Posted: 10/13/00
Title: O Verona
Author: Jay / carboxylated@yahoo.com
Archive: All those with prior permission are welcome (and hugged profusely) to archive this.
[Note: all fics accessible @ http://www.geocities.com/fenris_wolf0]
Category: Suspense, drama, possible angst, yaoi.
Timeline: Post-EW.
Pairings: 3+4; more coming along.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is quite sadly not mine, but in fact the property of Bandai, Sunrise, and other large corporations and companies I have no affiliation with. (Again, quite sadly.)
Warning/Rating: R. It's gonna be twwiiiiiisted.
Feedback: Hit me!
The wind was gusting, weaving through the buildings, and it nearly toppled the slight form of Quatre Raberba Winner as he stood outside a massive building, the top of which threatened to scrape the sky. It gleamed dully in the cloud-obstructed sun, and he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking in with resignation. The doors parted way as he entered, to slide silently shut as he passed.
It was around noon now, he mused. Trowa would be staring at the hastily scrawled letter he'd left: a vague explanation and profuse apologies for his sudden absence. He saw no other choice-- he was fiercely protective of the older boy, and in absolute truth, Quatre dreaded returning as much as he dreaded going, if his father's behavior was any judge on the matter.
Lights danced before his eyes-- they always did when he thought of his papa; lights dancing across a satellite, drifting in space, explosions as bright as stars.
He wiped the memory from his mind, shaking his head again. He needed to survive this, and there would be very little chance of that if he allowed himself to brood over past tragedies. Taking a deep breath, he walked through a door, into the waiting darkness.
While the room was silent, he could feel the presence and buzzing of other people. His eyes were sharp enough to discern their vague, sitting forms, but not so perceptive as to see their faces. Walking slowly over, he sat in the first available empty seat.
A voice cut through the quiet. "Mr. Winner." It was nondescript-- masculine and agreeable, tones speaking of dry humor. "You've arrived."
There was a brief rumble of surprise from the hidden figures. Beside him, someone shifted restlessly.
Quatre was surprised-- the group obviously operated in secrecy, and anonymity was a key factor in this. However, he hardened his voice and replied nonchalantly, "I'm here." A sliver of uncertainty laced the response, and the voice chuckled.
"And with Mr. Winner's arrival, we will commence the meeting." A slight pause before it continued, coolly. "You are the most powerful and important personages in the universe. This is a simple fact, acknowledged by the colonies and earth. The Verona Society recognizes your influence, and this is why you are here-- to prove yourself worthy in the Game. We ourselves are morally responsible to ensure that we, as the leaders of our time, are strong. The Verona Society was founded as the first colony was settled-- that was when the first Game was played. The survivors formed the first Council. They, too, were obligated to play again the next year-- the ravages of time quickly weed out the weak. We live in a time of constant change: there cannot be any frailty among us. The Verona Society exists for that purpose-- to find the Select that may lead the world, and to dispose of the unworthy who have lucked upon their power and fortune."
Quatre listened, half-terrified and half-enthralled.
"The wars have recently ended-- during the wars, the Verona Society was on hiatus, due to the fact that many of our members were involved in the military and political action of the times. There has been peace for a year and we, the Council, had feared that the softness might have been exploited in some of you during this time. That is why you have been summoned. To those of you who are new: you have become leaders during the wartime and we are here to see if you can attend to the tasks at hand. To provide guidance and direction the people. To be strong under all circumstances. Verona will make you strong. Verona will make you strong, or we will break you. The winners and losers are determined in the Game, which will commence after we've installed special chips in you-- they are tracking devices. and they trigger certain neural pathways in your mind. Our reality will become your reality, and our Game is your test. You will spend the next two weeks where your primary objective is survival. Do not be arrogant-- that has been the downfall of many members, some who were once intelligence and military geniuses. Around you, life will proceed at a normal pace. Everyday citizens will walk alongside you in the streets, talk to you, but the Game will not end until fourteen days are up. Everything and everyone is a potential enemy: remember that."
Whispers filled the room, drifting in the air, their light noise a veritable hum.
"We have one person among you who has been selected from our previous Game to be the Controller, and I believe that you will quickly understand his or her purpose: to make sure that your self-preservation is as difficult as possible. Only the strong must survive. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the jungle."
The lights went on, and Quatre blinked, glancing around him. He froze in shock as he caught moss green eyes in his sight. One flipped bang wobbled slightly as Trowa gave him a solemn glance, which still somehow bordered on an uncharacteristic smirk.
"Quatre," the tall boy greeted him. "What a surprise."
End Part 1
Feeeeeeeedddddd meeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Jay
Please send comments to: carboxylated@yahoo.com