Disclaimer: I don't own anything, with the exception of Isabelle and Anna Duncan.
AN: Okay so this is my first attempt at a Pacific Rim story, i'm aware that certain details maybe incorrect, but I've twisted things a little bit in order to fit my story.
Anyways let me know what you think!
A gift from the British.
That's what the politicians had called us, a gift. I couldn't help but snort as I regarded the latest news feed. A gift, well we weren't considered a gift anymore. My name is Anna Duncan and five years after the British government had unveiled their first and only Mark 4 Jaeger, the 'Ebony Siren', The Jaeger programme was going to be officially retired in a matter of months, in favour of a more 'cost effective' Anti Kaiju Wall.
I regarded my twin sister in surprise, as Isabelle slipped from the narrow bed and began shrugging off the hospital gown and reaching for her clothes.
"Izzy what are you doing? You can't just leave!" I exclaimed, reaching a hand to halt Izzy's movements.
The 5ft 2, mirror image of myself gave an indignant snort, as she tugged on her combats "No?"
"No, this is important. We need to know the results of the tests," I frowned.
At my words Isabelle stilled just briefly, a flash of concern flittering across her pale features, before the steely shutters came down and she shrugged emotionlessly,"I don't need the Doctors telling me what I already know." She told me firmly, hands moving with practiced ease and strength as she retrieved her PPDC dog tags.
The same tags, I wore like a religious talisman beneath the fabric of my blouse, warm and comforting against my skin.
For five years, myself and my identical twin Isabelle have been the pilots of Britain's one and only Jaeger. Built and funded jointly by the British and American governments, the Ebony Siren was 'gifted' to the PPDC Jaeger project to help combat the ever growing threat of Kaiju attacks.
I guess Britain was keen to remain steadfast in aiding its pacific allies, and thus in the long run, helping themselves in the event the Kaiju couldn't be contained in the pacific regions.
The last few years had seen funding for the Jaeger programme dwindle and as a result we had been stationed at almost all of the Shatterdomes before they were forced to close. Currently we were in Sydney, but in a few days we and our Jaeger would be shipped out to Hong Kong for the final 8 months of funding.
"We need to know, Iz." I continued to argue, running a hand through my long hair. The movement causes a ripple of guilt to wash over me, as Isabelle touched her own short cropped hair. Not so long ago, before we had begun to suspect Izzy's worst fears had finally come to light, her own chocolate tresses had been thick and passed her shoulders, now it was cut short in a way that made her feel more like a teenage boy. I personally think she resembles a pixie, all petite with big blue eyes and elfin features. I think it made her feel marginally better about the decision to cut her hair.
"We do know," Isabelle retorted sharply, her jaw clenching in frustration as her blue eyes flashed warningly. "You feel it, every time we drift, the coldness seeping through me."
I flinched despite myself, she was right I knew she was sick, really sick. I'd been feeling it every time we drifted. It was only a matter of time before we could no longer drift effectively. Then we, the Duncan sisters and Ebony Siren would really be obsolete.
With a sigh, Isabelle flashed a sad smile, "There's no coming back from this, Annie, not this time. Just like Ebony I'm on borrowed time."
"But…" I started, choosing to ignore the fact she'd called me 'Annie' and not Anna. I hated the nickname.
Isabelle shook her head, "No buts, I can't stay here. If I die I'm going out fighting, not lying in a hospital bed, wasting away from the chemo."
I felt my heart freeze in momentary panic, before I swallowed it back defiantly, "How're you going to keep something like this from your medical records? It'll only be a matter of time before it show's up in our drift patterns or the Marshall figures it out. They'll medically retire you."
Isabelle once again shrugged, "They can't put it in my medical records if I'm not here to receive the official diagnoses."
I should've known then, that decision made in the small, sterile hospital room would have consequences for both of us.