The basic disclaimers can all be found in the first chapter. Look, a chapter title that ends with '-sion' instead of '-tion'! …What?
~ * Progression * ~
"Hey, wake up, already."
Joe flinched at the feel of something pressing into his shoulder joint with a bit more force than he was comfortable with. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Jet bending over him, repeatedly jabbing his arm with one finger. Seeing that he was awake, the redhead straightened and turned to face the doorway, repeatedly rapping his knuckles against the smooth surface.
"Come on, G.B., get a move on! Doctor Gilmore asked me to come get you."
Joe rose unsteadily to his feet, staring at the floor. How long had he been asleep? Or, never mind that, how could he have fallen asleep under such circumstances? He'd been planning to stay awake all night, waiting in front of the infirmary for…
(…For what? If G.B.'s powers went out of control again, how was I… how am I supposed to help him? We still don't know what's causing it, or anything…)
The shriek from last night rang through his thoughts, and Joe shuddered. He'd heard Britain shout in fear previously, during some of their more dangerous missions, but… he'd never sounded quite like that before. There had been a completely different quality to it. And the look he'd glimpsed on Britain's face when they'd first barged in…
Of course, they hadn't exactly needed to deal with a problem like this one in the past, either. Just the thought that any one of them was losing control of his powers…
"Hey." Jet had turned his attention back to him, sharp bronze eyes snapping Joe out of his reverie. "You going to change before joining us, or what?"
"Um…" Joe nodded absently. "Sure, I guess…"
Casting one last glance at the closed infirmary door, Joe then sighed and started back to his room, brushing shoulders with Jet as he passed.
"…Why did you bother hanging out here? Just what were you planning to do if he had another attack?"
Joe froze in mid-step, garnet eyes dilating just a fraction as Jet's brusque question reached his ears. The pair stood back to back, unmoving, a tense silence bridging the gap between them.
"…I… wanted to be there for him if…"
"What for? You don't even know what's causing it. Just how were you planning on helping him, anyway?"
"……" Joe's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he closed it, shutting his eyes as well.
"Like it or not, we can't do anything until we know what we're up against. And even if Doctor Gilmore's found out what's going on, there's still no guarantee we can fix it." The copper-haired cyborg's words bore a bitter edge, each sharply spoken sentence cutting a bit deeper into his companion's heart. "So why'd you bother?"
"…Because…" Joe reopened his eyes slightly. "…I didn't want him to feel like he was facing this alone."
It was Jet's turn to stand in silence then, his only visible reaction the slight tightening of his jaw. After a moment more, Joe started forward again, heading back toward his room to change. Jet resumed walking at the same time, heading in the opposite direction.
After the two cleared the corridor, the infirmary door slid open, and Britain popped his head outside, glancing both ways to ensure that nobody else was present.
"…I have got to stop listening in on others," he sighed, bowing his head. "I don't think it's good for my health…"
~ * ~
He had spent the entire night mulling over data, poring over test results and experiments, analyzing every piece of information he'd gathered in hopes of forming the most accurate explanation possible given the circumstances. It wasn't the first time he had forgone sleep in the pursuit of knowledge, nor would it likely be the last.
Yet Doctor Gilmore felt far more exhausted this morning than he usually did after working under such conditions. The scientist slumped in his chair, wearily gazing into the mug cradled in both hands, idly tipping the cup back and forth to stir the cold dregs of coffee still remaining in the bottom.
It was more an emotional drain than a physical one that he felt. Though it was likely that a few aches and pains would linger in his bones for a while, he'd born such discomforts before and would again without complaint. If only he had to show for his overnight work was more…
"Here, let me take that," Chang coaxed, gently removing the empty mug from the scientist's grasp and replacing it with a fresh, full cup.
Gilmore smiled thankfully at the stout cyborg, though the brief grateful expression did little to lighten the grim mood hanging over him. Taking a sip of the warm liquid, his gaze swept over the room, regarding the others gathered there.
At the moment, only Joe, Jet and Britain were absent; the rest of the cyborgs had already gathered. Francoise was balancing Ivan's bassinet on her lap, the blonde's blue-green eyes downcast. Albert sat to her immediate right, Geronimo Junior directly beside him; the latter appeared to be in silent meditation while the former's steel blue eyes scanned over the pages of some tome. There were a couple of empty chairs to Francoise's left, but nobody moved to fill them.
Pyunma had pulled a high stool off to one corner and was sitting on that, arms crossed over his chest and staring down at the floor. Chang bustled around, meanwhile, busying himself by offering to retrieve anything the others wished, and looking rather saddened when his suggestions were repeatedly turned down.
All of them were clad in the familiar red and gold uniforms that served as the classic cyborg costume. The casual attire and attitude of the previous morning had been abandoned. In its place reigned an uneasy inactivity, like the calm before some unpredictable storm.
Jet was the next to arrive. The spiky-haired cyborg failed to acknowledge anyone else when he entered, stepping silently into the room and moving to lean against the wall not far from where Pyunma was sitting. He crossed his arms and stared off to one side, thick red bangs effectively concealing his eyes and thus masking most of his expression from the others.
A few minutes later, both Joe and Britain showed up. Both took their seats without a word to anyone else, Joe taking the chair to the immediate left of Francoise. The female glanced up as they sat down, a variety of emotions flickering rapidly over her fair features.
"So, Doctor Gilmore…" Britain spoke into the silence, "Anything…?"
He let his voice trail off, for once at a loss on how to phrase his thoughts properly. There were too many questions he needed to ask, and no idea just which ones, if any, the scientist might be able to answer. Not to mention the fear that the response his queries might garner would be the same thing he had overheard him mention to Joe…
The former Black Ghost employee sighed, the heavy sound causing Britain's heart to sink significantly. He squared his shoulders, determined to pay close attention to what the scientist said regardless of anything else.
"There's still quite a few things I have yet to figure out about the situation," Gilmore admitted slowly, turning to face the computer as his fingers sought out the keys he needed. "However, considering the circumstances, I think it's best I tell you what I have managed to work out for the time being."
Britain nodded mute agreement, steadily staring at the screen as data appeared and scrolled across the monitor. The rest of the cyborgs looked on as well, some doing a much finer job of masking their emotions than others.
"007, I have a question for you," stated the scientist, glancing over his shoulder at the shapeshifter. "During the first confrontation with those assault pods, do you remember being hit by any sort of needle or laser?"
"…No, I don't remember anything like that."
"Hmm. Well, from what I've been able to gather, it appears that sometime during that first attack, you were… infected with some new form of virus."
"What kind of virus, doctor?" Joe spoke up, ruby eyes intense behind his thick bangs.
"To put it simply, it appears to be a program designed to… override the function of 007's transformation ability." Gilmore paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, heartily wishing that he possessed some small gift with words that could help him soften the impact. For now, the best thing he could think of was to maintain eye contact with Britain as he continued, "After you were infected, the virus began rapidly multiplying and attaching itself to individual molecules of the cytopathic plastic silicon polymers that make up your system."
"…Ah." Britain swallowed the hard lump he felt forming in his throat. "Say, doctor… This virus… there's no way it could affect the others, could it?"
"No, that isn't possible." Gilmore shook his head in the negative. "The virus was clearly specially made for the sole purpose of… targeting you."
'Targeting' wasn't the first term that came to mind, but Doctor Gilmore figured it was the least damaging one he could use. There were much more accurate phrases running through his thoughts, but he refused to use such blunt terminology in front of Britain. This was his body they were discussing, after all!
"Well, that's good, at least." A weak laugh came from Britain at his own comment; clearly he was grasping onto any straws he could at this point. Forcing a crooked grin, he looked plainly at the scientist and prompted, "Now, isn't this the part where you tell me the good news to help cancel all this out?"
Gilmore would have answered immediately had he anything concrete to offer. As it was, the elderly man merely gazed sadly at the shapeshifter. After several minutes, Britain was the one to break eye contact, lowering his gaze to the ground.
"…Oh." Suddenly standing, Britain kept staring down at his feet, finding the floor much easier to study than the rest of the readout or the faces of any of his friends. "Could you excuse me for a second, doctor?"
He didn't even look up to see the scientist's hesitant nod before turning and trudging from the room. He didn't see Chang start to get to his feet and follow, only to be restrained by Geronimo Junior placing one massive hand over the chef's. Everyone's eyes tracked his movements, until the door slid shut behind him.
"Well, that went well," commented Jet acidly. His golden brown eyes glittered in the shadows cast by his wild red spikes, his glare burning holes through the doctor as he demanded, "Why didn't you say anything to him that was a little… oh, I don't know, more encouraging?!"
I could say the same to you, really. Don't go pointing fingers when you don't know the whole story, chided Ivan.
"Isn't there anything we can do?" Chang questioned, looking around at the others pleadingly. "I mean, if it's a virus, can't we get a vaccine or something?"
"I have been working on a program that hopefully will be able to neutralize the infection," replied Gilmore, sinking in his seat and rubbing the deep creases of worry left in his forehead. "However, I still don't know the full extent of its effects. Until I can figure out exactly what the virus does, any patches I can create could be buggy, imperfect."
"You could have at least told him you could try making a temporary fix or something!" Jet wasn't about to be denied the right to vent his frustration.
"I don't want to risk possibly doing more damage with a temporary fix!" shot back Gilmore with a surprising amount of venom in his tone. The flash of anger swiftly faded, however, leaving the doctor looking more drained and exhausted than before.
"…I will find a way to repair this as soon as possible. But we have to proceed carefully. We can't afford making any mistakes."
"…Damn!" Jet turned and slammed a fist into the wall before him. Pivoting on his heel again and stalking to the door, he announced bluntly, "I'm going out!" and then stormed from the room.
"…Doctor Gilmore, is there anything we can do?" Albert inquired at length, liquid steel gaze sliding smoothly from the doorway to where the scientist sat.
Gilmore shook his head slowly before stating, "There's little we can do at this point, other than help G.B. deal with this until we can find a permanent solution. I'll continue to work on researching this virus; hopefully I can find a way to isolate a strain and go from there."
"I can assist you with that, Doctor," Francoise offered, handing Ivan's bassinet over to Geronimo Junior's waiting arms and standing.
"…I'm going to go find G.B.," Joe said, standing as well and turning to leave. "It's probably better if we don't leave him alone."
"Alright then," Gilmore nodded agreement. The elderly scientist's gaze followed the young cyborg out of the room, then swiveled back to the computer before him. There was much work to be done, and little time to waste.
~ * ~
(A virus… overriding my body…)
Britain stood hunched over a sink in the bathroom, bracing himself by clinging to the stainless countertop with both hands, staring at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the front of the hanging medicine cabinet.
The very thought should have sent shivers racing up and down his spine, set his stomach to churning, driven him to his knees. In some odd way, he actually wanted to feel ill at the mere concept. Yet there was nothing… just a strange sense of detachment from everything, including his own body.
The only thing signifying any sort of reaction to the professor's words was his endlessly racing mind. His thoughts drove down a dozen different paths and possibilities at once, dizzying amounts of worst-case scenarios and terrors rising in a whirling nightmarish maelstrom.
The mere existence of that sense of detachment wasn't helping matters any. Britain felt no relief at the notion that his body wasn't echoing his mental suffering. Rather, it only helped amplify his fears, giving them more root and substance.
(If I can't control my own body… oh, God, if this is Black Ghost's doing, then…)
His fingers drove deeper into the counter, unconsciously tightening as images rose unbidden of his nightmare. His eyes squeezed shut, treacherous mind playing out the vivid memory of seeing mockeries of his own hands seizing hold of Francoise by the hair, twisting and tightening until her shrieks were cut off…
Britain jolted back to reality, realizing with an icy flash of terror that he could feel something actually giving way in his grasp. Pushing away from the sink, he stared at the fresh gouges in the once-pristine countertop. It would have been difficult enough if the indentations had resembled his fingers, but, in truth, there was nothing of the sort. He couldn't even judge what could have done such damage despite the fact that he must have dealt it himself.
Some sensation flooded back into his body, causing his hands to shake slightly as he stared down at his upturned palms. They appeared perfectly normal, now, but who could say what they had resembled moments ago?
Britain couldn't, and the realization absolutely terrified him.
There was a rap on the door, only a single knock to give warning before the portal cracked open. Britain didn't even need to raise his head; the mirror reflected the image of the slightly ajar doorway and allowed him to glimpse the single garnet eye peering through.
"Are you alright?" Joe left the door open behind him while stepping into the bathroom. "I thought I heard you…"
"I'm fine."
Joe started at the dead tone of voice, scarcely recognizing it as Britain's own. "G.B.…?"
"Go away." Britain didn't turn to face the younger man, instead staring stonily at the mirror, holding his body as stiff and rigid as possible.
"G.B.," Joe started, stepping forward, reaching out with one hand toward his friend's averted back, "I only want to…"
"I said get the hell away from me!"
Joe froze, cinnamon pupils dilating a fraction at the alien sound of the Englishman's voice rising into a vicious snarl. It wasn't merely the fact that Britain had spat out a curse in such a vile tone that caused him to freeze in place. There was also a definite pulse, a current that seemed to ripple through the shapeshifter's entire figure.
In the space between heartbeats, Britain's right arm twisted backward, defying any sort of natural hinges or constraints. His fist slammed into the side of Joe's face, knuckles driving into his exposed cheek with a force that shouldn't have been possible. Never mind that the swing itself should not have been possible within the limits of any sort of human contortion.
Britain's gaze was locked on the mirror, allowing him to bear witness in a manner that only heightened his shock.
In the instant that he swung, he had felt absolutely nothing. The right side of his body had gone completely numb. The first sensation that flooded back to him was the moment his fist connected with Joe's face.
The younger cyborg fell backward, his head snapping back when he struck the wall behind him. Britain regained control of his body just in time to turn around and watch the boy slump to the tiled floor, out cold.
(Joe?!)
He would have screamed out his leader's name, but his mouth refused to form the syllables. Staring at the unconscious body before him, his mind played hideous tricks, overlaying the slumped form with an image straight from his nightmare.
G.B., what happened?! Ivan's telepathy pierced the veil falling over his senses. The child's mental voice carried a distinct tinge of shock, an utter confusion that hardly suited the babe. G.B.? G.B.?!
But Britain failed to answer, for at that moment his thoughts were all consumed by one single action: run. All he did was bolt from the room, mind goading him on, urging him to put as much distance between himself and those he cared for as soon as possible.
He had regained control, but for how long would it last? If he remained here, what was to say the next lapse wouldn't be even worse? He'd seen Joe's chest keep rising and falling slightly, so he took slight comfort in the knowledge that his strike couldn't have possibly killed the lad, but what about the next time?
(I can't stay here now, or I might…)
Flashes of his nightmare rising to the forefront of his thoughts drove him on, remembered screams drowning out Ivan's continued protests. All he could do… all that mattered… was ensuring the only way he knew how that those horrific dreams wouldn't become his reality…