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"Hallowed"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major
Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, AU Pairings: 3x4, 5x4, 5xD, 2xH, 6x9 Summary: In a dystopian world where Dekim Barton
declared victory after the Eve War, Wufei is forced to infiltrate
the dictator's regime in an attempt to take it down from the inside.
As he begins to unravel the secrets of the New World Order, he uncovers
horrors that should only exist in nightmares, and can only come from
the twisted mind of a madman. " Hallowed" Chapter 1: Holy Cross The people who try to kill me, and the people who
fight against me, are my enemies. ~ Heero Yuy, AC 195
The conclusion of the Eve War was nothing short of a cataclysmic event. In the chaos that followed Dekim Barton's overthrow of the ESUN, Chang Wufei found himself separated from his fellow Gundam pilots. His attempts to contact them were in vain when he discovered that communications had been shut down. He didn't find out until later that evening that the blackout was global. The result of an electromagnetic pulse on an unprecedented scale sent from the satellites Dekim had hijacked, effectively cutting off all means of communication from the standard cellular phone and internet usage, to the airwaves of major media networks and the stifling of all contact between the armies of the world and their command centers. Even the colonies found themselves immersed in darkness and silence, unable to send, or receive transmissions to and from Earth. It was strangely reminiscent of the Great Solar Flare of AC 95 which did much of the same damage. Wufei remembered reading about it as a child in history books and the concept had always intrigued him. He often imagined what it would be like, floating in the pitch black of a dead colony and for some odd reason, he'd never pictured the reality of it. In his imagination, it was peaceful, serene. Almost like being asleep, or even dead. The reality was anything but. And that was what Dekim had been counting on. Pure, unadulterated chaos. The stock markets crashed, nuclear power plants went into meltdown, planes and transports fell from the sky like torrential rain. The streets were overrun with rioters and looters and there was simply not enough law enforcement to subdue them. The civilian casualties were massive as anarchy reigned supreme. Dekim bid his time, allowing the worst of it to die down before he flipped the switch back on and this time, global communications were under his sole control. His message was broadcast in every nation, every province, every city, and every town. The people who'd barricaded themselves in their homes were glued to their television sets, desperately waiting for word on what had happened. When the power returned, their phones were still down, but Dekim's face was there on every channel, informing them that martial law had been declared. The world governments were given two choices: Follow his orders, or watch their countries, their people burn, before they themselves faced execution. Some resisted, vowing that they would never surrender to terrorists, and they paid dearly for their defiance. Japan, one of the first dissenters, was nothing but an uninhabitable wasteland, the entire population wiped out by six hydrogen bombs. The explosions triggered the nuclear power plants and what few survivors remained were killed by radiation poisoning. Geneva, London, Berlin, Hong Kong, New York City, Brazil, as well as several other major cities experienced similar fallout and in the wake of those events, the rest of the world bowed in submission. Bounties were sent out immediately after, calling for the capture, or execution of those who'd fought against Dekim and the largest of those targeted Wufei and his fellow pilots, which was not surprising since they'd been his biggest threat. Wufei was forced to go on the lamb. A wanted fugitive, he didn't dare step foot anywhere that wasn't a small town and even then, he was in and out and back off the beaten path. It was far too risky to even make a phone call. He drifted from one place to the next, looking for any moderately safe refuge where he could at least tentatively settle. He wound up in the states and he knew his only option was north. He traveled on foot and hitched the occasional ride until he reached his destination in a remote location that was sparsely populated. It was his only chance for survival and as long as he was still breathing, there was a chance that Dekim could be stopped. *** He had a shoe into the dictator's inner circle already, secretly coordinating and trading intelligence with Dekim's Secretary of Global Communications, Dorothy Catalonia. The Scandinavian woman was the perfect infiltrator. Sly, cunning, well versed in the art of schmoozing and deceit. Her former affiliations to OZ as well as the late Treize Khushrenada were also qualifiers that paved the way for her executive position. She'd initiated the first contact with him eleven months ago. He was wary in the beginning, believing he was being set up for espionage. Dorothy had played both sides on numerous occasions when it suited her needs and he was distrustful of her motives. After she exasperatedly pointed out that what she was doing also put her neck on the chopping block, he'd relented a little and allowed the communication to go through provided the lines were secure and unhackable. But it took another four months before he was willing to cough up any information about himself, or where he was located. Which, at the moment, happened to be on the outskirts of Holy Cross, Alaska. The village was a diminutive, sporadically populated speck on the map with minimal technology. The residents were entirely self-sufficient, living off the land and only relying on civilization for necessities that they could not produce themselves and those supplies only came three times a year, in the summer months when getting to and from Anchorage was not as treacherous. Fish was their most consumed food and being on the bank of the Yukon River, it was fresh and abundant. Their food stock consisted of dried and canned goods with vegetables and spices grown in a communal greenhouse in the tiny village's epicenter. Wufei had his own small one where he grew mostly rooted vegetables as well as tea leaves. His home was rustic and compact with a living room that doubled as his sleeping area, a galley kitchen, and a bathroom. In the main part of the house where he slept and enjoyed the occasional leisure activity was a rather sizable stone fireplace and another smaller wood-burning stove in the corner closer to the kitchen. They both came in handy during the brutal winter months when the temperatures never rose above single digits. When the snow fell, often so hard and so fast and was accompanied by howling sub-zero winds, Wufei would sometimes imagine that the world outside had fallen away and all that remained was he and his cabin. Winter in Alaska just had that way of making you feel insulated from all the bad things that happened everywhere else. Though now, it was mid-spring and while it was milder than the months that were so accurately referred to as the "Dead of Winter," spring this far north could be elusive with temps dropping drastically into the negative digits and the frequent whiteouts that could and did happen at the drop of a hat. Technically, there were really only three months out of the year where it wasn't likely to snow and even then, he could honestly say that he'd seen snow in July. More than once. After tending to his greenhouse, he retired back to his cabin for a little reading before he headed out to the river to catch a few fish for supper. He'd developed quite the taste for trout and enjoyed experimenting with new dishes and flavors. He had no television and most of his leisurely time was spent reading, meditating, and talking with Dorothy who he'd come to think of as a friend. She was his only friend, really. The only connection to the outside world he dared trust enough to speak to. Contacting his home colony was out of the question. They spoke typically twice a week, more if Dorothy had some pertinent news to relay. Wufei's computer was his only source of technology and the small storage room at the back of the cabin housed his own server. Thanks to Heero, he'd learned to scramble his signal when he used it, effectively keeping him off the radar. He missed his fellow pilots, even though oftentimes he'd avoided them during and after the war. He was plagued with a nagging sense of regret that he hadn't formed stronger connections with them. The loss of them all felt like a piece of his heart was missing and he would have given anything to see them again. Of course in Heero and Quatre's case, such a thing was impossible. Heero lost his life at the tender young age of seventeen and then Quatre a year later at the age of eighteen. Both of them, war heroes and two of the finest young men Wufei ever had the privilege to know, were shot down in their prime like dogs. It was unthinkable and left him restless with impotent rage and an overwhelming need to avenge them. He closed his book and rubbed his hand over his face, feeling tired and haggard and so done with the cruelties of life. After the first war, while the others were busy celebrating, he'd quickly discovered that he couldn't find it in himself to feel anything but a sense of trepidation and doubt. He'd known right from the start that the victory they'd achieved was only a temporary lull. A valley of peace between two ominous mountains, the peaks of which were hidden from sight by dark clouds churning with violence and sinister promise that nothing was ever set in stone. Only a fool would believe humans had changed after that war. Only a fool would be duped into thinking it was all over. How many world wars had there been up until then? Six. Six world wars and yet no one managed to learn anything from them. You simply could not change human nature with one global conflict. That much was evident. You could not weed out greed and the drive for power in the course of a year. Millions of years of biological instinct could not be reversed in such a short span of time. No, man was doomed to repeat his mistakes over and over and over again. As long as humans existed, people would be at war with each other. Because they were individuals and when you have billions of individual minds with individual thoughts, feelings, priorities, and desires, it is an absolute certainty that toes will be stepped on. It was inevitable. It was, as Meiran used to say, "Written in the stars." The only real way to achieve unity was to share a single mind and that, he was convinced, would never happen. Not to say that he wasn't cautiously optimistic at the time, but he'd refused to get carried in way in the exuberance that was the aftermath. It wasn't realistic, or even plausible. And sure enough, a year later, a young girl declared war on the world once again by abducting the Vice Foreign Minister, Relena Darlian. At the time, Wufei had been overseeing the reconstruction of his colony when he got the call from Duo that there was trouble. There was no shock, or outrage. Just a silent and resigned acceptance to what he already knew to be true. Here we go again. Surprise, surprise. Unfortunately, the second time around, their efforts had been in vain. Everything they'd fought for for two years, down the metaphorical and literal toilet. It took only one battle for their enemy to turn the tables and gain the upper hand and the rest, as they say, was history. They discovered too little too late that Mariemaia Khushrenada had been only a figurehead. A decoy for the real mastermind pulling the strings behind the curtain. By the time they realized their error, Dekim Barton had already seized control of the ESUN, using the battle itself as a distraction to move in and get the job done. Wufei still wasn't completely sure how the final act played out, but from what he'd been told, Lady Une had tried to kill Mariemaia only to be blocked by the Vice Foreign Minister. According to Dorothy, Dekim had shot Une, Mariemaia, Relena, and Heero to death. He'd lost track of Duo, Trowa, and Quatre's whereabouts and despite his best efforts, could not locate them. It was nearly impossible to try after he was forced into hiding. Doing so went against everything he stood for, but if he ever hoped to have a shot at taking down Dekim's New World Order, he had no choice but to bite the bullet for the time being. It wasn't until a year later that the news aired a story that left him feeling as though he'd been kicked in the chest. Quatre Winner, murdered in Amman, Jordan. Ten months ago, Dorothy had filled him in on the details he was so desperate for. Quatre had been living incognito, hiding in plain sight among the masses. In a stroke of bad luck, he was recognized by security officers and his attempt to escape was futile. They'd chased him into a back alley and shot him five times in the chest. Six years later, Wufei still had no idea if Barton and Maxwell had perished as well, or if they were still out there somewhere, blending like chameleons into their surroundings. Trowa was adept at such things so the prospect of him being alive was not out of the question. Duo on the other hand, tended to stick out like a sore thumb so his chances of surviving this long was less likely. And of course, if they had died, he'd probably never even know because unlike Quatre, they were, to put it bluntly, societal nobodies. No wealth, no family let alone a prominent and influential one, and no status. Trying to learn of their fates was like looking for a needle in a haystack and it was made all the more difficult considering he was forced to limit his interaction with the world wide web. Dekim was watching. All the time. His people constantly monitored internet activity, phone calls, bank transactions, you name it. If anything even slightly unusual showed up, the alarms were sounded and a team was sent to investigate. Nowadays, people simply disappeared. Vanished without a trace. You could walk into a store and have a pleasant conversation with Bob the Owner and then the next day, poor Bob would be gone along with his family. Never to be seen again. Capital punishment was doled out like candy and narks were everywhere. Thought crime was heresy and punishable by death. He rubbed his temples as a slight headache throbbed behind his eyes and he set his book aside, heading to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea. Caffeine would help the pain and also alleviate the afternoon fatigue. He preferred not to nap, knowing he felt worse when he woke up. Instead, he filled his day with chores which provided a welcome escape from the often painful memories. Reading was his most favored activity. He devoured books like they were going out of style and tried to absorb as much information as he could. He read about history, both civilian and military. Civilian-instigated revolutions were especially of interest to him because if they were even going to have a chance of dismantling Dekim's regime, they would need the people of the world on their side. And with the persistent circulation of government-sponsored propaganda, not to mention the threat of dissension, even the idea of persuading the masses to rise up was daunting. He'd just finished pouring the brewed tea into his ceramic pot when his computer beeped, alerting him of an incoming call. He glanced through the doorway at his desk, brows drawing low in concern, knowing exactly who it was and that it was not her scheduled time to contact him. Which meant this was a business call and business calls were always serious. The phrase, "No news is good news," never rang truer than it did now. He grabbed his pot and kese and went over to the desk, sitting down in the creaky wooden chair. He swiped his finger across the mouse pad and clicked on the little ringing phone icon in the corner of his screen. The picture blipped and fuzzed with static and then Dorothy appeared. Her hair was pinned up and from what he could see, she was clad in her navy suit. He checked the time and quickly calculated their timezone differences, realizing she was still in her work clothes even though it was near midnight in Sanq. "Are you still at work?" "Is the line secure?" He rolled his eyes and poured the Da Hong Pao tea into his kese. "Why must you ask me that every single time you call?" "Just making sure. You can't be too careful, you know." He conceded her point with nod and asked, "So what do I owe the pleasure this time?" A red light flashed beside his keyboard, followed by a muted beep, indicating a fax was coming through. Dorothy's expression was closed off, stoic which was disconcerting considering their usual exchanges ranged anywhere from business casual to, "You look like shit. When was the last time you slept?" He pulled the sheet of paper the rest of the way out and flicked on his desk lamp to read it, frown deepening in confusion. "These are coordinates." "Yes." "To what?" "A colony." He glanced up, observing the grimness of her expression. "There are no colonies this far out." Dorothy paused to rub a hand over her forehead and Wufei finally realized how exhausted she looked. "There is one. Embedded within the asteroid belt." "What is a colony doing way the hell out there?" "It's one of Dekim's. Beyond that, I'm not really sure." "How long has it been there?" "My best guess is that construction began ten years ago." "So what is it?" "I don't know. I've heard a few whispers that it could be where he's housing the main components for his bioweapons division. The big guns, so to speak. Smallpox, Ebola, Hanta, Bubonic Plague. There's rumor that he's been experimenting with them, trying to develop new strains and combining them to create superbugs, but I cannot tell you the details as I don't have them, I'm afraid. I'm not even supposed to know this." He winced and took a drink of tea. It helped to warm him from the sudden feeling of being submerged in a frozen lake. Just what we need. A super plague to hold over our heads if we decide to fight back. "Do I want to know how you got this information?" "Probably not." "And you want me to do what?" "Nothing right this moment. Just keeping you in the loop. I still have to touch base with Noin and Zechs as well as Sally. I'm considering devising an infiltration plan. If I do, I want you as the director of operations." "I'm not sitting on my ass in some underground base while I send my people into the lion's den, Dorothy. That's not what I do." She grinned. "I knew you'd say that. Very well. Personally, I wouldn't trust anyone but you. Zechs and Noin are a good choice, but Noin is pregnant -" "She is?" "Yes. Four months apparently. I'm not keen on putting Zechs in harm's way while she's in the condition she's in and Zechs is far too recognizable anyway. Sally is a good soldier, but she couldn't infiltrate her way into a paper bag." He snorted and poured more tea, noting the lack of pain in his head. A little dose of caffeine usually did the trick. "And her medical expertise is invaluable. The world needs her. I understand." "The world needs you, too, Wufei. Now more than ever." He paused and pressed his lips together, mind drudging up memories of he and his fellow pilots. God, but they'd been unstoppable. The best of the best. "I just wish..." Dorothy's face softened with sympathy. "I know. But you have to have faith that Duo and Trowa are still out there somewhere. Waiting...biding their time just like you are." "I've learned not to hold my breath, Dorothy. It only ends in disappointment." "We all feel their loss. It weighs heavy on my heart every day." "Mine, too. I wish there was something more I could have done." "You can't blame yourself. Their deaths are Dekim's fault, not yours." Objectively he knew that, but it still didn't alleviate the guilt that kept him up at night and plagued him with terrible dreams. The kind that forced him upright before he even realized he was awake and left him clutching at his throat because a grief-stricken dream Trowa was trying to strangle him for not preventing the death of their friend. Survivor's guilt was a bitch. "If it's not us, Fei...if it's not you, who will it be?" He stared at the screen and into her slightly blurry eyes, seeing the exhaustion and stress in the blue depths, but he also recognized a dull light of hope there, too. Like the flickering flame of a candle that's nearly burnt itself out, but still manages to hang on in a desperate need to survive. Within those eyes, she silently begged him to tell her all was not yet lost. "Do not worry, Dorothy," he assured her. "You know I will do what needs to be done, no matter the cost." She blinked back the moisture that had collected across the bottoms of her eyelids and nodded with a deep, shaky breath. "I know that. I do. But I'll admit I hate to do this. Friends...true friends are hard to come by nowadays and I would be lying if I said losing you wouldn't devastate me." Now it was his turn to grin. "Why, Dorothy. I didn't know you cared." There was a pang of awkwardness as he was never good at taking compliments, or dealing with emotionally charged confessions. Still, he couldn't help but feel touched and a little flattered. "Oh yes, you did," she scoffed. "And if you do something stupid like get yourself killed, I'll personally bring you back from the dead just so I can kill you all over again." "Resorting to necromancy, I see. I never took you for someone who dabbled in the occult," he teased. "At this point, I'll try anything as long as it works." Damn, but he heard that. "Well, keep me informed and up to date on any developments." "Don't I always?" "Anything else I should be made aware of?" "No, not really. Just...you know. Be careful," she warned and pointed her finger towards the ceiling. "They're always listening." "Hopefully not right now. Did you stay at work this late just so you could call me?" "Yes, well. I had to wait for everyone to leave. I told the cleaning crew to start at the other end of the building. My stupid scrambler wasn't working so I had to tweak a few things. Never realized how truly handy paper clips are." Her last sentence made him laugh, but it lingered as an ache in his chest. That kind of thing was always Duo's expertise. That boy could pick a lock with Scotch Tape and a dry spaghetti noodle. A true master of improvisation. "Well, go home. Get some sleep. You look ready to keel over." "Yes, I know. It's been a trying day." "Trouble?" "No more than usual. Had to send another strike team out to Athens again to dismantle a sleeper cell. Every time resistance pops up..." she broke off with a heavy breath and Wufei realized she was not without her own guilty burdens to bear. "It's not your fault, Dorothy. You have no choice." "It just kills me, you know? But if I don't, the suspicion will turn on me." "You have a crucial and dangerous job to do and it's empirical that you do not get caught. You do what you have to to stay safe, you hear? I couldn't bear to lose you either. When the time is right, we will strike." She smiled sadly pressed one fingertip against her screen. "What would I do without you, Chang Wufei?" She laughed and added, "Probably go insane. Aside from Noin, Sally, and Zechs, you're the only one I can trust." He touched his own screen, in the same place her finger was. "Well, if you trust me then please do as I say. Go home. Get some sleep. If you're tired, that increases your risk of mistakes and there is no room for mistakes. In this world, mistakes get you killed. I will talk to you in two days unless something else comes up." The tears returned and spilled down her cheeks as she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I will. I'll talk to you soon. Stay safe." "Don't worry about me. You stay safe. I'll see you soon." "Goodbye, Fei." He disconnected the call and brought his hands up to his temples, rubbing circles into them as he fought the lump in his own throat. So much loss already. So many senseless deaths. And it wasn't over. It was far from over. He knew, without a doubt in his mind, that the worst was still yet to come.
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