DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. I am simply an E5 in the USN, and thus have no money. So ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

The empty bodies stand at rest
casualties of their own flesh
afflicted by their dispossession
but no bodies ever knew
no bodies

Bodies

-- 05:57 --

Drip.

The thick sound of liquid falling from a great distance to collide with a shallow pool of wetness slid slimily through the heavy atmosphere.

Drip.

It was rhythmic, occurring at easily deciphered and determined intervals.

Drip.

So heavy, so thick, congealing even as it fell, the force of its strike destroying its shape-defining protective skin.

Drip.

So impossible to tell if that sound that was slowly driving the groggy mind that focused on the musical beating of that liquid into its haven insane was the heavy crash of water oozing from the ceiling's cracks or the warm thump of viscous blood from the battered body tethered tightly to the wooden slab that dominated the quiet room's center.

Blood-crusted lashes fought a valiant battle against that dried prison that held them together, lacing bottom and top eyelid together like threads controlled by an earnest tailor's needle. Many a long minute lapsed until those lashes were successful, parting themselves from their brethren, encouraging the rust-colored coating that held them closed to flake away. A few desperate blinks and a bit of irritation-induced watering of the glazed eyes that lay below those newly opened eyelids swiftly cleared them of those particles of dried blood that had drifted onto their smooth surfaces.

Drip.

A quiet groan leaked from a dried throat as dark hazel eyes tried desperately to focus on the ceiling that dominated their view.

It definitely wasn't water dripping, that much was certain. Such was easily attained by the view those eyes absorbed, one of a perfectly dry white stucco ceiling.

Waiting for many moments for any indication of the presence of the other he knew to be about the premises he existed in to make itself evident in his mind, the man focused on the lumpy ceiling coating. After a time, he let his eyes drift shut again, focusing instead on those senses other than sight, letting the attentions of his brain focus on each sense individually. Hearing revealed nothing other than the soft continuous plopping of droplet after droplet of warm wetness against the floor and the skinned puddle that rested there. Smell caught the copper of fresh blood and the faint odor of floral-scented Lysol spray combined with the heady scent of orchard Wizard air-fresheners. Somewhere else in the house, a faint popping sound burst into existence for the flitting flash of an instant. The expansion of glass in its framed window as it was heated by a rising sun. It was morning.

The fact that it was morning was soon confirmed as the bright singing of songbirds, muffled by curtains, walls and thick windows. One more opening of the eyes added evidence to the weary brain that drove his actions, taking in the addition of yellowed rays of fluid sunlight mingling haplessly with the artificial white light cast by the fluorescent bulbs that lit the room from lamps he had yet to spot.

Turning his head slightly to change his scenery, the trapped man stared.

The white, featureless ceiling topped what to any ordinary view would be considered to be a perfectly homey guest bedroom. The walls, white-painted, had wallpaper scrollwork running along the border between vertical shield from the outdoors and expansive ceiling that featured sponge-painted forest green and golden brown leafs. A torch lamp with three reaching branches, each holding aloft a plastic white lampshade circling a fluorescent bulb, shed its light over the room to add illumination to those reaches that the sun had not yet reached. A wood desk sat flush against the wall opposite of the room's sole window, its top bearing the weight of a computer and its keyboard and a large cardboard box. The student-chair before it was well worn, sagging from a furniture piece's life of use. The window through which the sun's morning light streamed was covered with thin, gauzy white drapes that also sported the same sponge-paint styled leafs featured on the wallpaper boarders. Turning the exploring gaze a bit further down revealed a hardwood pine floor that shined with a fresh coat of mop and glow and a matching wallpaper boarder to what ran along the walls' tops along the bottom of those walls to even more clearly define the border between floor and white-painted partition.

All and all, it was something Martha Stewart would have enjoyed playing with.

"Heh. Nothing like waking up to lil' Ms. Homemaker's beauty-dream," he quietly snorted to himself. He shivered slightly as the clonk of the air conditioner turning on rattled from a nearby air vent and cool air stirred the atmosphere. A chilled breeze caressed his bare chest, brushing over dried fluids and still partially liquid puss that oozed from infected cuts and scrapes. Goosebumps threatened to break out along his bare arms which were strapped down to the rough wooden plank he laid on, tethered along his sides, his thumbs pressed delicately against the rough, sliced fabric of his decimated jeans. Numb toes failed to feel the chill of the new breeze of air, barely flexing when he tried to move their bare joints. He snorted, noting that the lack of circulation to his feet caused by the overly tight straps that held his ankles in place would make it a hassle to try to stand later, should he actually manage to get himself loose.

However, there didn't seem to be that much of an opportunity for escape again. Not like there was last time, where a quick hoisting of the body allowed his feet to be kicked free of their restraints and entwined into the rope that had held him suspended from the ceiling, where upside-down he was able to slacken the loops on his wrists enough to free them and drop to freedom.

He'd been moved from that easily escaped from location. Wasn't the first time he'd been moved, though his brain was kindly informing him that it would probably be his last. Given the extent of infection and the plethora of injuries he'd received over his time in his captor's care, he doubted he'd survive to see yet another new prison.

This was the third time he'd woken up to new scenery.

This would have fooled nearly anyone caught in a similar situation as himself into believing that those who'd managed to capture him had been continually on the move, absconding with his beaten body once he fell into the deep shadows of unconsciousness to a new hiding place to cover their activities and keep their possession of their vital prisoner secreted away from any prying eyes that would seek him. Indeed, the first few moment after opening his eyes and witnessing the new span of scenery presented for him had driven a hard stake of fear through his wildly beating heart every time he'd awakened to such a sight.

The first time he'd awakened after being clonked over his head with a tire iron upon returning to the vehicle he'd hitched a ride in from the Pacific Coast Highway after paying for gasoline for the young lady who drove that truck, he'd been staring at a dark concrete ceiling. He'd been locked into a basement and left in a lump on the ground, his hands and feet bound together like those of a hogtied calf.

His companions in that chamber were a rack holding its prized jars stuffed with pickles and preserves and a light bulb on its wire that shed faded yellow light to the dark wood walls and concrete floor of the room. From time to time, the young lady he'd met on the freeway he'd been picked up on would also visit him, accompanied by questions, drugs and knives.

'She certainly does have a touch for kitchen items,' he silently reflected.

Those poorly made kitchen implements had caused a considerable amount of damage to his frame and flesh over the days they were utilized against him in a desperate attempt to cause him enough pain to encourage him to divulge in the information she wished to pry from his mind.

He'd lost track of time in that dim cell as her, in his opinion, poorly drawn torture continued. He suspected it had been four days from the day he'd mistakenly let his trust for people with beautiful eyes and soft smiles lead him into that rusted pickup truck before he'd awakened to a darkly decorated dungeon.

That time he'd woken up strapped to the wall, obviously taken to his upright position by an intricate pulley system. That same pulley system, the double-wheeled hefting device bolted to the ceiling above his head in that chamber, also assisted his tormenter by servicing as a makeshift rack to stretch his frame, tearing his limbs from their sockets painfully.

He'd seen the rise of the sun six times through the window this room sported, the day's star casting its light upon him even though dark brown drapes tried desperately to keep it from caressing him or the wood panel walls he was shackled to. His feet attested to his eyes' observations, noting that indeed they'd not had a break in nearly a week from the effort of holding his body upright, protesting even though they were encased in soft brown carpeting. That room was stark and bare, not even holding within it a lamp for light. The woman who held him came only when the sun was up, utilizing it as her torch to see her handiwork by.

And this morning, his eyes were staring with bland disinterest at his mockingly cheerful surroundings.

He'd been moved, that was certain. But it was no drastic change in location.

The beaten man sneered, nearly laughing out loud at his captor's audacity to believe that such a simple ploy as moving him from room to room within the same household would confuse him enough to eradicate his stubborn refusal to spill his knowledge.

He couldn't be fooled so easily.

After all, the neighborhood outside felt exactly the same. The same people, the same spirit, the same life throbbed through the area.

His eyes closed as he tenderly sent his thoughts flying to the birds that sang outside of his window, greeting them as tenderly as any could. This morning, though, he left not only his welcoming feelings with the avian creatures that dwelled in the freedom of the outdoors.

Accompanying that greeting came a plea.

The chirping outside faded earlier than normal. Beyond the notice of any ordinary human, the flow of life from the trees outside and the purpose held in the complexly instinctual minds of those birds that flew a brash indicator of something being extraordinarily out of the norm to any gifted by the touch of vacuum.

The birds flew with a mission implanted in their brains. They sought another with the same touch, the same aura as the one who'd greeted them every morning for the past ten days.

They hunted for another newtype.

-- 14:43 --

"So you're awake. Finally," the young lady said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she checked her prisoner over. "And here I thought you'd died before telling me anything useful."

A snide chuckle leaked weakly from the lank frame that lay tethered to the wooden slab that served as a bed. "Keep this up and I might, kiddo."

Crossing her arms, she looked blandly down at the man she had captured. "Indeed," she huffed. "Attempting to insult the quality of my work again?"

Sneering, he closed his dark hazel eyes, relishing the black emptiness of restful darkness provided by his eyelids. "What quality? You forget – torture's my forte, babe. Now while I'll admit that what you're doing should almost be effective, I'll also tell you that you're too much of an amateur to get anything useful out of someone who's experienced in this field."

"You've been telling me that for a week now."

"And have you gotten anything from me?"

Her silence was his answer.

Slowly opening an eye, he let his sneer fade to a more gentile smirk. "So, going to continue along this useless path, girl?"

She glared at him reproachfully. "It's not entirely useless."

"You're not going to get the kid's location through me." A quiet laugh oozed liquidly from his throat as he flexed his fingers, relishing in the jolts of painful sensation that flew along his nerves, taking those stabbing flares as a reminder of his situation. "Hell, my little helper monkey's probably moved him by now. My knowledge is old hat."

A smile turned her full lips into a quirky smile, her red lipstick bright and wet in the morning sunlight. "I see. Then you truly are useless to us, aren't you?"

"Yep. Afraid so," he agreed.

"But there's other questions you could have easily answered over the course of the last few days. Yet you've refused to enlighten me as to your purposes."

The man glared playfully at her. "That's because my plans are mine alone. They've got nothin' to do with you, nor do they have anything do to with your employer."

Her lips twisted into a sneer. "That's what you think."

Clearing his throat, he looked blandly at her. "I can guarantee that they have nothing to do with Jon Fugardi."

The young woman's retort was cut short as the name 'Fugardi' flowed over her captive's lips. Her red lips moved soundlessly, her cheeks draining of color under the faint layer of blush that artificially lit them with a pale pink glow.

"Indeed," he quietly said, "my suspicions were right. He's working with your organization, I see. How much did he pay for you?"

White teeth clenched into a faint snarl. "How much do you know?"

A bitter laugh leaked from his throat as he clenched his hand, wincing as a sharp crack burst from his joints even as he discretely tested his new bonds. Finding them quite capable of holding, he focused his gaze on her face once more. "More than you suspect. Xavier's good, but not good enough to hide what he's doing from me. The paper trail that tied him to Mr. Fugardi was difficult to piece together, that I'll give him. He's definitely improved from the last time I had to deal with him as an enemy."

Walking to the desk that occupied the room, the young woman grabbed the chair that sat before it. Rolling it to the slab that held her prisoner, she sighed and flopped down in it. Crossing her legs carefully, her tight jeans clinging to her shapely legs, she folded her hands on his chest. "Talk."

"Gladly. Just not 'bout anything of relevance as far as the kid's concerned."

She gritted her teeth, her hands separating, her nails digging into already lacerated flesh and teasing the barely closed wounds back open. As he hissed softly and the steady drip of blood hastened its pace, escorted to its destination by troughs built into that slab he laid upon that gathered what leaked from his body for neat disposal, she quietly whispered, "Why do you protect him?"

Hazel eyes closed, he snorted. "I have my reasons."

"Talk!"

Cracking open his eyes once more, he looked at the young brunette with amusement lighting his gaze through the pained cloud that dominated their irises. "Because he's necessary. And if you know nothin' 'bout the Plan, my words would be meaningless to you."

"But they won't be meaningless to him," she encouraged. "All you have to do is give me something relevant. Give me something helpful, and I'll release you."

His eyes softened slightly. "Lyssa," he quietly began, "you know I can't."

She frowned. "But you know that she's missing you. That she's worried about you. And you know that Xavier…."

"Xavier won't touch her."

The woman named 'Lyssa' arched a brow. "How can you be so certain? He's told me about what happened before."

"I can be certain. He won't touch her if it won't push me into action. Xavier may be a heartless fuck-head, but he won't kill without need. He only murders when hired to."

"Rather like you?"

Hazel eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. "I suppose."

Bowing her head, she huffed. "You can stop now."

Arching a brow, he turned his gaze to her.

A scowl lit her lips. "He told me about you. What you are. What you're capable of."

Light laughter rang from the captive on the table. "And obviously you didn't heed him, if your defenses let me in to this extent. Xavier's a perceptive little cuss if he figured enough out to warn you."

"He said you've made it obvious."

"I guess Chad was an obvious hint."

She frowned. "The one you used as a distraction? The one you sacrificed to keep your escape from Channok's stronghold under cover? The one you tried to use to steal the Winner heir's plans for the Gundam attacks?"

A snicker leaked from his throat. "Xavier told you that shit, eh? Thanks for letting me know that he still has no clue as to what my true purposes are."

She glared. "Two-faced-"

"Asinine jerk? I know, I know."

"Why do you have to make this harder than it already is?"

"Because you want me to betray the kid. You practically want me to kill him for you. And unfortunately, that's just not going to happen. He's too important to the formation of the future to be sacrificed just yet."

Lyssa scowled. "We'll target her if it'll get you to talk, you know."

Her captive smirked. "Best of luck. I'll be dead before you reach her at this rate, so targeting her'll do no good. Can't use a loved one to motivate a dead man to do anything. You're good at causing pain, but not at moderation. No consideration for the limitations of the human body. Ever stop to think that blood-loss is probably making me too damned loopy to answer you coherently?"

"But you're tormenting me with perfect clarity."

"Because I'm sharper than most, Lyssa. Most other men would've just given up by this point. I enjoy being an ass too much to die just yet. Plus, I've yet to discover what Xavier's true motives are. Can't give up 'till I do."

The young woman arched a slim brow. "True motives?"

"Yeah. This ain't as simple as starting a new war for Century Discover's profit. Maybe that's the plan of the corporation, and maybe that's the plan of the White Fang, but it's not Xavier's motive. He's an idiot and an incompetent fool, but he's not quite that shallow. He's got to have a few more angles to this than what I've been allowed to find. And I'm willin' to bet that it's something fairly detrimental to you and your organizations."

Her slim fingers dug back into the warm flesh under her hands. "Damn you, James. Talk! What do you mean?"

Hazel eyes stared into fierce brown orbs, locking gazes.

She blinked rapidly, her lucid thoughts pouring over the surface of her mind despite her attempts to focus on everything and nothing.

"Your loyalties don't lie with him. They lie with your White Fang compatriots. So why did you let Fugardi buy you, knowing that he's working in correlation with Xavier for Century Discover? Not money…."

She stared.

"The promise of revolution and the death of the traitor to space." Eyes closing, color-drained face soft and at ease, he smirked. "I can't get the answers I want from you. But I can warn you – Xavier's as two-faced as they come. He and I have been working companions for nearly a decade. Hell, at one point in my life I might have considered him a friend. But he's betrayed me as completely as any person possibly can. He's betrayed those closest to him – don't for a single moment believe that he won't betray you."

Bowing her head, she slowly lifted her hands and set them instead in her lap. "You…."

"Why does Fugardi want Winner dead?"

"I can't tell you that."

James quietly pressed, "Why are you working with him?"

"The pay is decent," she softly admitted. "I can help support our cause by working with him."

"I see. And you have no clue about the true purpose behind Century Discover or Xavier Johnson?"

She started suddenly, the haze lifting instantly from her mind. Her chocolate eyes narrowed, instantly hardened as she realized what was occurring. "Bastard!" she snapped as she flew to her feet, her chair rolling swiftly away with her movement and colliding solidly with the wall behind her. "Mind-raping bastard! How dare you!"

Hazel eyes widened slightly. 'Shit. Pushed a bit much. Boy, is she royally pissed….'

She stormed across the room to her cardboard box and swiftly routed through it.

Moments later, the trickle of blood that poured into the bucket at the end of that wooden rack hastened its pace.

-- 23:00 --

She was seated once more at the end of the hastily constructed wooden rack her captive was tied to, staring ponderously at his prone form.

"Why don't you end your suffering?" she softly asked. "Why do you continue to refuse to tell me anything? You hint about Xavier being more of a traitor than anyone's taking him for. You hint that Century Discover's betraying us. You hint that Mr. Fugardi's only in this for personal gain. But you don't tell me anything important. You don't tell me what I need to know."

"Because I don't know," he feebly muttered. "I don't know the kid's position. I don't know what Xavier's up to. I don't know why Fugardi's betraying his boss and trying to see him assassinated. I don't know what Century Discover's angle with the White Fang is."

"There's a lot you don't know," she said quietly, folding her arms on the edge of that slab upon which he was lain.

"Welcome to my world of frustration, girl," he chuckled softly. "A world where half of the answers are dangled before your face and the other half so strewn about that you can't hope to grab 'em all before the winds of time carry them off."

A slight smile took her lips. "Hmph. Drugs taking effect yet?"

"Might be. Ask me somethin'."

"You're really one of them, aren't you?" she tested.

"Yep," he answered quite truthfully.

"Why did you really use Mr. Lesley, if not for the purpose that Xavier told me?" she continued.

"Because I wanted to destroy the files Xavier was after. The kid knows his plans. He just keeps 'em in hard form in case something detrimental should happen to his harried brain to cause him to momentarily forget where he is and what he's doing. Plus hard copies can be forwarded to others for review and approval. Wasn't trying to steal his plans for the Gundams at all. Was trying to keep 'em out of Xavier's grubby li'l hands."

"But you were both working for Romefeller, weren't you?" she pressed.

"Nope. I was working for Kesslinger."

"Who's a part of Romefeller."

"Yet is independent of it. Just because he was head of the organization, leading it from behind Dermail with suggestions and whispered plans doesn't mean that he entirely believed in the direction it was inevitably going to take. He was trying to alter its path. I was trying to help him."

"And Xavier?"

"Was after the almighty paycheck," James softly said. "It's what's always motivated him. He's never had clear purpose. Only greed defines his life these days, it seems."

"You seem disappointed," she softly said.

"I am. Used to be a time when his want to control everything around him, to prove himself superior to everyone in his vicinity, pushed him to accomplish the impossible. I think once he realized that he was a step down on the evolutionary ladder with space adjusting the human physiological makeup, that he by biological standards alone couldn't be superior to all who surrounded him, he gave up on his goals and turned instead to simply chasing the dollar."

"You preferred him as he was?"

James softly chuckled. "He was more predictable. Now he's more of a wild card than anything."

Lyssa smirked. "That truth serum works wonders, doesn't it?"

"Sure does," the longhaired man said, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Tell me why it took you so damned long to think of this."

"Because I thought I might be able to torture the information I want out of you."

"That all?" James asked.

"And I was out of vinegar in the house. With the truck's engine blown, I couldn't make it down to the store until today to get some more. Had to wait for the repairman to get out here and repair it. Plus you trying to escape has been keeping me a bit busy."

"Got'cha," he said with a vague attempt at a nod.

"So, where's the Winner boy?"

"Never really knew," he softly said, staring still at the ceiling. "Just met him on the beach because I determined that he'd be able to find me there. I have no idea where he was saying, or where he'd be at this time. Plus I'm willing to bet that Barton's got him moved by now out of fear that he'd be traced."

She sighed, bowing her head. "Damn."

"Any more? This is rather fun," James joked.

"Asshole," she muttered.

"Hmph."

"You realize that your lack of useful information is going to push him to have me kill you."

"I don't mind."

Lyssa stared. "You don't mind?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Don't you care about the life you have waiting for you? About your loved ones?"

"Yeah, I care, most unfortunately," James quietly said, closing his eyes. "I care plenty. Always have believed that love is fucking suicide, but couldn't quite keep it from happening. But just as there was nothin' I could do to keep myself from traipsing down a path I knew would result in my death, there's nothing I can do to avoid whatever fate's going to come my way because of this wondrous fiasco Xavier had to get me involved in. There's nothing I can do from this position to protect the future that's slowly forming. And if I can't protect the future, if I can't help turn it towards what Kesslinger dreamed, it's simply not worth striving for."

"Were his plans so great?" she whispered.

"They were in my eyes. Maybe not his methods, maybe not his ultimate goals, but the ideology behind his ideas was fantastic. And while it might not have a snowball's chance in hell of happening during my lifetime, it's a great goal to work towards."

"What goal is that?"

He laughed softly. "A world where we belong."

"You? Clarify that, please."

"Nah. Don't feel like it."

She scowled.

"Drug wore off," he said brightly. "Sorry to tell you that, babe."

A slight smirk turned her lips once more. "Did it have any effect in the first place?"

"Truthfully?"

"Truthfully."

"Nope."

Her eyebrow ticked. "Then why did you tell me what you told me? Was everything you revealed a lie?" Lyssa snorted.

A playful smile turned James' lips. "No."

"Then why do you choose now to tell me anything? Why didn't you just decide to reveal what you know ten days ago?"

A sneer flowed over the man's lips. "Because I don't particularly care at all about everything I just told you. Most of it is information from the past that no longer has any real relevance as far as the present is concerned. And secondly, because I had to stall you for a while to keep you off the playing field and keep Xavier's eyes where they shouldn't be resting. Because I know he's looking particularly hard at you, waiting for you to pry anything that might be revealing from me and therefore isn't paying all that much attention to the playing field he's on. Because I had to give them time."

She stared. "Them…?"

"Yep. Them."

Her eyes narrowed considerably. "Damn it! Who?"

Closing his eyes, a triumphant smirk on his lips, he laughed softly. "My little helper monkey and his dear death-plagued friend. They should have pinpointed who's behind this entire fiasco by now, who's paying Xavier for his involvement with this mess, and should know what Xavier's next move will be. Winner should be more than safe."

She stared.

"Gotta love satellite phones."

Realization suddenly flashed across her eyes. "You… when you escaped that day…."

"See, girl? Doesn't matter what I tell you know. Quatre was already a step ahead of the game. I think Xavier already knew that, given the changed pattern of his behaviors. Your thoughts betray what he's done and what your organization's attempted to accomplish. The suddenness of his strikes and the random pattern in which they're occurring shows that he's desperate. And now he's dealing with more than one opponent, even with me out of the picture."

"He was dealing with more than one opponent before."

"Barton doesn't much count," James clarified with a chuckle. "He's not infiltrating. He's protecting."

"But now…."

"Yep. I've got help out there, tracking Xavier and whoever the hell it is that managed to buy the twit's attention."

"Who?"

"You wouldn't know him. And it doesn't matter. Given that kid's penchant for getting captured, he's probably already been thrown into a cell."

She blinked, obviously confused. "Then what good-"

"He's got contacts."

"Contacts?"

One more chuckle made its way from the captured man's throat. "Yeah. Contacts that'll do more harm to your little operation than you could possibly believe."

She stared, the horrible implications of his words settling over her heart.

"See, girl, we're just empty bodies in this little farce, victims of our own plots and plans, victims of our own attempts to confuse one another and the backfiring of those attempts. We're victims of our own minds, our own flesh, afflicted by our dispositions in these affairs. And as you well know, empty bodies can't accomplish anything."

"So you…."

"Got someone new into the game. Someone with enough soul to not stand around and be a useless piece on the board, awaiting the hand of the master to move it as you and I are."

She snorted.

"We wait for the game master to dictate our moves. You wait for your employer to tell you what to do. I wait for fate to determine where I go next and what I do about my situation. Even Winner waits on fates decisions. All empty bodies, all uselessly trapped on the board, all being maneuvered against our wills.

"But this new piece has enough of a soul remaining to move himself. He's not going to wait for the game master to determine where he goes."

"Who is it?"

A sneer floated over James' lips. "One of my dear little jailbait boy's contacts. The unpredictable one I can only hope had been tracking him the moment he vanished. But then again, even if he wasn't, he'll show – his bond to that kid's strong enough to draw him out of hiding."

"Who?" she demanded again.

"No one you know. Just another wildcard in the mix."

She glared coldly.

Her glower was met with a smile.

tbc...