Author Note: Well, I'm actually somewhat happy to see that I've managed to polarize some people on their favorite factions, OrangeP47 and LordRevan most vocally. I've put up new forums, one for Pro USN sorts, one for Pro Edenite sorts and one for Reclamation War in General. Feel free to browse them and use them, I will be checking them from time to time (read, often, maybe daily or even more frequently), so if you don't wanna put something in a review, and desire it to be a more open discussion than a PM, thats the place for it. Just try and keep things sorta civil. Like, Durandel-Cagalli civil. I like reasoned debate, even if its vehement and hot headed.
There is mature content in this chapter, several scenes of it. I mean it this time people, you will have been warned. I'm not picking on any character. This is Frost, he's the most evil villian in the series. If you're of the delicate sort (first off how did you get this far at all), skip down to the "Mature Content over" disclaimer and read the other scenes in the chapter, then there will be a summary of what happened in the Mature sections in the author note at the bottom. And if you're gonna read the Mature anyway, as most of you will, don't skip it and read the summary before the scenes. Don't ruin it for yourself. Anyway, without further ado, here goes Ice Storm (man, I agonized over these titles, so many good ones to use).
xxxx
Villa Pacifica, Orb, October 31st, Evening
The interior of the mansion was mostly unlit, with dim lights showing in a few rooms, such as the master bedroom and the main hallways, most of the rooms in low power mode now that the occupants of the manor were abed and only the single Stormhound remained to patrol the corridors. Not that his presence was much besides a formality, the Villa Pacifica was surrounded with a comprehensive sensor security system that wouldn't let a stray cat into the premesis without notifying both the internal guard and the main security headquarters a mile or so away, buried in the rocky cliffs to the west, where a ready team of Stormhounds eight strong was capable of deploying to face any threat in less than two minutes. And of course any event requiring the deployment of backup would send a help notice to Orb National Defense Headquarters in Morganville and the Orb National Palace in Nara-Attha City, and major help, up to and including Mobile Suits, would be incoming in less than fifteen minutes.
But no intruder had ever breached the security of the Villa Pacifica in the more than fifty years it had served as the family retreat and preferred residence for the Attha clan, either when it was only Orb regular security forces handling protection or in the last ten years or so, the Stormhounds. The house definitely deserved its moniker as "the Peaceful Home". Which kind of made it a boring post for the Stormhounds, about as "light duty" a post as they were ever likely to stand. Not that they let the comforts of living for a day or two in the plush manor of their nation's monarchs drain their alertness or their readiness, anyone who would let that happen wouldn't have made it into the Stormhounds for long, but there was a certain amount of relaxation inherent to the post, which didn't involve being in the public eye and just as often involved playing console games with Allister or chatting with Lexi about the Lt. as it did standing armed guard over Cagalli or Athrun as they made secure phone calls.
With Lexi keeping her more than human eyes and ears and myriad other senses trained on the house, interior and exterior, getting snuck up was impossible, even a sprint attack by orbitally dropped forces would be detected with at least a minute to spare, and anything unstealthy wouldn't be able to get past the Glasshouse before being intercepted by regular military forces. However, there was one hole in the otherwise impenetrable defense. It made little to no provision for an attack from someone already close to the Attha family, someone who was already authorized to be on the grounds or in the house without alerting or activating the security systems, who did not need Athrun or Cagalli's permission to open pretty much any door of the house at any time. Normally a person in such a position of trust would already have been vetted by the security teams anyway, and wouldn't be a threat. But, as ever was the case, whenever defensive technology seemed to reach an unbeatable plateau, offensive innovation was bound to come along and shatter the previous boundaries sooner or later, rendering the safe unsafe once more.
It wasn't that the automated systems or even Lexi herself did not detect the shadowed form slipping noiselessly along the walls of the kitchen and informal dining area of the house, indeed they saw him plainly despite his attempts at stealth. But except for a few small anomalies in the readings, they also recognized him as none other than Kira Yamato, Cagalli's twin brother and someone who not only had unlimited access to the house, but was one of only four people actually allowed to change the access list by himself. Anyone who was a friend of Kira's was more than welcome in the Attha household, anyone able to earn Kira's trust enough to be invited into his sister's home had passed a security test about as comprehensive as they came. After all, Kira's family spent as much time living there as they did their own home out on Serenity Island, so he might as well be inviting someone into his own home.
Frost was just about to move out of the kitchen area towards a staircase leading up into the more residential area of the manor, following his nose quite literally as he locked in on the scent of mingled sweats from the master bedroom. He had all his senses cast out like a finely woven net or spider's web, hearing alert for footfalls or breathing, nose alert for the scent or fear or agitation, eyes probing the shadows for movement or color, even his skin alert for the vagaries of the passage of air that might indicate a presence invisible to other senses. But it was with his mind that he probed hardest, locating and locking on to the three mental presences he could feel most strongly in the surrounding hundred meters or so. Every Newtype saw the mental emissions or "wakes" of others differently, to Frost the minds appeared like prey animals, an antelope pacing the halls with sharp horns on its head, and two rabbits snuggled close in their den further on, sleeping the contented sleep of those who think themselves totally safe. The antelope was wary but not agitated, and Frost gathered that his presence was still undetected.
"Psst." The whispered hiss brought Frost up short, his entire body tense like he'd turned to stone as his mind roiled with confusion. It should be impossible for anyone to sneak up on him right now! No one should be able to move within twenty feet without him noticing somehow, much less get close enough to literally whisper in his damned ear! He cursed inwardly, berating himself. He'd thought to play this one cool and mature, be the knife in the night, overriding his better nature and inclination to ransack the place like he was razing a city, but his plan had barely even gotten udnerfoot and already he'd been caught! He'd thought he'd shaken all the rust seven years in the grave had put on him off, but apparently he still needed some work. Pivoting smoothly, Frost adopted a cocky smirk, comfortable in his own power, knowing that at close range there wasn't a human or even humans alive that could stand up to him or cause him that much damage.
He didn't see anyone. He was alone in the room. His smirk switching into a scowl, Frost wondered if he'd imagined the whisper. It would not be the first time his mind had started playing tricks on him. Indeed there were moments when he could not tell the difference between his dreams and the real world, but he'd been fairly sure he had that aspect of his dementia under control for the time being. Sometimes pure madness was to be reveled in, but if Death had taught him anything it was that everything had a time and place. Tonight was about more than just random mayhem, though the others in the house might disagree with that assessment. Shaking his head, Frost turned for the stairs once more. "Psst!" This time Frost was ready for it, and his ears tracked the source of the voice down to its origin point before she was even half done with her hiss.
Leaping headlong over the kitchen counter, Frost landed on all fours like a hunting cat, still completely silent, before lashing out with a backhand sweep of one hand that should have crushed the girl's skull into powder, or even taken her head clean off her shoulders. If it had connected. Instead of the pleasing sensation of flesh and bone meeting and mashing through more yielding flesh and bone, Frost's instinctive jab met only air and he had to check himself sharply before he put his fist through a kitchen cabinet, which would have probably woken the whole house, considering they were made of mirror finished steel. Glaring down at the person crouched beside the cabinet, Frost slowly retracted his hand, passing it right through her red haired skull several times, before finally conceding, with a barely audible grunt of frustration and disgruntlement, that it was just an image, not a real person.
"Wow. Sometimes I really hate being disembodied, but right now it kinda came in handy huh? You could have taken my head off if I were a real girl." The redheaded image commented, sotto voce, though there was a definite hint of admiration in her voice as well. She stood up from her crouch as well, the top of her head barely coming up to Frost's chin. "Guess that will teach me to startle you, huh, Kira? I guess you're kind of on edge right now, huh? Oh, excuse me if I'm picking at a scab... I'm still not so sure on this who death-tragedy-grief thing you fleshies experience." She talked quickly but kept her voice to a low whisper. Every syllable of every word made Frost's jaw twitch just a little bit, her voice was a blend of Fiery Zala-Attha and Pink, and it tugged at his heartstrings to hear Pink's voice, knowing he would never hear it raised in agony or sadness ever again.
Frost debated how to proceed, since this computer simulation or program had plainly confused him with the Boytoy. She... it... seemed quite familiar with and even friendly to the Boytoy, which posed a problem, since while Frost knew that he and the Boytoy were basically identical, basically was the extent of it, and even then it was only a physical identicalness, they could not be more different in terms of personality. Anyone at all familiar with the Boytoy would be able to spot the difference almost instantly, or at least recognize something was odd. But then again, he was already provided with a ready made excuse for oddness, wasn't he? As long as he played things cool, this wasn't necessarily a game changer of a circumstance. Forcing the words off his tongue like bitter ashes, Frost spoke to the hologram, his voice barely audible. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to lash out at you like that. I'm... not feeling very good at the moment, as you can imagine."
"Its all right, no harm done." Lexi replied with a lifelike shrug. Even as she talked with Kira, she replayed his movements of the recent past again and again with another part of her consciousness, admiring his reflex speed and physical coordination. Appreciation for the qualities of fleshies was not an easy subject for her, but there was an almost mechanical precision and beauty in Kira's reactive movements that she found quite striking. Fleshy watching was, by virtue of necessity, something of a hobby for both her and Nam, but by and large most fleshies weren't very interesting to watch. They moved so slow, it was like watching grass grow. There were some exceptions... Lexi took an almost feminine pleasure in watching some of the Stormhound males during their group physical training sessions, when they all went through their hand to hand combat motions in slow motion in synchronity. It was a purely intellectual pleasure, more about the way their bodies were honed to the utmost edges of utility, muscles working perfectly in unison, than any actual emotional attraction, which would be doomed to failure anyway.
Kira Yamato was another exception to the general rule, as was Lacus Clyne and their two children, Akira and Aoi. Lexi had far more than five senses to observe with, and in almost any sensorial spectrum, the Yamato-Clynes stood out from the other fleshies around them. Body temperature, metabolic rate, brain activity, even electromagnetic emissions, all were different, more efficient, more... viable... than those of other fleshies. And reaction speed, well, it was nothing like the speed at which Lexi herself could react, but it made other fleshies look like they were encased in bricks of ice! Kira was reading several degrees hotter than usual tonight, and there some irregularities in his bone and muscle mass and brain activity, but nothing of medical worry. Quite why he was wearing dark sunglasses during the night in a dark house she did not know, but perhaps it was a cosmetic thing. Fleshies eyes got all red and puffy after prolonged tear duct activity, and the look was far from pleasant, so perhaps he was only covering that unpleasantness up.
"Are you okay? Your voice sounds a little rough." Lexi observed, now leaning back against the cabinet before using her arms to push herself up into a sitting position atop it. Or at least appear to do so of course. She kicked her legs like an impatient schoolgirl, watching the milliseconds count down until Allister and the other children came back from candy gathering so she could play with them. A whimsical part of Lexi so wished she could go play dress up along with them, but there weren't any holographic projectors along the streets, not yet anyway, so she was confined to government buildings, vehicles and specially upgraded homes right now.
"Of course I'm not okay." Frost retorted, even he was shocked by her naviete. "The person I valued most in all the world is dead, and so are the offspring. No one would be okay after something like that. I'm lucky I can speak at all."
"Sorry. Fleshie negative emotions are still largely a mystery to me." Lexi held up her hands placatingly. "Grief, sadness, fear, hate, I just don't get them."
"That won't do." Frost had to fight hard to keep a predatory smile off his face. "I mean, its important you understand how we feel. Good and bad. Maybe I can educate you sometime."
"I'd like that. I always appreciate a helping hand with those sticky, illogical fleshy matters. I mean, this entire holiday seems to be based around fear and intimidation, yet everyone is so happy and playful during it. I can do ten thousand sixth dimensional quantum mathematics equations in less time than it takes for you to blink, but I still sometimes don't know if I'll ever have the processing power to really understand you fleshies." Lexi complained with a pout.
"Its more a matter of experience than of raw processing power." Frost promised her. He was intrigued by this whole line of discussion, at the challenge of introducing human darkness into what was, essentially a completely pure intelligence, who could hardly even conceptualize fear and suffering and all those wonderful motivations he stood for. Corrupting and tainting this redheaded program would be an artistic joy, Frost was pretty sure. He'd have to make time for it sometime in his busy schedule. But that time was not tonight, he had other things to do today, and time was ever pressing. This wasn't his only appointment of the night. The question was, how could he get rid of her without causing a scene? He'd never been much of a conversational adept, most of his smoothest exit lines revolved around tearing off a limb or ripping out a beating heart.
In the end his dilemma was solved for him, when Lexi hopped off the cabinets with a guilty expression on her face, her image shrinking down to put her head level below the top of the cabinets. "I'm not supposed to be in here right now, Cagalli and Athrun wanted a house to themselves for some hot and heavy sex tonight. Despite the fact that I have access to like a million imitation Cagalli-Athrun porno tapes across the nets, some of which are only possible via use of CGI, they still don't want me watching the real thing in action, as if it could be any stranger than some of those fantasies? Fleshies..." Lexi shook her head in exasperation. "Don't tell them I was here, okay?"
"I won't if you won't." Frost said with a hint of a wicked smirk. "It's... sorta like a surprise party, you could say."
"Deal. As far as I know, you're still on Serenity Island in your own house. Which by the way, could use some updating... I wouldn't mind dropping by there to talk over some of these fleshy problems with you sometime, and comm screens are just so impersonal, you know?" Lexi pointed out, her image shrinking more and more as they both listened to the footsteps of the Stormhound come closer, alerted and somewhat puzzled by the sound of voices from the kitchen. The sensors had made no alarm call, so he was just checking things out to be safe, it could just be a glitch on his helmet, or Lexi playing a practical joke. It would not have been the first time she livened up a boring watch rotation by trying to make the house seem haunted, especially on Halloween.
"Or I'll come to you." Frost answered. "I like to be able to reach out and touch the people I'm talking to. Even if they're made of metal and circuits rather than flesh and blood. Some of us fleshies can communicate as much or more with our hands as we can with our mouths."
"I'll be looking forward to you showing me how you do that." Lexi replied, her image barely the size of his hand. "Bye, Kira. See you sometime soon!"
"Definitely." Frost nodded in pleasure, ducking down behind the cabinets as well. Lexi's image disappeared, and several seconds later the slight scuff of combat boots on kitchen tile announced the arrival of the Stormhound, one Sergeant Jerome "Carome" Zavier, who had been in the Stormhounds for about four years come next month. This by no means qualified him as a veteran, indeed, in the Stormhounds unit, with its exceptionally long vetting and training process, that still qualified him as a newbie, and he was still subject to plenty of "constructive bothering" and "character building exercises" from the more senior members of the unit, such as Master Sergeant Ramierez and Sergeant-Major Glory. Still, he'd earned his team name "Carome", after having a dummy grenade skipped entirely off his shaved bald head during one exercise, which he still finished despite the gash and concussion, and he knew the worst of the hazing was over, he'd made it through the grueling acceptance process.
"Lexi? That you?" Jerome asked in a normal voice. He'd have whispered if it were earlier in the night, even so far removed from the master bedroom, but now, after his monarchs had finished with their lovemaking and fallen into a period of satiated rest, there was little reason to tread particularly softly. "Don't you start fucking with me too, girl, I just got done dealing with the Coporal's bullshit remedial car rebuilding lessons yesterday. You know you ain't supposed to be home right now anyway." His helmet's night vision sensors turned the dimly lit kitchen as bright as day, but he didn't see anyone. His weapon, a recently churned out Morganroate Armories Linear Assault Weapon or MALAW-3, which used electromagnetic repulsion fields to smoothly and silently launch 10mm high explosive bullets capable of taking down a body armored human in a single hit, was in his arms, as ever during watch, the weapon secured to his chest via a friction strap around one shoulder. He heard a slight noise by one line of cabinets. "Lexi?"
"Trick or treat." Frost said, popping up right in front of the Stormhound, moving fast enough that by the time he was on his second syllable, he'd already torn the matte black rifle completely out of the surprised soldier's grip, yanking so hard the nylon friction strap snapped, but not before pulling the Stormhound forward into the cabinets with a muffled thump, hard enough to shove the air from his lungs. Which in no way appreciably slowed Jerome's responses, a little thing like not being able to breathe was not going to stop someone who'd been through the Lt's training regimes, and he interposed a forearm in front of his face to ward off the expected blow at his face and throat.
For all the good it did him, as Frost's free fist thundered into the Stormhound's forearm and shattered the bone before driving inward and clubbing against the forehead of the battle helmet hard enough to crack the armored plastic. Stunned and disoriented, Jerome started to topple backwards, before the fist that had just punched him grabbed him by his tactical vest's collar and held him upright. Jerome was not the biggest man in the Stormhounds, indeed at a little over five foot six and one hundred seventy pounds, he was on the short end of the height scale and the middle of the weight scale. But clad in close to seventy additional pounds of gear, one thing he was not really prepared for was being lifted completely off his feet, one handed, by a man who had to weigh only a little more than him, if that. By the Sarge-Major, sure, but he was a giant. This guy was a reed, comparatively, and yet he hoisted Jerome like he was a handbag. He was also faintly familiar, but with his sensors scrambled and vision blurred from the concussive blow to his skull, Jerome coudn't make his attacker out.
"Or better yet..." Frost whispered malignantly, dragging the Stormhound up and over the cabinets towards him, putting the gun on the countertop and reaching for the hound helm with his now free hand, fingers slipping under the neck seal and finding the release catch, popping the helmet free of Jerome's head and setting it carefully down beside the gun, so far the only sounds of the altercation being Jeromes elevated breathing and the single muted "Thump-bang" of Frost pulling the Stormhound's gun away and bashing his head. Jerome started to struggle, his eyes squinting as he tried to focus on the face of his attacked, but his vision was occluded by the palm of a pale hand that covered his eyes and forehead. "Let's do both." Frost decided as he jabbed with his psychic fangs at Jerome's consciousness and memories, causing the Stormhound's eyes to roll up and flicker shut as he blacked out under the mental assault. Less than a minute later, Frost lowered his limp victim to the floor and brushed one hand across his lips, a sneer building across his face as he headed towards the master bedroom, pausing only to take Jerome's mono-molecular combat knife from his thigh sheath.
xxxx WARNING: MATURE CONTENT BELOW! EXTREME VIOLENCE AND BAD THINGS TO COME. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. xxxx
Athrun awoke, the echoes of some slight sound reverberating in his head, carried to him from a distance by his keen ears, one of the few parts of his body that was not in some way impeded or degraded by the many terrible injuries he'd suffered during the course of his life. Though it would be doing himself a terrible injustice to complain that his health had been taken from him by events of the past, there was no denying that there were times when he felt twice as old as he actually was, and when he could almost feel Death's cold hand patting him on the shoulder, just getting up in the morning, with his entire body feeling like he'd just taken a sulfuric acid bath. Right now wasn't one of those occassions, thankfully, if anything he felt pretty damn good. Which he should of course, considering that he'd spent about an hour and a half having very fufilling sex with his limber and demanding wife. If he ever woke up after making love to Cagalli and he didn't feel good, despite aches and bruises, then he'd know something was badly wrong with him.
Ears straining for another hint of whatever noise it was that had called him from his peaceful doze, most likely nothing more than the wind against a window or the step of Jerome out in the hallway, Athrun sat up a bit straighter in bed, letting the sheets fall down to his waist, exposing his tanned and toned upper body to the dim light of the master bedroom. Absently he trailed one hand across his abdomen, wincing as ever when he could only feel his fingertips by pressing down hard. It was hard to tell by looking at him, but over sixty percent of his skin was synthetic replacement, an afteraffect of the nearly fatal radiation burns he'd suffered seven years ago. You could tell the fake skin from the stuff he was born with because it didn't have any scars or imperfections, which was almost a depressing thought. He blew his purple-blue streak with silver bangs out of his eyes, the grey hair another consequence of radiation poisoning, and turned to look down at Cagalli, sleeping curled up next to him.
Except she wasn't there. There was a warm indentation where she should have been, but no Cagalli, the bunched up sheets on her side of the bed in disarray, her pillows out of place. This was no cause for alarm, Cagalli had had quite a bit to drink at dinner and waking up for a restroom break was far from uncommon with her, indeed, it was more uncommon when she slept the night through undisturbed. Usually he woke up, at least partially, when she left the bed, but he wasn't beyond sleeping like a log at times either, and he'd really put a lot of effort into the sex, since it was birthday sex, and also special occassion sex, marking his caving to Cagalli's desire to have a second child, a daughter this time. The actual insemination would be handled at the clinic, since that was where his remaining fertile sperm was stored, but it didn't feel right to have a new child without a "night of conception".
Indeed, the light was on in the bathroom, and Athrun smirked as he noted that Cagalli's house robe was still hanging discarded over one of the cushions elsewhere in the room, while her clothes were still scattered on the floor where they had been thrown during the rather frantic disrobing process. Though he'd been with her for over a decade, had memorized every millimeter of her body, knew her by sight, smell, touch and hearing in every intimate way, Athrun wasn't above a free look at his wife's naked body as she came back to bed. He could hardly help it if she entranced him so much, could he? Maybe she'd be in the mood again, no, scratch that, he knew she'd be in the mood again. The question was, could he provide for her? After a few moments of reflection, Athrun smirked wolfishly. Hell yes he could, he wasn't that hurt, that he would turn down sex!
After five minutes had passed with no sound or movement from the restroom, Athrun's amorous thoughts dwindled and were replaced by mild concern. It wasn't like Cagalli to spend so much time in bathroom, not at night anyway. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Athrun searched around and found a pair of sleeping boxers and slipped them on, before standing up with a suppressed groan, his joints aching as he forced them to assume vertical alignment without physical desire to cushion the pain. The pain wouldn't last more than a few minutes, but it was there, every time he got up from lying or sitting too long. He made his way to the bathroom door and knocked, cautiously. "Everything all right in there?" He asked lightly. "Bladder hasn't fallen out, has it?"
He waited for about ten seconds, but got no reply, no noise at all. Crinkling his brow, Athrun put his hand on the doorknob, finding it, as expected, to be unlocked. "Pretty or not, I'm coming in. Hide the parts of you I haven't seen." Athrun told her, still half jokingly, since obviously there was no part of her he hadn't seen at one point or another. He twisted the knob and stepped into the bathroom, a slightly goofy grin still plastered on his face. The scene that greeted his eyes brought him up dead short, his eyes bugging wide, his mouth hanging open as his mind went blank, struggling to process what he was seeing.
The bathroom mirror and countered were streaked with thick trails of dark crimson fluid, handprints and finger strokes appearing in the still wet blood, from where someone had been dragged or pushed against the counter and glass, gore from deep wounds splattering and smearing as they fought against an assailant. Fought and lost, judging from the trail of blood splatter and puddles that oozed across the marble tiled floor to the bathtub, big enough for them both to bathe in together if they so chose, and that was a choice they often made. Tonight there was only a single occupant in the tub, lying on her face, blond hair more of an orange color with liquid red stains. Athrun stared, disbelieving, at Cagalli's naked body, lying in the tub, covered in deep stab wounds, her ankles twisted and broken, her forearms sliced open from wrist to elbow down to the bone, her groin a welling ruin of deep cuts and stabs, some parts of her back and buttocks actually sliced off and nowhere in evidence, like ham carved from a bone!
Her slender neck, upon which he always lavished tender kisses, had shoestrings wrapped around it, pulled so tight and tied off that they bit into her neck like steel bands, banding her throat with lines of deep purple and dark red bruises. Her chest did not rise or fall, her limbs did not move, her wounds did not bubble with blood. Athrun took a step forward, stunned, disoriented, disbelieving, and almost slipped and fell on a palm sized puddle of blood. Catching himself on his hands on the edge of the tub, he saw that a washcloth was wadded up and shoved into the back of her mouth as a gag, to keep her silent as her assaulter had stabbed her to death in an animalistic frenzy, her palms and fingers were covered with defensive wounds. Athrun shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, starting as lukewarm gore was smeared across his face and cheeks by his palms, picked up from the edge of the tub. This couldn't be real! "C... C-Cagalli?" Athrun stammered, reaching out to touch her inert shoulder.
She was still warm, and she felt exactly like Cagalli Athrun drew back his hand like he'd touched a hot iron. This was impossible. Impossible! There was every sign of a massive struggle in the bathroom, of Cagalli going down only after a huge fight! And yet, despite taking place less than twenty feet away, Athrun hadn't heard a thing as his wife was murdered in the bathroom? No, that was impossible, there was no way that could happen! no way a madman with a knife could even get within spitting distance of the house without the sensors blaring and the Stormhounds descended like wrathful ghosts! Athrun pinched his cheek sharply, trying to wake himself up. This was just a dream! A terrible, evil dream, a nightmare. It had to be. It HAD to be! Cagalli could not be dead. Not like this.
The pinch on his cheek hurt but it didn't make the murder scene dissolve, and Athrun did not feel himself start to wake up. He felt fully awake right now actually. And everything seemed so real... the blood smell, the warmth of the gore and the body, the exact dimensions of the bathroom, Cagalli looked exactly like he knew she did, everything fit with his memories seamlessly. But there was just no way Cagalli could be messily murdered in their own bathroom while he slept unawares. No way at all! Just like there was no way Kira could have let... Athrun forced himself to discard that painfully raw line of thought, which had snuck up out of nowhere, his grief at the loss of his friend taking advantage of his restless nightmare to torment him even more. Lacus was dead, but Cagalli... Cagalli couldn't be dead! Not while he was there to protect her!
"All right." Athrun spoke, forcing himself to turn away from the body in the tub. The body that was not Cagalli. "This is a dream. That means I'm in my own mind. I'm in control. I want to wake up. If I can't wake up, then I want a change of scene. Something pleasant." Athrun thought back to Allister's last birthday party, where Cagalli had tried once more to bake a cake, despite his reservations. She hadn't burned the kitchen down, or even burned the cake. But she had done something wrong with the frosting, and no matter how hard they tried to cut the cake, they could not pierce the frosting, which had set like rubber, and the cake had ended up smushed flat before they could serve it. Athrun fixed the image in his mind and breathed out evenly, closing his eyes, ignoring the scent and feel of Cagalli's blood on his face as he put his hand on the bathroom door. When he opened the door, he'd be at the birthday party, bearing surprise gifts for Allister.
Athrun pulled the door open and stepped through, letting the door fully shut before allowing his eyes to open. Everything was exactly as he'd pictured it, everyone was happy and smiling and laughing, and Athrun let out a sigh of relief. He didn't usually have nightmares like that, and never ones involving Cagalli being murdered. He resolved to hug her tight and kiss her deeply the moment he woke up, he needed the reassurance. He felt someone bump him from behind, and he smiled, knowing this was where Cagalli had leapt upon him for a short piggyback ride and almost ended up cracking her skull on one of the doorframes. Turning to savor the smiling face of his wife, Athrun yelped and staggered backwards as she did indeed jump into his arms. Or rather, collapse, as her naked body, covered in deep stab wounds and with her face cut to ribbons flopped against him, smearing him with gore as she collapsed to the ground, making a choked death rattle as she cracked her head open against the tile.
Athrun screamed in horror as her brains came spilling out across the floor and squished warmly against his toes, and at the sound the noises of the party stopped. Looking around, Athrun was greeted with more scenes of horrific, painful death, all his friends mutilated and ravaged, Lacus splayed out on the table with her belly slit from groin to breasts, her intestines spilled all over the table, Allister headless in the chair of honor, crucifed spread eagle to the tall wooden once-throne of Orb, Akira and Aoi nothing more than charred skeletons in their chairs, covered with a few straggly smears of melted fat. Athrun felt his gorge rise and he vomited onto the counters, which were slick with mixture of blood and organs from Dearka and Miri, lying in a twisted parody of copulation with all their limbs twisted off and their throats slit. Knowing it was a dream didn't lessen the impact much, it all felt so real that Athrun could not help but flinch and scream with despair as each new horror was revealed to him. "WAKE UP! GODDAMN IT, WAKE UP!" Athrun pleaded with himself. "Please... let me wake up! Cagalli! Help!"
xxxx
Cagalli woke with a start as she felt Athrun shift and thrash in bed next to her, almost bruising her thigh when he lifted his knee in a near convulsion. It took her a moment or two to fight her way clear of him, since they'd gone to sleep all tangled together in the aftermath of passion, and he was lying half atop her when he'd started his flailing. It wasn't the first time she'd ever been in bed with him when he'd had a nightmare, but the last one had been years and years ago, during the Second Valentine War, and it hadn't been nearly as bad as this one. She could see him crying, could hear him whimpering and moaning as he lashed out defensively with arms and legs, hard enough to sting when he caught her by accident. "Damn it Athrun, wake up!" Cagalli hissed at him, warding away a forearm that would have impacted her chin.
She rolled away from him, getting completely wrapped up in the sheets as she did so, before shooting a hard elbow back into his lower ribs, a trifle harder even than she'd meant to, she realized guiltily as she felt it dig home just above his hips, enough to make his breath hitch and cough for a second. "You're having a bad dream..." Cagalli began to explain, but then she realized despite getting basically punched in the gut hard enough to leave a small welt, Athrun was still asleep and lashing around in tormented nightmares. That wasn't right, Athrun was a damned light sleeper, she could barely turn over in bed without him cracking an eye, and all she'd ever had to do to wake him from a nightmare in the past was flick his chin with a fingertip. "Athrun? Hey! Wake up already." Cagalli rolled to face him once more and reached out to shake his shoulder. And got bashed in the lips with a backhand that left her teeth tingling as he groaned and twisted like an electrocution victim. "DAMN IT!" Cagalli yelped, rubbing her jaw irately. "HEY YOU, WAKE THE HELL UP ALREADY!"
"I don't think he's going to be able to do that any time soon." A new, unexpected voice commented casually from the foot of the oversized king bed. "In fact, you can take it as a promise that he won't. No matter what happens."
Cagalli sat bolt upright in the bed in shock, the sheets falling away from her chest to puddle on her lap as she leaned back against head headboard with a sigh of relief. "Goddamn it, Kira, you idiot, you scared the life outta..." Cagalli trailed off in her admonishment when she realized that she was completely unclothed, and still a bit sweaty from her lovemaking, and she folded her arms protectively across her chest with a deep flush. Kira was her brother and all, but she was a grown woman, in her own bed, naked, and she couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable with him sitting right there. "What the hell are you even doing here, you damn pervert?" Cagalli said accusingly, more than a little upset by the intrusion into her privacy. "Go look at Lacus's chest and..." Cagalli trailed off as her mind caught up to her words, and she clapped her hands to her mouth in constrenation, unintentionally baring her breasts once more. "Oh, Kira, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"I'd like to do that. But Pink is gone, dust in the wind, and I'll never be able to stare at her chest, or any other part of her oh so tearable body, again. So in absence of Pink, you'll have to do." Kira replied, his voice strange, the sound familiar but the syntax and vocabulary and intonation totally off. He sounded threatening, angry, scary even. There were times when Cagalli could admit to herself that she was a little bit frightened of her twin, but this was different. Those times were more like an excess of respect, she'd never actually felt threatened by him before. Even when he'd cuffed her to the floor, she hadn't really felt threatened, it had seemed more of a reaction than an intentional action. But right now, the way he was staring at her chest, the way he was talking... Cagalli felt scared of him.
"Hey, could you at least turn your back while I find my robe?" Cagalli protested, wanting to look away from him to locate the garment, but she had the undeniable feeling that if she took her eyes off him for even a moment she might deeply regret it, like staring a hungry wolf in the eyes while alone in the forest. The dark sunglasses he was wearing for some reason didn't help matters, she couldn't tell exactly where he was looking. She kicked at Athrun under the sheets. "Wake up already, Athrun!"
"I already told you that wouldn't work." Kira said, his voice dropping to become a near whisper. For all the quiet, Cagalli had no trouble hearing him, and his words made her shiver. "Its just you and me right now, Fiery Zala-Attha."
"Kira, you're making me very uncomfortable right now." Cagalli told him, hoping her voice wasn't shaking. "You KNOW why I don't like people using nicknames for me like that, ESPECIALLY that one! Now please, stop staring at me, I need to get dressed, and then we can sit down and have a talk about whatever's bothering you. I'm just glad you decided to stop grieving by yourself, we're a family after all. We're here for you, Kira."
"A family are we?" Kira sounded like he was tasting the words. He did not stop looking at her chest, seeming to take great satisfaction in her deepening discomfort. "I suppose we are related, now, aren't we? I hadn't thought of it that way before, but you're right. That just makes everything that much more wonderfully delicious. Oh, the anguish to come..." Kira chuckled, more like giggled.
That was the final straw for Cagalli. That laugh was not like anything she'd ever heard Kira make. Not like anything she ever WANTED to hear Kira make. It was the rasping chuckle of someone who's grip on sanity was tenuous at best. The chuckle of someone unpredictable, someone who might not even realize what they were doing. Someone not in their right mind. It was nothing completely unexpected of course, given the traumatic method of Lacus, Akira and Aoi's deaths, Cagalli and Athrun had worried that Kira's mental state might suffer. They didn't think he'd break, but he would definitely need consoling of some sort. Well, it was looking like they really shouldn't have let him be by himself for so long, despite his wishes. Bringing her inner diplomat to the fore, Cagalli forced a pleasant smile onto her face. The trick would be in not agitating him, he was plainly on edge, and as she knew well, he could hurt her without even meaning to if he got out of control.
"I know." Cagalli volunteed with her fixed smile. "Lets go down to the kitchen and fix some of The Tea. It always helps me when I'm troubled, I'm sure it will help you too, Kira. Just let me get dressed, okay? The kids will be back in a few hours, and they're really anxious to see Uncle Kira again." Not only was she telling the truth about "The Tea", but once they got out of the bedroom, she could find Jerome, and get him to watch Kira in case he started getting out of control. Cagalli knew she'd feel much safer around her unstable brother with a Stormhound at his shoulder, if Athrun couldn't be there for some reason. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye, watching him shiver and twitch on his side of the bed, his face contorted in pain or terror. Why couldn't he wake up already?
"I think I like you better naked, Fiery Zala-Attha." Kira smiled broadly, turning more towards her and revealing the long, wickedly sharp combat knife he was playing with in his lap.
Cagalli swallowed heavily, every muscle suddenly tense. This had just gotten much worse than merely unstable. Kira was playing with a weapon, an edged weapon, something he normally wouldn't touch even if his life depended on it! "Kira..." Cagalli swallowed heavily once more. "Stop this, please. You're scaring me."
"Good. Fear is an essential emotion. It makes us strong. There is a lot for you to be afraid of, Fiery Zala-Attha." Kira commented with a leer.
"STOP! Don't call me that nickname!" Cagalli pleaded, unable to repress a shiver at the way he said it, letting the syllables slide off his tongue almost lovingly. "Please... stop this. I don't wanna do it, Kira, but if you don't leave, I'm going to scream for help and have Jerome escort you off the premesis by force."
"Go for it." Kira challenged, turning around and starting to crawl up the bed towards her, licking the flat of the blade menacingly. "Scream for me, Fiery Zala-Attha."
Cagalli flinched at the nickname use again, dredging up memories she really wanted to stay buried, memories she'd only conquered with intensive group therapy a decade ago, memories of a darkened subway complex, and the fiend that had captured her there. "JEROME! JEROME! HELP! HELP IN THE BEDROOM! HEEELLLPPP!" Cagalli yelled, nonplussed to see that Athrun barely even stirred next to her. Her voice echoed around the bedroom, but there was no rush of feet in the hallway. "LEXI!" Cagalli shouted, before realizing that the AI was not due to "return" to the house for several more hours, and had turned off her audio pickups and other sensors for privacies sake. There was an emergency code to reactivate her, but Cagalli was damned if she could remember what it was right now, which was kind of strange since it was a personalized code. It was almost like the memory had been repressed or plucked from her head by an outside force, even though she knew Kira's psychic powers did not run that way.
"Oh come now, Fiery Zala-Attha. You can scream much better than that. I know you can. I sensed worry, but no terror. You still don't understand the true situation here, I gather." Kira trailed the mono knife along the bedsheets, slicing them open, cutting a rent up between Cagalli's calves, baring her feet as he sliced away the constraining sheets. "Care to try again?" Kira asked, almost straddling her legs now. Cagalli stared at her brother in incomprehension, unable to make this madman invading her bedroom match up with the sweet, gentle and quirky brother she loved so much. It was like he'd become an entirely different person, like his entire personality had inverted! The knife started to slice up to bare her thighs, and her throat was dry and raspy, so instead of screaming she struck out with one fist and belted her brother right in the nose. Cagalli's arm jarred at the solidness of the blow, and she winced, expecting to have broken his nose. But the only thing she'd hurt was her knuckles, which felt bruised.
"I was hoping you'd do that." Kira whispered, his mouth less than six inches from hers as she drew back her arm in surprise. He reared back, throwing the knife across the room to embed deeply in the bathroom door, before slicing a path down to the floor. Then, before Cagalli could do much more than blink, he brought a hand around and slapped her right in the cheek with a gunshot report of flesh on flesh, slamming her head backward into the headboard, blood flying from mashed and cut lips and cheek as she sagged backward, stunned. He didn't give her any time to recover from the dazing slap, the other hand coming around to slap her head the other way, cracking her head against the headboard once more, and splashing hot blood and spittle across Athrun's nightmare twisted face. Shaking her head, Cagalli raised her hands defensively and tried to shout for help again, but one of her brother's hands seized her by the throat and thrust her out of bed in a tangle of sheets.
Cagalli tried to kick her way to her feet, but the sheets were all wrapped around her, and instead she shrieked as Kira grabbed her by the hair, yanking out a handful as he dragged her up to a hunched over position and then buried his fist in her gut, driving all the air from her lungs and making her cough up a thin speckle of blood. She was sagging towards the floor once more when he grabbed her by shoulder and hip and tossed her fifteen feet across the room to slam into the wall with a crash and crunch of breaking drywall. She lay in a heap, retching and coughing, spasming with twisted muscle and bruised bones, her entire body feeling like it had been hit with a car. She was just getting air back in her lungs and was getting to her hands and knees when Kira grabbed her again, and tossed her back across the room, one shoulder slamming into a bedpost with a meaty "SNAP" of breaking collar and shoulder bones. Cagalli managed to find her voice again, a high pitched yelp of agony as shattered bone pieces ground together when she hit the floor.
"That's more like the Fiery Zala-Attha I know and love." Kira said gloatingly, standing over her before driving his heel down on her hand, crushing her wrist and driving jagged pieces of bone out through her palm. He inhaled deeply as she screamed again, like he was inhaling an intoxicating perfume. "Oh yes, I've dreamed of this for a long time now." Kira commented in his un-Kira voice. He looked over at the bed, on which Athrun still lay, locked in nightmares from which he could not escape. "Does your hand hurt?" Kira asked, crouching down by Cagalli, who was sobbing and gritting her teeth as she tried to collect herself. Gently, he took hold of and cradled her crushed wrist, and then grabbed her pointer finger. "Poor baby. Does... THIS... hurt?" He wondered with a smile, yanking back her finger until it snapped at the base and middle knuckles, listening to her bloodcurdling shout.
"Not enough." He complained, yanking back on her middle finger, to the accompaniment of another shriek. "Not nearly enough." He continued to grouse, yanking all the fingers of her left hand backward until they snapped like dry twigs, and her fingers hung limp and fluid like wet noodles. "Now don't you pass out on me yet." He said conversationally. "I won't let you pass out."
"Ki...ra... stop this..." Cagalli panted agonizingly. "Please..."
"See, every time you say that, it just makes me want to hurt you all that much more." Frost told her. "Especially in that weak, desperate, disbelieving tone of voice. Well, that's enough rest break... lets have you up now." He grabbed the sheets and tore them away, baring her body completely, before grabbing hold of her broken shoulder and hauling her to her feet, more or less, using it as a handhold. Her mouth opened to shriek, but it hurt so much she couldn't even inhale to shout. Frost let go of her shoulder and then belted her in the stomach again, playfully digging his fist in and shoving her backward into one of the dressers with another crunch-thump as she hit the floor on her knees and then on her side, good arm pressed to her belly, her face white, eyes staring as she vomited a mixture of food and thin blood out of her mouth and nostrils.
"Every day, every hour, every minute, every second I spent in that abyss that is Death, I dreamt of moments like these." Frost explained, kneeling beside her huddled body once more, grabbing her by the back of the head and slamming her face and jaw against the solid wooden cabinet, breaking her nose and chipping a tooth. "Dreamt of my most hated foes broken and bloody before me, helplessly in my hands." He slammed her face into the dresser again, breaking out a tooth and cutting her tongue on the stump. He could have crushed her skull like an eggshell any time he chose, but he wasn't trying to kill her. That would ruin all the fun. She was still part of the blade after all, he just had to reforge her a little bit. And her friends by proxy. "Dreamt of being able to hurt you to my heart's content." Frost continued, and slammed her face into the dresser several more times, until he felt the bones of her face crack and start to give way. Her face was a mask of blood, her jaw filled with broken teeth, her nose mashed flat, and her eyes swollen almost shut. She was beautiful.
Frost lovingly plucked out her hair in fingerfuls, chuckling with glee as he held her down with one hand as she squirmed ineffectually, watching parts of her scalp get peeled up with each colelction of strands, until her head was bleeding profusely from over a dozen bare spots. He worked his way down her body with care, precision and speed, cracking bones, breaking a few ribs, bruising a few internal organs, stopping her heart for a brief ten count to keep her guessing, wrenching at her breasts until they bled from the nipples, crunching his heel down on her groin and grinding back and forth, his sneakers shredding and tenderizing the silky flesh there. He twisted one leg sideways so it snapped at thigh, knee and calf, the calfbone protruding like a dagger from her shin. He bit off both her big toes and swallowed them. And he kept her awake and aware throughout every moment of it, long past the point of her own endurance, basking in her agony alongside her.
At last he picked her broken and bleeding body up off the floor and laid her back down on the bed, right alongside Athrun. "Last time we got together like this, we were sadly interruped before we could get past the preliminary foreplay." Frost reminsiced fondly. He looked down at her and shoved her brutalized legs roughly apart, drawing another gasping shudder from her. "I wondered then, how far down your fire went, Fiery Zala-Attha. I'm still wondering, and I intend to find out." Frost looked over at Athrun and smiled happily. "I told you I would go places with her only you had ever gone before. I'm a man of my word, Loser Zala-Attha." Frost stripped out of his blood spattered pants and climbed onto the bed, straddling Cagalli.
"Pain and pleasure are the same thing to me." Frost expounded, as he thrust himself inside her with a pleased grunt, echoed by her gasping howl of denial. "Let me instruct you as to why." He added as he humped and thrust into her, grabbing hold of her protruding shin bone and tugging on it with one hand as his other hand reached up to fondle across her pulverized face. Her body arched against him in excruitiating pain, but it was a very similar motion to how she had arched against Athrun only an hour or so before. Her throat was raw from all the screaming and yelling she'd been doing, and she could barely make whispers now, so Frost leaned close and kissed her, tasting her agony and despair through the blood of her mouth as he tweaked her shinbone and raped her simultaneously. "Yes, so sweet, so hot...!" Frost exulted, drawing away after nibbling on her lips.
One of Athrun's flailing arms smacked him on the side of his head, and Frost irritably shoved Athrun completely out of the bed. "Its almost too bad you're locked in those crappy nightmares, considering the mess I'm making of her in real life." Frost grumbled. "This girl is a feast, an absolute carnal feast! Oh, and this is just the beginning!" Frost cackled merrily, leaning down for another kiss. Her was near his climax, and he reached out to take hold of Cagalli by one ear as he reached his limit, gasping a bit himself as he released into her and pulled back, twisting her right ear so hard in his shudders that he tore it completely off the side of her head! Holding his memento tightly, Frost leaned back and considered his handiwork. By any and every definition of the word, he'd ruined Cagalli Zala-Attha. None of her wounds was mortal, but altogether they definitely posed a health risk! He shrugged, he wasn't here to kill her, but if she died anyway, well, the blade would be better off without any weaklings in it.
Backing off, Frost pulled his pants back on and retrieved his discarded mono-knife, making sure to grip the handle tightly with his blood spattered bare hand. Circling around the bed to where Athrun lay thrashing, Frost relaxed his mental hold on the green eyed Coordinator, allowing him to jerk to wakefulness for a bare moment before Frost's foot crashed into his head and sent him into deep unconsciousness. Leaving the room, Frost returned a minute later dragging Jerome's unconscious body and bearing his helmet at gun. He dropped the gun casually in a corner, but kept the helmet in hand as he went over to the bed one more time. Cagalli was twitching weakly, but she was so traumatized by her torture that she only barely qualified as conscious, and even then because he wouldn't let her drop out. She was all but comatose from blood loss anyway. But he wasn't done with her just yet.
Leaning carefully over her, making sure she could see the blade coming in, Frost sliced the knife blade across the base of her throat with surgical precision, opening a thin red line from ear to ear across the base of her neck, slicing open the windpipe and then returning to dig the tip of the blade into the wound to mangle her esophagus. Thick, dark blood welled from her slashed throat, but he'd been extremely careful to avoid the jugular vein, he didn't want her to bleed out. Not so quickly anyway. Discarding the knife onto her belly, letting it slide flat down between her ravaged thighs, Frost picked up the helmet and keyed the microphone, his own throat working as he croaked out a passable imitation of Jerome's voice, using codes stolen from the Stormhound's memory. "Code Blue, repeat, Code Blue!" Frost broadcast on the emergency channel, before he threw the helmet over by Jerome's still quite alive body.
Slinging Athrun's unconscious form over his shoulders, Frost loped out of the room and into the night, fighting down his exuberant, triumphant laughter, as the broken, tortured form of Cagalli Zala-Attha, Queen of Orb, lay raped and slowly bleeding to death from a slashed throat and myriad other wounds, in her own bed, with her bodyguard lying unconscious and with no memories of the night on the floor, and her husband gone, presumed kidnapped. That was how the reaction team found her, two minutes and thirty seconds later. Rapid first aid was enough to stop her from bleeding out, but as she was rushed by helicopter to the Orb National Hospital, her prognosis was still grim, touch and go. Though much of Orb would not know it, their Queen's life, and maybe the life of the country, hung by thin cords that night. And those cords were still fraying, because the night's events were not over yet...
xxxx MATURE CONTENT END xxxx
Far Space Expansion Zone, Beyond the Asteroid Belt, Zaratan ISSA "Ronin City", October 31st, Midday
According to all official charts and reckonings, the Zaratan class Independently Stable Space Arcology known as Ronin City, population 165,000, was on a slow and steady course for orbit around Jupiter, set to arrive there in a little under a year. However, in reality, due to lots of "unforseen technical problems" the city's actual progress was much, much slower, they were moving at barely a tenth of the speed they should have been. Some of these problems were legitimate, Zaratan's were fairly new technology after all, and there are no "little" problems when they occur several light minutes from the nearest major support facility. But the vast majority of these technical issues were nothing more than words on paper, or encoded on video reports beamed back towards the heart of USN space, and in most cases, there was more to the reports than mere technical complaints.
It was still a tightly kept secret from the USN at large and especially the USN leadership, but Ronin City had quietly declared its independence, not from the USN, but from the corruption of its current government, and had declared in favor of the Retributors movement, becoming a refuge of sorts not only for that group of freedom fighters and discontented soldiers, but also for anyone who had reason to distrust, mislike or fear the heavy hands of the USN's secret government organizations, the ones that had the real power. So far from the political and military heartland of the USN, all but forgotten except as a footnote in occassional news reports, Ronin City provided a place for those people on the run to have a semblance of a normal life. Of course the shadow of discovery hung ever overhead, but it was still better by far than trying to live in hiding within the Asteroid Belt, where Section Nine intelligence and various Military units could and did move about at will covertly.
During the passage through the Asteroid Belt, the Retributors had moved their headquarters from the old hollowed out asteroid they had been using, a former Tiamat cell base, and established themselves semi-formally on Ronin City as a Private Security Company. It was an open secret who they were really, but given the political climate of Ronin City, no one really cared and the Retributors even saw something of an upswing in recruitment, finding plenty of people who had fled from injustice or corruption and felt like protesting with more than just words. Especially because the Retributors were not just another terrorist organization, they did not strike back against the USN or the USN military indiscriminately, they deplored civilian or innocent military casualties, and the leadership of the Retributors was not hesitant to turn its wrath upon any of its own members who crossed such lines in fanatical pursuit of revenge, versus retribution.
Commander Tamara Logan, formerly a member of the Puritan Blue Cosmos terror organization known as Tiamat, and exiled to their asteroid base for her "radical views" about how all Coordinators didn't necessarily deserve to be killed for the crime of existing, was now the second in command of an organization far more powerful and directed than Tiamat had ever dreamed of being. Once Asmodeus Sark, the Hellhound, the man who'd established Tiamat from the ruins of Blue Cosmos, had been killed, the leadership had fallen apart into squabbling camps, and as a result the organization had lost focus and direction, and effectiveness as well. The Retributors were, in a way, just as much based on a cult of personality as Tiamat had been, but their principles were more relatable to a wider audience, and since they worked more on outrage than hatred, they tended to suffer much less infighting and ego tripping, as people worked together to take down their much more powerful enemies.
Besides, Markov Johanovich Ashino, the Retributor, was much different in his personality than Asmodeus Sark had been. Where Asmodeus commanded through fear and respect, Ashino commanded through pure respect, though some people did fear him, it was a healthy fear of a dangerous and committed man, not a genocidal madman. Ashino had limits, lines he would not cross, such as weapons of mass destruction, targeting innocent civilians, and targeting family members of foes, Asmodeus had no such restrictions. Which was not to say that Ashino could not be as merciless as the next man, on the field of battle. But he chose his battlefields more cleanly than Asmodeus ever bothered to do, and his people admired him all the more for that.
Being second in command of the Retributors was less than it was cracked up to be. Not only was she just about the most wanted woman in all the USN, with a bounty worth several million dollars on her head, dead or alive, and constantly demonized by the mainstream press, but she was stuck doing almost all of the logistical and day to day paperwork tasks that came with efficiently running a large militant group with at least pretensions of discipline and responsibility. Ashino, for all his qualities, was not a politician or an office worker, and she'd read some reports he'd tried to write, and had told him to stop trying. It was a lot of extra work for her, but it was the kind of intellectual work that she was best at. Ashino provided the focus and the draw, Tamara provided the nitty gritty details, the oil that kept everything running smoothly.
Ashino also provided the Retributor's ace in the hole and major combat punch, the Retribution Gundam. Formerly a Brotherhood machine, Ashino had absconded with or stolen the machine sometime during the Eden Disaster and now used the machine as his combination combat command post and assault craft. In the time since the re-organization of the USN, the engineers and techs of the retributors had managed to reverse engineer some of the Retributions tech and had built a small run of derivative Mobile Suits called Punishers, which operated off nuclear reactors and were generally not nearly as powerful or maneuverable as the Retribution. But they were more than powerful enough to stand face to face with Solar Knight Vindicators or even Excalibers, in groups, and more than a match for Moebius Sigma's and the Patriot Militia Suit piloted by the USN mainline reservists, at least in small numbers.
Along with a small fleet of stolen or converted warships of sub-capital class and Ronin City itself, those fifteen Punishers and the Retribution comprised the main combat forces of the Retributors. They also possessed the equivalent of thirty Mobile Armors, and about a battalion of trained infantry and insurgent forces all told. Not enough to occupy a major colony, but enough to defend a small one should it come down to it. Though of course the longer they avoided a direct confrontation with any large USN fleet the better, their prospects in battle against even a single Incarnate class dreadnaught and escorts was not overly great. Fortunately the USN at large did not seem to rate the Retributors a large enough threat to warrent such a response, and as yet the largest force to come after them was a single Myrmidon Heavy Cruiser, the Mongol, and its escorts, three Armstrong class flak frigates, two aging Agamemnon class Mobile Suit carriers and ten Nelson class destroyers, which were currently on the other side of the Asteroid Belt, still searching for the Retributor's old base.
Taking the most recent intelligence on the fleet hunting them, Tamara left the operations center and went to find and brief Ashino, seeing herself a chance to perhaps inflict some grievous harm upon the hunting fleet now that the Solar Knights and Paladins had pulled back for whatever reason, leaving the fleet berefit of most of its Mobile Suit forces. The fleet had been reinforced by those two Agamemnon classes, neither of which were registered to the active USN military, which made Tamara think special forces of some sort, but even so, the bulk Mobile Suit carriers they'd replaced had carried four times as many machines as the Agamemnon's possibly could, so unless they'd sent out a squadron of Gundams, the enemy had to be weaker now. And best reports still put the Vengeance-Transcendance as being the only operational Gundam in the USN, though those Excalibers came damn close at times, and it still based at Galileo LFB.
She was familiar enough with his habits and personality by now to know where to find him, which would be in one of the training gyms, going through another set of exercises. Despite the fact that he was in incredible physical shape, that he was quite literally the strongest, fastest and toughest man in the Retributors, by a significant margin, despite even the fact that he could take on any three other soldiers in the unit simultaneously and emerge victorious without too much sweat, Ashino was always working harder, towards some next new goal, some new benchmark to pass. His dedication bordered on the insane at times, or maybe it was all that kept him sane, Tamara could never really make up her mind on that bit. The raw wound of his betrayal by the USN always ate at him, but unlike some who had been wronged, he didn't allow his pain to own him, to sour him. It was motivation and focus for him, but it did not trouble his dreams.
Or if it did, it never did when Tamara was there in bed with him. Which was quite often, more often these days than in the past. Getting through his barriers had been no easy task, indeed Tamara would often say it might have been easier to beat him in a straight up fistfight, but no man is an island, and every mature man has some need for company, even if it was just for the sexual release, which it had been at first. Ashino's scars were deep, and none deeper than the emotional ones he carried from that betrayal, where the girl he had loved most had been crippled and brain damaged during an attempt to assassinate him. He had been understandably wary of extending his emotional reach to anyone else, especially a member of his own organization sometimes involved in combat, but as the years had gone by, he'd needed someone to open up to at times, and Tamara had been there for him.
She wasn't sure what the extent of the relationship was... they didn't live together, there was no official dating, no taking each other to dinner, but there was a lot of time spent quietly in each other's company, in and out of work situations, and there was lots of sex. Mind bendingly great sex, Ashino had the focus, attentiveness and physical capabilities to put to shame every other man Tamara had ever been with in her not altogether long life, and it was plain to see and feel that he cared and felt for her, truly. But she didn't know if that emotion was mere fondness or actual love, and was afraid it was more the former than the latter. He still sometimes whispered the name of his first love in his sleep, or during moments of climax. Tamara wasn't offended, from the little she knew, this Jean girl had changed Ashino's life, had even saved his soul in some ways, and there was no way she could compete with that sort of experience on a day to day basis.
True to expectations, she found him in the middle of a workout, not the weight lifting sort, but the dashing around-leaping into the air-pummeling target mannequins into heaps sort that he preferred for those times when he could not convince any live opponents to step onto the mats with him. Which was a mistake new recruits only tended to make once or twice, as the bully boys and tough girls thought to take on the ridiculuously short Retributor and take him down a peg or two. The problem being that Ashino was, quite literally, a super soldier, not a regular human being, and he could both absorb and dish out levels of punishment that would leave a regular person in an ambulance without breaking a sweat. Tamara stood at the edge of the mats and watched him finish up, one bare foot slamming into a block of plastic of woodlike toughness almost three inches thick and shattering it like it was an icecube.
It never failed to tug at heart heart, or more precisely, her loins, when she watched him train. It was a perfectly natural way to feel, Tamara knew, there was nothing wrong with getting a bit excited at watching a very fit and muscular man get all sweaty and flexy, especially when you often shared that same man's bed. All the same, she couldn't help but flush now and then, especially when other female recruits, members and friends would make admiring comments to her, unaware of the depth of their relationship. Seeing him come to rest in the middle of the mats, chest barely hitching with exertion, over thirty test blocks and target mannequins lying destroyed and defeated around him, Tamara stepped out onto the mats, careful to approach loudly, wary of that one time she'd almost caught him unawares, and he'd almost broken half her ribs before he checked his kick, which had still knocked her down and out.
She handed him a small towel, which she had taken from a rack on the wall, and let him mop down his face and neck of the thin sheen of perspiration. His curly, cherry red locks of hair had grown a bit long of late, hanging down to below his ears, but she liked his hair longer, it made him look even younger and more boyish in her eyes, less intimidating, less severe, and he was apparently humoring her in letting it continue to grow out. However the lime green eyes that turned to regard her after he was done wiping off were all business, and Tamara knew better than to try and hug him in even semi-private like this, despite how tempting it was to run her fingertips down the familiar lines of his arms or across his chest. As ever, a slight smile tugged her lips when she found herself looking down into his eyes, he was just so short compared to most modern men.
"So what do you have for me, Tamara?" Ashino asked, after waiting an appropriate interval for her to finish her usual period of gawking. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy being admired by a pretty woman, but if he let her, Tam would stare at him like he was a juicy meal for hours, with that wistful look on her face and her fingers and hands twitching as she kept herself from reaching out to touch and feel. She was a very hands on woman, Tam was, which he didn't mind and often enjoyed, but this wasn't the time for such things. He saw the data reader in her hands and reached out to take it from her. She'd already highlighted the most pertinent sections, highly efficient, that was Tam for you. She'd also put together a basic plan of operations, with plenty of room for him to tweak to his own needs.
At times Ashino almost felt guilty for being so attracted to Tam, who was smart, attentive, organized, strikingly attractive physically, creative and fun to be around. Jean had been fun and smart and pretty attentive, but she was not organized and every time he tried to imagine Jean filling the role of second in command, he either couldn't or had to actually chuckle sadly. Jean was many things, but she would never have been able to be a productive part of his work life. Jean also lost out to Tam in the looks departmet, she was just a gawky glasses wearing college student and Tam was a fit and confident woman in her own right, but he always felt really terrible in making that comparison. Jean meant so much to him, even now, even while he was slowing moving past her, and Tam was filling in for her spot, the post of keeping him human and social.
"Well, we can hardly let an opportunity like this one pass us by, can we?" Ashino observed, after carefully perusing the text, both highlight and non-highlighted sections. "Not every day we get a chance to make big headlines by giving the USN a black eye. Putting an entire taskforce to route, its almost like a dream."
"You don't trust it, do you?" Tam asked, knowing him well.
"Of course I don't. I don't trust anything unexpected, and this fairly screams of a trap. The question is, is it a trap that is worthwhile to trip anyway?" Ashino replied, brow furrowing in thought. "I think we will have to fight a probing engagement at the very least. I detest the thought of not knowing what kind of units arrived in those Agamemnons. Obviously its the sort of units that the USN thought was a fitting replacement for over four dozen Solar Knights, and that concerns me. It may be super soldiers of some sort, FEAR's vaunted Extendeds. My cousins, you could say." Ashino frowned heavily. "Those poor, lost souls... I really feel for them, you know? They never really have had a chance for a regular life. Not like I've had."
"Well, maybe we can capture some and free them?" Tamara suggested. She noticed his arched eyebrows. "I'm not saying it would be easy, but its better to try than just let them suffer under brainwashing, right? They're people too, they deserve a chance at a real, peaceful life if they want."
"If more of Blue Cosmos had been like you, I would have enjoyed working for them." Ashino said slowly.
"If more of Blue Cosmos had been like me, you never would have come about." Tamara replied with a shrug. "All told, I'm happy with the results we have." She thought about what he'd said for a moment. "Cousins? Not brothers and sisters?"
"Thankfully not." Ashino said, with a real shudder, which had her eyes quite wide with amazement. She'd not seen much that could make him shiver with dread, that was for sure. "Trust me, if a family reunion were ever to be held, I would nuke the place at the appointed time. Even if it was in a major city. Such a tragedy would only be a drop in the bucket compared to the potential damage of my "elder" brothers and sister could cause. Especially..." Ashino shook his head. "Don't worry about it. One of them is brain dead, the other two are nothing but ashes and bad memories now." Ashino held up the data reader. "Now lets get down to the details... we're going to need to work it so they think we're still operating out of the asteroids..."
xxxx
Author Note 2: Summary of Mature Content: Frost gets into the bedroom and psychically attacks Athrun, tormenting him with horrible nightmares while preventing him from waking up. He then physically attacks Cagalli and inflicts horrific injuries upon her, including sexual assault and slashing open her throat, before calling in the Stormhounds using mimicry and memories stolen from Jerome, to discover his handiwork, while he flees into the night, taking Athrun with him.
As you may summarize, that I was able to put the meat of the chapter into two sentences should put emphasis on the kind of extreme details I went into when actually writing the scene. Until next time, looking forward to the reactions.
