Disclaimer:

Shidedaion: I am Duo Maxwell!

One of Bandai Co.'s many lawyers: No you're not.

Shidedaion: Yes I am!

Duo Maxwell: No you are fucking not!

Shidedaion: ... Oh I know! I would LEGALLY change my name to Duo Maxwell. THEN I WOULD BE DUO MAXWELL! AND THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BANDAI CAN DO ABOUT THAT!


Deuxieme Chapter…


I had quite a lovely home. Situated somewhere in L2, a colony I had gained control of, thanks to my participation in the war, it placed near the site where the Maxwell Church had been destroyed.

I recently built an orphanage on the church site, Maxwell's Sanctuary, where we housed all the homeless kids we found loitering on the colony's streets. All those who had also been in hopeless situation are now being employed by the Sanctuary and the others help on construction, sanitation and security. We have trained whores to be nurses, pickpockets to be doctors, and con artists to be accountants. With the help of Preventers' HQ providing reinforcement, I had a hand in lowering the crime rate on the place …and I have gotten quite a lot accomplished in five years.

So let's add humanitarian on my fucking resume while we are at it.

Anyways, I, with the help of some skilled individuals, have made this colony a safe haven for homeless children all over the universe. I have just organized a program that would expand my outreach to not only the colonies, but also Earth. My children were the best treated, they received an education and were released into the world to become accomplished individuals.

I could not stand hearing of a child suffering, considering my history. But this did not mean I was a saint, no! By no fucking way! Neither did I try to make it seem so, like that Piececrap-Yuy chick Relena, who pretended to carry and care for any one but herself when she visits hospitals. But any one who looked at that plastic expression of hers could see that she wrinkled her nose every time she held a choleric baby of she shook the hand of an Alzheimer patient.

After I broke up with Heero (more like got dumped flat on my ass by him), for two year I was in and out of the nut house: the first one was for attempted suicide, and then I just would have these hysteric episodes (Post Traumatic Disorder or some other kind of shit like it). I would go postal and kill any one that irritated me.

Yeah I know, sounds horrible, but it wasn't like I was ripping soccer moms apart. I came back to L2 after the war and installed here. And the ones I would kill where usually drug dealers, pimps and others unpleasant folks.

Coulda gotten some credit for that…

It was actually in the slammer that I met my future wife and the mother of my kids. Her name was Bellah Lindemuth. A beautiful, nurse that always to care of me whenever I was having one of my seizures or I had just messed up the walls with my fists (I was later on updated to a straightjacket and then a padded room, after they found out that I was banging the bare walls with my head, and I remember hitting the damned walls so hard, one time, that I ended up with a concussion.)

You're probably thinking: Man! You met this chick in a freaking asylum? What were you thinking?

I wasn't. I fell for her, hard. She was the first one to hold me when I was crying my eyes out after another appalling nightmare where I was visited by the souls of all the people whose lives I had taken. She was the only one I could open my heart to. Now I would deny it, but I had been planning to propose to her months before she became pregnant.

We started having our little liaisons during one of the periods of time that I was out and running free, living on an apple a day and 6 ounces of cocaine, not to mention an infinite amount of opium. If it wasn't for all the genetic and chemical alterations done to our bodies during the war, I would have died a long time ago.

I would wait all day for her to finish her shift and would follow her home, where we made love like there was no tomorrow. She loved my hair and 'the way I thought' (those where her words). Whenever I was laid on top of her she would cup my face in her hands and tell me I was beautiful.

It never once crossed my mind that the pallid angel to whom I had pledging to love for the rest of my life on the rubbles that were once the Church I grew up in was … demented. I was 19 years old. She was 23 and just seemed so fragile, and delicate, like a rare exotic flower, I would never had imagined that she would turn out to be even more fucked up in the head than I was.

She showed the first signs of…whatever mania she had when she had the difficult delivery of our daughters. After 14 hours of labor, the doctors were not sure she was going to make it. Her brow was wet with sweat, her gaze vacant, but she kept on pushing, and pushing, until they were born. The doctor presented me my babies. I held them like priceless jewels. She did not even want to see them.

As time went by, her behavior grew odder. With some money I was able to pilfer from various bank accounts, I made us a perfect niche in the suburbs of L1, where she had insisted on us moving to. But it took a while, since it is rather unsafe for newborns to travel at zero gravity. She would not breastfeed them. She gave them the milk from her breast using a maternity pump thingy…

I can't recall the device's name. But I was basically the care taker of those children. With my part time job at Howard's Junkyard I was able to employ a nanny, who took care of them while I was at work. But I always came early enough to bathe them on the front porch, listening to their childish babbles and laughter.

They both had my eyes. Andrea was the calm one, gentle and quiet, while Soleil was more exuberant, hyperactive…just like her father, I guess.

Bellah did not love our girls. And she no longer loved me. It took me a while to realize that, though. I moved the family in L1 to please her but it was to no avail. She was not maternal, had never held them and sung them a song, had never wiped one of their tears.

Our marriage was falling apart and I did not want my children to be affected by this. Then she found out I was a Gundam pilot. I don't know how, maybe she found that picture of me and the gang and put two and two.



I took another drag outta my fucking cigarette, shuttering a bit as I tried to repress the memory of my wife's killing spree… But I knew I would never forget her crazed eyes.



She first stabbed Soleil to death, and then dragged a screaming Andrea to the bathroom where she proceeded to drown her. Then she came after me, but I had made a habit of carrying a gun whenever I went after a near rape on L2. I soon found out that she had drugged me but I still managed to land one shot right between those eyes.

But not before she had attempted to carve my heart out, screaming insanities about the evil of war and how any one who fought against OZ deserved a death sentence.

After the funerals, I decided to go on a journey to refresh my … thoughts and get out of that house…too many memories…I wanted to forget that anything ever happened. I wanted a new life. I changed my name, formed a band and we jammed for a while, until I became a male model, and then later on became a recording artist. I was surprised by my overnight success. I had no real vocal talents or training but I guess people liked my voice, which had deepened since my war days.

And of course, I tried to forget Bellah, Andrea and Soleil, tried to write them off as another episode of my life…

With fame came money and soon I was back to my drug habits, binging on cocaine and wasting my cash on booze and whores.

In a drunken haze, on a Pacific Island I met him.

He was dancing with a belt of dried leaves around his waist, making queer symbols and shaking his hips like a woman's. His eyes were as golden as the sunset behind him and his shoulder length hair whipped across his face as the ocean breeze blew on us. He had seduced me with the movement of his tongue running across his lips oh so slowly… Before we both knew it I convinced him to come back to my hotel room and then he danced for me…



He shifted in my arms but I had to go. The furniture seemed to move away from me as I made my way to the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat, holding my head in my hands.

Had to relax, breathe, breathe, breathe, Duo!

They are in a better place…A voice whispered in my right ear.

Yeah, better than this, away from me…

You never deserved them anyways… the same voice added.

I stood and went to the glass case near the sink…the box where I kept my meds. Because I knew I was in deep shit when I was hearing voices or seeing things…and I did not want to put myself in a position where I would have to escape from another mental institute cause that's always where I ended when I heard that fucking voice!

Who me?

Yeah you, now shut the fuck up before I silence you with a bullet!

You would kill yourself in the process, Maxwell…

"And BE RID OF YOU!" I screamed at my reflection where a raven haired version of me was smirking and wiggling its fingers at me.

I would haunt you forever.

"Fuck you." I opened the case and fumbled with the various bottles of prescriptions, looking for the yellow and orange ones.

I would ride your soul straight to hell.

I shoved four of them down my throat, twisting the gold plated faucet and filling a cup with water. I gulped those mother fuckers hard.

You ain't getting no free ride off of me motherfucker.

"Duo?" A voice called in the house. I looked at the door I had left ajar.

I didn't wanna answer. I was not thinking straight at the moment. So I came out of the bathroom, took a left and went in my room.

I plunged between silk sheets and brought the comforter up to my head.

Fuck my hair. It's already a mess, anyways.

I wanted to sleep. I had a head ache.