Standard Disclaimer: ::sniffs:: Don't own them, wish I did though... Any kinds of commentsand/or flames are welcome, however flames will be sacrificed to Cthulhu.

Warnings/Rated: R, for sexual hints, gore, voilence, drugs, angst, and all other things that make this
world go 'round...

My Angel's Cry
Prologue

It's funny what people do to get through any pain and suffering they feel; pot, alcohol, crack, or just plain stims. Whatever the case may be they strive for a better life, a new beginning, a reason to change not realizing that the very cause of their pain is their special cure to ease it. They seek that small corner of their world where they feel invincible and they feel that way when they're riding the good life, either so drunk they're pissing in they're own pants, on the high of a life time, or perhaps both. But either way, so fucked up others are ashamed go look at them, still at the same time they cannot help but to do so. They gaze at these 'lost souls' like a different species all together with nothing but pity in both their minds and hearts. So much of it that it shows in their eyes, see it in their facial expressions. It really doesn't matter in the end, the ones that they are seeing are too fucked to neither care nor notice anything anymore.

I know this because I used to be one of these people, I used to find salvation and the face of my God in the find tip of a needle. The sweet perfume of Angel's Dust was my only friend, my only love. It cleared me of my conscious, it eased the red I saw each time I closed my eyes and it rinsed this blood that forever stained my hands. Even if for just a short while, when the high hit me nothing matter any more, there was no killing, no rape, and most importantly, there was no war to be fought.

I was lucky to have survived my addiction and withdraw the doctors had said, lucky to have my brain 'back to normal and still functioning properly', lucky to have the full use of my legs back, lucky for not having my smart-ass self behind bars. In general I should be lucky that I'm still breathing. But I wasn't lucky, I wanted to die, to forget who I was, what I was made to become. Forget that I was orphaned by this Damned war and had been shooting up since the age of eight. Then picked up by Dr. G and his sweeper team, throughout earth and it's many colonies. Because of this damn war I've seen death, murder, and even rape ever since before I can remember, then caused it without a second thought. I joined Dr. G and his team because I didn't want other kids to end up as fucked-up as I was, I didn't want anyone to go through what I had to face. Nobody deserves living on the streets doing local drug runs for cheap dealers, falling helpless to horny bastards looking for a quick thrill, then getting sold to unsanitary pimps to serve as prostitutes for easy cash. Not until I quit cold turkey on the Dust and the seizures and nightmares hit me did I realized I was doing exactly what I vowed not to do as long as I lived. I became the family's deliverer, and sent my Deathscythe on thousands of humans; men, women, and children. I didn't care, I was so brainwashed into believing that they were a potential threat belonging to the enemies, property of the OZ organization they to could become my enemies: piloting the Mobile Dolls they had the ability to become Treize's little puppets. These people that OZ ruled could bring justice to me one day, they could become my deliverers, so I took them out before they could even think twice about my existence.

So many victims of war... pain...suffering...torture...it all blends together in the end, until there is no difference between them...no lines separating them. War has no friends, has no enemies, it's a thing of chaos that is gentle to no one and harmful to everyone, killing everything in it's path and leaving nothing but rubble, blood and nightmares behind. Showing no mercy as it spreads it's scythe across cities, taking children from their homes and placing each piece of them throughout the earth until everything is dead...

...this is what I did, I took the pilot seat to one of the most deadly MSs ever made...a Gundam. The only part that disgusts is that if I could do it all over again I would. Piloting my love of black death finally made me see that maybe I wasn't so worthless after all. Sure I could be replaced, it is possible yet it would take time, and that is a luxury we do not have and cannot afford. Oz must be eliminated once and for all...so hear I am...time to bleed, time to kill...time to start the nightmares again. The nightmares that the Dust took from me, only this time I will have no support. This time, Shinigami, we will fight sober... God help us...

TBC...