New Beginnings
by Bluefire
Disclaimer: Yes, I do dream about them every night, but, no, I don't own them.

Warnings: OC, no pairings so far

Prologue

Dusty winds that parched a throat and stung the eyes swept over the L2 Colony. Tattered rags were little protection against the torrenteous winds. Bodies were huddled together in the alleys, lighting the stagnant trash of the streets on fire for warmth. The only cars to be seen were literally hunks of torn metal. The mobile suits had left almost nothing standing after their last assault.

Smoke rose from the ashes, trickling around in the artificial environment, for some reason not running through the oxygen filters.

"Why?" Agyoku whispered hoarsely to no one in particular. Her breath would have been visible in the air, if the air had held any moisture. She tried to warm herself as she sat on street in front of fire made in a steel trash can. A few others were gathered near the limited source of warmth, some nursing wounds from the previous days battles.

"Because they do not want the world to know," an old man cackled hoarsely behind her. She wheeled around to see a battered elder with sharpened blue eyes that were studying her like a hawk. He was smoking, a habit which she found disdainful with the environmental filters off-line. "Ishmael Ahab." He extended one hand forward for her to shake.

"Hmm. Moby Dick. What's your real name?" Agyoku crossed her arms, putting her back to the trash can fire to face the man. His face cracked into a toothy grin, blue eyes twinkling.

"That is my real name." He seemed amused by her skepticism.

"Agyoku." She reached forward and took the outstretched hand.

"No last name?"

"No. Orphan," she explained quietly. He nodded silently. There were more orphans than families by far on L2.

She gestured to an area of pavement near her that was remarkably clean. The two sat. Agyoku had to wonder how long she would talk with this man before he died or left her, like all friends here, if they could be called friends, eventually did. She hadn't kept one yet.

"Always been an orphan?" Ahab asked softly, once they were seated. "If you don't mind me asking," he tacked on hastily.

"Always," she replied emotionlessly. People were always so worried about offending her. Pain was a fact of life here. She could handle it. "What about you? Family?"

"Dead," he told her huskily.

"I'm sorry." She had little else in the way of comforting words to offer the old man. He had to be at least sixty or seventy, a rarity here.

"Don't be. I fully intend on avenging them." Ishmael stood up abruptly, stretching his legs. She looked up at him in disbelief.

"How exactly do you intend to do that?" She cocked one eyebrow at the man.

"Oh, I think you shall know it when you see it." With that cocky, mostly toothless grin flashed at her briefly, he turned and left.

Agyoku stared after him, unsure of what to think. She sighed. Then again, people came and went. He was another living article of proof on that subject.

* * *

"Ahab" as he called himself, kept the grin at full force as he went through the dark alleys. It was cold, colder than he would have liked, but until he found some way to break into the malfunctioning environmental controls, he would live with it. Unwashed bodies and the rank smells of urine and garbage mixed together to taint his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose involuntarily. This place was badly in need of the rebels assistance.

His smile grew as his mind leaped into an idea. The rebels. Brilliant. Perfect for his situation. Now, if he could just find some way to contact them . . .

* * *

A figure bathed all in a bluish sort of light stared at the monitor in front of him, the source of the light in the darkened room. Scroll after scroll of strange symbols peeled across the screen, unintelligible to any but the few who had been a part of it's creation.

The boy leaned back and stretched, throwing his muscular arms out behind him. Choppy brown hair framed his face, cobalt blue eyes striking against the darkness of the bedroom. He craned his fingers forward once more, reaching towards the keyboard of his laptop.

"Heero!" Someone yelled angrily, bursting in to the bedroom. Heero glanced up calmly at the boy with the meter long braid that had just entered his domain. "What is this?" the violet-eyed boy demanded, shoving a paper under Heero's nose.

"Orders." He turned back to the laptop and began to type, unperturbed.

"Orders? What for? The war is over! Over, you know that! And since when do we get orders again?" the boy paused, noticing the strange symbols rapidly appearing on the screen.

"You've heard of 1-Z?" The violet eyed boy nodded, braid swinging with the effort. "That's why." He turned back to the laptop once more.

"I thought they weren't a threat." The braided boy was somewhat calmer now.

"You thought wrong. Go away. I have things to do. So do you."

The other boy fidgeted with his collar, a priest collar, solicitously.

"Heero... are you sure? This is war we're talking about."

"Go get to work, Duo. We've got a time limit."

"I hope you know what you're doing, perfect soldier. Really, I do, because if you don't..." he shook his head as he backed out of the room.

"I know exactly what I'm doing, Duo," Heero whispered to himself in the dark. "I'm giving us back our lives."