Disclaimer: Codename: Kids Next Door and all characters are © Mr. Warbuton and Cartoon Network.

By: Rekichan

She was brought up a rough and tumble life, with several older brothers to compete with at the dinner table and a set of parents that felt children should be free to express themselves freely. This meant, of course, that the sorts of punishments misbehaving children ordinarily received (mouths frothing with soap for dirty words, corners chalked with lines ticking the minutes passed complete with stools or even raw bottoms) was something quite unknown. The parents felt punishing children for being children was a big no-no, instead the children had to practice yoga and Lamaze rather than being punished.

She would be pushed from her rightful chair from the sofa when a favorite program was on, and would often be forced to fight the battle with the despicable seat thief until either she or he would submit to the other. The youngest of six brothers would come out on top surprisingly often. The parents would look on fondly, favoring neither their black-eyed daughter nor the son who would be clutching his lower regions with a most pained expression. After the battles the children would be patted on the head, congratulated for solving their problems on their own and be rewarded by being signed up for Lamaze classes, much to the disgust of all seven children.

The sister would watch as one by one her brothers would join a club, and she watched as they gained friends with names with numbers. Every day she would ask, beg and whine to be let into the super secret club, and every day she would hit, punch, slug, kick and scratch as she was denied access to this society.

"You're still just a wee ankle biter, Fanny!" was the excuse she was given if they were feeling affectionate towards their wildcat of a sister, or "Too sodding violent for us! You lack tact, ninny!" if they were particularly annoyed with her after a brawl. Neither of the excuses appeased her, especially the latter, the former gave her hope, however, a hope that she clung to reverently.

As she watched all six brothers join the secret society, she also witnessed them grow older and eventually leave. The day her eldest brother turned thirteen had been a solemn occasion, the other five brothers ignored the birthday boy, even as they dragged him out of their home and away. When her brother came home he wasn't the same, something was different about him. He wouldn't take her to the pizza place that had the tubes and ball pits anymore, he called her words like 'annoying' and 'bratty', granted he had called her those words before, but there was a sort of malice behind them this time, and it hurt. He wouldn't fight with her any longer nor would he watch the movies that the young six enjoyed, calling them 'babyish'.

On her eighth birthday, her eleven-year-old brother took her by the hand and led her to the basement, a place she had been denied access to before. The little girl was shocked to find it filled with many delightful gadgets and gizmos and twirled and whirled, her excitement grew as her two brothers than still remained in the club took her to the clubs headquarters. She was going to finally be accepted into this mysterious clique and she didn't even have to fight anyone!

Eighty six. That was the number she had chosen on her eighth birthday. Eight. Six. She was proud to be a member at long last, a member of the Kids Next Door. She bit, kicked and screamed her way up the ladder, refusing to let any body, especially a boy, to stand in the way of her achieving recognition; something a youngest of seven rarely received.

She was there the day the last two brothers who were members of the club were decommissioned. She glared hatefully as they were stripped of their badges and she turned her back to them as they were led back home, taken away from Headquarters forever. She was ten at the time, and on that day she was granted the position in charge of decommissioning, a position that was both honored and feared. It put her talents of shrieking and fighting to good use and kept her out of the other children's hair, well, most of the time.

But for all the respect she received from her fellows, the girl was lonely. Respect and fear, while nice, couldn't nearly come close to the bonds of friendship. She couldn't make friends with the grace and ease that fellow operatives, like Numbuh Three, could. Having been brought up with six other brothers, all of which she had fought daily in a constant struggle of who could sit where and what belonged to whom. She would have liked to have a close friend to rely on and laugh with, but most girls didn't like to brawl as she did. Her poor ability to make friends was blamed, of course, on boys.

Even so, Numbuh Eighty-Six trudged on, punching and hitting all those who dared to smile at her in a suspicious manner or giggle just as she happened to walk by. With her head held high she ignored the loneliness that had manifested itself in her. It didn't have to be that way, but she had grown mistrustful of others after seeing how a simple birthday could change her siblings. What if that girl who smiled kindly at her would turn around and betray her?

Better to keep a stiff upper lip and be alone than to open your heart up and let it be smashed on the floor, was her way of thinking. Of course, it wouldn't be until much later that she found out how wrong that way of thinking was.