Chapter Text
The Titans. The Benerit Group. As Kamille sits in the cockpit of a Gundam, thinking back on how he ended up here… Well, he’s not sure which one he hates more. Given they feed into each other, could he even really hate one more? He’s not sure as he settles into the cockpit, hands on the controls.
All because some jerk thought he had the right to call his name girly, to say he only looked like a boy. Was it so wrong to punch a jerk for misgendering him like that?! Who cared it was a Titan pilot he punched…
“Alright, Kamille,” the voice of Prospera Mercury flows through the comms. “You’re situated in Calibarn. Are you ready?”
He wiggles his fingers for a moment. Shin Sei was a part of the Benerit Group, but Prospera was the only one who seemed interested in doing anything to get him his freedom. Other than his mom, but all she’d gotten him was some paper and pens.
(Don’t try to kill yourself with this, or it’ll be your mom’s fault. He remembers the guard's words and makes a face.)
“You promised you’ll get my sentence reduced if I do this, right?” He replies.
“Yes,” Prospera replies, smiling on the video link. “Just trying is enough to get you something, but the further you can push, the more I can do!”
He wasn’t sure why she reminded him of that now. He wasn’t a Newtype, so there was only one way this could end. Anything past trying to get his Permet Score to one would leave him dead.
Even if he was a Newtype, all that would mean is he could get to three or so without ending up paralyzed if he was lucky, or braindead if he wasn’t. But he supposes that’s why Prospera promises to stop the moment he shows discomfort.
“Ready?” She asks.
“Ready,” Kamille responds. “Permet score one.”
The data storm begins to kick up around him, and he waits for the pain to start. For the stress on his body. It doesn’t come.
“Permet score two.”
Still nothing. He furrows his brows as everyone on the other side of the glass watches on.
“Permet score three.”
They’re whispering now. About the markings on his face being unlike any seen on the few Newtypes actually allowed to pilot. Prospera is looking up at him with a smile, though her stupid mask makes it impossible to really read her expression.
“Permet score four.”
This was the highest most could go, he remembers. It’s why the Benerit Group is so careful about who they let have a license for making Gundams. Why, nine times out of ten, it was gonna be the Earth Federation that got any use out of them.
“You’re doing incredibly well, my dear Kamille,” Prospera’s voice is cheery over the comm line. “Shall we continue?”
“Might as well, not even feeling much,” he can feel the data storm around him, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels almost natural. “Permet score five.”
He’s heard Amuro Ray is the only pilot alive who’s ever gotten this far and survived to tell the tale. Just another reason White Base and its crew are the stuff of legend.
(He wonders about Char Aznable, who vanished without a trace. He made it to score five too, some say, but is he even alive?)
“Permet score six.”
His fingers are tingling a bit, but not with anything bad. He feels in sync with the data swirling around him. Prospera is grinning now.
“Permet score seven.”
“Wonderful, Kamille,” Prospera praises him like she’s his mom or something. “Only one more level. Ready?”
“Ready,” he nods. “Permet score eight.”
“You look happy, Ma’am.”
“Oh,” Prospera raises a hand to her lips, quirked up into a smile. “Do I?”
Kamille’s led away from the testing room, back to his cell. Yes, she believes she’ll ensure his sentence is reduced. But she needs to keep an eye on him, all the same.
Say, Suletta was likely settling in at the Asticassia School of Technology by now, wasn’t she? Eyes for the Benerit group, eyes for Prospera. Eyes for Eri.
“It won’t be long now, my dear daughter,” she mumbles to herself. “Just wait for mother to prepare a few more things, okay?”
Kamille steps off the shuttle, doing his best to keep his frustration in check. He’d gotten back to his cell after testing with the Calibarn to find all his sketches gone. The Zeta, a Gundam he’d dreamt up on his own. All the schematics, all the ideas. Gone, just like that.
He grasps his bag, grunting. If Fa were staying in the city, she would tell him to cool his jets. But even if she was coming with him to Asticassia, that didn’t mean she was living off campus like him.
A small bit of leeway, Prospera had told him. The Benerit Group didn’t want him out of their sight too much (hence the new school), but there was at least this. At least he had this -- a city connected to the school.
It was an hour to and from every day, but he guesses it could be worse. Living on campus, eyes constantly on him… Yeah, no thanks. He could do without that.
Besides, his guardian for the year? A step above his mom, and at least five above his dad. The Amuro Ray, the Gundam pilot who had helped end the One-Year War.
He was so excited, he might just vibrate out of his skin. Well, if not for the… everything else surrounding it. But hey, he had to take what little victories he could here.
Named after the school (or maybe the other way around), the city is a labyrinth. He looks down at the directions and squints. Was he supposed to take a left here, or two streets ago? He’s starting to second-guess himself.
“Excuse me,” he stops a man with a hand on his shoulder. “Do you know where… Delling Way is?”
They even named some of the streets after the bigwigs in the Benerit Group. Gross.
The man turns to look at him, sunglasses on even as the sky starts to darken. Kamille wishes he could say that was the weirdest part, but there’s a tingle in his head, spreading through his body. Time stands still for a moment as the man looks Kamille up and down.
“I’m afraid I’m as much a stranger here as you,” the man finally replies. “Sorry, but I won’t be much help.”
“Figures,” Kamille sighs and looks down at the directions again. Why couldn’t they have given him a map instead? “Thanks anyway, I guess.”
He turns to walk away when the man’s voice cuts through the air. “Wait.”
Kamille turns to look at the man, head tilting ever-so-slightly to the side. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t catch your name,” he replies. “Mind telling me?”
“Kamille Bidan,” he replies without a second thought. Even though he shouldn’t share his name so easily, it just… slips out.
Something about the man, or the tingling at the back of his head, just makes him feel like it’s safe. He hopes he doesn’t regret it.
“Kamille,” the man echoes. “That’s a nice name. You can call me Quattro Bajeena.”
He holds out a hand, and Kamille takes it. Time stands still yet again, and it takes more willpower than Kamille would like to admit to pull his hand away and excuse himself. He still had his new home to find, after all.
Well, that was one source of the feeling I had.
Char watches the boy retreat around the corner and hums. A resonance, similar to the ones Amuro and Lalah both caused him. But one with a slightly different tune, now that he’d gotten to see it up close.
And yet, the feeling as if one or both of them were nearby remained. He fiddles with the sunglasses on his face, finally pulling them free. If Lalah were here, there was no way to reach her. The dead were out of reach, after all.
But Amuro…
“I’ll find you, Amuro Ray,” he whispers to the artificial wind. “Just wait for me.”
It’s dark by the time Kamille finds Amuro’s home… If it could even be called a home. More of a mansion, really. So if they were trying to keep where Amuro was hidden, they were kinda doing a bad job.
Unless it was one of those hidden-in-plain-sight things, then he guesses it might just work. Might even be worth calling smart…
Amuro greets him himself, despite there being staff (actual staff!) around. The man doesn’t look like much of a hero -- his clothes are rumpled, and he’s leaning a bit too hard on the cane in his right hand. Side effect of the Gundam usage, no doubt.
But he tries to smile at Kamille, nonetheless. So Kamille tries to match the energy.
“Kamille,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up from the port, but I had to get a few things in order before you made it.”
“It’s fine,” he attempts nonchalance. “Big war hero like you going out of your way to house me is more than enough.”
Amuro’s smile falls, and he shifts his stance. Straighter, putting more pressure on his good leg. “What? Someone talk me up before you got here?”
“Everyone knows you’re a hero,” Kamille shakes his head. “The first person to ever survive piloting a Gundam for an extended period of time, and the reason we won the One-Year War!”
Amuro won’t look him in the eye; his gaze is on his shoes instead. “Don’t let those stories rot your brain. I’m still not anything that impressive.”
The way Amuro just brushes him off? It hurts. Kamille frowns, shifting from foot to foot. A buzz sits at the back of his mind, like the one with Quattro. But the comfort it brings is getting overwhelmed.
“It’s gonna be like that, then,” Kamille snaps. “Where’s my room?”
Amuro blinks, frowning. “Don’t have to get so upset about it, but I can show you.”
“One of your maids or your butler can,” Kamille crosses his arms. “Since you’re clearly too busy for some kid.”
Amuro just sighs, cane tapping the ground twice. “Have a good night then, Kamille.”
Kamille marches off, and Amuro sighs. If he’d realized how bad the hero worship (and thus the breaking of the image) would be, he wouldn’t have agreed to this. Though that would imply he had much of a choice at all.
The aches are starting again. He closes his eyes for a moment. He’ll need to pick up the stretches again -- he’s been slacking for too long on all of that.
“Mister Ray,” his butler speaks, pulling him from his thoughts. “Shall I take the young man his dinner?”
“...Don’t bother him too much,” Amuro mumbles. “...But yes, bring him his food. Thank you.”
This was going to be a long year.
When Kamille opens his eyes, all there is is blue. A deep, velvety blue that wraps around him like a warm blanket. At first, he assumes it’s nothing more than a dream to write off. But that’s when he sees a flash of yellow and his eyes adjust.
The world is dark, save for a lantern in his hand. He holds it out in front of him and finds a maze in front of him. That same flash of yellow, a dress he realizes, passes by his vision, moving towards the right.
He follows after it, after whoever is leading him. A fork in the path appears, and so does the woman. Familiar, despite the fact that Kamille has never seen her before. At least, not in person, he hasn’t.
“You’re famous from the war,” Kamille mumbles. “Lalah… Sune?”
“You know of me,” she smiles at him, warmer than he was expecting from the few pictures he’d seen in textbooks and on the news. “Good.”
“Why are you here?” He pauses. “In my dream, I mean.”
“This isn’t a dream,” she shakes her head. “Something deeper than that, or perhaps just different. Between reality and dream.”
Kamille blinks, the tingling from before back. All he can do is nod, accept it like it makes any sense. Though…
“That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“To guide you,” she says. “Or perhaps, simply advise you. You’ll guide yourself through this maze, with time.”
He holds up his lantern towards the darkness again, moving to stand next to Lalah. Both openings dark and gaping. He shivers at the thought of going down either of them.
“...Find my way through this?”
“Yes,” she almost seems to float as she moves from his right to his left. “Your resonance is strong; if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
Kamille opens his mouth to ask what she means.
And then he wakes up.