Ngh. I think I'm gonna edit this tomorrow. See you then.

Okay, edit time. Actually, I think I'll get lunch first. I won't be able to eat afterward.

AC 208: The Search for Truth (Part X)

"Sunset"

She was close. He could feel her presence.

He'd never liked her, never trusted her. No one really did, which might have been part of the problem from the start. Standing guard over the quiet blue house among the abandoned rice fields northeast of Tokyo, he scanned the skies carefully. She was close now, and he had to move away from the others before she came. He didn't want to risk their lives.

The reminders of Fortuna were everywhere. Even Heero spoke of her, as if it was one giant conspiracy. Her words haunted him. ::We were destined for each other . . .::

::I hear your thoughts, Nulles. I hope you're not as afraid as you appear to be.::

::I am not afraid for me.::

She laughed. ::Your feelings are still clear.::

::I have done nothing to change them so you can hurt her. I won't let you hurt her.::

She came from the stars like a winged vixen, intent on nothing but pain. Beam saber met beam saber in the dark night, and he threw her back with a mechanical and mental grunt.

"Am se es sarçommén," she whispered, as their faces almost met, touching a nerve with her careless use of their beautiful language.

"Da chæglle, ñobeis Fortuna," he said with menace, sweeping a wing forward and knocking her aside almost carelessly. Be silent when you speak of her.

With a wrenched cry she lunged low at him, tackling his armored ankles. Nulles struggled away and swept to his feet, barely in time. Focused on nothing but damaging him, she fell upon his beam saber.

"Dginan," he told her. Fool.

::I'm going to kill her if it's the last thing I do. You of all people won't stop me,:: she told him through waves of pain. He hadn't injured her badly, and she would recover quickly. She was shaken, though. With a strained, careful movement, she took back to the air, disappearing into the night like the vampire she was.

He turned back to the house, and saw the family standing on the porch. ::Did you see it all?:: he asked.

::Yes,:: Heero replied. ::Though I don't understand.::

::I must warn Fortuna.:: He said. He approached and looked at them. Relena was frightened, but their older daughter wasn't. She was looking at him curiously.

"I'll go with you."

::I won't impose. This is personal. I don't want you to risk yourself.::

He shook his head. "You know better than that."

::I do,:: he admitted.

"Heero . . ." Relena looked at him imploringly. "Can we talk for a minute?"

They closed the door so he couldn't hear what they were saying.

~~@[~*,~]@~~

"I get it," Akiko said suddenly, looking up.

Heero had already drawn breath to counter his wife's ill confidence and instead turned it on his daughter. "What, aijou?"

"I know why Fortuna says he's so cold." She grinned. "I got a chance to talk with Fortuna before we left the Laiva. She told me about how it's possible for her and the others to live, even without using fuel, or eating, or why they don't implode in zero-gee."

"What did she tell you?" Even Zero didn't share those kinds of things with him.

"The gundams absorb life-energy from everything around them— waste energy given off by us, plants, animals and the sun . . . even the planet itself. I learned some theory when I was on the Gayla. It says that thought might be its own form of energy— since it really does share many of the same properties and is fueled by electrical impulses in our brain. Isn't emotion just like thought?"

Heero nodded, dumbfounded. She was eight years old!

"Well, when Zero charged his buster rifle to destroy Mariemaia's fortress, maybe it took more energy than he had to give. Maybe he had to draw on reserve energy from his emotions. The thing with that is that since it's a different type of energy it's harder to replace. I think it might have left him so drained that he hasn't been able to feel much since. Because he's used to not having it so long, when it started returning he didn't understand what he was feeling. That's kind of how it was when you gave me that stuff, Dad. He might not realize it, either."

Relena stared at her daughter, completely oblivious to the fact that her mouth was hanging open.

"Doesn't it make sense, though?" She looked at her parents, wondering at their overwhelmed expression.

"It does," Heero said slowly. "And it would explain a lot of things. Kik, if you're right . . ." I've got to let Fortuna know.

"Heero, you can't go. Zero can go where he needs to go on his own, can't he?" Relena wasn't willing to give that up yet.

"But now I think I have business with both Marie and Fortuna, that shouldn't wait. It won't take long, saiai. I'll be back before you miss me."

He gave his wife and daughters a kiss and opened the balcony door.

"Can't you leave in the morning?" Relena begged. "Heero . . ."

"I'm sorry, kanojo. We've got to get there before Inimicus does. It's crucial." Heero looked at her with all the sorry-ness he could muster. "Once more. You know we can't avoid it."

". . . I know." She sighed and stepped forward and put her arms around his neck.

"I'll be back soon. I promise." He held her for a moment. ::A few seconds won't hurt,:: he admonished a complaining Nulles.

~~@[~*,~]@~~

"Why did I somehow forget to tell you that I definitely don't have time for this at the moment?" Milliardo asked, exasperated. "Fine, I believe you, Dorothy, but I've got a lot of things in my hands right now and my Kingdom is falling apart—"

"Which is exactly the reason why I came back," Quatre interrupted him. "We have to get you out of here now. The castle is surrounded, and there are a lot of people that want you dead. You are going to die if we don't get you out of here at this exact point in time."

"There is no point in holding on longer than you have to," Dorothy told him quietly. "You've done a commendable job, Milliardo, but it's time to let go."

"My father . . . my dreams . . ." the man turned away. "It shouldn't have to end like this."

"Such a defined peace isn't needed now. You've provided hope, but now both you and everyone you serviced are needed elsewhere. Don't let a permanently temporary thing burden this war. It might prove disastrous." Dorothy continued her softspoken persuasion through Quatre's phone going off.

"Yeah," the blonde answered, backing off a little bit so as not to disturb the others. "Hello?"

It was Une. They'd been back at the castle for almost a day before Milliardo had made "time" to see them, and he'd gotten a call a little over four hours ago from her, too. "Quatre," she said, the familiar sound of a baby crying in the background, "I thought Milliardo might want to hear this."

It's bottom of the ninth, two outs, score's tied, count's three-two, and the pitcher just threw a fastball. Thank whatever forces we've got up there, he thought. He cut short Dorothy's lecture and held out the phone. "And if that isn't reason enough, we just came up with another one. Listen to that. Don't tell me you're going to stand down."

He hadn't known his wife had gone into labor. They'd never gotten a chance to tell him.

The expression on his face changed dramatically, then, suddenly aware of that, he turned around. Noin obviously took over the phone, because broken arguments could be heard. Milliardo stood still for a moment after finally surrendering to his wife. Then, he turned the phone off. Fly ball to deep center field . . .

"All right," he said softly. "Let's get out of here."

Home run, Quatre thought, relived.

"Let's stop wasting time and go, then," Dorothy said, starting for the door.

That's when the whole castle shook. Milliardo's comm dinged. "Sir, the fence's been breached and the front doors've been knocked off their hinges. Sir, get out of here, Sir—!" It cut off with the crackle of a broken connection.

"Shit," Quatre said.

"Understatement of the year," Milliardo assured him. "C'mon."

There were three different directions to go in. One, which led to the front hall, was obviously not the better choice. "There are secret passageways in the walls here," Milliardo said. "Relena constructed them for just this kind of situation. "There's an entrance behind every suit of armor with a blue ribbon on its spear, but that doesn't guarantee that none of them haven't been found. Dorothy, go left all the way down the hall until you come to the staircase, and Quatre and I will go the opposite way. If you hear anyone coming go ahead and find the nearest one, but I'm trying to keep invaders off our backsides. Don't be afraid to use your gun here, we've got no other choice. Wound them if you can, but make sure they'll be unconscious for a while. We'll meet up back where it joins the office. There are torches you can grab at the entrances, but there should be enough light."

"Yes sir," Dorothy said, hurrying off in her designated direction.

There was no one on the right side, but by the two separated gunshots and several wet smacks heard Dorothy had taken care of a few. She met up with them panting.

"It becomes a bit of a maze here," Milliardo whispered. "I'll lead." He grabbed a torch and let them downward into the bowels of the castle. The passages were narrower— both the men had to slip through sideways at some points— and it smelled musty, but it was otherwise clear.

"We've been safe so far," Milliardo concluded as they struggled to regain nervously held breath, "but there's a slight problem. These passages take us right up through the cellar in back. If there's a mob there— as I duly suspect— we'll be noticed in a hurry.

"We can wait for nightfall. It's not far off," Dorothy said.

"We could," he said. "But I'd rather not wait. We need a distraction. Quatre, will you phone still work in here?"

"The signal's weak," he reported, "but I can patch though. What do you need?"

"A couple of mobile suits would be dandy."

Quatre called, trying not to talk to loud in case the sound reverberated. "Rashid, can you hear me? Okay, look, we've got trouble. I need a couple of suits here, around back and close to the outside entrance of the celler. Can you do that? Five minutes? Wonderful."

"Five minutes? That hardly seems possible." Dorothy looked skeptical. "I wouldn't bet my life on five minutes."

"If Rashid says five minutes that it'll be five minutes," Quatre told her firmly. "The Manganacs don't misjudge. They've probably already got pilots and suits warmed up."

"Let's move closer to the surface so we can hear what's going on," Milliardo told them, edging upwards. The passage sloped alarmingly for a long way, before leveling out. "If all goes to hell we still have all these shelves and empty barrels to hide in and between." He closed the panel (which had no door from the cellar's side) and silently showed them how the shelves were sequenced. It was pretty clever, actually.

"I'll have to remember to tell Relena this design saved my life— if it does," he whispered.

"I'm sure she'll love that," was the reply.

"There doesn't seem to be much going on outside," Dorothy told them. "I can't hear a mob shouting or anything." Her last word was drowned out by an earth-shattering boom, a signal that the Manganacs had made good on their five-minute promise.

Quatre's phone rang, and he picked it up hurriedly. "Quatre, you might have exaggerated the situation a little bit, but I'm still glad you called. They— or maybe not. I think they figured out what we're trying to guard here."

There was a shout, and the wooden door above them caved in. Dorothy yelped and Quatre shoved her out of the way of the falling debris. "Hide," he hissed, dragging her down into the specially designed ditch under one of the heavy oak storage shelves. "Keep an eye on the right side, but don't give us away," he told her as quietly as he could.

She nodded, pressing as tightly against him as was possible. The ditches weren't designed for more than one person at a time. It was a little comforting to Quatre, knowing there was someone watching his back.

Heavy booted feet appeared from outside, seven or eight pairs. He could hear someone outside giving orders, gunshots and the hiss and smell of ionized air as the Manganacs tried to target the people. Mobile suits weren't meant for small-scale destruction, though, and weren't so effective in this situation.

Suddenly it went silent up top, and several of the invaders turned to see what was happening. Quatre tensed, but before he could get a shot off he heard one farther down. There was shouting, and he sensed more than heard the crumbling of a fake wall and Milliardo's flight around to the other side.

A familiar pair of desert khakis accompanied a new visitor to the cellar, one most certainly welcome. With a roar, Rashid barreled after the black-clad men. Quatre listened to make sure the coast was clear, scanned the ground around them and spotted the torch he'd dropped. "Come on," he told Dorothy, squeezing out of the ditch and picking it up.

"Let's finish this job," she confirmed, gesturing for him to lead on.

There were footsteps approaching, and two male voices. They saw Quatre's torchlight and shouted, but not nearly in time. With a grunt and a warning to Dorothy, he hurled the oil-fueled lamp at their enemies, closing his eyes tight against the sudden explosion. The two men shouted in surprise, but Quat and Dorothy had been prepared. They brought up their guns and took the two down, and the one that came running at their shouts.

Rashid emerged from another isle, holding his side. "That's the last of them. You all right, Master Quatre?"

Quatre saw in the dim light what was troubling him. "I'm fine, but you—"

"I'm not getting out of here alive," he confirmed, staggering into a nearby shelf. "Don't worry about me. I've been looking forward to dying for a long time now."

"Rashid!" It couldn't be true! If he'd bet on anyone being invincible it would have been him.

He shook his head, coughing. "Come one, Quatre. We both know I don't have much left here. My whole family, my wife, my daughters, they're already there. You know that's why we risk ourselves. The whole village . . ." He fell to his knees, still leaning on the thick case for support. The whites of his eyes faded from view. "Tell the boys— tell the boys we'll be waiting."

Quatre looked away, trying hard to stop the tears. It was true that the Manganacs didn't have much left, but Rashid was one of his best friends since he'd been a child. He couldn't just be dead. His mind, his body was numb. He couldn't tell what was going on, where he was.

Milliardo gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"He saved our lives," Dorothy told them both quietly. "That's someone worth taking advice from. She put her hand on Quatre's shoulder, then held him gently when he lost his balance.

Milliardo hung his head with his own guilt. He hadn't known the man that well, but he'd still given his life to save the others.

"Hey, are you guys all right down there?" One of the Manganacs stuck his head into the cellar. "What's going on?"

And explosion rocked the castle, and Milliardo stepped out of the basement to see the top floor on fire. "Rashid's dead," he told the other.

"What? You're not kidding are you?"

"He got shot trying to rescue us." Quatre had himself a little more pulled together, because he emerged a moment later. "I think it's best that we get out of here."

~~@[~*,~]@~~

"Mariemaia, we've got someone here to see you and Fortuna," Ihminen said, holding one hand to his ear. "My, my, this is a bit of a surprise. Fortuna will be thrilled."

"Who is it?" Marie had come to the bridge to talk to him about something, but Ihminen's timing was always like that.

"Heero Yuy and Pennes Nulles."

"Who?" She'd never heard of a ship or gundam or anything with that name.

"Wing Zero," he said with a laugh. "It's Latin, his original name. They named prototypes after him, and when Heero started calling him Zero it just stuck. Anyway, he's got some urgent information for you, he says. You'd better hurry down there."

"Right." She'd been out here that Ihminen did tend to know best. She made her way to the elevator and ran to the docking bay. It felt good to stretch her legs on the sometimes-cramped ship.

Heero met her halfway. He caught her arm as they passed around a corner and almost sent her spinning into the wall. "Mariemaia!"

"Ack, don't do that," she mock-admonished him. "God, Heero, that hurt!"

"Sorry, but I think Zero's anxiety's started to rub off on me. We've got trouble headed this way. I was almost afraid we weren't going to make it."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Let's get back to the gundams. Out of curiosity, though, why are you guys headed towards Earth?"

"It's a pretty deliberate beeline," she admitted. "But who's tracking us?"

"I just noticed the trajectory. You have business?"

"Beliv's making his final campaign. We've all noticed. The Phantom Runners have been moving all their forces, tailing him, and we're going to help as much as we can. We don't have many fighters aboard, but they also want to observe the battle."

"It's inevitable, right?"

"Looks like it. Anyway, what's up?"

"We had a run-in with our good old friend Inimicus. She's got some kind of revenge in mind and said she was going to try and kill Fortuna. Zero wanted to be here to help."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting. Y'know, Heero, Fortuna's been saying some things about him to me, and I've kind of got the feeling—"

"I need to talk to you about that, too." he confirmed. "Akiko came up with something interesting that I think might explain why Zero's been so distant. I need you to explain to Fortuna to give him time." Heero launched into detail on his daughter's idea, which made perfect sense to Marie.

"I'll speak to her about it," she told him. "Poor Zero. You think he'll recover?"

"I'm sure of it," he assured her.

Soon, they were floating in space next to Laiva, clinging to the hull so they wouldn't have to use their own engines. Earth was still probably a day away, and they wanted to get good seats. "You all right?" she asked Fortuna, trying not to make the question sound loaded.

::I'm fine,:: was the reply. ::I'm just . . . surprised.::

"I don't blame you," Marie replied lightly. "He came all the way out here to warn you. It's kind of sweet."

Fortuna sensed her silent goading anyway. ::All right, what did Heero tell you?::

Marie sat back, still reading the scanners for any sign of Inimicus. "Remember he knows Zero probably just as well as you do," she warned. "Which brings up something I've been wondering about. I've been studying the specs of the blast radius when Zero destroyed my fortress all those years ago and the numbers don't match. How is that buster rifle of his charged?"

::He uses his own energy reserves. To tell you the truth, I never liked the design. He always seemed so drained and distant after he'd used it.:: Fortuna shifted her wings a little, as if cramped.

"That's what Heero thought. He wonders if maybe the drainage when he tried to destroy me was so great that it's been difficult for him to feel anything. Heero says he's been more like himself lately, but that he's still recovering. I think he just needs time."

::You . . . you really think it's not as bad as I suspected?::

"I think so. Have you ever heard of Occam's Razor?" Marie asked her. It was old as the hills, barely a footnote in the history books, but she was surprised someone from the Laiva didn't know it.

::No. What is it?::

"A theory that most of the world tends to believe unconsciously. It states that the simplest explanation is most likely the right one."

::What's more likely? There doesn't seem to be a more likely answer.::

"It's a paradox, a point of philosophy. It's my opinion that it's simply an energy drain as opposed to a complex mental turnaround with an unclear cause. I'll let you think about it for a little while, huh?"

::No time for that,:: Fortuna replied with an edge.

"I see her," Mariemaia confirmed, sitting back up. "Heero, can you second us over here?"

"Yeah. You ready, girls?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The ship lurched as they cut the acceleration, and Fortuna released her hold, drawing her beam saber in the same movement.

::She's still slow on her left side. I don't think she's done healing,:: Zero advised them.

Their swords clashed with a flash of discharged energy, which each gundam absorbed as fast as they could. It was an efficient energy source, Marie thought offhandedly, letting Fortuna do the fighting. She watched as carefully as she could, and spotted the flaw almost too late. "For—"

With a metallic clash, Zero dropped in against Fortuna's blind side and knocked Inimicus aside. ::So you weren't lying,:: she said. ::That must have taken quite a bit of energy to get here faster than me, Nulles. But, why can't you play fair?::

::Life isn't fair, little sister,:: Fortuna taking advantage of the moment to be close to Zero.

Inimicus laughed, reminding Marie of the girlish little giggle she'd once had. ::If you're going to be that way and not let me have a fair family fight, I might as well raise the stakes. I'll see you on Earth!::

Fortuna made a kind of breathless sigh and switched off her saber. ::Little siblings can be so obnoxious. Nulles—:: She turned to the other with the intention of thanking him, but was cut short.

::Don't start,:: he said, pressing a finger to her lips in a gesture that Marie was sure meant a lot more than its face value. ::You'll never stop.::

"Little steps, friend," she reminded Fortuna gently when she tried to contradict him. "Let him work out his own confusion."

::You seem so sure I should.:: The gundam suffered, she knew, to be so close to him yet so far away.

"Trust me."

~~@[~*,~]@~~

"Noin?" Milliardo opened the door gently, in case she was resting.

"Thank God you're all right," she sighed.

He smiled, closed the door and sat down on the bed next to her. "Only because I have people to remind me that I have things to live for," he told her. "How are you doing?"

"Tired," she said, cuddling their son with drooping eyelids. "It's been a really, really, really long day."

"No kidding," he said, taking the baby from her with care, studying the sleeping face with a kind of pride. "You're right, he's beautiful."

"And he looks just like you," she said, feigning exasperation. "Let's hope he didn't get any of you're "redeeming qualities" too."

"Yeah, well I hope he didn't get any of your wit, or he'll come home with bruises all the time!" They both laughed, erasing the tension that had been present ever since this whole Sanc Kingdom thing had started to get out of hand. It was hard to believe it had really taken him over so bad.

"So history won't repeat itself after all," she said, relieved. "What's a good name? I haven't really been able to think of anything I really liked."

Milliardo thought hard. "You know, after all you went on about how much help we've had, I think a certain person might like it if we named junior after him, don't you think?"

Noin's face brightened. "That's very sweet of you. I would ask him first, though, if I were you."

"I was going to. Quatre said he was coming over here in a few minutes. He's a little depressed. I think it might cheer him up."

"If anyone's going to be depressed, I thought it would be you. What's the matter?"

"When the Manganacs came to bust us out of the castle, Rashid got wounded. He died, Lucrezia. Through all of this, not one of them's been lost, and now Rashid's gone. He was one of his best friends."

"You sound a little guilty." She sighed again and leaned against his shoulder. "But I've said this a lot lately. You can't unwrite what's been done. There's no use taking blame now. It's sad, but life goes on. This is war."

"You're a real comfort." But strangely, he felt a little better. "No, you just know me too well."

She chuckled. "We've been married since we were sixteen, it seems."

There was a knock.

"Come on in, both of you," Milliardo told them. It seemed so weird, but Quatre was taking a lot of comfort from Dorothy. The girl must have touched a nerve or something. Noin showed little surprise in her presence (maybe she was just tired).

"So is this the little one?" Quatre sat down in the nearest available chair, a tired smile on his face. "Joy in the midst of tragedy . . . it always seems to happen that way. It just doesn't seem the same around here now."

Milliardo didn't feel like playing sweet anymore. He was tired, a little hungry, and he was trying to enjoy his son. "We've all lost people, Quatre," he said as gently as he could manage. "I realize he meant a lot to you, but didn't Rashid himself say that he was looking forward to joining his family and friends? Think for a minute about what all these guys went through. Let them make up their own minds, okay?"

Noin jabbed him as hard as she could where Quatre couldn't see, but the man straightened a little. After a minute, he looked up. "Thanks. I think I needed that."

"Anytime." Sometimes people need a swift kick in the ass and a lemon to suck on for a while. That was Treize-ism.

"So, anyway, what'd you name the little guy?" Quatre looked over at the newborn, which was starting to stir in his father's arms.

"Actually, we wanted to talk to you about that. Noin and I have been very grateful to you for everything you've done for us, and there's no better way that we can think of to thank you. With your permission, we'd like to name our son after you."

Quatre blinked, and Milliardo knew he'd mended the man's heart a little. "You— really? I mean, I'm— I'm flattered," he sputtered. "I had no idea you guys—"

"You're appreciated more than you'll ever know," Noin said, her eyelids falling again. "But it's late, and we all need some rest. "I'm sorry to send you all away, but I've had a very, very, very long day."

"We all have," Millardo said, rocking little Quatre in his arms. "A night's sleep will do us all some good."

~~@[~*,~]@~~

Vincent slid his dry hands over the slick material of the black cape that Duo had given him for Christmas almost nine months ago. It would no doubt get bloody, but black silk so begs to be bled on.

Jason would have been six today. He saw his son's face so clearly every time he closed his eyes, his sweet innocent face mutated with fright, eyes wide, frozen in horror on into eternity, the back of his head missing and strewn all over the room. Nicole, his mother, had lain on the India rug in a red pool, hands clawed, perfect blonde hair mussed, reaching for the dead body of her son.

They hadn't been terrorists. They hadn't been butchers, but scientists. They'd shot him, too, in the arm. He was never told why . . . but they took him. He'd never been a pilot, just a civilian. He'd never lived on a farm. He'd been a lanky, underweight engineer with a little bit of interest in government. He'd never been happier than with his high school love and their sweet little son . . .

Vincent wiped furiously at the tears on his face, brushing wet strands of black hair back. He'd told Heero he wished he'd never known what they'd wiped from his brain, but he'd changed his mind about that. He could get revenge now. That evil man would taste a little of his own blood. He turned the safety off his gun, checking the clip. This would end today.

His ankle throbbed furiously from where that security officer had kicked him. There'd only been two in the hangar, though, and no alarm had gotten time to sound. No one knew that death was on the wind. He liked it that way.

The door hissed open, and no one noticed. The bridge of the battleship Gayla was full of techs and officers checking equipment and reviewing orders and taking and sending transmissions, until someone looked up. Vincent ignored his stuttered "S-stop or I'll shoot!" and made his way straight for the command layer, black cape billowing around him. The steel mesh underfoot made a satisfying crashing sound with every heavy step. There never was a shot at him.

"Who have we here?" Erik Beliv tried to hide his shock and recognition with a confident smirk.

"You probably remember me," Vincent said darkly, his eyes burning, gun at his side. "I'm the one who pulled that dump on this computer when you had us and Ms. Darlian locked up." He turned to the captain. "I bet it was fun seeing how your little experiment had turned out."

Beliv's confident air was replaced by one of confusion. The man had never been brilliant, and the rug had been pulled out from under his feet nearly three years previous and he was just beginning to realize it. What a fool, Vincent found himself thinking. A politician should know better than to trust any scientist with knowledge of a war. But that would have been just like him, wouldn't it? For a pervert, watching war crimes destroy lives would have been fun.

Ingraham laughed, his scarred face twisted in sadistic pleasure. "You were always so brilliant. I trust you figured out how to bypass my memory blocks?"

"I did." Vincent's voice was deadly. "And I finally figured out who the hell's been controlling whom. A masterful job, Jacque, but it all ends right here." He raised his gun.

Ingraham laughed again and spread his arms. "Oh, you want to kill me, Vincent? How many bullets do you think a body can hold? My officers can find out for us." The man took several steps forward, until the barrel pressed against his chest. "It really would be a pity to lose such a successful experiment."

"I'm still human," he whispered, hazel eyes hard. "And you'll still be dead." With all the suffering he'd had to endure . . . with all the pain that was in his heart— a grieving husband, a grieving father, a grieving victim mentally raped bare, exposed and prodded and tortured beyond sight— he couldn't give such an evil man a relatively painless death. That would almost be mercy. He dropped the gun and sent it spinning down onto the lower level.

"Ah, good boy," Ingriham praised him for a split second before all breath was knocked out of him.

Vincent reached over with a lean leg and kneed the man in the stomach, sent him sprawling into the steel bars surrounding the upper level. The first bullet struck him in the side, and his vision went red and blurry. He wasn't going to die unless he took Jacque down with him. He leapt upon the man before he could recover from the shock, sending his fists into that scarred face of his. Blood splattered against his black silk shirt, and the next bullet hit him low in the shoulder from behind. He felt the impact, but the pain wasn't there.

There was a trick he'd learned in combat training during his abuse, one that would ultimately mean it's authority's death. Wrist sheaths are handy things, especially ones with diamond blades. Invisible when dealing with metal detectors, they never lost their edge. With a savage grunt, he stabbed through Ingriham's stomach, upward under his rib cage, most definitely puncturing the man's lung. He twisted it, relishing the man's choked, bubbly scream of pain as much as Ingraham had enjoyed listening to his. "One for Nicole!" he said, his voice going hoarse and high as yet another brave venturing bullet hit him, shattering his hip. "My wife, my beautiful wife! One for my son, my innocent four year-old son! Murderer! Sadist! My life! My heart! My family! My home!"

The man to everyone else's horrified eyes was long dead, but Vincent still tore at the bloody mess, roaring like an enraged jaguar, frail form continuing to take lead as if it didn't matter. One sympathetic officer made mark of the suffering body's neck, veiled by static dark hair, and put him out as quickly as he could.

The bridge went dead quiet, so as even the machinery and computers seemed to stop. The silence was taken for the tortured one, not their tyrannic captain. How awful it must have been to suffer so much that all you want is revenge.

Someone retched, taking one look too long at the pile of flesh, now shrouded over with a black silk cape that shone dimly in the low-power lights. Most returned shakily to their chairs and hid their faces in their arms, conflicting human emotions too much for even the best officer to keep a straight face through.

"So there you've got what was coming," Beliv said quietly. "I should have known, Jacque. Long ago . . . you never would share your secrets. This war was never what you wanted out of a war. You just wanted bodies. You wanted to know a body without a soul. That's what intrigued you, what captured your twisted imagination. You must have discovered somewhere that it was you."

It didn't matter who Jacque Ingraham had been anymore, because his mind no longer made any difference in a war that was never intended to be his in the first place. Beliv ignored the body, summoned no one to clean it up. He sat calmly at his console, feeling a new sort of freedom, and went on with his plans.

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Don't know what makes me come up with these things . . . maybe lack of sleep. Anyway, the end is near. Next chapter, the final confrontation begins. The Sanc Kingdom is gone, the mastermind of the Colony Alliance brutally murdered, and a confused, insane Erik Beliv takes action. Earth is under siege, and saving lives can sometimes mean saving your own. It'll be out sometime after the 25th, because I have camp all next week. The next chapter of AC 208: The Search for Truth: (Part XI): "Falling Stars."