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The first thing Sam could recall, if anything at all, was jolting upright. Like a sluggish madman to one, but like a nightmare-infused sycophant to the next, as if he'd just experienced the worst night terror a man like him could have. One that would stain his pride, or worse: stain his family name, which he fought tooth and nail to protect the honor of. Which brought him to his next instantaneous state of frantic panic, which led his gaze to drift towards his left, seemingly ignoring the unusually industrial objects of interest surrounding him.
A winded sigh of relief escaped his lips upon catching sight of his most prized possession, a family heirloom which had been passed down from generation to generation for as long as his family's bloodline had been alive. A blade, safely tucked away within its sheath. Sam's saving grace, if anything, even if it were a mere inanimate object. That thought was swift to leave his mind, as the man hadn't wanted to figure out if the spirits of his deceased relatives could read his every thought.
However, with that concern soon to be swept clean from his mind, another one arose. His whereabouts.
In retrospect, they truly hadn't been familiar to him at all, as if he had suddenly become conscious within the confines of a lucid dream, and his surroundings were nothing more than a mirage. Which would make sense, if pinching himself hadn't failed to snap him away from this unexpected reality of his. However it did provide leeway towards another startling reality, being the presence of an IV lodged in the cubital vein of his subordinate arm. And, as his eyes followed the pale cord's weary path, Sam suddenly became aware of the severity of his surroundings.
He was secured in a sick bay. A very technologically advanced one, at that, nothing the likes of which he's ever seen before, even in an age where such elevations are second nature. Unfortunately, at that very same moment, Sam came to a haunting realization that chipped away at his once conscious prowess. One: he hadn't dreamt the reality of which he sought as a nightmare.
Two: Sam was missing his arm. His entire arm.
Now, Samuel considered himself to be rather resolute in times of daft distress, this being one of those times. Of course, the man has suffered more than enough fatal blows to be able to consider himself something of an expert at... well, escaping death's grip. But never in his wildest, most corrupted dreams had he imagined that he, a master of his own blade, would suffer such a blow to his own condition. To his dominant arm, no less, as if both God and his ancestors were spitting in his face simultaneously.
He hadn't shouted. Or wailed. Or bawled his eyes out at the somber realization. Nor had he used his remaining good arm to punch a hole into the nearest wall. As if indulging in the final specks of his good morale, Sam then began dwelling in the hollow depths of his once confident, archaic heart. As if to savor every last ounce of its Samaritanism before allowing it to drain and dwindle away, leaving him to his own devices.
Then, almost out of nowhere, and surprisingly right on cue, the man caught a glimpse of a figure coming towards him from his right side, however remaining unable to identify it due to how blurred his peripheral had been. Until, of course, he took the liberty to look for himself, even in the midst of swimming in his thoughts, or having no thoughts at all. Though that pessimism came to pass once he fully identified the figure standing at the side of his cot, only being able to sneer at its coy pretensions, having noticed a weightless smirk on its lips. Despite its chilling, featherlight presence, it had a human face.
Sam sighed, leaning back against the bolster he had propped up for himself, choosing to ignore how the cot creaked in relation to his weight, "I didn't think your syndicate mandated amputations for entry, someone could have at least given me a memo. Pretty irresponsible."
"I would agree, however wouldn't blindly charging into combat with no knowledge of your enemies' abilities be just as reckless and irresponsible?" The human face, despite mostly being concealed with a type of chrome helmet, somehow portrayed more emotion than Sam could muster at the moment. Thankfully enough, for both Sam and the other, said figure was quite identifiable, judging from his tendency to succumb to philosophy at every given corner, even if it meant scolding a debilitated man currently awaiting patronage for the loss of his good arm.
Even so, Monsoon couldn't help but snicker to himself, probably due to the fact that the man was currently sneering at him with all the ire he could tire from his exhausted being, even as the figure strode more towards the other side of the cot, where the IV bag had been strung some feet or so above Samuel's head, "We're all human, Sam. Irresponsibility is only a result of inaction. Thus, said inaction costed you a part of yourself that you'll never be able to recover."
"What about you, eh?" The man, notably of Brazilian descent, quipped, almost having sworn to fistfight this man from where he sat helpless. If it weren't for the sudden, sharp pain emitting from his left arm, where Sam had come to the discovery that Monsoon proceeded to remove the IV from the center of his arm, knowing that the man wouldn't require it any further, since he is no longer unconscious. Losing his train of thought for a moment, Sam had made an attempt to rip the elder's hand away from his arm, however he only felt an odd, almost unnerving sensation. The ghost of his right arm.
Unfortunately, it just so happens that his proposed question fell upon deaf ears in the very same breath. Or so he believed, judging from Monsoon's lackluster, unmoved reaction.
So, only being able to remain complacent, Samuel turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of the opposing side of the room and its contents. The room itself was an eerie pale shade, as if sunlight had just barely reached its interiors, however just pale enough to allow the screens of the nearby monitors to emit a hazy white glow onto any nearby accompanying object. The door of which Sam assumed Monsoon made his entry appeared as if it were glued in place against the wall, heavy and sturdy, as if it were strictly designed to keep something out.
"But I'll give you credit where credit is due." The elder started, the chilling texture of his hands seething against Sam's balmy skin―a feature of which he himself hadn't made acquaintance in quite some time, thus becoming enthralled by―somehow unwavering as his fingers worked to secure Sam's short wound with the bundle of gauze in his opposite hand, before gingerly patting his work for good measure. Then using this lap of silence as an excuse to become coy with the man, grinning knowingly at his belittlements, "I was previously under the impression that you had cybernetic enhancements, however I see that isn't the case. Given that you've probably destroyed countless inhuman foes at this point, color me impressed, Sam."
The Brazilian man deadpanned, unable to contain his distaste for whatever tone he could distinguish from the elder's statements, "Next, you'll probably tell me that losing my arm is some kind of... keepsake reward, no?"
"Consider it an act of charity, Minuano." Removing himself from his post, rather gracefully at that, Monsoon made a punctual pathway for himself to perch at the very end of the cot, holding no knowledge in his heart of the possibility that it might flip over due to Samuel's weight in comparison to his own. There was something derisive about the elder's tone that the man couldn't identify, perhaps because it sounded both entirely sincere and like a threat, even if Monsoon hadn't revealed himself as any kind of danger to him. Despite Sam's own preexisting pride, he was never one to underestimate his enemies, even in the blinded veil of inactive combat.
It hadn't stifled his outright blunt demeanor, however, which remained sturdily intact, even in Monsoon's presence, "Well, you can be 'charitable' in other ways and tell me where I am."
"Ooh, straightforward, I see." There was a witty feign of mockery in the elder's tone, causing Samuel to wince placatingly in his own head, of course not wanting to get on Monsoon's bad side just yet, even if they had a reasonably unfriendly altercation before now. However, judging from the other's rather jovial presence, in comparison to what Sam had witnessed thus far in regards to his unpredictable personality, Monsoon remained ever complicit, as if enacting violence right here and now would put him at a major disadvantage. "I figured it would be a much wiser approach to allow you to... recuperate... while we wait for your designated cargo to pass customs in California."
"Cargo, huh." Sam breathed, eventually finding the groundworks to prop himself more upright, suddenly feeling a sense of vertigo due to lack of balance, however ultimately prevailed. Even if it were a battle of wits between himself and the flat plane of his dingy cot-like mattress. Then, after a moment of processing Monsoon's phrasing, he laughed diligently; feeling the weight of his own back anchor against the weak cushion behind him, putting his only good hand in the oily mess that was his hair, even if it were still hastily tied up in an attempt to relieve his face from any more stray locks of it, "Aww, a little get-well present, yes? You really shouldn't have."
"You really are what they say you are, Sam." Chuckling dryly, and rather casually at that, Monsoon lowered his head. Not out of disdain, however. Perhaps from amusement, however it had been difficult to read the other's emotions at times, so Sam's judgement ultimately remained clouded. Which amplified due to how the elder's back was turned to him, entirely concealing any possible emotion he could have been showing through the only part of his face which wasn't strapped to Hell and back with apparatus.
Even so, Samuel could tell that Monsoon was enjoying his sense of entitlement over a man who was currently strapped for defense, even if deep down he did acknowledge him as a noteworthy acquaintance. The grin on his lips would soon reciprocate to Sam, who had already been amused enough to be able to do so, thus establishing some kind of mutual feeling between them, whatever that may possibly be. He soon continued, as if making an attempt to obscure his pretentiousness, "After having one of your crucial apparatus stripped away from you, you seem undefeated. I'm supposing it's the genes, yes?"
Monsoon paused, then recollected his thoughts; his words pulling a thorn from Samuel's side in such a way where he felt compelled to sit farther upward. "Either way, you have an inevitably stanch mind, from the looks of things. Being able to adapt to your environment, no matter how traumatic an event may be to you or your kin. It takes a sizeable amount of... grace, and cunning, wouldn't you say?"
"I would say it takes a man to place his own life before others to dispense justice." The man's words arose to bring the elder to a silent revelation, given the fact that Sam had sought out Desperado Enforcement LLC. to rid them and the burden they wrought from the very surface of the Earth. It almost seemed incomprehensible. As if Samuel considered feeding into whom were once enemy hands as an act of selflessness, as an act of putting one's life before his own. Putting one's life before his own, until the time comes to do the exact opposite. As if that were a necessary sacrifice to protect the greater good.
Which would seem absurd, however made for a blissfully tragic meme. Until Sam finally tipped his statement; somehow being enough to provoke Monsoon to turn his head, not having noticed how Sam's eyes peered devoutly into his being, full of an undead passion, only further amplified by his voice, which held an unbridled, unmatched amount of certainty, "I couldn't give a rat's ass if it costs me a limb. Or my life, for that matter."
"... Haha, I should have known you would say that." Monsoon, perhaps feeling too transient to look Sam in the eyes again, peered downward, towards the neat little bundle his hands had created in his own lap. Of course, before taking the increasing silence as a means to remove himself from the post he had taken at the edge of Samuel's bed, then finding a means to ground himself again, leaving the other man in an idle state, who had been staring at him from across the room. The only thing preventing Monsoon from being obscured being the ominous, hazy glow of the nearby monitors.
He then broke the silence again, having crossed his arms in his idle stance, before glancing back over at Samuel, who'd remained staring at him throughout the entire exchange, ever since Monsoon set foot into the sick bay. "Sometimes I forget that you have more to lose."
"And you don't?" Sam, partially high on painkillers and not immediately connecting two and two together at the moment, inquired, carefully leaning back against the flimsy headboard of the bed he was practically stranded in. Of course, before thinking another two steps ahead and throwing his hands in the air defensively, as if he could sense Monsoon's jinxing gaze from here, however his voice overtook any concerns of that type, completely discarding them for another time entirely, "Not to come off as a wiseass."
All but suddenly, the stealthy mix of man and machine perching next to him began reaching one of his hands out, yet still refusing to grasp onto anything, like Sam had anticipated it to. Here it remained splayed, patient, as if it would refuse to budge given the opportunity that Sam doesn't comply. The Brazilian man would have liked to test Monsoon's patience, his resilience, however his own seemed to be running out at the same time. So, Sam complied, not expecting the elder to handle him so gingerly, especially after their... first of many meetings.
Samuel partially expected Monsoon to rip his hand off―which he could easily do without much labor―either that, or break a few of his fingers, as it ascertained to their current conversation. The fragility of the human condition. However, surprisingly enough, he refrained, remaining absolute and complicit as he held Sam's knuckles against the sleek chrome of his palm, doing so much as feeling the weight of the man's arm coalesce with his own before bringing forth another acquisition, the flickering monitors several feet behind him casting an oceanic glow against the side of his visor, against the pale ghost of his skin, "I feel it would be more beneficial if you found that out on your own, Sam."
Blinking, feeling completely clueless despite appearing as if he were entirely enthralled, Samuel swallowed, finally allowing Monsoon's fingers to guide the flesh of his hand in a slow, sturdy whisk upwards, starting at the hardened plate of the elder's fortified abdomen. It felt like the other had anticipated: solid and protective, like armor is supposed to be, so naturally he hadn't thought too indifferently of what Monsoon was attempting to display. Slowly, but surely, the tips of his fingers reached a crevice, just between and underneath two chiseled abdominals and a steel centerpiece, which acted as a sector of sorts. Just above the point of which Monsoon's body could split into pieces.
But, as soon as Sam's fingers slid over the centerpiece, he noticed an abrupt shift in regards to the guidance Monsoon's hand was previously providing. Thus leaving the other man stilly poking into the elder's collarbone, which also felt about as hard as armor could possibly be forged. Then he slowly, but surely, came to the eve of comprehension; the thick furrow of his brows proving to be more than enough of a realization for Monsoon, who had been carefully looking him down throughout the entire arduous process.
"Excluding the shoulders, my flesh only extends as far as the sternum." Monsoon gingerly interluded, providing some kind of warm, though bittersweet afterthoughts in the midst of the bleak silence surrounding the both of them, only being able to bare witness to the sheer amount of prostration present in Sam's eyes. It was at that moment when Monsoon bore witness to Sam's hand receding, returning to its lazed position against his own lap, to which the Cambodian man continued, "Usually, one who undergoes cybernetic transplants retains vast amounts of themselves, like their ribs, or femurs. People like Sundowner, you know."
Then, the man shrugged, a wry grin slowly appearing on his lips, perhaps finding it ironic how calmly he spoke of his own detriment, "However, as for me, the damage was much less sustainable. So, essentially, I'm only a head and neck spliced with wiring to an endoskeleton."
"... You're terribly pacific in talking about something so traumatic." Amazed, Samuel tranquilly chimed in, moving his only good hand to itch the scruff hazily patching his jaw. Not even a moment later, as if it were his nature, he snorted, splaying his fingers as he enunciated his humor with the face of his palm, seeing it wouldn't be too offensive if Monsoon were gung-ho enough to up and survive everything he claims to have barren, "So you're puppeteering your body only using the muscles of your neck. I take it back when I say that's traumatic, that's damn impressive!"
"Is that so?" Monsoon could only scoff at that, the wry grin that settled on his face before only growing. Almost finding himself peering for too long before an idea hatched in his mind, thus resulting in the elder lifting his hands to carefully plant upon either side of the helmet ornamenting his cranium. The process seemed to be relatively arduous, however Monsoon's attention span remained heftily intact, even while Samuel was struggling halfway between paying him mind andobserving whatever phenomena was currently unfolding before him. "I would say it's a matter of adaptation, of which prey becomes predator. Using shortcomings to one's advantage, like animals do in the wild."
Only being able to hum in response, Sam's brows fused again, and Monsoon took this as a tone of acknowledgement, patiently continuing his work until a subtle little thrush of air could be heard, as if an airlock had just been unlatched somewhere along the lines of him delicately trying to grasp a means to push his visor back. Of which he eventually succeeded, having placed the chrome piece gingerly to his side before staring out into the blue, hazy abyss before him, providing Sam with subsequent pro bono, his slender voice noticeably more... human than before, "However, the animals that refuse to adapt die, and their bodies are confiscated as a token by the stronger, more competent ones. To defeat weakness is to defeat the weak, to defeat yourself."
Monsoon then turned to look towards the man sitting next to his own perch, who had been staring at him as if he'd been caught being a busybody. Slowly, but gradually, Samuel's eyes seemed to slide lower and lower, as if he were avoiding some kind of impenetrable gaze, however that hadn't seemed to slow the elder's ambition. If anything, it heightened Monsoon's sense of morale, even if his voice remained about as mellow and as sequestered as he could possibly encourage it to go, as if he were trying to bait Sam out of tucking his own ambitions between his legs. "Look at me, Samuel."
"I am, I was―" Shuttering lightly, as if his ambitions had hit a total kill switch, the Brazilian man cleared his throat; using one arm to brace the injured nub of the other, perhaps to ground himself, before eventually looking up at the man before him, who had seemingly been much closer than before. Uncaring if his hair became a nuisance by how often it grazed the skin of his forehead, of his nose, he continued, eventually tearing his gaze away from the one or two singular spots he had been gazing into to avoid direct confrontation, even if such a thing were truly naught, "I am, I have been the whole time."
"Then you'll understand me when I say this." The other―the perimeters of whose face were strapped to the wire with various semiotic pieces―ushered in a symbolic, mellow tone, something Sam hadn't heard from him before. Sure, usually the man could be quite obnoxious with his droning philosophical ensembles, either that or completely crazy, from what he'd come to learn. However this was completely uncharted, and perhaps far more intimidating than any display Monsoon had put on for him before. It perhaps only added onto that factor, due to the fact that Sam had never seen the other entirely maskless before.
Monsoon had a human face, for sure. But there was something about staring into his... eyes... that led Sam in any direction but the window to his soul. If anything, it was a window into the several different complexes of Monsoon's individuality, all at once, and it was truly too much to comprehend at the moment. Perhaps Samuel would learn to understand when he wasn't... you know, high on morphine. Which would make the elder's entire philosophical breakthrough seem insane, even if his underclassman were clearly taking in every piece of information he could.
Then, Monsoon spoke again, something Sam came to understand―something he thought he understood―however remaining unable to register how or why the man had gotten so close, why he had become so tender, "You should understand. After all, it's like you said before." Monsoon murmured, closer to Sam's ear than anything at all, "A 'real man' has no fear of losing irreplaceable things."
It was at this moment where Samuel began reconsidering and reevaluating his entire dilemma, repetitively in his head, over and over until it began taking a physical toll on his body. Oftentimes he scrutinized himself for even managing to wind himself in a situation such as this, no less have one of the most crucial parts of his body be stripped away from him. He remained uncertain if he would ever get over it, if his bout of pride would ever return, the very force in his life that propelled him to fight in the first place.
However, it was also at that moment where Sam began understanding the closeness of it all. To which, after an elongated phase consisting of both consideration and reconsideration, he could only smirk; sitting idly in his dingy little cot before returning the spunk that Monsoon had so graciously bestowed upon him at their first encounter. And in doing so, he found himself leaning into Monsoon's opposite side, getting a good glimpse of the futuristic hellscape behind him before nudging into the only side of the elder's face he could reach.
Then, and only then, would he proceed to trace the outliers of the sturdy carbon piece―closest to where he assumed Monsoon's ear was located―with his tongue, later moving his hand to gingerly tousle with any loose strand of white hair he could find running down the short expanse of Monsoon's upper back, before muttering something astoundingly cheeky to him, of which Monsoon struggled to identify as either mockery or authenticity. But, knowing Sam, perhaps it was a matter of both worlds entirely. "That excludes you, doesn't it?"
"I should toss you in the ocean, Sam." Utterly defeated, or just experiencing an exhaust of explaining himself to seemingly deaf ears, the elder sighed, almost tempted to take up on his own threat after all. Even after hearing Samuel laugh after the fact. Maybe throwing Sam in the Pacific would teach him some discipline, either that or self respect. But he knew the younger man was a lot wiser than he portrayed himself to be when he was in his... most human moments. Besides, he found himself growing fond of Sam's personality, anyway, even if he remained uncertain if he would ever admit to that.
Especially to someone the likes of Sam, who still seemed to find amusement in him even as he continually attempted to explain himself. "I'm serious, maybe after you take a dip with the fish near the seabed, you'll actually take account of what I have to say."
"Who is to say I haven't already?" Samuel raised a brow, the scarred one, as he pulled back to stare Monsoon in the eyes, or what he could identify as such, and with a carefree attitude made the decision to lean back against the cot again; his legs subtracting in such a way that one propagated to splay across Monsoon's lap, as the other began nudging itself into the elder's back, in a continuous, teasing pattern. And if that hadn't been titivating enough, the Brazilian man went out of his way to somehow appear even more provocative than he already was, having a stupidly naïve and flirtatious glint in his eyes, "I feel like you would have already thrown me overboard if you thought I wasn't listening."
Scoffing, Monsoon moved a hand to gingerly slap the flesh of Sam's thigh, sparse with hair, before pushing it off and away from his lap, taking the opportunity of not being weighed down to remove himself from the edge of the cot, before his hands almost autonomously motioned towards the visor he had removed earlier. And surprisingly, with much ease, it clicked back into place as soon as Monsoon connected the edges of it with the several safe harbors located around the latter half of his head. It almost seemed easier to attach than to remove, which was rather peculiar, however Sam kept his inquisitions to himself.
The moment the older man reassembled his armor, however, a stochasticity of what seemed to be a dial tone could be heard, however muffled, before Monsoon turned around, weighing against his right leg as he assessed whatever information he could have possibly received within that bout of near silence. Then, after a moment, he turned his upper body towards the man lying in anticipation nearby, before humming pretentiously, "Today's your lucky day, Sam. Cargo came less than three minutes ago."
Before Samuel could banter a response, Monsoon intercepted him; having thrown the man's previously discarded clothing at his bare chest, before motioning towards the door with his hand swatting in a passive, yet dismissive manner. But his back being turned hadn't stifled the sheer and utter ostentation in his voice, as he was somehow unscathed even after... everything which had transpired. "You shouldn't walk out on deck fully commando, you might scare people."
Upon hearing the feigned scoff of offense Sam gave in reply, the cyborg laughed, partially anticipating the other to hurl something at him, even from this vast of a distance, "I only say that because the staff primarily consists of cyborgs, so I don't believe anyone has seen someone with so much hair on this carrier before!"
"Yeah, yeah, don't rub salt in the wound."
He swore he heard Monsoon snicker from his post outside, which only further encouraged him to get off of his hind end, of which he had been stranded for longer than he admitted to feeling comfortable with. Either way, he was more than happy to escape this technological hellscape, even if he were guaranteed to be slung right back into it, judging from what he assumed his 'cargo' was. If he were being honest with himself, Sam already knew what it was. However, it wouldn't hurt to grapple onto full humanity for a little while longer before then.
So, Samuel took his sweet ass time in clothing himself. Today would probably be longer than any day in his entire life. And even if he wound back into a hospital bed, he figured it would be a lot less comforting to have a piece of machinery take place of flesh and blood, which sounded insane to him. But, if he remembered Monsoon's paraphrasing correctly, it was only a matter of adaptation.
Within the course of a week or so, Sam had learned and quickly adapted to two very important life lessons. The first of which Monsoon had drilled into his head as soon as he was admitted to inpatient care, being to never hold any kind of underestimation against others before knowing exactly what altercations one might find themselves in. And, judging from the results of his own mishap, Samuel held that lesson close to heart, as the trauma of having lost part of his body would remain with him for the rest of his life. No matter how quickly he may adapt in the world of robotics.
The second lesson involved whether or not to fistfight seagulls. A battle which could easily be won, especially with his new... enhancements, which he was still growing accustomed to, however slowly gained an appreciation for. Especially after being stripped from his own, Sam felt appreciative to have some conundrum of feeling in his right side again. Although, the surgical procedure was all but comforting, as well. He swore to himself, never again would he allow himself to go through something so traumatic.
Almost missing his face, Sam made an attempt to prop his cheek against the chilled polymer of his right arm, letting off a labored sigh as he stared out into the abyss of blue that was the Pacific Ocean. From his position on the carrier, which he assumed to be relatively hefty in size, the ocean seemed a lot smaller than it originally let on. However, part of him was relieved to know that it hadn't been, and that he could recuperate in uninterrupted solace, as much as his mind continued screaming at him ever since that fateful evening in Denver.
"And here I thought you would be too fatigued to even come outside!"
Well, almost uninterrupted.
From several feet behind him, much closer to the center than Sam was, a voice called out to him, rather youthfully despite who in question said voice belonged to. However, that voice in the distance soon became redundant, as the owner of the voice in question was now standing right beside him, like that of a loyal old dog, even if the individual hadn't viewed himself as such. Somehow, someway, Sam knew exactly what Monsoon had planned to reference before he even stepped into range, then leaning his left arm against the cable railing instead while his mind engaged in the elder's almost predictable inquiry. "I take it you're... making adjustments?"
"Nothing else I could really do other than that." Sam sighed roughly, using the open exterior of the outdoors as a means to relent all of his pent up energy, rather than hold it in. Being cramped within hospice only did so much for his nerves, as well as his emotions. Especially with someone as analytical as Monsoon, even if this very attempt at interaction could be considered an act of concern. But Samuel soon rescinded that thought entirely. It wasn't like Monsoon wasn't human. He was. Just... very minimally.
Still, if the Brazilian man felt comfortable enough to vent to the guy, it hadn't mattered either way. Either way, Sam still made attempted to steer his mind in a better direction, even if Monsoon were currently examining his underclassman's new apparatus, only humming in acknowledgement to everything Sam might have said as he gingerly felt against the rigid surface of his forearm. "I'm more peeved about the damn seagulls than anything right now."
"I think they're a pleasant reminder that we're alive. To even hear them is enough of a privilege, no matter how much of an annoyance they may be to some." Ceasing his featherlight grip on Samuel's cybernetic arm, the taller of the pair began retracing his path back from where he came, as if he intended to retrieve something, once again leaving Sam alone in the continually expanding vat of thoughts to circulate in his own mind. Then, as soon as Samuel thought he had been left to his own devices, Monsoon returned, holding a tin cylinder in his palm, before presenting it in front of Samuel's chest, also leaning against the cable railing before the both of them, segmenting them from the blue abyss.
Monsoon spoke only when his delegate retrieved said cylinder, however minimally, perhaps discovering how irksome his ramblings could become to those who do not subject themselves to listen, or understand, "There aren't many of us on this carrier with functioning digestive tracts, myself included. But I thought of what I told you a bit ago." He paused, but only for a brief moment. Perhaps a few seconds. But those seconds were enough to give something, anything, away. Sam was far more analytical of human expression than he let on. "How you have more to lose."
For a moment, perhaps taking more time than needed to register what was said, Sam remained completely complicit. Silent. That is until he made the decision to open the container, coming to the discovery that it contained a wealthy helping of bai sach chrouk, filling the cannister about halfway, perhaps as a means to preserve more heat. Then, not even a moment later, Samuel felt a hearty smirk creep up on his lips, a smug one, at that. So he couldn't help but taunt the other, who had been staring out to sea to avoid looking Sam directly in the eyes.
The man crooned, "Ohhh... is this your way of telling me you're worried I'll go hungry?"
"Don't be stupid, Sam." Monsoon wavered, cursing himself as he felt his face slowly become warmer, only feeling far more immense pressure as he found himself locked under Sam's gaze. Then, within a stroke of genius, the elder shifted to nudge elbows with the man, simpering without subtlety as he revived a previous threat, one that had Sam... well, utterly mortified, in the least sensical way possible. But Monsoon supposed that was what made the man so interesting, so unique. "The surface of the Pacific is only mere meters away. I may reconsider shoving you over the ledge."
"So you are worried I'll go hungry..." Crossing one leg over the other, a means of leverage to balance himself, Samuel worked his hands to unfasten one of the several pouches strapped to his waist―preferably for explosives, such as grenades and otherwise―and utilized one of these empty spaces to store the canister Monsoon had given him. Before moving his opposite hip to teasingly nudge against Monsoon's, somehow remaining flirtatious in spite of the threat he had just been given, however it seemed he hadn't cared about that in the slightest.
The elder, however, could only hum distastefully in lieu, but Sam took this as a sign of admittance, if the shade of pink to spread across the pale expanse of Monsoon's face hadn't been enough evidence, it only further fed the Brazilian's ego, which was probably a good thing in the long run. Even if it resulted in a bit of humiliation on Monsoon's end, of which the elder considered was deserved, so he hadn't protested. Which only enabled his underclassman further, who had now taken the brave, foolish liberty of continually disrespecting his elders.
In this case, in such a fashion that Monsoon felt obligated to interrupt whatever archaic thought was going through Sam's head; coiling his arms tightly against his chest even while the man to his side were taunting him by other means, "You aren't going to let me live this down, are you, Sam?"
Samuel smirked, and Monsoon could only roll his eyes, per metaphor, as a retort. This man, no matter how chivalrous he could be, was ridiculous. "Não."
"You confuse me greatly, Samuel." Finally, as if the elder man had released an unidentifiable burden from his own shoulders, either that or finally mustered up the 'courage' to inform his surrogates of his emotions, those words came out. They were simple, in that same hushed tone Sam was quite accustomed to, and even if they weren't as predictable as some of the hodgepodge to pass Monsoon's lips, they were words. Emotions, nonetheless. In fact, Sam had grown quite used to this kind of casual back and forth, grown quite used to... you know.
It was inevitable that Monsoon would perhaps consider taking Sam under his wing, as they say, in policing for World Marshall, even if Sam himself would never fully be recognized as a member of the branch. Even if the man hardly used any kind of protective enhancements, ones of his choosing, he was a valuable asset. Monsoon hadn't questioned the chief's choice of small fry in the slightest, anyhow. The chief himself hadn't even been a cyborg. But the elder's thoughts remained purged of any sort of doubts he may have had about Sam before. And rightfully so.
That was until Sam said something, something too human for his own good, "Sooo... I'm guessing we aren't just waiting around for something to fall apart somewhere, yes?"
"Of course not. This isn't child's play, Sam." The other replied, sighing and eventually pushing himself away from the ledge. Only to pause halfway up the deck, as if he were waiting for Samuel to follow suit, he only continued when Sam did, where the pair would make a pathway back towards the sick ward, as if Monsoon knew that his surrogate would have to reclaim something in order for their scheme to continue underway. Part of him felt a tinge of guilt for giving Sam an assignment so early after recuperation, but he rescinded that thought immediately. Those thoughts were too human.
Eventually, perhaps experiencing a few minutes in delay, they both had returned to the deck, sturdy with titanium, before making their way towards an area which strongly resembled a helipad. Which it was, of course, due to the massive aircraft which had settled upon it. For one reason or another, things felt far more alive than they have been in weeks, perhaps due to the fact that other individuals were now accompanying them, namely militant cyborgs. However in spite of not knowing any of these people, it felt more comfortable. As strange as a thought like that might be.
Over the hefty sound of the aircraft's propellers continually ripping through the air several times a second, Sam exclaimed, finally feeling the slacking weight of his own armor as he lifted one of his forearms to shield his forehead from any possible debris, "So, I guess this is why you wanted me to eat, yeah? So I could go bargaining for collapsing democracy?"
"They end up falling apart anyway, Sam, you're there to accelerate the process!" Monsoon smirked at him, somehow picking up on Samuel's sarcasm through the plethora of noise to echo around them. Sitting quaintly on what appeared to be a storage crate, probably feeling more secure that his underclassman would be accompanied by someone else on this outing, Monsoon lightly budged his own shoulders, still managing to adequately refer to the younger man even through the noise, "Sundowner will do most of the work, but it's you that needs to create a diversion. I hear the prime minister's secret service agent is a cyborg."
"Fantastic..." The younger sighed, moving a hand to clear his face of any stray hair, mumbling the latter more to himself than anyone else, "Bargaining and plumbing, just my luck."
"Hey, if the results are cut and dry, bargaining and plumbing really pay off!"
"Yeah, yeah."
After that exchange, it was near radio silence for what seemed like several hours, even if the initial flight might have been much shorter in reality. Perhaps the radio silence was what elongated that gap, either that or the presence of heavy artillery and machinery at every bend, in nearly every corner. However, this was what caused Sam to reflect on the duality of machine, as machines could have just as much ambivalence as humanity could, and the faster they develop, the more distinct those dualities become. Perhaps this was what helped Samuel bond with such a vast sea of steel.
However, it made the nature of Monsoon's―World Marshall's―work more demented. Even with that twisted, backwards reality, Samuel often thought on what he had been told for the past week, even if he hadn't retained much of the information. It was only a matter of adaptation. The adaptation of machines to man, or the adaptation of man to machines? Then again, Samuel supposed it could possibly be neither, that neither man nor machine could adapt if they were too far off. If they were too stealthy a hybrid to be placed into any kind of hierarchy.
The motives of a machine, but the face of a human. Perhaps that was all machines really were. One thing was for certain, however. Samuel would be doing a lot of drinking this evening.