The disclaimers can be found in the first chapter; just hit your back button if you need to review those.

~ * Trepidation * ~

There is a fine line between fortune and misfortune, and the soldier knew his current assignment forced him to walk that boundary.

In many ways, his task was simple compared those most involved with this project needed to perform. He needed only get close enough to the renegade craft to ensure his passenger would be able to slip on board safely. He wasn't even required to engage the rebels: in fact, Black Ghost had advised exactly the opposite. It was too great a risk, not because his single stealth unit was woefully inadequate for such a task, but because it would put the cyborgs on high alert if they realized how close their forces were.

Just getting within range of the Dolphin was dangerous, thanks to the intelligence-gathering cyborg undoubtedly on board the vessel. If she detected their presence, the plan was history.

The grunt frowned, turning this point over in his head. Something didn't quite add up: if 003 could possibly pick up his tiny little cruiser's approach, then what would keep her from sensing the assassin he'd been sent to drop off?

Unfortunately, such information was on a need-to-know basis, and since he was only a lowly fighter, the higher-ups judged he didn't need to know. Black Ghost trusted him to handle the guns and destructive technological toys they handed down to their soldiers, but more sensitive intelligence was generally kept away from them.

From what he understood, this was partly the fault of another of the rebel cyborgs, a telepath who could allegedly pick information right out of his victims' heads. Their ignorance was a sort of failsafe, almost damage control in a sense. If the 00-numbers happened to ruin a mission, the potential of other plans being compromised thanks to some vital intelligence gleaned from some grunt's thoughts was much lower.

Thanks to this decision, he knew little about his cargo other than the fact that it was another cyborg, intended to assassinate or otherwise incapacitate the renegade prototypes.

Even the threat of Black Ghost's wrath, however, couldn't fully stem the trickle of rumors running through the lower ranks. The shadows were not completely isolated, and while things such as 'real-life' identities were closely guarded, there were always whispers of what sort of projects were being developed.

According to certain murmurs traded among his fellows, the latest assassin was based around the same transformation technology as one of the runaway prototypes. A recent broadcast to several bases had shown how this talent could be applied towards annihilating one's opponents, and while the demonstration ended without concrete evidence of any rebels being exterminated, the footage was still… enlightening, all the same.

He wasn't even allowed to see his passenger. The cyborg rode in the back, in the cargo hatch that took up the rear half of the ship. Once he judged he had gotten close enough to the Dolphin, he'd unseal the portal and trust the assassin to disembark.

So simple, yet he continued to stress over his task. If he screwed up somehow and the rebels detected him, or, more importantly, his cargo, the entire plan would be ruined, and his life forfeit.

Finally, the stress was too much for him to handle, and with a muttered curse he slammed his fist down on the button controlling the rear latch.

Immediately machinery began to grind in a low whine, and in the shadows of the darkened hold the shapeshifter looked up toward the opening doorway. Already water was flooding into the sealed chamber, displacing the air.

The assassin was hardly alarmed, however, and as the liquid engulfed the black-clad figure swiftly changed into the form already chosen well in advance for this stage of the plan. By the time the chamber was completely flooded, a sleek black and gray dolphin slid out into the dark sea and set off for its destination.

Back in the front of the ship, the soldier waited a few minutes longer before punching in the sequence that would reseal the hatch and drain the hold. He trusted that he'd given the assassin more than enough time to exit, and it was high time he headed back to base. Hopefully if all went well, this was the closest he'd have to come to tangling with the rebel cyborgs… or dealing with any other special projects.

~ * ~

Francoise had been battling feelings of uneasiness all day, and her sense that something was amiss only heightened with each passing hour.

Life on board the Dolphin had fallen into a dreary pattern over the past several days, and the tired routine was wearing down rapidly on its crew. It definitely didn't help that there were so many changes to their typical pattern, changes she doubted anybody really wanted to become accustomed to.

Her encounter with Britain earlier, running into him by chance in the hallway, had been the most contact she'd had with the former actor over the past few days.

Though Francoise hated to consider it, it was clear that the Englishman was learning very quickly how to stay out of everyone's way. Doctor Gilmore was conducting daily tests in order to monitor Britain's condition, but that was really the only time when Francoise knew exactly where he was.

The rest of the time, Britain was careful to avoid crossing paths with any of the others whenever possible. The Dolphin was a large craft, originally intended for more insidious purposes than providing a group of renegades with a mobile shelter-slash-base of operations. It could have supported a considerably larger crew than it had, and if he wasn't sticking to a single room to seclude himself in, it was little wonder the others saw him so rarely anymore.

Britain had even stopped frequenting the group meals, something Francoise found even more alarming after becoming used to Chang and G.B. bickering about practically every topic relating to food and then some. Now whenever she stopped by the kitchen to check on things she tended to find a much quieter scene.

Chang was pretending he didn't notice his friend's absence. Against her better judgement Francoise had tried to broach the issue once, only to be assured by the fire-breathing chef that he had no problems whatsoever, that he actually preferred working in peace, without any pesky interference from bossy know-it-alls who wouldn't know fine dining if they got knocked by a wok.

Chang was a great cook, but a lousy actor.

It wasn't just Britain who was missing meals, either. Lately Jet had taken to grabbing a snack or two between sessions of slinking around the ship glaring at everyone and venting his frustrations either vocally or physically. The aerial combat specialist absolutely hated spending more time underwater on the Dolphin than was necessary in his eyes, and made certain to let everyone know it.

At least she knew the hot-tempered fighter was eating, even if it was mostly junk food, sandwiches and leftovers. They had a lot of the former nowadays, since Chang kept fixing meals for everyone on board despite the fact not everyone showed up at the table anymore.

But Francoise saw Britain so infrequently anymore that she wasn't really certain how much nutrition he was getting.

He had to be eating sometime, she decided, even if she couldn't confirm when or what. Surely his condition hadn't deteriorated so far that he was forgetting to eat at all -- that couldn't escape everyone's notice! After all, he still saw Doctor Gilmore regularly; the scientist would definitely pick up on any major changes in his health and know something was going on!

Fingertips straying upward to lace through her bangs and press lightly against her forehead, Francoise sighed. There was too much to worry about, and this headache wasn't helping matters any.

Ivan was still sleeping, but that didn't keep the female cyborg from checking in on him constantly, worried her sense of foreboding wasn't because of something wrong with the infant. Gilmore assured her there was nothing to be afraid of: he'd already checked to make certain the baby's efforts hadn't harmed him in any manner, and other than his complete exhaustion, Ivan appeared to be perfectly fine.

That didn't stop Francoise from heading toward the infant's bedroom even at that minute, sliding the doorway open again to sneak another peek in on the sleeping child.

She was only slightly surprised to see that the room had another occupant. Geronimo Junior's wide-shouldered figure balanced on a chair pulled up close to Ivan's bassinet. Though his attention had been focused entirely on the tiny figure curled up in the fluffy white sheets, by the time Francoise eased the door open enough to spy him there his dark eyes were already fixed upon her.

"Oh…" she faltered.

The giant laid a finger gently against his lips in the well-known sign for silence, rising to his feet and crossing the room without making any undue noise. Francoise stepped back from the door in order to allow him to step past her, then stole one final look at the bassinet before sliding the portal shut.

"He is doing well," Geronimo informed her quietly, his naturally deep and unobtrusive voice even more hushed than usual. "Have patience."

"I know…" and Francoise finally turned her aquamarine eyes from the closed doorway, her gaze coasting past the towering strongman and over the wall beyond. "It's just that…"

"You are worried, much as we all are." Geronimo looked solidly at the blonde woman. "But there are matters beyond our control. He has the most say in how long it will take him to recover."

"Yes, but…" her roaming gaze finally found a target in the floor at her feet. "Between Ivan and what happened to G…"

"I was referring to him as well."

That caused Francoise to finally look up and meet Geronimo's steady gaze. While the Native American towered over the slender blonde lady, there was nothing truly imposing about the gentle expression gracing his stoic face.

"It is difficult to see our friends like this," he stated, his voice maintaining its usual deep, even tone. "It's hard to acknowledge that one of our friends is suffering and there is little we can do to assist them. We can offer our support, but we cannot force them to accept it, and there is much beyond our control in this situation."

"…Yes…" Francoise closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head and reopened them halfway. "But… still, I wish we…"

"I know. We all feel it, to some degree, whether we want to or not. We may do everything in our power, but as long as he is hurting inside, our hearts will insist that we can somehow accomplish more."

Geronimo shook his head slowly, briefly showing just how deeply his current inability to resolve all their problems cut him.

"007 must come to terms with what happened on his own. No amount of pushing on our part can really force him to find his resolution. He is the only one who truly knows what he went through, and the only one who is able to work out a way to deal with whatever changes it has brought."

"But… what about us? What can we…"

"We continue as we have been: allow him to see that we are still his friends and teammates despite what happened. That has not changed, even if G.B. has while trying to adjust to the situation. He is still one of us, though he may not believe it right now. We must show him that is not the case."

Francoise studied Geronimo's face for a bit longer, then dropped her gaze back to the ground and nodded her silent agreement. But even though she understood and accepted her teammate's wisdom, it didn't ease the sense of disquiet and unease festering deep inside the sensitive young woman. Something was still awry, and the knowledge that she was incapable of finding a solution herself did little to soothe her.

~ * ~

The assassin had come well prepared.

Since the Dolphin was technically stolen Black Ghost property, Mimic was easily provided with full blueprints of the vessel, briefed on its layout and capabilities. While this wouldn't account for any modifications that the rebels might have made, it seemed unlikely such things went beyond the decorative.

The important thing was that Mimic understood how to board the craft.

Unerringly the sleek black dolphin swam toward its destination, taking care to follow in the ship's wake. As it closed the distance between them the faux porpoise veered to one side, moving underneath the carrier and towards a certain latch in its side.

Once it reached the hatchway, the former dolphin reached out and grasped a pipeline mounted just in front of it. The pipe served the simple purpose of giving the crew something to hold onto while opening the door from the outside, so that they could board even while the Dolphin was retreating if needed.

It served Mimic's purpose just as well.

Rather than assume his true form for this task, the assassin had opted for a more subtle approach. Mimic couldn't risk one of the rebels happening to idly glance outside and see a stranger at the hatch, so instead he had taken the most logical disguise.

So long as it wasn't Pyunma who happened to take that possible look outside, the rebels would find nothing peculiar about the sight of the dark-skinned aquatic specialist slipping through the door.

It opened quickly enough, allowing the doppelganger to squeeze into the antechamber that kept water from flooding into the Dolphin. Mimic wasted no time in sealing the portal behind him, and circumvented the next barrier between him and his victims just as effortlessly.

Stepping into the much larger room beyond the entrance, 'Pyunma' scanned the empty deck once with cold navy eyes, then turned and melted into the shadows, already dusky skin shifting in tone to match the darkened wall as his back met it.

Caution was required. Mimic knew better than to start slaughtering the renegades wholesale as he encountered each one. While he could probably destroy a couple in that manner, the assassin had been provided with enough information than to make the mistake of underestimating the rebellion.

The shapeshifter was the latest in a line of attempts to deal with the 00-number rebels, after all. If they weren't a real threat to Black Ghost they would have been disposed of long ago.

Mimic flattened further against the wall, body thinning until it was little more than a paper-thin molding of the surface. A casual observer would fail to detect anything different about the wall, and, so long as it kept to the shadows, there was even less chance that the crew would notice even should it happen to move.

The rebels were used to the Dolphin by now, and comfortable enough that they didn't keep on full alert while simply navigating its halls.

It would take concentration to sustain the form, especially if Mimic wanted to ensure that it would remain undetected. But the amount of intelligence it stood to gather while maintaining this front would be more than worth it.

Thanks to the intelligence it was provided with concerning the 00-numbers, the assassin knew the basic extent of each cyborg's powers and appearance. But those stiff reports lacked plenty of data: what were their personalities, their habits, their individual strengths and weaknesses that came from their character?

That sort of knowledge could come in handy, and Mimic saw no need to rush. The cyborgs would fall one way or another, sooner or later… And besides… this promised to be… interesting.

The assignment was to dispatch the rebels. Once they were gone, Mimic doubted there would be future missions more engaging and potentially dangerous than this one. Best to make it last, make it memorable…