The flames erupted all around him, ballistic shades of orange-red devouring all the furniture, the walls, and everything else around him. His 'son's' laughter echoed mockingly around the room, despite the fact the boy had run off some time ago, probably now residing safely outside along with his disowned son and housekeeping staff.

He gagged because of the lack of oxygen, and collapsed on the carpet of his former office.

Anger crashed over him with intensity that matched th fire burning around him.

Was he really going to die like this?

The great Al Da Flaga, cornered in his own house, his own office, trapped like a mouse to burn to death?

His body recoiled again as his lungs searched for oxygen in vain.

No, it couldn't end this way. His pride wouldn't allow it. he would never let that defective photocopy of himself win.

"Al Da Flaga."

He jerked up suddenly, surprised to hear that voice, that voice of all people coming to him at his hour of death.

Da Flaga looked up, and found her standing over him, a grim and angered expression on her noble face. She wore one of her most regal dresses and high heels, still standing straight and on-ceremony with him even now.

He coughed violently.

"You..."

Her eyes closed.

"Yes me, and I've come to bid you one last farewell." Her voice was rich and calm, the tone confident.

Even through the thick dense smoke, Al Da Flaga managed to laugh.

"Hardly. You're just as happy to see me go-" He broke into a fit of violent coughs.

She reopened her eyes, and the pupils narrowed.

"You've caused enough damage to everyone's lives. There's no way I will ever forgive you," she accused.

Da Flaga smirked.

"So be it. You and your kind, you're the monsters, and I don't need your sympathy woman."

The lady scoffed, took a step back, and casually walked away through the burning halls without a word.

Da Flaga finally found a solid chair, and used it as support to stand upright. But as he did so, the lack of air to his brain gave in, and he collapsed once more to the ground, the flames closing in all around him, like a firey prison.

The Da Flaga mansion burnt all night long that day, and the official police report blamed the cause on a mob that attacked the household. Both the body of Al Da Flaga and his wife were found dead, obviously burnt alive, and the authorities deemed the case was closed.

The next day, Lady Von Kassenhiem looked at her morning paper with a heavy sadness and indifference, tossing it aside and away from her, a small article next to the headlines of the fire showing:

“You know, I really, really hate it when you do that,”

Miriallia Haww couldn't bring herself to stop laughing at the girl seated across from her, the look of sheer terror now replaced with aggravation, glaring at the strange little contraption chirping at her from the tabletop.

The girl, named Lia Von Kassenhiem, a full sixteen years old with long copper hair, growled and made a “shoo” motion with her hands. Birdie chirped mechanically, and flew only a few inches over, landing on her hand instead of flying away.

“Argh!” she shouted, “Kira Yamato, get your stupid bird off of me!”

Kira Yamato raised an eyebrow over his laptop as he worked, and chuckled quietly to himself as he tried to watch his colleague Lia swat at his mechanical pet bird in vain.

“You know, I think he likes you,” he commented, eyes and hands still trained on the text flying in front of him. Lia growled in frustration and swatted at it again, trying to keep it away from her own laptop.

“Well, I'd say the same if he weren't so darn annoying. I'm trying to write a four page paper on the effects normal medicine has on genetically altered children, but I can't even see my screen at the moment!”

Miriallia stifled another onslaught of giggles and watched as the little bird dodged Lia's grasp time and time again.

“Birdie!” it chirped.

“Alright Birdie, I think that's enough. You've completely harassed poor Lia to the point of a mental meltdown,” Miriallia said, outstretching her own two hands. Birdie chirped again and landed with a flutter of its wings on Miriallia's palm.

Lia sighed in frustration and faceplanted on her keyboard, muttering something about going into robotics instead of the medical field.

“-reporting live from Gaoshung, we have real-time video of ZAFT's attack... Orb has still declared itself neutral in the conflict and will uphold its foreign policy...”

“So, they just took over Gaoshung? Isn't that close to Orb?” Miriallia said worridly. Interested, Lia removed her face from her laptop keyboard, and leaned over to Kira's screen where the news was brought up.

“I don't think we have anything to be worried about,” Kira said pacidly, “Orb is neutral, and they'lll stay neutral.”

Lia furrowed her eye brows.

“Well, I sure hope so. I don't want to be involved in this mess... I can't imagine trying to be a doctor where I have to be concerned about whether the patient is a coordinator or natural.”

Kira smiled.

“Yeah, that'd be terrible. But we shouldn't have anything to worry about. ZAFT has no reason to attack us.”

“Man, what a bunch of two-faced bastards,” Miguel Aiman crooned, “Declaring themselves neutral, then letting the Earth Forces build these in their own colony?” He jabbed an accusing finger at a copy of a photo floating in the space around him.

Yzak Joule, Dearka Elthman, Rusty Mackenzie, Nicol Amalfi and Athrun Zala all stared at the picture indifferently, taking in the orders they had received from Commander Le Creuset, their infamous masked leader.

In total, the Earth forces had built five new machines. Five mobile suits to counteract their standard GINN and CGUE. Five mobile suits that could possibly hamper their attempt to win the war. The Commander wanted them captured and brought back to the Vesalius for research. And as for the new warship that had been built to accompany them: it'd have to be destroyed.

Most of them were quite nervous because it was their first real mission, but as of now, sitting in the pilot's locker room, Rusty Mackenzie could've cared less. Because besides the six of them in the locker room, and the other two -Olar and Matthew in the hanger-, there was still one pilot missing amongst them.

“Where's Cassandra?” he asked bluntly. Miguel's eyes widened for a second, but then dismissed the notion.

“Eh, probably still getting ready. You know girls,” he said.

“Cass isn't like that and you know it,” Nicol piped up worriedly. Miguel threw him a look and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, he's just mad because Cass beat him at the practice simulator the other day. Her score nearly doubled his,” Athrun said with a small smile, trying to lighten the tense mood.

Miguel's face went red, and he crossed his arms impatiently.

“Whatever. Where is that girl anyway?”

- - -

Ugh. This really, really, really sucks.

Her back slammed against the cool hard wall of her private room in the Vesalius, and Cassandra Montressor felt her breathing hitch a moment.

Not... now.... Not ... good...

Within an instant, she felt her insides twist and snarl painfully, sending an incredible amount of shock up through her spine. She cried out in pain while her hands immediately came up to her heart, but then went straight for her throat. She gasped loudly, and curled up in the fetal position on the hard steel floor. The pain was excruciating, and she saw her vision start to blur and fade.

Can't... mission... shit-!

With a final outcry of pain, Cassandra blacked out, and the pain subsided.

- - -

When she woke up, she was lying in a small pool of blood she had coughed up just before she blacked out. Tired and weary, Cassandra forced herself to sit up and breathe normally.

Ever since I was thirteen, she thought, I've had this sickness. And yet, I'm never prepared for it.

She groaned painfully, and stared at the tiny puddle of crimson she had made. This'll be fun to clean off.

Reaching out with her mind, she felt herself grasp hold of the door handle to the attached bathroom, and turn it. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, the door had opened, revealing a small room with a cabinet. In the cabinet is where she'd find what she was looking for; the bleach.

Cassandra sighed momentairily, and stared at the bathroom door, then back to her calloused hands. She knew she didn't physically touch the doorknob and turn it herself, but rather something else from inside her mind turned it. She couldn't necessarily explain it in specific detail, but she knew they were called 'vectors'.

She sighed and rested her head against the cool wall, a small dribble of blood running down the corner of her mouth. Her thoughts migrated to her mission.

Oh, no, how long was I out? She wondered. Her eyes snapped open and checked the digital clock next to her bedside. Only fifteen minutes, thank God.

She stood up suddenly, and tried to make way to her door. Unfortunately it was a bit too sudden, and she almost fell again due to a wave of dizziness crashing over her. She grabbed her bedside and sat down a minute.

Ugh, I'll have to clean later. I've got to get myself together now and get moving... or else they'll send someone to look for me, and this'll be the first place they'll look.

Ignoring the dizzy spell and her pounding headache, Cassandra stood up again and somehow managed to change into her bright red flight suit untroubled. Finally, she scrambled her way down to the locker room, and threw the door open, mentally steeling herself.

- - -

The door had flown open behind him so unexpectedly, that Rusty jumped.

“Cass! Where've you been?” He said, but then noticed her tired expression and weak smile, “Oh boy, you look like one of the living dead.”

No kidding. Cassandra thought. Oh Rusty, you've no idea the level of that pun...

“I... overslept. Sorry guys. I was just taking a nap and lost track of time.”

INCOMPLETE SECTION