(Duo)
"We'll see," he says, gently but very firmly taking my arm off his shoulders.
And after I'd helped him build a sand castle and everything, too. . . "Pff. Whatever," I respond.
I'm in no mood to press the issue any further, so I simply sit on that rotten log with him and watch the black, oily tide come rolling
in. I suppose it's that way because of the huge numbers of kelp beds multiplying, dying and decaying, adding their juices to the
water. It couldn't be the oil platform just visible on the horizon, not with the shortfalls of fossil fuels the Earth has been having
lately --- it would be too precious to waste through leakage, and regulations are strict.
Heero decides to go into the water to try to do something about his sandy shorts. I wouldn't, personally. God only knows what's
in that water (not to mention on the beach). If it got in a cut on him anywhere. . . I shudder to think where it might happen, with all
of that scratching he's been doing. We could always fly back to the motel and get him fixed up with an analgesic cream or
something, I say, but no, he wants to stay and keep watch over the castle that we worked so hard to build. I try to talk some sense
into him, but he's far too itchy and irritated to listen to me anymore, so I give up and let him have his own way. I suppose that Mr.
Perfect Soldier is probably immune to just about anything in there anyhow.
What the hell has happened to my logical, rational Heero anyway? He's been getting moodier and moodier ever since we built that
stupid thing, and his mood seems to be getting worse as the tide creeps in. I don't think I want him to see it go under. I'd really
prefer to get off of this beach before that happens. Yeah, I think that's a pretty good idea, all around. Do I have misgivings? Oh
yeah. You betcha.
(Heero)
Zero-one.
That voice again, the one that sounds so much like Dr. J's. Where does it come from, anyway? Is a product of my imagination, or
a subroutine etched into my mid-brain interface?
"Go away," I mutter. I know that it won't obey my command, but it feels good to put up even that small amount of resistance to
my programming. I know from reading the schematics on my implants that their memory pathways are a form of electronic
erasable programmable ROM, or EEPROMs. They have to be that way to prevent my becoming nothing more than a machine,
and also so Dr. J could have some form of control over my thought processes, including those which influence appetite, creativity,
sexual drive, desire, etc. All of that programming leaves me sometimes with a feeling of numbness between my ears concerning
others, so that only the strongest impulses and drives distract me. I used to tell myself when that happened, "I'm not involved,"
and the distraction would soon vanish.
Zero-one. Zero-one, zero-onezeroonezeroneoneone. . . The voice, increasing in volume, increasing in urgency, multiplying
itself, trying to fill my conciousness, trying to blot out the rest of me. Trying to negate the boy who calls himself Heero Yuy.
I put my hand to my forehead and push down over my eyebrows to mitigate the headache which I know is coming. "I'm not
involved. I'm not involved with you anymore," I try saying, mustering up all of my resources and willpower, and rejecting that
voice and all of its multiples solidarily.
You must complete the rest of your mission, the voice says, hounding me in lieu of its dead owner. Intellectually, I know that
Dr. J died in the explosion that took Libra, but on a more primal level I'm like a whipped dog that wants to cower before its
master.
"You're not real," I protest. "I don't have to listen to you anymore."
There is still a threat to universal peace, zero-one, the voice says, trying to wash my brain in mind-numbing waves of purple
and indigo and midnight blue control. You must eliminate him before he spreads his disease to the rest of the world and the
colonies. Remember what you fought for, zero-one. Remember who you saved.
"I saved him also. I did it because. . . because. . . because I don't want any more blood on my hands. And there's threats all
around, anyway. I can't do that. You can't make me."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I stagger and almost go under the water as I struggle to retain consciousness.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"NO." I grind out between my clenched teeth.
Fulfill your mission parameters, zero-one. Do it now.
"I'm not having this conversation, and I'm through taking your orders, old man." A faraway part of my mind vaguely registers
that I'm starting to sound like Duo. The pressure in my head decreases and becomes nothing more than a dull rumble again.
(Duo)
Disney World. We could have gone to Disney World, for crying out loud. We're all rich now. We can afford it. Why'd he want to
come to this muggy, marshy, miserable stretch of nothing and mosquitoes beach anyway? Does he _like_ to suffer?
Shit. First he talks me into blowing up my beloved Deathscythe. Yeah, I know it's for universal peace, but it still felt like my heart
was ripped out when I saw it go. Then he insists on going to some God-awful beach in _Louisiana,_ of all places. THERE
AREN'T ANY GOOD BEACHES _IN_ LOUISIANA, Heero! In fact I think this is the only one where the both the sand and the
water aren't just two different shades of turd-muckledy-dun.
Sand, haha. It's just ground-up shells anyway. Hey Heero, if you wanted to pick the best beach in an area, there's always _Rio_, or
_Miami_. But no, you had to pick the most deserted beach in the whole world to get your itch. Now you're gonna blame me for it,
of course. I mean, just look at this stuff. It's not even in what I'd call grains --- these are more like tiny triangular _knives!_ Sheesh.
No wonder you're itchy. If I got these up my bumhole I'd be squirmy too.
(Heero)
Why did I bring us here, anyway? I can't tell which of my thoughts are mine anymore. Am I here of my own volition, or is it the
chip in my head?
I didn't want to tell Duo that my real reason for being with him, at least the one I tell myself is mine, is to have somebody with a
different perspective than my own of what I'm doing. I'm tired of this battle of wills between myself and the ghost of Dr. J. I
need an outside view. Also. . . I like being with him, I think. I want this. I want to do the things I want for once, rather than
following some order or fulfilling some mission. I want my life to be about _me_ for awhile. What's this? Bumps. Oh great, I think
I'm getting a rash down there. Damn it all.
(Duo)
Finally back, are you Heero? Oh, a rash, you say. So you're sure you don't want to go back to the motel and get some Cortrelief?
That could develop into all sorts of nasties, you know. I knew a man once who got a boil in the crack of his ass from that. He had
to go to the emergency room to get it lanced and everything. Yeah, he screamed. Well actually, what I heard from the waiting room
was "YOU HAVEN'T EVEN TAKEN ME TO DINNER YET!!" I think he was trying to keep his sense of humor. Sure, it's
important. If I didn't have a sense of humor I'd be in Rio or Miami right now. Right, right, all your fault. What's up with you and
this guilt complex of yours, anyway? You must have a reason for coming here, right? . . . Fine, I'll just sit here and talk to myself,
since the Great Wall of Heero has gone up again. Man, if I really wanted to be alone, I could do it a lot better in Rio.
(Heero)
THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS IS THE MISSION
"I'm not involved anymore, Dr. J," I say to his ghost. "I'm through killing now."
THERE HAVE BEEN TOO MANY SACRIFICES MADE FOR YOU TO QUIT, ZERO-ONE. YOU MUST OWN UP TO
YOUR DESTINY. YOU OWE ME AND THE LIVES OF THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE YOU.
I'm in a bad situation here, Odin. I'm starting to believe that when I met Dr. J, I fell in with the wrong group of people. I'm
wondering if the 'cure' he had in mind, Operation Meteor, wasn't worse than the disease it was supposed to eliminate. You always
told me to live by my emotions, but when I listen to them, the voice gets worse. It's like I'm empowering the voice by fighting it.
And I can't just ignore the distractions now, not Dr. J nor Duo. Especially not Duo, who happens to be one hell of a big
distraction.
"I don't owe you anything anymore, Dr. J. I'm my own person now. And if I want to spare the very person you want me to kill,
then I will spare that person and damn the consequences. Do you hear me? I renounce you. I renounce my programming. I'm
building my own kingdom."
THE CASTLE IS THE KEY TO THE KINGDOM, ZERO-ONE. IT IS THE KEY TO EVERYTHING. WHERE IT GOES,
SO WILL YOU. WHEN IT FALLS, SO WILL YOU.
WHERE IT GOES, SO WILL YOU. WHEN IT FALLS, SO WILL YOU.
THE CASTLE
THE CASTLE
THE CASTLE
THE CASTLE
* * *
(Heero)
Damnit, this rash is KILLING me. . .
* * *
Tbc. . .
"We'll see," he says, gently but very firmly taking my arm off his shoulders.
And after I'd helped him build a sand castle and everything, too. . . "Pff. Whatever," I respond.
I'm in no mood to press the issue any further, so I simply sit on that rotten log with him and watch the black, oily tide come rolling
in. I suppose it's that way because of the huge numbers of kelp beds multiplying, dying and decaying, adding their juices to the
water. It couldn't be the oil platform just visible on the horizon, not with the shortfalls of fossil fuels the Earth has been having
lately --- it would be too precious to waste through leakage, and regulations are strict.
Heero decides to go into the water to try to do something about his sandy shorts. I wouldn't, personally. God only knows what's
in that water (not to mention on the beach). If it got in a cut on him anywhere. . . I shudder to think where it might happen, with all
of that scratching he's been doing. We could always fly back to the motel and get him fixed up with an analgesic cream or
something, I say, but no, he wants to stay and keep watch over the castle that we worked so hard to build. I try to talk some sense
into him, but he's far too itchy and irritated to listen to me anymore, so I give up and let him have his own way. I suppose that Mr.
Perfect Soldier is probably immune to just about anything in there anyhow.
What the hell has happened to my logical, rational Heero anyway? He's been getting moodier and moodier ever since we built that
stupid thing, and his mood seems to be getting worse as the tide creeps in. I don't think I want him to see it go under. I'd really
prefer to get off of this beach before that happens. Yeah, I think that's a pretty good idea, all around. Do I have misgivings? Oh
yeah. You betcha.
(Heero)
Zero-one.
That voice again, the one that sounds so much like Dr. J's. Where does it come from, anyway? Is a product of my imagination, or
a subroutine etched into my mid-brain interface?
"Go away," I mutter. I know that it won't obey my command, but it feels good to put up even that small amount of resistance to
my programming. I know from reading the schematics on my implants that their memory pathways are a form of electronic
erasable programmable ROM, or EEPROMs. They have to be that way to prevent my becoming nothing more than a machine,
and also so Dr. J could have some form of control over my thought processes, including those which influence appetite, creativity,
sexual drive, desire, etc. All of that programming leaves me sometimes with a feeling of numbness between my ears concerning
others, so that only the strongest impulses and drives distract me. I used to tell myself when that happened, "I'm not involved,"
and the distraction would soon vanish.
Zero-one. Zero-one, zero-onezeroonezeroneoneone. . . The voice, increasing in volume, increasing in urgency, multiplying
itself, trying to fill my conciousness, trying to blot out the rest of me. Trying to negate the boy who calls himself Heero Yuy.
I put my hand to my forehead and push down over my eyebrows to mitigate the headache which I know is coming. "I'm not
involved. I'm not involved with you anymore," I try saying, mustering up all of my resources and willpower, and rejecting that
voice and all of its multiples solidarily.
You must complete the rest of your mission, the voice says, hounding me in lieu of its dead owner. Intellectually, I know that
Dr. J died in the explosion that took Libra, but on a more primal level I'm like a whipped dog that wants to cower before its
master.
"You're not real," I protest. "I don't have to listen to you anymore."
There is still a threat to universal peace, zero-one, the voice says, trying to wash my brain in mind-numbing waves of purple
and indigo and midnight blue control. You must eliminate him before he spreads his disease to the rest of the world and the
colonies. Remember what you fought for, zero-one. Remember who you saved.
"I saved him also. I did it because. . . because. . . because I don't want any more blood on my hands. And there's threats all
around, anyway. I can't do that. You can't make me."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I stagger and almost go under the water as I struggle to retain consciousness.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"NO." I grind out between my clenched teeth.
Fulfill your mission parameters, zero-one. Do it now.
"I'm not having this conversation, and I'm through taking your orders, old man." A faraway part of my mind vaguely registers
that I'm starting to sound like Duo. The pressure in my head decreases and becomes nothing more than a dull rumble again.
(Duo)
Disney World. We could have gone to Disney World, for crying out loud. We're all rich now. We can afford it. Why'd he want to
come to this muggy, marshy, miserable stretch of nothing and mosquitoes beach anyway? Does he _like_ to suffer?
Shit. First he talks me into blowing up my beloved Deathscythe. Yeah, I know it's for universal peace, but it still felt like my heart
was ripped out when I saw it go. Then he insists on going to some God-awful beach in _Louisiana,_ of all places. THERE
AREN'T ANY GOOD BEACHES _IN_ LOUISIANA, Heero! In fact I think this is the only one where the both the sand and the
water aren't just two different shades of turd-muckledy-dun.
Sand, haha. It's just ground-up shells anyway. Hey Heero, if you wanted to pick the best beach in an area, there's always _Rio_, or
_Miami_. But no, you had to pick the most deserted beach in the whole world to get your itch. Now you're gonna blame me for it,
of course. I mean, just look at this stuff. It's not even in what I'd call grains --- these are more like tiny triangular _knives!_ Sheesh.
No wonder you're itchy. If I got these up my bumhole I'd be squirmy too.
(Heero)
Why did I bring us here, anyway? I can't tell which of my thoughts are mine anymore. Am I here of my own volition, or is it the
chip in my head?
I didn't want to tell Duo that my real reason for being with him, at least the one I tell myself is mine, is to have somebody with a
different perspective than my own of what I'm doing. I'm tired of this battle of wills between myself and the ghost of Dr. J. I
need an outside view. Also. . . I like being with him, I think. I want this. I want to do the things I want for once, rather than
following some order or fulfilling some mission. I want my life to be about _me_ for awhile. What's this? Bumps. Oh great, I think
I'm getting a rash down there. Damn it all.
(Duo)
Finally back, are you Heero? Oh, a rash, you say. So you're sure you don't want to go back to the motel and get some Cortrelief?
That could develop into all sorts of nasties, you know. I knew a man once who got a boil in the crack of his ass from that. He had
to go to the emergency room to get it lanced and everything. Yeah, he screamed. Well actually, what I heard from the waiting room
was "YOU HAVEN'T EVEN TAKEN ME TO DINNER YET!!" I think he was trying to keep his sense of humor. Sure, it's
important. If I didn't have a sense of humor I'd be in Rio or Miami right now. Right, right, all your fault. What's up with you and
this guilt complex of yours, anyway? You must have a reason for coming here, right? . . . Fine, I'll just sit here and talk to myself,
since the Great Wall of Heero has gone up again. Man, if I really wanted to be alone, I could do it a lot better in Rio.
(Heero)
THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERS IS THE MISSION
"I'm not involved anymore, Dr. J," I say to his ghost. "I'm through killing now."
THERE HAVE BEEN TOO MANY SACRIFICES MADE FOR YOU TO QUIT, ZERO-ONE. YOU MUST OWN UP TO
YOUR DESTINY. YOU OWE ME AND THE LIVES OF THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE YOU.
I'm in a bad situation here, Odin. I'm starting to believe that when I met Dr. J, I fell in with the wrong group of people. I'm
wondering if the 'cure' he had in mind, Operation Meteor, wasn't worse than the disease it was supposed to eliminate. You always
told me to live by my emotions, but when I listen to them, the voice gets worse. It's like I'm empowering the voice by fighting it.
And I can't just ignore the distractions now, not Dr. J nor Duo. Especially not Duo, who happens to be one hell of a big
distraction.
"I don't owe you anything anymore, Dr. J. I'm my own person now. And if I want to spare the very person you want me to kill,
then I will spare that person and damn the consequences. Do you hear me? I renounce you. I renounce my programming. I'm
building my own kingdom."
THE CASTLE IS THE KEY TO THE KINGDOM, ZERO-ONE. IT IS THE KEY TO EVERYTHING. WHERE IT GOES,
SO WILL YOU. WHEN IT FALLS, SO WILL YOU.
WHERE IT GOES, SO WILL YOU. WHEN IT FALLS, SO WILL YOU.
THE CASTLE
THE CASTLE
THE CASTLE
THE CASTLE
* * *
(Heero)
Damnit, this rash is KILLING me. . .
* * *
Tbc. . .