Well, I don't own the rights to the Cyborg 009 series… any of them. But, this idea hit and would not be denied, so I went ahead and plotted it out. Hopefully other Cyborg 009 fans will enjoy this.
~ * Inception * ~
It was a frightful assignment, one that for most was akin to a death sentence.
Retrieval of the renegade prototype cyborgs: a high-priority, high-profile, high-risk undertaking. Though several attempts had come close, and there were partial victories at times -- even moments where it appeared success had finally been attained -- every time the results turned out the same: failure.
Failure was not an acceptable outcome in the Black Ghost Organization. Those who, through some minor miracle, survived such a close encounter with the nine defectors soon found their careers coming to a grisly end.
So perhaps it was not quite so surprising, then, that there were few Black Ghost employees who actively volunteered to be put on the ongoing project to defeat and destroy the runaway 00-series prototypes. Fewer still were exactly thrilled if they found themselves assigned to the task -- though, of course, such grievances were kept private. Speaking against one's superior was another quick way to cut one's career dramatically short.
Doctor Tenkan had received the order four hours, thirty-eight minutes, and six seconds ago. Already the grains of time seemed to be slipping through his fingers entirely too swiftly, counting down the moments until his eventual demise.
A thin sheen of sweat glistened on the scientist's wrinkled forehead, his deeply lined face set in a cracked mask of forced neutrality. The only source of illumination in his locked chambers was the computer screen before him. The glow reflected off his spectacles, highlighting the smudges and specks of dusts that had accumulated on the curved surfaces. Absently he removed them, brushing the glasses off against the front of his lab coat before replacing them on his sharp, broken nose.
At the press of a key, the image on the monitor changed from rows of neatly arranged data to pictures of a young man. One of his eyes was obscured by a curved set of dark brown bangs. The pictures ranged from basic front, back and side shots of the youth -- as well as detailed charts of the complex melding of circuitry and biology residing just underneath his skin -- to photographs of the subject in action, both in motion and at rest.
Doctor Tenkan did not need to read the heading at the top of the screen or the lines of information arranged in neat little text boxes alongside the pictures. He knew full well that the subject was escaped prototype 009. Knowledge of the identities, appearance, and abilities of the renegades was fairly common among the ranks. Even the lowliest of footsoldiers were filled in on the basics, so as to understand what they were supposed to be looking for.
More often, however, that knowledge proved to be little more than the final nail in the coffin for those unfortunate enough to actually encounter the cyborgs.
The scientist's finger twitched, and the profile changed, the focus of the photographs changing to those of a small child, a mere babe with a tuft of aquamarine hair covering the upper half of his chubby face. Another tap and the pictures shifted to another young man with longer, lighter colored hair and a beak-like nose. Again, and now a young blonde woman was displayed.
Doctor Tenkan's gaze traveled across the screen time and again, tracing the same tired pattern, gleaning through the pictures and text before his finger once again pressed the proper key to bring up the next set of files. Soon, the displays began to repeat as he reached the first young man's data. Still, he continued his pattern, cycling endlessly through the profiles, dark gray eyes continuously scanning through the gathered intelligence.
Sooner or later, he was certain, the idea he was searching for would hit. There had to be something he could use for a springboard, because the alternative was… not worth considering. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by thoughts of what failure would bring. That was practically a self-fulfilling prophecy. If he dwelled on the consequences of not completing this mission satisfactorily, then the chances of such an outcome would rise dramatically.
The odds and the data seemed stacked enough against him as it was without any encouragement from self-doubts.
So he continued to scroll through the files, scanning the shifting, changing faces before him for answers. From a button-nosed baby to a hawkish young rake, from a sad-eyed woman to a man with liquid blue eyes, from a muscle-bound giant to a rotund fire-breather, from a middle-aged actor to a hard-faced fighter, to…
Abruptly the rhythm ceased, one raised finger hovering just above the keyboard. Behind twin panes of thin, curved glass, tired gray eyes closed and reopened in a slow blink. Then, slowly, the upraised digit shifted and pressed down another key, calling up the previous file. The doctor's gaze traveled its familiar, well-worn route: down the screen. Up again. Then pause, fixating on one particular pair of pictures before focusing on the display at large.
For the first time in the six hours, twenty-five minutes, and seven seconds since word of his new assignment had been handed down to him, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Doctor Tenkan's thinly pressed lips.
Inspiration had finally struck. Though the work would undoubtedly be difficult, now, at least, he had the slightest shred of hope to hang onto: the possibility that this plan might just be the one it took to take down at least one of the cyborgs.
~ * ~
"Your serve, Pyunma!" Joe Shimamura prompted, dropping into position directly across from the Kenyan.
"Okay, get ready!"
Pyunma tossed the ball into the air, then jumped after it, smashing both fists into the dropping sphere and sending it hurtling forward. The ball coasted over the net easily, only to be intercepted by Francoise Arnoul, who let it bounce lightly off her upraised hands and back over her head, setting it up for her partner.
"Get it!" she called, almost laughing the command.
Joe needed no prompting, however; the Japanese speed demon was already behind her, and smashed the ball, sending it rocketing back over the net. Again the sphere was blocked, this time falling victim to a vicious spike by Jet.
"Incoming!"
As Joe and Francoise scrambled forward to keep the volleyball from hitting the ground, one of the game's observers couldn't keep himself from chuckling at the sight. The former actor who worked under the stage name Great Britain -- now going by the nickname "G.B." for his friends -- reclined under the shade of the sheltering trees, watching the four players send the ball back and forth over the net. From his vantage point, he could also see where Albert Heinrich had fallen asleep underneath another tree, the baby Ivan cradled against his chest. The last three members of their group, the chef Chang Changku, the giant Geronimo Junior, and the doctor Gilmore, were setting up lunch.
It was a scene taken right out of a brochure, if you ignored the fact that all ten of them hailed from starkly different communities and backgrounds. Still, there was nothing right now to suggest one of the biggest ties between their diverse group: all of them had their lives irrevocably changed by Black Ghost's cruelty. Nine of their number had been turned into cyborgs by the shadowy organization, and it was only through kinder twists of fate, luck and skill that they weren't either dead or enslaved by now.
The Englishman frowned, forcing thoughts of Black Ghost out of mind. There was no sense ruining one of their sparse, hard-won moments of peace and relaxation with ruminations on what was long in the past. Instead, he focused back upon the game, just in time to see one of Jet's hard spikes finally slip through Francoise and Joe's defenses.
"Yes!" Jet grinned and exchanged a two-handed high-five with his equally thrilled partner.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up while you can," chided Joe. He smiled good-naturedly, though his light tone already betrayed that his comment was meant in jest, scooping up the ball and stepping back to set up his serve.
It was clear they were having fun, and Britain might have been tempted to join, if it wasn't for one thing: no powers allowed. While the rule only made sense, since Joe and Jet both had special abilities that would give them somewhat unfair advantages in a game, Britain didn't see any reason to get involved if he couldn't bring a little extra excitement and added mystery to it. It would be funny to see what kind of reaction he'd get out of the others if he changed to, say, a huge tennis racket or something.
But they most likely wouldn't find it funny, and the good doctor would likely launch into a lecture later. Specifically, Lecture #27: How Dangerous it is to Use Your Powers in the Open Where Anybody Could See You, Including Possibly a Black Ghost Operative.
…There he went again, thinking about that when he'd already told himself not to think about that during their free time!
Besides, it was so much cooler in the shade than it was over at the court they'd set up, running back and forth trying to get under that little ball before it touched the ground and send it flying back over the net. Honestly, what were they thinking? Free time was meant for relaxing, just kicking it back and taking it easy…
He yawned and stretched his arms out, a little voice in the back of his head reminding him not to embellish the already exaggerated movement with any minute adjustments using his shapeshifting ability. Ironic, considering he was an actor: like he didn't have a natural sense of perfect judgement when it came to such matters!
"Wake me when lunch is ready," he called lazily over to where Chang and Geronimo were.
Not bothering to see if he was heard, he folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the trunk. His eyelids drooped, the scenery beginning to blur as welcome relaxation dulled his senses into the bliss of impending slumber.
Francoise went to set up another spike attempt for her partner, bringing her arms up to gently cushion the ball's arrival. Suddenly her eyes seemed to lose focus for an instant, and she let out a soft gasp, a flash of alarm flooding over her pretty features. Then the ball, without her hands to block it, completed its arc by bouncing off said pretty features and knocking her to the ground.
"Francoise!" Joe exclaimed, his startled cry chorused a half-second later by Jet and Pyunma as the other team scrambled over to their side of the net. Kneeling by his teammate's side, he gripped one of her hands with his own and asked, "Are you okay?"
"Ah…" Francoise's other hand went up to her forehead, slender fingers lacing between golden locks to gently massage the skin underneath. "I… think so…"
"Sorry 'bout that," and Jet had the good grace to look sheepish, offering a hand up to the fallen female.
"What happened, Francoise?" Pyunma asked worriedly, able to do little more than stand back and watch as the other two players helped her to her feet.
"I… thought I sensed something…"
"Like a ball hurtling toward your skull?" The corner of Jet's mouth quirked in a sarcastic half-smile at his own suggestion.
"…Maybe…" Francoise looked like she wasn't really certain herself, and maybe that she was taking Jet's jest more seriously than he'd intended.
"Are you alright, Francoise?" Doctor Gilmore called, looking over at the quartet.
"…Yes, Doctor, I'm fine." She offered a dazzling smile to reassure the others, glossing over her lingering confusion and doubt with a cute expression she'd practiced and utilized many times before. Turning it back to the trio of boys surrounding her, she added, "Come on, shall we continue?"
"Alright…if you're up to it…"
"Okay, then. …I take it for granted that didn't count as a point?" Pyunma quipped, shrugging lightheartedly.
"Pyunma!" laughed Joe.
"Nah, don't worry 'bout it. Not like we need that anyway. We'll more than make up for it," Jet sneered, waving one hand dismissively as he followed his partner back to their side of the net.
"We'll see about that!" Francoise giggled and scooped up the ball. "It's payback time now!"
Great Britain absently slapped the back of his neck as he sat back up, blinking as sleepiness warred with the tiny pinprick of pain that had blossomed at the base of his skull. Stupid mosquitoes had the worst timing sometimes, and it wasn't like he had much to offer the insects, anyway… why couldn't they just leave him alone?
However, he just rolled over slightly and went back to relaxing, brushing the lingering stinging sensation off in the same manner that Francoise laughed off her brief hesitation and subsequent close encounter with the ball. Neither thought to pay much heed to it, and why should they? Both incidents were just small little occurrences during what was shaping up to be a fine, relaxing day overall…
