"Okay, decent enough to work," Mizrelle said, her tone laced with disapproval.

Sam's bubble burst. "Decent enough? I'd like to see you do better!" Before he could continue pointing out that they were by no means mediocre and hadn't missed one single bottle, Tom covered his mouth with his hand.

"Groovy. Now what's next?" he asked, pretending that Sam wasn't struggling to free himself from his grip and continue shouting at Mizrelle.

Mizrelle narrowed her eyes some more at them, zeroing in on Sam who immediately regretted his outburst. He was just too used to being a smarty pants in school and challenging anyone who claimed otherwise. Why was he so keen on proving he was a total school boy?

"We'll have you do cooperation next. Leave the good stuff for last," she finally said with poisonous sweetness. "Don't you agree, darling?" She batted her heavy eyelashes at Tom in a way that made Sam's stomach turn.

"You're the boss," Tom said with a grin.

To Sam's horror, Tom let him go and stepped away, leaving him alone in the middle of the circle of strange people. Mizrelle approached, but she was the last person he wanted to cooperate with at the moment. The closer she came, the more he had to fight the impulse to step back. When she reached her hand out, his fingers itched to grab the gun and point it at her, but he was smart enough to know that would probably get him shot.

But she held no gun. Instead, it was a map, and Sam's mood lifted a little before plummeting again. Sure, he was good with maps, but he also hadn't slept and eaten in over twenty four hours, and his head felt like it was filled with wet cotton.

"Sit down," Mizrelle instructed.

Sam looked from left to right for something to sit on, but concluded she meant the floor. With a shrug, he sat down cross legged, aware his only pair of jeans was already filthy. Mizrelle crouched in front of him and lay out the map.

"We're here," she stated, pointing to a random spot in the middle of the map. "He's here." She pointed to another spot, close to the right corner. "Get him back to base safely."

"Give me a flashlight and a pencil and I will," Sam mumbled, squinting at the map.

The crowd snickered, as if his affirmation had been highly amusing, but he ignored them, focusing on the maze of streets before him. It was probably Paris and he didn't know the city, but he did know how to read a damn map. And he also knew basic geometry which made things a lot easier.

The requested materials arrived, and Mizrelle was actually kind enough to hold the light for him. With a much better view of the streets, Sam started marking them down, forming an intricate web of triangles from crossroads to crossroads.

"What are you doing?" Mizrelle asked.

"Bringing your guy home," he answered, uniting another three lines. "Is he driving or on foot?"

"What difference does it make?" she asked, sounding honestly surprised.

Even so, Sam couldn't help but be a prick. "See these little arrows?" He pointed to a narrow street on the map. "These indicate a thing called a one-way street. So I need to know how to treat these."

"Wow, I guess you're a smartass, too," Mizrelle deadpanned. "Let's say he's walking."

Sam decided not to push his luck so he just nodded and continued drawing triangles. He didn't really need them, but it made calculating the distance afterwards a lot easier. Finally, he finished drawing the lines he needed and, using the scale at the base of the map, started calculating the exact distance. It took him merely ten minutes to compare all possible routes and settle on the best one.

"Twenty minutes," he announced, placing the pencil behind his ear.

"Yeah, right, kid," Mizrelle snapped, yanking the map out of his hands. "There's more to it than just math. You have to think, to strategize, to--" She choked on her next word when her eyes finally took in his chosen route. "You avoided the tourist traps."

"Yes. Unless he wants to take a detour for some pickpocketing, I think it's safest to stay away from crowds."

The affirmation gained him a bunch of snarls and boos from the crowd, but Mizrelle was quiet, focusing on the map. Finally she turned away and said something in French. A man broke out from the crowd and took the map from her after which he was out of sight again.

"You're actually useful," she mumbled to Sam before turning her attention to Tom.

He'd come over and grasped Sam's shoulder. "How are we doing?"

"Decent," she spat as if Tom had mortally insulted her with that simple question. "Let's see you wrapping it up, hotshot." And without waiting for an answer, she whipped around and strode through the crowd.

"Great job, Sam," Tom said as they followed her.

"Thanks. So what happens now?" Even if he felt a lot more confident after two apparently successful performances, Sam was still aware one wrong move would be the end of it. But it was Tom's test and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I'm not exactly sure, but I think I might have to show off."

"Then there should be no problem."

Tom chuckled, but it faded fast when the crowd moved aside to reveal what looked like and overly complicated skateboarding rink. Sam rubbed his eyes and looked again, but the ramps and railings were still there, reaching higher than the light could shine. Why? Why would anyone waste resources to have something like that in there instead of getting food and clothes? No one there looked overly fed or warm.

Mizrelle started speaking French again and someone passed her skateboard with a flaming design. "You just have to win against Petit here, and we'll let you in," she said.

A short black guy wearing baggy pants, a fluffy winter jacket and a beanie stepped out of the crowd, clutching a skateboard of his own. He grinned at Tom in a very obvious I'm-so-kicking-your-ass way. Tom threw him an unimpressed glance from his towering height.

"Let's get this show on the road!" Mizrelle yelled, clapping her hands.

Instantly, more lights turned on, bathing the rink in white, cold light. Music also started playing from somewhere to the right, the beat fast and strong with no words to accompany it.

Tom and Petit both climbed on their boards and rolled towards the ramps. Sam's stomach clenched with nerves as he did some basic math. He and Tom hadn't eaten or slept properly in much too long. Tom must be feeling as tired as he was and he was so dizzy, he didn't think he could even ride a bike, let alone do tricks on a skateboard.

"What happens now?" he asked Mizrelle who'd remained standing next to him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Now he needs to show us how street you both are," she answered, her eyes still glued to the skaters.

Sam watched them too as they launched themselves from the top of the highest ramp. Neither of them fell over, and when they reached the top of the opposite ramp, Tom actually twisted his board. And dropped it. Sam's stomach lodged itself in his throat as he watched Tom skidding down the ramp. He managed to grab his board before he reached the bottom and hopped back on it in a crouch, almost making it seem like it was intentional.

The crowd wasn't fooled. They jeered and made wild hand motions. At least until Tom reached the top of the next ramp and flipped the skateboard flawlessly. Sam noticed that Petit, even if he stayed on his board, wasn't actually doing any part tricks.

"Just as an FYI, he hasn't eaten or slept in over twenty four hours," Sam said.

Mizrelle tensed the tiniest bit. "Irrelevant."

"He would've never fallen if he were rested and fed."

She threw him a sideways glance. "He doesn't need you defending him, kid."

"Stop calling me kid. You're probably a couple of years older than me."

"True, but I'm not a spoiled little rich kid."

Sam gritted his teeth. He was half frozen and had just come out of an explosion which left him with nothing but the clothes on his back, which were a mess. Did he have rich kid spelled on his forehead or something?

"You're wearing Armani jeans," Mizrelle said as if reading his mind.

"I'm wearing shabby and potentially ripped Armani jeans," he corrected her, though he didn't really see the point. It was amazing how people with no many recognized brands. He remembered Jimmy making a similar comment about their clothes in the jungle.

"It's also your posture. Unlike Tommy, you're scared out of your mind."

"Nope, not true." At least not anymore. Not after the whole fighting, shooting, map thing. And he trusted that Tom would pull through. He'd never actually talked to someone more street than his twin.

Mizrelle turned to him fully and scanned him from head to foot. Sam wasn't sure what she saw, how much he differed from Tom. He didn't really want to know either way. He liked his new confidence bubble and wouldn't let anything burst it. Fortunately, she just shrugged and turned back to watching Tom who had positioned himself to jump and entire flight of stairs.

"Oh, he's so good at this," she said.

Sam just nodded, trying to find some comfort in her words, because he'd never seen Tom do anything spectacular on his skateboard and breaking his neck on stairs would be such an anticlimactic way to end this adventure.

Just like Mizrelle predicted, Tom did not break his neck on the stairs, but jumped them flawlessly. Petit chose to avoid all that and take the railing which was just as spectacular in Sam's eyes. He was such a bad judge at this. And when the two dropped their boards and took on the course on foot, his brain finally registered what parkour meant and why Tom had asked. At least this was something Sam knew his twin excelled at.

"So, where'd you come from?" Mizrelle suddenly asked, drawing his eyes away from Tom and Petit.

"Not sure how to answer that. The more accurate question would be where Tom came from."

"True," she answered with a hum. "It takes away from his street cred, now that he's a spoiled rich kid."

"He's not, you know."

The smile on her face was unsettling in its warmth. "Yeah, I know."

Something was a little off about Mizrelle, and something else she'd said came to the front of Sam's mind. "Who's the boring school girl?"

She squinted at him. "You are."

"No, I'm Jimmy. You said so yourself." Sam squinted back because he had a suspicion that Mizrelle meant Angie and he was ready to argue to the ends of the world that Angie was in no way a boring school girl. She was one of the coolest, most capable people he knew.

Mizrelle refused to answer and he didn't press because it felt safer not to know. So he settled for continuing to watch Tom working his parkour magic, much faster and more precise than Petit who was falling behind considerably. And when Tom finally stopped in front of them grinning, Sam was relieved to see Mizrelle grinning back.

"Not bad. You obviously haven't lost your touch."

"Does this mean we're in?" Tom asked, giddy excitement in his voice.

Mizrelle called out something in French to the crowd and they started cheering. "Hear that? Guess it means you're in."

"Sweet," Tom said turning towards the crowd and bowing. They laughed and cheered him on.

Sam wondered if he was expected to do the same, but it would be so fake he decided to smile like the clumsy idiot he was and leave it at that.

Mizrelle called out something else to the crowd, this time a question and people started shouting random words back. Sam thought they might be numbers because they actually sounded familiar. After what felt like the length of an actual bingo game, she turned to them once again.

"Okay, we have agreed that your trial period will be of two days."

Wait what? "Trial period?" Sam asked, trying but failing to keep the outrage out of his voice. They had no time for this. He'd planned on setting out after Christine and Angie as soon as possible, namely after a nap and some food. But apparently this fraternity thing came with a lot more strings attached.

"Yes, Sam. We actually need to see you working," Mizrelle answered, her eyes narrowed the slightest bit. "You got a problem with that?"

Before Sam could open his mouth and tell her that, yes, he had a problem, Tom grasped his shoulders and pulled him back.

"That's great. So, will we be starting tomorrow morning then?" he asked with childish enthusiasm that made Mizrelle started laughing.

"Impatient as ever, Tommy, darling." She ruffled his hair and Sam fought the impulse to slap her hand away. "Yes, you will be starting tomorrow morning, but until then I think it's time for one of our doctors to have a look at you two. You both look as if you've come out of an explosion. And we'd better get you something to wear, too. And something to eat while we're at it." She turned away and walked towards the tunnel on the left.

The crowd shifted as everyone seemed to be getting back to their usual tasks. Sam and Tom hurried off after Mizrelle, being slapped on the back on the way. Tom didn't seem to mind, but Sam really wanted to pull away. He had burns and scratches that didn't need to be touched even if the gesture was of congratulations.

"This is what I'm talking about. Food, clothes, shelter and ammo," Tom whispered.

"As convenient as this is, I'm not really cool with this trial period thing," Sam whispered back. "We've already wasted enough time."

"Don't worry. The trial is street stuff. We'll be out on the streets tomorrow morning and we'll have to graffiti-paint walls or something. We can get that out of the way and start looking for Christine and Angie."

"Oh." That didn't actually sound too bad. "Can you actually spray paint?"

Tom laughed. "Yeah. I think we can manage it."

Sam smiled weakly and focused on Mizrelle's retreating back. "How do you know Mizrelle again?"

"She was an exchange student while I was at school. She's the one who gave me all the information about the fraternity because I wanted to join as soon as I turned eighteen. I thought it beat the hell out of sleeping in the park." Tom sighed and rubbed his arms. It was getting increasingly cold inside the tunnel. "I had no idea she became the head of Paris. That's a pretty important position. Anyway, we should get some rest and some food. We've had a shitty day. We almost died twice."

"Three times. We almost got run over by the subway, remember?" Sam pointed out.

Tom stopped and turned to him. They stared each other down for a second before they both burst out into hysterical laughter. Yes, they definitely needed to rest.

❄

For the next few days, Sam and Tom roamed the streets, trying to catch a glimpse of Snitch Gravel's men. Like Tom had predicted, most of their work with the fraternity had them out and wandering the street. Tom pushed as much as possible and got them assigned to all the tourist hot spots. It was surprisingly easy seeing as not many wanted to take spots which were usually guarded by the police.

Fortunately, even if the clothes they'd received from the fraternity were baggy and worn, just like everyone else's, Sam's rich kid posture came in handy for once. Police didn't look at them as suspiciously as he expected, and usually left him and Tom alone as long as they didn't stir trouble.

During their wandering, they stumbled across the U.S. embassy, but, like Tom had predicted, it was guarded by Snitch Gravel's men. Sam found it increasingly disturbing that he was starting to actually recognise some of them. Tom's suggestion that they grabbed one of the men and shook the location of the girls out of him was appealing, but Sam wouldn't risk being seen and getting the girls killed.

So they decided to wait until the number of men went down and they could successfully grab one of them. In the meantime, they roamed the street around the Louvre, entering hotel lobbies, getting kicked out, trying again, going to different touristic areas and keeping a general lookout.

Sam hated it. After almost a week of being in Paris, they'd made absolutely zero progress and they were not even close to finding the girls. They had no clue where to go or to even start looking. Who knew where they were being held? It could be any hotel or office building in the area. It could be an underground space like the one the fraternity and their rivals were using.

And despite what Sam first thought when they got in, life in the fraternity wasn't easy. They had a rivaling street gang they battled over supremacy of the street, they were extorting shop owners for survival and they hated the current political representatives. Sam never thought he'd learn the name of the French president in this context. Carrying a gun proved to be a necessity, especially since they were forced to wear a mark to show their allegiance. It wasn't much, just a black bandanna that had to be visible, but it felt like a giant target sign.

Over the days, Sam had noticed Tom taking on extra work, only coming back to headquarters for the night. Sam wished he could join him, but his brilliance with maps ended up holding him in more than he wanted.

By Sunday morning, Sam bubbled with frustration. Tom was out on his own again while he was cooped up inside, calculating routes for some of the other boys. Mizrelle stood by him, looking over his shoulder and it only bothered him more.

He and Mizrelle got along just fine, though he couldn't help noticing that she always called him Sam, whereas Tom was still getting the 'Tommy darling' treatment. He sometimes got the feeling something might have happened between Tom and Mizrelle at some point, but he didn't really want to know. It was unpleasant enough to picture Angie stuffing a punch into Mizrelle's stomach every time he heard her cooing around Tom.

Thankfully, Tom came in, a big goofy grin on his face. Mizrelle instantly left Sam side and pulled Tom away to 'gather information'. Ugh, he now wanted to punch her in the stomach. Tom dismissed her rapidly and came back to him, the grin still in place. Sam rubbed his itchy face, hoping it was some good news at last.

They'd turned so scruffy over the past week, it added to his increasing list of annoying. Though Tom actually seemed to enjoy his stubble and longer hair, Sam hated it because it made him feel like he was losing himself somehow. He'd always been trimmed and proper, probably as an aftermath of Jerry.

"I hope you're smiling because you have good news, not because you find it funny that I'm uncomfortable," Sam warned.

"Can it be both?" Tom answered sitting next to him and pulling out a small bag out of the interior pocket of his fluffy winter jacket. "I've managed to spend our fifteen dollars on something useful."

He opened the bag and took out a pair of scissors, a razor and shaving foam. Sam almost felt like crying out loud with joy. A clean face was great news at the moment. So he didn't let out a peep of protest when Tom started cutting his hair and let him shave first.

Feeling more like himself than he had in days, he offered to at least try to cu Tom's hair. He'd never tried and would probably end up doing a crappy job, but he wanted his twn to feel comfortable as well.

"Nope, I'm fine," he said instead. "I think the less we look like twins, the better. That's why I got these in the first place, not because I knew you were uncomfortable."

Sam squinted at him, but could read behind the joke. Tom did care that he was uncomfortable. He also had a very good point about not looking like twins.

"The embassy seemed a little clearer today, so I think we can have a go tomorrow," Tom said, dropping on his bed.

"But don't we have that challenge tomorrow?" Sam asked. They'd be taking part in their very first street skirmish over a plot of land at the edge of the latin quarter and Sam had no idea if he was excited or terrified about it.

"Exactly," Tom answered with a stretch. "What better cover could we hope for?"

Sam nodded and dropped on his own bed. Yes, they'd handle both tasks. And it wouldn't even be the hardest thing they'd ever done.

❄❄❄

You're getting a huge-ass chapter this time, right in time for Merry X-mas. So I hope you've enjoyed it. Of course I'm totally leaving before the excitement starts.

So, what do you think? Did you enjoy Tom and Sam's tests and this little incursion into the life of the fraternity? Also, will they succeed in finding the girls? Are they even still alive?

Stay tuned to find out! Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote and leave me some thoughts! I always appreciate every comment and discussion. Happy Holidays everyone!