That night, the little boy snuck out his bedroom window and ran to the
freak show with a bunch of tools he hoped he could use to free the Operative.
    He stood at the cage door, trying to pry it open with several of the
tools, determinedly, before finally giving up and slumping down next to the
cage.
    The Operative whimpered, pitiful and dragged himself over to the 
door.
    The boy petted his muzzle, gently. To some, this might have been a sign
that the boy, too, was beginning to see the Operative as nothing more than an
animal, but the Operative was too hurt to turn down a comforting touch and he
knew this was all it was. Knowing he could trust the boy, he spat out the
Galaxy Police communicator he'd hidden under his tongue and spoke weakly. "Get
in touch with the Commander," he said, barely audibly. "Tell him where I am."