Gundam Wing Fan Fiction / Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Ain't My Bitch ❯ Phase One : No Remorse ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

He recalled saying once, I just have one piece of advice -- dying hurts like hell.

At times he wished he would just shut the fuck up completely.

Other times he wished he would stop being right.

The young man smoked a cigarette as he walked down the sidewalk, blending in with the murkiness of twilight on this congealing December holiday. Such an austere and obscure picture for what is acknowledged to be a joyous, amorous occasion out of all of the days in the year. The only signs of humanity were the streetlight's flooding his being with showers of luminosity dawning upon him, and the rundown, mildew stained apartments surrounding him. Common sense told him this part of the town was either a drug haven, or a mafia hangout. With his soldier intellect taking control, he kept vigilant and prepared at all times for any sudden changes. Snowflakes decorated his chocolate brown hair multifaceted, which he didn't wish for in any way. Warmth penetrated through his freezing body due to the sudden inhale of smoke satisfying his lungs. Although the venomous toxins would one day be the folly of him, his mind would not fathom the consequences immediately. He was too preoccupied with the warmness melting away the cold that encased his body, inside as well as out.

He had a reason to be content with the warm heat piercing the ice. Only sporting a tattered, filthy aged green tank top, black spandex shorts, and frayed, dilapidated hiking boots, the underprivileged, deprived man appreciated the refreshing taste of saccharine, lethal smoke pleasing the interior of his body. Throughout the soundless streets of the ghettos of this metropolis, he could only hear the reverberation of his breathing, and the crunching noise his threadbare boots made whenever he stepped on the snow covered sidewalk. Crossing his arms across his chest, he barred himself from rubbing his arms to cease the numbness starting to form. Additionally, he excluded himself from chattering his teeth and cursing to himself of where is location was. He had reason to believe he was somewhere in Tokyo, for what motive he didn't know. Everything was a blur to him. His memory was hazy as hell, a blanket of mist fallen over his recollections of yesterday. Trying at each second, nothing would arise in his mind about the events gone by.

Wait, was it yesterday? To him, it felt like a few hours ago. His body, however, advised otherwise. Aching bones, blotches of bruises all over, and this bullet hole on his left shoulder, tremendously close to his heart range. Skills of warfare informed him that the individual who shot him didn't have high-quality bombardment expertise, much to his fortune. A few more inches, and the gun shot would have struck his heart. He wouldn't even be alive right now. He would be six feet underground, buried in the rotten soil, with worms and insects eating away at his putrefying body. Shaking his head, the young man candidly wanted to shoot the first thing he saw. Rage of slaughter, desolation, and vengeance began to rise inside his soul at an alarming rate, frightening any normal man with his wrath. Give him a battle, a confrontation, a chase -- anything. He wanted to kill someone, some person who got him while he had his guard down.

He actually capitulated himself to certain entity.

And he practically got eradicated from this world because of it.

The word finally hit him -- this young man wanted wanted revenge... severely.

Sets of crunching noises not of his own stopped his onslaught of rage flooding inside his soul. He ceased walking, halting directly underneath the golden radiance of another streetlight. The snowflakes still fell around him as he closed his eyes, taking a considerable amount of poison from the cigarette resting adequately at the tip of his chapped lips. Breathing out the warm toxins, he heard the malicious laughter from a couple of gang members behind him. Piercing through the noiseless vicinity of poverty were the clicking of guns going off their safety, the pilfering sounds of switchblades and daggers, and the revolting commotion of cracking of knucles, necks, and knees. They were all looking for a fight like raging, exotic animals preying in the night for some unsuspecting prey waiting for the taking. How ironic -- so was he.

"Hey kid," sneered a man clad entirely in black. His entire being screamed the word filthy. Stains of dirt, greasy hair, and the stench emitted from his body gained more evidence towards his imperfection. A switchblade glared a silver light beneath the glow of the streetlight, contradicting with the mildew and tartar blots on the man's teeth. The way his body was shaped look like a healthy twenty year old. The way he was dressed, smelled, and acted was completely the opposite. He truthfully look like a perverted fifty year homeless traveler searching for some toothpaste and deoderant. "You lost? We'd be glad to help."

Glaring, which seemed to be second nature to him, he murmured, "Leave."

"What? Can't hear you, kid," the imperfect man derided, his smile turning into a smirk, "you a mute?"

"Leave or consequence," he murmured again, narrowing his eyes with one of them twitching.

"Aww, the mute is trying to act tough," said the man with the mildew teeth. Directing his eyes towards the men behind him, similar in personality, apperance, and stench, he ordered, "Let's teach him how to scream."

With the cigarette still hanging off his mouth, he only had three words to say, "Omae o korosu."

Two men lunged at him at full force with switchblades gripped in their hands. However, he didn't even have to break a sweat. Moving slightly over, he tripped both of them. Before they hit the ground, the young man jumped into the air and gave a roundhouse kick to their backs, causing them to slam on the pavement harder than suspected. Gunshots started flying all over the place, triggering the man to hide inside an allyway for safety. Remembering where he kept his gun, the man took out his trusty gun, poked his head out of the allyway, and commenced to kill every last gangster member.

Boom. One down. Boom. Boom. Two down, seven to go. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Click. What? Click. Click. Click. Cursing silently to himself since he knew he was out of bullets, and there were still three more people to kill, he places his gun back into his resting place. He had to rely on his warfare skills now. Taking in the sweet toxins that came from his cigarette, he breathed them out and jumped out of the allyway. Rolling on the ground, he covered his head to protect himself from the onslaught of gunshots coming towards him still. Then her heard a sweet sound, pure and giving was it. Click. One of them was out of bullets. The minute he heard the click, he ran towards him like a cheetah at full speed, ready to pounce on the credulous antelope. Instinctively he used a move that he learned during his training years when he was younger, snapping the gangster's neck into two, killing him at once.

"What the hell?! Your a sick freak!" the other one screamed in fear, trying to reload his gun.

The young man merely smirked, while saying, "Consequence you took. Feel its outcome."

Thus, he did the identical move of snapping the neck of the other gangster member.

Dropping the carcass of the deceased creature, he set his eyes on the one that first approaced him with his cocky attitude, repulsive apperance, and horrible stench. The eyes once set on domination changed to fearful orbs of despair. Shaking all over, he pressed his body towards the wall, clinging to it as if it was his only chance of survival from the rage of insanity coming from the young man. Deliberately stalking the last gangster member since he knew he had won the battle, the young man smirked defiantly, adding to the man's scare. Pulling out a corroded revovler to match his tarnished dental work, he tried to aim for the young man's forehead. However, the tense moment and the fear inside of him didn't help him one bit. Instead, it shook his aim violently and he couldn't aim correctly.

"S-stay back," he warned, trying to conclude his shaking fit, "or I'll shook -- shoot you."

The familiarity of the scene triggered a memory inside of the young man's head, bracing him to terminate his stalking of the gangster man. Scents of mildew faded away as a recognizable and memorable scent was introduced to his sense of smell. It was cherries, raindrops, roses, rainbows, and sunlight, all melangéd into one perfect, heavenly aroma. He was intoxicated with the perfume floating around in his soul, giving him a sense of comfort and warmth, something that his cigarette couldn't do for him. Images of a beautiful young lady, petite and thin, with sun-kissed blonde hair that was dressed up in two streams of silk ending at her knees. A smile that could kill, haunting, oceanic blue eyes encased in moonlight silver, and a laugh that took his breath away... she was the definition of perfection.

And imperfection as well.

"Usagi," he muttered, as a lone tear escaped his left eye, dropping onto the snow covered ground.

"Usagi-bagi-sagi, whatever kid," the gangster sneered again, his gun loaded while the young man was reminising about the woman who disturbed his mind. "Your dead now."

Back to his old self again, he narrowed his prussian blue eyes and said one word, "No."

In an instant, he grabbed the man's arm, snapped the elbow in two, cracked the wrist, and snatched the gun that nearly fell to the ground. Holding it steady, unlike how the gangster man was minutes ago, he aimed perfectly and squarely at the man's heart, not at his forehead. A smirk crawled up his lips, deadly and ominous as it was alone. With a twinkle in his prussian blue eyes, he watched as the man screamed, cursed aloud, and held in agony his virtually decaptiated arm.

"Your mad," was all the gangster could spit out, looking dead straight into the young man's eyes.

"I'm not mad in your sense," the young man replied, "I'm just highly pissed off."

And in the silence, only three things could be heard: Click. Click. Boom.

Taking the bullets from the gun, and discarding it into a local trashcan, the young man could smell a pungent scent coming from the wherehouse next to him. Smirking, he thought the answer in his head, Gasoline. With one last wiff from the cigarette that lasted this long in the fight, he wished it farewell and threw it casually into the wherehouse. Apathetic as hell, he walked off quietly as he heard the gigantic boom coming from the wherehouse. Snowflakes started to decorate around him again. This time, he welcomed them with open arms. He was sick and tired with the warm, fuzzy feelings. He needed to get back to who he was. He needed the cold, the ice, the subzero temperatures. This was a perfect time as any.

The roaring inferno behind him was merely apart of a dream, one that he wasn't apart of anymore. For all the authorities would know, it was just a gangster vs. gangster fight, and the other gang set the inferno up themselves. There would be no witnesses, because he himself killed them all. However, he was troubled in the extreme. The events of beforehand triggered the memories that were hidden inside the portentous clouds of ambiguity. Usagi, this woman, was the one. The one he was after. Everything that happened to him, to where he is now, was because of her. She knew who she was, what her motives were, who her family and friends are, absolutely everything. There was no way she could hide from him. And if she did, oh well, he would find her.

It was all very clear to him now. Although he didn't know the date, instincts told him that Usagi thought he was good as dead now. Probably days, months, or even years have past by, and she thought she was save in her own little world with her family and friends. How he wanted to laugh at the thought! She couldn't kill him. No one could. Only if he weld it so, then he would die and give into fate and destiny. How he could fall in love with someone who was ruled by those two sisters of demonisms, cruelty, and wantonness, he would never know. He was The Perfect Soldier, he was the definition of flawless, he was absolute excellence. However, he had to learn the hard way about feelings. Always had to be the one that defied all odds, including to get back his emotions. Now he understood the truth about emotions -- they are a piece of shit.

How did that saying go?, he thought while he walked out of the area and into the shadows.

Of course, now I remember, he mused, chuckling to himself as he planned his reprisal.

"Payback's a bitch."