A/N: This is my first story in about a year, so I hope I've improved in writing enough to not make you cringe from horrible grammar and spelling. This is also my first Romantically Apocalyptic fanfiction, an addition to a archive that I wish had more submissions. Before you begin reading this, I would like to advise you that the facts in this story are up in the air if they are actually true or not, something we have to wait for Vitaly's head nod before we can make accurate shots in the dark. But, since I'll probably be waiting forever once any of my facts in this story are disproved, I figured I'd jump off the edge and try my luck at fanfiction writing again. I warn you that if this does turn out not to be a flump, then updates will be rather slow. Anyhow, I present to you the first addition, and hopefully not last addition, with more to come, of this fanfiction, Jump Zee Shot

Many believe me out of my mind. Perhaps they are partly correct. But there's more to me than what I let on to most. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Captain. I have more to my name, but for now Captain will do.

Think for a moment. You are in the post-apocalyptic world with two men, who you may or may not be partly responsible of and for their lives. One has become damaged goods and can no longer think like the regular man. The other is a stressed individual who has a great physique but requires much pushing. They look to you for both hope and reason for going on in a world that could be doomed to lose all humanity. Would you really want to tell them that no, there is no reason to go on, no purpose in which you can rise from the ashes like a phoenix from its grave?

I think not. Which brings my next question. What would you tell two men who need and wish reason to go on? I shall proceed to answer my question, so you may cease your verbiage. I would go deep into the recesses of my own dehinged mind and acquire the most useful of tactics and present them so to my troops. Even the most bizarre of requests would do. Find me a flying machine, Pilot. Acquire this important list of items for me, Snippy. Both merely ploys to keep the two of them busy and occupied from thoughts of depression and other darkly thinking's.

So yes, I do send two mortal men on the most insane and outrageous expeditions and searches known to man, if it were to be recorded in history. Technically, it could be counted into Captainia history, but that's another matter to attend to at another better suited time.

I have acquired another member to our meager little trio, now a better suited quartet. Engie, or better known before the fallout as Dr. Alexander Gromov, a leading scientist for GOOD Directorate Inc. How do I know this? He was the one to make me a Captain in the military, as well as give me another one of my many names. Subject Seven. Yes, a subject to a test. At least, part-time.

You see, I did more than just test the whims and patience of scientists alike during test sessions, I observed others. While I tossed airplanes willy-dilly at infuriating researchers, I noticed outside my glass alcove, a man at a desk. He hadn't been there long, he had arrived about 30 minutes ago.

And by god he looked like he could use a rest. His dark brunette hair was disheveled as if he just rolled out of bed. From his brief glances about the room, I could see bright blue eyes, that had lost their shine, as well as noticeable dark bags hanging below them. He had his head held in his hands when I looked over at him again. He shifted it to look ahead of him, and I could see from my place that his eyelids sunk lower and lower, before he collapsed on his desk, presumably asleep.

By this time the scientists with me in my test room noticed my pause in throwing paper projectiles and began to approach me with apprehension. I turned back to them and sent another one at them, sailing threw the air before hitting a man in the shoulder. He glanced down at the impact point, then back to me. His expression could only be described as most displeased and unimpressed. Humph, I don't see him making make wonderful flying machines out of scrapes of paper, most likely tables and research papers the group of scientists had worked on.

The glass window rose into the ceiling, granting me access to the sleepy man's desk. Glancing to see if any of my 'co-workers' were to stop me, I briskly walked out of my test zone and briskly walked up to the man's desk, and bending over to examine his face more clearly.

Stubble on both sides of his jaw. Scruffy dark brown hair, or possible enough to me as black. His face was rather thin as well. When the scientists caught up to me, probably thinking I was about maim one of the employees, I noticed something else. Peculiar, I remember thinking. No neural interface transmitter. As the scientist began to drag me, I made sure to look at his desk nameplate to know just who this non-transmitter man was. Behind my gas-masked covered face, unbeknownst to anyone but myself, I smiled.

Charles Snippy. I would have to check the Good Directorate's database on him once I was away from all these skeptical test-tubers.

Once I was away far enough, in ANNET's control room, I quickly accessed the data files on the employees of GOOD DIRECTORATE. I quickly began typing away for Charlies' file, when I heard a purring motor rise behind me.
"SUBJECT SEVEN. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DOES ALEXANDER KNOW YOU'RE HERE?"

ANNET. Excellent. I decided to ignore her. I had typed Charlies' first name, but the company apparently had over 600 Charles in their brackets. I had typed in a capital 's', when ANNET started again.

"SUBJECT SEVEN, ARE YOU LOOKING FOR SOMEBODY?"

"Yes, indeed I am." I answered, hoping that was enough to make her bug somebody else. I could tell she knew I was up to something else. I also think she was jealous, since her precious Alexander was paying more attention to my test sessions than to his darling Annie nowadays. So the robotic hard-drive had more than enough reason to hinder me in my quests in her eyes, if she had any.

"WHY? YOU HAVE NO REASON TO SEARCH FOR ANOTHER BODY. NO ONE IS CERTAINLY GOING TO GRANT YOU ACCESS TO THEM. YOU'RE TOO IMPORTANT TO THE RESEARCH. BESIDES, YOU GET ENOUGH ATTENTION, WHY WOULD YOU NEED MORE? I COULD GIVE YOU A HUG IF YOU'D WANT!" I glanced as she protruded two long rounded cones attached to her main frame, her equal to arms. Unimpressed, I finished typing Snippy's name and became pleased to find out it that it filtered the search to a file with an identification picture identical to the man asleep at his desk.

"I have no need for hugs, I have something better to do, I'm afraid." I told ANNET, turning to look at her, then looking back at the screen. I heard her hover closer to the screen to analyze it, before she lowered herself to 'look' at me.

"CHARLES SNIPPY? WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH HIM? HE'S NOBODY. NOTHING. JUST ANOTHER PERSON WHO'S PURPOSE IS TO WORK AND PROVIDE FOR THE GOOD DIRECTORATE FOR ALL HE'S WORTH. WHICH ISN'T REALLY THAT MUCH, TO BE HONEST."

I frowned inside my mask. "He's not nobody. He's obviously somebody to have caught my attention, even if you can't see it, my blinded electric microwave appliance." I knew she dislike being called household appliances. Which is why I did it. I could tell she was getting angry at me, because she remained staring in my direction, her blue luminescent glow starting to cause me to see white spots in my vision, even through my mask lenses.

Finally she made an auto-tuned version of a 'hmph' and glided away to talk to one of the scientists. Probably wanted to see if they would start testing my 'durability to sharp projectiles'. I went back to Snippy's file on the screen. I stared at it for a couple of seconds, just looking over his facial features. He wore a tired look on his ID, one that told of countless nights awake and fretfully turning in his bed covers and bunny pajamas. Heh, bunny pajamas, I bet he'd look cute in those, I thought, finally opening the data file. Immediately it began loading up his info.

Charles Snippy.
Worker for the GOOD DIRECTORATE.
Eye Color; Blue
Hair Color; Brown (Dark Brown, actually, I thought, annoyed with the data answer.)
Connected to the neural interface; Unable to connect to neural interface, Charlies Snippy is part of the 1% not able to connect.
Info; N/A

After reading through the file, which was pretty much filled with ineffective facts, I read through it again. The only news to me was Mr. Snippy was a part of the 1%. So he isn't hooked up to ANNET. That was absolutely great. That meant I could make him a part of my plan.

A/N: I would like to mention, you can actually see Captain throwing paper airplanes at scientists in a room next to Snippy on page 59 in panel three. So if all else is wrong, that fact remains correct. Which would explain why Snippy knew that Subject Seven was an idiot according to his emails to Gromov.