Apologies about the wait. I was NOT happy with this chapter and I kept rewriting it. I think this one measures up to my standards but I don't know. I guess you be the judge.

FraserMage: Sounds like as good of a theory as any. SEED laughs in the face of science! XD

372259: I think that double meaning was unintentional, I've noticed that a lot that I write seemingly deep things by accident. XD But yeah, I was shooting for surprise with chapter 21, a shake-up of the status quo for a little while, giving Cagalli a rougher return to Earth than Kira had in canon.

Light-Sakura: Thank you. I hope you enjoy the continuation of part 2.

Duskification: This took a LOT of thought. I don't think Cagalli would grow up polite and semi-meek just because of being in Kira's position, and I don't think Kira would suddenly turn into fiery rebellious teen either. Cagalli and Kira have vastly different opinions and views on everything. Kira's more willing to work within Uzumi's system or challenge it directly, for example, instead of completely circumventing/ignoring it like Cagalli did in canon. And Cagalli, being Cagalli, is a heck of a lot more aggressive in combat though this is a flaw as much as a strength. At the same time, I tried to strengthen Kira a bit (he IS Uzumi's child in this go-around), while letting Cagalli feel a little bit of self-doubt and isolation.

In general, I'm trying to balance their general natures on one hand but also keeping in mind the environments they were raised in. This causes many changes, including with how they just plain interact with people.

animefan29: Will she? ;) Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Achilles1011: Mmm . . . I admit that I had a bit of trouble with DeCosta but I don't think it showed. Anyway, it won't be the last you see of him. And yeah, I made a personal goal that part 2 will have as few errors as possible.

Anyway, here's chapter 22. Here's hoping chapter 23 will be released on schedule . . .


Chapter Twenty-Two: Rain

It wasn't long before the rain became a steady downpour. It wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either. The ground turned into muddy clay, sticking to my boots and gunking up my feet and my calves. My pilot's suit was soon completely soaked, and I found myself sheltering among as many buildings as possible as I wandered the streets on my own.

The gunfire had settled down as the rain began falling. Both sides must've decided they were done killing each other for the day, or maybe fighting in the rain was one discomfort too many. Or there was something else going on, something I couldn't quite fathom.

Maybe all either side was doing was taking a quick, collective break while they strategized how to kill each other.

I stopped around a corner near what looked to be the remnants of a market to catch my breath. I started calming down when lightning struck nearby, illuminating everything for just a brief moment, and sending nightmarish shadows skittering across the ground. I jumped back behind my cover, my heart racing. I told myself that what I had seen were just illusions, but I still hadn't shaken off some of the haze in my mind. That hazy part, tired and addled, was implying that something not of this earth was at work here.

I closed my eyes, counted to five, and re-opened them, just to see bright light as more lightning struck, and I saw even more crazed shadows out of a Lovecraft novel for a brief moment, before all was shrouded in darkness once again.

As the thunder cracked and rumbled, I closed my eyes again. It's not real you stupid idiot. Worry about what is real. Like ZAFT. Like Desert Dawn.

I peeked around the corner again, and forced myself to not look at any shadows when lightning flashed once more. I didn't see anybody. No civilians, no soldiers, no nothing. Only a couple of stray cats wandering the street, and I was of no concern to them.

It's like a ghost town.That was precisely the wrong thing to think because it got my imagination rushing through my head.

Maybe aliens just struck. Wouldn't that end the war really fast? Or maybe there's a zombie apocalypse going on. My God, what if there are zombies? Would they be the fast ones or the slow ones?

I drummed them out. God, I was so stupid. Getting distracted by momentary and horrific fantasies. I could not worry about the impossible . . . or at least the highly doubtful.

Focus, Cagalli. Focus. You've dead-ended yourself, unless you want to go back the way you came, the only way through is that market. You have no choice.

I bent to the ground. I felt disgusting, wallowing in the wet clay, but I had no choice. I had no idea if snipers were surveying the open streets. Most likely there were. And with every flash of lightning, I would be visible. The only way to stay invisible was to practically become a part of the ground . . . and hope no vehicles came by to squish me.

That would unquestionably suck.

I crawled forward the best I could, praying no one would notice me. Midway through, I realized that I was making a really dumb mistake. If I had just run for it, I'd be on the other side by now. I'd already be safe from sniper fire. And here I was, crawling through the dirt like an animal, an easy mark for anybody who looked down at the ground.

I was new to ground combat, I had no idea how the rules worked. But here I was, in battle school, where a failing grade meant death.

When I crawled behind a wagon, I stopped for a moment, and sat up just a bit, but not enough to let my head be visible. I wasn't going to crawl on the ground again. Damn, that was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

At least the rain was washing some of the clay off of me. But only some.

Was my pistol okay? Was it calibrated to handle the rain? Could it fire even when wet? I studied it, and I took a wild guess and thought it could. I didn't want to test that theory out though. It was best to remain invisible and hope I'd never have to use it.

After another flash of lightning, I ran for it as thunder shook the ground. I made it behind another solid building and I caught my breath. I had successfully traversed one road. But only one.

I found a spot with a thin layer of cloth, the remnants of a fruit stand by the looks of it. I searched the spot for anything edible, but what looked to be melons were either spoiled or filled with bullet remnants. A fight had broken out here, and I smelled the sickening scent of corpses near me. For my own sake, I didn't stick around here, and kept walking, not looking around to see where those corpses could be.

This whole city had become a graveyard, and I was its only living denizen. This was no place for me. This city belonged to the dead, much like Junius Seven. It was for the dead or for those who were going to die.

I was just about to let my guard down when I heard voices of the living. They were speaking the universal business language, English, not Arabic, so I immediately knew they were ZAFT. I ducked behind a corner and listened in to these intruders entering the dead city.

"God damn, Mike. What the hell are we doing here? The one time it rains in the desert and we're doing a patrol."

"I don't know. It's DeCosta's orders. He's trying to get the town secured for the general so he can look good. Apparently we weren't supposed to be here yet,we're stretching the front line," said who I assumed to be "Mike". "I heard that we got two GUNDAMs crashing in town. Never seen any of them, though I heard we got one of the pilots."

Athrun. They were talking about Athrun. It made sense that he wound up in the same town I did.

"Is he alive?"

"Yeah, I think so. Heard the other pilot was a girl."

"A girl, really?"

"Yeah. A Coordinator, the rumor is. But she's working for the Earth Alliance."

"God damn, Mike. I mean it."

"Yeah, I know. Why the hell would a Coordinator girl work for the Alliance? It makes no sense."

"We supposed to be catching her, Mike?"

"I haven't heard any orders 'bout it."

A third voice piped up. "Shut the hell up, both of you. Desert Dawn could be anywhere. You're making us easy marks."

"Sorry, Sarge," said Mike. The second voice didn't say a word.

By that point they had passed me and were moving on down the street, their voices now mere whispers as they moved down the street. There were a couple of other soldiers with them, but they weren't chatty, they just marched in silence, looking every direction they could. I briefly peeked and saw green neon lights, tiny and scarcely visible, move around. Night-vision goggles. I quickly ducked back the moment I realized that. They'd see me easily if I stepped out.

Great. Just what I needed. ZAFT had night-vision and I didn't. This made things infinitely more dangerous.

I had to be even more careful with my movements. A single mistake and I'd be back in their hands again. And I doubted that DeCosta or this "general" would be pleased to see me. After all, I had escaped capture once already.

I highly doubted they would let me escape again.

I looked behind me. A gap in the wall. Looked big enough for me to fit through.

Part of me questioned whether it was a smart idea to go inside. It would be even darker in there than out here. Plus the downpour and thunder was masking my movements.

At the same time, I was exhausted. There was no other way to describe it. Exhausted and stressed out was not a good combination.

If I was going to go inside, it would be to hunker down for the night. Hide in some secluded corner, and hope no one would find me until daylight, where I was on even footing with the patrols.

Was this a good place to hide for the night?

I moved towards it, just a little bit. I aimed my pistol at the opening, and forced my aching eyes to focus. I could not screw this up. If anyone was inside, I needed to get the hell out and in a hurry before I was caught.

This place was only safe if abandoned, or nearly so. Or occupied by people who didn't give a damn that a pilot wearing an Earth uniform was in their midst.

I looked back around, toward the street. Finally, I made up my mind.

I was going inside. I was going to get some rest, and then get moving in the morning. Maybe if I found a burqa or something I would be able to disguise myself and move around fairly freely. I wasn't fully fluent in Arabic yet but maybe I could be just convincing enough for ZAFT soldiers to pay me no mind. Hopefully they hadn't enough time to force women to show papers and stuff too.

Also, it helped that I was really sick of being rained on. I was soaked to the point where there wasn't a single dry spot left on me.

I wasn't going to dry off quickly and my body would itch like hell, but minor discomforts didn't mean anything.

They truly didn't.

Not in the big picture of survival.

My mind made up, I went inside, pistol raised and ready to fire.


Killing someone with my gun wasn't on my mind as I stumbled through the hallways and rooms, looking for somewhere perfect for me to hide. Sure, I was thinking that someone could be around the corner, and I needed to be ready for him, but I wasn't thinking about killing. My only thoughts were You can't get caught, you mustn't get caught.

It was pitch-black in here, and the only sounds were my sloshy footsteps, my soft, nervous breathing, and the storm outside. Lightning would briefly illuminate the hallways I wandered through, giving the impression of monsters and phantoms lurking in the shadows, surrounding me.

But they never struck. I kept reasoning with my exhausted mind, telling myself that there were only humans to be afraid of here. Not the supernatural.

It's just like how I was at Junius Seven. Me being alone, with only my imagination, was a self-destructing phenomenon, where I have to keep fighting myself in addition to everyone and everything around me.

I wish I had a radio com with Kira, with anybody. My helmet had been busted which made my radio useless, but I still wished that I had it. I could've at least tried to make it work, try some form of improvisation to mess with it until it did.

But I had nothing. And, most likely, the only thing I would find were ZAFT channels anyway. And those could be tapped.

Finally, after so much senseless wandering, I finally picked a random room with its door half-open. I was three stories up, and much of the outer wall was blown out, leaving me exposed to the storm. Thankfully, the wind was blowing the rain away from the room, so the room was stone dry but had a bird's eye view of the storm and below.

I softly, silently shut the door. My thought process was that if it was opened, it would give me some time to hide. That was exactly the wrong thing to think, but I didn't know that yet.

I found a corner whose outer wall wasn't blown out, it was inside a closet, with clothes lying everywhere. No corpses.

I was too tired to think of trying anywhere else. I buried myself in the clothes, not caring how dusty they were. I pondered eating my last meal bar, but I opted not to. Even though I was already starving, I knew I couldn't eat right now. If I ate the bar, I would have nothing for tomorrow. Who knew how long it would take before I would find anything I could eat, much less friendlies who had a supply line?

The formless gruel I had eaten so much in the Archangel cafeteria suddenly seemed appetizing.

I forced myself to relax. I had found a building that ZAFT hadn't occupied. Neither side had occupied it, actually. It was all mine. My private little multi-story apartment.

I was already making plans in my head. When it was light out I was going to scope the building out, look for anything edible in any cupboards or refridgerators or something. I also needed to find a burqa. As much as the feminist in me despised those things, I knew one was necessary. ZAFT couldn't be thatignorant of this archaic tactic that they'd strip-search every woman with a burqa on, would they?

Plus, it would completely disguise me. And if my rather marginal Arabic sounded convincing enough to ZAFT soldiers' ears, my disguise would be complete. Then I could wander around until I found rebel lines or get out of the city.

A few booms shook me out of my stupor. I could hear something like aircraft flying over head, and explosions in the sky and on the ground. None struck nearby.

Great. An air raid or something. Just what I needed. But who was doing the raiding, ZAFT or the Earth Alliance? Something told me that it was Earth Alliance. A counterattack against ZAFT's offensive in Tassill. Probably wouldn't do a whole lot against ZAFT, though, and it probably would hurt or kill some Desert Dawn members, too.

As long as bombs didn't drop on me, I wasn't sure I cared. Still, for an air raid, there were a surprising lack of bombs hitting the ground. Sure, it sounded like a fe wfell, but it seemed pretty light for an air raid.

I forced myself to stop thinking about it. I'm not a soldier. I'm just guessing.

Relax, you idiot. Just relax. You're as safe as you can be, I told myself.

But as I was about to fade away, and finally enjoy some sleep with my makeshift blankets, I heard a distant male voice, one that was not speaking Arabic.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just keep going, I'll catch up. Gotta take a leak."

My eyes shot open and suddenly I was wide awake.

Sheer fright makes a pretty good replacement for an espresso dose. But I don't recommend it. Fright makes the heart feel like it's going to explode in your chest, and your stomach feel like it's upside down. And do I need to mention the sweaty forehead, the strained breathing, and every single muscle tensing up?

The door I had shut opened, and my heart literally did skip a beat.

I gripped the pistol and my trembling hands fumbled with it, trying to turn the safety off. I know a bullet was already loaded into the chamber, so I wouldn't need to reveal my position by pulling the hammer back. But that didn't help my nerves. Even something as simple as flicking a switch nearly made me drop the gun.

I waited.

I kept thinking he was suddenly going to emanate around the corner, look into the closet, and see me. But his face never showed. Several seconds passed and soon I wondered if he was ever going to show up.

I slowly peeked my head out of the closet. Maybe he knew I was here, and was playing some kind of demented game with me. And the moment I exposed myself he would put the barrel of his gun at my head, let the moment sink in, and then make my brains shower all over the room.

But that didn't happen either.

Much to my amazement, the soldier really did have to take a leak.

Oh gross, I thought, as the man was perched right outside the shell hole.

I went back behind the wall and tried to relax, even if it was only a little. He wasn't here looking for me. He was just looking for a discreet place to relieve himself. That wasn't such a big deal, right? As long as I stayed quiet there would be no problem.

I heard the radio buzz softly again, and the soldier began talking. "Look, Sarge, I'll be out in a sec. Yeah, I know, the missing pilot, I get it. No, I'm not neglecting that part of the mission. Huh? What do you mean I have to conduct a sweep of the floor by myself? Are you serious? Yeah, I know, the place is deserted . . . fine, fine, I'll do it, Sarge. Just gimme a sec."

I heard the static buzz, and the soldier grumbled "Damn it, they punish me for taking a piss. God, who makes a soldier sweep a floor on his own? Do they want me to get killed?"

Now I was in full-on panic mode. I had just heard the soldier get orders to sweep the floor. Obviously, he would start by searching through the entire room.

And then he'd find me. It was going to be pretty damn obvious if someone was hiding in a pile of clothes.

He was going to be finished any second now. And as my heart seemed to want to eject itself out of my chest, I knew I only had one choice.

I had to ambush him. I didn't have the Strike's armor, nor its weaponry, but I had to ambush him.

I leaned out, my pistol in both of my hands. I could see the soldier messing with his fly, he was done. It was now or never. I pop him now and run for it, or I get captured.

I tried to aim for his head, but I quickly noticed how unsteady my grip was. I was so nervous that I was going to be lucky to make him feel the wind as the bullet passed by. So I aimed for the chest.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I waited. He finished, and he seemed to pause for a second as he picked his rifle back up. Then he turned, directly at me.

It was sheer impulse. Even in this darkness, I knew he had seen me the moment he had turned around. I could hear a brief cry of surprise escape his lips, and his rifle quickly being aimed at me, carefully yet expediently by his arms.

I fired.

Bang. Spak.

The soldier immediately reached up and grabbed his throat. I had gotten lucky. Instead of hitting him in the chest or missing him quickly, I had ripped apart his windpipe, his throat. There was no way anyone was going to save him in time.

The soldier collapsed against the wall and slumped down, coming to a rest in a sitting position, his legs sprawled in front of him, both of his hands continuing to clutch his throat. I just stood there, mesmerized by this man dying in front of my eyes.

I was his executioner. There was no excuse for it. I had aimed, and I had shot him, and now he was going to die.

I forced myself to keep functioning. I told myself that this wasn't real. It couldn't be. I didn't have the guts to shoot someone.

But I had. I could see the results of my work as the soldier continued to struggle in a futile effort to breathe. His eyes were wide in pain and terror, and I knew he was suffering. I approached him, slowly and gingerly. I felt like I was not of this world, that I was an invader, and had used the man as mere sport.

He was fading. His eyes were beginning to close, his gasps becoming more pitiful and wheezy. I reached down to pick his rifle up, vaguely aware I was going to need more firepower.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "So sorry."

He didn't seem to register a word I said. He just continued his impossible struggle against death.

Then I heard new voices. "Wilson? Private Wilson! What the hell's going on over there?"

Oh no!

There was no escape for me here. Other than . . .

Jumping out of a third-story shellhole. What a brilliant idea!

I looked down. There was a cart of some kind. Maybe if it had anything resembling a cushion maybe I wouldn't break my neck from the fall.

Anything would be better than being caught by ZAFT soldiers after murdering one of their own.

Fear was my motivator. Fear of what would happen to me, a blood traitor, for killing a ZAFT soldier. The soldier was still fighting on, but his gasps were becoming softer and fewer. I wanted to be able to lie to myself, that he would be rescued and saved by his squad.

This wasn't like killing someone in a Mobile Suit. Up in space it was almost impersonal, like destroying a machine. Here? No machines, no protection. Bullets were all that mattered down here, bullets and missiles and rockets.

I jumped, aiming for the cart, hoping the sound of the rain and thunder would mask the crashing noises and any grunts of pain. I was instantly soaked, but that was the last thing on my mind as I fell to the ground and crashed into the cart.

Turned out there were melons of some kind inside. Spoiled melons, I could tell by the rather rank smell, but melons. I broke the cart, and I felt like my entire backside was a gigantic bruise, but as I scrambled off of the wreckage, it didn't feel like I had broken anything.

I could hear sounds of surprise and alarm inside the building. I scrambled to my feet and ran out of the lot and into the nearest alley and just plain did not stop until I could run no further. I collapsed on my knees and stared at the nearest wall, still feeling like I was not completely here.

As I regained control of myself, I realized I had maintained a death grip on the soldier's rifle. I was already trying to convince myself that I had experienced nothing but a bad dream, but the rifle told me the truth. I nearly dropped it, but forced myself to hang on.

I knew I couldn't run from what I had done. I had killed people up in space, and now I killed someone on Earth.

But it was different in space. I was protecting my friends, Orb civilians, shorthanded soldiers. Here, I had killed to protect no one but myself.

Was my life really worth so much?

I forced myself to think that I had no choice. That he was going to spot me. If I hadn't taken the shot I would be a prisoner right now, and considering the previous group's treatment of me, I could expect lots of abuse, maybe even death if they hated me enough. After all, I had escaped them once already.

And now, after killing a soldier in their midst, I could expect no mercy, period.

I was definitely going to be considered a blood traitor now. I could've just surrendered, but I had chosen to kill.

I thought about that soldier as I leaned my head on the alleyway, looking down on the soaked, cracked asphalt below. That poor soldier, who couldn't have been much older than me. Killed because he had to take a piss in the same room I was in.

What a stupid, pointless way to go, even in war.

Some mother, some father, was going to be getting a "KIA" message very soon about their child.

And I was responsible for that.

I collapsed to my knees and put my hands to my face. I couldn't help myself anymore. I was a murderer. A true murderer. How could I hope to ever become an ordinary civilian again? How could I ever look my parents in the eye?

Now, more than ever, war had touched my life, and left burning scars in its wake.

How could I ever hope to escape war?

How could I ever repay the lives I had taken?

The answers were no and no.

I began sobbing, and let the rain wash all over me, washing my tears off of my face and into the ground.