The disclaimers can still be found back in the first chapter; that isn't about to change anytime soon.
~ * Invitation * ~
The trip to the Dolphin afforded her plenty of time to think; indeed, Mimic mused sourly, it left her entirely too much time to consider where she currently stood.
There were no simpleton soldiers accompanying her this time around: the tiny vessel was empty save for the slender figure at the controls. It seemed Black Ghost had judged there was no need for a chaperone this time around, or whatever purpose that quaking grunt was supposed to serve in relation to her.
No, this was a solo mission -- if this drudgery could really be labeled something so grandiose as 'mission'.
It wasn't that she couldn't see the purpose in this step; Mimic understood all too well how her current task fit into the master's plans, even if she felt it beneath her station to have to perform something so mundane.
She would have much preferred to, at least, carve this message out in blood, or whatever liquid she managed to wrest from cybernetic bodies. After all, she was supposed to be an assassin, not merely a messenger scurrying back and forth between sides.
Why couldn't this task have been entrusted to some worthless peon rather than wasting her time?
…Because those scrawny, spineless humans had a knack for messing even the simplest task up, she answered her own query. In all likelihood, whatever wimp that might have been sent in her stead would have gotten himself caught, or killed, rendering the entire point of this endeavor moot.
But not her. Black Ghost trusted her to do as she was ordered, regardless of whatever feelings she might harbor concerning the situation. She most certainly couldn't botch such a simplistic task, never mind the fact that it was so far beneath her function it wasn't funny.
…Besides, even if she chose to seriously entertain the notion of slightly altering the plan, there was always the threat of punishment to be considered.
Mimic grimaced, the features of her face tightening and sharpening slightly as she dwelled on the unpleasant topic. Peridot eyes narrowed into slits, thoughtful, considering the matter carefully.
The problem, she reflected, had much to do with that so-called predecessor of hers, Prototype 007. Though it repulsed Mimic to equate herself with that simpering wreck of a cyborg, that particular travesty paled in comparison to other issues only recently come to light.
However, in some miniscule way, perhaps she actually owed the weaker shapeshifter a measure of gratitude. After all, his presence exposed certain… distressing issues that needed to be considered.
Absently, her left hand strayed from the controls to rest against her chest, fingers tracing along the uppermost line of yellow piping on her uniform. Except for that bit of decoration, her attire was stark and simple, the ebony fabric hugging her lithe form.
The design was supposedly patterned after that which their supreme commander wore, a shadow of his striking wardrobe. Black and gold, immediately recognizable as his colors, and a mark of her standing in his favor.
…Or, so she once believed.
In light of recent evidence, however, Mimic interpreted the coloring of her uniform in a starkly different fashion. Now, it seemed a mark of control -- the control he held over both shapeshifters, not merely the former rebel or his more powerful counterpart.
007's uniform allowed Black Ghost to bend the prototype's body to his will. Did hers share the same function…?
(Why shouldn't it?) she mused sarcastically, glaring into the murky ocean before her. (After all, there's no excuse for error in our organization. Bad enough that the first nine cyborgs all managed to get away in the first place; what fools would leave the chance for another to defect…?)
Yet she had never even considered defection as an option, and certainly wasn't about to under any circumstances. From what she had already witnessed, the 00-numbers were a pathetic lot. Not precisely weak, to be certain, but far from what they could have been… should have become. All of them were intent on wasting their potential, failing to see what they might accomplish if they weren't distracted by silly ideas.
Shortsighted fools, the lot of them.
But that was all beside the point. What mattered was that Mimic still didn't know for certain if her uniform would allow the master to take over her body the same way he could control 007. She was almost certain she knew the answer, even lacking any hardcore evidence other than her own suspicions, and there was no way of testing her theory without sacrificing something vital.
So what, exactly, was she to do about it?
There was no breaching the issue with anyone; Mimic was hardly foolish enough to reveal what she knew, even as the anger grew and festered inside. If Black Ghost even suspected she comprehended the truth, none of the possible outcomes of that would benefit her in any fashion.
Still, the need rankled deep within her to do something about what she'd discovered, no matter how carefully she needed to tread.
It was a long trip to the Dolphin, and it would take just as long to return. Plenty of time to weigh her options and come to the best course of action.
~ * ~
There was a small amount of comfort about performing even the simplest of routines, no matter how insignificant they seemed in the face of current concerns. Francoise attended to her duties with practiced efficiency, finding some solace in productivity.
(The longer I stay here,) she promised herself, (the better chance I have of finding something that will help, right?)
She had to believe that, or guilt would quickly overwhelm her. She worked quietly at her station, pretending not to notice how the seats around her were vacant. Rather than pay attention to her immediate surroundings, she focused on monitoring the area around the Dolphin, both with the radar before her and her internal system.
There was nothing to report yet, but maybe… maybe that would change, soon, and she wanted to be aware the exact second that happened.
She wasn't completely alone on the bridge; Pyunma was in his customary position at the head of the ship, busy at his own station. However, his attention was currently divided between the task at hand and his sole companion.
Their uniforms could hide a lot. They were loose enough that it wasn't easy to tell what lay underneath. Right now, somebody who wasn't already aware of the situation would be hard-pressed to see where Francoise was wearing bandages over her wounds. Doctor Gilmore had already treated her injuries, but the areas were still a bit sore.
Still, the pretty blonde was there, acting like her previous injuries didn't matter… and maybe they didn't, in her mind, compared to the crisis the team as a whole faced.
Rather admirable quality for anyone to have, he thought; how strange she sometimes actually doubted her worth to the group. Everyone brought a variety of strengths into play, and that was exactly why they worked so well together; not simply because they were supposedly a bunch of super cybernetic soldiers…
("Not every group has the ability to work together.")
Albert had said that, on the eve of the 0010 twins' assault, when Pyunma was still trying to determine whether or not this fellowship he'd been thrown into was capable of withstanding whatever Black Ghost sent after them. At that time, he'd seriously wondered if he could work with the other cyborgs; special abilities aside, he seemed to be the only one with combat experience outside the organizations' testing fields.
But they had managed to mesh as a team. They needed to remember that, and continue to work together to deal with this latest trial they faced.
"…Ah!" Francoise's chin snapped up, aquamarine eyes widening imperceptibly.
Pyunma all but sprang from his seat at her gasp, and he spun to face her, his typical collected demeanor swiftly falling into place.
"What do you see, 003?" he asked, curtly.
"There's a small ship approaching from the southwest," came the equally tense report, as Francoise stared into space at the image etched firmly into her mind's eye.
"Just one?" he muttered under his breath, already turning back to his station to check the coordinates as she relayed them.
Within seconds, he had a visual of his own to confirm the blonde's words, and studied the craft critically for a few moments. It was a small, sleek transport, probably unsuited to carrying more than a hand's count of passengers: not the type of vessel fit for a direct assault.
(Of course, if they wanted to attack us outright, they probably would have done so by now.) Pyunma's navy eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin frown.
Like all Black Ghost creations, the tiny thing was armed, and proved it by abruptly firing a single missile toward the Dolphin. Pyunma and Francoise immediately braced, though it was clear to both the projectile's path carried it a considerable distance away from the rebel carrier; it veered too far to the right side, too far off to hit.
Instead, the missile exploded by itself, and though the resulting shockwaves barely rocked the Dolphin, the flash that accompanied it was bright enough to cast everything in shades of white.
(It's not even a screamer missile,) Pyunma noted dispassionately, blinking away the stars that danced briefly before his eyes. (They're not even trying to hurt any of us… it's just a signal.)
"There's something else launching," reported Francoise once she'd recovered from the burst of light. "…Another ship? …It's headed the other way, I can't… I've lost it." She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrated harder, then shook her head and repeated, disconsolately, "I lost it. I'm sorry…"
"Don't worry about it." Pyunma was already striding toward the door, but paused behind Francoise's seat long enough to give the girl a slightly reassuringly squeeze on her uninjured shoulder. "Stay here; I'm going to go get a closer look."
"Be careful," she cautioned, looking up with concern.
He nodded once, acknowledging her warning, then turned and headed out. Francoise sighed and turned back to her station, carefully observing the now silent, unmoving vessel. It appeared to be abandoned, and yet, she couldn't help but feel worried about what might still be waiting on board for them.
~ * ~
The flash had done its job of grabbing everyone's attention, so it wasn't difficult for Pyunma to round up the others and bring them up to speed on the developing situation. The hard part was convincing some of his comrades to stay behind on the Dolphin while he took a couple people to check out the ship. After forced inactivity for so long, the prospect of whatever dangers might be on board the transport were almost welcome.
In the end, he managed to whittle down his away team to simply himself, Jet and Joe, while the remainder waited with Francoise on the bridge. Geronimo was already looking after the sleeping Ivan, and while Albert and Chang were harder to persuade, in the end they conceded to his wisdom in keeping some fighters there -- just in case anything else occurred.
They couldn't afford to overlook the possibility that this was supposed to be a distraction, after all.
The swim out to the smaller ship took only a few minutes, yet that did little to ease the tension Pyunma felt as they approached the silent craft from above. Jet actually reached it first, and nearly wrenched the hatchway open before Pyunma was able to wave him off and get the device Gilmore had given him into place. Once the handheld machine was properly hooked up, it cracked the code and enabled them to enter without incident.
With blasters drawn, they searched the cramped interior, only to find nothing of note: the craft was mostly bare, with no apparent cargo stashed away or secret compartments to be found. The rear of the ship was wider, and there was a place where clearly something else had been attached: another, smaller and probably swifter transport, now conspicuously absent.
Whoever had piloted the thing here was gone now, Pyunma judged, though that didn't cause him to sheathe his blaster or tell his teammates to relax. One could never be too careful, especially when dealing with Black Ghost.
The cockpit was empty as well, the chair turned to one side like its former occupant had decided to leave quickly and couldn't be bothered to return it to its proper place. But another possible reason for its having been left in that fashion became apparent when he noticed a blinking light on the terminal. It might have taken a bit longer to notice if the seat was correctly positioned.
"008…!" Joe noticed it as well, and turned inquiring garnet eyes toward the combat specialist, awaiting his verdict on their next action.
Jet was not quite so deferential, and moved to press the button directly above the light before Joe caught his wrist. This earned the brown-haired boy an impatient glare, and the hawk jerked his hand free, but didn't immediately move to approach the terminal again.
"C'mon," he snarled under his breath.
Pyunma studied the terminal, silently piecing together from what he knew about Black Ghost technology the likely function of most of the panel. After determining to the best of his ability that it was safe -- he wasn't about to trigger the whole thing blowing up with them still inside -- he moved forward and, bracing to run just in case, pressed the button.
A sheet of light erupted before the trio's eyes, and, falling back, the first thing that flashed through Pyunma's mind was (Well, shit.)
That particular sentiment didn't change when the light sharpened into a thin screen and they were able to see Black Ghost's leering visage suspended before them.
{"Greetings, cyborgs,"} the dark commander chortled, drawing himself up proudly so that his figure dominated the screen. His bulbous golden eyes seemed to sweep from one tense face to another as he sneered, {"So good to see you well; I hope I haven't interrupted anything important."}
It was difficult to discern whether the message was prerecorded or being broadcast live; it didn't really matter either way. The hatred in each man's eyes as they stared upon the face of the enemy was just as vivid. Pyunma felt Joe draw himself up to his right, while on his left Jet balled his hands into fists.
{"As you're no doubt aware by now, I've been improving upon the design of certain cyborgs,"} the braggart continued. {"My latest assassin prototype, Mimic, is especially charming; it's truly fascinating what this transformation technology can accomplish with a little tweaking!"}
{"But I'm particularly pleased with how the reprogramming project has been progressing. I'd say the results so far are impressive -- wouldn't you agree?"}
His cape flared out with an imperious fling of his hand, an over-dramatic gesture that nonetheless had the desired effect of drawing their attention, so that when the fluttering edge swept away they focused on what stood behind it, moving closer into frame.
To Pyunma's right, Joe let out a little choked noise, something vaguely recognizable as the start of a name before he caught himself. To his left Jet growled. Pyunma felt his jaw tighten, and through he was better at keeping his emotions under control, he knew his darkening eyes undoubtedly reflected his anger.
Britain kept his head bowed as if he found something intensely interesting about the unseen floor of wherever they were broadcasting from, despite the fact that his eyes were tightly shut. The shapeshifter held himself rigidly, shoulders level, back straight, hands folded demurely in front. The stark sable of his new uniform made a harsh contrast with his pallid skin; the detailing along the front only seemed to highlight how much thinner he seemed.
Black Ghost laughed, and the sound must have been deafening from where 007 stood, yet he didn't wince. The ghastly commander brought his arm up to rest on the silent shapeshifter's shoulders, but the cyborg didn't try to pull away.
Jet snarled again, louder, but he remained where he stood, fully aware he couldn't do anything about what they were witnessing. Beside him, Pyunma clenched and unclenched his fists in helpless fury -- then fell completely still, marine eyes narrowing as something else arrested his attention.
He hadn't immediately noticed it, but Britain wasn't standing completely still as Black Ghost ranted beside him. Though it was hard to tell because of his lowered head, the Englishman was mouthing words… not speaking aloud, but attempting to communicate nonetheless.
(…Please… don't…)
Abruptly Black Ghost moved, cupping Britain's chin with his hand and forcing it upright. Pyunma saw the gloved fingers dig into his jaw, closing it sharply, and knew somehow that the commander was aware of the shapeshifter's actions.
Britain's eyes flew open at the sudden movement, allowing the trio to see how they were lined with red. He'd been crying, recently, and with good reason from what little they were able to see now.
But what alarmed Pyunma the most was the numbness he saw in G.B.'s eyes, the dull sense of resignation apparent in his lack of expression.
Forcing the shapeshifter to face toward him, seemingly uncaring of how Britain quickly squeezed his eyes shut again, Black Ghost leered, {"Yes, I'm quite proud of how 007's been responding to rehabilitation. I believe he'll be ready again shortly. You're welcome to come see the results for yourself, if you're not satisfied now. Besides, he'd enjoy seeing you again…"}
Another round of mocking laughter closed the message, the display blinking out into static, then silence.
"Damnit…"
Pyunma nodded slightly in silent agreement with Jet's hiss. Returning to the console, he began to work, searching for the information they required.
(This has 'trap' written all over it.)
All three thought that, but each refused to be the one to point the obvious out. It wasn't like it mattered, at any rate. What mattered was the pain they'd seen on their comrade's face as Black Ghost toyed with him.
"003, I think I've found the coordinates for this ship's home base," Pyunma reported at length, tone cold and clipped. "I'll transfer them when you're ready…"
["…Go ahead, 008."]
The slight catch in her voice made the muscles in Pyunma's back stiffen, a private curse lancing through his thoughts. She didn't have to say anything more for him to know: she had witnessed the broadcast as well.
(Probably, it went through to the bridge to make certain we all saw it,) he decided, gritting his teeth. (Wonderful; we didn't all need to see it… but, of course, Black Ghost would think otherwise…)
…Well, there was no helping that now. He rapidly transferred what little they needed back to the Dolphin, then straightened and turned to face his companions.
"Guys…" Joe gave them a haunted look, cinnamon eyes wavering behind their mahogany curtain. "…We have to get him back."
Jet stared straight ahead, into the ocean depths that stretched out before the cockpit, past where the Dolphin waited for their return, and said nothing. Neither did Pyunma, though he spared his leader a sympathetic glance before turning away, pretending to be completely focused on the task at hand.
But a part of him recalled the dead look in Britain's eyes and secretly wondered if they might already be too late.
