section7mfu | "The Changeling" the conclusion. ~ For Picfic Tuesday 10/21 (Reply)

Here are the links to: Part 1 and Part 2

Napoleon Solo awoke with a start, blinking his eyes as he couldn’t wipe them with his hands because they were restrained. He lifted his head from his pillow, finding himself in a hospital gown, a restraint across his chest as well, and on each of his bare ankles.

“Oh so you’re finally awake,” a nurse dressed in white stepped over to him.”How are you feeling?”

“Confined...could I get these ugh...things, removed please? They make it a little difficult to scratch my nose and other assorted body parts.”

“Sorry dear, that’s up to the doctor.”

Napoleon didn’t recognize this particular nurse and as he searched his foggy memory, he realized why.

Both he and Illya had been taken captive by a lunatic named Doctor Pontius Weir, a THRUSH minion if ever there was one. The man pumped him full of drugs, and though Illya was out of sight, there was no doubt in his mind the same thing was happening to the Russian.

Solo recalled being so dizzy, it becoming worse if he closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep and he knew it went on for days...the sleeplessness, pumped up with drugs, questions, hallucinations.

Did he succumb to their psychological torture, and what about Illya?”

“Where’s my partner and what have you done to him?”

“Interesting Mr. Solo, you seem to be remembering things,” a man wearing a white lab coat spoke. “Do you recall who I am?”

“You’re that bastard who injected me full of chemicals. Now I repeat, where is Illya Kuryakin and what have you done to him?” Napoleon demanded rather loudly. “I swear if you’ve hurt him...”

“You are in no position to make any demands much less threats. I will, however, tell you your Russian friend has not fared as well as you. He had become a bit psychotic, not unexpected since a lack of sleep will do that to anyone; that and our drugs have made him as pliable as we had hoped. You on the other hand slipped into a state of unconsciousness, forcing us to activate our secondary plan for you a bit prematurely,” Weir inhaled, sucking in a breath as he chose his next words.

“However, that secondary plan has not performed as well as we had expected; still Mr. Kuryakin has..

Napoleon had no clue what the man was talking about, and hoped with a little nudge Weir would brag a little more, as T.H.R.U.S.H. lackies seemed to like to do. He wondered if braggadocio was part of their training or was it just that ‘type’ of person who was attracted to the Hierarchy?

“Oh, in other words, you’ve failed,” Solo hedged.

“Failed? No Mr. Solo, just a minor setback. Our first attempt at infiltrating your New York headquarters experienced a minor glitch as can happen with technology, but our secondary plan seems to be working fine at the moment.So our project to steal the entire database stored in U.N.C.L.E.’s mainframe computers will still go forward. Now if you promise to behave yourself, I will have your restraints removed so that you may move freely about your room.”

Napoleon shrugged, pretending to resign himself to his captivity.

“Sure Doc. Scout’s honor, I’ll behave.” He knew he had to figure out how to get out before something catastrophic happened at headquarters, but not knowing where he was might complicate his efforts if he were too far away to stop the doctor's plan.

The last thing he remembered was heading to Del Floria’s with Illya as they’d decided to hoof it from their building since the weather was rather pleasant.

After that it was mostly a blank with flashes of being in a shower, nightmares, dizziness and not being able to sleep. There were words echoing in his head, orders from Dr. Weir, orders he refused to obey and questions he refused to answer.

The panic and screams in the Commissary that ensued as the two men wrestled each other to the floor subsided as soon as Security arrived, restraining both Solo and Kuryakin.

“He’s a spy,” Napoleon shouted.”Don’t let him go.”

“You are the spy,”Illya growled at him as he pulled free, adjusting his tie and straightening his jacket. “Take him down to a cell. I will be there shortly.”

“Yes sir Mr. Kuryakin," the agents from Security dutifully replied.

“Noooo, he’s a mole. Don’t listen to him. That's not Illya!” Napoleon called as they dragged him out the door; he was apparently oblivious to the stares of the people surrounding him.

The Russian entered the office of Alexander Waverly after being ordered to report there; stopping to run his fingers through his hair and straighten his black tie.

“Ah yes, Mr. Kuryakin. Be seated,” Waverly seemed to be in a rather relaxed mood. “I take it you are uninjured after your altercation in the Commissary?”

“Yes sir,” Illya seated himself in the chair directly beside the Old Man.

Waverly raised a bushy eyebrow at that action. “Tell me exactly what took place between you and Mr. Solo if you would?”

“I was with Mr. Solo in the Commissary to get a cup of coffee when he accused me of not being...me. He drew his weapon and fired upon me.”

“I understand you were hit in the neck with a sleep dart, which apparently had no effect on you. I find that rather interesting...why do you think that happened?

“I am at a loss sir, as in this case not having it affect me permitted me to attempt to pursue Mr. Solo. Perhaps it was simply a defective dart.”

“Hmmm yes quite. Mr. Kuryakin, would you feel comfortable with interrogating Mr. Solo, or should I say Mr. Solo’s…doppelgänger, though I think that term is inadequate for the ‘thing’ that is in our holding cell.”

“Yes sir I agree and I assure you I will be able to handle the interrogation, though I think it might be difficult to achieve any sort of success.”

“Very well then, report to me when you have any answers. Dismissed.”

Kuryakin went straight down to security, after having reported to Dr. Weir about the problem with the Solo android.

Illya entered the double security cell where the robot Solo was being held. Apparently it had remained cooperative and other than protesting its confinement, it did nothing but sit in the cell with it’s back to the door.

As soon as it saw Illya, it spoke to him. “You’re not Illya Kuryakin.”

“And why do you say that, it is clear you are not Napoleon Solo, nor are you human.”

The doppelgänger cocked its head in a mechanical sort of way, slowly turning it’s face to reveal half of it was torn away, with the metal parts fully visible. It lowered it’s chin, taking on a threatening visage.

“It does not matter,”Kuryakin answered, but you are wrong. I am Illya Kuryakin. He leaned in toward the android.”What is your program directive? Password is Changeling.”

The robot began to jerk it’s head as if were like a record album caught on a bad scratch.

“You’re not Illya. In the Commissary you behaved differently from….from,”

“What? My behavior did not match your program parameters? How is that possible?” Illya’s head began to jerk as well until he regained control.

”I repeat what is your directive?”

Faux Napoleon sat up straight, and in a monotone voice it finally answered the question. “I am Solo, Napoleon Solo. I work for the United…”

“No,” Illya whispered you are the creation of Dr. Pontius Weir, sent here to access the Commands mainframe computer but apparently your programming has failed. You are therefore useless.”

“No! I am Solo.”

“And I am Illya Kuryakin,” Illya suddenly monotoned as well, whispering to the android. “I must fulfill the directive at which you have failed.”

He turned to the door indicating to Security to be let out. Illya gave his report to Waverly, telling him the robot truly believes it is Solo and was no further information to be obtained. It’s programming was defective and would take a long time to decipher the coding, much less the mechanical aspects of the device.

Waverly suggested R&D look at it but, Illya insisted he wanted it to be his personal project. the Old Man agreed, deciding to focus on the finding the real Solo.

Napoleon rubbed his wrists, once he was free of his restraints. Though still dressed in his flimsy hospital gown, the nurse took pity on him and gave him a terry cloth robe to wear.

“An orderly will be coming by with a meal tray for you,” she said.

“What’s on the menu?” He asked, hoping it wasn’t the typical slop given to prisoners.

“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans.”

“Impressive, no green jello right?”

She actually laughed at that. “No lime jello. We don’t need to monitor you for internal bleeding….I take it that’s what you get in the U.N.C.L.E. infirmary?”

“Pretty much so. I hear it’s s.o.p. for most hospitals. My partner pretty much hates the stuff with a passion. How is he, by the way?”

“Mr. Kuryakin? He’s fine, actually better than fine, there’s no need for you to worry about him. He’s come through our ‘treatments’ with flying colors.”

“Hmmm, good to know. Is he nearby, any chance I could see him?”

The nurse laughed. “No honey that’s not possible, he’s not here. He’s left us.”

“Dead?” Napoleon assumed.” You said he was fine.”

“He’s not dead, I can assure you of that.” The nurse turned, heading out the door and Solo listened carefully as the lock click behind her.

A short time later a dark-haired orderly entered the room, rolling a cart carrying Napoleon’s promised meal.

“Okay bud, supper time. Sorry but it’s plastic plates and utensils. Looks like a good meatloaf and some lime-green jello for dessert,” the orderly whose name badge read Alphonse, snickered.”The nurse made sure you got that.”

“Peachy,” Napoleon mumbled, leaning over the metal tray, pretending to look it over.

He grabbed it with both hands, driving it upwards and smashing it into the man’s chin. Solo swung it sideways hitting again and again until big old Al dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“I hate green jello,” Napoleon said as he bent down, stripping the orderly of his scrubs and white lab coat.

He quickly dressed himself afterwhich he dragged the man to the bed; putting the restraints on him and shoving a towel in his mouth to keep him quiet if he woke up too soon.

The last thing Napoleon did was grab the fool’s ring of pass keys from the floor, and saluted a goodbye as he unlocked the door. He stepped out cautiously into the corridor, checking both ways.

He didn’t recognize anything, so which way to go? When in doubt while driving it was his rule to just keep turning right and you’d eventually get to where you were going...which was lost. Illya constantly reminded him of that.

Solo turned left.

Following the corridor he was surprised to not encounter anyone, until he heard footsteps coming in his direction.

He spotted a small desk with a clipboard sitting on top of it and Napoleon grabbed it, pretending to read it as he turned his back to the passerby.

“How ya’ doin’ Al?” The man called as he walked past.

Napoleon waved with his hand, looking preoccupied and breathed a sigh of relief the fellow didn’t stop to chat.

Continuing on, and with the Solo luck being in full swing; he found the front door and exited to the street undetected. As soon as he looked up and down the block, he knew exactly where he was, in the east 40’s in New York City, and literally a block away from headquarters.

He made it there in record time, trotting down the steps at the little tailor shop, through the door as the brass bell alerted the agent on duty. Napoleon didn’t stop and went straight to the cloak room, turning the hook and waiting for what seemed like an eternity for the door to slowly swing open.

Heather McNabb was at the desk, and looked shocked to see him.

“Napoleon...how? Your logged in as being here. Where’s your ID badge and why are you dressed like that?”

“Heather my dear, it’s a long story. Just give me a visitors badge and let Mr. Waverly know I’m on my way to his office. I have something very important to report.”

Kuryakin had taken his time, waiting for the computer room to be empty. Finally after days of patiently waiting his opportunity arrived. After working out his calculations, the cipher algorithm had come to him easily, and he laughed at its simplicity.

He stepped into the room, scanning the area to make sure it was clear before he seated himself at the terminal, and turned it on.

“A-c-c-e-s-s <space> t-e-r-m-i-n-a-l. He quickly typed along with his identification number and passcode, he waited for the next message.

“The classified information you are trying to launch has been encrypted with EYES ONLY cipher algorithms.”

The message flashed again and again.

He smiled, this time entering the cipher…

The screen went blank.

“No!” He slammed the desk with his fist.”That was the correct algorithm.”

“Maybe not...chum,” Napoleon Solo spoke from behind him.

“How did you get out of your cell, and who fixed your face?” Illya blurted out.

“Fixed my face? Illya what did they do to you?”

The blond became rigid, staring at the computer screen, his now trembling hand poised above the keyboard, waiting to hit the key to transmit the data to T.H.R.U.S.H.

“Nooooo. I cannot do this...”

“Fight it tovarisch. You’re stronger than what they think you are.”

Kuryakin, grabbed his head as he was stricken with a sharp pain...punishment embedded in his psyche for disobeying his orders.

Without warning, his eye rolled back and he collapsed in slow motion to the floor.

Illya opened up his eyes, blinking several times until his vision focused.

He tried to move, but found himself in restraints, and that slight struggle send an unbearable pain through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he tried to bear it, but cried out in pain.

The heart monitor showed a marked increase in his rate, and his breathing became rapid.

“Fight it buddy,” Napoleon whispered as he buzzed for the nurse.

Several of the staff were there in an instant, giving Illya an injection in his IV line, a sedative to knock him out.

“It’s best to keep him asleep until we can clear his system of the cocktail of chemicals that had been pumped into him by his captors.

Days later he was finally allowed to awaken after he’d been given several transfusions. His system had been purged of the chemicals, his heart rate and breathing were normal.

Napoleon sat in a chair beside his partner’s bed as Illya spoke of his ordeal and the fact that he had nearly compromised U.N.C.L.E. He was insisting he was no longer a valuable asset to the Command since he’d been broken. He’d been brainwashed to think he was his own doppelgänger and recalled the visions of seeing himself standing outside his cell, looking in at him.

“Will you knock it off. We’ve all had moments of weakness. The important thing in the end was that you didn’t complete the task they’d given you. Their brainwashing failed in spite of all the drugs and psychological torture they put you through. From what I understand of the incident in the Commissary, you were acting out of character, and that was what alerted the defective android. It really thought it was me and detected those, perhaps signals, your subconscious was giving.

“I do not remember doing that, I only recall the imperative that was given me.”

“Hey they messed with your head pretty good pal, and there but for the grace of God go I...they did it to me too, but I apparently became comatose and, well, that was that. That’s why they sent in my little duplicate in my place, and when he...it failed, you were their last resort,” Napoleon paused for a minute. ”That is unless they have another changeling….a doppelgänger Kuryakin.”

Illya sneered at that comment, wondering now if he hadn’t imagined that image of himself outside his cell. “I am not so sure, as I was made to believe I was my own doppelgänger….all part of their brainwashing. I presume the satrap in which we were held was cleared?”

“As soon as I got here and reported the situation, the Old Man sent out a team. Unfortunately our friend, Dr. Pontius Weir managed to slip away, so conceivably there could be a doppelgänger ‘you’ that escaped with him, as the team didn’t find another android.”

He was hesitant to tell Illya the Security team had found a latex mask of the Russian’s face. Solo got goosebumps at that thought, wondering if he could take two of the Russian.

Illya crossed his arms in front of himself, not saying a word. Another him? The thought of that was quite unsettling. He had a difficult enough time dealing with personnel in the Command who distrusted him simply because he was a Soviet. Now to have to potentially deal with them wondering if he was the real Kuryakin or not; that was a whole new ball of wax, as Napoleon would say.

“I see that look in your eyes chum. Let it go.”

Napoleon reassuringly clasped the Russians shoulder. ”There’s nothing we can do about it for now. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” He crossed his fingers behind his back.

Illya shrugged his answer before closing his eyes.

He could not, no...would not let this go.