Note: I was more than content to leave this fic in its unfinished state, but someone entered it in the Works-In-Progress Fanfiction Contest. And damn, but I can't turn down a challenge. Grr.

"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles, it's a very very mad world... mad world..."

      --- Gary Jules

Sacrifice Part 11
Mad World

Duo sat in the back of the transport truck, Heero's head cradled in his lap. The Wing pilot hadn't moved since they picked him up, barely breathed. But his breathing was calm, and so was his heartbeat. Duo could feel it against him, a terrible, steady engine of destruction. No matter what they had ever done to him, they had never been able to still it.

The rest of Miller's soldiers sat back there with him. If he had been in his right mind, Duo might have been afraid of all these soldiers, staring at him with cold, clinical, unblinking... blankness. There was no emotions in those twelve sets of cobalt eyes. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Duo thought, then looking into the eyes of these broken children was like looking into the eyes of the damned.

After awhile, the majority of them went to sleep. It was a light sleep, ready to be broken at an instant's notice in the case of danger, and Duo could almost feel them killing in their dreams. Some of them only pretended to sleep. Even though their eyes were closed, he could feel every other sense they owned on him. Measuring him up.

The girl he had first seen, the one Milliardo called 2158, did not sleep at all, or even pretend to. She sat across from him, staring. The weight of her gaze made him distinctly uncomfortable, but it was a vague sensation. He was too concerned with Heero to even look at them. Any of them.

Heero's face was the color of ash in the dim streetlights coming through the back window of the truck. He was as heavy and immovable as the dead. Zechs-(Milliardo now, remember?)-had wanted to sedate him, just in case, but one look from Duo had silenced the older soldier quickly. As far as they knew, Heero had spent a majority of the last few years of his life under sedation. There was no way they were going to do it to him now.

No one's gonna hurt you anymore, buddy, Duo thought, brushing limp, sweat-damp bangs back from Heero's face. The tattoo across his collarbone stood out darkly, like an obscene brand. Never, ever again. You just sleep now. We'll take care of the rest.

Wufei sat beside him, unblinking as a hawk. He wouldn't look Duo in the face, or look at Heero at all. The child soldiers stared at him, and he stared right back. A cocked pistol lay across his lap in one hand. He ran his thumb over the back of it in a soothing gesture. Duo didn't have to ask to know what the Chinese pilot was thinking. He was thinking it would be better-more humane, maybe-to just kill them all.

He didn't know if he agreed or not. But these children... they weren't children, anymore. There was something so mechanical, so alien about them, that Duo felt his skin crawl just being so close to them. It was like sitting in a nest of snakes. Cold creatures that would maim you without a second thought if they had to, and kill you if they could.

He heard a minute shifting across from him, and dragged his eyes up reluctantly. The girl was still staring, but this time she was looking down at Heero's face. Duo was amazed to see an emotion in her eyes, now- it was dim, but it was there.

It was terror.

"Kid," Duo whispered, and the girl's eyes flicked up to his face, startled.

Her voice was soft and low, but perfectly monotone. As neutral as scent in a desert. All emotion had been scorched from it. "Did you bring him to kill us?"

Duo felt a rill of ice water trickle down his spine. Some terrible knowledge was forming in his gut; he felt it like a cancer. "What do you mean?"

The girl's eyes were back on Heero's still face, fascinated and afraid. "He always killed us, before. If we weren't perfect. If we didn't win. They gave us to him. They made us watch. We were just his practice."

We were just his practice... Duo fought desperately to make some sense of the words, but they were too terrible. His voice was hoarse when he replied. "You fought him?"

"Not me. Just the ones who needed to be eliminated." Something seemed to pass through the girl, and she shuddered, pressing herself hard against the metal side of the truck. The youngest of them, one of the ones who looked around five years old or so, was sitting asleep and cross-legged near her. He moved slightly at her movement. Lethal blue eyes slitted open for a moment, assessing the situation, before sliding closed again.

"He cried while he killed them," the girl said reflectively.

"Don't tell me anymore," Duo said, finally finding his voice again. It was choked, harsh. "Just... be quiet."

"Yes sir," 2158 answered, and the clipped words made Duo shiver at their implications. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, but Duo knew she wasn't asleep. He could feel the girl coiled there, contained violence, like a viper.

~*~

It seemed as if they drove forever.

Did you fall for nothing, Yuy? Wufei thought as he sat there. Duo had long since fallen asleep in exhaustion. He had struggled so valiantly to stay awake, but Wufei could see sleep overtaking him with every harsh breath. He could tell that Duo loathed to fall asleep in the back of the transport truck with all these... soldiers... but that he would soon have no choice.

Wufei saved him the trouble, and told the American to sleep until they got to headquarters. Duo protested viciously, but not with any real conviction. As soon as Wufei had given the word that he would keep watch, Duo practically collapsed.

Wufei glanced at him now; the American leaned against the side of the truck in a position of someone who had traveled a very long way and was used to sleeping on-route. His head lolled against his shoulder; one arm was behind Heero's head and neck, cradling the unconscious pilot. The other hand rested on the Wing pilot's chest. His long hair was coming loose, sticking to his sweaty face in damp strands.

Wufei stayed awake not to keep watch on the younger soldiers-almost all of them were asleep, now... that deep sleep that was a hiding away from things-but to keep watch on Heero. No matter how vulnerable and weak Heero looked now, Wufei could not forget the expression on the other man's face as he ripped through the enemy scientists, crushing bone and cartilage, severing arteries.

He was alive... there was joy in his eyes.

The loaded pistol in his lap wasn't for the child soldiers. They were as malleable as clay. Not harmless, not by any means, but not dangerous, either. Just the mention of their names -their numbers- was enough to make that blank, open look come over their faces. They were fully prepared for war. All they needed were instructions. All they needed was Mission.

No. The pistol was not for them.

The pistol was for Heero.

~*~

Finally, after any number of hours that could have been an eternity to Wufei, the truck stopped, groaning to a halt under the weight of eighteen people.

Duo woke up next to him, arms tightening instinctively on Heero to keep Heero from sliding off his lap. He looked over at Wufei, looking dazed and ten years older than he had when they left. Wufei nodded at him. We're here. Duo stood as carefully as he could, sliding his free arm under Heero's legs to pick the Wing pilot up. Wufei followed his lead, standing at his side.

He could feel the tension in the back of the truck rise as those Potentials who had been sleeping awoke. The girl, 2158, the first one to speak, opened her eyes. They flicked over Duo and Wufei dismissively, lingered on Heero a moment, and then she sat up straight, ears pricked for any sound of peril outside the truck.

The youngest boy next to her, 2284 by the tattoo across his cheek, woke up like Wufei would have expected any toddler to wake up: disoriented, blinking owlishly. He started to cry softly in bewilderment-Wufei was immensely relieved at this blatant sign of childishness, of humanity-but the boy was quickly silenced as the girl sitting next to him backhanded him hard enough to rock his head back against the side of the truck.

She spat Japanese, low and hissing, at the younger boy, and he lowered his head, mute. She looked at Heero again, speaking softly in the little boy's ear, conspiratorially, and the boy's eyes widened in terror. He responded softly, two words, and then was silent again. Tears shone on his cheeks in tracks, drying and forgotten.

Wufei was too shocked to respond.

Suddenly, the doors to the back of the truck rattled and opened on a light-flooded parking lot. Preventers, armed with automatic rifles, lined the opening of it. Sally Po stood with them, her face grim, but satisfied. The expression quickly faded as she saw not two Preventers and one downed former Gundam pilot, but two Preventers, one Gundam pilot, and twelve children who could have been brothers and sisters, they all looked so alike.

They stared back at her, faces and collarbones marred with code numbers, looking small and young and lethal, even in nothing more than hospital shifts.

"Wufei?"

"We'll explain later, if we can," Wufei replied, standing and stepping forward to the back of the truck, jumping down. "Don't lower those weapons," he said as soon as he stood at her side, low enough so that only the two of them could hear it. At least, he hoped he spoke quietly enough. But he had no idea how good their hearing was... how sharp their sight...

Looking at them, Wufei realized he knew almost nothing about Heero at all.

"Come out with your hands at your sides," Sally said, her voice calm and soothing. "Slowly."

The children did as they were told. They lined up beside the truck, looking at the guns held by the Preventers with disdain, as if such things were a part of their everyday routine. Annoying, but not anything new. Not threatening in the least.

They could probably bend back the muzzles of those guns without effort, Wufei thought. His hand tightened on his own pistol. Duo crawled out of the truck along with them. Heero hung limply in his arms.

"You got him," Sally whispered, and the relief in her voice was tangible. She turned to the Preventers standing next to her. "You two! Get a stretcher!" They complied immediately, running back towards the building.

"No, Sally. He's my partner. I want to carry him," Duo replied. His voice was quiet, but it was obstinate. Wufei was glad to hear that tone creeping back into Duo's voice; he thought that Heero's "death" had driven it out permanently.

"We don't know how badly he's hurt," Sally said. Cajoling. She stepped forward, meaning to put her hand on Duo's shoulder, but the Deathscythe pilot stepped back, away from her, his expression inscrutable. Dangerous.

No hurt he has now is anything you have the ability to heal, Po, Wufei thought.

"Duo, we have to take him from you for just a little while. And then, when he's better-when he's awake-you can have him back. I'll put him in your care. Okay?"

Duo just gazed back at her silently. Wufei could see the torn expression in his eyes. Weighing his options.

Milliardo, Trowa, and Quatre walked forward from the front of the truck. Trowa had his good arm around Quatre's shoulder, and was favoring his other one. It was clamped tightly against his chest like the broken wing of a bird. Just that small display of discomfort was enough to tell Wufei that Barton had been wounded, perhaps seriously, and that he was in a great amount of pain. As if Barton's pale, sweaty face and dilated eyes didn't tell him enough.

"It's okay, Duo," Trowa said, his voice soft and hoarse. It was the way your voice sounded, Wufei realized, when you were holding back a scream. The entire front of his uniform was soaked with blood. "He's badly hurt. You have to let him rest. Sally knows what she's doing."

Quatre nodded in agreement. "We saved him... He'll be fine now, Duo." The hope in the Sandrock pilot's voice hurt Wufei's heart.

And looking at the still, silent form sprawled gracelessly in Duo's arms, then back to the cold, silent children standing beside the transport truck, Wufei couldn't help but disagree.

I don't think so, Winner. Not for Heero. Not for any of them. I don't think anything is going to be fine ever again.

TBC...

 

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