You probably know the drill by now: disclaimers are in the first chapter, easily accessed by hitting the 'back' button.

~ * Abdication * ~

The steady, hushed thrum of monitoring equipment filled the small chamber with a constant, yet subdued, background noise. Even so, it was still possible to hear Doctor Gilmore's heavy sigh as he looked over the data gathering and displaying in neat little rows on the monitor in front of him. The scientist shook his head slowly, disbelief etched in his deeply creased face as he raised tired eyes to regard his companions.

"According to this, there isn't anything particularly out of the ordinary," he informed them, a tad reluctantly and with more than a little frustration affecting his tone. "Aside from the fact that he still cannot transform, there appears to be nothing physically wrong with him…"

"Other than the fact that he's been acting completely different than normal and avoiding everyone," Albert finished for him.

Gilmore nodded in agreement, then sighed and absently rubbed his brow with two fingers as his attention returned to his patient. Britain was laid out on a cot in front of him, apparently fast asleep: the former shapeshifter hadn't stirred since being brought inside. Several wires were attached to his right wrist, gathering data that so far had proved absolutely worthless in determining what exactly had happened.

Very little about the situation made sense. From what Gilmore could figure out, Britain apparently had a nightmare vivid enough to get him screaming in real life, thrashing so violently around that he'd managed to get completely ensnared in his covers. From the way he'd been shrieking when they came running to check on him, the scientist had thought the poor man was in his death throes.

They were still here; Albert, Joe, Francoise and Geronimo had all decided to stay and wait for G.B. to regain consciousness. The four had pulled some chairs into the room and were seated together, watching over their comrade with varying amounts of attention and discomfort.

Francoise appeared the most dismayed, her aquamarine gaze shifted from place to place, settling most often on the floor. She was the one who first alerted everyone about the development, reeling from screams that at first only she heard. Probably that explained why her expression remained haunted, her pretty face filled with worry and guilt.

While Gilmore watched, Joe surreptitiously reached over and cupped his hand over the blonde cyborg's folded hands, briefly clenching his palm over hers before quickly withdrawing it back to his side. The elderly scientist noted this without comment. Drawing attention to this might have momentarily eased the tension in the room, but that would be unfair to both of the youngsters, and would hardly warrant the distraction.

Albert and Geronimo, meanwhile, were both quite good at maintaining a collected front, much better than their younger companions. The German's face was impassive, his mouth set into a thin line, steely blue eyes holding little to suggest what he was thinking. As for Geronimo, from his closed eyes and crossed arms Gilmore almost got the impression that the giant was mediating.

There was no need to call the rest of their number in. It wasn't as if Gilmore had anything new or important to tell them: he still hadn't made any sort of breakthroughs in understanding what was going on. In truth, he felt more lost and frustrated than ever.

(I can't fix something I can't even find.)

Only one option was left to him, if he could even call it that: waiting to see what information he might be able to coerce out of Britain himself. Still, Gilmore couldn't shake the feeling that tactic was a lost cause.

But there was no other recourse. They simply had to get Britain to talk to them, otherwise…

Sighing, settling back in his seat, solemn gaze locked on the computer screen, Gilmore prepared to wait for as long as necessary.

~ * ~

Great Britain was alone again; the arachnid incarnation of Black Ghost having vanished with the sudden dissipation of pain. The cocoon he'd been so hopelessly enmeshed in was also missing, but despite its absence the darkness remained unchanging. Logically, once it was gone he should have been able to rise and move around normally, yet he remained suspended in the formless void, cut off from the rest of the world as if the webs were still holding him down.

It wasn't anything so terrible as that, however. Britain was aware now that this was only a dream.

Oh, the pain was real enough, but now that the spider had fled and left its prey behind he was free to awaken and return to reality.

He simply refused to.

What was the point? Now that his tormentor had departed Britain found his current location a much nicer place to be. Certainly his surroundings -- or lack thereof -- were pretty dismal: a black fog settled over what passed for his vision, and there was nothing to do even if he had the capacity to move.

But… all the same…

Unbidden fragments of memory flitted across the misty stage of his mind's eye: glimpses of his teammates and allies. Britain struggled to recollect more joyful times -- memories not merely of rare moments of peace, but even those of their battles together, standing against the horrors thrown their way.

Terrible as those battles were, even when it seemed the entire world was pitted against the survival of their little band of rebels, somehow, somehow they always managed to pull through. Granted, maybe it was by the skin of their teeth, and occasionally it seemed nothing short of miraculous that they managed to come through without losing everything, but… time and again they prevailed.

They were a team. That was the reason at the heart of it all. They could weather whatever Black Ghost and all his minions threw at them, because they always stood together…

But no matter how many times Britain reminded himself of this, the words sounded hollow, emptier than the void swallowing his senses and cutting him off from the rest of the world.

(They're a team,) he thought forlornly to himself, adding, (But I don't really have a place with them anymore…)

Everyone played a role in their little group. They each had a specific purpose, and though they were flexible enough to adjust according to what was currently needed, more often than not, each member was, in a sense, typecast.

Joe was 009, their charismatic, compassionate, conflicted, and capable young leader. Francoise served as both the team's lookout, 003 their ever-alert eyes and ears, and the mostly unrequited love interest for nearly all the other crew members. Jet, meanwhile, was your classic example of the 'bad boy with a heart purer than he'd ever admit', their cocky young flying ace and 002.

The list went on in that manner, longer than he cared to continue pursuing that line of thought, for it all led down to one hard truth that Britain didn't care to dwell on: he was no longer capable of playing his part.

(I can't fight with them anymore. I can't transform anymore, and even if I could…)

The pictures of his friends shifted imperceptibly, faces shifting to accusatory expressions. Though the emotions were slightly different for each one -- Jet glaring at him with undisguised hatred while beside him Joe looked on with pity and compassion -- the underlying current remained the same.

Things could never return to the way they were. He'd lost his place in the team.

Britain tried forcing the images away, but though the others soon faded into the shadows, he could still feel their cold stares cutting into him. His grip on the dream was also waning, he gradually realized, as the inky darkness deteriorated into a grayish fog. Soon that was shot through with red, ceding to a harsh white glare…

…There was a bright light shining down into his eyes. It banished the small amount of control he had over deciding how much longer he would remain asleep.

Reluctantly, Britain cracked his eyes open, only to immediately shut them against the fierce glare.

Further awareness of his surroundings came in stages, proceeding all too rapidly for Britain's tastes. The light overhead was too strong to be ignored; even with his eyes closed he could feel it beating down, forcing him back to consciousness.

(…there's no ceiling light over my bed, is there…?)

…He wasn't in his room anymore. The surface he was laying on wasn't as soft as his bed, though he thought he felt something like a sheet folded underneath him.

(…where…?)

Pinpricks of sensation formed in his wrist; when his hand stirred he could feel something lodged there. Turning his face away from the light and in that direction, Britain risked cracking his eyes open again. This time, through the glare, he could just barely make out the blurred silhouette of something -- no, some things -- jutting from his arm, leading over and away toward a much larger, bulkier shape…

…a laboratory. He was in a lab.

Britain wrenched his eyes shut again, terror clamping round his furiously pounding heart.

(…Black Ghost? Is it…)

It didn't matter that he hadn't seen anything else to support that terrible theory. He wasn't restrained in any manner that he could feel, but that fact went completely ignored. Logic and reason fled in the face of blind panic.

Britain abruptly bolted upright, and with a strangled cry yanked his arm away as hard as he could. The wires tore from his wrist, the pain accompanying that motion going largely unnoticed. Folding his hand up against his chest, Britain twisted away from the machine, not wanting to even glance at it, and would have sprung from the cot in the next instant if a shout hadn't stopped him cold.

"G.B.?!"

He froze, eyes squeezed shut, the burst of panic overriding his senses dissipating rapidly as his racing mind processed the familiar voice. Then, hesitantly, Britain reopened his eyes and turned to look back behind him.

He took little comfort in the sight of familiar faces behind him. Joe was nearly out of his seat, having risen and cried out when he saw the actor spring to life and move to flee. Francoise, directly beside the lad, appeared just as startled and concerned. Albert and Geronimo didn't appear to be as affected by his little performance, simply staring at him neutrally.

"007, what has gotten into you?" Doctor Gilmore queried, studying the former shapeshifter with no small amount of concern.

Awkwardly Britain dropped his gaze to his lap, feeling his face burn with color. Things were coming into better focus now, and he realized shamefully how quickly he'd jumped to the wrong conclusions.

…But why was here, anyway? He clearly recalled lying down on his own bed, trying to get some sleep… and then…

(…Oh, no.)

"You know, we'd really appreciate an answer," Albert broke into his thoughts, straightforward and somehow a bit cold in his bluntness. "You nearly drove Francoise to distraction with your screaming. What happened back there?"

"………" Britain clenched his fists against his trembling chest, taking several deep breaths before he trusted himself to answer. Still, his voice came out weak, unsteady as he finally replied in what was little more than a whisper, "…I… had a nightmare, is all…"

"Well, obviously." Sarcasm made Albert's voice surprisingly harsh. "Mind telling us what about? Or should we try making an educated guess?"

"…No…" Britain shook his head. "It's nothing, really…"

Albert grunted, obviously not buying that excuse for a second. The others simply stared at him, and Britain shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, mind casting about for some explanation that might ease their suspicions while not revealing more than he wished to. He had the sneaking suspicion that it was a lost cause, however.

"007…" sighed Gilmore, looking every bit the aged paternal figure. "We only want to help you. You do understand that, right?"

"………"

"If there's anything bothering you, please feel free to confide in any of us," the scientist continued when it became apparent that the actor wasn't going to reply. "I'm doing my best to figure out a way to fix what's happened, but I do need your cooperation."

"……Maybe…" Averting his gaze, Britain murmured something unintelligible under his breath, only the first word of which the others could make out.

All save one of them, that was. Aquamarine eyes widened slightly with surprise, and Francoise stared at the Englishman with a touch of shock entering her expression. Britain failed to notice this, however, because he'd already shifted so that his back was pointed toward his friends.

"What did you say, G.B.?" Joe inquired, rising to his feet.

"…Could you guys just leave me alone for a while? Please?"

The others exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Nobody really wanted to comply with the request, but Britain's tone was filled with such quiet despair and pleading that they'd feel guilty if they didn't. None of those present had the sort of disposition to try forcing such a delicate issue: someone like Jet might have exploded and refused outright, but the fire-tempered redhead wasn't present.

"…Ah… if you say so, pal," Joe finally acquiesced, though with no small amount of reluctance. Moving closer, he reached out to try grasping his friend's shoulder reassuringly, adding, "But, if you're ever ready to talk, then…"

But Britain flinched away from his hand, shying away from the contact like he was afraid of his leader, and Joe ended up letting his arm fall back uselessly to his side. He cast a worried look back to the others as they rose to leave, then turned and shuffled out of the room.

Britain watched surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye, waiting for everyone to leave. Geronimo, the last to leave, paused in the doorway and looked back, and Britain hurriedly moved so that he wouldn't risk eye contact. Finally, the door eased closed, and he let out the breath he was holding with a faint sigh, feeling fresh tears brim in his eyes.

Silently, he mouthed his earlier words to himself, letting the realization come into clearer focus after it had formed suddenly before.

(…Maybe I don't want to be fixed.)

He wasn't able to avoid thinking about it anymore. In that instant, the thought had crystallized and he knew with a terrible certainty that it was exactly how he felt.

Without his trademark ability to transform into whatever he wanted he was useless to the rebellion. He could no longer serve any purpose in a fight or otherwise, and was really only a hindrance to the group.

But if Doctor Gilmore fixed him so that he could use his power again…

(…Would it happen all over again?)

He still didn't know exactly when he had gotten infected. For all they knew, it was a sleeper virus that could have been introduced into his system at any time. Ivan might have disabled it for the time being, but how could they be absolutely certain he couldn't have a relapse? Or, worse, Black Ghost could develop a better version, a more effective one that couldn't be affected by the telepath, and then…

…There was no guarantee that he wouldn't end up killing somebody next time.

So, if he couldn't transform, then the others were safe, but he still was useless in all other respects. Besides, it seemed very unlikely Doctor Gilmore would listen if he asked him not to repair him. It was too dangerous, he'd likely insist -- he was far too vulnerable in his condition. Black Ghost could very easily destroy him in this powerless state.

But the alternative…

(Either way, I'm a danger to the team,) Britain told himself, bitter tears trickling down his cheeks as he faced the truth. (The only way I won't be a problem for them is…)

A light knocking snapped the Englishman back to reality, and he straightened, blinking back tears. As the door creaked open behind him, Britain risked a glance back over his shoulder. He immediately regretted it, and turned his gaze to the much safer target of the ground, wishing that his unwelcome visitor would leave of his own accord.

Of course, he realized he would have no such luck.

"…G.B.?"

Chang already regretted coming here. It was the first time in a long while that he'd been able to really see his friend, and already the Chinese chef was stunned by what he beheld. In the harsh glare of the ceiling light, Britain's already pale skin seemed completely washed out, devoid of color save for the dark circles under his wide eyes. There were sticky tracks on his blotchy cheeks; a sign the Englishman must have been crying before his arrival.

"G.B.… You're a wreck," he blurted out before he could catch himself. He didn't feel too horrible about stating the truth, however. "You… you're not taking care of yourself at all, are you?"

The silence that followed told Chang all that he needed to know. Not that he couldn't already judge the truth from the actor's haggard appearance. Several different reactions flashed through his thoughts at once before he finally settled on the tried-and-true response of frustration.

"Oh, you idiot, what do you think you're doing? You're going to make yourself sick if you keep this up, if you haven't managed it already," he fussed, poorly veiling his concern with his chiding. "When's the last time you had anything to eat? Please tell me you've been remembering that, at least…"

Britain gave him a curious look; was it Chang's imagination, or did his friend actually look amazed at the fact he was getting scolded? That didn't make sense to the fire-breathing cyborg at all; after all, there was no reason he shouldn't get so upset over his friend's apparent neglect of his health.

Then, to Chang's own amazement, the Englishman actually cracked a small smile and nodded, slowly.

"Actually, I guess I'm… a little hungry," he admitted quietly.

Chang blinked, twice. Then, slowly, he broke out into a cheerful grin of his own. Britain was actually listening to his advice!

"All right, then!" he declared, beaming. "Wait right here, and I'll go fix something for you, okay? You've got to start taking better care of yourself so we can beat this thing, alright?"

Britain nodded, and Chang hurried out the door, extremely proud of himself. Finally, things looked like they were starting to improve…! If everyone just worked together, he was certain they could pull through this without any more problems.

After he left, closing the door behind him, Britain pulled himself upright and closed his eyes for a long moment, waiting. The smile he'd managed for his friend's sake took on a sorrowful twist, and he shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the empty room.

Pushing off the cot, Britain hesitated just a few seconds more, listening to ensure there was nobody waiting just outside, before pushing the door open and leaving the room. Though he hadn't the heart to tell Chang, he'd already made his decision, and it didn't involve waiting for anybody else to come visit him.

~ * ~

It didn't take long for Britain to get to his destination, though he had to be careful not to run into anyone along the way. He didn't want anyone figuring out what he was up to, though who knew how long it would take after the fact for them to realize it.

The worst part was the guilt over the knowledge that Chang would probably take this even worse than he might have before. Britain tried not to consider how the chef would feel when he returned to an empty room and realized he'd been tricked.

But even that helped strengthen his resolve as well, because he didn't know exactly how much time he had left before Chang discovered his absence and alerted the others. He had to try and cover as much ground as he could before then.

It took him a few precious seconds to recall the exact code; it wasn't second nature to him like it was to other crew members. Still, he soon remembered and keyed the sequence in quickly, then, with one last glance around, opened the hatch and slipped through.

All too soon, he finished the last steps and emerged into the dusky water, taking just enough time to secure the hatch behind him before pushing away from the Dolphin.

He may not have been able to transform anymore, but he was still a cyborg, after all. And while he hadn't been specifically designed for underwater combat purposes like Pyunma, he was capable of surviving such conditions for certain periods of time.

If all went well, he should be able to reach the surface easily enough, and from there… well, he would have to play it by ear. There were probably plenty of islands close enough that he could reach without too much difficulty, and he could plan his next move from there.

The most important matter right now was getting away from the Dolphin. He was too much of a danger to everyone on it to risk staying there any longer.

Sure, it would have been simpler to jump ship if they had landed somewhere, but who knew how much longer that could have taken? Doctor Gilmore probably wasn't about to risk it before fixing his transformation ability, and Britain couldn't allow that to happen…

Even if he wasn't able to find a place to rest before his strength ran out, it would be better than the alternative choice, of remaining a liability to his friends.

Despite his resolution to leave everything behind, however, Britain couldn't restrain himself from turning to look back at the Dolphin while swimming away. He'd decided on this course of action himself, but all the same, the thought of never seeing his friends again, even if it was the only way to ensure their safety…

To his utter horror, there was movement near the hull where he'd exited.

Though his instincts shrieked at him to swim away as fast as he could, Britain couldn't bring himself to move. Already he had a sinking suspicion that it was too late. Was his attempt to leave foiled before he'd even gotten very far?

The other swimmer approached rapidly, and Britain's heart sunk further as his fears were confirmed. It was Pyunma. Obviously the dark-skinned cyborg already knew where he was, because he was moving toward him at a good pace.

…It was hopeless, then. Britain knew he had no chance of getting away from Pyunma, especially when he didn't have that great a head start on him.

…He'd completely botched it. So much for attempting to run away from his problems. There was no way the others would listen to anything he had to say now. Everyone'd be furious over his trying to leave; he wouldn't get another shot at it.

Already Pyunma had just about caught up with him; Britain had stopped trying to swim away when he realized who it was. Despairing, he cast about in vain for some sort of excuse, but still hadn't come up with anything to say when the aquatic expert reached him.

He seized his arm roughly, and pain exploded through the limb from the point of contact.

Britain's eyes widened with shock, and instinctively he tried to pull away, but Pyunma held firm. The actor shrieked against clenched teeth, and looked pleadingly at the other cyborg. He wanted to beg him to let go, but couldn't focus clearly enough through the blinding pain.

Then Pyunma's other hand clamped over his mouth, fingers digging deep. Now Britain screamed at the pain in his jaw, though the sound came out muffled by the palm pressed over the lower half of his mouth and the water. Though he struggled, Pyunma had every advantage over him, and already the ocean spun dizzily before the actor's eyes.

Just before surrendering to the pain, however, Britain found himself face to face with his captor, getting a clear view of Pyunma's coldly smirking face. A fresh wave of terror swept over him as he realized with a sudden certainty that this wasn't his teammate he was struggling with.

(…his eyes…)

Then his senses dissolved into darkness, leaving him with only the pain and the blinding fear as the world… faded…