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“Albert, do you see that?”
Albert Heinrich (occasionally referred to as “004”, the number assigned to him when he was turned into a cybernetic weapon of war) paused in his routine maintenance of his shins-turned-missile launchers and looked to where his friend and comrade Joe Shimamura was indicating. It was the table in the center of Dr. Koizumi’s comfortable living room, where the two youngest members of the team (biologically, that is. Cryosleep was funny like that) were engaged in a chess match. The spiky, swept-back hair of 002 was currently being run through by a nervous, sweat-drenched hand, while 001’s tiny, cherubic face remained impassive as a slight glow enveloped one of his pieces, moving it across the board.
“Yeah, they’ve been at that a while.” Albert said. “I’m impressed. Didn’t figure Jet was the chess type, frankly.”
Joe stifled a laugh. “He’s not. Look closer.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Albert nevertheless focused on 002, watching carefully until…
He blinked, then turned to Joe, who nodded, a grin splitting his face in two.
“Is he—”
“He is.” Joe replied gleefully. “He’s using his accelerator in order to get around the time limit for his turns.”
“Oh my god. I don’t know if that’s clever or sad.”
Suddenly, a small voice that wasn’t their own rang out in their heads. They knew it well, because it belonged to the resident psychic infant who was sitting at the chess table.
“Oh, it’s DEFINITELY sad”, Ivan said. “He’s losing.”