Summary: Challenge from 6GunSally. Four years ago, a terrorist from the new country Hadreia planted timebombs on all planes leaving D.C. Gumshoe is not pleased, for very good reason.

I started writing this how long ago and yet this is all I have to show for it...? ... ARGH. Well, at least this isn't the first draft...

"No... No, no, Maggey, no..."

"D... Dick?"

"S-shh, shh... Don't talk, pal, Mags, save your strength..."

"I'm... sorry..."

"No, no no no, it's gonna be alright, pal, alright!? Y-you're going to be okay!"

"I... love... you..."

"I love you, too, Maggey, just /hold on/, please, /please/ hold on..."

"Dick..."

"No, no no no no Maggey, NO!"

Gumshoe woke with a start, hand going for his gun though he knew there was nothing to warrant it.

(Again...,) he thought miserably, slowly forcing his body to relax. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple, but no tears slipped from his eyes; no, those had long since run dry. He'd cried so much he wasn't sure how his eyes were still able to produce enough moisture to get by from day to day, these past four years.

Four years... Gumshoe looked down at his sheets, mussed and scrunched up from his restless sleep and subsequent rude awakening. Was it really so long ago? It felt like it was just yesterday. As if his heart had been ripped from his chest and torn to shreds just yesterday. No; in reality, it had happened four years ago, 2022, the day after New Year's.

January 2, 2022. The day the monster hailing from Hadreia decided to attach bombs to nearly all outgoing planes from D.C. from the hours of 3 AM to 7 AM. Many died that day; some bombs had gone off still in the air, some had already touched down and let its first potential batch of victims go, only to load a new one before tearing them all to bits with shrapnel. No one yet knew the motive behind the attack; they knew only that the culprit, whoever it was, was being sheltered by the newly independent nation of Hadreia.

Maggey had been amongst the casualties that day. (Absently, Gumshoe mused that it was a good thing she'd miscarried just before the trip to D.C., else he'd have even more of a bone to pick with the Hadreian terrorist.)

Something snapped inside him that day. There were things he gladly did now that he would never have done in the past; he knew his beloved was likely rolling in her grave to see him now, but he had to. He needed to. "Dick" Gumshoe had died with Maggey in the aftermath of that bombing, and the Richard Gumshoe that remained needed closure, needed it badly, could not, would not lay the issue to rest until then and only then.

Admittedly, he was far past his prime; a barely-fit thirty-something-year-old was not the first person anyone would draft for a war, but Gumshoe enlisted anyway. Enlisted, after leaving Mr. Edgeworth his letter of resignation (it was a comfort to know the man had cared enough to pay him a visit and bid him luck (in the form of a tongue-lashing, of course) the day he'd received said letter). He didn't care. It was an all-or-nothing mission, to him; absolutely nothing would deter him from seeking vengeance on the bastard who stole his wife of just over a year away. If that meant he had to toss away his dream job and work his ass off for a new one toting guns, so be it.

Going in, Gumshoe had only just barely fit the bill. He was the worst off of the new recruits; age was a disadvantage, and his natural bulky physique didn't help, either. Not at first, at any rate.

The former detective realized that he wouldn't last on the first firing lines of the war. Absolutely hated it, but wasn't nearly stupid enough to try anyway. He knew he'd only be a hindrance; again, he was old. Whether or not he managed to whip himself into shape, he still stood a higher chance of falling behind and/or getting killed far too early for his liking should he be among the first to fight, kudos to bones that began to creak and vital organs having less vitality than they used to. So instead of joining the Marines, as would have been his first choice had he been ten years younger, he joined the Army. That way, at least he had a better shot at getting where he wanted to be. He also knew he didn't have time to learn all the technical ins and outs of being a soldier; by the time he was ready to be deployed, the war could already be over and he'd have missed his shot at the bastard responsible for his wife's death. So, to the infantry he went.

It was there that the changes between Gumshoe of new and Gumshoe of old became most dramatic. Had he still been his old self, it would not have been surprising had he gained weight after basic and been bullied by his platoon sergeant or something along the lines of that. No. Not anymore.

For, you see, Gumshoe trained. He trained and he trained, did PT run after PT run, did push-up after push-up, stayed at the range far longer than really necessary, pushed himself to his very limit and far beyond. The sheer effort he put in brought not only results, giving him the ability to not only keep up with but outdo many of his younger peers, but respect, respect from a man who would have gladly have singled him out and done far worse than Mr. Edgeworth had ever done had Gumshoe done anything less, and in fact respect from the cocky upstarts who otherwise would have gladly given him hell just for being around.

By the time Gumshoe's unit got to see any action, he was barely recognizable as the same man who'd walked into the recruiter's office scruffy and desperate for a chance, any chance at all, to get in and fight against the country that dared stand between him and his beloved's killer. Now, Richard Gumshoe was a proud man, stood straight and tall with his uniform in order, all excess weight replaced by solid muscle (which was equally heavy, by this point). He was a tank of a man, solemn, not known to fool around or slack off; no one who didn't outrank him dared say a word against him. They couldn't. What could they say?

Gumshoe sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose; fascinating as the topic was, now wasn't the time to be contemplating such things and remembering the past. He could do that when the war was over, when Maggey's killer was dead. That would happen soon enough, he trusted.

Because today, he and his unit were to storm Hadreia's capital.