Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Death Throws ❯ Record 2.1 ( Chapter 6 )

Death Throws: Record 2.1

By: Kiamirei

~I don't own Gundam Wing. Please review this, or contact me with your comments!

SEARCHING FOR TRUTH

William Parker was reading Relena Peacecraft's diary. He had been planning for months to get the thing, posing as her friend and pretending he actually cared about her as a person, rather than as the leader of the World Nation -she was a lonely girl, really- but the moment when he had taken it from her was, in his opinion, rather anticlimactic. Almost seven months of preparation had gone into its theft, from quitting his job working as a basically unheard of journalist for a newspaper company, to buying his way past various guards so that he could finally meet Relena in person, to making the girl think that he was trustworthy and loyal to her, to patiently playing the role of the kind and humble friend, to convincing even her servants of his complete sincerity. Still, he supposed that it had all paid off in the end, even if the moment was slightly disappointing. But he tried to ignore the let down, the lack of risk. After all, his own emotions did not matter; he was in search of the truth about the Gundam terrorists, and that was the only thing that counted.

The previous day he had showed up at Relena's large estate at around noon to have tea and lunch with her, bringing a briefcase to put the diary into, although he told her that it was because he had just come from "work." As if he still had a formal occupation. As if he needed one. His superiors gave him sufficient funds, and this one job was paying a small fortune at its completion. The man had planned to use the day to get acquainted with the layout of the building, then sneak in the next night and take the diary that she had once told him she kept. But she, foolish, trusting child that she was, had made his job much easier for him: she had left it on a chair at the table they were eating at. When she had gotten up to go get a picture to show him of her father, who they had been talking about, he had quickly taken it and put it in the briefcase. Simple, really. The girl was far too naïve.

The notebook she wrote in was nice. It had a picture of a quill etched onto a square of gold colored metal that was placed on the hard cover, and was spiral-bound. The pages were filled with her graceful writing, penned in a soft blue color. But these things did not interest him in the least. What he did care about were the long entries, which started about three days after the war ended. A smile spread across William's face as he read to himself. Finally, he would have his answers.

He stayed up until two o'clock in the morning reading that book, but it was well worth it in the end. Through various entries and a few inferences, he had figured out not only the first and last names of all five pilots, but also the names of their mobile suits. The truth was finally out, and he took grim satisfaction in that. What amazed him, though, were the ages of the pilots. From what he could tell, the pilots were only Relena's age! To think that such destruction could have come from children. It was unbelievable, and in a way made him angry.

Heero Yuy. A cold, cruel boy, she was infatuated with, Japanese, and pilot of Wing Zero.

Duo Maxwell. An American, like William himself, who flew the mobile suit Deathscythe.

Trowa Barton. An enigma. The only other thing known was that he piloted Heavyarms.

Quatre Winner. The identity of Sandrock's pilot was shocking, given the boy's fame.

Chang Wufei. A Chinese boy who flew the Gundam Shenlong. .

So, these were the people responsible for the death of so many people, and not all of those casualties were soldiers. They were responsible for the unhappiness of millions of people, the ones responsible for the chaos that had taken hold both on earth and in outer space. Soldiers had nightmares of these five pilots who fought with such amazing skill, and utter ruthlessness. On top of that, the damn boys were just children. And when the war had ended, what had been done about it? Absolutely nothing. The terrorists were not held accountable for anything.

Not any longer, though, because if even a child could kill, then even a child could bear responsibility for that. He hated those terrorists, those killers who would rot in hell -and deserved to. After all, one of them was responsible for the death of his brother, and they would not be forgiven for that. Not in a million years.

If it takes me the rest of my life, William promised himself, I'm going to see those children brought to justice. They'll pay for their actions, I'll make sure of it. Preferably, they'll pay with their lives.

It infuriated him that they were not being punished. They had so many sins to account for. Misleading the colonies, assassination, the destruction of entire governments, massacring countless soldiers whose weapons were no match for mobile suits as technically advanced and as strong as their Gundams, the despair of the families of those dead soldiers, theft of military supplies and ammunition, the murder of innocent civilians, and countless other deeds.

He hoped that he would see them in person one day, so that he could spit in their faces. Barry had been his only brother, two years younger than he was, and had joined OZ with high hopes. But one of those pilots, one of those damned children, had ended all that. William was now utterly alone. Maybe he would not spit in their faces; perhaps he would punch them in the face as hard as he could. And when their noses broke and were shoved into their brains, killing them instantly, he would gasp and pretend that he had not meant to harm them much. Or perhaps he could get his superiors to rough them up. There were many possibilities.

The man wondered where the Gundam pilots were now, and whether or not the Gundams themselves had been destroyed. Were the boys alive? There were still so many things that he did not know yet. But he would be patient. After all, the terrorists had no idea that he knew their names; they had been, from what he had heard and what he had read in the diary, ever vigilant and completely untrusting towards anyone other than themselves, but not so now. Now they were complacent, and entrusted everything to Preventers. As if that paltry group could keep things together. It made him want to laugh.

William, and those he had now allied himself with, regarded Preventers as more of a hindrance than a threat. It was not very powerful, because the World Nation, led by Relena, would never a military organization to become as powerful as the Alliance or OZ had been. Those wounds were still too fresh for the World Nations, and for most of the citizens of the earth and colonies. Colonel Une had just enough power to protect the new, still-fragile government, but no more. The general opinion of his superiors and of William himself was that aside from Une and Noin, the soldiers and officers of Preventers were simply pushovers. There was nothing to worry about.

In a way it was ironic, he felt. Relena Peacecraft, completely oblivious to the coming danger, was digging her own grave. Preventers was the only thing standing between the World Nation and its death at the hands of enemies who were hiding, biding their time, waiting until the right moment to topple the government, yet she helped to keep the organization weak. The World Nation was completely clueless, and its enemies well disguised. What was that line from the play Macbeth? Something about looking like an innocent flower but being the snake. William did not remember, and it did not matter much anyway.

The next morning he had skimmed through it again, making sure that he had not missed anything. But now that the war was over, Relena apparently had more to think about than those five, and most of it was filled with information on what she had done that day, instead of reminiscing about people who William could tell she barely knew. That was okay, though. He had enough to start with. After all, the only thing that he had expected to get from her diary was their names. But now he knew their mobile suits and their most of their nationalities, along with that. Fate was being kind to him. At least, that was what he would say if he believed in fate.

The man's job was far from done, though, and he needed to get to work soon enough.