(Insert disclaimer here) I do not own The Secret Saturdays. Obviously. Anyway, here's a little idea I came up with when I was rewatching "The Swarm at the Edge of Space" and thought up a different meaning as to why Epsilon was shocked as he was reaching for Francis and why Francis seemed terrified, but not overly concerned with Epsilon's condition. Sorry if it's already been done (I haven't seen it anyway), but it's difficult to know since Francis doesn't get a friggin' character slot when the Mondays and Miranda do... Anyway, enjoy. Or not. Maybe just click that back arrow and find something less deranged to read.

Prologue

"What are you up to now?" Zak asks, leaning on the back of Francis's chair and peering over his friend's shoulder.

Francis gasps, startled, and hurriedly rearranges windows on the computer screen in front of him. He says, in a completely unemotional yet rushed tone, "I'm just doing a bit of research on how to turn the legendary Cameroon flashlight frogs into an organized fighting machine perfect for warding off an enemy attack while exploring tropical forests."

Zak blinks and takes a step back.

"Francis, it's just Frogger."

Francis sighs.

A barren, impersonal room. There was a bed in the corner, pressed against the wall as far from the door as possible, with a drab gray blanket tucked neatly around it. Gray curtains and venetian blinds let in a few, small rays of light from the world outside. Other than that, there was a plain, gray dresser and a desk, with the only sign of life in the lifeless room being the quiet breaths of the four-year-old boy asleep at the desk.

He was small and slight, with unusual mint-green hair and yellow eyes currently hidden by closed eyelids and thick, dark gray lashes. The boy had fallen asleep atop a smattering of blueprints, a tiny pair of sunglasses and a nearly finished remote control helicopter inches from his head. Gray pajamas covered his pale skin and his chest rose and fell evenly despite his awkward position.

Suddenly, the door to the bedroom flew open with a bang, startling the small child at the desk, who immediately fell out of his chair. He looked towards the door fearfully, trying his best not to tremble.

Agent Epsilon stepped through the doorway, his dark glasses flashing maliciously. He was almost as pale as the child before him, but his head was shaven and his green and black uniform covered every bit of skin from the neck down. He marched over to the boy, who stared up at him with wide, anxious eyes.

"Francis," he said austerely, making said child flinch, "Did you take a circuit board and two signal transmitters from my office?"

"Y-yes," Francis whispered, trying to make himself even smaller.

"Where are they?" When Francis didn't respond, Epsilon knelt down and grabbed his arm, causing the child to bite back a muffled yelp. "When I ask you a question I expect an answer! Don't make me repeat myself."

"They're on m-my desk, f-father. I was b-b-building something with them." Francis pointed shakily to the contraptions on his desk.

Epsilon narrowed his eyes and shoved Francis away roughly. The Grayman then rose and moved to scrutinize the boy's blueprints and invention. "And what exactly have you wasted my materials to build?" he asked harshly.

Francis gulped. "I-it's just a r-remote control helicopter. I could make most of the c-components, but I d-don't know how to make circuit boards and wireless transmitters yet, so I… I borrowed them." He became increasingly nervous as Epsilon did not respond. "I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean anything by it. I j-just thought it would be fun-"

The frantic explanation was cut off as Epsilon turned and struck the child across the face. Tears pooled in the child's eyes as he suddenly found himself on the floor with his cheek stinging. He blinked rapidly and whimpered when Epsilon grabbed him by the hair. His faint cry earned him another stunning blow to the face as Epsilon hauled Francis to his feet.

"Graymen do not have time for games, Francis. Toys and amusement are a waste of time that should be spent training, and you never-" he shook Francis slightly for emphasis "-take something from my office without permission. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, father," Francis managed to eek out. "It's j-just that the other kids at school all have t-t-toys and they said I was weird because I d-don't have any, so I thought-"

Francis realized a second to late that this was the wrong way to go. "YOU DON'T THINK!" Epsilon bellowed, slamming the child into the wall. "I don't care about the other kids. You keep your questions to yourself and you. Follow. Orders." The final three words were punctuated by agonizing blows to the boy's stomach. Francis let out an involuntary plea, which resulted in Epsilon snatching the helicopter from the desk and smashing it over his head. He collapsed to the floor, unable to stand, to breathe, or to hold back his tears. Epsilon glared at him.

"If they're going to fill your head with such foolish nonsense, perhaps I should homeschool you from now on." Francis gave his guardian a pleading look and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Epsilon kicked him.

"You are confined to your room for the rest of the day as punishment. No meals." With that, Epsilon stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him, locking Francis in from the outside. The boy was left to wonder exactly what he had done to deserve such punishment. He sobbed quietly to himself as he picked up the broken pieces of his helicopter.

Nine-year-old Francis forced himself to turn away from the small helicopter and returned to his desk in his cramped quarters beneath one of his people's bases. He had convinced Epsilon to allow him to rebuild the troublesome craft by converting it to an intelligence-gathering mission, installing microscopic cameras to record video and audio. Sighing, the boy slumped wearily into his chair, wondering for the millionth time why he was required to justify his every breath.

Once he was tired of moping, Francis opened and closed the drawers of his desk, pulling out blueprints, tools, and what appeared to be a video game. After a few minutes of tinkering, the machine came to life in Francis's hands. Allowing himself a miniscule smile, Francis let himself become lost in the glowing screen and rapidly pressed the buttons on the sides of his newest creation. Thus, the boy almost missed the footsteps approaching his room from the hallway.

Francis threw the game into an open drawer and slammed it shut, turning around just as the door opened. He rose to his feet as Epsilon entered. "Is there anything I can do for you, father?"

Epsilon drew closer until he was immediately in front of Francis. Don't panic. Despite his mental efforts, Francis found himself pulling back slightly, trying to put distance between himself and Epsilon. He found himself wishing he could use his personal security field to hold the man off.

Epsilon, torturously slow, reached around Francis and slid the drawer open. He pulled out the video game and held it in the boy's face. "What is this, Francis?"

"A simulator I am working on," Francis stated without hesitation. He'd prepared an "explanation" for everything he invented, usually before he actually built it. "Merely a side project for my personal time. It involves potential battle formations for the weaponization of atmospheric jellyfish, since in our missions I have found them to usually be a nuisance, always just in the way." Just like me, Francis mentally added.

After a tense moment or two in which time seemed suspended to Francis, Epsilon nodded. "You might be onto something," he finally muttered. He then turned and left.

Francis let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and collapsed into the chair with relief.