The moon cast long, silver shadows across Jazik's small room. A gentle breeze rustled the curtains, carrying the faint, sweet scent of distant night jasmine through the open window. Jazik thrashed, a low groan escaping his lips as the dream consumed him.
(Flashback)
Cold metal pressed against his back. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils. He was so small then, just a number. G-7. Needles pierced his skin. A sharp, searing pain shot through his abdomen as the scientists probed his Gavv organ, treating it like a specimen, not a part of him. Tearing metal. The metallic tang of fear filled his mouth. He heard his own whimpers, thin and desperate. He saw white-coated figures, their faces blurred by terror. Then, a shift. The cold sterile lab was gone, replaced by heat. The air shimmered with the stench of burning ozone. He could hear distant screams. His parents. A silhouette of a Kamen Rider stood over them, armor glinting like a predator's eyes. No. A cruel laugh echoed, utterly devoid of warmth. Fire reflecting.
(End of Flashback)
Jazik woke with a sharp gasp, his body drenched in cold sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet room. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady its rhythm. The faint, sweet smell of the night jasmine felt like a gentle lie after the stench of his dream.
He knew G.O.D. scientists viewed his very existence as an anomaly. His mixed heritage, part human, part Granute, had not been seen as a gift but as a unique defect to be meticulously cataloged and brutally weaponized. He was merely Specimen G-7, a tool to be perfected, his Gavv organ a fascinating biological engine for their destructive designs. He remembered the Kamen Rider who had overseen his parents' end, a chillingly efficient executioner. The figure's cold laughter, detached and superior, had been the last sound his world truly made before it shattered into dust and fire. That laugh still echoed in the quiet corners of his mind, a constant reminder of what G.O.D. truly represented.
Jazik sat on the edge of his bed, his breathing still ragged. His dream had left a cold residue, a ghostly echo of pain. One by one, little shapes emerged from the corners of the room. A few Poppingummy Gochizos, soft and translucent, bounced lightly onto his lap. Others, the Zaku Zaku Chips Gochizos, with their crisp, layered edges, settled onto his shoulders, their tiny forms radiating a quiet warmth.
(っ˘ڡ˘ς)
(⚔︎ _ ⚔︎)
They made soft, inquisitive mumbles, a chorus of gentle sounds. One Poppingummy, its purple and blue body shimmering faintly, gently patted his cheek with a tiny, nubby hand. Jazik took a deep, shuddering breath, the presence of his companions a soft, familiar weight. He reached up, scratching the little creature under its chin. Its small face ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵) seemed to soften slightly, its tiny gummy body relaxing. This small, consistent comfort was a quiet anchor.
A firm but gentle knock rattled Jazik's bedroom door.
"Jazik, are you awake?" Marinette's cheerful voice called through the wood. "Tom's making extra crepes if you want some before school!"
Jazik quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead. He gathered the little Gochizos from his lap and shoulders, tucking them away into his Gochipod. The subtle tremor in his hands was a testament to the lingering unease, but he pushed it down, forcing a steady tone into his voice.
"Yes, Marinette, I am. I'll be right down."
Jazik knew he had to keep the true nature of his past hidden from the Dupain-Chengs. He understood that if they ever learned about the persistent danger that followed him—the relentless G.O.D. agents and the chilling presence of the mysterious Rider who had ended his parents' lives—they would undoubtedly send him away to protect him, or worse, become targets themselves. He could not risk their safety for his own comfort. The contrast between Marinette's cheerful domesticity and his internal turmoil felt like a stark division between two different worlds. Her simple, caring invitation to crepes was a jolt back to the present, reminding him of the fragile peace he had found here, a peace he desperately needed to preserve.
Marinette chatted about a new fashion assignment, her voice light as they navigated the bustling Parisian street. Sunlight warmed the ancient cobblestones. Jazik simply walked beside her, the lingering chill of his dream clinging to him despite the vibrant city around them. He nodded occasionally, offering a quiet murmur, but his gaze remained a little distant, lost in the shadows under the awnings.
"Jazik?" Marinette's voice softened, pulling him back. She paused near a flower stall, her bright blue eyes searching his face. "You look really pale, and there are big circles under your eyes. Did you even sleep?"
"Just a restless night," Jazik answered, pushing the lingering images of the lab away. The noise of the city, the laughter of children, all felt strangely muted to his ears. "A bad dream. Nothing more."
He tried to offer a reassuring, if small, smile, but his muscles felt stiff. He knew that showing any real vulnerability was a mistake, a lesson learned too harshly in the cold, clinical confines of G.O.D. facilities. Any hint of weakness there became an opening, a new angle for their relentless "experiments." His survival depended on appearing self-contained, unburdened. Marinette, however, possessed an uncanny knack for seeing beyond facades. Her own secret life, spent balancing the weight of saving Paris with the anxieties of being an ordinary teenager, had given her a quiet wisdom, a keen eye for others carrying hidden struggles. She understood the tired eyes, the forced smiles, the subtle deflections of someone constantly holding things back. The busy street around them, filled with oblivious passersby, only amplified the intense, silent moment of understanding that hung between them.
"Here," Marinette said, holding out a small, crinkly bag. "Chips. They always make me feel better."
Jazik hesitated for a moment, then took the bag. "Thank you, Marinette." He carefully selected a single chip, bringing it to his lips. The subtle crunch and salty taste filled his mouth, a small, grounding sensation. As he savored the flavor, a familiar warmth bloomed in his abdomen. A Zakuzakuchips Gochizo, its tiny, layered form still translucent, began to emerge. Jazik quickly angled his body, shielding the nascent creature from Marinette's view as he gently pushed it back beneath his shirt, hoping she hadn't noticed the slight rustle.
Marinette, oblivious, laughed brightly at something, then suddenly bumped into someone, causing a cascade of dropped papers and books.
"Oh, sorry! My bad!" Marinette giggled, rubbing the back of her head with a sheepish grin. "Clumsy me, always bumping into things. Are you alright?"
Jazik barely heard her. His entire being had frozen. His Granute senses, finely tuned from years of G.O.D. experiments and a life of constant evasion, screamed. A woman, tall and unnervingly still, had collided with Marinette. Her hair was a sharp, geometric bob of deep crimson, styled perfectly. Her eyes, a flat, cool cyan, like the sensors on a Humagear, had locked onto Jazik. They held no warmth, no curiosity, only a calculating, almost predatory assessment. It was the same gaze he remembered from the G.O.D. enforcers, a look that stripped away humanity and saw only data, a specimen to be cataloged or eliminated. The chill that ran through him was primal, a deep-seated warning from a part of him that remembered sterile labs and cold steel.
Marinette, oblivious to the silent communication that had passed between Jazik and the stranger, laughed off her own clumsiness. She waved her hand dismissively, attributing the bump entirely to her usual lack of grace. The woman, who Jazik later knew as Anouk, simply turned. She melted into the stream of pedestrians as seamlessly as a shadow, her presence vanishing without a ripple. Marinette, still chattering about her own propensity for minor disasters, quickly turned toward the school gates, her pigtails swaying with her hurried steps.
...
Jazik stood frozen for a beat, the phantom weight of that cyan gaze lingering on his skin. He watched Anouk disappear into the sea of pedestrians, the crowd swallowing her whole. The feeling of being watched remained, a cold imprint against his spine. He slowly turned, his eyes drawn to the school gates, where Marinette waved for him to catch up, her cheerful call a stark contrast to the sudden dread coiling in his gut. He forced his legs to move, pushing the ominous feeling down, burying it deep, but his eyes darted over his shoulder one last time. He sensed it with an icy certainty: his past had finally caught up to him in Paris.
Anouk, who was a Dodo Magia in human form, transmitted data to G.O.D. command. The transmission confirmed that Specimen G-7, known as Jazik, was indeed active in this sector. A Dodo Magia unit did not engage without direct orders. Observation, however, was the first and most crucial step toward recapture. The G.O.D. directive was clear: locate, identify, and then, only then, proceed to secure the specimen.
***
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