[ Right. Of course that's the question.

The older Maxwell blows out a long plume of smoke, leaning hard into the overstuffed bean bag sitting o his back and staring at the stub of a blunt between his fingers. The sight of that long, ugly surgery scar down his forearm reminds him of his age, but he's too numb to feel the twinge of an ache in his bones as anything but distant.

He huffs a dry, cynical laugh. ]

Nothing changed. Fought out two fucking wars, and for what? Nothing ever changed.

[ He could keep it at that, drown his words and this swell of anger in the bitter swig of whiskey he takes next, but no. Now he's gotten started. ]

Not me, not 'Ro, not Chang. We still got Doctors and Instructors and Masters, we still got Gundams, and guess who's taking them out to light up the town this time? Our kids, stuffed into those cockpits by the brilliant peacekeepers at Preventer. And Yuy, of course, after they thawed him out and gave him his orders.

[ He waves a hand dismissively towards the back of his neck, his scowl out in full force and a growl his voice, gruffer than Duo's. ]

I cut it off, all right? Something had to fuckin' change.