Like always, disclaimers can be found by those interested in such matters back in the first chapter.

~ * Assertion * ~

(That wasn't G.B.)

Chang had seen the broadcast along with everyone else; as Pyunma had surmised, the message was transmitted from the tiny vessel onto the Dolphin. Black Ghost ensured that all of the rebels would hear his challenge.

(That can't have been G.B.)

Just because he'd seen what the tyrant so obviously wanted he and his friends to witness didn't mean he believed it. After all, Black Ghost was a master of deception, wasn't he? And with at least one other shapeshifting cyborg around, the one who'd been on the Dolphin for who knew how long, it was possible…

…No. No, that didn't make sense.

While certain other members of their group might think otherwise, Chang was quite capable of considering things logically. The chef might not have been noted for this in the same manner several of his teammates were, he possessed that simple ability just like everyone else.

He was easily able to pick out the flaws in his own desperate attempt at falsifying what he'd seen. Even as he sought distraction, trying to pass off his flimsy theories as reality, a rebellious voice in the back of his mind poked holes in the attempt.

If the shapeshifter in the transmission had really been an enemy in 007's form, then why hadn't he acted more receptive towards his so-called master? Oh, sure, he'd deferred to the cloaked commander's will, but there'd been nothing voluntary about it.

He may not have screamed or struggled onscreen, but that didn't mean much of anything. They didn't have any way of knowing what was happening internally.

Black Ghost had gone on about how well their former ally was responding to readjustment, but, somehow, his bragging didn't quite mesh with what the firebreather had seen. 007 had stood silently, almost unmoving, while the tyrant ranted beside him.

He didn't react, but neither did he do anything to help prove how much control Black Ghost really possessed.

That discrepancy stuck in Chang's mind, forcing him to reluctantly discard the idea that it could have been anyone other than Britain. If it was all staged, why wouldn't Black Ghost have his minion act more… what was the word…? …Obedient, maybe…?

It was painfully clear, however, that the villain's companion was not there willingly. From his body language alone -- strange and stilted as it seemed in places, somehow -- Chang could tell the poor soul fervently wanted as far away from the insane masked man as possible.

But at the same time… For all the apparent evidence that it really was Britain standing there, one detail remained that Chang adamantly refused to try and equate with his friend.

How could he match the dead look in that man's eyes with the vibrant goofball he'd known before this whole ordeal began?

Even with what Britain had become over the past two weeks, slipping further away from the group and farther into depression, what he'd glimpsed when Black Ghost forced the shapeshifter to look up was… not his friend. That was not G.B.

Britain may have prided himself on his acting skills, but wasn't too good when it came to hiding his feelings. Typically, all it took to know what he was thinking was looking at his face; the Englishman tended toward being very expressive, even if he didn't always realize how much everyone could read him.

But this time, all that had been present in those startlingly dull brown eyes was a frightening submission.

Chang shook his head, like that curt motion would dislodge the disturbing image from his memory, and struggled to refocus on the task at hand. While they'd immediately set off for the coordinates they'd received from the craft, travel on board the Dolphin was hardly instantaneous. There wasn't enough time for anybody to rest even if they'd been so inclined, but too much to spend merely sitting around waiting.

Besides, inactivity only made it harder to ignore the darker paths his thoughts were drifting towards the longer he dwelled upon the whole mess.

He fumbled with the coal-black pot in his arms before managing to slip it back into the cupboard; there was a distressed clank as the equipment inside shifted thanks to the added weight. Chang barely noticed the noise, frowning in forced concentration as he turned back to the stove.

Vaguely, he was aware that he was having a bit more difficulty with the simple recipe than he'd ever care to admit. It really wasn't fair: usually cooking provided the perfect escape route from dealing with more distressing situations. He wasn't even attempting anything too fancy for once: brewing tea wasn't exactly the most difficult of tasks. But he just couldn't concentrate…

A knock on the door dispelled the slight amount of focus he did have, and Chang turned around to see who was disturbing him. He opened his mouth to say something, but fell silent even before the portal slid open and revealed a not entirely unexpected guest.

"…006."

Just the fact that Francoise was compelled to use his code number to address the chef would have been clue enough that the female cyborg was distressed, even if he'd disregarded his own feelings. The pretty blonde studied him with sympathetic aquamarine eyes, doing a poor job of masking her own trepidation.

"…Oh, 003!" Chang inserted a false cheer into his voice, fully aware the sensitive girl could see through the ruse effortlessly. All the same, he offered her a smile that didn't touch his eyes and beckoned her inside. "Just in time, just in time. Could you be a dear and help me with this…?"

It was a lame attempt at distraction, but a welcome one. Francoise nodded and moved forward at the same time, matching his artificial smile with a soft one of her own.

"…Yes, of course."

And that was the last thing either said, for the obvious questions that could be asked had only even more painfully obvious answers, and would only lead to distinctly more uncomfortable lines of discussion. For now, it was easier to evade the issue by busying themselves with trivial matters.

~ * ~

The angry swish of tautly controlled punches created a steady undercurrent of deadly rhythm in the training chamber. It faded into the background, pushed away by churning thoughts and frightful suppositions that Joe kept to himself. Thanks to this mental maelstrom, he almost missed it when one of his companions finally spoke.

"…You do realize that we'll probably have to fight him."

"…Hmnh." Joe nodded dully, almost automatically, in agreement with Albert's quiet observation.

The brown-haired cyborg didn't look up, so he missed the glance that Pyunma briefly shot at the German, remaining blissfully ignorant of the way the former rolled his eyes at the latter's all-too-obvious statement. Albert also ignored the somewhat reproachful look; his eyes were tightly shut, arms folded in front of him, thin mouth set in a neutral line.

"Fight, nothing!" Jet continued to punch the air, the force of his strikes increasing along with the bitterness in his voice. "We'll probably have to kill hi…"

"I don't believe that!" Joe's head snapped up and he stared at the redhead with hurt-filled garnet eyes. "There's got to be another way!"

"Oh, really?" Sarcasm oozed from Jet's tone, and he stopped practicing, turning to glare challengingly at his leader. "Fine, then. Tell us, 009, exactly what the hell else we're supposed to do."

"…Ahh…"

A cold smirk twisted Jet's lips as Joe faltered. He didn't seem to take any real pleasure in seeing the other cyborg hesitate, other than perhaps a slight twinge of satisfaction at the unspoken bit of acknowledgement of the point he was trying to make.

"Can't think of anything, can you? That's not surprising."

"002…" Pyunma began warningly, shooting the American a disapproving look that Jet chose not to notice. Instead, the flight specialist began to pace, boots clicking out a staccato beat.

"How did we beat him last time? …Oh, that's right, we didn't. 001 just zapped him and made it all better -- 'cept that didn't work as well as we hoped, huh?"

"002." Silver-blue eyes fixed him with a frigid glare. "Don't…"

"Don't what?" Blazing copper eyes flicked in Albert's direction. "Don't remind you about what happened? How you got your ass kicked, or you --" he was looking directly at Joe again "-- nearly got yourself killed?"

"……I…"

"You didn't do so great yourself, 002," Pyunma pointed out harshly, trying to cut this short before things snowballed out of control.

Unfortunately, it seemed it was already too late for that. Rage flared in Jet's bronze pupils for a second, but it quickly sharpened and found a new target -- and he was already too far-gone to fall silent now.

"I know, I know -- I screwed up, okay?!" Voice dropping into a hateful rasp, he forged on, "We all screwed up. And guess what? 007's the one paying for it."

"………"

"We can't go in there blindly expecting to bring him back." Jet's voice rose again, fierce and cold. "You guys saw that… that wasn't 007 anymore. He's long gone, okay? If we really wanna help him, then…"

"No!" interrupted Joe sharply. He shook his head violently, insisting, "Look, we'll go in and… and…"

"And what? Damnit, Joe, what do you think we're gonna do?! Haven't you figured it out yet? We lost! The G.B. we knew is dead! He's been dead since the goddamned virus hit him in the first place -- or didn't you notice?"

His fist slammed into the nearest wall, punctuating his outburst with a dull, final thud. Jet glared at Joe, refusing to let himself be affected by the anguish clear in his leader's bright crimson eyes. Pyunma and Albert exchanged glances, then the latter rose to his feet and crossed over to where the American stood.

"That's enough, Jet." The German's left hand moved to close over one of the redhead's shoulders, while Albert restrained the urge to add that his outburst had crossed the point of being way more than enough a while back.

"Shut up."

Jet twisted away from the outstretched arm, still glaring challengingly at Joe -- waiting for a response. When it became clear that the brown-haired boy wasn't about to break the heavy silence hanging in the room, he decided to push further.

"Haven't you figured it out by now? Or didn't you notice how 007 was acting all these last couple weeks? He wasn't even trying to fit in anymore. He just gave up."

"…I won't."

"What?"

"I won't give up on him."

For the first time during the whole confrontation, Jet looked taken aback. Joe was staring the hawk down, determination filtering in to replace the anguish that had been distorting the young leader's face.

"I'll find a way to save him. I don't care what it takes…"

"………" Jet looked half-torn between his previous anger and exasperation, and more nebulous emotions that warred just beneath the surface of his sharp copper gaze. "…009, look…"

"I won't give up," Joe was hardly finished, and with sudden venom shouted "I won't give up on him like you!"

"WHAT?!" The hawk's rage returned instantly, only to be met with equal outrage from his opponent.

"I won't let Black Ghost take G.B. away like this! Not without a fight!" Joe's fists clenched at his sides, same as Jet balled his up, but lashed out at the redhead verbally instead of physically. "How can you stand there and talk about killing him after everything we've been through as a team?! You act like it's not a problem at all, you…"

"…Joe… Calm…"

"What's the alternative?!" snarled Jet, cutting Pyunma off. "You make it sound like we've got a choice, but I still don't hear how we're supposed to…"

"We'll find a way if we look hard enough!"

"And if we don't find it before he kills us, then what?"

"We… he… you…"

"Think, okay?! Try thinking for once! There's nothing we can do for him now! The best way to help him is by…"

"Shut up! Don't you care at all?! You're such a heartless b…"

"Joe--!"

Again Pyunma's warning shout was cut short, but this time it wasn't by another voice rising in anger, but by the sharp retort of gunfire. It was only one shot, but that was all it took. The mood shattered with the deafening bang and tinkling of glass, and all eyes turned to Albert.

The silver-haired German lowered his hand, smoke issuing from one of his fingers. His glassy gaze took in the stunned looks of his comrades.

"Save it for when we get to the base," he said curtly, turning shortly on his heel and stalking toward the door. "We're not helping anyone like this."

The door slid shut behind him, leaving Joe and Jet staring at each other, while Pyunma looked more pointedly at the smoldering wreckage of the lamp that had been sitting on the countertop between the formerly arguing comrades.

"That's one way to get people to listen," he muttered under his breath. Louder, he added, "C'mon, let's get out of here."

Both turned their attention to him, and for a moment it seemed Jet was fighting the urge to make some snide comment. Thankfully, he successfully repressed the impulse and instead shook his head suddenly and stalked toward the door, still radiating anger despite the jolt he'd just gotten.

After he exited, Joe hung his head, shoulders slumping. It was like all the energy and anger simply drained out of him with the American's departure.

"…008, I…"

"Don't worry about it." Pyunma shook his head, dismissing the apology before it was finished. He understood all too well that everyone was on edge. Jet had a tendency of inciting confrontations in the calmest of times, so it was hardly surprising that he'd risen to the bait now.

Unfortunate, yes, but not entirely unexpected.

Joe shook his head, staring at the ground, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His thick bangs cast most of his face into shadow: his visible eye shone with quiet conviction.

He regretted most of what he'd said, but there was one promise he intended to keep. No matter what the cost turned out to be, Joe was determined to bring Britain back safely.