Okay, here's the beginning of part 2. No time for individual responses this time. Thank you for enjoying part 1. However, I will say a few random things.

1. Dearka is still alive, just like in canon.

2. The Waltfeld arc will be much different than in canon, if this chapter doesn't make it clear enough.

3. The second Skygrasper pilot, who was Cagalli in canon, will not be who you expect.

Now . . . we begin part 2.


Part 2: Moment

Chapter Twenty-One: Where One Road Ends

As I open my eyes, I realize it's all dead.

The Strike was dark. No lights were on. I faintly saw cracks on my monitors and screens. The Strike must've crashed hard, wherever I was.

I touched a few buttons, just to see if something would turn on, but nothing did. The Strike was truly dead, it wasn't even running on emergency power.

Could I even get out?

I nudged the cockpit, softly, quietly. It moved with a soft creak.

No wonder why I hadn't suffocated. The latch was busted, air's been coming inside this entire time.

But I was still wearing my helmet, so that didn't make sense either. How would I still be breathing if . . .?

Wait. The cracks I was seeing weren't on my monitors. They're cracks on my helmet. I touch my visor faintly and the cracks grow widespread. The helmet was totally busted.

I take it off and carefully set it down. It's dark and almost impossible to see in here. Only the faint glimmer of light coming from the busted hatch allow me to see anything at all.

There's no way to tell where I was, or when. All I knew was that I was on Earth somewhere. And considering I wasn't half-frozen, it couldn't be Alaska. I was off course.

I faintly remembered Athrun grabbing my Mobile Suit. Where did he wind up steering me?

I was about to find out.

I had a pounding headache and my throat was so dry it felt like a miniature desert had appeared inside it. I tried swallowing, to try to force saliva down my throat, and the pain was enormous. I forced myself to keep swallowing, to allow my gel-like saliva to coat my throat, so it wouldn't be so dry, so it wouldn't hurt. Eventually, the pain went down, but it never went away.

I was too dehydrated and too tired to shake it off completely.

I tried to think past my headache and discern what had happened. Obviously, I had crash-landed. The Strike wouldn't be in so much trouble if I had landed the thing properly. In fact, there was a good chance I had been out of control the whole descent. That meant sixty tons or so had plowed into the ground full stop.

At least I wasn't underwater. So much of Earth is covered in ocean. I was extremely lucky, or Athrun was a really good pilot, in order for me not to have drowned.

But Athrun wasn't here. He either lost consciousness himself and lost control of me, or had underestimated our combined weight and had plowed into the ground with me. He was either a good distance away, or maybe he was right next to me, and I had beaten him in regaining consciousness. One thing was clear: he had not come to pull me out of the Strike's wreckage.

That meant the only person I could rely on was myself.

I reached into the sides of my seat. There were emergency supplies to the right, and a pistol with a small amount of ammunition to the left. They were in packages meant to withstand extreme heat and cold, but I had no idea how exteme the heat had been. For all I knew, it all had been cooked and was useless.

I pulled the pistol out of the package. It still looked usable to me. I loaded it and pulled the hammer back, it was ready to fire. I wasn't in the mood to test that theory, though. Who knew where I was. Who knew if enemies were nearby. If ZAFT troopers were nearby, scoping the wreckage, I did not want to alert them. I had no chance in a gun battle, and I didn't want to find out what they did to Coordinator traitors ... I doubt they'd grant me any mercy, especially the zealots. I was a blood traitor.

Where was I, anyway?

No way to tell unless I opened that hatch and got out.

I gingerly touched the hatch. My headache was making it difficult to think, a steel wall felt like it was erected in my mind, preventing most coherent thoughts and strategies from forming in my head. But enough common sense stayed that I knew I had to be quiet, just in case. I had no idea how a GUNDAM crash-landing wouldn't cause a disturbance, but apparently it hadn't been significant enough for anyone to find me yet.

I pushed, softly, carefully. I did not want anyone nearby to hear me.

But as I opened the door, I realized that all of my precautions meant nothing.

A rifle barrel was directly in front of my face.

The voice was steely. "Drop the gun, hands behind your head."

I looked from the rifle barrel, then directly into the soldier's young eyes. "Um . . ."

"No 'um'. Drop everything you have and put your hands behind your head," the soldier replied.

There was no talking my way out of this one. I dropped the gun and my supplies and put both of my hands behind my head. The soldier immediately grabbed me by the shoulder and moved me away from the GUNDAM. I wound up in the custody of two other soldiers. It was becoming dark, it was apparently evening and overcast where I was, but I could see the ZAFT emblem.

Worst case scenario. I had been captured by ZAFT ground forces.

My aching, dense mind struggled to decipher what new information I had just gotten. Obviously, I was now a P.O.W., but where on Earth did ZAFT have a strong ground presence?

Australia was a place. Africa was another. South America was the third and final landmass where ZAFT had a significant presence. ZAFT also had various scattered islands all over the world for rapid-reaction and raids upon Earth Alliance territories.

I didn't think Athrun would've crashed us onto an island, too risky. So that meant Africa, Australia, or South America.

'Course, that didn't help me much, but it whittled things down a little bit. And it also told me I was a long ways away from Alaska.

One of the soldier tapped my shoulder with his rifle barrel and I realized he wanted me to kneel down. So I did, rested on both of my knees, while the ZAFT soldier who had seen me first searched my cockpit.

I was outside. I tried to use my peripheral vision to see where my GUNDAM had crashed, and could barely make the outline of part of a building. So I had crashed somewhere in a city.

One of the soldiers began talking. "I think this girl's a traitor."

"I know this is a traitor, man. No one can fly a Mobile Suit other than us."

"Traitor?" I dared to ask.

One of the ZAFT soldiers knelt down by me. He had a scraggly three-day beard on him. I immediately thought of him as Beard, and the other soldier next to me as Shave.

Lame, I know, but my mind was not completely there.

"Yes," Beard said. "We've been hearin' stories about a traitor who's been fighting our space forces this whole time."

"Cool," I said. "Treachery in ZAFT. I love political intrigue, it's so exciting."

Beard did not take that very well. Immediately I felt a sharp pain in my head. He was pulling on my hair. "Damn you! You killed a lot of our pilots, traitor!"

Shave shoved Beard. "Dude, DeCosta's not gonna like you picking on a prisoner! You know how he is."

"Yeah, he's a stupid by-the-book officer. He don't got any idea about real war, or how to deal with traitors," Beard growled.

"I can't be a traitor if I wasn't on your side to begin with," I said through clenched teeth. I was pissed off over my hair being used as a torture device. I wanted a fight, even though I'd probably die.

"What the hell do you mean?" Beard asked.

"I'm from Orb. I fought for the Earth Alliance for reasons you probably wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I understand all right. You're a draft dodger and then you chose to kill your own kind. You're even worse than a traitor!" Beard spat.

"Dude, we don't even know if she really is a Coordinator," Shave said.

"She basically admitted it to us!" Beard shouted. "Are you some kind of idiot?"

"Enough!" shouted the soldier standing by my cockpit. He was taller than all of us, so he became Tall Guy. He walked over to us, and shook his head.

"Look, we went through hell to get here. Right now, it's just the three of us watching over this prisoner and this GUNDAM until somebody manages to break through Desert Dawn."

"Desert Dawn?" I asked.

"Natives," Beard spat.

Tall Guy was more diplomatic, to a point. "They're guerrilla fighters from the Middle East and North Africa. They cling to their precious Allah and their guns like insane people."

Okay, that solidified where I was. Since the Middle East was still mostly in Earth Alliance hands, that meant I was in North Africa. I was not sure whether to be relieved by that, though.

"Why do these people cling to their religion? The Coptics ain't much better," Shave grumbled. "Ain't there proof that there is no God?"

"If you guys believe that," I said, "Then why are you guys saying 'damn' and 'hell' all the time?"

I was asking for it, and I realized that too late as Beard punched me right in the face and I collapsed into the dirt, feeling like my cheek was nothing but a stem of pain. "Shut your mouth or I'll tear it off!"

He kicked me in the stomach and I rolled onto my side, clutching it. Beard was strong. He could kick a lot of ass, and in my weakened state, that definitely included me.

Tall Guy grabbed Beard by the shoulder. "Enough. We need to get under cover before some sniper decides that we make easy marks. Grab the prisoner and take her-"

He stopped then, as we all heard the sounds of an approaching vehicle. I turned behind me and I saw an off-road vehicle pull up in front of us. An officer was in the back, and he looked young. His red hair was close-cropped and his blue eyes looked fairly human and fresh, they didn't have a thousand-yard stare or any of the exhaustion the three troopers were displaying.

"Aw crap, it's DeCosta," Beard growled.

DeCosta walked out of the jeep and ran up to us. "You three all right? A chopper reported that a few of us were at the Strike crash site."

"Yes, sir," Tall Guy said. "Area's quiet, at least for now."

As DeCosta replied, I realized I could hear the distinct sounds of gunfire. They sounded almost like firecrackers. A battle was going on, far away from me. "It's not going to stay that way. We really angered the locals."

"Screw the locals," Beard said. "Burn them all."

DeCosta shook his head. "We're not even supposed to be here right now. General Waltfeld is nothappy. Do you at least have the pilot?"

"Right here," Tall Guy said, pointing at me.

DeCosta bent down to look at me. "You seem bruised up, boy."

I was almost too tired to be angry that he was yet another person who had mistaken me for a boy. But only almost. I could muster up just enough anger to make my feelings known. "I'm a girl, you dumbass."

I felt a sharp, painful blow in my backside and I crumpled face-forward. Beard shouted "We don't care! Shut up!"

"Enough, Private!" DeCosta barked. "We don't abuse our prisoners! It's already bad enough we've created a meat grinder here in Tassill. Now get the prisoner into the jeep before-"

I heard a loud whoosh from up ahead. I looked up just in time to see the jeep explode in a giant fireball, metal debris showering everywhere.

Gunfire from the right. I could see several gun flashes from behind windows in the building in front of the crash site. That must be Desert Dawn.

Tall Guy was dead, he had been shot in the head. Beard was also down, wheezing, clearly in great pain. Shave and DeCosta had hit the dirt, and they were scrambling to get behind anything resembling cover. I realized that now was my chance. I needed to escape now.

A helicopter flew over my head and began strafing the building. Missiles and machine-gun bullets showered the apartment, sending stone debris flying off with each blast. I could faintly hear people scream as they were assaulted. A lone rocket shot off from somewhere and struck the helicopter in the tail. The helicopter spun around repeatedly until it crashed into the building it was strafing, causing debris and smoke to fly everywhere.

More gunfire, all of it, everywhere. I was a sitting duck in the open.

I ran over by Tall Guy's corpse. There was my pistol and my emergency supplies, laying right by him, he never had any time to pocket them or secure them. I grabbed them both, but as I tried to grab his rifle, I heard an odd mechanical noise from straight ahead.

I looked up. I immediately wished I hadn't.

What seemed to be a colossal mechanical, one-eyed wolf seemed to be staring at me.

Several rockets slammed into it, but they only seemed to be causing minor impacts, without creating any crippling damage. The giant metal wolf fired several missiles everywhere from the top of its back, and they blasted over my head.

Staying here meant death or imprisonment. Even though it looked like Desert Dawn was getting its ass kicked, I had to make it over to them somehow. The enemy of my enemy was my friend.

At least Desert Dawn wasn't going to throw me around.

I ran as the missiles and bullets flew everywhere. I don't know how I avoided being hit as I ran for the nearest alleyway and kept running. Maybe I wasn't anyone's concern. Desert Dawn was obviously shooting at the giant wolf and the wolf was shooting back at them. I meant nothing in the overall scheme of things, I was almost like a civilian.

I had no idea if Shave or DeCosta were following me. I didn't want to find that out. I kept running through the maze, looking for some corner where I could stop and collapse for a while and collect myself.

Finally, I thought I found a corner partially shielded by debris that looked promising.

I ducked behind there and collapsed, and prayed the war would go away.


As the hours passed by, the guns refused to completely die. Desert Dawn and the ZAFT were having a really intense fight for this town. It looked like my little corner didn't mean anything in the larger scheme of things, though, because no one from either side was coming over to check it out.

Night was falling, and quickly. Dusk's remaining light faded gradually but noticeably, which was accelerated by the firm overcast sky, one that seemed to be not your ordinary cloud system. In fact, they almost looked like rain clouds. The desert didn't get a lot of rain, but maybe this was the wet season? It was February, after all.

And who knew how close we were to the Mediterranean Sea. Storm systems happened on the coast a lot. Maybe something was coming over here to dump some water on us.

I dug into my emergency supplies and greedily sucked down one of my two water bottles. The water was anything but cold but I didn't care. I devoured a protein bar and just let the wrapper lay down on the ground next to me. Littering was the least of my concerns at that moment.

Underneath the consistent soundtrack of missiles and guns was a more symphonic sound. Something deeper, louder, something greater than anything man could build. Thunder. A deep, powerful sound not created by war.

Rain was coming.

I was still thirsty, even after drinking an entire water bottle, but my throat no longer felt like it was part of the desert. That helped my well-being significantly. I was surprised by how cold the night felt. Maybe it was the impending rain, partially, but I had always heard the desert was hot. What happened to the endless waves of baking desert heat?

In a way, I was glad I was still alive to be asking those questions. Sure, my pilot uniform felt a bit ratty, and I had lost the Strike, and I was stuck in the middle of intense urban warfare. But I was still alive. Who knew what would happen to me in the end, but as long as I lived I still had a chance of returning home.

I thought of my parents, who had to be thinking I was dead. Wait until they saw me, whenever it was that I finally returned. I wanted to see them smile at me, cry for me, embrace me. And I would return their affections twofold. I wanted nothing more than to be with them.

And then Elle, and Tolle, and everyone else. I just wanted to be with them.

But none of them were here. Not a single one. I was alive, but I was alone.

They had to be alive, and well, safe in Alaska probably. But they had no way of knowing I was still alive. They probably assumed I was dead. Why wouldn't they? How would they know that I lived?

Tears appeared in my eyes as I thought about the funeral service they had to be planning for me. I wondered who would be giving my elegy on the Archangel. Who? Tolle, maybe, but he wasn't the greatest with words. Maybe it would be Murrue Ramius herself.

I wanted to sleep, but I forced myself not to. It was much too dangerous, and I had no one watching my back. War was going on all around me. I could not afford to be taken prisoner by the ZAFT again. Maybe if I wound up in Desert Dawn's hands I could finally collapse and have some rest.

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the wall in front of me, trying to contemplate my new reality. It was a reality deeper in war than ever, but I had no GUNDAM, no friends, no nothing.

At least I had gravity on a consistent basis again. Sure, I felt like a sack of bricks, but maybe I'd be back to normal in a few hours or days or something, right? I couldn't remember how long it took to recover from a couple of weeks with inconsistent zero gravity.

I thought back to the Archangel and the seemingly physics-defying rooms that did have some gravity. I had no idea how the ship designers pulled that off, but I felt better because of it. There was no way I wouldn't been able to run away like that if I had been in zero gravity consistently.

Speaking of running, what should my strategy be?

Should I try to escape into the desert into the east somewhere? Or should I stay here and try to find a pocket of Desert Dawn resistance? As long as I was wearing this Earth Alliance pilot's outfit they'd have to assume I wasn't out to kill them. And although going into the desert would get me out of the battle, there was no guarantee I'd find shelter before sunrise. Sleep deprivation plus heat stroke would definitely kill me.

I didn't want to admit it, but I was stuck in Tassill until someone gave me a ride out of here.

I waited for the sky to get just a little darker, for the thunder to be a little louder. Then, as I saw lightning crackle its way across the sky. I stood up.

No more running away. I was going to run with a purpose: getting out of this town, and getting out of this war.

I moved into the street, and began my self-imposed mission just as the first droplets of rain hit the ground.