As suspected, the others were naturally drawn to the door. Pen attempted to open it, but it didn't budge.

"Seems like we've hit a dead end. So, does anyone know how we can get in?" Ula then wordlessly picked the lock with a certain speed that suggested experience. Perhaps she breaks into a lot of places. Or maybe she just forgets her keys often. Whitney figured it didn't matter as long as her activities didn't affect him.

"Tadaa." She muttered, which Whitney found amusing for some reason. Terraline and Alvira were the first to the door, but if Alvira's comment was correct, there wasn't anything inside. She pushed the door open, showing it was just another room. But Whitney wasn't one to quit on something so questionable. Why such heavy security? Why have a room that's completely useless? Why is this place so unfriendly? And what were they hiding in this room? Whitney decided that was enough questions and that it was time for some answers.

He wordlessly, casually, walked into the room. He looked for anything that seemed out of place, but couldn't find anything at all. For all he could tell, it was one big, empty, pointless and uninteresting room.

"I don't get it." He stated simply with a shrug.

Pilot finally sat up at what he assumed was a command to get on the treadmill. He slid down off the table, but froze when Goode asked his next question. This one was easy; Pilot knew the answer that would make the man happy.

"Only to you, sir," He said flatly. A few men in white lab coats hurried over, switching out his monitors and prepping him for his exercise. Pilot knew the process so well that he didn't even need to be told what to do anymore.

Open mouth, drink electrolyte and protein drink.

Hold out arms so that they can attached the monitors.

Stretch out right arm for blood sample draw.

Preform pre-run stretches.

He didn't mind the stretches, actually. It worked the kinks out of his muscles, which had been kept too still while he slept. During the whole process, his eyes remained distance and staring ahead. He took interest in nothing; he cared about nothing but his orders. Once he was prepped, he stood straight and waited for the command to begin the exercise.

Saxon paused and dropped his rucksack on the floor, allowing him to carefully open its bursting seams and rummage around as the others continued to walk up ahead. The next prank was formulating in his head - again simple, very simple - he didn't have the time or resources to work up something extravagant just yet. Therefore he felt around for the thing he was after and quickly pocketed it before readjusting his bag on his shoulder.

He was lagging behind the group now and as the door in front was swung open, he increased his pace to a slight jog in order to catch up. However the further they walked the less it seemed like they should be here and more like they should head back on their official route. His current prank was moved to the back of his consciousness as he focused on what was around them. He was quick to follow others through the doors, not taking for granted their words, he wanted to see things for himself.

As he entered the room it was somewhat disappointing, despite the ominous feeling, it seemed as though the room was merely another of many labs here. The questions of the need for so many labs crossed his mind, but it was quickly moved onto the next thought. He glanced towards Whitney as he spoke, and the looked around at the others gagging their reaction, it seemed they were all as disappointed as each other - their adventure not really having a treasure chest of gold at the end of it.

He did one more sweep of the room with his eyes before turning to exit, deciding if there was nothing here they might as well continue exploring somewhere else or head back to where their group should be so that someone doesn't figure out where they've been.

Whitney had gone ahead after Dave gave the word. The hallway wasn't much different than the last, but there was certainly more interesting things. Dave went on ahead and saw Pen and Whitney duck down a side hallway just up ahead.
"Guys - let's have a look down here," he heard Pen call to the rest. He followed them and saw them standing in front of a significant-looking door, something that would surely have the security the previous doors lacked.
"Seems like we've hit a dead end," she said nervously. "So, does anyone know how we can get in? Dave shrugged himself. While he was certainly very good at climbing into places he was not supposed to be, and hiding from overweight security officers, picking locks was not a skill he possessed. As if on cue, Ula, the incredibly quiet one that Dave, surprisingly, had never talked to, walked in front of him towards the door. She reached into her hair and took out a couple pins, and knelt in front of the lock, and after a few moments, the locked clicked and Ula shoved the door open.

"Tadaa," she muttered matter-of-factly. Dave was impressed. He made a note to at least get to know her. Terraline, and Alvira, who had since joined them, stepped into the room beyond, Dave following behind as Alvira pushed open the door for the others. Absolute white was before him.

"What the hell?" Dave asked incredulously. There was, of course, absolutely nothing there. He began to walk forward, footsteps echoing throughout the space, looking around, but seeing nothing.

"Is this like a storage space or something?" he asked to nobody in particular. "Why lock an empty room if you've got nothing to hide?" He shrugged and turned back to the entrance and to where everyone else was. The moment he exited the room, however, he nearly lost his balance as a sudden rush of unusual lightheadedness washed over him, forcing him to lean against the wall for a moment. He pushed himself back up to standing, breathing heavily, the sense of fatigue not quite having gone away.

Pen was puzzled.

The room was completely empty. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

As soon as the quiet girl had stepped forward and picked the small, silver lock in record time - Pen would have to watch that one - she had surged ahead with the others, eager to see what valuable items lay beyond it. However, the walls were a blank, unappealing white and there were no windows nor furniture to soften its edges. It seemed to have no visible purpose, other than disappointing the viewers who had been tempted to open the door. She ran a hand through her blonde ponytail, frowning.

"T-there's nothing there" she blurted out.

She strode around the perimeter of the room - thoroughly confused by this peculiar mystery - but the room, itself, remained unreadable. She traced her fingers across one of the wall, which was smooth and smelled of fresh paint and chemicals. She inhaled, taking a deep breath, but she still couldn't distinguish what the weird chemical stench was. Nothing she recognised from her chemistry class. How odd.

Irritated at this infuriating enigma, she shoved her hands on her pockets and marched out the room.

"Probably just some storage lab for the fossils, that they took out to show us. You know how enthusiastic those lab-rats are," she muttered, back in the corridor, kicking the wall with her shoe. She could feel the early buzz of a headache shooting through her forehead and she rubbed her palm across it, drained of the enthusiasm she had felt pulsing through her body earlier.

"I say we had back downstairs - there's hardly going to be anything interesting up here" Pen said, turning her blue-eyed gaze back to the others in her group, shrugging, "Who's with me?"

---

Dr Goode nodded, pleased, as Pilot recited the correct answer in a low monotone. Perfect, simply perfect. He watched, only half paying attention, as some other scientists - including Wesley - bustled around the subject, following the usual routine; drink, attaching monitors, drawing samples...

Goode observed silently. This was always the favourite part of his dull month.

When they had finished, Pilot stood, waiting, just as he had been trained to.

Goode rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. Was he ready? Everyone else seemed to think so. And Dr Goode, himself, didn't think he could wait any longer. If it was unsuccessful, he could just create another, he supposed.

"We're going to try something different, this time," he finally said, choosing his words carefully, "Follow me."

Dr Goode strode out the room, not looking back but expecting Pilot to follow anyway. His lab coat billowed out behind him, as he marched down the dimly lit hallway. This end of the building was less populated by figures clad in white, and the windows and lights grew fewer and fewer as they progressed through. Eventually, Dr Goode halted outside a closed door towards the end of the corridor, which had only the words 'Test #100' proclaimed upon it. It certainly didn't look much.

"Now this is a little different from your usual exercises, Pilot," Dr Goode said, grinning, "But we think you're ready. Do not disappoint me."

He reached forward and, retrieving a silver key from the depths of his lab coat, he thrust it into the lock, turning it so a click sounded. He pushed it open barely a centimetre but through that tiny gap,it became apparent what lay behind it. A feral snarling sounded, coupled with an awful dog smell. Peering closer, a dark grey wolf was visible, prowling the far shadowed end of the small room, clearly agitated and filthy, from days of a lack of water and food. It turned its narrowing eyes to the sound of the opening door and stalked closer.

"In you go, then" Dr Goode instructed.

Pilot followed Goode without question, but silently worried what awaited him. Different was almost never good, as he had learned. His strides were long and mechanical as he followed the doctor. It didn't take too long to reach their destination. Pilot stood in front of the door, back straight and at attention. The moment the door was cracked, he knew what was inside. He could smell the canine smell, the urine, the filth. His face remained blank as he strode into the room as ordered.

The wolf, agitated and hungry, snarled at him. Pilot stood by the door as it was quickly closed, watching the creature with an expression of disinterest. The wolf gave another growl when he didn't budge, then charged at him. A feral snarl tore through the air as the creature lunged.

In those few seconds, Pilot assessed the situation: no weapons, no armor, no witnesses. His solution was clear. Another, louder snarl erupted from his own throat as he began to shift. His arms elongated, his body growing fur and his bones reforming. It took about a second, and a second was about all he had. Pilot lunged to meet the wolf halfway, his clawed hands slashing through the air and striking the creature down. The wolf let out a yelp as it slid across the floor, a bloody cut across its shoulder. Pilot held himself high as he approached, a menacing growl coming from his mouth full of fangs. He hadn't been ordered to kill the wolf, which gave free rein to his instincts: prove himself the alpha.

His hackles raised, his tail held in the air as a sign of dominance. The wolf was having none of it. It took the challenge and came at him head on. Pilot dodged to the side and wrapped his jaws around the creature's neck, forcing it down to the ground as it yelped and cried for mercy. Pilot let out another snarl and held it there until the wolf finally stopped fighting. He then let it go, allowing it to pull itself up to its feet and slink back to the corner of the room, tail tucked. It wouldn't try to attack again, if it knew what was good for it.

Pilot shifted back. He was so sure of himself that he turned his back to the wolf and waited expectantly for the door to open.

Whitney remained silent as his peers expressed their confusion and unhappiness in any which way. He walked out of the room equally as confused as the others. Nothing about that room made sense. He wanted to get to the bottom of it, but he gained a sudden headache and couldn't think very well. He moved himself very close to the wall, as for him headaches have always been a sign of getting sick, and he at least didn't want to do it in the middle of the hall. He resisted the urge to rub his head and tried his best to look attentive of his surroundings.

"I say we had back downstairs - there's hardly going to be anything interesting up here. Who's with me?" Pen said. He stood up straight as a form of agreement. He slowly moved himself a few inches from everyone else and waited for when everyone was moving again.

Ula was disappointed with the rooms contents. Nothing. She picked a lock in front of others for... NOTHING!! Ula was not happy, though she didn't show this. She looked to be calm, but really Ula was pissed off. Ula gladly followed Pen out. She did not want to stay in this room any longer.

Saxon stood by the exit of the room, after surveying it and watching the others do the same it seemed they had all drawn the conclusion that there was nothing her and no secret rooms or facilities that lead beyond it. His attention was generally short and now that the excitement was over he was keen to just get back to their allocated activities so that the day would hopefully end sooner.

As Pen piped up with the suggestion to leave he nodded quickly in response, however had to stop as a sudden pain burst through his temples. He touched a hand to his head, but made no indication of pain as it disappeared as quickly as it had came. How strange...

He shook the thought away and moved to follow everyone back down the stairs, his thoughts drifting to another prank he might be able to perform, with such a disappointing end to their exploration he could do with a little amusement, but something more than a classic prank would cause. He wanted to pull of something big before they left - he just didn't know what.

The Following Day...

---

Pen felt terrible.

She'd barely gotten a wink of sleep over the assault of vicious headaches that felt as though someone was drilling into her skull. She had tossed and turned, but nothing had brought her any relief. After hours of suffering in silence, she had given up on the idea of sleep and resigned herself to the internet, under the bed sheets, whilst her parents snored on oblivious in the other room. Dawn had came after an eternity of glancing up at the crack in her curtains.

The worse thing was that, the following morning, she hadn't been able to provide her mother with any physical proof that she was ill. Though her internal temperature fluctuated between artic and volcanic, her mother said the cheap home thermometer had read off normal and that she looked okay, apart from the bags under her eyes. Her vision clouded around the edges at times and a constant ringing pestered her hearing, but at least she was on her feet. Barely.

Maybe it was food poisoning. The food that they had offered at the rock lab was bland and tasteless - the generic chicken nuggets, chips and beans, that made her feel like she was five years old again - so maybe that was the source. Grabbing her school bag, she rubbed her forehead as she stumbled out the house, on the walk to school, wishing the sun would turn down its brightness setting by a few notches. She remembered, half way there, that she had some algebra homework in for first period that she hadn't done. Oh well. She felt too rotten to care.

When she arrived at her math class, she stumbled in and across to her desk, dropping her bag on her chair. Running a hand through her ruffled, blonde ponytail, she headed off in search of a water fountain as, in her disorientation, she had left her water bottle at home. She ignored the few students that shot her wary looks - she wasn't known for her sweet temperament - and eventually, found an old water fountain at the end of a long row of lockers. She had a long drink and, though settled her temperature a little, the light-headedness refused to go.

---

Dr Goode was not happy.

Not happy was an understatement. He was absolutely furious. Someone had broken into laboratory 22 and absorbed the new strain of the canine virus that he had spent months - no years - designing and cultivating, ready for his new Pilot. And now, it, and it's mystery carrier, had vanished.

And that wasn't the worst part.

"THE BLOODY CCTV WAS DOWN?!" Dr Goode bellowed at a shaking Wesley, who was attempting to hide behind his clipboard as he relayed the news the ex-receptionist (she had packed her bags early this morning) had stammered to him earlier. Him and the other scientists had drawn straws to see who would tell Goode. Wesley, as usual, had lost.

"W-w-well apparently t-the c-c-cables were b-being c-changed..." Wesley managed to stutter out in something resembling a coherent sentence. Dr Goode - beyond angry - had tossed half his pen supply across the room, his desk now severely lacking in stationary. His cheeks had reddened and his hands had clenched into two large, white fists. He looked ready to strangle anything that came within a meter of him so Wesley maintained a healthy distance between himself and his boss.

"I bet - no, I know - it was them, from Enterprise Labs. They bloody knew the CCTV were down and sent a bloody spy...I'm calling Jenson right now and we're going to sort this out. Otherwise, I'm going down there myself and I swear that I will murder that buffoon..."

"W-w-well, S-sir, the s-s-school t-trip was in y-y-yesterday-"

"What? And you think them snotty, little toddlers had something to do with this? They can barely PICK THEIR NOSES, LET ALONE A LOCK!"

Wesley backed against the door, his spindly hands fumbling for the door handle, so he could make a swift exit should the need arise. His heart was thumping fit to burst. Dr Goode was pacing behind his desk, rubbing his chin so viciously that Wesley was worried he may start a fire on Dr Goode's own face. On second thoughts, that wouldn't be a bad thing, considering the foul mood Mr Goode was in...

"Actually - Enterprise may have got one of those kids to get it for them. May have infected one of the bloody kids as their own weapon. The virus can only be contracted in the lab 22 - we made sure, keeping the conditions to the exact degree - and it loses its contagiousness outside it but, yes, perhaps they intended to use a kid...their own weapon seedling. Wesley? I'll deal with Enterprise but get Pilot to that school, just in case."

Dr Goode seemed to have calmed a fraction.

"Y-y-yes Sir", Wesley muttered.

Whitney had never felt worse in his entire life, at least not physically, anyway. He managed to sleep but the headache made it far from restful, and when his alarm went off he was incredibly unhappy. He rubbed his head and tried to refocus his vision, but his glasses appear to have stopped working. He then slowly trekked to the bathroom where he correctly predicted that he would throw up.

"I knew I should have made him wear a condom." Whitney said, even though no one could hear him and he was obviously male, simply because he could.

"May not want to tell Mom about that, she wouldn't be happy." Whitney's little sister Sasha said from the open bathroom door.

"Well we'll just have to make sure she doesn't find out, right?" Whitney asked as he walked from the bathroom and down to the entryway. Whitney didn't like missing school, even for sickness, but his mom would always insist on him taking a day off if he needed it. He quickly grabbed his bag and walked out the door and to his bus stop without breakfast, as he was curtain it would come back up later at the most unpleasant of times.

He tried to hold himself together and not show any signs of illness on the bus ride and and tried to look even more unapproachable then usual. When he got to school he passed his usual route to English class and took the shortest way possible, lying his head on his desk when he got there and prepared himself for an unpleasant day ahead.

The test had gone perfectly. Pilot was praised as being the best idea since sliced bread, which he secretly enjoyed, despite his blank expression. After it had been completed, he was given his first meal in the last couple weeks. It was mostly protein: half cooked meat, vitamin pills, and a glass of milk. When he'd finished, he was taken to the showers to wash himself up, taken to the barber to get a hair -because God forbid if the trained wolf monster looked scruffy-, and then put back to sleep.

He was awoken the next morning. Pilot opened his eyes, groggy, and looked up at the scrawny science man looming over him. Why had they put him to sleep just to wake him up the next day? He sat up, seeing that Goode wasn't in the room. One of the men came forward to give him his mission while others prepped him.

Put on shirt.

"Someone broke into the lab yesterday."

Put on pants.

"Nothing went missing, but lab 22 was disturbed."

Open mouth, drink electrolytes and protein.

"The security cameras didn't capture the break in. We fear this may have been a professional job."

Hold out arm for blood samples.

"However, there was a school field trip that came through here yesterday."

Hold out both arms for upper body armor to be strapped on.

"It's not likely, but that's where we want you to start; it's the only lead we have."

Hold legs apart for lower body armor to be strapped on.

"Search the campus for any sign of the virus, and report to us your findings."

Arrange for heavy gun number one. ...Where was heavy gun number one?

"You won't need your typical arsenal; this is a scout mission only. You will have your combat knife and a hand gun in case something goes wrong."

A large, loose button up shirt was pulled onto him over the armor, giving him a rather large and tubby look.

"This is an undercover mission, something that you are not unfamiliar with. No shifting, no commotion. Just get in and get out with what you find."

Pilot nodded, and then was sent out.

Dave had woken up, but he didn't want to open his eyes. After staying up until nearly four in the morning trying to go to sleep, wracked with chills, headaches, and everything that was bad in the world, he had gotten no sleep. No alarm rang, for he had forgotten to set one. Several minutes later, Dave had finally gotten himself out from under the warm solace of the blankets, forcing himself upright. He rubbed his eyes a bit, and went to pull out some clothes for that day, but ended up falling asleep on the floor again.

"David! You'll be late for school!" His mother's stern voice woke him up again, and he winced. It was much louder than it should have been. He rolled over and looked up at her with the most disdainful expression he could muster. There was no way he could go to school in this condition. It would be hell. No, worse than hell. Yet even so, he picked himself up off the floor, and grabbed his clothes for that day. He grabbed his signature orange coat off the back of the door, and put it on with some difficulty, getting it backwards the first time. He picked his bag off the floor and slung it over his shoulder, going out the door and slamming it shut maybe a little too hard. He was regretting even getting out of bed. He was definitely going to be late, but he didn't care. He just wanted the day to be over.

The train jerked to a halt, and Dave woke up with a start. The rocking of the train, the dark subway tunnels, and the fact that he had only gotten two hours of sleep that night had lulled him into taking a nap. He scrambled out of his seat and dashed out the doors, which closed moments behind. He trudged up the stairs, through the exit, and into the doors of the high school. His mood hadn't improved any during the train ride to school, and he was still completely out of it. He grabbed the pen from its holder and signed into the "late binder" as it was called. The receptionist glared at Dave through half-moon glasses, and Dave returned with a death stare that caused her to go pale and look away. He slammed the pen down on to the desk and stalked away to his first period math class, ignoring the stares he got when he entered the room and sat down. The teacher resumed talking but he paid no mind as he tried to grab Pen's attention. He would have to ask her what was going on.

Jesse awoke that morning feeling perfectly fine, if not a bit of fatigue from staying up late fixing his car the previous night. His beloved, yellow Porsche had broken down some time ago, and Jesse figured it had something to do with the engine, but his father refused to let him take it into the shop. Jesse had decided that he could simply drive the Ferrari, but his father wanted to use that one to work, instead of taking the Mercedes Benz like usual. He also refused to let Jesse take any of the other cars; his father always knew how to push his buttons, and his mother was no help on the subject. He had exhausted himself last night, and as he had no idea how to fix the car and didn't want to make the situation worse, he went off to bed with it in the same condition it had been the past couple of days. No matter, Jesse would just call his chauffeur to take him to school. Still, he'd much rather drive himself.

He sat up in his bed and stretched, observing his haphazard appearance in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Outside his room he could hear his mother's small voice telling him it was time to get up, then her soft footsteps scurrying away. Jesse couldn't figure whether his estranged mother's behavior was comical or just sad, and he didn't want to think about it. He got out of bed, crossed the large room and entered into his personal bathroom to get washed up. Everything from the ceiling to the floor, to the tub to the toilet, was sparkling clean, as he had expected it. He knew there was a slight possibility that his father would make him clean his own bathroom in addition to all the other things he was forced to do, and his spirits became even lower.

After a nice, long, hot shower, Jesse got dressed into almost identical clothes to those he wore the day before. The only visual difference was that the golden-colored vest was now a blue one. He fixed his collar and combed back his hair from his face, taking note that it was getting a little longer than he liked. When he exited his room, a maid was standing there with his backpack and coat in hand. He smiled at her that smile that always looked pained, though she did not meet his eyes and stared down at her feet. It was like this every morning. There was no difference.

That was until he was seated in the backseat of the chauffeur's very spacious, very elegant, very concealing vehicle. The sickness hit Jesse first with a sharp stab to his stomach, that shocked him so much he bent over forward, clutching it tightly. After a moment, it resided and Jesse figured it was just an ache for having missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning. He relaxed, taking a glance at his chauffeur to see if the man had noticed. Nothing, clueless. Jesse sighed and leaned back in his seat, checking the time on his Galaxy. There was a lot of traffic, but it looked as though they would get to school in time.

Not too long later, Jesse felt another lurch of pain, this time in the back of his head, and he groaned. What was wrong with him? The pain blinded him temporarily, and he felt his temperaure rising to an unbearable degree. The ache in his stomach returned. "Ron, could you roll down the windows for a bit?" he asked his chauffeur. "It's steaming in here." The driver seemed a bit confused at first, but then did as he was told and rolled down the windows.

"Would you like the top open, sir?" he asked.

Jesse shook his head, as he was in too much pain to answer, sweat running down his temple. Did he have a fever? And how did he even get one at this time of year? He was reminded of the time he felt sick after eating the blueberries that man had brought to his house, the one he saw at the facility, but he had trashed them immediately after eating them. Could it be a coincidence, or was Jesse thinking too much about it? Maybe it had nothing to do with the fruit. Maybe there was just something wrong with himself. Groaning inwardly, he simultaneously wiped his sweat with one hand, while holding his stomach with the other hand. "Um, Ron," he began, chuckling awkwardly. "What's the shortest route to the hospital?"

Saxon rolled over to face the alarm clock ringing by the side of his bed. He violently grabbed at it, the noise pounding through his head his ears still ringing even after it had stopped. He lay on his back, hands to his head as he shielded the morning light from his eyes. Never had he woken up with such a headache before. Maybe his prank yesterday had just been to much.

He lay there silently for a minute or so, but the pain didn't seem to dim and so he all but dragged himself from his bed and crawled across the carpet towards his bedroom door. He opened it a crack, recoiling at the brightness but slowly adjusting. He contemplated shouting his mum to grab some paracetamol, but shouting seemed worse than crawling right now. He was only thankful he was on the ground floor.

He made his way to he kitchen, painfully raiding the cupboards and popping open the first packet of paracetamol he could find, shoving them into his mouth and swallowing them without a drink. He glanced to the clock - he was running late! To make it worse he felt like the walking dead.

Saxon was able to shove on the first pair of clothes he could find before heading out the door, it seemed his mum was already at work but at least some of his older siblings were still in to look over the house. He was about to climb into his car, before deciding that maybe walking would be best and safest. It was a nice morning but still he wore sunglasses and a hoodie to shield himself - feeling ridiculous but at this point in time not particularly caring.

He had shoved his pockets full with medicine along with all his school books he could find into his bag, slowly marching to school not really bothered that he would most likely be late - it was a usual occupancy for him.

When he did indeed arrive at school the quiet chatter from classrooms was still overwhelming, but becoming more bearable despite his still pounding headache. He slipped into his English class and sat at the back, doing his best to avoid the windows and merely rest his head on the desk. Maybe he could pass it off as a hangover, most people left him alone then.

After a drink at the water fountain, Pen returned to her seat, rubbing her forehead. Her head was pounding as if the devil himself was knocking to see who was home. No one, apparently, for when Pen opened her textbook to try and at least seem like she was doing algebra, she found herself unable to focus. She gazed vacantly at an equation for at least a full minute, before slamming it shut again.

Mr Stanton - her stoic math teacher - strode in the room. He usually liked to see people working when he worked in the classroom, so most other students had the books open and their noses stuck in them - even if they were concealing cell phones. He frowned at Pen when he saw that she wasn't even attempting to look as though she was interested in the subject.

"Penelope Galloway? Aren't you supposed to be doing something?"

God. Why did teachers always have to refer to you by your full name?

Scowling, she flipped her textbook open once again, feeling a little dizzy. Her vision kept swimming and she struggled to even keep a grip on her pen. Man; if this was food poisoning, she had it bad. She started considering the advantages and disadvantages of going to the unsympathetic school nurse, who would probably just throw her a cold compress and start raving about how in her day kids could stand a little pain. Not the most desirable option.

Brave Dave - Pen recognised him from the field trip, surprised she remembered him - sauntered in late and though Mr Stanton paused pointedly, shooting Dave a sharp glance, he continued with his droning about how we all needed to show numbers a little more commitment. Pen supressed a snort.

She suddenly noticed Dave trying to get her attention, from where he sat. She narrowed her eyes - they never normally interacted at school. What on earth could he want? When Mr Stanton bent his head back down to his marking, she twisted in her chair, confused.

"What do you want?" she hissed, snapping a little more than she intended, her patience drained due to her pounding head and twisting stomach - she hoped she wouldn't throw up.

---

Dr Good was puzzled.

Enterprise Labs had seemed as baffled as him at the break in...then again, they weren't ever going to tell the truth, were they?

Hopefully Pilot - as always - would yield results.

Pilot was dropped off a block from the school, and walked the rest of the way. He nonchalantly walked around the campus, looking young enough to possibly pass for an older student. He circled the school a few times, picking up scents here and there. The virus was here; of that, he was certain.

"It's here," 32 said into his headset. He took refuge in the empty school yard, where he could talk to his superiors in peace. "The virus is definitely here. What further action should I take?" He wasn't quite equipped to go in and shoot up the entire school. Pilot was pretty sure that doing so would ruin the whole 'covert' part of his mission anyways. Still, he needed to know his next step.

Once Mr. Stanton had become distracted by something else, Pen twisted around in her chair to face Dave. She looked incredibly tired, and most of all, incredibly annoyed.

"What do you want?" she hissed at him, her tone acid. While the way she said her question answered Dave's question, he decided to ask anyway.

"You feel like-" he paused, and looked around, then began again in a quieter tone. "-shit, this morning?" He quickly snapped his head back to where he could see Mr.
Stanton, finishing up whatever task he had decided to get preoccupied with. His headache intensified quickly leaned over again, wincing.
"Listen, we should get everyone else that was in our group yesterday after school," he asked Pen. "I think that room had something in it." His headache reached began to crescendo even more. He was feeling more terrible by the second. Shortly after, Dave raised his hand. Mr. Stanton paused mid-way through his lecture, and blinked.
"Yes, David?" he asked sternly, adjusting his glasses.

"May I go to the bathroom?" Dave asked, leaning on the desk slightly, but not noticeably. Mr. Stanton nodded, and Dave slowly walked out of the classroom, down the hallway, and into the men's washroom. He leaned over the sink, breathing heavily. This wasn't a cold or the flu at all, something totally different, he thought to himself. He started to cough uncontrollably, tasting blood in his mouth. Once it has subsided, a strange feeling washed over him. He glanced up at the mirror and nearly fell backwards with astonishment at what he saw. His eyes, far from their normal blue, had become a bright gold.

Saxon glanced up from his current position on his desk, two voices close by sounded familiar, it was as if his hearing has been suddenly amplified as as he looked up the voices of Penelope and David were actually across the other side of the room. He stared at them a few moments, maybe he had imagined it....?

His gaze was caught by the teachers obvious glare that signalled her disapproval of first being late and secondly not doing any work so far. He bent down and rummaged through his bag pulling out a random wad of paper and slinging it on his desk giving her a *you happy now* look which again didn't go down to well.

As she turned to face the board he rested his head back on the desk, his arms shielded around it in an attempt to block out the light. However as he closed his eyes it seemed his hearing amplified again. He sat up sharply, instantly regretting it as the pounding in his head intensified. He almost growled at his own stupidity, but rummage around in his pocket for some more paracetamol.

He pulled out his bottle of water and took another, despite the fact it seemed to do nothing to help. He resulted in resting his head on his hands and staring at the board, far from concentrating but at least he wasn't about to freak out again over his hearing.

"You feel like-" Dave paused, and looked around, then began again in a quieter tone. "-shit, this morning?"

Pen stared at him for several seconds, because her answer was most definitely yes. And judging by the pain in his own eyes, she guessed that the reason he was asking was because he was suffering from the mystery illness as well. And the only common variables (where they had ever interacted) were today's math class - which, unless this virus was psychic, which was unlikely - and yesterday's field trip to the rock lab.

Could you catch a disease off a rock? Pen suspected that you couldn't. So what was the cause?

"Listen, we should get everyone else that was in our group yesterday after school," he asked Pen "I think that room had something in it."

He suddenly stuck his hand up and asked to go the bathroom, exiting the room sharpish, looking as though he had taken a turn for the worst; in short, looking absolutely dreadful. As sick as a dog, in fact. Pen frowned, watching him go out and caught the joker dude, Saxon, staring at her and Dave's empty seat confusedly. But he looked away quickly when Stanton swiftly admonished him for being late, etc. Pen wondered if Saxon was feeling under the weather, too.

The bell rang a couple minutes, or so, later. Dave still wasn't back - so Pen was guessing it was more than a quick toilet break. Though feeling dreadful herself, Pen began to worry. What had happened to him? And would her own fate be similar, if they had the same illness? Making a quick decision, she gathered up Dave's things and shoved them into his bag, before following the other students out the classroom. She had English next *yawn* which she wasn't particularly eager to get to, so she idled outside Dave's locker with his stuff, guessing he would return afterwards. Perhaps she could get some answers out of him; he sounded pretty certain that it had something to do with their fieldtrip group yesterday. But maybe not - she supposed that was the obvious answer.

---

Dr Goode was annoyed at the lack of results his investigations were yielding. He had worn down the carpet in his office from his constant pacing and now in a car with Wesley and a couple others, he was beginning to sweat. He was cruising around the neighbourhood of those kids' school, deciding to take a more active role in Pilot's mission, considering it was the only lead they had.

Pilot was communicating with them, assuring them that the virus was there. Finally, Dr Goode thought, in relief. He was beginning to wonder whether or not the virus had just spontaneously evaporated. It seemed though that one of the kids had contracted it. It wasn't ideal but the situation could have been much, much worst.

He grabbed the microphone from one of the scientists and barked direct instructions into them.

"Find out which one of them's got it. It could be a teacher, or a kid, or anyone. Use any means necessary - disguise, intimidation, whatever, I don't care - but get the job done without giving us away. Clear?"

He waited for an answer, before passing the microphone back.