This story involves homosexuality in loving, caring relationships between boys and men, not necessarily sexual in nature yet, but it will come. If this sort of material offends you, you shouldn't really have got this far, let alone start reading this story. You've had plenty of warnings from previous pages. If you shouldn't be reading this, for whatever reason, don't get caught, because I know that me telling you not to read this isn't going to stop you (I am 18 and legal, but I do know what temptation's like)(This does not constitute me condoning this action). This is predominantly a love/romance story and not particularly incestuous in its absolute form, nor authoritarian, though slavery is used as a means to get the story moving and onto its main focus. This story is entirely fiction, and any similarity of anything to a real-life counterpart is coincidence. All spelling and words are British English and may differ to those used in America. Any such words that are significantly different will be added in a list at the end of the chapter and translated into any American English equivalent I know. This story is my work, and should not be reproduced in any way (with the exception of one electronic copy for you own personal use), whole or modified, without making it absolutely clear that I am the author. You may not demand anything that may equate to financial gain in return for allowing someone to access this work. Any quotes should be attributed to me unless otherwise stated by my own acknowledgement to someone else. Plagiarism is a Criminal Offence under any penal code I have ever come across, so please do not commit this offence. At this point in time, Nifty holds the only authorised English copy in the public domain outside my possession. Any changes in possessions shall be notified in later chapters. All copyrights are my own. Any legal aspects are governed by British Law. Enjoy!

Copyright Sable 2006 (01/10/2006)

Apologies, in the previous chapter, I wrote, 'this Fifth day of August Two thousand and Four' (7^th paragraph from the end), it should have been 'this Twenty-eighth day of February Two thousand and Four'. Apologies for this; the change is necessary, otherwise the date and the birthdays don't match up.

Please be aware that shorthand dates in the UK are written thus: dd/mm/yyyy and NOT the American way.

Our New Family

I stood there with Scott, embracing him for another 15 minutes at least. I never wanted to end the embrace; I enjoyed the contact, safety and love he was giving too much. Unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end. We eventually broke apart, but not before I'd whispered 'Thank you' to Scott and given him a kiss on the cheek. Scott returned the kiss and smiled at me. I turned to look at Mike and found him in a five-way hug with my brothers. He looked happy enough; he had a huge grin on his face, holding Adam and Ed to his front while Tom and Davey plastered themselves to his back. I picked up my bags and managed to pry the quadruplets from Mike. They quickly crowded around me in a circle, facing the exit. Mike turned and led the way out while Scott followed behind.

Chapter 2-Paperwork Galore

We exited the plane and continued our slow walk up the corridor. I was still rather disbelieving of our luck and constantly looked around to make sure that we weren't in an airport I recognised. The quadruplets were conversing between themselves in their usual empathic way, paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to the situation. I marvelled at the way youth affected peoples' behaviour. A child could have the worst things imaginable happen to him and be as right as rain within a week. Had I not been forced to take on the 'Parenting' role, I'm sure that I would be more inclined to have the same perception of life as my brothers. I was just glad that they could bounce back from this setback like they have. I just hope that they don't experience a sudden, crushing realisation of what had happened. They should keep their innocence just a little longer. As we approached the half-way mark, my thoughts went under and became melancholy once more. I turned and groped for the emotional rock that was Scott. He didn't hesitate and hugged me once more. This episode only lasted for 2 minutes, but it was refreshing to have him hold me. I broke away and turned to return to my brothers, only to find that Scott wouldn't let me go. He held me fast with his left arm around my shoulders. He pulled me sideways to his left side, moved his arm to embrace me around my ribs and pulled me into his side, inviting me to lean into him for support. I didn't expect him to be so giving, but decided to gladly accept any support that came my way. My right arm was uncomfortable, so I moved it to encircle his waist, which is where it stayed from there on until I had to fill out the paperwork.

We emerged from the corridor into the main lounge to find another 3 officers holding back a crowd of curious holiday-makers. Mike attracted their attention, and we were off, still at a slow pace to accommodate my continuing physical weakness after the emotional stress. I was still struggling on with the bags on my shoulders. Scott noticed this and attracted Mike's attention. Mike saw my predicament and took my bags from me, against all my feeble protests. I was happy that I wasn't carrying them anymore, but didn't want to burden anyone else with them. We eventually reached passport control and were let straight through to be taken to an interview room at Immigration. I was led into the interview room along with my brothers, to find 9 chairs waiting. The quadruplets took 4 of the 5 round the table that stood in the middle of the room.

"Sorry, boys, but you can't have the ones round the table," stated Mike.

"Why?" came the immediate return chorus.

"Your brother needs to fill in paperwork for you all," answered Scott.

"There's still one chair here for him," reasoned Adam.

"Be that as it may, two of the chairs are for Mike and I, another two for Servants' Branch officers and the last one for your brother. The other four are for you," explained Scott.

My brothers all looked downcast and one by one dragged their feet across the floor in order to collapse into their chairs. I could tell they were all upset at being told that. I therefore tried to calm them down somewhat.

"Guys, seeing as it's the Law we're talking about, you have to give way to them. If we don't do everything by the book, we won't be allowed into the UK."

I saw one of the chairs was on one side of the table and the other four were on the other side, giving plenty of room around the chair I suspected was mine. I compromised.

"Why don't we compromise, Scott? There's plenty of space round what I think to be my chair. Why don't they sit on either side of it? It won't impact on you legal guys sitting on the other side of the table."

"If we do that, you need to be sure they can keep their hands off the table, as there's to be no interference with you writing out the forms. If it looks like there's been interference, there are people that would jump on the opportunity to say that the form is corrupt."

"They'll stay off if I tell them to, don't worry," I started and turned to my brothers. "Guys, you can sit on either side of my chair, as long as you promise not to touch the table, is that understood?"

All their faces broke into a big grin and there was a mad scramble to get their chairs where they wanted them. One on either side of me and two behind, in what I originally thought to be a strange configuration, but turned out to be ingenious; they could all touch me without having to stand up. I asked Mike and Scott for some water while I wended my way to my chair. I took all their boxes of sweets out and distributed them to my brothers. Mike left while the rest of us sat down. Mike returned 5 minutes later with the water, leading 2 Servants' Branch officers. One of the officers was carrying a veritable stack of paperwork. With that amount of paperwork, I thought I would be here all day, until I remembered that many sections would be left blank, as we were never Indentured. The stack was placed in front of me and I began to work my way through them I'll list all the details here for clarity (in the order they appear in the Paragraph S.10(b) of the Act.

As I was filling out the forms, the officers were sitting there quietly, looking at what I was doing, and seemed fairly disappointed when they didn't have to help me, seeing as that would have been their only entertainment. Occasionally, one of my brothers would put an arm round me and hold me for a while, for what I presumed was comfort. The officers' eyebrows rose noticeably when I brought out my Law volume to write down the Claims we had, and quickly darkened again, when they realised they would have no hope whatsoever of having entertainment. I spent 2 hours filling out the forms carefully before I went back and read through them all again to make sure all the details were correct. After another 30 minutes, I spoke to my brothers without turning round:

"Guys, do you have signatures?" I got no verbal response, though they did shake their heads, which was a bit pointless, as I wasn't looking at them. "You need to speak, seeing as I'm not looking at you."

"No," they responded after a bit of a delay.

"OK, officers, we'll need the inking kit," I said as I handed my brothers their forms. "You need to check through them and make sure all your details are correct."

I looked at them expectantly until I saw them start to look at their forms. I turned round again and signed my own form with my signature. When the quadruplets had finished reading their forms, one of the Servants' Branch officers spoke.

"You'll need to follow us, gentlemen; the inking kit is kept in one room, so everybody can find it and it won't get lost."

Everybody got up out of their chairs, stretched and turned towards the door. The 2 Servants' Branch officers led the way out, followed by the quadruplets while I held the door for them. I held the door for Mike and Scott, but they refused to go through, stating that, by protocol, they had to go last. I thought that was a little unnecessary, but went first with good grace. By then, the Servants' Branch officers and my brothers were quite a long way down the corridor, so I walked quickly to catch up, making it in time to walk through the door to the fingerprint room immediately behind my brothers. There was already an Algerian asylum seeker being fingerprinted, so we had to wait 5 minutes with the Immigration Officer looking curiously at us, evidently having noticed his colleagues' uniforms. Finally, the Algerian left and we had free reign of the machine. One of the Servants' Branch officers inked the machine and turned round to see Tom standing there, looking expectantly at him. The officer looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly.

"Could you hold out your right hand palm-down for me, please?"

Tom did as he was asked and the officer took hold of his hand and curled his fingers into a fist, leaving just his thumb sticking out. The officer stretched Tom's hand out towards the plate and inked his thumb. The other officer separated the sheets of Tom's form and placed the first one on the table in preparation. The first officer then guided Tom's thumb to the paper and gently twisted his wrist to place the entire thumbprint on the page. The officer then wiped the excess ink off Tom's thumb and returned it to the plate, in preparation for the second page. That was repeated until all the necessary pages had been printed. The officer then repeated the entire process again for my remaining 3 brothers. When the officer was finished, his colleague compared the quality of the thumbprints.

"Hey, Si, come and have a look at this; all their prints are identical."

"They'd better not be, or we'll have to check what we need to do about it, and I really don't want to go through that enormous volume," said the first officer, walking over to join his colleague. "Damn, they are the same! Do you think they'll let us get away with not doing anything else?"

"Not a chance! The Servants' Tribunal always checks these things, seeing as they get so many prints."

"Oh well, we'll have to consult the 'Encyclopædia', then. Would you like to do the honours?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yep, I did it last time, so you get the honours this time, Mark. After all, turn-about is fair."

Mark turned round and shuffled off towards the shelf on the far side of the room. When he got there, he started rummaging around. He decided that he couldn't find what he was looking for and removed them from the shelf, to replace them one by one after reading the title. He'd replaced all the books, so it seemed he still couldn't find it.

"Um..., Si, it's not here."

"So, what do you want me to do about it? Bet your airhead girlfriend has it, though."

"Hey! A little more respect for Tina, please."

"Let's make a bet, if Tina has got it, I get to call her an airhead, and if she hasn't got it, I'll pay for a night out for you two to a decent restaurant."

"Deal!"

"Skedaddle! We haven't got all day, you know. We've got these five to process and we can't go home until they're done. Our shift ended ten minutes ago."

Mark said "Oh, goody," and zoomed off, almost sprinting to the door. He wrenched the door open and made off down the corridor. Two minutes later, we heard some angry shouting progressing down the corridor towards us. The door burst open and hit the wall behind it and 2 women fell through it and onto the floor. One was a Police officer, holding a rather large, cussing and screaming woman down to the floor. Some of the things she screamed were so vile and disgusting I was sorely tempted to knock her out. Mike and Scott immediately sprang into action. They joined the officer on the floor and forced on of the woman's arms right up her back, at which point she screamed and stopped writhing around. They hauled the woman to her feet and let go of her arm, to find that this was a mistake as she promptly started struggling again. All 3 officers promptly and unceremoniously pinned her to the wall, in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position indeed. The woman had managed to get her arms between her and the wall so the officers couldn't get at them. Scott reached a decision.

"I'm going to spray her," he said as he reached down to his belt and retrieved a small black canister with a grey top.

He brought the canister up to the woman's face. The other officers quickly turned their heads away from the woman and Scott squeezed the top. The effect was instantaneous; the woman screamed in agony as the CS spray did its work on the woman's eyes and collapsed to the floor, taking all 3 officers with her. This exposed the woman's arms, which were immediately pounced upon by 2 waiting police hands. Scott rolled his canister away from him, across the floor and removed the handcuffs from his belt, while Mike and the woman Police officer forced the woman's arms round towards her back. When the first opportunity arose, Scott joined the mêlée on the floor and when the woman's wrists were close enough to each other, forced them closed around her wrists, much to the woman's rage. By tacit agreement, Mike and Scott took over the woman's transportation to the cells. By the sounds of it, it wasn't a quiet journey, either. The cells were in the corridor branching off our own, just outside the room. The woman struggled all the way and was eventually given a shove into her cell before the door was slammed shut with a resounding clang of metal on metal. The twins returned and struck up a conversation with the female officer.

"So, what's she in the cells for, Debbie?" asked Mike.

"Customs and Excise found her with a suspicious package that she was putting into the boot of her car. It turned out to be drugs, so they scanned her car and found more hidden packages. And I have to say, they were masterfully hidden."

"Did they take the car to pieces?" continued Mike.

"Of course, and I doubt they'll ever put it back together again, either, seeing as they're not required to," replied Debbie.

"What's the initial estimate of the value?" interrupted Scott.

"They reckon it's about twenty million pounds worth of crack cocaine, seeing as they found a label in the car, stating a value of some fifty-five million Eagles, so at least we know where it comes from."

"I would have thought the Americans would be less inclined to smuggle drugs, now that they have slavery again," grumbled Scott.

"Are we going to get an Extradition Warrant?" asked Mike, glaring at his brother.

"Probably; she was stupid enough to spout the name of the mule and the courier who gave it to the mule."

"Good, I doubt we'll get the ringleader or anything, but at least we've just made their lives that little bit harder," stated Mike.

"True. So, have you Bucks got yourself girlfriends yet?"

"No, and be careful about the terminology you use; there are Immunity Americans in the room," replied Scott quickly.

"Oh, sorry. Anyway, I should be getting off to do the dreaded paperwork."

"Bet you won't have it as bad as the eldest American did earlier," continued Scott, piquing Debbie's curiosity.

"Why?"

"He filled all the paperwork in for all five of them and spent two hours doing it."

"Ouch."

And with that, she left the room. Scott retrieved his canister from the corner of the room, before returning to us. About 5 minutes later, Mark returned with the book he wanted. As he entered, he looked rather sullen and downcast, a fact that didn't pass Si by.

"What did I tell you?" said Si.

"I give," replied Mark.

Mark consulted the book, taking another 15 minutes, before saying the Act didn't make any provision for handling identical siblings.

We were led by Mike and Scott to a room where we slept the next 8 hours away, so as to be awake and ready for our transportation. We were awake at the time we should have been collected by Protection, but they never showed up. We waited around for 2 hours, with Mike and Scott becoming more and more disgruntled, often going out of the room to check on Protection's progress. Finally, after the 2 extra hours of waiting, Mike and Scott made a decision.

"Right, Protection hasn't turned up and your waiting time is about to run out, which means that if we don't do something, we'll be in deep shit for breaking the law," began Scott. "Therefore, we're going to take you to Protection's jurisdiction ourselves. There have been cases of this before, and the High Court ruled that the Police should transport if Protection doesn't show up."

"We'll take you in our panda car, where you should be fairly safe. Leave your bags and stuff behind, we'll send it to Protection by Overnight Post. Protection'll be paying for it anyway as it's their mistake," completed Mike.

My brothers and I got ourselves ready and we were soon tramping out the door in our usual fashion. The Immigration area of the airport seemed to be a veritable warren, with Mike occasionally pausing to get his bearings. After a while, we reached a fire door, which Mike opened and led us through. We emerged into the dark night, but well lit causeway, and tramped up the right-hand side, with me walking in the gutter.

"Would you walk on the pavement, please. Police often come up here in a hurry, with flashing lights. If you're in the road, you're likely to get hit," requested Scott with concern in his voice.

"Sure," I replied before complying.

Mere seconds later, my lower abdomen exploded in excruciating pain as a gunshot rang out. Both Mike and Scott reacted instantly. Scott caught me as I collapsed and dragged me into the alley we had just walked past, while Mike bundled the quadruplets in after us. Seconds later, both Mike and Scott had drawn their pistols; barely in time for the next shot to ring out. This shot wasn't so lucky for the gunman. It barely clipped one of the entrance corners of the alley before burying itself in the wall on the other side of the alley. Mike took a quick look at the 2 marks and appeared to make a quick, mental sight-line between the 2. He steeled himself, got his pistol ready and moved swiftly out into firing range and fired a shot in-line with his mental sight-line. While the first shot missed his intended target, his opponent was caught off-guard allowing Mike to give the vicinity a quick once-over, during which time he found the assailant hiding behind a skip. The shoulder was just sticking out the side of the skip, so he fired a shot straight into the shoulder and was rewarded with a very female scream of pain.

"I got her!!! Scott, take Jesse to the traffic car quickly and get him to hospital. Make it a blue-light, or he won't make it in time. Get his brothers to help you! I'll sort out the lady!" shouted Mike, before launching himself in the direction of the causeway.

"Guys, help me here, we need to get your brother to hospital really quickly! I need your help to do this. Without it, he will probably die, so help me!" asked Scott. Was that anguish I heard in his voice?

I felt myself being lifted up horizontally. When I opened my eyes, I could see a vague, fuzzy view of Scott holding my head, so I assumed my brother were holding the other parts of me. I was carried for what seemed to be an indeterminate amount of time, but what could only have been mere minutes. Scott held my head firmly in one hand and extracted the emergency set of keys to the traffic cars.

"Guys, whoever is holding Jesse's butt, don't do this, but the rest of you get into the back seat of the car and belt yourselves in, quickly!"

I heard a door opening and a scramble, which I guessed were my brothers getting in.

"Henry, we're going to lay Jesse across your brothers' laps, so they can hold him. Once we've finished, get in the front seat," ordered Scott.

[Interesting, I wouldn't have thought of using their middle name, but I suppose it removes confusion of using the wrong name.]

I felt some jostling and I was suddenly looking at the face of one of my brothers, I no longer being able to tell them apart.

"Wrong side, Henry, you're in the UK now, and we drive on the left."

This was followed by the sound of running and superseded by what must have been more than 2 doors.

"All right, everybody in the back needs to keep Jesse awake. If he falls asleep, we are in big trouble; because that indicates that something is very wrong. If he starts to fall asleep, slap his face; you cannot afford to let him fall asleep," instructed Scott.

Blue flashing lights suddenly filled the interior of the car from behind. (British police cars don't have flashing red lights, except when indicating a driver to stop.)

"Would you hit all the amber buttons on the central console, please, Henry?" asked Scott, while turning the engine on.

Suddenly there were blue lights all around as well as a wailing siren. This was quickly followed by a second one, which I presumed was Mike. The car lurched forwards and we were on our way.

"Sierra, One, Three to Control, Over."

"Control to Sierra, One, Three, go ahead, Over."

"We have one, a bullet wound to the extreme lower abdomen; please inform Hounslow West General Hospital of our imminent arrival, Over."

"Certainly, Scott, Out,"

I felt a hand fiddle around with my trousers, and felt another explosion of pain as one of my brothers shoved his finger into the bullet wound in an effort to slow the bleeding. I groaned in pain, seeing as I didn't have enough energy to shout or scream. I felt my hands, arms, feet and legs go cold as my body went into shock-mode and brought all my bodily resources to my core. I couldn't see anything from my position, so the next bit is narrated by my brother sitting in the front.

Tom's Point of View

We pulled out from behind the terminal building and ended straight up straight in the middle of the organised chaos that is Heathrow. Cars started to pull over to make way for us, and as we progressed, we could go faster and faster. We entered the tunnel under the runway and really stood on the accelerator. The speed limit was 30 mph, but we were doing just over 40. We emerged straight onto a roundabout, where Scott decided to be cautious, a good choice as it turned out; a car barely made it past us before we slipped onto the roundabout. We took the exit towards the M4, into a 50 zone, but within seconds, we were doing 80 mph down the dual-carriageway. Mike, behind us, was keeping up absolutely fine. We braked hard for the next roundabout, a large one with a fly-over cutting above the middle. Scott pulled out onto the roundabout without stopping, doing 40, and continued at this speed all the way round to the Central London slip-road onto the M4. We sped up again to 80 mph, now in a National speed limit zone (70 mph on Motorways and Dual-carriageways). We made it up the slip-road very quickly and were soon joining the traffic on the motorway. Once off the slip-road, we sped up to some 120 mph (still with everyone else doing 70), with traffic all around us. After 90 seconds (5 miles), we came upon a traffic-jam, which didn't faze Scott at all; he simply pulled over onto the Hard-Shoulder, still doing 120 mph and used that instead. It turned out that the queue was for an accident a mile further on. Through the entirety of the trip, Mike kept up with us without a problem.

"Sierra, One, Three to Control, Over."

"Control to Sierra, One, Three, go ahead, Over."

"We have an accident on the M4 eastbound between junctions 4 and 3. Overturned lorry, and 3 other vehicles, Over."

"Traffic are on their way, Scott, Out."

I bet the traffic queue was absolutely gobsmacked when 2 traffic police cars raced past the accident without stopping. On the Hard-Shoulder, we had slowed down to 100 mph, as the road surface wasn't of as high a quality (The Hard-Shoulder being for emergencies and emergency vehicles only), but once past the accident, we pulled out onto the main carriageway again and sped up to an engine-roaring 150 mph, now that there wasn't any traffic around at all. The car was complaining a bit about the use Scott put it to, as it was now doing some 7'000 revs a minute. A few miles further on, the next junction came up, but we bypassed it and soon we were ploughing our way through somewhat lighter traffic, but traffic nevertheless. We were in the outside lane (far right), so very few were in it, and we could keep up our 150 mph speed. A very short time later, the next junction appeared and Scott indicated left, and pulled off the motorway, squeezing past the rear end of a car trundling past the exit. We progressed down the slip-road slowing down as we went, ending with a last, heavy brake to 30 mph for the roundabout at the bottom. We bore hard right and towards the centre of Hounslow, still in a National speed limit (now 60 mph, as we were on a standard road without a central reservation). We still achieved a top speed of 90 mph, racing down the road. A few miles further, we entered a residential area, into a 30 mph zone. Scott stabbed a button on the central console and the siren went quiet. Mike seemed to have done it as well, so there was no more noise, except the sound of the car. We approached the next roundabout and braked hard, turned the siren on and emerged onto the roundabout at 30 mph. We careened round and took the third exit. As soon as we were off the roundabout, Scott turned the siren off again and sped up, shooting past the entrance to the out-patients of the Hounslow West General Hospital. We braked hard again and turned a sharp left into the ambulance track that led behind the hospital. We sped up again, before Scott stood on the anchors and brought the car to a screeching standstill.

"Those of you in the back, stay in the car," he barked before He and I piled out of the car.

I wrenched the rear door open (the hospital was on our left) and was soon joined by Scott who had run round the front of the car (so as not to get hit by Mike's car, incidentally also squealing to a stop), and together we pulled Jesse out. The collected nurses and doctors ran to help Mike, as he was the only conscious person in his car, where they dragged Jesse's assailant from the back and placed her on one of the trolleys. They immediately wheeled her in, while a doctor barked orders to the nurses around him. We gently lifted Jesse onto his trolley and he was whisked away in the same fashion. Scott told me to get back into the car, which I did, while longingly looking at the interior of the hospital; I wanted to follow Jesse. Scott turned all the apparatus on the car off and everything around us stopped flashing blue. We then moved off at a far more sedate pace to find ourselves a parking spot.

Here ends chapter 2 of Our New Family. This is the first story I have written for non-school purposes. I hope to see you in the next part! If you have any comments or suggestions, please feel free to e-mail me at sable.author@googlemail.com. Please include 'Nifty' and the title in the subject, as otherwise it will probably get lost, as I use filters.

Please consider supporting Nifty financially. If you can't, like me, consider contributing in another way. This is my way of contributing.

American Alternatives

Accelerator => Gas
Boot => Trunk
Dual-Carriageway => British equivalent of a 4-lane Freeway (I think) - the travelling directions are separated by barriers
Lorry => 40t Truck
Motorway => British equivalent of a 4 or more lane Interstate Freeway (I think) - the travelling directions are separated by barriers
Pavement => Sidewalk
Sweets => Candy
Tacit => Silent
Trousers => Pants