Somewhere, in a secluded OZ mobile suit hangar, a meeting took place. A strange, unexplainable meeting between allies, enemies, and an impressive number of people who seemed to tag along for no good reason at all. A meeting whose results would be so sick and wrong that the universe would later twist itself into a new position where such a meeting could never ever have taken place, thus sparing it the humiliation of having that in it’s history.

But the meeting did take place, once.

And unfortunately for the universe, some moron recorded it.

The officer’s room was no different from that found in a thousand other mobile suit hangars across the world. It was a fairly simple room, lacking any real color or outstanding features, with a few windows to let the light in and tables arranged around the room for people to sit, eat, and socialize. Where this particular officer’s room broke from the norm was the people inside it.

Treize Kushrenada stood by a window, which had been opened in order to allow a calm breeze to blow at his cape dramatically. He looked out upon the countryside has he pontificated on his values to Lady Une, who had fallen asleep in her chair next to him about two hours previous when he’d hit the "war is like a box of chocolates" part of the speech. Treize still hadn’t noticed.

Zechs Merquise sat at a table with Lucrecia Noin, polishing his Helmet of Shame. He vaguely wondered why she’d insisted that he take his shirt off to do the polishing. Or, for that matter, what body oil had to do with anything. But he tried not to think too much about such things. Thinking about it always turned out badly. Noin, on the other hand, was content to simply enjoy the view.

Relena Insert-Last-Name-Of-The-Week-Here stood over in a corner with Hildie Schbeiker, discussing their favorite Gundam pilots and the hazards that came of having a favorite Gundam pilot. At the moment, the conversation had turned to, "do they own a whole bunch of that one outfit, or do they just wear really strong deodorant?"

And at a table in the center of the room sat the aforementioned favorite Gundam pilots. Heero and Duo were engaged in a rousing game of poker with fellow pilots Wufei, Trowa, and Quatre. At the moment, Trowa’s perfect poker face had netted him the largest pile of chips, with Heero in second, Quatre and Duo somewhat smaller piles, and Wufei in last with about twenty cents left. The honor-obsessed warrior just wasn’t cut out for poker.

"Your deal," Heero said calmly as he passed the deck to Duo. Duo picked up the cards, shuffled, and tossed out the cards after only a few seconds.

"Hey, Duo," Quatre said as he arranged his cards, "that’s some pretty quick shuffling there!"

Duo smiled widely. "Yeah, well, I guess that’s just what comes of being the pilot of the fastest mobile suit around."

Heero harrumphed quietly.

"’Scuse me? You got a bad hand there or something, Heero?"

Emotionless, Heero replied, "You wish. And Deathscythe may have the greatest all-around speed, but it can’t come close to matching Wing’s transit speed in a straight line."

"Excuse me? Listen buddy, I said Deathscythe was the fastest, and I meant the fastest. I bet 20." He tossed his chips into the pot, followed shortly after by Heero, Quatre, Trowa, and Wufei.

"Duo, Wing was designed for high-speed long-range flight. It has a dedicated flight mode. Deathscythe can’t compete with that."

"Like hell it can’t."

"Believe what you like, but we both know that Wing’s faster."

"So says the pilot of some lame Tallgeese imitation!"

Heero stood up at this, looking at Duo with a piercing gaze. Duo stood up as well and returned the gaze. However, before the two of them could do anything else, Zechs ran over from his table and stood between them.

"That’s enough!" Zechs spoke firmly enough to get both their attentions. "This argument is meaningless!"

Heero looked over at Duo. "He’s right, you know."

Duo looked down and kicked at the ground. "Yeah, yeah, I know. We’re all pilots after peace and that’s the only important thing, right?"

Zechs crossed his arms. "Actually, I was thinking that the only important thing was that Tallgeese could whip both your Gundams combined."

"Ha! Now that’s a laugh!"

"Wing could take that decrepit antique any day of the week."

"Yeah, especially if it was riding in Deathscythe’s tailwind!"

"Never happen."

"Oh yeah, that’s right, ‘cause you’d never be able to get that close!"

"Why don’t you two go suck on a vernier, just like your Gundams do on Tallgeese’s!"

"Shut your mouth, you bleach-blond sissy."

"At least I don’t wear bicycle shorts constantly!"

"They’re comfortable!"

"And comfort really matters when you’re sucking Deathscythe’s tailpipe!"

"Gentlemen."

The three quarreling pilots looked up as Treize left his window and walked calmly toward them.

"Heero Yui, Duo Maxwell, and my eternal friend Zechs Merquise...I couldn’t help but overhear your little dispute. Now, I’m sure we can all realize that this senseless arguing won’t solve anything. After all disputes merely breed more disputes, becoming a chain that--"

From behind, Lady Une slapped his head like a skipping record player.

"--I suggest that we solve this disagreement in an honorable, traditional manner."

"And what would that be?" Duo looked at Treize dubiously.

"Drag racing."

The three pilots grinned at each other menacingly, then headed for the door without another word. Noin, Relena, and Hildie quickly ran out after them. Wufei just looked across the table at the remaining poker players.

"A competition between soldiers sounds intriguing…but what exactly is ‘drag racing?’"

"Don’t worry about it," Trowa said calmly, "I’ll teach you all about it."

Wufei looked at him doubtfully. "This isn’t going to be like the time you taught me ‘strip poker’ is it?"

"No, of course not. This one’s right up your alley. No streaking or dancing involved. Come on." Trowa and Wufei got up, walking out the door that the other Gundam pilots and Gundam pilot sidekicks had taken just moments ago. Quatre was the only one left at the table. He sighed, smiled, and started cleaning up the table.

"If only they knew just how much of a clown you really are, Trowa…"

Lady Une looked over at him crossly. "Would you please shut up about him, you little sissie boy?"

Quatre kept smiling, but it became a different sort of smile. "Treize," he said kindly, "have you ever thought about existentialism?"

"I’m glad you asked that, Quatre…"

Quatre slipped out of the room unnoticed, leaving Lady Une alone to experience the beginnings of a speech that would occupy the poor loyal woman for the next three hours. As Treize began on his latest musings, she herself mused quietly under her breath:

"If only they knew how much of a sadist you really are, Quatre…"

The next day, a high noon sun heated up a long road of pavement at an OZ airstrip not too far from the hangar where the pilots had gathered. Certain alterations had been made from the standard airstrip design, however. Bleachers now ran up both sides of the first half of the airstrip, filled with excited racing fans. The air traffic tower had been converted into an announcer’s booth, with several loudspeakers installed around the airstrip. And any sign of aircraft had been eliminated and replaced with mobile suits.

Down at the very end of the airstrip, surrounded by their fans, stood the three mobile suits that were the main attraction. And at their feet in the pit area were their pilots, preparing for the upcoming competition.

Heero, Duo, and Zechs were all making last-minute adjustments to their respective mobile suits, making sure that everything was in perfect order. Watching them with interest from down below were Quatre and Trowa.

"So, Quatre," Trowa said nonchalantly, "who’re you betting on to win this one?"

"Quatre chuckled. "Oh, I’m not betting on anyone, Trowa. I’m just gonna sit back and enjoy the race, no matter who wins!"

"Too bad we can’t say the same about them, eh?"

Up above, the three competitors had taken their five minute stare-down break. It consisted mainly of popping one’s head up from working on the suit in order to smirk confidently at the other two while laughing quietly. It was fairly easy to tell that, when all was said and done, there were probably going to be two extremely depressed pilots and one unbearably smug one.

As they watched, Quatre and Trowa were distracted by footsteps coming from back further in the pit area. They turned around and saw that the fifth Gundam pilot had finally arrived. And from the roar of the crowd, it was easy to tell that they’d spotted him as well.

"Um," Quatre started with an embarrassed smile, "Wufei?"

"Yes, what?"

"Just because it’s called ‘drag racing’ doesn’t mean you have to dress in drag."

Wufei blinked, the yellow sundress, makeup, and high heels instantly becoming about ten times sillier-looking than they had been before. His face hardened and he walked over to Trowa and glared at him, nose to nose.

"You will pay for this."

"It was an honest mistake. How was I supposed to know?"

Wufei just glared at him for a moment, then whirled around and stomped off to the bathrooms to change clothes and wash his face. He was followed by half a dozen catcalls and several whistles.

As soon as he made it out of sight, Quatre fell down laughing.

And if you were at just the right angle, it looked like Trowa almost smirked.

Up in the bleachers, five somewhat unusual guests had taken their seats and were watching the preparations with great interest. This was to be a moment that at least two of them had been waiting for ever since the first mobile suit was designed.

"You realize that Wing’s going to leave them all in the dust, don’t you Professor G?"

"Are you joking, Dr. J? Deathscythe has more speed when it’s turned off than that contraption."

"Oh, is that right?"

"Of course it is. After all, just look at the two bit hack who built Wing."

"Who are you calling a hack? You haven’t had your teaching credentials for at least three years, EX-Professor G!"

Up in the bleachers just behind them, the large figure of Master O waved to a nearby concessions boy.

"Can I get some hot dogs over here?"

The short, mustachioed man sitting next to him grinned. "I think we’ve already got a pair down there."

Meanwhile, the argument raged on.

"Hmph. Well at least I, and all of the rest of us for that matter, was able to come up with something original. While I was building my masterpiece, you just built some cheap knock-off of the prototype."

"Wing is not just some cheap knock-off! In fact, in many ways it’s even better than Zero!"

"Oh really? Name one."

"Wing has cupholders!"

Professor G rolled his eyes. "Oh, like that’s really going to help it in a race."

"Let’s see how fast you can go if your cockpit’s covered in sticky soda syrup!"

"Faster than Wing, I’d imagine."

The light glinted off Dr. J’s goggles. "Then what say we make a little wager, hm?"

"Sounds interesting…all right, when Wing gets the beating it deserves, you have to go profess your undying love for my masterpiece Deathscythe."

"Right. And when Deathscythe’s sucking on Wing’s exhaust, you have to go out there admit that your Gundam is the cheap knock-off!"

"Deal!" Professor G looked behind him at the other three Gundam engineers. "And if I were you, I’d bet on the Gundam that wasn’t designed by some moron who wears magnifying goggles in intense sunlight!"

Dr. J looked perplexed for a moment.

"What goggles?"

Professor G just shook his head sadly. "I rest my case…"

"Attention, racing fans," Treize’s voice rang out from the loudspeakers, "the race you’ve all come here to see will be starting in just a moment. However, before things get underway, I’d like to take this opportunity to let you all get better acquainted with the participants. After all, a race is just another sort of battle, and a battle is meaningless unless we--"

There was a sound like a skipping record player being slapped.

"--let’s meet the Gundams!"

Lady Une’s voice came over the loudspeaker next. "First up, in Lane 1, we have Duo Maxwell in his Gundam Deathscythe…"

Down in the pit area, Duo waved from the ramp in front of his cockpit. Up on Deathscythe’s shoulder, Hildie posed with the Gundam in a skimpy black bathing suit. The crowd roared its approval, sending up several catcalls.

"Yeah, baby!"

Hildie paused from her posing for a moment. "Wait a minute, are they doing that for me or for Deathscythe?"

Duo poked his head out of the cockpit and yelled upward. "Pay no attention to her, pal."

Lady Une came over the loudspeaker again. "Next, in Lane 2, is Heero Yui piloting the Wing Gundam…"

Heero paid absolutely no attention to the cheering crowd as he tinkered with his cockpit settings, making sure everything would be perfectly adjusted for the race. Down at Wing’s feet, Relena posed with the mobile suit in her own skimpy bathing suit. And as with Hildie, she got quite a reaction from the crowd. However, as Wing had been positioned dangerously close to the Gundam Fangirl section, the reaction was somewhat different.

"BOOOOOOOO!"

Rabid fangirls began throwing things at Relena from the stands. It started off as just food items and drinks. Then came a few Gundam model kits. Relena found herself doing more dodging than posing.

"Hey, wait…what are you…I’m only…it’s not even like that…hey! That one almost hit me…and it was metal!"

Once again, the stands reacted.

"Any more of them die-cast ones?"

Relena fumed and stamped her foot.

"Fine then! Heaven knows I haven’t done anything but promote peace--"

"Peace sucks!"

Relena continued unfazed. "--but if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get!" She stomped off into the pit area, concealed from the view of the crowd. Only a moment later, she came back. But this time, she was a bit different.

She was crossdressing.

In bicycle shorts and a tank top.

"There! Is this what you wanted!?"

The crowd was silent for a minute.

"Heero?"

There was another pause.

Suddenly, as if they all shared a single mind, hundreds of rabid fangirls surged forward from the stands. It was like some great drooling human tide, battering against the barrier in front of the stands. The barrier snapped like a twig before the tidal wave of hormone-driven fans, who immediately began pouring out of the bleachers and running straight for the now-terrified object of their misguided affections.

Relena wasn’t quite sure what was going on. But she was absolutely sure of one thing. There were two ways that this hoard could go if they caught her, depending on just how much their hormones had taken over. And either way was going to kill her.

The unfortunate crossdresser ran for her life, followed by hundreds of extremely driven fangirls.

Lady Une did her very best to ignore the entire disturbing situation. "And finally, in Lane 3, we have OZ’s own elite mobile suit pilot Zechs Merquise and his mobile suit the Tallgeese."

The reception for Zechs wasn’t as large as one might have expected, mostly because most of the rabid fangirls had already left to chase after their "Zechs/Heero crossbreed." Which was just as well, really, as he was too busy secretly sulking to himself as he stood at Tallgeese’s feet with a fully dressed Lucrecia Noin.

"Why don’t I get a Gundam Babe…?"

Noin sighed crossly. "Number one, you don’t actually have a Gundam, number two, it’s degrading, and number three, I caught you calling me that in front of the other officers before the race."

"I’m really sorry…are you sure it’s too late?"

"Unless you wanted to pose with my White Taurus in Speedos."

"Damn."

Lady Une’s voice came over the loudspeaker again. "Now that we’ve finished the introductions, will the pilots please take their places and all personnel clear the track. The race will begin in five minutes."

Five minutes later, the only things that remained on the airstrip were the three giant mobile suits. Within their cockpits, each pilot looked at his competitors, preparing for the big moment. In a matter of minutes, everything would be decided.

Treize’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

"Gentlemen, start your Gundams!"

A high pitched roar filled the airstrip as all the verniers on all three suits started firing up, priming themselves for the quick burst of speed to come.

"On your marks…"

The mobile suits all crouched down into a sprinter’s starting position.

"Get set…"

The verniers roared louder.

"And by ‘set,’ I mean find that place of readiness that all soldiers must--"

There was a loud "thwack!"

"--GO!"

Verniers roared to life as the three Gundams surged forward with incredible velocity. For a fraction of a second Deathscythe stumbled, giving the Tallgeese an early lead.

Duo cursed within his cockpit. "Damn sticky controls! I spilled my soda again!"

Half a second later, over a fourth of the way further down the airstrip, Deathscythe had made up for the loss, running neck-and-neck with the Tallgeese. However, with wings spread, the Wing Gundam was right there beside the both of them.

Down on the ground, beyond the notice of the focused pilots, something seemed to be moving of its own accord in the dust cloud kicked up by the race.

In another half a second, the mobile suits passed the halfway point. The Tallgeese had gone into flight using its massive backpack verniers, but Wing had also taken to the skies and battled the older suit for airspace. Meanwhile, Deathscythe remained on the ground, its legs moving too fast to be seen by human eyes and its single large back vernier blazing like the sun. A clear leader still could not be seen in all the smoke and dust kicked up.

Less than two seconds after the race had started, the three suits were still side-by-side as they touched the finish line. Tallgeese and Wing were nothing more than huge spheres of vernier-based light. Deathscythe now ran so fast, it could not be told if it ran or flew.

And out of the corner of his eye, just before they hit the end, Heero swore he saw something shoot out of the smoke cloud below them.

The crowd exploded, though they were completely drowned out by the mobile suits, as Tallgeese, Wing, and Deathscythe all flew over the finish line going too fast for anyone back at the stands to see a winner. The three mobile suits crashed into the sandy beach that ended the airstrip, sliding hundreds of feet despite their best efforts to stop, until all three lay half-submerged in the ocean waters. Those who watched all held their collective breath, waiting for one of them to stand up as the winner.

The loudspeaker was the only sound to be heard as Lady Une addressed the airstrip.

There was another moment of absolute silence.

Then, Treize Kushrenada’s voice came over the loudspeaker for one final time.

He paused for dramatic effect, further torturing the racers and audience.

A series of monitors around the airstrip, and inside the cockpits of the participating mobile suits, flashed to life with a slow-motion replay that made the whole thing all too clear. As the race began, the fangirls had chased Relena around the airfield behind the Gundams. The combination of raw fear and raw hormones propelled the entire group right into the cloud kicked up by the racing mobile suits, only to emerge seconds later at the finish line, crossing it and continuing onward to some far-off land well before any of the actual participants could win the race.

Duo slammed his fist down. "That’s not fair! They weren’t even supposed to be in the race!" He tugged at his fist. "And now my hand’s stuck to the @#$% gummed-up controls!"

Heero stared at his monitor with unblinking eyes. "Relena," he said, obviously in shock, "Relena…beat me…"

Zechs sulked deeper than before. "Even my little sister gets her own Gundam Babes…"

The audience quietly filed out of the stands and went home.

Wufei finally came out of the bathroom now that there was nobody to see his dress. He hadn’t thought to bring anything else to change into. However, after he saw the race’s result, he didn’t feel quite so embarrassed about it anymore.

Trowa and Quatre were really, really glad that they piloted slow mobile suits and hadn’t been invited to race.

Zechs was taken to the hospital after trying to fit his entire body into his Helmet of Shame.

Heero self-detonated. It made him feel a little better.

Three of the Gundam engineers stood in the sands of the beach as the sunset cast a red light over the sea, the airstrip, and the last remnants of the race.

Master O shook his head. "We should’ve known it would come to this."

His false-nosed companion nodded. "There’s just no stopping those two."

Over on the still-prone body of Deathscythe, Dr. J hugged the mobile suit as if it were his long-lost love. Professor G stood on Deathscythe as well, but with far less affection.

"I love this Gundam!" Dr. J screamed at his foe with passion. "It’s a true masterpiece!"

"What, this piece of junk?" Professor G snorted contemptuously. "It’s nothing but a cheap knock-off!"

"Oh really? Would a ‘knock-off’ have the most powerful beam weapon in the world today?"

"Ah, yes, the beam scythe…enemies, fear my giant agricultural tool! Get serious. It doesn’t even have cupholders!"

Master O sighed. "They really do take their bets much too seriously."

The Gundam engineers just stood there, their loudly fighting compatriots drowning out the sounds they otherwise might have heard from within the cockpit of the Gundam Deathscythe.

"I know you’re out there, I can hear you!" Duo yelled as loud as he could. "Get me outta here! I got stuck to the seat ‘cause of all the soda syrup! And I really, really gotta go! Come on, don’t forget about ol’ Duo out there! Gimmie a hand, huh? You guys need me! Open the door! Please? COME ON, SOMEBODY HELP ME!"