See the first chapter for the disclaimer. Also, see how nicely the Cyborg 009 section appears to be filling out.
~ * Disruption * ~
"Lunch is ready, everyone!"
Chang Changku was an expert at projecting his voice just as far as he needed to get everyone's attention. It was a talent he didn't always need, as sometimes just the aroma of the meals he so painstakingly created for his teammates was enough to get their attention. However, considering four of his friends were engaged in an intense volleyball match and three others were napping in the shade, he figured it was better to go ahead and call them.
"Okay, be right there!" Joe called back, glancing over his shoulder to where the chef was standing beside the picnic table.
"Joe, look out!" warned Francoise.
Joe snapped his face forward in time to see the ball hurtling toward him.
"Whoa!"
Instinctively he raised his hands and batted it back, sending the sphere flying back the way it gave at a vicious angle toward the ground. Jet and Pyunma attempted to intercept, but the ball slammed into the ground between them.
"And that evens the score, five to five!" Francoise announced proudly.
"Man, Jet, that ball's like a guided missile in your hands!" commented Joe, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing. "Remind me to bring one along for you next time we go on a mission, okay?"
"Ha, ha, very funny," came the sarcastic reply.
"You four planning to break for lunch, then? It's not getting any warmer, you know."
"Coming, Chang!" Pyunma called. Turning to face the others, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the table and said, "We'd better hurry before he blows a fuse over there."
"Alright, alright." Jet bent to pick up the ball, then cradled it under one arm while straightening up. Glancing back to where Great Britain was dozing, he shouted, "Hurry up, G.B.!"
The Englishman failed to rise, instead folding one arm over his face to help shield it from the sunrays that made it past the green canopy sheltering him. Jet made an annoyed noise deep in his throat.
"Come on, get up already!"
"If he doesn't get up right away, you could always practice your knockout spike on him," observed Pyunma with a dry smirk.
Jet shot the Kenyan an annoyed glance, then -- much to his teammates' surprise -- flipped the ball he was holding from under his arm to into his hand. As Pyunma, Joe and Francoise looked on, he assumed his typical serving pose, bringing his arm back in preparation.
"Hey… you wouldn't really…"
"C'mon, man, we were just joking with you!"
Jet glanced over his shoulder at the unsure expressions on Joe and Pyunma's faces. He smirked wickedly, then turned back and suddenly launched the ball forward.
"Hey--!" exclaimed Joe.
Before he could even think to dash forward and intercept the flying sphere, however, it struck its target with full force -- crashing into the tree trunk directly above Britain's head. Leaves rained down as the trunk quivered from the blow, and the Englishman sprang to his feet, eyes wide with alarm.
"Who?! What?! When?! Why?! How?! Huh…?"
Britain stopped looking around frantically when he finally noticed Jet standing in front of the others. The redhead was trying desperately to contain his laughter behind a smirk -- and wasn't doing a very good job of it. Behind him, Joe, Francoise and Pyunma had various mixtures of relief, annoyance and amusement in their expressions.
"Oh, veeeeery funny," drawled Britain, staggering to his feet while glaring at the American.
"Hey, it woke you up," Jet pointed out.
Britain glowered at him, briefly contemplating how the others might react if he booted the ball resting at his feet right back at the younger man's head. Instead of giving in to that impulse, however, he simply tapped the volleyball lightly, sending it rolling back in Jet's direction. The redhead picked it up and, tucking it safely under the crook of his arm again, turned back toward the main campground.
"Now hurry up!" he prompted, giving the Englishman a lazy little over-the-shoulder wave with his free hand even while heading back toward where the rest of their teammates were waiting. "We're not gonna wait on you forever, you know!"
Britain ignored him, spreading his arms in a lazy stretch. Blinking back the last vestiges of sleep from his half-lidded eyes, he reluctantly left his spot in the shade and trudged toward the picnic table. One hand went to cover his mouth as he yawned, the other absently straying to the back of his neck.
By chance, a couple of his fingers grazed the spot where he had been bitten earlier. Britain flinched; though the area was small, barely spanning the length of two fingertips pressed together, it was also tender to the touch. Silently, the actor gave an over-dramatic sigh: it would be just his luck that a simple mosquito bite would leave a bruise or some other little blemish.
Well, it didn't matter. It wasn't like the rest of the cyborgs spent any amount of time staring at the back of his neck on a normal basis. Besides, their usual uniforms would conveniently hide whatever mark the bite had left behind.
Hey, he'd actually found a new use for those flowing scarves they wore -- aside from the fact that they just plain looked neat.
The others had already taken their seats, and Britain could see that they weren't exactly waiting for him to join him before starting. Jet had already stuffed half of a hot dog, bun and all, in his mouth, while Francoise, sitting between him and Joe, was giving the aerodynamic cyborg a very strange look.
Not that Britain could fault him for being so eager. Their typical fare usually consisted of plenty of Chinese dishes. It wasn't that he disliked Chinese food, but eating mostly the same things week after week did make for redundancy. It was nice to see he could actually pronounce the names of all the food set out for once.
"Is something the matter, G.B.?"
Britain blinked and looked over at Albert, who was shooting him a strange glance. Belatedly, he realized the most likely reason for his concern: he'd yet to take a seat, despite the fact he was standing right by a clear spot.
"Ah… Guess I'm still shook from my rude awakening," he quickly offered in explanation, taking his place between Albert and Pyunma.
It was an acceptable enough response, and Doctor Gilmore nodded wisely before turning his attention back to his plate. Jet probably would have shot back some quip if his mouth hadn't been full. Britain would have pressed it further, but saw the lingering doubt on Albert's face and decided against it, instead grabbing a paper plate and beginning to fill it up from the spread.
The incident was quickly glossed over as the ten teammates had a leisurely lunch. Albert had handed Ivan over to Doctor Gilmore, and the tiny telepath lay contentedly in the elderly scientist's lap, sucking on his bottle. Pyunma, Jet, Francoise and Joe chatted about their game between bites, while Chang, Geronimo Junior, Albert and Britain ate more quietly.
It was the latter's uncharacteristic silence that Albert found slightly unsettling. The former performer liked to crack jokes and generally entertain his friends when he could, and his apparent disinterest in doing so, especially during such a time of relaxation, was somehow troubling.
(Maybe he's just tired,) he mused. (I probably wouldn't have been in a good mood, either, if Jet'd woke me up in the same way.)
Then, again, Jet probably wouldn't pull such a stunt on Albert, considering the fact that he was a walking arsenal. The thought caused the ghost of a smile to curl the corners of the German's mouth upward for a moment.
Francoise was giggling at some comment of Pyunma's concerning their tied game when she abruptly fell silent. The sudden cessation of her cheerful laughter caught the attention of the rest of her teammates. All eyes turned to the only female member of their group as she gently massaged her forehead with her fingertips.
"Francoise? Are you okay?" Joe questioned.
"Don't tell me your head still hurts from getting nailed earlier…" began Pyunma.
"No, it's not that," came the taut response before he could even finish his query. Francoise looked at her companions, an all-too-familiar trepidation lighting her pale eyes. "I think… we should leave. Quickly."
There was no need for her to further elaborate on the reason; her teammates were able to draw their own conclusions easily enough. They stood as one and swiftly set about gathering their things. Geronimo Junior waited only long enough for Chang to get some of their food put away before setting off with the chef and the doctor, with Gilmore carrying Ivan in his arms. Since the scientist was the most vulnerable member of their group, getting him safely to their transportation was top priority.
"Damnit, can't they ever leave us alone?" cursed Jet bitterly.
"We can always continue our game some other time," Francoise offered, fully aware that was hardly at the core of the other's anger.
The remaining six cyborgs followed their friends' path more slowly, with Joe taking point and Albert bringing up the rear. Everyone scanned the forest with suspicious glances from side to side. Francoise, with her specially enhanced senses, was especially alert, listening and looking for any sign of pursuit.
(Black Ghost…! It must be… But then… before…)
She gasped, pupils dilating, feeling the moment she had been dreading bearing down upon them.
"They're closing from behind us!" she cried, not bothering to keep her voice low, fully aware their pursuers already knew their position.
Albert dropped to a crouch, bracing his right leg with both hands. The limb unhinged at the knee, revealing gleaming metal and the bright red tip of a missile. With a burst of smoke and flame it rocketed from its formerly concealed resting-place and spiraled forward to detonate against the smooth black surface of the craft just emerging from the trees.
Any sense of accomplishment Albert might have gleaned from this, however, was considerably dampened by the sight of several more shiny black assault pods rising into view just beyond the smoldering wreckage of the first.
"Scatter!" Joe commanded, immediately following his order with a cry of, "Acceleration Mode!"
The brown-haired boy appeared to vanish in a blur, but none of his friends were alarmed. After all, they were completely used to how he 'disappeared' when using his speed -- when, in actuality, he was simply moving too fast for unenhanced senses to track. The only proof they needed of his presence were the smoking hulks of several of the drones 'mysteriously' taking damage and crashing.
Not about to be outdone, Jet launched into action as well, hurtling toward the closest cluster of pods. As he shot through the group, he muttered a few choice words under his breath about having to leave his blaster behind in the Dolphin. Joe's earlier jokes aside, he highly doubted a volleyball was going to be an effective weapon against these drones.
Pyunma had similar mutterings in his mind as he grabbed Francoise's wrist and sprinted away from the battlefield with her in tow. Without their guns, neither could offer effective assistance with the skirmish: Pyunma's specialty was underwater combat, and Francoise's enhanced senses didn't translate to preternatural fighting skills.
Albert got back to his feet, disjointed knee clicking back into place, and headed after them. Even while running, however, he kept his right arm level and pointed back toward the field of battle, narrowed liquid blue eyes watching for any sign of enemies breaking away from the main scrimmage to give chase. Unlike the others, having to leave his handheld blaster behind didn't mean he was disarmed.
Britain hesitated only briefly before decisively turning back to face the fight. Tempting as it was to follow the others to relative safety, that would mean leaving Joe and Jet alone to fight off who knew how many opponents. As much faith as he had in the duo's battle skills, the thought of abandoning them to unknown odds was one he simply couldn't abide.
Besides, it appeared his decision was being made for him, judging from the way four of the assault pods had broken away from the main horde and were surging toward him.
Instinctively Britain hit the ground, rolling to one side to avoid the change. Even while dodging, his body began to shift into the first form that occurred to him, something more adept to close combat.
By the time he came to a stop, most traces of his humanity had melted away. In its place were the sleek features of a lean tiger. While his transformation was far from perfect, and any expert on the animal would probably detect several details either missing or amiss, it served his purpose well enough.
The quartet of drones moved forward, their sensors informing them that three priority targets were fleeing. Their basic programming instructed the robots to capture as many of the renegades as possible. This made the cluster of three so close together a more appealing target for those who weren't already directly engaged in combat.
The folly of this sort of stilted reasoning became apparent when the shapechanged 007 slammed into the backside of the trailing pod. He dug his claws in as the force of his tackle drove the drone into the others, then sprang free when sparks began to crackle along the scarred black metal.
Though he landed on all four feet, the unmistakable smirk on the faux feline's face as he glanced back at the smoking ruins of the robots betrayed his very human nature.
Whipping his head about, he judged that the battle was going much easier than he'd dared hoped. He still couldn't see exactly what Joe was doing, but the many, many drones that were bursting into flame and crashing were clearly thanks to the speed demon. Jet had also managed to work up a respectable tally by zipping between the drones and tricking them into shooting each other, bringing a few down here and there with well-timed strikes.
What Britain found immensely more reliving, however, was the fact that there was no sign of more enemies on the way. It appeared the worst was over, and they'd be able to return to the Dolphin and the others in peace.
When Joe 'reappeared' and the last of the pods immediately dropped to the ground or exploded -- or both in a few instances -- Britain took that as his cue to change back to normal. The counterfeit cat rose to both feet, feline features rearranging themselves into a wide grin.
"Well, that was easy," he commented, giving a light little shrug to the younger men as they joined him.
"That's easy for you to say," observed Jet dryly, mimicking his shrug, "considering that we did most of the work."
Britain laughed, folding his arms up behind his head and rubbing the back of his neck. Suddenly the expression on his face changed from one of triumph to one of surprise, twisting sharply as he let out a shocked cry and yanked his hands back down. Joe and Jet started, startled by this outburst, and stared at their comrade, who turned away from them.
"G…G.B.?" Joe ventured after a moment, reaching out for his friend's back.
Britain couldn't find his voice to reply at first. All he could do was stare at his shaking hands, and at the hooked claws still sticking from his fingertips. Slowly, he flexed the trembling digits, gently curling them toward his palms until he felt them pricking his palms. He swallowed hard to relieve the sudden dryness in his throat, the motion sending a small spasm of pain through the back of his neck.
"Hey, man, what the hell's wrong with you?" Jet questioned.
Reopening his hands, Britain studied his now-smooth fingertips for a long moment. He then looked back at the concerned faces of his two companions and, exercising his natural acting skills, offered them a reassuring grin.
"Sorry, didn't mean to give you guys a scare," he said glibly, masking nervousness under sheepishness. "I guess I'm still sore from waking up earlier."
Much as he expected, Jet immediately bristled.
"Will you guys just drop it?! Jeez," and the redhead stomped away, heading in the direction the rest of their friends had headed before, continuing to mutter under his breath.
"Right…" Joe didn't look quite as convinced, but nodded after a bit. "Well, we'd better get back to the others, then. They're probably worried about us."
"Right behind you!" chimed Britain with a smile.
They followed the fuming Jet toward the Dolphin, and Britain found his gaze drifting back down to his hands. He flexed his fingers experimentally a few times, searching in vain for any other abnormalities. Nothing seemed to be wrong, and he didn't feel different. By the time they reached the ship where the rest were waiting, he'd almost convinced himself that it was just a fluke.