Disclaimer: I don't own Detective Conan, Gundam Wing, nor any other copyrights that were mentioned in this story, directly and otherwise. They all belong to their respective owners. If there's anything I actually own here, its just the creative input and output I've put into this. Any criticism discussed and made in this story, while it does have its bases, are subject to my opinion and how I see the characters interpret them. If it bears any resemblance to real-life topics and events, it is purely coincidental.
Notes: The story revolves around two characters and the interactions between them. Ai is obviously portrayed as Shiho here, hence the more mature touch, while Heero's origin and reactions were toned down to work better in DC's world (which also means no Gundams here except for scale models, animes, etc.). Most of the factual information and locations stated throughout the story were Google-researched and may not be entirely accurate. The map used in this story consists of actual places combined with fictional ones, much like in DC. Potential spoilers for DC ahead.
This is my first legitimate fanfic, believe it or not. Apologies for the weird formatting - it was originally an entire document, and I wasn't sure how to divide it evenly. I'm still making corrections to this story every so often, so please bear with me for the sudden changes and notifications. Now rated T since there's nothing really heavy nor explicit here aside from the deep, verging on philosophical conversations that is expected from these two and some flirtatious scenes.
Dedicated to someone so dear to me... Here's hoping he likes it.
To start things off, I want to introduce this version of Heero to DC fans who aren't familiar with GW first, and do the same for Shiho(Ai) on the next chapter for the GW side.
All his life, Heero Yuy knew only the life of an expendable. Whether it was for an idealistic or fascist cause, national security, or bills to fill the wallet, what he did for one power wasn't any different from what he does for another. He learned how to fire ten straight bull's-eyes even before he completed his first book, and that book was about the anatomy of various military armaments. He did read about human anatomy, but for the purpose of locating fatal points instead of gawking at sensitive female parts like most boys treading the path to adolescence do. He's completed volumes about the art of war even before he was able to go through the first page of an origami book. He's driven more vehicles than the average teenager who could only ride most of what he rode through video games, and their parents combined. He's been to five continents not to see the sights but to trade information. Five, only because his superiors often pertain to Eurasia as a single entity, assigning him to travel across the neighboring continents via land in one of his missions. It almost took forever, especially after reaching the Soviet, but it was by design.
He took his enemies out faster than when he cocked his gun for the shot. Granted priests their last rites. Ended classes without letting students leave their rooms and seats. Caused impromptu elections after sending some corrupt or stupid politician to Hell. He has practically become a personification of Charon, operating a fully-booked ferry across the waters of the netherworld on a one-way trip. Guilty or innocent, enemy or ally, willing or otherwise, he'd have them ride his boat in due time. Even if he had to incur injuries, he will, just to make sure they got flushed inside a cabin. And it was all just another day in the office. In war, casualties are a constant, and no one can ever be held liable.
With all the knowledge and IQ he had in the field of warring, he could probably fare well against the world's best and most notorious war mongers, but his upbringing chained him into being a grunt; he was better off in that department anyway. In spite of that, he never lets the chain of command cloud his better judgment on the actual battle ground. If he finds the orders logical, he will heedlessly follow. And when his directives look flawed, he'd balk at it in a heartbeat. Sure, he'd have to endure some serious haranguing upon returning to base, but the end does justify the means in this bloody skit. That no matter how severe his disobedience is, it matters little if success has been assured thanks to it. Yes, he's a wild card, but once played, it guarantees only great results if not absolute. Time and time again, he's proven that he was the best grunt in the world. It wouldn't be far-fetched to assume that he was made specifically for this sort of thing.
Putting his life so far into the simplest of sentences, he suffered the hardships of a soldier, even loved it in his own sadistic way, but gained none of its glory... And was left only to wither with the grief and the memory of the ghosts of those he killed as history censors the minuscule details. Not like he gave a damn anyway...
But, just as summer leaves turn red in the autumn, the war was over before he knew it. And just like those red leaves, the soldiers that once risked their lives start falling from the tree and into the surface called "society". Some of them got what they bargained their lives for: a stable future for their families. Others were not as lucky, failing to find jobs in security agencies all over the world and were reduced to being handymen. There were those who enlisted only for the glitz and glamor of being called a "hero", expending the spoils they earned in the game of life. Some won. Some lost miserably. Those who win, they sometimes find themselves playing a second game – politics. As soon as they double the chips they started with, they'd eventually gamble in the world of politics, banking on that particular tag and their internal ties with senior officers who preceded them down that path and have set up shop since to secure patron seats in congress. On the other hand, some leaves just wouldn't fall off the wilting stem no matter how strong the winds of change were. Furious souls that felt unquenched as to how the tale ended, tasted the bitterness of defeat, and lusted for more bloodshed to put band-aids to their wounded pride. They often assume forms the public deem as monsters - militants; mob members; criminals. While some just felt betrayed for not being able to receive the paychecks they signed up for, there were those who felt devastated having to witness their Raison D'etre shatter in a way that, in their hearts and minds, did not justify the years that were chopped off their life strings. What do these people have in common? Its likely their undying search of vindication for the life they had to pay when they enlisted, and those ungratified ambitions that wouldn't leave in their sleep. If someone said that ending a war could actually lead to peace, then that person actually lied just to get the unwashed to agree with him. Its something Heero confirmed in a very unfortunate way...
There were leaves that didn't fall straight down after being torn from the branch, drifting along the winds of time, blown to places even the one who planted the very tree couldn't predict. Souls that felt unsettled with either of the choices. Until gravity pulls them down or they get stuck on another branch, they keep floating with the dust. Putting it in a simpler perspective, these are the people who test waters on both sides back and forth, being indecisive about where to take that much-needed dip. The soldiers that were once heroes in the eyes of their comrades and countrymen became mercenaries. Bounty hunters treated no less than your average scum. Contractors just a call away from being hired by two opposing sides without the need of being faithful to either one. Lurkers in the dark that either step on a land mine, fall into a ditch, or flawlessly finish off his target. He was one of these floating leaves. It wasn't so bad, living that sort of life. But there is indeed one major downside to it. What begins with a mission, often ends with it. Once his job was over, he'd be blown away by an apathetic gust, willingly if he knows what's best for him. He would have to again hound for jobs or wait for callbacks until they run their premeditated course. Like a timeless classic, it simply replays itself over and over again, so redundant it wasn't inconceivable for one to ponder when to quit while the option's still available. If a mercenary aspires a consistent string of work coming his way, he must gain enough reputation to be sought by clients of higher-profiles. To accomplish that, he would have to enter a circle, find its stems, and achieve victories until he gets to the roots. And to make things worse, its usually a one-way trip going further down – In order to even get closer to the core, one would have to pledge his loyalty, and flawlessly prove it time and time again. If there's one thing Heero tried not to do, never did, or swore never to do again, it is to submit to authority that didn't suit his personal goals. As low as he may think and say he is, he still has a ton of pride to even consider doing it.
On the other hand, living the quiet life seemed rather tempting. To walk away from the ruins of his past and enter the realm of civilization. As idealistic as it sounds, however, it was just a difficult wall to climb for someone like him. The knowledge, morals and skills he nurtured after each victory, the legend and the monster he'd become over time, everything he has done up to this point will be flushed down the drain. Yes, he was still young in common standards, and some of his comrades who possess the same youth have successfully started fresh. In fact, he was sternly advised to choose this one under the pretense of him having such a great future ahead of him, and that there's still so much more to this so-called "normal life" for him to discover. But all he knew was to wield a gun. Erasing a lifetime... that's what's being asked of him. It was, and will always be, a difficult decision to make.
The reality is, nothing in this world is absolutely gray. Heero refused to hang onto the tree or drop down, so he would have to struggle driving through a lumpy road where the two sides diverged and intersected so often, its as if he's constantly being pushed to commit to just one side just to be able to prosper.
Seeking closure, he ventured the man-made forest aimlessly. He walked, ran, drove through this crazy road, not knowing where he's actually heading until suddenly, at one particular stopover, he met this girl... Ironic, that almost all the women he encountered in his young life were either soldiers or political daughters, and this one was no exception. In fact, she belonged at the top of that shelf. Their rocky first encounter led to a professional relationship, and soon after, friendship. In what initially started as a mission to destroy information, Heero ended up working as her bodyguard, handyman and versatile contractor. At first, he thought this was going to be more of the same old beef stew, but it turned out the way he never ever imagined, even in his dreams. Their friendship soon blossomed to lengths that, in its simplest form, told a whole story. It was a first of its kind for this young soldier, and he, on several occasions, have failed to express his emotions the proper way. Part of it was the inevitable risks; he was well aware of the possibility that it would disturb their then-stable professional relations. He tried denying himself of the change he's experiencing, but not only did it make things difficult for him, it also affected his systems badly. He just couldn't avoid dwelling on thoughts he's not even used to thinking. Being a clueless man is indeed another first in his very unusual life. As hopeless romantics love to say in so many languages and with the heaviest of phrases, the heart is the most resilient opponent a person could ever face. Just like a fruit ripening up in time for the season, Heero fell in love with the girl no matter how hard he tried not to. And as luck may have it, she loved him back, and in her words, more than he'd ever know.
Their relationship was like fire. It was warm, intense and passionate at times. Engulfing everything around it and shining like a flame that would last forever. He forfeited his old life, gave her everything he could even if he had trouble blending into her world with his colorful past and abstract present, and she did her best to return all of it in double. Suddenly, he was doing this for "love", an emotion that could make any heart flutter like a butterfly, and the soldier that he is, he was determined to ensure that he succeeds, even if it meant staking his own life.
But as far as figurative language goes, fire and butterflies were never a match.
Their circumstances had put them at odds, and eventually, their foundations that stood for years crumbled. She had a fantastic life ahead of her, and he struggled with that "normal life" just as he had predicted. After all, hired guns like him who know nothing but take lives are what the public want in death row. And in the political industry, it was more than suicide to keep him around, something that she, as part of a trusted dynasty in that country, could never commit. Heck, her personal friends were not as fond of him as she probably assumed either. Literally and figuratively speaking, he was an alien in her life. At first, they were both fine with it and decided to live happily amidst the mishaps. But in the end, it was all for naught. Whether it was her better conscience that told her he wasn't worth her trouble, his inability to function well in society no thanks to the misfortunes he never really chose to experience, outside forces that pulled some strings, all of the aforementioned or none of it, it didn't matter. Just like a bonfire that got snuffed out by harsh rain, he was left to soak in the bitterness of it all. After all, he was the expendable between the two of them.
In a blink of an eye, he found himself giving another fraction of his life up for another futile effort. Being stuck on this road to normalcy with drivers too busy with themselves to even pull over, he had nowhere to go. He stripped himself of all the connections he made, all the weapons he kept and he did it all on his own, just so she'd accept him. He had every right to grieve, but he couldn't allow himself to appeal no matter how painful it is. He was left in a situation so inconvenient and so unforgiving he just froze in the middle of that road as if waiting for a car to hit him. In the end, all he could blame was himself for totally messing everything up. For believing, even though he always knew believing equates to despair. But what else could he do? Its not like he could just erase everything in his ledger that had been compiled since he was conceived, and be ready with a new one in an instant. They were once the inseparable pair, but now he couldn't even find the strength to send a single word her way...
At some point, he realized that perhaps the lonely rain is the consolation itself. Mother Nature's cry that washes all the problems in the world away and ideally turns every foundation to a clean slate made of water. While it was never a sure thing if it purified the terrain nor simply left it in shambles, it often signified a changing of the the guard. A chance to find himself anew, he eventually figured, is what he really needed. The ropes of steel that once bounded him rusted and before he knew it, an opportunity to set himself free arose, in spite of injuries and poisons he'd most likely incur breaking off the chains. Whatever he does after the storm, however, would have to be answered at a different time.
Seemingly on the run from his old life the past few weeks, Heero checked in at a hotel situated near a port in the outskirts of the city, intentionally avoiding the ones midtown to help conceal his whereabouts. The receptionist along with a clerk regularly assigned to tend to his room were understanding enough to keep his existence in their building and logbooks scarce in spite of the influential disadvantage he had against the opposition. The manager wasn't as agreeable mutually speaking, but perfectly understood the age-old quote "the customer is always right." and thought it would be troublesome not to fulfill a simple request like that. At least he didn't have to worry about that matter for a while.
It was already 12:10 AM on the room's clock. A lot of things happened the past few days, his mind still ailing from all the stress. He needed a diversion, and yet his options were limited. There wasn't anything good on TV at this hour even if there was cable, leaving him with the option that's very popular nowadays: Internet. He flipped open his laptop and decided to surf the web to while away this bittersweet rush. Checking updates on his interests got old pretty quick. He tried going through some archived material, but he's gone through with them one too many times that it neither fulfilled him nor bore him to sleep. Of course he could always check out some porn site, just like most guys his age would, but sex tapes are the last thing he wanted to see right now. As he was beating around the bush going through a page doing some hobby-related digging, he came across a particular advertisement, the typical sort that often gets blocked by users to conserve bandwidth or prevent malicious pop-ups. The ad says "Find your match – Visit this" or whatever ludicrous he didn't even bother committing to memory. But the thought sure got to him in its own weird way. Maybe what he wanted was a confidant. One he had no ties with, much like a drunkard and a barkeep. Setting an appointment with a psychiatrist is a hassle, not to mention expensive, so he'd rather settle for the alternative already within his grasp. While he still had the urge to try this damned shot, he quickly typed his way into a site that offered various chatrooms and less of a hassle to access, not to mention secure enough. Browsing assorted rooms that came up, he saw quite a variety of genres and names, as if there's one for any type of person or mood. From music to games, advice, gossip, even dating and names dubious enough to be snubbed without hesitation. As he scrolled down the list, it seemed it was yet another bleak run, until he saw a room tagged "TheSnobFactory". The name was indeed strange, and the description below was an even bigger oddball. "A place where cynics gather." sure doesn't sound catchy for the common folk, but for someone like him, it seemed perfectly fine, especially for his current mood and availability. Void of second thoughts, he entered...
It didn't come as a surprise to find only one user logged in. It can even be considered a miracle to see a single soul even spending a fraction of time in a place as eerie as this. The interface alone is mostly black and violet and the layout's very square compared to the more popular networking sites. When the page prompted for a name, he pondered for a bit, and came up with "Lone Drifter", a cliché brand that coincidentally fits him and the life he's lived up to now like a pair of surgical gloves. As he commenced the usual procedure of taking note of things, he found the name of the only other user present to be quite unusual. Then again, names like that are common in the Internet so it wasn't that big a deal. Since he's the newcomer between the two of them, he is expected to be polite enough to initiate the conversation. But as a person who never learned to interact with anyone unless there's an ulterior motive behind it, all he could come up was the most common of openers...
lone_drifter: Hey...
47thtraitor: hey yourself drifter
lone_drifter: So...
lone_drifter: Been alone for a while now?
47thtraitor: long enough to be hit on by some loner who happened to pass by and be fine with it
lone_drifter: Heh...
lone_drifter: Its a rainy midnight, where I am.
47thtraitor: well its the usual on my end
47thtraitor: boring
lone_drifter: Can imagine that.
lone_drifter: Is it always this stale here?
47thtraitor: from the average standpoint, yes
47thtraitor: not really the most exciting place to be online
47thtraitor: I find it better as it is though
lone_drifter: How much time you got? I'd appreciate some company if you don't mind...
47thtraitor: so long as you keep me entertained, I think I can lend my time
lone_drifter: That a challenge...?
47thtraitor: if you think it is then give it your best shot, cowboy
47thtraitor: ask for asl and its game over tho
lone_drifter: Alright...
lone_drifter: So how did you guess I was a guy?
47thtraitor: elementary my dear
47thtraitor: men love the loner, drifter types bearing huge chips
47thtraitor: women like the more gallant, romantic characters
47thtraitor: but I'm speaking from a typical perspective
lone_drifter: Makes sense...
lone_drifter: So you're a swordswoman huh?
47thtraitor: by name maybe
47thtraitor: and if you get on my bad side, mister drifter
lone_drifter: Don't worry, I get it Ms. Traitor.
lone_drifter: I see you're not the sociable type.
47thtraitor: guilty
47thtraitor: but perhaps we're both culprits in that case
47thtraitor: aside from being two bored people trying to kill each other on a dead chatroom where the emotionally torn gather like mushrooms
lone_drifter: You have a point.
47thtraitor: so did a tornado take you here or you let yourself get blown away?
lone_drifter: You could say its the best of both worlds...or the worst for that matter...
47thtraitor: interesting
47thtraitor: care to enlighten me a little?
lone_drifter: Lets just say a tornado tore my house down and I need to relocate...
lone_drifter: ...But I have no idea where... Yet.
47thtraitor: I see
47thtraitor: I assume you're staying somewhere near your broken house
lone_drifter: Spot on. You must be a detective.
47thtraitor: oh please don't even go there
47thtraitor: you'll ruin my mood
lone_drifter: Did I hit a nerve?
47thtraitor: not really
47thtraitor: just annoyed with certain detectives irl
lone_drifter: Sorry.
47thtraitor: don't be
47thtraitor: you have more troubles than me right now
47thtraitor: but that ends only at right now
lone_drifter: Dragging some dead weight too, huh?
47thtraitor: something like that
lone_drifter: We could probably compare notes sometime.
47thtraitor: just don't be surprised when you read mine
lone_drifter: I've had a hell of a life so far, its almost impossible for me to be surprised by anything...
47thtraitor: tell me about it
47thtraitor: so where do you plan to go?
lone_drifter: Thinking of going back to Japan. Haven't been there in years... For a change of pace, perhaps.
47thtraitor: native?
lone_drifter: You could say I'm a half. I don't really look Japanese though.
47thtraitor: funny, I'm a half too
47thtraitor: we should get together more
lone_drifter: Not a bad idea, if I didn't bring that up first.
47thtraitor: word of advice. get out of there now. trust me. that's what I'd do if I were you
lone_drifter: Never been the type who listened to good advice.
47thtraitor: you trust your instincts more, hm?
lone_drifter: Affirmative.
47thtraitor: we should share a ward, if we're not sharing one already
lone_drifter: Heh...
lone_drifter: But since yo did go out of your way to throw one at me, I'd take it for a change.
47thtraitor: happy to oblige
lone_drifter: Really... Thanks... For putting up with me...
lone_drifter: I owe you one.
47thtraitor: don't mention it
47thtraitor: lone wolves have a tendency to stick together and become a pack
lone_drifter: Correct.
lone_drifter: Last question before I go.
lone_drifter: Verifying sex. You're female, right?
47thtraitor: looks like you've read some biology, cowboy
47thtraitor: I eat the ones who get on my bad side for breakfast tho
lone_drifter: So what category do I fall into?
47thtraitor: you entertained me well enough to get me to suggest an eyeball on our first chat
47thtraitor: that answer good enough or do I have to spell it out for you?
lone_drifter: Tell you what... Coming here's definitely worth it.
lone_drifter: Got more than what I bargained for.
47thtraitor: fair trade
47thtraitor: meet me again tomorrow. same time same place
47thtraitor: but try not to make me wait
lone_drifter: Ryoukai.
Heero watched on as the 47thtraitor vanished from the active list and a notice of her departure appeared before him. It was definitely one of the most peculiar conversations he's ever had, even over the web where odd talks are like showbiz gossip. He had no idea if what they just shared was sincere, or one that culminated out of mutual boredom. It wasn't unjustifiable to suspect a conversation via Internet to be insincere, but he had this hunch that even if all they did was play around, her advice would do him good anyway. Heero finds this country intoxicating these days, almost every nook and cranny of this land's just contaminated by the influential aura of the ghost hes trying so hard to runaway from. He'd live the life of a mouse inside a maze if he stayed. Only problem is, if he took a plane to Japan, chances that he'd be easily tracked are statistically high. He would either have to charter a secure ride, or travel across the neighboring country by boat. And right now, he's too satisfied with his last endeavor's success that he didn't want to risk going for a streak. Besides, he's too famished to bother, or threaten the oblivious on the most inappropriate of hours. This one, he would have to do tomorrow. At least for now, he could hit the sack with a victory in the bag. No matter how big or small, victories should always be appreciated – yet another virtue from the good old days.
In approximately four hours and thirty minutes, he ended his slumber and took a quick shower. After that, he called up an old pal for a quick appointment. Morris, a 46-year-old war veteran, charters planes for customers ranging from private people who can afford to have themselves chartered to specific sectors, to dozens of political and corporate moguls escaping interviews from the media bees and their scandals, to even high-profile, well-connected suspects on the run. He was never in any position to ask nor afford to have strings attached, and he knew his stand like the back of his hand. He could be held accountable if it so happens that his passengers were guilt. Everyone knows that he was just doing his job and that he was ever the consummate professional. He did pay what he owed by chartering police officers and the like to capture the bunch, in case they had a probable destination as to where the culprit went. He'd take anyone, or anything, anywhere as long as the money's right and hot water doesn't flood his airfield.
This man would probably be dead by now along with 21 others in his platoon if not for the presence of a young man with an exceptional talent in combat that salvaged their busted blitz attack a few years back. A young man who went by the alias Heero Yuy. "Thank heavens yer on our side, sonny!" he once said to the boy, of which he received a quiet response. As the war raged on, his operations would clash with Yuy's on three other occasions, but even then, he never forgot the fellow who had hauled him from Hell's ferry boat, be able to spend four more Holiday seasons with his wife, who passed away from Cancer not too long ago. When he received the call today, it only took just one "Hey" for him to know that this was indeed him. The monotonous voice that had once told him to stay out of the way during another mission.
If there were a couple of things more to note about this Afro-American plane operator, its that he's a military jock who keeps his ties with his family and his fellows-in-arms of great value, and that he's one of those unhappy with the way this country's being run. In fact, it was Morris who helped Heero set foot on this very country he's trying to desert this very moment, under the pretense of him sabotaging this country's politics like he did on any other. But after that, their connection diminished – a standard procedure for mercenaries like themselves. This day would be the first time they'd meet in years.
It was way past 10 in the morning when Heero arrived at the airfield via cab. He met with his old comrade at the very field, just under one of his newly painted planes, where strong winds and hot air were a typical day in the office. He could smell the toxic aroma of the paint even from afar, but he's used to that scent by now. As Morris's large build got closer and closer, he was greeted first by a hand reaching for his...
"'Ey boy! Long time," Morris started, initiating a typical welcoming gesture.
"...Yeah..."
"Last I 'eard ya got lucky wit the lassie."
"That's not what I came here for."
"Same ol' cookie, 'uh. So what brings ya 'ere? Hot water comin' yer way?"
"Something like that. I need to get out of this country by tomorrow morning. Can you get me a plane?"
"Ya know how it is. Where'dya need to go?"
"I was thinking... Japan?"
"Tough place ta cart. Customs an' the shitty weather lately an' all that."
"Then can you get me across or neighbor's territory?"
"Hah! That's bank shot." The plane operator was amazed at how quickly he changed his request, but it was to be expected. "I'm flyin' over there tomorrow. Can't miss my only nephew's birthday. Ya can take the extra seat."
"...Is you schedule flexible...?"
"Need ta be there an' snag a new pair o' sneakers by 13. Can ya work wit dat?"
"Fair enough... I'm sure you already know the works..."
"Ya sure love yer secrets, man. Just get 'ere before 9."
"Roger. And thanks..."
"Anytime, brutha'! Long as I'm alive, just gimme a holla. Though we oughta get together sometime wit the ol' timers over beer an' 'em dames."
Heero responded only with a sharp gaze that spoke his absolute answer aloud.
"Been a long time,man. Forgot ya don't drink."
Heero left the field and headed straight for the first Internet café he could find to mail another associate, this one based in the neighboring territory, to purchase his desired ticket to Tokyo in his stead with the promise of reimbursing him in cold cash plus the service tip once he gets there around noon. He specifically asked for the flight scheduled at 1500 hours, Japan time - or three in the afternoon for those unaccustomed to basic military language - it was the flight closest to the alley of his arrival, according to the timetable posted at the airline company's website, and would give him ample time for last-minute checks. He also indicated that the contractor prioritize procuring an economy ticket just to be less conspicuous, and one-way because he's not sure how long he'd be staying. As far as he knew, he was a legitimate half and could stay there for as long as he liked, but one of his passports said he is a pure so he didn't have to worry about getting deported. Upon finishing the mail and making sure it was sent at the right address, Heero pressed his elbows harder on the table's edge, palming his face with both hands, sliding from his cheeks up to his temples. He simultaneously grated and laughed at himself mentally, for the fact that he's acting like a common fugitive. Asking external connections for means of escape, purchasing tickets and getting booked at hotels with the use of alternate identities... It somehow feels like he's back in the old warring days, when he was in deep cover trying to sneak inside enemy territory with the intention of systematically dismantling it straight from its heart down, turn it into a graveyard later on. He's being cautious and crafty. Tense, but doing his best to keep cool. He feels a sense of urgency in fulfilling his directives that would not let him sit idly until completion is secure. The only difference being, this time, he's at war with a dilemma that has a number of simpler solutions. Heero's regular session of self-induced tension ended when the mail notification beep asked for his attention. He had received a reply from the contractor, fast and terse just the way he wanted it. "Getting your ticket right now. Meet me at the old spot upon touchdown and wear green" said the mail. People like them are quite adept to ciphers, encrypted messages and minimal exchanges. Even their most casual greetings can sometimes mean a complete, well-thought mission plan.
It wasn't such a spectacle, how instantly the contractor got him booked. Back in the day, checking flight schedules and purchasing tickets could take hours and hours of phone calls and a ton of patience, but in this generation, trading information's just a fingertip away. What used to take a fraction of a lifetime traveling from one office to another just to fall in lines can now be performed even when stark naked in a tub. And just as it has always been, it helps if you know how to manipulate the inner workings or know someone who would do it for a small fee. At the very least, he was satisfied with the proceedings thus far, even though he still needs to verify trivial details tomorrow when he gets there. He just couldn't wait to get out of this prison that was once his "home".
Preparations for the said trip took over half the day, from booking a flight from an external source to packing bags, along with traveling from place to place and returning to the hotel. He didn't even stop to have brunch, but that's what room service's perfect for. As soon as he settled in, he grabbed the room phone and dialed Room Service for a large cheeseburger and cola which got to his doorstep in about fifteen minutes. He was keeping time while resting then. He still had two hours to spare before his "date" with the traitor that impaled this crazy idea of flying out to Japan straight to his brain. But Heero was a hasty fellow, not to mention success-conscious. He didn't want to be late, even if it was an appointment with a computer, if it compromises his mission. And this one, he put at a really high pedestal.
Before digging on his burger, he activated his laptop and quickly accessed "The SnobFactory" with the previous name he used, not giving a damn if there wasn't anyone present at the moment. He's used to staking out, in spite of the inch-thick later of dust coating his military skills after being locked up in the basement for so long. He readied himself for what may very well be a test of faith. If she shows up, then perhaps there's still a purpose left for him in this world. If not, then he'll accept fate's punishment for all the lives he's taken so happily, no matter how tragic or pitiful it may be. To his utter surprise and fascination however, it didn't take more than eight minutes and a couple of bites off his meal for someone to enter the room.
47thtraitor: our brain must be made on the same production line
lone_drifter: On the exact same Snob Factory, if I may add.
47thtraitor: never thought humor's in your dna
lone_drifter: Me neither.
lone_drifter: Anyway... I booked the flight.
47thtraitor: really?
lone_drifter: Should arrive around three in the afternoon tomorrow.
47thtraitor: evidence found online doesn't work on me
lone_drifter: You can see for yourself. If you can.
47thtraitor: that a dare?
lone_drifter: Depends on how you put it.
lone_drifter: Thanks again.
lone_drifter: Somehow, I felt relieved to know I'm taking off soon...
47thtraitor: pleasure's all mine
47thtraitor: just thought you might do what I'd do
lone_drifter: Something tells me you already did it.
47thtraitor: you can say that...
47thtraitor: so where are you planning to go when you get here?
lone_drifter: Haven't thought about it that much.
47thtraitor: this will be your first time coming in...?
lone_drifter: About six years, probably.
lone_drifter: I don't keep track of dates regularly.
47thtraitor: you an artist?
lone_drifter: To some extent, yeah... Why?
47thtraitor: artists like the slower life, they say
47thtraitor: paying less attention to time than most people
lone_drifter: So I've heard.
lone_drifter: I take it you've been asked that as well?
47thtraitor: actually no
47thtraitor: Narita or Haneda?
lone_drifter: Haneda...
47thtraitor: alright, I'll pick you up
lone_drifter: You serious...?
47thtraitor: they say I always am
47thtraitor: this country changes in a heartbeat
47thtraitor: you need a tour guide
lone_drifter: That's a good case you're making.
lone_drifter: One question though. Why?
4thtraitor: I'll answer that with the question why not
lone_drifter: Seriously.
47thtraitor: I'll tell you when you get here
lone_drifter: What if I decide not to come...?
47thtraitor: then you just wasted time, effort and money
47thtraitor: oh and you'd probably be stuck there longer
lone_drifter: Fine. If you insist.
47thtraitor: I'll wear green, blue and black and hold a book
47thtraitor: wear the same colors so I'd know its you
lone_drifter: Something tells me this is going to be quite a trip...
47thtraitor: we'll see about that
lone_drifter: How do I confirm it is you...?
47thtraitor: figure it out, Sherlock
47thtraitor: adieu
The conversation ended as vaguely as the idea of meeting itself. His chatmate logged out after her last statement and left him in complete darkness. Whether she was actually serious about her offer, he had no means of knowing unless he bumps into her again. Just like it was during the war, there is a thick fog looming up ahead. If he can get out of this country undetected... If the schedule will push through without hindrance... If he's going to meet the 47th traitor or not... He pondered about this enigma for a while until he felt his consciousness slip into the cowl of black...
Chapter End.