Codename Kids Next Door Here

Harvey Hapsburg sat in a new room. It wasn’t a cell. It was an office, overlooking the Grand Canyon. A desk. A chair. And a small, silver briefcase.

Numbuh 1 rolled out of his hammock, his tactical vest already snapped on. By the time his feet hit the metal grating, Numbuh 5 was at the main monitor, her gum snapped in half. Numbuh 3 was tangled in her Rainbow Monkey comforter, crying about “loud noises hurting her feelings.” Numbuh 4 was already swinging a pair of spiked boxing gloves, looking for something to hit. And Numbuh 2, inexplicably, was already holding a half-eaten turkey leg. Codename Kids Next Door

“Help me?” Harvey spun around. His eyes weren’t angry. They were wet. “You’re going to help me? You, Numbuh 1? The great Nigel Uno. What happens to you in two years, huh? You turn thirteen. They put you in that chair. You forget Hoagie. You forget Kuki. You forget your own brother .” He pointed a trembling finger at Numbuh 2. “You’ll forget the time he saved your life from the Toilenator.” Harvey Hapsburg sat in a new room

“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.” A desk

Numbuh 2 shifted uncomfortably. “That… that was a pretty big deal, dude.”

Harvey smiled. For the first time, it didn’t look sad. “I’m thirteen, Numbuh 1. Too old for field work. But too young to forget. There’s a middle ground, maybe. A place for kids who remember but can’t fight. Who can plan. Who can build a better system.”

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.”