Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ When We Forget to Remember ❯ Prologue ( Chapter 1 )

DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters, or anything to do with Gundam Wing - with the exception of a few DVDs and manga =P - and I am not making any money out of this, so please don't sue me! Song lyrics belong to; Stacie Orrico; System of a Down; VNV Nation and Hum.

And just a note; It's been so long since I've watched Gundam Wing, but I have a vague recollection of a colony blowing up…if it did, then forget it did, it hasn't in this fic. If it didn't…then what the hell did I put in my coffee this morning? And also, although Relena is still in control of the planet and colony, there are still many secret wars going on.

Full summary: After the war, the pilot's memories are erased and they are each sent back to where they came from. However, Duo joins teams with a gang of murderers, which two of his former friends have been sent to find and eliminate.

When We Forget to Remember

Prologue

There is no way to erase memories, there is no easy way out of knowing what we have done and seen in the past. But sometimes, our memories are buried, lying in wait for the first chance they get to escape and plague us with the fears that we have tried so hard to crush. They are never gone, they are just hiding. Waiting and waiting, until something stirs them and causes them to rise.

"Is that the last one?" came a hoarse voice as the owner slammed the door shut behind him. His companion nodded and tossed the keys in his hand.

"The last one. We'd better get outta here fast, it's a pretty rough area," he stated, before glancing pitifully back at the door. "Man, you'd have thought that if they took his memories, they could at least have put him back somewhere a little decent, the others too. I mean, they're war heroes, right?" he looked at his partner, seeing him loading his gun and hesitating before doing the same. His partner shrugged and removed a bullet from between his teeth.

"They were war heroes, but now they won't know that, so I guess none of them are gonna feel bitter about being put back in a dump like this. Although, this is the worst, I agree, at least the other four lived relatively decent lives."

"I guess. What they don't know can't hurt them, I suppose," was the reply, as the two men walked back to their vehicle. "Does anybody know what the professors are doing with their Gundams?"

"No, but I doubt they'll dispose of them, they'll probably sell them as war memorabilia. But it's not our place to question that. Our job was to put the pilots back where they came from, we've done that, now we can go home."

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'There's gotta be more to life

Than chasing down every temporary high to satisfy me.

'Cause the more that I'm

Tripping out thinking there must be more to life,

Well it's life,

But I'm sure…

There's gotta be more.'

The place stank. Granted, he had never known otherwise, but still Duo Maxwell could not fail to notice the dirt and grime that covered the walls, floor and ceiling of his apartment. At least he didn't spend long enough there to really have to put up with it. He ran a callused hand through his fringe and sat up, slowly pushing himself off the worn and faded sofa, wading through the junk that littered the floor. It wasn't as if he were a messy person, he just didn't put things away, or wash anything. He never needed to wash his clothes, whenever he needed a new outfit he stole one, and the old one was discarded carelessly on his apartment floor, gradually becoming part of the floor itself, just like its predecessors.

He pulled a beer out of the fridge, the light flickering on and off when the door was opened. Duo didn't care whether his fridge was thirteen years old or not, it kept the beer cool. That was all that mattered. Beer was his escape, escape from the life that he had suddenly been thrown into - of course, his memory said that this was the way things had always been; stealing things just to stay alive, walking everywhere with a gun so that you could shoot the other guy rather than be shot, being on the wrong side of the law in everything that you knew and did. But Duo's body was still trying, after all those years of this life, to adjust to the lack of food and the stress exerted on him every night and every day. He flipped the can open and put it to his lips, the liquid cooling his entire body as he drank it. There were few pleasures in life, and those that there were, were abused and greedily sought after. Duo idly wondered where he had stolen this can from. Probably from the shopping basket of some poor person in a supermarket who had just paid for it.

Did Duo feel guilty? No. He did what he had to do to survive and God help anyone who got in his way. Not that God did, mind, most of the people that had gotten in the way of Duo and his means of survival ended up not surviving much longer themselves, and Duo had the memories to prove it. Didn't he?

The brunette swung his braid over his shoulder and pulled back the moth eaten cloth that covered the cracked window overlooking the street beneath his apartment. As usual the road was empty, save for a few smashed up cars whose owners had been stupid enough to park them out there. Old newspapers littered the floor and were blown about by a small breeze. Duo wondered who around here even bothered to read the newspapers, they were full with stupid stories about how well the government was doing in trying to improve the conditions in the slums. Duo knew first hand that nobody with any sort of political power had stepped on these streets in the last ten or so years.

He thought back to the church that used to be situated about a mile away. True, there were some people who had the right to live, and the braided boy smiled as he thought about Father Maxwell. There were good people on L2. But then Duo remembered what had happened to the church and he scowled. At least, there had been good people on L2. It seemed that the colony was the true hell of the universe; nobody with a good heart survived there for very long. Kill, or be killed; wasn't that the saying?

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'I don't think you trust in my

Self-righteous suicide

I cry

When angels deserve to die.'

Heero Yuy stared out of the window at the storm. Drops of water cascaded down the glass and bolts of purple fire shot through the sky. A shiver ran through him and he allowed himself to smile, just slightly. He loved watching this; it was as if he were part of it. Part of the battle raging in the clouds, part of the chaos that nobody could control and yet everybody was caught up in. It was like a war. Standing inside his house he felt a thrill run through him and he was reminded once again why he was a soldier. There was a thrill and pleasure in war and fighting that outdid any kind of emotional or sexual pleasure; it was wholesome and it encompassed one's soul so fully and so heavily that it drowned out the pain of the life and memories you had left behind.

After a while, the storm died down, and the empty space that lingered between each bolt of lightening and each crash of thunder became longer and longer, and finally regained control over the world. Now the rain that fell was all that was left as testament of the storm.

Heero slowly felt the thrill of the storm leaving his body, and he turned from the window to his laptop. He clicked the 'on' button and the whir of the machine filled the silence of the room, a noise that the soldier was accustomed to and one that never ceased to offer a comfortable familiarity in the bleak apartment.

A message icon flashed up on the screen and Heero clicked it, scrolling through the list of emails and deleting any that he found irrelevant. His eyes caught a subject and he frowned. 'Mission offer?' he thought, hesitantly opening the email. Soldier's weren't normally given individual missions over the internet, but then, Heero wasn't a normal solider. He scanned the email and his eyes went wide. It was from the one of the agencies in the oriental east. Turning his nose up slightly when he saw that he would be travelling to L2, he clicked open the attachment that held all of the information on the gang he was being asked to 'dispose' of. It was an assassination group, 'As if I'd expect anything else from L2,' the soldier thought bitterly. Besides that, there were the usual drug related offences that were common from the gangs of the space colony, and Heero was more interested in the profile of the officer he would be working with. Wufei Chang. The name sounded familiar, but Heero just dismissed it, deciding that this Chang guy had probably been in the news recently for something. The two soldiers were to be transported to L2 and then track down the gang, which, in Heero's opinion, wouldn't be too hard. The L2 gangs had a habit of boasting about their 'achievements', so Heero was quite sure that they'd catch wind of the assassins sooner or later.

Making a mental note of all the details in the email, he then deleted it and shut down the laptop, leaning back in his chair and stretching slightly. His cobalt eyes flickered shut and he stifled a yawn. Perhaps he should get some sleep. Glancing at the clock he noticed that it was 3am; just how long had he been watching the storm? Shrugging, Heero stood up and made his way over to the bed, throwing back the covers and lying down, hoping that sleep would come quickly and silently tonight. He couldn't deal with the nightmares right now; not that he ever remembered what they were about, anyway, but he knew he had them, and he needed to sleep before setting off for L2. Sighing, he closed his eyes and felt his consciousness fading away. Soon he lay silent and asleep.

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'Stand your ground this is what we are fighting for. For our spirit and laws and ways.
Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war. For heaven or hell we shall not wait.
Shall I think of honour as lies or lament it's aged slow demise?
Shall I stand as a cold reminder on this day in this stone chamber?'

'There is no honour in running away,' Chang Wufei thought to himself as he watched the figure running, stumbling, across the field. This was a deserter. They had been sent to fight, but this man was running away. Wufei raised his dagger hand, and, with a flick of his wrist, the deserter fell, the dagger protruding from between his shoulder blades. Whilst many of the others around him shook their heads and muttered that they didn't see what good could come of it, Wufei did not. He had been taught from an early age that running away was an act of injustice, and that justice must be served on all those who deserted their country. He knew that when this battle was over, many people would berate him for killing one of their own, but he wasn't going to stick around long enough to hear it. He had a mission on L2 that, for a long time, would be foremost on his mind, and by the time he got back, those that had been fighting alongside him would be dead. It always happened that way. Wufei never fought with the same people for very long, they let emotions get in the way of fighting and they paid the price, with their lives. Wufei fought for honour and justice. That was his life; justice was his deity and honour his messiah.

He was interested in his new partner, the man with whom he would be working on L2, word had it that the guy was almost as ruthless as Wufei when it came to killing people, and Chang hoped that it was true; finally he would be able to get on with a mission without worrying about his comrades bailing on him.

With a swing of his blade, the last enemy was dead.

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'I'm still young and I'd like to stay that way

'Cause growing up won't make everything okay

I'm still young and I'd like to stay that way

I've got a voice and I've got a lot to say'

Quatre Raberba Winner felt a tear slide down his face as he stared at the portrait of his sister. His father had told him that she died in the war, but he hadn't bought it. The prince didn't even remember a war.

Wiping his cheek he glanced around his room and sighed. Everything in it was exquisite and only served to remind him that he was an Arabian prince. He didn't want to be a prince; sure he had lots of money, but he'd rather live somewhere, as a peasant, and have lots of friends, than have to wander around his house at night, alone, after waking from troubled dreams.

But he knew that he had a duty, and as long as he was alive, he would have to serve his country. Or rather, have his country serve him. He stood and walked over to the arch of the balcony, where, instead of a door, there was a silk curtain of rich purple and gold that flew and shimmered in the evening breeze. Pushing it aside Quatre walked over to the concrete railing and leaned his elbows on it, staring out across the vast city. To the left he could see a desert, and his heart yearned to be free from his confinement, to actually do something with his life, but then he saw the lights from the windows in the city and an iron fist closed over his heart. He had never, and would never, be free.

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'Your listless falling feels the same as two lives tripped on a single string.
And hopeless, helpless now we're gusting to another space as we seize.
Ascension is ours, ascension has opened up here now'

A loud round of applause filled the air and Trowa Barton bowed before walking out of the circus ring. He took off his costume and snuck out of the tent, heading over to his motorcycle, which was tucked neatly away next to a small grove of trees. He needed to get out of this place and train. Being in a circus was all very well, but when you were also a security officer, taming lions did not improve your fighting skills; okay, so it should do, but one could not fence with a lion.

As the wind blew through his hair, Trowa thought with a heavy heart about the execution that was planned for a few months time. Every officer was being trained especially hard because Soldiers from L1 and Earth were bringing in some of the biggest criminals from L2, and they had learnt the hard way that if you weren't prepared…well…let's just say they weren't going to risk that happening again.

The execution was so important that the highest politicians and royal families had been invited to watch it. Trowa thought that it was all a bit superfluous, why couldn't they just shoot the bastards as soon as they found them? 'Because they like seeing people suffer,' his mind replied for him, and he sighed. Pulling up in front of what looked like an abandoned warehouse, Trowa got off his bike and took a deep breath. He had a feeling that something was going to happen soon, and he didn't think that he was going to like it.

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Well! What did you think? R&R please! I'd really like to know if you like it or not. Also, constructive criticism - such as telling me if there are any major plot holes - is welcome.