Gundam 00 Fic - Hymn
For the first time in five years or so, I wrote an actual, non-crack fanfic. For a mecha show. Is the world ending? I don't know. Anyway, it's just a short piece examining a slightly different take on Setsuna F Seiei's perspective. Hope you enjoy!
Hymn
The cockpit is his home now. Setsuna wonders if it's normal to be so comfortable in such tight quarters. But purpose has always meant more to him than space.
The glow of displays is soothing, the touch of the controls familiar. And, as always, the constant hum of the equipment echoes in the background. A soft, almost gentle sound that completely belies the Gundam's function.
He often hums along, a single steady note. Two voices, man and machine, twined in perfect unison, reverberating through metal and flesh.
It's an odd habit. Setsuna doesn't sing. Music has never really been a part of his life. There were the songs of the child jihadists -- shouts to an absent God of their will to fight, to die. Hate and rage, harsh notes tinged with an almost-silent fear, scraping the dry desert stars. There was no music in such songs.
There are also vague whispers of the lullabies of his mother. But he pushes those memories away, much like the one of her abrupt, brutal silence.
There has been too much silence in his life, more deafening in a way than the frequent roar of battle. No silence cut deeper than that of Ali Al Sarchez's God. Offerings of bullets and blood had been made daily with the promise that they would be led to glory. But Setsuna had watched his comrades, one after another, left as tiny broken things, discarded game pieces scattered across the sand. There was no glory in such an end.
He had survived the war, but his faith hadn't. The harsh sun had fused it to brittle glass, baked it until it shattered. What was he left with after that? A holy war for animal survival? What purpose is there in such an existence?
Lockon Stratos has joked about it, the avowed atheist of Celestial Being worshiping at the church of the almighty Gundam. Setsuna hasn't bother to explain that it isn't precisely the concept of God that he cast off. It was the idea that any deity, be it compassionate or vengeful, could tolerate what has become of humanity. Earth has been abandoned, he understands that now. A diseased planet left to waste away, to tear itself apart, a tiny broken thing forgotten to the vastness of the universe.
Setsuna no longer believes that God walks this world. But there are hints. Visions and whispers tell him that there is still the slightest scrap of hope. A savior suspended in the sky, shining hope where there had been none. The soft, gentle hum of Exia, a promise of power enough to reshape the human race into a divine image of peace.
So he hums along. A song of deliverance. A message to whatever God waits in the infinite black that something worthwhile can still be salvaged from mankind. A promise that his will be the hand to do it. It's a hymn with only one note, but it holds infinite meaning for Setsuna F Seiei.
Hymn
The cockpit is his home now. Setsuna wonders if it's normal to be so comfortable in such tight quarters. But purpose has always meant more to him than space.
The glow of displays is soothing, the touch of the controls familiar. And, as always, the constant hum of the equipment echoes in the background. A soft, almost gentle sound that completely belies the Gundam's function.
He often hums along, a single steady note. Two voices, man and machine, twined in perfect unison, reverberating through metal and flesh.
It's an odd habit. Setsuna doesn't sing. Music has never really been a part of his life. There were the songs of the child jihadists -- shouts to an absent God of their will to fight, to die. Hate and rage, harsh notes tinged with an almost-silent fear, scraping the dry desert stars. There was no music in such songs.
There are also vague whispers of the lullabies of his mother. But he pushes those memories away, much like the one of her abrupt, brutal silence.
There has been too much silence in his life, more deafening in a way than the frequent roar of battle. No silence cut deeper than that of Ali Al Sarchez's God. Offerings of bullets and blood had been made daily with the promise that they would be led to glory. But Setsuna had watched his comrades, one after another, left as tiny broken things, discarded game pieces scattered across the sand. There was no glory in such an end.
He had survived the war, but his faith hadn't. The harsh sun had fused it to brittle glass, baked it until it shattered. What was he left with after that? A holy war for animal survival? What purpose is there in such an existence?
Lockon Stratos has joked about it, the avowed atheist of Celestial Being worshiping at the church of the almighty Gundam. Setsuna hasn't bother to explain that it isn't precisely the concept of God that he cast off. It was the idea that any deity, be it compassionate or vengeful, could tolerate what has become of humanity. Earth has been abandoned, he understands that now. A diseased planet left to waste away, to tear itself apart, a tiny broken thing forgotten to the vastness of the universe.
Setsuna no longer believes that God walks this world. But there are hints. Visions and whispers tell him that there is still the slightest scrap of hope. A savior suspended in the sky, shining hope where there had been none. The soft, gentle hum of Exia, a promise of power enough to reshape the human race into a divine image of peace.
So he hums along. A song of deliverance. A message to whatever God waits in the infinite black that something worthwhile can still be salvaged from mankind. A promise that his will be the hand to do it. It's a hymn with only one note, but it holds infinite meaning for Setsuna F Seiei.