Silence.
Staring out into the vast expanse... The stars hold no answers, space giving
no solace. Colored tapestries of stars long passed; explosions give life, make a new
beginning. It brings a shock of reality to life, realises my mortality.
A moments wonder. What does this life hold for me? I don't know... I don't
even know myself...
Turning, frowning slightly with my sorrows, reaching a white gloved hand up to
my face. I feel naked, exposed, as if being examined: laid out for the world to sift through my
thoughts - my innermost being - and judge. Judge as they see fit.
I do not need their approval, their nod of acceptance, I can do just as well without their help.
Hearing footsteps in the corridor I straighten, with my hands at my side, and
set my mask of withdrawn, pensive leadership.
The door slides open with a light 'beep' and a hiss, revealing the Lieutenant.
As she executes a perfect, crisp salute, I turn towards her, and nod
nonchalantly. Understanding, she takes a few steps into the room and, snapping to
attention, starts.
"Colonel Trieze Khushrenada would like to speak with you, Sir," adding,
"he says that it is important."
"Trieze..." I whisper, heavy with regret, "Ah, yes. I will speak with him
Lieutenant Noin."
"Understood, Zechs."
"Miss Noin, I am Milliardo Peacecraft now..."
"I'm sorry..." she saluted, "Will that be all?"
"Yes, please direct his call to my room, will you Noin?
"Yes, Sir."
As she leaves the room - beep, hiss - I stride, confidently, but anxious,
across the observatory to the adjoining room. I turn, walking through my room to
my desk. Leaning on one arm against the table, I turn on my video transmitter,
greeted with 'his excellencies' ever-calm face.
"Greetings Zechs Merquise, or is it Milliardo? I see you aren't wearing your
mask." Trieze questioned, his feathered eyebrows mirroring his query, as he lets
himself a friendly smirk.
"What is it you wish to speak to me about?" I counter. He knows full well
that Zechs Merquise is dead. At least he should know, he was the one who ordered
him killed. I don't want to waste time
"I see..." says Trieze, more than a little disappointed at my negativity. He
frowns, slightly, but quickly replaces a face of order, albeit minus the warmth.
"I wanted to speak to you about these foolish threats." Trieze stated,
unemotionally, "Using that battleship Libra to destroy the Earth, it's absurd! You,
like myself, are a man of Earth, how can you think to do such a thing?"
"I only wish to see the end of war. As the heir to the Peacecraft throne I
have failed. The blood on my hands, on Zechs' hands, will never leave me, but I
know that I can end this war!" I reply heatedly.
iHe knows to end this war, we must change the people. Give them a brilliant
battle and they'll merely cheer for their supposed heroes. No, that will not do. A
bloody massacre, truthful in its gruesome nature... We must show them the futility
of war and hatred... He knows that.
Do I?/i
There's a silence lingering between us, the anger of near moments passed,
leaving dreadful emptiness. He's lost in his own thoughts, looking pained, if not
annoyed. Furrowing his brow he looks up at me; as if greeting a long-lost comrade
for the first time, he smiles warmly... Not the cynical, ruthless, controlled leader of
the World Nation, this is Trieze, my oldest, most trusted friend...
"I will not back down; this is no threat..." I whisper, a hint of depression
slipping from behind the mask, "I will destroy the Earth."
Disheartened by my choice, it seems, Trieze looks to become even more
riddled by angst, and - reluctantly - more determined.
"I cannot stand by and let you lead the White Fang resistance to such an
end, Milliardo." almost convincing himself as he continues, "Fate be it. May haste
and accuracy be with you in battle." itruly meaning every word.../i
"And you, Trieze." ias do I.../i
iHe knows to end this war, we must sacrifice.../i
As his image disappears from my monitor I lean over and switch it off.
Trying to steel myself against the raging sea of emotions within me, a single tear
escapes. Trailing down my face, I stare blankly out my window into space.
Reaching a white gloved hand up, I capture the drop of sorrow. Gazing, sadly
curious, at it, my hand drops back to my side - the tear absorbed into the fabric.
I stand there silently, suddenly without purpose - Dreading, yet anxious for
the battle to come. There is no use in crying.
iHe knows to end this war, we must die./i
Staring out into the vast expanse... The stars hold no answers, space giving
no solace. Colored tapestries of stars long passed; explosions give life, make a new
beginning. It brings a shock of reality to life, realises my mortality.
A moments wonder. What does this life hold for me? I don't know... I don't
even know myself...
Turning, frowning slightly with my sorrows, reaching a white gloved hand up to
my face. I feel naked, exposed, as if being examined: laid out for the world to sift through my
thoughts - my innermost being - and judge. Judge as they see fit.
I do not need their approval, their nod of acceptance, I can do just as well without their help.
Hearing footsteps in the corridor I straighten, with my hands at my side, and
set my mask of withdrawn, pensive leadership.
The door slides open with a light 'beep' and a hiss, revealing the Lieutenant.
As she executes a perfect, crisp salute, I turn towards her, and nod
nonchalantly. Understanding, she takes a few steps into the room and, snapping to
attention, starts.
"Colonel Trieze Khushrenada would like to speak with you, Sir," adding,
"he says that it is important."
"Trieze..." I whisper, heavy with regret, "Ah, yes. I will speak with him
Lieutenant Noin."
"Understood, Zechs."
"Miss Noin, I am Milliardo Peacecraft now..."
"I'm sorry..." she saluted, "Will that be all?"
"Yes, please direct his call to my room, will you Noin?
"Yes, Sir."
As she leaves the room - beep, hiss - I stride, confidently, but anxious,
across the observatory to the adjoining room. I turn, walking through my room to
my desk. Leaning on one arm against the table, I turn on my video transmitter,
greeted with 'his excellencies' ever-calm face.
"Greetings Zechs Merquise, or is it Milliardo? I see you aren't wearing your
mask." Trieze questioned, his feathered eyebrows mirroring his query, as he lets
himself a friendly smirk.
"What is it you wish to speak to me about?" I counter. He knows full well
that Zechs Merquise is dead. At least he should know, he was the one who ordered
him killed. I don't want to waste time
"I see..." says Trieze, more than a little disappointed at my negativity. He
frowns, slightly, but quickly replaces a face of order, albeit minus the warmth.
"I wanted to speak to you about these foolish threats." Trieze stated,
unemotionally, "Using that battleship Libra to destroy the Earth, it's absurd! You,
like myself, are a man of Earth, how can you think to do such a thing?"
"I only wish to see the end of war. As the heir to the Peacecraft throne I
have failed. The blood on my hands, on Zechs' hands, will never leave me, but I
know that I can end this war!" I reply heatedly.
iHe knows to end this war, we must change the people. Give them a brilliant
battle and they'll merely cheer for their supposed heroes. No, that will not do. A
bloody massacre, truthful in its gruesome nature... We must show them the futility
of war and hatred... He knows that.
Do I?/i
There's a silence lingering between us, the anger of near moments passed,
leaving dreadful emptiness. He's lost in his own thoughts, looking pained, if not
annoyed. Furrowing his brow he looks up at me; as if greeting a long-lost comrade
for the first time, he smiles warmly... Not the cynical, ruthless, controlled leader of
the World Nation, this is Trieze, my oldest, most trusted friend...
"I will not back down; this is no threat..." I whisper, a hint of depression
slipping from behind the mask, "I will destroy the Earth."
Disheartened by my choice, it seems, Trieze looks to become even more
riddled by angst, and - reluctantly - more determined.
"I cannot stand by and let you lead the White Fang resistance to such an
end, Milliardo." almost convincing himself as he continues, "Fate be it. May haste
and accuracy be with you in battle." itruly meaning every word.../i
"And you, Trieze." ias do I.../i
iHe knows to end this war, we must sacrifice.../i
As his image disappears from my monitor I lean over and switch it off.
Trying to steel myself against the raging sea of emotions within me, a single tear
escapes. Trailing down my face, I stare blankly out my window into space.
Reaching a white gloved hand up, I capture the drop of sorrow. Gazing, sadly
curious, at it, my hand drops back to my side - the tear absorbed into the fabric.
I stand there silently, suddenly without purpose - Dreading, yet anxious for
the battle to come. There is no use in crying.
iHe knows to end this war, we must die./i