A/N: Yay! The first "chapter" is finally up. I've also made my -final- revisions to the to halves of the Prologue: as you can see, Entry 192 is no longer in the second half. Furthermore, the actual chapters will be much shorter (about the length of this one), whereas the Prologue's purpose was to kind of introduce the dilemmas of most of the characters.
Thank you all for supporting me and reading my fanfic! I can only hope to get better, and make my version of the story more interesting.
Waiting for You
Chapter 1
-----
"Agh..." Jr. grunted while grasping the side of his head. The pain came suddenly, and pumped with a viscious determination through every capillary in his body, until finally climaxing against his left temple as a brain-splitting migraine. He cursed himself for getting up too fast from the infirmary bed, and leaned his left side against the nearby wall for support, though the vertical stability did little to ease the pain. The lights in the room appeared to pulsate at the same rhythm as the pounding in his skull, and in his suffering, he felt absolutely no remorse for wanting to shoot the idiot who figured it'd be such a clever idea to make them so bright.
How long had he been asleep? Had they arrived at the Foundation yet? Patience was never one of the redhead's most outstanding qualities, nor was it attempting to restrain him in this instance. Jr. resolved to get out of this over-lit room, and grappled the wall as he made his way toward the exit. Meanwhile, a strange, yet subtle sensation seemed to tug at his concentration, hinting that he may not be entirely alive.
Almost there, just ten more feet. However, the closer he inched, the more the room dizzily revolved about him by vertigo's hand. The lights glared and beat ever more fiercely, as if meaning to bully him from claiming freedom from this therapeutic prison.
Almost there, just two feet left. Once in reach of his destination, Jr. cautiously detached himself from the wall, and staggered valiantly toward the door. The progress from wall to door seemed to turn more viscous and slow as the boy traveled helplessly in the air, for time itself seemed to mock him. Jr. instinctively directed his left hand toward the access panel that directed the door's function, but that attempt proved to be as ineffective as his escape. Had Ziggy not just arrived on the other side, a facefull of floor would have been the ailing patient's only gain. The cyborg caught Jr. just as the door slid open.
"Jr.!" Ziggy bellowed in surprise. "What are you doing out of your bed?"
"Wha...?" Jr. breathed. His eyelids grew heavier as the seconds elapsed, and the taller man quickly transported the boy back to the hospital bed. "Don't worry about me, old man. I'm fine..."
Ziggy didn't humor this ridiculous remark, and felt Jr.'s head with the back of his organic hand which he had promptly ungloved.
"You're burning up. I'll call the doctor; you just lie there and don't exert yourself," the cyborg ordered, now making his way to a green U.M.N. panel across the room. Jr. cracked open his mouth to protest, but had no strength to provide sound for his objections. The room dimmed faster and faster, and the form of Ziggy soon turned hazy as the boy's consciousness slipped away.
When Jr. opened his eyes again, he immediately clenched them shut to defend against the explosion of white light. He blinked furiously until his pupils adjusted to a reasonable diameter, and, after taking a few bewildering seconds to register where he was, groaned as he began to recognize the sterile pastel walls, metal railings of the bed, and the rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor that signaled the strength of his pulse. Then, a sudden eruption of noise on his left caused Jr. to face that direction, and rest his gaze upon a snoring Ziggy.
What a sight! Despite his own bizarre circumstance, the redhead could not help an affectionate smile at the sleeping cyborg, hunched and cross-armed in a chair.
"Hey, old man," Jr. called, yet elicited no break in the nasal concerto. Fortunately, the recent sleep had restored much of Jr.'s energy, and thus permitted a loud "HEY ZIGGY! WAKE UP!"
Jr. waited for the older man to calm down, retract the armblade, and finally reseat himself with a most unamused expression. However, Ziggy quickly forgave the mischief upon realizing Jr.'s improved state: a healthy color had returned to the boy's complexion, and he was no longer showing signs of fatigue.
Remembering the previous imprudence that landed him back in the infirmary, Jr. carefully propped himself up in bed, and locked eyes onto Ziggy's. Like two adults of different mindsets that finally come to agreement, both nodded silently. Once the unspoken gratitude was transacted, it was clear to both that the situation at hand was not one to be taken lightly, nor to be delayed by further formality.
"How long was I out?" Jr. started frankly. 'It couldn't have been that long...' he added to himself; though, before he had fainted, he was surprised to see Ziggy arrive back from Second Miltia so soon.
"Since I returned, you had been asleep for about twenty-seven hours."
"Wha- TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS?" Jr. nearly jumped out of his bed, though he heeded Ziggy's advice to calm down. How could he have been out for a little over a whole day, when it seemed like he had merely taken a nap? The older man continued to explain that the coma had actually spanned two and half days, the first thirty-three hours being what accounted for Ziggy's "quick" return. The last twenty-seven hours, however, were what rang in Jr.'s mind, and caused him to stare at Ziggy in utter disbelief. A slight tremor stirred the boy's composure, and scattered shards of a fading dream crept to the surface of his recollection.
"Am... am I still dreaming?" Jr. cautiously inquired; a growing fear slowly ticked its way up his spine.
Ziggy remained silent, instead looking past Jr. now. A peculiar expression twisted the usually stoic features on the cyborg's face, and the boy turned to his right to follow Ziggy's attention. Immediately, Jr. embraced the truth to his suspicion upon discovering that he was no longer confined to a hospital room.
Distant waves rolled, roared and clapped heavily against the sea, while the foam trimming the receding tide hissed softly against the salt air. Jr. now sat alone on an endless stretch of sand, looking out into an endless stretch of ocean, half-wondering how he got there, and half-not caring. The boy glanced to his right and casually regarded a rowboat resting in the sand, just as dreams seem to allow us a mysterious possession of previously hidden knowledge, as well as apply sense to the most illogical phenomena. He further took for granted the notion that he had just arrived ashore by means of this small craft, and was now cultivating in his mind the intention to row back out to sea.
Jr. then decided to inspect his boat, as if searching for some meaningful secret tucked away within the wooden planks. He got up and walked towards it, stopping just short of the bow, and slowly slid his hand along the hull's outer rim, until finally reaching the stern. The feeling was surreal, for though he could see the sharp flecks of wood splintering out from the vessel's weathered frame, the sensation was one of a smooth caress over a finely polished surface. He further observed two benches perched within the belly of the dinghy, both elevated above a small pool of saltwater and dirt that had collected along the boat's floor.
After a moment of lingering, and out of the corner of his right eye, Jr. soon caught sight of a shadowy figure approaching him from the side. The dreamer inexplicably remained fixated on the boat, though he vaguely acknowledged a curiosity toward the identity of this person. Before being roughly shaken awake, the redhead finally voiced, or rather thought an unbidden answer to the stranger, "But I don't know how to get back..."
"Little Mastah, Little Mastah wake up!" a concerned voice suddenly twanged. Jr. was hesitant to open his eyes this time, for he knew not what next to expect.
"Little Mastah, you've got to wake up!" the voice and shaking persisted, yet immediately relented as soon as Jr.'s vision extended to a pair of blonde pigtails flouncing about a pair of blue eyes.
"Mary... am I still dreaming?" the boy grumbled, now aware that he was still in the infirmary bed.
"I wish," the normally perky woman said while letting her lips curl ruefully. The smile quickly evaporated, however, upon recalling the reason for which she roused the Little Master awake. "I'm afraid we've got some real trouble on our hands, and this is no dream."
"What's wrong?" Jr. now sat up and slid off the edge of the bed, feeling quite well rested.
"Allen Ridgeley's just informed us that Dmitri Yuriev has taken over the Kukai Foundation. I didn't believe him at first, but then one of the 100-series confirmed it when she said that we've been incommunicado with the Foundation for some time. She didn't inform us earlier, because she initially thought that communications were temporarily disturbed by the dense stardust in our area, which can happen."
Jr. ignored the pain of his fingernails digging into his palm as he clenched his fists. Any traces of suspicion of this still being a dream were now erased by an intense, undeniably real anger.
"That bastard..." he growled, unable and unwilling to quell the heat radiating throughout his body. Both Mary and the door sensibly made sure to clear out of the way, as the commander of the Durandal furiously stormed toward the ship's bridge. Mary pursued the redhead, and secretly smiled.
There was much hell to pay, and Yuriev had been long overdue.
-----
Meanwhile, not straying too far from the Durandal, there cruised a large, teal and silver bullet, otherwise known as the Elsa 2.5, which had been upgraded since escaping the Ormus stronghold. Stationed within the bridge of the ship was the entire Elsa crew.
"Uh... Captain?" Hammer called from his computer terminal.
"What is it?" Captain Matthews lazily grunted.
"I'm picking up an emergency signal from the Durandal. Should I put it on screen?"
"Wha- did your mom give birth to a rock! Of course put it on screen ya moron!"
'Hmpf, and your mother must have given birth to a sack of booze,the navigator muttered to himself as his finger tapped the appropriate spot on the computer panel. The Elsa's main U.M.N. screen flipped on, precisely at the same moment when Hammer's head bounced forward from the force of Matthew's foot.
"Hey Little Master, what's up?" the Captain politely addressed the transmission, though he still managed to sound generally disgruntled with life.
"Hey Matthews, we've got huge fish to fry right now," Jr. revealed bluntly on the screen. chaos, who sat at the terminal opposite of and a little behind Hammer's, noticed that Jr. had invoked a considerable amount of will to suppress his anger while on screen. "And I'm going to need you guys to help."
"Why, what's going on?" Tony piped up from the helm of the Elsa's bridge.
"It turns out Yuriev's taken over the Kukai Foundation - don't ask me how. All I know is that we have to get it back as soon as possible before that bastard tries anything tricky!"
chaos notably furrowed his eyebrows in concern, which passed unnoticed by the rest of the Elsa's crew, while Tony and Hammer looked tragically clueless. Matthews, however, was dumbstruck.
"You- you can't be serious! Dmitri Yuriev?" the Captain stammered. Jr. nodded with a grave expression on his face.
"Dumbtree Who?" Tony blurted out, not attempting in any way to degrade himself with intelligence.
"Dmitri Yuriev," chaos gently repeated. "He was the man who created the U.R.T.V.'s by genetically mass-producing them using his DNA. Reports from 14 years ago state that he died, just after the Miltian Conflict, due to a supposed accident at the Yuriev Institute. However, many who had met him in person suspect that there must have been another reason behind his death, for he 'seemed like the type that wouldn't die so easily, or at least not from a mere accident.'"
"...But, he's alive now?" Matthews asked, still struggling with the idea of how the hell this chump could come back from the dead.
"That's right," Jr. answered. "And if I learned anything from growing up at the Institute, it's that the man wouldn't think twice about sacrificing many lives, and ruining those of countless others if it would help him reach his goal. He's got something up his sleeve, and I don't exactly like the prospect of letting him romp around the Foundation at will."
"What do we need to do?" Hammer bravely asked, though visibly quivered.
"I'm thinking that he's going to be pretty paranoid about us and the rest of the galaxy breaking through, so he'll no doubt have deployed a huge barricade of mechs around all the ports and entryways. Plus, it'll be a little difficult to sneak in unnoticed with this huge ship floating around."
"That's what you get for trying to overcompensate, Little Mastah!" a woman's voice twangingly scolded offscreen on the Durandal.
Jr. pretended to not hear the remark, and continued, "But that's where you guys will come in. If you could get enough Foundation A.M.W.S.'s and A.G.W.S.'s to chase after you, we could take care of the rest and force the Durandal through the main port." The end of his plan elicited an audible snerk from one of the Elsa's crew, which further prompted a large, and more importantly painful projectile hurling from Matthew's chair.
"So what you're saying is," Matthews clarified in his gravelly voice, "that we're supposed to slap a huge steak on the Elsa's back, then prance around in front of these guys until they notice and chase after us with all of hell's fury?"
"Well, if you put it that way, then... yeah," Jr. responded as a matter of fact. "But you'll have the advantage of an upgraded shield system, as well as vastly more powerful ion thrusters since the last repairs."
"Aw man," Matthews whined as he slumped even more pathetically in his chair, not unlike a burlap bag full of rotten potatoes. Despite Jr.'s efforts to reassure him, he suspected that this had got to be about the craziest thing he'd done.
"This has got to be about the craziest thing I've done," he finally sighed.
"Well..." Hammer began to recall.
"SHYADDUP!"
-----
A/N: Ooo that nasty Yuriev! If anyone's got any suggestions or advice on how to make this story more enjoyable to read, please let me know! Now on to Chapter 2...