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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 ShenLong for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options" Chapter 191 2nd March Earth Sanc New Port City Harrison Estate Time: 15:50 [Sanc time] River Styx It was not permissible for him to acknowledge the weather beyond factoring it’s vagaries into his mission parameters in order that it might have a negligible effect. It was permissible for him to determine, and acknowledge, the difficulties inclement weather would offer only for him to ascertain solutions and to derive maximum benefits. This was one of the most basic fundamentals of his early training. Such days were long in his past, but his trainers had ensured their teachings were second nature to him. His purpose in existing was simple, to serve to the best of his abilities, not to question. It was his place to ensure his instructions, whatever the details of such instruction might entail, was carried out to the letter. Much effort and great expense had gone into the crafting of him and in ensuring he knew his place in the scheme of things, and understanding the responsibilities entrusted to him. He was a finely crafted, extremely expensive tool. He was proud of his success, in being alive to continue in service. He was the tool of the Inner Circle, privileged to serve as few others ever could. The nature of his service was bound in the requirements of total obedience to their furtherance. To fail, to injure or kill one person other than his designated target, would be viewed as the failure it was and he would deserve the fate allocated for failure, as meted out by ancient charter. His was an ancient and venerable position within Romefeller. His existance was shrouded in shadows, unknown to most of those who were a part of the organization; known only to his few trainers and to the Inner Circle. He was neither judge nor jury. It was not his place to be more than the instrument of their execution. His sole existence was to remove from life those persons designated by the Council to be unworthy; or a danger to the continuation of the design. He could trust in the Council; in those who wore the title and ultimate honour of Inner Circle. He could trust them to know who needed to die to enhance and further the design. His part to play in the specifications of bringing perfection to the world was small, but it was vital to the overall success of the Romefeller mission. His work entailed target specific execution and he prided himself on being the best of the best, a goal he was still seeking to attain. He was not without his own ambition, or the means to attain the pinnacle of his profession, and one day he would stand at that apex and be the tool of the one he saw as superior. Hidden beneath the lenses of the night vision spectacles, his eyes narrowed and his silent glide through the tunnel halted. Ahead was the branch of tunnels which would take him to the closest point these forgotten systems could bring him to his target. He had considered his marks daily routine, and the effects the weather would have on those routines, and determined the best possible point to make contact and the kill. To reach that point, unseen and unheard, required he access the computer archive of the Sanc History Museum. His presence there would go undetected; he was adept in covering his tracks. Likewise, his presence within the sealed vault containing historical archives on the old city and manors of the region also would be unknown. He knew what it was he needed and where to find the details, and the map that had held the information was now removed from both the archive and the computer stored index. What was no longer present could not be missed. Having studied the sewer and rainwater systems he had determined the old disused system, abandoned more than a century ago, would provide him with unseen access to the grounds of his target’s safe zone. He had committed every turn of every intersecting tunnel in the system to memory, charting out four different routes that would gain him access inside the boundaries of the estate, and with varying degrees of proximity to the main house. Not only would these long abandoned tunnels be his entry into the estate undetected, they would also be his exit. According to his instructions no one was to see, or hear him, at his work. No one was to be injured or slain other than his designated mark, and it was not to be a quick, or easy, kill. This execution was to be an abject lesson, and as the requirements were so explicit, the kill itself would be fraught with opportunities for him to be discovered. He would need to time the event to perfection to remain undetected. He was given this assignment because he was the best of the best the Security division could claim, and he could be invisible in the midst of a crowd. Success in this assignment might advance his private ambition to leave the Security Service, and result in his feet being set firmly beneath the umbrella of the Intelligence division. He had long ago determined his best prospects for survival within the organization lay beneath the auspices of Epsilon, not Delta. He was an elite, a Inner Council assassin, bred and trained to kill unseen and unheard. To advance to his current position one was required to be intelligent as well as gifted, and to be graced with good survival instincts. He was not a fool. He was only too aware of the faction fighting rife within the organization and not even the august Inner Circle was immune to game playing within their ranks. During the course of his rising career he had come to know the best of the best of those who held office within the Circle. He had determined to work for that worthy, and to do so required he become the best to earn her attention. Epsilon and her Intelligence network would be the place for him to best be of service to Romefeller. *“Your targets are Hearts. Begin at ten, leave the card at the site and ensure the sanitized subject is found within minutes of the kill.”* Such instructions for the immediate discovery of the body were rare. Over the course of a year he might be required to kill no more than a dozen times. Generally a designated kill was required to be silent and secretive, the body to be removed quietly and efficiently; the subject never to be found, a name on a missing persons list, nothing more. Being required to make the results of this kill public before the body cooled was an indication the Inner Circle desired to deliver a clear message to more than one person. To those this message was intended for, it would be clear they should act upon the Council’s directive expediently. He would possibly be required to kill at least once more before he could expect notification he need no longer pursue another on his death list. It usually only required two kills before the cancellation came through on a selective kill list. He scanned the sewer with care, mindful there might be security cameras at intersections and boundary lines for the outlying estates. One of the few things the former Alliance Governor had been praised for was the construction of a new sewer system servicing New Port City and the surrounding estates. This latest edition of sewer gifted him with the choice of three separate systems to choose from to best service his need. He had reviewed the layouts of all three systems, two of which were still in use and in a number of areas which shared common access or outlet points. It was only the original archaic system that was totally isolated and, presumably, forgotten by the inhabitants of the city. He had not detected so much as a scuff mark on the slimy floor, or hand smear on a wall, to indicate even the local underground guilds might use the tunnel system for their less than legal affairs. Though it was doubtful the system was known, it was not impossible that some astute Security Officer had discovered the system of drains and opted to place cameras and detectors in strategic locations. He was not, after all, the only person who was efficient at his job, and he had not survived to this point without taking precautions and factoring in slim to minute chances. Sometimes things were not as one assumed, and he intended to remain alive long enough to attain his goal. If all went well he would encounter no difficulty in making his way onto the estate, or in exiting the property after he completed his assignment. The only snag in his choice of these tunnels might be if one or more had collapsed over the course of the years, however, that seemed unlikely after having come this far unobstructed. The old brick and concrete system appeared to have been solidly constructed and had weathered the years well. His escape would be through another pathway differing from his entry to the estate. He intended to make it as difficult as possible to have his course followed, and he was feeling more confident he would encounter no difficulty with the tunnels on his departure which, of necessity, must be with the maximum speed he could generate. Ideally he could expect it might take upwards of two or three days for the police to determine the means of entry for the Senator’s killer to the estate. Ideally, however, was not something one with any modicum of intelligence should rely on. He was not about to linger and chance someone being more efficient than they should be. Certainly the longer it took to discover the tunnels the better it would be for his outlook. It would add to his mystique amidst the ranks of the Romefeller assassins if he could completely baffle the investigators. Ascertaining the area was clear of security devices was accomplished with a minimum of delay and he moved on. Down this left hand tunnel and a little further ahead and he would locate a ladder which, after scanning for detection devices, would take him up and into the grounds at the rear of the stable complex, at the closest point of the four potential outlets to the house. *“Your first designated kill will take place no later than midnight of this night. The target’s daily itinerary is noted though there may be changes owing to the weather conditions. You will compensate.* There had, of course, been changes. With the weather being as extreme as it was, there had been forced cancellations of a number of events the Senator was listed to attend in an official capacity. Expecting this he had hacked into the Senator’s home network and determined the day’s revised schedule. It had not taken long to determine his best point of confrontation; the most convenient place to make the kill and arrange for his targets prompt discovery, would be at the man’s home estate. It was always good to take advantage of people being more relaxed and inattentive when in what they considered to be their safe zone. Given he knew this Senator to be a Romefeller initiate, Styx had surmised the man would be more than a little paranoid about his security… they all were, after all. It was, therefore, a foregone conclusion that his home would be no easy target to infiltrate. He was, however, no simple assassin. He searched for, but could find no indication that the sewer system was known to the Senator’s Security Agency. Admittedly they had a good secure network, it had taken him longer to hack into than he had expected, but he had still had sufficient time to determine his means of entry given their logged security details for the estate. The extreme cold, teamed with the fierce wind, would make it more difficult for the canines the Security Agency patrolled the grounds with to scent him. Not that it was likely they would on a calm night, given the special suit he wore did not permitted much in the way of personal scent to escape its envelope. It was a versatile piece of equipment, designed in the laboratories of the Romefeller research institute run by the Inner Circle. It was a vital part of his overall kit, and one he kept in prime condition. Literally, his life depended on its functions. He paused behind the stables, crouching in deep shadow to survey the ground, ensuring he disguised his arrival point as best he could. The outlet was in the deep shadow cast by the stable complex, and it had taken no small amount of strength to lift the hatch against the build up of dirt and debris of long disuse. To further disguise it after recovering the outlet he moved equipment a few inches which, all going well, would not be noticed by the stable staff at all. It was just a few inches from where they had placed it after all. His night vision spectacles permitted him good vision of the grounds surrounding him. One of the functions they were capable of was receiving data from a select cluster of sensors placed in various points on his suit. These sensors were designed to detect the invisible to the naked eye laser trips protecting the grounds, making it easy for him to avoid the silent alarms. There was no one in the stable to mind the restless movement of the breeding stallion which might, or might not, have been a result of the animal sensing him as he moved along the rear of the building. The howl of the wind and the arctic chill would work in his favour to keep the guards indoors and thinking no one in their right mind would brave the elements to disturb the night. The heavy cloud cover threatening to dump more snow provided him with ample shadow with which to blend. It might have been no later than four in the afternoon, but it was as dark as night beneath the heavy sky. He found himself hoping the snow might hold off until he had made the climb, the most dangerous part of his entry into the house. He marked the placement of the security cameras, checking them with his mental map of the estate’s defences, and noted two laser trips out of place by as much as a metre. He avoided them with ease, silently complimenting the Security Agency for the discrepancy in their plans; it no doubt was a deliberate ploy in the event anyone should access their blueprints. It was something one of Romefeller could appreciate; an extra precaution that could mean life or death. He worked his way through the traps with care, always checking against his map and never presuming. He had not reached this point in his career by entertaining assumptions. Reaching the house was an accomplishment, though he was disgruntled the snow had not held off as long as he had hoped. It would make the climb more precarious, but not beyond his capabilities, therefore it was to be ignored as an inconvenience, nothing more. Pausing briefly he carefully pulled on a set of gloves over the skin tight gloves which had protected him to this point from the cold. These gloves would aid him in scaling the side of the building, and from his shadowed alcove at the side of the house he surveyed the garden and the pool of golden light streaming from a room a little further down the wall. It appeared that either the Senator, or one of his household, was occupying the sitting room. He was not concerned it might be the Senator, he was patient and he could afford to wait for the man to come to his chosen killing ground. He had picked his ground with care, determining it for the best effect possible, and the resources at his disposal to accomplish the spectacle of a kill his instructions required he perform. What better place than the man’s most cherished inner sanctum? He smoothed the material with care, avoiding the palms by using his thighs to assist in adjusting the gloves to a comfortable fit. He could not remove the skin tight gloves he wore, given he needed the heat to keep his hands supple enough to facilitate the climb, but a delay of a few seconds to ensure these climbing gloves were properly fitted could not be avoided. His life would depend on them in just a few minutes. The gloves were a special design, conceived and constructed exclusively in the Inner Circle’s research laboratories. High tech materials for fit and grip, with a myriad of tiny spikes on the palms and pads of the fingers, to assisted him to maintain a grip on a variety of almost smooth vertical surfaces. The spikes were finer than a hair, of high tensile neo-titanium, with microscopic barbs to aid in finding any pitting in a surface and barely a millimetre in length. They assisted him in finding a safe grip, strengthening that grip and distributing his weight as evenly as possible. The toes and soles of his shoes were treated with a nonslip resin, as were the outer pads secured to his knees. The climbing aids were all the assistance he would require to scale the side of the house to gain entry. He had chosen this point to climb the house as it was perpetually in shadow; the design of the building threw this particular point of the grand architecture into what he considered to be an unacceptable security risk, perfect for what he needed. He was fortunate the Senator had a penchant for elaborate architecture and natural stone as a building medium. The gloves worked best in the small pits to be found in stone, and the sandstone the house was built from was one of the best surfaces he could have wished for. Of course, he had other tricks he would have used had he chosen a different venue and he entertained many talents he could wield for best effect. *“You will keep the kills surgically clean. No method will be permitted to produce so much as a single casualty other than the designated target. A surgical strike, neat, precise and untraceable by law enforcement investigators.”* Her instruction would present no problem to his unique skills. Romefeller had equipped him well for his work, and he could not only pass unseen in most situations, but could also detect the proximity of other persons to his location. Pressing to the side of the building he took a series of deeply measured breaths and extended his perceptions, seeking the tell tale pressures on his consciousness that would betray the presence of a living mind. Beyond the wall, in the house itself, passing directly by the wall where he waited, was a presence. Though distinguishing actual thoughts was beyond his meagre capabilities, he could sense something of the mood of an individual and what he sensed from this person drew a smirk. He had found many people during the course of the day who were agitated at the general disruption to their normal daily routine the blizzard provided. Within the limited range of his abilities he could detect only the one presence and set himself to the stone. Drawing a deep breath he pressed his hands to the wall, flexing his muscles gently until he felt the gloves almost adhere to the surface. Many tiny spikes firmed his hold on the stone and he set his left foot, his resin coated footwear finding firm purchase at the mortared junction between stones. His fingers flexed, testing his grip one more time before he pushed himself up and began the climb. He had four levels of the building to climb before he would reach his point of entry to the house, and the wind threatened to pluck him from his precarious perch with each reach upward. Staying close to the stone was vital to his success, offering him the protection of the least wind resistance and the most shelter, not only from the cold and wind, but from detection as well. His thermal suit was specially crafted to enable him to survive in arctic conditions for hours and he had no fear of the cold itself. Romefeller provided their assassins with the most advanced technologies to assist their assigned tasks. One was not expected to perform the impossible without adequate equipment, and some of their gear was exclusive, unknown to other military and quasi military agencies. Thermal suits that were sleek and close fitted to the body and highly flexible, were the least of their arsenal, but offered him some degree of comfort in the present conditions. He paused on reaching the second story, adhering a piton to the stone work and reaching up until he could rest a foot against the piton. The adhesive was quick setting and would enable him to pause and relieve some of the pressure on his hands as he did so. He focused his talent once more, seeking beyond the barrier of the stone, reaching to detect any person near to his position. A bare arms length from his present perch a window overlooked the grounds, and he needed to be certain he need not fear anyone chancing to look through at the wrong moment. He was close to his goal and he would not take needless chances with the success of his mission hinging on something so trivial as someone checking on the state of the weather. He did not react when a light came on further down the building. It was far enough from his dip in architecture that anyone looking out would miss him. That window was too far away for anyone to penetrate the darkness and snow shrouded position of his chosen path. One would have to lean out of the window to the point of falling out of the building and shine a spot light directly into the indent in the wall to have any chance of detecting him. Anyone who sought to open a window and stick their head out and do exactly that deserved what they would get. Ah, but no. He was to be a shadow, unseen and unsuspected. There was only one person to die here this day; his instruction was quite specific about that. He did not intend to disappoint the Lady Epsilon. He was getting ahead of himself, and that would not do. He did not know in all certainty that the woman who had given him his assignment was, in fact, a part of the select Inner Circle. She might have been a highly placed aide. While the Council members ensured their identities were secret, even within the top ranks of the organization, there were some things that were more difficult to hide than others. It was vital to his survival to be observant, and therefore he made it is his business to be observant at all times. There were little mannerisms in her speech and movements which he had observed on the few occasions he had cause to be in the presence of the masked and robed Inner Circle. She was Inner Circle, he was certain of that. Unmistakably one of the five and he would never reveal his knowledge of who she was, not even to her. Such would be a death sentence. His goal was to advance further within the organization, and to advance he needed to leave the Security Division behind him and enter the Intelligence Office. Epsilon was his goal and he must impress. He would perhaps have only this one opportunity to attract her notice. He must succeed with the mission to the letter of her instruction for her to notice him in the manner in which he desired to be noticed. It was Delta who held control over him, and he had worked beneath Delta’s direction without complaint, and to the best of his abilities, but Delta was not Epsilon. Those who worked in the shadows for Romefeller had the eyes, ears and intelligence to see which way the wind blew. For him to have any future beyond Delta’s in-competencies, he needed to be picked up by another department. Of course the Inner Circle were not incompetent, perish the thought. Simply thinking such a thing could get him in serious trouble, nor was he inclined to betray his dissatisfaction with his controller. He was not a fool, and he knew how independence of thought would be viewed by the robed and masked elites. He was an elite in his field and he valued excellence. For him, true excellence was to be found working beneath the terrible eye of the old woman he had met in the hotel room. Reach, set hand. Reach, set foot. Press knee into wall and rise. Again and again. Pause to seek for the proximity of any persons near his position and resume. Ignore the wind picking up the higher he climbed, hug close to the stone, and ensure the micro spikes set to counteract the snow… He slipped over the roof line and curled himself into the shelter of the stone parapet. The ornate roofline would advantage him, affording him additional cover in which to hide. There were sensors set on the roof, heat detectors and cameras. He adjusted the controls of the suit to set his camouflage suit to generate a temperature which would virtually render him invisible to heat detectors given the weather conditions. With the temperature setting carefully set to match the ambient air temperature, he would need to practically stand on top of a sensor for it to register anything resembling a human form. Within the suit he remained warm and the shielding of the thermal device provided him with a cold shield exterior. They thought of everything, those laboratory technicians. Were he not so well suited to being a killer at call, he might have entertained the notion of becoming one of the technicians and inventors who placed Romefeller at the forefront of cutting edge technology. Not that the world of big business knew it, of course. The roof was slick and he took care not to slip in the ice and snow. His entry point to the house was an attic window which opened onto the roof itself. There was security, which he took his time in breaching, providing an uninterrupted feed to the security station. He did not need some observant guard picking up on some small anomaly. He slipped within the cavernous space, ensured he was alone and reinstated the security system to live feed. That done he wiped down his suit with a chamois, removing accumulated moisture with quick and efficient movements. It would not do to leave wet footprints to offer clues as to there being a breach in security. The entire house would be searched soon enough to track down an assassin and he must leave nothing to be traced that might assist the investigation. He adjusted the setting of his headset, the unit looking much like a set of sunglasses; the electronics a neatly packed set of micronics in the frames. He could wear these efficient aids to breaking and entering in the middle of a crowded street in broad daylight, and no one would pick them for a high tech piece of equipment that should have been in military hands. On silent feet he wove a path through the boxes, trunks and cloth draped furniture stored in the attic. He kept his step light; he must be soft footed and cause no disturbance in the rooms below to attract unwanted attention. He could not permit so much as the ghost of movement in a light suspended from a ceiling to mark his passage, and there must certainly be no sound to attract an alert ear. The house itself was silent and the wind beyond the building filled that silence with a howling wail that would cover any mistake he might make… not that he would err. One did not reach his level of expertise and make such stupid mistakes. The forecast offered him hope the blizzard would not close in again, but continue to lessen after perhaps one brief last hoorah, lasting upwards of two to three hours before dying a final death to become nothing more than a snow fall and far lighter wind. He needed the snow and wind to cover his tracks when he departed, but should he need to wait longer than he surmised, he had another option for his escape. All going well his tracks in and out of the estate would be covered before the law enforcement agency’s of the city could do much more than scratch their collective heads. He could expect the police to be called initially on the discovery of the body. Their attending of the scene would be followed by a call to Preventers, given the identity of the victim. Within two hours of the discovery of the Senator’s body he could expect Preventers to be on scene and he needed to be long gone before then. They had some skilled people working within their ranks and advanced technology to call on. If anyone might find a trace of him, it would be Preventers. It would not happen, he would cover his tracks too well, but they would, regardless, hunt for a killer. He threaded his way carefully from floor to floor, using the memorized floor plan as a guide. He needed to descend to the first floor where the Senator’s private study was to be found. This was the place he had determined would be his killing ground. The inner sanctum of the victim. Supposedly the most secure place in the house. The kill must, of necessity, be a statement to those with the eyes to see, and the ears to hear the warning offered by this death. He did not know why this particular man was his target; it was not required he know to perform his task. He did not know what actions the Senator had taken to draw the wrath of Romefeller’s Inner Circle, and he did not want to know. It was his task to obey, nothing more. In that this case entailed a silent kill that was to be quickly discovered and, given by specific instruction he was to make the kill less than pleasant for the Senator, he had chosen to come to the man’s inner sanctum. It would meet every requirement that was stipulated for the kill. Abject lessons were rarely painless. Abject lessons initiated by Romefeller were guaranteed to be excruciating. Footsteps. He surveyed his position with care, aware of the growing danger the deeper into the house he travelled. The extension of his talent revealed the room behind the door closest to him was vacant, and he slipped inside. Using his talent for sensing the emotions of others he tracked those now walking along the hallway where moments ago he had stood in plain sight. Assured he was undetected and that the hallway was now clear, he slipped out of the room and continued on his way. One more floor to descend and he would be within striking distance of the study. Each foot fall was placed with care, his ears strained to detect any hint of a presence and he maintained his mental outreach, seeking the presence of people. The first floor of the building was well illuminated in comparison to the upper levels, and he slipped from shadow to shadow carefully, silent and deadly. He must kill one only and therefore no one must suspect death walked abroad this night. A final hallway, pausing near the head of the stairs from the ground floor and he slipped to the door of the study two doors down. He extended his straining ability to ensure the study was unoccupied and took five precious seconds to defeat the lock. A simple code thankfully, and he slipped inside the study, noting the sound of voices, one that was the target, coming from the lower floor. He reset the lock, taking the time to survey the room. He might not have much time, his victim might well be on his way to the study to attend to some work. Given his need to make use of the inclement weather to assist in covering his departure from the house, he was hopeful the Senator would indeed be inclined to come to him with all speed. If the Senator should come with company he would need to be patient, bide his time and wait. One kill only, the designated target, was permitted. If he must wait he would require a safe hiding place, and the architecture of the room was uniquely suited to accommodate an assassin who must remain unseen. The design also lent itself to thoughts of the spectacle to come. He took particular notice of the high ceiling crowned with an elaborate display of gothic style arches. Given the placement of the pendant lighting and the lamps, that arched ceiling would provide adequate shadow when the lights were switched on. For an assassin there would be an abundance of opportunity to find a safe location to await the perfect moment. He might even get the opportunity to make a few necessary accommodations in preparation for the kill. He was all for saving time and effort by advance preparation.
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