Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Exploited ❯ Chapter 2! ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

AN: I wanted to write this more than I thought I would.. I guess that's a good thing? Review if ya' read, please.

: Milliardo's first bus ride to school. He meets one boy from his dream and the shock that comes with it.

Warning: Whoring of pairing... I did not mean for that to rhyme, I swear...




Chapter Two




Milliardo had burns from cooking that heavy dinner last week, and most of the welts formed from his beating had faded to a regular, healthy skin color. He had never fixed a meal that took such a long time. A roasted turkey-chicken hybrid from Voria's sister planet Second Venus, several genetically enhanced asparagus sprouts, also from Venus, measuring two feet long, and green potatoes baked to perfection. For dessert, there was huge double-layer pineapple upside-down cake. Relatively simple choices, and it got him the week he needed.

It was three weeks since Treize found out his secret of hypersexuality, satyriasm, whatever. The first two weeks- those weeks right before August fifth, the official first day of school- had been spent tending to his wounds. That day he hit his master twice in the face- the swelling had gone down the next day- Treize recovered overly quickly and had launched himself towards the escapee, whipped his taming stick from its innocent post on the door to the master room, and he accidently whacked the damn thing against the frame.

Milliardo thought it was mean of God to let Treize still have his way after that, with the stick broken and all, and have the man beat the bejeezus out of him, pain so bad he had started to sob like a child, and Treize still hadn't stopped. Not until the welts had burst and Milliardo couldn't stand.

The week that should have began with him going to school instead had him begging Treize to skip that week. His legs weren't healed and he had physical education fifth or sixth period. Treize had a deal, not surprising, that if Milliardo could fix a good meal that had him completely satisfied then he'll file an excuse somehow. While making the meal, everything seemed fine until he slipped on a potato peel. The hybrid meat came out fine, since his knee held it up and all. That was the most stupid thing he had ever done. Balancing a piping hot pot on his fucking leg?

Well, it was easier to explain than welts, Milliardo reasoned, standing on the curb and waiting for the bus. Hovercrafts flew by, green Sovarias, from Voria, duh, and a black Bexus were among the ones to pass him by. Kicking at the Bus Stop post, the teen remembered the other dreams he had afterwards during his last weeks of summer.

It was odd, but extremely relieving, that Treize never brought up the reason of the incident between them, and if he watched him at night, Milliardo will never know. He'll just keep getting up at o' dark thirty in the morning and wash his sheets. He went to bed nude now.

He had exactly five prophetic dreams since then. One about Treize saving this girl's dog from drowning. There was no mistaking the hair of the small boy achieving his small victory. But the girl wasn't happy and wouldn't touch her saved puppy. She had backed away, all the way to her mother, a woman who eyed Treize with such distaste that Milliardo looked away. When he looked back, Treize had drowned the dog. He woke up with maniacal desire, screaming into his pillow in a fierce orgasm.

Another one had a small, adorable blonde boy in a dress, a teeny mascot on his father's knee. The vision shifted horribly to a more grotesque scene, and that same father collecting bundles of money, and Milliardo flew through a wall to see a man taking advantage of the boy's small form, especially his mouth.

The vision flew forward in different parts of the boy's time until the child snapped on this old guy he was servicing. The boy just bit it...Chewed it and the geezer let out a bone-chilling, blood-curdling....

Look, he got his dick sawed off...and that's all there is to it. At first, Milliardo thought the boy was going to eat it, but he had spat and ran out, knocking the doors clean down onto another customer and smashing him crushed. The boy launched at the next man that moved. The dream blurred, it blurred once more, then ended.

The next vision wasn't like the others because Milliardo in some way knew who the boy was but had never met him- that makes no sense, but was exactly how he felt. He obviously lived on Voria, what with the orange sky and startling robust green trees overbearing ripe fruit. A field of blue plants grew like a plain of corn. The boy was helping a younger group of kids find their way throught the maze of vegetables. And then, colony officials arrived out of nowhere, and Milliardo realized the kids were fighting their way through the maze, away from the police force! The force began firing, and one after another the children fell down, blood seeping from their tiny bodies and their skulls. The leader, the young boy with a slicked back style of hair tied into a ponytail, managed to take out one of them, ripping out one hideously evil man's throat and drinking his blood. Then, amazingly, he took out the rest of them, eyes horrendously black and sloe. Mad with anger and shock, he stood over the corpses and looked at the star of Porse.

"I'll kill them all." Such strong words for a child to say, Milliardo had said sadly, and he woke up with just the same sex-crazed body as any other dream.

Milliardo watched a crime movie the following night, and he thought that the vision afterwards directly tied in with the show, except that the bad guy assassin was about six years old, could handle two different guns appropriately, and was a mutant from Bex. He went through a crowd of gang members like a fat kid through cake, every microscopic piece terminated. At the end of his raid, the child realized, as did Milliardo, that he had also wiped out what looked like a perfectly innocent child. His one-track mind had simply killed what went with the crowd. The boy looked around with wide eyes and saw that everyone else very well may have been innocent, and the only gang these people were part of was the Happy Birthdaters. Milliardo didn't know if this was right or not, or why the boy went through the group and killed them all.

The last one scared the shit out of him. Every last crap- so much so that he didn't actually feel particularly as much aroused as any nights before. He couldn't move in the vision but he could see and that was plenty enough. He was in the shoes of a beguiled boy and a girl spoke softly to him with watery eyes.

"I'm so sorry...It's just that they are offering a million Dushels-" Colony currency-" for you and that will definitly save my family! What...What's your one life compared to ours...I'm sure they won't kill you.. and..and...I'm so sorry!" She fled and shut the door. Pitch black.

He could see his body, holy shit, he could see it. Piss dampened his pants and his eyes were bloated with tears, and he couldn't see out of his right eye, just little slivers of the girl, so it may have been his hair blocking everything. The vision swerved forward in time.

A chainsaw whirred through the air inches away from his face, and his now clean pants were soiled again, not only with piss but also excrement. The machine came again and took off his nose, again, a part of his eye ripped open, again, his intestines fell out like hot food over his knees, again, the chainsaw took those knees straight from the rest of his body.

Milliardo praised God he couldn't feel anything, but also warranted the fact that this act was obviously God-foresaken. At the very last minute, his soul left the boy's body and he had a fuzzed look at the boy's face and could only completely remember the green eyes. He awoke to sucking his thumb, a forgotten habit, and huddled deep under folded layers of his covers, another forgotten habit. Scared shitless he was.

The bus suddenly flew from around the corner. And if ever a bus driver wanted to drive luxuriously, this bus would have been his dream car, the one taking Jover Private High School students to their probably more expensive-looking school. Instead of the yellow Mac flyers, this was a pure silver Workestor Inc. bus, thrusters charging small amounts of pollutants into their cover filters, whose purpose was to change that toxic carbon dioxide to carbon and, you guessed it, oxygen. Workestor's gorgeous breakthrough.

Milliardo remembered his conversation about the vision he had about his master, then. Treize said that was his first deal, between him, the puppy, and the little girl. If she was grateful, the puppy would be returned wet, but safe and alive; if not, the puppy was going to die.

"Life is easier with known outcomes, good or bad," Treize reasoned, back-up plans his first priority. He had a small smile on him, as if he knew a secret about his dreams.

The bus didn't screech, in fact, if Milliardo had closed his eyes he wouldn't have noticed the damn thing.

His ears buzzed, head a rattle of busybody bees.

A few months ago, he had of vision of one of Treize's (crime) assistants Lady Une before meeting her. She had fallen unceremoniously into a lake, and no one was there to help her, and her cries for help went unheard, and the dream ended. Minutes before stepping face-to-face with the admittedly good-looking woman, Milliardo's ears buzzed, and later he found out that Treize, who was riding an old-fashioned ground bike around the lake, came to save her from death.

Ears buzzing louder, Milliardo hitched himself up to the top stair of the bus and, in a matter of seconds, he knew he was looking at the faces of the preppiest guys and girls on planet Second Earth. His heart dropped. Treize suggested this school, hadn't he? That man knew better than this.

Half the carrier had pert blondes, all near the front, two seats left empty on the left, at the back, but on the right was an emergency exit. One huddled stranger slept under a black hood behind this seat.

One of the blondes, a girl with a cake of blush and orange-frosted eyelids wearing a jostling flame dress asked, "Are you new?"

Milliardo passed her, refraining from giving her the curt reply of 'no shit'. She's been on this bus all last week, what the hell else was he?

Another, raven-haired, exclaimed, "You're wearing Ald Novy's latest fashion! You can definetly sit by me." She patted her seat excitedly.

"Or you can squeeze in between us," an obviously slutty girl invited, scooting her friend over to open an impossibly small space for him. "I love your hair," she added, biting her pinky finger.

A male dirty-blond with huge biceps, both donning gorgeous gold braces, and huge gorgeous teeth cried, "Or you can sit here with the guys!" His voice was so enormously loud, Milliardo stilled to remember his thoughts and pay attention to the way his ears were buzzing with crescendo. The teen hadn't noticed and slapped him on the back, which was much easier to deal with, and began a round of high-fives to all his friends.

Milliardo, having seen quite enough, sort of wanted to cry and hurried forward. This was probably why Treize wanted this place; it was full of idiots. Finding a guy he would approve of would be impossible.

He had read a book about how Second Earth regressed even faster in its future generations than Earth did, this was the quintessential look.

Mr. Biceps yelled at him, though he was only a few feet away, "You don't want to go back there! Come sit with us."

Milliardo calmly moved forward.

"That's where the freaks sit!"

Of course, the buzzing became a increasingly annoying bunch of noise, as he neared the obvious freak. The bus quieted with their confrontation.

A throttling, choking voice, but high in pitch because it was young, murmured from under the jacket, "Yousa' gots."A sigh escaped the boy, "..offers from thwe preeettiest glirs in school, and thwe captian of the fussball teammm, yets, yousa gonna decide to swit wit moi? What's tha' hell wrong wit ya'?" said the boy with a strong, inhumanely strong Bexan, probably one of its 3 colonies, accents. He peeked from under his jacket, one eye showing, and Milliardo froze at the striking violet iris that spun, much quicker than in the dream.

Milliardo suddenly remembered the talk over his Lady Une vision. She had said she wasn't crying 'help' because she couldn't speak English when she was younger. She was speaking her Venusian language. Now, the boy knew that his dreams would always be spoken in English, whether or not the people really spoke it or not. Odd.

"Well," Milliardo purred with little effort, having absorbed the trait from Treize to have the perfect persuasion voice,"it seems you have a bit more character than the rest of them." The bus began rolling as he sat down. The boy shifted away, crouched into a fetal position as close to the large clear window as he could get, and he was so small, still scrawny, that Milliardo felt himself tower over the boy, and backed up.

"Why do they call you a freak?" the bigger blond whispered, not wanting to put him on the spot.

Lo and behold, Mr. Biceps wouldn't have it that way and came from the front, wickedly pulling off the boy's jacket. Milliardo, shocked, pulled it back down too far, and together they had the jacket off.

And the freak's face was shown to everyone. The dark-haired girl who liked his clothes screamed, and a few others whispered gross insults and grimaced. The boy, apparently on spot, blushed, flustered, eye color slowing to an almost normal stay of movement, and seeped as deep into the leather seats as he could. They began to laugh, including the bus driver, who drove steadily on as if nothing was happening.

"Colony rats are so ugly!" The boy's form twitched, wounding tighter around itself, and his hair broke itself from a rather neat braid, and curled up like it was on fire.

The laughter died down after that, the children having had their daily dose of human torture. Mr. Biceps threw back the jacket, almost ceremoniously like a boquet, and Milliardo caught the raggedy piece of fabric. "What's your name?" he inquired, tossing the jacket backwards.

Brilliant, yet dry, eyes saught his. "That'sa mwoi, mwo, mwy jackeet. I'sa needit to cuver..." He stopped then at Milliardo shaking his head. Claw marks branded his face with eternal scars, stretched over time as he had grown. One of the cuts ran from his right temple to his left collarbone and a zigzag of healed wounds crossed all over his neck, most of them pink and probably soft to touch. Probably lined his whole body, right down to his covered legs.

Obviously, that fight did not go well. At least he came out alive.

"They're not that bad. I think your eyes and hair make up for it." Milliardo tossed him a pretty, friendly smile. "Now, what's your name?"

This time, the boy blushed with a rush of sweet embarassment, hair tingling back into a calm self-reassuring braid and eyes spinning as quick as they should, and the blonde couldn't help but be glad. "Meez nahmen iz Duo, Duo Maxell.. Duo Maxzwell.. Maxwell..Thatz it..Duo Maxwell."

"Mine is Milliardo Peacecraft, senior, and I am very pleased to meet you." The blonde held out his hand.

"Plezzz...Pleeezzed.. too... I'msa junior...Ah...It'sa Qwathra's stop.."

"Who?" The bus stopped to let on a some more kids.

"Moi fwend," Duo said, with a small, lovely grin. "Moi fwirst...first wone..one."

Milliardo's ears buzzed. In the subconcious of his mind, he wondered about Duo's scars.. and whether or not 'Qwathra' was the little doll, the little assassin, or the little prisoner.