Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Death's Promise [Book 1 of 3] ❯ Struggling ( Chapter 6 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

A/N
-This book, Book one of three, is going to be about nine chapters. I will write them all. I will force myself, if I have to. Most of them are all half-written by now anyway. I haven't decided if I'm going to write the other two books or not, but it's not looking well for them. Death's Promise, though, against my better judgment, will be completed. (However, that doesn't mean it won't end on a cliffhanger, because it will.)

-I know, it's been a LONG time since I've posted, but I've been very worried about this chapter. I think it's too much gore. ...But I like the gory factor because it's supposed to horrify you: that's the whole point of Purgatory. What's Purgatory without the gore? So I'm posting it anyway, even though I'm kind of disappointed in myself for not finding a better way than blood to get my point across.

-In case you don't want to reread the whole fic up to this point, here's a brief summary to refresh your memory: Trowa and Quatre are on their way to Duo's home: Hephess. Duo is waiting outside while Heero's stuck being "judged" in Purgatory. Heero's got a long list of sins to be punished for, and his judge is starting off with the worst: murder of innocents. Can Heero make it through all of Purgatory's tests and reclaim his ticket to Heaven?

-MAJOR warning: The following two chapters contain intense violence, disturbing imagery, and multiple deaths (of mostly minor characters).


Chapter 6: Struggling

After Heero had sat down, the judge had begun pacing, rambling off word after word of flowing Latin phrases. The judge was still speaking to him now and had been speaking for... how long was it? Heero couldn't tell. It was too long, though. He couldn't translate as fast as the judge was talking; all he managed was a word here or there. Mostly, "Our Lord"s, "forgiveness"s and "mercy"s were repeated, but Heero distinctly heard "sin" and "punishment" multiple times. The soul assumed he was being lectured with something the equivalent of "the rules" for these tasks he was going to be subjected to. As far as Heero was concerned, the rules didn't matter; he was powerless. He was stuck here to be subjected to any number of tortures until this sadistic "angel" gave him leave. Heero had no control over the situation and hadn't ever since he had self-detonated back what seemed like years ago. God, he missed his Gundam. He missed the familiar. He missed knowing everything. He missed being the one doing the threatening. But most of all, he missed the power, the control. Heero didn't like not having control. From life to death, he'd gone from terrorist to helpless victim in a matter of seconds. What he would do to regain something even remotely close to that power he'd lost...

Somewhere during these thoughts, the judge paused in his pacing. With a few more words of Latin, he glared down at Heero. "Let's begin, shall we?" With that, the chair Heero was sitting on gave out suddenly, and the soul fell to the white and pink ground with a thud. He stood up quickly, looking around for something to accuse for the loss of his seat (and his dignity), but found nothing. Nothing. His chair had simply vanished.

Unmoved as ever, the tall, cloaked man began lecturing again, this time in English. "Your punishment begins now. Have you any questions, you will ask them immediately and without babbling. Idiotic questions will be ignored; questioning my or Our Lord's logical processes will not be tolerated. Feel free to scream, but it will go unheard. You are past the point of pity, sinner. Begging and bribery will only waste Our time. Understood?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "Your first and most trying task is retribution for your sin against innocents, the murder of. You will complete the task I assign both efficiently and completely; if you do not, you will be sent back on your current path to Damnation. Is THAT understood." The judge remained staring blankly, waiting for a response.

After a minute of returning the silent glare, Heero asked, "Are you done?"

The judge's left eye twitched, but he remained otherwise unmoved. "Yes."

"Then I understand."

Raising his sharp chin, and shaking a few strands of white hair from his face, the judge barked back, "Good," and before Heero could blink, there was a clean, silver pistol in the man's hand, its handle extended outward. "Take it." Thinking this was obviously a test of some kind, Heero snorted lightly and made no move. The judge nearly sighed. "It won't bite you. In fact, I should think you'd be quite good friends with it by now." His face hardened once again as he repeated, "Take it, or you fail."

Heero missed knowing everything. He really, really missed it. Inhaling, then exhaling sharply, Heero reached out and took the gun, examining it, then questioning the being he'd taken it from. "Well?"

"Hand it back."

Heero looked at the judge with a raised eyebrow. What kind of test was this? After a few moments of internal debate, he attempted to place the gun back in the judge's hand. When the gun didn't drop from his palm, he tried again. And again. Heero began shaking his hand, but still the gun wouldn't fall from his grip. Angry now, Heero looked up to lock eyes with his tormentor, silently questioning why he couldn't let go of the weapon.

"It's fully loaded." The judge stated calmly as if Heero should already be aware of this. "After you fire it, it will still be fully loaded. When you fire it again, it will still be fully loaded." As an afterthought, he added, "Oh, and don't bother with the safety: there is none. In fact, you don't even have to cock it. Just pull the trigger, and it fires." Smirking cynically, the judge asked, "Wonderful invention, don't you agree?"

Heero stared at the pistol currently glued by something unknown to his hand. It never had to be reloaded. Ever. And without having to cock it, his reaction time would be even higher... He would have killed for a gun like that when he was alive. And, no, the irony in that didn't escape him. Now that he wasn't alive, though... Well, he had a very, very bad feeling about what this gun he couldn't let go of would be used for.

***

"Quatre, this is Hilde, my sister shade." Trowa gestured to the girl sitting on the chair before them, who smiled brightly in reply. "She's Hephess' gatekeeper."

Hilde nodded, her short, dark hair bobbing up and down with the motion. "Proud to say I am! Welcome to Hephess, Quatre!"

The angel smiled shyly. "Thank you." He looked behind her, taking in the large structure there. "The gate is certainly impressive."

Giggling, Hilde shrugged. "Well, Duo-sama seems to like it."

"I'll bet he does..." Quatre trailed off, still marveling at Hephess' mighty gate. It was an onyx wall, stretching far off into the distance in both directions. It had been painted in shades of grey, and the swirls, loops and dots formed complex images. Some were simply monsters of sorts, but there were strikingly realistic renditions of humans, angels and what could only be shades.

Hilde sat before the wall in a black leather chair, leaning back casually with her feet propped up on thin air. "Yeah," the Gatekeeper trailed off, her own dark eyes now scanning the gate. "It really is something." She turned back to speak to Quatre excitedly, kicking her feet off her invisible perch so she could lean forward. "And it all means something, too." She gestured vaguely with her hands. "There are hidden meanings and things. Like each of us shades has our own symbol up there somewhere. And Duo-sama is constantly adding stuff to it, though he hasn't in a while since he's been kind of busy lately."

Quatre's gaze shifted from the wall to Hilde. "Adding?" He paused in thought, then finished, "Death-sama made this?"

Hilde laughed. "Of course. How do you think the gates got here? They just poofed into existence?" Quatre mumbled something incoherent. Hilde finished, "All of The Original Three made their own gates. Don't ask me who made Human's or Purgatory's, though, because I have no idea."

"Oh, I see..."

Trowa interrupted their musings by addressing Quatre, "Would you like to go in?"

Quatre blinked out of his stare and laughed softly. "Yes, of course." He smiled, meeting Hilde's eyes once again. "It's been nice to meet you, Hilde. We'll have to talk again sometime."

Hilde brushed him off with a wave of her hand, "There's only one way in or out of Hephess, and I happen to be the keeper of that way." She laughed lightly, then smiled. "Don't worry about it, Quatre. I'll still be right here when you decide to leave."

***

"You are one of the vilest sinners to cross the Earth, Heero Yuy." The judge continued onto another of his speeches. "The amusing part of this is that you don't even realize it."

Heero was hardly amused, but was too busy trying to pry the gun from his fingers to notice.

"Oh sure," the winged man continued, pacing once more, "Your conscience, or whatever it is you sinners have, is telling you how evil you are. It's telling you that you deserve to be in Hell, that you are the scum of the Earth..." He paused, turning to face Heero, "It's right, of course." Heero looked up from the gun to glare silently for a few seconds before resuming his hopeless task. The judge picked up his leisurely pacing again, "But there is another part of you. There is a part, an albeit quieter part, that is telling you that everything you do, no matter what you do, is justified. It is telling you that you were used, that you didn't know any better, that it wasn't your fault... along with a number of other silly excuses and rationalizations: anything to pass the blame."

Heero'd given up on letting go of the gun now and was simply staring at it, listening. His brow furrowed at what the judge said. Rationalizing? He wasn't rationalizing. It was the truth! The fact that he was a killer WASN'T his fault... And his killing WAS justified... It was.

Leaning forward, the judge hissed. "THAT is the part we are here to kill." He leaned back to his full height, clasping his pale hands behind his back. "You are NOT innocent, Heero Yuy. The people you killed YOU killed. Until you accept the blame, you cannot be relieved of it." He paused, allowing a scroll to appear in his hands. He looked over it briefly, then spoke, "In your first five years as a murderer, you slaughtered thirty-three people. However, you are fortunate; those thirty-three were vile sinners, like yourself, and are all burning in Hell, as we speak, for their transgressions." He paused and gave Heero a pointed look, something akin to saying that Heero would most likely be seeing all thirty-three of them shortly. Looking back to the scroll, he resumed, "The first true innocents you killed were all in one place: an apartment building that multiple explosions, set and detonated by your hand, reduced to little more than smoldering rubble."

Still staring at the gun in his hand, Heero nodded, just barely, in recollection.

"Can you name them?"

He looked up. "What?"

"The three-hundred forty-two innocent people you killed in that explosion. Can you name them?"

He thought it over for a moment, then replied slowly, "...No."

"Then, as we progress, I shall make you aware." With a short wave of his delicate chalk-colored hand, a young girl appeared between them. She looked down at her feet, and from his vantage point, all Heero could make out was her hair, which looked the color and texture of the hair in a piece of corn: soft like silk and pale yellow like the moon. The judge continued speaking as if the child were not there, "The first two you killed in the explosion were sinners as well. In fact, they both passed through here unsuccessfully. This, however," he gestured to the child, "Is Selene Deswals, age eight and three-months." Upon hearing her name, the girl looked up briefly, her wide topaz-blue eyes searching; when her eyes met Heero's, though, she immediately dropped her head, once more staring at her shiny black shoes and white socks: her favorite ones, the ones with the little pink lace around the tops.

Heero frowned, looking from the girl, to the judge. Why did he have a bad feeling about this...? The weight in his hand was forgotten for the moment. The judge continued in his speech. "The Lord and I have deduced, Heero Yuy, that though you feel guilt, you do not trust in it. You do not believe your Guilt or your Conscience, and that is what this test shall accomplish. You do not believe that you are responsible for the deaths of those whom you killed, thus you believe you have no reason to repent. Here, now, we shall change you perspective on this. There will be no way around it this time, sinner; no way your twisted mind can deny it." He pointed down at the child. "You killed her in life, Heero Yuy. It will be the same when you kill her right here, right now, with the gun in your hand: the gun that you cannot deny picking up, the gun you will not be able to deny pulling the trigger of."

Heero's eyes widened with horrible realization as he looked at the gun in his hand. He shook his head slowly, then faster, his mouth opening in protests he was too shocked to speak. "You..." He didn't finish the sentence, unsure of what exactly he was trying to say. This wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening! It wasn't real!

"Selene." The judge spoke softly, and the girl looked up at him, her eyes wide and unassuming. He bent over to eye-level with her, then pointed at Heero. "He's going to kill you now."

The child, still too young to comprehend her own mortality, looked over and up at Heero, but said nothing. She remained motionless in her stare, waiting for him to clarify.

"Kill her, Heero Yuy." The judge's voice said smoothly, but Heero's eyes saw only the tiny girl before him. "Why do you hesitate? It's no different. You've killed her once, sinner. Do it again."

Heero shook his head feebly, but was unable to deny the truth verbally.

The judge repeated, "Kill her. She's already dead."

He was right; she was already dead. She was already dead. Repeating that mantra in his head, Heero slowly raised his gun at arm's length, on a downward slope. She was already dead. It didn't matter if he killed her. She was already dead. The gun was only two inches from the girl's wide blue eyes. She looked around the barrel, unfazed that this was real, that death was real, or that death was about to happen to her. They remained silent for some time. When the judge suddenly demanded, "Kill her." Heero blinked, his finger twitched, and he pulled the trigger, still at unbearably close range.

The gun was loud. With the shot fired, the resulting echo bounced off invisible pink walls before fading into nothing.

There was blood on Heero's face. It was on his shirt, on his exposed arms, drenching the gun in his hand. There was more blood on the ground. The girl had fallen backward like a rag doll, her body splayed out across the pink ground as if some child had dropped her carelessly in its haste. Most of her white dress and her pristine white socks were still crisp and clean, with only splatters of red. Her golden hair, though, was matted, coated in the gooey maroon stuff. Where there was less blood, her hair was reddish-orange; only a few select strands of it remained blonde. There was not much to say for her face, or her skull: her nose, or her eyes, her lips, or her once-round cheeks. There was not much to say because there was not much of them at all, save fragments of bone, open tendons, one pathetic eyeball, dangling from a sinewy nerve, and blood. She had been such a small child, but there was so much blood...

Heero remained staring downward, unblinking, his mouth open just slightly. It was pointless to scream, or cry, or close his eyes. What good would it do? The image of the dead child was permanently emblazoned in his mind like a fire he'd been staring at for too long. Even if he did close his now glistening eyes, Heero was sure that the child would still be there waiting for him to look again, still laid out in a puddle of her own red blood, a harsh sight against the swirling white ground. "What has changed, Heero Yuy?" He looked up to find the judge staring down at him emotionlessly. "A death is a death. A life is a life. You've taken hers now as you took it two years ago." He paused, letting this sink in, then questioned again, "What has changed?"

Heero shook his head, turning his back on the girl and the judge alike. Softly, he choked out, "Nothing." When he looked back up, the judge was in front of him, though he assumed that the child - Selene -'s body was still behind them both, that it would be lying there if he were to turn an inch or two around. "Nothing has changed."

"Exactly."

***

Trowa had been giving Quatre the grand tour for almost a half hour. Hephess reminded the angel of a medieval castle: it was huge, it was dark, it had many, many twists, turns, secret passages and more, and it was very drafty. Trowa's description of it had fit: it was, indeed, colorless. Everything was either black, off-white, or in between, and the blonde-haired angel felt out-of place. The feeling Trowa couldn't describe, however, Quatre felt he could sum up in two words: cold, and depressing. To Quatre, it felt the like the walls would close in on him or a monster of some sort would appear out of the shadows to ferry him away into the omnipotent darkness. It didn't feel evil, perhaps, but it was definitely unnerving.

Trowa, on the other hand, felt at home.

"This place is so large..." Quatre pointed out again. He couldn't help it; the place was daunting.

"It's no larger than Heaven." Trowa replied calmly as the two continued walking at a leisurely pace. "In fact, it's considerably smaller. Possibly no more than the size of Eden, if I've heard correctly."

Quatre acquiesced, "I suppose." His eyes continued to wander around the place. Everywhere he looked, however, faded off into shadows, so actual distance was hard to gauge. "But it's so... empty." He looked over at Trowa, "Where is everyone?"

Looking around, Trowa answered, "Duo-sama is still at Purgatory. You've met Hilde. Wufei, my brother shade, is out on his shift, collecting souls from Human. Catherine, my other sister... Well, I'm sure she's lurking about." He trailed off.

"What about everyone else?"

Trowa turned to look at Quatre, pausing in his step. "What do you mean?"

"There IS no one else, Stranger." A female voice returned. "Just us moving shadows."

Quatre looked around, but saw nothing. He crept marginally closer to Trowa, who spoke flatly, "Quatre, this is my sister: Catherine."

A tall girl with rich brown hair curling about her cheeks suddenly appeared and stuck out her tongue at Trowa. "Spoil sport." Trowa shrugged. Catherine smirked and turned to the still stunned angel. She held out her hand to Quatre, "Pleased to meet you, angel. "

Stepping back from the extended hand, Quatre shook his head and smiled. "It's nice to meet you, too, Catherine. But, please, call me Quatre."

The two stood in an uncomfortable silence for a minute, the shade's hand extended, but not accepted. Catherine frowned for a moment, dropping her hand back to her side in dejection. After a moment, however, she gasped in realization, "Oh! Right, the whole 'I'm-holy-so-don't-touch-me' thing." She laughed once sharply. "Makes me glad I'm not an angel. What a pain in the ass to deal with!"

Quatre laughed politely, "Well, that's one way of putting it..."

The three stood in another awkward silence for a moment; the angel staring at his porcelain hands, Trowa looking off to the side at nothing specifically, and the other shade looking suspiciously from one to the other. Then, Catherine spoke up, "Hey, Trowa, I'm going to steal Quatre for a minute; you mind?"

Trowa raised a thin dark eyebrow, "What for?"

Catherine shrugged casually, "Oh, nothing really... Just something-- there's something I want to ask Quatre. Yeah," She added quickly, "But I don't want to embarrass the kid, so if you don't mind..." Frowning slightly, Trowa shrugged. Catherine smiled in appreciation, "Thanks, Trowa." And grabbed the cord belt hanging around Quatre's waist, then proceeded to drag him into a different room. Trowa watched their exit with a somewhat suspicious glance, his intense green eyes never leaving the door they went though.

Once Catherine had shut the door behind them, she released Quatre's corded belt. The angel brushed down his white robes, then commented softly, "You didn't have to pull me, Catherine. I would have gladly followed if you had asked me too."

The shade shrugged it off, "Sorry. I'll remember that next time. And call me Cathy."

"Uh, okay, Cathy."

"Now," She rubbed her hands together, "Let's talk about Trowa."

Quatre blinked in surprise, "You mean you brought me here just to talk about your brother behind his back? If you'll forgive my saying so, that's very rude."

Catherine gasped as if hurt. "Talk behind his back?! Never! I wouldn't do such a thing!" The angel began apologizing for his poor assumption when Catherine broke in, "Now, what do you think of him, really?" Her eyes lit up with curiosity.

"What do you mean?" The angel questioned innocently.

Still bright-eyed, the shade asked, "You like him, right?"

"What?" Quatre's cheeks flushed a pale pink, and he ducked his head down where he stood. "I, uh, I don't... I mean... We're... We're friends."

"But you like him, right? You think he's a nice enough guy and all and you really are his friend?"

He looked up relief. "Of course I like him as a friend."

"Have you told him that?"

Quatre laughed once softly, "Told him? Isn't friendship understood?"

She barked a sarcastic laugh. "Not with Trowa." She wandered through the tiny room, stealing glances at Quatre's expression. "If you don't state exactly how you're feeling, he'll never figure it out. At least that's how it is with me. He seems to understand Duo-sama better than the rest of us, but outside of Our Father's feelings, he's a complete rock." She plopped down in a chair Quatre hadn't even notice and crossed her legs over one arm of it. "Don't get me wrong, I love the kid; he's my brother. But he can be so thick sometimes."

"Are you saying..."

Interrupting, Catherine stood up from her chair and began walking slowly toward Quatre. "Look," she paused in front of him, "I'm not saying you should go up to my brother and tell him you're... I don't know," she gestured vaguely, "madly in love him, or anything!" She laughed brightly, "Don't be silly!" Quatre desperately tried not to blush or fidget while still holding Catherine's unassuming gaze. "I'm just saying that maybe you should drop by more often, stay here for a little longer, if you can, that sort of thing." Catherine glanced back at the door, her eyes losing focus. "I worry about him. He's been so distant for so long, even before we met." She turned back to Quatre, "Believe it or not, he was even worse when we were alive."

"You two knew each other then?"

She nodded. Eyes narrowing with resolve, she said sharply. "He needs a friend, Quatre. Now that I'm his sister, it's different between us. Now that we're family, he doesn't act like I'm his friend anymore. We shades all care about each other as siblings, but it's not the same as having real friends, you know? Trowa needs someone who's not obligated to care. And so far you're the only one who's taken interest."

Quatre frowned, "Of course I want to be his friend."

"Well, you know that, and I know that, but, Trowa..." She glanced at the door again.

Taking the hint, he nodded. "I'll tell him. I promise."

Catherine smiled. "That's all I ask." The shade began walking out, but as her hand reached the knob, she turned back and spoke over he shoulder, "You know, you're not such a bad guy, for an angel."

Quatre laughed softly. "You either, Cathy." He smiled genuinely.

Catherine smirked, then walked out and closed the door, leaving the angel alone with his thoughts. He promised Catherine; now he was obligated to tell Trowa how he felt... even though that's not exactly what Catherine had in mind. Still, a promise was a promise, and angels never broke their promises.

Never.


Trowa asked as Catherine walked by, "What did you ask?"

Shrugging, she continued walking. "I asked what he thought of you."

His attention suddenly caught, Trowa stared intensely at his fellow shade. "...And?"

She smirked, "None of your business," then seemed to vanish into the shadows, her black robes melding perfectly into the shaded brick wall in front of her as she walked through it. Trowa frowned. That was the disadvantage of speaking with shades: they had a tendency to disappear before the conversation was officially over. Being one, Trowa knew this fact quite well, as he had done it many times himself. It really was convenient during arguments, actually. He turned quickly as a nearby door clicked open, his eyes meeting with Quatre's slim form.

The angel looked around nervously, trying to suppress the shivers running down his spine. It was so cold here... Heaven was cold in parts, but it was always a good cold; light breezes flew in caresses like butterfly kisses in Heaven. Here, every gasp of wind was like a stab of ice. Suddenly feeling very alone, very cold, and slightly lost, Quatre crept his way closer to Trowa, his guide. "Why is it so cold here all of a sudden?" He hadn't really expected an answer, but was merely stating his condition, as if shivering and hugging himself weren't enough to show his level of discomfort.

"Hephess lacks both the fire of hate and the torches of love." At that, Trowa looked off to the side, staring into the darkness with a vacant expression, as he tended to do. "Besides, it's infinitely easier to get lost in a cold wind than in still air."

Quatre frowned, an expression that looked out of place on the angel's soft features. "You want others to get lost?"

Trowa shook his head lightly, his eyes never leaving their glazed state. "Not others." Before Quatre had a chance to mull this over, Trowa had met his gaze. "Would you like to go outside? It would be slightly warmer."

Not understanding the logic behind this paradox but willing to do anything to escape the drilling cold, Quatre nodded and once more began following his guide through the cold, cavernous castle.

***

"Explosion or bullet, Heero Yuy. A button or a gun. Murder is ALWAYS murder." With another wave of the judge's hand, a stranger appeared. He was tall, with broad shoulders. His hair was a rich brown, but his eyes were pale blue. The man looked around, questioning his surroundings with looks only. His eyes passed right over the child's body, unseeing; they paused on Heero, and the man froze, his breath catching. With a gesture at the newly-appeared man, the judge spoke, "Joseph Deswals, age thirty-three: Selene's father."

Immediately after the introduction, Heero sighed softly. Punishment was not the word for this... This was downright inhumane. Were they TRYING to dehumanize him? Was this preparation for Hell? This place was a damned paradox. If he made it through this (and whatever came after it), he'd be better suited for Hell than Heaven! This was wrong. How could God be associated with something so...

"Kill him, Heero Yuy."

Heero's eyes refocused sharply and met those of Selene's father.

Joseph Deswals frowned at him, putting both hands on his hips, "What's going on here? Who are you? How did you get in here?"

Heero looked over to the judge in question.

The judge replied condescendingly. "He died in his apartment. Where else should he think he is?"

"...He thinks I broke into their apartment."

The judge nodded, with a slight shrug.

Great. Toss in "breaking and entering" to his list of sins.

"Kill him." The judge reminded.

Sighing silently, Heero once again forced himself to look up, then raised the gun to chest-level.

The man's eyes widened considerably, and he put up both hands, "Please," He stuttered, "Please, don't... don't shoot me. Ju-- Just take whatever you want; just go. But, please. Please. Don't hurt my family."

Heero looked away and pulled the trigger. He cringed as he heard the body fall to the ground, as he felt the vibrations in his feet from it.

Before he even had a chance to think, he found himself facing the opposite direction once more. The body of the child, Selene, was gone. The floor was clean: pink and white. The judge waved his hand and a slender woman appeared. She had dark blonde hair, almost brown, and dark eyes. She looked like her daughter. The judge introduced her, "Elizabeth Deswals, age thirty-five: Joseph's wife, Selene's mother. She also died in the blast you executed."

The woman's dark eyes met Heero's, then she looked away, her eyes searching for something Heero couldn't see. One of her delicate hands twisted the fabric of her dress nervously.

Before she decided to beg or scream, Heero raised the gun and fired twice, the woman's breath catching and her eyes rolling, before she fell, lifelessly, to the ground.

Frustrated, Heero tried tossing the gun down, but failed repeatedly. With a desperate look, he stared at the judge, "How many more times?"

Steepling his fingers, the judge replied, "Two-hundred, forty-three were killed in that explosion."

Heero shook his head, then looked back up, "How many more... total?"

"In your entire lifetime, sinner?" He snorted softly. "Do you have any idea?"

Not really thinking it over, Heero shrugged. "Hundreds, maybe... Maybe thousands."

The judge nearly laughed, as evidenced by the soft, sarcastic chuckle that escaped him. "Thousands? More like EIGHT-thousand, five-hundred, and twelve people over the course of seven years." He corrected. "And those were the innocent ones. The 'grand total' itself is even larger, I assure you."

"Eight-thousand..." Heero muttered, taking in the scale. He'd... Had he really killed that many? Now... here, he'd only killed... God, he'd only killed three. He had... He had eight-thousand, five-hundred, and nine people left... left to kill.

The judge once again waved his hand, as if brushing away a bad bit of air, and another child appeared. "Innocent number four: Maria Deswals. Six months and twenty-two days old: youngest daughter to Joseph and Elizabeth, baby sister to Selene." He added on with a grim sarcasm, "You'll have to forgive her for not standing. You see, you killed her before she learned how."

Heero closed his eyes, shaking his head. No. No. No! He couldn't do this. He couldn't! It-- It was wrong! It was immoral! It was sick! It was fucking-- It was-- But... But... He... he already had, hadn't he? In his life, in HER life, Heero had killed this child. He'd already killed her. Now he was just repeating the action. But... but pressing that button then and firing this gun now were two entirely different things. Completely different! They were! They were.

...Weren't they?

She was just a baby. She wasn't even a child yet. What the hell was wrong with this place? How could they honestly expect him to...

The judge sneered, "Well? Go ahead, sinner." He added with poison dripping from his tone, "Oh, and look her in the eyes as you kill her this time. She deserves that much, since you took away her future, don't you think?"

Heero raised his head slightly, looking down at the baby's eyes: they were large and blue: surreal blue, pure blue, blue like cotton candy after it's melted in a puddle. Once, a long time ago, Heero had been told that all babies had blue eyes. Vaguely, he wondered if all babies' eyes were as blue as Maria's were. He'd never really taken the time to look at babies' eyes before... He'd never really taken the time to look at a lot of things while he was alive. Or since he's been dead, for that matter. But now... Now... He looked down at the gun in his hand. It was trembling. Courage, he had. Strength, he had. Determination, he had; but none of that could stop his hands from shaking now. This wasn't about strength! But then what the hell WAS it about? Despite the violently trembling hand, he raised the gun. He didn't have to aim. He never had to aim anymore. He hadn't had to aim since he was nine. He wouldn't miss. He never missed.

He squeezed the trigger.

The sound of the gun's explosion remained ringing in his ears long after the shot was fired, and as he blinked, he could see those blue eyes, now a neon orange negative, reflected in the white of Purgatory's swirling floor.


The forming puddle of blood was the color of rust and thick, thick like warm molasses.