflattering shock.

Rachel groaned, slumping in her chair. "Seriously?"

Infinity leaned back, smug satisfaction practically radiating off him. "Congratulations, Numbuh 362," he said with exaggerated flair. "You've officially become Earth's second Galactic-level operative."

Rachel's mouth hung open, words caught somewhere between her throat and her brain. She blinked once. Twice. A hand rose as if to make some sort of rebuttal, only to falter.

Infinity blew into a party horn, face stoic throughout it all.

Finally, she managed to splutter, "S-say what now?"

"How else are you supposed to repay your debt to kidkind galaxy-wide, hmm?" His tone was rhetorical, but he didn't wait for an answer. "Don't get too excited, though. It won't be a normal service. Oh, no. You'll be placed on a two-year probationary period."

"Probationary period?" Rachel echoed faintly, her mind racing to catch up.

"Exactly," Infinity continued, matter-of-factly. "We'll monitor your location 24/7. Try to weasel your way out of it, tamper with the device, even think about taking it off, and I get to sic Numbuh DE-45 on you."

Rachel blinked. "Who?"

Infinity gave a low whistle, shaking his head as if recounting a harrowing tale. "If you thought Numbuh 86 was bad... well, let's just say you'd beg for her after a day with DE-45."

Rachel felt a nervous twitch starting to form in her eye. "Right," she said slowly, her voice dripping disbelief.

Infinity's face softened slightly, his demeanor shifting into something almost playful. "Oh, come on, it's not all bad." With a dramatic flourish, he produced a sleek case from behind his back and popped it open. Inside were several metallic anklets, each emitting an otherworldly glow.

"Ta-da," Infinity said, his voice taking on the smug pride of a kid showing off their prized collectibles. "You even get to pick your color. There's red, pink, magenta, and, uh..." He paused, gesturing vaguely at the last device.

It shimmered in a way that made Rachel's eyes ache to look at it directly, a chaotic swirl of hues that seemed to defy comprehension.

"What is that?" Rachel asked, squinting and turning her head slightly.

"Ah, that color's called—"

Infinity's voice suddenly dropped into a deep, reverberating distortion as he pronounced something unrecognizable. The sound rattled the chamber walls, leaving Rachel staring at him like he'd grown a second head.

"...Moving on," Infinity chirped as though nothing strange had happened.

The absurdity of the moment settled with a click. She lowered her hand and narrowed her eyes at him. "Wait a minute... are you just sentencing me to community service?"

"No, it's totally different than…" Infinity opened his mouth to respond, stopped, and tapped his chin thoughtfully. After a moment, his eyes widened, and his lips curled into an "ooooh" expression of dawning realization. "Actually...That's pretty much it, yeah."

Rachel shuffled nervously, her arms folding as she glanced away. "I mean... it still sounds kinda... lenient?" she ventured, though her voice had a clear edge of doubt.

Infinity's response was a chuckle so forced it practically creaked, the kind of laugh you'd give someone who just tripped over their punchline. "Oh-ho-ho... don't get too hasty there, Numbuh 362. Lenient, you say? Let me walk you through what your 'service' will look like."

He tapped a few buttons on his wristwatch, pulling up a holographic projection. "For starters," he said, as if announcing the winner of a grand prize, "you'll be responsible for mowing the lawns of Planet Klimt 7."

Rachel blinked. "Mowing lawns?"

"Yep!" Infinity nodded brightly. "Every square mile. Oh, and the grass regrows every two hours."

"That's annoying but manageable, I guess—"

"It's also slightly carnivorous."

Rachel's face fell.

Infinity continued, swiping to another task. "You'll also be tying the shoelaces for the Trinitar Sector's rookie camp before their daily drills. They've got thirty-six feet. Each."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "Thirty-six?!"

"Mm-hmm," he replied nonchalantly. "And we can't have them tripping over themselves during high-gravity recon runs. Liability, you know." He swiped again. "Then there's the sandwich duty. You'll be cutting the crusts off sandwiches for every kid under ten galactic cycles."

"...Okay, I guess—"

"By the new galaxy-wide mandate, they must be cut with exact precision. Symmetrical, down to the molecule. Otherwise, interstellar food compliance will be on our case."

Rachel stared at him, wide-eyed, her disbelief mounting with every word. "This... this can't be serious."

"Oh, it's very serious," Infinity replied with an unnerving sincerity.

She sank back into her chair, her palms pressed against her temples.

"There's more," Infinity said, his expression lighting up like a kid about to spill the juiciest playground secret. "We've recently brokered a treaty with the hamsteroids of Pluxk-9!"

Rachel perked up slightly, lifting her head. "You mean like hamsters? Oh! I used to be Sector Q's Hamster Caretaker back in the day.

"Excellent," Infinity said, his grin widening. "Because in exchange for them supplying a cleaner, greener power source for galactic operations, we need someone to clean up their droppings. Full-time."

Rachel shrugged, clearly relieved. "Okay, I can handle a little—"

"They're the size of monster trucks," Infinity said flatly.

Her smile froze, then cracked, her jaw trembling as she let out a slow, pained whine.

"Cheer up," Infinity said, dismissing her complaints with his hand. "We're very generous employers. You'll be paid two zibbles per quantum hour.

Rachel's eyes lit up. "What's the exchange rate to CAD?"

Infinity pulled out an abacus. He went to his tablet, swiping through alien numbers with one hand while the other fiddled with the archaic calculator. "Accounting for current interest rates, the volatile Trans-Dimensional Zulu Market, and the fact that no formally established interstellar superpower has yet to recognize Earth as having intelligent life and make first contact, we can round that down to," he clucked his tongue, double-checking his math, "Absolutely nothing."

…he was just fucking with her now.

"In all seriousness, The Galactic Kids Next Door does recognize Friday, Saturday, and Sunday as official holidays, so you'll get weekends off. And!" He leaned forward, swinging finger-guns, "Free dental!"

Rachel blinked, her confusion momentarily replaced by a hint of surprise. "Oh. That sounds pretty ni—"

"Earth is out of network," Infinity said without missing a beat.

Rachel's head hit the desk with a loud thud, and she groaned long and loud into the wood.

Infinity leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting into mock pity as he jingled the decommissioning pen between his fingers like a set of car keys. "Look," he said with exaggerated patience, "I'm not heartless. If this is all too much for you..." He tilted his head, dangling the pen enticingly. "We could always put option A back on the table."

Rachel shot upright, rubbing her temples as though physically bracing herself. "No. No, it's fine. I'll take the probation."

"Thank goodness," Infinity replied, his tone relieved. "I hate using this thing." He casually tossed the pen over his shoulder into a nearby paper shredder without ceremony.

The machine immediately protested with an awful metallic screech, gears grinding in a desperate attempt to chew through the pen. Sparks flew as the shredder's motor whined and choked. A plume of acrid smoke rose into the air, the smell of fried circuits filling the room.

Infinity's face didn't so much as twitch. He sat perfectly still, calmly watching Rachel while the chaos unfolded behind him, ignoring the smoke now curling around his head.

Rachel watched the scene incredulously grimly before shaking her head and gazing upward. She focused on the skylight above, the view of the stars as the ship flew deeper into the vast expanse of the cosmos. After a moment, she sighed and muttered, "I better tell Numbuh Double Take to prepare for a long haul."

Infinity cocked his head, raising a brow. "I'll handle that," he said with a neutral tone. "Besides, you'll be allotted time to go back and manage your Earth life."

Rachel whipped her head back to him, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. "Wait... you mean I can go home?"

Infinity frowned slightly as if puzzled by the question. "What part of 'weekends off' did you not understand?"

Rachel blinked, struggling to process the unexpected leniency. All she could manage was a hesitant, "That's... generous."

"Not generosity," Infinity replied matter-of-factly, waving the notion away. "It's about keeping up appearances. The fewer questions your family and friends raise about your whereabouts, the less paperwork I have to deal with."

His voice was so profoundly pragmatic that Rachel might have taken it at face value. But she'd been a spy, and reading between the lines was second nature. She caught the subtle softness in his otherwise detached words, the unspoken gesture of goodwill. She said nothing, but a small, grateful smile tugged at her lips.

"Well," she said after a beat, rubbing her chin in thought. "I guess I'll have to cook up some excuse about being sent to juvenile hall or something for my parents. Maybe..." Her voice grew wistful as she mused, "It could be like a space camp. Even if it's just two members."

The creases in Infinity's frown softened, his tone shifting to something uncharacteristically gentle as he murmured, "Hopefully not for long."

Rachel tilted her head, her curiosity piqued as Infinity fiddled with his tablet. He pushed it toward her with a swipe, and a hologram flickered to life in the air. "Due to low recruitment numbers," he began, "Eleventy Billion finally revoked the asinine 'one galactic operative per planet' rule they implemented. More planetary operatives will get the chance to serve if they wish. Eventually, humans, too."

Rachel's eyes widened as the hologram began to take shape—a sprawling station hovering above the red sands of Mars.

Infinity continued, his voice carrying a rare note of enthusiasm. "We're even workshopping a Marsbase. A new training facility to prepare human operatives for interstellar operations. But it'll be more than that." He leaned forward slightly, his expression softening further. "It'll be a hub where human and alien kids can learn about one another. Work side by side. Just... forget about the world and simply play."

His smile was genuine now, pride clear in his tone. "It'll break down walls and bridge Earth Global Command with Galactic Command. A symbol of a better future—one where we can all work together."

Rachel couldn't help but stare at the blueprint, her heart warming at the sight and scope of it. The station looked like something out of a dream: a massive, colorful playground mixed with sleek, futuristic designs. It resembled a space station reimagined by an overexcited preschooler, complete with slides that spiraled down from observation towers, hamster-ball-esque transportation tubes, and entire sections that looked like candy dispensers for snacks.

She cooed like a tickled parent, her voice teasing. "Oh my gosh. It's adorable! This definitely deserves a spot on the fridge." She brushed her fingers across the hologram, a playful smirk forming. "Who's the talented cadet that drew this?"

Infinity's face instantly hardened. "I did."

Rachel froze, her cheeks burning red as she quickly tried to backpedal. "A-And you did SUCH a good job!" she exclaimed, forcing a wide, awkward smile. "The way you, uh, colored outside the lines? Truly a bold, artistically abstract choice! It invokes..." She floundered, grasping for words. "It invokes... post-modern Crayola-Deco. Truly inspired! It speaks to—"

"Stop talking."

Rachel stopped talking.

A tense silence filled the room.

Infinity drummed his fingers against the desk, the sound echoing in the now-uncomfortably quiet room. "Any questions?" he asked, his tone as neutral as ever.

Rachel glanced down at her new ID card, grimacing at the photo. It was the worst picture she had ever seen: taken mid-blink, face squished by the hood of that ridiculous cow onesie. Her cheeks flushed as she held it up. "Uh, can I retake—"

"No," Infinity cut her off without hesitation.

Her shoulders slumped. "But why?" she whined, her tone bordering on pleading.

"Protocol," he replied curtly, as though she needed no further explanation. Rachel groaned dramatically, but Infinity ignored her, waving his hand dismissively. "Report to your supervisor—the Probationary Assignment Overseer—for further instructions."

She tilted her head, confusion flashing across her face. "Wait, isn't that you?"

Infinity's face visibly tightened, and he exhaled through his nose, his tone dipping into something uncharacteristically weary. "Yeeeeah, see... I'm glad you've seen the error of your ways and all, but that doesn't change the fact I had to permanently decommission my best friend to protect him from my old bosses' wraths—and you." His words, though calm, carried an unmistakable edge. "Still a little upset about that. Not exactly ready to see you more than necessary for the near future."

Rachel immediately shrank back, guilt hitting her like a brick wall. The memory of what happened to Dave churned in her stomach, gnawing at her. She wrung her fingers together, her voice small and unsteady. "That's fair," she admitted softly. "I... I really am sorry."

Infinity's expression softened at her genuine apology. He waved a hand dismissively, his tone quieting. "It's fine. I'll get over it... eventually." He paused, his gaze flicking back to her. "Now, anything else?"

Rachel shook her head quickly, too eager to escape the room before she made the situation any worse.

Rachel had her hand on the doorknob, ready to exit, but something clawed at her chest, refusing to let her leave. She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the handle as she braved a deep breath. "Can I… ask something?" Her voice was quiet, uncertain. "Off the record?"

Infinity's brows slowly rose in curiosity. After a moment's pause, he leaned back and pressed a button on his desk. The faint hum of monitoring equipment went silent, the room cloaked in a heavy stillness. Silently, he gave her permission.

Rachel turned back, her lips parting, but the words caught in her throat. She warred with herself, struggling to piece together the question clawing at her heart. Her fingers twitched at her sides as she finally spoke. "I know I have no right to ask, but… will I ever get to work with…" She faltered, her voice trembling. "Is there even a chance I'll get to see…"

She couldn't bring herself to finish, but she didn't need to. Infinity already knew.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled off his sunglasses, holding them loosely in his hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He rolled the glasses between his fingers, eyes closing as he seemed to weigh his response. The room felt suspended in time before he finally broke the silence.

"Those new duties Numbuh 1's took on came straight from Numbuh Eleventy Billion himself," he began, his voice carrying a rare note of solemnity. "They took him far, far outside the Milky Way galaxy—outside my jurisdiction." His gaze lifted, meeting hers with an earnestness that struck deep. "I don't know where he is." He hesitated as if reluctant to say the next part. "And… I don't even know if he'll ever be able to return."

Rachel's lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded, her face carefully composed despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Slowly, she raised her hand in a salute, her voice firm despite its quiet tremor. "Thank you, sir."

Infinity returned the salute with a nod of respect, watching as she turned and exited. As the door slid shut, a single tear broke free from Rachel's restraint, sliding down her cheek before she hastily wiped it away.

Infinity sat in silence, lowering his sunglasses onto the desk. Resting his head on a propped-up hand, he let out a long breath, his wistful gaze drifting toward the corner of his desk. There, a photo frame sat slightly askew, the image within worn but unmistakable.

It was of a younger him, Dave, and Lizzie, all three beaming with the carefree joy of kids who once had the world ahead of them. His fingers brushed against the frame as if debating something that weighed heavily on his mind.

Rachel wandered down the floating steps, her boots barely sounding against the alien material, and turned into a corridor pulsing with faint, otherworldly light. Strange runes carved into the walls glimmered softly, the ship alive with incomprehensible wonder. But none of it reached her—not the hum of distant machinery, not the faint chime of starsong echoing through the halls. Her thoughts drowned it all out.

She stopped in a small alcove, slid down against the wall, and hugged her knees to her chest. Pressing her face against them, she allowed the tears to come. Quiet sobs shook her shoulders as she curled into herself, her mind looping over the selfishness of her desires.

"It was selfish," she whispered, her voice muffled. "Selfish, childish, and I knew better."

They had said their goodbyes, knowing it was the end, knowing their paths would diverge so far they might as well exist in separate universes. But still, a small, silly part of her had hoped. Hoped for a chance, for a miracle, for… something.

The chill of the ship seeped into her skin, dragging her back to a memory she hadn't thought of in years. Her last day of cadet training. The day she had felt so alone, so unworthy like she could never live up to the expectations of those around her. It was the same cold, empty ache she felt now.

Rachel reached up, her palm resting against the window beside her. She gazed out into the infinite expanse of stars, her breath catching at their beauty. The view was mesmerizing—a sea of shimmering light scattered across the void, galaxies swirling in colors she couldn't name. It was awe-inspiring and, at the same time, achingly bittersweet. Somewhere out there, far beyond what her eyes could see, was the boy she couldn't reach. Her fingers brushed the glass, her childish heart yearning to close the unfathomable distance between them.

A hand entered her vision, startling her. Rachel gasped and turned, her tear-streaked face meeting an utterly alien sight. The figure before her had a tall, elegant frame, its silver-toned skin gleaming softly in the ship's glow. Their face was strange yet oddly beautiful—there were no ears, no mouth, no nose, only a pair of kaleidoscopic eyes that shimmered with a thousand shifting colors.

A calm and soothing voice echoed telepathically in Rachel's mind. "Do you need a cookie break?"

Rachel blinked, her mind racing to process what she was seeing. "Wh-who are you?"

The alien gently held out a ginger snap cookie, the scent of spices tickling Rachel's nose. "A mutual friend of ours thought you might need one," the voice replied.

Rachel's gaze dropped to the cookie, her heart clenching as recognition hit her. It was a ginger snap—the same kind Nigel had offered her when they first met—the exact cookie that had become their cookie, shared in countless moments of friendship and quiet understanding.

Her fingers trembled as she accepted it, holding it delicately. "How did he even know I'd… I'd be here? Or that I'd agree to this?" she whispered.

The alien's eyes shifted, the swirling colors narrowing into a shape resembling a smile. "Because he believes in you."

That earned a wet laugh from Rachel, who wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. "Of course he does. The doofus." She nibbled the edge of the cookie, then straightened, forcing herself to stand. Extending her hand, she offered a weak but genuine smile. "Numbuh 362."

The alien helped her up, their touch firm but surprisingly gentle. "Numbuh RN8. I'm your supervisor."

Rachel nodded. "I look forward to working with you."

"We'll see if you still feel that way after your first…" RN8's eyes swept over her, taking in the cow onesie with evident confusion. "Why are you wearing that ridiculous outfit?"

Rachel frowned. "Uh…because of Protocol 78-B of the Galactic Kidnapping Directive?"

RN8's kaleidoscope eyes flickered, the colors swirling in bewilderment. "There is no such protocol. Who the flark told you that nonsense?"

Before Rachel could answer, a loud, screeching voice blared through the ship's PA system, cutting through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

"ATTENTION! ATTENTION! PLEASE GIVE A WARM GALACTIC WELCOME TO NEW OPERATIVE NUMBUH 362!"

Rachel froze in horror as every screen, hologram, and display lit up with her face in full ultra HD. It wasn't just any photo, either—it was her embarrassing ID picture, cow onesie and all.

Her face turned beet red as she squeaked, "Is this… broadcasted across the entire ship?"

RN8 winced sympathetically. "The entire quadrant, actually."

Rachel's stomach dropped. Slowly, as if compelled by some unseen force, she tilted her head upward to the massive window overlooking Infinity's office. Though she couldn't hear him, she could see him.

Infinity was rolling on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. His perfectly composed demeanor was nowhere to be found—he clutched his sides, tears streaming down his face as he flailed like a kid who had just heard the best damn joke of his life.

Rachel's eye twitched. Pulling the drawstring of her cow hoodie tight, she sunk into it, her voice muffled as she whimpered pathetically and nibbled on the ginger snap.

Look at that. Infinity found a sense of humor, after all.

---

But even now I hold close words of my own

Sentiments hidden away within

---

Abby tapped her pen against the rim of her hat as she stared at the open page of her journal. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, like strings of Christmas lights someone had stuffed into a box without a second thought.

Her injured leg rested on a pile of pillows, the soft cast snug but not too tight. It ached a little, but the pain wasn't what had her restless.

On her nightstand, Nigel's sunglasses lay folded neatly beside a couple of oddly shaped pieces of candy. The German words on the wrappers were indecipherable to her, but the sweet flavor of the first piece she'd tried still lingered on her tongue. Next to the candy was a get-well-soon card, the handwriting inside elegant and earnest, signed by Ms. Marzipan herself.

Her pen scratched across the paper as she started a new sentence, but she paused, tapping the pen against her lip as she gazed toward the ceiling.

The words she wanted wouldn't come.

The door to her room burst open, nearly knocking the handle into the wall.

"AUNTIE ABBY!"

Abby's journal slipped from her lap as two small figures barreled into the room. Benjamin and Murphy, her five-year-old nephews, charged at her bed with rambunctiousness, their high-pitched voices overlapping as they scrambled onto the mattress.

"Whoa—hey!" Abby protested, instinctively grabbing her hat to keep it from falling off. "Careful! Auntie's leg ain't exactly at 100%, y'know!"

"Sorry!" Benjamin chirped, adjusting his glasses nervously. His oversized frames always slid down his nose, giving him a thoughtful, observant air. He perched on the edge of the bed, peering at her cast with wide, curious eyes. "Is that your super secret spy injury?"

"Did you get it fighting bad guys?!" Murphy added, his chubby cheeks puffing excitedly as he tugged on his hoodie strings. He flopped onto his stomach, propping his head up with his fists, a broad grin lighting up his face.

Abby couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm, even as she gently nudged them away from her injured leg. "Something like that, baby. But you know us 'spies' don't spill our secrets."

Benjamin's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his brow furrowing. "What if we figure it out, though? Like detectives?"

"Yeah!" Murphy chimed in, punching his fists together with a comical intensity. "And if we find out, you gotta tell us the whole story!"

Abby chuckled. "Y'know know what? Go ahead. Knock yourselves out."

The twins launched into a whirlwind of guesses—everything from battling robot pirates to a daring escape from a chocolate factory gone rogue. Benjamin's guesses were surprisingly logical, each building on small details he'd observed, while Murphy's were pure bursts of chaotic creativity, often involving explosions, race cars, or thunder flops.

Abby's gaze drifted toward the door as they reenacted one of their "theories" with wild gestures. Her older brother, Sylvester Lincoln, stood there with a lopsided grin and arms crossed. His smooth charm practically radiated off him, from his effortlessly cool posture to the way his dark hat tilted just so on his head.

Leaning casually against the doorway beside him was his wife, Carmen—a striking woman with sun-kissed skin and sharp amber eyes that seemed to take everything at once. Her thick curls were pulled back into a loose braid, and her gold hoop earrings glinted faintly as she smiled at the chaos in the room.

Sylvester smirked. "Guess the Lincoln charm skips a generation. How come you never greet me with that kind of excitement?"

Abby rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the grin tugging at her lips. "Maybe 'cause Abby don't barge into your room like a tornado, bro."

"Eh, fair point." He stepped into the room, Carmen following close behind. Sylvester bent down to scoop up Murphy, who squealed with laughter as his papa swung him upside down. "But you gotta admit, you've missed this kind of crazy."

"Missed it like a hole in my tooth," Abby deadpanned, though the fondness in her tone betrayed her words.

Carmen chuckled softly, her accent adding a lilting warmth to her words. "Don't let her fool you, boys. Your tía was just as much of a troublemaker as you two when she was your age."

"Was not," Abby shot back, feigning indignation.

"Was too," Sylvester and Carmen said in unison.

Abby sighed dramatically, sinking deeper into her pillows as the twins dissolved into giggles.

"You're all crazy," she muttered.

The door creaked open again, and Cree stepped inside, leaning casually against the frame with her usual air of confidence. Though she was still bandaged from her hospital stay, she looked far better than she had days ago. Her gaze swept over the room, landing on Benjamin and Murphy.

"Well, well," she said with mock betrayal, touching her chest. "I see how it is. My nephews pick Abby over me. The nerve!"

Murphy let out a delighted squeal, wiggling out of Sylvester's grasp to charge across the room. He tightly wrapped his short arms around Cree's leg, holding on as if to compensate for the slight.

"I love you too, Auntie Cree!" he declared earnestly, face smushed against her knee.

Benjamin waddled after him at a slower pace, adjusting his glasses. Once he reached Cree, he took her hand solemnly as if to make a peace offering. "We weren't picking sides," he said with a soft frown. "We're just making sure Auntie Abby's okay."

Cree's teasing melted into a warm smile as she ruffled Benjamin's hair. "You little peacemakers. You know how to sweet-talk your way out of anything, don't you?"

On the bed, Abby looked at Cree silently in gratitude, raising her eyebrows in a subtle plea. Cree caught it immediately and rolled her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

Sylvester took the opportunity to perch on the edge of Abby's bed, one eyebrow arched in faux suspicion. "Two Lincolns in the hospital at the same time? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you planned this whole thing just to get me to come down here."

Abby leaned into his faux dismay, shrugging dramatically. "Caught us red-handed. It was all a setup. How else were we supposed to get you to leave your fancy life up-state?"

Cree raised both hands in mock surrender. "For the record, this was all Abby's idea. I'm just an innocent bystander."

"Gee. Thanks, sis."

Carmen's laugh was soft but sharp. "Oh, I'll interrogate both of you later. I'm sure there'll be holes in your stories somewhere." She clapped her hands lightly, addressing her boys. "Benji, Murphy, let's give these two a little break. I think I heard Grandpa mention cookies earlier."

The twins lit up like fireworks, their earlier priorities forgotten in an instant. "Cookies!" they cheered in unison, racing toward the door.

Carmen shot Sylvester a knowing look. "You're in charge of their sugar crash later, amor."

He saluted her with a roguish grin. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

As Carmen herded the boys out with soft encouragement in Spanish, Sylvester lingered behind, glancing between Abby and Cree with a sly grin. "So, you two seem to be playing nice these days. What'd I miss?"

Neither of them answered, their shared look one of mutual understanding but no intention to elaborate. Before Sylvester could push further, Carmen's voice rang out from the hall, her tone sharp but affectionate. "¡Cola anillada! Te estoy hablando—¿me oíste?"

He held up a finger to his sisters as if to say, one second, and turned toward the door. "Coming, honey!" He started for the hallway, then glanced over his shoulder at Abby and Cree. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were keeping secrets from me. But don't worry—this guy always gets his answers."

With a wink, Sylvester slipped out of the room, his footsteps light and deliberate, as though he were sneaking out of a high-security vault.

Cree rolled her eyes. "He never changes."

Abby chuckled. "Wouldn't want him to."

Cree's gaze flickered to Abby's leg, propped up and elevated in its soft cast. Her lips curled into a teasing smirk. "Sloppy work, Abigal. When I told you to come back safe, I didn't think I had to specify in one piece."

Abby snorted, tapping the rim of her hat with her pen. "Oh, please. You're one to talk, Miss 'I-Can't-Be-Numbuh-11-Again'—and yet, somehow, you're the one who ended up in the hospital looking worse than me." She quirked a brow, letting the challenge hang in the air. "So…what's up with that?"

Cree's expression was a picture of innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Abby narrowed her eyes. "Uh-huh."

Cree crossed her arms, leveling a mock glare. "And for the record, you looked way worse than I did."

"Did not."

"Did too."

Their voices overlapped as the sibling squabble escalated into muttered retorts and exaggerated glares. Eventually, their facades cracked, and they both dissolved into laughter, the sound filling the room.

As their chuckles faded, a comfortable silence settled between them. Cree leaned against the wall, arms still crossed. "So," she began, her voice quieter now, "you know I'm heading out soon, right?"

Abby nodded, her smile fading. "Yeah. Guess college breaks only last so long." She paused, then added, "Shame your recovery couldn't stretch it out a bit longer."

Cree scoffed, shaking her head. "Tell me about it. And of course, Dad's not the kind of doctor to forge a sick note for his kids. What's the point of having a doctor for a dad if he doesn't pull a few strings?"

Abby chuckled softly, but her gaze lingered on Cree. For a moment, her mind conjured a haunting image: Cree at her worst, clad in Battle Ready Armor, eyes hard and cold as she fought to become Father's apprentice. The memory twisted her gut, but it didn't last.

Instead, it melted into a newer image: Cree crouched down to Benjamin's level, wiping crumbs off his face with surprising gentleness. Murphy giggling as she twirled him around, her bandaged arms carefully holding him steady. And all the ways Cree had been there for her these past weeks, tending to her wounds, teasing her just enough to keep her grounded.

It was enough to make Abby believe that people could change. That Cree could change.

She felt a small voice whispering in the back of her mind, teasing her. If Cree could be kind to herself—if Cree could try to be better—then so could she.

"What are you staring at?" Cree's suspicious voice cut through Abby's thoughts.

Abby grinned, leaning into the mushy moment just to make silly kissy-faces. "Oh, just lookin' at my big, strong, amazing older sister."

Cree wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, Dad still has you on painkillers, I see."

Abby laughed, letting the lightness linger as long as it could.

Cree glanced at her watch and sighed. "I gotta go. If I don't leave now, I'll miss the bus."

Abby's grin softened. "You'll be back."

"Yeah." Cree hesitated, then reached over to give Abby's shoulder a quick, almost awkward squeeze. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Abby nodded. "You too, Cree."

Cree straightened up before heading toward the door. She paused for a second, glancing back as if to say something more, but then thought better of it. With a small wave, she disappeared into the hallway.

Abby leaned back against her pillows, her journal forgotten on her lap.

Cree stepped into the hallway, adjusting the strap of her bag and glancing at her watch. She sighed, calculating just how much time she had to make it to the bus station. Before she could take another step, movement caught her eye, and she paused.

Coming up the stairs was Hoagie. He stopped short when he noticed her, nearly tripping on the last step.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Cree's expression was unreadable, but Hoagie's face cycled through a mix of surprise, discomfort, and vague panic.

Finally, Hoagie cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Uh… hey, Cree."

Cree straightened her posture slightly, offering a polite but distant nod. "Hoagie."

An awkward silence fell between them. Hoagie rocked on his heels, clearly searching for something to say. Finally, he blurted out, "So, uh… congrats on, y'know, not being evil anymore."

Cree raised an eyebrow but gave a small, amused nod. "And I'm glad to see you're not some Delightful zombie."

"Thanks," Hoagie said quickly, nodding along. His hands fidgeted at his sides, and he seemed unable to meet her gaze for more than a second at a time. After a few moments of unbearable tension, he tried to break the ice with a joke. "So, uh… did you hear the one about the—"

"No." Cree groaned. "Just… no."

Hoagie shut his mouth, looking more sheepish than ever.

Cree exhaled, waving a hand. "Look, let's not make this any weirder than it already is. We can… rain check whatever this is," she said, gesturing vaguely, "when I'm not about to miss my ride."

"Right, right. Fair, fair," Hoagie stammered, nodding rapidly. He hesitated, then added, "And, uh… sorry. You know. For my… let's call it a cassanova phase." He winced at his own words.

Cree's lips twitched. "I'd rather we not call it anything at all."

"Ditto," Hoagie said quickly, his voice rising in nervous agreement. He shuffled to the side, preparing to move past her, but paused again. "Uh, I just wanna make sure… the, uh, me and Abby thing… that's… cool with you?"

Cree tilted her head, studying him for a moment. Then, with a flippant shrug, she said, "Who am I to stand in the way of awkward early tween romance?"

Hoagie smiled weakly, but Cree's expression turned serious. She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice. "But just so we're clear: I once flipped your entire treehouse over by myself. If you ever hurt Abby, I'll be more than happy to give you an excruciatingly detailed demonstration of how I did it."

Hoagie paled. "Yes, ma'am," he squeaked, before scurrying past her like his life depended on it.

Cree watched him go, smirking to herself in satisfaction. Adjusting her bag once more, she sauntered down the stairs, a little spring in her step as she headed out.

Hoagie approached Abby's room, the awkward encounter with Cree already slipping from his mind as he felt a wave of calm wash over him. Abby's presence had a way of doing that. Her door was slightly ajar, and he peeked in to see her leaning back on her pillows, scribbling in her journal. His lips curled into a playful grin.

He rapped his knuckles against the door, his voice rising in exaggerated cheer. "Knock knock!"

"Don't even start," Abby called without looking up, her tone laced with sass. "Just get in here already."

Hoagie groaned dramatically as he stepped inside. "You're killing me, Abs! Killing me!"

Abby glanced up, quirking a brow. "You'll live," she deadpanned, closing her journal and setting it aside.

Hoagie's eyes dropped to her leg, propped up in its soft cast. His expression immediately softened, all humor replaced with genuine concern. He crouched down beside her, treating her injury as if it were made of glass. "You okay? Does it hurt? Can I get you something?"

Abby's heart skipped a beat at the care in his voice, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself savor it. But she quickly composed herself, waving a hand nonchalantly. "It's worse than it looks," she said coolly. "Besides, it gives me an excuse to rock my big brother's cool cane."

Hoagie relaxed, his lips twitching into a smile as he glanced at the sleek, golden crowned cane leaning against her nightstand. "Well, I guess if anyone can make that look good, it's you."

Abby smirked, and for a moment, the room felt lighter, as if all the burdens they'd been carrying for years had finally been lifted. They allowed themselves to bask in the moment, selfishly indulging in each other's company.

Eventually, Abby broke the silence, tilting her head at him. "So, you get the goods or what?"

Hoagie's grin returned in full force. He reached into his bag and pulled out a set of tanker keys, jingling them up like trophies. "Plenty of 'fuel,' and a lil something for me, courtesy of one Mr. Fizz himself. Picking up soda running again? It's like riding a bike—if the bike had rocket boosters and was on fire."

Abby chuckled, shaking her head. "You're a mess."

"Your mess," Hoagie winked. "And you love it. Oh, did you need me to grab the candy, too?"

Abby waved a hand toward her nightstand, where the German card and treats sat neatly arranged. "Heniey had me covered on that front. Rest is en route to the Moonbase, as agreed."

Hoagie's gaze lingered on the card, and his grin faded slightly. He stood and ran a hand through his hair, his voice quieter now. "Guess it's time to go, huh? Don't think this is one party we wanna be fashionably late to."

Abby nodded, her eyes shadowed by the weight of what they weren't saying. "Yeah… but we can't be too early either. Gotta give everyone else enough time to say… goodbye." She sighed. "I know Wally's gonna take it pretty hard."

Hoagie tensed, as if debating something. After a moment, he sighed. "Um…yeah. About that…he didn't know how to tell you, but…it think it's better you don't walk in blind."

"Blind?" Abby blinked. An uneasy filling settled in her stomach. "Hoagie…what is that fool up to?"

When he broke the news, Abby fought to not let grief ruin the rest of the day.

Cree walked down her parents' driveway, her bag slung over her shoulder and her footsteps slow. The quiet pressed against her, the weight of goodbyes starting to creep in now that she was alone. She tried to shake it off, her gaze fixed on the horizon ahead—only to falter when she noticed a figure leaning against a motorcycle at the edge of the sidewalk.

Her brow furrowed. For a second, she thought it might just be some random guy. But then he shifted, casually jutting his chin toward her in acknowledgment, his sunglasses glinting in the sunlight.

"Sup?" Steve drawled, his tone effortlessly cool.

Cree blinked, quickly composing herself. "Nothing much," she replied carefully, her stride resuming at a slower pace. "What're you doing here?"

Steve shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, though his grip on the motorcycle's handlebars tightened momentarily. "Just hanging out," he said.

Cree stopped a few steps from him, crossing her arms. "At the end of my driveway?"

"It's a free country," Steve countered smoothly, though the faintest hint of a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Cree raised an unimpressed brow but didn't press.

Steve hesitated, scratching the back of his neck, before adding, "Some weird chick was yelling at me from your porch earlier, though. Said something about giving me a citation?"

Cree's expression cleared in understanding, a silent ah forming on her lips. "That'd be my sister-in-law," she explained dryly. "Don't worry. Interpol doesn't have jurisdiction here."

Steve froze, his calm facade slipping. "She's a pig!?"

"Not anymore, last I checked." Cree waved it off with a dismissive hand. "I mean, she married my brother, so—" She paused mid-thought, realizing the rabbit hole she was about to go down, and cut herself off with a shrug. "Eh. Story for another time."

Steve stared at her for a beat, as if trying to decide whether or not to ask, but eventually let it go. Instead, his posture shifted slightly, and his tone softened. "You're heading out, yeah?"

Cree rubbed her arm, glancing away. "Yeah." Her voice was quiet, almost reluctant.

The silence between them lingered, and in it, their history surfaced unbidden in her mind. She cast a glance at Steve, remembering the boy he'd been when they were younger—the brash, stubborn kid who'd dragged her into the KND despite her protests, swearing she'd be one of the greats. Now, he was a man, different in some ways but fundamentally the same.

He'd always been him. True to himself, to his ideals, and to the path he'd chosen, no matter how rough it was.

Her gaze softened as she thought of that night a few weeks ago, when she'd been at her lowest, and he'd shown up for her without hesitation. No judgment, no strings attached. Just him, steady and sure, holding her together when she felt like she was breaking apart.

"Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Steve blinked behind his sunglasses. "For what?"

"For what you did that night," she clarified, then quickly added, "and for just… always being there."

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his cocky smirk giving way to something gentler. "No problem," he said, his voice just as quiet as hers.

Cree studied him, her heart twisting. It was strange, how loved she felt when he was around. Not the love she'd fought to reclaim with Abby or the dutiful love of her parents. With Steve, it was a quiet, constant thing—present whether she earned it or not.

And that was the problem.

She barely felt like she'd earned forgiveness from Abby. But with Steve? She felt like she'd never do enough to deserve it.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cree offered him a small, heartfelt smile. "Take care of yourself, Steve."

With that, she turned, heading down the sidewalk toward the bus station. She'd made it a few steps before she felt his hand on her wrist.

Cree froze, Steve's hand gentle but firm around her wrist. She stared at him, wide-eyed, as he hesitated, his usual smooth confidence slipping.

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing anywhere but her. "It's just, uh… I've been thinking. You know, life's been kinda crazy. Always moving, always go, go, go, you know?" He laughed, a little self-conscious. "Feels like I'm always running, and I'm not even sure where I'm going half the time."

Cree tilted her head, listening. Her chest tightened as she saw his shoulders stiffen, the way his fingers flexed against the handlebars of his bike. Vulnerability wasn't a suit Steve wore often, not even with her, and it made her feel unworthy.

Her mind drifted, flashing back to the old days—when she was Sector V's leader and he was her Supreme Leader. Back then, Steve was larger than life, a storm of confidence and energy who seemed untouchable. Yet, even then, he'd been just as present for her as he was now. Always steady, always him.

Steve suddenly slapped his face with both hands, groaning. "Dude, what am I even saying?" He shook his head before fixing her with a determined look. "No, I totally know what I'm saying. Or—okay, not where I'm going with it, but what I'm doing." He gestured between them. "Right now. You get it?"

Cree blinked. "I… guess?"

"What I'm doing is asking if you wanna go grab some smoothies or something." He said it casually, but his voice wavered just enough for her to catch it.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Oh no.

She felt like a deer caught in headlights, every nerve in her body locking up.

She knew exactly what he was doing.

The way his tone shifted, the slight dip of his head, the tiniest spark of vulnerability hidden behind his bravado—it was obvious.

She stammered. "I… I can't. I mean, I've got to get back to college."

Steve shrugged, motioning to his bike with a grin. "Lucky for you, this bad boy's faster than a bus."

Cree fumbled, scrambling for some kind of excuse. "I… uh… I don't think I can—"

He raised a hand, cutting her off gently. "Chill, Cree. If you don't wanna, you don't gotta. I ain't gonna force you or nothing. I'm not a creep." He paused, scratching his chin. "But… I dunno, I got this funny feeling, like you're holding yourself back. Am I wrong?"

Her throat tightened. "You're wrong," she lied.

Or tried to. But the words came out hollow, even to her.

Steve didn't press. He just stood there, his easygoing posture unchanged, but the weight of his presence grounding her. She inhaled sharply, the temptation to say yes tugging at her like a riptide. She wanted to go with him. She wanted to be happy—

But her mind betrayed her, flashing back to that night.

"I hope you live a long, full life, Cree," Rachel's voice rang in her ears, rightfully spiteful and cold as she stood victorious over her. "And I hope you go to sleep every night knowing that you were right. That anything good, any joy, any love you receive… you don't deserve it. You never will."

Cree winced, curling in on herself. She muttered, barely audible, "I don't deserve this."

Steve frowned, his carefree demeanor cracking. "Says who?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. "I've done… things, Steve—awful things. You know more than anyone. What I did before you…came back. What I did for Father… You don't get to just walk away from that. You don't get to start over. It's… complicated."

"Doesn't have to be."

"Yes, it does!" Cree snapped, her voice trembling. "You don't get it. You don't know the things I've done—what I've been."

Steve didn't flinch. He stayed rooted, his gaze steady. "I know who you are. And I don't care what you think you deserve. What I care about is what you do next. That's what matters."

Her chest ached as the words hit her, but the walls she'd built held firm—until they didn't. Her mind dragged her to the memory she avoided most: the day she betrayed the KND. She could still see the boy Steve had been, standing there as Numbuh 100, reaching out to her.

"Please," he'd begged back then, his voice breaking. "I know this isn't you."

Now, in the present, Cree hugged her bag tightly, tears of frustration slipping down her cheeks. Her voice was a whisper. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

Steve's hand entered her vision, steady and sure. She looked up, her breath catching as she saw him lower his sunglasses, his eyes meeting hers.

"We're kids, Cree," he said softly, a playful wink slipping through. "Plenty of time to figure that junk out later."

And somehow, that was enough.

She didn't know why, but those words pierced through everything—the guilt, the fear, the doubts—and left her standing there, raw and unguarded.

He extended his hand further, and to a casual observer, that was all.

But to Cree, who'd always known him, it was more.

It was love, freely given.

And despite herself, she took it.

"What the hell," she murmured, a shaky smile tugging at her lips as she intertwined their fingers. "Would be nice to ride your bike without dodging KNDork slingshots for once."

Steve froze, his usual cool wholly shattered. "Wait—you're serious?" he stammered, his voice breaking into a high pitch.

Cree chuckled, squeezing his hand. "Get a grip, sir."

The word made Steve pause. It stirred something buried deep in him—a memory of the boy he had foggy dreams of being.

People had called him "sir" before, but from Cree, it felt… different.

He grinned, regaining his cool as he started up the bike. "Hop on, then."

Cree climbed on behind him, settling into place. "We'll probably need to hit a drive-thru if you wanna get me back on time."

Steve glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "What, don't wanna play a little hooky?"

"Unlike high school, I'm actually paying for these classes," she said dryly. "Rather not waste the money."

Steve faltered, scratching the back of his neck. "Okay, fair point."

She leaned into him, her arms around his waist, her voice teasing. "Lucky for you, I don't consider this a complete waste."

Steve's grin widened, and with a roar of the engine, they sped off down the street.

The bike hummed beneath them, a steady thrum that matched the rhythm of Cree's heartbeat. Steve glanced over his shoulder, his sunglasses slipping just enough for her to catch the glint of his eyes. "Hold tight," he said, his voice calm but playful.

She scoffed, though her arms looped tighter around his waist. "You always say that, but you drive like a maniac."

He grinned, revving the engine. "Part of my charm."

And with that, they were off, tearing down the street as the wind whipped past them. Cree pressed closer to his back, feeling the vibration of his laughter as he leaned into the ride.

It was funny, in a way. For all the times Steve had burst back into her life—uninvited and unapologetic—she'd never let herself think too much about why, maybe because she'd never wanted to.

When he was Numbuh One-Hundred, the unflappable Supreme Leader of the Kids Next Door, he'd been larger than life. The kind of leader kids talked about in excited whispers, an operative who made the impossible look easy. And when his time was up and he'd been decommissioned with honors, he disappeared without a word.

But then he came back. Of course, he came back.

Not as the buttoned-up Numbuh One Hundred, but as The Steve—the rock 'n' roll rebel with his blazing guitar, his ScumBucketPunks and the rallying cry of freedom. He was the reason teenagers everywhere finally stood up to Father's iron grip. And yet, for all his fire and fury, there was still a quiet kindness to him, an openness that hadn't been burned away by growing up.

But three years ago, he stepped away from it all.

Just like she had.

Cree had thought she was imagining it at first—the timing, the way his absence had mirrored her own. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized Steve had always found his way back to her. Whether she deserved it or not.

The bike slowed as they hit a red light, the streetlamp casting long shadows across the pavement. Steve let the engine idle, glancing back at her. "You know," he said, his voice softer now, "I meant what I said earlier. About not needing to figure everything out right away."

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "Easy for you to say. You've got this whole… Zen thing going on."

Steve laughed, low and easy. "Yeah, I'm super Zen. Out the wazoo and all that," he said, clearly teasing. "But seriously, Cree. You don't have to keep holding onto lameness like it's some kind of punishment. Cut yourself some slack. I do it all the time."

Her smile faded, and she looked away. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is."

"No, it's not." Her voice rose, sharper than she intended. She sighed, running a hand over her face. "You don't get it, Steve. You don't get what it's like to carry this… this weight every single day. To look at yourself and wonder if you'll ever be anything more than the worst thing you've done."

The light turned green, but Steve didn't move.

He just sat there, watching her. "So, what? You're just gonna let it keep holding you back? Keep telling yourself you're not good enough, like that's gonna fix anything?"

Her chest tightened. "It's not that easy to let go."

"It's easier than you think," he said simply.

She shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."

Steve's voice softened, losing its teasing edge. "Cree, I've made my share of mistakes. I've…hurt people I care about. Let 'em down when they looked up to me. But at some point, I had to decide that jazz wouldn't define me. That I wasn't gonna let it keep me from tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she repeated bitterly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. Tomorrow." He leaned back slightly, his sunglasses slipping down just enough for her to see his eyes. "Because that's all we've got, Cree. Today's already halfway gone, and yesterday's just a ghost. Ain't gonna let it haunt me. Not time for that."

Something in his tone, in the raw honesty of his words, cracked through the walls she'd built around herself. For a moment, she was back in her darkest hour—the day she betrayed the KND, the day she turned her back on everything she'd believed in. She could still see him, Numbuh 100, reaching out to her as the chaos unfolded.

And she'd ignored him.

But now, here he was. Again.

Not as Numbuh 100 or The Steve, but as the boy who had always believed in her.

"I don't know who I'm gonna be tomorrow," she whispered, tears brimming.

"I need to run that back again?" Steve said with a small, knowing smile. "Kids, comprende?"

She laughed, resting her head against his shoulder as the bike roared to life again.

The green light glowed over the street as they sped forward, the wind whipping around them.

Cree leaned closer, burying her head into the curve of his neck. For the first time in years, she let herself exhale.

The road stretched out before them, full of endless possibilities.

---

It's time to recollect again

The dreams I had almost forgotten

---

Moonbase Zero-point-One glittered with life.

String lights intertwined with the alien vines encasing the walls, casting an otherworldly glow over the room. Laughter and chatter reverberated through the expansive hall, where operatives from every sector had gathered for the monumental occasion. The music was upbeat, the punch plentiful, and the snack table piled high with candy-coated treats. But even amid the festivities, an undercurrent of bittersweet emotion lingered.

This wasn't just any party.

Standing on the central stage, beneath a banner that read "Happy 13th Birthday, Numbuh 3!" in colorful block letters, Kuki Sanban beamed as she held the microphone. She looked radiant in her signature green sweater, with a bright bow perched atop her head as her hair cascaded into a loose ponytail. Her cheerful demeanor lit up the room.

Yet, the signs were clear. The sweater was no longer a few sizes too big. Her hands naturally poked out of the sleeves, her body finally adjusting. It was a subtle but resounding reminder of the passage of time.

Just one final nail in the coffin. Some operatives, especially in the front row, jittered anxiously.

But Kuki continued to smile. There would be tears and sadness, but she didn't want them to remember all that. She needed them not to remember that at all.

After today? This occasion wouldn't carry such a grim burden. She'd make sure of that.

She'd make damn sure of that.

"Wowie-zowie, it sure has been pretty bonkers lately, hasn't it? Like, sooper non-stop!" Kuki waved her arms dramatically. "I mean, the most gihugic Teen Ninja prison riot ever, a bunch of scary, nasty rumors trying to make us not trust each other, and to top it all off, our Moonbase almost got BBQ'd. Again! Talk about two nickels, am I right?"

The crowd erupted into laughter, and Kuki grinned. But then, her tone softened.

"On that note, I want to take a moment to commentate on and recognize the mega awesome bravery shown by our Moonbase Communication Team: Numbuh 365, Numbuh 543, and Numbuh Six-Shooter!" She gestured toward the trio standing in the crowd, who looked sheepish but proud. "Without them, none of us would be here today. Literally! They saved the Moonbase. ALL BY THEMSELVES. Give them a hand, everybody! Hooray!"

Cheers and applause erupted, but a curious voice piped up. "Um, but how exactly did they manage to reattach the Moonbase all by themselves?"

Kuki blinked.

Kim, Ron, and Rufus exchanged nervous glances.

"Good question!" Kuki finally said. She let the silence settle before closing her eyes and smiling. "…ANYWAY!"

The audience laughed again, and the three kids let out a sigh of relief. Kuki looked over and subtly winked at them before she pressed on.

"It's been wild. It's been crazy. It's been insane out the membrane! But more than that, it's been scary. Scarier than anything we could have ever imagined. We were up against the impossible. The unstoppable. We were at the end." She paused, her voice growing stronger. "They said we'd break. They said we'd lose. But here we are anyway! What else is new?"

A voice from the crowd shouted, "We knew you could do it, sir!"

Kuki shook her head. "Nu-uh. It wasn't me. If it were up to just me? We'd all be in deep dog doodie. It wasn't just me—it was my friends. My team. My loved ones. It was each and every one of you."

The crowd gasped. Some smaller kids looked at each other, mouths agape with adorable awe, pointing at themselves as if blown away, some evenly innocently whispering, "Me?"

"You all believed in me. You all believed in yourselves when all the meanie-heads counted you out. This struggle? This cause will all fight for? Cynics will say it's silly. Nihilists will say there's no point—"

"What's a nihilist?" a younger operative interrupted.

"Oh, it's just a party pooper who thinks nothing matters because they're too scared or lazy to care about anything."

"Oh…okay!"

Kuki grinned. "Point is, they think we'll grow out of this; it's all kids' stuff. Well, to that, I say: who does kids' stuff better than the Kids Next Door?"

The crowd roared their agreement, but their energy shifted as the doors to the hall creaked open.

Heads turned, and a hush fell as Wally Beetles stepped inside. He stood awkwardly at the entrance, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze wary.

A few kids sneered or muttered under their breath, but before anyone could escalate, Patrick stepped forward.

"Show some respect," he said firmly.

That…that was enough to silence the staunchest of gossipers.

Operatives watched, stunned as Numbuh Eighty-Five, Patrick Fulbright, Global Tactical Officer and Head of Decommissioning, escorted Wallabee Beetles, presumed deserter and traitor, up across the stage as if he were being granted the highest of kiddy honors.

Kuki's face lit up as she spotted Wally. "Hey! Took you long enough, Numbuh 4!"

Wally grumbled something under his breath, but the tension eased as Kuki smiled warmly at him.

"Us kids, teens," she paused, sending Wally a warm look, "even adults…all this fighting, all this grief. One day, it will all end. One day, things are finally going to change. YOU are going to be that change. I've seen it. One day, that unpossible dream? It WILL come true."

She continued, weaving hope and inspiration into every word. Then, as if on cue, she grinned mischievously.

"Oh! Speaking of second chances…come on down, Harvey!"

Harvey McKenzie froze mid-sip of fruit punch his eyes wide as the crowd parted to let him through. From the stage, Sonia, Lee, and Patrick cheekily grinned, encouraging him to join them as if they knew some movie spoiler. Harvey gulped down the punch and his nerves as he took cautious steps up to the podium.

Whispers rippled through the room, but Kuki didn't waver.

"I've heard you gossipers around the punch bowl. Turns out this time, you were right! Harvey McKenzie was recommissioned due to a miracle during the fight against Father. And it's thanks to him that we're all standing here today. Give him a hand!"

The applause was tentative, but Kuki's sincerity softened even the harshest skeptics. She turned to Harvey, her gaze gentle.

"I'm offering you a second chance, Harvey." She held up the code module. "We all have a choice and the one you made? It wasn't easy. I can never thank you enough for being big enough to make it. So, I figure the least I can do is give you another one! So, whaddya say? Are you in, or are you old?"

The crowd held its breath as Harvey, encouraged by his old team, entered his booger into the Big Super Computer-ma-Bob.

The machine buzzed and whirred before a mechanical voice declared, "Access denied."

Harvey's shoulders slumped, but Kuki's grin only widened. "Oh, come on, don't be such a grumpy pants, Computer."

"ERROR. Genetic material has been removed from the Code Module. It cannot be accepted again."

Harvey further deflated. His old team walked up to comfort him, yet they were all stunned by Kuki's weirdly breezy indifference as she idly inspected her nails. "Uh-huh. I figured you might bring that up. But you know what?" They were all taken aback as she blew a far raspberry toward the CPU before saying, "Do it anyway!"

"Why should I?"

"Because I, Soopreme Leader Numbuh 3…SAID SO!"

Kuki whipped out a special USB stick, one glittering with a shiny 2 sticker, and plugged it in.

The computer flickered, then beeped, booped—even sparked off electronic cries of "OH! THE AGONY!"—as its system was rewritten. Changed.

Upgraded.

Moments later, it announced, "Harvey McKenzie accepted. Operative Codename: Numbuh Three-Sixty-Three, has been reinstated."

Harvey looked stunned as the crowd erupted into cheers.

And then, for her final act, Kuki called Sonia, Lee, and Patrick to the stage. Figuring she was about to offer them some incredible shiny medals (they'd been getting many of those lately), they went up quickly—no big deal. Accept the commendation, smile, and nod, and then continue business as usual.

Only none of that happened.

Kuki surprised them as she took all three of their hands in hers at once, looking at each of them with unwavering confidence.

"Tag. You're ALL it."

The crowd gasped as the computer flared.

Panic began to settle in.

Did…did she just tag in sector W at once?

Was that allowed?

Was this day about to end in the craziest, chaotic game of Soopreme Leader tag ever!?

Some frazzled kids were already stuffing cake and crackers in their pockets before attempting to make a run for it.

Everyone froze in shock as the computer's voice rang out.

"Protocol: BATON PASS has been initiated," the foreign words had an oddly soothing effect. "Numbuh 83, Numbuh 84, Numbuh 85, the responsibility gifted to you is a humongous one. One you do not have to take on should you feel inclined. Do you accept? The choice is yours."

Sonia, Lee, and Patrick looked up at Kuki. Her smile was glowing m, unwavering. There was no judgment or expectation in her eyes. Only excitement, genuine curiosity to see what they'd decide. The kind that spoke that, no matter the outcome, it wouldn't change how so freaking proud she was of them.

They then looked at each other, the unsaid question floating between them.

After a brief, emotional pause, they said, "Yes."

"Protocol: BATON PASS has been completed," the computer resoundly affirmed. "Operatives 83, 84, and 85 have been reassigned to Moonbase Zero-point-One Command."

Murmurs broke out as history unfolded. A frazzled Numbuh Fifty-Three-point-Six furiously flipped through her handbook, hyperventilating as she found no guiding advice to this situation. "B-But, sir! Is…is this, um, allowed? Three Soopreme Leaders at once? That's gotta be against the rules!… right?"

"It's time we made our own rules, new ones. Better ones." Kuki declared, her voice ringing with conviction. "Ones that prove we're not afraid to change."

Then came the moment everyone dreaded.

Kuki turned to her birthday cake, closed her eyes, and blew out the candles.

The room went silent, the air heavy with the knowledge that their leader, their friend, was leaving them.

This was it.

This…was goodbye.

Before she could step off the stage, a wave of cadets surged forward, clinging to her, begging her not to go!

Tears streamed down Kuki's cheeks as she hugged them back.

"I want to stay. I wanna stay forever and ever and ever!" she sniffled. "But…it's not about what I want. Sometimes we have to leave. Sometimes…we gotta grow up."

The sobs of the younger operatives filled the Moonbase hall, tugging at Kuki's heart. One by one, they slowly loosened their grips on her sweater, arms, and legs. Tears coated their faces as they stepped back, their tiny hands lingering in the air as if letting her go would make her disappear.

"You're sooper brave," one of them whimpered, trembling.

Kuki knelt to meet their tear-streaked faces, her own eyes glistening. "No. You're the brave ones. You'll make the world so much better, one cookie at a time. I believe in all of you. I always will."

She hugged them tightly one last time before standing, wiping her face with a determined breath. Her gaze shifted to the back of the room, where Wally waited, his shoulders hunched and hands buried deep in his hoodie pouch. He met her eyes briefly, then quickly looked away, shuffling awkwardly.

Kuki's heart skipped a beat, but she steadied herself and walked toward him. The crowd parted as she approached, the air buzzing with anticipation. Wally didn't move, his expression unreadable as she stopped before him.

"You don't have to do this," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the crowd's murmurs.

Wally snorted softly, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I do."

For a moment, he stayed still, but then, ever so slowly, his hand emerged from his hoodie pouch. He reached out and gently took hers, his calloused fingers brushing against hers with surprising tenderness.

The room erupted into a cacophony of gasps, teasing "ooooooo's!" and one kid shouting at the top of their lungs, "I KNEW IT!"

Kuki's eyes widened in disbelief. Wally? Holding her hand?

In front of the ENTIRE Kids Next Door?!

Her face flushed as the jeers continued, operatives elbowing each other and exchanging knowing looks.

But what stunned her even more was Wally's reaction—or rather, his lack of one.

Despite the faint pink tint dusting his cheeks, he stood firm, his fingers curling securely around hers. His easy smile never wavered, and he didn't flinch under the teasing.

"I don't care what they say," he murmured enough that only she could hear. "I'm gonna be with you. Right up to the very end."

Kuki felt her chest tighten, her heart swelling with emotions too big for words. Wally's touch, calm presence, and quiet declaration said more than anything else ever could. She swallowed the overwhelming urge to throw her arms around him and smother him with kisses. Instead, she gripped his hand tightly, her smile breaking free.

Emboldened by his love, Kuki turned back to face the room. The crowd had fallen into stunned silence, watching as she and Wally, hand in hand, strode confidently toward Sonia, Lee, Patrick, and Harvey.

The four kids stared at them, their gazes shifting between Kuki's beaming face and Wally's steady, slightly awkward one. Despite the moment's gravity, Kuki kept her hand tightly intertwined with Wally's, a gesture that seemed to strengthen them both.

"Hi, guys!" Kuki greeted brightly, using her free hand to scratch the back of her neck. She gave a nervous laugh. "Sooo, um, sorry for, y'know…springing the whole 'tagging you all at once' thing on you back there. Total spur-of-the-moment idea! Heh."

Sonia, Lee, and Patrick exchanged glances before Sonia finally shook her head with a small smile. "Don't apologize, sir. It's an honor."

Lee nodded in agreement. "Yeah, seriously. It's just…does this mean all three of us are Supreme Leader now?"

Kuki's eyes lit up excitedly, but then she hesitated, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Well…yes? Uh, no? Kinda?" She paused, her expression softening. "Honestly, part of me doesn't even think it should be called Supreme Leader anymore. But that's up to you guys. You get to decide your way forward, not anyone else."

The three kids blinked, clearly surprised.

Kuki continued, "This way, one kid doesn't have to bear it all alone. You can share the responsibility. Whatever hard choices you make, you'll do it together—as friends. As a team." She grinned, her tone lightening. "Besides, I'm really hoping this hammers the importance of actual delegation, y'know? Instead of dumping all the responsibility on one poor kid. It's kinda rude."

The three shuffled awkwardly, guilt flickering across their faces.

Patrick finally spoke up, his voice hesitant. "But…what if we don't agree on some things? What if we screw up?"

Kuki opened her mouth to respond, but Wally, ever impatient, beat her to it.

"Oh, you're definitely gonna argue," he said bluntly. "And screw up? Yeah, that's gonna happen too."

Sonia's eyes widened. "Wait, what?!"

Before anyone could panic, Wally smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in his usual cocky way. "Relax, would ya? All the best mates argue. And mess up. Just look at me and Sector V! You think we got where we are by bein' all fake and butt-kissy to each other?" He snorted. "No way. We're always givin' each other crud. But when it counts? We had each other's backs. That's what matters."

The three looked at him, their uncertainty giving way to cautious understanding.

Wally crossed his arms, his voice steady. "Your differences? All that hard stuff? That's what makes ya stronger. If you're tough enough to handle it, anyway. And I got a feeling you are."

Kuki gave an audible aww and turned to Wally with a radiant smile. "Oh my gosh! That was soooo sweet and secretly sooper smart! My little pookie bear's so wise!"

Wally's eye twitched at the pet name, his grin stiffening. "…It's her birthday," he muttered under his breath. "It's her birthday…"

Harvey shuffled forward, his usual bravado muted as he tried to find the words. His hands fidgeted at his sides, but his gaze was steady when he finally looked at Kuki. "Uh, hey…so…thanks. For giving me a second chance. I mean it. I'm gonna work hard to earn it. Honest."

Kuki's expression softened, the edges of her smile warm and genuine. "I know you will, Harvey. I have faith in you."

The words struck a chord deeper than Harvey expected, something loosening in his chest. It wasn't just the words—it was hearing them from someone outside of his family, someone other than Rachel. He stood a little taller, his back straightening as he raised his hand in a crisp salute. For a moment, his face was the picture of earnest determination.

Kuki blinked in surprise but quickly mirrored the salute with a grin.

"Whoa," Wally muttered under his breath, arching a brow. "The only other kid I've seen him do that for is his sister."

Before Kuki could respond, Harvey cleared his throat. "So, uh…any idea where the computer's gonna assign me?"

As if on cue, the Moonbase computer, hovering nearby, emitted a series of chirps and beeps. Its mechanical voice finally announced: "Sector: Moonbase. Position: Custodial Operations Specialist."

Harvey's shoulders slumped, his tone flat. "Fantastic. A janitor. My dream job…"

Patrick shifted uncomfortably. "Uh…maybe we could, y'know, reassign you?"

Harvey sighed dramatically, waving him off. "Nah, it's fine. I'll just…double—no, triple up on gloves."

At that moment, Bonnie poked her tiny head out of Harvey's shirt collar, a miniature broom and dustpan clutched in her paws. Harvey glanced down at her and smiled faintly. "At least I won't be alone."

Sonia stepped forward, her voice bright. "That's right. You're assigned to the Moonbase—with us." She motioned for the boys to huddle closer, her expression warm. "It'll be just like Sector W again."

Harvey blinked, his mood visibly lifting. "Hey…yeah. You're right!" His grin turned sly, a familiar spark of mischief flickering in his eyes. "Y'know, I could be like one of those janitors from TV. The kind that secretly knows everything. Oh, and the KEYS." His voice rose with excitement as he threw his hands into the air. "I'll get keys to all the rooms. ALL THE ROOMS!"

Bonnie mirrored his dramatic pose, squeaking in what sounded like agreement.

Sonia deadpanned. "Slow your roll, Harvey. We'll start you with one key and let you work your way up."

Harvey's shoulders slumped again, and he kicked at the floor in mock disappointment. "Fine…" A beat later, he smirked. "Oh, by the way, I ever tell you guys how Rachel taught me the trick to getting free sodas from the vending machine in the Global Command lounge…"

Sonia narrowed her eyes. "Two keys."

Shattering glass echoed through the room, followed by several kids yelling about the spilled punch. Harvey groaned, already turning toward the commotion. "Guess I better get used to that."

Patrick blinked, surprised. "Wait, you're already working?"

Harvey shrugged. "No point in putting it off." He glanced meaningfully at Kuki and Wally. "Besides, you've got more important stuff to take care of."

As he headed off to find a mop, Patrick crossed his arms and allowed himself a slight smirk. "Huh. Maybe we should start him with three keys."

Lee shook his head. "Let's not get crazy now."

Wally leaned toward Kuki, muttering, "He lasts a week tops."

Kuki's grin stiffened, and her hand clamped down on Wally's with surprising force. He hissed, his voice pitching up. "I was just kidding!"

Kuki's smile softened, but the glint in her eye told Wally he'd better be.

Sonia, Patrick, and Lee led, guiding Kuki and Wally toward the hall leading to the decommissioning chamber. The crowd's murmurs and shuffling quieted as the five walked, Kuki's hand still firmly clasping Wally's.

The sight of their Supreme Leader resolutely heading toward the unknown with her trademark kindness and courage stirred something in the crowd. It wasn't just her bravery but her unwavering faith in them.

Near the back, a young operative, barely past his training, felt a surge of emotion. His hand shook as he hesitantly pumped it into the air and stammered, "F-Five!"

The room went still, all eyes on him. The boy's face flushed, and he lowered his hand in embarrassment.

Before it could drop, Wally puffed out his chest and shouted, "Four!" with unwavering confidence. His voice boomed across the auditorium as he caught the boy's eye and winked. The young operative sniffled, his face lighting up with a wide, toothy smile at being noticed.

Harvey, who had paused mid-cleanup, exchanged a glance with Bonnie. With a smirk, he raised his mop high and shouted, "Three!"

The crowd began to stir, the energy in the room catching like wildfire. Sonia, Lee, and Patrick took their cue, their voices loud and proud as they bellowed, "Two!"

Kuki stopped in her tracks, her heart swelling at the sound. Her eyes drifted to the stars visible through the Moonbase's massive observation window.

A single star seemed to twinkle more brightly than the others, and her chest ached at the thought of her dear friend a buhmillion light-years away.

She swallowed hard, her tears threatening to spill, before taking a deep breath and shouting, "One!"

The room erupted in unison, every voice echoing as one: "KIDS NEXT DOOR!"

Kuki's lips trembled as she shakily finished the battle cry, raising a hand to blow the crowd one final kiss. Her tears spilled freely now, but her smile shone through them.

"I love you all. Gotta go. Bye-bye!" she said, her voice breaking as she waved.

Before she could completely lose her composure, she turned and hurried down the hall, tugging Wally and the others along with her. Wally squeezed her hand, grounding her as Sonia, Patrick, and Lee gave her silent, reassuring nods.

Her quiet sniffles echoed faintly in the corridor as the cheers behind them faded into a hum of love and admiration.

The group ventured down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the quiet as they finally approached the threshold of the decommissioning chamber. The glowing panel on the door flickered faintly, casting a soft light over their faces. Patrick let out a loud exhale, slumping against the wall.

"Phew! I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep that up," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sonia nodded, her posture relaxing. "Same here. I thought my face was gonna freeze from all that smiling."

Patrick stretched his arms overhead, shaking off the tension. "But you nailed it, sir. I mean it. For a second there…" He grinned, albeit sheepishly. "Even I thought you were gonna be decommissioned for real."

Kuki and Wally exchanged a glance, their expressions darkening. They didn't say a word, the usual lightness between them replaced by a heavy, unspoken tension.

Lee noticed first, his grin fading. "What's wrong?"

Kuki hesitated, looking up at Wally. He closed his eyes briefly, then gave her a solemn nod.

Sonia's brows knitted in concern. "Why do you both look so sad?"

Kuki turned back to the group, clasping her hands tightly as she finally spoke, her voice trembling but resolute. "Because…I am being decommissioned. For real."

Sonia, Lee, and Patrick stared at her slackjawed before their reactions exploded simultaneously.

"What?!" Sonia's voice cracked as tears sprang to her eyes. "But I thought—decommissioning was gonna be optional starting today! I thought that was your last big surprise!"

Kuki shook her head, her expression soft and apologetic. "It will be optional. Starting today, Earth is the first to try it. But…" She hesitated, swallowing hard. "I have to be the last to go through it for that to happen. The orders came from Galactic Command. They're…not fully sold on the idea yet. Earth is a trial run."

Sonia's lip quivered. "But why?!"

Kuki's voice softened further. "Because it doesn't come free." She exhaled, her gaze drifting between the three. "I know I accomplished a lot, but I broke many rules to get here. Not all of it was for noble reasons. I lied to you guys, to all the kids who believed in me."

Her gaze shifted to Wally, her voice thick with emotion. "I abused my power…and I was selfish, too."

Wally looked down, guilt flickering across his face, but before he could say anything, Kuki reached up and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. Her touch was gentle, soothing the regret before it could take root.

"I'd do it all again," she confessed softly, her eyes locking with his.

The others couldn't hold back their tears. Sonia, Lee, and Patrick cried openly, voices overlapping with shaky protests. "It's okay!" Sonia sobbed. "We forgive you!"

Kuki shook her head, her expression unwavering. "It's not about forgiveness. It's about doing what's right." She stepped back, glancing at each of them as she explained. "All the changes I made today? Letting Harvey come back, giving kids like him a second chance, convincing Galactic Command to let you three lead, and making decommissioning optional? I had to prove I would sacrifice everything to give you all your choices back."

Patrick's tears turned to fury. "No!" he shouted, breaking away from the group and charging toward the chamber. "I won't let them take you!"

Wally stepped forward, grabbing Patrick by the scruff of his shirt and easily hoisting him off the ground. "Don't," he said firmly, his voice carrying an edge of authority.

Patrick struggled for a moment, but when he looked into Wally's face, he saw something unexpected—an apology buried behind the sternness.

"Don't make this harder on us than it needs to be," Wally said quietly, setting Patrick back down.

Patrick froze, his eyes wide with realization. "Wait…" His voice wavered. "Us?" He stared at Wally. "You—you're gonna let yourself be decommissioned too?"

Wally sighed, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, mate. Rules are rules, y'know? I broke 'em, too." His voice softened. "Ran away from my original decommissioning. Turns I can't exactly pull off being a triple-free agent after all. Pretty sure that's one of those double negative things."

He reached out and ruffled Patrick's hair, a tender gesture that carried a weight of finality. "Looks like ya finally caught me, huh, runt?"

Patrick broke, collapsing into Wally's hoodie and sobbing. "Not like this," he choked out. "Not like this."

Sonia trembled, her tear-streaked face turning toward Kuki. Her voice was a whisper, but her words cut deep. "That's why you left the Book with Moosk. That's why you tagged us all in. This…this wasn't spur of the moment at all, was it?"

Kuki smiled faintly, her heart breaking as she saw Sonia piece it together. "You're right," she admitted softly. "My mom once told me…sometimes grown-ups tell little white lies to protect kids. It's hard to decide when to do it. And the even harder part is…" Her voice cracked, and she looked down. "The hardest part is knowing they might never forgive you if they figure it out."

Sonia couldn't hold back anymore. She burst into a sob and rushed forward, throwing her arms around Kuki in a crushing hug.

Kuki hugged her back tightly, whispering, "It's okay. It's okay."

Sonia's face pressed into Kuki's shoulder, spilling her words in broken, desperate cries. "I don't want you to go! It's not fair! It's not fair!"

Lee and Patrick couldn't hold back either. Their resolve crumbled as they rushed forward, throwing their arms around Wally and Kuki. It was a tangle of limbs and muffled cries as the three clung to the last of Sector V.

The reality hit them with unrelenting force. This wasn't just goodbye.

This was the end.

Everything Kuki and Wally had given up, everything they had sacrificed, it was all for them. For Patrick's fiery determination. For Lee's boundless creativity. For Sonia's unwavering heart.

For the entire dream of the Kids Next Door.

Kuki cried softly as she held them, but her trembling voice stayed steady. "We have to, sweetie," she said gently, rubbing Sonia's back as the girl sobbed. "We finished our last mission. It's time for the last of Sector V to go…so your new Kids Next Door can thrive."

Sonia shook her head violently. "No! It won't be the Kids Next Door! Not without Sector V! Not without—" Her voice cracked. "Without YOU!"

Kuki's voice softened even further, her words barely a whisper. "It was before," she said, her eyes glistening as she glanced between them all, "and it will be after."

The three looked up at her, faces red and tear-streaked, but Kuki's expression wasn't one of sadness. It was warm, loving, and full of her unshakeable faith in them.

"Even if we never see each other again," she continued, brushing a tear from Sonia's cheek, "I want you to promise me one thing. Promise me that even when you're all grown up—when you're wrinkly, have funky old people smell, and can't remember a thing about all our silly adventures together…" She paused, her lips trembling into a smile. "That you'll listen to the kid who will always live inside your heart. Will you promise me that?"

The three stared at her, struggling to form words through their tears. Kuki cupped their faces one by one, meeting their gazes with a look so full of love it made them cry harder.

"That kid," she said, her voice steady, "will find a way back. Let you see the colors that can't be seen with your eyes. Hear the silly songs that can't be heard with ears. That kid will help you find a way to tomorrow, even when jaded adults tell you there's no point."

The moment lingered, heavy with emotion. Slowly, their sobs began to quiet. Kuki's words, though aching with finality, carried something else—a glimmer of hope—a strength they didn't realize they needed.

Lee was the first to let go, stepping back with trembling hands. Patrick followed, his lip quivering as he wiped his face on his sleeve. Sonia was the last, her hand clutching her heart as she stepped away.

She glanced at the chamber, then back at Kuki. Her voice broke as she whispered, "I… I know what has to happen next, but…" She looked down, tears welling again. "I don't know how to say it."

Kuki smiled gently, the smile that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. "Then don't," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind Sonia's ear.

Kuki paused, her hand resting on Sonia's shoulder. "Because despite it all," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet certainty, "no matter how unpossible it might seem…"

She gave them a smile that shone brighter than the stars, one that could melt the coldest heart. "This isn't goodbye."

The words settled into them like a lullaby, soothing their frayed nerves and giving them the courage they didn't know they had.

One by one, the three nodded, their expressions shifting from heartbreak to something steadier. Something stronger.

Finally, they turned and walked away together, their footsteps slow and hesitant at first but growing steadier with each step. Kuki watched them go, her heart swelling with pride and love.

Wally and Kuki turned to each other, their hands naturally finding one another's. There was no hesitation in how her fingers entwined with his, her grip gentle but firm. For a moment, they stood there, soaking in the stillness, the soft hum of the chamber around them. It wasn't the tense silence of fear but the peaceful quiet of two people who had shared the most extraordinary adventures anyone could ask for.

Kuki gave his hand a slight squeeze. Wally returned it. Then, with a soft nod, they stepped forward together.

The chamber felt smaller than Kuki remembered, though maybe it was just her perspective now. They took their seats side by side, and Wally got to work hooking them in. His movements were careful and precise, his hands lingering just a little longer than necessary to ensure every strap and clasp was secure.

Kuki tilted her head back, gazing up at the machine's plunger looming overhead. It was funny, she thought. The last time she sat here when Chad's conspiracy had landed her in this very spot all those years ago, she'd been terrified. The fear had been there, gnawing at her chest even if she hadn't shown it.

Now, she was afraid again, but it was different this time. It was the kind of fear that came with stepping into a haunted house or watching a scary movie—the fear you chose willingly, not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Something strangely exhilarating about it was the anticipation of the unknown mingling with the thrill of what could come next.

It was weird.

Maybe she was just weird.

"All set," Wally said, his voice low but steady. He awkwardly looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, uh…is this thing automated, or…?"

A gravelly voice answered from the shadows of the room. "The hand of justice is more…manual. Like a stick shift."

Wally yelped, his head snapping toward the source of the voice. "You little creep! Think you can scare me like that?!"

Kuki simply smiled, unfazed. "Hi, Tommy. Did you get some cake before it got gobbled up?"

Tommy stepped out of the darkness, his cape billowing slightly as he adjusted the fedora perched on his head. Crumbs clung stubbornly to the corners of his lips, which he wiped away with a faint smirk. "Mayhaps," he intoned mysteriously.

Kuki's gaze shifted to the far end of the room. "Are Abby and Hoagie waiting on the other side?"

Tommy hesitated, his persona slipping as he answered more like the ten-year-old he was. "Yeah. They're, uh…they're waiting to take you home."

Wally narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. "You didn't mess with the machine, did you?"

Tommy scratched the back of his head, glancing away. "Thought about it," he admitted. "But…decided not to. Figured it'd be like a slap in the face of what you guys are trying to do."

Kuki's grin widened. "That's why I knew I could count on you."

Tommy's cheeks flushed under the praise. "Thanks," he mumbled. "For, y'know…trusting me with all this. Even before telling Sonia. It…means a lot to be taken seriously for once."

Kuki tilted her head thoughtfully. "You sure you don't want me to let you back in, too? There's plenty of room for Numbuh T in this new era of the Kids Next Door."

Tommy straightened up, his persona slipping back into place. "Nah. It's better this way." He swept his cape dramatically, his voice adopting an exaggerated, gravelly tone. "I shall remain on the outside, the invisible hand of justice that taps your shoulder, then ducks out of sight to make you look! The shadow that keeps the Kids Next Door on the straight and narrow. Should they stray from their mission, they shall feel the course corrective wrath of…THE TOMMY!"

He struck a pose, his cape draped over half his face as he squinted into the distance.

The moment lingered for an awkward beat.

Tommy cleared his throat, dropping the persona with a sheepish grin. "Feels weird not getting interrupted."

Kuki giggled. "Want a do-over? I could if it'd make you feel better."

"Nah," Tommy said, waving her off. "But thanks."

He hesitated, his hands wrapping around the lever. His voice was quiet now, tentative. "You guys ready?"

Wally reached over, taking Kuki's hand in his own. He nodded. "Ready as we'll ever be."

Tommy gripped the lever tightly, his expression flickering with sadness and determination. "No matter what's waiting for you on the other side…" His voice cracked slightly, but he steadied himself. "I bid you good tidings. And…my thanks."

With that, Tommy pulled the lever. The machine roared to life, a cascade of lights and sounds filling the chamber. He turned away, pulling his cape around him as he slipped back into the shadows, his form disappearing into the darkness.

The decommissioning machine roared to life around them, the hum building as lights flashed across the chamber. Kuki's gaze lingered on Wally, her expression soft and adoring, as though he were a prince straight out of one of her fairytales.

Wally caught her stare and immediately flushed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he looked away. "Wh-What're you staring at? Gonna gush about how the lights in here make me look cute or something?"

"Not cute," Kuki teased, her voice warm as she stretched out the word, "handsome."

His blush deepened

She tilted her head, her smile growing. "I was just thinking…you got your way in the end, huh? Such a stubborn McStubby Pants."

Wally blinked, confused. "Huh? What're you talkin' about?"

Kuki giggled softly. "Your big show of affection in front of everyone in the auditorium. It made me think of how you originally wanted to confess to me."

"Oh." The memory hit him, and Wally scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah… I remember that day. It wasn't long after… y'know, the Grove burned down. And after you became Supreme Leader."

Kuki nodded, her expression sobering as she remembered the hard times that had followed.

Wally's gaze dropped as he reflected. "You'd been through so much. And all I wanted—more than anything—was to see ya be happy again. I couldn't keep beatin' around the bush." His lips twitched into a faint, awkward smile. "So, I came up with this big plan. Roped my cadets into helpin' without them even knowin' what it was for."

He chuckled, the memory growing clearer. "I was gonna do it big. Admit my feelings right there, in front of the whole cruddy Moonbase. Make it somethin' outta your Rainbow Monkey novels—the macho guy throwin' away his pride to confess his love for the leadin' lady in front of the entire world." His blush deepened. "I figured, after all the times I'd been a knucklehead, you deserved somethin' like that."

Kuki's smile softened as she watched him.

"But," Wally continued, laughing awkwardly, "you somehow caught on just as I was about to go through with it. And before I could make a big sentimental sap outta myself…" He looked at her, puzzled. "You stopped me."

The machine began to crackle, its energy filling the air. Wally frowned. "I still don't get it. Why'd you stop me? I know we got it out later in private, but… For a while, I… I thought maybe you were embarrassed of me."

Kuki's eyes widened. "Oh no, Wally! Never!" She shook her head quickly, her tone filled with apology. "It's just…I know you. I didn't want you to make some big, lovey-dovey spectacle at your own expense."

Wally blinked, his confusion deepening. "I thought that's what you always dreamed of, though."

Kuki hesitated, then nodded thoughtfully. "That's what I thought too—when I was younger." She smiled wistfully, her voice soft but sure. "But seeing you go to those lengths for me… it already confessed everything I needed to know. I realized I didn't want some fantasy moment. I just wanted you."

Her words hung in the air, as quiet and profound as her gaze.

Wally stared at her, his throat tightening.

"Love doesn't have to be some big play," Kuki continued, her tone growing more confident. "Not when it's real. And I'm so lucky—so proud—to claim you in a crowd. To say, 'That's MY pookie bear!"

Wally groaned. "We really gotta talk about that pet name."

"It's not gonna matter in a minute, pookie wookie bear," she teased, sticking out her tongue. She schooled her face back to serious time. "But I've come to treasure the little moments no one else sees. The ones where it's just you and me. The real you, all yours and all mine."

Wally blinked, his voice quiet. "Whoa. That's… exactly how I feel! I just…uh, never knew how to say it. Felt kinda selfish."

"Oh, it is selfish," Kuki admitted, her lips curling into a loving smirk. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But it's the best kind of selfish. The kind where you want the other person to know they're not only needed…but wanted."

Wally's face turned bright red, but he managed a shy smile. "That… that feels nice. Really nice."

Kuki beamed. "You deserve nice!"

"Well, so do you."

They sat silently for a moment before Wally suddenly straightened, clearing his throat dramatically. In a callback to a younger, sillier version of himself, he bellowed in an exaggerated voice, "I WUV YOU!"

Kuki blinked in surprise before bursting into laughter, squealing as she kicked her feet in delight. "Say it again!"

Wally rolled his eyes playfully, but his smile softened as he looked at her. This time, he said it earnestly, his voice steady and sincere. "I love you."

Her gaze softened as her own words tumbled out, just as heartfelt. "I love you too."

The plungers above them inched closer, the crackling energy of the machine intensifying. Kuki glanced up, and a flicker of fear crossed her face again.

Wally noticed, his grip on her hand tightening reassuringly. "Hey, y'know what the silver lining is in all this?" he asked, his voice steady and calm.

She looked at him questioningly.

"Even if we come out not knowin' a thing about each other, I'm not worried," he said. "I'm kinda jealous of future me."

"Jealous?" Kuki blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Yeah," Wally said, his smile widening. "Because on the other side, it's a chance to fall in love with ya all over again."

Kuki's breath hitched, tears spilling over as the plungers tickled their foreheads. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Wally said firmly, his hand finding hers again.

As the machine completed its work, the glow of the chamber enveloping them, their fingers remained tightly intertwined, holding on to each other even as unconsciousness took them both.

---

Then step towards another day

My heart will guide the way

---

"Kuki..."

Something brushed against her face, soft and warm. She frowned, her mind sluggishly swimming through a fog. Where was she? The last thing she remembered was... what was it again?

"Kuki."

That voice... it was so familiar. It sounded like sunshine, bright and golden, and she wanted to wrap herself in it like her favorite fuzzy blanket.

"Kuuuuuuki."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she immediately squinted at the brightness. Ugh, too much light. The sound of shuffling reached her ears, and then the harshness dimmed. A shadow hovered over her, and her vision cleared just enough to make out… holy-moly.

He was leaning over her, his messy blonde hair sticking up in all directions, a goofy grin on his freckled face. The corners of his green eyes crinkled as he looked at her. He was so... so handsome.

She smiled sleepily.

"Rise and shine, princess."

Kuki jerked upright, the handsome boy narrowly ducking back to avoid their noggins knocking together. She quickly assessed her surroundings—some hospital like room. She was in some clobbled together sleeping cot with…an orange juice IV?

Oh hey, no pulp. Her favorite.

Kuki looked away from the handsome boy, the worry etched in his face tugging at her heart, but there were others. A slightly taller, portly boy leapt from his chair and wrung some pilot cap in his hands anxiously. Another girl was beside her cot, opposite of the handsome boy. The girl looked down at her, red hat shadowing her face, hand braced on a cool-looking cane, yet her mocha eyes were so warm as they gazed into Kuki.

"How ya doin', girl?" the other girl whispered. Like she thought Kuki would shatter.

"Um, yeah," the portly boy tried to chime in. His face held a wobbly bravado, bracing for something. "Are all your, uh, marbles accounted for up there? A-Asking for a…for a us."

Kuki frowned. "Marbles…?"

Handsome boy gently took her hand, trembling like the entire world was in his grasp. "Kuki, do…do ya…r-remember?"

Kuki scrunched her face, head angled at a confused (yet cute) tilt. "Remember what, Wally? Why are you, Abby, and Hoagie acting so…" she trailed off, eyes widening. Wait.

Abby? Hoagie? Wally?

No, not just that. Numbuh Five. Numbuh Two. Numbuh Four.

Her—

"Numbuh 4!?" Kuki gasped, instinctively surging to pull Wally in her arms. Her breath shortened, eyes wild, but he sagged against her, crushing her to his chest. She watched as Abby and Hoagie cried in relief as well. Kuki couldn't believe it.

She…she remembered.

"I remember?" Kuki exhaled, hands trembling as she gripped into Wally. Tears blurred her vision, but her smile threatened to tear her face in two if it got wider. "I-I remember."

"And thank goodness for that!" Hoagie laughed, collapsing back into his chair. He used his cap as a fan, like he had come down with the vapors. "Really had us worried there for a hot sec."

"I don't…" Kuki was dizzy with questions. Thank heavens she was already laying down. Wally leaned back, his watery, joyous smile anchoring briefly before another volley of mysteries assailed her. "W-Wally, do you remember too?"

"Hell yeah! All of it! The Moonbase, the time I lost the keys to the treehouse, even the stupid Mr. Huggykins bit!" he wiped at his face, smiling bursting at the seams. "Never thought I'd be happy to remember that!"

Abby shook her head, chuckling as she leaned into Kuki's cot. "Well, don't that beat all."

This was great. This was fantastic. This was…

…a little too overwhelming, if Kuki had to be frank.

The last thing she remembered was the chamber closing, then poof.

The fact she even remembered the chamber and what it was supposed to do was a miracle in of itself.

"But how?"

"I'd be careful, if I were you." The surprises kept coming as Maurice strolled into the room. He stayed by the door, leaning against the frame and smirking as if he knew the answer to everything. He winked. "You know what they say about looking a gift horse in the mouth."

If that was supposed to be funny, Kuki missed the memo to laugh. Her cheeks puffed, face tinted with frustration as things just kept making less and less sense. "What's going on!? We were supposed to be decommissioned—for real! Did you guys sabotage it? You promised you wouldn't!"

"No foul play here, missy. Scout's honor," Hoagie said, placing a hand over his heart. "I turned that puppy inside out, and the numbers don't lie. The machine was working as intended."

Kuki growled, hand snapping up and shaking a flabbergasted Wally for emphasis. "THEN HOW COME WE REMEMBER!?"

"I have a few theories," a new voice said, "or hunches, I suppose."

Everyone but Maurice tensed as Numbuh Infinity waltzed into the room.

He ambled to the end of Kuki's cot, ignoring their probing gazes and idly flipping through her medical chart like he was the lead doctor.

"Earth is a wildcard as far as Planetary Outposts go. We were never supposed to be an outpost, oddly enough. I ever tell you all that?" he idly asked, gaze still centered on Kuki's vital chart. However, with the sunglasses, it was anyone's guess if he was actually reading them. "Even our manual was a bit of a flub; one of Numbuh Eleventy Billion's first editions. One free of the Important Ones' censoring edits and stricter guidelines. In a sense, I guess we lucked out. That manual's vagueness led to it becoming the Book of KND."

Sector V and Maurice were quiet, begging him to get to the point.

Never one to disappoint, Infinity continued. "In the book was Eleventy Billion's original decommissioning protocol: when an operative becomes a teenager—when they turn 13, they must be discharged from the Kids Next Door. That's always been the case. But wiping a kid's memory? Making them forget everything? That was the extreme the Important Ones jumped to. Memory suppression was always in the foundation, but I don't think Eleventy Billion ever intended it to go that far. I don't think he wanted to rob kids of what made them who they are at their core."

Infinity let the clipboard fall from his hand, dangling from the end of the cot by hot-pink fuzzy string. "So lucky us, our book spared us. For as long as we've operated on Earth, our decommissioning process has been different from the Important Ones' permanent approach. Ah, but we tried to get there anyway, didn't we? Ended up concluding that we needed to bury the inner kid to keep our secrets safe. Put them down for one last after-lunch nap to protect them from the real world." He paused, his shaded stare lowering to the floor in thought. "But sometimes…kids don't like to settle down for naps, do they?"

Kuki arched a brow as he walked up to her side, Abby cautiously allowing him through. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to find his behind those voids he called sunglasses.

"Legends say that, a long time ago, when an operative willingly went to be decommissioned, his inner kid fought back. It felt like it wasn't done, that there it was more it could do. It dared to ask why it couldn't continue the Kids Next Door's mission to protect kids just because they weren't a kid themselves anymore." Infinity rubbed at his upper lip, hand obscuring his mouth. "So that kid…resisted the decommissioning. They found a way to keep fighting. Legends say that operative went on to found Earth's very first secret modern Teen division of the Kids Next Door."

Hoagie itched at his head, scientific curiosity buzzing in his brain. "So…you're saying Numbuh 3 was decommissioned…but her Inner Kid was so strong that it just said, 'nope!' That the long and short of it?"

Infinity allowed his shades to lower. Just enough for Hoagie to catch his side-eye. "That's a rather ineloquent way of putting it, but not…entirely inaccurate."

Hoagie smacked his lips with a roll of his eyes. "'Ineloquent'…get a load of this guy, flaunting his fancy-pants thesaurus Mommy bought him for Kwanza."

Infinity's eye twitched as he shoved up his glasses. "Get bent."

"Oooh, he's got a pulse after all!"

Abby cut Hoagie a dry warning look before regarding Infinity. "When you put it that way…guess it sorta makes sense. 'Specially with what we know now of what our fore-operatives wanted to change decommissioning into. At least before Father screwed everything up."

Infinity frowned. "Funny how one jerk's insignificant act of jealousy can ripple across generations. To think of where we could be now…"

"So our inner child or what'cha'callit wasn't ready to give up the ghost?" Wally asked. He puffed his chest, flexing his arms with a grin. "Then must mean my inner kid is pretty damn tough! Ain't no surprise to a bloke like me."

"Actually, pal," Hoagie slowly, awkwardly cut in, "the chamber only decommissioned Numbuh 3 for sure. But when it failed to, uh, clog down her memories—I guess—it caused a ginormous feedback loop. Whole system reset and everything! Suffice to say…you just got knocked out in the crossfire."

Wally blinked once. Twice. Then he visibly deflated, somehow appearing shorter, if possible. "…oh."

"Aw, chin up champ!" Hoagie clapped Wally's shoulder. "Why, I bet if it went toe-to-toe with your inner kid, the whole thing woulda exploded! Like all, KA-BLUEY! Or maybe even, vrrrrrrrr-BOOM!"

Abby and Infinity pinched their noises in eerie synchronization.

Kuki, however, was more occupied with her hands. She stared at them, the full gravity of the situation barring its full heft on her tiny shoulders. Despite everything, in lieu of all the pain, loss, and misery…that little girl in her wasn't ready to give up. She was still there, ready to fight, their connection stronger than ever. She didn't try to stop her blooming, bubbly smile.

But then, it fled, eyes widening. "But our deal."

The other paused, and Infinity arched a brow.

Kuki looked at the ageless diplomat gravely. "For the changes I made to stay and for decommissioning to become truly optional for all operatives when they reach 13, you said I had to be willing to give it all up. I had to be decommissioned for real."

Infinity leisurely tapped his chin, head tilting to the ceiling as if this all had just occurred to him now. "Those were my terms, yes. While I never directly stated decommissioning…it is the only sure fire way to prove your sacrifice for your cause, I suppose."

"But it didn't work," Kuki gulped. "So…what happens now?"

The air in the room stilled, sector V freezing in suspension, and Maurice just curiously waiting to see how it would all unfold.

Infinity was quiet.

Far too quiet.

He let the quiet stretch on to an uncomfortably long degree until he casually said, "Well, you were technically decommissioned, and it's not like any of us saw this coming. Best to let it fall under double jeopardy rules and call it a day. That, and I'd really prefer this didn't cut into my lunch."

Kuki's jaw dropped. "Are you messing around?"

"I don't mess around with my PB ," Infinity intoned with utmost seriousness. "We're talking no crust, Numbuh 3. No crust."

"N-No, I mean—ugh!" Kuki fumed, grabbing her pillow to muffle her groan. Then, shyly, afraid there was some sort of secret catch, she tentatively asked, "Will you still honor our deal? Pretty please?"

Infinity's face was stoic as he shrugged. "Sure. Why not."

Everyone around her cheered, expressing relief in their own unique way. Kuki, however, was floored. Her posture straightened as she looked at Numbuh Infinity.

Really looked at him.

She looked at him like she was trying to spot the imperfections of a knock-off First Generation Rainbow Monkey.

Infinity let his lips curl into a slight grimace. "You just gonna keep staring at me, or…"

Kuki narrowed her eyes. "I know your type, Infinity. All aloof, all the answers in that breast pocket. Kid who doesn't really give a flying flip one way or the other."

Infinity's expression hardened. "Feel better with that off your chest? Good. Now, can we move on to—HEY!"

He and all in the room were surprised as Kuki snapped forward, wrapping Infinity in a tight hug.

"But I also know when someone's pretending, you big ol' softie, you," she whispered. Kuki gave him a heartfelt squeeze as she leaned back. She dabbed away relived tears as she said, "Thank you."

For the first time in recent memory, Infinity fumbled for words as his cheeks darkened. He hastily brushed away the crinkles on his tuxedo jacket. "A-Alright, no need to get overly sentimental. You're messing up my cool suit!"

Hoagie couldn't resist a good tease. "Aw, look, tinman has a heart after all! I'm never gonna forget this moment."

Infinity's attention snapped to Hoagie as he whipped out a chrome decommissioning pen. "Wanna bet?"

"Nope!" Hoagie yelped, raising his hands and stumbling back. "W-We Gilligans know when to fold 'em, sir. Don't you sweat it!"

Satisfied, Infinity slowly pocketed his pen.

Wally, meanwhile, was in his own little world, oblivious to his chum's near brush with a drive-by lobotomy as something nibbled the back of his mind. "So if Kuki is the only second kid ever to resist decommissioning…then who was the first?"

"Why, I'll give you three guess, lad! And the first two don't count."

Abby, Kuki, Hoagie, and Wally reeled in shock as a familiar adult entered the room. "Mr. Uno!?"

"That's one guess," Monty said with a playful wag of his finger. He pat his belly as he laughed, his fatherly timber putting the four at immediate ease. "Ah, but no need for formalities, children. Just call me Monty."

"Uh, no offense, Mr. Uno, but Abby thinks the best we can do is maybe Numbuh Zero," Abby awkwardly laughed. Monty relented with an easygoing shrug, the simply act encouraging her to smile. "But what penguin suit here was goin' on about…that was you?"

Monty nodded thoughtfully, his eyes crinkling with nostalgia and quiet sorrow. "Spot on, Abigail, my dear," he began, his voice steady but laced with a tremor that hinted at the weight of years behind it. In the background, Infinity indignantly muttered, 'penguin suit!?' but Monty ignored him."After we old dogs toppled Grandfather, we had to rebuild. I wanted so desperately to keep to the Book of KND, follow every line like it was sacred scripture. Wouldn't do to start mucking about with the rules so soon, eh? But when my decommissioning didn't take... well, I say, I took it as a sign."

Monty chuckled softly, the sound carrying an old, wistful warmth. "That's where the Teen Covert Operations Branch began—a lifeline for operatives too wise, too crackerjack to simply forget all they had done. Little did I know then that the Book was never truly intact, was it?" His eyes darkened, the shadows of betrayal crossing his features.

Kuki gasped, glancing at her friends with wide eyes. "You mean when Father—?"

Monty nodded, his gaze turning somber. "Yes, Benedict... my own brother saw to that himself. He erased the new clause Numbuh First Light added before the Important Ones REBOOTED us the first time. Ben…wiped out the very choice our predecessors fought to make optional. And I only learned this recently…when it was too late. The damage he enabled…it's…all my fault."

Hoagie frowned, gears almost visibly turning in his mind. "So... all this time, even if he wasn't fully aware of it…the jerk had the game rigged from the start."

Monty's shoulders sagged, a sigh escaping him. "I believed in the good of people, even in him. The child in me hoped that somewhere deep down, Ben could be saved. But that belief can be a cruel thing, chaps. An illusion. And now, the adult in me has had to tell that naive little boy that sometimes, you can't save someone who doesn't wish it." His eyes glistened with unspoken loss. "My Ben's been gone a long, long time."

The silence that followed was thick, an unspoken heartbreaking reverence for the tragedy of the Wigglestein legacy.

Wally, never one for subtlety, broke it with a scowl. "So, that means you made the dumb rule about only two kids going spy per sector, huh?"

Infinity stepped forward before Monty could respond, holding up a hand. "That one's on me. Part of the... arrangement I made with the Important Ones back in 1999. They turned me into this"—he gestured at his young, unchanging self—"and I could only convince them to let Earth's unsanctioned teen operations continue if I bound them with harsher restrictions. I had too, especially considering—" Infinity stopped himself. He neutralized his tone before saying, "I made the call to brutally handicap the Teen Branch. Its recent decline is my legacy, and mine alone."

Monty placed a hand on Infinity's shoulder, eyes softening. "Now, now, old bean, no need to carry that burden alone. I paved the way with hidden rules myself. You just built on them. I thought it would balance the scales, make things 'fair'." He sighed, eyes wandering to the ceiling as if searching for lost moments. "But now I realize many of those decisions were relics of another time—choices that have aged poorly and hurt more than they helped."

Abby crossed her arms, determination sparking in her gaze. "If Father hadn't tampered with our history, we wouldn't have had to fix it this late."

Monty met her eyes with a somber smile. "True enough, but it falls on us to admit when we've stayed silent too long. We've all share in the blame, old girl. Now, it's our turn to be the change."

Hoagie furrowed his brow, a spark of realization lighting his features. "Wait a second..." He glanced over at Infinity. "You said you had to hamstring the teen spies to play nice with the Important Ones."

Infinity seemed puzzled while Monty smirked knowingly behind him. "You're paraphrasing my words again, but yes. That's basically it. Case closed."

"I don't think so. You already offered yourself up as an eternal lab rat. There's self-sacrifice, then there's just plain bending over. And you don't strike me as the sorta kid to take a spanking lying down. So why would you offer more? It's almost as if…it was a misdirection. Like ya jangled a set of keys in their face so the big babies wouldn't look any closer and catch whiff of what you were really cookin'…"

His friends watched as he paced, the ace detective taking over.

Infinity frowned. "Not everything is a big mystery, Numbuh 2. Drop it.

"Nah, see, that's some unintentional reverse psychology there, pal," Hoagie defied as he pieced the clues together. "You're losing your air'o mystery, bub. I caught that slip. You outed the teen spies on purpose. But it won't to spite 'em. No, you actually feel sorry for the teenagers. That whole TREATY with The Steve years ago. That was a punchline anyone, 'specially a control freak like you, coulda seen coming a mile away. But you feel for it anyway. Because you actually wanted there to be peace between us all. Even back then. It was a stupid gamble against the House, but went all in anyway. Ol' Chad had to bail ya out last second."

Infinity's lips twitched.

"So yeah, ya sold out the teen spies, but it was to protect them. Pretty noble. But even then, they were your patsy's," Hogaie gave a hard look at Maurice, who nervously smiled. Hoagie then made a point to stare at Monty. "There were others you wanted to protect even more."

Monty crossed his arms, his smirk widening under his ruffling stache. He arched a puffy brow, a silent encouragement to say, go on…

"Anyone on Earth over 13 was a lost cause to your ex-Alien Overlords. But teen…there's some wiggle room there. Ya can argue they're still kids, just a little taller, pizza face, and maybe a bit too eager to play kissy-face than your normal twelve-year old. So that begs the question…where's the hard line? Who would Important Ones hate even more?"

Wally scratched his head. He wasn't following…but this was getting pretty exciting.

Abby and Kuki shared a quick, decisive look. The last, dangerous secret Supreme Leaders vowed to take to the grave. One they could even reveal to their loved ones. Not without said loved ones coming to their own conclusions.

Maurice waited, bracing for the inevitable.

Monty just smiled.

And Infinity?

Infinity was getting real sick andtired of underestimating these sector V misfits and the universe oh-so eager to rub it in his face. Like he hadn't been through enough.

He could literally hear it laughing at him now!

"Numbuh Zero started the teen branch, but why stop there? It goes deeper. It goes older," Hoagie declared, voice dramatic and booming to prime his greatest Whodunnit reveal ever! "The Important Ones to ever find out about them. And there are THEM, aren't they?"

Though he'd long accepted he'd been had (and he'd lost another bet, darn it), Infinity couldn't help but allow himself one last dig, "Nice subject-verb agreement, Sherlock."

Hoagie wasn't gonna let that stop his gravy train. "Numbuh Zero ain't just here cause he was recommissioned, this is like picking up an old sousaphone. Becuase there aren't just teen operatives. Not even galactic operatives. There are ADULT operatives! Right in our own backyard!"

A new voice chimed in, light and lilting but with an air of authority. "Why, of course there are, dear."

The group turned as an older woman entered the room, confidently carrying herself. She wore a simple but professional outfit, her auburn hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun.

Hoagie's jaw dropped. "MOM?!"

Betty Gilligan grinned, the corners of her mouth quirking up in amused delight. "Don't look so surprised, sweetie. Who did you think was tinkering around with all that 2x4 tech? Sure, your dad was handy with a wrench, but someone had to make sure the house wasn't constantly blowing fuses every time you and Tommy fired up one of your 'brilliant' inventions."

Hoagie's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, his face a mix of shock and embarrassment. "I—well—I mean…" He scratched the back of his head. "I just never bothered to notice? I thought I was uh, heh, that good?"

Betty laughed, ruffling his hair. "Oh, Hoagie. You're as sharp as your father but just as oblivious sometimes. I'll take that as a compliment."

Kuki gasped, her eyes lighting up with awe. "Wait, so... you're a real spy? That's so neat!"

Abby smirked. "Yeah, gotta admit, Abby didn't see that one coming. Besides bossing around the head honchos, even us Supreme Leaders don't know every adult agent. Plausible deniability."

Wally folded his arms. "Figures. The coolest parents are always someone else's."

Maurice cleared his throat. "Alright, but seriously... what are you two doing here?"

Monty clasped his hands behind his back, stepping forward with a resolute nod. "We're here to help, old beans. Thought it high time we do our part in shaping this new era for the Kids Next Door." He glanced at Betty, who gave a small nod of affirmation. "Specifically, we've come to rebuild the recommissioning module."

"Wait, what?" Wally asked, still trying to catch up.

Betty smiled. "That's right. Monty and I built the original together, though we made sure everyone thought it was just his work. If he were ever compromised, all they'd have is half the recipe."

Monty's expression turned pensive. "Truth be told, I was hesitant to build it in the first place. It was meant to be a last resort—a safeguard, nothing more. But seeing all of you, and what you've sacrificed..." His voice grew softer, his eyes landing on Kuki. "...I realized it's time we gave kids the chance to earn their way back. To show them that growing up isn't the end of the road. It's simply the start of a new journey."

Kuki's face flushed, and she looked down at her hands. "I just... I just didn't want Harvey to feel like he didn't belong anymore," she murmured.

Monty beamed. "And that, my dear, is the kind of kindness that inspires change."

Betty placed a hand on her hip, her smile warm but determined. "We're here to make sure the future of the KND sees second chances not as weakness, but as strength. To help all of you show the world that this isn't just an organization for kids—it's a movement for change."

Maurice stepped forward, hands in his pockets, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more solemn. "And since we're all laying cards on the table, I've got something to say too."

The kids turned their attention to him, curious.

"Numbuh 3," Maurice began with a small smile. "I'm here to welcome you into the Teen Branch officially... if you accept."

Kuki blinked, stunned. "M-Me?"

Maurice nodded. "And not just you. Wally and Hoagie, too."

The boys froze, wide-eyed.

"Us?!" Hoagie sputtered.

"Wait, wait, wait—for real?!" Wally added, gesturing wildly between himself and Hoagie. "But-but only two per sector!"

Maurice held up a hand, chuckling. "Relax, relax! Things are changing, yeah? For the better. The time for all these secrets—it's gotta stop. If we want kids to stop being afraid of teens and adults, we have to show them we're all on the same side."

He folded his arms, his smile softening. "And that means green lighting Numbuh 3'a proposal. Eventually, we're gonna reveal the Teen Branch to the greater KND."

Kuki scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well, I don't know why I let you guys talk me out of ripping that band-aid off at my 'goodbye' ceremony."

Maurice tilted his head knowingly. "You know why. There's still some sensitive operations going on. You wouldn't want to blow their cover and put them in danger, would you?"

Kuki's defiance hesitantly faltered.

"And," Maurice added with a teasing grin, "you know how kids are. One minute, they're throwing a party for you. The next, they're running wild with rumors. Gotta be careful how much you overload them with at once."

Before Kuki could retort, Infinity stepped forward. His usual air of detachment softened into something more personal. "And that, my friends, is where you come in."

The kids exchanged glances, confused.

"I had a friendly wager going on, and seems like I lost," he said, pointedly looking at Monty, "though I get the feeling I was set up."

Monty shrugged. "I do believe I warned you they'd figure it out. Numbuh 2's as sharp as a whip, I say."

"Uh huh. Still, a deal's a deal, I guess," Infinity said, rolling his eyes before reluctantly spreading his arms. "Since now all of you are aware of the Adult Branch, your cell will have a new role. You'll be the—

---

Kids Next Door: A.R.C.H.I.T.E.C.T.S

Adolescent. Representatives. Coordinating. Harmony. Integrating. Teens. Encouraging. Childhood. Teamwork. Support.

---

—a sooper amazingly special team I designed to help bridge the gap between kids and teenagers from all walks of life."

Hoagie raised an eyebrow. "Architects?"

Infinity grinned faintly. "Sounds better than 'bridge builders,' doesn't it?" He turned to Abby first. "Numbuh Five, you'll be the face of the program—the first official Teen Spy revealed to the KND. As the liaison, you'll visit treehouses, help future teen operatives assist sectors with low stake candy runs, and show kids they're not alone, and remind teens that, at the end of the day, they're just taller children."

"Putting her in the driver's seat again, huh? You boys with sunglasses must share a hivemind." Abby smirked, her confidence shining through. "Still, sounds good. Numbuh Five was always a trendsetter."

Infinity's tone turned serious. "But this'll make you a target. That's where you come in, Numbuh Four."

Wally straightened, caught off guard. "Me?"

"You'll be Numbuh 5's bodyguard. Once her cover goes public, the risks go up. She'll need someone she can trust to watch her back. That, and I want you to use old connections to help us infiltrate the bully underworld. The more we can steer fledgling teens down that rabbit hole, the easier it will be for kid-teen relations."

Wally blinked, then squared his shoulders. "Yeah, okay. No problem! Just point me to the nearest loser and I'll sock 'em good."

Infinity nodded approvingly before looking at Hoagie. "Numbuh 2, congrats. You little detective work earned you a promotion. You'll run the Teen Technological Department. There's a…vacancy we need to fill, and your perspective will help with restructuring. Your first assignment is to work with Numbuh Zero and Numbuh V-5B." Seeing Hoagie's lack of recognition to the latter, Infinity jerked her thumb Betty's way. "Your mom, genius."

Hoagie's brows shot up. "Me? But... working on what?"

"You'll be helping transcribe blueprints for the new recommissioning module," Infinity explained. "Once that's done, I'll take it to Galactic Command. If we can replicate the technology, we can make more, not just the few one-use pens Da—Numbuh 74.239 was able to cobble together." Infinity took a moment to compose himself. "If all goes well, we might be able to adapt the technology to other alien kids' biology. That way, it can be used galaxy-wide."

Hoagie's face lit up with excitement. "Whoa... intergalactic sci-fy blueprints? Count me in!"

Finally, Infinity turned to Kuki, whose eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"So... what about me?" she asked eagerly.

Infinity clasped his hands behind his back. "With Father out of the picture and Cree Lincoln and The Steve going 'off-grid,' there's a power vacuum. Projections show there's a budding Class F threat we need you to monitor."

Kuki got serious. "Class F?"

Infinity nodded firmly.

"What do I need to do? Say the word."

"I know it's a lot to demand, especially considering how much you meant to the operatives you left behind…but we need you to pretend to be a new super villain. You'll need to go undercover. Because the potential threat is... your sister, Mushi Sanban."

Kuki's jaw dropped. "WHAT?!"

Infinity's expression remained calm. "She's already proven herself resourceful, ambitious, and... imaginative."

Kuki groaned. "Imaginative?"

"I wasn't aware I was in an echo chamber," Infinity raised an eyebrow. "We want you to join her operation, whatever it grows into. Be the first kid-teen villain duo, as far as the world knows. That way, you keep an eye on her, ensure she doesn't become another Father, and subtly show the KND that kids and teens can work together—even in unconventional ways."

Kuki threw her hands up. "This is a nightmare!"

The room erupted into laughter, but Infinity raised a hand for quiet.

Hoagie stared at his mom, still grappling with the fact that she was standing there, an Adult operative. "Well," he said with a lopsided grin, "looks like you and I are gonna be spending a lot more quality time together, huh? Bet you're thrilled."

Betty chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, we'll definitely be spending time together, dear... but not exactly the way you think."

Hoagie tilted his head, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Betty's smile softened, and she glanced over at Monty, who gave her an encouraging nod. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Once we finish rebuilding the recommissioning module... I won't be an operative much longer."

The words hit Hoagie like a ton of bricks. His smile faltered, and he blinked in disbelief. "What? Mom, you can't be serious!"

"I am," Betty said gently, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "There's something else Monty and I are working on. Something... bigger than just recommissioning."

Hoagie's heart sank as his mom hesitated, her voice tinged with emotion.

"We want to refine the decommissioning process," she explained, her tone growing wistful. "We want it to be what Numbuh First Light dreamed it could be—not a safeguard to protect the Kids Next Door from adults, but a final act of love. Something the Kids Next Door can choose to do when they're ready to grow up. A way to carry the best parts of childhood with them, without losing it all."

Hoagie frowned, still not fully understanding. "But... how? What does that even mean?"

Betty smiled faintly, her eyes distant as she searched for the right words. "Imagine... the way you feel when you think about something you loved as a kid. A favorite game, a hotdog stand m you went to with friends, or just the joy of running around without a care in the world. You might not remember every detail, but you remember the feeling. That's what we want to preserve. We want to make it so the part of you that was a kid never really leaves you. It'll walk alongside you, always."

Hoagie swallowed hard, the bittersweetness of her words sinking in. "And you're gonna be the first test subject?"

Betty nodded. "I volunteered. When adult agents become parents, they're usually encouraged to retire. The idea is to let go of the missions and focus on their families." She sighed, her voice lowering. "But I thought I could do it all. And after we lost your dad... between my job, my work with the KND, and letting your Grandma walk all over me, I stretched myself too thin."

She looked at him with tired but loving eyes. "I feel like I failed you and Tommy."

Hoagie's breath caught in his throat. "Failed us? Mom, no way."

Betty's gaze dropped. "I wasn't there as much as I should've been. You had to grow up faster than you should've, and Tommy... well, you both deserved better."

Without another word, Hoagie stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Betty stiffened for a moment, then melted into the hug, resting her chin on her son's head.

"I think you did a pretty good job," Hoagie mumbled. "All things considered."

Betty chuckled softly, her voice thick with emotion. "Thanks, sweetheart. But I want to be better. You and Tommy... you're still growing up. You don't need a teammate—you need a parent."

Hoagie pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "Are you sure about this? What about the mission? The work you've been doing all this time?"

Betty looked to Monty again, who gave her a knowing, almost fatherly smile.

"There are more important missions in life," Monty said quietly with a wink. "Maybe one day you'll understand, if you're lucky."

Betty turned back to Hoagie, her eyes shining. "The KND will always have agents to protect it. But you and Tommy? You only have one mom."

Hoagie nodded slowly, finally beginning to understand. It wasn't just about the KND anymore. It was about family.

And sometimes, the most important missions weren't the ones fought with gadgets and plans, but with love and presence.

"Alright," he said softly, offering her a small, lopsided grin. "But for the record, you didn't fail us. Not even close."

Betty smiled, her heart swelling. "Thank you, Hoagie. That means the world to me."

The two of them stood there for a moment, the room quiet except for the distant hum of machinery. Monty, ever the gentleman, cleared his throat and stepped forward with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well, then," he said, clapping his hands together. "Shall we get to work, my dear? Time waits for no kid, you know!"

Betty chuckled, dabbing at her eyes. "Let's."

Abby, Wally, Hoagie, and Kuki lingered near the center of the room, exchanging quiet reflections as the weight of the moment began to settle.

"Man," Wally muttered, kicking at a loose screw on the floor. "This is... a lot."

"Yeah," Abby agreed softly. "Feels like we're not just operatives anymore, huh? Like... we're building something bigger than all of us."

Kuki's smile was small but warm. "It's kind of exciting, though. A little scary, but exciting!"

Hoagie glanced at his mom, who was busy discussing plans with Monty, and then back at the others. "Well, I guess we're really growing up now. Just... maybe not all the way." He grinned sheepishly.

Abby chuckled and shook her head. "Never all the way, baby. Never."

Infinity coughed into his hand, stepping toward them. "As much as I'd love to stick around and bask in the afterglow of our shared epiphanies, I've got places to be. Galactic Command has no tolerance for slacking, even under the new management. Which reminds me," he levied a serious frown at the four new ARCHITECTS. "You four? Stay. On. Earth."

They all flinched. Hoagie spoke up, "We weren't gonna—"

"You were gonna. I'm not an idiot," Infinity scolded. "This new peace? It's fragile. Even with Numbuh Eleventy Billion back, there are still doubters. Still those who think the Important Ones had the right idea. Any of you four go behind the Moonbase and make even the tiniest of toots? I don't even wanna speculate on what kind of disaster that could be."

"Man, you need to take a chill pill," Abby said frowning. "I know we get little excited but when have we ever made somethin go up in smoke by just showing up?"

Infinity's glower darkened immensely as he centered solely on her. " I have no forgotten what you did at my last bounce house birthday party, Abigail."

Abby's pupils shrunk as she wisely stopped talking.

Infinity sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to harsh, but I…I can't risk this all falling apart just because you all want to see Numbuh 1 again. He has a new mission, one straight form Numbuh Eleventy Billion himself. He needs to see it through to ensure this all isn't for nothing."

The four shared sorrowful looks at one another. They all felt it. The dwindling possibility that maybe…maybe that last goodbye wasn't the last goodbye.

But…hearing Infinity speak…

"Until the new Absolute Soopreme Leader takes office and decides otherwise, you four are to remain on Earth and focus on your new roles," Infinity calmly addressed. "Is that clear?"

He expected protests. He expected whining and half baked pleas and even tears to attempt to whittle him down to some sort of compromise.

What he wasn't expecting was Wally of all of them to step up, answering for the group and saying, "Crystal."

Infinity's sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose. "Just…just like that?"

"We ain't dummies either, space nerd. We know what at stake 'ere," Wally said, looking back to his companions. The all nodded in agreement, Hoagie being the last to reluctantly relent. "Kids need us to help 'em make it their next Saturday. Can't really go all off the handle anymore."

Infinity opened his mouth, then closed it. Once again, he underestimated them. Once again, sector V made the hard choice to make his life easier without a fuss.

Once again, he saw someone turn down a chance at a 'happy' ending so others could have an easier chance.

This time, the universe wasn't laughing at him. It was quiet, it's silence probing. It made him…think.

It was making him…consider…

"Thank you," was all Infinity could bring himself to say. He looked to his watch and grimaced. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Monty, however, gestured toward the refreshments table. "I say, Jerome, surely you can spare a moment to—"

"Rain check," Infinity interrupted dryly, his finger raised in an oddly commanding gesture.

But that single word made Kuki freeze.

Jerome.

The name echoed in her mind. She stared at Infinity, her lips parted slightly as she replayed his earlier words:

"Part of my... arrangement I made with the Important Ones back in 1999."

1999…

Her hand instinctively reached into her pocket, fingers brushing against the worn subway coin she had carried for so long. The one she had found during their escape from Father's exploding satellite station.

The coin that had saved their lives, marked with the year: 1999.

Good for one fare.

Kuki's breath quickened. Her eyes darted between the coin, Infinity, and her thoughts. Her fingers tightened around the coin as everything clicked together.

She finally knew who he was.

"WAIT!"

Infinity froze mid-gesture, his finger halfway to his nose for a teleportation jump. He blinked at her, eyebrows raised.

Kuki scrambled to her feet, clutching the coin tightly as she closed the distance between them. Her steps were uneven, a mixture of hesitation and determination. She looked at Infinity with a wide-eyed mix of awe and realization. Slowly, shakily, she pulled something out of her pocket.

It was a letter.

Kuki's voice trembled as she held it out. "The Boo-Boo Grove," she began, her tone low but full of emotion. "The first Boo-Boo Grove. The one that Father burned down." She swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "The pets there… they were guarding something. Something so important, they kept it safe even from the operatives who worked there. Even from all the Numbuh First Aids and Head Nurses. Even…even from me."

"Our hamsters, the ones I brought with me…" Her voice cracked, and tears brimmed in her eyes. "They died trying to keep it safe."

Kuki's hand extended further, offering him the letter. The edges were charred and worn, but the writing was intact.

"This was what they were protecting. Joaquin... he escaped with it. He gave it to me. I've kept it ever since I became Supreme Leader, but..." Her voice faltered. "I never knew who it was from. Who it was meant for. I could never bring myself to open it. But now..." She looked at Infinity, her voice softening to a whisper. "I think it was meant for you."

Infinity's expression shifted slightly, his usual aloof demeanor giving way to curiosity. He took the letter, opening his mouth to make one of his trademark dismissive comments. But then he stopped cold.

His gaze locked on the name on the letter.

It was addressed to Jerome.

And it was written in her handwriting.

The mask Infinity wore, the unflappable facade he carried so effortlessly, faltered for the briefest moments.

Kuki saw the recognition, pain, and weight of the years that had passed.

Her breath caught in her throat.

But just as quickly as it had appeared, the mask came back up.

Jerome—Infinity—tucked the letter into his jacket with a sharp, deliberate motion.

Without another word, he raised his finger again, and he was gone in a flash of light.

The silence was heavy, charged with an emotion none of them could quite name.

Kuki stood there, still staring at the spot where he had been, the subway coin clutched tightly in her hand.

The others exchanged glances, unsure of what to say.

But Kuki didn't speak. She couldn't.

Because in that fleeting moment, she had seen something in Infinity that no one else had: a crack in the armor.

A glimpse of a story far older and more painful than she could imagine.

…one she hoped she was able to bring closure to.

"Kuki?"

She looked up to see Wally inches away. She wasn't surprised.

He held her shoulders carefully. "What was…that all about."

She could only smile. "I think…I think help pass along a story. To someone who needed it the most."

"That's all we can do, children."

They all looked to Monty, eyes old and wise as he gently smiled at them. "Stories make us laugh. Stories can make us cry. Why, they may even inspire us to write our own!" He bent down on one knee, wiping tears from Kuki's face. "But they can also help us remember to believe. That's where you kids have us adults beat. We doubt and overthink too much. Kids…kids are already halfway to the finish line."

He laughed as he stood, looking up to the ceiling. Like he had x-ray vision and gazing at the stars. "Hold onto that belief children. Who knows?" He winked. "Might pay off sooner than you think."

Maurice lingered momentarily, watching Monty and Betty's quiet yet warm reassurances toward the group. His gaze softened, but something flickered in his periphery—movement just beyond the doorway.

Curiosity piqued, Maurice excused himself with a polite nod, slipping out into the hallway. His mouth curved into a knowing grin at the sight of the figure leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, glaring daggers at seemingly nothing.

"Well, well," Maurice drawled, the grin widening. "If it isn't the world's grumpiest ex-operative. What brings you all the way up here, Chad? Missed me already?"

Chad glowered, adjusting his stance just enough to emphasize his sulk. "Infinity called me up. Said it was urgent."

Maurice raised a brow, folding his arms as he leaned casually against the wall opposite. "Urgent, huh? You don't say. So, spill already. Please tell me he made you haul yourself all the way up here for something good."

Chad rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "The dorkomat offered me galactic rank. Said with the big shake-up happening, he wanted to 'right the wrongs' and give me the spot he thinks I got screwed out of." His lip curled, his sarcasm thick.

Maurice blinked, caught off guard. Chad wasn't one for showing his hand, but Maurice knew enough to piece things together. He could imagine Chad chasing something like that back in the day, the prize at the end of some relentless pursuit.

"So?" Maurice asked, voice careful. "What'd you say?"

Chad scoffed a laugh, the kind that grated just enough to make it clear he thought the whole thing was bogus. "I gave him one of these." He raised his hand, making the unmistakable motion of flipping the bird. "And told him to take his pity promotion and shove it."

Maurice snorted a laugh before he could stop himself. Sure, he was older, wiser even—but crude humor? Still kryptonite for teens. "Man, I bet Infinity loved that."

Chad's smirk turned into a grimace as he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I loved wasting my Saturday figuring out how to truck it to the Moon for something that could've been a text." He shrugged, adjusting his stance. "And before you give me that look—"

"I'm not giving you a look." Maurice totally was.

"Save it." Chad cut him off, finger pointed for emphasis. "I thought about it. Really did. Didn't take long, though. I'm done with all that crap." His tone grew rougher, edged with something Maurice couldn't quite place. "Not about to be some third wheel."

Maurice blinked, his brow furrowing. "Third wheel?"

"It's not your business." Chad's voice dipped just enough to sound serious. Then, as if backpedaling, he added, "Not mine either. But let's just say I can read the writing on the wall. Leave it at that, okay?"

Maurice shrugged easily, sensing this wasn't a snowball fight worth winning. "Fine by me."

They lingered, leaning against opposite walls. For a brief moment, Maurice let himself reflect on the boy—no, the man—standing across from him. He thought back to the old days when their paths first crossed as operatives.

Back then, things had been easier between them. Maurice could still hear the echo of Chad's laughter as they'd gone head-to-head in training simulations. When Maurice had been just some overeager kid chasing a one-kid crusade against chicken pox, Numbuh 100 had hesitated to back him. But Chad? Once he took over as Supreme Leader, he gave Maurice all the resources he needed without a second thought and then some.

And then there was the day Maurice turned thirteen. The day he learned the truth about decommissioning wasn't as simple as it seemed. He still remembered stumbling out, bewildered on the other side, only to find Chad waiting with evidence in hand. No grand speeches, no condescension—just a simple gesture to help Maurice adjust, get up to speed, and keep fighting in his own way.

But what stood out the most was the day Chad disappeared after the Treaty. Everyone—Maurice included—had been left in the dark. It was only later, when Maurice received a vague text from an unknown number, that he had some reassurance: Everything's okay.

Maurice stole a glance at Chad now, his arms crossed, his expression guarded. Beneath the bitter sarcasm, the jaded comments, Maurice knew there was still a genuine leader buried deep, deep down.

A leader who cared—maybe too much for his own good.

Something danced between them, an understanding that neither needed to acknowledge. Maurice let the smallest of smiles tug at his lips before turning his gaze back to the hall. Whatever Chad's reasons for staying away, Maurice could respect them.

He's glad Chad came back, though.

"Guess you're stuck here a little longer, huh?" Maurice finally asked.

Chad snorted. "Guess again. I'm about to blow this popsicle stand. Just waiting on Numbuh 363 to clear out the last garbage chute so I can use it as an escape pod."

Maurice grimaced, more amused than horrified. "The garbage chute? Really?"

"Yeah," Chad replied with a matching grimace. "The fact I've gotta resort to that almost makes me miss booger teleportation." He shuddered. "Almost."

Maurice chuckled, shaking his head. "Tell you what, old man." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small keychain, tossing it toward Chad. "Try not to scratch the new paint job, yeah?"

Chad's hand snapped up without even looking and caught the keys midair. His eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask."

Maurice shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I know."

The casual smile stayed on his lips, but there was something more behind his tone—a subtle shift, enough to hint at the thoughts running through his mind. He tilted his head slightly. "But I'm gonna ask you something, even if I already know the answer."

Chad grunted. Crude permission to continue.

"Come back to teen covert ops," Maurice said evenly. "Could even hook you up with a cozy desk job if that's more your speed."

For a moment, Chad didn't say anything. Then he pushed himself off the wall, slipping the keys into his pocket. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Well, I tried," Maurice said with an exaggerated shrug, his tone light but his smirk widening. Chad turned, ready to walk away, but Maurice called out, "One last thing."

Chad stopped in his tracks, throwing his head back with a dramatic groan. "What?"

Maurice tilted his head. "You remember your old ROADSIGN?"

Chad blew his lips in frustration. "How could I not? Infinity gave me some lame-o nerf sniper rifle. I was built for the frontlines, not camping in the back like some baby. And the dork STILL gets on my case for not using it."

Maurice chuckled. "Well, I mean, I can't blame him. After Numbuh 100, you were the best shot."

Chad turned slightly, one eyebrow raised. "You buttering me up for something, or is there a point to this?"

Maurice flicked his wrist idly, staring at his hand like it was more interesting than the conversation. "Just thought you'd like to know—Herbie did inventory of the decommissioning 2x4 tech armory recently."

"Uh-huh," Chad replied flatly. "And?"

Maurice smirked. "Your old ROADSIGN? Missing. Weird, huh?"

Chad slid his hands into his pockets, mirroring Maurice even if his back still faced him. "You sure Poindexter didn't just misplace it?"

Maurice gave a dry laugh. "We're talking about Numbuh 65.3 here. You think Herbie misplaces things?"

A long, quiet pause hung between them. Finally, Chad started walking again, his steps deliberate. "If the thing's missing? Then whatever. It was lame, remember?" His voice was almost too casual. "And if they do find it?" He threw a hand up in a dismissive wave. "Forget to tell me."

Maurice smiled softly, more to himself than to anyone else. His voice was quiet, almost too quiet for Chad to hear as he said, "I doubt they will."

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his messages. His thumb lingered on the last text he'd sent to Chad, still unread.

He let out a soft, dry laugh—typical Chad.

He thought about the old days again. They'd been through a lot—together and apart—and somewhere along the way, they'd forged a kind of unspoken bond.

Chad was unpredictable, defiant, but there was always a certain loyalty underneath. Maurice understood that now. Maybe he hadn't back then, when they'd been caught up in everything else, but now it was clear. Chad wasn't one for sentiment, but if it came down to it, he'd always come through.

Maurice knew Chad was done with all of this. That much was obvious.

But still... he couldn't shake the notion of tomorrow…

"Guess you're out for good, huh?" Maurice teased. "But you never know. The world could need saving tomorrow."

Chad didn't respond immediately. Instead, he raised his arm and flipped Maurice off, though his index finger languidly rose to morph it into a peace sign.

"You got my number," Chad said before he turned the corner.

Maurice looked at his phone again, the corners of his mouth curling into a small smile. "Yeah. I do," he said to no one in particular.

---

Never meant to be revealed

Emotions always kept concealed

---

one month later

The New Medical Boo Boo Grove had a quality to it that made visitors feel like they had wandered into a dream.

Nestled in a meadow that seemed untouched by the burdens of the outside world, it exuded an air of peace, healing, and the sweet scent of butterscotch. The grove itself felt alive—its carefully constructed structures, made from smooth, polished wood and glistening metal, blended seamlessly with the surrounding trees and flowers.

Tidy paths of soft moss meandered between clusters of colorful flowers, each planted with purpose, their fragrance carried on the gentle breeze. The occasional whistle of wind chimes, crafted with the ingenuity of 2x4 technology, created a meditative, lo-fi-like soundtrack for its inhabitants.

Everywhere, there were signs of its purpose: children playing with patched-up toys in sunlit clearings, staff tending to gardens, and older kids crafting makeshift tools or bandaging a scraped knee with practiced care. What once felt like a chaotic commune had been refined into something more harmonious—a haven enhanced by the creativity of the Kids Next Door.

Abby leaned on the sturdy wooden railing of the Grove's main terrace, a swirl of soft caramel melting on her tongue as she savored the treat. "You know, for a place that's technically a 'secret' base, they sure know how to spoil a girl," she teased, holding up another piece of candy. "You sure you don't want one? Numbuh 5's heard these are good for calming grumpy bodyguards."

Wally grunted, his arms crossed as he leaned against the railing beside her, his expression sour. He scanned the courtyard below, where a group of younger kids played hopscotch under the watchful eye of an older operative. "Don't need candy to calm me down," he muttered, accent laced with irritation. "Need whoever set off that emergency alert to learn what 'false alarm' means."

The alert had gone out early that morning: an unsanctioned adult had been spotted entering the Grove. Abby and Wally, as part of their new roles in the ever-evolving Teen Branch, had come immediately, fearing the worst.

Abby came as a bridge between the regular KND and the teens, her heroics at the original Medical Boo Boo Grove still fresh in the minds of many.

Wally had insisted on being her bodyguard, a precaution against the growing threats from villains and anti-kid groups who didn't want peace between kids and teens.

Abby tilted her head, watching the children below. "Cmon, Numbuh 4. Ain't like every day's gonna be a big showdown. Places like this? They're meant to be quiet. Peaceful. No villains, no drama—just kids bein' kids."

Wally didn't respond, his attention fixed on the courtyard's gates. When he finally spoke, it was with a low grumble. "If it's so quiet and peaceful-like, why's Toiletnator here?"

Sure enough, waddling sheepishly toward the main building was the scrawny, ridiculous figure of Toiletnator himself. His toilet seat armor clanked with every awkward step, and he clutched a duct tape roll as though it were a peace offering.

Abby threw her head back with a laugh, the sound carrying over the terrace. "Numbuh 5 still can't believe it. We got all worked up over that guy?!"

Wally groaned, running a hand down his face. "One of these days, I swear, I'm gonna flush him into one of his own toilets and—"

"—and prove exactly why you don't need candy to stay calm?" Abby sassily interrupted, grinning.

Wally watched the Toiletnator with a mixture of horror and disbelief. Somehow, the man who had once been a universal punchline was now prancing around the courtyard like he owned the place. The kids, many of whom were bandaged or recovering, were captivated.

Stories of his "heroics"—ugh, Wally groaned—in the final battle against Father had spread across playgrounds like wildfire. Even reaching here of all places.

The kids giggled and clapped as he balanced precariously on one foot, miming slipping on a soap bar before landing in a ridiculously over-the-top superhero pose.

"Ya gotta be pullin' my arm," Wally muttered, burying his face in his hand. "A fanclub. For him."

Abby popped another piece of candy into her mouth, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. "What? Jealous? Looks like he's got 'em eatin' outta his hand."

"Jealous?!" Wally snapped, his voice raising an octave. "Of him? That's gotta be a sign of the end of the world! The Toiletnator's supposed to be a joke! A punchline! Not—" he gestured wildly at the courtyard, "—whatever this is!"

Down below, Toiletnator struck another pose, this time holding his duct tape roll aloft like it was a priceless relic. "Fear not, my brave, sickly sycophants of the Boo Boo Grove!" he proclaimed. "For I, the mighty Toiletnator, shall protect you from any naysayers...or faulty plumbing!"

The kids erupted into cheers, some even chanting his name.

Wally groaned. "I can't believe I'm related to that loser."

Abby chuckled, leaning her elbow on the railing as she watched the scene. "Y'know," she said thoughtfully, "the notion of him bein' a loser seems...debatable these days. Somehow, he's managed to make himself useful. Who'da thunk…"

"Useful?" Wally repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism. "The lame-o who trips over his own two-ply? The dorkenstein who—"

Abby cut him off with a sly smile, her gaze shifting toward the far side of the courtyard. "Ah, Numbuh 5 think she cracked how he found this place."

Wally frowned, following her gaze. His eyes widened as he spotted a familiar mop of blond hair. There, among a group of kids his age, was his little brother, Joey Beetles. The five-year-old was in his element, effortlessly dodging balls and teaching the other kids the finer points of dodgeball.

"JOEY?!" Wally shouted, aghast.

Joey looked up at the sound of his name. His face lit up, and he waved enthusiastically. "Hi, Wally!" he called back, his voice bright and innocent.

But Wally's shout had another unintended consequence. Toiletnator froze mid-hammy monologue, his gaze snapping to the terrace. His eyes lit up in recognition, and he pointed dramatically. "AH HA!"

Abby raised a brow as the Toiletnator began slowly scaling the terrace with his TP gauntlets, the grappling lines moving with comical sluggishness. "So much for keepin' a low profile, huh?" she quipped, smirking at Wally.

Wally groaned, slamming his forehead against the railing. "How do I get myself into these messes?" he bemoaned.

The Toiletnator finally reached the terrace, clambering over the railing with all the grace of a man who'd never been athletic a day in his life. He straightened up awkwardly, wobbling for a moment before striking a dramatic pose above Wally and Abby.

"Well, well, well," he intoned, his voice dripping with exaggerated disdain. "If it isn't my greatest arch enemy! Here? Walking so freely in a Kids Next Door base?" He jabbed a finger at Wally, his eyes narrowing. "I knew it! I always knew! You're a double agent!"

Wally groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Uncle Lou..."

"Don't you 'Uncle Lou' me!" Toiletnator barked, planting his hands on his hips. "I've finally caught you red-handed! Admit it, Wallabee Beetles! You've been working for them all along!"

Wally opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped. His shoulders sagged, and he waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, sure. Congrats. Ya got me. Whoop-de-freaking-doo."

The Toiletnator's face lit up. He gasped, then broke into a bizarre little dance, flailing his arms and shuffling his feet like an overexcited toddler. "I was right! I was right! I was riiiiight!" he sang, twirling in a circle.

Mid-spin, he froze, spotting Abby leaning against the wall, casually tossing a piece of candy into her mouth. "Oh, heya, Numbuh 5!" he greeted cheerfully.

Abby flashed a peace sign without missing a beat. "Yo."

"Oooh, can I sign your leg brace?"

"Nah."

"Your loss! I don't always offer autographs for free, you know." The Toiletnator grinned at her before returning to his dance, gloating directly in Wally's face. "Oh boy, oh boy!" he crowed. "Just wait until Mr. Boss hears about this!"

"NO!" Abby and Wally shouted in unison.

The Toiletnator froze, blinking in surprise. "Huh?"

Abby hobbled forward, her tone calm but firm. "Look, Toiletnator; we need to keep our covers on the DL. And this place needs to stay secret, okay?." She gestured to the courtyard below, where Joey and the other kids played. "The new Grove's still gettin' on its feet. If the other villains find out, it's gonna put all these kids in danger. You were there…last time, remember?"

The Toiletnator hesitated, his expression shifting to one of uncertainty. "Well, yeah, but..."

"Great!" Wally interrupted, throwing his hands up. "So don't tell anyone! Problem solved!"

The Toiletnator frowned, crossing his arms petulantly. "But why not? I mean, I beat Father!"

Wally scoffed so loudly it almost drowned out the rest of the sentence.

"I did!" Toiletnator insisted, stomping his foot for emphasis. "I mean, sure, maybe some of the others helped a little…okay, a lot, but still! It counts!"

Abby raised an eyebrow, glancing at Wally, who looked like he was physically restraining himself from a long string of insults. She sighed and turned back to Toiletnator. "Okay, sure, you helped. But think about it—wouldn't it be even cooler if you helped protect this place too? Keep it safe? That's hero stuff right there."

"A…hero?" The Toiletnator tilted his head, considering her words. "I mean…I dunno. That sounds…nice! Ah, but it'd be too sudden! I'm a villain. Probably the scariest most intimidatingly epic villain around now that Father's gone. The tonal whiplash might be too much for the average mind to handle!"

Abby rolled her eyes. "Anti-hero then?"

"I can work with that!" His chest puffed up slightly, and he placed a hand over his heart. "Anti-hero stuff, huh?"

"That's right," Abby said, keeping her tone casual but encouraging. "The kids look up to ya now. Don't let 'em down."

Toiletnator's eyes darted to the courtyard, where a group of children was still admiring him. He swallowed, his resolve wavering. "Alright," he said reluctantly. I won't tell Mr. Boss or anyone else. But so that you know..." He leaned in close to Wally, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "This changes nothing between us, worst enemy! One day, we shall have our final, glorious battle, where I shall flush once and for all!"

Wally groaned, slapping a hand to his face. "Oh, joy."

Abby smirked, tossing another piece of candy into her mouth. "See? No mess. Problem solved. Easy."

The Toiletnator stood awkwardly for a moment, then gave a two-finger salute and clambered back over the railing, descending as comically as he'd arrived. Wally sighed in relief but muttered, "I need a vacation."

Abby chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "You're in luck. This place moves south for the winter. Call it a traveling vacation."

"Yeah, great," Wally deadpanned, staring after the retreating Toiletnator. "Ugh…"

"NO!"

Startled, Wally and Abby turned and watched as the new Numbuh First Aid—a young, freckled girl—struggled to calm a small, trembling child. The kid couldn't have been older than six, with tear-streaked cheeks and a bandaged arm that was hastily wrapped but already coming undone.

The child wailed, flinching every time First Aid came near with antiseptic wipes and a fresh band-aid. "Please, sweetie," First Aid said, her voice strained and teetering on the edge of panic. "It'll only hurt for a second, I promise!"

The child didn't seem convinced, pressing herself against the corner of the infirmary bed. First Aid glanced around, clearly overwhelmed.

Abby shifted to push herself off the wall, but she winced sharply, clutching her thigh. Her leg throbbed, the persistent ache from an injury that hadn't yet fully healed flaring up again.

To her surprise, Wally, muttering about the Toiletnator moments ago, frowned and stepped forward. "Oi," he said, his voice softer than usual as he approached the two.

First Aid blinked up at him. "Uh, hi? I don't know if—"

"Relax, I got this," Wally interrupted, crouching at eye level with the child. He rested his arms on his knees, keeping his movements slow. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

The girl sniffled, her lip quivering. "...Am-Amelia," she murmured.

"Well, Amelia," Wally said, flashing a crooked smile, "that's a tough name. Betcha don't know what else is tough, though."

Amelia blinked at him, momentarily distracted from her fear. "W-What?"

"These band-aids!" Wally held one up, inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. "Look at this! Rockets? Stars? Totally cool, ain't it?"

Amelia stared at the band-aid, her curiosity tentatively overtaking her tears. "It's... it's just a band-aid."

"Just a band-aid? Nah," Wally scoffed. "This ain't just any band-aid. This is, uh..." He squinted at it. "A mega-anti-boo-boo protect-a-tron! Yeah, and if you wear it, it's like putting armor on your arm. Keeps all the bad stuff out."

Amelia frowned. "Armor?"

"Yeah, but only if we get it on right. Otherwise, it won't work, and you might get attacked by... um..." Wally wiggled his fingers menacingly, his voice lowering to a mock-spooky tone. "Geminis."

Amelia's eyes widened. "G-Geminis-?"

"Yup," Wally nodded gravely. "But don't worry. I'll help you out. First, though..." He gently picked up her arm, making a show of examining it. "See this spot here?" He pointed to a faint discoloration near the wound. "That's not from the cut. It's a bruise. Betcha it hurts a lot more than the actual scrape, huh?"

Amelia nodded hesitantly.

"That's 'cause it's swollen," Wally explained. "We need some ice on this bad boy. Betcha feel tons better after that." He glanced over his shoulder. "Oi, First Aid, got an ice pack?"

First Aid's eyes widened as she fumbled with her supplies. "Oh! I—yes! I didn't even notice the swelling..." She handed Wally a small ice pack, her cheeks flushed.

"Eh, no biggie," Wally said, pressing the pack gently to Amelia's arm. "See? Not so bad."

Amelia flinched slightly but nodded. "It's cold... but it's okay."

"Atta girl," Wally said, grinning. "Alright, now that we've tamed the monster bruise, let's get this mega-anti-boo-boo armor-whatever-I-called-it on ya." He unwrapped the space-themed band-aid, carefully smoothing it over the cleaned wound. "There. Good as new."

Amelia flexed her fingers, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It... doesn't hurt anymore."

"Course it doesn't," Wally said, standing up and ruffling her hair. "Told ya I got ya covered."

First Aid stared at him, her jaw slightly agape. "That... was amazing! I didn't even think to check for swelling... and the way you calmed her down—"

"Yeah, yeah," Wally muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he turned back to Abby.

Abby was watching him with an expression Wally couldn't quite read. He paused, frowning. "What?"

Abby shook her head, a slow smirk forming. "How'd you do that?"

Wally shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Eh, y'know... gotta know how the body works to kick butt, right? Like, know your enemy, and all that."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Well..." Wally hesitated, glancing away. "I, uh... kinda been paying attention to Kuki, y'know, when she's been teachin' the new nurse team and all. Body stuff-um, an-a-to-my, right? It's ... actually kinda cool, I guess." He scuffed his shoe against the ground. "But don't tell anyone I said that!"

First Aid popped up beside him, beaming. "That was really impressive, Numbuh... uh..."

"4," Abby supplied quickly, smirking.

"Right! Numbuh 4!" First Aid said. "You must be a teen agent, right? Would you be interested in sticking around? Help is relocate? I think your, uh, unique perspective might help us with some of our more... ambitious patients."

"Yeah, nah," Wally said, already waving her off. "I'm way too busy protectin' Numbuh 5 to—"

"Numbuh 4 would love to help," Abby interrupted smoothly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Wally's jaw dropped. "Wha—!"

First Aid clapped her hands together, beaming. "Perfect! I'll let the staff know!" She looked genuinely relieved. "It'll be a huge help, especially for the younger, shyer kids. Sometimes they just need to see older folks who care."

She turned and hurried off, leaving Wally staring after her in stunned disbelief. Abby crossed her arms, clearly pleased with herself.

Wally spun on Abby, cheeks puffed out and fists clenched. "What the crud was that all about!?"

Abby, leaning on her cane, raised an unimpressed brow. "Exactly what it sounded like. Numbuh 4's got himself a new gig."

"I ain't got a new gig! I got a job already!" Wally jabbed his thumb at his chest. "Followin' you around, makin' sure you don't do nothin' stupid without me!"

Abby couldn't help but smirk, her voice soft but firm. "Oh, really? Sounds more like ya wanna trail me like a lost puppy."

Wally's face turned red as a beet. "I ain't no puppy! I'm a dog! A big, tough guard dog! Ruff!" He made a mock barking noise, crossing his arms and jutting out his chin.

Abby slowly blinked.

Wally blushed but tried to push past his odd display. "I'm supposed to be with you so we can do our jobs, protectin' kids!"

Abby leaned closer, her gaze gentle but unwavering. "There's more than one way to help kids, Wally. Why'd you help that girl back there?"

Wally didn't hesitate, snorting like it was obvious. "What was I supposed to do? Just let her keep hurtin' 'cause First Aid didn't know what she was doin'?!"

"And it felt good, didn't it?" Abby probed warmly.

"Yeah, but—"

"But nothin'," Abby cut him off. She placed a hand on his shoulder, steady despite her cane. "Numbuh 5 saw how natural that came to you. That wasn't just tough-guy Wally. That was someone who cared. Someone who could show these kids they don't have to hurt forever. You know how much that could mean to them? To show everybody who thinks you're only good at fightin' how wrong they are?"

Wally's bravado faltered, his shoulders drooping. "But... fightin's all I know."

"Yeah, and you're good at it," Abby agreed, surprising him. "But these kids? The ones hurtin'? They don't know how to fight. Not the way you do. You could teach 'em, Wally. Teach 'em how to be tough. How to stand back up. How to not be afraid to heal." She smiled. "And maybe…they can teach you something. Call Abby crazy, but seeing you back there? It was like seeing her daddy doctorin' it up. With the band-aids, and the bedside manner and—" She made an embarrassed nosie, stopping herself. She coughed awkwardly in her hand. "Er, ya know what I'm talking about…"

Wally stared at the ground, shuffling his foot against the grass. "But what about you, huh? What if somethin' happens? You need me there!"

Abby rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth lifting. "I'll be fine. You know I will, baby."

"I know, but..." Wally hesitated, his voice quieting. "Stuff's changin', Abby. I know it's for the better, but it feels like... like it's takin' us further apart. Kuki's always gonna try and make time for me, but she's got her new cruddy job and Mushi to look after now. Hoagie's off helpin' adults build new fancy-schmancy stuff. And you..." He gestured vaguely, swallowing hard. "You're out there makin' all these speeches, bringin' people together like you always do."

Abby's expression softened even more. She reached up, lightly tapping Wally's chin to get him to meet her gaze. "You forgot somethin'," she said with a smile.

Wally blinked. "What?"

"Now you're here," Abby said. "Gettin' the chance to help kids heal for when the fightin's over. And don't think for a second I ain't gonna feel a whole lot better knowin' you're around this place, protectin' 'em so they don't go through what we did."

Wally rubbed the back of his neck, his expression wavering. "You... you really think I can do that? Like... be good at it?"

Abby pulled him into a tight hug before he could look away. "The only dummies are the ones who think you can't," she said firmly. "Leave them to Numbuh 5—I'll set their sorry butts straight."

For a moment, Wally froze, but then his arms came up, returning the hug without hesitation. The vulnerability in his expression was new, yet fitting. "You're really not lettin' me outta this, huh?"

Abby chuckled. "Nah."

Wally smirked faintly. "Guess that settles it, eh?"

The two stood there for a beat longer before pulling apart. Abby leaned on her cane as Wally glanced toward the Grove, his expression conflicted but calmer.

"You'll be fine, sport," Abby said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "We'll all cross paths again. That's how it works, even when the paths are different."

Wally nodded, the tension easing from his shoulders. "You better mean that."

"I do," Abby replied, already moving toward the shuttle that awaited her. "No matter if you're here, down under…heh, maybe even Harvard, Abby ain't never letting you weasel outta her life. Not without one hell of fight."

Wally gently slugged her shoulder, a soft smile gracing his lips. "Count on me throwin' that fight."

As she disappeared into the distance, Wally turned back toward the Grove, where laughter and commotion awaited him. The Boo Boo Grove wasn't just a place for fixing scrapes and bruises; it was a sanctuary for learning how to heal—inside and out.

And maybe Wally would find that the toughest thing he'd ever do wasn't throw a punch but lend a hand.

Wally gave a small, resolute nod to himself. "Alright, Boo Boo Grove. Let's see what ya got."

From the shadows, sky-blue eyes watched Abby and Wally's retreating forms. As the two exchanged words, the gaze remained fixed, unblinking, until Abby departed. A faint snort broke the quiet, followed by the roll of five pairs of eyes.

"Sappy and sentimental until the very end," came the familiar collective voice. Though it carried their usual disdain, the words lacked any true malice.

The Delightful Children from Down the Lane—Lenny, David, Constance, Bruce, and Alessandra—melted further into the shadows like specters, moving unseen through the bustling sanctuary. Their movements were practiced and precise, resulting from years of drilled perfection. Even in their current state, the five navigated the Grove with uncanny grace, avoiding staff and patients alike.

Yet, despite their usual precision, their appearance told a different story. The once-pristine dresses and sharp uniforms were rumpled and stained. Dirt streaked their hands and faces, and the bows in their hair sagged unevenly. They felt the disarray, yet no effort was made to fix it. They found it strange that they didn't seem to care—and stranger still how liberating that felt.

It was the kind of freedom they had forgotten they could have.

As they slipped further into the Grove, weaving past flowering bushes and softly trickling streams, thoughts began to bubble to the surface. Their collective mind drifted, unbidden, to him.

Father.

Distance from him was like pulling back a curtain and seeing sunlight for the first time—not blinding, as they might have expected, but... different.

They didn't know what to do with different.

His absence should have left them untethered, flailing without a purpose. Instead, it felt oddly calm.

It felt... like nothing.

And nothing was a sensation they hadn't been allowed to feel in a long, long time.

They reached a small, secluded grotto. Here, the noise of the Grove faded into a tranquil hum. At its center stood a memorial—a strange, patchwork construction that could only have been crafted by children. Action figures, dolls, art supplies, and bits of candy wrappers had been carefully arranged into a mound surrounded by painted stones. Sticks tied together formed crude figurines, their faces sketched in bright crayon. Each piece was treated with reverence, as though it had been meticulously placed with its own ceremony.

The Delightful Children approached in silence. They circled the memorial, taking in the details. Names and messages had been etched into the stones and painted across the wood. The crude figures represented those fallen: operatives, allies, hamsters, and even a few former adult villains like the Iguana and Nogoodnik, who had given everything to ensure all civilian children escaped the blaze Father had set.

"Why bother?" Alessandra's voice broke the quiet, soft and hollow.

The others turned to her—or rather, they turned inward.

David tilted his head, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Memorials," she said, gesturing to the mound. "They're for the dead, right? But the dead don't care. They're gone."

"Not everyone is," Bruce countered.

"But it's not like anyone remembers properly," Constance added, skeptical. "They remember how it felt, not what happened. All this…" She waved at the memorial. "It's just for the living to feel better. It's not real."

They stood in uneasy silence, the faintest hum threading through their shared consciousness.

"You can't change the past," Lenny finally muttered. "So what's the point? Does this make anything better?"

The bitter edge crept into their thoughts, gaining momentum. Memories of Father's voice slipped in like tendrils of smoke.

"Pointless sentimentality," it whispered, though it sounded so much like their own voices. "A waste of effort. A distraction from what's important. You know better."

The dissonance began to grow louder. The cracks in their harmony widened, but somehow, the bitterness was unifying.

"This is what weakness looks like," the voice hissed, sharper now.

It was harder to tell whether it belonged to him or to them.

The Delightful Children stiffened, their shared breath hitching. The growing negativity spiraled, tainting their vision, until—

They saw it.

At the very bottom of the memorial, etched in a child's shaky but deliberate handwriting, was a single name:

For Numbuh Beyond.

They stared, the bitterness dissolving into stillness. Slowly, haltingly, they whispered together, "Rebecca…"

Her name came like a balm, silencing the dissonance.

The memorial blurred in their vision, but not from tears.

Not from tears…

A low hiss interrupted their trance, causing them to freeze.

It came again, low and sharp.

The Delightful Children turned as one, their collective breath caught in their throats. A cluster of shadows emerged from the underbrush, their eyes gleaming in the dim light of the grotto.

It was a group of cats—five of them, scrawny and scrappy, their fur matted and their movements wary.

Constance gasped first, her voice catching as realization struck.

"Them," she whispered.

The group leader, a sleek black cat with a tattered ear and fur dulled with dirt, locked its piercing green gaze on them.

"Our kitties," Lenny breathed, disbelief lacing his voice.

Bruce stepped closer, his head tilting as if trying to make sense of the sight. "But… he said—"

"He said they ran away," David finished grimly.

The words hung tainted the air like a stale curse.

Alessandra's hands trembled as she reached toward the black cat, her eyes wide and glistening. Her voice cracked as she whispered the name:

"Lady Oberon Fluffington III."

The cat's tail twitched, but it didn't move.

"It's you," Alessandra continued, her voice shaking. "It's really you. Father said you absconded, that you never bothered to return. That you didn't…" Her words faltered. "Didn't appreciate all the food we left out for you."

She dropped to her knees, reaching out again, desperate to close the distance.

"Oberon," she whispered, her tone pleading. "It's me."

The black cat hissed, stiffening its body as its fur bristled. The sound made her freeze, and her hand hovered inches away.

Still, she didn't pull back.

"Oberon," Alessandra said again, her voice soft and breaking. "Please. It's me. Don't you remember me?"

Her fingers trembled as she reached out further.

The black cat stared, unblinking, as if considering Alessandra's words, her muscles coiled and ready to flee. She narrowed her eyes, her sharp pupils fixed on the trembling girl.

Her. It was her.

The scent left no room for doubt—her human. The girl she had once adored, the one she had nuzzled against on stormy nights, who used to sneak her treats under the table, giggling when their "Father" wasn't looking.

Her girl.

Her girl who abandoned her.

The sneering voice curled in the back of her mind, cruel and biting. They left you.

Her tail lashed once, a sharp flick slicing through the tension. Her hiss came low and guttural this time, vibrating deep in her chest.

Humans couldn't be trusted. Human children especially.

Pets were nothing but toys to them, thrown aside when the novelty faded. She'd learned that lesson well. The years she'd spent hungry, dodging predators and scavenging scraps, had only reinforced it.

They always leave you, the voice whispered. Always.

"O-Oberon," Alessandra whispered again, her voice breaking, trembling.

The words stirred something in the black cat—a warmth she didn't want to acknowledge.

She didn't answer the plea, her ears flattening. She could feel the others watching her from behind the girl. The orange tabby twitched his tail nervously, while the calico shifted her weight from paw to paw. They would follow her lead. They always had.

The girl's voice came again, soft, aching.

"Please…"

It struck her like a thorn pressing deeper into her paw.

That tone, that desperate, raw need.

It clawed at memories buried deep: how this girl used to cradle her, whisper secrets into her fur that no one else could hear. How they'd curled up together on long, lonely nights, chasing away the cold.

No! the voice snapped, cutting through her thoughts. It's a trick! If you let her close, it will hurt again. He will hurt you again.

The Patriarch's shadow loomed in her mind.

The food withheld, the punishments for mewling too loudly, the times he'd locked her away because she'd dared to climb into his chair.

She hissed again, but this time, her voice wavered. Her tail stilled as she looked closer at Alessandra. The girl's golden hair was tangled, her dress torn and stained, and her face—once as pristine as porcelain—was streaked with dirt and faint scratches.

She looked like she didn't belong.

Like you didn't belong, the whisper of doubt came.

"No," the cat muttered, forcing herself to stand firm. This was wrong.

She wouldn't let herself be hurt again.

She wouldn't—

The girl whimpered. Her shoulders shook. She didn't speak, but the unspoken plea lingered still

The black cat faltered.

She remembered Joaquin's words, spoken to her and her kin before he spared them.

"What I want, Sinister Felines, is for you to find kids who love and adore you."

To be loved and adored…

…it was the reason they came, wasn't it?

They had followed the scent of promise, carried on the wind to this strange place.

It had pulled them forward, even when instinct screamed to stay away.

Her paw inched forward.

The girl's hand trembled, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from her fingertips.

A final, soft whimper broke through the walls she had built around her heart.

Tentatively, the black cat pressed her nose to Alessandra's outstretched hand.

The girl froze, her breath catching.

The cat leaned closer, her whiskers brushing the girl's palm.

And then, slowly, she pushed her head into the open hand.

A purr bubbled up from her throat, deep and resonant, a sound she hadn't made in years.

Alessandra's breath hitched, her fingers moving hesitantly, then with growing confidence. She gently rubbed the cat's ear, her touch so achingly familiar that the black cat couldn't hold back anymore.

She meowed sharply, leaping into Alessandra's arms. She rubbed her face against the girl's chest, her tail curling tightly around her arm. The purring grew louder, rumbling like a motor as she buried herself against her human.

Her human.

Her Alessandra.

The girl laughed, tears streaming down her face as she held the cat close. "Oh, Oberon," she whispered, voice cracking with joy. "You're really here."

The cat closed her eyes, her body pressing deeper into the girl's embrace.

Her kid.

Her wonderful, sweet human kid!

The other cats hesitated at first, their wary eyes shifting from the lead black cat nestled contentedly in Alessandra's arms to the other children.

One by one, they broke their caution.

The orange tabby darted forward next, his stride quick and determined as he leapt into Bruce's arms. Bruce staggered back, more from shock than the cat's weight, and let out a small laugh as the tabby's head burrowed into his chest, loud purring filling the air.

The calico hesitated a beat longer before bounding into Constance's lap, nudging her hands insistently for scratches. Constance obliged with trembling fingers, her breath hitching as the cat's soft fur brushed her skin.

David crouched low as the gray-striped cat padded toward him, ears swiveling cautiously. He extended his hand, palm open, and the cat sniffed it before butting his head into David's knuckles. The boy blinked rapidly, trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes.

Lenny remained still, watching the last cat—a small, snow-white feline—approach with an almost regal gait. She paused at his feet, stared at him with piercing eyes, and let out a sharp meow. He knelt slowly, scooping her up as she kneaded at his chest, her claws catching slightly on his ragged shirt.

The grotto filled with the sound of reunited affection: soft meows, rumbling purrs, and quiet laughter from the children.

For a fleeting moment, the Delightful Children felt warmth—not the hollow, saccharine warmth Father had demanded they imitate, but something real and unbidden.

As they held their pets, memories of Father began to creep back into their minds.

He had told them the cats had run away, bored with them, disgusted by their imperfections. Put off by that weird toe-nail collection, he pointedly suggested.

But that had been a lie.

Constance clutched the calico closer, her lip trembling. "Why did he do it?" she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"To hurt us," David said bitterly, stroking the gray-striped cat absently. "Because he needed us to believe we couldn't trust anyone but him."

"Yes…" Alessandra whispered, her voice distant. "But we weren't the only ones."

The others glanced at her, and her words hung heavy.

"Others," Lenny said, the word a quiet revelation. "There are others, aren't there?"

The realization stirred in them, the thought of other children like them, shaped and twisted by Father's whims.

They thought of the Interesting Twins from Beneath the Mountain with identical grins and unsettling learned co-dependency.

Of the Rowdy Hooligans from Across the Square, loud and chaotic yet unmistakably posh, proper, and bound by the same forces that had bound the Delightful Children.

They had only learned of the others by accident. A stray comment overheard, a glimpse of Father leaving the mansion late at night with an unusual spring in his step.

They had confronted him once, emboldened by jealousy and fear.

Fear of not being enough.

"Father!" their voices were high-pitched and plaintive as the five of them stormed into his study. "Who are those other kids?"

"Other kids?" Father had drawled, not looking up from his newspaper.

"The ones who call you Father!" they added, voices cracking in the memory. "The Twins! And the Hooligans!"

"Oh, them." Father's tone then was light airy, as though discussing the weather. "Honestly, my darlings, you shouldn't waste your time worrying about such silly things. Sometimes adults get in goofy moods. Sometimes we're blessed with such amazingly obedient, perfect children that we fancy the notion of wanting more." He casually flipped a page. "It was a phase."

The children had sniffled, their jealousy not entirely soothed. "But they call you Father," they whined.

Father had rolled his eyes. "Kids? EVERYONE calls me Father. It's kind of my brand, you know."

"Oh…" The five had blinked at one another, their fears starting to dissipate.

"Yes, yes, now run along," Father had said, waving them off. "You're my one and onlys.Those others? Just failed experiments I regret. Do you see me letting them live here? Do you see me baking extremely yummylicious cakes for them?"

They had shaken their heads vigorously, guilt washing over them for doubting him.

"We're sorry, Father," they had said tearfully, rushing to embrace him.

"We love you, Father," they had said in unison.

Father had chuckled, soaking up their affection like sunlight. "That's my delightful children," he had said smoothly.

Odd. They don't recall him ever saying he loved them back…

The memory faded, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake.

They sat there, clutching their cats, their faces drawn and pale as the weight of the truth settled over them.

Father hadn't loved them. He had never loved them. Not…not in a way that was healthy. A way that was real. In a way a parent should for their child.

And there were others, just like them.

The thought gnawed at them.

Others—children like them—caught in the same nightmare, enduring the same twisted "love" Father had forced upon them. It was an unsettling notion.

They weren't special.

Father hadn't confined his delusions of perfection to just them.

Constance ran her fingers through her calico's fur, her gaze distant. "He didn't stop with us," she murmured.

"Of course not," Lenny said bitterly. "Why would he?"

They looked toward the main buildings of the Grove, a place filled with promise. Here, they could start over. Here, they could be more than Father's "perfect" little experiments.

Yes, it terrified them, the idea of being apart. Of stepping into a future where they might not see each other again.

But now, free from the suffocating grip of their shared prison, the unknown seemed almost… appealing.

David's gray-striped cat purred loudly in his lap, grounding him. "We don't have to think about them," he said, though the words felt heavy. "The Twins, the Hooligans… we didn't put them there. That was Father."

"But they're still out there," Alessandra whispered. "Alone."

Bruce clenched his jaw. "And what are we supposed to do about it? We barely got out alive ourselves."

The thought of taking responsibility for Father's unfinished business stirred something uncomfortable in all of them. A frustration bubbled up, tinged with guilt.

"It's not fair," Constance said, her voice sharp. "We didn't ask for this. Any of it. We didn't force them into this, so why should we have to deal with it?"

"It's not fair," Alessandra echoed, more quietly.

The Delightfuls fell into silence. They were free now. Here, in the Grove, they could start over. The staff and animals were already preparing for the Grove's next relocation. Sanban had clearly delayed the move in hopes they would find this place, but her reign was over.

Her offer wouldn't last forever.

If they didn't act soon, they might never get this chance again.

David stood, cradling his cat. "We should go," he said firmly, and the others nodded. Slowly, they began walking toward the main path.

As they passed the memorial, something caught their eyes. A name etched into the stone—one they couldn't help but linger on.

Rebecca.

They stopped. The name hovered in the air between them, weighted with meaning.

"Rebecca," Alessandra whispered, almost reverently.

The memory surfaced unbidden, as clear and sharp as if it had just happened. Rebecca's arms encircling them in a hug that seemed impossibly tight, her warmth cutting through the cold that Father had instilled in them.

"And you can count on me too. It's my job to save kids. All of them, no matter how old they get." Her voice rang in their ears. She had leaned back then, her hands gripping theirs with unshakable resolve. "I promise I'll find a way to save you too."

The words lingered, pressing into their hearts as the moment faded.

They stood frozen in place, their cats mewing softly in their arms, as though waiting for them to decide what kind of people they wanted to be.

Rebecca's promise echoed in their minds, a thread connecting the past to the present.

All of them had doubted it once. Words spoken in fleeting moments were so easily broken, forgotten, discarded like old toys. That was what they had learned under Father's care.

But this place—her Grove—stood as a monument to the contrary.

Every corner, every detail whispered of her unwavering devotion, her determination to keep her word.

Rebecca hadn't forgotten them.

Not once.

The truth of it awoke something slumbering deep inside them, something neither delightfulization nor Father's manipulation had entirely stamped out.

The cats leapt from their arms, circling their feet as if sensing the shift in their thoughts. One by one, the Delightful Children turned to each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

David broke the silence, brushing dirt from his sleeves. "Well," he said airily, "it would be terribly remiss of us to leave any loose ends, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed," Alessandra agreed, her hands clasped behind her back. "It's simply unthinkable. We are the Delightful Children from Down the Lane, after all."

Constance tilted her chin upward, a haughty gleam in her eyes. "The originals. The pinnacle. And to allow imitations—cheap, second-rate substitutes—to sully our legacy? No." She flicked an imaginary speck of dust from her shoulder. "Absolutely not."

"It's a matter of reputation," Lenny added smoothly, folding his arms. "Can't have people thinking we're interchangeable."

Bruce gave a small, theatrical sigh. "How tragic it would be, for history to confuse us with the likes of Twins or Hooligans. The very thought…"

David smirked, his voice light but his gaze sharp. "I suppose we have no choice, then. We simply must correct the record."

"Must we?" Alessandra said, her tone lilting with feigned reluctance.

"Oh, I think we must," David replied.

The five of them fell silent for a moment, the act dropping briefly as their eyes met. There was a deeper purpose behind their words, one they didn't voice.

They had endured Father's cruelty, his warped attempts at perfection. They had survived the impossible.

Others hadn't been as fortunate.

Sector Z came together, not under the compulsion of delightfulization, but by a thread of unity that was far older, far stronger.

"Well," Constance said, snapping her fingers. "Let's not dawdle, then."

Alessandra turned, calling to the cats, her hands clapping lightly. "Come along, darlings. We have important business to attend to."

David grinned, scratching behind his cat's ears as it rubbed against his leg. "Besides," he added, with a hint of mischief, "Sanban might be wrong. We need proof that her little cure actually works. The Twins and Hooligans would make for… what's the phrase?" He snapped his fingers. "Ah. Test subjects."

"Oh, and we can be very convincing," Lenny said with a sly grin.

Bruce chuckled softly, motioning for the others to follow. "Let's see if they're as cooperative as they should be."

The cats followed their children as they walked, tails held high. They didn't know where they were going, but they trusted their humans to lead the way.

The path ahead wasn't clear for the Delightful Children, but they were united in their purpose. They would handle Father's unfinished business—not out of obligation, but to ensure the legacy he tried to mold them into wouldn't tarnish others.

And, perhaps, to ensure Rebecca's promise reached farther than even she had intended.

They disappeared into the trees.

Pashmina perched gracefully on a sturdy branch from the lush canopy above the Grove, her pink scarf billowing softly in the wind. The Soopreme Squeaker of the Pets Next Door watched the retreating figures of the Delightful Children from Down the Lane with keen, reflective eyes.

She had been watching them for some time now, studying their movements and measuring their intent. The decision to leave them unsupervised had not been made lightly.

The quiet rustle of wings signaled the arrival of a white pelican. It landed neatly beside her, its imposing beak snapping shut as it came to attention. With its broad wing, it gave her a crisp salute.

"We're ready to initiate the migration protocol, sir," the pelican said in a firm tone.

Pashmina nodded, her gaze not leaving the path the children had taken. "Good. No delays. Start helping everyone move out." She paused, her voice softening slightly. "Take special care with the trauma unit. Make sure the therapy hounds stay close to the kids—they'll need extra licks and snuggles to keep them feeling safe during the transition."

"Understood," the pelican replied with a bow of its head before spreading its powerful wings and taking flight.

As the pelican disappeared into the sky, shuffling feet below the branch caught Pashmina's attention. A grizzled, half-skunk cyborg stepped into view, his sleek fur marked with streaks of silver. Adjusting the brim of his detective-style fedora, Numbuh Six climbed effortlessly to join her.

His sharp, mechanical eye followed her gaze, settling on the fading silhouettes of the Delightful Children. "You ready to head out, boss?" he asked, his voice gruff yet warm.

"Yes," Pashmina replied, though she let out a small sigh. "We can't afford to dawdle much longer. If the TOILETNATOR of all humans found us, it's only a matter of time before someone much worse stumbles upon this place."

Bradley chuckled knowingly. "Fair point." His lips curled into a sly smile as he looked after the Delightful Children. "Want me to ensure that group finds the new location all right?"

Pashmina considered his offer before shaking her head, an idea forming. "Actually, I think this is the perfect first mission for our new recruits." She turned, calling out, "Ham-Hams!"

A bundle of tiny, energetic hamsters scampered up the branches, their small paws thumping excitedly against the bark. The newest generation of Ham-Hams, fresh from training, gathered eagerly around her, their oversized ears twitching in anticipation.

One particularly brave hamster was pushed to the front, his small scarf—an unmistakable match for Pashmina's—draped clumsily over his tiny shoulders. "Hi, Mommy! Oh! I mean, Soopreme Squeaker, sir-ma'am!"

Pashmina couldn't help but chuckle, crouching down to tousle the fur atop his head. "At ease, Joaquin," she said with a warm smile. "You ready for your first mission?"

The young hamster stood tall, puffing out his chest. "Uh-huh! Ready and reporting for duty!"

Pashmina pointed to the distant Delightful Children. "Good. Your team's job is to follow them—and any other kids they might find. Make sure they make it back to the Grove safely. Can you handle that?"

"Of course!" Joaquin said, adjusting his scarf with tiny paws before turning to his group. "Alright, Ham-Hams, let's move out!"

With squeaky cheers, the young recruits scampered off into the trees, disappearing down the path after the Delightful Children.

"Be careful!" Pashmina called after them, her composure cracking for a moment with motherly worry.

Bradley leaned against the tree trunk, smirking. "Think they can handle it?"

Pashmina's eyes sparkled with pride. "Of course they can. They're Pets Next Door."

"Uh-huh," Bradley replied, his smirk widening. A beat passed, and then he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "You want me to make sure those Sinister Felines don't decide hamsters make a tasty snack?"

Pashmina's bravado evaporated in an instant. "PLEASE!" she blurted, the words spilling out in a panicked rush. "I mean—yes, that would be very much appreciated, thank you."

Bradley tipped his hat with a chuckle. "On it." Without another word, he descended from the canopy with effortless grace, following the trail of the Delightful Children and the scampering Ham-Hams.

Pashmina remained perched on her branch, her scarf still dancing faintly in the fading breeze. She allowed her gaze to linger once more on the path the Delightful Children had taken. Their steps were no longer visible, but she could still hear the faint sound of rustling leaves and the patter of small feet as the Ham-Hams scurried after them.

She thought of the children—of David, Constance, Lenny, Bruce, and Alessandra—and the weight they carried in their hearts. The Delightful Children. Sector Z. A thousand names, none of which truly defined them.

In her heart, Pashmina knew they weren't those names anymore. They had shed them like snakeskin, stepping tentatively into something new and uncertain. Whatever they chose to become now would be entirely their own. A clean slate. A second chance.

Her whiskers twitched as she tilted her head back, closing her eyes to the sounds around her. The animals of the Grove were preparing their movements, but there was stillness abound. A quiet harmony in the rustling of leaves and the creak of old branches.

Pashmina reflected on the sixth sense of animals, that subtle intuition humans so often overlooked. She could feel it now, as clear as her own whiskers. The trees hummed with gentle melodies, the plants swayed in time, their whispers resonating with a song that only animals could hear.

It was a song of hope, resilience, and love—a promise carried on the breeze. A promise made long ago, still waiting to be fulfilled.

The wind picked up once more, weaving its way through the branches, carrying the whispers of the Grove far and wide.

"They'll find their way home," Pashmina whispered, her voice soft but steady. She opened her eyes, looking to the horizon as the wind began to calm. "I'll make sure of it."

The breeze subsided, and for a moment, the Grove seemed to exhale, its spirit at rest.

Pashmina smiled, thinking of the soon-to-be-no-longer-missing Sector Z.

Ah, but they weren't Sector Z anymore.

They weren't even the Delightful Children from Down the Lane.

No, those identities belonged to the past, shackles that no longer served them.

Whatever David, Constance, Lenny, Bruce, and Alessandra chose to be now, Pashmina was certain of one thing: it would be a new experience entirely. One crafted by their own hands, in their own time.

With a final glance to the Grove, Pashmina scampered down the tree, her paws light against the bark. There was much to be done—the migration, the preparations, the countless tasks of a Soopreme Squeaker.

Her mind hummed with thoughts of logistics and responsibilities, but a small, mischievous grin tugged at her whiskers. She made a mental note to secure an extra stash of treats.

After all, there was never enough to go around!

With that, Pashmina darted off into the bustling heart of the Grove.

The work of a pet was never truly done.

---

Lost in my tracks

With no sign to pursue

---

The room was alive with chaotic energy, and for once, it wasn't Hoagie's collection of half-finished gadgets causing it.

"This is silly… even for me," Kuki muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her outfit as Hoagie paced around her like a theatrical director.

"Nonsense!" Hoagie declared, adjusting the comically tilted beret that he had perched atop his ever-present aviator cap. "You just need to get into character. Now, say the line!"

Kuki sighed, her fingers tightening around the neck of the guitar in her hands. "I am Beniyasha, Shredder of Worlds," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hoagie stopped mid-step, his hands flying into the air dramatically. "No, no, no! More passion! More fire! You're not just saying it—you're living it! You're the punk rock queen of destruction, a thunderstorm on stage! Now, again!"

Her shoulders slumped as she glanced at herself in the mirror.

Her outfit was bold black and crimson, with torn fishnet stockings and spiked boots climbing up her legs. A jagged tulle skirt swayed with every reluctant shift, and the oversized collar of her jacket was lined with faux fur and dotted with silver studs. Her hair, normally an alluring river of ebony, was now streaked with red and black, styled into twin buns resembling oni horns, with a inu-half mask dangling across her head.

She shifted uncomfortably, her new custom guitar feeling both too heavy and too ridiculous. The instrument—Hoagie's latest brainchild—looked like it belonged to a demonic rock star. Its body was shaped like a snarling demon's face, complete with jagged fangs and glowing red eyes.

"I am… Beniyasha, Shredder of Worlds," she said again, slightly louder this time.

Hoagie clapped his hands like an overzealous stage manager. "Better! But still too soft! You're not shredding paper here; you're shredding worlds! Now try it from the top!"

"This is so embarrassing…" Kuki muttered, pulling at the jagged sleeves of her jacket.

"Embarrassing? EMBARRASSING?!" Hoagie's voice rose, his beret slipping precariously as he flailed his arms. "Art is never embarrassing, Kuki! It's raw! It's bold! It's—"

"Weird?" she interjected flatly.

He ignored her completely. "Now, one more time. But this time, pretend you're summoning a mosh pit from the depths of the underworld. Go big or go home!"

Groaning, she straightened her back and closed her eyes. Her fingers tightened on the guitar strings as she took a deep breath.

This was for the mission, she reminded herself.

For the team.

And for Hoagie, who was so oddly invested in this absurd scenario that she couldn't let him down.

With a sudden spark, she raised the guitar and let out a battle cry that surprised even her.

"I AM BENIYASHA, SHREDDER OF WORLDS! NOW… ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!"

Her voice ripped through the room like a storm. She struck the guitar strings with all her might, and an explosion of sound erupted from the instrument. A shockwave blasted through the space, bright light flashing as the force knocked Hoagie off his feet.

The wall behind him cracked, then crumbled entirely, leaving a jagged hole that opened directly to the yard outside.

Flat on his back, Hoagie blinked at his new "window," his aviator cap tilted askew. "Huh," he said finally.

"Oh no!" Kuki gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in horrified shock. "I—I didn't mean—!"

A voice floated up from downstairs.

"Everything okay up there?" Betty called casually.

Hoagie sat up slowly, glancing between Kuki—still frozen in embarrassment—and the gaping hole in his wall.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, scratching the back of his head, he laughed awkwardly. "Uh… everything's smooth sailing, Mom!"

"Okay!" Betty responded cheerfully, her footsteps fading away.

The room fell silent except for the faint whistle of wind blowing through the hole.

"I'm so sorry…" Kuki whispered, still mortified.

Hoagie adjusted his cap with a grin. "Are you kidding? That was AWESOME!"

Her eyes widened, disbelief written all over her face, but slowly a sheepish smile crept onto her lips. "You really think so?"

"Think so? Kuki, you're gonna rock this undercover villain stuff!" He gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up before glancing at the hole. "And, uh, maybe I'll patch the wall before Mom finds out."

Kuki hurried over, wringing her hands. "Let me help! I can—"

Hoagie waved her off with a grin, pulling a toolbox out from under his bed. "Nah, I got it. I'm no stranger to rush jobs." He plucked a roll of duct tape and a few wooden planks from the box, sizing up the hole like an artist eyeing a blank canvas. "Besides, this is nothing compared to what I've handled before. Though…" He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Kinda wish Mom hadn't decommissioned herself. Would've been way easier to explain to her, y'know? 'Oh, hey, Mom! A rogue soundwave from an experimental oni-guitar blew up the wall.' She'd probably just nod and say, 'Classic KND day?!'"

Kuki chuckled softly. "How's all that going, anyway?"

"Pretty great, actually!" Hoagie replied, his voice brightening as he kneeled to measure a board against the hole. "Once we rebuilt the new recommissioning module and sent it up to Galactic Command for testing, me, Mom, and Numbuh Zero got right to work refining the decommissioning process. It's been a lot, but totally worth it."

Kuki watched him curiously, the corner of her lips twitching into a smile. "And? How's it working so far?"

He straightened up, leaning the board against the wall with a satisfied nod. "So far, so good! Mom remembers pretty much everything important. All the big stuff—her childhood, the missions, even stuff she did as an adult operative. But now, it's like…she's seeing it all through a rose-colored lens." He grabbed a hammer and nails, glancing at Kuki as he explained. "The sensitive stuff? Tactical info, classified secrets? All brushed off like it was just some silly game she played as a kid or cartoon she saw. I even risked telling her about one of my 2x4 inventions, just to test it out."

Kuki raised her eyebrows. "What did she say?"

Hoagie grinned, though there was a faint wistfulness in his eyes. "She laughed it off, said it sounded like a cool 'hobby project.' Then she told me to keep at it and make something awesome."

Kuki's expression softened, her smile warm. "That's… actually really sweet."

"Yeah," Hoagie said, his voice quieter now. He paused, running a thumb over the board's edge in his hands. "She's still Mom, y'know? Still goofy, still supportive… but it's different now. In a good way." He glanced at Kuki, his lips quirking up into a lopsided grin. "It's like… nostalgia, I guess. All the KND's secrets are safe with her inner child, ready to spring back if needed, but… I really, really hope it doesn't come to that. She's less stressed now. Happier."

For a moment, the room was quiet except for the faint wind whistle through the hole. Kuki nodded slowly, her smile lingering. "She deserves that, Hoagie. You all do."

"Yeah," Hoagie murmured. He hammered another nail into the board, glancing at Kuki as he worked. "So… of all the supervillain angles you could've gone with, why a goth-y screamo singer?"

Kuki groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "It was Mushi's idea."

"Ah," Hoagie said knowingly, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I think it's just a weird phase," Kuki muttered, folding her arms as she leaned against the desk. "That, and… well, I think it's her roundabout way of getting attention. She and Sandy broke up. Again."

"Really?" Hoagie asked, lifting an eyebrow as he adjusted the board.

"Yeah," Kuki said, sounding exasperated. "Apparently Sandy pulled the trigger this time. So I guess this is Mushi's way of, I don't know, working things out?"

"Huh." Hoagie tapped the hammer against the board, considering. "So what's her role in the band gonna be?"

"She's not gonna be in the band," Kuki replied flatly, rolling her eyes. "Mushi insists on being my 'manager.'"

"Then why even—" Hoagie started, but he caught himself, waving the thought away. "Eh. Better not think too hard about it. Mushi's always been a weird one. Honestly, I'm just glad she's not hounding me anymore after the whole 'getting her grounded for life' thing."

Kuki glanced at him, a small, sheepish smile forming. "Mom kind of lifted that a while ago. That, and… well, Mushi didn't see the point bothering after your… accident." She said the last word carefully, watching for his reaction.

Hoagie paused, then chuckled, his grin returning as he bent down to grab another nail. "Yeah, well, at least you two get some 'sisterly bonding time' now."

Kuki let out an exaggerated groan. "We were doing so well! I thought things were finally getting better between us. Then I find out she's over the moon that I'm decommissioned. Now she gets to have me all to herself and claim her 'revenge' on the Kids Next Door."

Hoagie smirked, leaning the hammer against the wall. "Ah, there's the rub." His expression softened, and he glanced at her. "Hey, maybe she just missed spending time with you. Did you ever think about that?"

Kuki tilted her head, frowning slightly. "You think so?"

Hoagie shrugged, reaching for the duct tape. "Little brothers and sisters have weird ways of showing affection." As if to illustrate his point, he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, "AIN'T THAT RIGHT, TOMMY?"

"THE Tommy!" came the muffled reply from down the hall. "Now keep it down! I'm trying to come up with a fear-inspiring intro to strike terror into the hearts of evildoers!"

Hoagie laughed, shouting back, "You keep at it, buddy!" Lowering his voice to a normal tone, he grinned at Kuki. "Man, I love that little guy."

Kuki chuckled softly, leaning back against the desk as she watched him return to patching the wall.

A sudden beeping filled the room, cutting through their conversation. Hoagie froze mid-swing of his hammer, his eyes snapping toward his desk. "Oh, crud," he muttered before scrambling across the room as if something had just occurred to him.

Kuki tilted her head, watching Hoagie dove into the rubble of scattered tools, wires, and half-finished projects. His hands moved frantically, shoving aside a loose sprocket here, a crumpled notebook there, until he finally stopped, sagging in visible relief as he held up a small, rectangular device—the source of the persistent beeping.

Her curiosity piqued, Kuki followed him over and peered at the gadget in his hand. When Hoagie set it down and she got a clearer look, her eyes widened in recognition. "Wait… is that—?"

Hoagie froze, glancing at her with the air of someone caught red-handed. "Yeah," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

The device was sleek but compact, a rectangular tool with an innocuous design that wouldn't look out of place in a classroom. At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary calculator, but its buttons glowed faintly, and intricate wiring was visible through its casing—enough to give away its true nature to anyone in the know.

"You're not supposed to have that," Kuki said, her voice lowering to something conspiratorial.

Hoagie sighed, leaning against his desk. "I know, I know. But… I asked Tommy to grab what he could from the old pizzeria ruins before they tore it down. Took a while, but he managed to find the pieces. I've been repairing it in my spare time. Y'know, off the books."

The implication hung heavy in the air. The device wasn't sanctioned, and his unauthorized tinkering was clearly against protocol.

But Kuki didn't seem to care about any of that. Her eyes lingered on the gadget, a faint spark of understanding lighting in them. "Does it… work?"

"Oh, yeah," Hoagie said, nodding as he tapped a few buttons. The beeping stopped, replaced by a faint hum as the screen flickered to life, displaying faint, static-like blips. "It works. But…" His shoulders slumped, and he let out a frustrated sigh. "Seems like the 'one' person I'm trying to find is far, far, far outside its detection range. Even with all the upgrades I've made."

Kuki didn't need to ask who he meant. It wasn't exactly rocket-boot science.

Hoagie ran a hand through his hair, the aviator cap sliding slightly askew under the weight of the beret perched on top. He stared down at the device in his hands, the faint glow of the screen reflecting in his glasses. "I know I shouldn't," he murmured, more to himself than to Kuki. "It's against the rules, and I'm already pushing it just having this thing. But… with everything changing, y'know? With us eventually letting the Earth KND know about the Galactic Branch…"

He hesitated, his fingers lightly tracing the edges of the tool. "I just thought maybe… we could all hop on the shuttle one day. Take a joyride. Find him. Just to say hi."

The words were fragile and tentative, like a secret he hadn't meant to say out loud.

Hoagie let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Sounds silly, huh?"

Before he could sink further into self-doubt, Kuki stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind. The warmth of her hug was steady, grounding. "Nope," she whispered.

Her chin rested lightly on his shoulder as she added, "Honestly? I've thought about it, too. Maybe we could make some adjustments to this thing. Bribe a few hamsters to supercharge it or—"

"Nah," Hoagie interrupted gently, though there was no frustration in his voice. He placed a hand over hers, pulling her arms a little tighter around him before letting go. "If it's not picking up anything, it probably means Nigel's not even in our galaxy anymore. To find him, I'd need to modify this thing with tech that's… well, galactic level. And I doubt Infinity's gonna let me near that kind of gear anytime soon." He smirked, faintly amused at the thought. "Or…ever, let's be real."

Kuki pulled back, her brows furrowing. "I'm sorry," she said softly, guilt lacing her tone. "I didn't mean to get your hopes up."

But Hoagie shook his head, slipping the device into a drawer with a firm yet careful motion. "Don't be," he said, turning to face her. "If anything, it's a sign I needed. Nigel's out there doing amazing stuff—like, incredible, life-changing stuff. He's making sure all our efforts down here mean something. If I let myself get distracted chasing after him, it'd be like letting him down."

His gaze softened, a rare sincerity in his tone. "And, yeah, Nigel might forgive me if I screwed up, but…" He shrugged, smiling faintly. "I wouldn't."

With a deep breath, Hoagie pushed the drawer shut, as if shelving more than just the device. "So, no moping. I've got work to do. Important work. Like making sure the new decommissioning machine is ready before the next round of kids is due. And making sure they have the choice Nigel fought so hard for."

There was a beat of silence, then Hoagie's smirk returned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Besides, call me crazy, but I've got this feeling we'll see him again. Maybe not today, maybe not even next year, but… one day." He chuckled softly. "Pretty funny, huh?"

Kuki's smile was warm, her eyes shining with quiet understanding. "It's not funny at all," she said. And she meant it.

Kuki leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely, watching Hoagie adjust the drawer he'd just closed. Her gaze lingered on him, a mixture of admiration and wonder in her eyes.

"Y'know," she began softly, "I don't think I've ever said it out loud, but… you've always been able to just… be you. Even when things were at their worst."

Hoagie turned, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment or one of those backhanded digs?"

"It's a compliment, ya goober," she said firmly, though her lips quirked in a small smile. She gestured vaguely at her outfit—a black leather jacket with spiked accents, heavy boots, and an overly dramatic chain belt. Her face twisted into a grimace. "Meanwhile, here I am, playing dress-up again. After everything, after all we've been through, and I'm back to pretending."

"Pretending?!" Hoagie scoffed, crossing the room with mock indignation. "No way, Kooks. You're acting! Big difference!"

She rolled her eyes, smirking. "It's the same thing."

"BZZT! Wrong!" Hoagie made an exaggerated buzzer noise, throwing up his hands in disbelief. "That is in-cor-rect! This new role of yours? You get to make it your own. You decide what it's gonna be. Who says you have to be some typical villain? Maybe you're a misunderstood rebel, crashing parties, inspiring kids and teens through song. Who hasn't wanted their own theme music?"

To illustrate, he mimed an over-the-top air guitar and made an absurd noise, somewhere between a guitar riff and a kazoo.

Kuki couldn't help it—she giggled, the sound light and genuine, cutting through her earlier gloom.

"See?" Hoagie grinned. "Maybe you can even use this to get through to Mushi. Try to get her to not be, y'know, completely evil. Subtext in lyrics or whatever. You've got a stage, so why not use it?"

Her expression softened, gratitude shining in her eyes. She tilted her head, a teasing lilt creeping into her voice. "Pilot, inventor, private investigator, chili-dog gobbler, and now director? Is there anything you can't do?"

"What can I say?" Hoagie shrugged dramatically, motioning to his head. "I'm a man of many hats."

As if on cue, the beret atop his aviator cap slipped off and landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up, chuckling at first, but his smile dimmed as he straightened.

He turned the beret over in his hands, his voice quieter. "But don't give me too much credit. I put on a good show, sure, but… you know what they say, right? True comedy is born of tragedy and all that."

He glanced down, his fingers fidgeting with the frayed edges of the hat. "All I did was nap for two years. Everyone else had their big, epic character arcs, their moments of growth, and here I am—the same old bit. Just getting older and more worn out."

Kuki's smile vanished in an instant, and she stepped forward. "Don't you dare do that, Hoagie. Don't you dare undermine what you went through."

He blinked, startled by the sudden intensity in her voice.

"You weren't napping," she continued, her hands gripping his shoulders. "You were fighting. Father brought everything he had to break you down, but even that didn't work. Sure, we all helped, but in the end? You saved yourself. That wasn't just some nap—it was survival. And you won."

Her grip softened, her hands sliding down to rest lightly on his arms. "I get needing to hide pain behind a smile. I've done it, too—still do sometimes. But you don't have to. Not with me."

Hoagie stared at her for a moment, his throat working silently as he tried to find the right words. Then, without warning, he pulled her into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around her as if grounding himself, and he exhaled a long, shaky breath. "Thanks, Kuki," he murmured. "I… I needed to hear that."

She hugged him back just as tightly. "You'll be okay, right?"

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his smile returning, softer but no less genuine. "Yeah. Sure, there'll be ups and downs. But hey, what's life without a little turbulence?"

Kuki laughed quietly, and they stood there for a moment longer, finding comfort in the warmth of their bond. No matter where their paths led them, they both knew that when it truly mattered, they'd always find their way back to each other.

There was immense comfort in that.

Hoagie pulled back from their hug, his grin returning in full force. "Alright, enough of the mushy stuff. I say we do something fun. Might as well before life buries us under a million pounds of work."

Kuki's face lit up. "Ooh! Let's go get the new Rainbow Monkeys in Love comic! It came out today!"

Hoagie froze, his smile faltering as he visibly paled. "You—uh, you think I'd wanna do that?"

Kuki tilted her head innocently, then smirked. "You only read the video game ads in the back, riiiiight?"

"Exactly," Hoagie replied with exaggerated confidence, pointing at her. "And that's the story we're sticking to. Got it?"

Kuki mimed zipping her lips and tossing away the key.

Hoagie chuckled, shaking his head as they headed for the stairs. "By the way, your name—Beniyasha? Sounds cool! How'd you come up with it?"

Kuki brightened. "Oh! My grandpa on my mom's side sent me these old family scrolls for my birthday. They had all these amazing stories and characters, and I kinda combined a few names I liked. I thought it sounded strong and unique. And cute if you think about it!"

"Huh," Hoagie mused, glancing at her curiously. "Don't think you've ever mentioned your mom's side of the family before."

Kuki nodded. "Yeah, well, my mom kinda grew apart from them because of her own mom. But recently, she's been reconnecting with her dad. Fun fact: I had an uncle. Take that Nigel and Wally! I get a secret relative too!"

"Had?" Hoagie asked gently.

Her smile faltered for a moment before she nodded. "Yeah. Car crash."

"I'm sorry," Hoagie patted her back, understanding. Probably more than anyone in their hodgepodge group.

"It's fine," she said softly. "He was Mom's older brother, and…she remembers him fondly. I never knew him. I would've liked to, but… you know." Her expression brightened again as she added, "But! I've got two new older cousins now! Yay, new family!"

"Hey, that's awesome!" Hoagie said, grinning. "You think you'll get to meet them?"

"Yeah! Well, at least one of them. The older one married and moved away with her husband when I was a baby. It's kinda weird—my mom makes it sound like we can't visit or something…"

"Huh. That is weird." Hoagie stroked his chin. "Sounds like a case I should look into…when I'm not inundated with all this science stuff that is. Oi vey…"

Kuki shrugged, her enthusiasm undeterred. The two continued chatting as they descended the stairs, their voices growing fainter as they headed out into the world beyond.

Once they were gone, the room fell silent. A faint, wet gurgling sound broke the stillness as a swirl of greenish boogers materialized in the air. With a quiet pop, a figure stepped through, polished dress shoes clicking sharply against the floor.

The stranger moved precisely, his steps unhurried yet deliberate as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on the desk, and he made his way over, the faint scent of mint trailing in his wake.

He stopped at the shelf where Hoagie had stowed the tracker. Reaching out, he picked up the device and turned it over.

A low hum escaped him, thoughtful yet tinged with amusement. He tossed the tracker up and down a few times, testing its weight, before slipping it into his pocket.

Another swirl of boogers enveloped him, and with a faint whoosh, he was gone. The room was left exactly as it had been, save for the missing tracker.

It was as if he had never been there at all.

---

Lingered in silence

Not one single beacon glows

---

six months later (we like our time jumps here)

Fort Greedlock Penitentiary was a sprawling, high-security facility in the middle of nowhere. Officially, it was described as "an institution for the rehabilitation of high-profile white-collar offenders." Unofficially, it was where the government tucked away the worst of its corporate criminals—fraudsters, embezzlers, tax evaders, and disgraced executives.

The place was as dreary as it sounded.

Father sat in his cramped cell, dressed in a standard-issue beige jumpsuit. The buzzing fluorescent lights overhead flickered intermittently, casting cold, clinical light on the gray concrete walls.

It had been months since his expedited trial—a farce, really, he thought bitterly. They hadn't wasted a second locking him away, eager to parade him as an example.

Turns out, claiming "I don't remember" doesn't hold up very well in court when you can't afford your regular lawyer.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

Still, Father had made himself comfortable—or at least, as comfortable as a man like him could be. He sat at the bolted-down steel table in the center of his cell, his posture relaxed, but his sharp eyes focused on his work. On the surface, it appeared he was simply passing the time, idly toying with a small stack of crumpled papers.

But Father wasn't idle.

Not in his mind, not in his heart.

He was planning.

His fingers worked deftly, folding the paper into intricate shapes, the corners creased sharply. The rhythmic motions helped him think and focus. And oh, how he'd thought these past few months.

They thought locking him up would break him. They thought stripping him of his resources, his empire, and his freedom would humble him. But it only gave him time. Time to stew. Time to seethe. Time to imagine.

Time to come up with the perfect revenge.

Nigel Uno was long gone, no doubt about that. The bald little brat was probably out gallivanting somewhere, patting himself on the back for his self-deluded heroism. Father sneered. Fine. He didn't need him. Not yet.

But Sector V?

Oh, they were a different story.

A cruel smile tugged at Father's lips as he thought of them. Those four meddlesome pests who had always followed Uno's lead like loyal lapdogs. They would know where he was. All he had to do was weasel it out of them.

But why rush? He had time.

Father's amber eyes flicked around the cell, scanning his surroundings. The guard outside the door leaned lazily against the wall, staring at his phone. No cameras here. No prying eyes.

Perfect.

Quietly, discreetly, Father flexed the fingers of his right hand. A faint, smoky blackness rippled over his pinky finger, cloaking the digit in a shadowy hue. It wasn't much—just a small remnant of his former power—but it was something. He frowned. He'd hoped for more progress by now, but patience was a virtue.

And patience was something he had learned.

The key, he reminded himself, was to wait. His powers would return. The perfect opportunity would arise. He just needed to bide his time.

Let them think they'd won. Let them believe he was beaten.

He would wait.

Wait for those four little brats to grow up.

Father's mind swirled with schemes as he leaned back in the cold, hard chair, the shadowy flicker on his pinky still faintly glowing. His plan was genius in its simplicity. He didn't need fancy gadgets or elaborate plots—though those were always fun. No, this time, he'd let time itself do most of the work.

Once Sector V hit 13, their precious little club would boot them out. Their memories?

Gone, just like that.

Wiped clean by their oh-so-benevolent kiddy overlords. They wouldn't even remember him.

And that was when he'd strike.

Father's smile grew wider; his teeth bared in a sinister and smug grin. All he'd need to do was round them up. A cockamamie story would suffice—something like an "interview," for old times' sake. Yes, yes! He could already imagine it: luring them in with promises of nostalgic chatter, watching their vacant little faces as he wrung them dry of every last detail about their final mission.

Where his oh-so-precious nephew had run off to.

And as for their memories…well, that was a minor hurdle. If his lousy brother, with all his ridiculous gadgets and sentimental drivel, could figure out how to restore memories, surely he could. After all, wasn't he the smart one in the family?

Father's giddy thoughts came to a screeching halt like the sudden slam of a door.

A voice drifted through his fractured memory.

"…goodbye, Ben."

It was faint and distant but unmistakable—that voice—irritatingly calm yet undeniably warm—a voice that sounded far too much like Monty's.

Father scowled, his fingers tightening into fists as bitterness swelled in his chest. Monty. Monty. His meddling, infuriating, insufferable brother.

The only other person who ever genuinely gave a doodie about him.

The thought made his scowl falter, just for a moment.

Monty had tried, hadn't he? Father could still remember the olive branches his brother had offered.

The invitation to share a flat in England, back when they were young and the world still seemed wide open.

The wedding invite, complete with the promise to make him the best man. HIM. The best man.

Over the years, there had been occasional phone calls with Monty's annoyingly pleasant voice as he suggested a good old-fashioned barbecue at that ridiculous house down the lane from him.

Father grunted, his scowl deepening.

He'd never answered those calls.

Never showed up.

Because Monty was a fool. A sentimental sap who didn't understand how the world worked.

…Right?

Father shifted in his seat, a strange, uncomfortable pressure settling in his chest. Was this…was this what regret felt like?

He frowned deeply, his lips curling in distaste.

Ew.

Maybe…maybe he should give Monty a call.

… to see how the old sap was doing.

Maybe…maybe even reach out.

…

AFTER HE GETS HIS REVENGE ON NUMBUH ONE.

Father slammed his fist down on the table, the flicker of darkness on his pinky flaring briefly. His cruel grin returned, his yellow eyes glinting with malice.

He'd suck up to Monty once he straightened out that no good son of his for him. Why, the guy would thank him. SHOULD thank him!

Father knew what was best, after all.

The clanking of metal bars echoed through the corridor as the cell doors slid open one by one. Father sneered as the guards barked their commands, herding the inmates into the hallway like cattle.

"Single file! Keep it moving!" one of them shouted, their voice sharp and clipped.

Father's lip curled as the line shuffled forward—single file, like they were misbehaving children being dragged to time-out.

But he was no child.

He was an adult.

The most adult-y adult to ever adult!

Did these fools truly believe that locking him away in this dreary little prison would keep them safe? That by sentencing him to elventy thousand summer vacations they'd heard the last of him? Puh-lease.

He'd give his lousy intern of a public defender one thing: they'd managed to keep parole on the table.

Oh yes, parole. It was the perfect little loophole. All he had to do was suck it up, play nice, and bide his time. They thought they were so clever. The poor fools.

The dummy heads.

He had come from nothing.

Nothing.

No inheritance, no helping hand.

Seriously. His grouchy old miser of a father hadn't left him so much as a cent, let alone offered to help with gas when he moved out.

So, he'd built himself up from nothing.

Doing it again?

Why, that was child's play.

Father's smirk widened. See what he did there? Of course, you did. He was so clever. More clever than all of them combined!

They'd see.

They'd all see.

The cafeteria doors loome, the scent of bland food and disinfectant wafting through the air. The line shuffled forward, and Father's grin grew sharper.

All he needed was time.

Father trudged along the lunch line, his tray sliding across the cold steel counter as he grabbed whatever bland offerings the cafeteria had in store for the day. His mind, however, was far removed from the dull hum of the cafeteria.

Flaming spanks to that bald brat's backside, he mused. Yes, that would do nicely. Maybe a side of custard pies. And of course, a grand monologue to declare his glorious triumph.

He reached for a carton of milk, marveling at his brilliance despite his current circumstances when a loud, familiar cackle snapped him from his daydreams.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't scrawny, skinny little Benedict!"

Father froze. His head jerked toward the voice, his face contorted in confusion. He blinked once, twice, before recognition hit like a poorly cooked soufflé.

"Gramma Stuffum?"

Indeed, it was her. The portly figure stood just beyond the counter, her wiry hair tucked under a net, a wicked grin spread across her face. She was dressed in a greasy apron, her rotund frame seemingly impervious to the oppressive heat of the kitchen.

Father hesitated, holding his tray to his chest like a shield. "Uh…hello? Gramma Stuffum? What, uh…what are you doing here? A fellow adult villain like yourself, in a place like this?"

Stuffum's grin widened, her thick German accent dripping with a strange combination of menace and delight. "Ah, some little birdies told me that you, mein dear Benedict, had been locked up here like the naughty boy you are. And the thought of you eating these pitiful rations…" She gestured dismissively at the bland cafeteria food. "…und wasting away to skin and bones? Oh, that just wouldn't do!"

Father blinked, eyebrows furrowed. "R-right. But, uh…what does that have to do with—"

"Oh, don't worry," she said, waving him off as if soothing a child. "I took the liberty of... serving the last cook some questionable appetizers." She chuckled darkly. "When he quit due to some…intestinal disagreements, I was happy to step in."

Father's tray wobbled in his grip as he stared at her, her words barely registering. A vague unease settled over him, but he brushed it off, offering a nervous chuckle. "Uh…thanks, I guess? But the food here is…fine. It's no rocky road, but it'll do."

Stuffum's grin flickered for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "Fine? Fine?"

Father didn't notice the shift in her tone, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind her unnerving smile.

"Oh no," he muttered.

"Oh yes!" Stuffum's hearty laugh rang through the cafeteria as she loomed closer. "If 'fine dining' is what you want, I am all too happy to oblige!"

A bead of sweat rolled down Father's temple. That glint in her eyes—hungry and…deranged—set off alarm bells in his head. There was something very wrong here, something he was clearly missing.

Stuffum tilted her head, her voice lowering into a menacing, almost sing-song tone. "Ah, but I know that look. I know what you crave…deep down. A hunger, yah? One that I know all too well."

Father opened his mouth to stammer out some response, but Stuffum's expression darkened before he could, her face twisting into a menacing glower. "And now…" she hissed, "REVENGE!"

With a dramatic flourish, she yanked a lever from behind the counter.

"Wait, wha—"

Before Father could finish his thought, the floor beneath him gave way, and he let out a startled yelp as he disappeared into a hidden trap door.

The prisoner next in line blinked, then casually grabbed Father's discarded tray, adding it to his own. He whistled nonchalantly as he stepped over the still-gaping hole, strolling away as if nothing had happened.

Father, meanwhile, tumbled down a long, spiraling chute before landing with an undignified thud in a chair. Groaning, he rubbed his head and blinked, taking in his surroundings.

He was in a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of something…questionable. A long, absurdly oversized dinner table stretched before him, its surface adorned with flickering candles and piles of mismatched silverware.

"Really?" he muttered, exasperated. "Is this what our tax dollars are going toward? And they wonder why I never bother paying them."

Suddenly, the chair's arms and legs sprang to life, clamping down around his wrists and ankles with a metallic clang!

"Hey! What's the big idea?" Father squirmed, tugging at the irony shackles, but they held firm.

Stuffum's voice echoed ominously throughout the chamber, bouncing off the stone walls like the voice of an avenging spirit. "Ah, Benedict, do you know the saying?" she cooed, her accent thick and syrupy. "'Revenge…is a dish best served cold.'"

Father's heart raced as his eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of her voice. "N-now, hold on a minute! Let's be reasonable about this!"

The voice chuckled darkly. "Ah, but you know me. I am a contrarian, and I disagree!"

Her massive, hulking silhouette emerged from the shadows at the far end of the table. She was dressed in an exaggerated chef's outfit, but her towering hat looked more like something plucked from a witch's wardrobe. The flickering candlelight glinted off her glasses, obscuring her eyes.

Stuffum grinned, holding a massive, covered platter in her hands. Slowly, with a theatrical pause, she moved to lift the lid.

Father's breath caught in his throat.

"Revenge," she declared, her voice booming, "is a dish best served…with a side of BROCCOLI!"

Stuffum dramatically whipped off the platter's lid, revealing the monstrosity within. Father's stomach churned as his eyes met the grotesque dish: a bulbous mound of broccoli that oozed a slimy green glaze, its form pulsating as though alive.

It was peppered with chunks of an unidentifiable, gelatinous substance that jiggled with every movement, giving off a nauseating stench of rotting compost and overripe cheese.

The abomination emitted a low, gurgling sound as it began to move, quivering and wobbling like a bloated zombie slug.

Father whimpered, memories of childhood nightmares flooding back. "N-no…anything but that." His voice cracked as tears welled up in his eyes. "Not broccoli! Please! I'll do anything! I'll be good! I'LL BE A GOOD BOY!"

Stuffum clucked her tongue in mock pity. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Benedict, Benedict, Benedict. This is fine dining! You should be grateful!"

The broccoli blob slithered onto the table with a sickening plop, its slimy underside leaving a glistening trail as it slowly crept toward him. One of its florets twitched, and Father swore it was looking right at him.

"No! NO!" Father thrashed in his chair, tugging desperately at the shackles, but they held firm. "GET IT AWAY FROM ME!"

Stuffum clasped her hands together, her grin widening. "Ah, don't worry, mein little schnitzel. I worked out a deal with the warden. From now on, I am your personal chef! Breakfast, lunch, dinner…" Her voice dropped ominously. "Maybe even dessert—if you behave."

Father froze in horror as tiny, skittering sounds filled the air. Little broccoli critters scuttled out from the shadows like spiders, their stalky legs clicking on the stone floor. They climbed up his chair and began crawling onto his legs, their tiny florets bobbing as they moved.

"No! No! NO!" Father shrieked, shaking his legs in vain as the broccoli creatures clung tighter, their tiny feet pricking his skin like needles.

Stuffum continued, her voice brimming with pride. "Oh, and the dishes I have planned for you! Broccoli soufflé, broccoli pudding, broccoli flambé—ah, I feel so inspired! You should be honored, Benedict!"

Father's mind reeled. With a sinking dread, he realized the hell he was trapped in. If he didn't behave…if he didn't eat the broccoli…then he wouldn't be a good boy. He wouldn't get his early parole.

He wouldn't get his revenge on Nigel.

His body trembled as the awful truth set in.

He had to eat the broccoli.

"No…" he whispered.

Stuffum leaned in closer, eyes glinting with malice. "That's right, Benedict. Now…make sure to eat every. Last. Bite."

The broccoli monstrosity stretched out, a slimy tendril reaching for Father's face as the smaller critters swarmed up his body.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Father's scream echoed through the chamber as the broccoli horrors descended upon him, the sound of his torment muffled by Stuffum's triumphant laughter.

He had nothing but time. To have his revenge? He'd have to wait.

But this was going to be a long, long wait.

---

For what feels like eternity

I let their answers cradle me

---

The vastness of outer space jiggleed with the gale of cosmic winds as a colossal figure emerged from a nebula storm's swirling, electric tempest. Its dark, jagged silhouette sliced through the chaos like a predator, looming ominously against swirling violet and electric blue clouds. Pulsing with an eerie green light, the ship's engines emitted an ominous hum as it cut through the storm's heart, its armored hull glistening with starlight, streaked with the remnants of the nebula's chaos.

It was a dreadnought—massive, imposing, and dripping with the menace of war. Its design was an unyielding fortress of warships, interlocking metal spikes, and battle-ready atom cannons.

At least, that's what it looked like.

As the ominous vessel floated akong, the first instinct might have been to duck, hide, and flee.

Was this some new weapon from the GKND?

Perhaps the final push to crush their enemies?

Nah.

The ship's docking bay doors opened.

Instead of the harsh, metallic clang of a weapons hatch, a gentle, welcoming whoosh filled the airless void.

Out floated a pastel-colored sign—glowing softly in the storm's haze—and underneath it, the words in big friendly letters:

"Starbite Galaxy Grub - 2793 44-Delta Bravo GlEeeeeePOZ Omega. Snacktime Just Got a Whole Lot Tastier!"

The looming warship was, in fact, no dreadnought of destruction but the newest outpost of the Galactic Kids Next Door's most delightful food service.

Rachel stood behind the glowing, floating register, her slumped shoulders under neon lights and sagging eyelids betraying the depths of her exhaustion. Her expression was drained of all life, screaming dead inside.

Yet when she spoke, her voice was a practiced, robotic cheer, the kind that only comes from years of perfecting the art of forced pleasantries.

Or, in her case, the never-ending crash course that had been her life for the last six months.

"Thank you for choosing GKND Starbite Galaxy Grub Dispensary 2793 44-Delta Bravo GlEeeeeePOZ Omega. How can I help you today?" she chirped, not caring as a tentacle noodle slapped her in the face. A chef yelled and apologized from the kitchen, but she just blinked as the food slithered away.

Puh-lease, she'd led armies of toddlers against Gramma Stuffum's unholy legion of horror hors d'oeuvres. It wasn't the food that disgusted her.

The alien before her was enormous, its translucent body rippling with every movement. Their voice gurgled through a translator device, firing off a string of demands so long and complicated it made Rachel's head spin.

"I'd like a triple Nebula Slider with extra plasma sauce—but only on the left side—and exactly three pickle slices, cut into crescents, not stars. Oh, and a side of Cosmic Crisps, lightly dusted with Mobius moon spice. But hold the pulsar salt. And for my drink, I want the Quasar Quencher, but it has to be the kind with the anti-grav bubbles. Make them blue."

Rachel nodded mechanically, eyes blinking out of sync as her fingers flew over the register's holographic keys. "Of course! Let me just get that ring up—"

She stopped mid-sentence as the system pinged a notification. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Oh… it looks like we're out of Quasar Quencher with anti-grav bubbles at the moment. But we do have the Stardust Fizz! It's similar, and—"

The alien let out a high-pitched, gurgling screech that rattled Rachel's eardrums. "Out? OUT?! How can you possibly be out? What kind of establishment is this?"

Rachel's face remained frozen in that hollow-eyed stare. "I understand your frustration. Perhaps I can—"

"NO! I don't want your second-rate substitutes! I'll be reporting this to your manager in the fifth dimension!" the alien blubbered, their gelatinous form quivering with indignation.

Without waiting for a response, they slithered away, muttering unintelligibly under their breath.

Rachel exhaled through her nose. "You have a wonderful day now!"

As the crowd thinned, Rachel collapsed against her floating register, her arms crossed over the cold, glowing surface.

Her head drooped forward, her chin nearly hitting her chest. She could feel the fatigue in her bones, and her knees were weak beneath her as if the gravity on this ship had suddenly doubled.

Wait. It did just double.

Oh joy, that must mean the Baba-baloon-ieon operative was here. Can't have them floating off into the vacuum of space because they refuse to have lunch indoors. No, no, no.

Who cares if humans couldn't handle the extra gravity strain? Not Rachel! Nope!

…she hated it here so much…

Her mind wandered, and she reflected on the long list of absurd tasks she'd been assigned during her so-called "community service."

Scrubbing the ship's exterior during a meteor shower. Cleaning out the waste ducts of an alien life form whose biology she really didn't want to understand. Filing paperwork for hours in an incomprehensible language that made her brain throb.

And now? Serving as the overworked cashier at the busiest GKND cafeteria in the galaxy.

Somehow, this was the worst one yet.

Rachel's eyes flicked to the clock display above the register for the hundredth time that shift. Ten minutes until her break.

Ten long, grueling minutes.

She debated how to spend it.

Would she retreat to the cryo walk-in and let out a few exhausted sobs for the sixth time today?

Would she spend half her break dragging herself to her dingy rental ship, sit still with enough to dissociate through one Charli XCX song at full blast before sprinting back with barely a minute to spare?

Or would she finally give in to the insistent whispers of peers with similar enough jobs back home and take a cigarette break? She didn't even smoke, but standing in silence and letting the cold vacuum of space filter through her lungs sounded strangely appealing.

All options called to her with equal temptation. Decisions, decisions, decisions.

She was still waffling between the three when two cadets approached her station. They were small, barely out of their training phase, and their uniforms looked slightly too big for them. One of them, a little alien with glittering, feathery skin, waved shyly.

"Hi," she said, her voice light and polite. "Can we have two Gleep-meat-ball wraps, please?"

Rachel felt her shoulders relax slightly, her forced customer-service smile softening into something genuine.

It was hard to stay dead inside when confronted with kids who weren't screaming at her.

"Coming right up!" Rachel said, tapping the order into the system. The holographic display blinked red. Her smile froze.

"Oh, uh…" Rachel's eyes darted to the notification. "It looks like you've hit your lunch credit cap for this cycle," she said gently. "You don't have enough for two wraps."

The cadet's feathery crest drooped, her disappointment visible. "Oh. That's okay."

Her friend, a young lizard-looking boy, nudged her shoulder reassuringly. "I think I can order one with my allowance," he said. "We can share."

Rachel's heart pinched. How they looked out for each other reminded her of…well, herself and someone else once upon a time. Her eyes flicked to the clock.

Seven minutes until her break.

What was a slight bending of the rules in the meantime?

"Oh, hold on a second," she said, straightening up. "Congratulations! You're officially our quadrillionth customer!"

Both cadets blinked at her, confused.

"That's right!" Rachel continued, her grin widening. "And that means you get two Gleep-meat-ball wraps on the house!" She quickly discounted the order, and the register chirped as it processed the fabricated transaction.

The cadets stared at her, their eyes wide with amazement. "Really?" the girl asked.

"Really," Rachel said. "Enjoy!"

The two scampered off, clutching their wraps and chattering excitedly about how lucky they were. Rachel watched them go, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. She was back in the Moonbase Cafeteria momentarily, laughing with her friends over meatball sandwich Mondays.

A voice slipped into her mind, soft and playful. "That was sweet of you."

Rachel blinked, startled. She looked up to see RN8 leaning casually against the other side of the counter, her silver form shimmering under the cafeteria's neon lights. Her kaleidoscope eyes glinted in a way that resembled a knowing smile.

"But," RN8 continued telepathically, "regulation dictates that will have to come out of your paycheck."

Rachel's expression immediately soured. "I don't get paid," she muttered deadpan.

RN8 tilted her head, feigning contemplation. "Hmm. Then it'll have to come out of your dental plan."

Rachel threw up her hands. "By all means!" she exclaimed. "It's not like anyone in this quadrant knows anything about human teeth anyway!"

RN8's eyes squinted in amusement, the alien equivalent of a chuckle. Picking up Rachel's frustration, she sent a telepathic message to the cafeteria manager.

"Take an early break," RN8 ordered.

Rachel didn't need to be told twice. She bolted from behind the counter, her apron flapping behind her as she disappeared into the bustling corridors of the dreadnaught.

When it was RN8's turn, she ordered the Hero Subspace Supreme—an oversized sandwich nearly the length of her arm stuffed with glowing alien meats, tangy bioluminescent vegetables, and a bubbling sauce that emitted faint puffs of cherry-tinted steam. With the sub balanced delicately on a gravity tray, she turned to leave the counter, only to stop as a blur of orange zipped into her path.

Numbuh 9L, the large, excitable cat alien, skidded to a halt in front of RN8, her massive paws scrambling for traction on the sleek floor. Her large, expressive eyes glinted, and a sealed package dangled from her mouth. She panted slightly from the effort, her tails swishing back and forth like a metronome stuck on overdrive.

"Mmphrph mrph!" Numbuh 9L mumbled, her voice muffled by the package.

RN8's eyes shifted to mimic a raised brow. She leaned casually on her tray, her fingers curling slightly around the sub as she teased, "It's considered polite to swallow before speaking, you know."

9L blinked twice, her feline ears twitching as if the thought had only now occurred to her. She gingerly spat the package onto the counter, sitting back on her haunches. "Oh! Sorry about that. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"Not at all," RN8 said smoothly, glancing between the package and her tray. "Just checking on Numbuh 362 and grabbing lunch. Zapping two plasma gnorbs with one pulse cannon."

9L tilted her head curiously before her wide eyes shifted to the sandwich.

She squinted at RN8, then at the sandwich, then back again.

Her whiskers twitched with intrigue.

"How…do you even eat that?" she asked, her tails curling in question.

RN8's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Don't worry about it," she replied, her voice light as a thought on the wind. "Now, what's with the package?"

"Oh! Right!" 9L perked up, glancing down at the package. But as her gaze shifted, a wet, unmistakably squelchy noise filled the air.

Her head snapped back up.

The Hero Subspace Supreme was gone.

RN8 stood in the same spot, her hands empty and her posture perfectly unruffled. There wasn't a crumb in sight.

9L's eyes widened as her ears flattened against her head.

RN8 tilted her head slightly, her body language as serene as ever.

9L's tail flicked anxiously before she shook her head vigorously. "You know what? Nope. No, thank you. I'm good." She looked down at the package, scooting it forward with a paw. "I'm just here to deliver this. It's super mega ultra priority. Straight from Command."

RN8 picked up the package, turning it over in her sleek, silver hands. "From who?" she asked, her telepathic voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

"That's the weird part," 9L replied, her ears twitching as she settled into a more comfortable seat. Her tails curled around her paws, flicking every so often as she explained, "It's from high up, like really high. But I didn't recognize the codename. Maybe it's, like, a cover or something?" She licked a paw absentmindedly.

RN8 flipped the package over, scanning the label. Her eyes froze in place, gleaming in sharp, swirling tension as she read the sender line:

Numbuh Nine-Nine.

Without hesitation, RN8 tore into the package, silver fingers moving with an urgency that startled 9L. The feline operative crouched low to the ground, her ears pressed flat in surprise as crinkling and tearing filled the air.

From inside the package, RN8 pulled out a calculator-looking thing. It looked like a standard issue tool, but its sleek surface was marred with scuffs and customized markings. Its frame looked recently modified with after-market 2x14 tech, with some pieces clearly scavenged and jerry-rigged into the design. A folded slip of paper tumbled with it, bearing a short list of bold, printed text.

RN8 carefully read it, eyes growing excited as they read the orders. They drifted down to the finale post-script line:

You even HINT to them that I did this, then I'll put in a motion to decommission YOUR home planet. In case you ever wanted to know what that was like- 9-9.

9L tilted her head, her tail flicking again. "What is it?" she asked, her whiskers twitching with curiosity. "Anything good?"

RN8's eyes swirled brightly, her version of a grin lighting her expression. "Betterthangood," she replied, clutching the device tightly.

Without another word, RN8 took off; the package clutched under one arm as she darted in the direction Rachel had run off to moments before.

The girl in question stood outside the cafeteria, leaning against the cold metallic wall of the dreadnaught, fumbling with a cigarette. Her hands trembled slightly from the chill of the ship's exterior and her hesitance. She flicked the lighter once, twice, three times before a small flame finally ignited.

Just as she brought the cigarette to her lips, it was suddenly snatched away, enveloped in shimmering psychic energy.

"What the—" she started, watching in stunned silence as the cigarette floated in the air for a moment before being flicked unceremoniously into the endless void of space.

RN8 stood a few feet away, arms crossed and eyes narrowing in mock disapproval. Her voice echoed directly into Rachel's mind with a scolding tone. "I've studied enough of your species to know that's a terrible habit."

Rachel groaned, running a hand through her hair. "And what if I don't care?" she muttered. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

RN8 tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with sass as she replied, "Actually, as your supervisor, I absolutely do." She shifted her weight and gestured vaguely toward the cafeteria. "Break's over, Numbuh 362."

Rachel whined, slumping against the wall. "I am not going back in there."

RN8's eyes twinkled deviously, a hint of playfulness in her telepathic tone. "Lucky you, then. You have new orders."

Rachel froze, her shoulders stiffening as the weight of countless menial tasks flashed through her mind. "Great," she grumbled, already imagining the worst. "What is it this time? Scrubbing plasma trays? Cleaning out the star chutes? Feeding some carnivorous pet? That seems to be a favorite."

RN8 didn't answer right away. Instead, her eyes gleamed brighter, her amusement evident.

---

But now I'm going to disclose answers of mine

Heed my inner voice and face ahead

---

"Welcome back, stargazers and temporal travelers, to ChronoWave 888.7, the only station where the hits come from across time, space, and every possible dimension in between!"

Scribble, scribble.

"I'm your host, Cosmic Carl, riding the waves of reality like a comet on a caffeine buzz! We've spun the dial from the past, present, and future—now, let's dive into a little something that might just resonate with your very soul... or, y'know, tear a hole in your temporal-spatial psyche."

Scribble…scribble, scribble.

"Either way, you're gonna feel it! This next track's a true blast from somewhere on your timeline, folks. I hope it hits close to home... or maybe just a few centuries down the road. Let's crank it up!"

Scribble, scribble, scribble.

"~I just wanna go back, back to 1999~"

Scrib–

"~Take a ride to my old neighborhood~"

A chair scrapes across the floor, followed by controlled footsteps.

"~I just wanna go back, sing 'Hit me, baby, one more–"

Click!

The radio is turned off.

Footsteps return to their point of origin.

The room was now quiet save for the steady pen scribbling against paper.

Numbuh Infinity sat at his desk, his tongue poking out in concentration as he filled in the last few bubbles on a sheet of paper. The task was monotonous, and yet his dedication was unwavering. He squinted, his pen hovering over a particularly ambiguous answer, before making his choice and circling it with a flourish.

Ugh. Paperwork, amirite?

With a dramatic sigh, he leaned back in his chair, holding the completed sheet triumphantly. "Done."

The page vanished down a sparkling vacuum tube with a satisfying whoosh, leaving his other hand groping blindly for the next one. He grabbed at the air once, twice, before realization slapped him.

"Wait. I'm done?" He stared at his empty desk in disbelief. "I'm done!"

The words erupted from him in a rare, unguarded moment of joy. He pumped his fists in the air as he spun around his chair, letting out an exaggerated "Whoo-hoo!"

Hey, even he was allowed the indulgence of a silly celebration once in a blue moon.

The computer beeped, cutting his revelry short. Infinity froze as though caught with a bloody murder weapon. Adjusting his infinity-shaped bow tie, he cleared his throat and sat down, clicking the notification with feigned composure.

The message read:

RN8: THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!

Infinity raised an eyebrow. Ah, she must have gotten the modified tracker. He glanced at the corner of his screen where the date blinked back at him.

Hold on…

Had it really been nearly a month!?

"Guess that's what I get for not springing the extra dibble for express shipping," he muttered, shaking his head as he typed a reply.

Infinity: I have no idea what you're talking about.

The response came back almost instantly:

RN8: :3

Rolling his eyes, Infinity closed the message chain and deleted it with a few swift keystrokes. He leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath. "She better not blab about this to anyone with an ear hole. I've got a rep to keep!" He paused.

Hmm. He was talking to himself more than usual today.

His fingers drummed idly on the desk as his gaze drifted to the ceiling, his earlier satisfaction fading into thoughtfulness. The tracker. The upgrades (which were not cheap).

The carefully disguised alias he'd used and the instructions to "test" the device...

Why had he done it?

If the modifications worked as intended, they would be better. (SIX ZIBBLES!) Rachel would undoubtedly use it to find Nigel.

And if she found him—and oh, if Rachel didn't, he was going to strangle Beth Numbuh, that no good fleecer—the two of them would dive headfirst into whatever reckless, rule-breaking, gross teenaged face-sucking they deemed necessary.

Barf!

They wouldn't walk away from it this time. He knew that.

So why?

The question nagged at him, an itch he couldn't scratch.

Maybe it had been simple curiosity. Maybe he'd wanted to do something nice—was that so wrong?

Or maybe, just maybe, Nigel and Rachel reminded him of someone.

Someone he'd tried to forget.

Infinity sat up abruptly, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket. His fingers brushed against the worn envelope, and he hesitated before pulling it out. The paper felt fragile, its corners softened by time. He traced the edges with a gloved thumb, staring at the familiar handwriting on the front.

Rebecca.

The name struck him. It always did. Kuki had handed him this letter back at the Moonbase, but Infinity had yet to open it. He had no idea when Rebecca had written it or what it might say.

And that terrified him.

Almost without realizing it, he pushed back his chair and stood, the letter clenched tightly in his hand. He crossed the room in measured strides, his face a mask of stoic calm even as his heart hammered in his chest. The paper shredder sat in the corner, humming softly as he flipped the switch to turn it on.

He stared at the whirring blades, the letter held inches above them.

Just shred it. The thought whispered in the back of his mind, insidious and persistent. It's better if you don't know. It's just going to hurt you. Again. And again. And again.

His grip on the letter tightened.

It always hurts. It's never going to stop. Why make it worse?

His hand moved closer to the shredder, his breath hitching as the sound of the blades grew louder in his ears.

But then, he stopped.

He pulled it back.

The shredder's hum faded as he turned it off.

Slowly, carefully, he broke the seal and unfolded the paper within.

The handwriting was unmistakable. Rebecca's voice reached out to him from across the years.

Infinity sat back down at his desk, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't yet name.

He began to read.

---

Jerome,

If you're reading this, then…you did it. You won. You stopped me. You saved the day. I don't know how you pulled it off (because, let's be honest, you're absolutely TERRIBLE at telling stories and mission reports, and now I won't be there to drag every little detail out of you), but I just know you did. That's just who you are.

And it makes me so, so happy.

Happy like how we used to feel after sneaking pudding cups from the Mess Hall. Or when we found the PERFECT hiding spot during Capture the Flag. Happy in the way you feel when you wake up on your birthday, and for just a second, everything feels right with the world.

That kind of happy.

But there's something else I feel, too. I don't really know the word for it. Maybe it's the kind of happiness that hurts. The kind that makes your heart swell and ache at the same time like it's saying goodbye before it's ready. Because that's what this is, isn't it?

Goodbye.

Time feels funny right now. It's stretching and shrinking all at once, like those weird carnival mirrors we used to laugh at. Like when you're at the dentist and they say it'll just take five more minutes, but it feels like forever and no time at all. I can feel it slipping through my fingers faster than I want.

But I guess that's okay. It has to be, right?

I have things I need to say to you before I run out of time.

When Sector Z disappeared…I didn't know what to do. It was like the whole world cracked open and gobbled me up. I was falling, and no one could catch me. They were my family. Alessandra, David, Bruce, Lenny, Constance—they weren't just friends. They were my everything. And I promised them we'd always stick together, no matter what. I promised I'd save them.

But I couldn't.

I didn't. Not in time.

And after that, all the big, scary questions I'd been too afraid to ask came rushing in.

How could we protect kids when we couldn't even protect each other? How could we fight for a world that treated kids like them—like me—as if we didn't matter just because we got older?

I wanted to fix it. I needed to fix it. But instead of answers, all I found was more hurt. I started to believe the only way to save everyone was to tear everything down. The KND wasn't the dream anymore; it was this big, horrible monster that I thought would swallow away everything good. Everything I loved.

And I was so, so scared.

Scared of losing you.

Because you were my nightlight, you were still shining even when everything felt dark, and I thought I'd drown in all the bad stuff. You made me believe in good things. In anything.

And when the aliens came—when they wanted to try recruiting you and take you away—I snapped. I couldn't lose you, too. I just couldn't.

I thought I was protecting you. But I wasn't, was I? I was just protecting myself. Holding on so tightly to the one light I had left that I didn't see what I was doing. I didn't see the damage I was causing. I didn't see how I hurt everyone until it was too late.

But you saw me. You always did. Even when I didn't deserve it, you believed in me. Even when I hurt you, even when I betrayed everything we stood for…you still believed.

And in the end, you saved me.

I can hear you now. You're right here in my communicator, telling me to hang on, telling everyone to hang on.

And I did, Jerome. I did. I did, I did, I did!

Because of you.

But I don't think I can hold on much longer.

And that's okay. It really is.

Because you've got a story to finish.

Mine ends here, but yours doesn't. You've got so much left to do. So many kids to save. So many popsicles to eat. So many dreams to fight for.

You're my hero. You've always been my hero. You made me believe the KND wasn't just some big dream. You made me think it could be something real. Something good.

And now, because of you, I believe in it again. Even if it's only right here at the very end.

You'll find the happy ending, Jerome. I know you will.

Not just for me, but for all the kids who need you.

For all the kids who can't speak up for themselves. You'll find it because you never stop going. You never stop believing.

But promise me this: you won't give up when it gets hard—and it will. You'll let yourself cry if you need to. You'll miss me if you have to. But don't let it stop you.

Don't let it turn you into something you're not.

Smile again. Laugh again. Live again. Make new friends! (…even if it's the aliens…)

Not for me, but for you.

Oh, and you can have my Yipper cards if it'll help. Just DON'T BEND THEM, okay? (Seriously, don't!)

You're going to do amazing things.

You're going to make the world better.

You're going to carry the dream forward. Even if it weighs a gazi-buh-mill—oh, forget it, spelling is dumb. You get it.

Run, Jerome.

Run to tomorrow.

And if you have time to worry? Just run some more!

Run until you find it.

Find the happy ending. Find it for both of us. That's one last order from your Soopreme Leader.

And when you do find it, I'll be there.

Maybe not in the way you want, but I'll be there. I'll be there whenever you look up at the stars, hear someone laugh, and feel the wind on your face.

I love you.

I love you so much.

More than pudding.

More than winning at Capture the Flag. More than words can say.

Maybe even more than my Yipper cards.

Love, love, love you for Infinity and Beyond,

Rebecca

P.S. NEW JERSEY! HA HA! 3

---

His fingers trembled, clutching the paper as if letting go might shatter the fragile tether to her voice.

He reread the lines—ones filled with humor, sorrow, and love—and felt his chest tighten.

For years, he had buried it all. The hurt. The longing.

The failure.

He had forced himself to be Numbuh Infinity: stoic, calculated, untouchable.

He had locked away his heart, convinced it would only slow him down.

But Rebecca's words...they broke through, his barriers crumbling like legos.

She'd believed in him, even when he couldn't believe in himself. She'd trusted him to carry on, to smile, to live.

And all this time, he had failed her.

He hadn't smiled, hadn't laughed—not as Jerome.

He had hidden behind Infinity, treating it like armor, like a shield from the world.

But now, sitting here with Rebecca's last words in his hands, he realized that wasn't what she wanted.

She hadn't wanted him to be a symbol. She'd wanted him to be himself.

His breath hitched.

For years, he had known she was gone—truly gone—but knowing wasn't the same as understanding. He hadn't let himself understand it until now.

Rebecca was dead.

She wasn't coming back.

And the pain of losing her would never go away.

The tears began as a trickle, then turned into an uncontrollable torrent, hot and stinging as they slid down his cheeks.

He clutched the letter tighter, his shoulders shaking, the sobs pulling deep from his chest. The grief was suffocating, as raw as the day he lost her, but this time, something was different. This time, he didn't fight it.

This time, he let himself feel.

It hurt—it hurt more than he thought he could bear. But amidst the agony, he felt something else.

Something lighter.

The shackles of guilt and anger he had carried for years, the self-imposed chains of his craftered identity, began to crack and fall away.

His cries filled the room, raw, unrestrained, and echoing off the walls, growing louder and guttural until they seemed to shake the very foundation of who he had become.

He was no longer Numbuh Infinity. He was no longer Numbuh Nine-Nine.

For the first time in years, he allowed himself to be Jerome.

Jerome Kingsly, the boy who laughed too loudly when Rebecca snorted milk out her nose.

The boy who stayed up late strategizing with her over pudding cups and silly dares.

The boy who had loved her more than he could ever put into words.

The boy who had lost her.

His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, clutching the letter as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. His forehead pressed against the cool wood of his desk as he sobbed, unburdening years of guilt, anger, and grief. His tears blurred the edges of the letter's ink, Rebecca's familiar scrawl smudging under his fingertips, but he didn't care.

He let it out—all of it—crying until his throat was scratchy and his chest ached.

And once it was all out? He was free.

He was finally free to make a choice.

And in that moment, Jerome made it.

He chose not to hold onto the pain anymore.

The pain would always be there, yes—but it didn't have to define him.

Instead, he would hold onto the love.

Because Rebecca's love would never go away.

It would remain with him forever for Infinity and Beyond.

His sobs eased, leaving only the quiet sound of his breathing. He stood slowly, the letter still in his hands, crinkled and worn like a security blanket. Crossing the room, he moved to the window and looked out into the stars. They stretched endlessly, impossibly vast, glittering like tiny pinpricks of light.

Some of those stars, he realized, were already dead—gone for eons, reduced to nothing but dust.

Yet their light remained, shining across the cosmos, defying time and space just because they could.

It was then, as he gazed out into the infinite, that Jerome understood the lesson his mother had tried to teach him all those years ago.

The cold, hard truth of it was this: there was no such thing as a happily ever after.

Life—real life—wasn't a fairytale.

"Life ain't got no neat little ending, no tidy bow to wrap it up with. It just keeps goin'. Sometimes, it's messy. Sometimes, it's beautiful. But it don't stop."

No matter what kind of world he tried to build, no matter how perfect he wanted it to be, it would never truly be flawless.

And that was okay.

Watching Rachel, Nigel, and those bumbling fools of Sector V; watching the Kids Next Door across Earth; watching how they stumbled, fought, and found their way—Jerome felt something he hadn't in years.

No matter what happened, kids would always pull through. They always found a way.

And even knowing the truth—that the happy ending didn't exist—he would keep believing in it anyway.

He would keep looking for it, even if he never lived to see it.

Because that was what being a kid was truly about. The paradoxical whimsy of believing in something you could never quite touch.

Of taking the world as it was—messy and imperfect—and pretending anyway.

Pretending until it stopped feeling like pretend and started to feel real.

It's time to recollect again

The dreams I had almost given up on

With a soft, wistful smile, Jerome folded Rebecca's letter into a paper airplane. His hands moved with the kind of care and tenderness he hadn't felt in years. Once the airplane was complete, he held it up, admiring the creases and folds.

It was simple, imperfect, but beautiful.

The best paper airplane anyone would ever build in the history of ever. True facts.

No, he realized. Not a paper airplane.

A paper rocket ship.

He walked to the emergency airlock and paused, taking a steadying breath. Alarms blared as the chamber opened, the rush of air threatening to pull him off balance. His sunglasses were ripped away, leaving his bright brown eyes to shine, unhidden for the first time in years.

Jerome pressed one last kiss to the paper rocket, for luck and fuel, before releasing it.

The rocket caught the air, spinning wildly before straightening out.

Defying all logic, it didn't bend or tear.

Not even a teeny, tiny wrinkle.

It just kept going—flying through the vacuum like a shooting star, carrying Rebecca's words into the vast unknown.

Jerome watched until it disappeared into the wonderful, endless possibility of infinity.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and for the first time, he felt something close to peace.

And finally…

Then I may learn to be brave

"Goodbye, Rebecca," he whispered.

Thus keeping hope alive

Jerome returned to his desk, settling into the chair with a long, steady exhale. His hands trembled slightly, the aftershocks of his release, but he didn't rush to steady them. Instead, he let the sensation pass naturally, his body finding its calm.

For years, he had perfected his neutral, professional expression: a stony glare that gave nothing away. But now, as he sat there, the corners of his lips betrayed him, curling into a faint, unbidden smile. It wasn't deliberate or forced—just a tiny, honest trace of something lighter, something real.

He let the smile soften, but it never entirely disappeared.

Taking another breath, Jerome reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a new pair of sunglasses. He moved to put them on but hesitated, his hands hovering midair. After a moment, he shrugged and placed them gently on the desk instead.

As he pushed the drawer closed, something caught his eye: a small, familiar shape. It had been buried beneath years of untouched clutter—a deck of Go Fish cards, the edges worn and faded. His hand paused. Slowly, carefully, he picked them up.

The weight of the cards in his hands made his chest tighten, but not with grief. Instead, it was something warmer—a pang of nostalgia, of simpler times when the cards had been more than just a game.

Rebecca's words echoed in his mind again, her message looping in his heart:

Live—not for me, but for you.

The cards felt like a reminder, and as he held them, his thoughts wandered. Memories of other things, other people he had let slip away—friends, bonds that had frayed from time, distance, or neglect. Rebecca's letter wasn't just a goodbye; it was a nudge, a challenge to look forward, to reach out.

He wasn't even sure how it happened—his hands moved almost on autopilot—but Jerome found himself dialing a call before he realized it.

The jingle of the Galactic Kids Next Door's video communication network began to play, cheerful and bright, almost mocking in contrast to his anxious grip on the Go Fish deck.

When the realization hit, he stared at the blinking screen in disbelief.

What was he doing?

He could still hang up—he should—but something kept him frozen. His thumb hovered over the cancel button but never pressed it.

Instead, Jerome sat there, dumbly waiting.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Still no answer.

He shifted in his chair, his nerves tangling tighter with each moment of silence.

Just as he thought he'd be left staring at the failed call screen, the connection snapped to life.

"You've got to be FLARKING kidding me!"

Jerome blinked, startled as the screen lit up with an image he hadn't seen in nearly three years.

Lizzie Devine's golden eyes glared furiously at the camera, her alien form unmistakable: the inverted pot-like structure of her body, her head's shadowy silhouette, and the countless vines fluttering angrily around her.

Her voice was sharp, laced with the same fury that had intimidated countless operatives. "What part of PERSONAL LEAVE do you dolts not understand!?" she bellowed.

Jerome's brow arched slightly as he took in her surroundings—some sort of alien spa resort, judging by the glowing pools and misty, pastel-colored scenery behind her—was that a möbius strip chocolate fountain!?

Lizzie herself was dressed in a sleek spa outfit wrapped snugly around her pot body, giving the whole scene an absurdly domestic air.

Lizzie didn't seem to notice his raised brow. Or notice him at all.

No, see, she was too busy ranting, waving her vines in outrage. "I said I'd take the stupid job, didn't I? But if you flarking morons keep interrupting my 'Vine-time,' I'm adding another week to my PT—"

She froze mid-sentence, her furious expression shifting to one of wide-eyed shock.

Her golden eyes shrank. "…Oh."

Jerome gave her a small, awkward wave.

Lizzie's voice dropped to a squeaky, uncertain pitch. "H-hi, Jerome…"

Jerome tilted his head slightly, his expression equally awkward. "Lizzie."

Lizzie blinked, clearly scrambling for words. "Uh…so. How's it going?"

Jerome hesitated. "Good," he said after a moment, his voice carefully measured. He paused, then ventured cautiously, "You?"

Lizzie fidgeted, a few vines brushing her face as she glanced at the screen. "Oh! Uh, yeah. Good. I'm good. Just…rejuvenating." She tugged at her spa outfit, slipping it off and tossing it out of frame with deliberate nonchalance. "Pulled a muscle—or whatever the closest human analogy is."

Jerome blinked. "Pulled a muscle," he repeated slowly. His brow furrowed. "Doing what?"

Lizzie froze, her golden eyes darting to the side as her vines twitched nervously. "Ah, y'know…stuff."

"Stuff," Jerome repeated, deadpan.

"Stuff," Lizzie confirmed, nodding with exaggerated certainty.

He was quiet for a moment, studying her fidgeting vines. He decided to let it go, leaning back slightly. "I…hope you feel better," he said, his tone surprisingly soft.

Lizzie blinked, her vines stilling at the genuine concern in his voice. "Oh," she said, quieter. "Uh, thanks. That's…really nice of you."

The awkwardness returned, thick and almost tangible. Neither seemed eager to end the call but knew what to say. Jerome drummed his fingers on his desk absently, a rhythm he wasn't even aware of. Lizzie, mirroring his unease, used one of her vines to mimic twirling hair. Both avoided each other's gaze.

Finally, Jerome cleared his throat. "I, um…I got your message."

Lizzie tilted her head. "Message?" she asked. Then, as though struck by lightning, her body tensed, her vines tangling around her pot. Her eyes widened in horror, and her shadowy face darkened with what might have been a blush. "Oh, STARS!" she exclaimed. "I am so, so, soooo sorry. It was a bad night! I was sad; I ate way too much tretchi leaf gelato—and had, um, a few too many kid-friendly chloros-tinis—and one thing led to another and—"

"Not that message," Jerome interrupted, holding up a hand. He blinked, suddenly alarmed. "Wait. I don't think I got…whatever that was."

Lizzie froze again, her vines slackening. A beat passed, and then she burst out laughing, her voice high-pitched with relief. "Oh, thank the Mama Tree. That means I root-dialed someone else!" She shook her head, her relief palpable. Then, her expression shifted into confusion. "Wait. What message are you talking about?"

Jerome hesitated, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the Go Fish deck. "The one you sent about six months ago," he said, his voice quieter now. "The one I got while I was on Earth during…the incident." He glanced away briefly. "You know. The one where you begged me to…uh…'move.'"

Lizzie's vines slowly stilled as understanding dawned. Her golden eyes softened, her shoulders—or what passed for them—drooping slightly. "Oh," she murmured. "That message."

"I got it," Jerome said quickly, sitting forward. "And I know I can't prove it, but…I did do it. I promise I—"

"I know."

He froze, his brow furrowing. "You know?"

Lizzie nodded, her eyes flicking to the side. "I read your incident report," she said softly. "You've never been good at embellishing. And you gave Nigel way too much credit. That was a dead giveaway."

Jerome groaned, leaning back in his chair and dragging a hand down his face.

But Lizzie smiled, her sincerity shining as she said, "Thank you." Her voice was quiet but earnest, and her golden eyes met his. "Thank you so, so much. It…it means a lot to me. More than you could ever know."

Jerome glanced at her, his fingers still fidgeting. "I'm…glad," he said, his voice low.

The room fell silent again, the awkwardness creeping back like an old, unwelcome moocher. Lizzie shifted uneasily, her vines twitching. Finally, hesitantly and almost too casual, she asked, "Is that all?"

There was something subtle in her tone, a faint thread of hope buried beneath the question.

Jerome nodded. "It is," he said, his voice soft.

Lizzie deflated, her vines drooping. "Oh," she muttered. "Well, um…goodbye, then."

"No! I mean…no. That's not all."

Lizzie froze.

Jerome opened his mouth to speak but immediately closed it, his words caught somewhere between his throat and his thoughts. He tried again, his lips forming syllables that never coalesced into anything meaningful. A garbled sound of frustration escaped him as he threw his hands up in defeat and buried his head in his arms on the desk. His voice, muffled and low, broke the silence.

"I'm sorry."

Lizzie blinked, her vines twitching faintly. "It's okay," she said softly. "Take your time. Seriously. They pushed back my mitochondria ion massage; can you believe that? So I've got time to kill. Oh, but, uh, even if it did cut into that, I can always reschedule the silly massage to—"

"No," Jerome interrupted, lifting his head slightly but not meeting her eyes. "You don't get it." He exhaled heavily. "That was it. I'm sorry."

Lizzie's vines stilled, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as Jerome continued.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, this time with more weight. "For everything. For being a jerk. For not reaching out for…years. And especially for…" He hesitated, his fingers curling tightly into his sleeves. "For making you end your mission. For making you break up with Numbuh 1."

Lizzie stiffened, her vines curling in a slow, deliberate motion. The words seemed to hang in the air before finally settling in. Her expression softened, her gaze lowering.

Jerome pushed forward, unable to stop now. "I'm sorry I let you go through it in the first place," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "It was unfair to ask that of you. Even more unfair to make you…call it off, especially after how attached you got to Nigel." He sighed, his gaze dropping to his desk. "Sure, we had a job to do, but you were my friend. I should've put your feelings first, but I didn't."

He paused, shame coloring his face as he looked away. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lizzie's body was eerily still, her vines wrapped close to her form. Her alien features did not indicate what she was feeling, no apparent signs of anger, forgiveness, or anything in between. Jerome fidgeted nervously, stealing glances at the screen but finding nothing to gauge. His stomach churned as he braced himself for her to tell him to take a hike.

Instead, her voice came soft and even. "Is that why you haven't tried calling me?" she asked. "Because you thought I was upset with you?"

Jerome blinked, his head tilting slightly. "Wasn't…weren't you?"

Lizzie's vines uncurled slightly, the motion slow and deliberate. "No," she said. "Well…okay, maybe a tiny bit. Fine, more than a tiny bit." She offered a weak, almost apologetic smile. "But no, Jerome, I wasn't upset with you. Not really. I was mostly upset with myself."

Jerome leaned forward slightly, his brows knitting together.

Lizzie exhaled, her shoulders—or the closest thing she had to them—slumping slightly. "That night…I was hurt. I was upset, and I said a lot of things I didn't mean." She hesitated, her golden eyes meeting his through the screen. "Because in the end, you were right. I did get too attached."

Her vines curled again, tighter this time. "Too attached to Earth. Too attached to the cover of being a normal kid. Too attached to Nigel." She shook her head slowly, her tone turning introspective. "I don't regret it, though. Getting attached." She paused, her gaze growing distant. "No. It took me a long time to realize it, but I don't regret being attached. I regret it was all based on a lie I just kept feeding."

Jerome stayed silent, his hands clasped tightly together as he listened.

Lizzie laughed bitterly, shaking her head again. "I was assigned to monitor Nigel. Test his loyalty. Assess if he was GKND potential." She glanced at the screen, her expression flickering with something that might have been embarrassment. "But I treated it like a joke, at least at first. It was a game. A fun exercise to blow off steam. No one said I had to date the guy, but I went ahead anyway."

Her tone turned wry, almost self-deprecating. "I thought it'd be hilarious. I had it all planned out. String him along, slap on the BOYFRIEND helmet, and just let the dominos fall. When the smoke cleared, he'd scream in my face and demand to never see me again."

She paused, her voice quieting. "Imagine my surprise when he…didn't do that at all."

Lizzie's gaze drifted, her vines curling slightly as she reflected. "It was such a whirlwind with him," she began softly. "Sure, we had our moments. The wonderful times—like when he made me that ridiculous 'Pillow Palace' to cheer me up after I 'sprained' my 'ankle.' Or that time he let me tag along on one of his missions, even though it was absolutely against protocol, just because I said I was bored."

Her expression softened further, and for a fleeting moment, her alien form seemed almost…human. "But then there were…our 'moments.'"

Jerome tilted his head slightly with a curious but cautious look.

Lizzie huffed, her tone growing dry. "Like how he'd forget anniversaries. Not just once—every single time. Or how he'd bring me shrapnel from his missions because, and I quote, 'They reminded me of you!" She shook her head with an exasperated laugh. "And don't even get me started on my cooking. He never appreciated it! I worked my roots off perfecting that casserole—even ruined the recipe to add that teriyaki sauce he liked!—and he just sat there, looking at it like it was toxic sludge!"

Her vines flared slightly, her voice rising in mock indignation. "I know he wasn't a gourmet, but come on! You don't just sniff someone's hard work and then politely ask if there's any chicken nuggets left in the freezer!"

Jerome stifled a laugh, which only seemed to embolden her.

"I mean, seriously!" Lizzie's hands—well, the closest equivalent she had—gestured wildly before she caught herself, exhaling sharply. "But…he tried, didn't he?" Her tone softened again, and her vines slackened slightly. "He really did try to make an effort. And that…that meant something to me."

Jerome nodded, his expression serious now. "Of course it did," he said. "Gestures like that—they mean a lot to you."

"They do," Lizzie admitted, her golden eyes touching his. She hesitated, then pressed forward. "Was Nigel a terrible boyfriend? Some people would say totally." She shrugged. "But is it fair for me to answer that? Let's be honest, Jerome—I was a terrible girlfriend."

Jerome's reaction was immediate and emphatic. "No, you weren't!" he said, leaning forward in his chair.

Lizzie arched an eyebrow, her tone dry. "The whole point of my mission was to manipulate him. Remember?"

Jerome opened his mouth, one hand rising with a finger pointed as though to counter her. Then he stopped, his face scrunching up in thought.

Yeah. She had him there. Hard to excuse that.

Lizzie smirked faintly but didn't linger on the victory. "The whole idea was to see what he'd choose: loyalty to the Kids Next Door…or personal attachments. Me." She looked down, her voice softening. "And I got upset when he did exactly what we wanted him to."

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "I mean, from a relationship standpoint, how incredibly messed up and unhealthy is that?"

Jerome didn't respond, his expression grim.

"What's even worse," Lizzie continued, "is that I let myself get in too deep. I let myself fall head over heels for him. I kept it going, knowing—knowing—that one day, the truth was going to come out. And it wasn't going to be from me. I knew that much, at least."

Her voice cracked slightly, but she powered through. "The last straw was that night," she said. "When it came to choosing between the Kids Next Door or love…he finally chose me."

The words lingered in the air, heavy and raw. Lizzie's eyes shimmered as tears welled up, her voice trembling. "That's why I had to end it. Maybe you thought you made me do it, Jerome. Maybe I thought so, too, at the time. But the truth?" She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The truth is there's always a choice. And I made it…even if I didn't want to admit it."

Jerome's hands tightened into fists as he watched his friend try to hold herself together. He wanted to reach through the screen, to comfort her, but all he could do was sit there.

"But…you did love him, didn't you?" he asked softly, his voice almost hesitant.

Lizzie nodded, her tears finally spilling over. "I did," she whispered. "I loved him." She hesitated, her words catching in her throat before she forced them out. "But he loved a lie. He deserved more. So, so much more than that."

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of her confession settling over them both.

Jerome finally broke it, his voice shaky. "I mean, maybe if I'd just—if I'd let you come clean earlier, if I hadn't pushed so hard, maybe—"

"No," Lizzie interrupted firmly, cutting him off. Her vines tensed slightly, her expression resolute. "We can think of all the 'what ifs' we want, Jerome, but it happened. And we can't take it back."

She managed a faint, bittersweet smile. "We were kids, Jerome. Heck, we still are kids. We didn't know any better. Maybe we still don't. But at least we're wise enough now to admit that, you know?"

Jerome frowned but stayed silent, giving her the space to continue.

"And I need to admit, even if I did come clean…what we had? It was never gonna last. For so long, I thought if I just tried harder, if I loved him enough if I proved I could be… I don't know, everything, it'd work. That we'd work," she admitted, her voice tinged with a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and regret. "But real love isn't about clinging or forcibly molding someone to fit into your world. It's about meeting halfway. And Nigel and I… we were never on the same page, let alone the same world."

Her gaze turned distant, her voice quieter now. "A part of me will always love him. I think I knew that even when it was falling apart. But it doesn't change that we couldn't make each other happy. Not really. And I should've had the strength to admit that earlier. Before…" She swallowed hard, her voice catching slightly. "Before it all spiraled into this."

Jerome let her words hang in the air, his expression heavy with guilt. Slowly, he shook his head and muttered, "Don't hog all the credit for this debacle. I played my part in mucking this all up, too. And I'm not just talking about the Nigel stuff either."

Lizzie's lips quirked into a small, rueful smile. "Yeah, you did," she agreed, her tone teasing but not unkind. "But you chose to act in the end, Jerome. To fix the mess we made. Today, and whatever comes tomorrow? We owe it all to you."

Jerome's head snapped up, his brow furrowing. "No, we…" He faltered before sighing. "I owe it all to you."

She blinked, taken aback.

"You were the one who pushed me when I got complacent," Jerome continued, his tone earnest. "You were the one who kicked me in the butt when I just wanted to crawl back into bed and give up. You believed in me when I didn't even believe in myself. Heck, you never stopped believing. Not in me. Not in any of this."

Lizzie didn't say anything for a moment, her leaves shifting slightly as though she were trying to process his words. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but touched with warmth. "I still think you're not giving yourself enough credit."

Jerome risked a smirk, his first real one in what felt like forever. "Maybe I could convince you to go halfsies?"

Her laugh broke the tension like sunlight through clouds. "Deal."

The air between them felt lighter now, the past momentarily set aside. They bathed in companionable silence, letting the quiet stretch naturally. It wasn't uncomfortable—it felt earned.

After a while, Jerome tilted his head, his voice thoughtful. "Hey, second chances are a thing, right?"

Lizzie glanced at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Jerome rubbed the back of his neck. "Have you, uh… have you talked to Nigel? Since… you know. Everything?"

Lizzie's expression darkened slightly, and she shook her head. "No."

Jerome hesitated, clearly debating whether to continue. Finally, he confessed, "He knows, you know. About… everything. And that's my fault. Sorry."

Lizzie's eyes narrowed, but her voice had no anger—only exasperation. "Jerome, that's a promise I'm glad you broke. If you'd held back just to spare my feelings, the Important Ones would probably be building some stupid interdimensional ball pit where Earth used to be."

Jerome groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Did everyone BUT me know that 'planetary decommissioning' meant the planet got blown up!?"

Lizzie's eyes widened incredulously. "YOU DIDN'T KNOW!?"

"LIKE ANYONE TELLS ME ANYTHING!" Jerome protested, his tone almost childish. He sighed, composing himself. "We'll table that for later. The point is, Nigel knows. And… honestly? He seemed okay with it. Maybe even relieved. You should try and… I don't know. Talk to him. Could be a chance for a do-over."

Lizzie's gaze fell to the ground, her leaves stilling. After a long moment, she closed her eyes and whispered, "No."

Jerome frowned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Lizzie, come on. Don't let your vines strangle you into playing it safe. Listen to your heart."

Lizzie's vines twitched, and she gave him a pointed look. "Technically speaking, I don't have an actual heart, Jerome."

"Stop deflecting with bad jokes." He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "When did I start talking to Numbuh 2?"

She snorted. "You wish you were that lucky."

Jerome rolled his eyes but pressed on. "I'm serious, though. I just think… if chasing happiness is something you want, you should go for it."

Lizzie's teasing expression softened into something gentler, something more wistful. "I will," she assured him quietly. "But right now? I think it's best to leave that door closed. For now."

"For now?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Let us both have some time to just… be ourselves. To see who we'll grow up to be. I'll talk to Nigel. Eventually, I even have hope we might be friends again someday. But anything beyond that?" She shrugged, her vines swaying slightly. "Like I said, that door's staying closed for now. But hey… if it ever happens to open again..."

Jerome fidgeted slightly, looking guilty. He shifted in his seat, scratching the back of his neck. "That's, uh… kind of what I'm getting at."

Lizzie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Jerome cleared his throat. "I, uh… may have set some… things in motion."

Her brows—or at least the part of her vines that mimicked brows—arched. "Things…in motion?"

Jerome winced, rubbing his neck harder. "If you wait too long, that door might… y'know, lock. Pretty soon-ish."

She blinked, slowly processing his words. Realization dawned, and her expression shifted into one of sly amusement. "Awww…" she cooed in a mock baby voice. "Is fleshy little Jerome a big softie?!"

He groaned, facepalming. "Shut up."

"Oh, no, no. You got all warm fuzzy and wanted to play Cupid, didn't you?" She grinned mischievously, wiggling her vine-brows for emphasis. "That's so precious. I wish I were recording this call."

"Shut up, I mean it." He coughed into his hand, trying to regain some composure. "Look, there's still time for me to stop it."

Lizzie tapped what might have been her chin with a vine, pretending to mull it over.

"Nah," she decided. "Honestly, I am kind of bummed it'll be off the table, but… not gonna lie, a part of me was always curious to see what would've happened if we never interfered in the first place." Her vines wiggled again. "Besides, if that doesn't work out? You can bet your tushy I'll be right there to see if there's any sparks left."

Anyone else might've taken her entirely seriously, but Jerome knew her well enough to catch the joke in her tone. He shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You're terrible."

"I knooooow. I'm so controversial; they love to hate me!" Lizzie teased, fluttering…we'll just call 'em her eyelashes; the narrator is so done with this alien-biology body language bit. She then crossed her arms and pouted dramatically. "And you know what? It's fine. Let blondie have a man with no taste. I'm still upset he didn't even try my famous Vinegar Maple Spore Casserole."

He grimaced. "Cut him some slack. Digestive systems vary across species, you know."

"Oh, no, no, no," Lizzie scolded, shaking a vine. "That is a firm line. As my older sister says, if a levo-amino-acid-based lifeform doesn't like your casserole, they're not worth bringing home. For a fling? Ha! Maybe. But long-term? It's the principle, Jerome."

Jerome smirked faintly. "You may be a bit biased."

"No, I may be a bit right! Everyone loves my casserole! Dave loved it. You loved it—and you're human! Nigel had no excuse. NO EXCUSE!" She paused, then suddenly turned, her expression flickering with doubt. "Wait. You… did love my casserole, right?"

"Of course I did," Jerome replied without hesitation.

"Are you just saying that?" Lizzie's voice softened slightly, uncharacteristically shy.

Jerome raised his hands, framing his face with mock sincerity. "Note my serious face." He dropped his hands, smiling wistfully. "I really did miss your casserole on game nights."

Lizzie blinked, her vines wilting slightly. "Thank you," she said softly. Then, almost in a whisper, she added, "And… I miss it too."

Jerome raised an eyebrow. "So… make yourself some casserole?"

"NOT THE CASSEROLE, EARTH DOPE!" she snapped, crossing her arms and glaring at him. Then, more quietly, she admitted, "I miss the game nights. I… I miss you."

Jerome froze, caught off guard. After a long moment, his voice softened, his last wall breaking down. "Oh." His shoulders sagged slightly, and he smiled faintly. "That makes sense." And then, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, he added, "I miss you too."

For a moment, the space between them—galaxies apart—felt no broader than the living room they used to share on game nights. It was as if some unseen lever had been pulled, restoring the intricate machinery of their friendship. Whirring gears clicked into place, and the invisible weight (or maybe it was an anti-gravity blanket) that had pressed between them finally dissipated.

It wasn't perfect, of course. The conversation hung in midair like a half-constructed treehouse, with a few planks still needed before it was sturdy. But the foundation was there—solid and full of potential. And they were in sync for the first time in what felt like eons.

Lizzie sighed softly, her vines relaxing into an almost shrug. "You know," she started, casually plucking at the edge of the console, "I still have a little time before I start my new job."

Jerome raised an eyebrow, not missing the subtle emphasis. "Oh?"

Her expression shifted to deadpan, and her voice dripped with mock bitterness. "Yeah. A totally stressful job that I have because of YOU. Gee, thanks for that."

Jerome leaned back, hands raised defensively. "Hey, I only recommended you for the position. You could've said no."

Lizzie snorted, incredulous. "Oh, right! Say no to Numbuh Eleventy Billion! What's next? You think I can survive the heat death of the universe, too?"

Jerome matched her sarcasm without missing a beat. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Then his voice softened, sincerity creeping in. "But seriously. I didn't recommend you on a whim. I have full faith you'll do great, Lizzie. Really."

"Oh, I know I will," Lizzie said breezily, though her eyes gleamed with mischief. She leaned closer to the screen, poking it with a vine as if it could reach him. "Because you're gonna be with me every step of the way."

Jerome groaned, his head tipping back dramatically. "Why do I feel like I just got voluntold?"

Lizzie smirked, her voice adopting an exaggerated posh accent. "Oh? Are you saying you'd dare disobey a directive from your future boss?"

He raised an eyebrow, deadpan. "Future is the operative word. I still have time to throw myself into the nearest supernova."

"Oh, hardy har har. Love this new sense of humor of yours. You should do stand up," Lizzie replied dryly, rolling her eyes. Then, tilting her head, she continued with casual curiosity. "But before you do that… what's your schedule looking like? Maybe we can make that game night and casserole happen sooner rather than later."

Jerome glanced down at the deck of Go Fish cards resting on the console beside him. He smiled softly, his fingers brushing the edges of the worn cards. "Yeah… I'd like that."

Lizzie puffed out her chest—as much as a plant-based lifeform could. "Of course you would. I'll be there, after all." Her expression turned softer, her voice tinged with excitement. "It'll be just like old times."

Jerome's smile faltered slightly, his grip tightening on the cards. The words hung in the air, echoing back at him.

"Not… quite like old times," he said gently, his tone laced with quiet sadness.

Lizzie's expression flickered, her vines momentarily still. Then suddenly, she perked up. "Says who?"

Jerome blinked, caught off guard. "Says… reality?"

Her leafy appendages moved to her sides in the perfect imitation of hands on hips. "Reality, huh? And what part of reality involved you thinking it was a good idea to randomly decommission Dave? Oh yeah, he'll be super safe now. Except for the part when his parents are gonna have to explain the tiny little detail that he's adopted… FROM ANOTHER PLANET!"

Jerome threw up his hands, his face heating with indignation. "I was under a lot of pressure, okay?!" He crossed his arms with a huff, his voice lowering. "But it doesn't matter. Dave's decommissioned. Our friend is gone."

Lizzie sighed in exasperation, knocking on the rim of her pot like she was rapping her knuckles on a skull. "Hello? Earth to Jerome! The recommissioning device got rebuilt and sent to us for analysis, remember?"

"Yeah," Jerome admitted, his voice heavy. "But galactic decommissioning is different, Lizzie. The Important Ones' adjustments might as well be full-on brain bleach." He looked away, his lips thinning at the memory. "Even with the recommissioning device—even if Earth's new approach to decommissioning gets adopted galaxy-wide—it doesn't change the fact that we can never get Dave back."

Lizzie scoffed, her expression turning resolute. "Since when do we Kids Next Door acknowledge the word never?"

Her words struck something deep in Jerome, buried beneath self-doubt and resignation. He wanted to believe her—a small, defiant part of him did—but embracing that hope felt like setting himself up for heartbreak.

But…he had been here before, hadn't he?

Yeah. This feeling. He felt it before.

Lizzie made him feel it before.

And last time…

…hmm.

Lizzie leaned closer, her eyes softer now, sincere. "We'll find a way," she said, her voice carrying a quiet determination. She let the promise hang before adding, "Together."

Together.

It reminded him that, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't have to carry the weight alone. He didn't have to confine himself to isolation and loneliness.

Not anymore.

Jerome exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. "Fine," he relented, typing a few commands into the console. "I'm sending you the schematics now." He glanced at her with a faint smirk. "But don't come crying to me if this plan blows up in your face. I reserve the right to say, 'I told you so.'"

"That's the spirit! And I reserve the right to make you whip the three of us up some of your famous tofu dogs when I'm proven correct as always," Lizzie beamed, leaning forward with sparkling eyes. "So… Wednesdays still work for you?"

Jerome paused, glancing out the window. A streak of light cut across the dark void—a shooting star, a brief moment of brightness in the infinite expanse.

He smiled.

"Wednesday sounds perfect."

And somewhere, beyond space, time, and some incomprehensible third thing veils the lines between reality and dreams…Rebecca smiled, too.

"But how do you know?" you might be tempted to ask. Dunno.

Call it a gut feeling.

---

Space. She'd heard so many amazing tales about it. The ongoing vastness that made up the final frontier. It was supposed to be this grand spectacle of radiance and beauty, a dreamscape painted across the heavens. And now, against all odds, she was here—floating in the heart of the galactic core, the center of everything and nothing all at once. The simpleminded back home would say she should feel awe, maybe even joy, at the sight of it. But as she drifted amidst a canvas of alien stars, the truth settled over her like a shiver: space wasn't just grand. It wasn't just beautiful. It was overwhelming. Indifferent. A silent abyss that mirrored the doubts she carried in her soul.

Rachel stood on the GKND-certified diving board platform, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as the swirling, cosmic vortex of the black hole loomed before her: the supermassive black hole, the very one anchoring the Milky Way galaxy.

It stretched endlessly in her vision with violent orange, white, and purple hues. The horizon shimmered with unreality as space bent and twisted under its impossible pull.

Her spacesuit clung tightly to her frame, the sleek, matte black material streaked with faint, orange, luminescent lines that pulsed in sync with her racing heartbeat. Designed for the singular, suicidal task of "black hole diving," the suit was both impossibly lightweight and packed with advanced 2x14 tech. A faintly glowing interface at her wrist displayed the rapidly escalating proximity alerts, each warning bolder and redder than the last.

Rachel swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the yawning maw of darkness before her. "Are we sure this is safe?" she asked, her voice shaky as it cracked over the communications.

"Super duper safe!" Numbuh 9L's voice chimed back with an unsettlingly chipper tone. "It's like... uh...an ultra-deep tissue krogan massage, but, y'know, infinity times better! You won't even feel a thing!" A pause ensued. "Um, whelp, I guess you would feel something…but nothing bad!"

Rachel's lips twitched with a bitter smile. "Right," she muttered, her eyes darting nervously toward the event horizon. "Except the part where I get stretched into spaghetti or crushed into an atom."

"Oh, puh-lease!" 9L scoffed, her words accompanied by faint purring. "That's just Earth adult propaganda! Black hole diving is totally safe! GKND tech has made it, like, the funnest thing ever. Nigel always does it—it's his favoritest space activity!"

Rachel froze at the mention of his name. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the deafening roar of the black hole seemed to fade.

Her gloved hand drifted to her hip, where a small, unassuming device was clipped to her suit. Its polished metal gleamed faintly under the shifting light of the accretion disc.

The KNDNA Tracker. Rebuilt. Enhanced. Perfected.

It had been handed to her with the weight of a promise—and a purpose.

To find one person.

Rachel stared into the swirling chaos of the galactic core, humbled by its overwhelming, terrifying beauty. The accretion disc of the black hole churned with violent, incandescent light, streams of matter spiraling inward at impossible speeds. Stars, some barely visible pinpricks, others blazing like suns, were scattered like shattered glass across the inky black backdrop. The very fabric of space rippled and wrapped, pulling her gaze into the gravitational abyss.

The black hole was an eerie void, so dark it seemed to devour light and the idea of light. Around it, the universe danced on the edge of destruction, a cosmic ballet of chaos and wonder. Rachel couldn't decide if it was breathtaking, horrifying, or maybe both.

…both.

She shivered, fear crawling up her spine as she gripped the platform's edge. "Of all the black holes to dive into," she muttered, "why did it have to be this one?"

A smooth, telepathic voice resonated in her mind, firm but carrying a trace of dry humor. "This isn't just any black hole, Numbuh 362," RN8 said. "It's the black hole. The one located in the exact center of our galaxy." There was a pause before RN8 added, almost too casually, "…give or take fifteen meters."

Rachel blinked, her mouth opening to respond, but 9L's voice cut through the comms as if perfectly synchronized with RN8. "Ooooh, and it's not just a black hole! It's legendary!" she said, her voice sparkling excitedly. "They say that if your heart is pure, and the kid inside you shines bright enough, this black hole will take you exactly where you need to be!"

Rachel squinted, unimpressed. "You do realize that makes no sense, right?"

RN8's voice re-entered, more pragmatic this time. "What we do know," she said, "is that Numbuh 1 is outside the Milky Way Galaxy. Black holes are speculated to function as wormholes—gateways through space and time. With the KNDNA Tracker infused with galactic-level mods and attuned specifically to him, the theory is…"

"…that we think this black hole will spit you out wherever he is!" 9L finished brightly, as though this was a sound explanation.

Rachel's face went pale. "You think this will work?"

"It's not like we had time to test it," RN8 replied dryly.

Rachel groaned, her knees trembling slightly as she stared back at the abyss.

Rachel's gloved hand hovered over the platform's edge, her eyes wide with uncertainty as she stared into the abyss. The black hole seemed to pulse in time with her frantic heartbeat. She gulped audibly, gripping her wrist communicator. "I—I'm pretty sure going outside the known galaxy violates my probation!" she said, her voice cracking.

"Chill, chill," 9L chirped over the comms. "I can ping a dummy signal, no problem! Totally easy peasy! I mean, I'm the best at this stuff!"

RN8's voice followed, laced with amusement. "Even if 9L couldn't handle it, we have clearance."

Rachel froze mid-gulp, narrowing her eyes. "Clearance? From who?"

There was a moment of silence before RN8 giggled telepathically. "They wished to remain anonymous."

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, letting out an exasperated groan. "You're all just screwing with me, aren't you?"

RN8's tone softened, her usual sass replaced by calm sincerity. "We're not. And you don't have to do this, Rachel. This is your call."

Rachel stared into the black hole, her thoughts racing. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, a steady drum that kept time with memories flooding to the surface. She thought about Nigel.

At fifteen, her feelings for him felt too big, too impossible to contain. He had always been larger than life to her—brave, brilliant, and selfless to a fault. Not to mention crazy.

She remembered how he could command a room, the fire in his eyes when he spoke about justice and protecting kids. She thought about their last moments together before he left, how they couldn't bring themselves to say everything they wanted to. The way his hand lingered just a little too long on hers, the faint crack in his voice when he said goodbye.

Her heart ached at the memory of him. Nigel Uno wasn't just someone she cared about; he was a piece of her, a part that still burned brightly even after all this time. She didn't know if what she felt was the kind of love that could last forever, but she knew it was real.

Rachel glanced down at the device on her hip. The KNDNA Tracker. It hummed faintly as she pressed its activation switch. A glowing red thread shot into the air, spiraling upward like a ribbon caught in the wind. It curled around her arm, weaving through her fingers before tying itself delicately around her ring finger, a faint, otherworldly glow illuminating the connection. The rest of the thread extended outward, its end pointing unerringly toward the black hole.

Rachel stared at it, her breath catching. The string felt warm like a promise whispered through time and space.

Her lips tightened into a determined line. She took a deep breath, her voice steady for the first time. "I'm doing this."

Rachel leaped off the platform without another word, her body weightless as she plummeted toward the black hole. The thread pulsed, guiding her as she plunged into the unknown.

The platform disappeared beneath Rachel's feet, her body plunging toward the black hole. The string tethered to her ring finger burned brightly, an unerring guide pulling her forward. The immense gravity warped the light around her, stretching it into infinite bubble streams that spiraled inward. The galactic core loomed in its terrible majesty, a cathedral of chaos. Stars danced too close to the event horizon, consumed in bursts of incandescent light as they were torn apart like wrapping paper on Christmas. Space itself shivered, its fabric bending and contorting.

"Focus, Rachel!" 9L's voice screeched over the comm, high-pitched and frantic. "You might see glances of alternative universes! If that happens, DON'T PANIC!"

Rachel's breath hitched as her surroundings twisted, colors bleeding together in impossible hues. Shapes flickered at the edges of her vision—shadows of lives she could have lived, paths not taken.

A vision of herself as a tyrant, commanding the entire Moonbase from an iron throne of ice cream cones, shimmered before dissolving into a glimpse of her standing beside Fanny, both of them adults and unrecognizable yet achingly familiar.

She clenched her fists, forcing her focus on the glowing string pulling her forward. "I'm not panicking," she whispered, though her pulse told a different story.

Static crackled through her comm. "Oh! And if you end up in dark space and run into robotic, omnicidal cuttlefish—DON'T WORRY! Just use the emergency relay repellent! We've got contingencies for those jerks!"

"What?!" Rachel shrieked, but 9L's voice fizzled into unintelligible noise.

The string around her finger tugged harder, pulling her deeper into the black hole's grasp. Her suit began to glow, a vibrant sun-orange that flared against the surrounding void. The light emanating from her was warm defiant, a single spark refusing to be swallowed by the endless dark.

The event horizon broke around her like a wave, and the pull of gravity became inescapable. Her body felt like it was being stretched, compressed, and twisted all at once, yet the suit held firm.

Her comms crackled one last time, RN8's voice slipping telepathically into her mind, steady and calm. "You've got this, Rachel. You're stronger than you think."

The connection faded into silence, leaving Rachel alone in the void. Her suit flared brilliantly as she was pulled deeper, her silhouette swallowed by the glowing edges of infinity.

Rachel drifted in the crushing silence, her body weightless and unmoored. The black hole devoured time and space, bending reality into a kaleidoscope of madness. Her senses—expanded beyond the confines of her mortal frame—felt impossible things. She saw the curvature of sound, tasted the texture of colors, and heard the whispered gossip of long-dead stars.

Time fractured. Memories from her childhood spilled into fragments of her future, interweaving with moments that never were. She saw herself playing tag with the neighborhood kids in a sunlit park, only for the image to splinter, replaced by a vision of herself as a teenager, standing alone at the edge of a cosmic battlefield.

"Am I still… me?" she murmured, her voice both present and distant.

The void answered with flickers of possibility.

Whenever we're lost…

Rachel saw a version of herself that had stayed Supreme Leader, cold and efficient, her face lined with years of duty.

Another Rachel appeared, living quietly as an adult. Her hair was streaked with gray as she tended to a garden under a distant moon.

There was another one where everything was pretty much the same, but she didn't care for cheesecake. That was blasphemy. She disowned that variant entirely.

Shadows of infinite potentialities danced around her, whispering accusations, doubts, and regrets.

…whenever we're hurt…

She saw Harvey, wide-eyed and vulnerable, reaching out to her before his face twisted with pain. She saw Chad walking away into the light; his back turned to her as she begged him not to go. She saw herself smiling at the cadets in the Arctic mess hall, only for her grin to crack, revealing the bitterness underneath.

…times can be…really tough…

"I failed," Rachel whispered, the words tearing through her like shards of glass. "I let everyone down. My friends… my family. I hurt them all."

The black hole rumbled as if feeding on her despair. It pressed against her mind, stripping her bare, unraveling her into raw emotion and uncertainty. Was she the hero her younger self believed she could be? Or was she just another flawed person, lost and insignificant in the vastness of the universe?

…had to stay…strong enough…

Rachel trembled, feeling herself dissolve, her very being stretched thin across the fabric of existence. She wanted to give up, to let the black hole consume her entirely.

…

Then she remembered.

HOWEVER

She remembered who she was.

I

WON'T

Give up

The girl who once sat under the stars, dreaming of adventures bigger than Earth, the girl who comforted her friends when they cried, who stood tall when the KND needed her most, the girl who made mistakes but never stopped trying to be better.

And I

WILL

Believe!

Numbuh Three Sixty Two. Best Spy. Soopreme Leader. Kids Next Door.

Believe in this–

Rachel T. McKenzie.

This resolve of mine–

She embraced that girl, the one she'd hidden away beneath the layers of shame and fear. She clung to the knowledge that she wasn't perfect but didn't have to be.

Not anymore.

AND MINE ONLY!

With a shuddering breath, Rachel surged forward. Her suit burned brighter, her resolve blazing like a nova against the darkness. No longer oppressive, the black hole seemed to soften, its infinite pull cradling her like a mother letting go of her child.

It released her.

Rachel shot forward, the cosmos around her stretching and collapsing as she was flung through the void. A final burst of energy propelled her outward, and she emerged, gasping, into the radiant expanse of somewhere new.

Rachel floated in awe, her wide eyes soaking in the dazzling expanse. The stars here burned brighter, their hues stranger—pinks, greens, and purples, like spilled paint streaking across the cosmos.

Constellations twisted into shapes she couldn't recognize, the entire sky a patchwork of the impossible. The space felt alive, humming with an energy she had never experienced. Her breath hitched. She wasn't just in another part of the Milky Way—she was in an entirely different galaxy.

She was somewhere else. Somewhere new. Somewhere unbelievable.

"Ugh!" a raspy voice broke through the marvel of the moment. "So! IS, or is this NOT the Blim Blam Boom-Wham Galaxy?"

"Well, we kinda just call it THE Galaxy, friend!" chirped a second, absurdly cheerful voice.

Rachel gasped. That voice she didn't know—but the first one...

Almost trembling, she glanced down at her hip and the KNDNA tracker still glowing with its red thread. She followed its ethereal string as it curved through the stars, finally connecting to a figure not far off.

There he was.

His silhouette was unmistakable, the light of a thousand burgundy suns glinting off his bald head. He hovered on a tiny asteroid, furiously gesturing at two figures encased in a glowing, translucent bubble. One was a lanky orange...thing with an over-the-top cowboy hat, bouncing on its toes as if it couldn't sit still. The other was a tall, blue, vaguely equine alien with sharp teeth and a skeptical expression, looking like she'd been roped into one too many hijinks.

Nigel, however, was exasperated. He held up a massive paper star chart with a big "YOU ARE HERE" sign scrawled on it, though it wasn't helping him at all.

"I cannot believe this!" Nigel grumbled, jabbing a finger at the map. "I've been everywhere from the Crab Nebula to the Cosmic Cookie Homogeny, but nooo, I had to get lost here, of all places! This map is useless! How can I get back to my ship if I don't even know what galaxy I'm IN!?"

The orange alien clapped its hands, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, don't you worry none at all. We can show you all around our humble little corner of the universe! It's got sparkle oceans, musical mountains, and plenty of folks who'd love to meet you!"

The blue alien sighed, leaning against the bubble. "Uh-huh. And while we're playing galactic tour guides, you wanna explain how we're supposed to actually help him get wherever he's going?"

But before the debate could continue, the blue alien's eyes narrowed. She'd spotted something behind Nigel—a more petite figure floating toward them.

"Uh, hey pal," she muttered, nodding past him. "You seeing what I'm seeing?"

The orange one gasped, eyes lighting up like twin stars. "A new friend!"

Confused, Nigel turned around—and froze, his body slackening as he accidentally drifted off his asteroid.

When brown eyes met coal-blue, it was like love at first sight.

For what feels like eternity

I let their every word control me

Rachel, overwhelmed with nerves, clumsily pushed herself forward, fumbling with her suit's thrusters but only managing to spin in a slow circle. Desperate, her hand graced a nearby fragment of a comet, the tiny impact just enough to propel her closer.

But now I'm going to embrace words of my own

This is where I will begin my life

Nigel, meanwhile, flailed in zero gravity, clearly wanting to move toward her but helplessly stuck in place. The orange alien tilted its head, then smiled warmly. Without a word, it reached a hand out of its bubble and gently gave Nigel a push.

It's time to recollect now

Their trajectories aligned.

The dream that sheds a light on my path

Rachel stretched forward, her gloved hand trembling as she reached for him. This time, she would catch him.

Then I may learn

Their hands met firmly, meaningfully. The tracker's red string curled lovingly around Nigel's wrist, as if celebrating the reunion it had orchestrated. They floated closer, bodies bumping in the quiet embrace of zero gravity.

To love myself

Rachel's heart swelled as she wrapped her arms around him. For a moment, the entire galaxy, the entire universe, melted away.

Just a little bit more than before

"You're it," she whispered. "Still wanna play this game of tag, soldier?"

Nigel's voice was soft, breaking with emotion. "I'd chase after you forever if you'd have me, sir."

Yeah

They held each other tightly, aware that they stood on the edge of something monumental—not just the physical boundaries of the universe, but one last scary transition from childhood to whatever lay beyond. The mistakes of their pasts fell away, carried off by the stars. This was their present; together, they would chart a future as vast and unknown as the galaxies around them.

My life starts here

Their embrace was everything, full of silent promises: to forgive, to grow, to be better.

My heart

And to journey into the unknown hand in hand, forever and ever.

Knows the way

"Aw!" The orange helper wrung his green cowboy hat, eyes big and watery. "Don't you just looooove happy endings?"

The blue zbornak raised a brow, glancing at the two pasty aliens still floating together. "I mean...I feel like we're missing a lot of context here." But her lips curved into a reluctant smile as she sighed. "Still...yeah. Kinda tugs at the ol' heartstrings."

Despite the cold of space, it was a rather warm reception.