Author's Notes:
Whoa! Long chapter ahoy! We've got a lot to cover, and I didn't want to drag it out into multiple chapters and slow everything down. So pardon the skippy, jumbly flow and the massive amount of reading! If you like it, please, PLEASE review! Nothing makes me happier and more inspired to write! X3


Chapter Three: Death and All His Friends

Within a poverty-stricken L2 colony, a crowded street bustled with activity, as it always had. Merchants peddled their wares, customers haggled, and acquaintances casually conversed as the sea of people hurried about. Silently observing them all from atop a concrete ledge was a pre-teen boy with a braided rope of chestnut brown hair and indigo eyes that peered out from under a worn black ballcap. A golden cross dangled from his neck, contrasting the solid dark color of his clothing. In one hand he held the item that would likely be his only meal of the day: a bright red apple. Taking a brief moment to dust the item off on the fabric of his pants beforehand, he eagerly took a healthy bite into its skin.

Every day for the last several months he came to this place and perched atop the same ledge, even if for no other reason than to watch and listen to the crowd below. By doing so, he'd run across a number of interesting stories, but none more intriguing than those based around what was termed the "Maxwell Church Tragedy."

In the time after the incident at the Maxwell Church, word of a lone survivor spread throughout the colony. Rumor held that after single-handedly destroying the church, he'd disappeared into the shadows, never to be found. "Shinigami incarnate", they called him; a God of Death walking the world of the living, taking lives without preference, or remorse. No one could confirm or deny the existence of the fabled individual, and no one wanted to; the very concept alone spooked people out of further investigation. Over time, the stories surrounding him became something of a folk legend, the tales of his exploits becoming more chilling and more embellished with each passing year.

Rather than finding it humorous or offensive, Duo saw the overall depiction as being not too far from accurate. After all, he couldn't deny that Death did seem to stick closely by his side, taking everyone he knew while he himself lived on. The theory was only further proved when word reached him that the physician and his family had perished in a tragic accident. Not just Zeke and Gabe, but the entire lot of them; which meant that not only did he have no relatives, but not even so much as a single living acquaintance. Everyone who had come into contact with him had died.

While it made for a lonely life, he didn't let that bother him much. He was quite capable of taking care of himself, since he'd been on his own more often than not. Being alone gave him the ability to focus on the debt he still had yet to repay, and the ever-shrinking amount of borrowed time he was living on until he did so. And so he continued to scour the colony in search of the nameless boy he was fated to kill, leaving no stone unturned. But years of searching had still left him empty-handed.

In what spare time he had he occupied his curious mind by tinkering, often taking discarded items apart and putting them back together just to learn how they worked. Years of this made him an expert at making something out of nothing, and afforded him the chance to learn a few other handy skills, such as lock-picking, hacking, and defusing explosives. With those talents, there was truly nowhere in the colony that was off-limits to him, as he could break into locked areas and disable standard security systems with ease. But, even with his search area completely unrestricted, the boy whose demise would erase the numbers from Duo's days was still nowhere to be found. No wonder he'd been given a decade…

As Duo was taking another mouthful of his meal, one clear voice rose above the crowd, the words freezing him mid-bite.

"Did you hear? A huge ship just pulled into the spaceport!"

A ship? That couldn't be. The colony's lone spaceport was all but abandoned, since no one wanted to come to such a poverty-stricken area, and those who dreamt of leaving hadn't the means. Beneath the bill of his ballcap, the boy perked a brow. The statement couldn't be rumor; rumors so far-fetched didn't circulate often, so perhaps there was some validity to it. Either way, he was going to investigate the matter.

As he neared the spaceport, he could clearly see a massive shuttle, obviously used for long-distance space travel, had indeed made what looked to be an awkward crash-landing on the colony. From his vantage point, Duo could see the flickers and flashes of welding within the open engine compartment, which meant that whoever had come on the ship wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

There were any number of useful things aboard the ship, and it was a sitting duck; the perfect prey. All he had to do was get by two busy mechanics, a task he could accomplish while sleepwalking. Then it would be all his for the taking.

Tucking his treasured golden cross into his clothing, he slunk off toward it.

...

Just as he thought, he was inside in a flash, and no one suspected a thing. It took a matter of moments to bypass the ship's security system, as his typical methods proved unsuccessful in disabling the complex alarms. The reason warranting such extreme measures for protecting a mere long-distance shuttle was a mystery to him, but that bode well for what he could find onboard.

Secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't be triggering an alarm, he began to contemplate what he'd gather from the ship. The first thing to come to mind was the first thing that usually came to mind: Food. Common sense told him that a vessel built for long-distance travel would have a considerably-sized cooler for storing edible items somewhere, and it didn't take him long to find it.

Inside the massive walk-in refrigeration unit was more food than he'd seen in all the shops on his home colony: Everything from meats to milk, fresh produce, and even sweets. As his amethyst eyes took it all in, he silently scolded himself for not bringing a box, bag, or some other means of carrying the food out. Apparently he'd have to resort to another means.

As he went about gathering up what he wanted, he could hear the sound of voices and footsteps approaching. All of a sudden, the once quiet ship became deafeningly loud as a great rumbling and whining began to emanate from under his feet. Were they taking off? Impossible! They had just been welding in the engine bay only a few minutes ago!

Duo began to feel the ground come out from underneath him as the shuttle began to ascend, a sensation unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. With an increased roar from the engines the ship abruptly accelerated, sending the boy tumbling to the floor with a thump. The good news was that no one could have possibly noticed it; nobody on board could likely hear themselves think over the near-deafening rumbling noise resounding through the cabin.

Or so he thought.

Thinking something had fallen and spilled in the cooler, two crewmen aboard the ship went to investigate and clean up the mess.

When they opened the door, they were shocked and baffled by the sight of a boy in all black as he darted out between them, a rope of braided brunette hair whipping behind him as he fled.

Duo had certainly gotten himself in a fine mess. He had only intended to pilfer a few things, and instead he'd become trapped aboard a ship destined for who knew where. If he was going to make it out without being captured, he needed a place to hide, and quickly. But where would he go?

The cargo bay.

It was dimly lit, expansive, and in a vessel of such great size, probably littered with fun places to disappear. Keeping his footfalls light against the floor, he scurried off toward the rear of the ship.

But what he found there, he wasn't expecting.

As he approached the balcony railing lining the expansive cargo hold, he found himself staring down at a monster.

It was a gigantic mobile suit. Even largely unassembled, it easily dwarfed the biggest he'd seen, or even heard of. Massive and menacing, it peered up at him from the ship's floor with a vaguely humanoid face devoid of all expression. Exposed gears and circuits protruded beyond black outer plating in various places where construction was apparently ongoing, though the upper half of the suit appeared to be at least somewhat pieced together.

As he stared at it its eyes briefly came to life, flickering at him with a bright and unmistakable green that temporarily cut through the darkness of the cargo bay.

Duo blinked rapidly. 'So it's operational,' he thought, 'I could steal the suit and make my escape!'

He hopped over the balcony railing and made his way toward it, heading for the open door at the base of the suit's semi-completed torso.

As soon as he was inside and seated within the pilot's chair, a flashing cursor began to spell out blocky white text along a fuzzy black screen to his right.

"User interface loading…please wait.

Interface loading failed. Retrying.

Please wait…

Loading successful.

Project G-01D user interface online.

Enter command: "

'Project G-01D? What the hell is this thing?' Duo thought.

All around him were primitive metal consoles filled with endless rows of buttons and switches, none of which were labeled or had any other indication of their purpose. Not having any idea where to begin, he grabbed the nearest lever to him-a joystick-like device to his right—and yanked it backward.

The giant beast whined and whirred as it strained to move, but with so many circuits yet to be connected, the result was a small shift, nearly undetectable.

…except to sensors within the cargo bay that alerted crewmen manning the ship's cockpit.

Up on deck, two men sat behind a sea of elaborate instrumentation panels, monitoring the shuttle's navigation. All had been peaceful until one screen abruptly began flashing red and complaining loudly.

"Professor! There's movement within the cargo bay!" One of them called back over his shoulder.

"Probably just a rat we picked up on that hellhole of a colony," came the reply. "Pay it no mind."

"It's a…little bit bigger than that," the other crewman said cautiously.

Curiously, the Professor approached, turning his eyes to the screen. He could only blink in disbelief at what was displayed. "Impossible! That thing is in far too many pieces to move! The user interface isn't even operational yet!"

"Come on buddy, help me out here…" Duo grunted as he gave another level a strong pull, completely overlooking the fact that he was speaking to a machine. "You can do it…"

Again the mobile suit whined and whirred, only to fail.

"Goddammit!" the boy hissed. "Guess I'll have to figure something else out…"

He rose from the suit's seat and exited, intending to find a place he could hide until the ship landed. Unfortunately, once outside, he was greeted with the nearby sound of the safety of a handgun being released. He had company.

"Don't move a muscle, kid. The joyride's over."

The same pair of men who had originally discovered the stowaway hauled him up on deck, kicking and screaming all the while. There, Duo and his captors found three men waiting: One in what looked to be worn military fatigues and another, much younger man in faded blue coveralls with large glasses. They both flanked a short older man in a white lab coat with a massive lampshade of grey hair atop his head. Duo could easily distinguish a thick scar on his cheek, just beside his bulbous nose.

As he discovered, the ship he'd snuck aboard belonged to an organization called the Sweeper Group, who had been covertly conspiring to launch an attack on the Alliance. The monster they were hiding was the centerpiece of such plans; a massive mobile suit built by their hands that they hoped could be used to eventually bring about peace.

During their interrogation of their unexpected guest, the eldest man noticed something about the boy that struck him, though he couldn't quite place what it was. Perhaps it was the way he seemed undaunted by his capture, remaining headstrong and indignant even when he knew he could be put to death for his misdeeds. Maybe it was the fact that the boy had not only bypassed the Sweepers' most advanced alarm system, but had somehow made it to the cargo bay and got Project G-01D to move.

And perhaps it was how he'd identified himself as the God of Death.

He was an impetuous little brat, for certain; but he was also either very skilled, or extremely lucky. In the end, the older man merely stuffed his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and stalked off with his two counterparts in tow.

"Find a way to confine him for now," he dismissed in raspy monotone. "We'll decide what to do with him when we return. Don't let him out of your sight; a kid skilled enough to bypass my security system can likely find a way out of most any place we put him."

At once, the same armed men who had first caught the boy began dragging him away once more, this time to stuff him into a tiny holding cell. "Hey! Wait!" Their captive protested, but the trio of interrogators disregarded his cries, continuing down a long corridor.

"Gentlemen, there's been a change of plan: We've found our pilot for Project G-01D," the shortest man informed flatly.

The youngest scientist trotted ahead of his gray-haired comrade and began gesticulating wildly as he spoke. "But sir, Project G-01D has a pilot! We've put years into training him!"

"We may have, but this young scamp is much better suited for our plans. I can see it in his eyes."

"Are you mad, G? I'm beginning to wonder if your age is starting to erode your sanity," the tallest man in fatigues snapped. "You're speaking pure nonsense."

G chuckled, his stride never faltering. "Nonsense or not, this isn't a discussion. The boy will pilot Project G-01D."

"You're basing this off of some kind of crazy hunch? What the hell did you see in his eyes?"

A grin spread across the eldest man's face as he answered. "A boy who has nothing to lose."

"Come on, I was just lookin' for a way out! I didn't steal nothin'! Lemme outta here!" Duo howled as he pitifully shook the steel bars of the cell he was contained in.

Again, the man with the lampshade of grey hair emerged from the dimly-lit corridor, hands casually in his pockets. His two comrades still flanked him.

"Have you piloted a mobile suit, kid?" the lab coated man asked.

"Nuh uh."

The men exchanged glances. "Then how did you get Project G-01D to move?" The youngest inquired.

"I…pulled some levers?"

"Did the system come online?" the man in coveralls persisted.

The boy perked a brow. "Huh? What system?"

"The user interface system! Did it come online?"

"Oh…" Duo put an index finger to his lips thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, it did say 'Enter command'…why?"

The youngest engineer gasped. "Unbelievable! We've spent months trying to get that system to come online and the piece of junk always fails!"

The stowaway simply shrugged. "Guess you gotta quit trying so hard."

G smirked. "I like you, kid. If you're interested, I might just let you pilot that suit again. How's that sound?"

As it turned out, the Sweeper Group hadn't been far from home when they made their unexpected landing. At the far reaches of the L2 Colony Cluster was one of their primary bases of operation, which was the place of residence for members of the Sweepers and their immediate families. The group's massive production facility was located within a colony that was devoid of civilians and had been listed some time ago as uninhabitable. The label hadn't come without good cause, either; the Sweepers' colony was even more dilapidated than Duo's home had been. Here, there was no sunrise or set, no dawn or dusk; outside of the main structure, the colony itself only offered a semi-stable temperature, and 24-hour perpetual simulated daylight.

In addition to being the place of residence for members of the Sweepers and their immediate families, the base was home for the lot of the construction for the massive Project G-01D mobile suit. Project G-01D had been their largest undertaking by far, and had posed several problems for the developers. So many in fact, that members of the build team had begun blueprinting a different model, codenamed "Project G-01D2." However, having a new pilot to train diverted all attention away from the endeavor.

The initial months of Duo's training brought about dramatic changes in both his mind and body as the Sweepers instituted a rigorous training regimen comprised of several different components.

To start his hand-to-hand combat training, he was given a sparring partner that he met with on a daily basis; a man easily twice his age and size, with strength unmatched by his opponent. Being accomplished in many martial arts styles made him disciplined and precise…two things Duo most certainly was not. As a result, the first few weeks with him were a grueling punishment. The man was too tall to hit above the chest and too heavy to be thrown, which removed all of Duo's existing skill sets, leaving him with nothing but pure tenacity to back him. Headstrong and fearless, the boy would attempt to go blow-for-blow with his skilled adversary, and consistently failed.

Despite that, every time he was knocked down, he rose again. Battered and bleeding, he would gather himself upright and fight back the pain of his injuries to persist on. Often, he did so only to be put onto the ground once more. The cycle continued on for weeks until he broke the habits of what he'd learned in the past, and together they refined Duo's guerrilla style of combat to make it controlled, precise, and deadly. The boy learned to use his superior speed and agility to his advantage, and in time, the pair became evenly matched.

The youngest member of the development staff, whom Duo came to know as Simon Samuels, chief software designer for Project G-01D, was in charge of conducting simulated mobile suit combat training. Mastering the complex piloting system Samuels had developed was a time-consuming process that the young trainee devoted much of his days to. Not only did he need to become familiar with all the controls involved, but also needed to become accustomed to the movements of a mobile suit. He spent hours in simulators while Samuels recorded the battle data, charting combat habits, reaction times, and marking improvements.

Over time, Duo's spunk and boisterous personality grew on the lot of his fellow Sweepers, including many of his handlers. Despite that, there still remained one man who couldn't tolerate him.

It was one of the men who had first laid sight on the boy. His name was Franz Kozchek, a retired military General with many years of experience training soldiers. A great, massive tower of a man always dressed in worn fatigues, he was as intimidating as he was strict. Given his background, he oversaw much of Duo's physical and tactical training.

As where he and the other trainers once employed traditional methods that used a reasonable amount of caution and discretion, when confronted with training such a headstrong and spirited boy, Kozchek deviated from this approach. Instead, he took to placing Duo in situations where one foot wrong meant physical harm, citing that fear of injury would improve prospect performance.

Given Kozchek's military background, the young pilot saw nothing unusual or superfluous about the man's methods. The truth of his handler's sentiments about him impacting the intensity of his training occurred to him not even once. But not everyone was so naïve, and it was only a matter of time before G investigated the matter.

As the pair sat reviewing Duo's training progress, Professor G gave his comrade a small nod. "You've done an excellent job maximizing his potential," he commented, "Well done, Kozchek."

"Potential?" Kozchek snorted. "The first time we put him in a zero gravity simulator he threw up; yet you still say he has potential?"

"You would have too if you were in his position," G deflected.

The former General huffed, folding his arms defensively. "On top of that, he's still undersized."

"Size isn't a factor when you can kill a target from 50 yards away with a gun or knife. His reaction times in mobile suit battle are near perfect, and he's an ambidextrous shooter with unmatched accuracy in either hand."

"He's a reckless hair-trigger with no discipline," Kozchek grumbled.

The Professor paused, turning toward the other. "He's also an excellent hand-to-hand fighter who has proven he can hold his own against a much larger opponent, or a group of them. All this in less time than it took to train the previous pilot, who was far inferior." He narrowed a dark eye at the former General viciously. "Tell me…what do you have against the boy?"

flashback…..

Kozchek didn't agree with G's sudden autocratic move to discard the previous pilot in favor of a new prospect. Snap decisions made solely on impulses or hunches never bode well for anyone. The new young pilot was no exception. Having never been faced with taking orders, Duo wasn't much for taking them. He was stubborn and undisciplined, and set in his foolish ways no matter the cost.

But Kozchek's biggest problem with the boy was something entirely different.

He wouldn't stop grinning. There wasn't anything maniacal about it, but the fact that someone could bear that expression throughout such grueling training insulted him.

The previous pilot—the pilot they'd selected as a team—had at least shown an ounce of humility and submission. But not this boy. Even with his chestnut hair matted with blood and dirt, he still smirked. How could someone so headstrong and defiant possibly be expected to obey the plans for Operation Meteor?

In an effort to bring about a change in the young trainee's behavior, he lined traps and obstacles with razor wire, and used live explosives in situations where they were unnecessary. But even when he suffered injury, he would merely wipe the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, and gather himself upright once more, grinning all the while.

It was infuriating.

As Duo finished one of the daily drills set up for him, he trotted toward the former General, chestnut braid wagging behind him. Slowing to a stop, he wiped the sweat from his brow with a bare forearm and curled over, putting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath.

Despite the fact that he had performed flawlessly, Kozchek still only had three words for the boy: "Do it again."

Amethyst eyes lifted to the trainer's face. He had to be joking. He was, wasn't he?

"And get it right this time," the man instructed coldly.

"Get it right?" the boy huffed, "I got through it without a single mistake!"

"Now do it faster."

The braided boy gave the former General a look of disbelief.

"You've got to be faster, Maxwell. Speed can save your life if you get into a bad situation."

Again, Kozchek was greeted with that abhorrent smirk he so despised.

"Right," his trainee nodded, bringing himself upright. "I'll give it another go."

He'd wipe that stupid expression off Duo's face if it was the death of them both.

..end flashback…

"Nothing," Kozchek finally answered. The delay of the reply made the true response apparent.

"If you have a problem with Duo's behavior, you come to me with it. Understand that, Kozchek? Treat him fairly, or I won't hesitate to have you blacklisted from the Sweepers."

Hearing the ultimatum, Kozchek turned to the Professor and gave the same menacing stare he'd previously received. "You may have faith in him now, but mark my words, G…the boy won't go along with Operation Meteor."

Amidst all the other goings-on, Professor G personally continued Duo's formal education. The boy's intelligence made him remarkably easy to teach, and having a one-on-one relationship allowed for G to tailor the curricula to match his student's skills. In no time at all, he was working mathematical equations at high levels, and had even picked up conversational phrases in multiple languages.

During his time with Professor G and the Sweepers, Duo grew from the scraggly stowaway he once was to an aesthetically pleasing young man. In time, he towered over G himself, as he frequently reminded the Professor with playful jests and jabs. His voice had deepened, finally shedding its childlike qualities in favor of something far more masculine. In addition, the long hours of rigorous training turned his body from that of a gawky pre-teen boy to one of a young athlete. Lean muscle had gathered along his arms and chest, giving him a more filled-out and adult appearance. He felt better and healthier than ever before, and looked positively fantastic. So much so that he began to grow something of a slight ego.

Under the Professor's oversight, not only did Duo flourish as an individual, but also as an assassin. Years of marksmanship training had ensured he was deadly accurate with both a gun and a knife at long and short ranges. He could hit and kill a moving target at 150 yards away, and if his mission required him to hide, he could become a mere specter in a moment's notice. The boy was as much a weapon as the mobile suit he'd pilot.

Another long day of training behind him, Duo retired to his quarters for a quick shower before heading to bed. As he pulled his black ribbed tank top over his head, he could see a spatter of crimson staining his chest below his left collarbone. It had long since dried and didn't pain him at all, but apparently it had bled considerably enough to paint his treasured cross and its chain in various spots. No matter; it'd all easily wash off.

After undoing his yard of braided hair, he twisted on the water and stepped into its inviting spray. The soothing warm water coursed over his body, revealing the site where all the blood had come from: A long cut, parallel to his left collarbone. It appeared superficial, and didn't trouble him beyond a slight stinging as he agitated the wound with his touch. He didn't recall obtaining the injury…so where had it come from?

Oh. Right. He'd trained with Kozchek today. Funny how that man was the only handler he got hurt while working with… He even received fewer injuries from his gargantuan sparring partner.

Come to think of it, the scars on his shoulders and sides were all from Kozchek's training sessions, too. Still, it couldn't be anything more than coincidence. Besides, pain was only a temporary obstacle to be overcome, anyway. Or at least, that's what he'd been taught.

Wait, who was using all the hot water? Why did the temperature suddenly drop?

He reached downward to adjust the temperature of the shower, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the liquid pooling around his feet was noticeably dark; specifically, a deep shade of pink.

…like diluted blood.

Instinctively, his eyes and hands searched his body for the source. He had to be bleeding somewhere, somehow.

There it was, on his chest; the cut below his collarbone. Only this time it wasn't a cut, it was a number. The number two.

What did it mean to him?

That's all the time you have left, boy. Better get moving…

Two years left? Had it really been that long? He had let himself lose track of time…

Crimson liquid rushed from the wound, flooding into the water below, making it darker.

His hands clutched at the site of the bleeding, applying pressure, trying to stem the flow as the scarlet seeped between his fingers, unimpeded.

He threw back the shower curtain to search for a towel he could use to stop the hemorrhage…

…and jerked upright in bed, violet eyes wide and wary, chestnut bangs adhered to his forehead by a fine layer of sweat. His trembling hands clutched tightly to the injury, fingertips white with pressure he applied to the seeping wound on his chest.

But, as he looked down, the wound was gone; there was just his cross, pinned tightly against him by his own hands. What a strange dream… Still, it wouldn't be enough to deter him from sleep.

Unfortunately, as soon as he pulled up the comforter and nestled himself back onto the mattress, there was a knock on the door. Just his luck.

"Duo?"

It was Samuels.

"Duo, as soon as you get up, G wants you to meet him in bay one. It's important."

Grousing to himself under his breath, he threw back the blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep was overrated anyhow.

"What's up?" the braided figure chirped as he approached his lab-coated comrade in the expansive mobile suit bay.

He leaned an elbow down on the shoulder of the scientist who casually stepped out from underneath it, nearly sending half-awake Duo toppling over in the process.

"You'll be happy to know Project G-01D is nearly complete," Professor G replied, a grin evident in his voice.

Duo put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one side casually. "Well…have you named it?"

"You don't name things," the Professor retorted, his tone baring a slight hint of amusement.

"Sure you do!"

The boy was serious. G perked an eyebrow, and decided to indulge him. "I presume you've thought of one, then?"

"I had something in mind, yeah," the young trainee smirked, the corners of his indigo eyes narrowing jovially.

"And what would that be?"

Duo's grin widened as his gaze scanned over the massive suit. "…Deathscythe."

The scientist stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat. "I suppose it's a fitting name. Fine then—we'll call it Deathscythe."

He turned to the boy. "I want you ready for launch in twenty minutes."

At a loss for words, the young pilot could only blink in reply.

"You've got to become accustomed to operating in both normal and zero gravity," Professor G instructed. "We've provided the best training possible, but that is still no exception for experience. Now, this suit isn't ready for space, so it'll be a bit unwieldy, but I think you'll manage."

"Wait—are you sure?"

"There's only so much experience a simulator can provide, Duo. Just don't pick any fights, and whatever you do, make sure you avoid detection. Engage the suit's cloaking device, and prepare for launch."

The finished cockpit smelled of freshly-soldered metal and new plastic. It was a horrible, nauseating blend that stung his nostrils. But all that faded once the engines started and the completed piloting system came online for the first time. Despite the countless hours he'd spent in a simulated cockpit, there was still nothing at all quite like being inside an actual mobile suit. His mobile suit. His Gundam.

The pilot interface was amazing. It performed just like it was supposed to, with all three screens working synchronously to give him a clear perspective of his surroundings. Over the quiet hum of the suit's engines, he could hear the occasional click or beep of notification from multiple data feedback devices that kept a constant monitoring of location, orientation, and engine output status, among others.

Fastening himself into the harness, he found the button to engage the suit's hyper jammers. Before him, the gate opened. He was beyond it with a mere flick of his wrist. Apparently Deathscythe had a lot more power than he'd originally thought.

Once outside, he lost his breath. He'd never been out in open space before. His body was weightless; the only thing holding him in place being the straps of the harness over his shoulders. The hum of the engines and routine clicks and beeps of the suit's various notifications faded to white noise, and beyond that was only silence. Nothing in his life had ever been nearly as enchanting and blissful.

"Just you and me out here, Deathscythe…" he sighed.

Adrift in an infinite obsidian sea speckled with stars and colonies, it suddenly struck him:

He had two years left, and his target could be anywhere.


Other ANs:

Chapter title inspired by "Viva La Vida (or Death and All His Friends)" – Coldplay.

Other tracks used: "At the Bottom" – Beth Hart; "The Other Side" – Pendulum; "Rebirth & Reverse" – Abingdon Boys School.