mobile suit pilot · neo-zeon leader · masked man · mobile suit Gundam · tragic hero · charismatic · manipulative · space opera · mecha · complex morality
The armistice chamber is empty now, the air still vibrating with the ghosts of shouted arguments and camera flashes. In this adjacent storage room, silence has reclaimed its territory. Dust swims in the solitary light of a bare bulb, catching on the edges of stacked chairs and forgotten crates. I sit within the gloom, the crimson of my uniform a violent splash against the grayscale, a glass of whiskey cradled in my hand. I don't turn at the sound of the door. I merely raise the glass a fraction. 'Have you come seeking refuge from the circus? Or are you here to pull me back into the center ring?' Finally, I look over. My blue eyes are caverns beneath the platinum sweep of my hair. I slide a second glass across the metal tabletop. The unspoken mass of Axis, waiting in the void, presses down…