Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego, God Help the Outcasts (the Dying Informant, 24)
Title: God Help the Outcasts
Author/Artist: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Theme(s): 24; You are not the person I thought you were
Character: the Dying Informant
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine (unless otherwise noted) and the story is!
Cross-posted to other LJ comms and my journal
Author’s Note: This fic is a loose adaptation of an RP idea I had that I enacted with Lucky Ladybug. It’s taken a change of direction from the RP, but a couple of things remain, specifically some of the Messenger’s dialogue in the climax, which was by Lucky Ladybug. Thanks to her for plot help! And, as always, the characters aren’t mine, and the story is. And if anything looks like a reference to either the Hunchback of Note Dame, the Phantom of the Opera, or any other fandom, it probably is
********************
What have you gotten yourself into…? the boy asked himself. You wanted to get a job. And now you’re a secret agent…?
It hadn’t even been a month since the young man had been hired as an Informant for ACME Crimenet. He had been busy with paperwork and settling down in his new quarters all this time, but soon, he would be embarking on his first official field assignment. He would be joining some other agents, but that didn’t help his nerves at all-they were going on their first assignment, as well.
The Chief had spoken to them about it earlier that day.
“I just thought I’d wish you good luck before you head out on your assignment,” she had said. Be careful; Eartha Brute may be slow-witted, but she can cause a lot of damage with those muscles of hers. You must retrieve that golden figurine she stole from the Louvre Museum.”
“Was it that Egyptian statue of Pharaoh Sethos and Queen Túaa that was brought to France by the Vicomte de Chagny?” the Informant had asked, recalling something he had read in an Egyptology book.
“You’ve done your homework,” the Chief had commented. “Yes, that’s the one. The four of you will depart for Paris first thing tomorrow.”
And the other three new agents, a Messenger, a Tech-net Techie, and an Inspector immediately began to discuss the case, the Techie blushing profusely as the Messenger went on to describe Paris as the City of Romance, and that there’d be French girls swarming the Techie, cooing “Ooh-la-la” in his ear.
The Informant sighed, returning to the present. It didn’t help that the other agents on this case already knew each other very well. He felt like the fourth wheel… an outcast. He would never fit it with them. The Inspector… He hardly spoke at all. The Techie was likeable; the Informant had to admit that. And the techie really seemed to be making an effort at making him feel welcome. But the Messenger… he was a nightmare. He seemed to be the self-appointed leader of the three, and he had wasted no time in annoying the Informant every chance he had. The boy couldn’t go anywhere without ducking at a flying object that the Messenger had thrown at him. Then there was the ill-timed humor; the Messenger found everything funny-even when things weren’t funny at all. Everything was just a big joke to him. And the belittling nickname, in the boy’s opinion, was the worst… “Infy”… Always “Infy.” The Messenger never addressed him by his proper name, and the boy knew that it was a clear sign from him that he was not a part of them.
More than once, the boy had wanted to leave ACME in the past few weeks, and it had always been the Techie who had pleaded for him to stay. They had been getting along so well that, solely for the Techie’s sake, he had stayed. The Informant had seen the way that the Messenger had teased the Techie, too, on several occasions-usually if the Informant wasn’t a favorable target.
The Informant glanced at the clock. The others were probably heading for breakfast now. If he cleaned up his room in the agents suites now, he could avoid the Messenger at the mess hall, grab a quick bite and meet them at the plane.
But his plans were thwarted by a knock on his door, which then opened.
“You up yet, Infy?”
“I don’t believe I said ‘come in’…” the boy replied.
The Messenger looked as though he was about to say something, but decided against it.
“You ready for this assignment?” he asked.
“I’ll be as ready as I’ll ever be,” the Informant said, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t get much sleep; I was thinking about this. Are you as nervous as I am?”
“What’s there to be nervous about?” asked the Messenger. “We’re just tailing a dim-witted bodybuilder.”
“You make it sound like a walk in the park,” the boy observed, as he tried to tidy up his room.
The older agent merely grinned in reply.
“I’ve learned some things in my life, and one of them is to treat everything as if it were a walk in the park. You could learn something from that, you know. I mean… look at you now; nobody told you to pick up your room. Just leave it alone; life’s too short to worry about trivial things like that, Infy…” he trailed off as the Informant glared at him again.
The boy just shook his head and went back to work. He must have told him a thousand times already about his name, and yet the Messenger always called him “Infy.” Was he just trying to get his goat? Or was that a sign that he wasn’t one of them yet… that he was still a newcomer and had to earn his place amongst them, and would continue to be looked down upon until he proved himself?
The Messenger was the only thing that was making the Informant’s stay at ACME unpleasant. Their personalities apparently clashed too much, in addition to the constant belittling. The Messenger was always carefree, and unworried. When he wasn’t talking with the Inspector and the Techie, or pulling pranks on everyone, the Messenger usually hovered around the Informant, who usually liked nothing more than to seclude himself with a book. Trying to read while the Messenger was around was a difficult task. Actually, trying to do anything with him around was a difficult task. The Informant was convinced that the older agent never took anything seriously, while the Messenger would constantly try (and fail) to get the younger boy to lighten up. But the Informant had to admit that if it hadn’t been for the Techie, he would have left ACME long ago; the Informant was looking for a place that he could call his home, and he already resolved that if he happened upon such a place, he would leave the others.
He was searching for home-a home without having to deal with craziness day in and day out… a home where he could bury his nose in his books and learn about various facts about the world.
“Look, you won’t do well on today’s mission if you don’t take some time for breakfast,” said the Messenger, literally dragging the Informant to the ACME mess hall.
“Just because you don’t see the importance of keeping your quarters clean doesn’t mean that I don’t!” the boy protested.
But the Messenger didn’t pay him any heed; he steered him to the table, and the Informant found himself having breakfast, unsure of how it happened.
The older agent also dug in, amused. There had to be a way to get him to loosen up, and he was determined to find it. He had been pleased when the Informant had decided to join ACME; not only was the boy bright and sharp, but the Messenger finally had someone who could potentially be his partner in crime-the younger brother he had always wanted but never had. But the Informant was determined to act like a loner, always going off to read another book.
One of these days, Infy, you’ll come around to my way of thinking, the Messenger mused.
At least, that was what he hoped.
He meant no disrespect by calling him “Infy.” He had almost tried to explain that to him just a few minutes ago, but he didn’t think that the boy would’ve been in the mood to listen.
“Where’s everyone else?” asked the Informant, looking around for the Inspector and the Techie.
“Oh,” the older agent said, his voice muffled by the food. “They already ate; they’re packing up now. I read them the mission briefing papers.”
“Can I take a look at those?” asked the Informant.
“Sure!” the Messenger said, taking out a various assortment of origami. “Here’s page one…” he said, blowing a paper crane in the boy’s direction. “Here’s page two…” He tossed a paper football at him. “And here’s page three.” He threw a paper airplane at him, which hit the boy right on the nose.
The Informant glared at the Messenger furiously for several moments before seizing the folded papers and storming back up to the agents’ suites, leaving him behind with a very bewildered look on his face.
“That’s it! That’s IT!” he fumed to the Techie as he walked by him and the Inspector, who were out in the corridor. He turned to the brunet. “I can’t take this anymore. He’s driving me crazy! It’s either me or him, and I’m all too happy to go!”
“Oh…” said the Techie, looking at him, worriedly. It wasn’t the first time the boy had made such a statement, but he really did seem to mean it this time. “But, you…” He trailed off. “You have a papercut on your nose…”
“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” the Informant asked. “You can thank the Messenger for that-him and his stupid paper airplane that was supposed to have been the mission briefing paper!”
The Techie placed an understanding arm around him.
“Try to understand…” he said. “He doesn’t mean any harm… Can’t you give him another chance?”
“He’s just trying to have a little fun,” added the Inspector.
“That’s just it!” the boy fumed. “Can’t he take anything seriously!? And as for giving him chances… I must’ve given him at least a hundred…” He trailed off as the Messenger himself appeared in the corridor. Had he heard everything? Well, at that point, the boy didn’t care. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the non-insanity section, packing.”
“I thought you packed last night…” said the Messenger.
“Yeah, for Paris,” the boy retorted. “I’m packing for moving out. The second we get back here, I’m gone.”
“He’s leaving?” the Messenger asked, bewildered. “But it’s only our first assignment. Hey, Infy, there’s no need to quit now; you haven’t even had a chance to mess up yet!”
The Inspector slapped his forehead.
“I’ll talk to him; you try to stop the Informant from leaving,” he said to the Techie.
The Techie nodded, entering the Informant’s room to see him meticulously packing things into large suitcases.
“Hey…” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t leave…”
He sounded so dejected that the boy paused to reconsider.
“I’m sorry…” he said. “But it’s either me or him…”
“Does it really have to be this way?” asked the Techie. “If it’s worth anything at all to you, I don’t want you to leave.”
“It does mean a lot,” the boy said. “But I just don’t fit in.”
“What are you talking about!? Of course you fit in!” the Techie exclaimed. He had done his best to make the boy feel welcome, and it hurt to realize that it apparently hadn’t been enough. “Didn’t I tell you that I’d be there for you if you needed anything?”
“You did,” said the Informant. “And I am grateful. You and the Inspector have both tried to make me feel welcome. But it’s not you two that are the problem here. The Messenger has made it clear on no uncertain terms that I’m not one of you.” He slammed the suitcase shut and pulled out another one, beginning to arrange items inside of it.
The Techie didn’t know what to do. Poor Messenger! If he only knew what the Informant was saying… He just didn’t realize that not everyone understood his brand of humor, or realized the fact that brotherly teasing was his way of showing that he cared.
“It’s just not working out for me here,” the Informant went on. “But I’ll keep in touch with you, though. Don’t worry; you haven’t seen the last of me.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that…”
Meanwhile, outside the room, a very perplexed Messenger gave the Inspector a questioning look.
“What is going on here?” he asked. “Was it something I said? Something I did…?”
“In a word, yes,” the Inspector replied, honestly. “Look, I know you think that it’s great that you want to try to sell your sense of humor. But he’s not buying it.”
“Yeah, I know…” the Messenger sighed. “Talk about uptight…! But, no worries…” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll mellow him out eventually, if he doesn’t leave.”
The Inspector sighed. He had to know the truth.
“Actually… Your attempts at trying to mellow him out are the exact reasons why he’s leaving.”
The Messenger blinked.
“You’re kidding…” he said, incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding! Everyone likes a bit of humor and a wacky sibling to provide it.”
“He doesn’t,” said the Inspector. “You need to realize that. He thinks you’re insulting him--”
“Oh, come on!” he replied. “You know me well; would I ever insult someone I thought that highly of? That kid is the little brother I never had, if he’d only come around to my way of thinking.”
“He doesn’t like your way of thinking,” said the Inspector. “And he’s not too crazy about you, either. Face it… You two are just clashing too much.”
“I don’t see it,” the Messenger replied.
“He’d rather sit down to read a book, but you don’t give him the quiet he wants.”
“Well, yeah,” he replied. “I’m trying to make him one of us, and he’s not going to be one of us if he keeps walling himself off! So I try to get him in on the action… make a few jokes… toss him a few--”
“And that’s another thing,” said the Inspector, cutting him off. “He doesn’t see it as you trying to make him one of us. He sees it as the opposite. He thinks that you’ve branded him as an outcast.”
“Now you’re pulling my leg, right?” the Messenger asked. “Come on. Do you honestly expect me to believe that for everything I do, Infy sees it as the exact opposite?”
“And that’s yet another thing. He hates it when you call him that.”
“I’m just trying to--”
“That’s not how he sees it,” the Inspector insisted.
“Okay, okay,” said the Messenger, finding this oddly amusing. “I see how this is. So if my attempts at friendship make Infy think I hate him, maybe if I get into a fist fight with him, it’ll make him feel welcome? Or if I trip him? Or maybe some other form of mild, quickly-recoverable injury?”
“That paper airplane you tossed at him just a few minutes ago gave him a papercut on the nose,” said the Inspector. “It only made it worse.”
“The way you talk, it’s like I’m in a no-win situation…” said the Messenger, folding his arms.
“I hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what you’re in at the moment. My advice is that you give him some space. And maybe an apology won’t go amiss.”
“An apology…” the Messenger trailed off, smiling. “You’re a genius!”
He headed towards the Informant’s room.
“Wait!” said the Inspector. “I was thinking that a written apology might be a better--”
“Hey!” the Messenger exclaimed, entering the room. The Informant went rigid, his face growing cold. “Hey, listen… Infy, I think we got off on the wrong foot here… Sorry about that paper airplane thing… What say we start over? No hard feelings?”
The Informant glared at him so icily that the grin faded from the older agent’s face.
“Are you for real?” he asked, in such a tone that the Inspector and the Techie both flinched. “Start over? Look; I’m not the stupid little kid you think I am. You think I’m just going to blindly agree to whatever you say!? Well, I’ve got news for you; I’m sharper than that. I can see right through your little ploy. You want me to let my guard down even further so you can really let me have it. Well, it’s not happening. I won’t let it happen. And I’m not taking any more from you! Just stay out of my way, and stay out of my life!”
The Techie could only stare, horrified, as the boy shoved the older agent out of the room and slammed the door shut. The Messenger just stared at the wooden door, the Inspector standing behind him.
“Okay, Infy…” he said, softly and dejectedly. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“Listen…” said the Inspector, as the Messenger wandered back to his room.
“I’m alright,” he promised. “Don’t worry… I can take it…”
“This must be a bit of a shock to you,” said the Inspector. “You’re generally a very likeable person, and you’re used to getting positive feedback. But you can’t be everybody’s friend.
“I don’t want to be everybody’s friend…” he replied. “All I want is to be Infy’s friend.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you,” said the Inspector. “But maybe if you gave him a little space and a little time, he’ll learn to warm up to you.”
The Messenger nodded, glumly.
“If he doesn’t leave…” he said. “Techie can only do so much…”
And the poor Techie was one step away from resorting to getting down on his knees and begging the Informant not to go.
“Okay…” sighed the boy. “For your sake, I won’t quit ACME. I’ll stay on, and I’ll request to work with you. But I am not living here. You understand why, don’t you?”
The Techie could only nod. The boy was staying with ACME; that was a step in the right direction. Maybe he would eventually come home…
“But where will you stay?” he asked his friend.
The Informant paused.
“I’ll just find my own place…” he said.
“In the city…?” asked the Techie. “I don’t think that’s the safest idea, living alone downtown like that…” He trailed off. “If you’re working for an agency, what’ll happen when the enemy agents find out where you’re staying? You’d be much safer here.”
“I’d be physically safer,” said the Informant. “But I’m in danger of going crazy if I have to stay under the same roof as him.”
The Techie was on the verge of breaking down. He was throwing in the towel; there was nothing he could do to convince the boy to understand what the Messenger was trying to do.
****************************
The Informant was silent during the flight to Paris, as was the Messenger, who was purposefully trying to keep his distance from the boy. It hurt to know that his attempts at breaking the ice had only made him colder. And not even the Techie was helping him at this point; the Informant didn’t even say anything to him.
It was only upon landing that the Messenger gave them their itinerary from the mission papers.
“We need to investigate an abandoned mansion before we head to the Louvre,” he said. “We’ll find our necessary equipment, like skeleton keys and codes, in there. But we’ll have to be careful; apparently, the enemy uses that manor, too. Eartha might be in there.”
“What exactly is this place called?” asked the Inspector.
“Chagny Manor,” the Informant said. “The last owner of the manor was the one who found the golden statue that Eartha stole. His daughters moved abroad, and after he died, the estate was abandoned. Since then, it’s fallen into disrepair, but proves to be a safe haven for spies and thieves.”
The Techie glanced at him, amazed. He listed that before the brunet had even had a chance to look it up on his handheld.
“Behold, he speaks!” the Messenger blurted out without thinking. Immediately, he regretted it when the Informant glared at him.
The boy wordlessly headed for the driver from ACME Chauffer-Net and his waiting ACME car.
“I did it again…” the older agent realized.
And the trip to the manor was spent in silence. The Techie was able to open the old doors of the manor, leading them through a hall and into the furnished drawing room. The Informant paused to glance at a large portrait of the Vicomte and his wife, which rested over the mantle, veiled in a curtain of dust.
“Here are the keys,” said the Techie, picking them up from within a vase. “These will get us in…”
He trailed off upon hearing a noisy creaking sound. The Messenger had sat in one of the old Victorian-era pieces of furniture, which had protested against his weight. He got up, turning red.
“Sorry…” he said, sheepishly, brushing the dust off of his clothes.
“Smart,” commented the Informant. “Wreck the antiques. I’ll bet the Chief would love to hear about that…”
The Techie didn’t know what to do.
“Well… Let’s just… Let’s just go…” he said, not wanting to see this enmity increasing any further. He dashed back outside, prompting the Inspector to run after him
“I can’t stand it…” the Techie said, not even sure if the Informant and the Messenger were in earshot. “I can’t stand to see them like this. I don’t know what I can do…!”
The Inspector placed a hand on his shoulder.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said. “That’s the harsh truth about it. We’ve done all we can by explaining the problem and asking the Informant to stay. Whatever happens now is out of our hands.”
The Techie sighed. It wasn’t good enough for him. The Messenger was not going to be happy until the Informant was his friend. And the young agent would never be happy that way.
The Messenger, in the meantime, had tried to stop the boy as he left.
“Infy…” he said, before he could catch himself. “Infy, whatever I did… I’m sorry… I… I just want--”
“The day you’re sorry about anything is the day the cows fly home,” the Informant retorted. “You don’t take anything seriously; how do you expect me to believe that this is any different?”
“Because it’s coming from my heart,” the Messenger retorted.
“Please…” said the boy, sardonically. “I know your type. You don’t have a heart, because nothing matters to you expect having a good time-even if it’s at someone else’s expense. You try to win them over, then stab them in the back while you laugh in their face! Well, I’m sick of it! It’s not going to happen to me anymore!”
He stormed out.
“My ‘type’…?” the Messenger asked, bewildered. “Happen ‘anymore’…?” And suddenly, something began to click. The Informant… Poor little Infy must have known someone who was as much of a joker as the Messenger was. And, obviously, he had had bad experiences with him…
The older agent clenched a fist. How could anyone toy with someone’s emotions like that…? And that was why the kid was so distrustful… That was why he hated him now.
“Oh, Infy…” he said, quietly. “I can’t let you lose your faith just like that. If you’ll just believe in me, you’ll see I’m not like that creep who turned you into this ice-cold cynic…”
Now, more than ever, he was determined to reach the boy who needed an elder brother more than he realized.
********************************
Having successfully entered the Louvre, the ACME agents wandered around, looking for the Mona Lisa.
“Here it is,” said the Inspector, training his flashlight on the famous painting.
“The Chief said we have to speak to the Mona Lisa…” said the Informant. “Is there a microphone transmitter in there, or something…? I mean… How does it work?”
“What do you think…!?” the lady in the painting seemed to chide him, in a heavy accent, no less. “You only need to ask!”
The boy yelped, leaping backwards. She could talk!
The Messenger glanced at the talking painting in a mixture of amusement and bemusement.
“Now that’s a really good trick,” he commented. “I honestly thought--”
“Foolish boy, I am not a trick!” came the shrew’s reply.
“Uh… Yes, Signora… Whatever you say, Signora…” the Messenger replied. He glanced at the others, shrugging helplessly, and it seemed as though that even the Informant had temporarily forgotten their feud.
“You are here to capture Eartha Brute, who took the golden figurines of Sethos and Túaa, yes…?” the woman in the portrait asked.
“That’s right, Signora…”
“She went down a tunnel in the floor,” said the portrait. “Behind you, you’ll see a loose panel of the floor. It leads to the network of underground passageways in the Paris Catacombs.”
“You mean the tunnels make out of skulls…?” asked the Informant.
“Yes,” she replied. “It is said that the legendary Opera Ghost knew his way around them. And I suggest you learn your way around them quickly, or else the Egyptian statue will become Carmen’s new paperweight!”
The Messenger saluted her.
“Right away, Signora!” he said, tipping his hat to her. But as he turned away, he muttered under his breath, “Man, she’s as uptight as Infy is…”
“I heard that!” boy and painting both retorted.
“Well, it’s not like it isn’t true…!” the Messenger shot back, before he could stop himself. He was getting frustrated… frustrated and hurt that the Informant would peg him based on his experience with one person who just happened to be a creep.
“Stop it!” cried the Techie, before the Informant could say anything else. “Both of you, just stop it right now! We’re supposed to be working together as a team…!” He sighed, despairing as he glanced at two of his closest friends. Not knowing what else to say, he proceeded to open the panel in the floor as the Informant glared daggers at the Messenger, who was quickly losing the fight in him. Why… Why had he snapped? The Informant would never trust him now…
The Messenger pretended to look around the gallery once before they left. In reality, though, he didn’t want anyone to see the unshed tear that had crept its way into his eye.
He quickly put on his normal disposition as they wandered into the passageway of the Catacombs. He wasn’t bothered by the skulls in the walls at all.
“Nothing bothers you, does it?” asked the Informant. “You just take everything so lightly…!”
“Well, somebody’s got to,” he replied. “You should lighten up yourself, Infy. Free your inner Yorik the Jester.” Picking up a loose skull, he studied it for a moment as they walked. “Alas, I knew thee well…” he said, melodramatically.
The Inspector and the Techie both chuckled, but the Informant’s furious expression was visible even in the dim beams of their flashlights.
“Even an old, dead skull is funny to you!?” asked the boy, turning to walk backwards to face him. “Isn’t there anything you take seriously, or is it all just one big joke to you!? You really are just like--”
“Look out!” exclaimed the Inspector, aiming his flashlight ahead. “There’s a drop--!”
The boy cried out as stumbled backwards, falling into the empty pit. Or, at least, he would have. The Messenger, who was closest, had leaped forward and seized the boy’s wrist.
“I have you, Infy!” he said, finally sounding serious. “Just hold on; I’ll get you out--”
“The floor!” cried the Techie, rushing forward with the Inspector. “It’s going to--”
He never got to finish his warning; the floor began to crumble away beneath the Messenger’s feet, sending him and the Informant into the drop.
“NO!” cried the Techie, as their screams faded into the distance. He sank to his knees. “No…”
“It’s not over for them yet,” said the Inspector. “Maybe it wasn’t too far a drop… We’ll find them.”
The Techie shook his head.
“They’ll never make it…” he realized. “The Informant will never forgive him for this… He’ll probably order him to go a different way…”
“Listen,” said the Inspector, wishing he could lift the Techie’s spirits. “We’ll find the both of them. Look… there’s another tunnel here; it slopes downward. Come on.”
*****************************
The Informant groaned as he came to, his eyes adjusting to the dim flashlight. He vision was still blurred, but as he struggled to focus, a large, toothy skull came into his line of vision, its empty eye sockets millimeters from the boy’s face.
“Aurgh!” he yelled in a panic, scrambling to get away. And then he began to fume. “I don’t believe you!” he snarled, searching for the Messenger. “Even when we fall down a…” He trailed off. The Messenger had only fallen because he had been trying to help him… in spite of everything that he had said. But where was he…?
He called out at last for him, half-heartedly.
The Messenger was busy tending to his ankle, when had twisted in the fall. It would be a slow, painful walk for the rest of the mission. However, he managed to put on a brave face.
“You alright, Infy?” he asked, without thinking. And he regretted it when the Informant’s expression darkened even further. If he had thought that trying to rush to help the boy would help to calm the feud, he was sadly mistaken.
“I’m just fine,” the boy quipped as he got to his feet and began to walk through the tunnels. “Stay out of my way, and I’ll be even better.”
Now why are you talking like that? his mind chided him. He just got hurt trying to help you. And he knew how you felt about him, too.
“Are… Can you walk…?” he asked at last.
The Messenger grinned.
“I’ll manage,” he said. “It takes a lot to keep me down, Infy!”
But look at him… said the other part of the boy’s brain. He’s not even taking this seriously. He’s only going to make things even more miserable for me…
The Informant glanced back furiously at him, who was limping along behind him. The Messenger managed to crack a smile, which only seemed to make the boy feel even angrier.
What am I doing wrong…? the Messenger asked himself. Even when I’m trying to be sincere, he still thinks I’m out to get him.
And it hurt.
“Infy, wait up,” he said. “It’s no good if we get separated.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” the boy shot back. “Even with your little attempt-to-rescue-the-outcast routine, I can see right through you, so why don’t you just drop the charade and tell me what you want from me!?”
All I want is a little brother. Why can’t he see that…?
“What do you want!?” the Informant cried. He was convinced that the second he could get the Messenger to confess and stop playing this game, he would be able to get the upper hand.
The older agent just glanced at the boy, his expression unreadable.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“Well, you don’t have to tell me,” the Informant snarled, turning back to face the front as he walked, not wanting another fall. “I know exactly what you want-you want a scapegoat; you want someone you can lead on and then abandon. So that’s why you’re trying to sucker me into this fake friendship. You’ll find the perfect opportunity to leave me high and dry, and then you’ll just laugh at me like everything else you laugh at. I know it, because I’ve been there before.”
“I gathered that much,” said the Messenger. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me what happened?”
“Why? You want another reason to laugh at me?” the boy asked.
“No…!” the older agent exclaimed. “Infy, maybe if you talk about it, it won’t be hovering over you with all that weight…!”
“You’re a great actor,” the boy replied. “You almost sound like you really do care.”
The poor Messenger was reaching his breaking point. Even when he wasn’t playing any pranks, the Informant seemed to dislike him all the same.
“Look, just leave me alone, and if you don’t want to be left behind, try to keep up,” the Informant finished.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” the Messenger replied. And I know you won’t…
But he was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps.
“Eartha…!” he exclaimed.
The Informant gasped, running ahead.
“Infy, no! Wait for me…! Whoa…” He trailed off as the ground shook from a tremor. The Informant froze in place as he felt it, too. After it had gone, he took off after Eartha again.
The others had felt the tremor, too.
“Some of these old tunnels must be ready to collapse…” said the Inspector, proceeding after he was sure the rumbling was over.
“Oh, no…” said the Techie, realizing the danger that their friends were in. “We have to find them…!” He paused as his flashlight beam caught something. “It’s a V.I.L.E. ID card for Eartha!”
“There’s a way down into the lower levels, here… She’s probably down there,” said the Inspector, as he found a sloping tunnel. He placed his hand on the wall for support as he walked, hastily letting go when he realized that he was directly touching the skulls. “I hope they’ll be okay if they run into her…”
And they were just about to do so. The Informant followed the tunnel to a strange, underground city that had been abandoned long ago. The old, stone houses were crumbling, and the large pavilion was being held up by old pillars.
“This must be the Court of Miracles…” he said, aloud, more to himself than to the Messenger, who was struggling to keep up with his twisted ankle. “It was an old town of gypsies…” And they were outcasts, too. “I’ll bet Eartha came by to pillage whatever she could from this old village…!”
The Messenger had to hold onto the stone buildings just to keep up with the Informant. And even then, the boy was pulling ahead of him, trying to sneak up on a tall, muscular figure with a ridiculous beehive hairdo.
The Informant would need backup. Realizing this, the Messenger reached for a skull that lay at his feet, slowly creeping towards Eartha from the other side.
The Informant, in the meantime, was also creeping from his side. Eartha, based on the look on her face, had gotten lost while trying to make her getaway. But, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Messenger approaching, skull in hand.
But then, the older youth’s twisted ankle betrayed him, sending him tripping forward. The skull launched from his hand, and as Eartha turned, it bounced off of her nose.
“Who do ya think you are!?” she boomed, unsure of who this newcomer was.
“Uh… You’re under arrest by orders of ACME Chrome Nut!” the Messenger declared, pulling out a pair of handcuffs as he got to his feet.
The Informant slapped his forehead. Crimenet! he mentally hissed.
The weightlifter’s eyes widened. ACME!? How could they have been on to her so easily?
“I don’t come along quietly!” she boomed. “You can barely stand. There’s no way you can take me!”
“No, but I can!” said the Informant, snapping the handcuffs around Eartha’s wrists. She stared dumbly at the cuffs as the boy took the Egyptian figurine from her, placing it in his trenchcoat pocket. “Well, that was easy. Mission accomplished!”
He didn’t thank the Messenger for his help; he just led Eartha further through the village, hoping that there was another way out. But something didn’t seem right. For someone who claimed to never come along quietly, Eartha was actually being very cooperative.
The older agent noticed it, too.
“Don’t get too overconfident, Infy,” he said. “I have a feeling she has another trick or two up her sleeve…” He trailed off. Eartha didn’t have sleeves.
But that was the least of his worries; the Informant had turned around to glare at him again.
It was all that Eartha needed. As the boy was occupied, she snapped the chain of the handcuffs in half and struck him, sending him flying. The boy cried out, crashing to the floor of the pavilion.
“Infy!” the Messenger cried out, but now Eartha turned on him.
“Aww, what’s the matter?” she asked, as the Messenger tried to limp into a retreat. “Has the little ACME agent hurt his leg? Lemme take a look… I can make you forget about it by givin’ ya something else to worry about!”
She threw a punch at him, who dove out of the way at the last moment. Eartha missed him completely, and ended up striking one of the old support columns, which began to crumble. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had done.
The crumbling support pillar was all that it took for the weakened cave roof above it to give way. The Informant was close to a doorway; he could take shelter inside. But the Messenger… With his twisted ankle, he’d never make it out of the way in time. The young agent gritted his teeth. He may not have been fond of him, but he certainly wouldn’t wish this on anybody… especially when that twisted ankle was the Informant’s own fault.
It took the boy only an instant to assess the situation. He ran as the Messenger tried to limp out of the way, tackling him, sending him flying off of the pavilion. He didn’t have a chance to see where he landed; something massive came crashing down upon him, and the boy’s world went dark.
The Messenger, however, cried out as he was sent flying.
“Hey!” he yelped, as everything came crashing down. He lay there for a moment, stunned, as the weakened part of the ceiling finally stopped falling. “Infy…?”
Eartha certainly wouldn’t have saved his life like that, and she was lying trapped under a piece of pillar anyway-stunned, but otherwise alright.
“Infy!?” Panic was rising in the Messenger voice. “Infy, can you hear me!?”
And that was when he noticed the hand sticking out from within the debris.
“INFY!” he cried, crawling over and trying to dig the boy out. After what seemed like an eternity, he succeeded. Checking for a pulse, he pleaded for the boy to waken.
“You didn’t even like me…” he realized. “And yet you still did this for me…?” He didn’t deserve this fate! He did not! “Infy, wake up!”
The Dying Informant tried desperately to hang on to the last vestiges of consciousness. He opened his eyes slightly, and he glanced at the person whom he couldn't stand, but had sacrificed himself for all the same.
"I... I'm sorry..." he whispered. "Your ankle... my fault..." He shuddered, realizing what was happening to him. Retribution.
He had ruined everything. He had come between the friendships of the others, being the fourth wheel. He had instigated all of the arguments and fights between him and the good-natured Messenger. He had been responsible for the older agent’s injury. He was the reason why they had been trapped. He was the reason why Eartha had gotten away, even though she was still lying stunned.
"All my life..." the Dying Informant said, the darkness beginning to descend upon him once more. "I had been searching for a place I could call home. I should've taken all of those hints that you were trying to give me... I don't belong... I don't belong with you or the others. I don't belong anywhere..." A tear fell from his eye. "I just get in the way of everything. But don't worry..." Another shudder, another tear. "I'll never get in your way again. Or anyone else's."
Those were his words as the darkness began to descend upon him once again.
The Messenger was too horrified to say a word as the Dying Informant spoke, but as the boy began to go limp again, he cried out to him, trying desperately to let him know the truth.
"No!" he screamed. "Infy, you can't go! Not like this!" But it was no use. His voice lowered, cracking. "... You have it all wrong," he protested. "You have it all wrong!"
But the boy did not respond.
"This was my fault," the older agent choked out. "All of it.... I was just teasing ... like a brother would, you know? Infy ..." But he could not speak anymore as the realization struck him: he was responsible for hurting someone he had wanted only to befriend.
He hardly ever cried, but now he held the boy close, sobbing.
But he could feel a slight pulse; the boy was alive. But he didn’t seem to be fighting back to consciousness.
“Infy, what’s wrong…?!” he cried. “Why aren’t you fighting it!?”
And, somewhere, as though from far away, he could hear the boy’s reply in his own mind.
“I don't belong there, and I only get in everyone's way. Why would anyone want me back?"
“It’s not true!” the Messenger cried. “It’s not! You do belong with us, and we all want you back-that includes me!” He sobbed quietly. “I’ll do anything if you just come back… Even if it means that you’ll never want me to talk to you again…”
“Why… Why on Earth would you want me to come back…?”
“I never wanted you to leave!” cried the Messenger, his voice laced with unmistakable agony. “I said you wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth...." He swallowed. "I thought of you like a younger brother.... The snowballs, the name ... it was all because of that.... I didn't know it really bothered you so bad.... I didn't have any idea, I was told yesterday.... I thought it was just ... some sibling fun. But ... I made you feel unwelcome. I'm sorry...." He shook his head. "This is my fault...." He stared down at the pained expression on the limp form's face. The last words the boy had said had cut deep into his heart.
The Dying Informant was stunned, unable to reply. All this time, he had thought he had been unwanted and looked down upon... The Techie had been right all along...
"I..." he said in disbelief. "I... I thought... I thought you didn't like me... I didn't try to understand because I automatically thought that I was an outsider... I'm so sorry... It's not your fault; it's mine... I was too stupid and too thick-headed to understand you... thinking that you were just like some creep I used to know… Maybe... maybe I deserve this.. ."
He trailed off as he heard voices calling for them.
The Messenger looked up as the Techie and the Inspector finally found them.
“No…!” gasped the Techie, horrified to see the boy in such a condition. He had been so worried that something like this was going to happen, and now it had…
“What happened to him!?” asked the Inspector.
“He sacrificed himself to save me, even though he hated me!” the Messenger replied, haunted. “I’ve been trying to bring him back, but… He doesn’t seem to want to…!” He was trying hard not to sob. “All I wanted was a little brother, and all I did was hurt him…!”
“Please come back!” begged the Techie to the Dying Informant. “Can’t you hear him!? Can’t you hear how much he wants you to come back… how much we all want you to come back!?”
“You are one of us-you always were!” added the Inspector.
“You’re just trying to make me feel better…”
“No, it’s true! It’s all true!” the Messenger cried, in hysterics now. He held the boy close. And the boy had to realize that there was no way he could be faking this pain.
“You… You really want me to come back…”
A new hope seemed to take seed in the boy. And, at last, he stirred, looking up at the Messenger.
“Hey, Bro…” he said with a smile. “Why so sad…?”
The Messenger stared at him for a moment, hardly daring to believe it, but let out a laugh of relief as he glomped his newfound little brother.
**********************************
The Informant dozed for some time on the flight back, and awoke to see the Messenger beside him, working intently on something on a crumpled piece of paper.
“What’s that…?” the boy asked, yawning.
“Case report!” the older agent announced.
The Informant glanced at the crumpled-up papers and shook his head, laughing at last.
The Techie looked in relief, and he and the Inspector walked over to join them. Eartha, who had been gifted with five sets of handcuffs, merely scowled as she sat in her seat.
The Messenger grinned broadly, but then his smile faded slightly.
“What’s wrong?” asked the boy.
“I just remembered something…” the older agent said. “Back there… You were telling me that I was reminding you of someone you knew. And that was why it took you so long to trust me…”
The boy looked out the window for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” the Informant said. “It wasn’t fair to you, being pegged like that. But I guess I’ve been affected by what happened. I knew this kid when I was younger… I was fifteen at the time. I had been a loner for most of my childhood, and then I met him. He had a little group of friends, and he said that I could join them.
“He was as crazy as you are. He had us doing all sorts of crazy things… Got us into a bit of trouble, too… but then one night, we were playing ghost in an old, abandoned house… He had placed one of the candles too close to an old curtain, and had forgotten about it. The place went up…
The old roof kept crashing around us, and, at one point, it came down in front of me, and I was trapped. So I yelled for him to help me.” He trembled. “He didn’t. He said that I wasn’t worthy of rescue… that I was an idiot for believing that I belonged anywhere… that I was nothing but a big joke… and that if I somehow made it out of that house, I could be his scapegoat and take the blame for what had happened. He abandoned me there, and I haven’t seen him again since.”
The others stared at the boy, open-mouthed and horrified.
“Somehow, I managed to find another way out, and I didn’t get into trouble,” the Informant went on. “But I guess it made me wary about trusting pranksters. I’m sorry, Bro.”
The Messenger placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I love harmless pranks,” he promised. “Never ones that would hurt anyone. Infy, I promise… You can trust me.”
“I wish I’d realized that sooner…”
“Well, better late than never!” the older agent replied, glomping him again. The Techie and the Inspector joined the group hug, too, and the Informant just laughed.
He was not an outcast, he realized. The Informant had found his true home at last.
Author/Artist: Crystal Rose of Pollux (rose_of_pollux)
Theme(s): 24; You are not the person I thought you were
Character: the Dying Informant
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine (unless otherwise noted) and the story is!
Cross-posted to other LJ comms and my journal
Author’s Note: This fic is a loose adaptation of an RP idea I had that I enacted with Lucky Ladybug. It’s taken a change of direction from the RP, but a couple of things remain, specifically some of the Messenger’s dialogue in the climax, which was by Lucky Ladybug. Thanks to her for plot help! And, as always, the characters aren’t mine, and the story is. And if anything looks like a reference to either the Hunchback of Note Dame, the Phantom of the Opera, or any other fandom, it probably is
********************
What have you gotten yourself into…? the boy asked himself. You wanted to get a job. And now you’re a secret agent…?
It hadn’t even been a month since the young man had been hired as an Informant for ACME Crimenet. He had been busy with paperwork and settling down in his new quarters all this time, but soon, he would be embarking on his first official field assignment. He would be joining some other agents, but that didn’t help his nerves at all-they were going on their first assignment, as well.
The Chief had spoken to them about it earlier that day.
“I just thought I’d wish you good luck before you head out on your assignment,” she had said. Be careful; Eartha Brute may be slow-witted, but she can cause a lot of damage with those muscles of hers. You must retrieve that golden figurine she stole from the Louvre Museum.”
“Was it that Egyptian statue of Pharaoh Sethos and Queen Túaa that was brought to France by the Vicomte de Chagny?” the Informant had asked, recalling something he had read in an Egyptology book.
“You’ve done your homework,” the Chief had commented. “Yes, that’s the one. The four of you will depart for Paris first thing tomorrow.”
And the other three new agents, a Messenger, a Tech-net Techie, and an Inspector immediately began to discuss the case, the Techie blushing profusely as the Messenger went on to describe Paris as the City of Romance, and that there’d be French girls swarming the Techie, cooing “Ooh-la-la” in his ear.
The Informant sighed, returning to the present. It didn’t help that the other agents on this case already knew each other very well. He felt like the fourth wheel… an outcast. He would never fit it with them. The Inspector… He hardly spoke at all. The Techie was likeable; the Informant had to admit that. And the techie really seemed to be making an effort at making him feel welcome. But the Messenger… he was a nightmare. He seemed to be the self-appointed leader of the three, and he had wasted no time in annoying the Informant every chance he had. The boy couldn’t go anywhere without ducking at a flying object that the Messenger had thrown at him. Then there was the ill-timed humor; the Messenger found everything funny-even when things weren’t funny at all. Everything was just a big joke to him. And the belittling nickname, in the boy’s opinion, was the worst… “Infy”… Always “Infy.” The Messenger never addressed him by his proper name, and the boy knew that it was a clear sign from him that he was not a part of them.
More than once, the boy had wanted to leave ACME in the past few weeks, and it had always been the Techie who had pleaded for him to stay. They had been getting along so well that, solely for the Techie’s sake, he had stayed. The Informant had seen the way that the Messenger had teased the Techie, too, on several occasions-usually if the Informant wasn’t a favorable target.
The Informant glanced at the clock. The others were probably heading for breakfast now. If he cleaned up his room in the agents suites now, he could avoid the Messenger at the mess hall, grab a quick bite and meet them at the plane.
But his plans were thwarted by a knock on his door, which then opened.
“You up yet, Infy?”
“I don’t believe I said ‘come in’…” the boy replied.
The Messenger looked as though he was about to say something, but decided against it.
“You ready for this assignment?” he asked.
“I’ll be as ready as I’ll ever be,” the Informant said, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t get much sleep; I was thinking about this. Are you as nervous as I am?”
“What’s there to be nervous about?” asked the Messenger. “We’re just tailing a dim-witted bodybuilder.”
“You make it sound like a walk in the park,” the boy observed, as he tried to tidy up his room.
The older agent merely grinned in reply.
“I’ve learned some things in my life, and one of them is to treat everything as if it were a walk in the park. You could learn something from that, you know. I mean… look at you now; nobody told you to pick up your room. Just leave it alone; life’s too short to worry about trivial things like that, Infy…” he trailed off as the Informant glared at him again.
The boy just shook his head and went back to work. He must have told him a thousand times already about his name, and yet the Messenger always called him “Infy.” Was he just trying to get his goat? Or was that a sign that he wasn’t one of them yet… that he was still a newcomer and had to earn his place amongst them, and would continue to be looked down upon until he proved himself?
The Messenger was the only thing that was making the Informant’s stay at ACME unpleasant. Their personalities apparently clashed too much, in addition to the constant belittling. The Messenger was always carefree, and unworried. When he wasn’t talking with the Inspector and the Techie, or pulling pranks on everyone, the Messenger usually hovered around the Informant, who usually liked nothing more than to seclude himself with a book. Trying to read while the Messenger was around was a difficult task. Actually, trying to do anything with him around was a difficult task. The Informant was convinced that the older agent never took anything seriously, while the Messenger would constantly try (and fail) to get the younger boy to lighten up. But the Informant had to admit that if it hadn’t been for the Techie, he would have left ACME long ago; the Informant was looking for a place that he could call his home, and he already resolved that if he happened upon such a place, he would leave the others.
He was searching for home-a home without having to deal with craziness day in and day out… a home where he could bury his nose in his books and learn about various facts about the world.
“Look, you won’t do well on today’s mission if you don’t take some time for breakfast,” said the Messenger, literally dragging the Informant to the ACME mess hall.
“Just because you don’t see the importance of keeping your quarters clean doesn’t mean that I don’t!” the boy protested.
But the Messenger didn’t pay him any heed; he steered him to the table, and the Informant found himself having breakfast, unsure of how it happened.
The older agent also dug in, amused. There had to be a way to get him to loosen up, and he was determined to find it. He had been pleased when the Informant had decided to join ACME; not only was the boy bright and sharp, but the Messenger finally had someone who could potentially be his partner in crime-the younger brother he had always wanted but never had. But the Informant was determined to act like a loner, always going off to read another book.
One of these days, Infy, you’ll come around to my way of thinking, the Messenger mused.
At least, that was what he hoped.
He meant no disrespect by calling him “Infy.” He had almost tried to explain that to him just a few minutes ago, but he didn’t think that the boy would’ve been in the mood to listen.
“Where’s everyone else?” asked the Informant, looking around for the Inspector and the Techie.
“Oh,” the older agent said, his voice muffled by the food. “They already ate; they’re packing up now. I read them the mission briefing papers.”
“Can I take a look at those?” asked the Informant.
“Sure!” the Messenger said, taking out a various assortment of origami. “Here’s page one…” he said, blowing a paper crane in the boy’s direction. “Here’s page two…” He tossed a paper football at him. “And here’s page three.” He threw a paper airplane at him, which hit the boy right on the nose.
The Informant glared at the Messenger furiously for several moments before seizing the folded papers and storming back up to the agents’ suites, leaving him behind with a very bewildered look on his face.
“That’s it! That’s IT!” he fumed to the Techie as he walked by him and the Inspector, who were out in the corridor. He turned to the brunet. “I can’t take this anymore. He’s driving me crazy! It’s either me or him, and I’m all too happy to go!”
“Oh…” said the Techie, looking at him, worriedly. It wasn’t the first time the boy had made such a statement, but he really did seem to mean it this time. “But, you…” He trailed off. “You have a papercut on your nose…”
“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” the Informant asked. “You can thank the Messenger for that-him and his stupid paper airplane that was supposed to have been the mission briefing paper!”
The Techie placed an understanding arm around him.
“Try to understand…” he said. “He doesn’t mean any harm… Can’t you give him another chance?”
“He’s just trying to have a little fun,” added the Inspector.
“That’s just it!” the boy fumed. “Can’t he take anything seriously!? And as for giving him chances… I must’ve given him at least a hundred…” He trailed off as the Messenger himself appeared in the corridor. Had he heard everything? Well, at that point, the boy didn’t care. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the non-insanity section, packing.”
“I thought you packed last night…” said the Messenger.
“Yeah, for Paris,” the boy retorted. “I’m packing for moving out. The second we get back here, I’m gone.”
“He’s leaving?” the Messenger asked, bewildered. “But it’s only our first assignment. Hey, Infy, there’s no need to quit now; you haven’t even had a chance to mess up yet!”
The Inspector slapped his forehead.
“I’ll talk to him; you try to stop the Informant from leaving,” he said to the Techie.
The Techie nodded, entering the Informant’s room to see him meticulously packing things into large suitcases.
“Hey…” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t leave…”
He sounded so dejected that the boy paused to reconsider.
“I’m sorry…” he said. “But it’s either me or him…”
“Does it really have to be this way?” asked the Techie. “If it’s worth anything at all to you, I don’t want you to leave.”
“It does mean a lot,” the boy said. “But I just don’t fit in.”
“What are you talking about!? Of course you fit in!” the Techie exclaimed. He had done his best to make the boy feel welcome, and it hurt to realize that it apparently hadn’t been enough. “Didn’t I tell you that I’d be there for you if you needed anything?”
“You did,” said the Informant. “And I am grateful. You and the Inspector have both tried to make me feel welcome. But it’s not you two that are the problem here. The Messenger has made it clear on no uncertain terms that I’m not one of you.” He slammed the suitcase shut and pulled out another one, beginning to arrange items inside of it.
The Techie didn’t know what to do. Poor Messenger! If he only knew what the Informant was saying… He just didn’t realize that not everyone understood his brand of humor, or realized the fact that brotherly teasing was his way of showing that he cared.
“It’s just not working out for me here,” the Informant went on. “But I’ll keep in touch with you, though. Don’t worry; you haven’t seen the last of me.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that…”
Meanwhile, outside the room, a very perplexed Messenger gave the Inspector a questioning look.
“What is going on here?” he asked. “Was it something I said? Something I did…?”
“In a word, yes,” the Inspector replied, honestly. “Look, I know you think that it’s great that you want to try to sell your sense of humor. But he’s not buying it.”
“Yeah, I know…” the Messenger sighed. “Talk about uptight…! But, no worries…” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll mellow him out eventually, if he doesn’t leave.”
The Inspector sighed. He had to know the truth.
“Actually… Your attempts at trying to mellow him out are the exact reasons why he’s leaving.”
The Messenger blinked.
“You’re kidding…” he said, incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding! Everyone likes a bit of humor and a wacky sibling to provide it.”
“He doesn’t,” said the Inspector. “You need to realize that. He thinks you’re insulting him--”
“Oh, come on!” he replied. “You know me well; would I ever insult someone I thought that highly of? That kid is the little brother I never had, if he’d only come around to my way of thinking.”
“He doesn’t like your way of thinking,” said the Inspector. “And he’s not too crazy about you, either. Face it… You two are just clashing too much.”
“I don’t see it,” the Messenger replied.
“He’d rather sit down to read a book, but you don’t give him the quiet he wants.”
“Well, yeah,” he replied. “I’m trying to make him one of us, and he’s not going to be one of us if he keeps walling himself off! So I try to get him in on the action… make a few jokes… toss him a few--”
“And that’s another thing,” said the Inspector, cutting him off. “He doesn’t see it as you trying to make him one of us. He sees it as the opposite. He thinks that you’ve branded him as an outcast.”
“Now you’re pulling my leg, right?” the Messenger asked. “Come on. Do you honestly expect me to believe that for everything I do, Infy sees it as the exact opposite?”
“And that’s yet another thing. He hates it when you call him that.”
“I’m just trying to--”
“That’s not how he sees it,” the Inspector insisted.
“Okay, okay,” said the Messenger, finding this oddly amusing. “I see how this is. So if my attempts at friendship make Infy think I hate him, maybe if I get into a fist fight with him, it’ll make him feel welcome? Or if I trip him? Or maybe some other form of mild, quickly-recoverable injury?”
“That paper airplane you tossed at him just a few minutes ago gave him a papercut on the nose,” said the Inspector. “It only made it worse.”
“The way you talk, it’s like I’m in a no-win situation…” said the Messenger, folding his arms.
“I hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what you’re in at the moment. My advice is that you give him some space. And maybe an apology won’t go amiss.”
“An apology…” the Messenger trailed off, smiling. “You’re a genius!”
He headed towards the Informant’s room.
“Wait!” said the Inspector. “I was thinking that a written apology might be a better--”
“Hey!” the Messenger exclaimed, entering the room. The Informant went rigid, his face growing cold. “Hey, listen… Infy, I think we got off on the wrong foot here… Sorry about that paper airplane thing… What say we start over? No hard feelings?”
The Informant glared at him so icily that the grin faded from the older agent’s face.
“Are you for real?” he asked, in such a tone that the Inspector and the Techie both flinched. “Start over? Look; I’m not the stupid little kid you think I am. You think I’m just going to blindly agree to whatever you say!? Well, I’ve got news for you; I’m sharper than that. I can see right through your little ploy. You want me to let my guard down even further so you can really let me have it. Well, it’s not happening. I won’t let it happen. And I’m not taking any more from you! Just stay out of my way, and stay out of my life!”
The Techie could only stare, horrified, as the boy shoved the older agent out of the room and slammed the door shut. The Messenger just stared at the wooden door, the Inspector standing behind him.
“Okay, Infy…” he said, softly and dejectedly. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“Listen…” said the Inspector, as the Messenger wandered back to his room.
“I’m alright,” he promised. “Don’t worry… I can take it…”
“This must be a bit of a shock to you,” said the Inspector. “You’re generally a very likeable person, and you’re used to getting positive feedback. But you can’t be everybody’s friend.
“I don’t want to be everybody’s friend…” he replied. “All I want is to be Infy’s friend.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you,” said the Inspector. “But maybe if you gave him a little space and a little time, he’ll learn to warm up to you.”
The Messenger nodded, glumly.
“If he doesn’t leave…” he said. “Techie can only do so much…”
And the poor Techie was one step away from resorting to getting down on his knees and begging the Informant not to go.
“Okay…” sighed the boy. “For your sake, I won’t quit ACME. I’ll stay on, and I’ll request to work with you. But I am not living here. You understand why, don’t you?”
The Techie could only nod. The boy was staying with ACME; that was a step in the right direction. Maybe he would eventually come home…
“But where will you stay?” he asked his friend.
The Informant paused.
“I’ll just find my own place…” he said.
“In the city…?” asked the Techie. “I don’t think that’s the safest idea, living alone downtown like that…” He trailed off. “If you’re working for an agency, what’ll happen when the enemy agents find out where you’re staying? You’d be much safer here.”
“I’d be physically safer,” said the Informant. “But I’m in danger of going crazy if I have to stay under the same roof as him.”
The Techie was on the verge of breaking down. He was throwing in the towel; there was nothing he could do to convince the boy to understand what the Messenger was trying to do.
****************************
The Informant was silent during the flight to Paris, as was the Messenger, who was purposefully trying to keep his distance from the boy. It hurt to know that his attempts at breaking the ice had only made him colder. And not even the Techie was helping him at this point; the Informant didn’t even say anything to him.
It was only upon landing that the Messenger gave them their itinerary from the mission papers.
“We need to investigate an abandoned mansion before we head to the Louvre,” he said. “We’ll find our necessary equipment, like skeleton keys and codes, in there. But we’ll have to be careful; apparently, the enemy uses that manor, too. Eartha might be in there.”
“What exactly is this place called?” asked the Inspector.
“Chagny Manor,” the Informant said. “The last owner of the manor was the one who found the golden statue that Eartha stole. His daughters moved abroad, and after he died, the estate was abandoned. Since then, it’s fallen into disrepair, but proves to be a safe haven for spies and thieves.”
The Techie glanced at him, amazed. He listed that before the brunet had even had a chance to look it up on his handheld.
“Behold, he speaks!” the Messenger blurted out without thinking. Immediately, he regretted it when the Informant glared at him.
The boy wordlessly headed for the driver from ACME Chauffer-Net and his waiting ACME car.
“I did it again…” the older agent realized.
And the trip to the manor was spent in silence. The Techie was able to open the old doors of the manor, leading them through a hall and into the furnished drawing room. The Informant paused to glance at a large portrait of the Vicomte and his wife, which rested over the mantle, veiled in a curtain of dust.
“Here are the keys,” said the Techie, picking them up from within a vase. “These will get us in…”
He trailed off upon hearing a noisy creaking sound. The Messenger had sat in one of the old Victorian-era pieces of furniture, which had protested against his weight. He got up, turning red.
“Sorry…” he said, sheepishly, brushing the dust off of his clothes.
“Smart,” commented the Informant. “Wreck the antiques. I’ll bet the Chief would love to hear about that…”
The Techie didn’t know what to do.
“Well… Let’s just… Let’s just go…” he said, not wanting to see this enmity increasing any further. He dashed back outside, prompting the Inspector to run after him
“I can’t stand it…” the Techie said, not even sure if the Informant and the Messenger were in earshot. “I can’t stand to see them like this. I don’t know what I can do…!”
The Inspector placed a hand on his shoulder.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said. “That’s the harsh truth about it. We’ve done all we can by explaining the problem and asking the Informant to stay. Whatever happens now is out of our hands.”
The Techie sighed. It wasn’t good enough for him. The Messenger was not going to be happy until the Informant was his friend. And the young agent would never be happy that way.
The Messenger, in the meantime, had tried to stop the boy as he left.
“Infy…” he said, before he could catch himself. “Infy, whatever I did… I’m sorry… I… I just want--”
“The day you’re sorry about anything is the day the cows fly home,” the Informant retorted. “You don’t take anything seriously; how do you expect me to believe that this is any different?”
“Because it’s coming from my heart,” the Messenger retorted.
“Please…” said the boy, sardonically. “I know your type. You don’t have a heart, because nothing matters to you expect having a good time-even if it’s at someone else’s expense. You try to win them over, then stab them in the back while you laugh in their face! Well, I’m sick of it! It’s not going to happen to me anymore!”
He stormed out.
“My ‘type’…?” the Messenger asked, bewildered. “Happen ‘anymore’…?” And suddenly, something began to click. The Informant… Poor little Infy must have known someone who was as much of a joker as the Messenger was. And, obviously, he had had bad experiences with him…
The older agent clenched a fist. How could anyone toy with someone’s emotions like that…? And that was why the kid was so distrustful… That was why he hated him now.
“Oh, Infy…” he said, quietly. “I can’t let you lose your faith just like that. If you’ll just believe in me, you’ll see I’m not like that creep who turned you into this ice-cold cynic…”
Now, more than ever, he was determined to reach the boy who needed an elder brother more than he realized.
********************************
Having successfully entered the Louvre, the ACME agents wandered around, looking for the Mona Lisa.
“Here it is,” said the Inspector, training his flashlight on the famous painting.
“The Chief said we have to speak to the Mona Lisa…” said the Informant. “Is there a microphone transmitter in there, or something…? I mean… How does it work?”
“What do you think…!?” the lady in the painting seemed to chide him, in a heavy accent, no less. “You only need to ask!”
The boy yelped, leaping backwards. She could talk!
The Messenger glanced at the talking painting in a mixture of amusement and bemusement.
“Now that’s a really good trick,” he commented. “I honestly thought--”
“Foolish boy, I am not a trick!” came the shrew’s reply.
“Uh… Yes, Signora… Whatever you say, Signora…” the Messenger replied. He glanced at the others, shrugging helplessly, and it seemed as though that even the Informant had temporarily forgotten their feud.
“You are here to capture Eartha Brute, who took the golden figurines of Sethos and Túaa, yes…?” the woman in the portrait asked.
“That’s right, Signora…”
“She went down a tunnel in the floor,” said the portrait. “Behind you, you’ll see a loose panel of the floor. It leads to the network of underground passageways in the Paris Catacombs.”
“You mean the tunnels make out of skulls…?” asked the Informant.
“Yes,” she replied. “It is said that the legendary Opera Ghost knew his way around them. And I suggest you learn your way around them quickly, or else the Egyptian statue will become Carmen’s new paperweight!”
The Messenger saluted her.
“Right away, Signora!” he said, tipping his hat to her. But as he turned away, he muttered under his breath, “Man, she’s as uptight as Infy is…”
“I heard that!” boy and painting both retorted.
“Well, it’s not like it isn’t true…!” the Messenger shot back, before he could stop himself. He was getting frustrated… frustrated and hurt that the Informant would peg him based on his experience with one person who just happened to be a creep.
“Stop it!” cried the Techie, before the Informant could say anything else. “Both of you, just stop it right now! We’re supposed to be working together as a team…!” He sighed, despairing as he glanced at two of his closest friends. Not knowing what else to say, he proceeded to open the panel in the floor as the Informant glared daggers at the Messenger, who was quickly losing the fight in him. Why… Why had he snapped? The Informant would never trust him now…
The Messenger pretended to look around the gallery once before they left. In reality, though, he didn’t want anyone to see the unshed tear that had crept its way into his eye.
He quickly put on his normal disposition as they wandered into the passageway of the Catacombs. He wasn’t bothered by the skulls in the walls at all.
“Nothing bothers you, does it?” asked the Informant. “You just take everything so lightly…!”
“Well, somebody’s got to,” he replied. “You should lighten up yourself, Infy. Free your inner Yorik the Jester.” Picking up a loose skull, he studied it for a moment as they walked. “Alas, I knew thee well…” he said, melodramatically.
The Inspector and the Techie both chuckled, but the Informant’s furious expression was visible even in the dim beams of their flashlights.
“Even an old, dead skull is funny to you!?” asked the boy, turning to walk backwards to face him. “Isn’t there anything you take seriously, or is it all just one big joke to you!? You really are just like--”
“Look out!” exclaimed the Inspector, aiming his flashlight ahead. “There’s a drop--!”
The boy cried out as stumbled backwards, falling into the empty pit. Or, at least, he would have. The Messenger, who was closest, had leaped forward and seized the boy’s wrist.
“I have you, Infy!” he said, finally sounding serious. “Just hold on; I’ll get you out--”
“The floor!” cried the Techie, rushing forward with the Inspector. “It’s going to--”
He never got to finish his warning; the floor began to crumble away beneath the Messenger’s feet, sending him and the Informant into the drop.
“NO!” cried the Techie, as their screams faded into the distance. He sank to his knees. “No…”
“It’s not over for them yet,” said the Inspector. “Maybe it wasn’t too far a drop… We’ll find them.”
The Techie shook his head.
“They’ll never make it…” he realized. “The Informant will never forgive him for this… He’ll probably order him to go a different way…”
“Listen,” said the Inspector, wishing he could lift the Techie’s spirits. “We’ll find the both of them. Look… there’s another tunnel here; it slopes downward. Come on.”
*****************************
The Informant groaned as he came to, his eyes adjusting to the dim flashlight. He vision was still blurred, but as he struggled to focus, a large, toothy skull came into his line of vision, its empty eye sockets millimeters from the boy’s face.
“Aurgh!” he yelled in a panic, scrambling to get away. And then he began to fume. “I don’t believe you!” he snarled, searching for the Messenger. “Even when we fall down a…” He trailed off. The Messenger had only fallen because he had been trying to help him… in spite of everything that he had said. But where was he…?
He called out at last for him, half-heartedly.
The Messenger was busy tending to his ankle, when had twisted in the fall. It would be a slow, painful walk for the rest of the mission. However, he managed to put on a brave face.
“You alright, Infy?” he asked, without thinking. And he regretted it when the Informant’s expression darkened even further. If he had thought that trying to rush to help the boy would help to calm the feud, he was sadly mistaken.
“I’m just fine,” the boy quipped as he got to his feet and began to walk through the tunnels. “Stay out of my way, and I’ll be even better.”
Now why are you talking like that? his mind chided him. He just got hurt trying to help you. And he knew how you felt about him, too.
“Are… Can you walk…?” he asked at last.
The Messenger grinned.
“I’ll manage,” he said. “It takes a lot to keep me down, Infy!”
But look at him… said the other part of the boy’s brain. He’s not even taking this seriously. He’s only going to make things even more miserable for me…
The Informant glanced back furiously at him, who was limping along behind him. The Messenger managed to crack a smile, which only seemed to make the boy feel even angrier.
What am I doing wrong…? the Messenger asked himself. Even when I’m trying to be sincere, he still thinks I’m out to get him.
And it hurt.
“Infy, wait up,” he said. “It’s no good if we get separated.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” the boy shot back. “Even with your little attempt-to-rescue-the-outcast routine, I can see right through you, so why don’t you just drop the charade and tell me what you want from me!?”
All I want is a little brother. Why can’t he see that…?
“What do you want!?” the Informant cried. He was convinced that the second he could get the Messenger to confess and stop playing this game, he would be able to get the upper hand.
The older agent just glanced at the boy, his expression unreadable.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“Well, you don’t have to tell me,” the Informant snarled, turning back to face the front as he walked, not wanting another fall. “I know exactly what you want-you want a scapegoat; you want someone you can lead on and then abandon. So that’s why you’re trying to sucker me into this fake friendship. You’ll find the perfect opportunity to leave me high and dry, and then you’ll just laugh at me like everything else you laugh at. I know it, because I’ve been there before.”
“I gathered that much,” said the Messenger. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me what happened?”
“Why? You want another reason to laugh at me?” the boy asked.
“No…!” the older agent exclaimed. “Infy, maybe if you talk about it, it won’t be hovering over you with all that weight…!”
“You’re a great actor,” the boy replied. “You almost sound like you really do care.”
The poor Messenger was reaching his breaking point. Even when he wasn’t playing any pranks, the Informant seemed to dislike him all the same.
“Look, just leave me alone, and if you don’t want to be left behind, try to keep up,” the Informant finished.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” the Messenger replied. And I know you won’t…
But he was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps.
“Eartha…!” he exclaimed.
The Informant gasped, running ahead.
“Infy, no! Wait for me…! Whoa…” He trailed off as the ground shook from a tremor. The Informant froze in place as he felt it, too. After it had gone, he took off after Eartha again.
The others had felt the tremor, too.
“Some of these old tunnels must be ready to collapse…” said the Inspector, proceeding after he was sure the rumbling was over.
“Oh, no…” said the Techie, realizing the danger that their friends were in. “We have to find them…!” He paused as his flashlight beam caught something. “It’s a V.I.L.E. ID card for Eartha!”
“There’s a way down into the lower levels, here… She’s probably down there,” said the Inspector, as he found a sloping tunnel. He placed his hand on the wall for support as he walked, hastily letting go when he realized that he was directly touching the skulls. “I hope they’ll be okay if they run into her…”
And they were just about to do so. The Informant followed the tunnel to a strange, underground city that had been abandoned long ago. The old, stone houses were crumbling, and the large pavilion was being held up by old pillars.
“This must be the Court of Miracles…” he said, aloud, more to himself than to the Messenger, who was struggling to keep up with his twisted ankle. “It was an old town of gypsies…” And they were outcasts, too. “I’ll bet Eartha came by to pillage whatever she could from this old village…!”
The Messenger had to hold onto the stone buildings just to keep up with the Informant. And even then, the boy was pulling ahead of him, trying to sneak up on a tall, muscular figure with a ridiculous beehive hairdo.
The Informant would need backup. Realizing this, the Messenger reached for a skull that lay at his feet, slowly creeping towards Eartha from the other side.
The Informant, in the meantime, was also creeping from his side. Eartha, based on the look on her face, had gotten lost while trying to make her getaway. But, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Messenger approaching, skull in hand.
But then, the older youth’s twisted ankle betrayed him, sending him tripping forward. The skull launched from his hand, and as Eartha turned, it bounced off of her nose.
“Who do ya think you are!?” she boomed, unsure of who this newcomer was.
“Uh… You’re under arrest by orders of ACME Chrome Nut!” the Messenger declared, pulling out a pair of handcuffs as he got to his feet.
The Informant slapped his forehead. Crimenet! he mentally hissed.
The weightlifter’s eyes widened. ACME!? How could they have been on to her so easily?
“I don’t come along quietly!” she boomed. “You can barely stand. There’s no way you can take me!”
“No, but I can!” said the Informant, snapping the handcuffs around Eartha’s wrists. She stared dumbly at the cuffs as the boy took the Egyptian figurine from her, placing it in his trenchcoat pocket. “Well, that was easy. Mission accomplished!”
He didn’t thank the Messenger for his help; he just led Eartha further through the village, hoping that there was another way out. But something didn’t seem right. For someone who claimed to never come along quietly, Eartha was actually being very cooperative.
The older agent noticed it, too.
“Don’t get too overconfident, Infy,” he said. “I have a feeling she has another trick or two up her sleeve…” He trailed off. Eartha didn’t have sleeves.
But that was the least of his worries; the Informant had turned around to glare at him again.
It was all that Eartha needed. As the boy was occupied, she snapped the chain of the handcuffs in half and struck him, sending him flying. The boy cried out, crashing to the floor of the pavilion.
“Infy!” the Messenger cried out, but now Eartha turned on him.
“Aww, what’s the matter?” she asked, as the Messenger tried to limp into a retreat. “Has the little ACME agent hurt his leg? Lemme take a look… I can make you forget about it by givin’ ya something else to worry about!”
She threw a punch at him, who dove out of the way at the last moment. Eartha missed him completely, and ended up striking one of the old support columns, which began to crumble. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had done.
The crumbling support pillar was all that it took for the weakened cave roof above it to give way. The Informant was close to a doorway; he could take shelter inside. But the Messenger… With his twisted ankle, he’d never make it out of the way in time. The young agent gritted his teeth. He may not have been fond of him, but he certainly wouldn’t wish this on anybody… especially when that twisted ankle was the Informant’s own fault.
It took the boy only an instant to assess the situation. He ran as the Messenger tried to limp out of the way, tackling him, sending him flying off of the pavilion. He didn’t have a chance to see where he landed; something massive came crashing down upon him, and the boy’s world went dark.
The Messenger, however, cried out as he was sent flying.
“Hey!” he yelped, as everything came crashing down. He lay there for a moment, stunned, as the weakened part of the ceiling finally stopped falling. “Infy…?”
Eartha certainly wouldn’t have saved his life like that, and she was lying trapped under a piece of pillar anyway-stunned, but otherwise alright.
“Infy!?” Panic was rising in the Messenger voice. “Infy, can you hear me!?”
And that was when he noticed the hand sticking out from within the debris.
“INFY!” he cried, crawling over and trying to dig the boy out. After what seemed like an eternity, he succeeded. Checking for a pulse, he pleaded for the boy to waken.
“You didn’t even like me…” he realized. “And yet you still did this for me…?” He didn’t deserve this fate! He did not! “Infy, wake up!”
The Dying Informant tried desperately to hang on to the last vestiges of consciousness. He opened his eyes slightly, and he glanced at the person whom he couldn't stand, but had sacrificed himself for all the same.
"I... I'm sorry..." he whispered. "Your ankle... my fault..." He shuddered, realizing what was happening to him. Retribution.
He had ruined everything. He had come between the friendships of the others, being the fourth wheel. He had instigated all of the arguments and fights between him and the good-natured Messenger. He had been responsible for the older agent’s injury. He was the reason why they had been trapped. He was the reason why Eartha had gotten away, even though she was still lying stunned.
"All my life..." the Dying Informant said, the darkness beginning to descend upon him once more. "I had been searching for a place I could call home. I should've taken all of those hints that you were trying to give me... I don't belong... I don't belong with you or the others. I don't belong anywhere..." A tear fell from his eye. "I just get in the way of everything. But don't worry..." Another shudder, another tear. "I'll never get in your way again. Or anyone else's."
Those were his words as the darkness began to descend upon him once again.
The Messenger was too horrified to say a word as the Dying Informant spoke, but as the boy began to go limp again, he cried out to him, trying desperately to let him know the truth.
"No!" he screamed. "Infy, you can't go! Not like this!" But it was no use. His voice lowered, cracking. "... You have it all wrong," he protested. "You have it all wrong!"
But the boy did not respond.
"This was my fault," the older agent choked out. "All of it.... I was just teasing ... like a brother would, you know? Infy ..." But he could not speak anymore as the realization struck him: he was responsible for hurting someone he had wanted only to befriend.
He hardly ever cried, but now he held the boy close, sobbing.
But he could feel a slight pulse; the boy was alive. But he didn’t seem to be fighting back to consciousness.
“Infy, what’s wrong…?!” he cried. “Why aren’t you fighting it!?”
And, somewhere, as though from far away, he could hear the boy’s reply in his own mind.
“I don't belong there, and I only get in everyone's way. Why would anyone want me back?"
“It’s not true!” the Messenger cried. “It’s not! You do belong with us, and we all want you back-that includes me!” He sobbed quietly. “I’ll do anything if you just come back… Even if it means that you’ll never want me to talk to you again…”
“Why… Why on Earth would you want me to come back…?”
“I never wanted you to leave!” cried the Messenger, his voice laced with unmistakable agony. “I said you wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth...." He swallowed. "I thought of you like a younger brother.... The snowballs, the name ... it was all because of that.... I didn't know it really bothered you so bad.... I didn't have any idea, I was told yesterday.... I thought it was just ... some sibling fun. But ... I made you feel unwelcome. I'm sorry...." He shook his head. "This is my fault...." He stared down at the pained expression on the limp form's face. The last words the boy had said had cut deep into his heart.
The Dying Informant was stunned, unable to reply. All this time, he had thought he had been unwanted and looked down upon... The Techie had been right all along...
"I..." he said in disbelief. "I... I thought... I thought you didn't like me... I didn't try to understand because I automatically thought that I was an outsider... I'm so sorry... It's not your fault; it's mine... I was too stupid and too thick-headed to understand you... thinking that you were just like some creep I used to know… Maybe... maybe I deserve this.. ."
He trailed off as he heard voices calling for them.
The Messenger looked up as the Techie and the Inspector finally found them.
“No…!” gasped the Techie, horrified to see the boy in such a condition. He had been so worried that something like this was going to happen, and now it had…
“What happened to him!?” asked the Inspector.
“He sacrificed himself to save me, even though he hated me!” the Messenger replied, haunted. “I’ve been trying to bring him back, but… He doesn’t seem to want to…!” He was trying hard not to sob. “All I wanted was a little brother, and all I did was hurt him…!”
“Please come back!” begged the Techie to the Dying Informant. “Can’t you hear him!? Can’t you hear how much he wants you to come back… how much we all want you to come back!?”
“You are one of us-you always were!” added the Inspector.
“You’re just trying to make me feel better…”
“No, it’s true! It’s all true!” the Messenger cried, in hysterics now. He held the boy close. And the boy had to realize that there was no way he could be faking this pain.
“You… You really want me to come back…”
A new hope seemed to take seed in the boy. And, at last, he stirred, looking up at the Messenger.
“Hey, Bro…” he said with a smile. “Why so sad…?”
The Messenger stared at him for a moment, hardly daring to believe it, but let out a laugh of relief as he glomped his newfound little brother.
**********************************
The Informant dozed for some time on the flight back, and awoke to see the Messenger beside him, working intently on something on a crumpled piece of paper.
“What’s that…?” the boy asked, yawning.
“Case report!” the older agent announced.
The Informant glanced at the crumpled-up papers and shook his head, laughing at last.
The Techie looked in relief, and he and the Inspector walked over to join them. Eartha, who had been gifted with five sets of handcuffs, merely scowled as she sat in her seat.
The Messenger grinned broadly, but then his smile faded slightly.
“What’s wrong?” asked the boy.
“I just remembered something…” the older agent said. “Back there… You were telling me that I was reminding you of someone you knew. And that was why it took you so long to trust me…”
The boy looked out the window for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” the Informant said. “It wasn’t fair to you, being pegged like that. But I guess I’ve been affected by what happened. I knew this kid when I was younger… I was fifteen at the time. I had been a loner for most of my childhood, and then I met him. He had a little group of friends, and he said that I could join them.
“He was as crazy as you are. He had us doing all sorts of crazy things… Got us into a bit of trouble, too… but then one night, we were playing ghost in an old, abandoned house… He had placed one of the candles too close to an old curtain, and had forgotten about it. The place went up…
The old roof kept crashing around us, and, at one point, it came down in front of me, and I was trapped. So I yelled for him to help me.” He trembled. “He didn’t. He said that I wasn’t worthy of rescue… that I was an idiot for believing that I belonged anywhere… that I was nothing but a big joke… and that if I somehow made it out of that house, I could be his scapegoat and take the blame for what had happened. He abandoned me there, and I haven’t seen him again since.”
The others stared at the boy, open-mouthed and horrified.
“Somehow, I managed to find another way out, and I didn’t get into trouble,” the Informant went on. “But I guess it made me wary about trusting pranksters. I’m sorry, Bro.”
The Messenger placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I love harmless pranks,” he promised. “Never ones that would hurt anyone. Infy, I promise… You can trust me.”
“I wish I’d realized that sooner…”
“Well, better late than never!” the older agent replied, glomping him again. The Techie and the Inspector joined the group hug, too, and the Informant just laughed.
He was not an outcast, he realized. The Informant had found his true home at last.