Twelve hour shifts and shitty internet connections make it extremely difficult to write anything, so I apologize if chapter's a little substandard. Fixed the cut-off bit at the end, I think it's the only really important part of the chapter; everything else is just fleshing out the negativity between Master and Michelo. Read on if you got a taste for sadism.
Heart
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Before Michelo left to train with Master Asia, he had one thing he wanted to take care of.
He was back in Sao Paul, in front of Mestre Ababelado's Caporia academy, cellphone in hand. Gauze covered parts where his fight suit had melted to his skin and he wore mostly black.
Perhaps the only reason he ever liked the Italian military was the training it offered. Explosives training, in his case. His crowning achivement before he left had been a feild manual meant for international law enforcement and military explosive ordinance disposal. It was, however, passed over in favor of a manual that better touched on disarmament and detection over Michelo's manufacture and 'lessons learned'. The manual would eventually be leaked, and it now found mass distribution amongst revolutionaries, mercenaries, and curious readers everywhere as the 'The Urban Terrorist's Improvised Explosives Cookbook'.
Everything in that manual was also stored in the collective brain trust of one mad, mad individual who was not even credited in name in most copies.
"I'm getting sick of losing."
He pressed the green button on his cellphone and watched the schoolhouse burst into flames.
Sore loser didn't even begin to describe it.
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"The Neros..." Trip hadn't grasped the extent of the damage until the smoke and fire had cleared. Most of the armor was useless scrap gundarium hardly fit for a commercial spacecraft, and the Neros itself looked better when Domon Kasshu had finished with it. Christiani didn't even want to think about damage costs. Even from three hundred meters, through binoculars, the idea that he could repair such damage was ridiculous. The idea that Neo Hong Kong expected Michelo to do it more ridiculous still.
"At least you won; though I don't see how that matters anymore, bastard."
Granted, he wasn't even supposed to be here, the skeleton remembered, so it wasn't supposed to be his problem. But he still owed allegiance to Neo Italy, and he wanted to see Michelo win the gundam fight as much as any Italian. Their second-chance at the gundam fight couldn't be lost this easily.
The dark-suited man stepped out of the woods. His oxfords made a loud crunching sound as his weight snapped burnt black twigs. From his jacket pocked he pulled out his cellphone to request assistance from the Ministry of Defense.
He snarled and spat, cursing Michelo as his mind was already calculating what he had to do to ensure Neo Italy's place in the gundam fight. Whatever experiment Neo Hong Hong was conducting was irrelevant compared to what Neo Italy could do with this unprecedented blessing. And Maria let Trip know that personal vendettas could wait until after the gundam fight. Trip cracked his jaw as he imagined putting Michelo down for good as soon as this dreadful year was over.
A loud engine interrupted his thoughts and the Italian took cover as a Neo Hong Kong ship filled the sky.
"What are they doing here?" Trip demanded, hand keeping his hat in place.
Harpoon-like barbs shot into the ground around the fire-bronzed gundam and the blackened remains of its armor. A loud electric humming filled the air as strands of energy formed a net around the Neros.
"Who the fuck they think they are?! They're stealing a sovereign nation's gundam!"
Helpless to do anything but watch, Christiani filled out a report -a short form detailing what had just happened on a tiny laptop and sent it directly to Maria.
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The phone rang.
Maria, buried in paperwork, answered, "Christiani."
"Wong." the smooth voice corrected.
"Prime Minister Wong?!"
"The one and the same. Good day, signorina."
"Sir, do you need me to patch you over to the President, because I-"
"Ms. Ligouri, you're the only one in that whole cabinent with enough brains to talk to. The gundam fight is in your lane, after all."
"I see..." She was flattered, "is it about Chariot?" If he had gotten himself in trouble again...
"Somewhat, it's about the Neros."
"Wh-what happened?" The Neros was her pride and joy. The first gundam created under her watchful eye. If Michelo had destroyed the Neros again, he would pay.
"Michelo Chariot actually did something noble for once. He destroyed the Mirage Gundam. When you get a chance to talk to him, congratulate him. He did very well."
Maria smiled, "He is our fighter for a reason. Even a criminal deserves a second chance."
Her tone made even Wong's stomach lurch with its saccrine sweetness, "The bad news is, the Neros is almost completely destroyed."
"What!?" Her tone reached glass-shattering octaves.
"Now, now, the head is still mostly intact, so its not as if he's been disqualified. Given the circumstances, I am willing to offer my nation's services to repair the gundam ourselves.Your flightcrew is in most need of assistance and our very own Master Gundam isn't far away."
"Sir, you must understand, I can't give you my nation's secrets! If you need the plans to the Neros Gundam, I'm afraid it would take an act of parliament to agree to-" "Oh, I don't think I'll need that. I would just like your blessing to allow Master Asia to assist as a sort of reward to stopping a dangerous criminal."
"O-of course, Prime Minister, thank you for your kindness, I'll give the crew orders to allow Neo Hong Kong to provide relief and I hope our fighter isn't much of a-" "Oh, signora; signore Chariot is a perfect gentleman. I very much enjoy his company and look forward to seeing him at the finals."
Wong hung up and hid a disgusted face.
I hate talking to her!
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Gagging, Michelo gently rubbed the boiled black latex from his bicep. It slid off in one sickeningly smooth piece, taking with it a layer of fried skin. Exposed to the air now was new pink-white flesh, slick with saline and stinging. His hair was tied up into a tight bun and greasy with gel, least even one stray hair land on his burns.
He was sitting on a bed in some backwater town in Neo Guyana, while Master watched him carefully. Strewn across the room was gundam maintenance equipment from both the Neros and the Master.
"So, those were DG cells..." Michelo remarked. He was thinking of what he could do with that kind of power. Blowing himself up seemed rather stupid in hindsight, given the current state of the Neros. DG cells and the regenerative properties they offered seemed almost a necessity now. Even if he did swallow his pride and go to his flight crew for help, it was doubtful that they had the ability to bring the Neros back even they tried to agree to disagree and -God forbid- work together.
"You haven't seen the extent of the Devil Gundam's power. That small taste of self-recovery is only the beginning."
"So when do I get DG cells?"
Angered that Michelo would be so arrogant as to ask for assimilation, he snapped, "Fool! What makes you think you can handle that kind of power?!"
"Well, I beat a guy-""-For Mirabeau it was a matter of life or death! As you are, the DG Cells would turn you into a zombie within days!"
"A zombie?"
"DG cells don't kill you, boy, if you think of the end result as some form of life."
With a suddenness Michelo had come to expect, Master lunged, swinging his foot out for a roundhouse. Automatically, Michelo blocked with his own foot, catching Master in the ankle. Master twisted his body around and spun in midair, knocking Michelo in the ankle with his other foot. The Italian rolled off the bed and to his feet and assumed a grappling stance.
The older man smiled smugly and jumped forward, the blades of his hands coming down, apparently for Michelo's sholders. Master's wrists met the blades of Michelo's hands, which twisted and grapped his wrists; the Undefeated in turn grabbed Michelo's wrists and yanked foward.
Michelo stuck his head out, the dome of his head, just above his hairline and stuck his knee out. Master couldn't see both coming and blocked Michelo's knee with his own and got a noseful of Michelo's hair, and the hard skull that followed it. Letting go of Michelo's wrist, he backhanded the redhead under the chin and punched his throat.
Had he hit center, he could have very well killed him, instead, it was a hit to the softer and more pliable cartaroid artery. It didn't feel much better and Michelo doubled over, coughing. Master dropped the younger man with an elbow the the back of the head.
"Not too bad; you can at least keep up with me. I suppose you did earn your spot as a Heavenly King."
"Gee, thanks." Michelo glared from his knees, red in the face and coughing.
Hidden in Master's sash was a gundam combat data disc. He held it to Michelo.
"This has all been taken from the Master Gundam's combat data. It was taken from the Shinjkuku incident, when your mind was so fragile that you were doing the Devil's bidding without DG cells!"
"I was doing what?"
Master shook his head and his eyes held amused pity. He patted Michelo's head, which worked loose a few strands of his bangs. Making a face, Michelo swatted his hand.
"Watch the Shinjuku incident from my eyes, Michelo. Perhaps you will understand better then the others. Tomorrow, we start training."
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Michelo slipped the disk into a tiny lush-green laptop he affectionately called Nerino. Nerino, being a cut-down, miniature version of the operating system on the Neros, knew exactly what to do with the data and played the battle data. To see as the Kowloon Gundam fighting was bizarre. To see the Devil Gundam in action was stranger still. Nostalgia filled him as everything came back to him.
He was in Shinjuku again, trapped in the wake of a dream, instead of seeing the fight through Master's eyes. He was seeing them though his own.
Michelo crouched, eyes gleaming.
"Where the devil has Argo gone?" The uniformed woman wondered as she wandered, hopelessly lost.
"He knows better!" She snarled, "He knows better then to wander off like this!" She was trembling with fright and righteous anger, lost in the darkness in a strange place. Master Asia had a strange taste when it came to meeting places. Burnt-out, gundam-torn Shinjuku, Neo Japan was about the last place she had in mind.
"Argo!" She called, "Argo, where are you?!" She was loud to proove to herself that nothing that went bump in that artificial night.
Don't harm them. It whispered in his ear.
Michelo stood up and stepped carefully through muddy water, his footfalls as sounded as innocent as dripping water. He could have walked naturally, so deafened with fear and anger and desperation was his prey.
As the Italian moved in, he got so close to her he was walking in her steps. His right hand scooped over her mouth and right under her nose, forcing her head up. His left arm wrapped across her neck and grabbed his right collar. She fought like a tiger for roughly seven seconds, kicking and tearing at his arms. Then her blood-starved brain gave up and the Russian was limp in his arms.
Michelo picked her up as easily as if she were a doll and carried her off to where the others awaited assimilation. So perfectly formed they could have been man made, the Italian carefully laid her down to rest and closed the glass lid.
"You sure you wouldn't like a dose?" Master Asia had come up from behind and stood back-to-back with him. Sneaking up on Michelo was not an easy thing to accomplish.
"So I can be eaten alive?"
"The damage it does to the body is extensive, but the power it gives brings Domon Kasshu to his knees."
"I wanna see the long-term side effects first."
"I will give you that chance, but Neo China will be arriving soon, so I want you to be ready. Do you think you can handle a pair of Xiao Lin monks?"
"I'll be fine."
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Michelo awoke airborne, his heels over his head. Master was striking a pose on his bed, looking rather comical upside down.
Extra-judicial punishment had been comparatively harder, but not by much. At least the demon instructors at the Officer's Candidate School had been restrained by laws and order.
The extremist Oldtype that went by Master Asia had no such scruples.
Michelo's vision of the floor was blocked by his own hair and in seemingly slow motion, the Italian twisted his body around so his hands were under his chest and his feet were out. His heels caught first, but the momentum was too much and Michelo greeted the wall behind him ass first, then back, then the back of his head. He gasped in pain.
Of course Master didn't stop there; he was throwing punches and kicking before he ever got in range. Michelo could feel the wind from them from yards away.
Roll and don't corner yourself. Michelo thought with odd clarity. He did, and Master's forearm greeted his neck. Michelo let his knees out from under him and the rabbit punch hit only air.
But so did Michelo's side kick.
"What the-?!" The redhead looked up to see Master balancing perfectly on the ball of his ankle, his body barely registering the weight. Master smiled arrogantly, as if he were chiding a naughty child as he reared his right foot back. As his foot flew toward Michelo's temple, the Italian caught it and yanked, bringing the older man forward.
He was too unbalanced to see a slippered left foot smash into his field of vision, sending the younger man rolling across the room, knocking over two chairs and a table in the process.
"Hmph! Land a hit on me within the next five minutes, and I'll call you the King of Hearts!" Master laughed.
For the same reasons that drove the Italian to hate Domon Kasshu, Michelo wanted nothing more then to hear Master Asia call him that in that single moment.
This fucker thinks he can mock me?!
Michelo rolled to his feet, too angry to remember the basic tricks that made caporia deadly. He charged.
Master was waiting. With a round house, he completely sailed over the younger man and managed another twist in the air to kick Michelo in the back. With a slight whimper, Michelo stumbled, but did't fall. He tried a roundhouse, but the old man merely ducked under it and tossed the redhead's leg, putting Michelo on the ground. Kicking his legs, Michelo was back on his feet, hyperventilating with anger. He glared at Master with a burning look that brought countless hardened gangsters to their knees in tears. Master laughed, seeing young Domon in Michelo's place. Easily frustrated, impulsive, and arrogant, it amused the older man to easily fend off this gundam fighter's moves and think about how well they must have gotten along.
The alarm clock blared, signaling Michelo's five minutes were up.
"Well, shi-!" Michelo exclaimed. Master whipped his head in a circle, causing the silver rope of hair to wrap around Michelo's throat. The Italian let out a gurgling noise as Master threw his head back, dragging Michelo with him and throwing the younger man on the bed.
As Michelo tried to get the braid off his throat, he dimly remembered that it was attached to Master's head. A swift kick dislodged his foot and Michelo felt his own heel digging between his shoulder blades. The tension was too painful and Michelo groaned, trapped. Master was pinning Michelo with one arm. As if it had life of its own, Master's braid seemed to unwind itself and, with a flick of the old man's head, whip over his sholder.
"I guess that's it then." Master scoffed, "The only thing a gangster can seem to do is kidnap children and scare young punks!"
With his free hand, Master Asia twisted Michelo's foot, listening carefully to complex bone, tendon, and muscle systems. Michelo hyperventilated to keep himself from screaming.
"Cane dio!" Michelo sounded close to tears.
"Breaking your ankle would finish your fighting career for good, wouldn't it?"
"Yes!"
"Losing your martial art would cause you to lose control of your gang, wouldn't it?"
Even more painful then that, Michelo screamed, "Yes!"
"Wong assures me that you are not unschooled, but can a painter that paints one thing call himself an artist?!"
"No!"
"A semi-master of Caporia Angola you may be, but mastery of one art does not put you at my level!" He tighted his grip on Michelo, who was whimpering in pain, "It doesn't even put you at Domon's level! Beating Mirabeau makes you a mediocre fighter at best, and the Devil Gundam at your fingertips will not give you the power you need to rise above them! You lack discipline."
The older man tightened his grip and Michelo howled. Unlike most other joints in the human body, the ankle gave no warning before it broke.
Quietly, Master growled, "Do you submit?"
Through the gnashing of teeth, Michelo managed to cry out, "Yes."
Master took his hands off the younger man and all of the tension released. Michelo shook his head and panted.
"Get dressed and meet me outside, Michelo; we have much to do." As if Master had mearly shaken Michelo awake, he spoke his peace and stepped out of the room, closing the door politely behind him.
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Michelo squinted in the flourecent lights, shivering with exertion. He hated hospitals with everything in him, and this one filled him with dread. Wong stood up to greet him.
As soon as the Chinese man saw Master's new student, he was glad he asked for him.
Wicked smile gone, eyes sunken, pale face blanched, shaking hands, Michelo looked like he'd been through hell, which he very well might have been.
"You look like you could use some cheering up."
Michelo nodded, eyebrows raised.
"Here." Now understanding the feeling people sometimes got looking at stray kittens or the homeless, Wong offered his last candybar; Michelo looked so pathetic he wanted to laugh.
"Grazie mille." His voice cracked. Something sweet to contrast the bitterness of what had become of his life, that all-encompassing training.
His hand were trembling, which made the sympathy feeling worse, Michelo steadied it with his other hand and tore open the wrapper with his teeth. Wong noticed the white-pink smoothness where the skin of his knuckles had been scraped away; they contrasted starkly with the black-green dirt under his fingernails and in the fine lines of his skin.
"Allow me to show you something."
Michelo trailed behind, as obedient as a dog, knawing on almonds and chocolate. They came to a guarded room and with a retinal scan, the door swished open only long enough for the two of them to get through.
"What do you think?" The room was small and dark; the windows had been blackened out, and the only lights came from the cryogenic equipment.
"If you want my expert opinion; he's dead."
Chapman looked unreal; skin so white it was transparent, Michelo could trace the dark veins in his forehead, full of congealed blood. Like all children, Chapman had been his hero, Michelo was four when he watched this ethereal knight win his first gundam fight, and he grew up with the expectation that he would win again, and keep winning. How his country's fighters looked so false compared to the demigod of gundams!
Michelo was twenty years old when he and many others decided enough was enough; Chapman probably saw it coming.
He was frozen in a cryogenic coffin. How Wong had gotten him, Michelo didn't know. He didn't particularly care to know either.
"Wong," Michelo laughed, sure this was a joke, "I don't think he can handle a gundam anymore."
Wong nodded, his face set, "I can fix it."
Michelo pointed, "You can fix this?"
"Sure. You'll see as soon as we get to London."
"London?"
"Yes, Michelo, London, is there a problem?"
"Wong," Michelo sighed, "You must know about my whole tendency for flashbacks and all-" "I have faith in you, Michelo. I'm sure you'll keep it under control, besides..."
The Prime Minister turned to face Michelo, "What better way to rid you of your demons then have you face them?"
Michelo smiled nervously, "Sure, boss, whatever you say, but it's not my fault if a Londoner or two or maybe three or four get shot because I chose that day to flip out. And it won't be my problem." Michelo dusted the palms of his hands as if washing them of the whole incident.
Wong shrugged, "Mine either."
Suddenly, as if Michelo had to get the information across if it finished him, "Wong, I think he's trying to kill me."
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"Lete. Michelo left me in charge."
"Yeah, I know. And I'm-" Lete grunted as he adjusted the mortar tube, "The subject matter expert on fighting a war."
The roof of their bunkered, fortressed manor offered a spectacular view of Rome. On a clear day, one could see the highest domes of the Vatican. Lete was pointing a tube into the sky, using a screwdriver to adjust the height. At his foot was an AR-15 fitted with a scope and a pile of maps.
"Minor schirmishes with extreamist oldtypes or newtypes don't count, Lete. "
"Yeah, well, my spine, hips, and scalp would disagree."
As the smaller man stooped over, Andre heard the crack of his vertebrae and saw the misalignment. He shook his head.
"What is your target?"
"There," Lete pointed ambitiously, cigarette in hand, toward the skyline. Squinting, Andre saw an ebony-black tower with angels gaurding its roof.
"Aw, Lete, the Castle of Angels?"
"No, dufus," Lete handed off the AR-15, pulled the covers and turned the knob, as soon as found his target, he pulled his head away, "That."
Contrary to popular culture, the red laser dot that soilders and assassins alike used to hone in on targets isn't visible unless looking through the scope, the Christiani Jazz Academy had no idea that anything was amiss.
"You aren't gonna hit that castle, are you?"
"Nah, these mortars don't have that kind of blast radius. " Andre had been off by a hair, which translated to about a hundred meters out, "I'll adjust fire as needed."
Somewhere, the mossy-haired man had hidden the fact that he now was the same man, and Lete was committing the same acts, that used to make his life so hard.
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Michelo was aggressively silent as he packed. Warm sunlight filtered though the curtains and as Michelo rolled his shirts into tight pill-rolls, Master occasionally saw a bright flash reflecting off the infection like scales of an exotic fish.
"Michelo, why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" Michelo kept folding, not looking up.
"Vengence can't be your only reason for joining us."
"What other thing is there?" Michelo asked, "If a man wounds me, I'm expected to take vengence for it."
"It was just a gundam fight. What does an Earthnoid care for the winners of the gundam fight?" Master folded his arms inside his sleeves.
"It was not!" Michelo exclaimed angrily, "He spared five nations! Why did he show restraint against them and not me, Chapman, and Rodriguez? This just shows his malicious intent! Wherever he can get away with it, he kills the fighters he doesn't like." He unfolded the sloppy work and started over.
"That's not true." Master turned to the younger King, unbelieving that his pupil of all people would abuse his privileges as a gundam fighter.
"Oh yeah, Domon's an angel," Michelo pointed at Master with four fingers, "Why I bet Chapman and Rodriguez explained just how nice and friendly he is to St. Peter."
Master's lip twitched, but he had no counter to that. It could be argued that Chapman had been a plain accident, anybody could see that. But Rodriguez...Master Asia knew to take pilot data with a fistful of salt and desertion was a pretty bad offense for a gundam fighter, but did that warrant death?
"But why not just forget Domon and go on your way?"
"And just lie there and take it like some punk bitch?! Never!" Michelo spat the last word, an accent almost slipped out.
He sighed angrily, almost embarrassed at his outburst and wanting to change the subject. As soon as his hands unclenched, he asked, "And why are you aligned with this Devil?"
"The Ultimate Gundam, which has since been renamed Devil Gundam by Neo Japan, was originally going to use its nanotechnology to restore Earth."
That sounded ridiculous, considering what form it had taken when he'd seen it, but he humored the old Master, "So the Gundam Fight can destroy it as soon as it was done?"
"I knew there was a spark of brilliance within you, boy!" Master Asia cried estacally, remembering why he had humored Wong with even testing the boy, "The Gundam Fight would simply undo all the Devil Gundam's work!"
"So what the hell are we doing?"
"The Devil Gundam's plan is to purge everything destroying the Earth! Do you know what that means?"
"The Gundam Fight?"
"Think bigger then that, boy! I'm talking about the very reason we left for space in the first place!"
"We left for the colonies because the Earth couldn't support humanity anymore."
"Only an attempt to restore the Earth would just end in humanity destroying it all over again."
"But if the Devil Gundam can restore the Earth like you say it can, what's the problem?"
"Why should the Devil Gundam serve to fix mankind's mistakes over and over and over again? Mankind should pay for what its done!"
Michelo paused, tilting his head in confusion, he repeated "Pay for what its done?"
"With the Devil Gundam, I will ensure that no human will ever set foot on this planet again!"
Michelo got defensive, even if that sounded insane, he knew that the Devil Gundam was more then capible of carrying out such a threat, "And what about everyone still living on Earth?! There's hardly a soul still on the planet that can get out of that thing's wraith!"
"Every human sacrificed to the Devil Gundam spares an innocent creature's life."
Michelo thought Master was full of shit and told him so, "You are full of fucking shit. Go to any city on Earth and tell me those starving bastards deserve to be destroyed by that thing."
"You're an Earthnoid, surely you understand. If the colonists don't care about them, what better cause could they possibly die for?"
"You're insane!" Michelo pointed, "You've lost your goddamned mind!"
"I've lost my mind? Michelo! You were my first choice because of this very reason! Your delicious wickedness and love of violence makes you the perfect Heavenly King! That's why I need you to achieve my ideal!"
"You're fucking nuts." Michelo shook his head, eyes on the King of Hearts, "Just like a fucking spacenoid to treat us like garbage or cattle!"
"I don't know what drives you to destruction, but I will give you limitless targets and the unbridled power to need to furfill that rage. Perhaps then you will find peace."
"Don't insult me." Michelo snarled, throwing his jacket on. He stormed out, back pack in hand.
