~A/N I want extend a thank you to DeathBySegwayScooter for beta reading this for me. If you have the opportunity, please take a look at her work.
The descent to Earth seemed to take much longer than Argo Gulskii imagined. Aboard the Gorby II, handcuffed to a heavy steel table in a room only illuminated by the reflection of the Earth itself, his eyes were glued to the clouds that crept closer on the eve of the 13th Gundam Fight. His newly introduced 'handler' continued to go over the Neo Russian strategy; keep him in the general population of a prison on Earth, lure Gundam Fighters to the prison, kidnap them, and cannibalize their Gundams for parts and technology. She sounded so confident as she yammered on such a dirty plan. But it worked well enough in the 12th Gundam Fight that Argo could see why Neo Russia wouldn't want to change it too much. Barring that Fighter was a police officer.
As they approached the aurora borealis in the thermosphere, she finally asked, "Are there any questions Argo Gulskii?" He finally peeled his eyes away from the window and glanced at the admittedly attractive banshee. How could someone be so beautiful and irritating at the same time?
He narrowed his eyes and asked, "Does Neo Russia have such little confidence in their Gundam and their Fighter that they'd resort to such underhanded tactics?" He saw a flash of rage behind her glasses. A part of him thought it was hilarious, but his train of thought was interrupted by a heavy nightstick from a guard making contact with his temple. It came fast, hard, and sudden. As he slumped to his side and began to fade to blackness, he heard her screaming at him. He didn't care what she was saying. Getting under her skin was worth it.
Over fourteen years ago at a shithole apartment complex in a shithole suburb on the edge of Vladivostok, a filthy city of thrown away sailors from the Chaos War, a young boy bundled in layers of coats and fur waddled through fresh layers of snow from a freak early November blizzard. He slung cloth shopping bags on his shoulders as he trudged up the three flights of stairs to his apartment facing away from the street. As he approached the door, he noticed much larger footprints leading toward it. With a puff condensation from his breath, he carefully crept to his door and unlocked it quietly.
He stepped in and spied a pair of huge bear fur lined boots dusted in melting snow next to Babushka's tiny leather ones. As he tried to think of which one of his neighbors had feet that big, he set the bags of groceries at the door and pulled out a paper bag from out of one of them. Medications.
After slipping out of his winter layers and boots, the small, gangly boy with thick, messy brown hair crept to his Babushka's illuminated room.
"Babushka? I'm back... I brought your medicine," He made it down the darkened hallway and to the illuminated threshold of her door. Babushka was asleep, laying in bed and tucked under her many blankets as usual. But sitting next her in her rocking chair was an unwelcome visitor. A huge, muscular man with platinum blond hair trimmed short, and thick eyebrows was bent over her, gently fixing her long silvery gray hair with his thick fingers as she labored to breathe in her sleep.
He looked up to the doorway and flatly acknowledged the boy, "Argo. You've grown."
After a moment of shocked silence, Argo finally replied, "What are you doing here?"
"I think I have every right to see my mother and son," the man said as he stood to his feet. He towered over the bed, his head barely brushing with the stucco ceiling. Argo stepped back. Vladislav Gulskii, the 'Silent Titan' was even more terrifying in the flesh. His bright green right eye glinted in the dim incandescent light of Babushka's lamp, his artificial left eye glowing an eerie blue as he stared at his son. That left eye was a permanent reminder of his service as a submariner during the Chaos War.
Argo clutched the paper bag to his chest, the pills inside rattling, "Babushka doesn't want you here."
"Babushka's the one who called me here."
"W-why?" Argo asked.
"You're not an idiot, Argo. She's going to die soon," Vladislav walked to the edge of Babushka's bed, his huge feet thudding with each step, "And we have to figure out what happens after that." Argo's heart sank to his gut, his skin becoming cold in spite of the warmth emanating from the clicking gas heater in Babushka's room. While the reality was always looming in the back of his head, having it told to him from the outside made him face it. And having that reality told to him by a near non-existent father somehow made it all the more bitter.
"So," Argo began meekly, "What happens next?"
"You'll come with me to space."
"And end up being trash like you?" long held bitterness seeped out of Argo's mouth as he clutched tighter to the bag.
Vladislav flared his nostrils, but asked without missing a beat, "What alternative do you have Argo? Your mother's side of the family wants nothing to do with you, your aunt fucked off to Neo Japan and croaked, and the Neo Russian government doesn't give a shit about you."
"I'll find a way. There are still other people here in Vladivostok. I don't need to become a space pirate."
"And what happens when things get rough? What happens when the kindness runs out Argo? Aren't you aware how bad things are here? Those other people have no obligation to you, and the first thing people do when times are hard is get rid of niceties. Luxuries, pets, ...you," Vladislav's frown deepened, "So in essence, you'd still be thrown away like trash. "
Argo's face reddened in frustration. He looked down to the bag as he felt the burn of tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't want his father to see the hurt, the hurt of facing losing Babushka, the hurt of not having anyone else in his corner, and the hurt of having no other choice but to become like his father only for the sake of survival. As they finally began to drip down his nose and pitter onto the paper bag, Vladislav's heavy footsteps grew closer. He merely put his hand on his son's shoulder as he began to sob audibly.
"That's the reality Argo. Every human being's worth is between God and trash. Some of us just end up on the lower end of the spectrum," he sighed, "So we might as well be good at it."
Argo looked up at him, his reddened face streaked with tears and twisted in a deep scowl, "I'll go with you. But I'll show you one day," he sniffled, "I'm worth more than trash." Vladislav glanced at his son, his face not showing any reaction to the obvious attempt at defiance.
"We'll leave right after the funeral. Pack your things in the meanwhile," Vladislav murmured softly. He then disappeared into the darkened hallway, leaving Argo by himself with the sounds of the clicking heater and Babushka's wheezing.
When Argo finally opened his eyes, he was yet again in a different cell, this one built of stone and concrete. The thick iron bars broke up the streaks of morning sunlight beaming on to the cold floor. His right eye was covered with bandages, his face swollen from the blow and his head pounding with a sharp headache. He brought his hand to his wounded face in an attempt to ease the pain. As he began to wonder why he wasn't forced out to work by now, he heard a nightstick pounding on the metal door.
He stood to his feet. The door clicked as it was unlocked. The rusted hinges creaked as the heavy iron door was swung open by a prison guard. In stepped his handler, Nastasha, as she wore a smug grin.
"Argo Gulskii, I'm glad that you're among the living for this Gundam Fight that's just begun," she began, "Since you've earned yourself a concussion, you'll be on bed rest for three days pending reevaluation." Argo merely looked to his shoes, not wanting to make eye contact with her.
"No smart comments this time?" her grin widened, "Well it seems that you're slowly learning your place among the trash, Argo Gulskii." Argo's eyelids twitched. There was something about the way she said it, or what she said, that salted an old, festering wound.
Seeing that Argo had nothing else to say, Nastasha snickered and turned to leave, "You best behave yourself Argo if you want to make sure that your crew makes it to next year alive." The door creaked closed with a heavy clang. As the door was locked, Argo sat back on his cot. That cold, empty feeling seemed to creep back into his mind.
Vladislav was right after all. Between God and trash was his worth, and he was at the very bottom of that spectrum.