Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapter.

The MOSQUITTOH flew at fifty klicks toward the highway. The bulbous-reared transport zoomed over a familiar truck. It had about 24 wheels, and took up two lanes and the median.

"Oh no," said Numbah 5. "Not that truck again". "Hm," muttered Numbah 7. "That driver specializes in transporting musical insturments to abusive parents around the country".

The MOSQUITTOH matched the speed of the truck, moving directly over it. A large hatch on the rear opened on the bottom as ropes dropped down, scraping the roof of the truck. Numbahs 1, 3, 5, and 7 slid down, landing on the roof. They used magnets on their shoes to keep steady.

Numbah 7 drew a blowtorch from a satchel pouch on his hip. He turned on the torch, slicing through the truck's roof like the metaphorical hot knife through butter. The operatives dropped down into the truck.

The truck was filled wall-to-wall with keyboards. Big and small. Ones needing a plug and socket and ones with independent power sources. Custom made and mass produced.

"Whoa," was all that the stunned children could say. "Now how do we get these keyboards to the scrapyard?" asked Numbah 7.

The kids thought for several minutes until Numbah 7 got an idea. "That's it!" he shouted. "Guys, use your magnetic shoes and walk onto the ceiling.

The other agents were confused, but did as they were told. Numbah 7 followed suit. He then produced a mechanical pencil from his pocket. He closed his eyes, and appeared to be in deep thought. In his mind's eye, he saw through the eyes of the driver. His vision was ringed with purple. His eyes shot open, and he pointed the back of the pencil at the door lock and pulled back on a button.

There was a silenced gunshot. A puff of smoke shot from the back of the pencil and a small bullet hit the lock. The lock blew off and the doors flapped open. The agents felt the truck going up a hill. All the keyboards slid out of the trailer and smashed against the road. Within seconds, the highway was littered with metal, ivory, and wires.

The agents walked across the ceiling and back through the hole in the roof. They grabbed the ropes and climbed back into the belly of the MOSQUITTOH.

"What did you do in the truck?" asked Numbah 1. "Clairvoyence," said Numbah 7, as if it was nothing more exciting than ironing clothes.

So that was how Sector V learned that Numbah 7 was a psychic.