Disclaimer: I own nothing. Trust me, I'm just as surprised as you are.
Sonja: Hey, the disclaimer's my job!
Maur: *grin* Not anymore. You get to do the warnings and side notes! ::shoves a list at her:: ^^;
Sonja: ... awww, MAN. Okay. Here goes. Maur says she doesn't know diddly squat about hacking, so don't come whining to her when the main character of this fic hacks into a file and does it wrong. She's aware. But, if anyone knows how, she'd be much obliged if someone would tell her the correct way. ^_^ Also, she says it starts out with an original character, so it doesn't seem very Gundam Wing-ish for a while. PLEASE don't run away screaming! It gets familiar soon. ^_^ On a final note, she asks that if you find any mistakes in grammar, spelling, or stuff that just doesn't sound right, to please tell her. She sucks at editing and needs all the help she can get.
Maur: . HEY!
Sonja: ::Coughs and continues:: Moving on to warnings. This fic will contain violence, swearing, and angst. Lots of angst.
Maur: Yep! Sooo, please enjoy the fic. It's not the best, but... I tried.
Revenge Is Sweet: Part I
By: Maur
****
I have a normal name, a normal face, and a normal family. My life, however, is far from what I consider to be "normal."
When I was sixteen, five Gundam Pilots were sent from the Colonies in space to my home, Earth. Their arrival brought war and confusion. It wasn't until after my seventeenth birthday that all of the madness finally ended. In fact, it was exactly one week after my anniversary of birth that the people could honestly say that peace had come. I've always called the end of the war my "belated birthday present" from the Gundam Pilots, which they so greatly owed me.
For, you see, it was a Gundam Pilot that took the life of my father.
Now, I'm not saying that he didn't deserve it; I'm sure he did. He was a soldier in OZ and, being what he was, had killed his own gruesome share of people. But that doesn't still change the fact that he was my father, and his death hurt me.
It hurt me a lot.
So that is why I am now going to take my revenge on the Gundam Pilots.
My name is Deese Katorze. I am eighteen years old. I am not a soldier. I am not a fighter. I am a friend, a dreamer, and a lover...
An extremely pissed off friend/dreamer/lover.
****
I drew in a deep breath and carefully folded the blankets of my bed away from my body. It was the middle of the night, and I had some major things to do. Mum had no idea what I was planning, and I couldn't risk waking her.
She'd have to wait to see me on the news.
But first: a funny thing about my mum. She never remarried after papa died. It wasn't that she was seriously ugly or smelled really bad or anything, not at all; It's just that she really loved him, I think, and she couldn't bring herself to marry another man. I wasn't ever really close with mum, but I still always admired her for being so strong when I had been so weak.
I also hated her for it.
I know, I know, it's a little impossible to hate your own mother, but seriously. She was stronger than I was, when she was supposed to be crying herself to sleep at night...
She never slept.
Well, maybe never is too strong of a word. What I'm saying is that usually, mum didn't quietly retire to her room and cry into her pillow like I thought wives were supposed to do after their husbands died. She stayed up and watched TV.
I'm not kidding; she watched TV, mainly the News. It was the same thing she'd done every night since as long as I can remember. She'd settle down on our plump little brown couch with our cocker spaniel, Petey, on her lap. I guess she didn't see any sense in sobbing herself silly over it. Papa was gone, and he wasn't coming back, and there was no use in wasting tears.
My mum was a very smart person.
I bit back a smile as I rose from the warmth of my bed and stepped into my blue slippers. I had a lot of work to do.
I probably wouldn't even finish it all in one night. The first step was finding out which Gundam Pilot it was that had killed Papa, and then finding where said pilot was staying. It wasn't going to be easy, but I thought I had a pretty good idea of what to do.
I pulled on my robe and drew it tightly around myself. Winter nights were always so cold on Earth, especially where I lived; Canada. Canada was actually a pretty nice place to live, though. The people were friendly, the atmosphere was lovely, and the schools were good. There were even some cool places there like Quebec, where there was still a little bit of French spoken.
Not that I'd ever actually go out and learn French. I never went for that sort of thing. I drew pictures of guns and bayonets in the margins of my homework papers in school ... which, by the way, earned me quite a few meetings with the school counselor. Especially during the war.
But I never let it get to me. I mean, you make up some cheesy dream about a pretty purple butterfly landing on your wrist and fluffy clouds and rainbows, and they'll leave you alone for about a week. That is, until you start ranting about how unfair it is that they don't allow us to bring weapons in school. They don't like that. Thankfully, I was on a happy little time of year called "Winter Break," and Lord, was I ever grateful for it.
I crept down the stairs as quietly as I could, my slippers and the carpeting muffling my footsteps. I was nervous -- hell, who wouldn't be? I was going to do something OZ themselves couldn't do. I was going to kill a Gundam Pilot ... or at least, I hoped so.
I was pretty much scared shitless at the thought of what I was gonna do, but I kept thinking about how Papa had fought so hard. He had known what he was doing; Papa always had. The whole damn war was the Gundam Pilots' fault anyway, and it was a crying shame that Papa and OZ hadn't been able to stop them in the beginning. We were peaceful enough without them, I think. I mean, I don't remember any major wars going on or anything. So the leader of the Colonies had been assassinated. It was a mistake. A mistake, that's all. They didn't have to start a whole bloody war over it! People could be so stupid sometimes...
I sat down at the computer chair, switching the machine on. It buzzed and whirred for a few seconds, then beeped twice, and finally turned on. I stared at it fearfully, holding my fingers poised over the keys. My reflection in the monitor was staring back at me, but I could hardly recognize myself. My hair was in a fuzzy lump on the side of my head in a poor excuse for a ponytail, and I had bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. This wasn't the first time I'd gotten up in the middle of the night to research. And my disheveled, wrinkled pajamas weren't doing much for my overall appearance...
I must admit, I was never any beauty queen. I had pale brown eyes with thin eyelashes, and my eyebrows were a little too thick for my taste. My hair was stringy and black, and I kept it cut up to about my chin. Which is why my ponytails always looked so funny.
I wisely chose to ignore my pitiful appearance, and instead began to type madly. A couple of years ago when I'd stupidly decided to skip doing my homework and my grades had dropped, I'd learned a few things about hacking, mainly to get into the school's computer and switch my grades.
I wasn't a straight A student three years running for nothing.
It's amazing how much noisier things seem at night. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about the *clackity-clack*-ing of the keyboard, but that night things were different. I was nervous about waking Mum. I felt so guilty about leaving her, especially after she'd just lost papa, but unlike papa, I intended to return to her. And not in one of those blue zip-up morgue bags, either. I was going to return to her alive.
That's what I was hoping for, anyway.
I smiled triumphantly as the computer beeped at me, signifying that I had successfully hacked into what I was looking for. Old OZ files. Well, actually, I wasn't IN the OZ files yet. I still had to tap into the little flowing matrix of numbers so that I could get a could do a search on the Gundam Pilots. But I was pretty sure that I was already past the matrix, because no numbers appeared on the screen, so I cracked my knuckles and began to type furiously once again.
I did a quick search on the Gundam sand their Pilots, and was greeted with a series of beeps and mixed computer signals. Shit. They had changed the system. But that actually gave me a little more hope, because that meant they were trying to hide something, or .... Something. So now I had to think about what they'd changed the system to.
Shit.
I ran over a couple ideas in my head, trying them out systematically. The first two failed, but the third brought me back to where I had been before. Thank the Lord, or whatever the hell higher presence was out there.
I cracked my knuckles again and moved my fingers over to the number pad of the keyboard. I scanned the matrix of moving numbers with skeptical eyes until I saw my chance. I typed in what I thought - hoped - was the code. "Access Denied" flashed in glowing green letters at the top of my screen. I smacked my hand against the keyboard again and swore.
"Dammit!" I yelled.
I realized my mistake quickly, and covered my mouth with my left hand. I kept as still as I possible could, leaning towards the stairs and strained my ears for any type of sound. Mumbles came from my Mum's room, but I didn't hear any footsteps. I mentally cursed myself for being so stupid. I always did things like that.
I waited a few more minutes before continuing my typing. I watched the green numbers flash by for a good five minutes until I got my chance again...
There! I saw it the second time, and quickly typed in the code. I grinned to myself.
"Access granted," I said triumphantly to the wall. "But... I still have to find it. Shit." I had a pretty good idea of where it was, but now I wasn't so sure because of the change in system. The database of information was probably huge, and the information I was looking for might be anywhere. It could take me hours. I really wasn't prepared for all of this. But, that wasn't going to stop me. I opened a drawer and grabbed a floppy disk, then popped it into the A: Drive and tried to decide what to do.
"Let's see," I said, not thinking twice about the fact that I was talking to myself. "I could try and guess what it's called, and see if it has it..."
I thought about this for a minute or two, stroking my chin thoughtfully. It might work. It was worth a try, anyway. I shrugged and started typing again.
:cfind file
tell application "File Log"
-- activate
-- open File Log Database
copy the contents of the
database "War Casualties"
to 3½ Floppy (A:) if
limit is exceeded then
restore limited memory
-- end copy
--end activate
--end tell
:ccopying file
My eyebrow twitched as the computer beeped at me again. "File Not Found," it said.
"File not found my ass," I grumbled.
I was about to start typing again when I heard something move over in the corner. I whirled around in my chair, nearly knocking both it and myself over in the process, and looked around frantically for what had made the sound.
It was our dog, Petey.
I let out an audible sigh of relief, rising from the chair to kneel down by the dumb animal. Petey immediately started wagging his tail so hard he was actually wagging his fuzzy little ass, and licked at my hand. I smirked and patted him gently on the head, rubbing behind his ear lightly like I knew he liked. He started thumping his hind leg against the floor in response, reminding me vaguely of a rabbit and I let out a small chuckle and dropped back into my seat. I loved that dog.
Petey stopped thumping his leg and looked up at me with adorable brown eyes, begging to be petted more, and I laughed again.
"C'mere boy," I said in a hushed whisper, patting the side of my chair. Petey panted and hung his tongue sloppily out of his mouth, quickly padding over and settling down comfortably by my feet. I slid my slippers off and settled for letting his fur warm me up instead.
"All right, back to business," I murmured to no one in particular, leaning over to squint at the screen. Petey yawned, and I started typing again. "Let's see if this isn't better..."
:cfind file
tell application "File Log"
-- activate
-- open File Log Database
copy the contents of the
database "Casualties List"
to 3½ Floppy (A:) if
limit is exceeded then
restore limited memory
-- end copy
--end activate
--end tell
:ccopying file
*beep*
__File Not Found
I sighed and nudged Petey absently with my toe. It wasn't working.
"Okay... Let's see." I bit my lip and stared at the computer screen hard in concentration. "Maybe if I type in Papa's name." I thought about it for a second, then shrugged and blew my bangs out of my eyes. "Worth a try, I guess." I typed it in.
:cfind file
tell application "File Log"
-- activate
-- open File Log Database
copy the contents of the
database "Nuevay Katorze"
to 3½ Floppy (A:) if
limit is exceeded then
restore limited memory
-- end copy
--end activate
--end tell
:ccopying file
I held my breath and waited for the message I knew would come, but, to my great satisfaction, "File not found" did not appear on the screen. I hadn't noticed it up until that moment, but I'd been shaking with nervousness and my stomach was in knots. I was finally doing what I'd dreamed about doing for the past year.
And I was doing it right.
I tried not to hyperventilate or anything as I scrolled through the information, hardly able to control my excitement. It was all here, a complete report on my Papa, with the word "Deceased" flashing in red letters by his name.
"Name: Nuevay Katorze. [Deceased]
Age: 39.
Eyes: Brown.
Hair: Brown.
Ethnic Origin: Spanish.
Birthday: April 2.
Birthplace: Calgary, Province of Alberta, Canada.
Immediate Family: Eli Katorze (father) -- deceased, Somya Katorze (mother) -- deceased, Frankfurt Bezlin (father-in-law) -- deceased, Anna Bezlin (mother-in-law) -- deceased, Ayda Katorze (spouse), Deese Katorze (daughter).
Background: Born in Calgary (Alberta), moved to Edmonton (Alberta) at age 14. Graduate of St. Francis Xavier Private Catholic School at age 18. Graduate of King's University College at age 25. Major in Psychology. Joined OZ at age 38. Died at age 39. Lost in action during battle with Gundam 04."
That was all.
I scratched my nose in concentration as I read through the last paragraph again.
"Lost during a battle with 04, eh? Hmm... wasn't that..." I continued to scratch my nose as I thought. "Isn't the pilot of Gundam 04... that Winner heir? Oh, what was his name...? Oh! That's right. Quatre. Quatre Winner."
I smiled to myself and pulled my floppy disk out of the computer. "Well, then... My work here is done."
I switched the computer off, staying there until I was sure it was completely shut down, then rose from the computer chair. Petey quickly squirmed out of the way, afraid of getting stepped on, and scampered ahead of me and up the stairs. I put my slippers back on and followed him after placing the floppy disk back in the drawer I'd gotten it from, and my smile soon stretched into a grin.
"Quatre Winner," I mused to myself. "He shouldn't be too hard to find. After all, he is the head of the Winner family now..."
I went back up the stairs and to the left, back into my room, where Petey had already made himself comfortable on my bed. I shed my robe from my body into a pool of cotton on the floor and quickly joined him, settling down beneath my flannel sheets and flowered comforter. I took a glance at the digital clock on my dresser before closing my eyes for good. It was past 3 o'clock in the morning.
"Tomorrow," I mumbled, stifling a yawn. "Tomorrow, we continue..."
****
I woke up to Petey licking my face and Mum standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.
"Deese Ariana Katorze," she scolded me, "get your butt out of bed and moving! You promised me you'd clean the basement last week!"
I yawned, stretching, and attempted to get up. I lifted my neck about two inches off my pillow before giving up. "Ngh," I said intelligently.
Mum stalked over to my bed and gave my shoulder a vigorous shake.
"Ngh Indeed. Get your rear in gear," she said, punctuating it with a poke to my side. I recoiled by pure instinct, stifling a giggle. My sides were surprisingly ticklish.
"Lemme sleep," I pleaded with her, fending her off with a swatting hand. She merely took the offending hand in hers, affectively pinning it down. I let her continue to hold it, too drained and without energy to do anything else.
"No. You're going to clean the basement like you said you would," she said matter-of-factly, "and then you're going to eat your breakfast." She released my hand and stood, giving me a disapproving look. "You're getting way too skinny."
I pressed my face into my pillow, mumbling incoherently. She sighed and smacked my bum.
"Get up, fluff brain, and I'll go make your food," she said, smiling, then left my room and shut the door.
I sighed in defeat, throwing my covers to the side and looked over at my clock. It was still blinking single digits.
"Mum, it's seven-frickin'-o'clock in the morning," I complained, miraculously pulling myself into a sitting position. Petey licked my hand, then sneezed fiercely and thumped off my bed and onto the floor. I groaned. "Seven-frickin'-o'clock in the morning and she wants me to clean the frickin' basement. Ouuu..."
I continued to gripe as I groggily stripped from my pajamas and into fresh underwear, opening my closet. "All right, Deese... what to wear... hm."
I carefully pushed through dress pants and khakis, turned my nose up at a skirt, scowled at a dress, and ended up settling for a pair of old blue jeans that had the knees ripped out. I knew Mum wouldn't approve, but I pulled them on anyway, frowning at the way the worn fabric fell over my feet. I needed a belt.
But I needed a shirt first.
I crinkled my nose, pushing through some more clothing until I found what I was looking for. A plain, white shirt. I yanked it off its hanger and over my head, then looked through my closet some more. After another minute, I found a plaid button-up shirt that I liked to use as a jacket of sorts, and quickly pulled it on. Then I turned to my dresser and fumbled through the top drawer for a bit, and pulled away with a black belt. I fed it through the loops, fastened it in front, then left my room. I could put off cleaning myself up until after I'd finished with the basement.
I brushed past my Mum, earning a disapproving look from her, and down into the basement, Petey thumping down the steps right behind me. When I reached the bottom, I started sneezing almost immediately. I swear that all the fricking air down there was pure dust. A pure wall of freaking dust. And ever breath that I let into my lungs sent me into a vicious sneezing fit. To put it in simpler words; it was dusty, and it sucked.
Petey wisely trotted back upstairs.
I scowled, trying to appear intimidating towards the dirty basement around me, and flicked the light switch. Bright light blinded me and my pupils screamed in agony for a few moments until I had the sense to close my eyes.
I screamed bloody murder from pure stupid reflex, throwing my hands up in defense towards the buttery evil. I howled for a minute longer, then lowered my arms, blinking as I looked around. Okay. Now not only was it dusty, but it was BRIGHT, too. I sighed and puffed out a breath of air aimed to get my bangs off my forehead. I wasn't having one of my better days.
Scowling again, I cast a look about our basement, which was looking worse for the wear. I scrunched up my nose in disapproval.
There were boxes scattered absolutely everywhere, covered in cobwebs and the aforementioned dust that thoroughly permeated the air in thick clouds. A few tables cluttered the far side of the room, and numerous little knickknacks were stacked up along the walls. I felt sick. I was never going to finish in time to go research my little project. So I scowled some more and started picking my way through the boxes, deciding to start in the corner and work my way out. By that time, I was sincerely wishing for a gas mask of some sort to help me breathe a little easier. That is, without erupting into a fierce string of sneezes.
I eyed all the boxes carefully as I kneeled down next to them. Most of 'em were labeled as containing clothes and other shit like that -- and probably about a bazillion mothballs that I wasn't particularly interested in seeing, or smelling, for that matter -- but there was one that caught my eye. It had Dad's name on it, "Nue," as Mum used to fondly call him. I felt a funny lump form in my throat and my eyes become suddenly, strangely moist, but curiosity was dominant over all my other emotions as my hands -- my shaking hands, I noted with slight fascination -- opened the box gingerly. It was full of his stuff. Papa's stuff.
My hands started shaking so hard they reminded me of nervous birds, and I took extra care as I started lifting stuff out of the box.
"H-Holy," I heard myself whisper, and more than just my hands began to shake. "Holy mother of God.."
It was his army shit. All the stuff he'd had during those last precious moments of his life. I yanked out his uniform and held it like a security blanket, not even bothered by that damn dust anymore.
Oh, God, it even smelled like him.
It was that intriguing smell of tobacco and leather that I liked so well. Mum never approved of him chewing tobacco, but then again, she never stopped him, either. I was faintly aware of a choked sob escaping from my throat as I buried my face in his old uniform.
Oh, God, it still smelled like him!
I don't really know how long I stayed there, crouched on the floor, crying into his old clothes like a baby, but it was a while. Once reality kicked me in the head and I realized what I was doing, my legs hurt like hell and I had cramps all over. But after the initial shock of the pain that made me fall over on my side when I tried to stand up, I made a promise to myself that my little cry-session had made clear. I was definitely going to blow that Gundam pilot's brains out, if it was the last thing I did. He'd cost me Papa, and left me only the sorry remains that were in that stupid brown box in the corner.
Consequently, a more intelligent part of my mind told me that it would be, indeed, the last thing I did.
Somehow, I don't know how, but I managed to let go of Papa's old uniform and set it aside. It was like having him die all over again. I got that lump in my throat again and my eyes suddenly stung, but I just scrubbed at them blindly and started pulling out the rest of the stuff from the box anyway.
My hands shook like there was no tomorrow.
There was an old picture of him and Mum, taken back way before I was born. Mum's hair was down, freely cascading about her shoulders and all the way to her thighs. I didn't know she had hair like that. I guess she must have cut it when they had me or something, because now her black hair only reached her shoulders and after Papa died, she only wore it in a tight bun at the back of her head. I'd have to ask her about it when I was done.
I smiled a little and turned the picture over in my hands. Someone had written "Nue and Som, '77" in black ink. That made sense. Two years before I was born. I turned the photograph back over so I could study it some more, grinning despite the tears in my eyes. I'd never seen this before.
Mum was smiling, and for the first time I think ever, it reached her eyes. Her eyes were smiling. Papa, too. They had their arms looped around each other's waists, and they looked so ... happy. Together. At peace.
Another wave of anger ripped through my body, and I balled up my left hand into a fist so hard my knuckles turned white. I was only vaguely aware of the blood that trickled slowly from underneath my fingertips. My nails were digging into my palms so hard it had drawn blood.
I hastily set the picture on top of Papa's unifrom, wiping the blood on my jeans. Again, Mum wouldn't approve, but I wasn't about to get blood on any of Papa's stuff. So I wiggled my hand inside my shirt and let the fabric soak up the liquid that slowly oozed out.
With my uninjured hand, I wordlessly began to shuffle through the box again. I was so caught up in what I saw next I didn't even feel it when I jerked back in surprise and, unfortunately, into another box. All the stuff that was stacked on the box I backed into fell on top of my head, a few random books and the like probably making dents in it, but I didn't care. I had not just seen what I thought I saw. I had not. Had not not not not not.
But being the stupid person I am, I took a deep breath and peeked back inside the box again.
"Shit."
It was a gun. I'd never seen one before, not real like this. There were my drawings that got me constant appointments with the school counselor, but never real, never ever real. In fact, the sight of a real gun kind of spooked me.
Thus why I gasped and flew backwards into a box that resulted in one hell of a major owie.
"Shit," I said again, going down on my knees in front of it. I had no idea what the gun was called, but it was small and sleek and black and it looked like it was a handgun of some sort. My breath caught in my throat and realization dawned on me. I had a gun now. A gun. I had a weapon, which would cut down some major time in my little plan.
"Hot damn. So there really is a God."
****