Snow was falling over the city again, its specks pale gray against the darker gray of the concrete. In the centers of the vacant streets, the trolley lines left caverns in the soft depth of snow, and the enclosed sidewalks with their glass walls were frosted over. A few figures in environment suits hurried down to the signposted subway entrances, but otherwise there the face of the city was still.

After the Impact, people had moved to those cities that had survived, leaving empty little towns buried out in the snow. It was easier this way, maybe; more shared heat, less distance to travel. But they weren't the cities Duo remembered from when he'd first arrived on Earth. There was no neon light, no bustle, no thrill of excitement when day turned into dusk. Hell, there was no day at all, not really. This was the bare edge of existence, scraped out in shreds of light and warmth and food that was barely food.

What the hell was ESUN doing, sending secret MS squads out to attack colonies when their own world was starving? Were they really trying to start another war between the Earth and the colonies? Like it all wasn't bad enough down here already, with people fighting just for something to eat. Like enough people hadn't died up there in space.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our sins . . . even the Lord's Prayer asked for food along with eternal salvation.

Duo shook his head and turned away from the window. Heero would never have let this kind of shit happen, he found himself thinking once again. Hey, Heero, where are you when people need you?

He sat down on the rickety little bed, sighing a puff of white into the air. Yeah, sometimes he understood how Quatre felt. Maybe even better than Quatre. Because the point wasn't that Heero was dead, or that Trowa was dead. It was that they'd failed.

Somehow, starting off as defenders of the colonies, they'd ended up self-appointed saviors of the world. The world needed saving, and nobody else was stepping up to the plate, so a bunch of teenagers ended up with the job. Could you blame them for fucking it up?

Yeah, probably.

A klaxon rang out through the building, signifying that dinner was being served. Duo stretched his arms out behind his back, cracking the knuckles inside his fingerless gloves; it was showtime.

He checked the settings on the camera one last time. With any luck, nobody would have found the little modifications he'd made to the broadcast station half a block away. It had taken him a couple of nights playing with frostbite to get in there, too. Ventilation shafts weren't what they used to be, and windows were a lot harder to get through these days, since they weren't designed to open any more.

He pulled off his hat and threw it on the bed, flicked a switch, and—oh, yeah. Goodbye ESUN propaganda, hello God of Death.

"Hi," he said, waving to the camera. "Whatever that was, I'm guessing it was pretty boring, right? I was thinking we could have a little discussion instead. What's been on your mind? Because I've been thinking . . ." He put a hand to his chin. "Remember when there used to be elections sometimes? Whatever happened to that?" He left a pause for that to sink in. "And did you know Princess Queen Relena has been sending mobile suit squads out to attack peaceful colonies?"

That probably wasn't totally fair to Relena, either. The girl he remembered wouldn't have attacked innocent colonies; it was probably Zechs, or the crazy woman, Catalonia. But, Duo thought, if Relena was gonna call herself Queen, she ought to know what was going on in her kingdom. If bad things happened because you weren't paying attention or didn't care, you were responsible all the same.

He tied his little speech up at around the five minute mark, flashed a peace sign to the camera and turned off the relay, just in time for a knock at his door.

"Mr. Yuy?" a voice called through the door. "Meal service is almost over. Are you there?"

"Thanks, hon, but I'm not hungry today," he called back, packing the camera back into its case. "You can have my ration."

It was time to disappear; the station could be tracking his signal by now. He shoved his braid back inside the thick wool hat, suited up inside his environment suit, threw his bags over his shoulder and nonchalantly strolled down the hallway of the little motel-slash-lodging house.

The creaky old motorbike he'd stashed outside needed a few kicks before it came to life, but Duo's mind was already on other things. The next broadcasting station was 350 kilometers away; the next city, 210. He needed to call Hilde and let her know he wasn't dead. Quatre, likewise. He'd be surprised if Quatre hadn't got wind of his little trick yet.

Hilde wouldn't understand, but Quatre would. Sure, Deathscythe was hanging out somewhere in space in a million little scraps, just like Sally had left it when she'd pried Duo from the wreckage nine years ago. But he was still a Gundam pilot, and somehow that meant he was responsible too.

Because Heero had given his life to stop this future.

Duo hit the gas, and the motorbike tore out of the city, toward the white horizon and the gray sky that was still littered with bright falling snow, like falling stars.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Your thoughts? I tried to keep Duo in-character—not too angsty but not too silly either.

I truly don't know if I'll add more to this story, but I hope I get around to doing it.

Update 7/1: Working on next chapter, Wufei's perspective.