Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ True Calling ❯ Children Of The Night ( Chapter 1 )

DISCALIMER: I do *not* own Gundam Wing and its wonderful character. If I did, I would have made a movie out of it long ago... ^_~

WARNING: :Rated R. Alternative Timeline for the show, shounen ai, angst, violence, sex, gore, OC, 2+1, 3+4, 1+R.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is an answer as to where Duo's and Heero's lives would have been without two main events in their lives - The Maxwell Church Massacre and Heero's "adoption" by J. I've tried to stay true to the show the best I could, but I *did* change a few things here and there so they will fit better into my plot. I hope you will enjoy this story, even though it's kind of AUish...

Naomi.

If for some reason the chapter does not appear correctly u can find it in http://www.duoxheero.com/true.html

x.x.x.x.x.x

TRUE CALLING

CHAPTER ONE:

CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was in the midst of the AC 195 war that L2-V08744's weather system broke down and a harsh winter seethed through the colony. A layer of frost covered everything, from the colony's metal casing to the buildings and roads. A malfunction in the weather controls caused a week of rain, which nearly drained the colony of its already deprived water resources. The sewerage system was flooded, the dirty water overflowing from the underground pipes and onto the streets. The water froze soon after flooding the roads, as the temperature dropped to a minus 18 degrees Celsius.

Though it was cold, there was no wind. The colony's ventilation fans were running on minimum power, just enough to blow oxygen into the crumbling space settlement. The air was crisp and still, as if frozen. It gave the colony the feeling of a graveyard.

It didn't stop snowing. Feathery white frost piled at the edges of the roads and in the entrance of every building. At first the municipality dispatched snow tractors to clear the roads, but gas was beginning to run low on the colony, so the service was cut off. Public transport was shut down, and only a few drivers risked their lives on the slippery roads. The colony's streets were packed with people who walked resignedly through the snow, the hardship of their lives written over their tired features.

L2-V08744 was an industrial colony, consisting mainly of working class people and smoke-raising factories. The air was dark and thick with pollution. Tall chimneys rose high above the buildings, painting the skyline with black smoke. The streets were crowded and narrow, buildings crammed against each other within tight spaces. The sidewalks and roads were badly maintained, asphalt cracked and shattered. Most of the colony's structures were neglected and tumbledown. Even the main district of the colony, the government hall, the courthouse and the colony's infamous museum, had been left to decay. There was no money to even fix a broken window.

Homeless people gathered in groups around large metal barrels with a small fire burning inside. They thrived on the garbage that littered the streets due to the lack of sanitation. Some less fortunate lay dead in dark alleys, frozen with a look of utter desperation. The local authorities were having difficulties keeping up with the corpses. Many lay dead on the streets for days.

There was a war raging between Earth and the Colonies, and times were hard. Factories were closed one by one, collapsing under the financial burden. The few people who still had a job hung onto it with sheer brute force and hostility. Competition in the job market was great. Joblessness usually coincided with homelessness. There were entire families living on the streets. Social Services and Unemployment Offices were packed with people, as were the penitentiaries and hospitals. Gangs roamed the streets, young men and women with nothing better to do than cause mayhem. Suicide rates climbed up drastically. Many children were left without a father, or worse - orphaned. Homeless children sunk into the nighttime shadows, swallowed by the dark. Whores and pimps, drug dealers and thieves... there were too many for the police to hinder. L2-V08744's underworld prospered, feeding on the lost souls who were cast out of society.

The small businesses were struggling to survive. Three small diners remained open on the colony. In the past, there used to be at least a dozen. The three restaurants struggled to survive under the harsh crisis, relying on the industrial workers to drop by for lunch or a cup of coffee from time to time. Food supplies to the colony were low, and the prices climbed higher with the inflation. Most of the meals on the menu were hard to afford, and there weren't many buyers.

It was a perfect opportunity for a large restaurant network to take over and open a branch on L2. A new diner, a forth one, was opened- brand new and full of promises. Star Cup café promised work for a few more fortunate people, and cheaper prices for all. The other diners on the colony were on the brink of bankruptcy, like most small businesses on the colony. Dumpsters that were once a promise for a meal were to go down along with them. That meant more gang fights over the few precious dumpsters that were left in the colony.

One of those fights was taking place in an alleyway behind Star Cup at an early morning hour. A boy, no more than fifteen years of age, against an older, perhaps thirty-years-old, homeless man. The boy was dressed in a long, thick trench coat that was twice his size. It reached down to his ankles and gave him a rather unwieldy appearance. His features were thin, almost famished; betraying the bulky appearance the trench coat gave him. The thick raincoat only created an illusion of volume around his fragile figure. He counted on that delusion to intimidate his rival.

The two opponents circled each other in the dark alley. Their feet sunk into the snow that covered the ground. The boy's movements were slow and calculated, each step made to intimidate with confidence and promises of pain. His eyes, a deep shade of blue, gazed fiercely at his older rival. It was an intense gaze, fiery and icy all at once. His hands, clad in fingerless gloves, balled into tight fists. They clenched and unclenched, ready for battle. The boy was frail and thin, but the desperation in his eyes told volumes of his strength. It was the kind of primal emotion that heightened a person's senses and skill. Survival on the streets was a matter of strong will and determination.

The man took a step forward, testing the air. The boy growled dangerously and tensed, his fists clenching tightly. That dumpster would be his this morning. He was willing to kill for it. He was even willing to die for it. Hunger drove him mad as he launched into the fight with a swift motion and a feral growl. He moved with speed and viciousness, using his smaller frame to his advantage.

The fight was quick, leaving them both breathless. They kicked and punched, fell and got up again. As moments passed they became slower, but just as determined. It was something they both had to do, otherwise they'd die. The boy was hanging onto the last shreds of his resolve, onto his last few resources of strength. His head was spinning and sweat trickled into his eyes. He was panting harshly, his legs trembling with effort. Looking coldly at his rival, the boy saw that he was in no better shape.

He snarled. It was time to break the man, using the final straw he had. If the man was exhausted enough, he might back away.

Still glaring at the man, watching his every movement, the boy reached a hand into his trench coat. He pulled out a gun, aiming it at the man's head.

"Leave." He rasped, his voice low and dangerous.

The man didn't move. He stood there looking at him with an expression stating that he was willing to die. He might even carve for it.

Panic stirred inside the boy for a second before he shoved it away. His fingers moved slowly, cocking the weapon with an audible 'click'.

"Now." He threatened, leveling the gun with the man's eyes.

Time stood still for a few moments. The boy struggled to keep his shaking feet from giving out. His features betrayed nothing though, glaring at the man with cold, menacing, eyes.

Eventually, the man gave up. With a heavy sigh, he slumped his shoulders and slowly backed away.

The boy did not move the gun away until the man disappeared into another alley. When he was sure it was safe, he let his hand drop down lifelessly to his side, the gun heavy in his hold. After a moment of just breathing, he shoved it back into his inner pocket.

With a sigh that raised warm vapor from his lips, he turned to the dumpster. He reached a pair of thin and bony hands into the dumpster. The fingerless gloves offered little protection from the cold, as did the tattered ski hat on his head. His chocolate brown hair, long and messy, peeked from underneath the wool hat, reaching down to his shoulders. His hair was dirty and hard as straw, but it kept the back of his neck warm. Long and untamed bangs fell over his face and obscured his eyes.

He had survived many winters on the streets, but this one was the hardest yet. It was getting harder to find ways to keep warm. Underneath the raincoat he was wearing three more layers of shabby clothing, some he'd long out-grown. He was fifteen and growing rapidly. It was hard to keep up with his body when it came to clothes. They were hard to get as it is, and having to change them every few months was not doing him any good. He didn't understand how he could be growing so fast. He was suffering from severe malnutrition. Where did his body find the means to grow?

He had been watching the dumpster from across the street the whole night, making sure to be the first to reach it. He waited until the first two garbage bags were thrown and then ran to catch his first meal in days. He knew that there would be a fight. He was prepared for it.

He had little time. Soon the dumpster will be raided by a homeless mob. He had to snatch what he could and run. He was in no condition to fight any more; he was too weak from hunger. Usually he would fight anyway, like an animal driven by desperation, but this winter was different. This winter was harder. It had worn him down.

He found a half eaten doughnut, wrapped in a colorful paper napkin. The pink and red designs didn't fit the colony, he mused as he picked it up. He unwrapped the doughnut and looked over it carefully, making sure it wasn't moldy. He then shoved it into his mouth - it was barely a mouthful - and chewed it gracelessly.

Licking his dirty fingers, he returned to dig through the garbage. His hunger had grown by tenfold, his stomach awakening after two days of starvation. He had been too ill to go hunting for food the last few days. The harsh winter was taking its toll on his already poor health. He had been lying in a cardboard box behind two dumpsters for most of the week, too ill to move.

The realization that he will starve to death made him drag himself out of his makeshift shelter and back to the streets. He didn't know why he bothered. The need to survive was ingrained deeply into him for some reason. He didn't know why he obeyed it, why he fought so hard to survive one day after another. But he did it anyway, simply because he didn't know what else to do. He had no future plans; all he did was live one moment after another, his furthest plans reaching as far as the next meal. No more, no less. An existence without living, just breathing with no reason. On some nights he held his breath in an attempt to stop his useless breathing, but then that survival instinct kicked in again and he found himself gulping for air. There was no use fighting it, he supposed. He simply had to survive. Perhaps the reason for it will come later on. And if not, he'll simply keep surviving.

---!!¥¦§ÀỚ‰ⁿ!!!!

A noise from the street made him look up in fright. He whirled his head from side to side, senses alert. His blue eyes narrowed and hardened. His gaze pierced through the alleyway and into the street. He waited, watching.

A car passed by, splashing cold water. Then silence. The air was still, the snowy street empty. No one came.

. . .10001◙▼╪Ớ. . .

He relaxed, slumping his shoulders. He turned back to the smelly garbage.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Half an hour after the boy was gone, another young man approached the dumpster. He was wearing a pair of simple waiter uniforms, the name of the diner - 'Star Cup' - printed on the back of his black shirt. His hair was long, chestnut color, gathered in a tight and tidy braid. He was carrying two heavy garbage bags, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He threw them into the dumpster with some effort, his arms too tired and stiff to move. There were black bags under his eyes, his features pale and worn with lack of sleep.

His eyes, which were an odd shade of violet blue, were blood shot and weary. They noted that the previous bags he had thrown that morning were already torn open and their content was scattered inside the dumpster. A sad, wistful, smile nudged his lips. He reached back towards the bags he dumped inside and untied them, leaving them open and in plain sight. It wasn't much, but it was something. His heart ached as he pictured a pair of thin, childish hands trying to rip the thick plastic open. At least if it was open, it would be a little easier to search for food.

With a heavy sigh, the teenager turned around and walked back into the diner.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The boy walked listlessly down the frozen streets of Downtown L2. He was dragging his feet over the frosty sidewalk, his hands shoved into his trench coat pockets and his gaze glued to the floor. His feet ached, his toes crammed inside a pair of worn-out shoes that just didn't fit him anymore. Vapor was rising from his nose and lips as he breathed. He had just walked out of the City Library, after spending a few hours there to avoid the cold. The warm air the heaters provided still filled him. He was even colder now, but he had to go out and hunt for food.

He walked past the marketplace, where the few merchants who could still afford to trade were shouting out their prices and begging people to buy. There were fewer buyers in the market compared to the old times, but people still had to purchase their necessities, and the marketplace was the cheapest.

He snuck into the alleys behind the market, the hum of the crowd still reaching his ears. There were food stands just a few meters away, but as strange as it may sound to some, he did not steal. He tried to avoid it the best he could. Times were hard, and many merchants were struggling to bring food to their family table. His conscience did not allow him to take their livelihood away from them. He relied on the food they threw away later to keep him alive.

His feet protested in pain with each step he took. He stopped, wincing, and looked down at his feet. His shoes were torn and muddy after years of carrying him through these streets. When he got them, three years ago, they were at least three times his size. He couldn't believe that he had survived long enough to fill them.

Sighing heavily, the boy looked up, his blue eyes scanning the market. There was a shoe stand not so far away. He swallowed, hesitation flickering across his face. He had no money, but he didn't want to steal. He needed shoes. He couldn't walk with what he had for much longer.

Helplessness and frustration stirred uncomfortably inside him. Troubling thoughts that usually made his head ache. He did not like to deal with such things. He tried to keep his life simple, concentrating on his next meal and a place to spend the night. Sometimes he saw things in his head. He didn't know what they were, but they came when he was troubled. He tried not to think too hard on things, it only made the flashes come and his head hurt.

-----!!!001111‰ⁿ0011101₫⌂≡╘_ 53;fl¶µ»º±¡ÛÄ001̶ 4;‡₤₧₫€...

He closed his eyes, ignoring the flashes. His body itched uneasily, beaconing him to deal with his dilemma.

Instead, he leaned against the wall of a shabby building and with a sigh, pulled out a small cigarette box from his pocket. They were a cheap brand, one he could easily buy after a few hours of begging for money on the streets. There were times he could gather up to ten credits a day, but when the winter came things changed. He had run out of cash, and he had to cut down on cigarettes. Not that he was a heavy smoker, but he did enjoy it at least a few times a day. Now he only smoked when he needed to quiet down his mind and simply concentrate on the warm smoke filling his lungs. It helped keep the flashes at bay.

----1010001◙▼╪♂∂0111111≥⌂ ⌐⌠⌡─│∞╟╠...

One of the many advantages of his oversized trench coat was that it had many deep pockets. He carried his few possessions with him always, stashed inside the large pockets. He rummaged through the side pockets for a while before pulling out a small matchbox with a motel's name printed on the front. A young hooker gave it to him when he asked her for a light.

---0¢£¤¥¦§ÀỚữỢ 0000111011√℅$@]?¼†‡₤₧₫€ ;...

Holding the cigarette between his lips, he lighted the match and carefully brought it up, cupping it in his hands to shield it from the cold. When the cigarette was lit he took a long, relaxing drag and let his body sink against the building's wall.

. . . 10∫∩∟≈≠≡ . . .

The flashes slowly faded away... disappearing like smoke into the air.

With a relieved sigh, the boy slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold cement. His blue eyes gazed up at the metal sky, watching the smoke rise to where the two tall buildings touched the sky. He smiled sadly at the sight, his eyes fascinated by the way the dark rooftops connected with the cloudy sky. When it was this cloudy, one could almost forget he was living in an artificial environment. This is what Earth must look like, an endless skies stretching above you. When he watched the smoke ascend from his mouth and to the sky, he could almost envision what freedom felt like.

He took his time with the cigarette, prolonging the small pleasure of life. It was acrid and bitter in his mouth, burning his nostrils as he exhaled through his nose. He amused himself by blowing out circles and other unidentified shapes, watching the smoke as it disappeared before him. He envied it so much.

When the cigarette ran out, he continued sitting, leaning against a frozen wall, gazing ahead at nothing. His problems were slowly returning to his mind, creeping in on icy little feet and stinging his mind with troubling thoughts. There was a small flash of green flickering before his eyes. He closed them tight and tried to concentrate. Shoes. He needed shoes.

With a heavy sigh, the boy pulled himself up to his feet, his body heavy and weary. He looked up at the shoe stand and with a heavy heart, began to make his way towards it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He stood in front of the small shoes selection arranged neatly on a large wooden stand. They were so shiny and new, unlike anything he ever owned. They looked expensive. He didn't even dare to ask how much they cost. His heart beat painfully in his chest. He didn't want to steal. His feet shouted back in agony. He had to.

Sighing heavily, the boy reached towards a pair of simple black & white sneakers that seemed about the right size.

"May I help you, lad?" A voice asked softly, startling him. He snatched his hand back and looked up.

It was a man, around forty or fifty, wearing a blue sweater, a thick raincoat and a kind smile. He was looking at him with hopeful eyes, warm and brown like honey. The boy swallowed and took a small step back, guilt flooding him from the inside.

"I, uh, how much are these?" He asked, suddenly realizing it was the first bit of conversation he had in weeks. The thought stung a bit, but he pushed it away.

The man smiled in sympathy and shook his head. "They might be a little more than you can afford. But I might have something else for you." He said, reaching for something underneath the counter. "Do you know your size?"

The boy lowered his gaze, slightly embarrassed. "No." He answered, looking down at his feet.

"Well, try these on first." The man said, placing a simple cardboard box on the table.

The boy looked up and watched him open it. He made a sour face as the man pulled out a pair of ugly yellow-mustard shoes.

"They might be low in price, but not in quality." The man encouraged as he noted the distaste on the boy's face. He nudged the shoes towards him. "Come on, try them on."

"How much?" The boy asked without making a move towards the shoes.

The man frowned, putting the shoes back down. "Fifty credits. But I'm willing to give them to you for thirty five," he lowered his gaze down as he added, "...it was the original price." He looked back at the blue eyed teen, his smile returning. "They're my last pair, and it's a good deal, I assure you. These shoes are built to last."

The boy stared at him, bemused.

Thirty-five credits... thirty-five! He couldn't remember when he had last seen so much money all at once. The largest sum he ever held in his hand was a bill of twenty, and that's only because it fell from some businessman's wallet. He had returned the money to the man, and in return he was rewarded with half the sum. It was better than stealing. He did that quite often, back in the days when people carried money in their back pockets.

He could come back later and steal them. He could do it while the man was closing down for the day, loading his merchandize onto his van. He could... but...

"Daddy?" A small, childish voice spoke up from somewhere behind the man. The boy looked up and saw the man turn around in the direction of the voice. When the man turned, the boy could see a little girl standing behind him, hugging a tattered rag doll. The boy's heart sank heavily under the new load of pain. His head hurt again. He didn't want to think so much!

---00-1◙▼╪♂∂0111≥⌂⌐ ⌠⌡─│∞╟╠---

"What is it, sweetheart?" The seller asked with a warm, yet melancholic, smile.

"I'm hungry." The little girl said, pouting. Her big brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "When is mommy coming home?"

The boy noted the tears welling in the father's eyes. His features were anguished. He assumed that there was no mother. Looking up at the girl's thin and famished face, he knew that there was no food either.

No. He could never steal.

"She's not here, sweetheart. Why won't you go back into the van and I'll make you a hot cup of tea?" The man spoke softly, carefully hiding the trembling in his voice. The boy heard it, but the child didn't.

Sighing, she buried her head in the doll's hair and mumbled a small "Okay..."

The boy watched her waddle slowly into the van. It was a while before the man gathered the strength to turn back to the boy. There was a small, forced, smile on his lips. "So, what do you say?"

The boy swallowed, looking up at the salesman. He didn't want to do this! He didn't want to! But he had to. He had to. The little girl's hollow face, pale with sadness and hunger, will haunt him for many nights if he won't.

He balled his hands into tight fists, trying to draw strength as he spoke his next words, looking at the salesman. There was an anguished look in his eyes as he spoke.

"Can ya save 'em for me 'til tomorrow? I'll be getting some money t'morrow."

The man frowned, distrust shining in his eyes for a moment.

"I haffta ask my mom first." The boy hurried to add. The old man thought he was going to steal someone's wallet or something. He never stole. He never knew if the person he was stealing from had a family. Families needed money more than he did. He couldn't afford the risk.

The seller didn't look convinced, given the boy's appearance, but after a while he sighed and nodded his head. "Sure." He said, putting the shoes back in the box. "You can come back tomorrow."

The boy nodded in thanks and slowly walked away, disappearing into a shadowy alley. He had work to do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Inside the new 'Star Cup' café, the digital clock flashed 17:56 PM. The young waiter looked at it and exhaled deeply. His shift was almost over. It's been a slow day, like always. Only a small selection of industrial workers came for lunch, and a grumpy businessman in a dark suit made some nasty comment about the Day's Special. The young waiter ignored him, paying more attention to the three middle-ranked officers sitting in the back of the dinner, dining on a large meal funded by their fat military paychecks. He eyed them angrily as he wiped the counter clean, his fierce gaze never leaving their sight as they laughed loudly and made rude comments at Madeline, also waitress.

"Fucking bastards," Madeline muttered as she brushed past him on her way to the kitchen, leaving a trail of sweet scent behind her.

"Yeah," he grumbled back, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

It was 18:00 PM. His shift was over.

"Are you going home, Duo?" Madeline asked as she exited the kitchen, taking her apron off slowly.

"Nah, not yet. Got some studying to do." Duo answered with a sigh, also taking off his black apron.

Madeline nodded thoughtfully. A soft smile graced her pretty face as she looked up at him shyly. "Walk me home?"

There was a flash of fear in her eyes that was hard to miss. It was only a week ago that he rescued her from the hands of three ugly bullies. The memory of her screams still made his blood boil. L2 was such a bitch. Ninety percent of the population had been corrupted.

"Sure," he answered with a smile, "it's where I'm headed anyway."

Madeline smiled in thanks and they both walked into the kitchen to get their coats.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So how's school going?" Madeline asked as they walked together through the freezing streets. "I think it's so great you're able to go to school. Most of our class dropped out of high school soon after I did." Her green eyes shone sadly as she spoke the words. There was longing in her voice, a longing for a childhood that disappeared all too soon. Sighing wistfully, she adjusted her red cape, brining it closer to her body and hugging herself. The air was like ice, it almost hurt to breathe.

"Yeah, I know." Duo muttered, vapor rising from his lips. He looked away, avoiding her eyes.

They continued to walk in silence, Madeline's hands clutching her cape protectively to her chest and Duo's hands shoved deeply into his pockets. His steps were harsh against the frosty sidewalk, his gaze glaring at the floor. Madeline watched him, a worried frown creating wrinkles on her young, sweet, features.

"So how's it going?" She asked again, her voice soft and undemanding.

Duo sighed and offered her a tired smile. He watched her curly red hair bounce up and down before speaking. "Great. Just great."

She smiled back and nodded, turning her gaze up at the artificial sky. It was already dark, like winter nights on Earth. Her eyes twinkled brightly as she watched the orange streetlamps pass overhead, soft snowflakes descending from above, sparkling under the orange illumination. They fell slowly to the ground, swinging in a graceful dance. It was beautiful; if she ignored all the hardship it brought the people.

Duo watched the street as they walked, his senses alert as his eyes shifted from side to side, searching. The shadows might be watching. There was evil lurking within them, waiting to jump its prey. There were drug deals in the shadows. Whores selling their bodies and children injecting toxins into their veins. He'd seen it before. He still saw it every day. It didn't make it any easier to bear.

"What's going on there?" Madeline's voice brought him out of his musings. Duo halted abruptly and followed her gaze. He frowned.

There was a crowd of homeless men surrounding an entrance of a building. There were a few bonfires burning among them, probably to keep them warm while they waited. The structure was unremarkable in any way, and Duo couldn't remember if it had any importance. Not even the Unemployment Office had such a mob waiting in front of it. He wondered what could be going on.

"Are they giving away food?" Madeline asked, her voice hopeful. Duo winced as he remembered his friend's starving family.

"I don't think so." he let out thoughtfully, "Otherwise there would be fighting."

"Oh." she whispered, bowing her head in disappointment. "Guess you're right."

"Must be another stupid protest." He muttered with an annoyed sigh, motioning at her to keep walking. Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he added: "Like it does them any good."

"It's better than turning to crime." Madeline pointed out, increasing her pace in order to keep up with him.

"Of course." Duo grumbled, sticking his gaze at the floor again. Those little childish hands appeared before his eyes again, desperately trying to reach for a loaf of bread lying on a stand in a crowded marketplace. It was too high to reach, the little hands tried but couldn't.

He sighed, shaking his head to chase the image away.

"We're here." Madeline said, slowly coming to a stop. He did the same and looked up at her. She was smiling again, her pretty green eyes glittering in the dark.

"Thanks for walking me home."

He smiled back. It felt real enough to him so he hoped it looked like it too. "What are friends for." he answered softly. "Say hi to your mom for me." He almost said 'folks', but then he remembered that Madeline's dad killed himself three months ago. He didn't have to say it; the dark flash in Madeline's green eyes was enough to show that she remembered without him having to remind her.

"Sure." She said nevertheless, smiling. "Goodnight Duo. Have a good day at school tomorrow. Tell Mrs. Robinson I miss her math class." She finished with a mischievous smile.

Duo chuckled, it sounded real enough. "Yeah right, like she'll believe me." They both had a little laugh, bitter and sweet at the same time. Madeline leaned to offer a light hug, clinging onto Duo's warmth for a second too long than what was accustomed between friends.

"Take care, Duo. I'll see you tomorrow." She whispered in his ear, slowly backing away. He didn't return the hug, she didn't expect him to, but it made her eyes shine sadly.

"Bye." He said, standing by the stairwell leading to her buildings as he watched her go inside. He stood there for a few moments, until he saw her silhouette in the window. Now that he knew she was safe, he turned around and made his way back home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was cold. His limbs were stiff even though he jogged most of the way in order to keep warm. His nose was numb, and probably red. His lips felt parched and his lungs ached from panting cold air. The streets were dark and seemingly empty to the naked eye. In fact, the night was when L2-V08744 truly came to life. War and financial problems usually went hand in hand with high crime rates and corruption. At night, the streets were full of it.

The police didn't bother to try anymore. They used to at least chase the whores out of the residential areas, but they only managed to divert the flow to other areas in the colony. There was no way to just 'flush' them out to outer space, though some people on the streets, those with a questionable sanity, liked to rant about such conspiracies. He used to know this homeless man, Mr. Parker, who always made such accusations. He was once his History teacher in Junior High, before he lost his family, then his job. He ended up on the streets like most people without a job. He occasionally came to the Soup Kitchen Duo volunteered it. Duo would sit with him while he ate, and the man would rant on and on about how to government was trying to 'cleanse' the streets from what they consider 'human filth'. He always said that a big flood would come someday to wash the wicked away. A sarcastic smile twitched Duo's lips. The man was right. Only the rain didn't wash the filth away. The flood just carried it up to the surface.

The Soup Kitchen was a part of the Maxwell Church, where Duo lived for most of his life. The church did a great deal to help the needed. Aside from the Soup Kitchen, the church did a variety of charity work and it also ran a small orphanage. Father Maxwell and his nuns, seven women with hearts of gold, picked up stray children from the streets and offered them a home. There was hardly any funding, but the Priest and his nuns managed somehow. Father Maxwell worked day and night to raise funding from different people, who mostly lived outside of L2. He was more dedicated to the children than to God, though his faith was just as strong as his love for the children.

The orphanage was small, but it held at least sixty children. Most of them were in Elementary school. They usually got adopted by that age, but that was before The Winter, when people could somehow afford it. Duo was the eldest among the Maxwell Children. Father Maxwell took Duo under his wing at the age of seven, rescuing him for a harsh childhood on the streets. He was the only child who was officially adopted by the church. The old Priest was like a father to him, a person he truly loved and adored. He never regretted living his life in the church, but now that he was older he didn't want to burden the old Priest and the Sisters. When Father Maxwell used the church's savings to send him to high school, a form of education that was not easily afforded on L2, Duo moved out of the church and rented a room downtown. Still, he made sure to come and visit at least once a week. After all, they were his family.

The walk from Madeline's home to the church was long. It would be an hour more before he'll get there, and the cold was not helping him either. He could hardly feel his body anymore, even though he was wearing a thick, navy-blue, raincoat.

The sound of a car's horn jerked him violently from his musings. He had been walking in the middle of the road, figuring that no one will bother to drive on the dangerous and slippery surface. Apparently he was wrong. Without turning back to see the car, he moved slowly to the edge of the road, letting it pass. The honked again.

Annoyed, Duo whirled around and glared. "Fuck off!" He shouted, waving his hands angrily. "I moved didn't I-" He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes widening. He was staring straight onto a large gray van. The Church's van.

The large vehicle rolled a few more feet forward so that the driver's side was in front of Duo. The window slowly slid down, and an old man peeked out the window. There was a warm smile on his wrinkled face, his kind eyes looking down at Duo with amusement.

"We spoke about your foul language before, haven't we, Duo?" Father Maxwell asked with an amused voice.

Duo's cheeks blushed a slight red. He bowed his head down humbly. "I'm sorry Father." He mumbled, staring at his shoes. "It's been a long day."

The man didn't lecture him. He just smiled and gestured with his head towards the van. "Come on, hop in."

Duo climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt. The Priest continued driving.

"What were you doing out in this frigid weather?" The man asked, though there was no judgment in this voice.

Duo sighed, looking out the window as the streets blurred into a mix of darkness and light. "I was walking someone home."

"Was it someone from school?" The Priest asked, turning to face Duo.

"Yeah." Duo mumbled, his gaze fixed on the scenery outside. "She was afraid to walk home by herself."

"That's very kind of you." The man said, turning back to face the road. The wipers squeaked as they wiped the snowflakes from the windshield.

Duo sighed and turned to face the Priest. "Where have you been?" He asked, knowing that Father Maxwell only took the van out for special arrangements. Gas was hard to obtain and extremely expensive. The Maxwell Church Van was once known to make many rounds around the colony, delivering food and aid to the helpless. Father Maxwell didn't like to stay in the church and preach about better days. No. He aimed straight for the belly of the beast, walking with his head held high into streets full of filth and desperation. He worked in places where it mattered. He dove into the gut of the outcast society of L2, brining it what little comfort he could afford.

People always came to knock on the door of the Church's Soup Kitchen, but it was the Maxwell Van that reached many more of them. As a child, Duo didn't understand why Father Maxwell risked his life so many nights driving into those dark shadows. When he grew older, the Priest took him with him on one of those rides. Duo saw what Father Maxwell had to deal with, and how he handled everything with a kind smile. He also knew when to be tough. He was a strong man, if not in body than in spirit. There were times he did not handle everything with a smile, and at those times he was as dangerous as anyone. Those occasions were rare, though. Duo could hardly remember seeing Father Maxwell angry or hostile.

Even on the night when he was harassed by three gang members, Father Maxwell stood his ground and showed no fear. They wanted to steal the food from the van, but he did not let them. He told Duo to run to safety and stood up to them with a stubborn face. When punches were raised, Duo could hide no more and came to the rescue. He was only twelve and they were much bigger than him. His sheer determination in fighting was what drove them away eventually. Since that night Duo joined the Priest on every ride into the darkness. He wanted to help and he wanted to protect the person who was so important to him. Some people didn't respond well to kindness. He never let them lay a hand on the old Priest.

But eventually even the Maxwell Van ran out of money for gas. Father Maxwell stopped making his trips into the night. It's been a long time since Duo sat in that passenger seat and watched the night streak outside the window. He couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

"Why did you take the van out tonight?" Duo repeated his question, watching Father Maxwell's face carefully.

"I went to pick up something from the spaceport. I finally got that delivery from L4."

Duo frowned; trying to remember what this was about. "The thermo blankets?"

The old man nodded. "Yes, that's right. I'm giving them away tonight. Would you like to join me?"

"Yeah, sure," he hurried to agree. Of course he would. The streets were harder than they were before. The winter caused the night creatures to harden their shell. There was more distrust and violence out there than ever before. Of course he was coming along. How could he not?

"They were very hard to get. At first all they wanted to give me were ordinary blankets, but I insisted on the thermo ones. Normal blankets won't do any good against this cold." the Priest explained, "Mr. Winner approved the delivery himself. He's a good man, when he has time to be one."

Duo smiled weakly and turned his gaze back to the window. He watched the rush of scenery slow down as the van drove up a hill and into a curve. From behind a few buildings, the church was revealed. The chapel, a white wooden building, stood silently in the middle of a well-kept yard, overlooking the rest of the colony from the hilltop. A round and colorful glass window decorated the roof, always shining with light, making the angels painted on it glow. It was an eerie contrast to the darkness surrounding the buildings. The bright colors seemed as if they were taken from another world, a different reality.

The building connected to the chapel was more appropriate for the colony. It was a small; four story building, bulky and brown. The entrance was rather fancy, with two thick white pillars at each side of the door, like a Greek temple. But even they lost their pure whiteness and were now dirty and cracked. There was a gloomy appearance to the building, but the warm lights shining out of its windows spoke of the warmth it held inside. Seeing those lights raised a small, sad, smile on Duo's lips. This was home.

Father Maxwell stopped the van in front of the orphanage and the two climbed out of the car. From inside the building Duo could hear the soft melody of the piano. Sister Josephine was probably playing for the children. It was 20:00 PM - Family Time. The children must be gathered in the lounge, the family room, drinking tea with cookies. He couldn't wait to go inside.

"We'll say goodnight to the children and then go, all right?" Father Maxwell asked as they walked up the stairs leading to the door.

"Sure." Duo mumbled, waiting for the Priest to open the heavy double doors. Warm golden light poured out the doorstep, washing them both. Duo inhaled the sweet warm air the rushed out of the building. There were definitely home made cookies. He could smell their sweet warm scent. He could imagine the little kids standing on wooden stools in front of the counter in the large kitchen, covered with flour as Sister Maria guided their hands over the dough.

"I hope they remembered to leave us some." Father Maxwell joked as they both entered the building.

The lobby was not fancy, but it was nice and cozy. There were two large armchairs and a small coffee table. Large framed pictures, ones drawn by children, decorated the walls. In front of him was the main staircase, leading up to the top floors where the offices and bedrooms were located. To his right was a door leading to the dining room and to the left was another door, leading to the lounge, or as the residents of the house called it- The Family Room.

"Oh Lord! Duo! You're back!" A woman's voice called happily, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. Both Duo and the Priest looked up to see a young nun rush down the stairs. The frost in Duo's eyes slowly melted into pure warmth as he watched the young woman run down the stairs, a wide smile on her beautiful face. A smile that was meant solely for him. Sister Helen.

She was a beautiful young woman, with smooth white skin and kind green eyes. Her hair was a golden, long and soft. He'd only seen it a few times, when he was a little boy who came to sleep in her bed when the nightmares were too much. In the morning he would watch her sit by her dresser and brush her long wavy hair. It always shone and made her look like an angel. He was probably the only one in the orphanage who'd seen Sister Helen out of her nun attire. Although now that he was older, he avoided it out of his respect for her.

"What took you so long?" The young nun exclaimed breathlessly, coming to stand in front of the two.

"He was walking his girlfriend home." Father Maxwell answered proudly, wrapping a strong arm around Duo's shoulders.

Duo smiled sheepishly, his first true smile for the day. "She's not my girlfriend, just a friend." He corrected.

Sound of laughter and soft singing came from the family room, followed by clapping and a merry tune.

Sister Helen nodded in understanding. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes; Duo could see her try to hide it. She was always sad that he did not have many friends. After all these years he still didn't feel 'normal'. He still found it hard to be a part of a group. He'd seen too much in his young years, more than he should have. His wounds were healed, but the scars still went deep.

Without pestering him about it, she turned to the Priest. "Are you going out tonight?"

"Yes," Father Maxwell replied, "in a while."

"The children and I packed some bread and milk. The boxes are in the kitchen. It's not much, barely enough for twenty or thirty people."

"It will have to do." The old man sighed with a sorrowful face. "We'll save whoever we can."

"I'll go put the boxes in the van." Duo offered quietly and made his way to the kitchen. The two watched him disappear behind the door.

"Something's wrong with him, Father." Sister Helen whispered, watching the closed door worriedly.

The old man sighed, almost resignedly. "He's out of the church again, back in those streets. Of course something is wrong with him."

"He shouldn't have left." The young woman mumbled, bowing her head sadly. "It was too soon."

"Perhaps. But you know it would have done us no good to argue. Duo's a stubborn young man." He turned to her with a reassuring smile. "I'll talk to him, Helen. Don't worry."

The young woman smiled, the light returning to her eyes. There was nothing this man could not do. He had her full trust and faith. He had rescued her from a life of pain and abuse. He brought her life when all she wished for was death. There was nothing he could not do.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They drove silently through the dark streets of L2's most deprived neighborhoods. The van's headlights cut sharply through the darkness, shedding some light into narrow alleys as it turned. The children of the night did not scatter like rats. In fact, they looked silently at the van, not even blinking. They stared hollowly at the light, pupils dilated and faces pale. When it past, they continued to look blankly at the world and wallow in their destitution.

The night was silent, making the world seem dead. Only a few streetlamps were working, shedding small rays of orange light onto the thick blackness. The whores usually gathered around those lamps, the only creatures of the night that wanted to be seen. There were boys and girls, men in women's clothing, homosexuals and transsexuals from both genders. Young men and women willing to do anything for a few credits.

Duo winced and looked away, tearing his gaze from the window.

"It's been a while, I know." Father Maxwell said, breaking the silence for the first time since they left the church.

"Don't worry about it," Duo muttered, "It's nothing new."

The old man sighed and continued driving silently.

"Look, Duo, I know you don't want to hear it, but-"

"I'm not moving back into the church, Father." Duo cut in, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and added, "I'm doing fine."

"Yes, I know you are, but if you need any money-"

"You don't have any money, Father. Please don't offer what you can't give. I'm fine. I have a job. I'll be fine."

"A job? Since when?" The Priest exclaimed, surprised. He turned to Duo. "Since when?"

"Since they opened Star Cup. I'm a waiter there. The money's good enough."

"And what about school?"

Duo sighed, looking away again. He leaned against the window, looking out at the night. "School's fine, Father. Don't worry."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Father Maxwell's eyes narrowed, watching, until he picked his prey for the night. He stopped the van. They exited in silence.

The children watched them with dead eyes. Father Maxwell was not wearing a Priest's outfit. His old jeans and tattered brown jacket made him look just like anybody. Duo walked to the back of the van and unlocked the cargo doors. He could feel the children watching him, ready to fight if necessary. Most of those children were fresh meat. They didn't know who Father Maxwell was. They didn't know that there was no danger. Their empty eyes followed every movement they made.

Some of the veterans - those who were over eighteen - greeted Father Maxwell warmly. They knew him, they liked him. They were a bit more suspicious towards Duo. It's been a while since he came down to these parts. For some strange reason, it almost felt like home. For a moment, he thought he actually missed it - the nighttime thrill. His life was boring and set into an unbreakable routine. The night was different. It held something alluring and mysterious. Father Maxwell would probably give him the belt for even thinking such sinful thoughts. He knew he should be grateful for being rescued from the night. He just felt that his life was going nowhere. At least the streets offered some excitement, if one could call it that.

He unloaded the cardboard boxes from the van and followed Father Maxwell silently. Like a bodyguard, his posture radiated confidence and strength. He watched the shadows carefully, daring the children to make a move. The night children just continued watching mutely, unaffected by anything around them.

Duo watched as Father Maxwell set to work, talking to the older people who knew him, letting them spread the word about the goods he brought. He conversed with an experienced hooker named 'Sugar', catching up with the latest news on the streets. Duo tuned off the conversation after hearing a few bits and pieces that involved the Winter Conspiracy Theory. Sugar was saying something about how the government was trying to kill everybody again, like it did back in AC 187 when the plague raged through the colony.

An image of those childish hands came to his mind again. They were trying to shake this little boy awake, but he remained sleeping. Dead. The dirty little hands hugged the dead blond boy, crying. Or rather, he was crying.

He shook his head and his eyes clenched shut, telling the image to go away. It slowly faded to black and he opened his eyes. He was staring at the dark street again, looking straight into the jaws of the beast.

"Fresh meat." A voice whispered, low and smelly as it brushed past his ear.

Duo turned around, confused. "What?" He asked, looking into the face of an eighteen-year-old male hooker. He was wearing tight leather pants, a small blouse and a pink feather scarf. His face was painted with too much make up.

The man pointed up to where Duo had been staring. "That one. Over there." He said, pointing at a small figure that stood huddled by a wall, away from the streetlamp.

Definitely fresh meat. She didn't have a territory of her own yet. But even from the shadows, she was going to attract attention. Fresh meat always did. They were still young and untainted, their skin still smooth and inviting.

Duo swallowed, turning back to the male hooker. "Thanks." he said, opening the box he was holding and handing it out to the man. "Here, help yourself to something."

The hooker smiled in thanks and took a small loaf of bread before disappearing into the shadows.

Sighing, Duo placed the box on the ground, near the van, where he knew it would be safe. The 'elders' respected Father Maxwell too much to steal from him, and the younger ones were still afraid to make sudden moves. He took out some bread and milk, and also a blanket. Securing them in his hands, he walked towards the girl.

There were two reasons the man bothered to point her out. The first, and he admitted to being naïve about it, was that he saw himself in that girl. Perhaps all he really wanted was to help, to stop the poor girl before she became like him. Before she will be swallowed completely by the night. The streets were like a black hole; they sucked you in quickly and without giving you a chance to resist. That's why Father Maxwell tried so hard to get to those children as early as possible. After some point, there was just no turning back.

The second reason, and the more sarcastic one, was that the man simply wished to eliminate the competition. After a few years on the streets, the whores were not a pleasure to look at. They became ugly. Most of the experienced ones, standing around the streetlamp, were hideous to say the least. Fresh meat, despite its inexperience, was going to get some attention.

The girl was young, around his age, and very pretty. Her dark brown hair reached down to her shoulders, long bangs falling over her eyes as if to tease someone to tousle them. She didn't wear any make up, but she didn't need any. Her eyes were blue and intense; there was no need to emphasize them any further. Her lips were thin and small, almost delicate. They were blue from the cold. It was no big shock, because all she was wearing were a pair of tight jeans short and a black loose shirt that was cut low in the waist and chest. Her feet were bear. Her slender shoulders were trembling badly. Duo knew that if she won't put on some proper clothing, she'd slip into hypothermic shock.

"Here," he said, placing a thermo blanket over her shoulders, "You need to get warm."

"Dun touch me." The young hooker growled, and Duo's eyes widened in surprised at the sound of her voice. It was a boy. She was actually a he.

Duo didn't let the surprise to show for more than a split second. He composed himself quickly, knowing that any judgmental reaction out of him will chase the boy away.

"I'm sorry." He said, and took a step back. He left the blanket hanging from the boy's shoulders and nodded in approval when the boy reached for it, clutching it close to him. At least he didn't refuse the blanket. It was a start.

"G-G-Go'way..." the boy stuttered through chattering teeth, glaring at him.

Duo pretended not to hear him. "There's some food if you want." He handed him the bread and small cardboard of milk.

The boy looked at it hungrily, before turning his head away in a stubborn movement. "Go'way."

Duo sighed. "I'm not a cop or anything."

The boy still didn't look at him, holding the blanket close to him with trembling hands.

"Look, I'll leave the stuff here anyway, and if you want, you can eat it later, okay?" He tried again, slowly placing the food on the pavement.

The boy still didn't look at him.

A car stopped by and honked. The boy turned to look at it silently, his eyes shimmering in the dark. A hand peeked out the window and motioned at the boy. Duo saw him clutch the blanket closer, a sight that pinched his heart.

"Hey! Lets see what's hiding behind that blanket, huh?" A drunken voice slurred.

Duo could hear the boy sigh before he let the blanket drop. He watched with helpless agony as the blanket fell to the floor and the boy walked towards the car. He winced with every step those small, bare, feet took towards the vehicle, his heart sinking. He watched the boy lean into the car, his frustration indescribable. He wanted to stop it. He wanted to push the boy away from the car and punch the asshole in the face. But he didn't do anything. He couldn't. If anyone here saw him do it, he would lose their trust. And if he didn't have their trust, he didn't have anything. Without trust, he could never help them.

So he stood there. He stood there and watched as the passenger door opened and the boy climbed in. It looked like the car was swallowing him. Slowly the boy disappeared, diving into darkness. He watched, feeling helpless, as the car sped away. It was as if the boy was never there. If the man chose to do so, he might not even survive the night.

Duo was left behind with the knowledge of what's about to come. Contrary to popular belief, most customers were interested in a simple act. Something quick that can easily take place in a parked car. It made sense. The simple act was comfortable for the buyer; he didn't have to find a room, there were fewer reasons to worry about sex diseases, there's no chance of pregnancy, you don't have to take all of your clothes off... it was convenient.

He looked away, refusing to think about it any further. With a heavy heart, he picked up the discarded blanket - the food he will leave to whoever came to take it - and walked back towards the van.

TBC…