Author: DC2030 PM
A sequel of sorts to KND: Plummet.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 499 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 05-31-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8170397
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
He wasn't a kid anymore. He was thirteen. Long gone were the days of Numbuh 2030 in the Kids Next Door. Last he checked his code Numbuh was still up for grabs. As far as he was concerned, he shouldn't even be able to remember his time in the KND.
Unlike so many before and after him, Numbuh 2030 was willing to welcome his decommissioning. He was brought in a day in advance due to being on the officers bad sides. He walked into the chamber without receiving a birthday cake. He was left alone in the chamber with Numbuh Infinity and 74.239. They were aware of a piece his knowledge.
When was released; he walked out of the chamber only to be greeted with hate filled remarks from those whom he'd worked with. He was taken home by his former teammates; he forced himself to pretend not to know them despite how much it pained him.
As he arrived back in Quahog, several other teens had arrived to greet him. As far as they knew, he was a teen just like them. It was a fresh start in a sense. A clean slate, a new life, a fresh start. He could've worked his way up the teen social ladder; he could have joined the teen ninjas to gain vengeance on the ones who wronged him. As far as he was told, even the Teens Next Door thought he'd been decommissioned.
He could've become some mad psychotic like the ones he's fought for the past five years of his life. He could have easily targeted the decommissioning officers who'd skipped decommissioning. He could have become something he knew he wasn't.
But now, three whole months later, he holds a gas mask given to him on his tenth birthday. Days ago he'd heard a gunshot, he left his house to find his neighbor, one of the few adults he could ever trust, the one who'd given him the gas mask, was lying in the middle of the street.
Wesley Dodds had been about eighty when he was killed. He'd left him a cryptic message in his will. 'You do not suffer nightmares, you are gifted with nightmares.'
The teen picked up his phone, he checked his missed calls, having only a few. The one that caught his eye was that of someone he shouldn't know in his new life. He debated to call back or not, settling on the latter rather than the former.
The teen in a dress shirt, tie, his khaki cargo pants, trench coat, picked up the gas mask. He looked at his reflection in the glass lenses. He placed the mask around his face, covering his head entirely. He placed a fedora above his head. He pulled out a gas gun and holstered it.
The teen looked in a mirror and spoke aloud. "Numbuh 2030 no longer exists. The Sandman is reborn."