Chapter 2

by Lucky Lady Bug
Rated PG

"And you thought we were gonna be turned into vampyres," Mike muttered as he slowly backed away from the barred wall. "No, all we've gotta worry about is being stabbed to death by someone who wouldn't even hurt a fly in his right mind." He looked to Peter as well, desperate to break the spell. "You know you don't want to hurt us, Peter," he said, trying to speak calmly even though inwardly he did not feel calm at all.

"I don't?" Peter said vaguely as he reached the door of the cell. Instead of jabbing through the bars with the weapon, he simply stood there and blinked at the others. They felt encouraged by this.

"You're our best friend!" Davy said now. "You don't want to listen to Doctor Mendoza. He's just trying to use you!" He moved forward, about to grip at the bars, when Peter lunged at him with the knife. Davy gave a cry of distress and leaped out of the way just in time.

"You see?" the doctor exclaimed in delight. "You can't break the spell I've put over him." He felt triumphant. He had only been working with Peter for a short time and already he had made such progress. His secret research that he had done while in prison had paid off well.

"Hey!" Micky cried then, feeling outraged at this exploitation of his close friend. "How long have we been here, anyway? It shouldn't have been long enough for you to do this to Peter!" The last thing he remembered clearly was being knocked out roughly by Mugsy, and that seemed ages ago now. He wondered if they had already been here for days as Doctor Mendoza had brainwashed Peter. Micky did not see how it was even possible for it to happen. He had always heard that one could never hypnotize someone to do something that was against their will, but Peter was behaving entirely opposite to how he would normally act.

"It was quite long enough!" Doctor Mendoza answered. "You have been here exactly . . . twelve hours," he announced, after checking the clock.

Mike, Davy, and Micky gawked at him. "Twelve hours?!" they echoed. But that was not possible!

During all of this, Peter had been standing silently and watching them. When Micky remembered this and looked back to him, he saw a desperate, pleading look in the bassist's eyes. Peter was still there, the Peter Micky and the others knew, and he was voicelessly crying out for help. He did not want to bring harm to the others. His body was acting against his will. Micky continued to stare at him, haunted by the look, until Doctor Mendoza suddenly snapped his fingers and Peter turned to face him again.

"That will be all for now, Peter," the mad scientist declared. "You may go."

Mechanically Peter turned and headed out of the room, bumping into the doorframe on his way out. Doctor Mendoza shook his head and sighed at the display, and then looked back to his prisoners.

"Rest assured, each one of you will get your chance to make history!" he laughed, as if it was a great honor to be taken and brainwashed. And, knowing how the doctor's twisted mind worked, it was highly possible that he believed exactly that. "But for now, settle down and relax, and Groot will bring you something to eat." Mike, Davy, and Micky yelled after him in protest, but to no avail. Soon he was gone, leaving them in their cell.

Davy slumped back against the brick wall. "This is terrible!" he cried. "Poor Peter. . . . We have to do something to save him!" Certainly they had dealt with many strange things on their escapades, but there had never been anything such as this. This was the first time that they had to deal with one of their own turning against the others---even though it was unwilling---and trying madly to kill them. Davy could have done without the experience. It would take a long time before he would be able to get the image of Peter viciously lunging at him out of his mind.

Mike shook his head. "I don't know what, man," he said quietly. "It looks to me like the doctor's got him good."

"No!" Micky cried then, startling the others with the force of his reply. When they turned to look at him questioningly, he told them about the pleading gaze he had gotten from Peter. "The doctor hasn't really done such a good job," the drummer declared then. "He's got Peter's body working for him, but the real Peter isn't! Don't you guys see? Peter doesn't want to do this, but he's helpless to keep his body from acting against his will!"

Mike nodded slowly, feeling sobered. "Yeah," he agreed. "If we could just get through to the real Peter so that he could fight the brainwashing, then we might get somewhere." But he sighed, not knowing how they would even accomplish that feat. They could not even get out of the cell where they were trapped. He pointed out this problem to the others, and they sighed as well.

"If we could know where Tony and the others are, maybe we could try to get them to help us," Micky muttered. "I mean, I can't imagine that they would want to work for Doctor Mendoza any more than we would!" He paced the floor of the cell, feeling restless and depressed. This was certainly a strange mess that they had gotten themselves into! And now, even though he was usually able to come up with some idea of what they could do, his mind was blank. He groaned, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Hey," a new voice suddenly said from a nearby location, "would you mind keeping it down? I can't sleep with you crumbs practically yelling in my ear." There was a pause, and then the voice's tone changed to something menacing and malicious. "And if you don't shut up, I just might have to find a way to force it on you . . . permanently."

The three Monkees jumped. Then, swallowing hard, Micky turned around to peer into the next cell over. He stared in shock and disbelief when he found himself looking in a mirror. "Baby Face!" he gasped. "They got you, too?!"

The mobster looked as stunned to see Micky as Micky was to see him. Immediately he was wide awake. He climbed out of the cot and made his way over to the bars on the side of the cell, which separated him from the trio. Gripping the metal poles, he glared darkly at his double. "Well, what do you think?" he snapped. "Do you think I'm in here for the fun of it?!"

Micky grinned weakly. "Of course not!" he hastened to say.

"You know, we've really gotta stop meeting like this," Mike remarked.

"What happened?!" Davy exclaimed. "How could Doctor Mendoza overpower an entire mob of criminals?! He's just one man!"

Baby Face growled. "Oh no he isn't," he retorted. "He has a lot of guys working for him by now---other crooks, random little people in the town, and those who are trying to make it big in an honest way, like you." His eyes narrowed darkly. "We got attacked by a bunch of guys who acted like they wanted to have a shootout. But instead of bullets, they peppered us with tranquilizers. Anyone they couldn't knock out that way, they fought with." He grew more furious at the memories and began to pace the cell like a caged tiger. "Cowards!" he yelled then. "They hid behind their stupid tranquilizer guns instead of fighting us to begin with!"

Micky gulped and backed away slowly, not wanting to be anywhere within reach of Baby Face's hands if he suddenly snapped. "How long have you been here?" he asked then. "You . . . really don't act like you've been brainwashed. . . ."

"Oh, I haven't been," Baby Face replied in a falsely calm tone, and Micky cringed all the more since he knew that Baby Face only spoke like that right before completely losing it. "I'm just stuck in here while that freak's off doing something with the others!" He looked up at the three Monkees, seeing that they had retreated to the far corner of their cell, and then tried to calm himself. "I hear 'em screaming sometimes. . . . I dunno what he does to them, but I think it's more than messin' with their minds. And the ones he hasn't brainwashed yet are the ones he has 'special plans' for." He glared hatefully at the cell. "This place is like prison. They take away anything you could use to get out, or kill yourself with."

Mike slowly began to relax. "Well," he said, "if they didn't take our explosives, maybe we could blow the doors off and get out that way. . . ."

"Are you kidding?" Baby Face frowned. "No way would I trust you to get us out of here! You'd probably end up killing the lot of us!" He pointed his forefinger through the bars. "You're a walking disaster when it comes to explosives!" Not that he had ever seen Mike in action, but Tony had told him about the time Mike had blown up a piano that was clear across the room from the fireplace he had been aiming for. And Rocco had once mentioned that when Fuselli had owned Pop's Restaurant, they had found the desk suspiciously blown to bits and the safe in its place. It had not taken Baby Face very long to come to the conclusion that Mike had been responsible for that, as well.

Mike glowered. "Anyone can make a mistake," he muttered.

"Not in this case!" Baby Face yelled, and Micky hated to admit that he was right.

"Well, I'm sure we can figure out something," the drummer said weakly. "Maybe when Groot comes, we can distract him while someone else gets the keys from him. . . ." Then he brightened. "Hey, yeah! That's perfect! You could have a fit or something, and while Groot's trying to calm you down, I could reach for the keys."

Baby Face growled. "I didn't say that I'd try to help you guys."

"Aw, come on," Davy said, walking closer to the bars. "We're all stranded here. You want to get out, and we want to get out, and . . . hey, wait a minute." The British Monkee frowned suddenly, giving Baby Face a suspicious and confused look. "Why do you care what happens to Tony and the others? They don't mean anything to you, do they?"

Baby Face snorted. "Mean anything to me? Of course not. But have you ever been somewhere and heard people screaming? It's annoying, especially when you don't know what they're screaming about. And the last thing I wanna do is to worry about fighting them when they've been brainwashed, or whatever it is that's being done to them."

Mike shook his head and sighed. "Well, it's typical---that you only care about yourself, I mean."

The mobster shrugged. "They'd feel the same way."

"I thought Tony and Mugsy were friends," Micky commented, leaning on the wall.

"Eh." Baby Face rolled his eyes. "In this business, you can't afford to have friends." That was not especially an answer to Micky's remark, but Baby Face did not care. He was not trying to give him an answer. He glared at the trio now. "Enough of the small talk! Let's get down to business." He looked toward the door. "I hear someone coming. It's probably Mendoza's idiot assistant."