Author's Note: Here's a quick update, I know, unexpected but I got into a writing frenzy this weekend. So, for you're reading pleasure, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing.

Warning: language, violence death

When Hell Freezes

"That went rather well," Troy smirked as he relaxed in his car. "Shouldn't be long now until Howie cracks. I give him until tomorrow morning for his answer."

"Don't you think it was a bit much threatening those kids like that?" his driver spoke up, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Who'd miss them?" Troy replied flippantly. "It's not as if anyone would care. The important thing, though, is that we'll have a place to keep the drugs until we can distribute them."

"Yes sir," the driver said.

---

It was such a beautiful day in the Oval Office. It was something that Septum could only have dreamed about months ago but now those dreams were a reality. He was in charge of the most powerful country on the planet and soon everyone would know about it.

It had only been a few minutes ago that he had alerted the local press of the change of command and he was giddy about what tomorrow's headlines would be. Hell, he had a television and was waiting for the first breaking news story to interrupt the regularly scheduled program.

"I'm bored," the Maxwell weapon known as Rex drawled, his eyes glued to the television. "Change the channel already."

"Change it to Channel 4," the other weapon Brett agreed. "There's suppose to be some action flick on right now."

Septum's left eye twitched. "We are not going to be watching anything else," he stated gruffly. "Now be good little boys and shut up."

Rex huffed and turned his head away snobbishly while Brett made no action that said he had heard the General. "Boys he calls us," Rex muttered but said nothing else.

That was much better, Septum groused to himself. The sweet sound of silence, something that hadn't been in this city since the coup de' tat. Of course, it wouldn't be silent for long. Not only was there the reaction from the public but also there was the renegade General Keppel. He had been stumped to hear that the man had managed to survive as long as he had, long enough to begin gathering forces of his own.

Septum was positive that the General was up to something, probably thinking of ways to take power for himself. Well, let him try and stand up to the force that was Project Maxwell. He'll be crushed like all those politicians before him.

Glancing over to where the two weapons had planted their selves, he frowned in thought. The independence that the two were displaying was troubling. He knew that the only reason why they were still here was because of Xavien and not him, Septum. That was another person who needed to be watch; he only trusted Xavien as far as he could see him and since he didn't like looking at the man…

There was no doubt that he was probably being watched but it was who he needed to be careful around that was the question. The weapons were no brainers but that left his officers, men he had trusted for years and that bothered him.

There was nothing more treacherous than a two-faced bastard who held your trust.

"We interrupt your regularly schedule program for some breaking news…"

Perking up from his thoughts, he slowly let a smile out as he listened further.

---

Tapping a finger on the boardroom table, Raberba Winner looked irritably at his watch, wondering what was taking Quatre so long to get here. His son had assured him he'd be here in time for the board meeting but in an act so out of character, his heir was late.

What could be keeping him?

Ignoring the presences of the rest of the board members, he pressed a button on an intercom that was built into the table, making a direct line to the secretary out in the front lobby. "Has Quatre arrived yet, Ms. Tillman?" he demanded, keeping his annoyance out of his voice.

"Not yet Mr. Winner."

"Inform me of his arrival; we'll be starting without him," Winner growled back into the com, terminating the call and regaining any composure that he may have lost. "Sorry for the delay," he told the board members. "We'll just have to start without him but be assured he will be penalized for his tardiness. This may not be school but my son should know better than to be late."

Much to his relief, he got a chuckle out of his board members, something that boosted his spirits somewhat.

"Well, without further delay, let's get down to the reason why I've called you all here…"

---

"Thank you very much Ms. Tillman," a cold voice spoke to the frightened secretary. "Your services are no longer required now."

Before the poor woman could do anything, a sharp object cut through her body and out through the chair in which she sat on day in and day out. The owner of the cold voice chuckled and kept her held down until he was sure that the woman was too weak to do anything.

Pulling away, he quipped, "Keep cool," and turned to head over to the elevators. Along the way, he passed by two security guards, both entombed in solid blocks of ice, faces of horror permanently frozen in time.

Pressing down on the up button, Mordred slowly banished all thoughts of amusement as he waited for his lift to arrive on the ground floor. Though he had intended to head straight for the last known location of 12093, Janus had snuck up on him and asked if he could take care of something on his way out. The fact that he had requested for him to assassinate the Winners was something that he could not refuse, seeing as it had been at their complex that his little brother had been killed.

It wouldn't be much but this should do wonders for his anger, paying back those that had robbed him of his precious family, a crime that he would not tolerate in the slightest.

Forming a spike of ice in one hand, he said to himself as he stepped into the elevator, his eyes changing to a shimmering silver, "I hope you're ready for your ten o'clock Mr. Winner."

---

He was late and he knew it, something that really bugged Quatre to no end. He had promised his father that he would be at the meeting on time but then his ride just had to get a flat tire.

Yes, even the wealthy were still subject to getting flat tires, another thing that irritated the blond to no end. Add to the fact that he was on a busy interstate in the midst of rush hour and one could see how the heir to one of the most powerful corporations on the planet was behind in his schedule. In the end, he had to call Rashid to pick him up and have someone tow his car from the shoulder of the five lane road.

"Calm down Master Quatre, I'm sure that your father will be understanding about this," the large man said soothingly as he sped down the streets of Salt Lake City, Utah with ease. "There's no way you could have been prepared for a flat, it happens even to the best of us."

"You're being too optimistic, Rashid," Quatre said as he watched the city buildings pass him by dispassionately. "This meeting is incredibly important; my father's going to tear me a new one before the day is through, flat tire or no flat tire."

"Whatever you say Master Quatre," Rashid chuckled, his eyes never leaving the road. In no time at all, he entered a large parking garage and the deeper he drove into it, the more antsy Quatre became. He had barely parked the car in the reserved parking spot when Quatre tore out of the car, powerwalking to the nearest entrance as fast as he could. It was all Rashid could do to turn off the ignition and chase after his youthful charge, not willing to let the young man get beyond his sights.

"Slow down Master Quatre," he admonished as he caught up to the Winner heir. "There's no reason to rush."

"There's all the reason to rush," Quatre retorted. "Father is going to kill me!"

Inside the building and down the hallways, the young man set the fast pace heading for the front lobby where the nearest elevators were. There weren't any near the parking garage, something that Quatre found completely outrageous. What the hell were the builders thinking when they built this place?

He had only entered the front lobby for a minute before he ran straight into a solid wall that was freezing cold to the touch. In took him a minute to realize that he hadn't run into a really cold wall but a block of solid ice…with a person in it?!

He was suddenly pulled back and thrown behind the large bulk of his personal bodyguard who had drawn out a large magnum and was scanning the area, eyes skimming over the sight of the dead Ms. Tillman as they searched for any threats.

Quatre meanwhile was just starting to take in his surroundings and to find half of the front lobby covered in ice shocked him. There was no way this was possible! Unless…

Let it never be said that Quatre didn't have a quick mind. He did and he was already putting the pieces together. The meeting his father had called had been about what they were going to be doing to take advantage of Project Maxwell and since he had already encountered someone who controlled the very wind, it wouldn't be too farfetched if there was someone who could control ice.

Then that meant…

"Father!" he suddenly exclaimed. Rashid glanced back him with a warning glare but he had figured out the meaning behind the blond's words.

"We'll take the stairs," he stated. "This way, quickly."

Quatre said nothing as he led the way to the stairs, pulling out his own sidearm as he slammed his back next to the door to the stairwell. Pushing it open, he let Rashid spy out if the coast was clear, covering the larger man's back. In no time at all, the two men were climbing up the stairs, going up as fast as they could while doing their best not to make too much noise. What if there were under attack and the attacker was still here? No need to be giving away their element of surprise yet.

Coming to the floor where the meeting was being held, Quatre motioned to Rashid to stop and get ready to go in. This time, it would be the larger man who opened the door and Quatre going in first. Nodding down at him, Rashid pushed opened the stairwell door and Quatre pointed his gun out into the hallway, eyes snapping from side to side.

What he found was patches of ice all over the corridor, telling the blond that the attacker had definitely been here. Taking the lead, he crept down the hallway, doing his best not to look at the frozen severed limbs that littered the floor, peeking around the next corner to check for the threat.

Finding nothing, he dashed a few feet ahead, pressing his back against the wall and slowly making his way down the hall, Rashid following his every step. The trek to the boardroom was not pleasant, especially so when they came across the sight of a frozen massacre. They further they ventured, the more and more unsure Quatre became about getting involved with Project Maxwell.

If this was the result of the program, what possible benefits could be derived from it that didn't involve killing people?

Not only that, there was still the question of whether or not his father was still alive. Quatre hoped not but with every passing second it seemed more than certain.

The doors to the boardroom had been frozen and completely shattered when they came upon it. Ignoring all the instincts in him that screamed at him not to do something so foolish, Quatre raced into the boardroom to come upon a horrifying sight.

Many of the board members were staked to their chairs by large icicles, others slashed up completely and missing their heads but nowhere was his father to be found. He swallowed back the vomit he felt bubbling up his throat and he frantically began searching for his missing father.

He needn't look far, he found his father's body pinned to a wall in a mockery of Jesus Christ himself. Eyes had been gouged out, tongue cut off, throat slit, gut eviscerated, blood drained, and that was the rated R description of it.

What kind of monster could have done this…to his father of all people! He was going to find that son of a bitch and make him pay—

He stumbled forward as Rashid slammed right into him. The two of them fell onto the boardroom table which turned out to not only be frozen like everything else but extremely brittle. Quatre felt the full impact as he not only was the one to bear the brunt of the table breaking under him and the landing on the floor but also Rashid's bulk nearly crushing him.

"I'm…sorry…Master Quatre," Rashid gasped to the smaller man.

"I hope you aren't dead yet."

Quatre stiffened at the sound of the foreign voice. Rashid was pulled off of him and the next thing Quatre knew, he was pulled up and facing a pair of piercing silver eyes.

"Quatre Winner isn't it?" the boy said mockingly into his face. "I was hoping you'd show up."

"Who are you?" Quatre managed to question, his teeth clenched together.

"If it's that important to you, you may call me Mordred," the boy answered, pushing the blond and delivering a roundhouse kick into his sternum. The blond was thrown back through the boardroom wall and right into a desk in the next one.

It was a good thing that he was in good physical condition unlike many of the people who worked here. He was able to push himself up off the desk, doing his best to ignore the small cuts and scrapes that he had received. Of course, it just happened to be then that he discovered that he wasn't holding his gun. He must've lost somewhere between crashing through that table and landing on this desk.

"Impressive," Mordred said as he stepped through the hole in the wall. "You're actually standing."

Spitting out some spittle, Quatre harked back, "It's going to take a lot more than that to take me down."

"Indeed," Mordred agreed, bringing a hand up. A white mist began forming around the hand, sparkling as light reflected off the icy particles within it. "Maybe you'll be able to last longer than Mr. Winner."

"Bastard," the blond hissed.

Before Mordred could do anything, he was suddenly struck from behind by a very large and very strong fist. He stumbled forward, Quatre moving out of the way quickly as his mist covered hand was outstretched to try and grab something. Mordred ended up running into the desk Quatre had landed on earlier, the mist covered hand touching it first and freezing the piece of furniture instantly.

Mordred tried to push himself off of the frozen desk only to be jackhammered back into it and then body slammed through it by one very pissed off Rashid.

"Run Master Quatre!" the large man shouted. "I'll deal with him. Just go!"

Something that Rashid hadn't counted on was that Mordred was quick to recover. Summoning his power to freeze anything and everything with a touch, he slammed the palm of his hand onto the side of Rashid's head.

The man's eyes widened as his head froze over, the freezing effect spreading to encompass the rest of his body with increasing speed. With a blast of ice, Mordred flung the large, frozen man off him and sent him back through the hold in the wall. Upon landing on the floor, Rashid's body shattered into many pieces and confirming that the man was indeed dead.

Turning back to where he had last seen Quatre, Mordred cursed as the blond was nowhere to be found. He had taken his bodyguard's order it seemed. Well no matter, he would seek the man out and make sure he paid for his part in Stone's death.

And then it would be Jason's turn.

Author's Note: Can anybody guess what's special about today. I'll give you a clue, it occurred two years ago. The person who gets this right gets a chapter dedication.