Enslaved

It was his downtime. So Shani did what he always did when he was confined to his quarters, he listened to his music. The song began with the frantic pounding of drums; discordant to most no doubt, but soothing to him. It was an old song, ancient by the standards of a lot of the music he listened to but he liked it nonetheless. It suited him.

My chains are paper thin, and they're welded with me
Sealed inside a legal trap, so tight blood don't leak
A contract with a devil, for a life of disdain
See me in the limelight, an indentured slave
I blame myself.

And he did blame himself. After all who else was there to blame but himself? He had gotten himself into the hell he was in and now there was no escape for him. He was bound by his need, a need only that demon from hell could supply, a need that would only be supplied as long as he continued to perform optimally.

God! Help me pour this gas on me!
I need to drown in flames to be free!
Help me pour this gas on me!

There was only one way he could ever get out. Death. If he died out there on a mission he would finally be free. He would be freed to the endless nothingness of death in the cold void. He would be freed by the all consuming fires of the Forbidden's destruction.

Choke another product for the mass to consume
The flocks of mindless sheep that have corporately groomed
Ignorance through apathy, like drones in the hive
A slave on the prayer wheel in conformed disguise
I blame myself

The people down on Earth, the ones he was 'fighting to protect,' had no idea what was really going on out here. All they heard about was how their three amazing mobile suits were cutting a swath through ZAFT. Would they ever hear about how they were cutting a swath through ZAFT? Would they ever find out how Boaz and the PLANTS were destroyed? Would they ever know what those two brilliant beams of light that had flashed through the sky really were? His guess was no, most people wouldn't find out the truth.

God! Help me pour this gas on me!
I need to drown in flames to be free!
Help me pour this gas on me!

I sold my soul, I sold my soul ...

I sold my soul, I sold my soul, I sold my soul, I sold my soul ...

That brought about another question. What would happen to him after the war was over? Would the demon that held him in slavery keep him to torment further, or would the demon cut him loose and free him in death when his usefulness had run out? Though he, supposedly, fought to end the war in that moment Shani Andras prayed that it would never end so he would never have to learn the answer to that question. As long as the war went on he had a purpose and a life, however much he hated them. Just because he had been locked into eternal servitude and hated it intensely didn't mean he wanted to die. And yet on the other hand he would gladly die to gain his freedom from the demon that imprisoned him.

God! Help me pour this gas on me!
I need to drown in flames to be free!
Help me pour this gas on me!

The klaxons began ringing. He could hear them even over his music. He knew what they meant. It was time to go out into battle again, time to kill, slaughter, destroy, and win. And maybe somewhere in the maelstrom of battle he could find a moment of contentment and freedom, maybe. Somehow as he climbed into the Forbidden's cockpit he sensed that this battle would be different than the others, that maybe some of the answers he sought would become apparent during the battle. Then again there was always the slim chance of being freed by a lucky shot from some pilot. The slim chance of burning away from this cruel world of torment in the Forbidden's dying blaze.