Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation ❯ I - G - Fate is Murder in the First Degree ( Chapter 7 )

Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation

How these 4 `s' words are intertwined

By Masamune Reforged

WhenShootingStarsFall.com

Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters, they are the property of Bandai, Sunrise or someone else, but not me. I use them for no-profit whatsoever, but for entertainment's gain.

Warnings: Yaoi (innumerable pairings. Getting a little more graphic here, lemon next chapter), cursing, drug use, violence, angst, insanity, cameos, AU, lunacy, racism. All the bad shit you'd expect in real life.

 

Note: This is the first chapter that deals with the actual layout of the setting, Metro City. I've made a small map and it's online for anyone who wants to know where exactly shit is. WhenShootingStarsFall.com/stage.html

 

Part G of “Fate Works at a 24/7 Convenience Store”, Page I in the s4 arc.

“Fate is Murder in the First Degree”

Duo's POV

 

So then the crazy psycho killer guy who I should be scared of but instead was frighteningly attracted to told me to `Walk away, slowly.' What the fuck else am I supposed to do? This same random nutjob had also said earlier that he wanted to jizz in my retinas. I'd accidentally run into him while scooping up “Trick III” from the 24-7 slurpee place, all of like twenty minutes ago. Before I know it, a second psycho comes in waving a gun, and when the 5-0 breaks it up BOTH schizoids take me, the rich pampered fop and some random Chink tripping on God-knows-the-fuck-what-drug at gunpoint and make a break for it!

 

I had gotten much more from the Kwikee Mart than just lemon flavored gum and some whack-off material… And don't get me wrong, I like getting my kicks, but this was just a little fucking daunting, even by my not so delicate standards.

 

But, for some reason, the idea of leaving the side of the absolutely drop-dead gorgeous piece of stone-cold killer, who had been digging his pistol into my spine, and occasionally poking the cold chrome down inside of my jeans (I don't like the constriction of boxers or briefs FYI) was something I did very, very, very slowly.

 

I glanced over my shoulder at the guy (Heero Yuy was it?) as I took heavy step after heavy step towards the cop who still had his gun drawn. From behind I could feel his piercing cobalt eyes skull-fucking me, his mouth neither slack nor clenched, his breathing heavy, his tan still perfect in the middle of winter, and his crisp, unwrinkled suit and tie (red, very much oriented to his business-like demeanor) completely contrasted with his Oh-Oops-I-Ran-Out-Without-Combing-My-Hair-Does-It-Look-Messy? brown hair.

 

YES! YOUR HAIR DOES MAKE YOU SO FUCKING SEXY! YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES ME TO GET ALL OF MINE UP IN THIS RIDICULOUS 5-FOOT LONG BRAID!?!

 

…Oh wait, where was I?

 

That's right, the high-octane, desperate, standoff hostage exchange scene…

 

But do you know what I mean about putting in so much effort into one aspect of your appearance and then seeing someone pull an even better-looking style that must take them all of two voodoed seconds every morning? It really pisses me off…

 

Right, right, the exotic psycho killer, who I'd bet $50 was a firebrand in the sack, was slowly deathglare-fucking me with his so serious “I'm going to kill you” eyes and half waving me over towards Joe Oz.

 

Joe Oz was the cop standing about six feet away from me, squinting against the beam from the psycho's flashlight. It said `Joe Oz' on his glinting gold badge. Joe was short, fat and sweating, shaking slightly. I made a point not to look at Joe's face, because I had a feeling that the guy behind me was going to end his life. The fuzz ID him and fax out sketches of his gorgeous mug? Not this one. This one was special. Heero Yuy.

 

BANG!

 

But I never fucking expected for the psycho-hunk to shoot just as I walked a quarter-step past the line of sight between him and Joe Shmoe Oz. The first bullet went right through my well-shampooed weaves. I can't believe he shot my hair! That mother-fucker!

 

BANG! Joey took another bullet, this one right up his nose. A nice spurt of blood and brain pieces came out the other end, along with the metal slug. I heard a loud roar of commotion from all sides of the building, the cops choking on their donuts as they tried to figure out what was going on and where.

 

“JOE!!!” The other cop yelled, head disappearing behind a dumpster on the other side of the alley, nearer to where the tall masked robber and the Hiltonite (aka. spoiled rich whore) were scrambling towards the darkness of the alley up ahead.

 

“You're coming with me,” The psycho killer suddenly hissed into my ear, actually nipping the top of my lobe, digging his thumb into my mid-forearm and pulling me along with him in the same direction.

 

BANG! BANG! Heero fired two more shots at the cop hiding behind the dumpster, just as we darted around the corner of the abandoned movie complex and out of the lights from the main street. I heard a groan of pain. Did this guy actually hit the cop behind the dumpster? Was he some sort of Asian Billy the Kid?

 

I didn't quite know what to think, but wasn't left much time for it. The psycho-hunk broke out into a sprint; I'm talking a balls-to-the-wall-Get-the-FEEYUCK-outta-Dodge sprint. He was still clutching my right arm, pinching my nerve, and it really looked like he was serious about making me his ticket to escape. I'll have a gay porno and a stick of gum, please. My partner here'll take one first degree murder and a hostage to go, thank you very much.

 

I tore out running as best I could, what with one captive arm. I was not going to trip; I was too afraid he'd shoot me in the head and leave me there if I held him back.

 

The robber and the rich bitch took a hard right, the blonde kicking an empty Budweiser bottle into the brick wall and shattering it. The taller guy was practically dragging him. The rich bitch's idea of breaking a sweat was probably counting all his money.

 

My psycho-dreamboat nearly dislocated my shoulder as he made a sudden left. I was caught off balance and had to dance/weave through stacked cardboard boxes, trash bags , dumpsters and try not to slip on the leftover wintry slush. The breath from my deranged captor streamed out into my face like smoke from a locomotive, even and paced breaths.

 

We scampered across an empty street and into the shadows of an apartment complex. He slung me up against the wall, finally letting go of my wrist, which would certainly be black and blue tomorrow. Nothing a little makeup wouldn't fix though. The cold air harshly burned my lungs. It felt good.

 

Sirens yelled in the darkness, coming and going like mindless ghosts. I guess he was giving me a moment to catch my breath, though I didn't really need it. I was breathing heavily, but could easily have still ran a couple miles before really getting tired. Stealing for a living really does wonders for your stamina, ya know?

 

“Stay here,” He commanded, breathing sharply in my ear. He turned to leave.

 

I caught him by the wrist, spinning him back to face me and drawing him close. I could have kneed him in the balls or made a grab for the gun, but that would have been a huge risk, and besides, escape wasn't my top priority right now.

 

“Yes, master,” I whispered seductively into his ear. Calling him that had gotten a rise out of him earlier in the Kwikee mart, and I wondered how he would react now, in a dark alley, when we were all alone. I stuck my tongue into his ear.

 

SLAP! Heero Yuy backhanded me firmly, sending my vision spinning and causing bright red lights to flash in my brain. I tasted a tinge of blood as I bit my lip involuntarily.

 

“Never touch me,” The sexpot axe murderer ordered. I knew he meant to add `without my permission', and that made me smile, in spite of the burning sting and the cut on the inside of my lip. Oh he wanted me to touch him, but on his terms and under his psychotic orders. The thought really turned me on.

 

“Yes, master,” I said again, more humbly.

 

“Stay here.” And he disappeared into the shadows.

 

I waited for maybe twenty seconds before footsteps started to thud-thud-thud over from the direction of the crime scene. I leaned up and relaxed against the wall, pulling my baseball cap lower so that I could barely see out from under the brim. A flashlight shined into my face.

 

“What are you doing here?” The pig asked.

 

“Trying to get some sleep,” I shot back, turning away from the light, acting annoyed.

 

A hand turned me back around. A black cop with glasses and short curly black hair glared at me. Over his shoulder a blonde leered, listening into the police frequency on a headset. The blonde looked like a rat, and the nigger reminded me of a rabid pitbull.

 

“That violates Article 5, Section A, of the Anti-Loitering and Squatting Laws,” The black cop smiled. “You're going downtown, you shit.”

 

“More importantly Mueller,” The blonde chimed in reproachfully, “He could be connected with the robbery.”

 

“I was getting to that, Alex!” Mueller spat back. He looked at me, angrier. “What ar-”

 

“UNGH!” The blonde guy grunted. His body was slammed up against the brick wall, his head smacking against the stone. He fell like a puppet cut loose from the strings, Heero's right foot still lodged next to his kidney.

 

“The fuck?” The black cop went for his gun, but I grabbed his hand, spinning him around and pushing him up against the wall. He bucked like a rodeo bull, cracking the back of his head into my jaw. I fell back. He whirled around, snarling, his gun out of the holster.

 

THWACK! Heero pistol-whipped the cop before he could do anything. The cop's eyes rolled up into the back of his head, hand's grip failing and dropping his gun. He fell face first onto the floor. I heard the bridge of his glasses snap in half.

 

“Come on,” Heero commanded, wrapping that now familiar vice-like hand around my wrist.

 

~_~_~_~

 

Flash forward ten minutes later. Don't worry, all you missed was creeping through a couple more city blocks, scaling a twelve-foot fence (had been a little while since I'd done that. This guy was fucking crazy!), running through the deserted darkness of Royal Park and ending up at the western end of Gotham, at the desolate row of run-down houses overlooking King's Bay. The century-old wooden docks past the torn-down police tape were all rotting into the seawater. To the West you could see the lights of the boats at the New Metro Pier and the housing projects in the Metropolis Downtown. Dominating the Northwestern horizon was the massive bridge that connected the two main parts of Metro City, the Tomino-Yatate Bridge. The bridge straddled Roosevelt Island, the place I don't like to call home, but where I normally lay my head.

 

The run-down area where Heero and I caught our breath was in the middle of a pretty shitty Muslim community. The only good thing in that camel-jockey part of town was AliBaba's, a seedy bar at the very beginning of Seaside Avenue. I immediately suggested we head there and blend in. Besides, it was almost closing time...

 

“You know what I'll do if you lead anyone to me,” Heero threatened as we approached the bar. Some chick was booting up a storm in an alley.

 

“Oh yeah! I'm gonna think about that when I jack the box tonight,” I laughed him off.

 

“I'm serious,” He growled. It was a sexy little growl, his frustration showing easily.

 

“If you buy me some drinks, I promise I won't tell,” I turned to him. We were directly under the awnings of Yogi's Place, the boarded-up sporting center. We'd look just like anyone else taking a breath of fresh air near the bar.

 

The psycho-dreamboat looked cross, so I assured him, “Duo Maxwell may run, and he may hide, but he never tells a lie!”

 

The beautiful Asian hitman shook his head, almost in stupor at the fact that his hand was reaching into his pocketbook. “I don't have my wallet...” He muttered, still pissy about getting swiped.

 

“Since I'm such a good boy,” My moment to shine came. I reached into one of the numerous pockets I'd cut into the inside of my coat and whipped it out, Heero's wallet that is. “I'll give it back to you.”

 

I tossed it to the stunned psycho and swirled around, shaking my head so my braid would flutter almost right in his face. He'd follow me... I thought...

 

“There's $78 missing,” Heero said, forcing me to turn around in disbelief. Way to kill the mood! It was clear that he had been born with his social skills exchanged for an extra bag of sexy hunk parts.

 

“Deal with it,” I said coldly.

 

Heero seemed to accept this and began to follow me. I couldn't help but smile to myself as I opened the door to the bar, Jim Morrison's drunkenly bawled `Don't You Love Her Madly' floating out onto the streets.

 

The stone-cold pro asked, “They have a phone in there?”

 

“...Yeah...” What the hell did he nee-

 

“I'll be right back, I have to make a call,” He was holding his goddamned pager! The fucking lame, asexual piece of shit! NOW?!?

 

And he just walked off, just like that...

Asshole... just like everyone else...

 

Fuck him! Fuck that fucking asshole!

 

My eyes stung. It was from the sudden transition from the cold outside to the warm, smoky bar atmosphere. I blinked as I made my way towards the bar. There was almost nobody there, the trannie Muriel and his/her obese friend Sheila, two old Arab-looking men talking, and then, down towards the end of the bar, a young man.

 

I made my way over towards him. Don't think about Heero Yuy. Forget Heero Yuy. Goddamn it, why did I have to fucking know his name even?

 

Heero-fucking-perfect-Yuy! The Perfect Fucker! I didn't need that! Another asshole? Why bother getting attached? Why bother to even remember his name? No thank you!

 

-end “Fate is Murder in the First Degree”

part G of Page I in the Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation arc.

 

Next: “Fate is a Blowjob in a Bar Bathroom” Lemony, duh.

-feedback to MasamuneEHS@hotmail.com Hope you liked.

 

ID Notes:

Alex and Mueller are minor characters from Gundam Wing. They are two OZ Specials, students of Noin's, and pilot an Aries and a Cancer, respectively. They appear in only one episode in Wing and are thorough assholes. I especially hate that Mueller is the only black guy in all of the show, and he's a psychotic madman. Well, either he's the only black guy or Inspector Acht is too, but I always thought Acht was a different race. ...that guy was a crazy bastard too, and yes, he too will appear later on in the story.

 

References:

Gotham and Metropolis are named after the two fictional cities popularized in comic books and cartoons. Together they form the two main areas of Metro City, the setting. Refer to the map for more:

 

Roosevelt Island is the name I gave the island in the middle. It's based on a small island in between Queens and Manhattan by the same name.

 

Tomino and Yatate are the names of the creators of Gundam. Yoshiyuki Tomino wrote and directed Mobile Suit Gundam (the original), Zeta Gundam, ZZ Gundam, Char's Counterattack, Fundam f-91, Victory and Turn A Gundam.

The name Yatate is actually a collective pseudo name given to a large group of Sunrise animators and staff, who also worked on all the Gundam series.