Spring Upon the Solstice

XXVII - Saving Jhiro Fukiyama from Certain Death

{ 001 }

Only engineer personnel may enter the reactor room, 001.

"You think I give a shit? There's no way somebody can survive in there, not without a suit!"

You can't survive down there without a suit either.

"He's literally beneath me! Right there!" I jab my finger at the floor, kicking it with the heel of my boot for good measure. "He's there!"

Would you risk death for him?

"What kind of ultimatum bullshit is that?"

I start to decouple the wires plugged into my suit, and the system rejects my idea wholeheartedly.

001, stop.

"I think I'll pass. Besides, it's not like I need to be in control of Sakura right now. And the cockpit can fit two, thank you very much."

It's extremely dangerous. Your body—

"—can handle it. I can take it. You know me."

I decouple my helmet from the thick metallic cord that dominates the space above me, as it dangles in the vast emptiness. As if passing some kind of threshold, the whirring of the helicopter blades outside—sounds fed directly to my brain by the orange Kokoro drug in my body—evaporate into silence, replaced only by the gentle hum of the Akuma's machinery. My legs regain sensation, and I'm free to move them again, though the cramped cockpit doesn't offer much room.

001, you need to—

"—I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. Seriously."

My metal suit clanks noisily as I maneuver my arm to the release hatch under my seat.

I have to tell Command about what you're doing, you know.

"I honestly don't care. This is more important."

A stray burst of adrenaline carries my hand to the switch, and the panels beneath me retract to open up a hole in my cockpit. Two hundred pounds of steel and flesh drop as one into the antechamber above the reactor room, crashing in a spectacular fashion of metal fireworks against the side of the Akuma. My skull throbs against the inside of my helmet, though that's less of an issue considering I have bigger fish to fry.

"You dumbass, where the hell are you?"

This new suit maneuvers like a brick wall, which is to say, it doesn't maneuver at all. Thankfully, it can actually move, unlike its predecessor, but its sheer bulk and width add some friction as I squeeze down the maintenance ladder into the reactor area.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, as a black unconscious shape appears in the corner of my vision. "So he really did come."

A young boy, seventeen years of age, with a wiry frame and delicate glasses set against a disheveled scalp of hair, lies collapsed in the corner, barely conscious by the threads of his leather jacket. He curls into the fetal position, hugging his knees to his chest as the agony grips his frame. Assuming he stowed away from the moment we took off, he's been here for at least half an hour.

Smart motherfucker. He opened the hatch himself while we were still in the Hangar. Nobody would've seen him.

"Fives!" I shout, reaching out to him. "Hey, Fives, wake up!"

No response.

"Goddammit, did you really have to be so stubborn? Like come on, give me a break here! How could you do something so irresponsibly, unthinkably idiotic? Dumbass! Now I have to be the one busting your sorry ass out of another stupid fucking situation!"