Carmen drifted in and out of consciousness in an uneasy sleep. Memories floated through her mind, some she hadn't even realized she'd had. She found herself reliving a mission she had been on while brainwashed by V.I.L.E.

Carmen was at a ball in Sofia, Bulgaria, dressed in a stunning purple gown. She wished it was red. It just felt... strange, somehow, not being cloaked in her signature bold color.

A hand off was about to happen, so she kept her eyes sharp. A skilled thief, not associated with V.I.L.E., had stolen a famous painting in 1990 by the artist Rembrandt. This painting, The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, had traded hands between the rich and other thieves for years, and it was about to be passed on yet again.

But Countess Cleo had been wanting this painting for a quite a while, and when she got word that it would be handed off, she sent Carmen to intercept it. Of course, the actual painting was not being passed off at this ball. It would most likely be a piece of paper bearing a location where the buyer would soon meet the seller.

She had chosen Gray, sorry, Crackle, to come with her on this mission. There was no one she trusted more than him, and they worked together in total synchronization. He was the only person her cold heart felt the slightest bit of attachment to.

"Spotted anyone suspicious?" Crackle said quietly to Carmen as they stood casually on the outskirts of the ballroom.

"Do you see that tall man over there? Black haired, bearded, olive complexion?" she murmured. Crackle nodded, and she continued. "He looks like he's scanning the crowd for someone. Keep an eye on him."

"Aye, aye." Crackle grinned. He suddenly turned to her, the grin still spread across his face. "We could keep a better eye on him if we cross to the other side of the ballroom where he's standing."

"To do that and not lose sight of him we'd have to cross through the middle of the ballroom floor." Carmen pointed out. "That would look extremely suspicious and put the hand off participants on their guard."

"Exactly, which is why I plan to not look suspicious. Care to dance, madam?" Crackle said, extending a hand to her. He gave her his most winning smile.

Carmen rolled her eyes. "I suppose so."

The two of them assumed the waltz pose and began to make their way across the ballroom floor. She could tell Crackle was distracted by their closeness, because she kept catching him watching her instead of the suspicious bearded man.

"You look nice tonight," he said as they reached the halfway point of the dance floor. "I mean, it's not your normal color, but it still suits you."

Carmen sighed internally. Crackle's head was not in the game. Carmen herself enjoyed light banter and perhaps a touch of flirting, but now was not the time. They had to keep their minds sharp. And besides, she needed to remind Crackle that they were partners in crime, nothing more.

"Keep your head in the game," she said shortly. "This isn't the time for idle compliments."

Crackle looked a little wounded by her harsh reply. "Alright, sorry."

Good. He should know that she had no real feelings for him. The flirting she took part in was simply to amuse herself, and she didn't want Crackle to start thinking there was any true affection behind it.

The rest of the memory flashed by in a blur. They intercepted the hand off and her dream skipped ahead to the night they met with the seller of the painting in the real buyer's place.

The bearded man looked nervous as Carmen and Crackle stepped into the dim, flickering light cast by the streetlamp overhead.

"You don't look like Mrs. Chanalet," he said hesitantly, his voice heavily accented. Carmen could see his hand clenching and unclenching on the handle of a briefcase that had to have held the painting.

Carmen smirked. "You're right, I'm not. Now hand over the painting."

"But, the money-" the man started. Crackle cut him off.

"You heard her. Hand it over," he said, his voice steely.

A conflicted look crossed the bearded man's face before he pulled out a gun and levelled it at the V.I.L.E. operatives. "I do not care if you are not the original buyer, but if you have no money, you will have no painting."

Carmen merely sighed wearily. She nodded slightly to Crackle and he whipped out his crackle rod, quickly blasting the gun out of the man's grasp. She held out her hand and Crackle gave her a confused look, but handed her his rod.

"I gave you a chance to hand over the painting peacefully," she said to the man. Her casual smirk was gone, replaced now with a disdainful curl of her lip. "But you didn't. And now you'll face the consequences."

She stepped closer to the bearded man and he backed away, dropping the briefcase. Suddenly, he found she had cornered him against a wall. Carmen relished the fear in his eyes.

"Carmen?" Crackle called uncertainly. "What are you doing? He dropped the briefcase."

"Teaching him never to cross Carmen Sandiego." Carmen replied, feeling the slow burn of anger heat her insides. She cranked the setting of the rod all the way up to kill mode, causing Crackle to yelp. "This will be the first and last time you ever get in my way."

"Wait, Carmen, please," Crackle protested, his voice strained as he approached her cautiously. "He doesn't deserve to die just for defending himself!"

Carmen glanced back at him. "You're getting soft, Crackle." she said scornfully.

Crackle ignored her accusation. "Why do you keep pushing things to such extremes? We've got what we came for. Now let's go."

"No." Carmen turned back to the bearded man. "I'm not leaving until I'm done." Her finger reached for the trigger button.

The last thing Carmen heard before the memory faded was Crackle's and the bearded man's yells blending together as she pressed it.