Categories > Anime/Manga > Cyborg 009 > Triple Cross


by Sybil_Rowan 0 reviews

Involves Cyborg 009, Gatchaman F, and Weiss Kreuz. Ivan, Junpei, and Omi meet each other. Scar, Count Egobossler, and Reiji Takatori also meet and create a bad situation.

Category: Cyborg 009 - Rating: R - Genres: Crossover,Drama - Warnings: [V] [?] - Published: 2010-11-16 - Updated: 2010-11-16 - 3553 words

Title: Triple Cross
Author: Sybil Rowan
Pairing(s)/Characters: mainly an Ivan, Jinpei, and Omi friendship fic. Various pairings, most het, but some slash.
Rating: M, for implied sexual abuse, some language
Summary: This crossover involves Cyborg 009, Gatchaman F, and Weiss Kreuz. Ivan, Junpei, and Omi meet each other and become friends. Skull, Count Egobossler, and Reiji Takatori also meet to defeat the teams that keep them from their goals.
Warnings: Romance in the background. There is some fighting/ action, slightly violent. One or two vulgar words. There will be some twisting of canon to make this all fit, like the ages of the boys and such.
Author’s Notes: I placed it in the Gatchaman universe. I lowered Omi's age and increased Jinpei's for sake of the story. Cyborg 009 fans who follow my stories may not like what I do with Jet and Ken Washio. This is just a whole mis-mash mess for my own entertainment. It's not great, but it's been rolling around in my head. The one problem I had writing this: two Kens and two Joes. I'll do my best to keep them clear; my hubby is helping with that.
Disclaimer: Cyborg 009 written by Shataro Ishinomori. Gatchaman and everything related with it belongs to Tatsunoko. Weiss Kreuz, its names and characters belong to Koyasu Takehito, Project Weiss, Marine Entertainment and Animate Film.
Beta Reader: Now, my husband, WingedPanther73.
Date Written: September 22, 2008 to October 17, 2008/ new version November 11, 2010, 7:07pm

Part One:

“We’ve thought it over. It is for the best, 001. Please try to understand,” Dr. Isaac Gilmore said. The Russian boy's face was nothing but a scowl. He was already dressed in the crisp white shirt, black slacks, and black tie Dr. Gilmore had bought him yesterday on a shopping excursion.

:You are sending me to high school so I’ll learn, but I already know everything I need to know. I’m sixty years old, not sixteen. What are you hoping to archive by this exercise in futility, Doctor?: Ivan thought telepathically to everyone at the table. He picked up an egg roll with his telekinesis, rather than his hand. Frances Arnoul grabbed the egg roll floating in midair and waved a finger at Ivan.

“No, Ivan. Please don’t use your abilities reflexively. Just use your new body. I know it’s hard. Only last month I was carrying you around in a baby’s body, but you just couldn’t stay like that forever. It’s time you learned how the rest of humanity works. We want you to learn to interact and be a teenager,” Frances said. “Later on, you can have a smoother transition as an adult. We all agreed.”

:Not me.: Ivan's mental voice was wry. :I was content with myself.:

Gilmore added in his and Ivan's native Russian, “And you need to talk with your voice, now that you have one. I know you have that stuttering problem, but the more you talk, the more it'll fade away.”

“Aww... you guys are all full of baloney,” Jet Link interrupted in English, helping himself to more coffee. He leaned over Albert and fixed Ivan with a look Dr. Gilmore knew was trouble. Albert gently elbowed Jet back into his seat and then unfurled his newspaper, Deutsche Welle, while shooting his lover an irritated look. Jet just ignored Albert's irritation and pushed on with his opposing opinion, as was typical.

“School is a waste. I dropped out because all they do is spout off useless junk you’ll never need to know. I don’t think they should subject you to that type of torture. I was on your side, kid, but I got out voted.” Jet’s thumb jerked towards Albert, who grabbed it and twisted. That elicited a mock yelp of pain from the redheaded New Yorker.

“Come now, 001! I fixed your favorite breakfast. Egg rolls with lots of chicken is better than milk all the time,” Chang said, sitting at the head of the table. He lit the end of his long, clay pipe with a tiny puff of fire from his mouth. “Besides, school is good for you. You’ll make friends!”

“Yes! And meet lots of cute girls,” Great Britain said before shoving an egg roll in his mouth. “Think of all the nice young ladies you’ll get to know. I wish I was your age... oh... scratch that. I wish I really was sixteen again. Why couldn’t the Black Ghost have kidnapped me at twenty-five, rather than forty-five. Some of you are lucky,” he lamented, flinging his hand dramatically towards Jet, Frances, and Joe in turn.

“Oh you’re just a jackass,” Jet snapped. “Who wanted this kind of life any way!”

“Hey, if you have to be kidnapped and forced to become a cyborg against your will, you may as well have perpetual youth as a trade off,” G.B. said with a sly smile, unperturbed by Jet’s loud outbursts of rage any longer.

“Come on, guys, that's enough already,” Joe Shimamura pleaded, setting aside his chopsticks. “It’s time you were off to school, Ivan.”

“You never... never... you...” Ivan Whiskey stuttered, turned bright red, and clamped his mouth shut. Gilmore flinched back at the bitter, pain-filled expression on Ivan's face. The boy was the closest thing he had to a son, and if Ivan hurt, Gilmore found himself hurting for him.

“No, I didn’t finish school, but I wish I had. There are some things you can learn in school we’re afraid you aren’t learning from us. Things like empathy towards normal people, and how to just accept emotions. Just give it an honest try for a semester. If it doesn’t work out, we won’t force you to go,” Joe said reasonably.

:What about you two, 005, 008? Do you agree with 009's assessment? Am I not learning to have feelings?: Ivan thought, glancing at the last two cyborgs at the end of the table. Geronimo Jr. and Pyunma Dwmbee both nodded their support for Joe. :I guess it’s almost unanimous.: Ivan stood, his face a hard mask, now. :How ironic. I helped all of you escape from the Black Ghost because I felt compassion for all of you. I encouraged us to fight against the Black Ghost to save humanity. Now, all of you are saying I'm losing my perspective. I'll trust you, because it only seems fair I return your trust, but don't count on this changing me. The experience of being a teenager wasn't necessary for my mental development. Trying to add the experience is... late, at best.:

“I know, but I just felt uncomfortable giving you an adult body without some transition. It's just necessary,” Gilmore insisted.

“Hey. I’ll give him a ride to school, since I disagreed,” Jet offered, grabbing his black leather jacket off the back off his chair. Gilmore, for once, was grateful for Jet's brash manners interrupting an awkward moment.

“But I want to take him,” Frances said in a half pout, half teary way that choked up Dr. Gilmore. She was going through a lot with Ivan's sudden change. She seemed confused most of the time.

“I have the coolest car,” Jet pointed out. “He already looks like bully fodder!”

“Don’t encourage him to cut school. I’ll be checking to make sure he’s in school. If he doesn’t show, I’ll blame you,” Albert warned, looking over his German newspaper with his icy blue eyes. Jet shook his head at his lover in mock aggravation.

“You never let me have any fun.” Jet grabbed Ivan by the wrist and dragged him out the door.

“You know this wouldn’t have happened if you would of showed some restraint. How many times have I told you about restraint?” Jun asked. She furiously swept the floor of the Snack J, while Jinpei slouched on a barstool over a half eaten apple. His new school uniform looked sloppy; the black tie hung at an angle, and the sleeves were rolled up to the elbow.

“It wasn’t my fault! The baseball team was picking on me. I had to teach them a lesson!” Jinpei shouted.

“The whole school's baseball team? Half in the hospital? Do you know what kind of strings Dr. Nambu had to pull to not have you arrested and taken to a juvenile detention center? It’s high time you stopped acting like a spoiled child and acted like a mature sixteen-year-old,” she said, waving a finger at his pug nose.

“What? I thought sixteen-year-olds weren’t supposed to be mature yet,” Jinpei smarted off, shooting Jun a dirty look before she started counting her till.

“Well, I started this club when I was sixteen. Why can't you find a goal, too? You used to be more focused.”

The front door bell rang. The rest of the Science Ninja Team, Ken Washio, Joe Asakura, and Ryu Nakanishi, came in and sat at the bar with Jinpei. It was still too early for customers, so the five of them were more at ease with being in each others' presence. They each sat at bar stools, Ken next to Jinpei.

“Well, I don’t need to tell you how disappointed Dr. Nambu is in your behavior,” Ken started off. Their leader sat up straight, with crossed arms, and took a breath. He was about to launch into another lecture when Condor Joe, looking a little too hungover to Jinpei, took off his sunglasses and gave Ken an icy glower.

“If I hear the words ‘juvenile delinquent’ cross your lips again, I will shoot you dead,” Joe threatened, groping for the coffee pot. Jun slipped behind the bar and handed Joe a large bottle of aspirin, concern crossing her face.

“I thought, since you... came back, you had sworn off booze and didn’t have any more headaches. Didn’t Dr. Pandora removed your tumor?” Ryu asked, looking just as worried as Jun.

“I haven't swore off of booze, but this headache came on when Ken drove me insane last night with his we-must-take-a-firm-authoritative-approach with the runt,” Joe said, jerking his thumb at Jinpei. He wasn’t such a runt anymore. Jinpei was now close to six foot tall and had the thin, athletic build of a swimmer.

Jinpei put his thumb in between his first fingers of his right hand and directed it at Joe. Jun, Ken, and Ryu gasped at the obscene hand gesture, but Joe's eyes narrowed. Joe jumped off his barstool and grabbed Jinpei up by the collar.

“Just for that, I’ll make sure you get to your new school, personally,” Joe said. He snatched his sunglasses off the bar and dragged Jinpei out of the Snack J with a struggle.

“A new city and a new flower shop. The painters just finished our new ‘The House of Kittens Florists’ logo. I'll be off to school now,” Omi Tsukiyono called out with a bright smile on his face.

He was dressed in his new, and freshly pressed, school uniform. He sipped his hot, green tea while surveying the fresh coat of paint. His fellow Weiss Kreuz assassins stopped unpacking their new florists’ supplies and gave him a look as if he had sprouted horns.

“In my day I was dying to get out of school, not in it,” Youji Kudou teased and smirked. He started separating yellow roses from white roses. “Except for the girls, school was a drag.”

“But I like school. It can give you a sense of direction and accomplishment,” Omi said, hoisting up his backpack.

Ken Hidaka made a gagging sound and fell on the floor in a poor imitation of death throes. His water can flew through the air, barely missing Aya. The icy, redheaded assassin picked up the half-full can and dumped the rest of the contents on Ken.

“That wasn’t funny,” Ken shouted, as Youji and Omi laughed out loud. Aya went back to sweeping the floor, with an annoyed shake of his flaming red hair.

“You got your crayons and paste, kid?” Youji teased and ruffled Omi’s hair.

“Cut it out,” Omi snapped, as a blush crept over his face. Ken Hidaka tugged the backpack and gave it a jiggle.

“He’s out of crayons, but he has enough paste to eat when he gets bored,” Ken replied. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride to school,” he offered.

“Okay, but don’t forget the Yokohama’s wedding is tomorrow! We have to get down to the hotel lobby tonight and get the roses on that arch. We’ll do that when I get back from school. Also, Manx said she wanted to meet with us tonight about this transfer,” Omi said, as Ken grabbed his elbow. He tugged the youngest Weiss Kreuz assassin out of the new House of Kittens Florists’ shop.

“Great! Look at this traffic!” Jet sneered as he leaned over his steering wheel.

:I could push all the cars out of the way, if you wish,: Ivan offered.

“Nothing doing! Albert will kill me if we get caught and have to move again because the Black Ghost found us out by you showing off. Don’t get us tipped off,” Jet said, gunning his green Mustang into a narrow opening. His bumper connected hard with a midnight blue Cobra, just as a white florists’ van plowed into the back of them.

:Now I bet you wish I would have used my powers,: Ivan thought into Jet’s mind as the New Yorker cyborg slapped his steering wheel and swore a blue streak.

Jet gave the child cyborg a dirty look and dragged Ivan out of the car. Jet pushed Ivan towards the school and shooed him off.

The others involved in the accident didn’t look too happy, either. The owner of the midnight blue Cobra was an olive-skinned, ruddy-haired man with sunglasses and gritted teeth. His passenger, a kid Ivan’s apparent age, was howling in laughter and doing a victory dance.

“Vengeance is mine saith the mighty, mighty Falcon,” the brown-haired, Japanese kid shouted as he grabbed his backpack and made a run for it. The man lunged and missed the kid’s neck by an inch.

“Oh my, Ken! I’m so sorry! I didn’t want anything terrible like this to happen,” the blond boy from the florists’ van said, looking positively distressed.

“Don’t worry, Omi. It was Red’s fault,” the van diver, a young guy in a green soccer shirt, said. “Get to school and don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault,” Jet shouted in outraged English. He understood and could speak Japanese very well, because of of the translator in his brain; he just felt like irritating the van driver. He took a cigarette out of his black leather jacket and marched up to the young man with the florists’ van.

What did Jet care if this guy wanted to start a fight? He didn't need to fly or use his limited acceleration device to beat the pulp out of a Japanese flower pusher. Or so he thought, until he looked into those dangerous, aqua eyes.

“It was your fault,” the olive-skinned man said, walking over with a cigarette now hanging out of his mouth, as well. This man had icy eyes that just didn’t seem natural to Jet. Somehow, they reminded him of Albert's eyes, as if they'd witnessed five lifetimes of tragedy.

Jet took a deep breath and tried to quell his anger. After all, he was to keep under the radar, so the new hideout wouldn't be exposed. He didn’t want to imagine what Albert would do to him if it was his fault they were discovered.

“You look like you should be going here,” the young man in the green soccer shirt said with a smirk as he leaned on Jet’s Mustang.

“Hey! I’ve been done with school a long time ago, ass,” Jet snapped.

“Listen, soccer mom, you don’t look old enough to shave either,” the olive-skinned man said with a smooth Sicilian accent. Jet picked it up easily enough, remembering his immigrant grandparents. He felt a surge of anger and frustration from his childhood rise up; an instant hatred of the man blazed for no other reason than the accent dredged up so much pain he refused to let die.

“What did you call me?” the young man in the soccer shirt screamed, waving his fist in the air towards the Sicilian. Jet leaned back on his car and snickered, glad he wasn't the only one who disliked Sicilians.

“Let’s see all of your identifications and registrations,” a policeman said, walking up to them with four other policemen in tow. Jet felt a collective tension run through the group as they all slowly produced their wallets. They all handed over their identifications and waited.

“I think the three of you need to come downtown while we sort this out.”

:Is this what nervous feels like?: Ivan asked himself as he filled out a form on a clipboard. He stood between the other two boys from the car accident. His stomach felt tight, and his heart raced horribly. He could always identify other people’s emotions, but it was strange to feel them bubble up in his own, new body. He stretched his mind over to the other boys' minds.

The boy named Jinpei Nambu was angry, bored, and nervous. Ivan knew this boy didn’t want to show his fear, but there was some deep down inside. The other boy, named Omi Tsukiyono, was excited, no, it was more like nervous. It surprised Ivan to find the same nugget of fear underneath an optimistic outlook. Ivan couldn’t make sense of all the swirling, conflicting emotions inside the other boys; he delved deeper and was surprised each of these boys had secrets not unlike his own.

He quickly withdrew from their minds and stared down at the paperwork. Jinpei, as near as Ivan could figure, had a bracelet on his wrist that controlled sophisticated equipment and bird-like armor. Omi was an assassin, plain and simple. Both, Ivan could tell were highly skilled computer hackers.

Ivan shook off his musing over the other two boys and finished filling out the enrollment form. He put down the half-Japanese cyborg, Joe Shimamura, as his guardian, because he wouldn’t fawn over him like Frances. Besides, Dr. Gilmore and Dr. Kozumi were getting too old to chase after a teenager.

“Good! We are happy to have you, Ivan,” the lady shouted and over enunciated her words. He was listed as a Russian student on the Japanese island of Utoland.

“I can.. hear just... just fine. I am... I am... foreign, not... deaf,” Ivan said, loathing to speak. He observed Jinpei’s suspicious look, while Omi gave him a pitying look. Frustration swirled, unbidden, along with shame.

“Of course you can,” she said in a patronizing way. He could sense Omi getting angry on his behalf. He was surprised, and rather pleased, to have an affirmation that justice still lay in the human heart. He sometimes wondered if it still existed, with all the ugliness he had seen from the scientists and backers of the Black Ghost. Even his own father had no conscience.

“He’s pretty smart, you know,” Jinpei said, pointing to Ivan’s clipboard. It listed his fake IQ of 142. Of course, it was much higher. The blond boy whistled and gave a chuckle.

“Looks like I’ll have competition,” Omi said with a bright smile.

“I’ll ignore your smart remark, Nambu. By the way, you are on probation. You’ll want to keep your nose clean,” she snapped. The Nambu boy blushed horribly, but had a harsh glare.

“I think you should show us to class,” Omi said, getting a firm expression; Ivan could feel the assassin was also angry on Jinpei's behalf.

They followed the woman down the hallway to a classroom that was light and airy. The other students looked over to the three interlopers. The teacher, a small Japanese woman of thirty, waved them in. Ivan felt his artificial blood pounding in his throat as he fought the temptation to look into all of the minds of his nineteen new classmates.

“This is a rarity! We have three new students at once. This is Jinpei Nambu, Ivan Whiskey, and Omi Tsukiyono. How wonderful. We’re working on integrals, so you boys will want to get out your calculus books. Why don’t the three of you sit together and help each other out?” she suggested, pointing to a corner in the back of the room with three empty desk.

Ivan sat down with the boys on either side of him. They were opposites. Omi was deeply entrenched in his book as he took notes and listened. Jinpei slouched back and twiddled his thumbs behind his calculus book. He could tell both were keeping up and surpassing the teacher’s lecture. Ivan flipped the pages of his Edwards and Penny book as he accessed the part of his brain that did math computations.

To be continued.
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