Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Dying to stay single ❯ Prologue ( Chapter 1 )

This is my first attempt at humor. Okay. This is not a self-insert. There. Now on with the really weird story. A guy keeps getting thrown around, who is the best fighter in Italy, when he falls out of a plane on the way to a match. He survives with a base jumper parachute. And now he has to stay single in order to get back to the love of his life, (GIVE ME A NAME, PEOPLE!).

Cast: Spike Speigel, Roger smith, Trowa Barton, Made up character (next chapter probably.) (NOT AN INSERT! I HATE INSERTS! SELFISH SELF-PROMOTIONS!)

(Plz. tell me if you want the OC in the next chapter, or not at all. I need ten reviews to upgrade at all, otherwise I won't be able to tell what you want.)

ON WITH THE DAMN STORY, EH?

Trowa

I woke up dizzy, possibly for the first time since I had started circus training. I had been travelling on my way to see a fight with Spike…I wonder where he is? I shook my head clear of all thoughts. Right now the mission was more important than anything else. I seemed to have landed on a tree, crashed through it, and hit the shallow pool of water. I checked my surroundings. Signs of early civilization were apparent, judging by the small stone wall. I checked my inventory. My gun had been bent, and I decided no gun was better than relying on a useless weapon. I tossed it aside. My knives were slightly bent, but in okay shape. Sometimes being a preventer helped me get by. I made a mental note to thank Catherine for giving me her flexible knives. My laptop, like the gun, was also in shambles. I had no food containers, and even the crackers in my pockets were crunched up. I ate them anyway, hungry. I tucked the trash into my pocket, not leaving any more traces than I could. Maybe I could find a way off this island.

Spike.

I woke up with a HUGE friggin hangover. I told that asshole not to put alcohol in the punch. I wanted to be sober to watch the damn fight, not miss it! I realized that I was no longer in the plane when I felt moss beneath my fingers. My beretta was lying in pieces, and it was almost impossible to piece it together again, despite it only having 39 pieces. and my headphones were torn up. I got up, stretched my muscles and yawned, and decided that either I had made a mistake by taking the plane, or while I was drunk I had gotten mugged and deserted somewhere. Either way, it didn't matter now, did it? With swordfish already waiting at the garage, I doubted it had been taken. I began my hike. How far away WAS I? I took out my cracked compass. It still said that I was aiming south. I started off that way, lighting a crumpled cigarette I had sneaked onboard with the gun. keeping the river in eyesight.

Roger

I felt worse than the time that Big Fau knocked me unconscious. I had never had a fall like that in my life! I felt my sore butt, and patted myself down. My watch was not cracked, but it wasn't working. I started calling Big O, but nothing happened. It was then I remembered. The plane, someone standing up, holding a bomb, Two lanky boys pulling guns on the man, me trying to tackle him to the floor. The bottom falling out, and us all falling, holding on to makeshift umbrellas until we hit the rainstorm.

I wasn't too dirty or wet. I switched the watch to its regular mode. I started towards the watch's arrow. I wasn't sure how I knew to do that, but every time I had, it had paid off. It was how I had come across the former bank that I lived in the first place.