Written by Talon Harvilicz
Chapter Tweleve: Third Angels
"I have a plan on how to approach your request, Quatre." Mr. Winner said to him. Quatre turned around to him, breaking off his memories of the mansion, when he belonged to the man. He blinked to stop it.
"What is it?"
"I'll show you," he said, and waved him over. Quatre joined his side over to a computer. "It will need adjustments to your bodies, if you will allow that. I'll have to put you all on shut down for a few moments while I install them. And actually building the instruments will take a few hours. Is that alright?"
"Sure."
Duo wasn't easy with Mr. Winner when he asked him to put him on shut down, but after some negotiation, he did it. Now, the adjustments were done with all of them. They were ready.
"It should be easy to activate them," Mr. Winner explained. "It's connected to your nerve sensors, so it should work like an extra motion connector. It should come natural."
Quatre looked behind himself. On the back of his jacket, and the white shirt underneath had to be cut for the adjustment. All of their clothing had to be cut at the shoulder blades to make way for a small piece of metal that jutted out from their shoulders.
"I wanna try," Duo said. "I wanna try." He seemed pretty excited now that the installation was over, and wanted to try it out. He looked over his shoulder, gave a light twitch, and from behind his shoulder blades, a translucent blanket of blue sprang out from the tube of metal, lengthwise. The fibers of the rolled blanket unfolded, like an emerging butterfly, then transformed into large wings with fingers. A smile soon spread across his face as the form of the wings turned into bat-like wings. He laughed. "Bitchin'."
Mr. Winner have gave them the advantage that the expecting army didn't have. The ability of flight.
"You can twist them for direction using your body," he said. "But they can't move. It's based on wind and speed, like a glider."
"I can hang." He suddenly relaxed the wings, dropping them down. "Hilde's gonna fall in love all over again when she sees me." He walked around in a circle around himself, looking like a dog chasing its tail.
Quatre wanted to laugh, but he thought laughter was all drained out of him. It was all seriously strict with the trouble that was going on. These wings weren't for looks, they were for war.
"Shall we go?" Heero asked the group, heading for the door, signaling he was ready. Quatre was anxious. It was a nervous anxiety that begged him not to go and be weary. Every Third was equipped with that anxiety. It usually saved their lives. Thirds weren't meant to kill themselves on suicide.
"Yeah," Quatre said quietly. "Let's go."
The others started off, letting Quatre be the one last. But before he could leave, Mr. Winner grabbed his arm, and stopped him from going further, going out to that expected battlefield. He turned his head to him, and saw that worried face of the man. His face read: No, don't go. You can't go, or you'll die. My sweet little Third, the one who I created with love and dedication will die if he goes out there with the others. Fine, they can go, but I don't want you to go. I truly love you, Quatre, I truly do. I'm sorry I treated you like a wasted Third those past years. It was the truth, I hid it from you. I sheltered you from the truth, kept you away from ever knowing you were supposed to be a slave. I don't want you to die.
"Quatre," he said. "You're not having second thoughts?"
"Not at all," Quatre said. He was indifferent. "It's all for the Thirds out there. It's not right to kill them for nothing, because some people no longer want them. We're not toys to throw away when they're done with us, they have to know that."
Mr. Winner gave him a light squeeze. "I really wish you wouldn't go. But it's your choice. Your strong Quatre, it's almost like you're human."
Quatre looked at him. "Then let them see that. Good-bye." He walked off, leaving the man behind.
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