AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone. Please note that this is rated 'M' for several reasons including, but not entirely limited to: language, gore, and sexual scenes. Most of this rating will come into play later on as the story develops more. This story takes place several years after Endless Waltz and the Marimea Incident. The Gundam's lives will have continued and progressed and not all of it will be clearly written out. If you need help piecing any certain piece together, please just message me and I'll be glad to clarify. There are also multiple pairings in this fic and I won't give any hints as to who is with whom. I really appreciate all reviews and I'd love to get your feedback. Hope you enjoy and hope to hear from you.
As per the usual custom: I don't own any of these lovely characters. Except the ones you are unfamiliar with. Those are all mine. But they're not even the good ones... :(
PROLOGUE:
With a supple, delicate hand, the driver clutched at the gear shift impatiently and thrust it into fourth gear. The engine revved and the sleek black car thrust forward. The needle pushed further and further, showing an alarming increase in speed, but it wasn't fast enough.
"Shit," the driver mumbled under her breath, glancing at the speedometer, then at the clock. "Come on. Come on!"
It wasn't normal for the woman to lose her temper, but these weren't normal circumstances. She shifted gears once more, forcing more power from the car, and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine screamed in protest, but she didn't listen, didn't care.
The black BMW shot around a wide bend at a large intersection, nearing its destination.
All of a sudden, there was an ear-splitting crash as something shattered the car's driver-side window. There was a screech of tires, a sharp, unintended honk of the horn, and the car swerved out of control into the side of a small fabric shop.
In a flurry of long blond hair and shattered glass, the driver flew forward, then crashed back as her seatbelt checked her flight out of the cracked front windshield.
In a growing pool of blood, Dorothy Catalonia gasped once, twice, and saw nothing more… just two miles from her destination.