So this is what I've been working on in the midst of two other pieces (one drabble, one absurdly longer than I originally planned. It spans a mostly canon pre-GS timeline, with a few subtle references to my other ZAFT boys works. I recommend reading them in the order I've posted, as they refer to one another in some ways.

The original idea came from Lorde's Glory and Gore, which has always reminded me of these boys.

Secretly you love this, do you even want to go free?

Let me in the ring

I'll show you what that big word means;

His first kill is a messy one.

It shouldn't have been. It was a routine sweep: the Vesalius had looped around the moon and the two of them had been dropped for recon, just outside of Copernicus City. In and out, the Commander had said. Information is all we need.

Don't you have Greens to do that kind of thing? Yzak had demanded, trying to keep the insolence from creeping into his tone and failing.

Yes, the Commander had answered. Then he'd smiled in that eerie way they were only just beginning to recognize. But Reds are better at that kind of thing. Which is why you two will go.

Dearka had shrugged, if only because Dearka was never phased by anything.

So they drop, two black Reconnaissance GINNs, on the outskirts of the city into what seems like nothing but the grey desert of the moon. They are not expecting hostiles – Yzak could do with a fight, he muses from his cockpit - but they cannot draw attention to themselves without risk of engaging. The scoping apparatuses of the GINNS scan the wasteland of the moon, ruby red cyclops eyes in the dark as they fly low before settling into their given coordinates. Their units perch over a massive lunar crater, nothing but long range rifles on their backs, scanners sweeping the area but coming up empty. Yzak leaves his on, the steady beep allowing him to count the minutes as they crawl by.

"This is bullshit," he says after a while, breaking their radio silence. "There's nothing here."

Dearka's voice crackles over the comm. "We've been here for all of five minutes."

"And I'm done already."

"This is our first solo mission. You could at least sound enthused."

Yzak makes sure Dearka can see his displeasure over the visual link. "Why not send Zala? Didn't he go to preparatory school in Copernicus, or something? He must know this dustbowl."

The blonde pilot chuckles, the sound muffled through the earpiece in Yzak's helmet. "Are you saying Zala would be better suited for this mission?"

"Shut your mouth, Elsman."

"Well, you did –"

"Shut it."

The sharpness in Yzak's voice is enough to silence Dearka, who realizes the other unit has become immobile. With sudden swiftness he drops his GINN below the crater's edge, swinging down to perch on the edge of the rock wall face.

"Get down."

Dearka's unit follows, slipping down the dusty crater before deactivating its thrusters. "What is that?"

The feed is fuzzy – interference and dust, he figures – but Yzak can make it out clearly enough: an Earth Alliance Cosmograsper, skimming the cratered surface below lunar radar. The Commander had been right about recon, but wrong – and he was very seldom wrong - about hostiles.

"It's got a Striker Pack," Dearka says, his voice somewhere between excitement and apprehension.

"Good."

Yzak swings the viewfinder scope in front of his right eye, closing his left to focus on the blur of movement. He hitches the sniper rifle over the GINN's shoulder, aiming the nozzle of the weapon over the crater wall. He's never been good with target acquisition – it requires too much patience. He can never be that still. He likes wide swings and short stabs from close combat weapons, not perching motionless with a finger on a trigger.

He can hear the panic in Dearka's voice as it comes through. "What are you doing?"

"Engaging the hostile." He adjusts the placement of his fingers over the control board by inches and feels the GINN respond to the touch, repositioning the rifle. "What does it look like?"

"Like you're doing exactly what the Commander told us not to." Dearka's voice is forceful. "Yzak, there's no way you can make that shot."

Athrun could, he hears himself think. Then he shakes his head in frustration. His left eye is squeezed shut so hard he feels the muscles in his forehead begin to ache.

"You are not going to make that shot."

"I won't if you don't shut your fucking mouth!"

"Yzak, don't –"

He squeezes the trigger.

"Fuck!"

He knows he's missed even as the beam leaves the nozzle of his rifle, arcing through the air and whizzing past the Cosmograsper in the silence of the moon's vacuum. The other unit jerks, its thrusters reversing abruptly. Completing a sharp turn, it begins to loop back in their direction.

"Shit." Yzak sees Dearka's unit draw the rifle over its shoulder, but he knows his teammate won't make that shot either, especially not with the EA flyer engaging evasive manoeuvres. Before Dearka can make the shot, Yzak grabs him, his own unit dragging his teammate's down below the crater wall.

"Yzak!" Sometimes he hates the way Dearka calls his name.

For a moment, he considers not answering. He puts his GINN's hand on the other unit's mounted scope, shoving it further down. "You won't make that shot either, asshole."

"If we don't get out of here we are going to die."

"Like every other day."

He slings the rifle back into the GINN's recon pack and pushes the scoping arm out of the way, turning off the visual link and switching to cockpit view. The screen opens up in front of him, as though the metal walls were made of glass. He needs perfect visual vantage to pull this one off.

He detaches the massive steel knife from the lower leg of his GINN, the one he'd specially asked the tech to mount – nicely, then a little more forcefully – even though recons weren't supposed to carry close-range weapons. It didn't matter – he wasn't stepping into a single mobile suit without one. But of course you wouldn't have needed one if you didn't directly disobey orders to engage, he hears the Commander's voice in his head. The calm way he reprimands them makes him wrinkle his nose in disgust.

He turns the back of his unit to the wall face, knife in one alloy hand.

"Turn your visuals on," he orders. "I need a two-and-half-second alert before it's over us."

If Dearka hesitates, it's only momentarily. "Eight seconds," he says.

Yzak grips the joint lock in his fist, and the GINN tightens its steel fingers around the combat knife.

Don't hold it so tightly.

Athrun's voice, in his head.

"Asshole," he murmurs out loud.

"Four seconds."

Relax your fingers, and you can switch you grip quicker. Athrun's fingers prying his open, then curling them back softly over the knife handle. A wry smile.

Soften your grip, and maybe next time you can beat me.

"Now!"

From a crouch he hits the thrusters and the GINN explodes upwards. He's early: the Cosmograsper has slowed down and so as he thrusts the knife upwards he looks up through the screen and sees the cockpit angled too far behind. Locking the GINN's wrist mechanics, he loosens massive alloy fingers, reversing his grip and dragging the weapon through the Cosmograsper's steel belly.

When his GINN lands, it's overtop of Dearka's, and the two bow away from the brilliant eruption of orange and white, debris falling in silence through the vacuum of the moon.

When the blast clears, there's a low chuckle in his ears.

There's jeers and cheerful backslapping when they dismount on the Vesalius – an echo of congratulations, a job well done. Someone pats Yzak's silver head and he resists punching them, knowing there will be enough reprimands to deal with as it stands.

When the crowd of techs clears, he turns back to the black and gold GINN.

"So?" Dearka has sidled up next to him, helmet under one arm. His blonde hair sticks out unevenly, sweat matting it to the sides of his face.

"What was the first kill like?"

Yzak doesn't take his eyes off the GINN. Instead, he shrugs. "Fine."

"Fine? That doesn't even mean anything."

"Messy," he acquiesces. Then, "Was I supposed to feel something?" He's running through the gamut of emotions that seem appropriate considering the situation. Pride? Too vainglorious. Pity? Not fit for a soldier. Humility? Not fit for him.

Dearka shrugs. "It's probably a good thing. Not feeling anything, I mean."

He shifts uncomfortably, finally turning away from the GINN. Then he knuckles Dearka in the ribs. "I saved your life," he says, digging his fingers into his teammate's side, voice taunting. "You owe me."

"Because of your shit sharpshooting and a move that Athrun probably taught you?"

"You could at least be grateful."

Dearka swats his hand away. "Take a deep breath, princess." Then he grins. "Hey, did you call your mom and tell her?"

"Shut your cunt mouth, Elsman."

end.