Heero Yuy's days were numbered. In fact, the exact number was two. As the sun began its descent into the horizon and to the other side of the world, Nicholas stood outside the McDonalds on 6th and West and watched the sky transform into hues of violet and orange. A slight breeze shifted the air and tickled the gelled shock of white hair that sat on his head. He reached inside the brown paper pag and removed a chicken sandwhich. It wasn't much, he decided, but it would be enough to do what he needed to do tonight.
As he ate, he continued to watch the city of Minneapolis change shifts from day to night. The streets became wilder, the crosswalks busier, the business owners excited to count today's earnings. The large golden arches above him came to life, and cast a golden glow across his dark green suit with the crisp white shirt and black tie. He removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his jacket, his hand bumping the holster to one of his Glocks.
Couples mingled in the night, people rushed from the proverbial point "a" to point "b," and others watched these people, just as it appeared he was doing. In actuality, the mind of the man they called Saint Nick was on something else besides the golden haired ditz across the street making out with her boyfriend at the auto station.
Two days was the time limit he had. He had already wasted one day trying to eliminate Zechs Marquise from the picture, and missed a chance at elimating Heero. Despite what Nicholas had learned since he had last seen the boy, he had been unable to finish the job then. Mr. Rosencrantz would not be pleased at all, but that fat angefish could sit and wait for all Nicholas cared. The money he was getting paid to do this was more than he had ever been offered, and with it he would have been able to hang up his guns forever and live comfortably somewhere.
Nicholas had no intetion of doing that, though. He was an assassin; there was no such thing as retirement.
He finished eating the sandwhich and dumped the bag into a nearby trash can. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he crossed the street carefully and looked straight ahead, moved with a purpose so that no one would cast him a second glance. He stopped at the auto station and spotted the white Jetta parked alongside the convenience store. He walked up to it and rapped on the trunk twice.
The driver's side door opened, and a young man of twenty or so stepped out. He had black hair that he had now tossled around a bit, and was wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt that hung out slightly over his slacks. Not only did he exude cockiness, but also carelessness.
"You did pay attention when I was talking to you," Nicholas pointed out, his voice a mixture of amusement and artic chill.
"I'm so sick of working for that snob," Chris Kelabeck grunted. "She acts like she owns the entire world."
"You forget that she did."
"Not anymore. That's the only reason I agreed to help Mr. Rosencrantz, you know."
"That and your father owes him money from his younger days as a high roller."
Chris blinked. "Nothing slips past you, does it?"
"If it did, I wouldn't have made it this far, Chris. What do you have for me?"
"Mariemaia showed up today to keep Relena company. From what I could hear she was worried about her 'dream prince.' Mariemaia arrived at Quetra Winner's request."
"Ah," Nicholas breathed slightly. "That's what I was waiting for."
Chris blinked. "Waiting for?"
"You go back to work tomorrow and keep an eye on the clock. I have a man monitoring flights for me, and he has estimated when Mr. Winner will arrive in Minneapolis. Giving him time to settle into a hotel room and arrive at Relena's office, you should watch for eleven o' clock, give or take fifteen minutes." Nicholas nodded to the trunk, and Chris opened it with his keys, revealing a small gift box inside.
Nicholas lifted the lid off gingerly and poured the contents into Chris's eager hands. The expression on the young man's face, however, was perplexity.
"Relena has an affection for these things," Nicholas said. "Deliver it to her with the message we agreed on."
With that, Nicholas closed the trunk lid and turned away from Chris without another word, leaving the young man with quite a task ahead of him...and a brown teddy bear.
Minneapolis was fully transformed into it's night mode, and Nicholas had successfully blended into the crowd, as was his talent. He made his way on foot to the Earth Sphere War Museum, a majestic chrome and carpeted building that housed the remnants and memories of the wars that humanity had faced before the eternal peace had come.
Nicholas considered it an abomination, an insult to those who had fought and died in the wars. Even those who had lived through the Eve Wars and Oz's opression enjoyed this place, this place containing all of the things that man once abhored. It was hypocritical to a point, considering the pacifism that was running rampant throughout the Earth Sphere Unified Nation government. If they were so eager to disarm themselves, why keep the history of the machines of war for everyone to see?
Or, in the case of Saint Nick, to steal?
The museum was closed now, but not quite locked down. He had been observing it for a month before Rosencrantz had approached him with the offer of completing his infamous "failed" assignment, and was about to execute his plan when the offer had come through. Now, he had an excuse to do it as an eye-opener, along with the money.
He passed a tired security guard taking a stroll outside, watching the fountains that sprayed endlessly outside in the museum courtyard. Rainbow lights were strung in the water, creating an artistic effect that the guard was just enraptured with.
He didn't even see Nicholas walk past him.
The assassin made his way up the carpeted stairs carefully but with controlled urgency, staying in the shadows where the lights from the museum windows couldn't reach him. Finally he was standing at the very edge of those shadows, the light from the large main doors pouring out against the deep blue carpet that smelled of new cars, the smell mixing with that of the warm leaves that accompanied autumn.
Nicholas removed the leather gloves from his jacket pockets and slipped them on, then slipped his sunglasses on as well. He could see the vauge forms of two guards moving for the doors, and reached behind his back to the small trio of grenades that he kept for high-impact assignments. He removed one of them and dropped it on the ground, pulling the pin as he did so.
The two guards opened the doors to lock them, and in doing so let the grenade roll past their feet and into the museum. One of them noticed it, shouted to his companion, as Nicholas took a few steps back on the stairs.
The detonation rocked the otherwise peaceful night, causing the fountains to shutter in their function, the ground to shake, and the marble and plaster to explode in a storm of fire and smoke. The two guards went soaring through the air and landed on the stairs, unspeakable things committed against their rather mortal bodies.
The dreaming guard turned, ran up the stairs, removing a long revolver from his holster.
Saint Nick turned and threw open his coat, revealing the two silver Glock pistols stashed in side holsters. He removed one of them, spun around and dropped to one knee, drilling the guard with a single hollow point bullet to the sternum. The poor man fell backwards, his life spilling out onto his uniform. The echo of the powerful weapon was unmistakeable, and Nicholas made his way back into the museum.
Stepping over broken glass and chunks of tile and plaster, he pushed through the smoke and entered a long hallway, decorated with pictures of the wars, pictures that were burning with the justice that he had just delivered.
"Hey! Freeze right there!"
Another guard? No, two of them by the footsteps and the clicking of the safeties. Nicholas dove to the floor, threw their predictable aim off, and slid onto his back, shifting across the floor and through the fire to appear underneath the men.
"Fools."
Two more guards fell to the might and skill of the twisted Santa Claus as he delivered them to Death's hands. Rolling onto his feet, Nicholas did not bother brushing himself off and darted down the hallway toward the main exhibit, which was removed from the fire and dust by a giant glass cotainer.
Alarms were threatening to drown him, flashing lights were playing games with his eyes, and the museum was becoming decidedly hotter. Nicholas did not acknowledge any of these things, and kept moving towards his goal: the working Serpent mobile suit that had been kept as an abomination of war.
If the people loved staring at it so much, they would see what it could do.
He opened fire on the glass, the entire container collapsing in on itself and erupting in a shower of crystal shards. Nicholas dove through them and caught the small cable that lead to the cockpit, one that they had left out for realism.
"Fools."
He climbed it and found the cockpit door open, another example of pure pacifist foolishness. He pulled himself into the comfortable fabric chair and strapped himself in, then began the warm-up sequence.
It still works after three years of sitting in this glass jar, he thought. The monitors were blinking at him, displaying the burning surroundings of the museum hallway. He could see the fire crews moving in through the main doorway, using machine gun-style extinguishers to put out the fire up close. He closed the cockpit door quickly, set his cold eyes on the main monitor.
The controls were smooth and waxed in his hands, and he recalled the battle against the Gundam pilots he had waged during the Mariemaia takeover of A.C. 196. In this sense, he would succeed where the little girl and Deikhem had failed.
The fire crew ran up to the Serpent, and stared at the mobile suit.
"Fools!" Nicholas screamed at them, and unleashed the might of his chain gun on the unsuspecting victims. The Serpent moved from its prison and through the hallway, blowing chunks from the wall as it scraped them with the masive shoulders. Nicholas fired off two missiles, clearing a path through the crushed doorway and ruined structure. The small humans beneath him were running for safety from the massive mobile suit, the thing that still struck fear into the hearts of hypocties, those who were seen as heroes of the time.
He unleashed two more missiles into the museum, watched it's chrome melt at the heat of the fire, the metal bending and crashing in on itself in a beatuiful display of carnage.
Nicholas knew that he had not destroyed the only means of stopping him, however. That had not been his intention...he knew that Heero Yuy would come looking for his precious Wing Zero, or what was left of it, to fight him in.
That was exactly what Nicholas wanted. He shoved the controls forward, and as he pulled into the air and rocketed into the milky stars, a very chilling smile passed across his features, accented by the bluish glow from the monitors.
"First Noventa. Second, Sylvia. Third, Relena. Finally, Heero."
The plan was so simple, and nearly complete, that Nicholas erupted in an uncontrolled laughter that he had not enjoyed in years.
