Behind the Mask
*Can you help me, I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together
Just breakin' me in
And this is how it will end
With you and me
Bent*
Millardo Peacecraft lay awake in his bed, azure eyes boring holes into the ceiling above him. Worries zoomed around his head like mobile dolls, pestering and harassing him... He snorted angrily and turned over on his side. Why did his wandering thoughts always return to that infernal space? But that was where his heart was, in space...
No, no, no! Millardo shook his head in frustration at himself. He was *not* part of OZ. He was *not* a Gundam pilot. He was Millardo Peacecraft, brother of Relena, love of Noin. He was no longer involved in space. He would not return to space.
Unwillingly, his thoughts found his forgotten helmet. The helmet had protected him when the darkness was too strong to fight. The helmet had sheltered him when every OZ soldier and Gundam pilot were on his tail. The helmet had hidden every fault, every flaw, every insecurity. Then it had shattered like a piece of delicate glass, revealing his face to the world. Millardo had felt vulnerable, weak...unable to brave the staring society without his beloved shield. Zechs Marquise was gone now, but what did that leave? Millardo Peacecraft? Who was that? That name was simply a label, a hollow shell that meant nothing to him. He tossed and turned in his bed, careful not to let the sudden movement shake the pent up tears loose. If he was not Zechs, if he was not Millardo, then who the hell *was* he?
If he only knew who he was. Without his mask, he was nothing. Without his Gundam, he was no one. He could not work for OZ, he could not work with the pilots. Where did he belong? Where did he fit into life?
Damn.
What was he talking about? His hands had been stained with the blood of so many. He screamed silently at himself for the unjustful taking of lives. As far as he was concerned, he didn't *deserve* to fit into life. Millardo...Zechs...the Masked One covered his face with his hands. He was disfigured. His soul was mangled, his heart was crippled, his mind was warped...
Without his mask, he was distorted.
Bent.
*This is how it will end
With you and me
Bent*
*Can you help me, I'm bent
I'm so scared that I'll never get put back together
Just breakin' me in
And this is how it will end
With you and me
Bent*
Millardo Peacecraft lay awake in his bed, azure eyes boring holes into the ceiling above him. Worries zoomed around his head like mobile dolls, pestering and harassing him... He snorted angrily and turned over on his side. Why did his wandering thoughts always return to that infernal space? But that was where his heart was, in space...
No, no, no! Millardo shook his head in frustration at himself. He was *not* part of OZ. He was *not* a Gundam pilot. He was Millardo Peacecraft, brother of Relena, love of Noin. He was no longer involved in space. He would not return to space.
Unwillingly, his thoughts found his forgotten helmet. The helmet had protected him when the darkness was too strong to fight. The helmet had sheltered him when every OZ soldier and Gundam pilot were on his tail. The helmet had hidden every fault, every flaw, every insecurity. Then it had shattered like a piece of delicate glass, revealing his face to the world. Millardo had felt vulnerable, weak...unable to brave the staring society without his beloved shield. Zechs Marquise was gone now, but what did that leave? Millardo Peacecraft? Who was that? That name was simply a label, a hollow shell that meant nothing to him. He tossed and turned in his bed, careful not to let the sudden movement shake the pent up tears loose. If he was not Zechs, if he was not Millardo, then who the hell *was* he?
If he only knew who he was. Without his mask, he was nothing. Without his Gundam, he was no one. He could not work for OZ, he could not work with the pilots. Where did he belong? Where did he fit into life?
Damn.
What was he talking about? His hands had been stained with the blood of so many. He screamed silently at himself for the unjustful taking of lives. As far as he was concerned, he didn't *deserve* to fit into life. Millardo...Zechs...the Masked One covered his face with his hands. He was disfigured. His soul was mangled, his heart was crippled, his mind was warped...
Without his mask, he was distorted.
Bent.
*This is how it will end
With you and me
Bent*