The disclaimers are in the first chapter. For those of you interested in my shoddy attempts at fanart, there are a few Cyborg 009-related sketches on my Deviantart account.

~ * Subjugation * ~

Chang really envied Geronimo Junior at the moment.

The tallest and strongest of the cyborgs showed no signs of exhaustion or even exertion as he led the way toward the battlefield. His proud features were schooled into their typical stoic bearing… or, at least, so Chang figured. He couldn't say for certain since for most of the way over he'd been trailing along behind, staring at the back of his companion's head and struggling to keep up.

Amazing, Chang thought, that G-Junior could sustain such a brave front considering they were charging headlong into a nightmare.

As for the portly chef, he only wished he could act half that strong. His legs ached a little from the amount of running around they'd been doing, and he wondered if he'd even be able to stand proudly beside his comrades once they arrived.

(…Well, Joe won't be doing any standing anytime soon…)

Chang mentally kicked himself for letting such a terrible thought cross his mind. He hadn't even seen Joe yet; maybe his injury wasn't as bad as it sounded when Francoise reported it. After all, considering the feelings he was pretty certain the lovely blonde harbored for their leader, it wouldn't be hard to believe that just the fact he'd been wounded by one of their own might cause her to become frantic, maybe exaggerate how terrible things were…

(She said his leg was ripped off. That doesn't sound like exaggeration… Um, how much did she mean was torn off…?)

"Stay alert, 006!" Geronimo's deep voice boomed back to him.

Chang snapped out of his dark reverie and looked around frantically. There was a note of alarm in the strongman's tone, causing Chang to briefly wonder just how concrete the Native American's brave front was. The thought was quickly dismissed, however, as he spotted what his partner was attempting to warn him about.

The black hovercrafts were almost a familiar sight by now, their round ebon hulls gleaming in the sun as they crested the hillside and flew toward the pair. A volley of lasers shot from the small wave, beams of light slicing cleanly through the crisp air.

Geronimo sidestepped to the left; Chang dove to the right. With a deep bellow of wordless challenge the giant charged, closing the distance between him and the weapons with several quick strides. His massive fist shattered the front of the first pod he reached and emerged on the other side. Rather than waste time pulling his arm back out, Geronimo allowed it to hang off his wrist, utilizing the shattered hulk as a makeshift shield against counterstrikes while tearing into the rest.

Meanwhile, Chang rolled to a stop, somehow managing to land on his feet other than his side. Turning to face away from where his comrade was cleaning up, he took a deep breath, exhaling a volley of white-hot flames. The wave of fire engulfed the pods before him and melted them into useless chunks of molten metal that fell to the ground.

This sort of battle, Chang could face without hesitation. Not that he was glad to see the Black Ghost creations, by any means; their presence only confirmed his fears that the shadow organization was aware of their current dilemma.

(It only makes sense, since Doctor Gilmore said they were probably responsible for that virus, but still…)

Between his fiery assault and Geronimo's relentless pounding, the first wave of pods was soon reduced to wreckage. With a flick of his wrist, Geronimo popped the pathetic remains of his temporary blockade off his arm. He turned to Chang at the same time that the Chinese chef cut off his blazing breath and looked back toward the giant questioningly. The taller cyborg's dark eyes reflected the concern that didn't touch his stony features.

He didn't need to say a word, for Chang was already thinking among the same lines that he was.

(If those things are here, then the others…)

Even as the thought solidified, both heard the familiar whine of a charging laser pistol -- recognizable as the same make as the ones they wore on their belts. By the time the shot tore through the air, they had already turned and were racing in that direction, Chang laboring to keep up with his partner.

It wasn't his fault his legs weren't quite as long as his muscular ally's, after all.

The cacophony of rapid shots continued as they reached a point where they could finally see the source. Chang saw Geronimo stop first, and was privately thankful for the hesitation for it gave him a chance to catch up. His thankfulness faded, however, when he came up beside the giant and got his first chance to see what had given his partner pause.

Another group of black pods was floating in a tight circle, hovering over the smoking hulks of several of their fallen brethren. In the center of that cluster stood Pyunma, pistol drawn and firing repeatedly, turning and twisting in a desperate attempt to strike down the closest of the weapons with each shot.

More alarming, however, was the fact that there was something lying at his feet, something the aquatic specialist was crouching protectively over at the cost of sacrificing most of his mobility. At first, Chang couldn't tell what was spread out beneath Pyunma like a crimson shadow, not until he caught a glimpse of brown hair and a limp yellow scarf and his mind filled in the blanks.

"008! 009!"

Even as Chang screamed that, his partner was already charging down the hill, fist pulling back in anticipation of his first blow. He was quick to follow, pulling air into his lungs in preparation to launch another wave of fire at the blasted weapons.

Pyunma looked up sharply, and relief lit the depths of his dark navy eyes even as he whirled away to take out a pod drawing too close from behind. One of his shoulders jerked violently from the sudden movement, and Pyunma gritted his teeth silently against the pain.

The black tide shuddered, then was pierced by an eruption of flames courtesy of Chang. While the chef concentrated on his machine flambé, Geronimo punched through those not consumed by the fires and stood beside Pyunma, hovering protectively over him much in the same manner that the dark-skinned man stood over Joe.

Chang maneuvered himself around to stand beside them, and despite himself couldn't avoid glancing down at their fallen leader while doing so. Belatedly he realized that Francoise hadn't been exaggerating. If anything, the reality was far worse than what he'd dared imagine.

(His leg's completely gone! Ohhh…)

There wasn't time to goggle at the loss of the limb, however, not when the black tide still needed to be stemmed. In a way, Chang was almost thankful for the distraction of fighting off the weapons. Flaming them meant not having to think about Joe lying prone behind him, rendered completely helpless. It meant not having to think about…

Soon -- almost all too soon, though surely the fight was much longer than he believed since he spent most of it functioning on a sort of autopilot, blasting the pods without thinking -- the last of the weapons was reduced to twisted ruins. The shattered black husks lay scattered around them, dark technology now little more than metal corpses.

With the immediate threat having passed, Geronimo and Chang turned their attention to their other comrades. Pyunma dropped into a crouch next to Joe's side and gripped the younger cyborg's shoulder.

"Hang in there, 009," he instructed. "See, 005 and 006 are here for you, too. It's gonna be alright…"

Joe tilted his head slightly to the side, enough that he could see Geronimo and Chang crouching on his other side. His garnet eyes, still mostly hidden by his thick, tangled bangs, seemed dimmer than before, their brightness dampened by the haze descending over his senses. The right side of his body from the waist down felt numb; he vaguely comprehended that his leg was no longer there and wondered at the lack of pain, not quite realizing he was accustomed to it.

"…ro…zero…nnn…?"

He twitched, left shoulder jerking as he made a weak attempt to push up from the ground. Geronimo's gentle hands folded over the boy's shoulders, his mouth set in a firm line. Then his dark gaze tracked up from where his leader lay to rest on Pyunma.

"You're wounded." It was a statement, not a question.

"It's nothing," replied Pyunma with forced levity, unconsciously raising his right hand to try and cover his left shoulder.

The action didn't work too well considering he was still holding onto his pistol. Instead of holstering it, however, he held tightly onto the blaster and settled for not covering his wound with the palm of his hand.

"Nothing?" Chang echoed incredulously.

It was a clean shot, a circular burn the same diameter as the laser that had caused it. The intense heat of the blast had already cauterized the wound, and it didn't appear to have burned clear to the other side. It was still a disturbingly deep gash, however, and no matter what Pyunma insisted Chang refused to believe that it couldn't hurt when he moved the joint.

Geronimo felt a similar sense of disbelief, but decided it was best not to pry into the matter when there were more important tasks at hand.

"Where is 004?" he inquired bluntly.

"He stayed back with 007 in order to buy us time to escape."

Pyunma's deep eyes flashed at his own admission, making it obvious he felt guilty at the prospect of leaving his partner behind to face their infected comrade. Not that he'd had much choice in the matter; Britain wasn't about to allow them to leave willingly, especially not after dealing such a crippling blow to his leader…

Chang squirmed uncomfortably. Even though he now saw firsthand the sort of destruction that Britain had wrought under the influence of the virus, there was still a sense of unreality about the whole affair. The thought that G.B. was the one to tear Joe's leg off… that he was probably off fighting against Albert at that moment…

Averting his eyes from Joe's prone figure, Chang stared off into the distance and struggled to clear his mind. There must be something they were overlooking, some way of resolving this nightmare without anyone else coming to serious harm…

(If only Doctor Gilmore had a cure for the virus… If only we could've kept G.B. from feeling like he had to run away… If only…)

Catching sight of movement out of the corner of his eye, Chang turned quickly in that direction. He gasped, breath catching painfully in his suddenly constricted throat, and stumbled to his feet. Alerted by his actions, Geronimo and Pyunma followed the line of his gaze, and stared.

A figure wearing the same uniform as they were was steadily approaching. The tattered length of his scarf billowed out behind his straight, proud figure, despite the fact it was torn in several places and the end was charred off. The rest of his attire was in relatively good condition, though the chest seemed a little blackened.

The way that Britain's face was twisted by a nasty little grin -- that was the most frightening part of his appearance.

Gaping at the new arrival, Chang fought to keep his sudden bout of shuddering under control. His eyes felt fit to bulge out of their sockets, his thoughts quickly focusing on one terrible question:

(If he's here, then Albert…?)

The same question loomed large in the minds of his companions, though Geronimo and Pyunma kept their faces schooled into carefully neutral, determined expressions as they rose to their feet.

There was no sign of the living arsenal anywhere. Pyunma took little comfort in the fact that the shapeshifter didn't appear to be carrying a piece of his opponent with him. That didn't keep the image from rising in his mind of Albert having his leg wrenched off exactly the same way Joe's had been, or even worse…

"Ze…006," he hissed under his breath, never taking his eyes off the approaching Britain. "Think you can get past him?"

"Ah… Sure, but why?" faltered Chang.

"See if you can go find 004. He probably needs help, and if any of those pods are still about…"

He didn't need to finish his sentence. Chang nodded quickly, then gazed back toward Britain, watching the Englishman come slowly and steadily closer. Briefly his fears warred with each other: he definitely didn't want to fight his friend, and he was worried sick about Albert, but leaving Pyunma, Geronimo and Joe behind to face the shapeshifter while he scurried off to find the German…

No matter what decision he made, it was going to weigh heavily on his conscience until this mess was resolved.

Still Britain was striding toward them, obviously in no rush to confront his next victims. The same lazy smirk contorted his face. Chang tore his gaze away and stared steadfastly at the ground instead, making a few quick judgements on the lay of the land before making his choice.

"You guys… be careful!" he called, casting a final glance back at the trio, trying hard to avoid getting a clear look at the empty socket where Joe's leg should have been.

Turning away, he wrenched his eyes shut and summoned a steady stream of flame, searing a hole into the ground in front of him and diving through.

After he disappeared underground, Geronimo nodded to himself and turned back to face his opponent, standing steadfastly beside Pyunma. Both interposed themselves between the oncoming shapeshifter and their injured leader, while behind them Joe shuddered and struggled in vain to move.

Pyunma raised the sights of his blaster, gripping it with both hands. His shoulder gave a painful throb that he ignored to the best of his ability. He only allowed himself a slight wince as he brought his weapon level with the approaching figure.

(G.B.… What happened to Albert? Did he go too easy when fighting you?)

The most terrifying possibility, the one he tried to keep repressed, was the same one keeping his sights steady on the approaching enemy. There wasn't any more room for mistakes -- hadn't he made enough already? By leaving Albert behind instead of insisting they leave together, even with the knowledge Britain would keep coming unchallenged, he might very well have condemned his partner to…

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Pyunma fired.

The crescent-shaped wave of light seared through waving grass and clear blue sky, for Britain had sprung up and was now closing the gap between them more rapidly, his arm morphing into a hooked set of claws.

Geronimo ran forward to meet their enemy, massive hands balling into tight fists. Pyunma hung back, standing protectively over Joe as the brown-haired youth groaned with agony. Raising his gun, Pyunma prepared to squeeze off another shot whenever the opportunity arose to help keep the infected cyborg away from their commander.

~ * ~

Sweat trickled down the side of Doctor Tenkan's neck, a distinctly uncomfortable sensation. How was it that the plan could go so well and so wrong at the same time?

How foolish it had been for the latest commander to release the assault pods prematurely. Those were supposed to be reserved as a last resort should the infected cyborg fail to complete his mission. Were it to become apparent that he was no longer capable of defeating his former allies, they were intended to be sent in and recover him -- along with any properly dispatched cyborgs.

Instead, the vast majority of the remote-control weapons were now nothing more than wasted metal and resources, shattered shells lining the field with debris. So much for their backup plan.

Despite this, there was still an air of impending victory in the base, one the scientist could detect even without leaving the cramped quarters of his personal station. The leader of the rebels was still incapable of putting up any more resistance, though the efforts of his comrades were keeping him alive for the time being. Already another major threat to their plans, the walking arsenal, had been dispatched and left for dead.

Doctor Tenkan only wished he could confirm that casualty. But the micro-cameras were programmed to follow after the infected cyborg: Black Ghost wanted to record every moment of glorious battle for posterity.

Perhaps he was being over-cautious. After all, the virus was still performing beautifully, all told. It was utilizing the prototype spy unit's transformation ability as an effective weapon, adapting to the situation as needed.

Yet Tenkan knew he wouldn't feel remotely safe until after it was confirmed that all of the rebels had been destroyed. To celebrate beforehand would be foolish.

~ * ~

It… hurt.

Breathing… sent ripples of agony coursing through him even as the life-giving air alternately filled and fled his lungs.

(…is it… worth it…?)

Twitch…

Fingers quivered slightly, aching tips stirring the grass they rested against.

His body was still in one piece… more or less. He knew only because of the pain flooding through his frame. The feedback streamed from every part of his body, from his fingers to his toes, from his arms to his legs.

"…ugh…"

He coughed, and regretted it, for the way it jerked his chest only intensified the pain racking his body. Movement wasn't a good idea, then.

The sky loomed above him, the grass cool against his back. Ironic that he could feel such suffering while the world remained so beautiful… detached from his private agony.

But, then, what use would nature have for him, someone who often felt more machine than man?

Eyes of cool blue steel, frosted with the pain coursing through his prone body, gazed upon the indifferent skies above. Perhaps it was best this way… at least the day itself was nice, if not what was happening during it.

(…stupid… can't believe…)

He should have known better. He should have watched himself better. He was a much more skilled fighter than this, and shouldn't have fallen so easily. …He'd been rebuilt for the sole purpose of combat, for God's sake!

…He'd held back. Even after witnessing what Britain had done to poor Joe… even after his hesitance nearly cost Pyunma and Joe their chance to escape… he couldn't bring himself to fight with everything he had.

His wounds throbbed… another cough jarred his body. He started to grit his teeth against the pain, reflexively, then relaxed. It wouldn't accomplish anything.

…He had failed.

(…stupid… mistake…)

Too distracted by his attempts to subdue Britain without hurting him too bad, making certain to fire at the shapeshifter's surroundings rather than the transformer himself, he'd failed to notice what was, in retrospect, an obvious tactic.

It had happened so quickly… Britain's right arm, transmuted into a whip, cracked out at his face, and he dodged aside, keeping a close eye on the twisting length. He hadn't noticed until Britain turned his body slightly that his left arm appeared to be missing.

…Only it hadn't been missing. But Albert hadn't comprehended the truth until the first of the thin wires snared his ankle and pulled him to the ground.

Too quickly, he'd been bound; Britain's other arm snaking round his waist and morphing into a match for his other limb. The whip broke off into thinner extensions, each about the width of a finger, winding across his body and arresting his movements.

Then, when he was completely bound and couldn't move, could barely even breathe for the wire looped around his neck, the constrictions tightened -- and sharpened.

Razor-sharp ropes dug into his body, slicing cleanly through his uniform and into the metal and flesh beneath. Albert would have screamed from the sudden pain if he'd only been able to force his voice through the tight noose engulfing his neck.

Oddly, that had been the only one that didn't cut through him like a bendable blade. Had that been the case, he surely would have died from the resulting slice in his neck -- if he hadn't been beheaded outright.

It also seemed strange how the force had slackened after a while, his binding coming loose and allowing him to slide onto the soft grass. Dimly through the haze he'd heard the quiet crush of grass underfoot as his tormentor walked away, leaving him to die.

…Leaving him to die… that had to be what it was. Whatever was driving his former friend now must have somehow judged that his injuries would soon end his life, and left him to suffer alone while it moved on to other targets…

(…Pyunma… Joe… did I buy you enough time…?)

Another cough racked his lungs, and Albert resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut from grief and self-loathing.

Probably the answer was no. For all he knew, Britain had already caught up to them by now and was finishing what he'd started. His sense of time was fading, and the blue expanse above him was no help whatsoever in judging how much had passed.

(…I failed… everyone…)

Fingers twitching against the grass, a useless hand of gunmetal gray.

(…Pyunma… Joe… G.B.…)

Ghostly impressions of the faces of his friends hung before his blurring vision, and Albert refused to close his eyes to them, believing he deserved this torment for his failure.

(…forgive me… I couldn't… save any of you…)

Why was it that, when those he cared for needed him the most, he always seemed to fall short? Albert asked himself that silently while waiting for the final darkness to come creeping over him, gazing sorrowfully at the indifferent sky above and wondering when the blue would be forever replaced by black.

(…I'm… sorry…)