The morning sun rose hesitantly, night keeping a grip of death upon the night sky, unable to be permeated by the morning sun. But, the sun came around, a second wave bringing around victory with a better result than the dawn had, night drove from the sky late into the morning, about nine. After the battle won, the sun decided to go on its way, normal activities, before its defeat as per usual at night. It had a sort of eerie condescending look through the small, rectangular reinforced glass panels at the top of the MT, small inch-wide panels on both sides of the center rope light that was built into the ceiling. The rectangular bars dropped in on the soldiers, illuminating bits and pieces, most of the MT in a veil of darkness and silence.

The droning of the wheels and engine cut out all other noise and the ability to talk, so no one did. If anyone needed anything, it was tap Bob next to you, make a gesture, or if it was something else, something stupid, you kept it to yourself, who cares? Most were sleeping or praying, a few had fallen asleep while praying too. A few were jittery, afraid of the battle, afraid to wear that armor, afraid to die. Others were jittery to get to Lyon, kick some ass, take some names, all in a day's work. The Four Jokers once again, and still, playing cards in silence amongst themselves, two lieutenants and two privates, probably all from the same home town and all friends because of it, rank not separating them.

But Ky found himself only watching others, thinking. To the extent these soldiers risk their lives...for what? The betterment of humanity? The betterment of a world for their children? Or is it the fight, simply? They are soldiers to fight and kill, so they do it. Or is it for God? Hardly anyone thinks that God is the factor, His power lost ages ago, despite our foundation being in His arms...but truly, I cannot help but see what they mean. Look, there, that lieutenant sitting there, head back, eyes open, just thinking, not caring. He wasn't praying, I've had my eye on him, he hasn't even shown a slight inkling of care...yet he's here, he's going to risk his life, and for that, he is a member of the Seikishidan. Risking your life...is the reason we fight, possibly. For God? Maybe. For the betterment of humanity? Possibly. For anything? Up in the air. But just being there...doing it, that's what I need soldiers for, soldiers to do things...but what about God? I cannot make soldiers believe...but I can. Is God with me, with us? Even non-believers? But, we are His people, we cannot lose, we have to win and persevere, under the...death of others who are undeserving of it...but we must continue, that is our nature and our punishment. God may not give me soldiers or victory, but He can give me strength.

A bump in the truck woke everyone up, the back end jumping out of the air slightly, everyone jumping to life out of sleep, looking around, blood rushing, then going back to sleep. Just a small boulder or something we ran over, no worries Bob. They looked around in defending silence, asking with their eyes, everyone shrugging and going back to sleep, praying, playing cards, whatever their fancy was. Kiske however didn't, only seeing that as another sign, another Godly intervention. What is it...what are you trying to tell me!

The three MTs rode in a line next to each other, all headed for Lyon, each veering up ahead of the other, then the next taking charge, falling back, like a wave, constantly rushing up upon the shores of death. The sun was approaching noon, a full ride ahead of them. They left at 0800, and Lyon was basically a hundred kilometers inward of Geneva, so about six or seven hours on the trip, then the infiltration, and the battle.

"Sir..." a soldier whispered, sitting next to Kiske. He was sitting up by the front of the MT, near the two drivers, the last seat against the metal sheet and cufflings that held the payload to the front cabin, Gestahl standing firm in the doorway, watching the horizon come to him. Ky turned, looking at the soldier, able to hear him because of how close he kneeled to his ear. "Will...do you think I'll come home alive? I got a family, a girlfriend...I don't want to die."

"Soldier, whatever happens..." Ky gulped. Kliff, what do you do...how do you tell a soldier he will die, know that person you talked to, the one you reaffirmed, is now dead, gone, and you know he will be, but how can you...How? "God's Will is the ultimate penance. Whether or not alive or dead, you will have carried out His will, done the right thing. Dying or not…doesn't matter, but what you did before you did, the reason you lived or died. That'd what matters, soldier." Wow, nice, he might even believe it, Ky. A diplomat in no time.

The soldier blinked a few times, swallowing hard on the words, as well as a choking constriction in his throat, then nodded, sighing, then fell back asleep. His head hung over his body, strapped back by the over-the-shoulders metal harness that had a vertical pivot to hold soldiers in seats. His head bobbled with each bump like a toy, his sleep almost instantaneous with Ky's words and his head falling back down. Maybe he wasn't even awake…

Another bump in the road jostled the truck, the entire thing shaking back and forth, the head of the soldier next to him snoring slightly as it juggled slightly, it seemed like he had been asleep for an hour. Kiske put it out of mind, looking around to the other soldiers. Sol was on another MT, as was Jaygus, but Gestahl was next to him, standing in the cabin door. He stood with both arms extended to the door frame, holding it open and bracing himself, eyes transfixed on a horizon he always seemed to be looming at, brooding for the day he'd meet it. Then, a faint glint of something metal under his left suit pocket…Kiske saw it again, every time he stood like that, the sun caught and glinted off of it, whatever it was…but he saw it, always did, and he wanted to know.

"Gestahl…" he said somewhat weakly, a bit nauseated and tired. The U.N. officer turned his head inquiriously, then his body followed, looking at Ky with a questioning gaze on his face. "What's that?" he said, a lazy finger pointing at his suit pocket.

"A suit." He said rather sternly, turning back to the doorway.

"I saw it, don't lie." Gestahl simply smiled, nodded slightly, and turned back to his position standing, looking over the two drivers and out of the wind shield, low hills and country side ahead to a field of death.

"Go to sleep, Mr. Kiske. Long day ahead of you." U.N. soldiers, same as U.N. diplomats…governments change, governments fall, soldiers change allegiance and die, yet the lies stay the same.

They're coming…I can feel it, they don't like me, they hate me there. It's a good thing, strategical axis of power, they've got to come attack it, got to come give me a run for the money…but they're stupid. They'll lose, and die, it's going to be very…sad to see it, no less. Five-hundred plus, not over six-hundred, they can't transport it, and they'll be wearing that stupid black armor, which more or less tells me that even the humans know I'll win…so very fun, but it takes out the fun in seeing who will win, the excitement, for that sort of thing hands me the victory. That armor, they fear wearing it, they fear me when they're in it, even though it is "armor"…ha, as if such a thing for humans is good enough. Humans are weak, it's their DNA, their bodies are not adapted to this, not made for life on the edge, having to fight for it, they're not wolves, they're not predators or hunters…they're human. Which makes me wonder why, why has this gone on for so long…because of you, Kliff? Because of these few people, adapted to it, able to rise above humanity, become leaders, fight beyond genetic and physical capacity…to just be a soldier, like you Kliff.

Well, here, tonight I will see your next-of-kin, so to speak…see how he stacks up against you. It saddens me, you finally left the service, left our little fun games…handed to this boy. He shows potential, but he and I won't have what you and I did, Kliff. What we had…was special. I won't say this goes against my morals, but I would have loved to talk to you, just sat down one day and talked, no Gears, no death, no war, just talking, you and me…I think you would have too.

One of these run down coffee shops I destroyed, that dead body behind the counter, if his arm was still attached, serving a cup of coffee, you'd bring it over to the table, turned upside and not cracked inward, the chairs not through the wall, not covered in blood, and you'd sit there, looking at me…thinking, staring. Then, we'd talk. Why we have to fight a war continuing, on the battlefield everyday, fighting for life, ending with death, the final pieces of this war, how it will go, how it will end, who will win, what should happen if I lost, or you did. Then...then, I'd want to talk to you, Kliff, just us, just both of us. Not the war…but you. How you, a human, could lead, lead so many humans I slew in front of you, then the others that came, more and more…ever since the beginning, till you retired. But…I don't think our last meeting was bad, not at all, I actually enjoy it…I watch it sometimes, over in my memory banks, again and again…analyzing, thinking…you were good, Kliff, really…I enjoyed it, I enjoyed what we had there…before it ended.

Tibet…that was so different…I knew the op, I knew you were coming, your troops, my troops, but I left myself there, unguarded, at your mercy, and we talked, how we talked, I wish we could have more and under different circumstances, but even that…what we had, I cherish it. An admirable adversary, as well as an admirable man. You were one of a kind, Kliff. Which is why I let that happen, everything except the end of the op, where we had to split our ways, the tragic ending to the Tibetan mission…but what that was, what we had, the small piece…I cherish it, I wonder if you do, I'd like to know, as you.

But, where you were, in those battles, the enemy you were to me, this new one does not have, his shoes are not filled in yet…he is not you, I know it, but he has lived, even through what only you could have…and he did a few other things, odd, you would not have…but he did, such as risking his life for the others, even knowing they would die, and he would too, then reckless indiscretion, looked down upon by you. He is just a boy, but Kliff, you could have chosen better…but, he has impressed, he is still alive, I do not know how, but he is, that itself is commendable. And, I know he is leading the next attack…I know it will be soon, nightfall, I can see the three MTs, their rate of movement weighed down with excessive weight, equivalent to full payloads, as well as destination plot…good ol' Lyon.

But…though I can see it, my eye in the sky, what you humans gave me, you forgot about. I enjoy it, these little trinkets and extras I find every so often…scattered from a world I left in ruin. I have an idea though. Where Kliff and I knew each other, we met on the battlefield, crossed our weapons, had ourselves glorious battles, pursuits of life and death, wins and losses, we were always there for each other, to fight each other, and to be where the other was, like it was predestined. Can you fill those shoes, boy? Can you fill that lack of an enemy I need, I strive for? Can you be that…for me? We'll see, boy…but in due time, let you think what you want, let things go in your favor, I'll show you, we'll meet, we'll know…and I hope, Kliff, your successor is as you hope, and as you think, because I do too…for both of us, Kliff…

The sun fought a battle, starting at the horizon, working its ray over the land, over trees and figs, certain things standing in the way, obstinate, creating a doubt, a rebellion in shadow, that shade a mere testament to its uncompromising unwillingness to bend to it. But, it continued on, evaluating losses and pushing on, rushing up nature and building, the sun slowly coming up and through. Reaching up the walls of Troy, bounding over the top and then racing along street and building, until finally, it crept up the side of a certain one. Slow and tentative, the light shone golden higher and higher, racing tenderly up to assault the occupants. A small window at the top finally let the invaders in, a slowness before it actually got in, looking in for safety, then filtering in through all of the cracks and transparencies in the defensive. The victorious sun then crawled further…beams reaching up the floorboard, around a couch, and slowly up Darton's body, settling over his face, where after a few minutes of annoyance, finally succeeded in waking him up.

He opened his eyes, grunting at the light which wouldn't go away, and slowly sat up, looking around. Where the…oh yeah. Her place. Not bad, Darton, you've known her for…two or three days, and you moved in. He smirked slightly, his shoulder hurting as he sat up, still in a sling, his feet slipping off of the cushion where they were elevated off of the edge of the old couch, his body longer than the couch, touching the old floor below slightly. Standing on them, a wave of emotion, from soar muscles to a somewhat fluid-like vaporous feeling floating through his legs, he finally stood straight up, stretching, peering around. He hadn't taken any of it in yesterday, had no time, no light…but now was different, he had all he needed to take it in, and if he guessed right, he'd be knowing this room, and a few others, as well as Troy, much better than he had ever expected in the past.

The sofa sat against a wall of the small apartment, the eight-by-twelve foot center area having four walls, one in front of Darton, opposite where the couch was, having a small window on the far-upper-left, and a door on the far right, with a set of locks, knobs, wire-chains, and the likes for protection, a random few locked, a few not. The walls were a type of old dry-wall, a gray muddy mixture, rotting with age, bits of the disgusting yellow wall-paper fading and peeling, dripping off with age, or water corrosion leaving an orange tinge around the gone paper. Bits were hanging off, waiting to be removed, but sat like idols to a false God, defiant to the end. The door, an old wood one, was warped with years of water damage and use, splinter missing, painted chips falling off, bits of white spears invading the brown underneath, a double faced enemy. It barely fit in the frame, it had a slight curvature in the spine, as well as bloating due to age, and a musty smell of something living on the inside, a fungus or insect colony most likely. Lucky it hasn't been ripped off and sold yet…probably because all of the damn locks keeps it hers. He slowly stood, his wall on the left being nothing but a stopper between him and thirty-five feet down, and the opposite one of that having two doors. They were simple, metal ones, hinges that made the rather heavy, rusted metal swing like a baby in a rocker.

One was a bathroom, Quint knew, since he had used it before crashing on the old couch the night before. The couch was obviously pawned or stolen. The cushions were ripped and ratty, the yellow stuffing popping out, the buttons on the brown fabric worn of their paint and held on by thin wires of string. Springs shot through any area they could, intruding enemies to what should have been mildly comforting, not to mention it was missing one arm rest entirely, looking burnt off. The other room…he didn't know what it was, so he strode over to it, taking each step to stretch out himself. Yawning, rubbing one eye with his right arm, he leaned into the door, trying to open it. As he did, the door swung open freely, a shocked Bianca yawning also.

She jumped back, eyes widening, a sense of panic, then yelled. "What the hell you doing!" she screamed out of reflex.

"I have no idea." He said simply, stepping out of the way of the door. She walked through, groggy, pushing him slightly as she made her way to the couch. Darton leaned against a wall in amusement, watching, as she leaned over, reached through cushions and springs, and came out with a small bag. She unzipped it, pocketed some of her money, and threw the bag back in hiding. She turned to Darton, stuffing the remainders into her pocket, then nodded to the door. He nodded back unlatching a few bolts, then opened it, holding it for her, with a gentlemanly smile.

"It's too early for chivalry, Darton" she yawned, smiling a little.

"Yeah, yeah…" he said, chuckling, walking out of the apartment behind her, rubbing his eyes as he did, mourning the morning sun that would blind him when he removed his hand. When he did though, he was more than shocked, not by the sun blinding him, but what it showed under its cursed rays...Troy. Bianca's apartment sat on the third floor of an old building, a brick one with the red paint to match the bricks peeling off of the metal frame, looking like a skeleton, a metal walkway linking the levels with an old-style stairway that went down to each level, wrapped around, and then down again, a metal-meshing type. On top of the third floor were the remains of a fourth floor, but were built upon by a newer building, one of the upper classmen, obviously, the building newer, shinier, less dilapidated and crummy, the ashes of old swept into the dust that settles on the new.

The floor of Troy was lined in an old cobblestone street, used many years ago, considering Troy was built on an old village. The cobblestones, jagged at their inception, laid in-between a cement lining, had been worn down by hundreds of thousands of feet, now just smooth, pathways of their rebellious previous self, generations ago. They were smooth enough to put in a bed to lie with, the padder of feet across them consistent to the very end. The two sidewalks on each side of the street was rather small, not used to accommodating what Troy became. But, long since past the time the floor was used like that, and a maze of people now wandered the streets.

No longer confined to sidewalks, people roamed across the cobblestone street, side to side, across, about, a gigantic mess of people, heads sticking out above the constantly moving sea, ripples of people running or pushing through seen. A few kids underneath the crowd could be seen, running and playing, most likely pick-pocketing too. The apartment was centered on a T of a street, the building lined with the intersection so it saw all three streets easily, and everything on them. The buildings lined where ever street didn't, ducts of steam flowing out, as well as electrical conduits, sparking with blue life. People ran in and out of the shops, getting groceries, tending to business, doing it all everyday, in the life of a pedestrian.

The streets above them were bustling too, the maze on all buildings above, the streets built like wires of a spider's web, jumping back and forth, uneven and at different heights, railings on each side, the higher class, richer people up there, looking down upon those on the ground floor. This place definitely has some Zepp interference... Faces above peered down every so often, the old and faded clothes of the people below nothing like the pressed and ironed suited above. They were educated, smarter, better, welathier, they deserved to be higher, because they could pay for it, the way Troy saw it. Those walkways, the linking bridges between the buildings built higher and higher into the sky, like a Babylonian nightmare, were made of metallic wires, covered in a slab of cement, holding it up into the air for people to walk. No life, no real love was put into those high grounds like the cobblestone below, it was simply effective, economically correct, and good for the rich people up there. They go one building to the next, walking along these pathways, hundreds of them built in the air, linking them as they go higher, sprouting from every building to the walls, to another building, securing them as well as providing transport. It looked like a mechanically infected skyline.

A mother held her boy's hand as they walked to a food stand, selecting items to bring home. A pair of brothers walked through the street, out from a small alley, both having hands in their pockets, heads down, taking care of more shady business. A boy and a girl laughed away the years, many passed to them already, carelessly letting the flow of the surge of people take them where-ever they needed to go. But, of all of the people, everything here, what Quint found the most amazing was the absence of a huge thing amongst such huge proportions as Troy; fear. No one was in fear, looking over their shoulder, listening for alarms or when a soldier might tell them of Gears...they were simple, just living life, doing what they wanted, nothing in the world telling them differently or oddly.

"Come on, we'll be late." Bianca said, pulling on Darton's Seikishidan issue uniform he slept in slightly, pulling him down the steps. Jeez, I didn't even change clothes...eh, who cares. I'm not even Seikishidan anymore...

Zeronova's Notes:
The second half of this (Troy) was tough, real tough, since I wrote it three times, but I didn't want it to feel like a rehash of the original DG, since it is entirely different this time around, and that a big part of the remake is feeling of the environment, characterizing something without life, I have to give Troy that, I have to give it something so different than anything else GG, because it is outside of the U.N., and outside of the Seikishidan. The Justice scene was good and fun, as well as dabbling with Justice's psyche (which has got to be just a little bit fucked up due to a hundred year long war with isolation, in a sense of character and interaction). It all will fit in, it all will be gravy. Next Monday, next chapter. (A little short, compared to some other chapters, but who cares).