The warehouse was appropriate, actually.

Left forgotten after the First Bloody Valentine War when the first generation Extended of that sadistic program were reduced to failures, the building had begun to acquire a reputation as being cursed and haunted, mostly due to the fact that during even before the war, screams had been heard coming from the place. Rumors of satanic rituals started to surface and many had avoided the place out of fear and terror. But those rumors were just that - rumors.

To the current occupants though, it suited them just fine.

After the war had ended, the place was sold to a small company for storage use. But the new owners didn't want to have anything to do with a supposedly cursed and haunted building. So they left it to rot. And that was just fine with the occupants, seeing as how no one even went near the property line itself.

The warehouse no longer held the equipment needed to create the first generation Extended. Instead, all that remained were deceased bodies of those that hadn't made the cut. The bodies were kept preserved in tanks filled with all kinds of chemicals, a harsh reminder of how far a once great nation had fallen. The occupants didn't worship these beings though; instead, they pitied them, mourned them, and sought to give them back to their parents once the country was freed from its dark impulses. These kids were remembered as victims of a sadistic program that should never have come into existence. And they were a reminder of what the occupants were fighting for as well. A world where children were not tortured and turned into weapons of war.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as the last of the occupants ran inside, closing the door to the building just as a patrol car swept past.

The entire building was silent before the car continued on its route.

Footsteps could be heard as the figure joined several others at a large table positioned in the middle of the vast empty space. The lights no longer worked due to power being cut to the place after its sale. But that was just fine.

A soft humming sound came from the middle of the table as several lanterns flickered on. The light was feeble, only revealing some of the shapes in the room.

Some of these figures were shown to be wearing somewhat decent clothing, with a few possessing military uniforms of a sort, and one or two wore well-to-do fashionable items, indicating they were a part of the upper class of the Atlantic Federation. It was rare for anyone in the upper class to even be sympathetic towards the majority of the people gathered in that room. But these two people were aghast once the truth had been exposed to them.

The figure at the head of the table looked around the room, and then the lantern in front was lifted up.

Slowly, the others did the same thing.

"Ah. Good. We're all here," a male voice said seriously.

The figures all set their lanterns down, allowing only some portion of their forms to be revealed.

"I still wish you had accepted my offer," a woman's voice muttered out of the shadows.

"Trust me, this is for the best," the first man said, tenting his fingers in front of his bearded mouth. "Given your husband's position within the Government, any risk to you is a risk to him, and us as a whole. Our mission is not to expose ourselves until the time is deemed right."

The woman frowned. "That is true..." she remarked. "For what it's worth, I have to agree then."

"So, let's get to business," the bearded man said. "Secretary Defense, what's your report on the military?"

A huge hulking man clad in military fatigues leaned in, his face barely visible in the light of his lantern. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft; one would've expected a man of his height and stature to have a deep, booming voice. "To put it bluntly... bad." He looked over the group. "The military is starting to lose faith in the Government due to the losses they've suffered at the hands of that ZAFT ship. And actually this is a good thing. Any more losses and we'll have more potential defectors."

"A good thing indeed," the bearded man said. "What of the intelligence officers aboard the fleets and ships?"

"Our most powerful ships have had these men forced on them," the Defense Secretary said as he leaned back in his chair. "Supposedly to keep morale up. But I know better: they're a secret police, assigned to watch ships that could pose a problem should they have doubts. I suspect these men have training in command and combat, Mr. Vice President."

The Vice President pursed his lips as he bowed his head in thought. "I see."

The Defense Secretary shifted in his seat. "Several of our ships have issued protests in response to this, and their commanding officers were murdered by these political officers. I should know. One of my friends was on such a ship and he saw it with his own eyes before you came in and rescued him."

"I remember that," a second woman's voice remarked.

The big man nodded. "As for the Patriot Youth Act, that has to be shot down, no questions asked." His voice trembled. "I don't want my sons to be put into service at such a young age... least of all brainwashed into being fanatical soldiers to this Cabal..." His shoulders shook as he struggled to prevent himself from crying.

The second woman placed a surprisingly strong, yet delicate hand on his shoulder, comforting him.

"Good luck with that," the first woman stated. "They will pass it in an attempt to conduct a repeat of the Second World War and Civil War."

"But surely your husband can prevent it, yes?" a third man asked, his voice being distinctly Latino sounding.

The first woman shook her head. "No. He cannot, for he fears we may be ousted as rebels. We have to maintain our cover, but it is possible I could ask him to try and modify it to limit the amount of boys and men sent to war."

"Modify it? Try more like raising the fuckin' age! Not lowering it!" the Defense Secretary snapped, tear streaks shimmering in the light of the lanterns.

His companions all nodded.

"I shall see what can be done," the woman said seriously. "My husband is in complete agreement on your views with that. But you know he is a diehard Natural supremacist."

"We are aware, Secretary State," the Vice President stated. His eyes hardened. "And for good reason. But in times of war, the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

Everyone nodded solemnly.

Rain began to pour, its pattering sounding not unlike machine guns firing in this vast, echoing chamber. Lightning flashed, throwing the room into illumination briefly, showcasing its sordid contents. A few people in the group stood and walked over to a storage tank, placing their hands upon it in solemn, somber remembrance of the child within.

The State Secretary looked over to one of the women, who had her hands curled into fists as she sobbed against a storage tank, wails echoing in the old warehouse's confines. "Why...?" she sobbed. "Why did we have to fall so low?!"

Here, the Vice President grew serious, his eyes turning grave. "They think they are above the law," he muttered, "and feel that this is their God-given right to do whatever they please. But they are mere men. Men who fear the future and will do anything to fight it."

"That still does not answer the question: why children? Why us?!" the woman shrieked, whirling around to face him. "Why not China?! Or Russia?!"

He knew.

They all knew.

And it was because of the distance between the countries.

Historical distances had led to this.

And it was time to rectify it.

He finally gestured and the group reunited at the table, their moment of mourning passed.

"Now, onto the second order of business." The Vice President directed his attention to the second woman who was still crying. "Secretary Health?"

"Oh, s-sorry. I'm just still upset..." she stammered.

"It's okay. You can skip this if you must," the Vice President said gently, but he was rebuffed by her resolute shake of her head.

"N-No, sir. I... I can get through this," she said.

The man nodded. "Very well. What's the status of the... the program?"

"Well..." Here the Health Secretary held up a report. "We got reports from our assets in the former lab." She handed it off to him, and he took it. "It's been destroyed... all of them..."

The Vice President skimmed it, and his eyes narrowed. "Seems like someone did it for them..." he mused. "Perhaps an experiment gone wrong?"

"Seems likely," the State Secretary muttered. "I despised that lab ever since I learned of its atrocities." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What else?"

"There's only one left," the Health Secretary muttered. "And...it's the female one."

"That girl?" the Defense Secretary asked.

She nodded. "Yes."

The Latino speaking man finally looked in the direction of the Vice President. "Mr. Vice President, if I may...?"

"We'll get to that in a minute," the Vice President said as he waved to the Health Secretary to continue.

She nodded with a slight sniffle. "Sorry." She cleared her throat and continued. "We have reason to believe that she's fallen into the hands of ZAFT, but we could be wrong. Our intelligence network is still in the process of being overhauled."

"Right." The Vice President nodded. "And of the girl's whereabouts?"

"We're unsure, sir. But we will keep you informed." With that, she sat back in her seat, burying her head in her hands and weeping silently.

The Vice President next directed his attention to the Latino man. "Go ahead, Secretary Labor."

The Labor Secretary nodded and stood up. "So far the work force, according to my assets, is still the same: men and women working equally. But with the passage of that abominable Patriot Youth Act impending, child labor in defense related industries could make a comeback. And we don't want that to happen."

He handed off a folder to the Vice President who took it and opened it. "The reasoning being that children can handle fine detail work," he continued, "which is absurd in my opinion. Men and women - adults - can do it just as well, or if not, have robotics to handle the detail work."

"Like your company does?" the Vice President asked, referring to the Labor Secretary's own business empire, which handled mobile suit components and armaments. While not as advanced as that of the Atlantic Defense Conglomerate, his company provided steadily reliable equipment that could be easily maintained, something the Resistance was willing to take advantage of. And due to this, he was able to mingle with the elites, and therefore was able to find sympathizers among their staff.

Some such sympathizers were able to infiltrate into LOGOs as secretaries to some of those wealthy men, and one of them happened to learn who the leader of LOGOs was, but well after the Second Bloody Valentine War had begun.

The Labor Secretary was also one of those who refused to employ children under the age of sixteen, instead using robots to carry out the minute detail work a child's hands could handle.

The man nodded. "Yes."

"And what of the leadership?" the Vice President asked. "Has the target made his appearance?"

"Numerous times at gatherings, yes." The Labor Secretary handed off a photo at such a gala. "But due to the need for secrecy, all we can do is observe."

The Vice President nodded. "I see."

Then he directed his attention to the next member in the group. "Secretary Energy, how goes the progress?"

The woman stood up, her lantern revealing a lab coat and brown slacks. "Our efforts are undergoing some severe roadblocks," she said seriously. "The N-Jammers are proving to be harder to reverse engineer without the full scientific backing of the industries."

"Damn... and just when we needed this the most..." the Defense Secretary rumbled, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

The Energy Secretary looked at him critically before continuing her report. "But we have made some headway. We learned that there is one source of nuclear power that can actually work despite such tech."

A few heads tilted in her direction as she held up her lantern a bit more, revealing two green eyes that glinted with a smirk. "Ever wondered what it would be like if we had the power of a star at our fingertips?" she asked, her cryptic question earning a few confused glances.

But someone else gasped. "You're saying... that kind of power?!" a male voice rasped, the speaker slumping back in his chair.

"Correct," the Energy Secretary said as she sat back down. "We could have a working prototype if we could get our hands on it. The facility researching such technology is still in operation, so I was able to... convince... the head of said facility that it was in the best interests of the Atlantic Federation to get one operational as soon as possible."

She looked to the Vice President. "That is, if you approve, sir."

A smirk crossed his bearded lips. "For once, something good is working in our favor," he remarked. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "You have my approval."

Then he directed his attention to the man who had realized her plan. "Secretary Education... your report, please."

The Education Secretary nodded as he stood up. "You were right, sir," he said. "The education process has been overcome with propaganda. Sure while the kids are still learning the basics and science, it's being done through a lens of Natural supremacy. They are also not encouraging the ability to think outside of the box, or following real science grounded in facts. Sure Coordinators are superior to us Naturals in many ways, but they are not supermen like that old Clark Kent character. And they are only human, despite their enhanced genes." He held out a folder and the Vice President took it, reading it. "My plan is, once this ends, is to decommission the group that runs such propaganda and put them behind bars for life. Second, to launch a complete and comprehensive deporgamming through educational programs aimed at teaching them how to think critically. Third, is to nationalize all media conglomerates and have their heads put behind bars as well."

He was about to sit back down before the Vice President shook his head. "Your plan is sound, and it does have merit. But we need to strike hard. When we do reveal ourselves, we have to break through the conditioning of the propaganda hard."

He looked up. "Still, thanks for your report."

The man merely nodded and took his seat, disappointment prevalent in his body language.

The Vice President turned his gaze to the next member of the Resistance leadership, only for bright lights to catch their attention.

A loud thunk on the door echoed in the massive chamber. Everyone tensed and some even bolted for hiding spots. The Vice President eyed the rest of the gathered resistance leadership before he turned to one of the soldiers on security duty. She nodded and inched closer to the door, an assault rifle held at the ready. Her hand reached up and she pried open a slat that had been carved into the metal. The slat had a screen in front of it so as to render the outside observer blind to the identity of the individual inside. The woman's eyes widened as she turned back to the Vice President. "It's the President!" she exclaimed.

The Vice President was on his feet in a flash and he made his way to the door. The other members of the resistance came out of hiding as the door was opened to the harsh rain as it lashed at the old building. Lightning flashed as the person began to walk in. Heavy footsteps indicated the person was wearing boots, and around their shoulders a large trench coat hung, dripping wet from the condensation. A single braid draped down the person's back, glistening with rainwater. Green eyes glinted with intent and a keen mind, and on the person's face a grim scowl turned those pretty features into something dangerous.

The President of the United States of America had arrived.

The door was thrown shut behind the President, the clang echoing loudly in the deserted complex.

"Madam President!" everyone said as one, saluting.

The President brushed it off as she entered the center of the table and glanced at the Vice President. "I see the meeting's in progress," she noted, her voice holding a serious tone to it.

"Yes, Ma'am," he responded. He quickly relayed what they had been going over and she pursed her lips.

"I see," she mused. "So there is some progress, but also some setbacks." Her eyes flicked over to the Secretary of State. "How goes the attempts to stall the Patriot Youth Act?"

"We are doing our best, Madam President," the woman replied. "But it is not easy, as many wish for it to go through. My husband can enact a filibuster, but it will only stall for time. And as you know, we have our limits in how long we can go without sleep, food, and water."

"Keep trying. Do not let it pass in its true form." Her order was succinct and direct. "Modify it, do whatever you can to stall it for as long as possible."

"We are, Ms. President," the Secretary of State assured her. "But it is only a matter of time."

"I know..." The President's eyes were hard as she narrowed them. "But that's not the reason I'm here."

"Oh!" The Vice President glanced over to where a form stood in the shadows. "If you mean the new mole, we found the right one for the job."

"Yes. Have you found a man who can blend in, and take command of their newest fleet?" she asked, her green eyes flickering in the lights of the lanterns.

The Vice President nodded. "We have. And he's one you may recognize. I sent you his profile a few weeks ago."

The woman watched as the man in the shadows stepped out, revealing himself as lightning flashed, briefly throwing the room into illumination. His face was scarred on the right eye, but the eye itself was intact, and his skin was tanned. His black hair was cut short and it stuck up every which way, making it untamable by any comb or brush. He lacked any facial hair, and his features were sharp. His brown eyes resembled polished bronze and he stood at five foot eleven inches. His build was lean, but strong, every inch of his frame toned and muscled like a martial artist. On his left forearm a tattoo of a phoenix stood out, seemig to glow and pulse in the lightning as it faded. He wore a black T-shirt with a white skull above a pair of crossed beam rifles on the left breast. A dark grey trench coat hung draped over his shoulders like a cape. Blue cargo pants and brown combat boots completed his attire.

The man came to a stop in front of the assembled resistance leadership and gave a sharp salute.

"Pilot Steven Krane reporting for duty!" he barked.

The President eyed him critically, scanning him over. "So you're the one they scouted."

"Yes, ma'am!" Steven replied.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and handed the President a sheaf of papers. "His record, ma'am."

She took the papers and pulled out a small flashlight. The President flicked it on and shone it on the papers as she sat down at the table in the middle of the room. "Steven 'Spray' Krane... a skilled pilot... honest and open... respectful of life... uses strategy even when in possession of superior numbers... brutal towards our enemies..." Her eyes closed briefly before she opened them.

"Your record speaks of your character." She lowered the papers and tented her fingers as she observed the man before her. "But there is something that intrigues me."

Steven lowered his arm. "What would that be, ma'am?" he asked.

"Your willpower. Your files state you can resist indoctrination through sheer force of will." The President narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "How is that possible?"

Here Steven straightened up and squared his shoulders. "Unfortunately, I have no answer myself, ma'am," he explained. "But however it's possible, I can. I will be honest and say they have tried numerous times to do so, but I always resisted to the end. In the end, they gave up and left me alone. I was the odd one out, but that gave me the freedom to do what I felt was right and get the mission done. I earned a reputation as a reliable soldier as a result."

The President hummed in thought. "I see. Well, then that will just prove to be beneficial to us. Having someone who can resist their indoctrination will go a long way to get a perspective on how they think while being able to think for themselves."

Here Steven's eyes widened a bit. "What?!"

The woman grinned. "You heard me. You're going to be our ace in the hole for this."

The man narrowed his brown eyes. "What are you getting at?" he asked slowly.

The Resistance leader became serious as she leaned back in her seat, eyeing him critically. The other members of the leadership watched intently and with interest. Would the gamble their scouts made pay off?

"We have reason to believe that the Government is going to prepare for a war of unheard of proportions with the PLANTs," she explained. "Our intelligence network is currently undergoing reorganization, so we can't exactly determine what is going on up there, as we have no real spies in place there like we do here. But one thing that we can verify is that this will be a big battle fleet, with some of their most powerful ships in place there. Each five ships are assigned to a battle group, and one of those groups is going to be crewed by some of their newest, most harshly indoctrinated recruits."

Steven's eyes narrowed as he listened.

"Our sources have stated that this fleet could very well be the end of the PLANTs or any resistance left if it remains in their hands," she continued. "And since these young men are all fresh recruits, it stands to see that if we can break their brainwashing and show them what is really going on behind the scenes, then we can gain control of said fleet and turn it to the side of the United States."

"But if they're the most harshly indoctrinated, wouldn't it be impossible to break their brainwashing?" Steven asked, being a bit cynical. He had tried, and failed, a few times to save others from said conditioning.

"It's not," one of the other members of the resistance leadership said. He raised up his lantern. "We've managed to do so, by striking where it really matters most: their children." Then he tilted his head a bit. "And... one other method as well. But it relies on the strength of will."

Steven's eyes narrowed a bit. "I see... Care to explain how?"

The man smirked. "It all has to do with the human will. Your will we understand is inhuman. No human can resist the indoctrination of the enemy for long without repeated efforts. But you alone have done so. And that, we can use."

Here the pilot frowned. "I take it there's a catch?"

The man (he decided to mentally refer to him as Gray Eyes) nodded. "Yes." He sat back in his seat and tented his fingers. His eyes narrowed. "Have you heard of the SEED theory?"

Steven cocked an eyebrow. "So? I've heard rumors, but what does that have to do with me?"

"Have you ever seen a seed break in your mind?" the man asked, surprising Steven. "Judging from your expression, the answer would be yes, correct?"

"Y-Yeah... But how did...?" Steven's voice trailed off as the man's eyes seemed to change, and he instantly saw what was going on. "You can...?"

The man lowered his lantern to hide his features. "Yes. I can as well," he replied, his voice surprisingly light. Then his voice became serious. "What I am about to tell you is one of the only three methods known to break the indoctrination. And it never fails."

He then proceeded to explain, and Steven's eyes widened as he took this in. When the man finished, Steven narrowed his eyes in thought. "I see..."

Then he looked up. "I'll have to test it to see if it works."

"It does," the man said seriously. "I've done it a number of times myself."

The President cleared her throat and Steven turned back to face her. "Steven, your assignment is to seize control of that battle group and turn it to our side," she stated. "You will have to fake being anti-Coordinator as well as misogynistic. But knowing you, you'll be fighting that, so let me warn you that anything out of their mindset will immediately place you on the list of murders for their political officers. Your second task is to also find a way to kill those men. Make it seem like accidents or something. But do not let them remain attached to that battle group." She paused for a moment. "If you succeed, you will be commended for your actions. I'll let you figure out how to take control of that battle group and free their minds."

Steven was already working on his plans as she finished. Then he looked up, a thought crossing his mind. "Do your sources have access to the personal records of the personnel in that particular battle group?"

The woman quirked an eyebrow. "We can find that out. Why?"

"And you mentioned something about using their children to break through the conditioning." Steven's mind was already figuring out a plan. "Is there any way to find out about missing police reports that are unsolved and cold cases relating to those personnel's families? And about the Extended project as well?"

The Secretary of Defense perked up as he looked to the man in front. "Wait. You are not suggesting that...?" His voice trailed off as he grasped the plan.

Gray Eyes smirked. "Just what I was expecting from you," he mused. "Your records did state you were quite cunning."

Steven gave a prideful grin. "Of course," he admitted. Then he became serious. "But to get that information will be difficult. Can some forces be sent undercover to the lab that was wiped out to gather what few records remain?"

The President nodded. "We'll do our best to salvage any records that remain and transmit them to you for your mission," she stated. "But remember. This is a dangerous mission. Do not let your feelings get in the way of it."

"As if I would," Steven replied. His smirk became downright predatory. "To take that battle group will be just the morale booster the resistance needs."

"The battle group you are going to command is the 1776th Battle Group," the President explained. "Ironic, given what we're about to pull. But if this happens to work... then we'll have our other sources start to make their moves."

"I hope you have a plan to take the media back," Steven said darkly.

"We do," the State Secretary said. "However, due to how deep undercover one of our sources is, they can only drop little smidgens of information related to their propaganda efforts and so on. But it's always enough for us to try and act during those times."

Steven arched an eyebrow. "What source?" he asked.

"Classified," she said. "But the code name is Warbler. That's all I'm saying."

Steven just nodded.

He turned to face the President. "When do I move out?" he asked.

"As soon as we are able to get you reassigned," she said. "It could take a while, but trust me. Once you get there... don't hold back. And keep us informed of your progress. You will be given a series of code words to use in conversation with us back on the ground."

Steven gave a crisp salute. "Yes, ma'am!" he barked.

"Your code name will be Phoenix," Gray Eyes explained. "And what was your call sign in the military?"

"Specter," Steven replied.

"Very well. Agent Phoenix, your mission begins now." The President saluted.

Steven nodded sharply. "Yes, ma'am!"

With that, he turned and left the building, his momentous task clear.


As ashes fall

New voices call

For unity for all

A fire starts to burn at heart

Shining like a fiery dart

Darkness enshrouds the soul

But light begins to fill the hole

A nation lost its way

New voices start to sway

Public opinion away

From that which the shadows say

A bird starts to spread its wings

As the angel sings

"Might makes wrong

"Let us hear your righteous song!"

No longer will might make right,

For it is right that makes might!


GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING