Second Chances
By yue kato
180501
"Spend all your time waiting
for that second chance
for a break that would make it okay..."
---- "Angel", Sarah Mclachlan
I've always wondered why I ever decided to be a Gundam pilot. I mean, of course, there wasn't much of a choice in my life options then, but I'm sure I could have found... something. Something more secure, stable. Life probably would still be a bitch, but then, comparatively, I wouldn't have been risking my neck on a day-to-day basis.
So why?... I've thought about it a lot, and yet the answer still eludes me. There are so many part-reasons, but they seem so mismatched that added up they would never make a complete whole. At least not to me.
For the sake of the Colonies? Sounds so noble, doesn't it? Maybe, but only a little, a very very little bit. Like, what have the people there ever really done for me? Generally, I try to be hopeful and upbeat, though you got to admit that in my line of work, it doesn't bring me far. But within me, there's a core too cynical, aged and battered by all the things I've seen and gone through early in life to be that naive, that idealistic anymore.
I remember vaguely crying in the rubble after a stray bomb had destroyed a couple of houses along my street. I was young then, three? Four? I forget. I'd managed to crawl out of the ruin, with only bruises and shallow cuts, but my parents - they stayed there forever. So there I was, sitting in plain sight of anyone who passed by, bawling my eyes out, scared shitless, my world in a million pieces around me, and you know what? Nobody would stop to help me. There were those that just didn't come into the street altogether, others who crossed to the other side. I limped to the roadside, to plead with them to save my parents. Most of them just hurriedly brushed past, dashing into their own homes and locking the doors. They probably didn't realise locks never kept out the bombs, if they chose to strike you.
The only person that ever stopped was a boy, just a couple years older than me. He tried, he really did, to shift some of the beams and rock, but it was too hard for two kids to handle. I left with him, leaving my parents in their tomb. But I don't really remember them anymore - I can't dredge up a single memory of them, apart from that day when my life began its roadtrip to hell. I only remember Solo. I don't regret that.
Life with Solo and the gang of kids we accumulated wasn't easy. But we survived, picking pockets, stealing, and sometimes running errands for a few shady characters. And then there were a couple of times when we got really desperate, and had to do a little 'servicing'. I don't really think about that too much, I know I'm not over it, probably not for a long time.
Then the plagues came. Solo didn't make it.
I spent the next few years at this orphanage run by Maxwell Church. Although there was all this friction in the beginning, Father Maxwell, Sister Helen and I came to an understanding. They kept trying to get me to believe in God, but I just didn't come round to them. I'm still waiting for the proof that he exists, or if he does, whether he gives a flying fuck whatever happens to us. Apart from that, they fed me, clothed me, and tried to give me a semblance of an education. And they let me run free, understanding that the streets were already ingrained in me - I couldn't be just confined to the church, it was too stifling - provided I didn't do anything illegal anymore.
The years there were so wonderful. I believed I finally got this new lease on life. I helped out at the church, took care of the younger kids, and when I had time, I hung out at this mechanics garage, at first just observing the workers were doing, but later, one of them saw me always loitering around and sorta brought me into the fold. At nine, I could take apart a Mobile Suit and put it back together.
Of course they didn't last - the good times, I mean. When do they ever? War had always been present, but they usually stayed at the fringes of our lives. Then the soldiers moved in, accusing Father Maxwell of some trumped-up charge that was a blatant lie. That was the only time I broke my promise to them - I had to do something! So I sneaked out, stole a Mobile Suit, and came back to my life in a million little pieces again. If I ever thought of myself that highly, I might have blamed myself for bringing this on all of them - all the dead in the massacre. But I'd seen enough shit like that to know the cruel vagaries of war. I'm just not beyond wishing that it would have forever stayed away from me.
The mechanics sheltered me for a while, and I thought I would be safe with them. Until they turned me over to this weirdo with one of the ugliest faces in Space. He was a scientist, it seemed, and a rather brilliant one at that. He was building this new Mobile Suit, only it was different and going to be far better than the ones manufactured by the Alliance troops. And so he was looking for a pilot, and it had to be a young one. So basically, it was a small hop from the frying pan into the fire.
So... back to my initial point. Am I fighting for the sake of the Colonies? I might not want the people to suffer so much, but they probably don't harbour the same sentiments towards me. And what's more, it's highly likely that they couldn't care less who was in charge anyway. The world consists of sheep led by a few wolves, and it's always the wolves who are scrabbling for power.
Am I fighting for revenge, for the deaths of my parents, Solo, Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, the people at the church? Probably, I've never been a saint, or a great advocate of forgiveness. Hatred and anger go a long way in fuelling you when you've been deprived of sleep for 48 hours and still have the next 3 days of torture-disguised-as-training to go through.
Is it survival? At least G still gives me food, clothes and shelter. Of course that doesn't justify killing and perpetuating all that violence for the sake of such basic needs. But then again, they're basic, humans can't function without them. They can't go much beyond that if these needs aren't fulfilled. What I'm trying to say here, is that I went into it with my eyes open. I may still be in my teens, but I know what I'm doing. And I didn't blindly follow all their plans in the end. I could do a lot of things, but dropping a colony and the holocaust that would have resulted was too much. I stole Deathscythe, albeit with G's permission, and here I am, on Earth.
And I'm going to fight, sabotage, assassinate, and go through this guerilla war all the while wondering why I'm doing this. In theory, they're supposed to leave us, the Colonies, alone. Earth is already so gorgeous herself, why do they have to be so greedy and desire to swallow Space as well? But I doubt that it would deter them. Simple human nature - if someone bit me in the leg, I wouldn't just meekly retreat, I'd thrash the hell out of whoever was doing it.
Yet, I can't stop what I'm doing. Because in some way, that would mean giving up hope altogether. And then what did I go through all that crap for? What's the point of losing and giving up so much for?
I fight, in the hopes, however slim they may be, that the Colonies can shake free of Earth, and get a second lease on their existence. So that kids won't have to get shortchanged by life like I have. So they get the chance to lead a peaceful life - it's already a hard enough reality out there without having to constantly worry if your home was going to be blown up or if you aren't going to be here the next day.
Sometimes that's enough to keep me going. Other times I just want to dig a hole and disappear, or sleep and never wake up, so I don't ever have to come back to this shithole excuse of a life I have again.
Be that as it may, for better or for worse, I'm a Gundam pilot, even if I'm a confused one. The end is nowhere in sight, but I'll still plow on. I'll get through it.
My second chance, along with that of the Colonies, is waiting for me there. I can't see it yet. But it's waiting.
owari