Once again you can choose your POV.. I wrote as Heero, but it really can be anyone you want (except Trowa.. you'll see why at the end of the fic... though if you really wanted to you could make it work, after all he could be seeing himself) If you have any questions, comments, just want to talk, whatever leave a review or email me at neekabe@canoemail.com
I do not own Gundam Wing
All In Your Head
They were good. All the proper input was there; I felt and knew everything they wanted me to and nothing else. They had taken the taken the standard designs of the VR suit and modified it. Now when I reached up all I felt was hair and head. I could never tell were I was, could never tell what was real or just virtual reality. Am I still training? Or have the missions started already? Have I really killed or was it all just a dream, a nightmare created by the demon that plagues me.
Maybe it never happened, maybe even now, any moment now, they'll remove the helmet un-strap the suit and it will never have happened. And I can be guilt free once more. But can I? As far as I know this is real, and I'm acting as if it is real, and I still killed. My hands are stained with virtual blood for in my mind if nowhere else they lived, and it was my hands that killed them. That's all that matters.
But if they were real, not just part of a simulation then I could die. But if it wasn't I would be punished for the attempt. They would bring pain. It so easy for them to do that here, when I'm stuck between worlds. They have total control over me and it hurts worse then reality. They cut off all movement, take away my sight and hearing. I have no connection to any world but touch and taste. I can neither protect nor prevent what I know is coming. Then they give pain…
I cannot trust anything, anyone. Anything I can touch, taste, feel, smell, hear can be manipulated by them. How can I tell what is real and what is part of the training? I know the have done this before, I can remember early on before the boundaries were so blurred. I remember weeks spent in simulations created my demons. Fed by IV, living through the horrors of a every day as the desensitized me to anything I might see once the missions started. That was followed by pain, the consequence of any mistakes made. But now I can no longer tell. Reality or Virtual Reality? Does it even matter anymore? Are all the people I've met and known just computer programs? Has anything I've done made a difference? They laugh at my inability to separate reality and enjoy my confusion. Taking great delight in making the difference between the two worlds even smaller.
I come to. Open my eyes to bright sunshine, and squint against it. I hear laughter in the background, feel soft blankets covering me. Strange, the last thing I remembered was agony. I hope that this is real, it feels so good. I blink away the fatigue and force myself to think, to find reality, but my tired body refuses. It takes the rest it needs and I feel myself fade away from the world.
I open my eyes to find myself in a MS, a Gundam. I am fighting again… still? Battling to protect the colonies as I was trained to do. Trained? Is this training? Could it be that it is real this time? I dig deep, trying to find out for sure, but the distraction is costly and something gets in a shot. I am slammed around inside the cockpit, it hurts more then expected, I must have already taken a beating. I try to force myself to move through the pain but I can feel it creeping up of the edges of my mind. Shadows enfold me as I surrender myself to the darkness.
I wake in deep silent space, surrounded by strange, full, nothingness. Silent, but I can hear mocking laughter, bitter and cold. Is this reality? The revolting laughter fills my mind without entering my ears, startling me to awareness.
I wake up and know the truth.
I wake up.
I wake. I am. I exist.
My senses have betrayed me; I can never trust them again. But rational thought cannot be manipulated as easily. Therefore what I know is mine alone. What is in my mind is real. That alone is reality. This then I choose to be real. Even if that means that I am a killer, a murderer of children. This will be real. I deserve nothing now, but this is real. I can never be pure, never be innocent, but at least here I can die. I can finally rid the world of my corruption, finally end my demon's mocking laughter. I do not hope for forgiveness but at least I can begin my apology. Smiling I reach for the gun…
And everything disappears. I can't move, see, hear. There's a moment for me to anticipate what I know is coming. Then the agony begins.
I awaken, panting strapped down in the darkness. There is something else in the cell. A figure approaches me and sets to work on the buckles holding me down, removes the helmet. He looked almost transparent as he moved out of the shadows. Solidifying only when he moved into the faint light of the cell. I finally work out who it is. Trowa; an ally a friend. Thank you. Relief floods through me as I pull the IV from my arm. The helmet is gone; this has to be real, finally. I rub my wrists, run my hands up and down my arms, trying to reassure myself that what I'm feeling is just in my mind. I do not feel the restraints, nor the IV. They are not touching me. I cannot feel them. But why am I still aware of them? Why does it still feel like they're still on me, in me? Phantom pains that's all it is. It's all in my mind. I lean on Trowa as I pull myself off the table, finding my own legs weak. He is reassuringly solid, real.
As we head off, moving through the darkness, I swear I hear mocking laughter. But that can't be, it's all just in my head.
***end***