Kim's memory started to sputter as they made their way along the path. It felt like someone had cut out sections of a tape and fused the ends together - Harry was jogging through what looked like a .Now Jean was edging carefully along a bridge over an underground .Now they were climbing flight after flight of stairs, Harry's and Jean's breath ragged as Cuno shouted a mix of encouragement and .

Now there was a horribly bright light shining in Kim's eyes. "Stop," he said, reaching out to push the light away. His hand met a flashlight and a wrist holding it.

"Just a second," came Harry's voice, barely audible over the pain knocking around in Kim's skull. He tried to push the flashlight away anyway, but the hand held it steady. At last the horrible light clicked off. Spots danced in his vision. "Sorry," said Harry's voice. "Had to check if your eyes were responding to light. They are. So…that's a good sign."

Kim closed his eyes and tried to breathe until the pain receded to manageable levels. Then opened them, trying to get his bearings. He was sitting propped up against a wall again. They were inside, in a room with only a single small window. From the shape of the ceiling, they might be in an attic - that was as much as he could discern without his glasses. There was a sour, organic smell in the air. Harry was crouched next to him again, his eyebrows drawn together with concern. On his other side, Jean lay supine on the floor, an arm covering his eyes, his breath labored and wheezing. "God," he gasped. "If we…get out…of this…I'm never…running…again." He broke into hacking coughs.

"Shit," muttered Harry, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. "Cuno, do you have any water?"

"Fuck does Cuno need water for? Cuno doesn't drink boring shit." Cuno was sitting on the floor across the room.

"I suppose you wouldn't know where to look," said Kim. If he was careful not to move his head, talking didn't hurt too much. "Don't worry if it's too difficult. I'm sure we can find some on our own."

Cuno sprang to his feet. "Don't you fucking– Cuno can find shit, all right? You think you can find shit better than Cuno, binoclard? Don't fucking move - Cuno's gonna bring back a fuckload of water. Before you can even finish fucking each other, even." He gave them some sort of look at the door (probably a scowl, Kim couldn't tell) and they heard him scurrying down the hall.

"Nice one," said Harry. Kim gave a small smile.

Harry stepped over Kim's legs to crouch between him and Jean. He put a hand on Jean's shoulder. "Hey, man, you doing ok?"

"Fucking…marathon man…asking…if I'm ok," said Jean. "I'll be ok…if I can go ten…fucking seconds…without running." He coughed again and rubbed his chest.

Harry went to the window. For a minute or two he stared down into the street, then crossed back over to the other two. "Can't see much. They got a couple of the mercenaries, at least."

As Harry drew closer, Kim finally recognized the sour smell in the air and connected it with the darkened patches on Harry's blazer and pant leg.

"Is that vomit?" he asked, pointing to the biggest spot on the blazer. "Did I…?" He couldn't finish the question.

"Yeah, I think Cuno referred to it as 'epic projectile chunky shit'." Kim could tell Harry was trying to keep the tone light, to save him from embarrassment. Even so, Kim felt the heat rising in his face.

"God…" he said, covering his face with one hand. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's ok," said Harry. "This is…far from the worst thing that's happened to my clothes." He gave Kim's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Embarrassed both by throwing up on Harry and by Harry comforting him about it, Kim tried to think of a change of subject.

"I don't suppose either of you saw what happened to my glasses?" he asked, without much hope. How long would it be before he could get a new pair? Two weeks? Could he last that long? He definitely couldn't drive without them. Truth be told, he could barely drivewiththem…

"Oh!" said Harry. "They fell off when you got hit, so I picked them up." He reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and produced the glasses. "I forgot I had them or I'd have given them to you sooner." He looked at them, sucking air through his teeth. "One lens is cracked. But hopefully it's better than nothing." He passed the glasses to Kim.

Kim took the glasses and stared at them. Memories flashed through his mind - of kids at school stealing, or hiding, or just intentionally breaking his glasses. And then just having to go without until the orphanage could afford to get him a new pair, which could take months. Of hearing "binoclard" so often, he'd started to respond as though it was his name. Of the snickering whenever he took his gun to the shooting range to practice. And of Eyes, who never minded…

To his horror, he felt a tear fall down his . Fuck. Get it clenched a fist as hard as he could, digging his fingernails into his palm even through his glove. It didn't work. More tears fell, and a soft sob escaped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jean look over at . Shit. Shit. They're both looking at you tried harder to squash the emotion, but his usual iron control was gone. He pulled his knees into his chest. His breath was coming . Great. Don't just cry in front of them, have a full-blown panic attack right here in Cuno's brutality-style pig hideout. That'll show them how tough you heart was pounding, and each pulse of blood set off a dull throb in his aching head.

"Kim," said Jean. "Look at me." More out of surprise than anything, Kim obeyed. Jean was half sitting up now, leaning on an elbow. "First, this is mostly the concussion - knocking your brain around makes your emotions freak the fuck out. Fine. But second, you're working with the two saddest sacks of shit in the precinct, and I'm pretty sure you've seen both of us cry multiple times" – this was true – "so we're not about to judge you. Thirdly," he said, glancing at Harry, "Harry will give you a hug if you want one."

"I– what?" said Harry. Kim buried his face in his hands.

"Listen," Jean continued. "I'm too emotionally repressed to offer, and he's too emotionally repressed to ask. That leaves you, Mr. 'Least-emotionally-repressed-of-three-middle-aged-cops'. So cuddle up, Hug Monster."

"You can't volunteer my services like that. I'm not some kind of– of hug whore."

"Please. If there was a market for hugs from sad overweight middle-aged men, you'd be making a fucking killing."

Harry spluttered in response. Kim still felt the warmth in his ears - they'd be bright red, he knew it. But at least the attention wasn't on him anymore, giving him a chance to collect himself. Kim quickly wiped his face with his handkerchief before putting his glasses back on, relief washing over him as the room slid into (somewhat) clearer focus. The crack in the lens grated a bit, but it was still far better than no glasses at all. He blinked a few times, taking in the new details from the room.

Cuno's hideout was certainly brutality-style - there was a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling and some dark stains in one corner Kim looked away from before he could wonder what they were. Most haunting was a bed frame in the corner with ankle and wrist straps attached. The mattress was missing, and the wire mesh was rusty and full of holes with loose wires poking out.

There was a thudding of approaching footsteps and all three of them tensed, but when the door banged open, it was only Cuno, holding an armful of water bottles.

"Pigs better pay the Cuno for this," he said by way of greeting, and he dropped the bottles unceremoniously on the floor.

"Ok, Cuno," said Harry. "Thanks." He pulled out a bill from his wallet and handed it to Cuno. The boy's face lit up for a second before he could hide his reaction.

"Fucking don't thank the Cuno. It's services rendered shit."

"Ok," said Harry agreeably. He was already unscrewing the caps from two water bottles. He passed one to Jean, who began drinking eagerly and one to Kim. Kim sipped at his carefully. His nausea was still an unpleasant underline to all his other physical sensations. He looked up at Harry, who was staring out the window again.

"Harry, you need water, too," Kim said.

"Right," said Harry absentmindedly. He picked up a bottle and unscrewed the top, but didn't drink. Kim was almost sure he saw it this time - a figure separated itself from Harry and leaned in, whispering in his ear. Kim couldhearit whispering. He blinked hard, and it was gone. Kim looked over at Jean, who was draining a second bottle of water and clearly hadn't noticed anything.

"Cuno," said Harry, "Did you make sure no one was following you when you came back?"

The atmosphere in the room shifted - Kim and Jean both tensed, and Cuno whipped around, instantly defensive.

"No one fucking follows the Cuno. Cuno does that stealth .Cuno's in the fucking wind." He advanced on Harry, fists clenched. "Cuno doesn't– Cuno fucking doesn't–"

"Okay. Okay." Harry held up his hands placatingly. "Why would they follow you anyway?" he said, half to himself.

There was some connection Kim's brain was trying to make, but it felt like he was thinking through a fog. "Why would they follow a kid carrying a bunch of water bottles?" he said aloud.

"Because there's a group of people he's bringing them to." Jean finished. Kim glanced over at him. His face, still red from exertion a moment ago, had gone pale.

"No!" Cuno shouted. "No one followed the Cuno!" He sounded near tears.

A crash of a door bursting open echoed up through the building. A second crash. A different door. Jean dragged himself to his feet, pulling his pistol from its holster. Kim drew his pistol as well, aiming it at the door.

Harry went down to one knee in front of Cuno and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Cuno, it doesn't matter if they did or not. Do you know another way out of here?"

Crashing. More doors being kicked open, one by one.

Cuno shook his head, terrified. Harry swallowed. "Is there somewhere to hide?"

Someone screamed down below, and a gunshot rang through the building. The scream was abruptly silenced.

Cuno ran to the wall and pulled off a loose board. A narrow space lay within, just large enough to hold a skinny kid. Cuno looked from it to Harry, his breath hitching. "Cuno could– pull more boards out. Make more room."

Crash. Crash. Crash.

"There's no time," said Harry gently. "Get in."

"Fuck no!" Cuno was sobbing in earnest now. "You're Cuno's pig."

Harry knelt down in front of him again and pulled him into a hug. "That's right. And your pig is telling you to get in and stay there. Close your eyes and cover your ears, and don't come out again until everyone's gone."

Kim swallowed, shifting his grip on his gun. His whole body was sweating. His hands were shaking.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Cuno said softly into Harry's shoulder. His hands were stiff at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them, but he leaned into Harry's embrace.

"It wasn't you, ok?" said Harry. He pushed Cuno back to look into his face. "I was standing at the window. We're the ones they're looking for. And they saw me. That's all."

Crash. Crash. scream from below, this one drawn-out and horrible. The sound of feet in ceramic boots climbing the stairs…

Cuno looked over at Kim. Kim wanted to say something, but nothing came, so he gave Cuno a single nod.

Harry gently but firmly pushed Cuno back into the gap, Cuno no longer resisting. He ruffled Cuno's hair affectionately before replacing the board. He rested his hand on it and whispered something into the cracks between the boards.

The footsteps had reached the landing outside. Harry turned back to the door, putting himself between it and Cuno's hiding place.

The door exploded inward, kicked almost off its hinges, and five mercenaries in ceramic armor pointing fully automatic weapons at them burst inside. Kim had a shot, for just a moment at one of them, at an unprotected inner thigh, but what was the point?

What was the point? Take down as many as possible. There's no way you're getting out squeezed the trigger. It was a good shot - a direct hit just above the knee, and the man collapsed, swearing. At the same moment Jean took his shot, his bullet ricocheting off another mercenary's helmet.

The sound of the shots echoed their way around Kim's skull. A third mercenary whipped her gun around to point at Kim. Kim stared down the barrel, feeling lightheaded and sick, darkness gathering at the corners of his vision.

"Enough, they're out of bullets," said the smallest one from the back of the group, who was wearing the commander's insignia. He stepped inside, moving quietly even in his armor, taking in the scene. Then he stomped on the wounded man's leg. The man screamed. "You embarrassed me in front of the loincloth pigfuckers, you stupid fuck," he hissed. He pressed down harder, the man still screaming, blood spurting out underneath his boot. He then straightened up and spat on the man. "You," he pointed at a tall woman carrying what looked like a grenade launcher. "Get him out of here." She nodded, expressionless, and started to drag the man out the door.

"Well," the mercenary said, spreading his hands wide, as though encompassing the whole room within himself, "what a sight to see. Three RCM officers holed up here like the cowards they are. And wouldn't you know it, folks? Turns out two of them arejustthe ones we were looking for!" The two remaining mercenaries - a man shaped like a fridge and a woman with a long blond braid down her back - laughed.

A rattling sound made Kim look around. Jean was panting with fear, trying to reload his pistol, his shaking hands making the bullet clatter against the muzzle.

"Oooh, folks, we have atough guyhere," said the leader mockingly. "Tell you what," he said, a dangerous gleam to his grin, "I'm gonna stand here with my eyes closed for ten seconds, just to give you a fighting chance." He closed his eyes, spreading his arms wide again. "Ten. Nine. Eight…"

Jean made a noise halfway between a growl and a moan. He finally managed to insert the bullet into the muzzle, then fumbled for his powder.

"...Seven. Six. Five…"

"Jean, don't," said Harry softly.

"...Four. Three…"

Jean's hands were shaking so badly he dropped the powder, the charges spilling out of their case. He fell to his knees to pick them up. Kim saw a tear run down his cheek.

"...Two…"

"Stop it, Jean!" Harry shouted.

"...One…" the mercenary grinned like a shark. "Time's up." He surged across the room, backhanding Jean so hard he fell back against the bed frame, letting out a scream through clenched teeth as his back hit the sharp metal. Then the mercenary was on top of him, raining down blow after blow, the clicks and clacks of his gauntlets at odds with the meaty thuds as he pummeled Jean's body, Jean trying as best he could to shield himself with his hands.

"No!" Harry shouted, rushing toward the scuffle, but the fridge-shaped mercenary whipped the butt of his gun around, striking Harry in the shoulder. Harry went sprawling, hard, his weight crashing to the floor, and the mercenary did a full windup and kicked Harry in the ribs. Harry wheezed, trying to crawl away, but the mercenary stomped on his back, his face slamming into the floorboards.

Kim had dragged himself to his feet, clutching the wall for support. "Stop it!" he said, his voice cracking. The woman was striding toward him, cracking her knuckles. "They always leave me the defective one," she muttered. "Hold still, Binoclard, this won't take a second." She kicked the side of his knee, and it twisted painfully. As he fell, she grabbed his head and brought her knee up into his face. He flopped to the floor, unable to move, trying to hold onto consciousness.

Two concussions in a row…that's…really bad,he thought, as the darkness took over his vision.