Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ A.I.: Artificial Identity ❯ Chapter Two: Day Two ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I don't own, nor do I claim rights to Gundum Wing, The Terminator, or The Supernaturalists. If I did, it's fair to say their storylines would have turned out very differently. But I don't. I'm just an exhausted high school student suffering from stress clinging to her last shred of sanity with no money. The library is my best friend. Along with the internet. To put it plainly, I OWN NOTHING. Except the concept of this story.

Warning: This shouldn't surprise anyone, but beware of Enraged!Duo's language. Lol. And this story is AU, futuristic, contains violence, has very little (if anything) in common with the real storyline, and I got this idea after watching The Terminator and not long after that I read Eoin Colfer's The Supernaturalists. So the plot bunny morphed into this. This will probably be a fairly long story…lemme see, anything else…? Oh, it's YAOI, like nearly everything else I write. 2x5 and I haven't decided whom to put Trowa with yet. So there.

SPOILERS FOR EPISODE ZERO IN LATER CHAPTERS! BEWARE!! I will let you know when.

Author's Note: Alright, here's chapter two. Trying to move things along as best I can. I have SATs coming up now that the APs are over. Just lovely. But I shall not slack off! The educational system shall not win! I will learn to balance my life…some day…[cries] And I forgot to put in chapter one that this will be a two part story. I think that's it for now. If you have any questions, ask me; I'll answer them if it won't give anything away. If I've already addressed it in previous author's notes, I won't answer it.

 

AI: Artificial Intelligence

By: Mitsuru Aki

 

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PART ONE: Interconnected

Chapter TWO: Day Two

 

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“Hey Trowa, give me that wrench, would you?” A voice floated up from underneath a vehicle propped up on metal ramps.

 

Trowa wordlessly squatted down and handed the purplish-haired woman the necessary tool.

 

She glanced up at him as she accepted the wrench. “You need a haircut, Trowa,” she informed him. How do you see anything when you've always got one eye covered?”

 

He smiled softly. “I see more than you think, Noin.”

 

For example, that wrench is the wrong size.

 

She tinkered with the tool until she finally cursed, “Dammit, this wrench is too small! Can you get me the next size up?”

 

Trowa removed the wrench from his uniform pocket as he watched Wufei approach them from the corner of his eye. His dark blue mechanics uniform was already soiled and grease was smeared across his right cheek. His nametag read Chang instead of his first name.

 

“Onna, is there any gasoline in the storage room?” Wufei demanded of Noin, crossing his arms impatiently.

 

Apparently, his mood hadn't improved since last night. Considering that neither one of them slept last night might have been a factor.

 

“Gasoline?!” Noin said incredulously as she rolled out from under her vehicle on her mechanics creeper. “What the hell do you need gasoline for? No one uses gasoline!”

 

“Sally does,” Trowa reminded her.

 

“I've been telling her to get rid of that stupid car of hers for months,” the Chinese teen complained bitterly. “Most of the tools I need to fix that animated junk heap aren't even manufactured anymore.”

 

“Don't let her hear you say that,” Noin warned him, her face nearly as grimy as Wufei's. “She loves that old Mercedes Benz C-320.”

 

“I don't think we have any gasoline,” Trowa added. He stood up, several inches taller than his friend. “Very few stores still sell it.”

 

Obsidian eyes glared at him angrily as though he'd used the last of the gasoline.

 

“If you want, I could call a guy next city over, he has—”

 

“No.” Noin cut in sharply, narrowing her eyes.

 

Trowa shrugged, not bothered by her tone and sudden suspicion. “Sorry, Wufei.”

 

Wufei released a frustrated sigh and stormed back over to the other side of the garage where his client was waiting.

 

“So,” the brunette with her hair twisted over her shoulders inquired. “What's your diagnosis this time, Chang?”

 

Wufei jabbed his finger at the offending vehicle. “This tin can needs to go meet its maker at the junkyard!” he snapped.

 

Noin shook her head and rubbed her eyes wearily with the back of her hand.

 

Sally frowned. “It's not that bad; just a little old,” she insisted, not at all affronted by the dark-eyed teen's anger.

 

“Woman!” Wufei said irritably. “This thing is nearly seventy-five years old! I have no idea why it's still running. It should have died sixty years ago with the way you drive.”

 

“Your devoted love and care gave it something to live for,” Sally returned sweetly.

 

Wufei scoffed. “Pure luck is all. And maybe some mutated engineering.”

 

“My car is not a mutant.”

 

“Your precious car,” the Chinese young man began, rapping his knuckles on the car's hood, “has a leak in the gas tank. A big one. Even if we had the gasoline, which we don't, it wouldn't go very far.” He looked for a reaction. Most people knew nothing about the inner workings of their cars. It was a great way of ripping people off. Not that he did that, of course. Integrity was a rare quality these days.

 

No response.

 

He rolled his eyes. “It has serious internal bleeding,” he clarified, translating into something she would understand.”

 

Her eyes widened in realization. “No…” she began. “Is it that serious?”

 

Wufei nodded. “Very serious.”

 

“Like an ulcer?”

 

“I would say more like an abdominal wound.”

 

“Oh dear…”

 

The dark-haired teen grabbed a dirty rag off his toolbox and started wiping his heat resistant gloves. She thought about her options.

 

“Could you patch it up?” she asked hopefully.

 

He stared at her. “I could. But honestly woman, you'd be better off with a new car. This thing is just going to get worse.”

 

“I suppose…” She hesitated in indecision.

 

Wufei waited for three seconds. “I'll call a tow truck for you,” Wufei decided, heading for the satellite phone fastened to the wall nearby.

 

“Wait a minute!” She called in alarm as she hurried after him. “I need that car until I can get a new one!”

 

“Buy a new one at lunch. Use public transportation. Walk.” Wufei listed unsympathetically. It was time to get revenge on the Ancient Car from Hell. He picked up the phone and dialed.

 

Trowa and Noin watched him apprehensively (not that you could tell with Trowa) from a distance, but didn't interfere.

 

“Chang!”

 

He ignored Sally and made arrangements to have his client's car dragged off to God knows where.

 

She scowled at him as he hung up. “You didn't have my permission to do that!”

 

Wufei gave her his patented Don't you think you're being stupid? look. “I know what's best for your car, Po. Say your last goodbyes, because the tow truck will be here in ten minutes if it can get a signal.”

 

She gaped at him.

 

He shrugged and started closing up his toolbox. “I said the sooner the better.”

 

“Chaaaaang!” she wailed.

 

Wufei checked his uniform, examining the long sleeves, the chest, the pants. “I'm a mess every time you bring your vehicle here,” he informed her. “I feel no guilt.”

 

“Then you'll have to come with me!” she retorted.

 

The Asian young man blinked. “What are you on about, woman?”

 

“You'll have to help me buy a new car.” She glared at Wufei as if daring him to challenge her decision.

 

Wufei turned and looked from one side of the garage to the other and then back at her. “I have a job,” he said slowly. “I'd like to keep it if you don't mind.”

 

Sally waved her hand as though waving away an annoying insect. “It's almost your lunch break. Besides, you know everything about cars!”

 

“No I—”

 

“I don't know anything about those vehicles that run on electricity or fuel cells.”

 

“You mean normal ones?” Wufei asked sarcastically. “Besides, Noin wouldn't—”

 

“Oh Noin!” Sally called determinedly, walking over to Trowa and their short-haired boss. “Would I be able to kidnap Chang a little early? I need his help since he just confiscated my car.”

 

Trowa frowned. “He's taking it to the junkyard?”

 

“He called a tow truck,” Sally explained with a `whatever' attitude. “So I need his expert advice on purchasing my next vehicle.”

 

“I don't—” Wufei started.

 

“Since he worked on my car, he'll have to familiarize himself with my next one, right?” she asked innocently.

 

“That makes sense,” Trowa agreed, fighting a smile from the look on Wufei's face that promised pain later. Or at least mild physical assault.

 

“But we'll miss his good cheer,” Noin protested sarcastically.

 

“I'm not—” Wufei tried again.

 

“Oh, take him,” Noin said, wiping her face with a cloth. “Don't bring him back for an hour, though, okay? A whole Wufei-free hour…”

 

“Sure thing,” Sally agreed, smiling evilly at her new captive.

 

Traitorous woman, Wufei thought, glaring daggers at Noin. And Barton too.

 

Trowa filled a small paper cup with a clear substance from a bottle on a nearby worktable and set it on Noin's toolbox. “You're just smearing that grease, Noin,” he told her. “Use this; it'll help.”

 

“And you…” Sally began, removing a handkerchief from her purse and dunking it in the liquid. She turned to Wufei and promptly started attacking his face. “You're a mess! How do you do this to yourself?”

 

Wufei fought her every step of the way. “Your soon-to-be-deceased car despised me! And I don't need your help to wash my face, woman!”

 

Sally released her prisoner and inspected his indignant face. “Much better!”

 

“Onna! Don't ever do that again!” The Chinese young man stalked off to the mechanics' changing rooms, fuming.

 

Noin smirked. “Nice going, Sally.”

 

“Oh, he'll get over it.” Sally smiled at Trowa. “Right?”

 

Trowa nodded. “About ten years from now,” he agreed.

 

Spending lunch finding Sally Po a new car, the brunette thought amusedly. No offense, Chang, but you had that coming.

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The Orphan Center's work rooms needed a new heating system. Forcing three hundred kids into one room only provided so much body heat.

 

And once again, I'm freezing my ass off, Duo thought disgruntledly, already sore and tired. His face ached where Captain Une had slapped him ten hours ago. Really though, I'm lucky I was only there an hour and a half until the morning alarm rang.

 

So there sat Duo Maxwell, with hundreds of other orphans, testing Technological Industries' latest computer, the Garrison#1250.

 

How is this one any different than the Garrison#1200? The brunette wondered. Looks the same to me…

 

He clicked disinterestedly on various objects. Did he want to change the background? No, not really, he wanted to sleep. How about self-destruct the computer? As fun as that sounded, that option was actually blocked. Run a virus check? Okay, whatever. Who cared?

 

Beeeep! The Virus Tracker could not be found. Please contact an administrator.

 

Duo's hand shot into the air.

 

“Yes, Maxwell 02? Problems?” A red-haired woman asked as she came up beside him with a clipboard.

 

“It says the Virus Tracker's lost.” Duo struggled to hide a yawn. “Either that or it's malfunctioning.”

 

“Hmmmmm…” the woman pursed her lips and scribbled something down. “Everything else appeared to be fine otherwise?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Very well.” She pointed to a door not four feet away. “Go through there to the next room. You're finished here.”

 

“Alrighty then,” he muttered, standing on shaky legs. Sitting for five hours straight sucks. He opened the door to the next work room and looked around for an empty seat. An open one right next to Quatre. Bingo!

 

“Hey Q! What're we doing here?”

 

Quatre stared at him for about three seconds before his eyes filled with tears.

 

“Eh?! Q-man, what's wrong?!” Duo asked in alarm. “You okay? They didn't—”

 

“I'm really sorry about last night, Duo!” the blond blurted out, sounding thoroughly depressed. He'd been berating himself all day, no doubt. “It really was my fault this time…”

 

“Don't be ridiculous, Q!” Duo said resolutely. “It was completely my own fault. And even after you told me to be quiet, too!”

 

A short brunette man glared at them from his desk in a corner. “Hey! Let's see some work over there!”

 

I work for you every day, you bastard, Duo thought darkly, pulling a box of robotic toy parts towards him from a pile at the center of the table. The least you could do is let me talk.

 

He squinted at the toy's image on the package. Yeah, he'd done these before.

 

“So are we still on for Friday?” Quatre whispered anxiously, eyes flickering over the discoloration of his friend's face.

 

“Definitely,” Duo nodded, meeting his friend's gaze. “If we do it right, we'll never see this place again.”

 

Quatre smiled, his whole face lighting up. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

“You bet.”

 

“But Duo, I—”

 

“If you apologize to me one more time, I'll hit you, Q.”

 

“But I—”

 

“You apologize for everything, especially when it's not your fault. Jeepers, Q.”

 

“You're not mad, then?”

 

Duo shook his head in mock sadness. “If you even have to ask, then I'm obviously not upset. Trust me, Q, if I'm pissed, you'll know form a mile away.” He swiped a screwdriver from the freckled boy on his right.

 

The two friends worked in silence for a couple minutes while they put annoying robotic toys together. The kind you smashed just for fun when you were seven.

 

Whistle while you work…

 

“Hey, Duo,” Quatre said softly, mischief in his eyes.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I don't have a license or anything,” the blond began, “but Father taught me how to drive.”

 

The American blinked in surprise. Very few people drove manually anymore, relying instead on the Satellite Network to run their vehicles for them.

 

Then the Oh yeah, it's on now grin bloomed across his features, making Quatre smile in return.

 

They shared a knowing look.

 

Duo valiantly resisted the urge to cackle maniacally, stabbing happily at the unfortunate robot he was supposed to be putting together.

 

Guess what, Captain Une? Come this Friday, I'll never have to see your bitchy face again. Eat that. Duo thought smugly.

 

Yes, the coming victory would be sweet. Now if only he could figure out how the stupid brand on his upper arm worked…

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Due to the coming of winter, the sun set around six in the evening. At exactly five thirty the streetlights clicked into life, since a signal from the Alpha5 Satellite told them to.

 

Even with the lights on, night was a dangerous time to be out and around the city. Not even the cops ventured out after seven. Unless a serious massacre occurred right outside the police station, the cops stayed nice and safe in their offices (which locked down for the upcoming graveyard shift) so they could live to help some poor soul the next day.

 

After sun down, gangs considered the city of Xenophene their own personal playground. And it was. You had to be tough, or least look the part, to survive on the streets after nightfall.

 

Androids roamed the streets and alleys unbeknownst to the general population, who tried their best not to acknowledge anything strange in their own little neighborhoods, and infiltrated gangs, the police, everyone. Unfortunately, it usually took a near-fatal encounter with one to convince people they existed.

 

Heero hated nighttime.

 

It exploited the worst parts of the human nature and paraded it around as though it were something to be proud of. The androids, just by imitating mankind, simply magnified the darker character to their creators. He had yet to come across one that actually helped people, rather than destroying them.

 

A homeless man found murdered in a dumpster. A serial killer? Nope.

 

Android.

 

A well-known gang leader discovered with his throat slit and thoroughly beaten. An ambush by a rival gang? No.

 

Android. But of course the other gang is framed for the crime.

 

Corrupted politicians poisoned at a formal dinner. Okay, so with today's love of politicians, that could be anyone. But an android assassin was still possible.

 

Heero pulled on his black gloves: a strange combination of rubber, some plasma-like substance, and something else Dr. J had neglected to tell him. They molded right to his hands like a second skin. Such a pain to remove, though.

 

Dark-colored clothes only for missions: deep blues, black, and shades of gray. Dark charcoal gray tonight. Tinted glasses over his blue eyes that protected against bright light. Able to adjust to any intensity of light, they were a definite bonus.

 

All the lights in Heero's apartment were off. He walked to the window and pressed his index finger to the bottom right corner of the window frame. It glowed green for a moment before making a soft clicking noise as it popped upward. The brunette pushed the window up all the way, and then paused.

 

The previous night's rain had disappeared, replaced by an increasingly heavy mist. Heero's eyes narrowed; that could throw off his calculations. Androids didn't do so well in wet weather. He'd have to be extra careful tonight.

 

Running his gloved hands over his chest, he checked the contents of his dark, smoke-colored jacket, feeling for his supplies in his inside pockets. Steel and gundanium alloy tracker, parts of his high voltage rifle, extra conductive cartridges, and an audio recorder from which he could later file his report. All set.

 

Heero slipped silently through the window onto an ancient fire escape no one bothered to take care of, closing the window firmly afterwards. It was dark in the alley behind the apartments; he could hardly see his own feet. Automatically, he felt his way to the stair rails, his mind telling himself places to avoid and where the metal was rusted through.

 

He dropped to the cement seconds later, skipping the last two flights of stairs completely and simply allowing the soles of his boots to absorb the shock of landing. The asphalt was cold under his gloves, the chilly feeling seeping through the material. He glanced around and moved towards the edge of the building and the faint glow of streetlights.

 

The street appeared dreamlike in its foggy shroud, the artificial light dimly reflecting off miniscule drops of water. Heero's footsteps made no sound as he walked quickly down the street.

 

Downtown, a business meeting would begin in twenty minutes from now. Unbeknownst to the CEO of Technological Industries, his guest was an android on a suicide mission. According to Dr. J, Heero's assignment was to take out the mechanical assassin before it even reached the conference room. A small bomb, the brunette had been told, was nestled in the android's chest. If the force from the explosion didn't kill the CEO, the metal shrapnel from the destroyed android would.

 

He was in the heart of downtown Xenophene in seven minutes; a place of bright lights and loud noise that annoyed him without end. Shady-looking teenagers hung out in front of cinemas and restaurants, laughing loudly or picking fights. Some of them were obviously drunk.

 

Heero was only a block from the hotel, Xenophene Royale, when two teenage boys strolled towards him up the sidewalk, walking the opposite direction he was headed.

 

The taller one gazed passively at him with dark green eyes, his black, heavily gelled hair partially obscuring one of them. His clothes were black with holes in the knees of his dark jeans, and a black wrinkled tank top. On his right shoulder was a dark blue and red tattoo, looking just like an old-fashioned compass with the same spidery, colonial writing establishing the eight directions.

 

A gang sign; not entirely unusual in this part of the city.

 

He, however, was a Director; part of a group of highly intellectual people who used their smarts for the wrong sorts of things. Computer hacking, selling classified information, and creating havoc with Xenophene's satellites (considering Xenophene relied heavily on satellite transmissions for nearly everything) which caused problems for everyone. The majority of their members resented the larger role technology played in society and did their best to screw up as many satellites as possible, which often caused fatalities in traffic accidents.

 

Very few cars contained steering wheels nowadays; satellites merely sent a radio transmission to the vehicle dictating speed, directions, traffic, et cetera. This enabled car dealers to create smaller, sleeker models, since most of them ran on fuel cells or electricity and so no longer need such a large space for the engine.

 

So when the information sent to satellites was incorrect or faulty, fatal car crashes, blackouts, and financial disturbances occurred.

 

Directors were worse than your average street gang.

 

The shorter teen next to him had the same mark on his right shoulder too. His shirt was a dark gray turtleneck, but the right sleeve had been torn off at some point. He looked Asian, maybe Chinese, it was hard to tell in this day and age since minorities were rare (most had established colonies in space), with his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. A plain black baseball cap sat backwards over his hair. Two gold clips adorned the upper part of his ear, glinting in the streetlight. His black cargo pants had been hacked off at mid-calf and were beginning to unravel.

 

Both boys wore black sneakers, and gloves similar to Heero's.

 

The Chinese teen graced the brunette with a disdainful glance as they brushed past, although Heero left them plenty of room on the sidewalk. He listened to their rapid footsteps fade behind them.

 

Out of habit, Heero pulled the GS Tracker from the inside of his jacket. Little dots appeared scattered on the screen: reddish orange for steel and green for gundanium alloy. Due to Heero's unrivaled hacking skills, he had his own satellite line that mapped out the city of Xenophene in respect to those two metals. Solid red lines represented buildings; moving dots were androids. Few of the humanoid machines were made of gundanium alloy, but Heero had fought a couple that were. The android manufacturers were still experimenting with metal combinations.

 

A steady green and red light moved slowly away from the tiny white dot representing himself, which was actually a Radio Wave Identity Chip in his pocket.

 

Heero paused and half-turned, staring after the retreating teens. Is one of them an android?

 

He glanced at the Tracker in his hand again, gazing with faint perplexity at the mostly green dot. It was smaller than usual; less than half the usual diameter of five millimeters.

 

True, Heero had never encountered a teenage android, but that shouldn't have such a large effect on the tracking sensor.

 

Are they experimenting with age now, not just gundanium alloy?

 

The two teens disappeared into a store.

 

He shoved the GS Tracker back into his jacket. He'd have to investigate that later and check in with Dr. J about any advances in android production. His instincts told him to follow them, but he had another mission at the moment that was more important than acting on a hunch. He kept walking.

 

Strange.

 

It didn't take long to reach Xenephene Royale. Brightly lit and busy with the movements of a myriad of business people, it was rather hard to miss.

 

Five minutes before the meeting started. The bomb wouldn't go off until five minutes into the meeting, but he had to get there before the android reached the conference room. Five minutes to do his job.

 

He shoved his way into the lobby, porters rushing by with bags following important-looking CEOs, hotel residents lining up in the lobby's restaurant as they waited for a table. Heero forced his way over to a small seating area opposite the restaurant, and sat in a deceptively uncomfortable chair. It had a clear view of the entrance and that's all he was currently concerned about.

 

Dr. J sent him information on the bomb carrier earlier that afternoon. Unless the android had been replaced, it would be male, about five foot ten, black hair, dark blue eyes, glasses, and carrying a black small briefcase of irrelevant size. The papers in there were just props.

 

There was no way Heero Yuy would ever allow anyone to assassinate the CEO of Technological Industries, who also happened to be his boss. Going through new management was always a pain to endure.

 

“Excuse me,” a voice behind Heero, off to his left, interrupted his thoughts coolly. “These chairs are for hotel residents only, young man.”

 

Heero stood slowly and turned, fixing the arrogant blond man in the hotel's uniform with a glare that made braver men quail in terror. Time to improvise.

 

“Are you saying I'm not allowed to sit here and wait for Father to return from work?” He asked coldly.

 

The Royale employee blinked and took an involuntary step back. “You're staying here? I haven't seen you in here before…”

 

“We're passing through for Father's business meeting, not that it's any of your concern.” The brunette dared the other man to doubt him with his eyes. He gave the blond a condescending once-over, being sure to put him in his place so he would go tell all his little co-workers not to bother him. “Although most likely, we won't be back…”

 

His unlucky victim looked away, searching for an excuse to leave this suddenly awkward conversation. “Ah, yes, I'm very sorry sir—” he was already turning away nervously.”—well, enjoy the rest of your night, and if you need anything—”

 

Heero returned his full attention to the revolving doors, dismissing the irritating attendant. A group of rich elderly women flooded into the lobby, comparing pictures of grandchildren or sharing comments no one wanted to hear on newly made purchases. And behind them—

 

There.

 

A dark blue-eyed man with a briefcase came in behind them with one minute to spare, followed by three more dark-haired men posing as his aides.

 

The teen slid the GS Tracker from his pocket and checked the screen. He glanced up to compare the stranger to the moving red dot in connection to where he was standing. That was him. Target sighted.

 

Six minutes to deactivate him.

 

Heero moved swiftly through the crowd to cut them off as they approached the two elegant elevators. The android didn't seem to have much experience with crowds; it didn't wait for the aides to keep up with it as they struggled to get out of the pack of little old ladies, who didn't seem to have the inclination to do anything except stand around and talk. The mob was too thick for the group to stick together, so the aides gradually separated from what they should have been protecting.

 

Amateurs. He reached in his pocket and turned on the tape recorder; he'd have to send it to Dr. J when the mission was over.

 

It was nice to see old women helping for a change, albeit unintentionally.

 

Ten steps from the elevator and the target was alone and waiting for one of the two elaborate elevators to open. Surprisingly, there was no line.

 

Heero pasted a small smile on his face, knowing perfectly well the expression didn't reach his eyes; it was a weird feeling. He reached for the android's arm and buried his fingers in the soft material.

 

“Father!” he called brightly, catching the man's attention. The blond attendant who'd hassled him earlier was watching them from the safety of the front desk. “It was getting late, so I decided to wait for you in the lobby.”

 

The slightly taller man gave him a strange look. “Excuse me?”

 

Heero exhaled sharply (his version of a sigh) and tried not to feel too annoyed with himself. “I know you said not to come down, but I was worried—” he forcefully steered the machine in the newly arrived elevator as the abandoned aides drew closer—“and decided to wait where I could see you arrive. What if something happened to you?”

 

He was rewarded with what he assumed was supposed to be a distrustful look, but the metallic “muscles” in the machine's artificial face couldn't quite pull the expression off. “Well, I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else—”

 

The elevator door dinged! shut.

 

Both teen and android moved at the same instant, an inhuman arm drawing back for a blow as Heero's outstretched hand shot forward and pinned the other man's throat to the elevator wall. “I think we both know why I'm here,” Heero replied stonily, his eyes darkening behind his glasses while the lift began its ascent.

 

The android didn't respond, instead dropping the briefcase and bringing both hands to Heero's forearm as it observed him with artificial eyes.

 

Heero increased the pressure against the android's throat. Normally a man's windpipe would have already crumpled beneath his hand, but steel took a bit longer. If he could crush the neck, it would disconnect several vital wires controlling the extremities and prevent the humanoid from turning its head and limiting its vision. No doubt the machine was busy running a systems check.

 

He was completely unprepared for the intense pain that erupted where the android's hands clenched around his arm, burning into his skin like fire.

 

What--?!

 

Heero hissed sharply, slamming his other fist into the man's face as he released its throat. Abruptly the hands released him, moving instead to calculate the damage done to its dented cheek and neck. The teenager glanced incredulously at the pink, inflamed ring five inches above his right wrist.

 

How the hell did it do that?

 

Ignoring the stinging sensation, he plunged his hand into his jacket for the pieces of his high voltage rifle when the bottom dropped out of his stomach and there was an unexpected feeling of weightlessness.

 

Damn it! Heero thought furiously. I only have two and a half minutes left!

 

The bell rang repeatedly for each level they passed as the elevator free-fell four floors towards the lobby with both passengers struggling for balance. It stopped chiming and still they fell straight into the basement with a thunderous crash that made Heero's ears ring and his legs stagger.

 

Woe to the disadvantages of being human.

 

The door opened calmly and without a sound, not a single scratch upon it.

 

In the few milliseconds it took Heero Yuy to orient himself, the android was already up and swinging at him. Heero's arms shot up automatically to block the incoming punch, but the heavy weight of the metal behind the blow threw him out of the elevator, past a stack of discarded cardboard boxes, two wide-eyed teenaged faces, an ancient cleaning cart, and into an unused wardrobe. The impact immediately made his forearms ache and tore the breath from his lungs, but he blocked the pain from his mind; he was still standing. Throwing himself to the left, Heero narrowly missed the fist that smashed through the wooden doors two inches from his head.

 

He retaliated by bringing his own fist up under the other man's chin and snapping the head back.

 

“Barton!” A voice called sharply from several feet away.

 

A pair of gloved hands appeared over the android's suit-clad shoulders, yanking it away from Heero with surprising speed. The machine stumbled backwards into the boxes by the elevator doors that crumpled beneath its weight.

 

Which allowed Heero to catch a glimpse of the stranger's face in the dim half-light of the basement.

 

It was the same boy he'd passed earlier on the street. Heero frowned in momentary confusion; hadn't they been going in the opposite direction?

 

Cool green eyes scanned him briefly for serious damage before the boy turned back to the struggling form on the boxes, smoothly pulling a gun from the waistband of his torn jeans. He handled the object with the expertise of one who knew both his weapon and his enemy, who had done this innumerable times.

 

His steady hand fired three well-placed shots: one at each shoulder and the chest, slamming the fake business man against the wall and spritzing his overcoat with blood.

 

Heero thrust his hand back into his jacket when suddenly the green-eyed teen's companion flashed past.

 

“Thirty seconds,” the taller boy told him.

 

The Asian simply gave him a Look as he pulled his left arm back, half-turning his torso to add more force behind the blow.

 

A small, soft hissing sound caught Heero's attention. His eyes snapped back to the android just in time to see both arms drop from their sockets, now only connected to the main body by disintegrating wires and coat sleeves. A hole burned its way across the front of his clothed and ate through false skin and metal. “Muscles” in the machine's face twitched sporadically, lights behind the “eyes” blinking as its system went haywire even though it continued to try to stand.

 

There was acid in the bullets.

 

Then the shorter boy's fist swung around with a velocity Heero never would have believed if he hadn't seen it himself, crashing easily through the acid-weakened metal. His gloved arm vanished nearly up to the elbow in wires and computerized parts. Artificial blood dripped rapidly from the open “wound”, splattering the floor. The Chinese teen felt around for a few moments, using his other hand to secure the machine to the concrete wall with a carefully blank expression.

 

Heero pulled his own weapon from his jacket, keeping an eye on the other three people as he put it together, especially the jade-eyed teen who hadn't moved from his position.

 

The boy with the baseball cap yanked his hand from the blue-eyed humanoid, snapping wires with complete disregard and emerging with a flat, rectangular panel—the power source. “Done,” he declared, grimacing, dropping the part with a clatter.

 

“And the bomb?” His friend asked quietly, voice calm and serene.

 

The dark-eyed teen gave him another Look. “The bomb can't go off without a power source, Barton.” He raised an eyebrow as though the other boy was being ridiculous.

 

“Check, Wufei,” the other teen insisted. “Just in case.”

 

Wufei's eyes narrowed, obviously thinking of refusing. He glanced at Heero. Then he sent his partner a dirty look, clenched his jaw, and forced his hand back through the gaping hole in the unmoving android. Seconds later he threw the wet, black box at the taller teen, who caught it easily.

 

Heero glanced at the bomb case as the other boy slid his gun back into his waistband.

 

The Asian started back to his companion but stopped several feet away with his eyes locked on the box. “I've never seen that model before.”

 

“…” The taller boy flipped the box over, examining the case closely.

 

“It's an Automated Explosive WE5g,” Heero said flatly.

 

Two sets of eyes swiveled slowly to stare at him. Nobody spoke for several seconds.

 

“How did you two get down here?” The Japanese teen asked shortly, intensely aware of the weight of his gun in his hand. “I passed both of you going in the opposite direction ten minutes ago.”

 

The other two teens exchanged glances. The green-eyed young man looked Heero over, silently assessing him. “Took a short cut through a building and doubled back,” he admitted finally, ignoring the sharp glare the Chinese boy threw at him. “Came in the back entrance.”

 

“The back entrance? That's…” Heero stared at the taller boy's calm face and his eyes suddenly refocused on the elevator doors over his shoulder. “You overrode the elevator's system? That was you?” Blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

 

The other boy gave a nearly invisible shrug. “Wufei's fault.”

 

Wufei rolled his eyes. “That was an accident, Barton,” he snapped. “The control panel's touchy.”

 

“Barton?” Heero asked, gaze landing on Wufei.

 

The green-eyed teen nodded, watching Heero's face. “Trowa Barton,” he said, crossing his arms.

 

“Chang Wufei,” His friend added, briefly meeting Heero's eyes. He raised an eyebrow at him, a touch of arrogance and impatience tainting his features.

 

Heero hesitated, not in the habit of giving out his name. Secrecy was important in this line of work, and remaining nameless was preferable to being well-known. Did he really want to get involved with these two, even if they did seem to know what they were doing?

 

“Yuy,” he said a bit reluctantly. “Heero Yuy.”

 

Trowa's eyes flickered over the weapon in Heero's hand. “How much?”

 

And strangely enough, Heero knew exactly what he meant. How much firepower? What kind of weapon?

 

“High Voltage Rifle, E320.”

 

The blood drained from Wufei's face, making Heero frown and Trowa's intense, concerned gaze transfer to his friend. But the Asian simply shook his head and looked away, pretending not to see their questioning stares.

 

“Wufei?” Trowa inquired softly, tilting his head at him.

 

The Asian ignored him, turning instead to the brunette and keeping a wary eye on the rifle in his hand. “Unless you two are going to stand around all night trading weaponry secrets, we're finished here.” He acknowledged Heero with a quick glance and strode to the left set of elevator doors and the control panel, jamming a key from his pocket into the allotted space and jerking it back to automatic. A gentle humming filled the air as it shuddered back to life and began its slow ascent to the lobby.

 

So he dropped the elevator, Heero thought critically, noticing his precise handling of the panel. They knew the target was in there. They must have tracked it somehow. Maybe they passed it when they doubled back?

 

“Heero,” Trowa said calmly, his soft voice sounding abnormally loud in the muffled quiet of the basement. “You're by yourself?”

 

The brunette didn't respond, instead letting his silence answer for him. It wasn't smart to let others know you travel around town on your own after dark. Even if it was kind of obvious. And if he said yes, there was no way Trowa would believe him; he didn't exactly have a partner running to check if he was okay. Otherwise he'd be here by now.

 

Wufei had moved to the other side of the elevator doors, attempting to haul the battered android to its feet. It was at least six inches taller than he was.

 

“Would you like to work with us?”

 

Wufei dropped the machine with an ungraceful thud and turned to stare at Trowa, the incredulous expression on his face betraying his consternation. “Barton?! What are you talking about?”

 

Trowa decided not to mention that his desire for help looking after the Chinese teen was bordering on quiet desperation.

 

“We could get more done with more people,” he continued, searching the other boy's stoic face for any clues.

 

True, Heero thought. But a decision like that shouldn't be made without careful consideration, especially since I've only just met them. And I'll have to consult Dr. J.

 

“That's—”

 

A slam! from the other end of the basement halted their conversation as all three boys whirled around.

 

“What was that?” Trowa asked sharply, narrowed eyes flitting across rows of supplies, piles of sheets and blankets, and mismatched furniture.

 

“Sounded like a door,” Wufei answered, shoulders tense, listening for footsteps. “Is there another way down here?”

 

Another way…? Maybe from the lobby? Heero's mind raced as considered the possibilities. His eyes caught on the stacks of blankets Trowa had glanced over. No, housekeeping must have a way down here. But they also have their own room upstairs; this is just for extra, unused stuff. The elevator hasn't been gone that long, so it can't be about that. Maybe—

 

“The aides,” Heero said in a low voice. He glanced from the motionless machine on the floor to Wufei and Trowa over dark lenses. “The Target had three aides with him, but they were separated by the crowd in the lobby. They must have split up to go look for him.”

 

Wufei cursed softly in a foreign tongue.

 

“Just get rid of the body.” Trowa tossed a folded quilt and hand towel to the Chinese boy. “We'll take care of him.” He vanished down an aisle of cleaning products noiselessly, as though he had never been there.

 

Wufei threw the quilt over the android and dragged it over to the old cleaning cart loitering by the shelves of neatly folded blankets.

 

Heero circled around the opposite way, relying on his hearing rather than his vision in the dim light of the basement, which was already limited thanks to his tinted glasses.

 

Faltering footsteps moved slowly towards their hiding spots as the Japanese teen lowered the setting on the gun in his hand, disregarding the twinge of pain in his right forearm. There was no need to kill anyone tonight; the aides couldn't have seen any more than the back of his head. A description of a dark-haired eighteen-year-old male wearing tinted glasses and around five feet seven inches wasn't exactly useful in a city as large as Xenophene.

 

Across the way, Trowa's indistinct form appeared every so often between bottles of bleach and detergent. His figure once again faded out and Heero turned his back against what might have been a bookshelf if he'd been interested in knowing what it was. Pain along his back made itself known from it's short impact from the now-busted wardrobe, but he kept his aching arms up, head turned to the side as he listened intently for the intruders approach.

 

He was brown-haired and dark-eyed, and if his expression was anything to go by, he wished he was anywhere except the dim, creepy basement of an otherwise ritzy hotel. Pausing seven feet from Heero, the man glanced around nervously as he toyed with the buttons on the front of his navy blue suit coat. He eyed the metal shelves to his right with obvious distrust simply because the gigantic structure cast dark shadows in his path that undoubtedly hid the boogeyman or another of his fear-inspiring friends.

 

If he'd had the self-control to curb his overactive imagination and look up, he might have seen Trowa crouched on the top shelf not ten feet above his head.

 

Trowa locked eyes with Heero, who lifted his head slightly to show he was ready. The other teen's arms moved in a swift arc Heero couldn't quite see, followed by the gentle, fluttering whisper of a light blanket floating from Trowa's skilled hands over the unsuspecting man's form.

 

By the time the aide jerked his head up and noticed what appeared to be Satan's descending cloak of darkness, it was much too late for him to do anything other then throw his hands up for the small amount of protection they offered and utter a scream that would have been more appropriate coming from the mouth of a fifteen year old girl.

 

Heero darted out from behind the bookcase before the blanket fully settled on the thrashing, terrified aide and jammed the muzzle of his gun between the man's shoulder blades. Quickly verifying that the only part of him in contact with the writhing blanket was the High Voltagae Rifle E320, he pulled the trigger.

 

A metal needle extended through the blanket and suit coat to the skin, moving a latch causing two metallic contacts to touch, and thirty milliamps of generated electricity flowed in to the confused main for approximately three seconds.

 

He never had a chance.

 

The tinted glasses Heero wore shielded his eyes from the resulting flash of light that illuminated the large room, throwing everything into harsh relief. Then he released the trigger and the energy vanished as the circuit was broken.

 

The unfortunate, electrified aide dropped to the concrete floor in a heap, all muscle control gone. Heero was already on one knee checking the man's pulse when Trowa dropped next to him, landing with the perfectly controlled movements of a cat.

 

“Still alive?” Trowa asked.

 

“Hn,” Heero replied, sliding his weapon back into his jacket. “He'll survive.”

 

Trowa nodded and stood up, watching Heero as he did the same. “What do you think about joining us?”

 

Heero glanced up at the taller boy without emotion and looked away. “I work alone,” he said firmly, without any inflection in his voice. “I don't need your help.”

 

He missed the beginnings of a smile that flickered and died on Trowa's features. How many times had he heard that last comment from Wufei?

 

Instead he simply shrugged. “We'll meet again,” he said quietly. “It'll be hard not to in this line of work. Think it over. You have plenty of time to change your mind.”

 

Suspicion flared in Heero's consciousness as he turned back to the other teen. How did he know they'd meet again? He'd been doing this for nearly three years now and never once seen them before. The chance of them meeting again was remote, almost absurd. Xenophene was a huge city.

 

But Trowa brushed by, silent as a shadow, and blended in with the darkness like it was his second home. Within seconds he was gone, leaving Heero alone standing in an empty basement.

 

The first thing Heero did when he got home was message Dr. J. A lot had happened in the past hour.

 

 

XXXXX

 

Author's Note: My god. I need to speed up these updates, because these insanely long chapters are killing me. I'll do what I can, but with three POVs at the moment I won't lie to you; it'll take a while. Please Review or message me to see how I'm doing; your support is what keeps me going. If there are any errors, tell me and I'll try to fix it. Hopefully no one was too OOC. Ja ne!

 

Extra special thanks to Turtle Kid for catching my “time break” mistake! Thank you for paying attention!