Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of the characters in this story (unless otherwise stated). Zero-zero and Miss Remmi, for example, both belong to me. I do not own the series' creator, mech designer, or PHYSALIS, and I'm not making any money off this story. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original concepts in this story are original (duh) and belong to me, or have had all rights handed over to me. Do not steal. This story is ACAlternate Continuity), takes place (for the most part) almost five years after Endless Waltz, and contains: violence, language, angst, flashbacks, acts of terrorism and subsequent political brouhaha, religious references, twisted senses of morality, and an obnoxious timeline.
Better Than Nothing:
Chapter Three — Meet Nothing
"There's much to be said for challenging fate instead of ducking behind it. A very smart woman by the name of Diana Trilling said that, you know. She lived from about 1905 to 1996. Amano Domini, of course, so you wouldn't have known her," Zero-zero was rambling again, fingers laced together on the back of his neck. He was smiling, eyes half-closed as he tilted his head up and slightly to the left. It was odd, the way that he seemed so childishly happy, even though his female companion had stopped listening to him long ago.
"Oh, come on, Miss Remmi; you have to admit that it's true. Our species—in general, as I'm sure that there are exceptions somewhere—is lazy and self-absorbed; which is interesting, seeing as how, at the same time, we simply cannot be bothered to mind our own damn business. We always want to butt into our neighbor's affairs and tell him the proper way to run his life, his government, and how to follow his own religion. Then again, concepts like freedom and patriotism are based entirely around death, destruction, and exploitation, while at that very same time, they try to preach life, love, peace, and brotherhood. Don't you think that's odd, Miss Remmi?
"But, I'm getting on a tangent. All that I'm trying to say is that Miss Trilling had a point. Even though people are more than willing to start a fight with their neighbor, very few of them seem to be able to handle confronting social situations, or family members, let alone a Being of Higher Power and Sentience such as Fate. Most people—and I'm absolutely positive that you're aware of this, Miss Remmi—just want to go with the flow; not so much living life, as simply passing through. They are. . . That is, they act as though they are unwanted guests in their own homes, the kind that are constantly complaining to the host that there is something wrong but never elaborate on the problem or give any clues as to what that elusive something is. The world is filled with those kinds of people, you know? Absolutely filled to the brim. Don't you agree, Miss Remmi?" Zero-zero waited for a response, patience quickly draining when one was not readily presented. He jerked his head to the other side to glare at the woman lying on the floor, bottom-heavy lips pulling up and back in an angry sneer.
"I asked you a question, Miss Remmi. Why won't you answer?" his voice was louder this time, and still the woman said nothing, the hollow expression on her face remaining unchanged. Zero-zero pouted, whining petulantly. "Look, it's not my fault! You refused to be more cooperative, and you got your due reward! It's not that complicated."
He took a deep, shaky breath, averting his gaze when she continued to do nothing. He realized that he had sounded somewhat desperate, like that he was trying more to convince himself than her, and that bothered him. It was not his fault. He had not done anything wrong. Zero-zero crossed his arms over his chest, and decided that two could play at that game. ". . .Fine. You want to be stubborn and unresponsive? Be my guest. I don't care what you do anymore, Miss Remmi."
Several minutes passed in tense silence before the young man let out a frustrated sigh.
"Gah! I just can't take it anymore!" he exclaimed to his female companion, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing his hands up to the sides of his head to muss his hair in annoyance. Zero-zero looked to her with a mixed sense of wonder and confusion. "How do you stand it, Miss Remmi?"
Miss Remmi's head lolled forward on her neck limply, almond eyes remaining blank and clouded as she stared forward without sight. He shrugged, deciding that it was probably time to give up. Miss Remmi obviously did not want to talk to him anymore today. Zero-zero reached down to pick his gun up off the concrete floor, calloused fingertips slipping along the wet and only slightly sticky grip as he tucked the weapon back into the waistband of his old jeans. He idly brushed at the cooling red liquid that had splattered along his arm, smearing it in his half-hearted attempt to wipe it off. Slowly, he walked away from her body, moving down the aisles of crates and oversized boxes towards the back of the warehouse.
He looked up to the old reactor nestled away safely in the corner with wide and hopeful eyes. Carefully, as he was painfully aware of the mood, Zero-zero reached out to the machine, delicately running a hand down its side. He took a step towards it, a smile dancing along the corners of his mouth. Even if Miss Remmi did not like him anymore, that did not matter, as long as he still had his God and his mission. Really, no matter how lonely he felt or how much he longed to hear another voice fill the suffocating silence, those two things were all he needed.
"I've waited a long time to meet you. . ." he whispered to the generator, both hands now traveling along its dust covered surface. His fingertips brushed across the faded designation as though it were lettered Braille, and he found himself holding his breath. The name. . . Dear God, the name. . . He let the air out in a shuddering gasp, eyes rolling up and back till only the whites showed beneath flickering lids. The rush of emotion that pulsed through him was incapacitating, filled him with unimaginable pleasure and excitement.
This was the machine—the relic, the ancient God to rival his own—that he had been searching for. This. . .this beautiful Being. . . How long had He been trapped here, forced to suffer the indignity of playing a piece of pathetic, pre-Nations Mobile Suit history? A timeless glory was held here, within this Being, and yet here it was: locked in some colonist's useless and outdated museum.
That loyalist bitch. He felt betrayed. How could she have done such a thing? Zero-zero immediately took back his first thoughts of her, now very certain that there was nothing at all pretty or nice about Miss Remmi and there never had been. He never wanted to see her again. His hands along the sides of the generator became a loving caress, and he pressed his lips to the name softly.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of you from now on. . ." he murmured breathlessly against the cold metal. "And I swear to you that you will see the battlefield again, my dear, dear PHYSALIS. . ."
A sharp sound from the entrance broke their intimate interlude, and Zero-zero jerked his head away, a dark scowl taking up residence on his countenance. What was it now?
—Tap tap tap. . .
Slowly, vision fuzzed and hazy with the dull sound of metal on stone ominously heavy in the otherwise silent room, the young man opened his dark eyes; deep-set blue peering through ragged blond before squeezing shut again. He was lying on his stomach, the chill from the concrete beneath him seeping in through his shirt, one arm curled under his chest and gripping the fabric above his heart. The noise—tap tap tap—continued, and it only added to the painful throbbing at his temples. With an effort, the young man pushed himself up into a kneeling position. The lights above him, which had been off prior to his move, flickered on, cruelly bright and causing him to blink rapidly in his attempt to adjust. Another man's voice, as hard and cold as the rock substitute he knelt on, spoke above the incessant tapping:
"Hmph. . .it's alive. I should probably fix that, eh, PHYSALIS?" it said, an accent only just audible along the edges of his speech but thick enough to recognize. Japanese, L1-cluster dialect. He thought it odd for a moment, considering that he last remembered being near home; that home being located within the UAN's colony clusters. The other man, whom he could not see quite yet, scuffed his shoes on the floor, probably standing now. "State your name and designation, though I'm pretty sure that I know what you are."
"Wha—?" he began to ask, only then to feel the heel of the man's boot come down between his shoulder-blades and push him to the floor.
"Answer the question, you pretentious brat, lest I send a bullet through your skull in an effort appease God."
"Ah! . . .I-I don't have a designation," he tried, gasping when the man put his weight down on his back.
"The hell you don't. I know what you are, so don't try to play games with me," he gave a deep, throaty cough before spitting, the filmy white mucus hitting the younger man on the back of the neck. "You're that monstrosity, that horrid lusting beast; you are one of the takers of God. For this you will be punished according to the will that you have tried to destroy."
Pale brows furrowed, the young man was so confused, and he looked back over his shoulder, blue catching on dark cloth and dusky skin. It was still a blur—dark on dark on dark—though it was starting to focus, evolving from complete indistinction to base set-up. Hair, clothes, skin, something in the dark hand. The man crouched over him, pressing something smooth and cool against the back of his head. Round, metallic. The barrel of a gun; old-style 92 Brigadier FS, probably black, standard issue. Forty caliber semi-automatic pistol with single or double action, fifteen rounds. Not a bad choice.
"I-. . .I don't understa—" he tried to speak again, but the man forced his head down, slamming his nose against the hard concrete.
"Shut up! Don't lie to me; I will not be deceived!" it was screamed, voice grating and hoarse. Blood poured out from his nose, puddling on the ground, and the young man opened his mouth to breathe around it. "I am God's protector, and the punisher of the wicked. You, who have so defiled God with your filth, with your sinner's hands and deviant mind, will soon face His wrath, and so shall be annihilated. I will send your immortal soul to the infernos of Hell!"
God. . . What was this crazed enigma that the man spoke of; that he hissed praise through his teeth as he took the safety off? The young man tried to lick his lips, the sharp taste of copper and dust heavy on his tongue. "W-wait. . ." he stammered, breath hitching in his throat. "Wait. . ."
"Oh? Will you beg forgiveness? God does not forgive the wicked, and neither do I. You have one last chance to state your name, sinner."
". . .Q-Quatre. . .m-my. . .name is Quatre."