Time to post this here! I wrote a little Gundam00 fic about Lockon. (I also drew a Lockon + Haro doujin, which will be coming up in my next post :D)

Title: One Chance
Character: Neil Dylandy
Rating: PG for language and insinuated violence
Summary: Speculation on Lockon's recruitment into Celestial Being

This.

This is the moment where everything matters. Where the past few hours of silence and stillness and waiting with your heart in you mouth condense into one single instance.

One discrete point in time.

One chance.

One gunshot.

Concentration hardens into something solid and tangible. Everything around you stops. Even time itself holds its breath, until one second becomes infinite.

The whole world narrows to a cross-hair.

And explodes out again in an instant. Neil can still feel the kick-back from the rifle in his shoulder as he starts to dismantle it and put it away. Speed is of the essence now if he's to avoid getting caught. He dumps his things into a bag, scrabbles to sling it over his shoulder, and steps out of the room.

He checks his pace as he enters the hall, and walks calmly past an old couple consulting a map on the wall, past an open room and a maid's trolley. He keeps his head held high and his hands in his pockets. He's nothing more than a student on his gap year, travelling around Europe and staying in low-budget, piece-of-crap hotels. He's carefree.

And his heart is beating like a stampede of wildebeest in his chest.

He makes his way past the maintenance lift to the back stairs. Neil opens the door, closes it after him, and leaps down the staircase two steps at a time.

He's strolling calmly again by the time he leaves the hotel via the staff exit. No-one's going to pay attention to the young nobody with a beat-up gym bag, who just got off his shift washing dishes in the kitchens.

Except someone does.

Neil's bundled into the passenger seat of a car before he even realises what's happening.

"Neil Dylandy."

Fuck.

Neil freezes, and looks up.

They know his name. Not his codename.

Suddenly he's not just some random kid off the street, getting up to no good. He's not just some punk in a gang, who happens to be a good shot and does it for the cash and the laughs.

Suddenly he's Neil Dylandy: the orphan; the messed-up boy who can't get over something that happened years ago; the guy who shoots people for a living because he can't bear this world anymore, and doesn't care if it's wrong as long as he can pick the bastards off, one-by-one; the desperate fucker who's drowning in his own frustrations, who uses the money he earns to pay his brother through university, so that at least one of them can have the chance of a life without throwing everything to shit; the poor young man who wants to do everything and can't do anything, who can't even bear to admit to himself how much he enjoys it when he pulls the trigger.

Neil Dylandy.

Fuck.

The car pulls out from the kerb and Neil has to grab onto the dashboard to steady himself as it veers round a corner.

The guy driving is middle-aged with greying hair. There's another, younger guy on the back seat.

Chances are they're plain-clothed policemen.

For a split-second, Neil considers trying to take them both out. But the bag containing his rifle's been taken off him, and the only other weapon he has is a small flick-knife; he's no way near stupid enough to try to use that against both of them.

"We've been watching you for a while, Neil Dylandy. You've got quite a talent."

Neil pulls at the handle to the door, but it's locked.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Relax." Says the guy driving. "We're not the police. And we're not arresting you."

Neil's not sure if he believes one word of that. He watches the driver warily, and fingers the knife in his pocket.

But the guy just turns and smiles at him. "Neil Dylandy, how would you like to change the world?"