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"I will never kill anyone ever again…I don't have to anymore…"
That's what I thought. So someone please explain to me how I've ended up here, at an abandoned warehouse, gun in pocket and ready to be aimed at the unsuspecting person inside. Someone explain to me why I have miniscule traces of blood on my hands from the security guard who decided to make things difficult. Granted, the target is a bomber who practices ideals of war and hate, the very thing we thought we had stopped. How foolish we were. How naïve. I suppose that's why I'm standing here, waiting for Duo's signal, breaking a promise I made barely two months ago.
I'm out here
everyday breakin hearts along the way
I cause tears to fall and
some to lose it all
This whole world
would be
Better off without me
Well, I'm the saddest words
you've spoken
I'm a promise broken
When Une approached me, asking for a favor, did I know? I think, subconsciously at least, I did suspect that I was going to have to add a few more people to my kill count. Shinigami would be proud of me. And I don't mean that grinning baka who I'm waiting for right now. I'm Death's number one assistant, bringing him more souls than ever. I get a salary I suppose. One that I would be glad to do without. The faces of every single person I can remember having destroyed and the knowledge that there are countless more I cannot remember haunting me at night. The knowledge that there are people I haven't even encountered, but who are pained because I've taken away their loved ones. I'd rather quit than receive such payment.
I guess the old bastard was right. J and his one mission that I did not nod to and announce, "Ninmu ryokai (1)." Operation Self-destruct. Once upon a time, I might have carried it out. But not now. Not after I met Relena and the other pilots. They made me believe that I was human. That I was more than just the emotionless, perfect soldier. I know now I am human, but not in the same way they would have me think. It's only at night I get time to think about how human I really am. When the ghosts of those I've killed come to trouble me. On the battlefield or during a mission, the one fleeting thought of remorse is let out through a maniacal, mirthless laugh that causes the other pilots to wince. Don't think I don't know that they do. At night, I feel like laughing whenever that feeling of grief and regret comes over me. I feel like howling, screaming with unhappy, uncontrollable laughter. Except I don't.
I'm the ballgame that you missed
I'm the calls that don't come in
I'm every poor excuse you use to cover up the truth
I tell the people that you love
That they don't matter quite enough
There's no stopping me once I'm in motion
I'm a promise broken
I thought being a Preventer would require no more blood on my hands. Or anyone else's for that matter. But then I also thought that after the Mariemaia incident, I could have a chance at being "normal." The others tried their best and failed. Everyone who's tried has failed, as a matter of fact. Quatre seized upon every opportunity he had to invite us all to his mansion that he and Trowa now share. Duo… I won't even try to recall the infinite amount of times he's tried to get me to go with him to the games center or movie theater to, in his words, "hang out." I usually responded that I did not see the point of doing something with a name that's equivalent to asphyxiation, to which he would reply by shaking his head in an exasperated manner.
I rarely responded to such invitations. The times I did go to Quatre's mansion or with Duo on some trivial escapade, I always wound up wishing I hadn't, wanting to avoid the awkward and forced conversations. Very soon after the war, I ended up buying an answering machine and never picking up the phone. The worried voice of one or more of the pilots or the nagging one of Relena Darlian Peacecraft would filter through after a beep. Sometimes I would return the former calls (never the latter), just to reassure them I was alive, and when asked how I was doing, I would make up an interesting event that had happened at home or on my way home the other day. I know they can tell something's off.
Often, I wonder myself about what is different about me. The five of us all went through the same basic training, yet the others fit right into their new lives after the fighting was done. I looked up several possible diagnoses on my laptop one night and found that the one that fits me most is "antisocial." Some help. I already knew that. This is tough to admit, but I sometimes fear I'm out of control. Not in the sense that I might go on a homicidal rampage one day, but that I can't control my life. If I had my way, I would fit right in to normality after the war, just like the others. But I can't. Something prevents me.
Disappointment, disillusion
Despair, confusion
I've seen it all in their eyes
Don't promise you will if you won't
Don't say you do if you don't
It's alright to say you'll try
The other pilots—my friends—are concerned about me. I know I've been contacting them less and less, apart from seeing Duo or Wufei at work. I also know that they would become seriously troubled if they knew that I had made a request to Une that I be given mostly solo assignments. The one I'm on now is one of the few assignments I have with a partner.
"I will never kill anyone ever again…"
Was that a promise? Can something be called a promise if it was unofficially declared and the speaker knew deep down that it would be broken? I know now that I knew then, right before fatigue and my injuries finally overcame me and the gun fell from my hand, I was born to be a killer. Without fighting, without war, I become lost in the turmoil of "normal" life. Death and destruction are part of my normal life. Maybe not for someone else, but for me. That doesn't mean I have to like it.
Well, I get pushed aside when you move on with your life
But I'll stand the test of time in your heart and in your mind
You'll think about me now and then
Wonder how your life might've been
But I will leave you never knowin
Well, I'm a promise broken
This is the turning point then. To be clichéd, the point of no return. I don't know… Maybe I'm not born for this; maybe this isn't my destiny. Maybe life just decided to make me the punchline of a joke, like the ones Duo is fond of telling. Sure feels like my fate though, to be a murderer forever. It feels a lot like it as Duo appears from around the corner of the building and gives me a thumbs up. It sure feels like it as I kick in the door and we burst in, guns up and aiming, and something like a hunter's instinct tells me that this man's not going to surrender and we are going to have to fire upon him.
And my fate is all but confirmed when the man snarls at us and whips out a gun, and I fire before he has a chance to do so while Duo leaps for the planted bomb to defuse it in time. Never mind that I fired in self-defense and no one will accuse me of anything otherwise. I know…
Duo growls in frustration before thrusting the bomb aside and he yells at me to get out as he races for the door. He couldn't defuse it.
We make it far enough before the building explodes. Duo tugs at my arm, urging me to get away further, but I look back for a fleeting moment. Clouds of inky smoke and blazing fire blot out the sky and it looks vaguely familiar…
I'm a promise broken
Sorry, little girl.
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A/N: (1) Mission accepted.
R/R please? No flames. Oh, and should I keep this as a one-shot or continue?