Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Let Slip the Gods of War ❯ Chapter Two: Nightmares ( Chapter 2 )

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

August 28th, AC 203
All he felt was all-encompassing, never-ending pain. Beyond it there was nothing, and before it was beyond his mental grasp. Was there anything before the pain? He couldn't be sure. The pain held his thoughts hostage and caused his body to betray him without fail. Time no longer had any meaning to him; minutes and hours were replaced by the ebb and flow of pain, and days and weeks by consciousness and the blessed void. He was naked and helpless against it.
There was neither silence nor darkness in his pain, either. They realized early on that silence didn't bother him, but that was a lie; the lack of sound would have worn on his nerves. Instead, a cacophony of disembodied voices and a spectrum of images and lights echoed and bounced off of the concrete walls of his cell. They spoke in a dozen languages, some fast and harsh, others slow and smooth, until they all blurred and melded together into a huge, cacophonous noise. He didn't know why he found them so soothing. Pain ruled, drowning out his memory; it flared in his arm and he cried out weakly.
"Tell me where they go to hide," the voices demanded.
Who did they want? He couldn't remember; all he knew, without a doubt, was that he couldn't tell this prick what he wanted to know. He had to protect the people he wanted to find, whoever they were. He could see their familiar faces when he closed his eyes, but couldn't connect those faces to a specific memory. A moment later, another wave of pain surged through his veins, demanding that he stop being so damned stubborn and tell the man what he wanted to know.
"No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. Hours of screaming in agony had left his throat rough and raw.
His unseeing eyes widened as white hot pain rolled along his skin to pour into his mouth and nose, choking him and burning everything it touched, only to disappear as quickly as it began. A blurred shadow entered his field of vision, and more burning filled his eyes. The captor's mouth was suddenly next to his ear, his poisonous voice riding in with the pain.
"Answer my questions, little Shulmanu, and I'll make the pain go away."
He hated himself for flinching, for the soft whimper that escaped his cracked, dry lips, but then the pain laughed at him, taunted and mocked him for his weakness. It whispered dark promises of all the ways they could be together; that he belonged to it and it would never let him go.
"NO!"
He gasped as the pain engulfed him again, this time in an icy Arctic blast that felt like a billion frozen tattoo needles crawling just under his flesh. It ate away at his senses, destroying him bit by bit before reassembling all the pieces. He tried to fight against it with all of his might, but to no avail. He knew he couldn't hold out for much longer. Eventually, he would tell them whatever they wanted to know, and he wouldn't be able to stop himself from talking.
Before the arctic wave could end, more pain blossomed in his chest. A furious kick to his rib cage exploded with different kind of agony as he heard the sickening crack of bones breaking. His considerable stamina finally giving out to this round of torture, Quatre Winner-Bloom felt the abyss wrap his naked, prone body in its cold, dark embrace as the pain settled in, content to wait for consciousness to return.
How long he'd lain in wait, he didn't know, nor did he care; time held no meaning for him, only the life of his loved one mattered, and the ones who took him would pay dearly for every moment of pain they'd put the both of them through these past few weeks. He'd secured himself in a ventilation shaft above a men's lavatory, and waited for someone close to his size to show up. When, at last, someone did enter the restroom, he quietly slipped out of his hiding place, choked the man into unconsciousness, then stripped his enemy and left him lying in a heap on the cheap linoleum floor.
Finally, clothed in the uniform of his enemy and carrying a black rucksack, silent death stalked among them.
Fury now burned in his deep emerald green eyes as he hacked into the enemy's system. Within moments, he'd taken down their pitiful firewalls, cracked their encryption codes and downloaded everything he needed to, from where his target was located to a list of what drugs they'd given him, their effects and side effects. His lips pulled back in a dangerous, feral snarl as he copied every last byte of information he'd come for, then uploaded his viruses and set the last of his bombs. One slender, calloused hand caressed the thin detonator before he shoved it in the pocket of his "borrowed" jacket and once again hid in plain sight.
As he neared the location of the holding cells, one of the viruses he uploaded triggered the fire suppression system. Red strobe lights and klaxon alarms went off as the overhead sprinklers dropped down, spraying tepid water everywhere. All around the building, electronic locks opened and people ran in all directions, heedless of the solitary stranger among them. Water pooled on the concrete floor, making his footing hazardous, and by the time he reached the wing they held their captive in, Trowa Bloom-Winner was soaked to the skin.
He was surprised to see one door still closed as he reached his destination, but more surprising was the line of locks down it; they were simple tumbler ones, designed for strength rather than complexity. It took him less than a minute to open them all, giving him access to the target within.
A riot of lights, scents and sounds assaulted his senses as soon as the door opened, chief among them the stench of fresh and stale urine. A filthy foam mattress pressed against the wall caught his attention, the naked creature lying prostrate upon it a shock. Pale skin stood in stark contrast to the black and purple bruises that littered the form, while bones stood out in sharp relief where smooth, strap like muscles had once been. His once-shoulder length sunlight blond hair had been shorn; the smooth cap that was left was greasy and matted to his scalp, and his darting, bloodshot turquoise blue eyes seemed to see nothing, not even his husband and lover.
"Quatre?!" Trowa exclaimed softly. The answering whimper nearly floored him as he moved to his partner's side and took in the enormity of the horror he found. Screams rent the air as soon as Trowa's fingertips made contact with Quatre's bare back. After a moment, he was able to make out the words.
They were "FUCK YOU! I WON'T TELL!"
The British pilot knew they were running out of time, so he pulled a light blanket out of his rucksack and wrapped it around Quatre's naked form, then scooped him up and began to make a mad dash towards their ride. They'd barely made it down two hallways before Trowa realized he had to do something. Quatre's screams were drawing too much attention to them, and that was the last thing they needed.
"I'm sorry, love," Trowa murmured before applying a well-placed nerve pinch to the blond-haired man's neck, knocking him unconscious.
Trowa cradled Quatre's now-slight form as he rushed from the building. Luck seemed to be with him for a change; no one tried to block their escape. They were almost to the black minivan he'd picked out when a voice started on the loudspeaker. He carefully settled Quatre into the passenger seat and buckled him in. He didn't bother with his own seat belt, just threw the car into first gear and sped off, tires hitting the asphalt of the main road just as he gleefully pressed the detonator while he pushed the powerful engine to its limits.
As soon as he was sure they weren't being followed, he pulled over and retrieved his tablet and cell phone from the floor near Quatre's feet. He jammed the tablet into the seat beside Quatre and booted it up before hitting the first number on the phone's speed dial.
"Zero Three," Hiiro Yui said, having picked up halfway through the first ring. "Mission accomplished?"
"Roger that, Zero One," an angry Trowa Bloom replied. "It's bad... I don't know what the Hell these bastards did to Zero Four, but it's bad. I'm sending Sally everything I've retrieved from their databases. Tell her to follow plan three and then all of you fly. I've a really bad feeling about this. I'm ditching this cell as soon as I hang up, but I'll keep in touch. Stay safe and tell the others. See you soon."
Trowa closed the phone and lobbed it into the back of a passing garbage truck, then tried splitting his attention between his tablet and keeping the car on the road. He sent the files he'd retrieved to Sally Po-Chang before shutting it down and settling in to drive.
As Trowa kept his eyes on the road, he began to worry about what would happen when Quatre woke up. They'd been driving for close to two hours before it happened. His breathing changed first; the slow, deep and steady rhythm suddenly became sharp, shallow and pained. Whimpers like those made by a wounded animal told him just how much pain his partner was in.
"Cat? You still with me, love?" Trowa asked softly.
Quatre sat trembling, bloodshot turquoise blue eyes wide and vacant, murmuring "Won't tell" over and over, and shrank into his seat as though expecting an attack. Forcing his growing panic down before Quatre could pick up on and react to it, Trowa tried another tactic.
"Zero Four, what's your status?"
Quatre's unseeing eyes opened to their widest as his face contorted into a silent scream and his body arched as though a bolt of lightning were being run through it. Trowa reached out to touch Quatre, and was shocked to feel the hairs on his arm standing up on end with the telltale feeling of static electricity.
"Íosa!" Trowa swore in Irish as he crossed three lanes of traffic, then jumped onto the exit for the nearest rest stop. [1] He was glad for the early hour; there was no one at the rest stop alert enough to see him dig through his bag frantically. Fumbling around for a moment, he finally managed to dig out the scanner he needed and slowly ran it over Quatre's tortured form. He swore vehemently as he found the electrodes on his chest and removed them, dropping them on the back seat for study later. Quatre whimpered in his seat, his eyes still glazed.
"Come on, baby, snap out of it."
"No-no-no, no more, never tell," Quatre mumbled, even as his eyes started to close.
Trowa ran his hands through his hair, tugging on it, and hoped to finally wake up from this nightmare. He fastened his seat belt and forced himself to calm down and return to driving. They were still over an hour away from Sally and the safe house. He tried to shut down, to convince himself that everything would be fine, but it wasn't working. Even in his unconscious state, Quatre whimpered and moaned as though in great pain.
When they finally reached the safe house, Sally was at the door, waiting for them with a pair of fuzzy blue spa socks in her hands. Trowa gathered Quatre up in his arms like a child and silently thanked God that they were miles away from anywhere as Quatre once again opened his mouth and started screaming.
"Get him in that bed over there," Sally ordered gently, pointing to the twin bed in the corner. "He'll probably stop once you set him down."
Trowa followed the pretty doctor's orders and placed Quatre on the bed, afraid to know what she meant, but desperate to keep his husband and lover from being hurt further. Then and only then did he see why Sally had a pair of socks with her as she slipped them on Quatre's icy cold feet.
"It's okay, Quatre. Take it easy, you're safe now," Trowa murmured as he pulled the comforter over Quatre's body. Immediately, the tow-headed man's screams ceased and he clumsily snuggled into the cover.
"Sally, what the Hell did they do to him?" Trowa demanded as he spun, emerald green flames focused on the pretty doctor.
"According to the files you sent me, these guys had previous knowledge of Quatre's unique physiology. They knew what his pain tolerance and endurance levels were and started from there. They've been feeding him a cocktail of designer drugs that's been specifically tailored to his body, and the list is revolting. Mood enhancers and neural sensitizers to screw up his empathy, belladonna based drops to blur his vision... and they've been pumping him full of stimulants to keep him conscious throughout much of his torture. You know about the nanites H put in his system, right?"
"Yeah, we've all got them, even though I was only a mechanic and Barton's back-up pilot at first," the cinnamon-haired Heavyarms pilot answered numbly. At Sally's confused look, Trowa elaborated with "A couple months before Operation M started, Trowa Barton... the real one... beat me, raped me and left me to bleed to death in my own quarters. Doktor S gave me his nanites to save my life."[2]
"Well, this guy knows how to use them against you. He kept Quatre drugged, helpless and in constant pain. They even tried to use sound to wear him down," Sally ranted.
"Plus lights and images," added Trowa angrily.
"But they didn't break him, Trowa. God save him, he didn't break. Now, we just have to wait and let the drugs wear off. I won't risk doing more damage by trying to give him a more thorough exam until then."
Usually steady hands, hands that could fit together the tiniest gears together in a hot minute, started to tremble, and the tremors moved up his arms and down his body. Tears burned at his eyes as he struggled to breathe and Trowa recognized what it was; the beginnings of a panic attack. Just as he was sure his knees would buckle out from under him, Sally wrapped her slender, strong arms around his chest and maneuvered him to the couch before his legs collapsed.
"Damn it, Trowa, either cry it out or talk it out," she mumbled as she held him. Emerald green eyes, wide and watery, lifted to meet her light periwinkle blue ones. "I need you to have a level head, and he needs you to stay calm 'til the drugs are out of his system."
"Six weeks," he gasped, trying to force his breathing back to normal. "How the Hell did he get that bad in six fecking weeks? Who could have done this to him? And why now, when the last war's been over for almost five fecking years? I - I just want to wrap my arms around him and tell him he's safe now, but thanks to these bastards, I can't even do that much for him!"
"Give him an hour or two, then you can touch him again. And to answer the question you're not asking me, no, I don't think they raped him. I can't be sure until we're in a safer location so I can examine him more thoroughly, but..."
Before Trowa could take even a small bit of comfort in her words, the alarm from Sally's computer blared, causing their heads to snap up. Guilt and grief were pushed aside as the pair of old friends and comrades checked the monitor screen. The people who had Quatre were flying up the gravel road towards them at a high rate of speed, and would be at the safe house within minutes.
"Shite! Bug out!" Trowa snapped, but Sally was already moving.
Grabbing several bags of medical supplies, she bolted for the car, leaving Trowa to grab Quatre. Trowa wrapped the comforter around Quatre, then scooped him up and rushed to follow. Quatre's lack of screams were a small blessing. He dropped Quatre on the back seat and jumped in the driver's seat. Starting the van, they tore away from the house and down the back driveway.
"Press the blue button on the bottom of my tablet and toss it out behind us," the Heavyarms pilot ordered. Sally did as she was told and was surprised when Trowa floored the accelerator. Thirty seconds later, the world shook under the force of the blast. A secondary explosion announced that the closest car's undercarriage had succumbed to the heat and shrapnel.
"Do you guys always carry around that many explosives?" questioned Sally ruefully.
"With Duo Maxwell around? What do you think?" Trowa smirked. "Grab the cell phone out of the glove box and toss it here."
"Then Noin was right; you're all pyromaniacs," Sally quipped sarcastically as handed him the phone. "What are you thinking?"
Trowa punched up a pair of numbers on the speed dial, and it was answered halfway through the first ring.
"05, we've been compromised. Ditch all of your electronics and buy new ones. The kidnappers had intimate knowledge on 04, probably a former handler or trainer, and there's a possible leak in Preventer. Call 01; he'll pass the message on to 02 and the girls. Tell him we're all going on a little trip back in time, and the coordinates are located in "03's oh, shit plan"[3] that only the nine of us know about."
"Where's Sally?" 05 questioned.
Sally took the phone from Trowa and said "Right here, honey, and we're as safe as houses for now."
"How's Quatre?"
"I'll explain when we meet up later, okay?"
"All right. Be careful, Xîn'ài."[4]
"I will, baby. Here's Trowa."
Trowa took back the cell phone and said "05... Wu Fei… please, don't get caught. Bug out, stay safe and warn the others. We'll see you soon."
After a curt "Roger that" from Wu Fei, Trowa ended the call and handed the phone back to Sally, who promptly put the device back in the glove box. Neither she nor Trowa could pass on the knowledge they both possessed; that their leader, the heart of their team, was down. They couldn't shake their comrades' faith until he was there to help Trowa watch their backs.
To be continued...
Author's Notes: I apologize for the delays on my other stories, but I am working on them, too. I'm working on a borrowed Dell laptop that likes to crash every time it gets even the tiniest bit warm, and it's rather frustrating to get into a groove and then BOOM, the stupid thing shows a blue crash screen and you've lost most of your new paragraphs. If I didn't set RoughDraft to save every five minutes, I'd give up writing altogether.
Annotations:
[1] In my head canon, Trowa and Catherine are English and Irish on their late father's side (the name Bloom), and Russian on their late mother's, so Trowa can speak some Irish Gaelic and Russian, mostly cuss words. Íosa is Irish for Jesus.
[2] See my rewrite of "Scenario for Bloodshed," coming soon.
[3] I mentioned this in Chapter One, and I'll reveal some of the details in Up On Heaven's Boulevard.
[4] Mandarin Chinese for "beloved."
Next Chapter: Remembering little of his captivity, Quatre awakens in Trowa's arms. As they and Sally meet up with Duo and Hiiro, memories of their training begin to surface, and Sally discovers that she, too, is infected with nanites.
Next, on Gundam Wing: Let Slip the Gods of War - Dawn.