Callsign: Rhapsody Angel

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

He turned back to Black. "Full disclosure? It was never a big secret that you disliked me. And that's fine. Better than fine, actually. But if you've ever thought that I would EVER make that a consideration in my triage decision-making?" Fawn shook his head. "You got me wrong seven ways to Sunday."

'This is why my personal relationships fail,' he thought, 'I have no clue how to relate to people. I've never disliked Fawn, and his belief about my thoughts on his triage was not what I thinking at all. Oh well, let's just make another check in the Conrad fails being a human file and keep going.'

“I've told you all I know, Dr. Fawn,” he said evenly, “there have been times I have been injured, and lacking access to human medical intervention, the Mysterons simply retro-metabolised the injured/damaged/destroyed body parts. I have no idea why my heart is 'corroding' as you say.”

He looked at Paul guiltily; Conrad hadn't meant to drop that particularly unpleasant bomb on him.

'Another bit of proof my emotional control is shot,' he shook his head, then said:

Dianne immediately takes his hand and steps close, her other hand coming up to his cheek. Oh he looks terrible...

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

He turned back to Black. "Full disclosure? It was never a big secret that you disliked me. And that's fine. Better than fine, actually. But if you've ever thought that I would EVER make that a consideration in my triage decision-making?" Fawn shook his head. "You got me wrong seven ways to Sunday."

'This is why my personal relationships fail,' he thought, 'I have no clue how to relate to people. I've never disliked Fawn, and his belief about my thoughts on his triage was not what I thinking at all. Oh well, let's just make another check in the Conrad fails being a human file and keep going.'

“I've told you all I know, Dr. Fawn,” he said evenly, “there have been times I have been injured, and lacking access to human medical intervention, the Mysterons simply retro-metabolised the injured/damaged/destroyed body parts. I have no idea why my heart is 'corroding' as you say.”

He looked at Paul guiltily; Conrad hadn't meant to drop that particularly unpleasant bomb on him.

'Another bit of proof my emotional control is shot,' he shook his head, then said:

Dianne immediately takes his hand and steps close, her other hand coming up to his cheek. Oh he looks terrible...

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

He turned back to Black. "Full disclosure? It was never a big secret that you disliked me. And that's fine. Better than fine, actually. But if you've ever thought that I would EVER make that a consideration in my triage decision-making?" Fawn shook his head. "You got me wrong seven ways to Sunday."

'This is why my personal relationships fail,' he thought, 'I have no clue how to relate to people. I've never disliked Fawn, and his belief about my thoughts on his triage was not what I thinking at all. Oh well, let's just make another check in the Conrad fails being a human file and keep going.'

“I've told you all I know, Dr. Fawn,” he said evenly, “there have been times I have been injured, and lacking access to human medical intervention, the Mysterons simply retro-metabolised the injured/damaged/destroyed body parts. I have no idea why my heart is 'corroding' as you say.”

He looked at Paul guiltily; Conrad hadn't meant to drop that particularly unpleasant bomb on him.

'Another bit of proof my emotional control is shot,' he shook his head, then said:

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

Don’t for heaven’s sake look like you’re flirting, Tracy. Keep control of your face. If you accidentally wink she’ll leave very little of you left for Paul to murder.

He indicated the location with a nod and just a little jazz hands. Which he then clamped behind his back in much safer parade rest.

Rhapsody swung herself elegantly out and Scott found himself looking longingly at the empty cockpit. Maybe if he was really REALLY hospitable she might let him… reminisce a li’l.

A polite cough brought him back to reality and the fact that he had this woman’s half liquidised boyfriend in the medbay…

Better not use that exact phrasing.

He paused again and watched her try and fail to conceal the emotions flickering across her face. Should he say anymore? Was it a breach, something Paul betrayed in a moment of weakness and wouldn’t have wanted Scott to have seen. But this was his partner - if anyone should be forewarned it was she.

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

Don’t for heaven’s sake look like you’re flirting, Tracy. Keep control of your face. If you accidentally wink she’ll leave very little of you left for Paul to murder.

He indicated the location with a nod and just a little jazz hands. Which he then clamped behind his back in much safer parade rest.

Rhapsody swung herself elegantly out and Scott found himself looking longingly at the empty cockpit. Maybe if he was really REALLY hospitable she might let him… reminisce a li’l.

A polite cough brought him back to reality and the fact that he had this woman’s half liquidised boyfriend in the medbay…

Better not use that exact phrasing.

He paused again and watched her try and fail to conceal the emotions flickering across her face. Should he say anymore? Was it a breach, something Paul betrayed in a moment of weakness and wouldn’t have wanted Scott to have seen. But this was his partner - if anyone should be forewarned it was she.

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

Don’t for heaven’s sake look like you’re flirting, Tracy. Keep control of your face. If you accidentally wink she’ll leave very little of you left for Paul to murder.

He indicated the location with a nod and just a little jazz hands. Which he then clamped behind his back in much safer parade rest.

Rhapsody swung herself elegantly out and Scott found himself looking longingly at the empty cockpit. Maybe if he was really REALLY hospitable she might let him… reminisce a li’l.

A polite cough brought him back to reality and the fact that he had this woman’s half liquidised boyfriend in the medbay…

Better not use that exact phrasing.

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

Don’t for heaven’s sake look like you’re flirting, Tracy. Keep control of your face. If you accidentally wink she’ll leave very little of you left for Paul to murder.

Once Cloudbase was within 2000 miles, Rhapsody was out, jet screaming towards the south Pacific.

It took about 40 minutes before she called through.

Having left the decision of who could eat what to the doctor in charge, Scott exchanged a nod with Paul whose eyes had brightened some at the sound of the voice on his comm, left Gordon bonding with the kittens and a clearly besotted Conrad and hurried past the big green bird’s empty platform to active the manual controls for the hangar entrance.

Despite the situation he couldn’t help crack a grin at the sleek Interceptor craft rolling towards him. Best test pilot gig he’d had in a long time, that one and none of them had any idea of his involvement. Probably best it stayed that way.

Right now, he still didn't feel like putting in the effort, but knew he would have to later.

If he wanted Spectrum to come and get him.

Which...

Which Conrad wasn't entirely certain if it was what he wanted.

Free.

The Mysterons had set him free.

What exactly did that mean?

Piranha chose that moment to nip his ear.

“All right, All right,” Conrad murmured fondly as he settled both kittens on the chair he left, “dinner time it is.”

Yes, very surprisingly well-stocked. Still he adored that Carlito and Piranha were making those strange happy noises kitten made as they ate.

“So what will we do now, Fuzzballs?” Conrad asked, “Stay here for a while? Find out where we are and tell Scarlet to let Spectrum come get us? Disappear? We could just disappear. I'm good at going unnoticed.”

“I don't think I can go back to Spectrum, not really,” He paced, “I probably do have brain damage; I would have never mentioned the off-the-books work I did for Colonel White otherwise. That was suppose to never be spoken of again, and I just tossed it out in a casual conversation. He's not going to be pleased. Well. He quite probably doesn't wish to see me again regardless. At least I can claim Spectrum's most spectacular fuck-up.”

Carlito looked up at him and murped, then jumped and climbed up to Conrad's shoulder, and settled to purr in his ear.

“My emotional control is shot, Carlito, beyond taking care of you and your sister, I can't be trusted to be responsible for anything; useless, pointless. Not to mention the physical damage I've sustained either from the Mysterons or from...” he sneered, “well, there are somethings I don't think Spectrum is aware of the World Government or its defensive branches doing.”

“Nonetheless, I'm not exactly stellar Spectrum Officer Material any mor...owww! Piranha!” Conrad hadn't noticed Piranha climbing up his other side, but she expressed her annoyance at his pity party in the only way she knew would get through to her big stupid human.

She bit his ear again.

Conrad closed his eyes. Purring in stereo.

“So, right, I need help. I hate help.”

“I really hate help.”

“Hate it with a passion.”

“I hate seeing the pity in their eyes.”

“There really isn't a choice, is there Fuzzballs?”

Conrad gently lifted his cats off his shoulders.

“I've got to figure out where we are, and then,” Conrad slumped, “contact Spectrum.”

~~~

A hour later, Conrad sent out:

Conrad was free.

Somehow, for some reason, the Mysterons had let him go. 'But for how long...' he couldn't help but wonder. 'Have they really cut him loose, or is this just another one of their tricks?'

He'd passed on the word to Colonel White as soon as he'd gotten it, and now they were waiting for whatever was to come next - be it the signal to come get him, a message to stay away... or for the trap to spring shut. Paul completed another circuit of the lounge, then stopped, rubbed both hands over his face and dropped himself into the nearest chair.

'Maybe... maybe the war is going to be over?' he asked himself. 'Maybe we've suffered enough? Maybe we've done enough penance?' He shook himself. 'Focus on now. What ifs and maybes are for later. If we do get him back, Fawn's going to want to do a full health check, White will need to debrief with him, heaven knows what the World President is going to do. The legalities...' he shook his head. 'That's going to be above my pay grade.'

Just as he was getting tempted to call Conrad himself, his radio beeped.

"This is Captain Black requesting Spectrum retrieval."

As soon as she got the call through, she left the lounge, flight helmet in hand to run past the officer lounge.

Turning on his computer had meant to be a distraction, instead, by the time the call from Scarlet came through, he'd been staring at the monitors for a while, lost in thought, and it was the beeping of his radio that pulled him out of it.

Not because she’s eager.

Not because she’s hopeful.

Because the order to scramble hit too fast after the news.

Because everything about this feels wrong.

The corridor blurs around her. She’s already pulling on her helmet, already mentally running through pre-flight sequences, but her thoughts are louder than her boots on the deck.

This could be a Mysteron trick.

It fits too perfectly.

The idea of Conrad Turner suddenly being free?

After all this time?

After all the traps?

No.

The Mysterons don’t give gifts - they bait hooks.

She turns a corner sharply, nearly colliding with a passing technician. “Sorry,” she mutters automatically before pushing on. The Angel Lounge door is ahead, glowing warm amber, but tonight that warmth feels deceptive.

Inside, everything is ready - the others’ helmets lifted from their charging mounts, flight harnesses prepared, the soft hum of auto-checks running. The room is calm.

She isn’t.

What if this is exactly what they want?

To make Spectrum think Black is weakened, vulnerable.

To make Paul rush in.

To make them hesitate at the wrong moment.

To tear open old wounds and use them as entry points.

Her stomach twists.

She knows how the Mysterons operate:

They don’t just attack… they undermine.

And using Conrad…

Letting them believe he might be saved…

That would be the cruelest weapon of all.

Her jet is waiting - thirty seconds from launch - but her thoughts keep circling:

If this is a trap, they are flying straight into the jaws.

If it isn’t… then Conrad needs them.

Either way, she has no choice.

Rhapsody forces a breath, squares her shoulders, and heads for the tube lift to her Interceptor - fear sharp, heart pounding, mind whispering the one thing she cannot say aloud:

The flight and landing are both textbook, as is the landing, collecting an SPV, and travelling deep into the Canadian back country to the fleck of civilisation that is the cabin.

And all of it is getting Scarlet's hackles up further and further.

The tension in the SPV as they drive through the Canadian wilderness isn't helping his nerves, and he ends up idly fiddling with the gold chain he wears beneath his shirt and running his thumb over the smooth metal of the cross pendant. Simply needing something to do with his hands as the world passes by outside.

There's so many ways this could go, and so many of those possibilities are far from pleasant. They need to be ready for anything, just as they always do when Mysteron's could be involved. Letting his mind wander into what ifs won't help, but as that little cabin appears in the distance, it's difficult to stop it.

Whisper a prayer, hope for the best, and with a bit of luck, maybe, just maybe, this will go the way they want it to.

He keeps a couple of paces behind Scarlet as they approach the cabin, keeping an eye on Scarlet and Fawn whilst also watching their surroundings for the slightest sign of anything out of place. Movement, noise, anything that could alert them to an ambush, or a trap, or something else that could give away a Mysteron ploy.

“Conrad?”

He wanted to moved, he wanted to go open the door, and... there was small sharp pain in his ear.

“Piranha!” he chuckled, and his body unfroze. As he walked to the door, Carlito jumped and Conrad just barely caught him. Tucking him under his arm like an american football, he had to smile. He was about to face his past and his future, looking like a over-warmed zombie with one tiny black kitten riding imperiously on his shoulder, and completely brainless ginger kitten lolling over his arm, completely unarmed. At least, the aroma from the cabin once he opened the door would be good from all his anxiety cooking and baking.

He should check to be sure that it was who he wanted it to be behind the door.

Oh to hell with it.

“Paul?(@cpt-scarlet-spectrum)” Conrad called, “I'm opening door now. Please don't scare my cats.”

Two kittens and the smell of a bakery full swing had never entered his predictions.

“Conrad,” gestured with the arm draped with ginger kitten, “Carlito”, then reached up and patted the other kitten's head, “Piranha. And you're Paul, also known as Captain Scarlet of Spectrum.”

He should be taking this more seriously. Something was definitely broken in him. Conrad knew this was dangerous, but he just couldn't.... He was tired, and wanted to go home, even if home really didn't exist for him any more.

Something in the back of his mind told him that this was too easy, but maybe, a situation could be as simple as it looked? Maybe...?

That was probably a dangerous thing to hope for, they still needed to be careful here, letting their guard down too soon was never a good idea.

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"Or possibly fled, they're not clear about that themselves. Anyway, like our own computer programs they have generations, and for a very long time didn't need to upgrade. The group that dominated at the time we encountered them had been the primary movers of the collective for a long time"

Conrad stopped, a strange grim satisfaction carving his face.

"In a way the War of Nerves proved their undoing. They had to generate newer programs to create and control their reconstructions here on Earth and on the Moon. Those new programs outnumbered them quickly, and," he paused fainting smiling, "they were curious about this world they have been generated to destroy, and wisely allied with the oldest of the Mysteron programs who, having watched the Solar System, were never content with the idea of Humanity's destruction, but had been outnumbered for so long. United, they pushed their desire for a ceasefire to the fore. The one who wanted to destroy still have a say, but their position in the hive mind is weakened."

And stopped, nose wrinkling, fur rising.

"Merp?"

Carlito skittered away, and started to hiss.

"Scarlet, are you receiving?"

“I think I can explain the heartbeat. The Mysterons had to retrometabolise parts of my heart after Blue got a good shot in,” he tried for humor in his eyes, “I'm probably going to look a bit of a patchwork to the detector.”

Conrad nodded warily at the mention of the psychological exam. It would a one way trip to a psychiatric facility after that. Hopefully one of ones where it passed as a “rest home” for “retired” intelligent agents. And it damn well better understand the cats were non-negotiable.

Then he noticed Carlito pull away from Scarlet and start to hiss. Corad would have expected that of Piranha, who he noted had retreated to a cushion atop the icebox, but Carlito?

“ Carlito?” he began to reach for the orange fluffball, “"that's not nice, that's Paul,” he felt a frisson skate down his back digging its blades deep, something was wrong, “What...Oh No!"

Moment was there struggling against the invisible, and then gone.

Conrad felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and he scooped Carlito up off the floor.

He only half heard Magenta's words, but held his kitten against his chest as he met Magenta and Fawn @spectrumsoverworkedcmo with anguish.

She managed to set the jet down in a clearing, muttering to herself the entire time.

Of course this would happen.

Of course this was all too good to be true.

'I should have just kept my mouth shut,' he mourned, 'it wouldn't have been so bad living here with the fuzzballs.'

Her vision tunnels.

Her pulse spikes.

The world narrows to the shape of the man who once was their friend, now perched on the edge like a condemned shadow.

"I don't know," Conrad said quietly, then looked at Magenta, "I felt the shimmer that precedes teleportation that's all. I didn't know if they were taking Paul or me. It still didn't feel right."

His head snapped up, eyes widening.

THIS IS THE VOICE OF THE MYSTERONS. WE KNOW THAT YOU CAN HEAR US EARTHMEN. WE KNOW THAT CAPTAIN SCARLET HAS BEEN ABDUCTED. WE ARE LOOKING INTO IT. WE WILL RETURN HIM SAFELY ONCE WE FIND HIM.

WE DO NOT TOLERATE OUR WORD BEING BROKEN. THE ABDUCTORS WILL BE PUNISHED.

Anyone disturbed by the Mysterons' announcement will be awake enough to hear a thud coming from somewhere in the lounge, the distinctive noise of a falling body as Scarlet appears near the piano and quite simply crumples, seemingly unconscious.

Well, technically he’d been engaged in a tactical regenerative interlude… cheek smooshed against his palm, his slack face bathed eerily blue in the light of the holoprojector.

He thought he’d dreamt it at first - the pressure in his sinuses, not unlike the G-force from completing a Cuban eight, rouses him first then his spine stiffens as a strange, disembodied voice, words both threatening and oddly offended, thunder through his skull.

He blinks and rubs the saliva from his chin. That was… weird even for his frequently unhinged unconscious mind.

Deciding it might be best to call it quits and retire to his actual bed, he’d made it halfway to his feet before a man materialises in front of him and crashes to the floor.

With a yelp Scott skids to the man’s side and he’s searching for a carotid pulse before his brain has caught up to the fact this isn’t a brother.

The questions flooding his brain mean he almost misses the heartbeat he’s searching for.

“Alright, alright he’s alive that’s a decent start” Scott mutters to himself as he detects a faint but regular breath from Paul’s parted lips. Unwilling to move the man into the recovery position without checking first that his spine wasn’t compromised, the first responder whispers “stay put” before sprinting to the kitchen to locate one of the many medi-scanners Virgil and Grandma had stashed around ready to wield with immense prejudice if any of them said the word ‘fine’ with the wrong inflexion.

Half expecting he’d imagined it all in a sleep deprived hallucination, Scott is relieved to find Captain Scarlet precisely where he’d left him. Still breathing. Still entirely out cold. He activates the scanner and is immediately accosted by a host of lights - yellow and deep orange through to bright red and the deep plum of very concerning. Yet as he tries to identify what each relates to they change - some shifting down the scale, some up, some flickering as if the machine calibrated for humans was uncertain what it was looking at.

Threat.

Escape.

Attack.

The tumult of thoughts, all scrambled and confused, flashed through his barely functioning mind in an instant, and just as it was designed to do, where logic and reasoning failed, training and manufactured instincts kicked in hard.

Even the heavy napping wasn’t an excuse - not when he went from unconscious to flying TB1 in under a minute on the regular.

Perhaps it was forgivable not to have expected the unconscious man whose organs were in a far more fluid state than the med scanner was at all happy with to suddenly jump him.

Yet he knew who this was.

And he should have known better.

Trying to restrain the guy without scaring him more even more was difficult and Scott couldn’t bring himself to inflict any actual pain even as a distraction. Give that scan a knee to the guy could cause untold issues…

He found himself pinned. The backup instinct kicked in and he forced himself to go limp to minimise the shock of the first punch leaving himself ready to manipulate his opponent’s shift in balance…

But it didn’t come.

Pausing only to send a “medbay assistance required” ping to the rest of the family, Scott hefted his deadweight visitor into a bridal carry. Not the easiest technique to manoeuvre but would put least pressure on those hopefully-healing-from-whatever-was-going-on-in-there organs. Never mind, he’d lifted worse. He made a note to compliment Brains on the subtle but effective lumbar support built into the IR suits though… turns out you missed that when it was gone.

Thankfully the elevator was nearby and was fast and before long Scarlet is ensconced on a bed with o2 mask and glucose drip in place and his vitals being monitored by an increasingly confused-sounding set of scanners.

Leaning against the wall, Scott flicks through the contacts in his comm, unsure of who to call. He only has direct details for Paul himself and White… but Paul didn’t mention the Colonel and Scott didn’t know enough about what was going on to go behind his list.

John wasn’t picking up… so Scott went with the best method he had available right now and DM’d the three others on tumblr:

We have Scarlet. He’s out cold but alive. He said to tell you don’t blame Conrad? What can I do to help? S x

Magenta taps at the screen to open up the full message, and he can safely say he never thought he'd get such mission-critical information through Tumblr DMs of all things.

"Ó, buíochas le Dia," he mutters, relieved that Scarlet is somewhere safe, before pulling his words back to something the others will actually understand. "Okay, apparently Paul is with Scott Tracy?" he says, showing the others the message before quickly typing out a reply:

You've got Scarlet?? Okay, not what I thought would happen but good to know he's safe. Look after him and keep us updated, will give you more info as and when we can.

YOUR DOCTOR FAWN HAD INDICATED ALREADY HE WAS WAS VERY ILL. YET THE MOMENT SOMETHING BEYOND HIS CONTROL HAPPENED YOU AND RHAPSODY ANGEL TURNED ON HIM.

PERHAPS HIS FEARS WERE WELL JUSTIFIED.

When the noise fades and everything goes quiet again, it takes Magenta a few seconds to process exactly what was said so that he can respond.

"Hey- wait a second that's not fair!" he shouts, hoping they can hear him, assuming that they can. He really hopes that they can. "We didn't turn on him we just-" he pauses to take a breath, his heart beating uncomfortably against his ribs, keeping calm is suddenly more difficult than he'd like. "We came here in good faith, but we had to be cautious because we had no way of knowing for certain whether or not it was genuine. And then when we get here Scarlet vanishes in front of us. For all we knew you had used Conrad to lure us here so that you could grab Scarlet. You've tricked and trapped us before, after all. Humans work with what they know, past experiences, what we're familiar with. We can't read minds. We- I didn't know that he had nothing to do with it." God, he hopes that works as an explaination. If the Mysteron's take Conrad away now, who knows if Spectrum would be able to find him again, or would get another chance like this to take him home.

With that Captain Black, the kittens and Dr. Fawn @spectrumsoverworkedcmo faded from view, leaving the cabin feeling very cold.

The cabin began to crumble back to the ruin/it

He didn't have the words to describe what happened next, but when 'reality' restored itself, he was in a small but extraordinarily well appointed Medical Room, with the unconscious form of Captain Scarlet lying on the bed, another man wearing the unmistakable face od Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy Industries, and Field Commander of International Rescue, staring in bug-eyed shock at the intruders, while Captain Black moaned and one of the kittens started it's own negotiations with Scott Tracy.

Clearly, he had just experienced teleportation, and bizarrely he remembered an exchange about teleportation from an old book he had once read: " 'It's unpleasantly like being drunk.' 'What's wrong with being drunk?'"

"Ask a glass of water," he muttered.

That attracted Tracy's attention. "What...?"

"Dr Fawn, Spectrum," Fawn replied focusing his attention between Scarlet lying on the bed, and Black laying on the floor. "Apparently the Mysterons have offered their assistance as an teleportational ambulance service." He glanced at Tracy. "Sorry, but can you please help me get Black on a bed, and set him up with standard monitoring, and glucose IV while I check over Scarlet?"

His pocket buzzed as his epaulettes lit up a brilliant pink, and Fawn grimaced. "And assure Magenta that we're okay." A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he swallowed bile "For a given value of okay," he muttered, activating his radio cap.

While he had quietly parked the mystery of how Scarlet had appeared from nowhere into a “consider later but was probably half asleep so missed something very normal” bay, he was literally looking at the empty space in which the two newcomers had appeared while digesting the instructions he’d just received from the medical officer and making a plan of how to keep everyone safe. He rather thought he could do with Gordon’s backup at the very least if Paul was likely to get feisty - Paul knew Gordon better than he knew him and if push came to shove Gordon shared the military training that their other brothers didn’t.

And now the medic was here, with another half dead man and unless Scott was actually the one who was concerningly unwell and was hallucinating… two cats. Actual, furry cats.

He wonders how they felt about teleportation.

A small part of his brain that sounded like Gordon nudges him to make sure they didn’t escape outside to cause havoc among the unprepared native fauna. A smaller part of his brain was worrying about whether Brains would master this mode of transport and if so whether Thunderbird One would become redundant. He shakes both out of his head for now and focusses.

He nods at the introductions and turned to pour the glass of water the doctor seemed to require before turning back, straightening his spine and registering a quiet but firm objection to the word commandeering.

“That won’t be necessary Dr Fawn. I offer you use of anything you require freely but I’d like to make it quite clear that this is both a top secret, highly sensitive location and our home and neither Spectrum nor any alien race will be wandering in to commandeer it.”

Bending down to lift the incredibly sick looking man on to the bed Scott couldn’t help be fascinated by the way the tiny cats remained firmly attached to him, even when the surface to which they clung tilted at a 180 degree angle. Best not try to remove those.

He busies himself setting up a second IV until the vast number of questions bubbling through his brain coalesce into one big one he can’t hold back anymore:

"Yes, that's Conrad - Captain Black," he said, equally quiet. "And spparently under autonomous control again." Fawn frowned at the lax figure on the bed, remembering his preliminary findings back at the cabin. "Well, about ninety percent of him," he added.

Black's bed chimed as the diagnostics went online. The screen lit up with a distressing red border. "Perhaps eighty percent," Fawn amended. "Maybe."

He turned back to Scarlet. The Black's bed would need a little more time for a full report. The specs for this model were engraved on the back of his eyes, it was the last model he had had a hand in developing, and he still thought it was the best system available. Seeing them here in International Rescues base was a secret thrill. Especially with the RX18-12G Surgical Unit built into the ceiling.

"Sorry about what I said earlier," he said softly, partly to make amends for his inadvertent insult, and partly so Scarlet could hear his voice. "It's been a helluva long time since I walked into a hospital and not been immediately assumed to be in control." He offered a wry smile. "If Scarlet was awake he would be congratulating you for giving me a long overdue kick in the pants."

He debated a moment, the Colonel would be pissed if - when - he found out, but if you can't trust International Rescue, who could you trust?

Fawn is here.

He was not restrained, for which he was profoundly grateful.  There were two warm small rounds purring on his chest, again he was grateful.  He could tell he was not in the cabin from the lack of baking aromas in the air, and it having a deeper sterile anti-septic quality.  Medical facilities somewhere.  Conrad ruled out a civilian hospital – he would be restrained.  Probably would be restrained in a GDF or World Military base’s med bay.  That left a Spectrum facility, and he did recognize Dr. Fawn’s @spectrumsoverworkedcmo voice even if he couldn’t make out the words.

Except… they wouldn’t have allowed his cats to stay with him.

So there was only one thing for it.

"A Dhia, bhí sin uafásach," Pat mumbles to himself, before rummaging for the bottle of water he knew was stashed in here. He shouldn't sit around for too long, he has a long drive ahead of him and at least one more call to make, but he just needed a moment to settle his nerves before he did anything else.

Someone to talk to would be nice, though. The others back on Cloudbase were probably still on standby, but maybe he could get away with calling Ochre. Just for a few minutes. He'd probably pick up, right? As long as he wasn't actively working on something?

Screw it.

Pat grabbed his phone and made the call, and much to his relief Ochre picked up fairly quickly.

"Pat? Aren't you working?"

"Yes, but I'm on my own and not in any immediate rush. And- I could probably do with talking to someone first."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine just- unsettled. I think I learnt what it feels like to be spoken to by God. Well- a vengeful God, maybe."

"...What?"

"The Mysteron's- they're not Gods, obviously, not even close but- Rich they spoke to me, directly to me. Not to all of us as a group but to me."

"Right. Okay, talk to me, what happened?"

And so Pat talked, or perhaps vented would be a better descriptor, but either way, it helped, and when he said goodbye and hung up nearly ten minutes later, he felt a little lighter.

Now, not as shaken and more able to focus, he should get moving. He did have another call to make, but he could multitask.

When Magenta reported in to the Colonel he'd asked if they had a more secure means of contacting the Tracy's. Tumblr DMs may have worked earlier but they were far from ideal, after all. He'd been given a number, which, apparently, would put him in touch with Scott Tracy. ( @scramjettracy )

Magenta started driving whilst he waited for the call to go through, really hoping that it would, and when it finally clicked and he got a response, he spoke;

And yet, the horrifying force behind all of that seemed to have mellowed recently, even appeared sympathetic somehow? The account that had appeared on tumblr he’d assumed was a joke at first but the Spectrum guys were taking it on face value and they were the experts…

But the internal injuries Paul… Scarlet had arrived with were horrifying. The sort of readings you wouldn’t ever usually see because a person bearing them would be so obviously dead nobody would put a scanner on them. And that was… also less than reassuring.

He shoved it to the back of his mind. Answers would have to wait for later. What was reassuring was the clearly knowledgable man in front of him - Eddie. He held out a hand in response to the belated introduction:

“Scott Tracy, but you knew that. Former air force, now, well… you know that too.”

He was spared the task of coming up with anything more scintillating to say by his comm pinging with an unknown call. He made his apologies and hurried out of the medbay to find it was, in fact, someone a stranger to nobody in that room but him.

This new Captain seemed a little distracted, perhaps due to driving or piloting but Scott wasn’t convinced. Something was clearly nagging at him, he seemed… guilty somehow? Unsure of himself a way way Scott suspected was not the norm for the man. However Magenta’s request to come and collect his colleagues seemed logical, as much as he wished there wouldn’t be even more people on know-where-we-live list, Scott doubted that there was any chance the mysterious organisation he worked for were unaware of its location. All the same he paused and stuck his head back into the medbay to see that Captain Black was awake and talking to Fawn. Recalling the 80% figure, and in the continuing absence of any of his family picking up his pings, Scott considered perhaps the more reinforcements who had any idea what was going on the better.

So it wasn’t until the second chirp, and thankfully mid-breath in a length, that Gordon heard it. Unconcerned until he read the contents, before swearing loudly. Hauling himself out of the pool in record time, towelling off and somehow pulling clothes on at a hop enroute to the elevator for the medbay.

Tumbling out at the bottom and into the medbay, and almost immediately freezing at the new faces that seemed to have arrived on their island. Blinking for a long moment before his gaze turned to his big brother.

“Jesus Scott, I thought you were going to tell me you’d burnt your tongue again on- Paul??”

Unable to stop himself diving forward to the man’s bedside, and instantly grimacing. Looking to where the two other arrivals were speaking, staring for a long moment at the dishevelled looking man with… cats??

Startling an agent is never smart, but a groggy/semi-comatose one?

The shout was unexpected.

Shouting meant danger.

“For the record, Gordon, I have never requested your assistance in the medbay with a burnt tongue. The rescue came directly to us today through means I am not entirely confident in the science of. This is Captain Fawn and Captain Black and his, err, furry friends. And Paul turned up first, he…”

Scott yelped and dragged Gordon backwards with a yelp as the apparently unconscious man in question leapt upwards and produced a damn knife from who knew where! How had Scott not found that? How had the scanner not flagged…

No time for regret, he acted on instinct and pulled Gordon behind him, ignoring the very vocal objection from his brother. Then raised a hand in very slowly while trying to meet Scarlet’s eye.

He still had no idea how they had ended up here, on Tracy Island, and in the condition they were in. It made no-

And then, in the blink of an eye, Scarlet was aiming for @spectrumsoverworkedcmo and begging to be disarmed, and Gordon leapt forward. It wasn’t exactly the day job anymore, but a mixture of WASP and Kayo had done their job. He locked the taller man into a hold form behind, grabbing at the arm brandishing the knife and digging his thumb into the pressure point.

Before he was given a chance to respond and thank Scott though, something seemed to start happening on the other end of the call. Muffled noise and multiple voices, some clear, others hushed and barely audible, was all the context he got. But what he could understand gave him enough clues to figure out what might be going on. And he wasn't too fond of the conclusion he came too.

Magenta hated that he was stuck out here, hundreds, thousands of miles from anything and everyone, and that he couldn't help with what was happening. But Scarlet was with friends, so he wasn't alone, and Fawn at least knew how to handle him, so it'd be okay.

Magenta didn't know if Scott ( @scramjettracy ) would still hear him, but he spoke anyway;

That his brother’s instinctive movement to disarm the distressed man was marginally faster than his own would later surprise him but he noted with a slight glow of pride that Gordon had lost none of his efficiency when it counted. The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter that seemed to echo in the shocked silence and Scott looped a foot around it immediately, kicking it into the corner and under a cabinet.

He felt unbalanced. In fact, everything felt entirely off-kilter and he struggled to keep his voice entirely calm and his hands still as looked over to the former Captain Black and quietly demanded an explanation:

Eyes on the knife until Scott Tracy kicked it away, even then noting where it was.

He looked at Scott, and blinked.

If Scarlet wanted him dead, he was dead, and he didn't get a say in the matter.

Thankfully, the newcomer (the overpowering smell of chlorine and chemical damaged hair that even he could spot suggested it was the aquanaut) was better trained to deal with knife weilding trained killers, but even Fawn could tell Scarlet had let it happen.

It was nice to know that Scarlet didn't actually want him dead, and the quiet way he spoke hurt more than the knife would.

And it was something Scarlet ABSOLUTELY had to be snapped out of.

"I should think you're sorry," he grumbled, hurrying over to rescue the IV and see if it could be salvaged, a wave of the ruined line had Scott fumbling in a cupboard for a replacement. Fawn took it with a nod, and he advanced on Scarlet.

"Arm. Give." The arm was surrendered with a disturbing lack of complaint, and the uncontaminated cannula was quickly inserted and the bag delivering its contents directly into Scarlets blood stream where it would hopefully help.

"Sit. And STAY." God, he hated the single word commands, but he'd found that it was the best way to get through to the pack of lemmings he'd been encumbered with.

Finally - FINALLY! - turning his attention to Captain Black, still mercifully laying on the bed where he was put, what Scarlet had said finally made an impression on his consciousness.

Grimacing as the rather grumpy man (who was absolutely a doctor, even before he pounced on Scarlet) placed another IV and turned on… Conrad? Wait, the Spectrum officer that had been missing??

Careful to avoid sudden movements, he edged towards Gordon and took his hands, turning them gently to check that there hadn’t been any injury. Unlike Kayo who wielded them with grace and confidence, Scott had always hated knives, had lost old schoolmates to the delusion that carrying one was an effective form of self-defence. He knew full well the presence of one made what should be a predictable interaction of muscle and weight in a fight entirely chaotic and knew with a grim certainty that if had Scarlet not been at least partly complicit things would have got very messy indeed.

The eyeroll was to be expected but Scott knew his brother and knew he was shaken too. The sick feeling that ‘what if’ was brewing in his gut was intensified by the knowledge that had he not called for assistance Gordon wouldn’t have been in the room and not put in danger. Again.

"Dr. Fawn, they are in no way my Mysterons; they are, however, very much more agreeable, thank you for small mercies," Conrad relaxed back, and corralled the still hissing Piranha back, "as you probably overheard in the cabin, there has been a schism in the Mysteron collective. The Oldest and Youngest have gained the majority, and they want to give humanity a chance."

"The 'other ones' broke an accord. I was turned loose by the majority because of the others concerns about my alleged growing familiarity with their abilities," he glanced at Scarlet, grief weighing heavily on him, "but the others took advantage of my desire to return to Spectrum to grab Scarlet, reasoning since he was fully retro-metabolised they might be able to regain control of him," bitterness made him scowl, "they never were very gentle in trying to get their way. It's something they have in common with..." he cut himself off, "well, Scarlet deserves a long leave somewhere he enjoys."

He’d allow it without complaint given exactly what was going on.

Gently leaning in to nudge @scramjettracy in return as he eyed the doctor, who Conrad was calling Fawn, before shrugging softly.

“Wondering how the military ended up in our medbay, and not exactly happy that they’re in our home… and how the hell Paul ended up in that shape…” He glanced toward the dark haired man once more, and grimaced again. Hesitating a moment before taking half a step back towards the bed, watching Paul with an uncertain gaze.

He sighed “In answer to your other questions Gordon - Mysterons, it seems, for both. Except I think not the same ones. There are different ones now. I’m not entirely happy they know where we live either, cos if the nice ones know what’s to say the nasty ones don’t.”

He doesn't want to close the call, if only because it's his only current link to what's going on over there. But he needs to update Rhapsody and he can always call back. And trying to juggle multiple calls whilst he's driving probably isn't smart even if he is in the middle of nowhere with nothing and no one to drive into.

Things seemed to have calmed down over there, which is good, so Magenta cuts the call with Scott and opens a line with Rhapsody; ( @callsign-rhapsody )

Right now, he still didn't feel like putting in the effort, but knew he would have to later.

If he wanted Spectrum to come and get him.

Which...

Which Conrad wasn't entirely certain if it was what he wanted.

Free.

The Mysterons had set him free.

What exactly did that mean?

Piranha chose that moment to nip his ear.

“All right, All right,” Conrad murmured fondly as he settled both kittens on the chair he left, “dinner time it is.”

Yes, very surprisingly well-stocked. Still he adored that Carlito and Piranha were making those strange happy noises kitten made as they ate.

“So what will we do now, Fuzzballs?” Conrad asked, “Stay here for a while? Find out where we are and tell Scarlet to let Spectrum come get us? Disappear? We could just disappear. I'm good at going unnoticed.”

“I don't think I can go back to Spectrum, not really,” He paced, “I probably do have brain damage; I would have never mentioned the off-the-books work I did for Colonel White otherwise. That was suppose to never be spoken of again, and I just tossed it out in a casual conversation. He's not going to be pleased. Well. He quite probably doesn't wish to see me again regardless. At least I can claim Spectrum's most spectacular fuck-up.”

Carlito looked up at him and murped, then jumped and climbed up to Conrad's shoulder, and settled to purr in his ear.

“My emotional control is shot, Carlito, beyond taking care of you and your sister, I can't be trusted to be responsible for anything; useless, pointless. Not to mention the physical damage I've sustained either from the Mysterons or from...” he sneered, “well, there are somethings I don't think Spectrum is aware of the World Government or its defensive branches doing.”

“Nonetheless, I'm not exactly stellar Spectrum Officer Material any mor...owww! Piranha!” Conrad hadn't noticed Piranha climbing up his other side, but she expressed her annoyance at his pity party in the only way she knew would get through to her big stupid human.

She bit his ear again.

Conrad closed his eyes. Purring in stereo.

“So, right, I need help. I hate help.”

“I really hate help.”

“Hate it with a passion.”

“I hate seeing the pity in their eyes.”

“There really isn't a choice, is there Fuzzballs?”

Conrad gently lifted his cats off his shoulders.

“I've got to figure out where we are, and then,” Conrad slumped, “contact Spectrum.”

~~~

A hour later, Conrad sent out:

Conrad was free.

Somehow, for some reason, the Mysterons had let him go. 'But for how long...' he couldn't help but wonder. 'Have they really cut him loose, or is this just another one of their tricks?'

He'd passed on the word to Colonel White as soon as he'd gotten it, and now they were waiting for whatever was to come next - be it the signal to come get him, a message to stay away... or for the trap to spring shut. Paul completed another circuit of the lounge, then stopped, rubbed both hands over his face and dropped himself into the nearest chair.

'Maybe... maybe the war is going to be over?' he asked himself. 'Maybe we've suffered enough? Maybe we've done enough penance?' He shook himself. 'Focus on now. What ifs and maybes are for later. If we do get him back, Fawn's going to want to do a full health check, White will need to debrief with him, heaven knows what the World President is going to do. The legalities...' he shook his head. 'That's going to be above my pay grade.'

Just as he was getting tempted to call Conrad himself, his radio beeped.

"This is Captain Black requesting Spectrum retrieval."

As soon as she got the call through, she left the lounge, flight helmet in hand to run past the officer lounge.

Turning on his computer had meant to be a distraction, instead, by the time the call from Scarlet came through, he'd been staring at the monitors for a while, lost in thought, and it was the beeping of his radio that pulled him out of it.

Not because she’s eager.

Not because she’s hopeful.

Because the order to scramble hit too fast after the news.

Because everything about this feels wrong.

The corridor blurs around her. She’s already pulling on her helmet, already mentally running through pre-flight sequences, but her thoughts are louder than her boots on the deck.

This could be a Mysteron trick.

It fits too perfectly.

The idea of Conrad Turner suddenly being free?

After all this time?

After all the traps?

No.

The Mysterons don’t give gifts - they bait hooks.

She turns a corner sharply, nearly colliding with a passing technician. “Sorry,” she mutters automatically before pushing on. The Angel Lounge door is ahead, glowing warm amber, but tonight that warmth feels deceptive.

Inside, everything is ready - the others’ helmets lifted from their charging mounts, flight harnesses prepared, the soft hum of auto-checks running. The room is calm.

She isn’t.

What if this is exactly what they want?

To make Spectrum think Black is weakened, vulnerable.

To make Paul rush in.

To make them hesitate at the wrong moment.

To tear open old wounds and use them as entry points.

Her stomach twists.

She knows how the Mysterons operate:

They don’t just attack… they undermine.

And using Conrad…

Letting them believe he might be saved…

That would be the cruelest weapon of all.

Her jet is waiting - thirty seconds from launch - but her thoughts keep circling:

If this is a trap, they are flying straight into the jaws.

If it isn’t… then Conrad needs them.

Either way, she has no choice.

Rhapsody forces a breath, squares her shoulders, and heads for the tube lift to her Interceptor - fear sharp, heart pounding, mind whispering the one thing she cannot say aloud:

The flight and landing are both textbook, as is the landing, collecting an SPV, and travelling deep into the Canadian back country to the fleck of civilisation that is the cabin.

And all of it is getting Scarlet's hackles up further and further.

The tension in the SPV as they drive through the Canadian wilderness isn't helping his nerves, and he ends up idly fiddling with the gold chain he wears beneath his shirt and running his thumb over the smooth metal of the cross pendant. Simply needing something to do with his hands as the world passes by outside.

There's so many ways this could go, and so many of those possibilities are far from pleasant. They need to be ready for anything, just as they always do when Mysteron's could be involved. Letting his mind wander into what ifs won't help, but as that little cabin appears in the distance, it's difficult to stop it.

Whisper a prayer, hope for the best, and with a bit of luck, maybe, just maybe, this will go the way they want it to.

He keeps a couple of paces behind Scarlet as they approach the cabin, keeping an eye on Scarlet and Fawn whilst also watching their surroundings for the slightest sign of anything out of place. Movement, noise, anything that could alert them to an ambush, or a trap, or something else that could give away a Mysteron ploy.

“Conrad?”

He wanted to moved, he wanted to go open the door, and... there was small sharp pain in his ear.

“Piranha!” he chuckled, and his body unfroze. As he walked to the door, Carlito jumped and Conrad just barely caught him. Tucking him under his arm like an american football, he had to smile. He was about to face his past and his future, looking like a over-warmed zombie with one tiny black kitten riding imperiously on his shoulder, and completely brainless ginger kitten lolling over his arm, completely unarmed. At least, the aroma from the cabin once he opened the door would be good from all his anxiety cooking and baking.

He should check to be sure that it was who he wanted it to be behind the door.

Oh to hell with it.

“Paul?(@cpt-scarlet-spectrum)” Conrad called, “I'm opening door now. Please don't scare my cats.”

Two kittens and the smell of a bakery full swing had never entered his predictions.

“Conrad,” gestured with the arm draped with ginger kitten, “Carlito”, then reached up and patted the other kitten's head, “Piranha. And you're Paul, also known as Captain Scarlet of Spectrum.”

He should be taking this more seriously. Something was definitely broken in him. Conrad knew this was dangerous, but he just couldn't.... He was tired, and wanted to go home, even if home really didn't exist for him any more.

Something in the back of his mind told him that this was too easy, but maybe, a situation could be as simple as it looked? Maybe...?

That was probably a dangerous thing to hope for, they still needed to be careful here, letting their guard down too soon was never a good idea.

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"Or possibly fled, they're not clear about that themselves. Anyway, like our own computer programs they have generations, and for a very long time didn't need to upgrade. The group that dominated at the time we encountered them had been the primary movers of the collective for a long time"

Conrad stopped, a strange grim satisfaction carving his face.

"In a way the War of Nerves proved their undoing. They had to generate newer programs to create and control their reconstructions here on Earth and on the Moon. Those new programs outnumbered them quickly, and," he paused fainting smiling, "they were curious about this world they have been generated to destroy, and wisely allied with the oldest of the Mysteron programs who, having watched the Solar System, were never content with the idea of Humanity's destruction, but had been outnumbered for so long. United, they pushed their desire for a ceasefire to the fore. The one who wanted to destroy still have a say, but their position in the hive mind is weakened."

And stopped, nose wrinkling, fur rising.

"Merp?"

Carlito skittered away, and started to hiss.

"Scarlet, are you receiving?"

“I think I can explain the heartbeat. The Mysterons had to retrometabolise parts of my heart after Blue got a good shot in,” he tried for humor in his eyes, “I'm probably going to look a bit of a patchwork to the detector.”

Conrad nodded warily at the mention of the psychological exam. It would a one way trip to a psychiatric facility after that. Hopefully one of ones where it passed as a “rest home” for “retired” intelligent agents. And it damn well better understand the cats were non-negotiable.

Then he noticed Carlito pull away from Scarlet and start to hiss. Corad would have expected that of Piranha, who he noted had retreated to a cushion atop the icebox, but Carlito?

“ Carlito?” he began to reach for the orange fluffball, “"that's not nice, that's Paul,” he felt a frisson skate down his back digging its blades deep, something was wrong, “What...Oh No!"

Moment was there struggling against the invisible, and then gone.

Conrad felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and he scooped Carlito up off the floor.

He only half heard Magenta's words, but held his kitten against his chest as he met Magenta and Fawn @spectrumsoverworkedcmo with anguish.

She managed to set the jet down in a clearing, muttering to herself the entire time.

Of course this would happen.

Of course this was all too good to be true.

'I should have just kept my mouth shut,' he mourned, 'it wouldn't have been so bad living here with the fuzzballs.'

Her vision tunnels.

Her pulse spikes.

The world narrows to the shape of the man who once was their friend, now perched on the edge like a condemned shadow.

Right now, he still didn't feel like putting in the effort, but knew he would have to later.

If he wanted Spectrum to come and get him.

Which...

Which Conrad wasn't entirely certain if it was what he wanted.

Free.

The Mysterons had set him free.

What exactly did that mean?

Piranha chose that moment to nip his ear.

“All right, All right,” Conrad murmured fondly as he settled both kittens on the chair he left, “dinner time it is.”

Yes, very surprisingly well-stocked. Still he adored that Carlito and Piranha were making those strange happy noises kitten made as they ate.

“So what will we do now, Fuzzballs?” Conrad asked, “Stay here for a while? Find out where we are and tell Scarlet to let Spectrum come get us? Disappear? We could just disappear. I'm good at going unnoticed.”

“I don't think I can go back to Spectrum, not really,” He paced, “I probably do have brain damage; I would have never mentioned the off-the-books work I did for Colonel White otherwise. That was suppose to never be spoken of again, and I just tossed it out in a casual conversation. He's not going to be pleased. Well. He quite probably doesn't wish to see me again regardless. At least I can claim Spectrum's most spectacular fuck-up.”

Carlito looked up at him and murped, then jumped and climbed up to Conrad's shoulder, and settled to purr in his ear.

“My emotional control is shot, Carlito, beyond taking care of you and your sister, I can't be trusted to be responsible for anything; useless, pointless. Not to mention the physical damage I've sustained either from the Mysterons or from...” he sneered, “well, there are somethings I don't think Spectrum is aware of the World Government or its defensive branches doing.”

“Nonetheless, I'm not exactly stellar Spectrum Officer Material any mor...owww! Piranha!” Conrad hadn't noticed Piranha climbing up his other side, but she expressed her annoyance at his pity party in the only way she knew would get through to her big stupid human.

She bit his ear again.

Conrad closed his eyes. Purring in stereo.

“So, right, I need help. I hate help.”

“I really hate help.”

“Hate it with a passion.”

“I hate seeing the pity in their eyes.”

“There really isn't a choice, is there Fuzzballs?”

Conrad gently lifted his cats off his shoulders.

“I've got to figure out where we are, and then,” Conrad slumped, “contact Spectrum.”

~~~

A hour later, Conrad sent out:

Conrad was free.

Somehow, for some reason, the Mysterons had let him go. 'But for how long...' he couldn't help but wonder. 'Have they really cut him loose, or is this just another one of their tricks?'

He'd passed on the word to Colonel White as soon as he'd gotten it, and now they were waiting for whatever was to come next - be it the signal to come get him, a message to stay away... or for the trap to spring shut. Paul completed another circuit of the lounge, then stopped, rubbed both hands over his face and dropped himself into the nearest chair.

'Maybe... maybe the war is going to be over?' he asked himself. 'Maybe we've suffered enough? Maybe we've done enough penance?' He shook himself. 'Focus on now. What ifs and maybes are for later. If we do get him back, Fawn's going to want to do a full health check, White will need to debrief with him, heaven knows what the World President is going to do. The legalities...' he shook his head. 'That's going to be above my pay grade.'

Just as he was getting tempted to call Conrad himself, his radio beeped.

"This is Captain Black requesting Spectrum retrieval."

As soon as she got the call through, she left the lounge, flight helmet in hand to run past the officer lounge.

Turning on his computer had meant to be a distraction, instead, by the time the call from Scarlet came through, he'd been staring at the monitors for a while, lost in thought, and it was the beeping of his radio that pulled him out of it.

Not because she’s eager.

Not because she’s hopeful.

Because the order to scramble hit too fast after the news.

Because everything about this feels wrong.

The corridor blurs around her. She’s already pulling on her helmet, already mentally running through pre-flight sequences, but her thoughts are louder than her boots on the deck.

This could be a Mysteron trick.

It fits too perfectly.

The idea of Conrad Turner suddenly being free?

After all this time?

After all the traps?

No.

The Mysterons don’t give gifts - they bait hooks.

She turns a corner sharply, nearly colliding with a passing technician. “Sorry,” she mutters automatically before pushing on. The Angel Lounge door is ahead, glowing warm amber, but tonight that warmth feels deceptive.

Inside, everything is ready - the others’ helmets lifted from their charging mounts, flight harnesses prepared, the soft hum of auto-checks running. The room is calm.

She isn’t.

What if this is exactly what they want?

To make Spectrum think Black is weakened, vulnerable.

To make Paul rush in.

To make them hesitate at the wrong moment.

To tear open old wounds and use them as entry points.

Her stomach twists.

She knows how the Mysterons operate:

They don’t just attack… they undermine.

And using Conrad…

Letting them believe he might be saved…

That would be the cruelest weapon of all.

Her jet is waiting - thirty seconds from launch - but her thoughts keep circling:

If this is a trap, they are flying straight into the jaws.

If it isn’t… then Conrad needs them.

Either way, she has no choice.

Rhapsody forces a breath, squares her shoulders, and heads for the tube lift to her Interceptor - fear sharp, heart pounding, mind whispering the one thing she cannot say aloud:

The flight and landing are both textbook, as is the landing, collecting an SPV, and travelling deep into the Canadian back country to the fleck of civilisation that is the cabin.

And all of it is getting Scarlet's hackles up further and further.

The tension in the SPV as they drive through the Canadian wilderness isn't helping his nerves, and he ends up idly fiddling with the gold chain he wears beneath his shirt and running his thumb over the smooth metal of the cross pendant. Simply needing something to do with his hands as the world passes by outside.

There's so many ways this could go, and so many of those possibilities are far from pleasant. They need to be ready for anything, just as they always do when Mysteron's could be involved. Letting his mind wander into what ifs won't help, but as that little cabin appears in the distance, it's difficult to stop it.

Whisper a prayer, hope for the best, and with a bit of luck, maybe, just maybe, this will go the way they want it to.

He keeps a couple of paces behind Scarlet as they approach the cabin, keeping an eye on Scarlet and Fawn whilst also watching their surroundings for the slightest sign of anything out of place. Movement, noise, anything that could alert them to an ambush, or a trap, or something else that could give away a Mysteron ploy.

“Conrad?”

He wanted to moved, he wanted to go open the door, and... there was small sharp pain in his ear.

“Piranha!” he chuckled, and his body unfroze. As he walked to the door, Carlito jumped and Conrad just barely caught him. Tucking him under his arm like an american football, he had to smile. He was about to face his past and his future, looking like a over-warmed zombie with one tiny black kitten riding imperiously on his shoulder, and completely brainless ginger kitten lolling over his arm, completely unarmed. At least, the aroma from the cabin once he opened the door would be good from all his anxiety cooking and baking.

He should check to be sure that it was who he wanted it to be behind the door.

Oh to hell with it.

“Paul?(@cpt-scarlet-spectrum)” Conrad called, “I'm opening door now. Please don't scare my cats.”

Two kittens and the smell of a bakery full swing had never entered his predictions.

“Conrad,” gestured with the arm draped with ginger kitten, “Carlito”, then reached up and patted the other kitten's head, “Piranha. And you're Paul, also known as Captain Scarlet of Spectrum.”

He should be taking this more seriously. Something was definitely broken in him. Conrad knew this was dangerous, but he just couldn't.... He was tired, and wanted to go home, even if home really didn't exist for him any more.

Something in the back of his mind told him that this was too easy, but maybe, a situation could be as simple as it looked? Maybe...?

That was probably a dangerous thing to hope for, they still needed to be careful here, letting their guard down too soon was never a good idea.

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"Or possibly fled, they're not clear about that themselves. Anyway, like our own computer programs they have generations, and for a very long time didn't need to upgrade. The group that dominated at the time we encountered them had been the primary movers of the collective for a long time"

Conrad stopped, a strange grim satisfaction carving his face.

"In a way the War of Nerves proved their undoing. They had to generate newer programs to create and control their reconstructions here on Earth and on the Moon. Those new programs outnumbered them quickly, and," he paused fainting smiling, "they were curious about this world they have been generated to destroy, and wisely allied with the oldest of the Mysteron programs who, having watched the Solar System, were never content with the idea of Humanity's destruction, but had been outnumbered for so long. United, they pushed their desire for a ceasefire to the fore. The one who wanted to destroy still have a say, but their position in the hive mind is weakened."

And stopped, nose wrinkling, fur rising.

"Merp?"

Carlito skittered away, and started to hiss.

"Scarlet, are you receiving?"

“I think I can explain the heartbeat. The Mysterons had to retrometabolise parts of my heart after Blue got a good shot in,” he tried for humor in his eyes, “I'm probably going to look a bit of a patchwork to the detector.”

Conrad nodded warily at the mention of the psychological exam. It would a one way trip to a psychiatric facility after that. Hopefully one of ones where it passed as a “rest home” for “retired” intelligent agents. And it damn well better understand the cats were non-negotiable.

Then he noticed Carlito pull away from Scarlet and start to hiss. Corad would have expected that of Piranha, who he noted had retreated to a cushion atop the icebox, but Carlito?

“ Carlito?” he began to reach for the orange fluffball, “"that's not nice, that's Paul,” he felt a frisson skate down his back digging its blades deep, something was wrong, “What...Oh No!"

Moment was there struggling against the invisible, and then gone.

Conrad felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, and he scooped Carlito up off the floor.

He only half heard Magenta's words, but held his kitten against his chest as he met Magenta and Fawn @spectrumsoverworkedcmo with anguish.

She managed to set the jet down in a clearing, muttering to herself the entire time.

Of course this would happen.

Of course this was all too good to be true.

Right now, he still didn't feel like putting in the effort, but knew he would have to later.

If he wanted Spectrum to come and get him.

Which...

Which Conrad wasn't entirely certain if it was what he wanted.

Free.

The Mysterons had set him free.

What exactly did that mean?

Piranha chose that moment to nip his ear.

“All right, All right,” Conrad murmured fondly as he settled both kittens on the chair he left, “dinner time it is.”

Yes, very surprisingly well-stocked. Still he adored that Carlito and Piranha were making those strange happy noises kitten made as they ate.

“So what will we do now, Fuzzballs?” Conrad asked, “Stay here for a while? Find out where we are and tell Scarlet to let Spectrum come get us? Disappear? We could just disappear. I'm good at going unnoticed.”

“I don't think I can go back to Spectrum, not really,” He paced, “I probably do have brain damage; I would have never mentioned the off-the-books work I did for Colonel White otherwise. That was suppose to never be spoken of again, and I just tossed it out in a casual conversation. He's not going to be pleased. Well. He quite probably doesn't wish to see me again regardless. At least I can claim Spectrum's most spectacular fuck-up.”

Carlito looked up at him and murped, then jumped and climbed up to Conrad's shoulder, and settled to purr in his ear.

“My emotional control is shot, Carlito, beyond taking care of you and your sister, I can't be trusted to be responsible for anything; useless, pointless. Not to mention the physical damage I've sustained either from the Mysterons or from...” he sneered, “well, there are somethings I don't think Spectrum is aware of the World Government or its defensive branches doing.”

“Nonetheless, I'm not exactly stellar Spectrum Officer Material any mor...owww! Piranha!” Conrad hadn't noticed Piranha climbing up his other side, but she expressed her annoyance at his pity party in the only way she knew would get through to her big stupid human.

She bit his ear again.

Conrad closed his eyes. Purring in stereo.

“So, right, I need help. I hate help.”

“I really hate help.”

“Hate it with a passion.”

“I hate seeing the pity in their eyes.”

“There really isn't a choice, is there Fuzzballs?”

Conrad gently lifted his cats off his shoulders.

“I've got to figure out where we are, and then,” Conrad slumped, “contact Spectrum.”

~~~

A hour later, Conrad sent out:

Conrad was free.

Somehow, for some reason, the Mysterons had let him go. 'But for how long...' he couldn't help but wonder. 'Have they really cut him loose, or is this just another one of their tricks?'

He'd passed on the word to Colonel White as soon as he'd gotten it, and now they were waiting for whatever was to come next - be it the signal to come get him, a message to stay away... or for the trap to spring shut. Paul completed another circuit of the lounge, then stopped, rubbed both hands over his face and dropped himself into the nearest chair.

'Maybe... maybe the war is going to be over?' he asked himself. 'Maybe we've suffered enough? Maybe we've done enough penance?' He shook himself. 'Focus on now. What ifs and maybes are for later. If we do get him back, Fawn's going to want to do a full health check, White will need to debrief with him, heaven knows what the World President is going to do. The legalities...' he shook his head. 'That's going to be above my pay grade.'

Just as he was getting tempted to call Conrad himself, his radio beeped.

"This is Captain Black requesting Spectrum retrieval."

As soon as she got the call through, she left the lounge, flight helmet in hand to run past the officer lounge.

Turning on his computer had meant to be a distraction, instead, by the time the call from Scarlet came through, he'd been staring at the monitors for a while, lost in thought, and it was the beeping of his radio that pulled him out of it.

Not because she’s eager.

Not because she’s hopeful.

Because the order to scramble hit too fast after the news.

Because everything about this feels wrong.

The corridor blurs around her. She’s already pulling on her helmet, already mentally running through pre-flight sequences, but her thoughts are louder than her boots on the deck.

This could be a Mysteron trick.

It fits too perfectly.

The idea of Conrad Turner suddenly being free?

After all this time?

After all the traps?

No.

The Mysterons don’t give gifts - they bait hooks.

She turns a corner sharply, nearly colliding with a passing technician. “Sorry,” she mutters automatically before pushing on. The Angel Lounge door is ahead, glowing warm amber, but tonight that warmth feels deceptive.

Inside, everything is ready - the others’ helmets lifted from their charging mounts, flight harnesses prepared, the soft hum of auto-checks running. The room is calm.

She isn’t.

What if this is exactly what they want?

To make Spectrum think Black is weakened, vulnerable.

To make Paul rush in.

To make them hesitate at the wrong moment.

To tear open old wounds and use them as entry points.

Her stomach twists.

She knows how the Mysterons operate:

They don’t just attack… they undermine.

And using Conrad…

Letting them believe he might be saved…

That would be the cruelest weapon of all.

Her jet is waiting - thirty seconds from launch - but her thoughts keep circling:

If this is a trap, they are flying straight into the jaws.

If it isn’t… then Conrad needs them.

Either way, she has no choice.

Rhapsody forces a breath, squares her shoulders, and heads for the tube lift to her Interceptor - fear sharp, heart pounding, mind whispering the one thing she cannot say aloud:

The flight and landing are both textbook, as is the landing, collecting an SPV, and travelling deep into the Canadian back country to the fleck of civilisation that is the cabin.

And all of it is getting Scarlet's hackles up further and further.

The tension in the SPV as they drive through the Canadian wilderness isn't helping his nerves, and he ends up idly fiddling with the gold chain he wears beneath his shirt and running his thumb over the smooth metal of the cross pendant. Simply needing something to do with his hands as the world passes by outside.

There's so many ways this could go, and so many of those possibilities are far from pleasant. They need to be ready for anything, just as they always do when Mysteron's could be involved. Letting his mind wander into what ifs won't help, but as that little cabin appears in the distance, it's difficult to stop it.

Whisper a prayer, hope for the best, and with a bit of luck, maybe, just maybe, this will go the way they want it to.

He keeps a couple of paces behind Scarlet as they approach the cabin, keeping an eye on Scarlet and Fawn whilst also watching their surroundings for the slightest sign of anything out of place. Movement, noise, anything that could alert them to an ambush, or a trap, or something else that could give away a Mysteron ploy.

“Conrad?”

He wanted to moved, he wanted to go open the door, and... there was small sharp pain in his ear.

“Piranha!” he chuckled, and his body unfroze. As he walked to the door, Carlito jumped and Conrad just barely caught him. Tucking him under his arm like an american football, he had to smile. He was about to face his past and his future, looking like a over-warmed zombie with one tiny black kitten riding imperiously on his shoulder, and completely brainless ginger kitten lolling over his arm, completely unarmed. At least, the aroma from the cabin once he opened the door would be good from all his anxiety cooking and baking.

He should check to be sure that it was who he wanted it to be behind the door.

Oh to hell with it.

“Paul?(@cpt-scarlet-spectrum)” Conrad called, “I'm opening door now. Please don't scare my cats.”

Two kittens and the smell of a bakery full swing had never entered his predictions.

“Conrad,” gestured with the arm draped with ginger kitten, “Carlito”, then reached up and patted the other kitten's head, “Piranha. And you're Paul, also known as Captain Scarlet of Spectrum.”

He should be taking this more seriously. Something was definitely broken in him. Conrad knew this was dangerous, but he just couldn't.... He was tired, and wanted to go home, even if home really didn't exist for him any more.

Something in the back of his mind told him that this was too easy, but maybe, a situation could be as simple as it looked? Maybe...?

That was probably a dangerous thing to hope for, they still needed to be careful here, letting their guard down too soon was never a good idea.

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"Or possibly fled, they're not clear about that themselves. Anyway, like our own computer programs they have generations, and for a very long time didn't need to upgrade. The group that dominated at the time we encountered them had been the primary movers of the collective for a long time"

Conrad stopped, a strange grim satisfaction carving his face.

"In a way the War of Nerves proved their undoing. They had to generate newer programs to create and control their reconstructions here on Earth and on the Moon. Those new programs outnumbered them quickly, and," he paused fainting smiling, "they were curious about this world they have been generated to destroy, and wisely allied with the oldest of the Mysteron programs who, having watched the Solar System, were never content with the idea of Humanity's destruction, but had been outnumbered for so long. United, they pushed their desire for a ceasefire to the fore. The one who wanted to destroy still have a say, but their position in the hive mind is weakened."

And stopped, nose wrinkling, fur rising.

"Merp?"

Carlito skittered away, and started to hiss.

"Scarlet, are you receiving?"

Right now, he still didn't feel like putting in the effort, but knew he would have to later.

If he wanted Spectrum to come and get him.

Which...

Which Conrad wasn't entirely certain if it was what he wanted.

Free.

The Mysterons had set him free.

What exactly did that mean?

Piranha chose that moment to nip his ear.

“All right, All right,” Conrad murmured fondly as he settled both kittens on the chair he left, “dinner time it is.”

Yes, very surprisingly well-stocked. Still he adored that Carlito and Piranha were making those strange happy noises kitten made as they ate.

“So what will we do now, Fuzzballs?” Conrad asked, “Stay here for a while? Find out where we are and tell Scarlet to let Spectrum come get us? Disappear? We could just disappear. I'm good at going unnoticed.”

“I don't think I can go back to Spectrum, not really,” He paced, “I probably do have brain damage; I would have never mentioned the off-the-books work I did for Colonel White otherwise. That was suppose to never be spoken of again, and I just tossed it out in a casual conversation. He's not going to be pleased. Well. He quite probably doesn't wish to see me again regardless. At least I can claim Spectrum's most spectacular fuck-up.”

Carlito looked up at him and murped, then jumped and climbed up to Conrad's shoulder, and settled to purr in his ear.

“My emotional control is shot, Carlito, beyond taking care of you and your sister, I can't be trusted to be responsible for anything; useless, pointless. Not to mention the physical damage I've sustained either from the Mysterons or from...” he sneered, “well, there are somethings I don't think Spectrum is aware of the World Government or its defensive branches doing.”

“Nonetheless, I'm not exactly stellar Spectrum Officer Material any mor...owww! Piranha!” Conrad hadn't noticed Piranha climbing up his other side, but she expressed her annoyance at his pity party in the only way she knew would get through to her big stupid human.

She bit his ear again.

Conrad closed his eyes. Purring in stereo.

“So, right, I need help. I hate help.”

“I really hate help.”

“Hate it with a passion.”

“I hate seeing the pity in their eyes.”

“There really isn't a choice, is there Fuzzballs?”

Conrad gently lifted his cats off his shoulders.

“I've got to figure out where we are, and then,” Conrad slumped, “contact Spectrum.”

~~~

A hour later, Conrad sent out:

Conrad was free.

Somehow, for some reason, the Mysterons had let him go. 'But for how long...' he couldn't help but wonder. 'Have they really cut him loose, or is this just another one of their tricks?'

He'd passed on the word to Colonel White as soon as he'd gotten it, and now they were waiting for whatever was to come next - be it the signal to come get him, a message to stay away... or for the trap to spring shut. Paul completed another circuit of the lounge, then stopped, rubbed both hands over his face and dropped himself into the nearest chair.

'Maybe... maybe the war is going to be over?' he asked himself. 'Maybe we've suffered enough? Maybe we've done enough penance?' He shook himself. 'Focus on now. What ifs and maybes are for later. If we do get him back, Fawn's going to want to do a full health check, White will need to debrief with him, heaven knows what the World President is going to do. The legalities...' he shook his head. 'That's going to be above my pay grade.'

Just as he was getting tempted to call Conrad himself, his radio beeped.

"This is Captain Black requesting Spectrum retrieval."

As soon as she got the call through, she left the lounge, flight helmet in hand to run past the officer lounge.

Turning on his computer had meant to be a distraction, instead, by the time the call from Scarlet came through, he'd been staring at the monitors for a while, lost in thought, and it was the beeping of his radio that pulled him out of it.

Not because she’s eager.

Not because she’s hopeful.

Because the order to scramble hit too fast after the news.

Because everything about this feels wrong.

The corridor blurs around her. She’s already pulling on her helmet, already mentally running through pre-flight sequences, but her thoughts are louder than her boots on the deck.

This could be a Mysteron trick.

It fits too perfectly.

The idea of Conrad Turner suddenly being free?

After all this time?

After all the traps?

No.

The Mysterons don’t give gifts - they bait hooks.

She turns a corner sharply, nearly colliding with a passing technician. “Sorry,” she mutters automatically before pushing on. The Angel Lounge door is ahead, glowing warm amber, but tonight that warmth feels deceptive.

Inside, everything is ready - the others’ helmets lifted from their charging mounts, flight harnesses prepared, the soft hum of auto-checks running. The room is calm.

She isn’t.

What if this is exactly what they want?

To make Spectrum think Black is weakened, vulnerable.

To make Paul rush in.

To make them hesitate at the wrong moment.

To tear open old wounds and use them as entry points.

Her stomach twists.

She knows how the Mysterons operate:

They don’t just attack… they undermine.

And using Conrad…

Letting them believe he might be saved…

That would be the cruelest weapon of all.

Her jet is waiting - thirty seconds from launch - but her thoughts keep circling:

If this is a trap, they are flying straight into the jaws.

If it isn’t… then Conrad needs them.

Either way, she has no choice.

Rhapsody forces a breath, squares her shoulders, and heads for the tube lift to her Interceptor - fear sharp, heart pounding, mind whispering the one thing she cannot say aloud:

The flight and landing are both textbook, as is the landing, collecting an SPV, and travelling deep into the Canadian back country to the fleck of civilisation that is the cabin.

And all of it is getting Scarlet's hackles up further and further.

The tension in the SPV as they drive through the Canadian wilderness isn't helping his nerves, and he ends up idly fiddling with the gold chain he wears beneath his shirt and running his thumb over the smooth metal of the cross pendant. Simply needing something to do with his hands as the world passes by outside.

There's so many ways this could go, and so many of those possibilities are far from pleasant. They need to be ready for anything, just as they always do when Mysteron's could be involved. Letting his mind wander into what ifs won't help, but as that little cabin appears in the distance, it's difficult to stop it.

Whisper a prayer, hope for the best, and with a bit of luck, maybe, just maybe, this will go the way they want it to.

He keeps a couple of paces behind Scarlet as they approach the cabin, keeping an eye on Scarlet and Fawn whilst also watching their surroundings for the slightest sign of anything out of place. Movement, noise, anything that could alert them to an ambush, or a trap, or something else that could give away a Mysteron ploy.

“Conrad?”

He wanted to moved, he wanted to go open the door, and... there was small sharp pain in his ear.

“Piranha!” he chuckled, and his body unfroze. As he walked to the door, Carlito jumped and Conrad just barely caught him. Tucking him under his arm like an american football, he had to smile. He was about to face his past and his future, looking like a over-warmed zombie with one tiny black kitten riding imperiously on his shoulder, and completely brainless ginger kitten lolling over his arm, completely unarmed. At least, the aroma from the cabin once he opened the door would be good from all his anxiety cooking and baking.

He should check to be sure that it was who he wanted it to be behind the door.

Oh to hell with it.

“Paul?(@cpt-scarlet-spectrum)” Conrad called, “I'm opening door now. Please don't scare my cats.”

Two kittens and the smell of a bakery full swing had never entered his predictions.

“Conrad,” gestured with the arm draped with ginger kitten, “Carlito”, then reached up and patted the other kitten's head, “Piranha. And you're Paul, also known as Captain Scarlet of Spectrum.”

He should be taking this more seriously. Something was definitely broken in him. Conrad knew this was dangerous, but he just couldn't.... He was tired, and wanted to go home, even if home really didn't exist for him any more.

Something in the back of his mind told him that this was too easy, but maybe, a situation could be as simple as it looked? Maybe...?

That was probably a dangerous thing to hope for, they still needed to be careful here, letting their guard down too soon was never a good idea.

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"Or possibly fled, they're not clear about that themselves. Anyway, like our own computer programs they have generations, and for a very long time didn't need to upgrade. The group that dominated at the time we encountered them had been the primary movers of the collective for a long time"

Conrad stopped, a strange grim satisfaction carving his face.

"In a way the War of Nerves proved their undoing. They had to generate newer programs to create and control their reconstructions here on Earth and on the Moon. Those new programs outnumbered them quickly, and," he paused fainting smiling, "they were curious about this world they have been generated to destroy, and wisely allied with the oldest of the Mysteron programs who, having watched the Solar System, were never content with the idea of Humanity's destruction, but had been outnumbered for so long. United, they pushed their desire for a ceasefire to the fore. The one who wanted to destroy still have a say, but their position in the hive mind is weakened."

And stopped, nose wrinkling, fur rising.

"Merp?"

Carlito skittered away, and started to hiss.

"Scarlet, are you receiving?"