Disclaimer: I own nothing. All canon characters in this fanfiction belong to Sammy, etc. Don't sue, I'm fifteen, jobless, and an aspiring actress. Love!

A/N: Let me first say that I've only just gotten into the Guilty Gear fandom. I played the PS2 version over a friend's house, and I got hooked bigtime. Millia fascinated me, (A cool, calm, and collected ex-assassin who fights with her hair? Come ON. That's AWESOME.) so of course I did my homework, and got to some thinking about a fanfiction.

Now, of course I know that there are obvious clues throughout the game that scream Jam/Ky. However, I personally do not float my boat down that river. The same thing goes for Dizzy/Testament…I just think that pairings like that are too clichéd. And annoying. I won't lie, though, I do like the fluff in small doses, so this pairing, Millia/Ky, is perfect for me.

Warnings: Thematic elements, strong violence and language, angst, mild homosexuality, eventual (juiceless) lemon.

General comments: Please put thought and effort into your reviews. PLEASE. I'm BEGGING you guys…if you like it, TELL ME what specifically you liked. If you hated it, don't be scared, TELL ME why you hated it. If there's anything wrong, whether it be with canon or with spelling or grammar, TELL ME. I can't emphasize this enough. It may sound harsh, but I really can't improve as a writer if all I get for reviews are "its good plz update". PLEASE.

Other than that…enjoy!

A World So Cold



Millia had not been to Paris many times before, and never with the intention of actually enjoying it. Now, as she walked its streets in pursuit of the International Police Force Headquarters, the rain slamming down and down as if Heaven itself sought to smite her into the earth, she decided that she didn't much care for the city at all.

Granted, it was her own decision to come here, but that didn't mean that she had a smile on her face and a song in her heart. A few bruises on her face and a lead weight in her heart was a more accurate description, really, but going straight to the Headquarters was the right thing to do. Even if she didn't much like doing it.

Millia had still been reeling from a previous battle when she encountered what she immediately (and correctly) assumed was a robotic impersonator of a police officer. The machine had attacked her without hesitation, and though she was fighting it whilst injured, she was still able to pummel it to the point of malfunction. Whether or not the robot was a creation of the International Police Force itself (she didn't know, and nor did she particularly care) they deserved to have it in their possession.

So here she was, in Paris, taking it to the Headquarters, even though she was fairly certain that it was completely irreparable. She hadn't ripped its legs out, but it still toppled whenever it tried to walk on its own, flailing. Its head was almost completely knocked off of its shoulders, connected only by wires that were on the brink of snapping. The noise it was making being slightly muffled by her hair, it sputtered and twitched in defiance, blue sparks emanating from every orifice. Occasionally, a mangled word or phrase ("YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!") was distinctly audible amidst the mechanical hissing and spitting, but it most definitely was no longer a threat.

Lightning flashed in a sudden, brilliant display of eerie incandescence, and, brief as it was, it showed her destination. In those few seconds of garish light, Millia was able to see the Headquarters she sought. It was a large structure, as she expected it to be, its majestic spires striving to touch the very sky. Quite obvious, really, and also a tolerable distance from where she stood. Her mood improving somewhat, she trudged onward.

Only a close observer would have noticed that she was favouring her left leg, and even then, the limp wasn't quite as dramatic as it could have been. She had other wounds that looked far worse. Claw-like scratches and scrapes adorned her legs, most of them open and bleeding, but all of them shallow. She suffered from one black eye and several small cuts on her face. Another bruise was forming over a tender, aching spot on her jaw.

Yes, she looked like she'd dragged herself through hell, but her injuries were not too serious. Millia was not one to ignore a potentially fatal wound-she knew when to keep moving and when not to. Now was one of those times when it was safe to push on, and push on she did.

As she walked along, avoiding puddles and being careful not to strain her ankle too badly, thoughts of the battle where she had obtained her wounds threatened to creep into her mind. She shoved them away with forceful vehemence, but that sick feeling in her chest would not dissolve, nor would the bitter taste in her mouth. Pain. Pain she'd have to confront eventually, but that she couldn't-wouldn't-even think about now.

Lightning flashed fleetingly, tauntingly, and thunder cackled loudly in response.

She had arrived at the Headquarters. For a moment, she simply stood at the end of the long stone walkway she would have to walk soon, studying the magnificent building before her with carefully gauged awe, arms still at her sides, hair tightening around her burden with little exertion.

"YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!" boomed the robot, much more loudly than it had earlier. It flailed in its prison of gold, but was unable to free itself. Perhaps there was some fight left in it after all.

Millia said nothing. She began to hike the walkway, the lights of the mansion ahead shining like beacons to a sailor lost at sea.