Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Surprises ❯ Average Treinte ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimers: Don't own G-boys, wish I did. I'm broke and not worth suing. The OCs you see however are just that `original characters' meaning mine.

 

Warnings: Spanish swearing at the bottom (the bold stuff). If someone reading this says I got it wrong, all I can say is I got it off a website so *shrugs*

 

 

Thanks and enjoy the show…!

 

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All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.
-Thomas E. Lawrence

 

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-Surprises-

-Average Treinte-

-Chapter 4-

 

AC 213

December 28

 

I'm Treinte or Tre to 50. I'm ordinary. Well, ordinary for a Gundam pilot. I'm not the strongest or smartest. I'm a fair aim but nothing like 40. I'm not overtly cunning or dexterous. Nothing about me really stands out.

 

I'm a colony born test tube baby of Hispanic and Caucasian descent. I'm the average colony height of 5'5”. I'm standard 120 lbs with a toned but not overly muscled frame. I favor my Hispanic heritage with my naturally tan skin and dark eyes. The only reason no one thinks I'm one of the rare colony born pure-bloods is the short but thick mane of chestnut hair I have. Even with my odd color, my aura is so ordinary that I never warrant a second glance. My Instructor cut and dyed my hair before I left and now I don't even warrant a first glance half the time. I found I think that, I like the anonymity my ordinariness brings, I hate being the center of attention. When I'm the center of attention I feel uncomfortable and `It' stirs. Instructor says I'm a gundam pilot because of both my unremarkableness and `It'. I'm not happy with that but I accept it.

 

The others now, they aren't ordinary, they are definitely what people think of when someone says “gundam pilot.” 10 is our commander the, until recently, rare times all five of us converge on one mission. She is amazingly strong and never goes anywhere without her orange headset (she doesn't explain and I don't ask). 20 is the tallest of us and the quietest. He is a master at infiltration and espionage. He's amazingly flexible, 50 once called him on it and he showed us a little by resting his feet flat on his head. 50 dropped the subject after that. 40...he scares me. Considering I'm a gundam pilot that's saying something. He is a complete oxymoron; he looks like the perfect innocent angel but he'd quicker shoot you than deal with you. Last is 50. I like 50, he's loud but funny and frank to the point of rude. Actually, I think he tries for rude; I'm the only person he is nice to, at least that's what he says. I'm honored to have his friendship, of course he'd say something frank, rude, and crude about it if I say something like that to him (I have pervious experience to back it up). It's an unwritten rule not to ask about our pasts but I think he had a bad one from the rare glances I've had of him with his guard down. Betcha that's why he's the explosives expert. I'm always playing referee between him and 40 and/or 20. He's the only person I know who can get to 20. It took one legendary mission to make it a rule to Never Ever pair up 20 and 50 unless the rest of us are dead, captured, or too physically incapacitated (read: next to death's door). Even Z said as much!

 

Me...I dunno. I'm 30. My `official' expertise is technology and mechanics. I'm happiest elbow deep in the guts of Oso/Bruin or a control panel. Car engines or computer hardware are acceptable seconds. Unofficially I am an expert at Hispanic culture including (or in 50's case especially) cooking. Whenever I team up with the others on a mission for an extended period of time I always end up the cook. I don't mind though, it even earned me music privileges with 10. I'd say fair trade.

 

We have the ex-pilots in our safe house now. I think 16 years of relative peace made them rusty even as Preventer agents (03 and 04 being part-time and on-call respectively). Of course, it could just as easily of been the sub-par Taurus IIs they were using against nearly 50 TProto mobile dolls. Either way we were sent out to the battle to rescue and destroy. All of the old group were injured 02-05 were KO'd. 01, no surprise there, was conscious and rescued with minimal injuries. Once at the safe house he checked on the others then demanded to talk to our Doctor. 10 patched him though and Z dismissed her after a brief report. We haven't seen 01 since. That was...27 hours ago. Lucky me, I got to drop off food and a first aid kit at the first 3 hours (note dripping sarcasm).

 

When I knocked on the study door the just barely audible noise of conversation stopped and I was snapped a curt “In.” I could feel `It' stirring but a deep calming breath eased that and I quickly entered. 01 was angled to face both the door and Z, a gun resting in his hand like a lost lover or close companion, I'm not sure which fits more. His eyes remind me of 10's oddly enough, when she's in an amazingly pissy mood. Cold, hard, analytical Prussian blue; they plainly stated there was a reason he came out of the last fight reasonable unscathed. `It' stirred again, twisting sluggishly in the back of my brain, an inextricable part of my soul. Oh shut up, I may be average but I'm hardly stupid, I am allowed to philosophize in my own mind. Anyway, 01 and `It'. I set the plate on the desk and the first aid kit next to his arm. His eyes never left me once. I could feel him analyzing me, pulling me apart piece by piece and weight my value. `It' was waking up, quickly.

 

“30 status?” Z asked me. I gave him a brief report on both groups and was summarily dismissed. I turned and made it back to the door and was just opening it when I heard 01 speak to Z, “He is one of them?” The question conveyed his skepticism of Z and disbelief in me. `It” started bleeding into my consciousness, me sight was tinged red and I glanced back before leaving the room. There was a loud clatter as the mangled metal that was once the door handles fell to the ground. One thing `It' and I can't stand is being pegged as useless and that is exactly what 01 pegged us as. There is one hell of a difference between ordinary and useless.

 

On the way to may room (I always sleep alone) I passed 20 and 40 in the hall. 20 fingered his dagger hilt and 40 caressed the enamel handle of his gun until I passed them. It took a good hour of intensive meditation for the red to bleed from my vision and another hour to quiet `It' down to a tolerable level. I have a sinking feeling that as long as that malparido hijo de puta 01 is around `It' will never sleep. Maldicion del dios—

 

That's 50, the others are awake (finally) and meeting downstairs. `It' doesn't feel good about this and I've learned to trust `It's instincts. Cogida...

 

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