First chapter has all the disclaimers and such; this chapter has more angst and action. And for those of you wondering what I considered to be more of a cliffhanger in comparison to chapter four… Just read on.
~ * Agitation * ~
"Damnit!"
His fist slammed into the tree trunk before him with enough force to shake several leaves free from their branches. Jet followed up his first strike by pounding the back of his other hand into the bark directly above the crest of his wild red spikes, his forehead falling forward to rest against the rough surface.
The high collar of the black jacket he'd worn to help conceal his uniform hid a good portion of the lower half of his face in much the same manner that his bangs covered the upper half. So even if anyone else had happened to pass by and notice him, there was no way they could see how he gritted his teeth in frustration.
"Nothing…" he snarled under his breath.
He'd returned to the place where they'd held their picnic with one goal in mind: finding out where Black Ghost had sent their damned assault pods from in the first place. If he could figure that out, then it'd be easy to storm their base and find some decent answers about what exactly the hell was happening here!
Unfortunately, his search had turned up nothing. No clues, no hints, not even any wreckage to work from! Apparently Black Ghost had thought to send out one of their cleanup crews or something after the fight; he'd combed over the spot where they'd fought just yesterday and found nothing more than some fuel stains and patches of bent and broken grass where shattered hulks had rested.
(I think Doc Gilmore did collect a few of the busted-up things after we fought back home, though…)
Jet pounded his balled-up fist against the trunk again, though with less force than before. He wasn't too eager to return empty-handed. Since he'd run off without giving the others any indication of where he was headed or what he was up to, he'd be certain to get a lecture from Albert or someone else for the stunt.
(…Feh. Let them think what they want; I don't care.)
Pushing away from the tree, Jet thrust both hands into the pockets of his jacket and stormed off, glaring at the ground. He wasn't about to rush home: no sense hurrying back when all that awaited him for his efforts was a scolding. Besides, if he wanted to fly there, he'd first have to locate some out of the way place where he could take off without being noticed. Best to take his time, then; take advantage of the walk to think things through without any pesky distractions.
He definitely wasn't eager to return and discover how little things had changed in his absence. From what he figured, Doctor Gilmore was still plugging away at his research on that damnable virus, while the others either helped him work or hung around G.B. in an awkward attempt to make him feel better. Neither activity was really his style, so what was the point of going where he wasn't needed?
No, there was no reason Jet could think of to hurry. Better to try and enjoy the time alone while he could before returning to the mess he'd left behind…
~ * ~
He couldn't go back there, not now. Not in his condition. Maybe not ever…
Britain stumbled along through the dense foliage, pushing low-hanging branches out of his way and trying not to trip on exposed roots or the odd rock. At times it seemed his body was resisting his command to flee, his feet landing more surely on unseen obstacles than clear ground. More than once he slipped, sometimes failing to break his fall with a hand and landing face first in the dirt.
But each time he fell, he forced himself to push back up and keep forging on. There was no telling when he'd no longer be able to do so, and he was determined to make every minute count for as long as he could.
His imagination was only too eager to add fuel to his flight by constantly replaying the same scenes time and again. The memory of seeing Joe collapsed on the bathroom floor, knowing he had been the one to strike him down -- witnessing his arm curve back to deliver the blow and feeling nothing save the moment of impact… Recalling how, in his nightmare, Joe had been the first to fall to a literal backstab…
Britain's breath hitched as he choked back a sob. There had to be some way of preventing that from happening in real life, but the only solution he could think of was staying far away from his friends.
(And then what? Either they'll come looking for me, or Black Ghost will… But… what else can I do?)
Again he stumbled, his foot finding a nice thick tree root to smash his toes against and drive him to his knees. Britain managed to catch himself this time, however, both hands hitting the dirt palms first. He hesitated only a few moments before pushing back up and continuing his run.
He just needed to put all the distance he could between those he cared about and himself. Thinking about what to do next could come later, if he had any capacity for thought after losing the ability to run any further…
~ * ~
"The subject is in motion."
Doctor Tenkan nodded slightly; this was the only indication he gave that the drone's monotone report was received and duly noted. His gaze remained locked on the monitor before him, scanning over the displayed information even as his stubby fingers clacked out an addition to the gathered data.
There was a faint whirring somewhere off to his left as the robotic messenger departed his darkened chambers, off to perform some other task to better serve their master. The scientist scarcely noticed its departure, absorbed as he was in his research.
He did take note, however, when a much softer, more muted whoosh came from just behind him. Doctor Tenkan hesitated, gray eyes widening a fraction behind his glasses, fingers pausing in mid-stroke for just an instant before continuing their steady rhythm.
"It appears that the cyborgs have gained some awareness of your plan."
"It was expected, sir." Tenkan fought to keep the fear he felt in the presence of his commander under control and managed to answer in a steady, if hushed and reverent voice. "Doctor Gilmore is far from a fool. I imagine he began to run his own experiments soon after the virus began manifesting."
"This will not be a problem, I assume?"
"Of course not. His involvement was predetermined and planned for well in advance."
The screen before him briefly caught the reflection of two rotund yellow eyes, the same eyes he felt burning into the back of his neck. Swallowing the lump rising in his throat, Doctor Tenkan took a moment to compose himself before continuing on.
"The infection has spread at the rate projected in our estimations. Once it has established itself in every molecule of the body, all that will remain is dealing with the mind." The information displayed before him shifted at the press of a key. "As you know, it was difficult to attempt and simulate the effect of a human psyche in conjunction with the virus."
"Yes… an unfortunate flaw."
"A flaw, naturally, but one that should be of little real concern in the long run. The infection was deliberately designed to override control of the transformation ability. This included a gradual disconnection of the capacity of the mind to direct such maneuvers. In the final stages, to put it quite simply, prototype 007 will be completely unable to control his own shapeshifting. That will be completely conducted by the virus, which will proceed to carry out its other primary objective."
"The destruction of the 00-number cyborgs…"
There was a clear note of undisguised rapture in his master's sibilant hiss. The faintest shudder crept down the scientist's spine. Quickly regaining control of his body, however, Doctor Tenkan concentrated on keeping his fingers moving over the keyboard, sustaining the rhythmic typing.
"Naturally, the situation will be continuously monitored. If it appears for any reason that things are not going precisely as planned, there are secondary measures in place to ensure the retrieval of the infected cyborg and extermination of the weakened rebels."
"Good. I await further reports of your success."
A ripple in the shadows behind him and the disappearance of the ghastly visage reflected in the computer screen informed Doctor Tenkan that he was once again alone in the room. The breath he had been subconsciously holding since his commander's final statement came out in a rush, and he slumped forward in his seat, glasses sliding briefly from their perch high up on his nose. His brief respite, however, lasted merely a moment, and the scientist quickly righted himself and continued his work.
He couldn't rest, not while the 00-number cyborgs still functioned. Rest could come later, provided all went according to plan.
~ * ~
The length of the bright yellow scarf he wore billowed freely behind him as Jet swept through the clear sky, a streak of flame against the swirls of white and blue.
He still felt no joy at the prospect of returning home with nothing to show for his earlier departure. But, hey, there wasn't much else he could do, right? Let them wonder where he'd been; he didn't even have to try and explain himself if he didn't feel like it. And right then, he didn't feel too much like letting them know of his failure.
He was so consumed with viciously arguing this point with himself, that he almost missed the flash of movement down below.
Blinking twice, Jet stopped short, pulling his legs up beneath him so that he was hovering more or less in place. With bronze eyes narrowed into sharp slits he stared downward, scanning the dense wilderness below for any sign of -- There! This time he was certain he'd spotted something moving over there!
(What, don't tell me Black Ghost is up to something else…!)
Despite the incredulous, enraged tone of his thoughts, Jet allowed a slight smirk to twist one edge of his mouth upward. Maybe he wouldn't have to report back empty-handed. It looked like his luck was changing -- though whether it was a stroke of good luck or bad to run into a possible enemy ambush while alone was up to debate.
(…Heh. Bad luck for them.)
With the swiftness of a hawk diving for its prey, Jet swooped downward, his right hand disappearing underneath the folds of his jacket to retrieve his blaster from its hidden sheath. His body was already reacting to the impending conflict, adrenaline surging in its familiar rush.
Then his target emerged from the brush, and surprise washed over Jet's face as he drew up short, though his expression swiftly shifted from one of confusion to exasperation.
"What the… What are you doing out here?" he demanded, coming to a perfect landing on both feet and turning to glare at the unexpectedly familiar face.
Britain would have blurted out the same thing, had he been able to do anything more at the moment than gape bug-eyed at the aerodynamic cyborg. The last thing he'd been expecting was to run across one of his friends during his escape, let alone nearly get dive-bombed by one.
"J…J…J…J-Je-Jet?!" he finally managed after finding his voice.
"What is with you?! What do you think you're doing, leaving the house in your condition?!" Fuming, Jet shoved his gun into the pocket of his jacket and stepped toward his comrade. "C'mon, let's get back to the…"
"NO! I can't go back!"
Panic overriding him, Britain turned and bolted, the object of his desperate flight shifting from getting away from the others to simply leaving Jet behind. Which, truth be told, he was painfully aware likely wasn't too bright a prospect, but thoughts of what the alternative might mean successfully pierced though all other considerations.
"He…HEY!" Needless to say, Jet was more than a little startled and peeved by this decision. "Where do you think you're…"
He charged after him, batted a few branches clear of his face as he ran, then suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.
"Wait… What am I doing?"
Activating his boosters, Jet took off again, swiftly closing the distance between him and the other cyborg. He located Britain just clear of the woods; the shapeshifter had paused at the edge of a bluff and was looking down the rocky cliffside.
"What the hell is wrong with you, G.B.?" demanded Jet, once again touching his feet to the ground and folding his arms, looking even more pissed over the fact that he'd actually had to chase after him. "Just 'cause the doc hasn't got anything yet to help you doesn't mean he won't…"
"Stay away from me!" Britain's voice held a definite tinge of hysteria as he backed away from the redhead. "I don't want to risk hurting you!"
"What?" The Englishman's cry was rewarded with a brief look of utter astonishment and confusion on the younger man's face. Quickly realizing what he had to mean, however, Jet grimaced, replying, "You think you're actually a danger to us now, just 'cause Black Ghost had you hit with some virus?! Look, you don't have to worry about it. We'll protect you until this is all worked out, alright?"
"No!" Britain shook his head furiously, taking another step backward to counter the step Jet took toward him. "Just go away!"
"I'm not leaving you here!"
(Damnit! If Black Ghost finds him like this, they'll only screw him up even worse!)
"I'm taking you back," he declared, bringing his hands up in a ready fashion. "Trust me, G.B., this is for your own good. The doc'll fix you up, I'm sure of it."
His hands balled into fists; though he wasn't too thrilled at the idea of actually fighting the shapeshifter, it was clear from his erratic behavior that getting him back home wasn't going to be easy. Hopefully he wouldn't have to rough him up too badly before dragging him back.
"Jet!" Britain cried desperately, seeing his friend advance.
Of all the rotten luck he could have; out of all of his friends that he could have stumbled across, it was the one with the most stubborn streak imaginable. As the redhead advanced, he moved to take another step backward, only to find his legs no longer responded. It wasn't merely the knowledge that there was a cliff somewhere behind him that arrested his movement, and Britain's pupils dilated as a wave of icy coldness overrided his senses.
"STOP!"
He glimpsed Jet's eyes going wide underneath his fiery wild bangs as his body contorted, no longer acting under his command but under that of some other force. Both of Britain's arms shot forward, palms pointed toward the hawkish lad, the fingers stretching out into long, serrated blades lancing at their prey.
"What the hell--?!"
Jet sprang into midair in a burst of dust and flame, the ten blades converging on the spot where he'd been standing. At the moment of impact they bent and surged upward, yet he dodged the continued impaling attempts and flew around behind the other cyborg.
"G.B.," he sputtered, "What the h--AHH!"
Britain felt the tiny spark of hope that'd leapt in his heart the moment Jet evaded the first assault sputter and die. He'd felt the moment of impact, much as he had with Joe, only this time the sensation had been accompanied by the screech of torn metal.
His body pivoted, though not of his own volition, in time for Britain to behold the nasty gash that now graced the outside of Jet's left leg. The jagged laceration stretched from at least the knee down to the bottom of his foot; that was all he was able to see before the sputtering flame from his other boot died completely and he dropped out of sight, disappearing over the side of the cliff.
"Jet!" he screamed, feeling some semblance of control return to him, though too late -- much too late. "JET--!!"
No reply came to his straining ears other than the faint crash of the waves below. Britain stared straight ahead, desperately willing Jet to rise back into view using just the booster in his other leg, to at least scream again, anything…
Nothing came. There was only the dreading numbness creeping back over him, slowly reasserting its icy control. His chest should have been aching, his heart should have been pounding, he should have been diving over the side to look for his fallen comrade, not gazing blankly at the place he'd last seen him. Britain couldn't even feel the tears he was at least fairly certain had to be seeping out of his widely staring eyes.
An utter exhaustion washed over him, and Britain felt his eyes drift closed. The darkness was almost sweet, somehow, in how it promised a release from the pain…
Silence reigned, consuming all.
Then, gradually, the corners of Britain's mouth twitched upward into the vaguest hint of a smile.