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ish	By : teakettleandscone Category: +1 through F > Codename: Kids Next Door Views: 6182 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Codename: Kids Next Door, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
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Chapter 7: F.E.Z.

fearsome
elderly
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Confronted by the main lobby's security camera, One pursed his lips in thought. Within a moment, his expression cleared into a smile. "Five and Three, get over here. We have to take out these security systems."

Three, the perennial photography geek, typically included a camera in her mission bag for various occasions on which it might be useful. She stood on Five's shoulders and took a Polaroid picture from the camera's height of the room. Sticking the photo onto the lens with a bit of Hoagie's gum, they continued their hunt for the Damned Director.

"That ought to hold them for a few minutes." Nigel said smugly. Indeed it did. The Director, monitoring from his inner sanctum, had been in the bathroom perusing the San Francisco Chronicle during the actual attack. When he returned, he found a monitor that showed lines as usual; that is, moving so slowly they might almost appear to be stationary. It took him about ten minutes to figure out that this line was too static, even for the DMV. He couldn't see the employees jumping up and down disaffectedly in front of the camera, trying to inform him of a major security breach.

Further in, the TND toppled a youngish woman named Mildred, returning from the coffee dispenser. Their total ignorance of the building's topography didn't prevent them from running headlong into the every room. They just assumed each was the one they were looking for and set about storming the castle.

Mildred, the Damned Director's secretary, or Personal Assistant, as she liked to style herself, had attempted to stick to the wall in the face of the approaching youthful herd, but to no avail- the moment the heel of her nondescript cream-colored pump caught the frayed edge of Four's jeans, all was lost. She flipped until she was nearly horizontal in the air. The full-to-the-brim coffee pot she'd been carefully conveying to her boss had smacked into the ceiling above her, sending a spray of glass down that narrowly missed injuring Mildred. The coffee it had contained was, however, another story. Like fiery hot, nasty rain it cascaded from the sky, bathing Mildred, coating her with a sticky brown veneer. The TND were long gone by the time the Java Explosion obeyed the laws of gravity. Drenched, her satin blouse shriveled a bit. Mildred dragged her sticky, soggy body down the secret passage to her Master's Domain.

After dragging herself down the hall, her palm smacked a waist high red button. A door opened, revealing the back of an enormous chair and the top of a head. "Sir," Mildred clutched the doorframe, "I've been… violated!"

The head did not stir. "If it was in the break room I hope you cleaned up after-- we can't have another janitor quit on us."

"No, sir. I was attacked; I nearly died; I was scalded, sir!"

"So?" He persisted.

"Sir, I was scalded by… your coffee. They spilled it, sir." She stammered, continuing in an even weaker voice. "They spilled all of your coffee, sir-- every good-to-the-last-drop."

Slowly, the chair spun to face the door and the Scalded Secretary. "Mildred, they will pay. This will be a day of BLOOD. A SATURDAY OF BLOOD!" He panted with fury. "Send forth…my SHRINERS!"

And so a sopping Mildred went to carry out his dread plan.

"Do you have any idea where we're goin'?" Four asked as his team mates randomly barged into another room- this time apparently a storage facility for confiscated undercarriage lights and fuzzy dice. Five paused only to grab the best of each, in order to pimp out her truck with them.

"To the center of the base, obviously." One answered. "No matter how long it takes us. Revenge is a dish best served-- eventually. Next room!"

Two suddenly became aware of the low whirl of tiny wheels. "Guys! Guys, I think we're gonna have company!"

The team turned around, Abby closing the door to the latest room (reserved for confiscated car eight-track players) behind them.

Suddenly, the roar grew much louder, and an army of grown men in very tiny cars ripped around the corner. The cars were impressively decorated with flames, skulls and crossed bones, and one sentimental 'Mom' in a heart. The men wore diminutive maroon fezzes, and their faces were etched with fury-- Shriner Fury. They came to a stop with a screech.

The man in the tiniest car, decked out in a ridiculously large motorcycle jacket, squeaked the car's tiny horn threateningly. One got the impression that, had it been possible, he would have revved his microscopic engine. "The Hell's Angels Shriners challenge you intruders to… (and here he squeaked the horn again, somehow more threateningly) A RUMBLE!"

One raised an eyebrow. "You have GOT to be kidding."

The man honked in response. "We only joke about pulled fingers, boy. Do you twerps accept our challenge?"

"Oh, we accept alright," Four countered back, trying not to guffaw, "What are you gonna do, squeak us to death?"

"I agree," One added. "As you gangstas would say, it's on."

Five groaned and smacked her forehead. "Aw, man! That's lamer than Numbuh Two's lines. You's doin' it all wrong."

"Actually," The Shriner began, twisting his fez to the backward position (though with a fez, that's hard to tell), "We're gonna run you into the ground. Shriners, ATTACK!" At his command, the tiny cars massed forward, intent on overtaking the teenagers.

"TND, Attack!" One commanded, running into the fray, followed by his team. They were almost knocked over by a hairy man in leather chaps, but Four, tackled him and sent the car swerving off into the wall.

"Cool! Fun!" Three cried and jumped atop another car, bouncing to avoid its driver's panicked swipes.As the Teens scattered among the cars, One spotted the Head Shriner circling the group and making strategic jabs at the otherwise engaged operatives. Jumping over a pair of midgets in a single car, he landed solidly on the painted flame-covered hood. "Hold it right there," he directed.

"You want to take me on?" The man laughed. "Okay, brat, let's go!"

Sending his car into a spin, he aimed a punch at Nigel's face. The young man ducked, kicking out at the older man's head. The Hell's Angel Shriner, however, suddenly applied his breaks, nearly causing One to lose his balance. One's kick went much too high, and his foot connected not with the intended Shriner skull, but the maroon fez instead.

Both opponents watched, almost transfixed, as the fez spun through the air, as if in slow motion, only to land under the wheels of another tiny car. As the car moved forward in the heat of battle, it crushed the tiny fez beyond recognition.

"NO!" The Shriner screamed, aghast. He grabbed his skull as it seemed to shake.

"Lost-- powers! Lost Shriner skillz! Lost English ability! Noooooooo!" The man withered.

"Team, their weakness is the fez! Go for the f" Be" Bemused, Three flicked the fez off of her opponent and crushed it under her heel, leaving him a screaming, sniveling wreck, who abandoned the fight almost instantly. The rest of the team took note and copied her.

Grabbing the lead Shriner under his arms, One wrenched him out of the tiny car, pinning him down on the floor.

"Where's his office? Where's your Director? Talk, or the tiny transmission gets it!"

The Shriner sobbed. "It's too late for me now, to late for all of us- and our tasteful fezzes. He's down that hallway, in the door marked Women's Restroom." Abandoning his victim, One ordered the team to clean up the last of the opposition. The others finished up and followed One into the Women's Restroom, Numbuh Four wearing a pair of miniature fuzzy dice around his wrist like the spoils of war.

Behind the deceptive door, One blinked to adjust his eyes to the dark quickly. The glow from the black and white monitors contrasted sharply with the utter blackness of the rest of room. A baroque, high-backed chair dominated the area. Wordlessly, the agents examined the room as best they could to determine if the man in the chair had accomplices and readied their shots in case he resisted.

"Archibald McQuinn, Director of the Bay Area DMV?" One asked in a tight, frigid voice.

Slowly, the chair turned. In the screen's glow, they could just make out the wet shimmer of his eyes and the bristle of his sad moustache.

"That's correct, Mr. Uno, of the second class intermediate license with restrictions for eyesight. You've defeated my mighty Shriners and penetrated my lair-- but, in search of what? "

"That's Numbuh One to you!" Nigel spat, irritated that his team was again reminded that the sunglasses weren't just an addition to his already immense coolness. One of these days, they might even put two and two together and recognize him as the gigantic nerd he was. He hoped that day was far in the future-- say, post grad school.

"I'm charging you with crimes against the teens of the Bay Area! Your despicably loose interpretation of your duties is not only offensive and unfair, it demonstrates a lack of respect for your fellow drivers. Have you even seen a sixty-seven year old swerve into the bike lane? Have you?! How DARE you deny licenses to teens in the face of that kind of idiocy?" He snarled with disgust. "Having said that, I feel it necessary to remind you that we are not without recourse. In addition to your money laundering, I am obliged to inform you that we are fully aware of your dealings with… Mr. Fluffles."

"We are?" Five muttered, inaudibly.

"I don't think we want to know," Four said with assurance.

The Damned Director's eyes bulged, but with admirable control, he narrowed them again quickly. "You know nothing! You have no evidence to speak of! Who would believe you, even if you told the world? Who would ever believe a sixteen year old?"

"Seventeen," Nigel corrected primly. "And everyone, if he has a paper trail for the skimming of public funds and photographic evidence to demonstrate… your other activities. You have a good job that you don't deserve, and an attractive young wife whom you also don't deserve. Are you willing to lose both over petty personal bigotry?"

The man winced. Nigel smiled slowly, maliciously. "I thought not. So here's what you'll be doing: you'll immediately pick up the phone, dial the news stations and explain how terribly wrong you were, and that a public apology to the teens of the Bay is in order. Then you'll give it." His voice began to drip with malice, "And every word of it, no matter how your soul seethes, will be delivered with a smile. Then you'll change your idiotic law, explain to your superiors what an error of judgment it was, and tell the law enforcement that their thoughtful cooperation in cracking down on teens is no longer necessary."

"Is that all?" The man asked sarcastically, rubbing his hands on the armrests in a way that suggested suppressed rage.

"As a matter of fact," Nigel countered in an unnaturally cheery tone, "it isn't. You've ruined our perfectly good Saturday, and made an innocent girl cry. As compensation, you'll hand her a license here and now, shake her hand, and send her out into the wide, driving world."

"But she hasn't even taken a test!" The Damned Director protested.

One's voice lost all amiability as he snarled, "NOW."

And so ten minutes later a gleeful Kuki Sanban danced out of the DMV in front of her friends. She spun around the parking lot, brimming with unbridled joy.

"Good thinking," Two muttered to One. "She'd never 'ave gotten a license on her own-- she couldn't have passed the test, not in a thousand years. She can't even drive a massive bunny robot well enough to dodge giant turnip roots." One blinked, wondering what this had to do with ability to navigate the roads, but decided not to say anything to Two, for whom all driving was one homogenous art of combat.

"And thanks for the motorcycle licenses!" Four said in awe.

"Yeah," Five grinned, "Now Five can arrive in even more style."

"Oh, all in a days work," One said smugly. "I couldn't have done it without the help of my team."

"What I don't get," Four said meditatively as they walked to the plane, "Is how you knew all that dirt on that cat's piss Director in advance? I mean, it's bottler that you did, but when did you get a chance to read up on the bloke?"

One smiled at his bemused best friend fondly. "In response to possible threats on teen rights, I've compiled a database of likely offenders, their histories, their danger rating and their weaknesses. It's been the work of several months-- this has just been the first opportunity to make use of it." He grinned. "I have to say it came off splendidly."

Four felt a pang of guilt for having indulged in thoughts about One's deficiency as a leader the previous night.

"Boss?" He began as One climbed into the passenger seat. Nigel looked over his shoulder at him.

"Yes?" Nigel asked.

"You're- you're a phenomenal team leader, and we really all lucked out to be stationed under such a great guy as well as an incredible commander." Wally swallowed the thump in his throat, embarrassed. "An' that's all." He slid into the back seat.

One was touched as his other team members agreed or, in Abby's case, nodded judiciously. "Thanks guys. I wouldn't be a good leader if you weren't a phenomenal team."

"Enough mush, let's get home and get some lunch! I'm starvin'!" Four barked.

"I'll drive!" Kuki shouted enthusiastically, grabbing the keys from Hoagie's hand and racing to the driver's seat.

"Are, are you sure?" Hoagie stammered, trying not to show his terror at the prospect of Kuki behind the wheel.

"Positive!" Kuki shrieked. In mute horror, the team buckled in and prepared for the most… exciting ride of their lives.

…poor plane
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