Hey, long time no see!
Warning! This chapter revolves a lot around death and thoughts of suicide.
Now on with the show!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon or Gundam Wing, and right now I'm too lazy to look up who actually does. I'm just stating that it's certainly not me.
Part 6: Cry
It would be raining on the day I left them. Maybe it's to suit the mood I'm in. Maybe it's the heavens showing a spec of remorse at what's been done to me. Maybe it is crying for me, because I cannot. Maybe it's a pure damned fluke.
It was not a very nice thing what I did to them, my friends; but then, I have never been nice. It was necessary. Would they have let me go otherwise? No.
I do find it ironic that this is where I ended up however. This is a place you would expect to find Duo, not me. But it's quiet. So quiet.
The wind is blowing. The leaves are rustling. The grass is fresh from all the spring rain. And though the sky is dark and clouded, it is a quiet rain that falls. You hardly notice all the graves surrounding me, pale shadows in the night. The only company I have this night is faded statues of forgotten saints. Duo's saints.
For seventeen years I have struggled to reach here; my purpose being my damnation, my only hope of salvation found in death. And what a pathetic death it would be. I have clawed towards this one goal of mine with the same insane determination that I've shown on my missions; yet where my missions have met with completion, the completion that my perfection craves, demands with carnage hunger; I have failed with utter misery at mortality, forever the indestructible soldier.
If Wufei's Nataku exists somewhere up there, I don't know whether I should congratulate her on her sadistically inventive distribution of heavenly justice, 'her' being because the Goddess of Justice has always been depicted as a female, a certain irony I'm sure Wufei has not missed; or snarl at the fact that that means that some sentient being has deliberately been doing this to me, condemned me from birth to a life that is not mine. An artificial life.
That's not a nice thought. Were I any less than what I am, I would be insane. At this point it is still debatable.
Since I was a young boy, I have always had an ingrained sense of being different. Most would attribute it to the fact that I have no memory prior to Odin Lowe, and the years spent with him were not in any ways a lifestyle meant for children; or the alleged rumour of J tinkering a bit too much with my genetic codes. J's training may've had a hand in how I am now, but the truth is that I have always been different. It was this difference that attracted him to me.
J had of course been looking for a suitable child for his experimental training regiment for some time, and when Odin died the opportunity of acquiring a pretrained child proved too tempting. Not only would I be physically and mentally stronger -something I still am and have no problem acknowledging- theorized to be caused by my abnormal upbringing and earlier profession, but I would come with a predate knowledge of assorted weaponry, skills within espionage and infiltration, and the cold-blooded mentality of any seasoned assassin, born of pure practicality and disregard of feelings, survival skills that are essential in this line of work if you wish to preserve your sanity, traits needed to survive J's program.
My thought patterns are different from others of my species. My body, my strength, my constitution, all this can be ignored, but the brainwaves do not lie. I am too well structured, too complex, too unique to have been an accident. I am different. I had a purpose. Doctor J could not ignore me.
I am a creature of logic. I deal in facts. What little I may have once possessed of emotions is gone, obliterated from my mind by a scientist on a quest. I am not as naïve as to claim I'm emotionless, I know they're there. But what good are emotions when you cannot express them? When you don't understand them? When you cannot act on them? To all the world they might as well not exist. They are something lost in my mind, locked away in a cage of training and there they will remain with only me to guard them. And I guard them fiercely. As Quatre now knows.
I do not take kindly to trespassers in my mind. My sanctuary. The one place where I can be myself, that I can call my own…
My spirit is order, my psyche is order, and everything about me revolves tightly around control. How could it not be? You have to have control to have order. Yet I am NOT in control, am I? I never have been. I never will be.
What reverence do I have to life when I have none. I have no freedom. My life is numb. This order that I embody is caging. Trapped in a living weapon for a body, with a soul I have no claim to as my own. I have no control over my life.
I remember the horror in the pilots eyes as they saw me self-destruct that first time. I remember the sadness when Sally and the pilots discovered how cheap my life really is. I remember the plea in my victims eyes as I took their lives when they could not take my own. I remember the sorrow in Duo's voice when he found me rotting away in that asylum. I remember… Relena's tears. The many tears they've shed for me.
I don't want them to be sad for me. I didn't want them to know that the only thing I've ever longed for is death. I can't take being this 'Perfect Soldier' when my body is dying, when my spirit is breaking apart, and everything in my life has been a desperate attempt of committing suicide in hope of escaping my inevitable destiny. Humans are not meant to live this way. I can not hope to live this way. But then… I was never meant to.
I tried to live like them after the war, to keep the knowledge of my coming fate from them. For Relena's sake I tried to live… but my body was beginning to fall apart even then. It was all an illusion, this borrowed life. And thirty-five students paid for that borrowed time with their lives.
I came to them that night because seeing me holed up in my voluntary prison broke their hearts. They could not let me be, leave me to die as I should have in that cell. It's not in their nature, that's why they won the war…
They are needed in this world, and I cannot let this break them. My body will continue to die, nothing can stop that, but seeing me slowly disintegrate, letting them spend their final moments with me, maybe that will put them at peace…
But the truth that they cannot understand, that they will never comprehend, that they can never accept is that I want to die. Now that I've been freed from my purpose, all I have left is to die, to end this tormented agony. The fates will not stop me this time. Now, it is only the 'how' and the 'when' I control…
Looking at the gun I am holding now, I can't help but smile. Minimally. I wonder if Duo has realised that I pickpocketed him yet?
This is the only measure of control I have anymore. How I die…
How pitiful.
Dimensions have always been a thing of mystery. Do they exist? How many are there? What differs from our own home dimension that we love so much?
Many believe that the dimensions are unlimited; a new one is formed each time a decision is made. A million worlds of what if's… What if it wasn't raining? What if I didn't say no to that boy last week? What if Hitler hadn't risen to power?
In one dimension the split happened much earlier than that. What if the Lunarian's hadn't come to our solar system? What if they were never there to teach us magic? What if Serenity was never there to make Beryl jealous? What if Earth never fell into the dark ages because there never was a war, never was a monster, never was a tragedy? What if humans didn't have to start all over again?
Surprisingly little is different, and yet surprisingly much has changed.
The countries are still where they used to be, though some have other names. The worlds technology is similar, if not identical, though they are further along. They've had more time…
They still fight wars, and people still suffer. But people are also at peace. People also live in harmony after a long hard war. People are as people have always been. Prosperous.
And in a new world that thought brings one comfort. Because Earth will always be Home.
It's a strange and scary place when you don't know where you are, only that you can never go back.
I feel numb…
At this point I'm wondering whether Setsuna left me here on purpose. Some kind of sublime message? A silent accusation? Nice.
I am in a new world, on a new Earth. A different Earth. Here there are no Senshi. There is no magic. And everything is foreign.
I shiver. How can I not?
Foreign…
I am alone on a foreign planet, in a deserted graveyard with no other people in it except for looming statues of people I've never heard of.
I am wet. I am cold. I am scared, and I am all alone. Looking back at that list, I might as well have added hungry, but at this point I have lost my appetite. Who wants to eat in a situation like this?
What meagre clothes I've been provided with were not meant for this kind of weather. The fact that it is storming and looks like it might break out into thunder at any time means it takes precious few seconds for the material of my jeans and shirt to soak up the rain. They are obviously not waterproof.
How am I supposed to see the positive side of being left on my own, when this is the kind of desolated place I get dumped in! I can't see any people, hell I can't see, period, in this weather, and even if I did find someone… what are the odds of them speaking Japanese!
I want my mother. I want my musume. I want… I want my freaking teddy bear if it would offer me some comfort. Although I can just imagine the impression I would make upon the inhabitants of this world should I show up as a seventeen year old cuddling plush toys.
It's times like these that I seriously consider cutting my hair. When my hair is out of it's trademark odango-style, it is considerably longer than kneelength. Add to that a barrage of water, eliminating all possibilities of curls, and you end up with blond very heavy soggy hair trailing in the dirt. It's not a pretty sight and rather uncomfortable, so excuse me if I seem grumpy…
At least being grumpy let's me focus on something else than the growing melancholy. Of the helplessness I feel…
I mean, it's easy to say: 'Just start a new life' but things always sound much easier in theory than in real life. Just how am I supposed to explain where I came from? I have no form of ID, and I'm sure that some form of ID-credentials is needed for jobs, bank accounts, schools, etc… The list goes on…
I don't think this is going to work. I'm going to have to start all over, and I don't know a thing about this place except that the Lunarian's never came here. Fat lot that's going to help me!
No credentials, no money, no clothes, no food… and lot's of experience wearing skimpy clothing. From this point of view, and knowing what my academic skills were like, I have this really bad feeling that hooker is the only line of work I might get.
And… and it's not like I'd be able to keep a permanent job anyway. After all, I'm- I'm a butterfly… I have to constantly be on the move so that the chaos can't catch up with me.
I feel like crying…
It tingles to feel the cold metal against my skin.
Logically speaking, I shouldn't be able to notice that big a difference in temperature. It's raining after all, quite heavily, resulting in chilled and numb limbs when one only has a hospital gown to wear.
But then, there is something singularly different between cold hard metal and running water. One is a lethal weapon pointing to my head, the other is… weatherconditions, negligible ones.
Duo's choice of protection is a peculiar one. Not that it is unusual in any specific way, it's a standard military handgun, a brand that I approve of. Shows Duo has taste. But the one-bullet rule… does not compute. What use is such a weapon?
I've always known that Duo was a blade person, the few times he was denied explosives showed his preference of such weapons, relying more on those than guns. Yet… I find it rather tasteless and a damned waste of a perfectly good weapon.
It's a shame… Symbolism is wasted on weapons. Unless it is of their destruction.
Still, the odds of me missing my head at point-blank range the first go is in the zero percentages, so the single bullet shouldn't pose a problem for my final mission, but still… It is annoying…
The soldier in me, the little part of my mind not totally dedicated to maintaining this failing body, is sneering in disgust. I do not like being unarmed in open areas, and with that single bullet needed for my mercy-killing, and my body not up to fighting standards, I am…
…vulnerable.
There's no wonder I didn't spot him immediately, the idiot's been sitting completely still till now on a gravestone. It's so easy to mistake him for another grave memorial in this weather. Just another shadowed statue among dozen others.
Only luck and the fact that he's started tinkering with something in his lap allowed me to spot him while stumbling through the many rows of graves trying to find my way out. Nearly gave me a heart attack when he moved.
How many died here anyway? A lot of these stones look pretty new…
I feel a spike of fear as I realise that another is about to join them as the item in his lap is lifted to his temple. You don't have to be a genius to figure out what he's about to do, not in an area like this; there are only so many things one stick there to my knowledge and that does NOT look like a cell phone!
Call it what you will: automatic reflexes, my 'compassionate' nature, selfish intent or mindless instinct; but I find myself scrambling towards the boy who is slowly lifting a gun to his head.
His dark brown hair is plastered to his head, glistening with the halo of rain drops surrounding him, brushing against focused dark blue orbs the colour of deep space.
His pale brown robe that resembles a hospital gown is glued to his skin, thoroughly soaked, offering even less modesty than it was originally designed for, and I cannot help but wonder how on earth he managed to make it this far wearing only that…
There is a thin trail of pink water being erased by the torrenting rain, and I have fought too many battles to not know the colour of blood as it is washed away.
Something's wrong, and he is sick, and I'm not gonna make it! He is going to die…
"MATTE!"
What it's supposed to mean:
Matte - Wait (Stop?)
Musume - Daughter
Praeceps:
Looks at her feet Somebody read my story more then once? blush
First things first: Heero is a weird weird character that can be interpreted so many ways. In this personification some might complain about outofcharacterness, then again, some might not, but this is simply the little part of him that is his mind, and not all of it is truth. In future chapters you might take a look at the fact that what he thinks and what he actually says/does are two completely different things because we are inside his mind, but as he states above: His mind is locked up in a cage, and all the rest of the worlds perceives is his training/programming.
I kept to my promise: This chapter they met (sorta). Next chapter they talk. Heh heh… And just to piqué you some more, that chapter's name is going to be called 'Bullets'
Random comment1: Yes, I LOVE to break characters psyche to pieces, but whoever said I was going to put them back together again?
Random comment2: Mudcoloured blood? But, but… Hee-chans human! A special human, but still human (sort of like, but not like '5th element')
Random comment3: Ack! The pressure of keeping up good writing… Err, I'll try? No, haven't actually taken philosophy but it tends to come naturally to me, did since I was little. Takes after me dad we does! Have read lot's of philosophy books though. (For some odd reason people keep buying them for me. I still don't know why. Am otherwise big on mythology (non-schooling))
Random comment4: I like to solve puzzles. If something is not explained adequately, then I will reason it out myself from random inspirations. I also derive great joy from twisting things while still sticking to cannon as much as possible ('The Seal' being the one exception. Sorta). But once I've explained them, I won't use those characters again: Meaning first and only GW/SM story) authored by me, ever. (remember that this is a trilogy, so three books!) I will not be starting any new plots anymore, these 4 stories are the ones I'm going to be working on. After that… try my luck at publishing?
Thank you Ashika for both inputs (so that's what it stands for… I've been wondering for so long…)!
A few people didn't understand what happened to Quatre in the previous chapter, and it was meant to be vague like, but… here's what happened (though I won't say why):
Quatre is an empath, he can feel peoples feelings/emotions/motives. Quatre then snoops inside Heero's head (meaning well, being worried and all for Heero's sake (the thoughts we can read near the end are mostly, if not all, Quatre's)) during Heero's err…rampage. Normal people don't feel Quatre taking a tour inside their head, but then, Heero's not normal, is he…He promptly shows his displeasure at the intrudance by giving the poor blond a bombardment of ALL his raw emotions (the ones he locks up in his itsy bitsy cage) with a superimposed image of Heero's agony of being invaded (Heero is all about control after all). All theses raw unused emotions that are Heero's send our little empathy into overload, completely swallowed up in Heero's feelings, and he can't handle it. Finite. (PS. Quatre is fine, just needs a little time to recover)
Am still waiting for that input about rating… is this a PG-13 or R story?
For wrong info, some of it's deliberate, to make it suit my story much better, the rest… hey, I'm human, okay- I'm a Sailor Moon guru(relatively speaking), not a Gundam Wing one.
If you have any questions about the story that you find unclear, I will do my best to answer them, as long as I deem them of no harm to my present plot-line. I really appreciate all your ramblings (not in any way meant as insulting, just clearing that up), and might use some for inspiration if permitted, but for now I have my own agenda.
Thank you for your attention.
Oh! And any spelling mistakes can be blamed on incompetent English teachers, and/or my spell-check program, because I, myself, am PERFECT! ;-P (and when I say I am perfect, I MEAN perfect. My daddy said so ;-P )
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Well that was all, for today at least, toodles! ;-D
