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"Alternative Directions: Options "Written By: Karina Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the lovely
boys and their girls in the series. Wish I did. Please don't sue me.
I haven't even got a brass razoo to give you. Rating: Deffinately PG in Australia, at the moment,
but probably safer to say R for later chapters. Not sure about international
ratings Warnings: It will be 6x2, even though it does
not start out that way. After all, Zechs and Duo never met in Gundam
Wing and only spoke briefly over a com line in Endless Waltz. I've
tried to keep them in character as I saw them in the series. A bit
of language creeping in under stressful conditions. Pairings: eventual 6x2, past 2xH, 2+H,6x9, 1+R
Summary: Directions is set post Endless Waltz
and roughly 2 years have passed. Zechs and Noin are on Mars and Duo,
after spending some time with Hilde in a relationship leaves L2 to
join Preventers. Hilde was not happy about his decision. I guess enough
said. Here t'is, and I hope you like it. This is also AU for the standard
setting, as well as the series and Endless Waltz. Spoilers: Gundam Wing Series and Endless Waltz Many thanks to Dulin for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options"
2nd March AC 198 Colony L1 - 0025 B [La Grange point 1. Serial number 0025 B ] Preventer Building Time: 06:27 [approx Sanc time 05:17] Trowa Time stood still. He stood in a world frozen, in a bloody and silent tableau. His heart seemed suspended mid-beat as he stared at the inexplicable. Before his wide eyes he saw the rocket launcher raised, its payload pointed in the general direction of the main office building and the laboratories housed on the mid-level floors. The assassin was looking his way, paying no further attention to the direction of his target or the flight of the missile. Those long fingers, competent fingers, the hands of a killer, were frozen on the trigger, uncurling in slow motion as he watched. The missile was airborne, on its way to maim, kill and destroy. One truth was undeniable in the horror of the moment. Despite his best efforts the assassin’s mission was a success. People were going to die. There was nothing he could do to stop the missile from hitting its intended target. There was no miracle he could perform to stay its flight. He was going to be forced to watch every fraction of the interminable seconds of its flight and know he had failed. Despite his horror at failure there was another cold, hard reality that shook him to the core of his being. Nothing of what he saw in this timeless agony of despair explained the spray of blood, brains and bone fragments that marked an unexpected death. Those broad hands, the fingers so confident on the trigger a moment before, now spasmed, jerking with the shock of sudden death. What might have been the beginning twitch of a hand reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband, was abruptly aborted. He was staring into the cold, hard eyes of a seasoned veteran and he saw there no recognition of death or even surprise. In that icy gaze he saw a final lingering moment of judgement, the assassin’s contemplation of how best to take down his hunter and then the blankness of death took all thought, all life. So suddenly. So inexplicably. It was over. He did not understand. Sound broke the tableau. The thundering, rumbling roar of the explosion as the missile impacted. Sound shattered the unnatural silence and broke him from the stasis holding him. Trowa crouched low instinctively, in a bid to avoid debris, rolling backwards towards cover. The impact of the blast added impetus to the kinetic force of whatever had killed the assassin and thrust his still standing body forward, away from the drop to the courtyard between the buildings to sprawl on the roof in bloody ruin. The toppling body had not impacted the roof before Trowa had given up on the idea of gaining cover and instead curled himself into as small a ball as possible, hands and arms folded over his head as the shockwave rolled over him. It was poor protection but it was the best he could do given the situation and he flinched as debris began to rain down on him. If nothing else the explosion had shocked him into thinking again, forcing him to function on more than adrenaline. //I failed. After all that… I failed.// It was all he could think of as the world ripped apart about him. He had failed. The initial thunder of the explosion faded to be replaced by the roar of flames and the fainter, horribly real screams of people caught in the inferno. It was only seconds before the wail of sirens joined the cacophony of sound. The emergency alert sirens, normally used only when there was a danger of a breach in the colonies protections, shrilled louder than the screams. The harsh wailing drowning out the sounds of people dying, and around him there was the neverending clatter and thump of debris continuing to fall. He grunted as something slammed into his side and he curled tighter, shaking his head beneath the protection of his arms and daring to peek between his elbows. Looking at the chaos surrounding him only served to reinforce the truth, forcing him to acknowledge the nightmare was over. He was alive and the killer was dead. //I’m alive. I’m really alive.// It was shocking that the thought surprised him as it did. He wondered when exactly in this brief time on the roof he had convinced himself he was going to die. Somewhere in the hunt his subconscious must have determined he would not see another day, else why was it so shocking now to realize he still breathed? “Quatre.” He whispered, pressing his forehead into his arms. “Did I really give up on seeing you again?” He did not want to answer his own question. Not at this time and certainly not in this place. He had come close to dying and he did not want to die. Once it would not have bothered him, the thought of dying. This day he had been given yet another chance at life, as inexplicably as those other chances had come his way. Why was he still alive? It was not just here and now he had come to ask the question. How many times had he cheated death to walk away from a situation that should have left him a bleeding and shattered corpse? How much longer could he continue to deny the Reaper? //I have so much to live for now, more than I have ever had. I am still running around chancing my life and the life I could have with him. Why? Why am I still doing this?// He was a fool. He had to be to chance losing Quatre and his warmth and light to the cold, dark finality of death. The inevitability of death no one could deny, but in the past he had made a habit of thumbing his nose at the apparition and how much longer could his luck last? Death was, after all, patient. It came to everyone eventually. //I am getting too old for this shit.// He shuddered as debris rained down on him; something larger and heavier struck his shoulder, smaller impacts reminding him of the reality of his situation. At least he had survived to lie here and tell himself he was too old at the ripe old age of eighteen… or was he nineteen? Hell, he could be over twenty for all he knew of his actual age. He did not even know how old he was and he was contemplating his death, uncertain exactly how many times the Reaper had passed him by. “But I am alive. I survived.” He whispered, reassuring himself of the reality of it. His voice assuring him he did indeed draw breath. “Though I don’t understand how.” The man who had hunted him so ruthlessly was dead. Time to get past it and move on. A sense of time was returning to him and he wondered how long the entire business had taken. Certainly not as long as it had seemed to him. He had been in enough action situations to understand how the flow of time was disrupted when you scrambled to save your life or the lives of others. For him this day had been a mixture of success and failure. He was alive, yes, that was a success, but others would die — were dying even now. He had not stopped the shot, though somehow the killer had been stopped. “He’s dead, but how? What the hell just happened?” He chanced to peek through his arms again, staring at the body lying not so far from him and the spreading pool of blood surrounding what had been a head. Light debris from the explosion still drifted in the air, falling to strike both the corpse and himself but the larger, heavier piece seemed to have settled. He waited a few more seconds, waiting for the stunning impact that never came and finally uncurled. He ached in every muscle and bone of his body. He winced at the pull of abused muscles and swiped at the debris covering him, swearing softly as he stared at the jagged length of razor sharp metal lying inches from him. If that had hit him he doubted he would have survived, considering it was imbedded in the roof with the force of its impact. “I’ve been lucky.” He flinched at the thought. If he were religious he would say there were an entire bevy of angels nursing multiple wounds and congratulating themselves on successfully keeping him alive. If he were religious. Groaning, he forced himself up to his knees, taking stock of the damage done. His examination of his injuries was quick and efficient, drilled into him from his earliest childhood. Multiple cuts and abrasions, bruising and definitely pulled, possibly torn muscles but nothing life-threatening. He had been very fortunate indeed and he would have to consider taking up religion just to say a heartfelt thank you. Shaking himself free of the debris he wiped at the dust and ash covering his face and looked about him. The thick black column of smoke and debris rising into the atmosphere had him worried and he clambered to his feet. Staggering he steadied himself and made his way carefully to the edge of the roof, peering over the side. Near him the assassin lay in a pool of blood, a pipe ripped from the target building by the explosion lodged in what remained of his head and he avoided looking at what might have been his own fate. That jagged piece of metal imbedded in the roof where he had lain was enough for him to deal with just now. Smoke billowed from the gaping wound in the side of the building and the air was filled with falling ash and papers, the lighter ejectum from the exploding offices. The roar of the fire was a deep rumble beneath the shrilling of the sirens enhanced by the distinctive wail of the shield alarm. He spared a glance above to watch as the lighting began to shift, signalling the impact screens were rolling smoothly into place. Within seconds the colony would be enveloped in a protective cocoon designed to keep precious oxygen from escaping into space and depressurizing the colony in the event of a hull breach. //Not a hull breach, we are lucky there, but it will mess up the life support systems for a while.// He was aware he was in shock but it appeared there was little he could do at the moment. It was not so much the explosion or surviving the debris fall in the aftermath, but the abrupt end to his personal nightmare that shook him. He was going to need to function and to do that he needed to put aside his very natural reaction of disbelief until he could debrief and have a session with a psychologist. Following the nightmare on the roof he was not about to argue with the need to chat with a shrink. This morning would feed his nightmares for a long time. //I need Quatre.// Much as he needed his lover there was no help for it. Quatre was a long way from him and there was no way they were going to be able to talk for hours, perhaps even days. Maybe if he was lucky, when he fell into a bed, he might dream of his lover and know he was loved. //Fool. Get on with business.// With no hull breach to threaten to suck them all into the airless chill of space, and no hunter looking to spill his blood all over the roof, he had no excuse not to pull himself together. The headquarters building had been hit and he needed to help in the other building, trying to save lives his failure had endangered. It was not an ideal world, he knew that, but he should have been able to take the assassin down. //I was told a long time ago to remember there is always someone in the world better than you. Someone stronger or faster or more intelligent… or simply with better luck. Well, I guess he was right. The assassin sure as hell was better than me. He outpsyched me, he had me on the run from the instant he laid eyes on me. I need to train harder… or give this life up for good.// Movement on the roof of the adjacent building snapped his head around and he automatically reached for a weapon he did not have. The instinctive reflex was quashed as quickly as it had come and he stared through the billows of smoke and falling debris as the figure climbed slowly to its feet. He did not recognize the man in the Preventer jacket who slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder, tucking his arm neatly through the strap in the one motion. Every line of the man screamed cool confidence, even as he wiped absently at a stream of darkness Trowa decided was blood running down his cheek. A couple of swats at his uniform to dislodge the dust and ash and the sniper glanced up, surveying the scene around him before looking over the gap. Despite the distance involved eyes locked with eyes and something profound passed between them. Trowa sighed softly, finally understanding what had taken out the assassin. He silently congratulated whoever it was in charge at this early hour who had made the decision to dispatch the sniper to the roof, and commiserated with the man the shot had come that fraction of a second too late. The Preventer sharpshooter, without a doubt, was doing exactly what Trowa was doing : berating himself for not bringing the assassin down before the missile could be launched. He would need to meet with this man and share a drink with him. He knew, though they had never met, they would greet each other as old friends and there would remain a bond between them until the day they died. A bond of blood. Blood shed and blood saved. With the rifle slung over his shoulder and secure the sniper swiped again at his cheek, glancing at his hand before looking up. A casually raised hand acknowledged Trowa’s presence and he turned his head and nodded to someone out of Trowa’s immediate line of sight. He had a ponytail, Trowa noted absently, a blond fall of hair turning grey in the ash falling over the roof. After a moment the sniper turned back to Trowa and raised a hand in farewell, turning toward the stair access, his job done. Trowa watched him limp away and sighed softly. //I’m alive, Quatre. I’m alive.// When would he get over being alive? Easing back from the edge of the building he turned his attention to the courtyard below. The evacuation of the main building was well underway, the courtyard filling with people and it was an orderly evacuation. It seemed there were people everywhere and he could only hope not so many had died. Someone had obviously found his warning, cryptic as it had been. There had been no time for detailed descriptions of the events about to take place but it had not mattered. They were Preventers and they were well trained and they had responded immediately. //The sniper was a stroke of genius.// He had done what he could to get word out of the killer in their midst and action had been taken. What more could he ask? He supposed it was human nature that caused him to berate himself for his failure and even having the sniper on the roof opposite had not stopped the shot from being taken. //It’s always the same, after the fact. I sit like an idiot and feel I could have done more. I should have done more. I did my best, didn’t I?// Forcing the moment of self doubt down he turned from the evacuation in progress to the body on the roof. Now the initial danger was over and he had had a few minutes to gather himself he wanted answers. This assassin had to come from somewhere and he had to work for someone and Trowa was determined to get to the bottom of this business. He could imagine Lady Une when she was informed of the fiasco. He wanted answers to the questions that would be coming hard and fast from Preventer Earth. The killer was without a doubt a professional and professionals did not make stupid mistakes. No one, however, was infallible. There was always the slender chance there might be something on the body, or amongst his equipment, that might provide them with some clue to his origins. If not his origins then perhaps the identity of who had hired the killer, or why he had been hired, to target this building above all on the colony. He had his own ideas, birthed of the nightmare that might be more than a nightmare, of why the killer had struck. He was not going to be able to offer prophetic dreams and visions as evidence to explain his knowledge of the attack. He would have to rely on fact, not dream, to pin down this assault on a Preventer building. The chances were at best slim this killer had made a mistake they could use to identify him or his employer. Slim, but slim was better than nonexistent and he refused to consider there was no hope of identifying the man. Their best chance at learning who and why would be the forensic teams locating evidence to work with. Particles peculiar to certain sections of the colony or colonies, perhaps even to Earth. Perhaps some small trace of genetic evidence might be of use to them. Pollen residue might assist them in pinning a location, perhaps he might have stepped in something they might be able to trace. It would be hours before they came up with a place to start but that would give himself time to clean himself up before he took a hand in the investigation. In the meantime he could do a cursory examination of the body. He could remember the man as he first saw him. Real life, not a vision, not a nightmare but the flesh and blood man. A dark form bent over the unmistakable lines of the weapon, the sports bag to one side of him. There might be a clue to be found in that bag, though it might take a thorough forensic examination to find it. The dark form unfolding, weapon in hand, straightening to look over the roof. One arm raised, fingers pointed at the building across the way and a hand forming the shape of a gun. *“Bang.”* The bastard had laughed, a low deep chuckle as he had put an imaginary round into the building. Trowa scowled as he stared at the corpse. What was it he had said? Something… a name? Taking a deep steadying breath Trowa concentrated, seeing in his minds eyes the dark shape rising, turning to the building, that ‘gun’ fashioned of his fingers and the laugh. Nothing particularly sinister about it or remarkable but something had been said at the time he had wanted to remember… *“No evidence of Washington permitted, I’m afraid.”* Yes, that was it. ‘No evidence of Washington permitted.’ That was what he had needed to remember. //Washington, he said. Washington… but who, or what, is Washington? It is a clue, though, and something more substantial than sprouting off about a nightmare. I can give them Washington to work with, I heard it on the roof, not in the dream. It is not much but it is a start.// The bang of the door to the stairwell slamming against the wall alerted him to the arrival of the assault team. He was careful not to move in the event one or more of them had itchy fingers in light of the explosion. A report should have gone through from the sniper on the other roof informing them the assassin was down and Trowa was active. He was not inclined to chance a miscommunication and remained still until he was assured the team knew his identity. “Agent Chameleon?” “Start a search of the roof. He may have dropped something of use to us.” He ignored the team, bending over the body and focusing on the man’s jacket. He would not look at the mess that had been a head, not because he was squeamish but because it was not likely to be enlightening. It was not as though the man would have any information tattooed on what was left of his head. Trowa had seen enough bloody gore not to be phased by the sight, but he did note someone gagged and then there was the sound of retching. “Make sure he does not puke on any evidence, would you?” “Jesus.” The whisper might have been in reaction to the sight of the body or to his apparent indifference to the gory scene. He was not fussed with either option and began patting down the jacket pockets in search of dust bunnies and lint balls they might find interesting. As he had suspected he found nothing he might use to identify the corpse, not even travel papers and certainly not a passport. //It is possible he might be a native of L1 and the weaponry could have been acquired on the local black market. That will be a forensic puzzle, I suppose.// He flipped open the jacket which he marked as a standard off the rack purchase. No designer suits for this killer, everything generic and pretty much untraceable. More evidence of his skill in his trade. Unremarkable equated to being easily forgettable to the common masses. A person could blend quite well with the right clothing and this man had worn nothing flashy that might be remarked on. “Sir?” Glancing up and around he noted the team leader standing closest to him, watching his every move and eyeing him warily. He had a reputation. All of the former Gundam Pilots who worked for Preventers were known. This particular individual he recognized from earlier days as a colony resistance fighter he had met somewhere he could not immediately recall. The man was one of the better agents on L1 and seemed to have no problem working with those who had worked for Oz or the Alliance. He was the sort Preventers needed to be fair with suspects in these post war years. Too many still saw past alliances as being of importance. “Jonas.” He nodded in greeting, noting the other five members of the team were spreading out and all still had their weapons at the ready. “He was alone on the roof, but it may pay to get the other buildings checked out in case he had backup.” The man frowned and looked warily about him as Trowa returned to his investigation of the corpse and Trowa soon heard him broadcasting to HQ for the entire complex to be searched. Personally he doubted there was another intruder but Trowa was not of a mind to go through another altercation. He had done enough today and he desperately wanted a shower. “You need to see a medic.” He snorted softly and dug into a hip pocket of the man’s trousers, coming up with a small key which he held up to the light, turning it slowly in a bid to catch any identifying marks. “Locker key?” he murmured, noting the similarity to two lockers he maintained on two different colonies. Jonas knelt beside him and offered an evidence bag which Trowa slipped the key into. “Could be a train depot locker or even a shuttle port locker. They’re pretty generic in design. I’ve got one for the shuttle port similar to this. Anything else?” He was quick and efficient and in the end, disappointed. Other than the key he found nothing and sat back on his heels, staring around him at the debris strewn roof. He would have to wait until forensic teams worked the roof and that was going to take time. More time than he had but he would need to see what he could do. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some shoes, could I?” Jonas snorted. “Brewster! Bring Chameleon a pair of boots! Size…?” He glanced at Trowa. “Thirteens.” “Size thirteen shoes and don’t forget the socks.” Jonas straightened and toed aside a piece of scorched metal. “Damn, it’s going to take them days to clean this mess up.” Trowa sighed and picked at small slivers of glass dusting his feet. He was careful not to drive any of the debris into his flesh, picking carefully at the sole of his left foot. “Can you fill me in on what has been happening?” Jonas straightened to watch his team work. “All I know is I received a call to say we had a sniper on the roof and you were up here playing ‘tag me if you can’ with him. I was ordered to get my team up here a.s.a.p. Got a call two flights down just after the explosion to say Hawkeye had taken him down and to watch our exit in case there was a second intruder.” “I owe him a beer.” The Commander snorted softly. “He’ll no doubt enjoy that. I wonder what this was all about. A terrorist trying to make a name for himself? I’ve heard some scuttlebutt lately in the less affluent areas of the colony that disturbs me.” “I don’t think he was a terrorist looking to make a name for a cell. It is more likely to be someone wanted evidence destroyed. From what I saw I am fairly certain he was specifically targeting the lab floors, not the general offices.” Jonas eyed the plume of black smoke rising into the air and shook his head slightly. “Lovely. It could be a crime lord making sure we can’t nail his arse, I suppose. Damn.” “Any reports on how bad it is down there?” Jonas tapped his earpiece and winced. “General hullabaloo at the moment, but I doubt the damage would be as serious as it might have been. I did hear over the air they were turning the sprinklers on just before the big bang. Hopefully they can contain the fire and the alert to evacuate the building came before the explosion.” He did not need to say it had been only seconds before the missile strike. Trowa followed his gaze up toward the far side of the colony, following the dark cloud billowing into the air. Jonas shook his head slowly and sighed, glancing down at Trowa with a noticeable frown. “That is going to clog up the filters if they can’t extinguish it quick smart. Look, if you are going to keep twisting around like that I’m going to have to pull that bit of metal without you having the benefit of a painkiller.” Trowa arched an eyebrow in query and a broad square-tipped finger ran across his back, just under his left shoulder. “I don’t think its deep and it’s not exactly big but it is a little on the jagged side. I’d really prefer a medic did the deed.” Well, he could not realistically expect to survive the debris fall without any injuries, could he? Curiously, now that it was pointed out to him, he could feel the sliver of metal in his back as a sharp niggling pain that had been just a part of a general impression of discomfort. “It will keep until I can get off the roof.” He murmured. “Not hurting at all.” Jonus grunted, one hand rising to rest against the earpiece he wore. “Forensics is on the way up.” He reported. “I don’t know where Sherry got a team from on such short notice, but they should be here soon.” “Maybe they got the floor evacuated before the explosion. It is early.” If the general evacuation had been ordered as soon as the warning had been received it was possible, though he doubted it was probable, the impact point might have been abandoned. He could hope they had taken the warning and ordered a general evacuation immediately. The chances of anyone from the forensic department having the foresight to grab their field equipment on the way out were slight but it was a valid possibility. It was not his concern at the moment and he was beginning to feel the effects of his morning. He hurt and he was tired and he still had a medic to see and a debriefing to sit through. It was going to be a long day but until he got some shoes he was not going to be able to reach the stairs. While he was forced to remain on the roof he might as well make use of the time. “It’s not much but it is a clue and something tells me we are going to need every clue we can find.” He had the commander’s attention immediately. “When I first reached the roof I heard him say the name ‘Washington’.” “Washington?” Jonas stared at the corpse for a long moment and sighed, scratching at his jaw. “Christ, that could be anything. A person, a town, a company… anything.” //My thoughts exactly. It is better than nothing but it is not much. Still cases have been solved from worse starts than this one. There is the name and the key. They might lead us to a solution.// “He must have been good.” He glanced at the team leader who was again eyeing the corpse, noting the quality of the clothing and peering at the shattered head, trying to differentiate features from the bloody ruin. Trowa could only agree the killer had been good and his level of skill in itself might lead them to another source of information. He had to have received that degree of training somewhere. If they could find a military record to put a name to the face it might give them something to work with. “Ex-military? Possibly a military assassin.” “That would suggest OZ.” Jonas murmured, glancing at Trowa. “Preventer Earth would just love that. Given the recent past it might have been a terrorist attack if he was ex-OZ.” Again the grunt, non-committal and unwilling to be tied down to one idea. He had his own thoughts on the killer, thoughts he could not share without being considered a nutcase. The government watch dogs would be all over him like a rash if word got out… “Damn.” Trowa scowled and worried at a sliver of glass. “Jonas, any sign of my watchdog? They are usually sniffing around if I am not working a case requiring I go undercover.” “I’ll put the word out to have them located if they are in the area. Do you want them detained?” He would love to say yes and in this situation he could justify the action. It was not, however, likely to be worth the effort and it would piss off the ESUN Security Agency. Unless he could find some viable evidence to suggest it was one of his watchdogs or their agency who had instigated the assault it was best to step with extreme care. “No. I just want to know if they saw or heard anything that might help if they had taken up their watch rotation on me.” “I thought you were working a case.” “Running errands for Preventer Earth may not be viewed as working a case by the watchdog’s kennel. They have their own unique definition of working.” Jonas snorted. “Stupid arrangement if you ask me. Why single out you Gundam Pilots for observation and keep specialist units and black ops units unobserved? Warped sensibilities.” He was not inclined to argue with such an astute observation. It was something he had struggled to understand for the past few years and he doubted he ever would. Without the Gundams themselves what could the five pilots do that would threaten the Earth Sphere? //We were not the leaders, just the soldiers. I suppose I should be mollified Lady Une is under observation as are certain other key figures that were in Oz. It’s odd though, some of the names on the Watchdogs list make no sense at all. What do they fear from us?// Not here and not now. Those questions had remained unanswered for years and all he wanted now was to shower and enjoy a strong, hot cup of coffee. Something to eat would be appreciated too. Once he had seen to basic physical needs he could give some attention to reconciling the nightmare with reality. The piece of metal imbedded in his back pulled as he carefully stood, making certain his bare feet did not step on glass or metal fragments. Thus far he had been spared major injury and he was not inclined to suffer more through simple inattention on his part. He added a visit to the medic to his must do list and stared at the abandoned rocket launcher near the body. He still had to reconcile himself to the unmistakable truth of the nightmare that had woken him. To be certain the reality of the morning had not unfolded exactly as it appeared in his dream. He was more than simply thankful for that small mercy. Quatre had spoken of symbols in dreams and suggested that by simply being warned one could change the outcome. Weird as it was he had dreamed of this assault on the headquarters building before the assault had happened. Not long in advance of the incident but it had been in time to permit him to interfere with the events. Whether he had made a difference to the overall outcome or not he was unsure. Despite his best efforts the missile had hit. The building was in flames but he had managed to get a warning to those in charge. There was the chance, due to that warning, not so many people might sustain injuries… or he might have ultimately doubled the list of wounded and dead. He might never know for certain if he had helped or hindered. He would need to deal with his uncertainty in time but he could not deny the truth underlying the entire incident. Quatre had been right. Unmistakably there was more to these dreams than merely nightmares spawned of echoes of his past. //I’m alive, Quatre.// He would need to contact his significant other at the first possible convenience. There was also the matter of the trip to L2 slated for later this morning. He would need to delay his departure from L1 as he needed to file a report and be debriefed over this incident and he did want to have that chat to a shrink he had promised himself. He would not for an instant consider informing the doctor of his dreams, but to awkward questions he could explain his actions away as instinct. Examples of finely honed survival instincts were documented and logged in so many medical journals it was not funny. Ex-soldiers from frontline troops and special ops units were documented throughout the history of psychology. Their ability to react to seeming innocent incidents in their immediate surroundings entertained many a psychiatrist. The development of a sixth sense for something being wrong would not be questioned in Preventer where almost everyone was a seasoned veteran from the wars. He could state in the report he had heard something that had alerted him to something being out of the ordinary; something he could not consciously put a name to. //How far do I need to go in my report though? Do I mention the kid in the alley?// It was the dream alone that aroused his suspicions of the assassin attacking the headquarters building being linked to the body of the young man in the alley. A very young man, little more than a boy slain in a back alley on the colony by assailants unknown. A boy who had whispered to him ‘Romefeller’ with his dying breath. A boy he suspected might be a genetically modified individual. //Someone might well try this to cover up illicit genetic modification.// “Something wrong?” He glanced thoughtfully at Jonas before he looked again to the body. “I was wondering about the chances of this being a coincidence.” “A coincidence with what?” He reached to finger the collar of the shirt, trying to avoid touching the blood soaked material any more than he had to. Generic clothing, all new and off the racks found at any department store in the mid-level merchant district of the colony. No insignia in evidence to denote an organization, legal or otherwise, and no standard identification documents. He was fairly sure there would be no tattoos or identifying marks that might be traced to a name. His fingers probed at the blood smeared neck, seeking some indication of what he was sure the boy would have claimed as his only distinction from the other bodies found in back alley ways after dark. He was certain a computer chip would have been found on the boy. A chip that would have irrefutably identified him as being related to the group of modified children the raid on Earth had uncovered months ago. Banned genetic enhancement experimentation. Romefeller was still playing God. This killer who had seemed so very good, so infallible at his task that despite everything he had tried the shot had been made and vital evidence had been destroyed. Surely he had been too good to be natural? Was that a lump beneath his fingers, just there, behind the ear? If it was, was it a lump from a small computer chip that would link all three incidents together? Who could he trust with this information? Who did he dare trust if there were other laboratories producing genetically modified individuals? How many had been ‘born’ and for what purpose might they be being trained? //I suppose it is wild and far fetched… but it is certainly not impossible.//
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