Author's Note: I got the idea for this fic by reading gundam06serenity's "Somewhere I Belong." If there is any similarities between that fic and this one, gundam06serenity deserves the credit first. You won't find any similarities until the next chapter but I rather get this out of the way first. This is a sign of respect to a clearly superior author and I am giving credit out where credit is due. As for my other fic, "The Deathdealer," I am still working on that one. I plan to complete it but I still need to get ideas for it. By the way, this fic and Deathdealer have nothing in common with each other. Otherwise, enjoy the fic and review afterwards. I'd like to know if you think this is a good idea or not.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing.

Return to L2

Prologue

The light of the television was the only light in the dark room.

The viewer watch dispassionately as the favorite news station of both Earth and the Colonies played out the scene of the latest Preventer raid. A massive drug ring had been hit and hit hard. The kingpin of the ring had managed to escape but it wouldn't be long until the man's capture would be at hand.

None of this interested the young man as he scanned the group of Preventers for a certain individual. That individual was not shown by the camera. He was never shown by the camera…

He almost snarled at that. Who did those people think they were? They had a unbelievably valuable asset at their command…and they were just letting him rot away, slowly being covered in dust.

He would not stand for this. He needed to get out of there and soon.

The young man slowly stood up, stretching tense muscles. He wore baggy sweat pants and a tight, grey tank top. His body had muscle, not too bulky but not too thin either; the kind that was used to exercise, all of it covered by the pale white skin natural to Colonists.

With a grace only found with dancers and martial artists, he left the room, entering a private study furnished with shelves of books, a couch, a couple cushioned chairs, and a large sturdy desk. On the desk lay a large book which the young man held with reverence.

This book that he so fondly handled was nothing more than a scrapbook, a collection of memories that he cherished and wished to keep. The memories of his early past was permanently lost, the only evidence of it being the small collection of unnoticed scars on the young man's body. Only in the past few years, since the middle of the first Eve War was there scraps added to the book.

However, most of the scraps in the book were not that of the young man but of someone else. Someone he had been keeping track of since the first images of him became public. Newspaper clippings and photos of this person were eagerly added as time passed. But now, there was hardly anything on this person and it infuriated him.

But not for long. No, he was going to change all that.

Beside the book lay a few sheets of paper, the young man's scrawl on each page. He carefully folded the pages, placing them in an envelop, adding a small trinket as well. All was set; now all he needed to do was mail the letter and wait.

Pushing blond bangs out of his face, the young man grinned and spoke to himself.

"Don't worry, Kid. Help is on da way. Ya won't be lonely or used again. I promise."