If you want to see the disclaimer, hit the back button until you reach the first chapter: all the information's there.
~ * Distortion * ~
"…I don't know what to make of this, I really don't."
Doctor Gilmore sighed, troubled by his own admission. All eyes were turned to him in hope of a plausible explanation, and yet he had none to offer. …At least, nothing that came anywhere close to satisfactory.
After the battle, he had Geronimo Junior bring the unconscious Britain back to the infirmary. The shapeshifter was currently resting on a cot… sleeping, thankfully. At least he wasn't in a coma.
Since then, the rest of the cyborgs had trickled in by ones and twos until everyone was gathered in the room. Even the aloof Jet made an appearance, though he was the last to arrive and hung out by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and doing his damndest to appear like he wasn't half as affected by this as the rest of the team was.
"…He's going to be okay, right?" Chang asked.
The Chinese firebreather's hopeful whisper did little to lift the awkward silence hanging heavy in the air. Gilmore would have given anything to be able to answer with a smile and a cheerful assertion that yes; everything was going to be just fine.
Instead, all he was able to offer Chang was a sympathetic glance and a slight inclination of his head. Not a straight nod or shake in the affirmative or negative. Just a sign of understanding and mutual concern.
Gilmore rested his chin on the back of his clasped hands, concealing private frustration behind a pensive expression. He hadn't been anywhere near the battle, so naturally he'd been unable to witness the 'incident'. All he had to go on was what the others had reported, piecing together their accounts into what he hoped was an accurate synopsis.
As he sat pondering the issue, Doctor Gilmore's gaze traveled over to where Joe was sitting. His concerned frown deepened at the sight of the young man looking so downtrodden. He wished he could offer some words of comfort, though he knew they would likely only be wasted given the current circumstances.
Joe's head was bowed, hands clenched tightly together in his lap, thick brown bangs nearly covering both his nearly closed eyes. The natural leader of the cyborgs was mired in the pits of self-recrimination and shame.
(Should've been faster… Should've been paying more attention…)
He tried to be cautious when fighting, especially against the forces of Black Ghost. He usually didn't use his acceleration mode unless he deemed it absolutely necessary. After all, he could only use it a limited amount of times before needing rest. Just because time seemed to slow when he was using it didn't mean he couldn't feel the aftereffects of everything he did while traveling at such high speeds.
But this time… Though the assault pods themselves were weak, the sheer amount that had been unleashed this time caught Joe off guard. His instincts told him to even the odds as quickly as possible, before his slower teammates were overwhelmed…
…He hadn't been fast enough.
The bitter irony of it might have given a more cynical man cause to laugh. Joe was not that sort of person, however. Instead he was slowly drowning himself with guilt and personal doubt. He'd push himself harder to try and make up for his perceived failings, perhaps even to the point where he toppled off the edge, so long as nobody realized in time to bring him back from the brink…
A feather-light touch against the back of one of his hands caused Joe to stir, and he looked over to behold Francoise looking back at him. The female cyborg held Ivan's bassinet in her lap, but one of her slender hands was resting against his. A sad little smile was on her face, reflected in her eyes, and Joe hesitantly returned it with a small, half-hearted and all too brief smile of his own.
No hint of comfort touched his garnet eyes, however, and they quickly shifted back to the sleeping form on the cot.
Francoise looked downward, allowing her lashes to veil her aquamarine eyes as sorrow flooded their depths. She remembered all too clearly what she had witnessed -- despite being farther removed from the skirmish than some of her comrades, her talents had 'blessed' her with a clearer view of the action. The scene had seemed to sear itself into her retinas, so that she had no chance of passing off what she had witnessed as a mistake.
Just because the image was sharp in her mind, however, didn't mean she wanted to dwell on it or whatever possible meanings it might hold.
Thankfully, she was spared having to ponder it for the moment when Britain let out a moan and shifted his weight. All eyes turned immediately to him as he groaned, eyes fluttering open slowly as he returned to the waking world.
"Ngh… what hit me…" he muttered, one hand rising to his forehead as he pushed himself upward into a sitting position.
Then he turned his head to see the rest of the group staring at him. This seemed to pretty effectively snap him out of his drowsy state, and he blinked a few times, looking first confused, then surprised, then contrite as some form of comprehension hit.
"…Er… What'd I miss…?" he asked, lamely, rubbing the back of his head.
Maybe this wasn't the best of actions, as it reminded him just how sore it was after whacking against something hard back on the battlefield. Between that and the prick on his neck it was clear that he was going to be nursing one huge migraine for quite some time.
(Well, add it to the list of 'Things Wrong with Me Lately'. Oww…)
"007. What do you remember from today's battle, exactly?" Doctor Gilmore inquired, studying the shapeshifter cyborg carefully.
('Today's battle', he says. At least I haven't been out for a day or anything. Hey, things are looking up! …Or not…)
"I take it you mean the one after we got home?" he said dryly. When the scientist nodded, Britain cupped one hand over his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully and absently swinging his legs off the side of the cot.
"Well, I remember that I managed to screw up pretty badly," he admitted finally, offering his comrades a weak, apologetic grin. "Sorry guys, I guess the numbers just overwhelmed me or something. But, hey, thanks to whoever pulled me out of there after I blacked out. I take it we won anyway… what?"
He trailed off when he noticed that the others were still staring at him, their faces looking only more concerned and confused. He'd fully expected Jet to spit out some snide comment about having to rescue him, or Pyunma or Albert giving a resigned sigh, or Joe waving it off saying it was no big deal, that's what friends do. Heck, he wouldn't have even been that surprised to hear Ivan pipe up in his head commenting how he'd teleported him the minute he went unconscious, following it up with a telepathic lecture on not letting his guard slip.
But all his apology and thankfulness had garnered was a deeply unsettling silence.
"Guys, I know you're probably mad at me, but I can explain why…"
"G.B.… Nobody was able to get to you in time to help," Joe interrupted.
"What?" Britain blinked twice in rapid succession, then smiled shakily at his leader. "Oh, come on, Joe, don't give me that. Obviously one of you guys pulled me out of that mess, because otherwise there's no way I'd be talking to you now. So, really…"
"You don't… remember what happened?"
"What are you talking about, Francoise?" Again Britain blinked rapidly, looking over at the female cyborg.
Francoise looked down at her lap, at her neatly folded hands, watching the delicate muscles tighten as she clenched her intertwined fingers closer together. Her pale eyes took on a faintly distant look even as she raised them to meet Britain's confused gaze.
"I saw what happened after you fell," she explained slowly, voice dropping slightly so that it was even softer and gentler than normal. "The one that knocked you down moved so that it was right above you, and was going to fire at point-blank range…"
She paused, and Britain nodded slightly. It wasn't clear whether he was prompting her to continue or nodding affirmation to himself of something he'd suspected. There was an indistinct memory tickling at the back of his mind, the last image he remembered seeing before blacking out looming large in his thoughts.
"Then… right before it fired, you…" Francoise's expressive eyes squeezed shut, her own horribly vivid memory bringing the image back. "Your body just… contorted, and changed into all these spikes that drilled right through the pod. It was…"
Her voice tapered off; she couldn't think of the proper way to describe it. 'Horrific' rose to mind, but there was no way she'd ever admit to having such a thought. It sounded far too much like an insult. Yet there were no words she believed she could use without conveying some hint of how terrified she'd felt.
How could she tell Britain the sight of him changing into something so starkly different from any living creature she'd ever beheld before had frightened her so badly?
"That's impossible."
Francoise gasped, her eyes refocusing. Britain was staring downward, his shoulders shaking just a little, enough that her sharp senses picked up the faint tremor.
"That's impossible," he repeated in a curiously dead tone of voice. "There's no way that could have happened. I -- I blacked out right before it fired…"
Belatedly he realized that might not have been the best thing to admit right then. Francoise let out a little gasp and looked even more stricken than before, her worried expression mirrored in varying amounts on the faces of the rest of his friends.
"007, is this true?" Gilmore almost winced when he heard his own question; he hadn't meant to sound so doubtful. (It's obvious from the look on his face something is wrong…)
"…Yeah… Actually, doc… there's… a lot I need to tell you," Britain said after a while, locking eyes with the scientist.
(I'm not going to hide any of this from my friends anymore. I'm not that stupid. The only way I can get help is…)
Taking a deep breath, Britain faced his friends and admitted, "I've been having a bit of a problem lately…"
~ * ~
Black Ghost was displeased with the results of the second stage.
Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. 'Completely pissed', that was a more accurate description. But the leader wasn't prone to using such blunt terms to express the extent of his emotions. Violence was more his method.
Doctor Tenkan cowered over his keyboard, furiously typing away, filing what precious data had been recovered before all of the assault squad had been decimated. He would have wished that the now late general had allowed him the far subtler means of gathering information he'd requested, except he knew the uselessness of wishing.
Wishes wouldn't fix all the weapons that had been lost thanks to that foolish choice, nor restore the lives that followed shortly thereafter when Black Ghost learned exactly how many of the assault pods had been destroyed by the cyborgs.
He was focusing instead on the positive. The micro-cameras had relayed some very pleasing images of the battle. Despite all the problems they'd been suffering on their end, at least the core intent of the project seemed to be developing nicely.
Prototype Cyborg 007 was clearly partially aware of the effects. He may not have yet guessed the cause, or the extent to which the damage would be done… but the evidence was there. He knew to some degree something was happening, and was trying to combat it the first way that came to mind.
How else to explain the fact that the cyborg designed to transform was actively avoiding utilizing his capabilities save for one instance during that fierce battle?
Data from past encounters, text, photos and recordings alike, showed him using his powers very frequently. There was practically no sign of the hesitance he'd displayed during this last engagement.
Doctor Tenkan adjusted his glasses, then wiped his sweaty forehead off with the back of the same hand. For all the setbacks, his plan was proceeding quite nicely. For now, however, all he could do on this end was wait, and continue pouring over all the data that came in concerning the project.
If he was fortunate, perhaps he would see his plans through to completion. That, alone, would put him far better off than most of his predecessors on this damned assignment.
~ * ~
Doctor Gilmore shuffled out of the infirmary, shutting the door tightly behind him. Leaning against the sealed portal, the former Black Ghost employee let out the heavy sigh he'd felt building in his chest for some time.
In one hand he gripped a clipboard with several papers attached to it, filled with his scribblings and notes on everything Britain had told him, along with several half-formed theories and ideas based on what he'd heard. So far, nothing he'd come up with satisfied him in any manner.
(At least G.B. was able to tell me all of that,) he mused, closing his eyes. (This would have been much more difficult without his cooperation.)
Indeed, once Britain had started explaining his recent struggle with his transformation ability, starting with his problem with his tiger form after the picnic was ruined, it seemed a weight was being lifted off his shoulders. He'd confessed everything, even showing the scientist where he'd scratched a portion of his skin off after seeing snakeskin remaining there.
It had probably helped that Gilmore had seen fit to usher the rest of the cyborgs out of the room early on. Though he expected to be pounced upon later by some furious demands for explanation, all in all it had gone much smoother with only the good doctor present and no one else.
With Britain's full consent, Gilmore had proceeded to run a few tests on the shapeshifter, hoping to pinpoint whatever was causing his problem. He'd left him behind with the stern instruction to get some rest, an order Britain seemed equally willing to comply with.
(He trusts me to get this sorted out and fixed so things can return to normal.)
Gilmore wasn't certain whether that knowledge brought him more joy or sorrow. To be certain, the fact that he'd earned such trust from someone who might have well developed a lifelong grudge against him considering what he'd done was sobering, a sign that for all the wrong he'd done in his past profession, he must also be doing some things right now…
"Doctor Gilmore, how is he…?"
He was not surprised at all to hear that question, or to see Joe walking hesitantly toward him. The young man's single visible eye held obvious concern, his gaze darting briefly toward the sealed infirmary door before connecting with the scientist's own steady stare.
"I'm afraid I can't really give you a satisfactory answer at this point," replied Gilmore. "I still need to completely analyze the data from the tests I've run. But from what I've been able to compare so far…"
He didn't want to say anything more; already feared he'd said far too much. The look Joe was giving him was slowly tearing him apart inside. The Japanese boy apparently didn't realize just how expressive and open his reddish-brown eyes were. Even with only one visible, Gilmore could read the cyborg's thoughts easily.
There was no way he could take back what he'd already said, or what followed, though he'd later wish he'd chosen to keep quiet.
"To be completely honest with you, Joe," he sighed, "I'm worried for G.B.'s health. I can't pinpoint a cause for this deterioration of control he's been experiencing. I can only hope that whatever the problem is, it turns out to be something I can repair."
"And what if it isn't?" Joe's voice was a hushed whisper.
"I'm afraid this could lead to a complete breakdown. You have to remember G.B.'s system was highly experimental at the time. It could be possible that there are flaws in the genetic makeup. We wouldn't have any way of knowing the long-term effects…"
Gilmore's gaze dropped to the ground, and he finished with the thought he wished most not to dwell upon: "It's possible this may even turn out to be fatal."
He was grateful that Joe's bangs constantly concealed one of his eyes. The shock so evident in the visible one felt as if it was drilling a hole through him. Gilmore wanted to retract his words, to soften their impact with some reassurance, but knew such statements would only sound hollow now.
If he had turned and attempted to reenter the infirmary at that moment, the well-meaning scientist would have seen something that would have made him feel even more horrible than he already did.
However, he made no such move, and so was completely unaware of the fact Britain was slumped on the other side, leaning against the doorframe, trying hard to process what he'd overheard.