Disclaimers: me no own GW. Me will give anything to own GW…

Author's Note: Bear with me on this one, it's an experimental scribble that developed into a story. Ummm... Reviews would be great.

Pardon Me
Prologue

In the distant future…

The Circus. No, not the place where you could find clowns and fire breathers and elephants and the like. The Circus was a local joint. A very sleazy and wild joint. In fact, it had a notorious reputation is the city. Everyone knew that it was a haven for people looking for prohibited hard liquor and drugs and, of course, sex. It is a circus indeed. [A/N: Some liquor are prohibited in this setting since it is already mixed with drugs. Say for example a beer-and-weed concoction]

You must be wondering why authorities haven't closed down such a place. Simple. The place itself is protected by some corrupt high-ranking officials' power and money. Anyone who tried to make a move against the Circus would disappear…only to be found, a few days later, sprawled at the middle of the town's square, dead, not by a single gunshot wound to the head but severely tortured.

You'd know the victim tried to make a move against the joint. A placard included with the corpse would read, "I am a Circus Freak." The killings were so brutal that there was this one time that a body was found…its skin scraped off. Since town's square has been made into a dumping site for the joint's enemy's corpses, it has been dubbed as Dead Clown's Grave.

Though everyone knew of the joint's anomalies, the place still holds dark secrets best kept in unholy silence. One of its not-so-dark secrets is the joint's backroom. Only a few number of people know about the room. This is where the joint's management allow their patrons rest or sleep after their…activities…inside their establishment. It was a small room, windowless and ill lit, nevertheless clean and well ventilated.

Inside that room lay a sleeping Duo Maxwell. More like a wasted Duo. He passed out last night from having too much of his favorite dangerous brew: amphetamine-barbiturates-crystal and whiskey or ABC's, one of the joint's strongest mix.

It's been like this for over six months…and counting. Sometimes, if he was totally bored or when liquor and drugs didn't appeal to his taste buds today, he'd take one of the bar's strippers for some wild sex marathon in one of the rooms of the bar's second and third floors.

But be reminded that this Duo isn't the Duo that everyone else knew. Duo the Gundam Pilot has been long considered dead by the Preventers. It has been a year and a half since the underwater city Duo was held prisoner exploded. It didn't even give the four other pilots time to plan Duo's rescue.

But Duo Maxwell proved everyone wrong; stubborn weeds don't die easily.

He did survive but, unfortunately, suffered from amnesia. His cataleptic body was found floating by a river utility engineer in the river he was cleaning. Seeking medical attention would cost a lot-it's been that way since god knows when-and the engineer was too poor to bring Duo to the hospital and the only choice was to bring the unconscious boy home with him. The engineer's wife accepted and nursed Duo back to health without any complaints.

When Duo awoke from his long period of stupor, the engineer and his wife found out that Duo remembered nothing, absolutely nothing. It was as if he was a newborn babe, his tabula rasa of life memoirs untainted.

Since Duo knew nothing of his past, the engineer and his wife decided to give him a new name, a sign of the start of his new life. Now, he was known as Gideon, no middle names, no surnames, just plain Gideon.

And so it begins: the new chapter of Duo Maxwell's life as Gideon.

TBC

Anna: So what d'ya guys think, should I continue it or should I give up writing the whole thing?