There are few things, known to the world, that are absolute.
When Joe let his thoughts slip from his mind on a melancholic whim, not a moment sooner had he'd been met with a plethora of responses from the ship's company. Françoise and Great Britain would unwaveringly affirm that there in fact is; the transcendent Lord himself. Chang and G Junior chimed in, rather, that an absolute exists not as an omniscient being, but on the grounds of simply "being", within the flow of the universe. Albert and Pyunma, wishing to settle the impending conflict on spiritual beliefs, wagered their secular tenets somewhere in between.
"Bullshit."
The foul words spat out from none other than Jet Link. An omnipotent figure? Universal flow? For him, actions spoke louder than mere predisposed musings. There was no point in worrying about who created us or where we came from. For we existed regardless, with little room to dispute it. We couldn't even be exact of what will become of us in the afterlife unless we've, quite frankly, died ourselves.
In fact, Jet had never believed in God until the day he took another man's life. For in that adrenaline-filled impulse to live, he had first feared that he was going to hell.
That same fear, once alien to him, had in all truth brooded long ago, beat into his essence by the wrath of his orthodox parents in a dysfunctional suburb. From then on, God existed in bits throughout his adolescence as the young American tearfully fled his home and adapted in his newfound environment. And He sat back and merely leered at the social injustices which plagued the West Side. The racially segregated communities. The equally motivated racial crimes of its gangs, one of which he had survived to led. The orphaned children who littered the streets, picked up like candy into the laps of dealers disguised as mentors.
He couldn't blindly put his faith into that which closed more doors to humanity than opened.
Jet saw Him watching your every move as no worse than the Black Ghost organization, hidden underground, churning and infiltrating the masses. The pattern appeared that wherever human impression exists, the tempting influence of another were sure to follow. But if one thing was certain, he would stop at nothing to allow the wretched workings of mankind, namely the more prominent threat, to become absolute.
The moon waned on as most of the crew, following their debate, had long past yawned their goodnights to one another to slumber for the big day ahead. Meanwhile, a certain redhead's feelings, opening at the memory, wore heavy as he figured to dispel these thoughts the best way he could in solitude.
The stars spilled outward into the night sky, twinkling prominently as Jet rested against the rail of the beach house veranda. It was a first for him to, admittedly, acknowledge the gorgeous view, perched on the cliffside with an open view of the sea, clear of Tokyo's smog. The observation alone pulled at a string of memory buried within him, resurfacing the mundane bustling hive of New York, thousands of miles away.
It felt less like decades and more than a few moments ago when he could last recall of man dreaming of being on the moon, JFK, and The Red Scare, among many others. And now cyborgs and terrorist organizations had become a reality and then some. It felt as if now, anything was possible in the future.
It was an oddly calming sentiment, which magnified as the similarity of his actions were drawn to the baited childhood mirth shared on Independence Day, where had always came to look up to the sky for an answer. So then, cautiously so, the aviator had lifted his head from between it's home nestled between his crossed arms, feeling somewhat silly as his full attention was now brought to the world above him.
The constellations strobed bright and unforgiving, surfacing a kaleidoscope of dreams ripe for the plucking. It's stars themselves—no they were more like jewels—shone white light, which blinked in response like beacons to his game of trust. They almost seemed to invite him to leap forwards into the sky and join the greater part of the cosmos, sacrificing the woes of the present for a more promising future.
"What am I saying?" he whispered, puzzled with himself as he pushed away from the railing to draw his fantasies to a close. Despite his adamant skepticism, he wouldn't put it past him to hate the idea that his destiny were meant for bigger things. After all, he wasn't the type to waste too much time wondering why are here rather than for us to be able to make our own choices now that we are here. And with his newfound cybernetic abilities, he would use them to make a tangible difference. This time around, he won't let the injustices of humans stand around idly by; he'd make his purpose to destroy it down to his last breath.
At this note, Jet signed inwardly, bringing both hands to dig into his pockets. He fished out a sole cigarette and a lighter he swiped earlier on the streets from an unsuspecting businessman. Old habits die hard , he mused to himself, methodically holding the cream colored filter between lips whilst lighting the rear end. Like riding a bike. He drew in a deliberately long drag and exhaled freely into the sky, allowing the winds to disperse his doubts, hoping it wouldn't trail back. He tapped the end of the stick to the porch wood, humming contently as he shifted the cigarette to dangle loosely between his fingers, relishing in the momentary bliss.
"A penny for your thoughts?"
A deep voice rang from behind, causing the former delinquent to jolt, his cancer stick slipping from his fingers to fall below the balcony. He spun violently around, hands readied to his holster and locked eyes with a pair of cold steely eyes, illuminating like spider lilies in the night. They quizzically turned upwards, brandishing a worn set of laugh lines.
It was Albert Heinrich.
"Apologies," he began, a smile crept under his face, "I didn't mean to frighten you." Despite being a clear opening away (that is, if Jet weren't so trigger-happy) from the infirmary, the older of the two apparently found the whole ordeal humourous in his unusual grandiose sense of humor.
"Jeez," Jet groaned, running a hand over his swept bangs, "I could've sworn you were another assassin," Great, Just what I ordered , he moaned dejectedly. A date with this weirdo. He returned to peer over the veranda, lamenting over the shores having lapped up a waste of a fresh cig.
"We've had quite a few of those lately, ja?" Jet couldn't help but shudder at his playful tone. The German's nature of being cunning and suave didn't sit well in his stomach. It was as if f he always had an ulterior sort of motive in his choice words and demeanour. Of course, there had to be, right? It's a part of human nature to make connections in order to get something out of the latter. But neither of then weren't quite as human now, were they?
Albert, ignoring Jet's signals of discomfort, sauntered forward to join him at the edge of the railing, curiously peering downwards in the direction the redhead had just moments ago. His sardonic tone hadn't left him when he nonchalantly continued, not breaking contact from the shores.
"You know, you shouldn't be smoking. We've got a baby in the household—"
"I know ."
Albert waited, as if there was more to be said, then continued. "Well, how thoughtful of you to stow away and indulge in such late hours," His mouth creaked upwards in a smile. "I'm sure Françoise wouldn't pick up the smell by the morning."
"What's it to ya?!" Jet snapped defensively. That cigar may as well have been his last taste of heaven. "Besides, what's your excuse for being up? Last time I checked, you only sulk out here till 9 PM."
Albert raised an eye quizzically at this, mock-hurt plastered over his face. "Oh? And may I ask how you would have known this?"
Shit. Jet fumbled on his words, visibly backtracking as to change the subject. "Listen, I-I just needa cool off for a bit. That's all. At least give me that." Albert frowned, sensing that wasn't all to the story.
He groaned once more. "Alright, wise guy, if it really matters, I'm in a pinch." Jet leaned forward, resting his head onto the wood bar, unsure of where to begin. He let his mind wander into the depths of the sky. It's swirling cascades of black silk stretching forward to entangle his mind. And from those depths, he began to rung out each of his demons with clarity.
"I grew up…at a young age. I learned the hard way that, in this world, every man was for himself. That is, we come into life and leave in that way. Alone." Albert nodded, acknowledging the ideas correlating to Jet's similar outburst amongst the crew an hour earlier.
"All else that followed," Jet uttered, "I fought to the core for in the streets and had earned with my own bare hands." His eyes didn't meet Albert's, for he was all too familiar having been met with disdain like with many others in the West Side. "I earned my right to live." The silver-haired man cocked his head at this, taking mental notes what that meaning could have entailed.
"But look at us now," Jet laughed darkly. He glanced downwards to his boots, concealing the thrusters which ached from use his shins. "Plucked up like daisies from our lives, modified and stamped with numerical codes without a second thought. Barely seen as more than machines, outlawed for disposal." His face twisted into a grimace, growling through teeth,"Losing the rights which made us human." Albert's mouth drew open to refute, but then closed, sensing it was best to let him finish.
The redhead fixed his gaze outward again into the sky, a defeated look in his eye. "And now we're left to hiding out and waiting like sitting ducks for our impending doom we never asked for." Jet turned to finally meet the latter, a hapless expression adorned on his face. "And when we finally found a place to call home, no, now we have to leave again because our existence has endangered the old man who had opened his doors to us."
He scoffed, kicking dirt off the deck before putting his hands in his pockets."I mean, how pathetic are we to have endangered an old man who had opened his doors to us?" There surely was a lot to be upset about that's for sure, but Albert couldn't help but realize how much Jet had revealed personally on the matter, as a result. Had he always harboured such pains? Why didn't he tell any of his teammates sooner?
"I wonder," Jet began, making the older one quickly bring his full attention to the teen. He was leaning against the balcony again, joining the stars.
"Was there ever even a place to call home for me?" Neither of them spoke out again for what felt like hours.
The waves crashed incessantly beneath them for some time, the wind slowing down into a low hum, leaving the two with only the accompanying sounds of the wooden boards creaking beneath them. Albert didn't wish to spur Jet any further in his state, not knowing how many boundaries he may have crossed. Of course, he wanted to help, had to at this point for he didn't want Jet to feel alone. But the teen had been painstakingly untrustworthy until this moment to his newfound family right under his nose, who can grow to understand him.
"Get some rest." Albert finally spoke, putting a hand over the latter's shoulder, giving a reassuring smile. We'll be crossing time zones tomorrow. Don't want you catching jet lag—"
He flinched.
In an instant, the American, in two in quick strides had grabbed the collar of Albert's cape, forcibly making eye contact. Jet's eyes flickered in rage, intimidating, unyielding.
"And why the fuck do you care?" He snapped, the satin gold fibers visibly tightening. This was bad. He instantly must have regretted opening up, the details having sunken in too late.
The German put a hand over Jet's grip, coaxing his fingers to unfurl and lower between them. His steel-exposed gun hand felt cool gripping to the calloused long fingers of the latter.
"To be honest, I'm worried about your performance," Albert started, their hands grounded steadily between them, "To have an even plausible chance in defeating Black Ghost, each members collaboration is paramount to our success." He gave him a knowing look, and Jet rolled his eyes, what was transferred being obvious.
"Yet the last time we required collaborative work against our adversaries, your impulsiveness lead to you to having been injured at the hand of the 0010+/- brothers."
Jet cursed, promptly throwing his hand away from him. " What else could I have done? I wasn't going to sit around moping defeatedly like the rest of you!" He turned away, hating every second of their dialogue now having worked up to himself being at fault.
"We had no choice but to recuperate and formulate a plan. We couldn't afford to make any mistakes."
"Like with 0011, right?"
No response.
Jet had waited a moment before he looked back at Albert, peeved for lack of response to have found that his head was lowered, visibly frozen. Wait, what? Was that metallic hunk of trash of an assassin really capable of stirring him this much? Yet sure enough, beneath the older one's gruff, calculating exterior, a crack was now visibly exposed. Jet smirked for the first time in what felt like forever. Albert has a weakness.
(Why didn't you fire?)
It was rather strange to have witnessed the arguably most level-headed member of the cyborgs hesitate in defeating the enemy. And quite frankly, seeing him wallow in misery the week before had peeved the shit outta him. Finding new leverage into the argument, Jet began at once, testing the waters his teammate hid beneath incandescent eyes, the same which illuminated the similar altercation they shared on this very spot.
"Riddle me this, Adolf boy." Jet spat out venomously. The German jerked in surprise, eyes widening at the teens harsh words. Jet began to take a step forward, inching dangerously closer as he continued. Albert took a step back.
"Instead of concerning yourself over the performance of everyone else." Another step was made, followed by feet shuffling back.
"Forming oh-so convenient axises with the others to save your hide from a second Fall of Berlin. " Albert's breath hitched at the last word, causing Jet to grin wickedly. Probably didn't figure the delinquent the type to listen during history class, did he?
The American continued intimidatingly backed the latter forward until hit the glass door to the beach house, effectively cornering him. It was more apparent than ever in their proximity the youth noticeably towered over the latter. Jet dug a finger into Albert's core, twisting it in as to sealing the deal.
"Are you in any form even mentally capable yourself?"
If there was one thing Jet Link could solve without fists, it was taunting. The redhead stretched his arms lazily over his head and examined the other cyborg, satisfied at the work he had done. That'll do him over. He smirked to himself. No one who had ever got to know me had ever stuck around for long anyway. So why waste the effort on a lost cause like me? May as well show him the hard way why I don't deal with people who think they could give two shits about me.
Jet, glowered at the cyborg once more, then span around to walk back to his place on the balcony, putting an end to their conversation. Neither of them spoke again for what felt like a long time.
Albert repeatedly raised his mouth to speak, but then closed it into a grimace after consideration. He wasn't one to lose his temper, but this teenager was pushing salt into the wound. The two was prodding into dangerous territory, both exposing a moment of weakness only fitting that the two had witnessed from each other.
Except this time, Jet hadn't realised what he was capable of.
As stubbornly vindictive as the American was, his altercation the week prior had made it able for Albert to break through his momentary sorrow; reigned triumphant in his battle. He viewed life through a harshly realistic lens, a quality of which turned out to be valuable amongst the justice-infused doctrine of the rest of the cyborgs.
When Albert was depressed, traumatized by the acutely painful cybernetic enhancements unwillfully bestowed to him, he found a lifeline when he confided in his teammates. Then found a lifeline in Jet. And so he couldn't bear to let Jet go through the same suffering alone, each of his moody eruptions only solidifying his concerns on his well being. The youth shouldn't make the same mistake as him by lamenting over the past.
Albert's mind raced through the events that occurred in the past week. The escape. The assassins. The kidnapping of Dr. Kozumi. Granted, even throughout the time they shared, he still knew little about the American other than pointers to a roughneck upbringing. Who knows what he could've gone through; who knows whether he would ever willingly open up to any of them ever again. But on the same veranda, Jet's words had unknowingly saved him once.
And this time, maybe he could save him.
"You're not alone, you know that?" Albert's voice rang out, clear as rain. Jet, his back facing him, didn't move. The German carefully tipped forward, playing back the memory of how the aviator spoke to his teammates in their first night in hiding.
(We don't even know each other's names!)
"You may not wholly believe in the efforts of our crew," A ginger step closer.
(I don't even believe in God!)
"Or anything at all for the matter," he felt his voice instinctually grow hushed from each deliberate step, the teen remaining eerily still as a statue."But at least trust me when I say," Albert stopped in his tracks and gave a sincere smile.
"I believe in you."
Silence.
Albert waited for two, three, four moments to pass, but nothing happened. Goodnight, 002 , he thought to himself finally before he gave a small nod and made his way for the exit to slide open the beach doors. He felt a weight grab onto his right forearm and quizzically turned to face Jet right before him.
The flyer's eyes had welled up, tears blinking between lashes. In those eyes, Albert was surprised to have found a home. An emotion he had so gut-wrenchingly recognized in them hearkened to the night of his escape from East Berlin that changed the German's life forever.
It was desperation.
"002, are you okay–?"
Their lips met.
Albert's body appeared to stall, not fully comprehending what was going on. A mouth— 002's mouth were planted on his. And now they were moving, the taller of the two grabbing the hem of his crimson uniform to pull him in, searing deeper into the kiss. It felt as if all his internal wirings went up in flames, and all previous troubles of the youth had been doused with it. The spark of forgotten long-lost desire buried on the night his fiancée had passed, were awakened. He closed his eyes, welcoming it in: Bereaved dreams of mutual affection surfaced over his cold mechanical body, warming him; breathing life.
Before he realized, he found himself kissing back.
Albert's hand trailed upwards to cup the redheads face, sweeping his fallen bangs to caress his cheek. This is real, he lamented to himself, Oh Hilda, you are here now and not just a figment that will leave me again. Jet, groaning at the latter's approval, grew frantic as he prodded and swiped his tongue against Albert's for an entrance, which he allowed. He never felt more vulnerable yet thrilled in his life. Their hands trailed needily over each other's bodies, thrusting their waists together in a desperate plea to create friction.
The beginning of the sun peeked out from over the horizon, catching Albert's eyes amidst the ravishment. He froze, realizing, no really now, that they were going too far. It was with a final effort of restraint that his hands had left the dip of Jet's back to push their bodies apart. They messily broke from their embrace, saliva trailing between their lips till the distance broke it off. It took them both a moment to catch their breath.
"You," Jet painted. The redhead's eyes were muddied, the former melancholy sussed out to a foggy glint. "You don't know who you're dealing with." he warned huskily. It was an invitation to dangerous game, but Albert wasn't sure if he had chosen the right decision to play it.
Before any more could be said, the former delinquent swiftly made for the exit, leaving a flustered Albert to the balcony in his wake. The German simply remained there, trying to ignore his arousal aching for more attention. His fingers met his face, the open air cooling the wetness on his lips affirming what had just occurred. The early morning hues of the sky then caught his view again. It's reds and oranges gradually filtered through the sky more vibrantly as he rested against the balcony to watch the sunrise.
When he, at last, left the scenery on the veranda in favour of his bed, his heart still hadn't caught up with his beating.