Cyborg 009 Fan Fiction ❯ Pygmalion ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter One

Madison Dempster awakes one morning to find herself the new leader of the Black Ghost organization, much to the chagrin of those around her, of course. However, she's too nice for her own good, so a bit of manipulating was needed for her to take command. Furthermore, she learns of a new creation, the cyborg aids. Disclaimer: Cyborg 009 is copyrighted material. This story is in no way affiliated with its owners.

The state of Maine was a lonely place for a single woman. A single woman who just happened to own a three-bedroom house, and had no one to fill them with. The state was rather large in size, but despite that vastness, was home to a small population. It was the kind of place parents would want their children to grow up in, and the kind of place an elderly couple could retire to without having to worry about locking their doors at night. It was safe, and a location where you'd most likely find someone who just happened to live a life without surprises.

And that someone, who lived a life of solitary simplicity, would find her world plummeting down the drain with a single knock at her front door that very day.

She lived in a small town that lay on the west bank of a large river. From her front step, where she stood every morning to pick up the paper that was carelessly tossed onto her porch, over the tree line in the distance, a few masts were visible, pointing their tips at the clouds. She went down to look at the boats once. However, after several moments of not seeing anything that was worth watching, she concluded their owners had tied them up only to show them off.

With the early morning, a light drizzle came. The paper-boy covered the newspaper with a red-tinted plastic bag that collected the moisture in round beads. She picked it up carefully, shaking it a little to rid the bag of most of the water. She held it with her right hand, and absent-mindedly wiped the dew off the left with the back of her skirt. She turned to face the door, her hand reaching for the handle, only to stop abruptly.

From the road that curved across the front of her house, around the corner blocked by trees, a light humming was faintly heard. A car was coming, something that didn't happen quite often. The town was self-sustained, with a low population, and the majority of the houses were nothing but weekend retreats or summer homes. She turned her head to the left, but looked away, realizing it was none of her business. It would be quite rude; to stand on her porch and glare at a car as it went by. With a heavy sigh, she returned to her empty home.

The car was out of place, driving down a desolate road that passed through a small town that was hardly known. It obviously belonged to someone who was either rich or powerful, for the sheer size of the car inclined many to suspect that its price tag included many zeros. It was black in color, with a lustrous finish that made it shine, sending several white streaks of reflected sunlight across its surface. The windows were black as well, making it impossible to see whom, exactly, was on the other side of the glass.

With the squeal of its tires, it made a turn into her driveway, sending a cloud of dirt from behind. The driveway was hard-packed earth, not paved over with black tar. The numerous stones imbedded in the dirt caused the car to bounce a few times, and the passenger inside grabbed the armrest to steady himself. He held onto his hat with his other hand, keeping it in place.

"This," he said in a monotone voice, "may take a while."

He saw the reflection of the driver in the rear-view mirror. He nodded once, understanding, and turned the engine off.

The passenger stepped out of the car, pulling out a pair of black sunglasses from his trench-coat pocket before he shut the door. Being early in the morning, after a soft rain, the surroundings still held an eerie gray tone to them. However, a life of being shut in various laboratories, working on experiments, and never getting to see the sun on a regular basis, left his eyes sensitive to most sunlight. With the flick of his wrist he snapped them open and put them on.

The woman's house was built over one hundred years ago, that much she was certain of. The stairs would often squeak at the smallest addition of weight, so it came to no surprise when she heard the man before he knocked. The first moan of the bottom step was loud enough to be heard over a radio that spoke softly of the morning's news. She stood up from the kitchen table where her newspaper was spread, and entered the living room. On the right side was the front door.

Just as she reached it, a loud knock shook the curtains that covered the window. They might have blocked the image of the man, but also gave her a silhouette of his figure. He obviously wore a hat, for the brim stuck out quite a few inches. A high collar was also visible, giving her the impression that he was wearing a large jacket.

While greeting most guests she would smile warmly and guide them into her home to be polite. However, upon opening the door, a quick glance at the visitor made her uneasy. His attire was almost entirely black, minus the white dress shirt he wore beneath his trench coat. The coat stopped at his knees, the collar opening enough to show the black tie against the contrasting white shirt. Four large, gray buttons adorned the front, and his outfit wouldn't be complete without black pants, brimmed hat, and glossy black shoes that shined like his car.

"Miss Madison Dempster, I presume?"

He removed his hat with courtesy, tipping it with a nod to reveal a bald head. However, his polite charms were no match for her intuition.

"Can I..." she paused for a moment, thinking of the right words, "help you?"

"Ah, but it's the other way around, I'm afraid. You see, I have news regarding your uncle."

A confused look on her face, Madison opened the door wider to usher him in.

"Thank you," he said, still holding his hat by the brim.

"Can I take your coat and hat for you?" She questioned kindly.

He shook his head and raised his palm to gesture 'no'.

Oh, where are my manners?

Madison, who seemed tense only a short while ago, suddenly smiled and it was as though, upon first glance, that she was, literally, radiating with kindness. She lifted her hand, and, still smiling, introduced herself.

"You know who I am, Sir, but I'm afraid I haven't caught your name."

The corners of his mouth curved upward in a smile, though it was rather crooked, as if he hadn't smiled in a long time. He was quite thankful of his eye condition at the moment, because, if they were uncovered, she would have seen the air of suspicion held within them.

"I am Dr. Farish, it's a pleasure," he said while shaking her hand.

Madison was a bit surprised by his hands. Judging from his outward appearance, she assumed that he was the kind of person who didn't work in fields that required physical labor. However, his hands were rough and callused as if he worked with them often. She also became aware of the fact that he was still holding onto her hand after several moments passed by. She peered down at her hand encased within his, and Dr. Farish was quick to notice.

He dropped her hand quickly, eyeing the couch a few feet away.

"I think you might want to sit down, considering what I have to tell you."

* * * * *

If Madison hadn't already set her teacup down, the contents would be spreading across the material of her skirt, occasionally dripping on the buff-colored, spotless carpet. Instead, to remedy the absence of dropping something in surprise, she felt a gasp would suffice nicely. It took a moment or two of contemplation to come up with the right words to say, considering what this Dr. Farish told her, much less offered her.

You're uncle Scarl, rest his soul, has left you his legacy, the Black Ghost Organization.

Black Ghost... the name sounded so wrong when it came from his lips, his voice horse and scratchy when he said it.

"Black Ghost," she repeated more to herself than anything else, "it sounds like some black market you'd find in a foreign country. It's not a bad organization, is it? Because if it is, I'll have no part in it."

She looked Dr. Farish in the face, searching for anything unusual in his features. If he cringed or so much as looked surprised by her sudden dialogue then she would conclude that her assumptions were correct.

But Dr. Farish did not waver, stutter, falter, nor so much as give a surprised expression.

"Where on earth would you get such an idea, young lady? I assure you, the organization is completely harmless. In fact, we're doing a lot of good."

Madison gave Dr. Farish a quizzical glance, urging him to continue.

"You see," he added, "we're a combination of peace supporters and robotic technicians. We specialize in creating technology that can aid in maintaining peace. However, I'm unsure if you're ready to hear what those technologies are..."

"I'll be the judge of that," Madison scoffed.

"Well, we create cyborgs from people who wish to do good. You could probably say that we're a superhero factory. However, upon the death of your uncle, we've had some unforeseen problems."

Teacup resting on her lips, not daring to take another sip in fear for what else he'd say, Madison only glared with an even more puzzled look. Did he say what she thought he said? Cyborgs? What on earth did he mean?

"Those problems," he continued, "were caused by renegade cyborgs who didn't believe in what we were doing. They fooled us into thinking that they were on our side, then left as soon as they acquired their new abilities. We've created several aids, who should be seeing to that now..."

"Aids?"

"Yes. You see, we've created cyborgs whose capabilities range in areas that aren't meant for fighting. They have abilities that can be used to aid in various situations, like healing or hacking into computers. However, when used correctly, this skills can be used to take down the toughest enemy, even renegade cyborgs."

Dr. Farish looked toward Madison, whose facial expressions ranged from grief of her uncle, to confusion regarding her latest information. Truth be told he was met with his own confusion earlier that day. Being the niece of Scarl, he expected something different, to say the least. Her faltering attitude would not suffice for leadership, so it was necessary for him to delve into a false history of the Black Ghost Organization.

Hopefully, something would go right this day. Something that pertained to the capture of the renegade cyborgs. He had complete faith in the capabilities of his cyborg aids, but that's not to say that he wouldn't rely on something else, something much greater than simple weaponry and skills. He would rely on the human compassion individuals harbored for their loved ones, especially when these loved ones were so dear...