Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Passions ❯ Chapter I ( Chapter 1 )

Passions: A Gundam Wing Fanfiction, fused with impliments of the X-Men.

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Passions

By

Uplifted

 

 

Screams and cries were heard, as metal groaned and fire lashed at any near enough to witness the horendous explosion, the cunningly planted bomb bursting into a thousand angry screams of red and sparks of gold. Thick, choking smoke rose from the building as windows shattered and people scrambled for their lives, sobbing and sliding their way to safety. Many were left behind, in the living's pursuit of life. Those who had already died were mere distractions of a world flying into chaos.

 

A camera showed the burning building of one of ther world's more prominent business men, and the anchorman came back suddenly, with news to share. The audience of the horrific bombing grew still, hushing themselves to wait, was there worse to hear? Another strike?

 

“And we bring you live, to the Kensington Building, where today, my words, and these pictures cannot accurately describe such carnage. We have received news that Mr. Kensington and his family were not in the building at that time, and are safe from further attacks. Mr. Kensington was well known for his anti-mutant advocation, and is still firm in his beliefs against these monsters of the--”

 

Click.

 

Protests were heard, and people stood, in the crowded smalltown bar, cranning their necks angrily to see who had the gumption to turn off the television in one of the most pivotal point of history in centuries- ever since the formation of the colonies, in fact. The man who had relieved the screen of it's grotesque images was already calming walking out the door, though calmly had nothing to do with it. If this man had anything to say, the attacks would have gone as planned, and Mr. Kensington would be preaching his world of perfection to Hitler. A cloud of smoke rose from the burning cigarette, and the man calmly flicked away ash, inhaling in the reassuring scent of smoke. Burnt umber hair glinted in the cold sunlight, and the mysterious man smiled to himself, a metallic glint to his steely gaze.

 

Things would be going his way soon enough.

 

A bit farther away, (thousands of thousands of miles, to be exact) a youth, lean and strong, sat in the luxurant grass of the L1 colony, enjoying the sunlight, though no amount of pleasure would ever reach his stony face. Many thought it was frozen that way, and mothers often remarked to their young;

 

“You'll be frozen like young Hiro if you keep that face up!” At which point they would promptly release their comical, or eerie face, and their mother's would congradulate themselves on a job well done. Hiro himself had long since forgotten about smiling, and took greater pleasure in simply strolling the colony to which he belonged, frustrated at his lack of participation in the events of the world. Silently raising hands to his face, the youth examined his hands, and the knuckles between each calloused finger. Silently he mentally voiced a command, and not-so-silently, three deadly knives of gundanium flashed out, between each knuckle. It had always amazed him, that he had survived such treatments in the military labs of the colonies. And it still amazed him, though he would never voice it, that most of his memories of that time had escaped him. His body remembered every torture, every exercise, yet his mind could only remember flashes. Grunting with unspoken pain, he sheathed his weapons, so that his suspicious neighbors would not see his mutant qualities. That was the word for his peculiar attributes- mutation. The gift, or curse, of evolution. Politicians debated their humanity, while they themselves wondered over it. Brought to society in a whirl of rasicm, disgust and mistrust, mutants were the scourge of humanity. At least, to those who did not possess such impossibly gifts such as, flight, mind-reading, inhanced physical prowess and beastiality. It was too much for most to comprehend. Hiro simply thought of his healing factor, the only real mutation he knew of. The `other thing' was a gift from a devil. And that devil would one day pay.

 

Hiro had been spending his borrowed time at a colony far from where he had escaped. At the teenaged age of 17, he had been mentally ready to escape his house of tortures. But something had happened, and now…

 

Now his memories consisted of black and white pictures that graced his prescence at inconvieniant intervals.

 

Sighing again, more softly, Hiro allowed himself to drift into a deep sleep, one that he had never before known. He had been resistant to sleep, careful of his enemies, and their tracking of his movements. He hoped to go to Earth one day, and escape them all together. They wanted him, and he didn't know why. He couldn't possibly be that important. His dark blue eyes opened, and glanced about, suspicious as before of his surroundings. It had seemed a bit quiet in these last few weeks, no doubt it was time to move on to another job on L1. His thoughts assuaged, he drifted back to his undisturbed sleep. Let the world handle it's own problems, and let it leave you out of the way. Let it go on it's own…

 

Startled from his thinking, one Milliardo Marquis stood in front of a vast system of networks, all interconnected to his own machine that inhanced his own mutation; intelligence and telepathy. One of the more powerful telepaths, Milliardo had not yet ceased his search for his enemies, or for his allies. He was ever on the hunt, for new mutants and old, trying to recruit enough that his army would be formidable enough to crash against the wave of tyranny that he felt closing in on his school. He had not progressed so far in life to see it all destroyed thanks to the prejudice and blind loyalty of others. Kushrenada and the colonies would be stopped, and their explotation of mutants would be halted. Milliardo had sworn to it, after his lover had been presumed dead after one mission. Lucrezia would not have admired the cold man he had become in their brief year away from one another, but she would never be around to voice her complaint.

 

He had been disturbed in his thinking across the globe, by that of a fellow mutant, a teenaged one, and in the colonies, no doubt. It seemed there was one that Kushrenada also hoped to employ. And yet…it seemed that he had information as well. Eyes flying open in surprise, Milliardo silently sent out telepathic messages, discrete alarms to students in the school that he maintained for public appearances. His call brought two to the room; A young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, and a foul-mouthed youth with a braid that nearly reached his knees.

 

“What's the matter, Milliardo?” asked the blonde, polite as ever, watching with wide eyes at the display panels, and wondering what had caused a summons from their `Headmaster'. The braided boy, on the other hand, was not so polite in his hello.

 

“What the hell are calling us up here for in the middle of the day?” He yawned widely. “I was sleeping in Trig!”

 

Sparing a disapproving glare at the boy, and motioning the girl forward, Milliardo leaned over her sitting form, and her fingers flew across the keys. “I want you to find this mutant.” He said in his rough, deep voice, and Sylvia frowned. Usually missions of this nature were left for night. Duo, however, looked towards Milliardo with a sharp grin, and a twinkle of miscehvious eyes. It was obvious whose skills would be needed here.

 

“Colony L1, Sector 4, inhabitant section. Living courters nearby indicate middle class families.” The blonde reported, typing furiously away at the keyboard as she tried to determine who had caught Milliardo's eye, or rather, mind.

 

“That'll do. Duo, take Quatre with you. I don't want to force this person here, but if he resists, you know what to do.” Milliardo instructed, turning away from the computer to stare at his pupil. Duo was an ace pilot, and his mutation might come in handy. Quatre's as well. The arabian boy was another refugee from the colonies' experimentations, as Milliardo knew well about. He dismissed both students, Duo with a stern look, and Sylvia with a clap on the shoulder, as a silent `Thank You'. Sylvia left without another word, but Milliardo couldn't help a slight groan when he heard Duo's;

 

“Ha! Another chance to use his jet!”

 

Away from the illustrious school of learning in the former United States, now part of the United Sphere Alliance, another mutation was beginning to waken. In Lady Anne's School for Young Women, Relena Dorlian was just beginning to finish her morning studies and classes. Etiquette around various forms of nobility and political importance, dancing, and proper appearances were all classes taught at the famed school. Many polished young women arose from the school, and it was well thought of in the highest of social circles. Relena had been forced to go, against her wishes. She felt cramped in such a small school, even though the building was luxurious in size and grounds. Relena often spent time outside, climbing trees to escape from being seen, and often simply strolling around the gardens for hours on end, until the horrendous Matron found her, and scolded her heavily.

 

Relena sighed, pushing her elbow against the table, and resting her weary head on her outstretched hand. Today was her sixteenth birthday, and not a single of her so-called `friends' had even remembered. Startled out of her sad thoughts by a question by a teacher, and snickers from students, Relena flushed, and gratingly answered the question. Returning to her studies, she spent the day wearily, almost bored-to-tears with lack of excitement.

 

She should have asked for a puppy instead.

 

As if in reply to her thoughts, the fire alarms rang in every room, and a sulphurous smoke descended through the hallways, permeating the classrooms with uneering accuracy. Racing away from the tear gas were teachers and students alike, girl screaming fiercely and shoving for a way out of the smoking building. Relena, caught in a swarm of students, was pushed along the tide, out the doors to see the most remarkable sight she had ever seen.

 

And the most terrifying.

 

A woman, silently at attention and proudly erect in her standing, military position glared at the squeeling girls. Relena stared apprehensively at the sight, for the woman stood at least twenty feet in the air, and stood on nothing.

 

“A mutant?” was the cry around her, and Relena's golden hair spund as she searched around her for a teacher, a small comfort as the woman glared coldly down at them all. Then, a small girl appeared next to the coldly irate person. A slight red head, frail with a heavy cloak over her shoulders, obscuring much else from view. With a devil-may-care grin, the girl produced an arm from the billowing folds of her cloak, and clicked an object.

 

From such a hieght, Relena couldn't see the object, but when the girl drew a breath and exhaled…

 

Flames leapt from the sky, increasing in size and strength, and bearing down upon the school. In a flash of heat, the school began to burn.

 

Waling in increasingly high tones, the various girls of the school began to scream for mercy, until the woman, icy in demenour still, spoke.

 

“Give me the girl Dorlian.” She said, glaring heavily at all who looked at her. When she received silence, she glared even harsher still. “Give her to me!”

 

It was already stunningly obvious who the `Dorlian girl' was, because a small circle had already emptied around the poor girl. She stood, wide eyed and frightened, a glare in her eyes as the mysterious woman descended. She landed on the ground, and simply raised her hadn, palm outstretched to aim towards Relena's head. Using her own powers, she fired a pulsation of psionic energy at the girl, making her instantly unconscious. Picking the girl up, amid whispers and glares abound, the two enigmatic women flew up, and away.

 

TBC

 

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