“Guys, guys. I am the fucking president, OK? I can pardon whoever I want. You guys are in the clear.” Heero Yuy placed the ear-shaped receiver back on the rotary phone. He had never liked it much as it reminded him of the Heavyarms pre-custom. These old revolver devices all reminded him of the archaic, pointless nature of the material world.
Trowa Barton settled the receiver into its jack on the other end. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.” Turning to the loyal faction of uniformed guards, Trowa rapidly evaluated the team’s position. “The boss says a shipment of Gundaniam alloy is being transported into the Earth sphere by an unspecified vector. Send 2 Aries in the vanguard and have them supported by Taurus suits in case there are any missteps. We’d like as many as 50 Cancer Earthside to make sure the shipment is not received.”
The men haphazardly filed out. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” Each of them nodded to Commander Barton.

Heero evaluated Quatre Rabba Winner’s leering eyes from across the desk.
“If you like weed so much why don’t you just legalize it?” Quatre face was barely visible against the hazy backdrop of the smoke filled office.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Quatre? Do you know how pissed off my dad would get?”
“Yeah, yeah. My dad’s all up in my shit, too, about this whole Gundam thing. I never hear the end of it from construction or enterprise.”
Heero hit the blunt and took a shot of Scotch. “You remember when they called us terrorizers?”
“Yeah, all that shit about the colonies.”
“Well, fuck the space butter, we’ve done everything we can as freedom fighters.” Heero threw back another Scotch. Quatre was reaching for a tall shot glass called a shooter and one of the aged liqueurs.
“Heck, I am corporate, and I don’t even trust the system.” Quatre tossed back the liqueur shooter, polishing it off at a gulp. “You don’t really have to believe in finance. You just have to believe in money.” Quatre lifted a joint off the rolling tray. “You know what’s really enlightening?’
Heero Yuy’s eyes had navigated to the desktop monitor. His pupils rose again as he glanced up. “This is good shit.”
A halo of flame illuminated Quatre’s countenance as he lit the joint. “Yeah, it is. I laced it with blow so it knocks you out and keeps you going at the same time.” Quatre Rabba Winner thoughtfully puffed the joint, holding it pencil-style and watching the room spin. “Hypocriticizers are enlightening.” Quatre said, topping up the liqueur shooter.
“That makes you a hypocriticizer, too.” Heero replied, his eyes now steadily observing the desktop monitor.