The disclaimers are back in the first chapter, where they've always been. Lots of important details revealed here, though, sadly, not the name of the book Pyunma's been reading. Hopefully what is here will make up for that, Kukabura. Here's a fun game: see if you can guess where I was considering ending this chapter on a particularly nasty cliffhanger.
~ * Revelation * ~
"…I just can't believe he brushed me off like that. I was only trying to help…"
Geronimo Junior's gaze was not without sympathy as he studied the stout, downtrodden cyborg sitting across from him. Chang fiddled absently with the mug in his hands, his tone, much like his expression, fluctuating between two conflicting emotions: anxiety and indignation. It was easy to judge how he fluttered back and forth between both, all the while grappling with his overwhelming confusion.
The chef's consternation was understandable. While Geronimo hardly approved of Britain's actions, he believed he was also capable of understanding the former shapeshifter's reasoning.
"We must remain patient, Chang. This is a difficult time for all of us."
"I know… I know, but…" Huffing, Chang set his cup down with a tad more force than necessary, making the green tea ripple wildly. "He could have been a little nicer about it…"
He folded his arms and looked away, his sullen posture causing him to resemble a stubborn teenager more than the mature adult he was. Geronimo gazed over the bridge formed by his interlaced fingers, visage as inscrutable as ever.
"…I believe I may have an explanation for his behavior."
"Eh?"
Chang cracked open one eye to fix his companion with an inquisitive squint, wondering if he had heard correctly. The giant had spoken so softly that he'd barely caught the comment. When it became apparent that no more information was forthcoming, the shorter cyborg turned back to face him fully, and cocked his head to one side curiously.
"…Back in the infirmary… I noticed he was behaving very strangely."
"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," muttered Chang under his breath.
Ignoring the interruption, Geronimo continued, "He acted very nervous, especially when anyone tried to approach him. When Joe attempted to reach out to him, he shied away as if afraid…"
"…Afraid of Joe?"
Geronimo shook his head slowly, and his already dusky eyes seemed to darken further just before he closed them.
"Afraid of being touched. Afraid of contact. …It makes me wonder if there are side-effects to that virus that 007 hasn't informed us about."
When the silence that followed stretched out to an uncomfortable length, Geronimo looked carefully to his companion, attempting to gauge his reaction. The firebreather's rosy complexion seemed a bit paler than normal, and he appeared to have discovered something extremely interesting about his cup, cradling it once more in slightly trembling hands.
Again, it was not horribly difficult for Geronimo to guess what the other cyborg was thinking. He certainly didn't require Francoise's enhanced senses to practically see the gears turning as Chang processed this latest information and pieced together matters for himself.
"You mean that… you think that… there's something wrong with his skin?"
"At this point, we can only speculate. But… judging from how he's attempted to isolate himself from everyone… avoiding all forms of contact…"
Slowly, reluctantly, Chang nodded, more to himself than to the giant sitting across from him. The more he considered the concept, the more it fit. Britain's self-imposed exile aboard the Dolphin… The glimpses of panic he'd spotted in the actor's eyes… His reaction to being grabbed…
(…Ah! I didn't hurt him, did I?! I didn't know…)
Seeing remorse flood the stout chef's features, Geronimo decided to intervene before his comrade started berating himself over something he couldn't control. What was done was done; there was no use obsessing over it.
"There was no way you could have known. As I said, G.B. has not exactly volunteered to explain what he has been going through. That is his choice, and we cannot begrudge him that."
Chang still looked unconvinced. His face retained its vaguely haunted, guilty expression, and he gripped his cup so tightly it seemed the ceramic might crack. Geronimo offered him a slight smile.
"Have patience, friend," he instructed calmly. "Given time, I am certain we will find the solution we seek. We must allow 007 to work through this at his own pace."
A wonderful sentiment, Chang decided silently, but hardly as comforting as intended. Hopeful words did little to soothe the tightness in the pit of his stomach as he remembered seeing his friend's face contorted with anger.
(…And if just being touched hurts, then why was he about to hit me?)
Shaking his head, Chang set his mug back down and stood up. The tea was suddenly too bitter for his taste.
"I'm going to try apologizing," he announced, heading for the door. "I mean, it certainly can't hurt, right?"
Nodding, Geronimo commented, "I believe that Doctor Gilmore was planning another checkup, to try and determine what happened earlier. You'll likely find him there."
"Thanks, G-Junior," and Chang nodded and smiled his gratitude before stepping outside, letting the portal slide shut behind him.
~ * ~
There is always a logical and thorough explanation for everything in life; of that simple fact Gilmore was convinced. Finding that truth, however, could be maddeningly difficult at times.
The fact that knowledge continued to elude him would not have been half as frustrating if it wasn't so apparent that the welfare of someone he cared for hung in the balance. That, combined with how much time had passed with his research on the subject seemingly going nowhere, was enough to drive the poor man up the wall.
(This time,) he promised himself, (I will find the answer! This has gone on for two weeks too long.)
It certainly hadn't helped that Francoise had divulged certain suspicions of hers to the elderly scientist. Truthfully, similar doubts had festered in the corners of his mind for some time now, though it had taken his delicate swan's confession to focus his misgivings.
Even now, the pretty blonde stood off to one side; she insisted that the good doctor accept her assistance this time, and Gilmore was glad for her presence. If it would help ease her troubled thoughts as well as give him an extra pair of hands…
As for their patient, Britain was currently sitting on the edge of his cot, gazing around the infirmary with an unreadable expression on his face. Though his features remained neutral, whenever his wandering gaze traveled over where the scientist stood Gilmore felt chills course down his spine.
Probably due to his suspicions, he reasoned with himself, shooting the Englishman a sympathetic glance now and again while preparing his equipment. After all, the mere notion that somebody who had been so cheerful and upbeat could change so radically that he considered certain options…
…No. That definitely wasn't an option at all. That was one choice he had to prevent Britain was making at all costs…
Back turned to his patient, Gilmore examined the thin IV line in his hands, careful not to prick himself on the small needle at the end of the flexible tube. A part of him quailed internally at the thought of what he was preparing to do, yet he squelched his doubts by reminding himself that it was all for the best. Things couldn't proceed in this manner any further.
All the same, the doctor wondered if this was a betrayal of trust. He hadn't yet informed Britain of his intentions, and didn't plan to, for fear of what reaction he might receive. Would G.B. be shocked? Upset? Would he be angry when he found out -- or, worse, suspect other, darker intentions? …And would he prefer such a procedure to his current state?
Shaking his head, Gilmore dispelled his dark musings. Far better to focus on the task at hand rather than lose himself in such dismal speculations. What mattered was the facts, and more importantly, ensuring the welfare of his patient.
It was far too dangerous to allow Britain to continue wandering around the Dolphin unsupervised, trapped in his own private suffering. The best way to ensure he didn't act on any darker impulses was to return to his original treatment methods -- rendering the former shapeshifter unconscious using drugs while he continued his research. It wasn't exactly the way Gilmore preferred to do things, but there was little to be done about it.
Still, it was a shame it was coming to this. Gilmore would have rather used some other method, but what else was there? Nothing that he could think of at the moment…
"…Doctor Gilmore?"
The query was so soft that the scientist almost missed it entirely. Immediately he looked over his shoulder, back to where his patient was waiting. Britain didn't quite meet his gaze, dark eyes instead focused on the doctor's back as he spoke again.
"Doctor… How do you deal with… feeling useless?"
"…What?" Gilmore blinked rapidly, taken off guard by the question. Setting the line down for the moment, he turned to fully face the former shapeshifter and asked, "What do you mean, 007?"
"I mean…" Britain's gaze shifted to his feet, dangling off the edge of the bed just inches above the pristine floor. "How do you deal with… being the only human around? Everyone else has such incredible powers, but you…"
(…and I,) Gilmore continued the statement mentally as the bald cyborg trailed off, understanding the question more clearly now.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Francoise pause in the middle of her task, and knew she was listening for his response as well. Closing his eyes, he took a few moments to prepare what he hoped was a sufficient reply, then looked back to the waiting shapeshifter.
"…I don't see it as a problem. There are plenty of ways I can help the team, even without any gifts of my own. I do what I can…"
"But… in a battle, you're still useless. If you can't fight with everyone else, then what's the point?"
"…007… there's more to life than fighting."
"But it's still important to fight Black Ghost, right?"
"…Not every battle is won with physical skill alone." Uncomfortable with this line of discussion, Gilmore turned back to his equipment. "People can't live their lives endlessly fighting without any rest or peace; that's the surest path to self-destruction. I know you understand that…"
Off to one side, Francoise fingered the controls in front of her without much interest, lost in her own thoughts. Aquamarine eyes misted over, as inside a small part of her crumbled at the actor's words. Had G.B. been hurt so badly by what happened that he'd forgotten something he'd always seemed so convinced of…?
Dimly, without consciously realizing it, Francoise glimpsed the Englishman rising to his feet. Before she could fully grasp this, she caught sight of something that caused the breath to catch in her throat, aqua pupils dilating.
Comprehension came only after reaction. What immediately followed blurred together in her mind, instincts goading her to move even before she understood what was happening.
"Doctor, move!"
For Gilmore, it was perhaps even more confusing since he was unaware of what spurred Francoise's shout. All he immediately knew was that her spread palm slammed into his back, knocking him down. Her cry rose into a shriek as she landed ungracefully on top of him, flattening both against the ground.
Something fluttered at the edge of his vision: it took precious seconds for Gilmore to comprehend that it was a length of yellow scarf. Or, rather, most of a scarf, one end of which was cut at a sharp angle.
Francoise's scarf -- the rest of which still hung around her neck.
From his awkward angle on the floor, Gilmore could not see clearly beyond the heavily breathing female sprawled across him. He could just barely make out, however, where her muffler had been severed in the back, a bit below where the knot rested at the back of her neck.
He could also glimpse where her uniform was torn, lining up roughly with where her scarf had been bisected -- and a rapidly reddening gash where pale flesh was exposed underneath.
"Fra--Francoi…"
Another figure stepped into view, and although most of their body was obscured by the slope of the female cyborg's heaving shoulders, the sight was enough to make Gilmore's words freeze in his throat. The pieces rapidly clicked together, forming a terrible picture for the scientist, and he inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself.
"…Br…Britain?" Even with his preparations, his voice cracked when he tried to force out the name. "Wh…why…?"
The shapeshifter smirked, cruelly. Where his hand should have been jutted a blade instead, a crude spear-point that he swung idly at his side while leering down at the collapsed pair. His other hand rested on his hip, adding further insolence to his posture.
"Oh. Don't tell me you haven't figured it out yet, Doctor." Britain's voice oozed with sarcasm, venom dripping from his twisted voice. "Disappointing, really. I thought you were the mastermind behind this pathetic rebellion."
"…G…G.B.… What's…"
"'What's happened to me?' Why, nothing! As you can see, I'm perfectly fine!" Brandishing his transmuted arm, he sneered, "Functioning exquisitely, no thanks to you. But then, you didn't have a hand in it either way."
"…Wh…" Gilmore tried pushing up off the floor, but Francoise still lay over him -- protectively, he realized now. "…Wha…"
"I'm not the man you thought I was." The shapeshifter's smirk widened into a nasty leer. "Haven't been for a while now, really. Your security leaves much to be desired."
"…Who are you?" Wavering aquamarine eyes now stared up at the stranger towering over them in the guise of a friend, while Francoise shifted her weight so that Gilmore was still shielded by her body. "Where's G.B.?"
"Hmph. If you must know, I shipped your broken shapeshifter off to be fixed, since, after all, you were doing such a poor job of it here."
"You…what…?"
The false Britain sneered as Francoise and Gilmore paled at his callous statement; apparently for all their other shortcomings, their feeble minds were capable of grasping the meaning of his words. Good, since he didn't feel like wasting any more time with these fools.
"You bore me," he declared, raising his sharpened arm. Voice dropping into a sibilant tone that sounded completely wrong coming from the actor, he hissed, "Bye."
His limb lanced forward, catching Francoise in the back as she hastily pushed Gilmore away. The blonde shrieked, the barb burrowing through her skin and emerging on the other side of her right shoulder, the bloodied tip nearly piercing the startled scientist's chest as well.
The force of her shove sent Gilmore sprawling against the cabinet of the computer behind them, and instinctively he slammed his hand down on the keypad. Instantly an alarm blared, almost deafening in the infirmary, and Gilmore's hand slid toward a second button to open communication with the rest of the Dolphin.
"Ah, ah, ah!" A blade of transmuted flesh crashed down between him and the controls, nearly catching his hand neatly. "That's a good way to lose a finger, doctor."
Swallowing hard, heart thudding in his ears, Gilmore cast a hunted glare toward the shapeshifter. Even through the flashing lights, he could perceive several changes in the cast of the stranger's face. Though they remained mostly in Britain's stolen features, the eyes that bore into him now were no longer a dark brown, but a much paler hue.
Francoise lay on the floor, left hand clasped over her wounded shoulder, and though her blonde bangs hung over her face Gilmore could see how she bit her lip in agony. Over the blare of the alarm, he heard the all-too-welcome pound of footsteps, and the portal swung open wide to admit fresh noise and light from the outside hallway.
"What's going on -- Ahh?!"
Before Joe could even finish his question, the shapechanged intruder charged toward him, crashing into the startled speedster shoulder-first and knocking both into the hallway. The shapeshifter recovered first, scarcely even faltering; the impact did little to impede his retreat down the hallway.
At least now Gilmore could slam his hand down on the desired button unimpeded, and his frantic bellow rang out over the blaring alarm, fueled by fear and desperation.
"There's an intruder on board -- a shapeshifter! Everyone be careful! This isn't 007 we're dealing with; it's someone else!"
~ * ~
Scattered throughout the Dolphin, its crew listened in shock to the announcement and reacted accordingly.
"Goddammit!" cursed Jet, tearing out of the training room at full speed, the boosters in his heels nearly igniting in his fury. "I knew something like this'd happen…!"
A tome dropped forgotten from limp fingers as Pyunma stared at the wallspeaker. For once, shock clearly showed itself on the typically collected young man's features as things clicked together in his mind. Casting a look to the sleeping babe lying in the bassinet in front of him, Pyunma suppressed a horrified shudder at his realization.
Geronimo sprung to his feet, similarly stunned, though even now little of his shock showed on his stoic face. His onyx eyes widened in comprehension, however, and he turned for the door.
Chang broke into a run, his previous slow gait abandoned, a thousand jumbled thoughts flashing through his mind at once. There was no sign of further explanations forthcoming; he needed to try and discover the answers for himself, though he already feared what he might discover next…
~ * ~
(Crap.)
Several vile and unrepeatable phrases followed that particular curse as Mimic barreled down the hallway at full speed. Though the shapeshifter enjoyed his powers, at that particular moment, he envied the rebel 009 for his acceleration ability.
There was no chance of finishing the mission as originally intended now. His cover was blown, his identity as one of Black Ghost's minions revealed – though he hadn't been foolish enough to give his name, Mimic had seen the comprehension on the damnable doctor and female's faces. They knew what he meant by what little he had bothered to say to them.
Fat lot of good that knowledge would do them, however.
There was more danger in staying here than abandoning the mission and asking for further orders. Mimic already suspected that his master was aware that this was a lost cause at the moment -- he'd gotten the impression this tactic was already abandoned in favor of his new plan.
Loyalty aside, he was pretty pissed at Black Ghost right now.
If the rebels had any brains between the lot of them, they had to realize he wasn't about to stick around. Likely he'd run into opposition before he could leave the Dolphin -- although he was an uninvited guest, they probably wanted him to stick around now, for their own reasons…
Sure enough, just as he reached the hatchway that served as a portal out of the submarine, Mimic heard shouting from behind, and knew they'd correctly predicted his intentions. However, the shapeshifter already had a plan for dealing with such interference. Pivoting on his heel, dropping the guise of his 00-number counterpart, Mimic braced, preparing for the impending confrontation.
~ * ~
Albert barreled down the corridor at full-speed, acutely aware of Joe at his heels, more aware of where he was headed -- and where the assassin likely was escaping to.
Even with that expectation, however, he was sorely unprepared for what awaited them in the bay.
He ground to a halt just after crossing the doorway, liquid steel eyes widening a fraction. Behind him, he heard Joe grind to a halt, gasp, then suck in a breath angrily.
"I wouldn't move if I were you."
The voice that declared this was deceptively light, almost cheerful in tone -- though he supposed, bitterly, that the intruder had much to be pleased about. An unfamiliar cyborg stood just in front of the hatchway leading outside the Dolphin, the same portal they used when they needed to leave the ship while traveling underwater.
It seemed the shapeshifter had abandoned all pretense of false forms. A pair of sardonically narrowed green eyes, such a pale shade of green they appeared almost yellow, glittered mockingly above a smug little smirk. Short black hair framed a pale face, a good match for the dark bodysuit that hugged the shapeshifter's lithe form.
Both of the strange cyborg's hands were fastened tightly around the neck of the stout figure standing rigid in front of her. Chang's face was flushed, fearful, and he stared pleadingly at his stunned comrades, scarcely able to breathe for the claws playing at his chin.
"Let him go," Albert grated though clenched teeth. Inwardly, he despaired at his lack of options: he couldn't use his abilities inside the Dolphin, hostage situation aside.
"Oh, I don't think so," the assassin all but giggled, leering over her captive's terrified face at her would-be opponents. "After all, this keeps the odds even, don't you think? Two against one is hardly fair… Don't even think of accelerating, 009, unless you'd enjoy seeing his blood on our hands."
"Let 006 go!" shouted Joe, hands balling into helpless fists at his sides. "You don't have to do this."
"Hmm…" Cocking her head to one side, the intruder actually appeared to consider his command, looking thoughtful for a moment. "You know, you do have a point, 009."
Joe blinked, uncomprehending. Albert looked similarly confused, taken off guard by this comment.
"You're right, actually." Closing her eyes, the assassin smiled, almost cutely, almost innocently, though her grip on Chang's collar belied her agreement. "You see…"
A sharp crack cut through the air.
"…I'm supposed to kill all you rebels, so taking a hostage is counter-productive, isn't it?" she finished lightly, running her bloodied fingers through Chang's hair as the chef's head lolled to one side on his broken neck. "I really should be more efficient…"
Her words were lost in the screams tearing from Joe and Albert's throats as they lunged, temporarily blinded to everything save the sight of their teammate's limp body in the assassin's clutches. In that instant, all previous concerns flew out the window -- all that mattered was making the shapeshifter pay for what she'd done.
Seeing the pair charge with murder in their eyes, Mimic smirked.
Releasing the corpse leaning against her, she allowed it to melt back into her legs, then lashed out at the charging cyborgs, knocking them aside easily. Her right arm blurred, became a whip that fastened around Joe's neck and swung him into his partner's side, knocking both into the wall.
Sparing them a glance, she sneered. It was pathetic how easily they'd fallen for her little bluff, but then, what could be expected from sentimental fools like these rebels? Pity she had no time to finish her handiwork; more footsteps thudded ever closer, and though she now had real hostages to work with, Mimic didn't want to test how many grief-maddened cyborgs she could knock aside without getting injured herself.
Turning to the portal, she punched in the sequence and dove through before the hatchway could open completely, forcing it shut behind her. Another repeat of the same actions and she was through, emerging into the ocean with a triumphant laugh bubbling inside.
Pushing away from the Dolphin, she shifted so that her slender figure blended in with the water, making it harder to discern where she was, and swum away as quickly as her shapeshifting body would propel her.
Now it was merely a matter of finding her escort back to the base without getting detected by those rebel fools. Despite the failure of her mission, Mimic grinned, aware that her master was already pleased by what she had accomplished instead. Once she returned, she could see the fruits of those labors for herself -- and, who knew? Perhaps she could come to understand his motivations. Judging from what she's gauged of the 00-numbers' reactions, Mimic felt she was already beginning to comprehend his reasoning…
~ * ~
…It was damp, cold, and his sweater clung uncomfortably to his skin. Wool wasn't exactly the best choice for swimwear, though he hadn't been thinking clearly enough to pick out more suitable attire before leaving.
Besides, he hadn't thought there was any time…
Britain regretted it now, though, regretted it sorely as he returned to the waking world with no small amount of reluctance. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he shifted his weight several times in a futile attempt to find a slightly more comfortable position.
Not only was the tightly woven fabric being completely uncooperative, however, but whatever he was lying upon was similarly unyielding, hard and cool against his back. Even the cots in the infirmary weren't nearly this stiff -- heck, even the tiled floor was better than this! It felt more like…
(…Concrete? Steel?)
His eyes opened to formless darkness, bleaker, somehow, than the darkness that existed behind his eyelids. Blinking several times, Britain pushed himself upright, looking around in confusion.
(…Where…?)
This wasn't the Dolphin; that much he was certain of. Sitting in the shadows, he gathered his thoughts, trying to figure out how he'd arrived… wherever he was.
(…Pyunma… no, it wasn't… …green eyes… no, yellow eyes…?)
Springing to his feet, he looked around frantically, knowing with a sudden horrible certainty the most likely reason he was here, even if he didn't know where he was yet. He wanted to collapse again and cry, or run somewhere, anywhere, yet he remained rooted to the spot, searching the shadows for something he didn't want to see.
…Maybe he was wrong. He hadn't been restrained in any fashion, and there was nobody around that he could see, yet… Still, his weak attempts at self-assurance were useless, for in his heart he already suspected he knew the truth.
Already he was beginning to shake, trembling as a chill not spurred by the dampness of his clothes set in. Absently Britain folded his arms over his chest, rubbing his hands over the moist sleeves, trying in vain not to let panic set in before he even confirmed what he feared.
"…Welcome back, 007."
Despite all his efforts, Britain still failed to detect anyone's presence before that hauntingly familiar voice whispered in his ear. Gasping, he spun about so sharply that his legs nearly gave out from underneath him, and he stumbled backwards, staring up into the skeletal grin that filled his vision.
"So, you see now what your petty rebellion has granted you," Black Ghost taunted, enjoying the horror-struck expression on the cyborg's face. "Already you've been broken, and your friends chose to abandon you, now that you're of no more use to their laughable cause."
(That's not true!) Britain screamed silently, though his mental protest went all but lost in the desperate litany his mind was already chanting: (This is a dream, it isn't real! If I stand perfectly still and don't react, maybe I'll wake up. Not real, I'm dreaming…)
But all his hopeless fantasies were dispelled as Black Ghost roughly seized his shoulder. Unlike the touch in his dream, this tormentor's hands were frigid, clamps of ice that dug into his sweater and chilled the skin underneath.
Black Ghost yanked him forward, and Britain couldn't keep himself from gasping as he stumbled. Pain blossomed not in his shoulder, but in his stomach, and he felt more clearly the pulling sensation of his skin clinging to the thick needle than he had the syringe's entrance.
Though paralysis swept through his body, Britain retained some awareness, and felt himself sag forward into his captor's waiting arms. Though blurring vision he gazed up at Black Ghost's ever present sneer, unable to close his eyes against the horrible sight.
"You needn't worry, cyborg," mocked Black Ghost. "You can rest certain that I will never abandon you. Soon, you will be fully repaired, and able to resume your original duties…"
Then he laughed, the sound echoing off unseen walls, while inwardly Britain wept.
