Author's Note: Hello, everybody! I hope all of you are having a good day, because I certainly am! It's been almost a year since I last updated this story, but I just wanted to put out this latest chapter, after having put it off for quite a while up to the point where I had the drive to keep writing again. To recap what was going on around me (since it's been a while), for the past ten months since the most recent chapter came out: I had been watching the 2015 Pan Am Games, struggled to find work during the summer, got to see the amazing playoff run that the Blue Jays made, went on with my studies in what may be my final year in university, saw the Leafs winning first overall in the draft lottery…and now I've been catching up on the Raptors playoff run. Lately, I have caught the news on what the next Battlefield game will be…I must say, I definitely am interested by the idea of an FPS that is set during World War I (compared to the current trend of FPS games that take place in the future…I'm looking at you, CoD)! To summarize, a lot has happened since the most recent chapter of Mobile Suit Gundam SEED Reflex. For this chapter you are about to read, all I can mention is that there will be some drama of sorts—and a whole lot of non-stop action! With all that being mentioned…please enjoy this chapter!

Author's Note 2: Just to give out a little spoiler for the chapter you are about to read below…yes, there will be a chase scene that involves cars and guns. To enhance your reading experience, you can listen to any music that's suitable for this particular scene. Personally, I prefer any of these following songs: "Dancin'", by Walter Murphy; "Bond 77" (from The Spy Who Loved Me), by Marvin Hamlisch; the main theme from Driver: You Are the Wheelman, by Allister Brimble; "Apache", by the Incredible Bongo Band; and Giorgio Moroder's "Chase".

"Don't shortchange the future, because of fear in the present."

—Barack Obama, 2009

Voltage Axe Presents

Mobile Suit Gundam SEED Reflex

PHASE-17: Eyes of Deceit

April 16, C.E. 93
ZAFT Military Station (Headquarters)
0900 Hours

"Alright," Commander Kira Yamato began. "What do we have here, so far?"

"We have some new background info on the Nocturnal Front," one of the commanding officers reported, "based on the latest reports compiled from all national intelligence agencies in the Coalition, along with those from Terminal."

"And what do we know more about them?"

The commanding officer explained. "There have been multiple special interest groups and associations that have backed the Ultranationalist Eurasians, Commander. Those groups of high importance include the League of National Socialists, the Workers' Solidarity movement in that country, and the People's Revolutionary Militia."

"I see," the Chief Commander firmly nodded. "What else do we know?"

"Based on all the information we got out from several P.O.W.s," he elaborated, "it appears that, prior to serving under the Ultranationalists, these former 'civilians'—if you will—had criminal backgrounds that reach far more than ten years."

Kira widened his eyes incredulously in response to the finding.

"Their rap sheets include homicide; trafficking of narcotics, weapons, and humans; armed robbery; arson; and a whole lot more other serious crimes committed in their pasts," the male commanding officer described, before he took a tense pause lasting for a couple of seconds. "Oh, and don't get me started on their mental health records."

The brown-haired commander lowered his head dejectedly, and deeply sighed. "That's quite the spectrum that we're dealing with here, I guess," Kira spoke lowly of the fact.

"It is," he firmly nodded. "Pretty damning to think that the Nationalist Eurasians would recruit those of the horribly depraved and the insane, into their frontline infantry."

Sitting on the chair in front of the two highly-ranking officials of the top brass, was a pink-haired woman in her unique, kimono-like dress. Lacus Clyne narrowed her eyes at the two men who were conversing over these details in front her, hearing every bit of it that sent waves of concern through her mind, becoming uncomfortable at the unsavoury findings from one of the top brass. A frown crossed her face, as she heard onward from both commanding officers.

Another voice sounded through the room, belonging to that of a female. "It really is damning to hear what has transpired from this nation that used to be at accord, to be honest."

Lacus and the two men looked up to direct their focus at the wall-mounted tele-screen, displaying a live image of Orb Union's Chief Representative, Cagalli Yula Zala. She had also took part in the video conference to discuss the matters that were utmost important for the close military coalition, with regards to the challenges that were presented by the very opponents they were facing.

"The situation is even direr than what we've expected," the blonde lioness reported. "We have received thousands of migrants displaced from nations devastated by war, and more of them are flowing into our country."

Kira asked her, turning his body towards the tele-screen. "But is it not an accommodating action to relocate these migrants in places where they are free from conflict?"

"Commander, our nation cannot handle this many refugees that are coming in right now," Cagalli objected sternly. "With all due respect, Chairwoman Clyne, but if we want to stem the issues that we are seeing at this point in time, then we, as the Coalition, must find ways to contain the Eurasian threat from spilling over into the borders of other nations."

Lacus nodded shortly. "I understand that, Miss Zala," she spoke in her usual softened tone of voice, but with eyes that communicated staidness. "This kind of threat should not continue on any longer, and we are actively working around the clock to develop solutions for the current situations complicating matters."

"Speaking of the military under your command," Cagalli made note of the fact, "how are the ZAFT forces progressing, in terms of their objectives?"

Just as Kira was about to answer his half-sister on that, the doors hissed open for a silver-haired male in his white uniform to march right through, with a couple of other men in the same white uniforms right behind him.

"I believe we have made substantial progress on a few of our objectives," Strategic Commander Yzak Joule cut in, walking himself to be in plain view of the tele-screen. "For one, we have successfully evacuated the PLANT embassy in the Sudanese region of the African Community. We are planning to deploy thousands of mobile ground troops and infantry in areas that are vulnerable behind strategic lines."

"Good to hear that, Commander Joule," Kira gave a firm nod of his head. "Anything of our special forces out there?"

Yzak grunted. "They're doing their intended jobs, that's as far as I know."

"We must do something about what's happening in the Far East, however," Cagalli addressed the other challenges of the war. "Reports have it that the East Asian Forces are struggling against the massive build-up of Eurasian troops that have now advanced southward to the 45th parallel north, in China."

One of the commanding officers raised the question. "Should we devote more of our men to back them up?"

"Well, I don't think we should," Yzak answered sharply. "They have sufficient numbers in strength and technology; if anything, we should focus our current numbers on the fronts that are affecting us!"

"But aren't the East Asian Forces a part of our Coalition?" Another commanding officer objected. "Would they not request us to send our soldiers there, should it be necessary in more severe situations?"

The silver-haired commander rebuffed his objections. "It's obvious that they can hold their own," he scoffed. "We don't really need to give them additional support if they don't need it—that would be a total waste of our resources."

Suddenly, a few electronic chirps sounded from the tele-screen. The live image of the Chief Representative that took up the entire display, was now split into two, side-by-side. Cagalli was on the right, the left side was taken up by a male soldier in his green uniform.

"Pardon for the interruption," the man apologized, "but the General of the Atlantic Federation Forces is now on the line."

Kira and Lacus nodded, while the other commanding officers looked on.

"Put him into the call," Commander Yamato firmly requested.

He nodded his head. "Yes, sir."

The left side of the tele-screen then switched to a live image of an older male in a darkened-blue uniform that was adorned with a column of lapels that denoted his senior-rank status, and a peaked cap perched over his head.

"General Chambers, sir," Kira addressed him formally.

"Chief Commander, Chairwoman…and Chief Representative," the top general of the Atlantic Federation's forces had bowed his head politely to them.

The ZAFT Commander stared directly at the general on the tele-screen. "What brings you to this call?"

"I am here to express my concerns, with regards to the overall progress that the Coalition has made at this point in the war," the general explained. "We have taken a heavy hit after another, and our numbers are starting to become stretched out thinly over all of the affected areas."

"But respectfully, sir," Commander Yamato contended, "we're trying our best to make headway into ending this war as soon as possible. There's no way any one of us can back down on that commitment!"

General Chambers lowered his head for a moment, before looking back up. "Although that may be," he sternly responded, reluctance in his tone, "our nation cannot allow more of this to happen. We must reorganize ourselves, and concentrate on the priorities that the Atlantic Federation should pay more attention to!"

"Hey, wait!" Cagalli snapped. "You aren't actually serious about this?! You're thinking about leaving more of the Coalition's responsibilities only up to us, and the few other nations?"

"I'm afraid it has to be done," General Chambers breathed out regretfully. "We only agreed to provide more of our troops to battle, if there is greater overall progress to be made by the other nations!"

Yzak gazed at Kira nearby, whose facial expression signalled that he was both upset and confused, right before he turned around, and glared at the general on the screen angrily. Although his role as strategic commander was not as high up as Kira's chief commander status, he couldn't help but also express his frustration with a person whom he found to be unctuous. Seething at his teeth, the silver-haired man of red-hot inferno clenched his fists tightly, as his heated temper intensified, snarling quietly. "Y-you…!"

Before he could even raise his voice at the Atlantic Federation's top general, he heard a woman clear her throat, turning his attention towards Lacus as she stood up off from her seat.

"Mister Chambers, if you may," the pink-haired Chairwoman spoke up for herself, and the large brass surrounding her. "But what kind of example does this set to those people whose lives have been affected by the struggle, in one way or the other?"

The senior-ranked general was taken aback by the way she brought herself out to speak directly to him, along with Kira, Cagalli, Yzak, and all the other commanding officers of ZAFT that were in the room.

"Those people who are struggling to recover from the tragedies, the hardships, and all other brutal elements arising from the conflict," she asserted to him, "they expect nations like us, to gather together, and to solve these surmountable challenges as one union of the willful."

Kira turned to his wife and former songstress, his eyebrows still raised incredulously at her unyielding views brought against the general, before he turned back to the tele-screen.

"What you have just actually said to us," Lacus continued, "is that your nation and its men would rather take on the challenges by itself, instead of being with the other nations like us, to do so. I think that would be an ultimate mistake to make, sir."

The brunette commander suppressed a swallow of air down his throat, shortly nodding his head in agreement, as Lacus' words reached through his conscience.

"If we are to find opportunities to figure out the answers to these challenges, and more importantly enough, to bring these struggles and hardships to an end sooner, then each one of us must co-operate with one another, and bring forth their efforts to overcome the trials," she concluded. "Wouldn't you say so, Mister Chambers?"

The general in his dark-blue uniform could only remain silent for a few minutes, as he recomposed his thoughts and sentiments, stretching a frown across his lips. He then finally found himself to speak up, responding to the Chairwoman's calls of persuasion.

"I…I suppose you're right, Chairwoman Clyne," General Chambers quietly answered, after having released a deep breath. "It is rather an unwelcoming situation to be in, if we decide."

"The Chairwoman has a point, sir," Cagalli agreed with the arguments that Lacus made. "The only goal of achieving peace in the world ever again would not be reached, if one of us does not contribute majorly towards the effort as a larger, organized collaborative."

"Yes, I suppose she does," the general nodded his head firmly, before speaking onward with his thoughts, the reluctance still in his tone of voice. "Alright. I will have to reconsider my decision with the President and the other delegations, at this moment."

"I thank you, General, for your renewed commitment to the Coalition's efforts," Lacus creased a thin smile on her lips. "As a part of the Coalition, the ZAFT forces will continue to push forward in achieving the goals outlined as per our agreement."

General Chambers tipped his head forward in a polite gesture, before ending the video conference call on his side, the split window disappearing immediately to have the whole screen taken up by the Chief Representative once more.

Lacus frowned as soon as the call ended, along with the Chief Commander, and the other commanding officers in the room. Yzak could only remain foul-tempered, seething his teeth at what he had heard from the top commanding officer of the Atlantic Federation's military.

"T-that…bastard!" He finally snapped, turning to his colleagues near him. "He has the gall to make this kind of decision…and, for what? To serve better for his own self? For his own country?!"

"I agree with you, Yzak," Kira calmly addressed his concerns. "If they actually wanted to have no part in this, then they shouldn't have signed on in the first place."

"But they have," the blonde Chief Representative pointed out from the other side of the tele-screen. "When the treaty was signed shortly after the announcement that the Coalition was to be formed," Cagalli explained, "the Atlantic Federation had ratified it already, stating that they would be fully committed in bringing assistance to the other affected nations."

Lacus quietly sighed. "However, even with something as concrete as much as a treaty would be," she stated in her own thoughts, "it would still be pointless. The treaty is just purely a symbolic statement. Regardless of whether they ratify the treaty or not, the Atlantic Federation would only take part in the conflict on their own behalf, and only for their own interests."

"What do you mean by that, Lacus?" Kira asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are they not actually on the same side as we are, against the opposing force?"

"They should," the pink-haired Chairwoman answered. "But I have met with their delegates in my previous visits, and from what I have observed, it appears that they are still reluctant to establish a more mutual relationship with countries like ours."

Cagalli shook her head at this notion. "But even if it's true, they had to be convinced to take part in a conflict that requires their cooperation with other nations!"

"Then, I'm afraid they aren't," Lacus sternly replied.

Kira questioned her. "How will we convince them?"

A brief pause followed. "We must intensify our efforts to contain the important matters at hand," Lacus murmured. "Only then, will we convince those in the Atlantic Federation's military to change their course of action. Yzak?"

"I'll be right on it," Yzak nodded, as he headed out of the room.

Kira, Cagalli, and a few other commanding officers then turned towards Lacus again.

"We know we are being pushed further away from achieving our goal than it appears," the Chairwoman opined in her own wisdom. "But we cannot push forward towards this goal, unless we have more than enough support to make it happen."

April 16, C.E. 93
Moscow, Russia, National Republic of Eurasia
1500 Hours

A society of intolerance. A society filled with fear and division. A society that was unimaginably undesirable to those who champion basic human rights, democratic ideals, and personal liberties. All of these were the definition of dystopia in its fullest. And it had fully described the current state of affairs across Nationalist Eurasia.

To say nothing of the oppression that authority has against the common citizen was a massive understatement. From the very beginning that saw the Nocturnal Front take rise in holding power over the country, government surveillance had ramped up to the point where one set of cameras or more could be found on every corner of a street, intersection, or building. All electronic communications and media were subject to very strict controls by government agencies that were given greater powers to tap into any citizen's means of digital correspondence. Even severely, internet access was cut off from the rest of the world, depriving the nation's citizens of the vast amounts of information online.

The regime had went so far to glorify their own actions through the heavy-handed usage of propaganda, pushing all of it through mass media. Citizens were bombarded repeatedly through state-controlled television stations, with public service announcements, short movies, and newsreels that brought messages of prosperity, equality, and a harmonious society, when it was actually anything but those three. Every government building was draped with tall banners of red, white, and black that were adorned by the yellow Nocturnal Front emblem. There were posters and other banners plastered on walls and fences that soundly denounced the nations of the Coalition they were fighting against; one of the posters featured a giant Eurasian soldier in his darkened uniform and red armbands looking down menacingly, about to strike at a group of smaller, terrified Coalition soldiers with a sledgehammer on one hand, and about to swing his sickle with the other.

In the urban locales of the country, military checkpoints were set up in major roadways, where some citizens were gathered up into cramped spaces that were the backs of transport trucks. In recent weeks, the Ultranationalist government made its pledge to round up those who had expressed dissent towards the governing powers, and those that the government itself saw as against their own ideals. Those included, were certain groups of intellectuals and activists, homosexuals and the transgendered, former members of pro-democratic political parties, and the impoverished. It was especially those who were living in poverty, as they were gathered into groups and sent off to labour camps, the highly-intensive working conditions being very treacherous and slave-like.

Elsewhere, there were mass rallies held at public squares that heavily supported the government in charge. Bonfires were set openly with people tossing books into the burning flames, such books that either contained subject matter that was contrary to the government's ideology, or had been published by authors from non-Eurasian backgrounds. Pogroms were held in some communities, where there were mass beatings and humiliations of individuals who were caught by authorities for voicing dissent against the central powers, with the tragic consequences of some of them being beaten to death, executed by firing squads, or lynched for their 'crimes'. Some of the others were actually spared from death, only to suffer the consequences worse than that. They were instead marched through the downtrodden streets by those ravenous crowds around them, dunce caps over their heads, and placards hung around their necks that read out their 'wrong-doings'. This was done for hours on end, the victims caught in the unnecessary display of humiliation being starved for days without food and water.

A gunshot was set off like a cannon, echoing off from an empty corner of a street. The agonized scream of a small child followed, becoming as loud as the gunshot that closely preceded it. One of the many dark-uniformed soldiers patrolling the streets had pulled the trigger of his pistol on an adult bystander who was stopped at the sidewalk by him, and another soldier in tandem. The small child wailed loudly and incoherently, over the body of his father that was laying on the sidewalk, having bled profusely to death. Both soldiers watched the scene with expressionless faces, while the other civilian bystanders just kept going on their own, for their personal fears of having the exact same fate as the child's father. The scene of the tragedy had taken place, just a couple of blocks away from a series of buildings that housed most of the Ultranationalist members there.

Inside, a pair of wooden doors gave way with a heavy thud, a trio of men surrounded by a line of three dark-clothed soldiers on either side. Two of the men were in olive drab uniforms, while the man in the middle was in his suit that was reserved for captaining a battleship. The stomping of boots against the solid floor grew louder in unison, before they gradually became quieter, upon approaching another set of doors.

Waiting on the other side of the doors was a man in a dress uniform of pitch-black, almost the same colour that painted the ambience of the room surrounding him, as he sat on his chair. The only lighting in the room was just a large paned window right behind the sitting male, a sliver of light reflecting off the polished brim of the peaked cap that was over the top of his thinning crew cut.

Middle-aged as he was, the top-ranked male wrinkled his forehead, creasing his eyebrows into a tempered expression, his lips bending into a deepened scowl. His cold, narrow eyes grew intense as he stared at the set of doors a few short metres away from him. He had released a breath quietly through his nostrils, before he heard the doors beginning to part way, slowly swinging open to reveal the three particular figures he was awaiting for.

Stepping slowly from the shadows, and towards the light that brightened only a small portion of the room, the ginger-brunette male in his captain's uniform suddenly stopped after a few more paces, a startled gasp narrowly escaping him under his widened eyes.

Right before Captain Kartemis was the leading generalissimo, and the nation's ultimate leader, Dmitri Makarov. And right behind the general, were a line of seven men in formal business wear, standing tall next to each other. The Captain of the Radegast had known exactly who those men were, having previously identified them as the key figures behind the founding of the faction that helped spurred this change that all of Eurasia had seen most recently. Whatever they were doing here with the top general, was the first thought on his mind, as he suppressed a small gulp down his throat.

Recomposing himself quickly, Andre saluted to the leader and general of the military, arm extended out and hand straightened to be parallel to his limb, before he clenched his hand into a fist right afterward. "General Makarov, sir!"

The general remained silent for a brief moment, continuing to stare down on the Radegast's captain, before he finally broke the tense silence.

"Captain Andre Kartemis," he uttered out in a slight gravelly voice, in addressing him, the scowl having remained. "You must surely have understood why you have been called to meet me here."

Andre tensed up as he heard the growling tone behind that rough-sounding nature of his voice. Quickly scanning his eyes to study the faces of each of the seven men standing firmly behind the general, the captain could notice that all of them had the same intense glare that was directed at him; some of them scowling, and some of them frowning. He held back his stark feelings of fear and discomfort, trying hard to maintain his toughened façade he had always presented to his subordinates.

"Y-yes, I do understand why, General," the captain calmly answered in his earnest tone.

General Makarov eyed him coldly, a grunt escaping from the depths of his throat. "Of course, you do," he continued in the same guttural sound that was exerted as he spoke, grimacing. "I am referring to the events that happened as recent as a few weeks ago," the general explained, "when you and your crew were to take patrol over the assigned perimeter around the Mid-Atlantic."

Andre held his breath, his head bowed by the slightest, eyes also lowered upon becoming solemn. He maintained his stern stature as he stood still, but there was a twinge he felt in his nerves upon reflecting back on his actions when he captained the battleship towards the zone of conflict that, in the eyes of his superiors, he had no business in taking part over there. Feelings of shame and remorse arose in the back of his mind, the more he took in hindsight from his self-reflection. The russet-haired captain then lifted his eyes back towards the general in front of him, upon hearing him speak again.

"However, instead of following those orders," General Makarov slowly spoke with the gravelly tone he carried with him, steadily picking up the pace of his voice, "you decided to lead your crew into battle that a fleet was already sent in to intercept." The dark-uniformed male furrowed his eyebrows at the captain. "And as a result, you and your crew were found to have violated against military protocol, going against the orders you were originally responsible for."

Captain Kartemis could only now await whatever punishment he might receive, as a result of the actions that were of his own accord, a few drops of sweat running down his thickened skin. What happened next had only surprised him, shock him beyond whatever belief he had just previously.

General Makarov turned his fists back into those same fingers that were laid out flat, bringing them down onto the surface of the table below, a thundering slam echoing throughout the entire room.

"This cannot happen again!" He hissed sharply, suddenly raising his voice at Andre. "Under normal circumstances, if this was another soldier going against those orders…then I would have that soldier stripped of his ranks, and be sent to a gulag!"

Andre suppressed the breaths that were going in and out heavily, continuing to maintain that hardened expression on his face, his eyes widened at the general's reaction. He had felt a great amount of warmth pool through his entire body, from all the stress and concern that built up in his thoughts.

General Makarov then lowered the tone of his voice back to his usual gravelly, yet still earnest, sound. "But given the reports of what has happened in that entire battle," he coolly elaborated, laying his palms flat onto the table, "I must commend you on your bravery and commitment to the goals set out by the Eurasian people, including those who were struggling against the powers of the enemy."

Captain Kartemis wiped some of the sweat that was running down his forehead, lifting the peaked cap slightly as he did, still staring at the middle-aged general with narrowed eyes.

"I must not downplay the importance of you as a leader, as well," the general went on, nodding his head gently. "As much as you have disobeyed the orders, your leadership is very more important to us, as a military force." Dmitri then released a quick breath. "After conferring with the others in the upper command, I have decided to reinstate you to your original duties."

Andre remained still, as he began to settle his nerves from expecting what was to be a tough, disciplinary hearing from the military's higher command. A heavy breath escaped his nostrils, as he gathered his thoughts and feelings back, recomposing himself once more.

"You will be briefed on what will be the next few objectives for your crew," General Makarov informed him. "And you are expected take part in those plans, within one week."

Captain Kartemis firmly nodded his head. "Yes, General!"

"Good," the general nodded back at him. "And one more thing I will remind you again, before you set foot out of this door."

"Yes, General," he responded. "What is it?"

"You must continue to follow whatever orders you are assigned to," General Makarov admonished him, standing up from his chair. "I understand about the circumstances that have forced you to make such decisions that would ordinarily go against those orders, and I do not oppose such decisions. But, if you dare to make another decision that ultimately goes against our protocol…"

"I know, General," Andre simply gave a short nod of his head. "I know."

"Good," Dmitri replied, after a moment of uneasy silence. "Now you may leave this room."

Captain Kartemis glanced at him for a brief moment, before turning himself around, and stepped towards the open doors out of the room, guided by the same infantrymen surrounding him. Andre turned his head around as he left, looking back at the general who had returned back to his seat, the seven men in formal attire still standing tall behind Dmitri, ominously looking over him. Their gazes continued to be directed at the captain, as he stepped out of the room, the doors closing shut behind him.

"This is my first time here at this mall," a female voice spoke. "How about you?"

"Ah, yes," a male voice in a Northern-European accent had gruffly replied. "Same here!"

A brunette girl and three other males around her age had taken a leisurely stroll through a large shopping center somewhere in one of the districts of Cape Town, where they then stopped by at a spacious department store. Katherina Hembrook and Jorgen Oberg-Rynas were watching over glass displays filled with sparkling jewelry, and other wearables of fine-cut quality. Standing not too far behind them, were Akira Yamato and Kazunori Asuka, all four of them in their usual civilian attire. Both men observed the ecstatic looks on their faces, as they took in the joys of shopping, pointing out excitedly at anything they think were worth noting importantly of.

Having one of these instances of being temporarily off-duty was only rare in active military service, rarer even, during major worldwide conflicts as the one they were partaking in. But it was considered quite a reprieve for a team of mobile suit pilots such as them, after having gone through the excessive stresses and life-harrowing experiences in the combat operations they undertook. They had spent their afternoon touring through the streets of the port city, having exquisite meals at one of the local restaurants for lunch.

Akira could recall, at that point, about how Katherina—for some reason—took umbrage at the fact that he was only using yogurt sauce for the doner kebabs he ordered for himself. She insisted on having him try those with the chili sauce she used for her own meal, and unfortunately squirting a lot of it onto his plate. Jorgen would seem to have agreed with that notion from her, as Akira glared annoyingly at the taller male across the table.

And as the brown-haired pilot of the Hercules would simply put it, "Can't a guy just enjoy his own meal around here?"

Stopping at a women's fashion wear section in the department store, the three males waited outside a dressing room, while Katherina changed into one of the sets of clothing items she was looking into. The white curtains gave way for the brunette girl in a stunning electric-blue sundress that was strapless, with a black leather belt firmly around the waistline.

Katherina looked in the mirror as she checked around herself, before turning to her teammates. "Well, what do you guys think?"

Jorgen could only give a thumbs-up and a bright smile, while Akira gave just a thin smile and a short nod of approval.

"I…think it looks fine," Kazunori expressed his answer quietly, shyly turning his gaze from her.

After another moment spent in the dressing room, Katherina parted open the curtains again. She revealed herself in a flannel shirt over a low-cut white tee, a violet skirt that was knee-high, and complete with black Nylon stockings.

The brown-haired female posed herself in the mirror, and asked the three men behind her in the reflection, before turning to them. "How do you like this?"

As with before, Jorgen gave a thumbs-up and a bright smile. Akira thinly smiled, and nodded his head with approval.

There was a tinge of red that formed across Kazunori's face, as he gazed at the attire she was wearing in front of him. He turned his eyes away from her.

"I think it looks…okay," he murmured awkwardly.

Katherina pouted, arms akimbo. "Apparently, you don't seem to care what I wear!"

"W-what?!" The raven-haired boy spouted out, looking rather surprised and flustered in being taken aback at her reaction, his open palms stuck out in front of him. "O-of course, I care!"

Akira turned away from them, looking elsewhere, while Jorgen took in the humour of the scene that he was now seeing.

Brown eyes scanned the streets left and right, a black-haired male in a green polo shirt and bell-bottomed denim jeans having stood still at the corner of an intersection, waiting to cross the road ahead. Passers-by in bright and colourful clothing strolled down the sidewalks, their faces differed from neutral to more serene expressions, as they walked underneath the luminous and flashing lights that dazzled the night skies above. There were a lot of lights, some of them being lit up in repetitive patterns, and some of them being flashes of neon on those advertisements and the establishments promoting their 'after-dark' services. Traffic was lighter at around those hours, moving smoothly across the roads, and the intensity of their headlights nearly blinding him as they puttered by. A bustling metropolis full of life, as he observed.

Another male had walked up right beside him, his hair dirty-blond and in a fauxhawk kind of style, dressed in a blue denim vest over a white t-shirt. He adjusted his stonewashed jeans, hitching them up by hooking his fingers around its belt loops. Having glanced at the pedestrian signal in front of him, he turned to the dark-haired male in the green polo shirt, who was still engrossed into the sights and sounds of downtown surrounding him.

"Davis," he cleared his throat, bringing his attention to him. "Let's proceed."

Staff Sergeant Davis Leung nodded his head before proceeding to advance, Master Sergeant James Castle right beside him, both of them clearing the crosswalk.

They were both dressed in their casual attire, sauntering down the long stretch of sidewalk in a dense, sprawling area of the city. They weren't there to do some sightseeing, however; they were on an undercover operation tasked by the Chief Commander himself. As Davis could recall in his mind, it happened several hours earlier. Military command received a message from an unknown party who sent it, according to Commander Yamato, which was then forwarded directly to the Gemini I crew. It had mentioned something about someone who had close connections to the military, who may have had information vital to the ongoing war at hand. After conferring with those who had sent the message to them, in back-and-forth discussions, they both agreed that there would be a meet-up between said contact, and those from ZAFT under the premises of anonymity.

Davis and James cleared past another crosswalk, before they travelled a short distance on foot, having finally reached their destination. Their intended location was a discotheque, a fancy-looking exterior with its façade having an array of glowing neon lights that flashed multiple colours, and it was even fancier-looking when they stepped inside of the establishment. Having allowed in by the bouncer at the front doors of the place, a gorgeous female in a flaming-red dress led them through the nightclub. The undercover Specters looked around the interior of the location, their hawkish eyes observing the numerous amount of people who were already there for a fun time of their lives.

Already, they could see some people at a nearby bar, enthusiastic exchanges between those people as they were served up exotic drinks. There was laughter and excitement coming from there, as James directed his eyes over at that space in the main hall, only a few people having taken up too much alcohol, and were already at their most boisterous and obnoxiousness.

There was a large crowd of them over at the dance floor, the music booming through the speakers in pulsating beats, with the repeating synths and rhythmic melodies of E.D.M. having caught the dancing crowd in a trance. Flashes of extremely bright lights cut through the air from above, and on the ground flanking the dance floor, its tiles lighting up in an assortment of colours. Davis adjusted his rimless bifocals, gazing at the people bumping and gyrating their bodies against each other, dancing wildly to the music underneath a rotating disco ball. He then turned his head to follow James, as they passed through the main hall of the nightclub.

They found themselves at a room that was considerably smaller than that of the main hall. There were rows of tables arranged in a pattern of 4s and 5s, extending no more than three rows starting from the first row situated in front of a stage. The lovely-looking hostess guided them to the tables, both undercover operatives opting to take a table that was closest to the wooden stage platform. Davis surveyed around him, finding that most of the other tables were occupied by the other patrons. Turning his eyes back to the stage in front of him, he could only wonder what was going on here, as he took a seat with James.

Suddenly, there was music that came on through the speakers, but it was a remarkably different kind of music than what Davis and his partner were hearing at the main hall. It started with a synthesized beat that got Davis to tap his foot to it right away, before a company of brass instruments followed in a short burst. The synthesized beat returned, but was joined with a rhythmic guitar and percussive claps, as the music continued.

The lights at the stage dimmed by a lot, before a pattern of bright light in shapes of circular spots rotated around, covering both the stage and the velvet red curtains. The tempo of the song increased, followed by more of the brass instrumentals, right before a male voice boomed through the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the male D.J. rumbled excitedly in his announcement, "please give a warm welcome to one of pop music's legends in history…TRAVIS CARRADINE!"

Davis watched the spectacle begin before his eyes, as the velvet-red curtains gave way to a male in his early-40s who stepped up to the stage, the spotlights pointed on him. Dressed in a black vest, over a white shirt and purple tie, and beige trousers, the performer of curly ginger-brown hair began to sing along to the tune of the song, while beginning to execute his dance moves.

"Oh, we were born to be…alive!" The male performer started to strut around with a black walking cane, swinging it around as he turned to face the audience in front of him. "We were born to be…alive!"

James looked around to find that the spectators sitting at the other tables were now clapping their hands loudly, with some of them cheering for the performer on stage. In the corner of his mind, he wondered if the people around him happened to be fans of this person who was now performing live. The dirty-blond Englishman turned back to the performance, with an amused eyebrow perked up, as he continued to watch.

"Born...born to be alive!" That part of the vocals was then repeated in the song itself, as Travis stepped and shuffled around to the beat. "People ask me why I never find a place to stop, and settle down, down, down…"

Davis spectated with enthusiasm, over how the ginger-brunette male could carry all that energy in this song, and put it into quite an exciting dance number. He could see all that perfect co-ordination go hand-in-hand with his feet and his arms, striding to-and-fro with each step he took. He had that little swagger in his step, it seemed, in the eyes of the ZAFT operative. Although he hadn't found the music that was playing he liked, compared to the music he heard in the main hall previously, Davis found this kind of classical music to be as enjoyable as some of the other genres he preferred.

The young Specter's eyes then travelled down to the walking cane he held with him, the cane having a smooth, metal shaft of no more than a metre in length. At the top, its brass collar was coated in a champagne colour, complete with a golden handle was elegantly-designed like the stock of a rifle. In fact, Davis narrowed his eyes and squinted to catch the sight of what he believed to be a trigger within the handle of the cane. He could only wonder whether that was actually real, or if his eyes were actually tricking him at the least. Davis peered away from the cane in question, and instead directed his focus upon the performer on the stage.

"But I never wanted all those things, people need to justify in their lives, lives, lives..." Travis strode around on his feet, twirling his cane around magnificently, before throwing it up into the air, and making a skilled catch with his hands. "You see, we were born…born…born to be alive…"

This elicited a lot more cheers from the audience, who were already excited at the way he performed on stage. Davis and James just simply continued to watch the rest of the performance, only clapping their hands sparsely, yet politely at each time he pulled off a move that was considered energetic by some in the audience.

"You see, we were born…born…born…." Travis repeated, bring up his cane horizontally halfway to his torso, before striding in place from his left leg. "Born to be alive…"

Cheers and applause erupted from the audience sitting at the tables, as Travis twirled his cane around again, holding it in one place with a hand. At the same time, he spun his other hand with his wrist, the back of his hand facing towards the audience with its fingers closed, in a mannerism much similar to that of a highly-classed, modern-day gentleman. His malachite eyes scanned the rows of occupied tables in front of him, before they finally fell on the two men who were sitting at a table in the row closest to him. A slight smirk was on his face, before it completely changed, as the ginger-brunette male concluded his act on the stage.

Once the music died down, and the performer having finished his act, the audience clapped and cheered again as he took a bow to thank them.

"You have been such a great audience out there!" Travis bowed his head again, as the main lights at the stage were brought back to their full brightness. "Thank you!"

The curtains drew to a close, as soon as he walked away from the stage, and out of the public view. Davis and James exchanged a few looks at each other, the dirty-blond operative having implied by his expression of what the dark-haired male thought of that performance. Davis could only give him a feigned smile, and a short laugh, before he turned away from James to take a swig of his drink. James also took a sip of his drink, just as the dressed-in-red hostess approached their table from their right.

"Excuse me, sirs," she notified them in a gentle and polite manner. "Mr. Carradine would like to invite the both of you into his dressing room, at this moment."

James and Davis nodded in response, getting up off their seats, with the hostess leading them into the backstage areas of the nightclub. A shiver ran down Davis' spine in its most subtle, the young Specter having a thought in the very depths of his mind that was of growing concern, as he followed.

Travis sighed deeply to himself, as he relaxed against the swivelling leather chair he was on. Placing the tips of his fingers against the skin of his forehead, the ginger-brunette male massaged it tenderly, while resting on the chair with his legs spread apart.

"Oh boy," he pondered aloud. "After all this, I don't think I would ever want to give another performance like that, ever again!"

A male figure next to him had grunted, seemingly in agreement. He sat atop a black-leathered seat of a tall, steel-constructed stool, to Travis' right, the warm lighting reflecting off of his steel-framed aviators.

"You've got what it takes," the other male firmly remarked. "Just gotta keep pushing on to make it all worth the while here."

Travis turned to him, and nodded his head, before another depressed breath escaped his lips. "I know that, Barry," he sighed as he turned away from him. "But doing this kind of show is pretty much the least of my worries…"

He then lifted his head to face directly against the glass mirror, an expression on his face that left a hint of despondence that started to grow at every second he looked into it. His attention was suddenly stolen, when he heard someone knocking against the door to the dressing room three times. Swiveling the chair to face the direction where the door was, it had given way for the hostess to take a couple of steps inside.

"Mr. Carradine," she addressed him, "those two gentlemen that you've invited are now right here with me."

Travis nodded his head, as she let Davis and James into the room. He cracked open a smile at the two Specters, the dark-haired operative having nodded politely at him. James also gave a short gesture of his head and arms to greet the singer back, before he quietly murmured to the hostess to thank her, as she left the room.

"Ah, so those are the pair of you whom I expected to see," Travis smirked. "How'd you enjoy the performance there?"

Davis could only muster up an answer that he thought would not offend him too much, contrary to what he personally believed. "It's not half-bad," he responded with a straight face that he tried his best to hold on to, "I can tell you that."

"Fancy that," Travis grinned, "I thank you."

In stark contrast to Davis, James was not the one to give much praise to anybody whom he'd never met before, whether it was direct or subtle. He narrowed his eyes at the singer in front of him.

"Alright," James declared, his tone becoming more earnest as he spoke up. "Are you really the guy that we're supposed to meet with?"

Travis laughed quietly as he looked away from him. "My, are we getting eager," the singer remarked teasingly, trying to ease the tension. "Why would you really ask a question like that?"

James did not take his remark too lightly. "Because we were sent here to this location," he spoke sharply, "by our commander from ZAFT, to meet with someone!"

"Oh," Travis paused, seemingly surprised for a moment. "Oh, my."

Davis and James then looked at each other, raising their confused eyebrows, before they turned their attention towards the singer again.

Travis crossed one leg with another, raising an intrigued eyebrow of his own, and pensively holding his head with his fingers that were spread apart. "A commander from ZAFT, you say?"

"Yes," James firmly nodded his head in a terse motion. "I said that."

"Well," Travis craned his head slightly up and to the left, "would that particular commander happen to be someone whose last name is Yamato?"

Davis turned to James very shortly, before turning to him. "Uh, yes," he nearly sputtered. "Why?"

The smile on Travis' face grew a bit wider at his response.

"Commander Kira Yamato," the ginger-brunette male answered, as he reminisced. "I knew his name for quite a long time."

The undercover Specters glared at him, narrowing their eyes with sternness, while he continued.

"You see, it's been quite a while since I last met him in person," Travis explained. "I haven't really remembered who he exactly looked like when we met face-to-face, but in my mind, I still fondly remember his name."

James took a step forward. "So, you're definitely the guy who we needed to see?" He turned away from him for a second, before locking eyes with the person. "It's because our commander told us that you have some sort of information that's critical to the military."

"Well, in that case," Travis finally stood up, "I am your guy to talk to."

Davis crossed his arms. "Then, you wouldn't mind if you shared that kind of info to us…in here?"

"I would," the singer breathed out. "But I'm not willing to share those details right here and then."

"What?" James nearly snapped, furrowing his eyebrows in an exasperated manner. "Why not?!"

Travis sighed, turning around to plant his fists firmly against the polished oak tabletop. "I'm not willing to divulge into these details," he stared down, before turning to them, "unless I am guaranteed to have the safety to do so."

Davis questioned with suspicious eyes. "Well, what do you mean by that?"

"A couple of hours before I arrived here," Travis explained, looking at his reflection on the mirror, "I had the feeling that I was being followed, by someone or something."

"By who?"

"I don't know exactly who or what they were," he responded with a shake of his head, "but I had the growing suspicion that I was being closely pursued by somebody, having to check my rear-view mirror every time, as I was on the way coming here."

"Who were they, Mr. Carradine?" James asked in a brusque, yet somewhat-frantic tone. "Were they sent by the Nationalist Eurasians? Because if they were from ZAFT, or any of the Coalition nations, then it wouldn't make any sense!"

Travis pondered for a bit, quickly bringing his own senses back to him. "I…I think they might have been," he murmured. "But I'm still not so sure myself." He then looked up with a fearful expression on his face, slowly turning towards them. "The thing is, 'though…I think they may be after me. And I have the feeling they're closing in on all of us."

James stepped back a bit, and so did Davis, their faces wrought with concern and distraught. The dirty-blond Specter turned to the dark-haired male next to him.

"Davis," he directed him, placing a palm on his back. "Go take a look out at where the tables are. See if you can tell if he's actually telling the truth."

"On it," Davis nodded, before he rushed out the door, and into the backstage area.

James then directed his glare back towards Travis, which intensified by a whole lot.

"What else you haven't been telling us about?" He hissed at the singer. "What more things have you not told us here?!"

At the same time James began to encounter Travis by himself, Davis rushed through the hall of the backstage area, making his way to where the stage was. Peeking around the corner to look past the stage platform, and into the rest of the space where the tables were, the young Specter was shocked to see what had transpired before him.

Ahead in the near-distance, past the wooden stage, he could see a small group of men barge through the hallway into the live performance venue. All of the men were stocky, decked out in black tops and grey trousers, and had expressions on their faces that looked like they were out to get somebody. The female hostess in red tried to cut them off, raising hell about their sudden intrusion. It all ended in futility, as she was forcefully pushed aside by one of them, almost knocking her against the wall. There was a commotion from some of the crowd in the room, before one of them began to spot the young Specter at the very back of the stage, forcing Davis to scramble and bolt away back towards the dressing room.

"I told you," Travis blurted out, "I'm not going to say much, until I'm safe away from here!"

Just as James was about to lash out at him verbally, Davis quickly burst through the door and headed inside. "You—"

"He wasn't kidding, James!" The young Specter pointed out at the open doorway with his thumb. "They've got a few of them coming towards this way at any moment!"

"See?" Travis almost shouted, the fear becoming more pronounced across his face. "I knew it! They're definitely coming for me!"

James brought his open palms outward in front of him, turning to Davis. "Well, what the hell are we supposed to do?"

Davis responded in a near-incredulous tone. "Surely, there has to be another way out of here!"

"If I may be of assistance, gents," Barry cut in, stepping towards beside Travis. "I believe there is an exit out into the parking lot through the back. We just have to take a short path there, then we can reach his vehicle!"

Travis nodded curtly, upon realization. "Barry's right; I've got a truck for all four of us to head someplace safe, and I know where."

"Good!" James growled lightly. "Then let's get the hell outta dodge, before they all show up lookin' for us!"

Davis eyed the two of them. "Did you guys come packin' with heat for this?"

"I don't," Travis shook his head, but pointed at his bodyguard beside him, "but Barry does."

"That's fine with us," Davis affirmed, "since we both came prepared, too."

He kneeled down to raise the bottom of his trousers, revealing a holster strapped around his ankle. The young Specter pulled out a compact-sized, semi-automatic handgun from there, as well as a rectangular-shaped barrel extension for it. Likewise, James pulled out his semi-automatic pistol from a holster strapped around his right ankle.

Davis attached the barrel extension to his gun in a flash. "Alright, let's go!" He then led Travis' bodyguard out of the door first, with the singer following him, before the two Specters themselves charged through.

Sneaking through the back door, after having taken the short path in time to evade the group of men that had just made their way into the backstage areas, Davis and James checked from left to right to ensure the coast was clear. Assuming that the immediate area ahead was clear, both Specters gave the signal for Travis and his bodyguard to come through the open doorway into the parking lot.

"Okay," Davis breathed, as soon as his bodyguard and he reached the two closely. "I think we have a clear shot at getting to the vehicle…where is it?"

"It's that silver S.U.V. over there," Travis pointed to the general direction of where it was, "straight across!"

Davis acknowledged with a grunt. "That's great! Now let's get the hell out of here." He began to move a few paces quickly, with the two right behind him, and Castle at the very back. "James and I have your backs, don't worry about it!"

They suddenly ducked their heads down as they moved, a cluster of booming gunshots coming from their left and behind them, without warning. A couple of men in the same black get-up had stormed from around the corner of the building's rear, opening fire at them from the near-distance, one of them with a semi-automatic pistol, and the other with a sub-machine gun. Muzzle flashes came from afar, and the stray bullet fire had deflected off of the ground and the parked cars to set off multiple sparks, some of it chipping away the concrete of the pillars and walls. Travis and his bodyguard rushed as fast as they can towards the sports utility vehicle, while Davis and James returned fire to hold off the assailants.

"GO!" Davis barked, and waved wildly at the two of them. "Get to the truck! We'll be there with you!"

The two undercover Specters moved swiftly behind the sides of various parked automobiles as they can for cover, only opening fire right after the hostile gunmen had done so first. Davis peeked above the hood of a four-door sedan, taking a few shots at one of the assailants that was behind a pickup truck. His shots bounced off of the metal surface of the vehicle, as well as puncturing a tire in the process, but all of them had not connected with the enemy shooter. Suddenly, Davis cursed and ducked down immediately, as soon as he saw the other assailant with the sub-machine gun out of the corner of his eye. A line of bullets painted the four-door sedan full of holes that pierced its body, shattering the windows of the car into smaller fragments, but had still provided Davis with enough protection.

James poked around the corner of a minivan to pop open a few shots at the hostile with the sub-machine gun, as he started to flee, the 9mm rounds narrowly missing him. The assailant with the pistol fired at the dirty-blond Specter in retaliation, narrowly missing James as he shot at the same time.

Loading a new magazine into his compact handgun, Davis looked around behind him as he brought himself to the corner of the car's front. Tilting his head slightly for a better look, he could find the pistol-toting gunman exposed from the torso up, who was still firing at James. Taking the opportunity to seize that critical moment, Davis got off his feet to spin his legs around, taking aim at the hostile shooter, before cutting loose on the trigger. The assailant let away a short cry of pain as he was sent flying back off his feet, a few of Davis' bullets having passed through his chest and abdomen, before falling to the ground with a heavy thud. His bloodied semi-automatic pistol was now roughly a metre away from his grasp.

The two Specters then hustled towards the vehicle that Travis and his security escort were now already there, as fast as they can, before dodging a few stray bursts of sub-machine gun fire from the remaining gunman. The lone assailant had also moved up towards the parked vehicles ahead, taking up various cover, before continuing to fire aimlessly at them. Within a short distance away from the silver escape car, Davis and James continued to hold off the enemy gunman from advancing further, each of them pulling off a few rounds against the lone hostile. The assailant in black shrugged off the suppressing gunfire, as he unleashed a counter-attack that sent a barrage of bullets scattering off of the station wagon the two of them were hiding behind, unaware that his intended target of higher-priority was now inside of the silver vehicle.

Starting up the engine of the S.U.V. with a few chugs, Travis snapped his head to the left to see that the two Specters close-by were now under heavy fire. More spatter of sharp-tipped rounds struck the station wagon even more, obliterating the rest of the glass windows, breaking apart the headlights and front grille, and tearing apart a side mirror on top of that. Davis and James grunted angrily as they tried to withstand the suppressing fire coming from the assailant's sub-machine gun.

A harsh curse to himself, Travis put the gear of the vehicle into drive, before he slammed hard against the acceleration pedal with his one foot. Tires skidded brazenly to peel off rubber, leaving a few clouds of smoke, the sports utility vehicle careening left in a wild curve.

As soon as the clad-in-black assailant swooped over the hood of an old sports coupé, he started to hustle towards the station wagon where the two Specters were behind it, ready to strike again with his weapon fully reloaded. Suddenly, out from his left, he could see the silver S.U.V. barrelling down towards him, its piercing high-beams blinding and menacing, and its shrill honks of terror directed at him twice. With no time to react, the only sound that escaped from the lone assailant was a blood-curdling scream of horror. The front of the vehicle slammed into the body of the helpless hostile, before pinning him against the side of the old sports car, full of brutal force in the impact. There was a series of sickening snaps and crunches, as every bone was broken in his body, globules of blood spilling out from his wide-open mouth. His sub-machine gun flew into the air, while the back of his head managed to smash right through the driver-side window of the sports car.

Davis and his dirty-blond partner jolted straight up off the ground, turning to find the scene of the carnage that happened right before their eyes. The silver S.U.V. came to a complete stop, leaving the side of the old coupé it crashed into, in complete ruin. They then trained their eyes to the lifeless body of the assailant lying flat on the concrete, in front of the wrecked two-door vehicle, all mangled and bloodstained.

Travis then bellowed from the driver-side window of the S.U.V. that came down. "Come on! Both of you, get in!"

Without any hesitance, Davis and James staggered off their feet, and rushed towards the rugged vehicle. Securing themselves in the backseats of the large transport, the undercover Specters shouted at him to go. Complying, Travis shifted the gear into reverse, and backed out quickly. Shifting it back to drive, Travis spun the steering wheel right, and then left, as fast as he could, just when two full-size sedans in black started to show up. They came from both directions leading directly to the parking lot, screeching to a sudden stop near the exits. More gunmen in black gear barged out of the vehicles, armed with semi-automatic rifles and carbines.

"Duck!" Davis yelled, getting the three others in the S.U.V. to lower their heads as possible.

The assassins peppered the fleeing vehicle with a plethora of gunfire, bullets bouncing and sparking off of its metal body. Peeking slightly above the dashboard, Travis spun the wheel further to the left, the sports utility vehicle drifting in the direction of the way it was steered, before doing a hard right and straight through the pathway out to evade the assailants.

Darting through the straight path towards the exit onto the main roads, Travis could see another black sedan race its way in an attempt to block the path out, in advance. The black sedan careened sharply in a bend, leaving a considerable amount of space for the S.U.V. to go around it, as the occupants in dark get-up broke loose from the sedan to open fire on the silver escape vehicle. A quick tip of the steering wheel to the right, and a sharp response on the gas and brake pedals, Travis manoeuvred the sports utility vehicle away from the hostiles to fly down the main streets. A spate of brass rounds narrowly missed the four occupants inside the large silver vehicle, as it fled from the scene.

Horns honked and beeped loudly, as the S.U.V. narrowly missed the traffic in front, weaving around them like obstacles. Travis drove straight down the major roads of downtown, blazing at more than 80 kilometres an hour, as he thought up of which direction to take next. Glancing at his rear-view mirror, his eyes suddenly caught a pair of black vehicles coming off from an intersecting roadway behind, both of them beginning to race dangerously towards him. He quickly turned his head around to look behind for a split-second, forcing Davis and James to also look behind as well.

"We've got company!" Travis shouted, whipping back towards the road in front of him.

All of the windows rolled down, the passengers in the black sedans unleashed a torrent of brass projectiles at the evading vehicle, as they caught up to it. The undercover Specters ducked their upper bodies from all of the gunfire, rising back up to return bullet fire at the occupants inside the two black vehicles chasing after them. Catching the silver truck even further, the two dark sedans closed in on it from both sides, boxing it in, at the same time the assassins inside the cars opened up heavy fire at the S.U.V. again. The four occupants had just narrowly missed each of the rounds that were emptied at them, when Travis tapped on the brakes hard to let the two vehicles go ahead of him, before jumping on the gas pedal and turned the S.U.V. into the left-rear corner of the black sedan to his left. The full-size sedan veered wildly to the right, catching the right-rear corner of the other dark vehicle, sending that car flying towards the side of a metal guardrail dividing the major roadway. It had plowed into the steel barrier with severe force, its front end completely demolished, and all of its occupants killed instantly, as the other sedan recovered to continue its chase with the silver truck.

The S.U.V. and the remaining black sedan travelled down the straightaway at very high speeds, side-by-side, with the assassins in the latter vehicle still firing their rifles at the silver vehicle. Shots broke out from the driver of the sedan, as he also joined in on the mobile gunfight. Barry, Travis' bodyguard, returned a few shots with his high-powered handgun, as did Davis and James with their compact pistols. Sparks flew and rounds of lead were exchanged, before the two Specters let loose on their triggers when the sedan got close enough to the S.U.V., putting a bloody end to the two assassins in the back, and leaving stains of crimson bodily fluids all over the car's interior. Travis then steered hard into the side of the black sedan, sending it out of control, right before the dark vehicle had ran into the side of an unsuspected driver's car that was close to the center of the intersection. The devastating collision had left behind a wide swath of broken glass and metal debris, and two cars with their front-ends torn to shreds, thick white smoke billowing out from both of them.

Travis looked back at the scene of the crash behind him for a second, before he turned to focus on the road ahead, before making a wide left onto a smaller, two-lane street. Two more vehicles in black had entered the roads from the ends of the alleyways he had passed by, a dark muscle car and a cargo van in the same colour that were now in pursuit. Davis and James peered out the back windowpane from behind, already having reloaded their weapons.

"Come on!" Davis shouted. "We gotta lose the tail!"

Travis grunted heatedly. "I'm trying!"

The S.U.V. veered wildly to left, before taking a hard right on another street, while the hostile vehicles raced to catch up to them. Shots rang away from the occupants of the muscle car, nearly catching Travis off-guard upon jostling the steering of the S.U.V., before he corrected it and made a sharp left onto a wide alleyway. This forced the darkly-painted cargo van to drive down the main roads, leaving the muscle car to give chase after the S.U.V. into the alleyway. The silver vehicle jumped and jolted around slightly, passing through the speed bumps, and knocking over a bunch of cardboard boxes. Some of the messy debris from the garbage cans it spilled over, along with the boxes, were also knocked away by the pursuing black car.

Emerging from the alleyway, the sports utility vehicle curved left. The black muscle car was close behind, also making that turn sharply, knocking a chrome hubcap loose from one of its tires. Travis looked around behind him, before he made another abrupt turn to the right, onto a different street. Unable to shake off the muscle car that kept up behind him, the ginger-brunette male steered sharply to the left. His eyes widened, as he could make out the dark cargo van from earlier, having turned into the street he was driving down, now a car length ahead of him.

The rear doors of the van burst open, giving way to a couple of burly assassins emptying a salvo of brass rounds at the front of the travelling S.U.V. with their assault rifles. Simultaneously, the men in the black muscle car opened fire again from behind the silver vehicle. Travis and the three occupants dodged the enemy fire as much as they can, the hunted singer becoming heavily desperate in his attempts to escape, as he blindly turned the steering wheel to the left. The sports utility vehicle narrowly avoided another passenger vehicle in the oncoming lane, swerving right, and headed into a different major road. With the muscle car left to chase the four in the large truck again, the dark-coloured vehicle started to catch up to the S.U.V., picking up its speed at an immense rate. Its occupants fired again at the evading truck, some of the bullets catching the rear bumper, and the top of the vehicle.

Davis and James rose up on their seats, and shot back at the gunmen inside the two-door transport. One of their bullets then caught the front-right tire of that car, blowing it out in shreds of rubber and smoke. A shower of sparks flew underneath the muscle car, as the bared metal of the rims touched the pavement at high speeds, the driver of the vehicle unable to regain control of it. Brakes screeched wildly, before the black muscle car went astray to its right, and slammed into the left-rear corner of a parked hatchback at an angle. The wrecked vehicle then went sailing in the air shortly, landing on its front-left corner, and ending up in a series of metal-crunching rolls that ruptured the fuel tank of the car with a particularly hard impact. The force of the rollovers had sent a wheel snapped off from the rest of the mangled vehicle, rolling away from it, as the car finally settled on its upright position.

Travis looked at his rear-view mirror, for a brief second, the massive fireball that escaped the destroyed muscle car from the inside, incinerating the lifeless bodies of the occupants that were in there. He then paid attention back on the road ahead of him, turning right onto a major roadway, only to find that black cargo van still ahead of it. The large van was only a few metres ahead of the S.U.V., its back doors flying open again, as it was now just to the right of the silver vehicle. More heavy fire was unleased by the two assassins that were inside the van, Travis and his bodyguard ducking their heads down. Davis and James leaned out through the rear passenger windows, returning a few bursts of lead back at them. Short cries of pain escaped the two assailants, as their bloodstained bodies flopped back on the floor of the van's rear cab.

The two Specters then shot at the driver of the cargo van, a few rounds hitting their intended target, with the driver of the van letting out a short cry as a bullet struck him through the chest. He then slumped lifelessly against his seat, the cargo van losing control as it was then rammed aside by Travis, sending it awry. The large van veered astray, barrelling through a couple of sidewalks, before it tore out a fire hydrant in its path that sent a geyser of water upward, and smashed through the window of a coin-op laundromat. A few washing machines were left pinned against the wall, in crumpled and crushed metal, as the vehicle plowed into them to come to a complete stop.

Travis looked around, and spotted the next direction he had to take. "Found the on-ramp to the highway; it'll take us to where we need to go!"

Traversing through the on-ramp entering into the highway, the S.U.V. kept its high rate of speed, as it weaved around the traffic on all three lanes. All four of the occupants in the vehicle could then hear the heavy rumbling of engines at a high pitch from behind them, as if they belonged to those of motorcycles. Davis and James looked back to find two sets of black sports bikes flanking a similarly-dark sports utility vehicle at both sides. Making them out in the near-distance, as they trailed dangerously towards them, the Specters could tell that there were two occupants on each motorcycle, and a similar number of occupants inside that large truck.

Travis also looked behind, before he floored the gas pedal even harder. "Hang on!" He shouted, overtaking a few civilian-driven cars. "This is gonna get messy, gents!"

The assassins on the sport bikes took off well ahead of the black S.U.V., with the truck steadily following them towards the silver vehicle. Right away, the first two motorcycles raced to close the distance between themselves and the large truck ahead, before both the hostile drivers and passengers began firing at it with their sub-machine guns. Once the gunfire settled, the two Specters quickly returned back fire, aiming to take down the two moving targets that were quick and agile as they went. Going through the undivided expressway that curved around in the hillside, one of the enemy motorcyclists took the oncoming lane that was devoid of any traffic, and used it to his advantage. Shots broke out from the occupants of that speed bike in the oncoming lane, while the other motorcycle raced past the silver S.U.V. by a few metres, the passenger on that two-wheeler turning around to open fire at the truck's front.

Davis hissed out a curse, as he ducked down, and reloaded his firearm. "Goddamn!"

"Fuckin' wankers!" James spat out, as he dodged the large stream of bullet fire, before he leaned out the window and fired back.

Travis grunted, as he aggressively jerked the steering wheel, trying to avoid the trailing fire from the speed bike ahead. Davis took on the motorcycle in front of their vehicle, while James focused on the other two-wheeler trailing in the oncoming lane. The dirty-blond Specter tracked his aim at the trailing motorcycle that was moving in a zig-zag pattern, while its passenger fired a few semi-automatic bursts at him, but the bullets only catching the rear of the vehicle. James then saw the grand opportunity to take the shot, as the assassin tried to reload his weapon whilst mobile, squeezing at the trigger in doing so. A pained cry broke out from the gunman, having fallen off from the moving motorcycle, his body hitting the pavement at high speed, and being dragged against it like a ragdoll.

The driver of the motorcycle continued to speed up towards the back of the S.U.V., firing his gun with one hand, but barely pelting the truck's rear with its projectiles. James shot a few rounds at the hostile again, the bullets fired having blown out the front tire of the sport bike, causing the driver to wobble out of control. The driver hollered loudly, as he fell right off the motorcycle, tumbling to solid ground. Both his motorcycle and his body slid towards the outer guardrail, and slammed into it hard, knocking the driver out cold.

Passing by a semi-trailer, the gunfight continued between the large silver vehicle, and the occupants of the motorcycle ahead of them to their right. Narrowly avoiding the bursts of fire from the hostile passenger, Davis took aim and cut loose on the trigger a few times, putting an end to the lives of both assassins on that sport bike. Speeding past the crashed motorbike, and the two bodies that skidded to the far shoulder lane of the highway, Travis had to now fend for himself and for the sake of the others in the car, as the other two speed bikes and the black S.U.V. came barrelling towards him from behind.

A blustering gunshot sounded from one of the assassins on the motorbikes, firing off from a combat shotgun in his hands, the buckshot rounds penetrating through the spare tire mounted at the back of the sport utility vehicle. Shouts erupted from the occupants inside the silver vehicle, as the assailants on the other motorcycle darted towards to the right of the large truck. Another blast from the shotgun-wielding assassin had blown apart a taillight on the S.U.V.'s rear, Travis doing his best to keep himself and all others in the vehicle alive, flooring the engine to its most capable.

Swerving around another cluster of civilian cars and trucks in the way, the ginger-brunette male attempted to shake off one of the motorcycles, as the other speed bike had to go around a few semi-trailers and buses. Driving as dangerously close to a few vehicles on both the preceding and oncoming lanes, he tried to get the occupants of the motorcycle to run into one the vehicles, as they were following closely on his each and every move. The glass of the rear windowpane slowly gave way, as another shotgun round had shaken it wildly, spouting a few curses from the two Specters in the back.

As Travis drove down the oncoming lane where the other traffic had blocked him from re-entering into the other lanes, he could see the large headlights of an 18-wheeler that lit brightly in front of his eyes. Its diesel horns honked loudly, as it dangerously approached the S.U.V. at a closing distance. Travis' bodyguard and the two Specters yelled hysterically, as he sped up towards the oncoming freighter, knowing damn well that the two on the motorbike were still following him closely. Just as the assassin was about to fire another round with his shotgun, Travis found an opening gap to his right, and made the move at the very last second. The S.U.V. swerved sharply through the gap, and onto the lanes travelling along the direction it needed to go, narrowly missing the semi. There was nothing the two occupants on the motorbike could do, as they slammed into the front grille of the eighteen-wheeler, becoming nothing more than roadkill on the open highway.

The assailants on the remaining motorcycle had managed to be caught up with the silver S.U.V., just as it merged into the lanes on the other side of the highway, firing their submachine guns immediately. Travis' bodyguard ducked down and flinched, along with the singer, before he engaged them by pulling the trigger on his high-powered pistol. His shots had narrowly missed them, before Davis and James started firing at the assassins as well. The assailants then returned fire, causing Travis to push the S.U.V. at its limits, speeding ahead of them and distancing them by a couple of car lengths. He then whipped his head to directly face Davis.

"You there in the back!" Travis instructed, glancing at the gunmen on the motorbike as well, before focusing towards Davis. "When I slam on the brakes here, you throw open your door!"

"What—are you crazy?" Davis shook his head, shouting back at him. "Why would I do that?!"

"Just do it!"

Travis turned away from him, before he gazed at the rear-view mirror, noticing that the assailants on the bike were now throttling towards them at his right. Mentally counting down in three, Travis proceeded to floor the brake pedal with his one foot, the sports utility vehicle skidding against the asphalt, releasing white smoke from its rubber tires.

"NOW!" He shouted.

Davis then threw open the right-rear passenger door, the instant he slammed on the brakes, with the driver of the sports bike being partially blinded by the white smoke left by the large truck. Before he knew it, both he and his dark-clothed passenger had ran straight into the rear passenger door that the young Specter threw open. The force of the impact had managed to knock both occupants out of the motorbike, and nearly knocking the door itself out from its hinges. Davis quickly closed the door shut, with Travis ramping up the acceleration on the S.U.V. again, taking off from the two assassins that were now out cold.

James expressed his irate demeanour in the midst of the chaos surrounding him and his partner. "Hey, how much do we have left, before we get to the place?"

"We've got a little bit more to go," Travis answered breathlessly, turning to him, "before we get there!"

"You'd better hope we do—"

James suddenly then cried out in fear, along with the other three, as they were rocked from behind by a great force that shook the entire body of the silver truck. Picking themselves back up, both Specters looked up from behind, and saw the noir-coloured S.U.V. dead on their heels. It then accelerated rapidly, and charged into the back of the silver vehicle again, even harder than before. The force of that impact had dislodged the rear bumper of the car, already dented and torn-up by the previous hostile attacks, with the long piece of thick metal coming apart and falling to the pavement. Travis struggled to maintain control of the S.U.V. he was driving, jumbling the steering wheel around, to the best of his abilities.

All of the windows were rolled down on the black truck, before the four men inside had opened up a strong hail of bullets on the vehicle they were chasing down. At once, the rear windowpane finally gave way to the powerful, piercing brass rounds, shattering into a countless number of sharp fragments. The potential of being openly exposed from behind at its very highest, Travis swerved the silver S.U.V. left and right, in the distant hope to shake off the hostile pursuers loose. The wheelman behind the large black truck countered each and every one of his moves, swerving in the opposite direction that Travis took.

Revving its engines further, the black S.U.V. ramped its speed up to overtake the silver vehicle from behind, racing to the right side of it. The four occupants quickly dived their heads down, before the assassins in the dark truck had unloaded on the vehicle with their high-powered assault rifles, breaking apart more of the windows on the silver car. Travis then took the wheel, and steered sharply to the right, slamming into the side of the black S.U.V. with heavy force. The assailants on the opposing vehicle gave a loud yell, as they were jolted around by the contact, preventing them from firing their weapons.

"Barry, my man!" Travis shouted at his bodyguard, upon noticing the male in aviators shooting back at the gunmen inside the other vehicle, but continued to miss all of his shots. "Why are you not nailing them?!"

Breaking apart from each other, the driver of the black truck countered with its own slam, shunting against the silver S.U.V. with a similar amount of force. Rocked about by the hit, the assassins and the Specters tried to recover themselves, before both drivers steered into each other once more. Metal scraped with metal, leaving a trail of white smoke and a whole lot of dust, as Travis dueled with the hostile driver of the black vehicle beside him. The ginger-brunette male growled heatedly, as their vehicles shoved against one another, left and right down the lanes. His eyes then widened in shock, as he could see the wheelman in the dark vehicle raising his handgun, to point its barrel straight down at him.

Just as his finger was about to pull the trigger, there was a blaring honk from ahead, interrupting him and Travis. The two drivers broke apart from each other, as they were within metres of running into a civilian-driven sedan. Taking the ultimate opportunity in the midst of this, Davis jumped up on his seat and leaned out of the window, his compact pistol aimed and pointed at the black truck that had just parted way and was ahead of the silver vehicle. Letting loose on a few shots of his gun, he had managed to blow out a tire on the car's rear-left, the driver inside being unable to compensate the sudden loss of steering.

Travis then brought that opportunity to completion, by speeding towards the careening S.U.V. like a torpedo, right when it had exposed its right-rear panel. The Specters and Travis' bodyguard were bracing for their lives, as the silver S.U.V. hammered into the black vehicle of similar size, catching the occupants of that automobile by surprise. The assassins were unable to fire back at the sports utility vehicle, as Travis took them for a ride towards the outer guardrails, on a sharp-angled bend of the thoroughfare. Closing in dangerously on the guardrails that overlooked the steep hills providing a drastic and disastrous drop downward, the singer then slammed on the brakes to release his vehicle from the other, before veering sharply back towards the lanes that were away from the outer rails.

A wave of panicked shouting and screaming escaped from the black S.U.V., before it had jarred into the steel railings that had bent and twisted by the force of the impact. The large vehicle then climbed up over the outer guardrails, sending it plunging down towards the steep hills that were situated on a decline. Landing harshly on its roof, the marred S.U.V. made a series of tumbles and rolls down the rocky hills, hitting a few jagged rocks along the way. The black vehicle had left a trail of debris as it rolled down the slope, before bursting apart into a blazing inferno that sent flaming metal and other pieces of scrap in the air. The scrapped hunk of junk that was the dark truck had slowly came to a halt, settling itself very closely to the waters adjacent to the rocks, still aflame and billowing away smoke.

Travis glanced at the rear-view mirror, and then over his shoulder, before he turned back towards the road ahead, sighing deeply.

Davis looked over his own shoulder. "I think we finally lost them."

"Good!" James grunted, catching his breath. "Now we can get to this place here, and get back at the matter at hand!"

The silver S.U.V. continued to blaze down the freeway, a trail of white smoke streaming out from underneath its hood.

Davis peered through the glass of the framed windows, scanning cautiously around the areas outside for any suspicious activity within his tracking line of sight. It had taken less than ten minutes to arrive at where Travis intended on taking them to, a large house of three-storey height situated within a gated community in the hills far away from the urban locale, after having escaped the numerous assassins that were hot on their heels. From there, all four of them had ditched the silver S.U.V. in an inconspicuous location, reaching the safe-house that was across the road. The young Specter in his green polo and blue jeans scuttled around the spacious study, looking through each and every window with great attention, with the door to the room having been locked for the sake of their safety.

Travis, still in his attire that he had worn at the nightclub hours before, leaned back against the edge of a wooden desk. His shoulders were tensed upward, head craned down with eyes still widened in shock, his trembling fingers gripping tightly against the desk's edge. He had tried to make sense of what had just happened in those past few hours that started with him performing on stage, and then ended with him frantically fleeing away from the scene for his own life. Sweat ran down his forehead, temples, and neck, quietly holding and releasing his breath at a slightly-hitched pace. Standing just near him, was his bodyguard, Barry, who only stood still on his feet with his arms crossed, all too quiet and reserved as he was.

While Davis kept moving around on his feet, James had just stood there in another area of the room, underneath the shadows that partly covered his own body. Like Travis, James had pondered to himself over the events that had just happened in the hours between him and Davis at the nightclub, and the point at where they were right now. His eyebrows scrunched as he reflected back to the time when he confronted the pop singer and informant of what was really going on. He tilted his head back up, serious eyes now darted towards Travis, who also looked up at the same time at the Specter standing in front of him. James scrunched his eyebrows, curling his fingers into a clenched fist.

"Alright," the dirty-blond Englishman raised his voice to break the silence, confronting Travis again. "What the hell just happened over there? Can you finally tell us what is going on?"

"I, I don't understand," Travis stammered, still trying to gather his own senses from what had transpired. "I-I really don't."

"Of course you do!" James snapped at him, causing Davis to break his focus away from the windows, the dark-haired Specter taking a few paces within close proximity of James. "We were there a few hours ago, to have a discussion with you blokes about any potential intel you had that may be valuable for us…and we nearly got ourselves killed for this!"

"With all due respect, Mr. Carradine," Davis expressed, "but I think it is in best interest if you could just simply explain everything to us…if you do value your life and safety."

The ginger-brunette male then gave out a deep sigh, seemingly of resignation. "Fine," Travis spoke up in response, slowly lifting himself off of the wooden desk behind him. "You want to know everything? I'll tell you everything."

"Good," James curtly nodded. "Then tell us; spill the beans."

"I never actually wanted to discuss about all things that happened in my time before being here," Travis started in his self-reflection, looking away from the Specters with an uneased expression on his face, before turning his eyes back towards them. "But I suppose this is the time I'll let in the both of you on what's really been happening."

"Okay," Davis quietly murmured.

"Years ago, way longer before I met you two," Travis introduced, "I started my career in the music business as a professional singer."

Davis and James remained silent, as they observed both Travis and his bodyguard near him, who still remained in his place.

"It was a smashing great time back then," he continued to reflect his personal past, "when everybody in the world was into the whole pop-disco craze, and I made the most of my talents, putting out those kinds of songs under my name."

Travis could only remember those times when he adored the larger crowds in the audience that was screaming his name and swooning over him, as he took the stage to perform one of his greatest acts. He had took part in many concerts around the world, got to meet with all the other well-known celebrities, and was widely revered in the media for his popular hits in the Top 40 charts. Being a highly successful singer in the heydays of the late-C.E. '70s, he could reminisce of the memories involving him signing photographs and posters with his face on them, from the great legions of fans who swarmed him at every public event they could get into. He had won several nominations and awards for his contributions, got to talk to reporters in countless interviews, and dated a bunch of women who were around his age.

"Those were the days that I thought would never end," Travis summarized his experiences in the early years of his career, "I had actually enjoyed them so much that I didn't think they wouldn't last forever."

Davis blinked. "What happened next?"

Travis bowed his head with a contemplative frown, catching the young Specter with a subdued, yet noticeable, surprise. "I don't know what really happened after that," he softened his voice in all of its somberness. "Must have been the way the music landscape's been changing. Seemed to me that people stopped listening to the kind of music that made me got up there in the first place."

He could remember in the back of his mind, of how his manager advised him that there had been changes in the music world, dramatic changes that saw the pop-disco genre fall out of favour quickly, among the masses. Travis would argue against the particular notion of such type of music becoming no longer popular in the mainstream, stubbornly insisting that he continued to produce the same songs that his fan-base had enjoyed years earlier, no matter what the consequences would be for such an established music artist.

"Eventually, my later works were not the number-one hits I expected them to be," Travis explained, reflecting of those times. "From there, I started losing my fans, the ones who supported me all the way through. I went on less tours, lost a lot of money on what I've invested in, and it all got much worse than that, as time went on."

Davis and James looked on, a depressed sigh having escaped from him.

"Before I knew it, my career was over," Travis revealed. "I tried to make amends by changing my music to go after what the crowds were listening to, but it wasn't worth the effort in the end." He shook his head vigorously at that. "Nothing. Just nothing. There was nothing for me to come back to the music fold of things. I certainly didn't know what to do after."

The two Specters released their breaths quietly, in the tense tranquility of the room lasting for a moment, before James had uncrossed his arms from over his chest.

"I understand what you had been going through, Mr. Carradine," James maintained his stern glance at him. "But, what the hell does this have to do with what's happening now?"

Travis started to recompose himself, lifting his eyes to direct them towards the undercover Specters, specifically James. "I went on to do some small shows in nightclubs and casinos all over the world," he elaborated in his self-reflection. "It wasn't the large crowds that I enjoyed in my time before," the singer admitted, "but it was certainly quite a refreshing sight to see such entertained faces out there."

He then noticed that both Specters were glaring at him with unimpressed expressions on their faces, signalling to him that he should move on.

"Yeah, anyway," Travis rubbed the back of his head, clearing his throat. "It was only a couple of years after I started doing smaller gigs that I was approached by a few gentlemen at the end of a show. One of them, I remember, had hair as brown as chocolate, and lavender eyes."

"That's him," James confirmed with a grunt. "Commander Yamato."

"Exactly the gentleman you're now working under," Travis firmly nodded. "He was the one who took me under his wing, letting me in on what I was going to do for him…I was going to be a mole working undercover for ZAFT."

Davis and James broke their eyes wide open at his revelation revealed to them. Their expressions gradually changed to a more subtle hint of surprise across their faces.

Davis held back a gasp. "So that's how you knew the Commander's name."

"I don't believe it," James retorted, firmly refusing to acknowledge this fact. "I don't buy into this kind of story you're making."

"But it is true, gentlemen," Travis defended, narrowed eyes gazing upon the two. "I was assigned by ZAFT, under the orders of Commander Yamato, to take part in top-level espionage under my known profession." Another brief, but tense, pause. "As much as you don't believe it, they wanted me to use my well-established image and reputation to get access to the targets they needed."

James growled. "Which targets?"

"The targets they were after," Travis gruffly replied. "Drug lords, mob members, weapons dealers, and the like." He then lowered his head, seemingly asunder. "Then one day," he recalled quietly, "I was tasked by the Commander to take part in a long-term undercover operation."

"What's that?"

Travis breathed through his nostrils. "I was to infiltrate the ranks of members who were part of an extremist movement," he answered solemnly. "A group in Eurasia called the Nocturnal Front."

Davis and James held their breaths, as they stilled in their places.

"Those are the guys we're after!" James quietly exclaimed.

"But why?" Davis raised his eyebrows, a slightly-bewildered expression on his face. "Why would the Commander select you to do this?"

Travis sneered. "My image and my reputation," he simply answered with thinly-veiled sarcasm, before continuing in earnest. "No. It has to do with the times that I've met some of those people during my glory days as a singer, those whom I didn't even know had to do with what was actually going on, until the Commander himself told me." His morose facial expression deepened as he went through what happened next, in his mind. "After I agreed to take on that mission…I just had the feeling that something wasn't going to be right afterward."

The two Specters shifted back to their more sternly faces, as Travis continued.

"I met with a member of the Nocturnal Front, in Moscow, soon after I landed there," the singer-turned-informant recalled. "He introduced me to the others in the group. One of the heads for the Nocturnal Front was so impressed with me, based on my past meetings with him long ago, he decided to put me through some work I had to do with the others."

Silence grew again in the room, before it all dissipated with the ginger-brunette male continuing.

"Only until then, I realized," Travis sadly recollected, the painful remorse growing inside of him, "that what I had done in my time spent with them across Eurasia…it had made me regret doing those things, each and every day."

Davis and James huffed at their quietest, trying to keep their open minds at every word he had projected towards them.

"I…I took part in things that I had never even thought I would have to do," Travis sniffled, "nor would I want to do them. Horrible things that I have done along with them…I've seen horrible things I had never seen before my eyes."

The dirty-blond Specter rolled his eyes. 'Like we never did,' James thought sarcastically.

"Those were the times that I wished I could have taken all of it back, if I were given that chance," he quietly reflected with sorrow, closing his sorrowed eyes and bowing his head very ashamedly upon looking back into those moments of his life. "If I only hadn't gone through in my decision with Commander Yamato…"

"We understand it all, Travis," Davis finally spoke up, suppressing a gulp, after a very brief period of silence.

The low-key pop singer, now an undercover agent for ZAFT, had parted his eyes fully, before lifting his head to direct his attention to the dark-haired Specter.

Davis released a tranquil breath. "But I don't think there's a way to turn back from what you had just done as a part of what you're doing for those at the top," he calmly stated in his firm demeanour. "However, you're still considered to be important for us," the Specter then subtly pointed a thumb towards Castle, "no matter what my partner and I personally think of you."

"Thanks, lads," Travis lowered his head slightly, looking away from them whilst frowning. "I still have my regrets as to whether I want to go through with all this," he paused, "or whether I would want to find a way out of this mess."

Travis then heard the sharp click of the hammer of a gun being pressed down, echoing slightly throughout the mostly-desolate room.

"That's quite a nice story you got there, Mr. Carradine," the voice of a male sounded out near him. "Now, it's time to face the music."

He spun his head and body around to pinpoint where that particular noise was coming from, only to find himself in absolute shock and horror, pupils shrunk and in awestruck at what he had seen right before him. The reactions of the Specters were the same as Travis', both Davis and James having turned towards where that distinct sound came from.

With the silver-tipped barrel of the pistol pointed against him from a few yards away, Travis' bodyguard stepped into view again, from the shadows.

"This kind of music," Barry gritted his teeth, a hardened look in his eyes through his aviators.

Travis was in complete disbelief. "B-Barry," he stammered, taken aback by his bodyguard becoming suddenly hostile against him. "w-what are you doing, my man?"

"I'll tell you what I'm doing," Barry growled quietly, still holding him at gunpoint. "I'm going to be making sure that you've left the building forever…just like 'the King'!" He lifted the gun to point the barrel at his head, before turning it towards the two Specters. "As well as the rest of ya's!"

"B-but," Travis stammered, the fear building intensely within his body again, "w-why are you doing this?"

The hostile male with aviators had pointed his gun back towards him. "Well, what's it to ya?!"

Castle narrowed his eyes angrily, having finally deduced in his mind, of who this particular person was.

"It's a hired gun, Travis!" The dirty-blond Englishman cut in, his voice raised considerably. "He's one of them!"

"But that's not true!" Travis shouted, become a bit defensive, yet unhinged. "I thought I had the proper security to keep me safe from something like this!"

"You thought you did, but you didn't," Barry growled out menacingly, the barrel of the gun still trained on Travis. "Now it's time for you to pay for all of what you did to those fellows in the mob!"

Davis and James could then hear the sounds of car engines rumbling heavily in the closing distance, before it turned to a bunch of brakes screeching to a sudden halt. The young, dark-haired Specter moved towards a nearby window, peeking through the glass panels. He was in great surprise to learn that there had now been a few black sedans and sports utility vehicles having just arrived outside the house, in the gated community that was thought to be quiet and isolated from everywhere else. Doors opened and closed harshly, as a large group of stocky men in black attire had emerged from those vehicles. He then peered away from the window, turning around, to find the gun now pointed directly at him by Barry.

"They've sent in a bunch of men looking for us," Davis raised his voice, turning to Castle, his hands stuck out cautiously. "All in the same black get-up from earlier!"

Barry chuckled darkly. "That's right," he grinned with malicious intent, "they'll be the ones to do the rest of the dirty work, when I'm done with all of you!"

"This is bollocks, mate," Castle hissed with his fists tightly clenched, Travis directing the gun's barrel towards him. "What makes you think you can go up against people like us?"

"I think you know the answer to that question," the bodyguard-turned-hostile gunman had quietly cackled, before whirling the barrel of his gun towards Travis again. "Starting with him!"

Travis, having taken that entire moment to turn away from the hostile gunman who now was his bodyguard, was still asunder with despondence, feelings of betrayal and anger mixing together in his mind. He finally turned around, albeit slowly, to confront the assassin directly.

"But…but…I had trusted in you, Barry!" He pleaded loudly, catching the hostile's attention entirely. "You were the one who'd always look after me; the one who I had faith in, when I thought my life was going to depend on somebody like you!"

Barry continued to point the firearm at him, as he continued to plea for him to spare his life, just about ready to pull the trigger.

Just while Travis had begun to get the hostile gunman to direct his focus on him, Davis had taken great advantage of the situation happening before him at the instant, the Specter taking a look around at his close surroundings. Right away, he had happened to notice that he was standing right next to a billiards table, having leaned onto it when he peered through that window. There were a few small, hard-plastic, and glossy balls situated on the pool table just behind him, the one very closest within reach was a black 8-ball. Davis turned his sights back towards the two men, as Travis continued to plead his case towards the gunman in aviators. Good.

With his hands behind his back, Davis slowly reached for the 8-ball with his left hand, being very careful to not make any sudden movements or sounds that might break the assassin's focus on the seemingly-helpless informant. Once the billiard ball had managed to slip into the grasp of his fingers, he quickly transferred the ball as swift as possible onto the fingers of his right hand, where they had held onto the ball tightly. The Specter had now closely monitored the situation unfolding in front of him, being mentally ready to intervene on the moment he predicted that will happen.

"Don't you understand me, my man?" Travis had pleaded away to Barry, the despondence growing in his eyes. "Even when you were quiet for the most part, you were still the one I depended on for my own sake!" A brief pause. "So, please…don't be that person I had been fearing for all this time; just be the person that I know and trust very well…just…please."

The assassin had lowered his weapon slightly for a few seconds, before he pushed the bridge of his aviators back up, raising the gun at him once more. He had become very impatient, wanting to go ahead and putting an end to him. Despite all of the informant's pleas to live, he really hadn't budged a single inch, and wasn't even going to, at all.

Barry huffed impatiently. "Yeah, well, about all of what you just said," he sneered, "that was then…this is now." He closed in on Travis, pointing the gun right at his temple. "Say goodbye, Mr. Carradine!"

It was at this moment that Davis finally intervened. Channeling his ace pitcher on the mound, he managed to whip the 8-ball out of his hand, in a flash. It took Travis only a couple of seconds to let the entire calamity of situation to settle down around him. At the same time Barry was about to pull away at the trigger of his gun, he saw a distinct blur of black zoom before his eyes, striking the assassin's fingers holding the pistol, dead-on. Barry hollered in pain, as the billiard ball landed straight at his hand, causing the assassin to point his handgun upward out of reflex, and away from the informant. A blusterous shot rang out in the room, as the assassin squeezed on the trigger of his weapon, Travis spinning and pivoting his body around to avoid being close to Barry.

Nearly collapsing to the wooden floor, Travis managed to scramble away from where he was, managing to get himself behind the two Specters who were backing away, just as Barry lost his grip on the gun he was holding. The pistol had escaped from his hand, being sent off across the table and right on the ground at the other side. Barry hollered again, as he held tightly onto his fingers, having been sprained by the black 8-ball thrown by Davis.

Just then, all of them heard a smattering of frantic, gruff barks and shouts coming from the immediate vicinity beyond the windows and doors. The doors to the large room gave way in a cannon-firing bang, as more than a few of the burly men in black had passed through, gathering in front of Barry. At the same time, one of the windows parted wide open, allowing in another few muscled men who had scaled up the walls of the house with ropes and grappling hooks. Much like the first group of men who had come through the doors, the other group of men were all clad in black shirts and trousers, some of them with balaclavas on, while the rest had wool caps covering their heads. The second group of henchmen also gathered in front of Barry, joining the first group of men to their left.

Davis and James swallowed hard, as they now found themselves outnumbered, trapped in a situation that became even more difficult than the last. Travis joined them in their feared and petrified reactions, as they viewed upon the large group of assassins and thugs who had looked very thirsty for savagery and blood. Their cold, hard, and indignant stares met upon the stunned expressions of the three, some of them already armed with melee weaponry. A couple of them had batons. Another couple of them had brass knuckles. A few of them had knives that had blades as sharp and long as a tiger's fangs, shining brightly out in the open.

They had definitely found themselves into deep trouble.

Out from the mass of henchmen standing tall and intimidating against them, a great laugh of malice escaped from Barry.

"Now you've really done it this time, haven't you?" Barry raised an eyebrow, having managed himself around the muscled men to be in front of them, grinning with malice. "This time, all three of you aren't coming out of here…alive!"

Both Specters had tempered expressions on their faces, becoming livid at the assassin gloating at the fact that they had no chance. However, the voice of displeasure had suddenly come from the former pop singer himself, who was also incensed, and disgusted at the same time. The ginger-brunette male had paced a slight distance ahead of Davis and James, his fists at his sides having been clenched tightly.

"Go fuck yourself, Barry," Travis hissed harshly.

The assassin blinked for a moment. "Ooh, well," Barry feigned a laugh. "That's something I haven't heard from you, from all this time being here!" His grin of malice crept more widely. "It's too bad it'll be the last time I'll hear from you!" He then snapped his fingers, signalling to the men behind him to take action. "GET THEM!"

Davis and James had rapidly forced Travis right behind them again, as they all backed up by a slight distance, the first few thugs slowly advancing towards them.

"Travis," Davis called out to him, "stay around at the back of the room!"

The ZAFT informant gave a quick nod of his head, as he started to back away further towards the side of the room.

Davis then turned to Castle. "James!"

The dirty-blond Specter nodded firmly with a grunt. "Right! You take on those guys to the left; I'll take the others, head on!"

"You got it!"

Right away, the four men in dark attire charged towards the Specters, split into two pairs taking on each one of them.

Davis swiftly avoided the swing of the baton by one of them, only to be knocked about by the other, who had swung a brass-knuckled fist straight at his face. Rapidly recovering with only a slight stumble, the young Specter ducked quickly on time to avoid another strike from the thug with the brass knuckles. He then found himself dodging another swing of the baton from the other hostile, followed by yet another aggressive swing by him, rolling around to avoid. It was at this point that Davis took advantage of the aggressor, who had swung his baton too hard to leave himself open to a counter-attack. Rising up in a split second, Davis threw a punch that stunned the muscled grunt, before swiping away the baton from his hand. A kick to the hostile's gut had brought him down to his knees, the Specter having then swung the baton to land a sharp blow to his head, finally sending him immobilized to the ground with a defeated yell.

At the same time all of it was happening, James took on the other two thugs who came right after him. One of them, at about the same height as the Specter, took him on with his brass knuckles. The other hostile had been armed with his combat knife. The man with the knuckledusters tried to land a couple of blows on the Englishman first, the Specter having deftly avoided both his left and right fists. James then reacted swiftly to the other thug, who lunged frantically at him with the knife. He was suddenly pulled around by the hostile using the knuckles, his back crashing against a few shelves from the force of the goon's throw, knocking off a bunch of artifacts to the ground. Sounding a grunt, James ducked his head in time, before the thug could land a punch in. He then swung mightily against the man's torso, having then countered with a kick at the other hostile that was just about to thrust his blade at the Specter. The dirty-blond ZAFT soldier proceeded to grapple the knuckled thug by his shirt, throwing an uppercut to send him flying down to the floor on his back.

The dark-haired Specter had countered each one of the heavy swings from the remaining thug against him, using the baton to block his blows. A deft swing coming from the hostile had sent Davis collapsing to the floor on his back, the thug about to lay the sole of his boot onto him. The ZAFT Specter then rolled his own body to the right, just as the goon had stomped quickly with his foot, Davis swinging the baton against his knee as he rose back up. A cry broke out from the hostile as he got down onto one knee, allowing Davis to land another swing at his back, putting him flat onto the floor, before finishing him off with a shot to back of the head. Davis quickly then found himself being forced against the billiards table by another few of the ruffians who had come charging in, before being thrown onto the flat, green surface of the table. All of the billiards balls came scattering around, as Davis had put up a struggle against the hostiles, only just managing to avoid the plunge of a knife from one of them.

Meanwhile, James fought against the assailant with the combat knife. The hostile in black had charged towards him, swinging his blade towards the Specter with frenzied movements, followed with a few jabbing motions. James had successfully telegraphed each one of his attacks, countering them in the couple of instances where the enemy had come very close. The assassin then attempted another mighty swing of his knife, seemingly to have the dirty-blond male on the ropes. James quickly dodged his assault on time, the hostile fighter's blade having been lodged deeply into the wooden build of a cabinet. With the assailant struggling to pull his knife away from it, James took the grand opportunity to land a few blows to the enemy, before overpowering him and thrashing down the hostile hard against the floor. The Specter was then caught by surprise right away, as another couple of clad-in-black ruffians rushed towards him, one having put a choke hold on James, while he wasn't looking.

Davis had managed to reach for a cue stick that was laying around on the pool table, taking a great swing that knocked a couple of the men away from him. Managing to get himself off the table, the dark-haired Specter took on a group of five assailants, with a few of them having been able to obtain the other cue sticks from a rack. Immediately, the muscled hostiles took off towards Davis, each one of them swinging their tapered sticks at him. He was able to dodge a few of their wild swings, only countering a few of them with his own stick when their attacks got too close for his own good. Rolling around and moving with great agility and speed, countering a barrage of swift attacks from the hostiles armed with the sticks, Davis was able to find a break in the whole group's manoeuvres. He took down one hostile with a swing with another assassin being knocked out, from overextending his lunge at Davis.

James struggled against the one assailant who had wrapped his bulky arm tightly around him, before he had used the sole of his shoe to strike him directly at his knee. The assassin hollered, releasing the Specter from his grip, allowing James to grapple the hostile and deliver an all-out knuckled beat-down. The other assassin had lunged at the dirty-blond Englishman, as soon as James had released his grip on the one he had defeated, knocking him around to have his back crash into a liquor cabinet.

A few hard swings of the cue sticks possessed by the couple of remaining assailants were deflected by the dark-haired Specter's own, Davis having twirled the wooden stick skillfully. He then countered with a couple of shoulder rolls, striking one assassin a few times and knocking him to the ground, before moving around quickly to deliver a shot to another hostile's back, the stick held horizontally with both hands as he did.

The dirty-blond Specter and his assailant grappled onto each other, as James used the weight of his body to spin the hostile around, and run him against the same liquor cabinet he had been backed into. James was then caught blindsided by the enemy, as the assassin had managed to release himself from his grip, shoving the Specter into a chair behind him. Both James and the chair fell down, the sturdy Englishman having found himself seated onto the furniture. The assassin then took out his long-bladed combat knife, charging towards the downed Specter with a charging cry. Hearing the hostile closing in, James suddenly jolted himself off the chair with his own arms, his feet having struck the assassin's torso with great timing. The assassin fell aback onto the floor without his melee weapon, having released it involuntarily from being struck by the Specter's legs. James then charged towards the hostile as he slowly got up onto his feet, delivering a brutal kick to his head to finish him.

Davis had just finished off another assailant, only to find himself struggling against yet another, having used his cue stick to dodge the blade of a knife held by the ruffian he now faced against. The dark-clad thug had swiftly swung his knife with intensity, managing to break apart the cue stick that Davis held, into two. Caught stunned for a second, the dark-haired Specter had just managed to block another swing of his blade with the two splintered pieces that used to be the wooden stick. Having avoided a thrust of the hostile's blade, Davis quickly knocked the weapon out of the assassin's hands with one piece of the stick, before throwing both pieces to the floor. He then frenetically grappled the hostile, using a leg to send him down onto the ground, throwing a few punches to the face. Picking the assailant back up, Davis dished out another couple of a blows to his head, sending the assassin left completely dazed on his feet. The dark-haired Specter then launched himself to deliver a roundhouse kick, directly against the hostile's torso. A prolonged scream escaped the assassin, as he found himself flying through the glass window that shattered apart into pieces, and out of the building to fall three stories down to the hard pavement below. Sounds of sickening crunches and snaps followed, as the body of the assassin lay flat on the ground, blood pooling underneath him.

With only a few of the assassins remaining, Barry found himself tremendously unnerved at the fact that most of his men had been taken down by only two men who were protecting Travis from them. The expressions of the remaining thugs had been likewise. The short, pudgy man in his aviators then waved frantically waving at them to go after the three, with his pistol.

"Well, what are all of you doing?!" He barked at the men in darkened gear. "Don't just stand there! GET THEM!"

Scared shitless at first, the few and remaining men charged towards them, splitting off from a group of four. One charged towards James, another one towards Davis, and the other two coming after the informant.

"Travis!" Davis bellowed at the ginger-brunette behind him, as he struggled against the assassin in front of him. "Look out!"

The former pop singer nodded with a grunt, just as he saw the two ruffians rushing towards him. Travis reached for the cane that was immediately near him, before he took on the thugs by his own.

As both Specters and Travis had fought with the remaining hostiles, Barry took his moment to quickly load the magazine into his handgun, before pulling the slide with a click. Pulling the hammer down, he had raised the gun and took aim at the pop singer, who had just managed to knock out one assailant with his cane.

Davis had grappled the hostile he took on, slamming his head against the wall a couple of times, before he turned around and saw Barry aiming his gun at Travis.

"TRAVIS!" The dark-haired Specter cried out to the ginger-brunette male, who was busy taking out the other assassin sent after him.

At once, Travis released the hostile and turned around at the call of his name, before his eyes went wide at the rogue bodyguard about to shoot him. He then fell to the floor quickly, as a gunshot rang out through the room, a pained groan sounding out. The former pop singer then realized in a crucial moment that he was still alive, before rolling his body around to find that Davis had managed to take hold of his assailant to be moved into the line of fire in front of him. Droplets of blood leaked from the gaping wound at the back of the assassin, as Davis released his grip on him, letting the hostile collapse to the floor. Davis then directed his attention towards the gunman whose grip on the firearm remained, but with a terrified look in his eyes. Clenching his fists angrily, Davis rushed towards Barry to tackle him as soon as the shooter had let his guard down.

Travis watched from where he was, as he saw to his left, James taking on one of the assassins. James made solid work on the thug, not letting him have a chance to overpower him, as he struck rather quickly. He then shifted his gaze at the dark-haired Specter taking on the ruthless hostile that was his bodyguard. Both of them had traded blows with each other, fighting desperately to overcome the other. He gasped as soon as he observed Davis struggling against him, Barry having overpowered the Specter suddenly, before throwing the green-shirted male across the desk. His eyes were then directed towards the cane that was laying on the floor within his reach, before returning back towards the scene that was yards in front of him.

Davis coughed and sputtered as he found himself on his back, just as Barry swooped around to stomp his foot against his torso a few times, the Specter howling out in pain. The hostile then planted his foot solidly onto his body, chuckling maliciously, before pulling out his gun to point it straight at the now-vulnerable Specter.

James had released his grip on the defeated assailant he fought against, only to turn towards the scene unfolding before his eyes, a bellow of both horror and anger escaping him. "DAVIS!"

The dark-haired Specter could only breathe heavily, his sights fixated upon that very barrel of the gun directly facing against him, as Barry cocked the hammer once more. Davis then closed his eyes tightly shut, having prayed in his mind that this certainly wasn't the last of his moments. He then heard a blusterous shot echo through the room, and, for a moment, it had really seemed to be it for him. Only a quick moment afterward did he realize that he was still alive, opening his eyes slowly and blinking a few times. He lifted his own head enough to see that Barry's body had slumped against the side of the table, a large and gaping wound having carved around the side of the gunman's head, streaks of blood and bits of flesh having splattered onto the walls, and on top of the table.

Davis then turned his focus slowly all the way to the right, where surprise had captivated him from the sight he was seeing.

Thin, wispy smoke of white had billowed from the heated barrel of Travis' cane, having actually been repurposed as his personal weapon. The ginger-brunette male had leaned back against the wall, legs spread out on the floor, as he held tightly onto the handle of the disguised weapon. Travis panted raggedly, pupils shrunken, having taken a few moments to process what had happened in his mind. He then slowly got himself back up on his feet, before walking towards Davis and James, who had also gotten himself back up with the help of the Englishman.

"You okay, Davis?" James asked the dark-haired male, who brushed himself off.

"I'm a little shaky," Davis paused. "But I'm fine for the most part."

The two of them then turned to Travis, who stood in shock at the view of Barry's body still remaining in place against the table.

"I…I can't actually believe I did something like this," Travis murmured quietly, still agape, as both Specters turned around to quickly survey Barry's bloodstained cadaver.

"Yeah, well," Davis breathed out, bewildered in his remark, "I can't actually believe you saved my life there." He turned away from Travis. "Don't know what to say about that."

"It's alright," Travis responded unapologetically, bowing his head with heavy remorse. "Even then, I haven't actually done something exactly like this quite often, in my time with the mobs."

"But, now you're with them, as well," Castle scrunched his eyebrows. "You're pretty much with our enemy at this point!"

"And yet, my allegiance remains with ZAFT," the ginger-brunette male rebuked, facing him. "I may be working for the enemy right now, but it doesn't mean that I have betrayed that very trust with those that the both of you are fighting for."

Davis raised his eyebrows with a hint of suspicion. "How we will know for sure that you have?"

Travis, in response, pulled out an external storage device from the back pocket of his trousers.

"Here," the informant handed the device over to the dark-haired Specter, explaining under his breath. "Your superiors will find the info on this to be extremely helpful, at this point in the war. Everything they need will be on there."

Davis examined the shiny-smooth metal of the device, before he looked up at Travis with confusion. "But…why?"

"Because," Travis firmly answered. "Like I mentioned earlier, my allegiance is with ZAFT…and I wouldn't dare to change all of that." He then directed his gaze at Barry, who remained lifeless against the side of the table. "Not like him, where he had completely changed his trust in me."

He then turned around to survey the damage caused to the room, from all of the fighting that had happened.

"What a fucking mess this is," Travis grumbled. "Probably shouldn't be hanging around here for much longer."

James nodded. "We should definitely go."

"But, before we do," Davis interrupted, measuring his pauses, as he faced the informant. "I just want to ask…how are you going to go on about doing this? I mean…just, what are you going to do, and where, after all this has happened?"

Travis released a deep breath, before gazing upon him. "Not much, to be honest," he plainly answered. "I know for one thing that I will have to keep on doing what I have to do, no matter what."

He then turned around to take a few steps toward the door out of the room, before stopping abruptly for a moment, only to turn around again to face the two Specters.

"But, I'll promise you one thing," he finally spoke.

Davis inquired. "What's that?"

"You'd best be sure to know who you're really sided with," Travis murmured. "It's one thing to have blind faith in those who you think you'd be closer to…but it's another to have them stab you in the back when it's all said and done. I think it's best that you hold judgement yourself, before you forge ahead and regret about everything in the end."

Travis then turned back to the open doorway, and proceeded to walk past it, out of the room and out of plain sight. Davis and James were left staring on for a little while, turning around to view upon the several bodies left everywhere in the room, before they decided it was also time for them to leave the scene of carnage and chaos completely.

To be continued in PHASE-18: "Kazunori's Impact".

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! For the next one, there will be a return to combat involving mobile suits and mobile armour…and as the title of the next chapter (obviously) indicates, Kazunori will play a major role in this one!

The key inspirations that go into this chapter basically come from having seen those car chases from the movies of the 1970s and 1980s. Another inspiration that goes towards this chapter would be movies that featured martial arts combat sequences, scenes like those that come from the Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan movies. I wanted to include an action sequence in this chapter that would emulate such combat from those scenes in the movies. Although I do personally think I could have improved on a few things from writing that scene in the chapter, I think it's quite a first step to take, when writing those kinds of action scenes.

As for all the other titles that were announced recently for the Gundam SEED Reflex series, I have not turned back on my commitment to them! They are all still being written at the time of writing these end-notes, but my main priorities are with the other stories that I'm also writing at this point in time.

If you enjoyed reading this, feel free to: leave a review, put it on your favourites list, follow this story, or you can do all three! Thanks for reading, and until then…stay tuned for more!