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[#1 offer ]
Ash falls like snow, settling in a thin white layer over acres of the colony. It’s pretty from a distance, where the air isn’t thick with smoke and clouded with debris.
A nameless boy kneels in the middle of the wreckage. Dust and shock pale his cheeks. The back of his throat burns sour, and bits of broken rock dig into his bare knees. He crumbles inside as easily as the buildings had when he looks down at the .22 in his hand. The gun feels feather-light, as if it’s a toy and not the solid weight of killing metal that is as familiar to him as breathing. He tries to remember a time when firing a weapon felt new.
When an old man presents him with three choices. He cannot see the good in any of them.
The crack of a single gunshot ricochets through piles of rubble.
[#2 reasons ]
Heero explores the wound in his arm with slippery fingertips. It’s a grazing shot, more blood than damage.
He’s lucky, or the boy who took a shot at him wants him alive. He calculates the situation as Relena stands between them, her blue dress fluttering like a banner in the ocean breeze. The odds aren’t good.
“Get out of the way,” Heero shouts at her. He lurches forward and grabs Relena by the arm, trying to force her aside as he raises his gun to aim down the sights.
Not wounded, the boy’s finger tightens on the trigger. In that moment, Heero knows he will be too slow. With no other choice before him, Heero gives Relena’s arm a sharp tug. Like a step in an ill-fated dance, she swings around in front of him, and her pale eyes go wide as death blossoms in her breast.
[#3 dream ]
Heero shakes off the force of the impact, raising an aching arm to flip switches, bypass routines, and transfer power from the remaining planetary shield to allow his suit to move.
Trowa has stopped speaking, Heero realises, just before a shrill scream reverberates over the comm.
Blood pounds in his ears as he pushes himself out of the ruined section of the colony, using the momentum and rotation to spare his fuel. Vayeate is gone, reduced to nothing more than a stream of debris. Bits and pieces clang against his suit.
Mercurius leaks atmosphere. It doesn’t matter; only one way remains that can bring down Wing Zero.
One last switch and Heero jettisons his fuel pod. It floats freely in front of him as he fires up the energy beam on the Crush Shield.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before impact.
[#4 else ]
The pistol is beautiful in the way only an antique can be—graceful despite an excess of ornamentation. Smoke curls up as delicate as the filigree from the long barrel to dissipate into the twilight.
“It was an honour,” Treize says. He drops to one knee and holds there for a moment before falling to his heels. Gravel crunches and skitters. Blood glistens red on his lips, and he clutches at his breast, not so much stemming the dark flow that pulses between his fingers as embracing it.
Heero crouches down and lays the pistol in front of Treize. Ice blue eyes fix on his. He turns away. He doesn’t want to watch the rest of Treize’s lifeblood pour out across the ground. Wrapping his arms around himself, Heero wishes he could claw his skin off to become a different person.
It is cold and lonely in Epyon’s shadow.
[#5 gone ]
A gunshot. In the crowd, a blur of faces reflect fear and horror and shock. Relief flickers in the eyes of a guilty few. There is no theatrical scream to start a panic, just a murmur rippling through the assembled and the sound of quiet grief.
“What have you done?” Relena says, repeating the question softly as she gathers Mariemaia in her arms. Ragdoll limp, blank eyes stare uselessly beneath the stark bullethole marking the precise center of her forehead.
“I’ve ended it,” Heero answers. Something warm slides down his face. Everyone stares at him, expectant. “I will never kill again. I—”
And then he can feel it, the wounds from Wing Zero’s fall catching up with him right on time as his adrenaline and reserves run out. The gun slips from his hand and clatters to the stage.
“I won’t have to….”
Finally someone screams.