Wings of White-Chapter One
By Mer-chan and Re-chan
He had little time.
Precious little time.
But his fingers were quick in their task, spine in the straight line of a soldier, his pale face giving away none of the emotion he felt moving through his blood. Instead, the lifeless glow of the computer screen illuminated a stony white face, with high cheekbones and a sleek nose. Only sharp eyes that burned with ice-blue fire gave sign of the life that drove the steady tap, tap, tap of the keyboard.
Driving through an electronic world of boundaries, hacking his way past jumbled code, he mentally acknowledged the wild risk he was taking. He knew what discovery and failure could mean, the realism of cause and effect only making his resolve thicken. As a soldier, he'd led men onto the battlefield and found his existence in the smell of gunpowder and heated metal. As a revolutionary, he'd placed his faith in the ideal he believed in and gave his sword. As a traitor and man split between two names, he'd been radical and idealistic. Later, after experiencing what was to him the right way for a soldier to die, he'd rediscovered his purpose.
Zechs Merquise had both failed and succeeded in the many missions of his life, turning in the endless waltz of struggle when it may have been more graceful to take the left foot.
Time was nearly up, he felt it in his blood.
He'd not fail in this. The blood of soldiers and innocents that had stained his hands during the battles of the past was not thicker then the blood he shared with her. He may have dragged her into a life that she never wanted, using her like so many others had, but there was one thing he could do for her now that might save his soul and hers.
They may be gone, small one, but I'll always protect you. You'll never be alone. I Promise.
Mission Contact: Bombay
Mission Cell: Wind
Password: 4578ZY
Target: Foreign Minister Dorlain, Relena
Crime: Murder, Blackmail
No sooner had the screen gone black than he'd turned in his chair to face an opening door, the shadow of a lean yet built young man spilling across the small chamber, changing the texture of the darkness. The platinum blond met the American's hard and dispassionate gaze with one of his own, willing the intense bloodlust he felt to seep past the boundary of his skin and scream into the air. He wanted this man to know he'd meet his end by his hands for what he'd done. And it would not be a quick death.
The other cast a look at the computer and narrowed his eyes. Zechs made no effort to defend or admit. It didn't matter.
They were good.
They would accept and carry out the mission.
Years of staying one step ahead of death had made him selfish to prolong his life. That had washed away the night it all began. And when the prison cell of darkness that had become his velvet underworld was gone, he'd die knowing he'd done one right thing.