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"Friends "Written By: Karina
Series: Friends Pairings: 2+6 Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence. Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the characters. That’s the way it is. Warnings: Not a death fic despite how it starts.
Aussie spelling and unbetaed. Summary: When Milliardo Peacecraft is abducted
and left to die a solitary death Duo Maxwell decides to take a hand
in the proceedings.
Chapter 20 Who had targeted him? Who had developed balls enough to beard him in his den? An open challenge he could tolerate; an honest challenge contained honour and equal risk between rivals. There was no honour in this attack upon his person and that, more than the attempt, he could not abide. Who was it who had circumvented his alarm system to enter his home and set the trap that took him down, without risk to their own hide? Who had skill enough with the security system to remove, from the security log, any entry records? He was careful with his security, and had checked the log before he had entered the estate, and again before he had entered the house. Who, after all this time, had crossed the line and determined to act against him? Who had decided he was better off dead? The kill was undoubtedly revenge motivated. He could not expect it to be easy to unravel the knot and reveal what lay concealed. To identify his murderer would require he determine which of his past deeds had incurred such festering hatred. Simply saying it was about revenge would not assist in identifying the perpetrator, nor would it lead him deeper into the intricacies lying beneath. His killer had links to one, or more, of the few persons who knew he was alive. Further they had links to someone who knew his security system on an intimate basis. The person who provided the information to the killer would need to be identified, and he would not, could not, afford to leave them unchastised. Few knew where he lived, fewer knew how to access his home, and not all of them would know when he was on assignment. They had needed the house empty for the trap to be laid, and they would have to have known his time of return to trigger the trap. That information was not easy to come by, it was classed as somewhat more than merely classified, and who ever had leaked the information had earned a visit from him. He could not afford to let it pass. //It could be Une herself, and if that is the case…// He stared into the dancing flames for a long while, considering the implications. //I don’t care.// The realization surprised him. He did not care if the power behind the assassination was revealed to be Une herself. Not for an instant could he believe she might have unwittingly given this information to his would be killer. It was too much to think Une might have made such a mistake with an operative’s life. He was supposed to be dead. There was supposed to be no record of his continued existence on any computer system in the ESUN. He was their Ace, their trump card in the sordid, dirty business of interplanetary politics. He was their bogeyman, their insurance, until such time as they determined they no longer needed a Black Ops operative. Given the current political climate, and the unrest developing over the mining rights on Mars, he could not see the end of his dark career in the immediate future. He might have expected Une to order his death, if the Earth Sphere was more settled. His file did not officially exist, and information pertaining to him would not be given out to every lunatic hell bent on ending his days. //They are not finished with me yet, though there are times I wish it was all over.// He had died in the past, as a child, as a teenager; as an innocent and as the villain of the Earth Sphere. He should have died at least twice on missions in his current role, and he should have died this time, in the cold and isolation of the Sanc high country. He was heartily tired of finding himself breathing, despite the best efforts of others to end his days. If it was not his time, and obviously it was not, then so be it. He had to draw a line somewhere and, twisted as it was, this was it. The would be killer would find himself staring down the barrel of a gun, though perhaps a knife across the throat would be more satisfying. The man had been enjoying himself too much as he went about his sick work. //Psycho. Utterly insane.// The one who had tried to kill him would die, but it would not stop there. He had had enough, and he would need to make certain those who presumed to hold his leash understood this dog was no rabid beast to be put down. He would reveal to them he was a wolf, a hunter, no lap dog; when his chain was jerked he was capable of biting the hand that fed him. //Metaphors.// He snorted softly. //Idiot.// No one would be laughing when he moved against them. The insane one who had sought murder would die; he could not leave that one wandering about the world. The man would continue to kill, now that he had tasted it. He had felt the sickness, could feel it even now. The Revenge Seeker, and those who had assisted him in his endeavour, would know the rewards of their failure. They really should have made sure he was dead. They could have made certain the insane, sadistic bastard had made a quick and clean kill. He could not abide the cruelty of the method of his latest death. The sick son of a bitch deserved to meet him again, and his reaction would be interesting when a ghost visited, smiling, with knife in hand. //Ah, no, control. Control, Marquise, you fool. There is no honour in losing all sanity. I’ve had enough of the Dark Road into dreams.// He would not make the mistake of inviting back the nightmares; of having a new face haunt him, a new voice asking the ever infernal why. There would be no haunting, either of the sadistic bastard or of his nightmares, but he was not going to let the matter lie. If they thought they were safe, they had another think coming. While no one could try his killer in a court of law for killing a man already dead, he personally would not permit the man to walk free. It sucked to be officially dead. But even he would have justice, though he would need to exact it himself. Someone wanted him finally laid in the ground. Did they honestly expect him to leave it alone; to ignore the implications behind this attempt? Did they expect him to walk away and permit them their farcical investigation? It would be dismissed as an isolated incident of coincidences, culminating in the madman gaining classified information. A one off, unusual circumstance which would not repeat. Until one of them succeeded in bringing him down. He would have retribution, it was his right. He had been left to die, again, and if not for the timely interference of one Duo Maxwell, he would indeed be dead. It was possible Une had a hand in the plot, though the woman was eminently practical since her two personalities merged. Much as she denied the need in public, she had backed the formation of a Black Ops unit. When all else failed, negotiations, bribery, blackmail; when there was no other recourse to address a problem, he was it. The solution. Single, solitary him. Zechs Marquise. Already steeped in the blood of thousands and conveniently, officially quite dead. Oh yes, Une had her uses for him and his skills learned at the behest of the man she revered above all others. There were sufficient black spots lurking within the ESUN to convince him she would not lightly deem him obsolete at this time. She would not hesitate, when the time came, as it eventually must, to rid the planet of the blight she considered him to be. So then, perhaps not Une. It needed to be someone placed highly in the ESUN. Given the classification of his file, only half a dozen possibilities presented themselves immediately to mind. There would be the odd aide to be investigated, but somewhere there would be a link and he would find it. He could not afford to have them think he would not respond to this challenge. It was a matter of honour to his mind, and Treize had taught him to mind such matters. Treize had taught him never to leave his back undefended. Everyone involved would meet his retribution, in exact coinage equalling their contribution to the contract of debt. Someone had been exceedingly well paid; the question was in what currency had the payment come. The payment might not necessarily reflect financial gain. He must detail all involved and discover their weak point, and their new wealth. Someone had wanted him dead, and not wanted to soil their hands. Their philosophy was clear enough. Give their weapon the information and equipment needed to take down the target; let him take the fall should there be a hitch and the plan was not execute efficiently. //I wonder if there is a contract on me with the Dark Path?// He was quite familiar with the Dark Path. The dark and dirty dealings, the contract killings; illegal sales ranging from the slave trade to industrial espionage and drug running. Oh yes, he knew the dark path; he walked those ways as a shadow within shadows, and he hated it. It did, however, enable him to survive. Though for what he survived he did not, as yet, know. How did the pampered son of an ancient line of Kings become a walking dead man, steeped in blood and shadow? How had he come to this point in his life? It was a long and convoluted path he walked, a path growing progressively darker. So deep were the shadows on occasion, he wondered if there ever would be light at the end of the road. He wanted release, and cursed the fool who had not killed him cleanly. They always had to gloat; to play with their kill. Release had never been further from him than it was at this moment. He was tired, of the blood and the secrets, and the shadows. //Is there anywhere within the ESUN I can find sanctuary? An escape from this filth I walk through? They should walk in my shoes for a time, and see how clean their hands remain.// If he could find a place where he could escape them; if he could find a place where he could stand in sunlight in complete anonymity, he would not hesitate. He would arrange his own death, and this time, ensure no one could reach him, to drag him back into the mire. Was there someplace he could go, if he arranged for his own death? //Probably not.// So much for the peace Treize had convinced him to fight for. So much for the brighter days they had planned, when there would be no war and the human race would walk a brighter, more enlightened path. So much for peace. ~ * ~
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