Numbuh 1 stepped forward, his 2x4 technology blaster raised. “Harvey. Stand down. You’re suffering from memory fragmentation. We can help you. There are new therapies. We can—“
“What you’re seeing is Numbuh 4.7,” she said. “Or rather, what he used to be. Real name: Harvey Hapsburg. Decommissioned at age thirteen, standard protocol. He was a promising operative. Sector M. Invented the S.P.L.A.N.K.E.R. (Strategic Post-Logical Anomaly Neutralizing Kinetic Energy Rifle).” Codename Kids Next Door
“I used to scrub this floor,” Harvey said without turning around. “Numbuh 86 made me. Said my mopping technique was ‘a disgrace to the concept of cleanliness.’” He laughed softly. “She was a jerk. But she was our jerk.” Numbuh 1 stepped forward, his 2x4 technology blaster raised
Harvey stared at the hand for a long, long time. Then, slowly, he took it. You’re suffering from memory fragmentation
Then, Numbuh 4 stepped in front of him, fists raised. “Yeah, no. You know what I remember, Harvey? I remember being seven and crying because I scraped my knee. And you know what? Growing up should mean you get better at stuff. Tougher. Smarter. Not dumber.” He cracked his neck. “Decommissioning stinks. But turning into a bitter, nostalgia-poisoned zombie who breaks into prisons? That stinks worse.”
Harvey’s face twisted. He fired again, but Numbuh 4 was already moving. The beam hit a support pillar, which instantly rusted and snapped. The ceiling groaned.
They found him in the Decommissioning Chamber. The massive, brain-shaped tank where memories were siphoned away was silent. Harvey stood before it, his coat now off. He was rail-thin, his KND uniform faded to a ghostly gray. Pinned to his chest was his old Numbuh 4.7 badge, scratched and dented.