Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The One-Eared Neko ❯ THE DISCRETION OF EPIMETHEUS ( Chapter 11 )

Part 11 THE DISCRETION OF EPIMETHEUS

Heero's heart was breaking. He could feel it corroding in his chest, bleeding down in into the pit of his stomach, which was still heaving. It was like the melted restraints that had been used to tie him down in objectivity-neutral ground. Dull, sickening rage bubbled up in him, growing deeper and thicker with each growl of pain the bohemian ground out, moaning pitifully into the dirt. He no longer was anywhere near neutral ground. This was a slaughtering ground, plain and simple.

He clenched his fists, watching all the brutality unfold. With each new angry keening slicing the night air, Heero's anger became more and more inescapable.

The Japanese man grimaced in the shadows, teetering on the need for a decision. It was a delicate situation. Well, as delicate as a spiteful pistol-whipping could be. Dive in rashly and he would perish along side the bohemian. Hold back and he would watch him bleed dry.

Meanwhile, the baton had been passed to another in the group, who promptly descended upon the battered and unconscious bohemian, one exhausted Duo Maxwell lying lifelessly on the ground. This man Heero recognized as the second unlucky bounty hunter from the truck stop only few days ago. The red, scabbing gashes along the billfolds of fat hanging around his neck weren't becoming with the disgruntled expression to match. This one didn't seem as overtly violent as John had been, as he made a pathetic attempt to snarl and accuse and strike fear into his victim and ground Duo's face into the dirt with a hefty boot.

His body groaned, but only out of a subconscious reflex. Heero suspected he was too far gone into darkness to notice it. He knew Duo wouldn't be hurt as badly by this new bounty hunter already-he was not enjoying this nearly as maliciously as John had enjoyed it-but that didn't change the fact that he was still hurting him, and doing it with a smirk on his face.

Silhouetted sinisterly against the glaring white headlights, the bounty hunter with the broken nose rejoined the circle watching the display and smugly folded his arms, as Duo might have done had the tables been turned. There was no doubt he wouldn't pass an opportunity to strike back at the bounty hunter, if he made it through the night, that was. Heero paused in his morbid train of thought. He wondered vaguely what Duo would have done if he were watching from the bushes, not bleeding on the ground. It gave him a minute glimmer of hope paired with only a very raw instinct of an idea.

'If you didn't happen to know, I've only survived like this for so long because I know when to follow my gut instincts,' the memory of the bohemian hissed in his brain.

He moved off into the darkness of the forest again, his lips crushed together in a scowl, little lines of sweat already appearing along his temples. Keeping distinctly away from the light, Heero ran noiselessly into the safety of night, glaring in the direction of the torture circle as he moved. The Japanese man crept around to higher ground, above the circle of cars.

He was panting as he prowled low to the ground, mimicking the fluid motions of the black-clad bohemian as best he could. His used his palms to ward off the abundance of thorny vegetation and he made sure to step carefully, knowing he had no time to waste.

Finally, still keeping his glare fixed on the circle of shadowed bounty hunters, still cringing at each roar of pain that was pounded out of Duo, he had positioned himself on higher ground, peering down at the dully-gleaming trunks of the compact yuppie cars. It was difficult to see the mud-flecked license plates in the dark, but Heero crawled closer and memorized them neatly, running his icy-cold, sore fingertips over the embossed metal, whisking the information away into his brain

Duo's voice rang out again, echoing into the woods only to be heard by himself and the collection of bounty hunters. Glancing over the curves of the red Corvette parked beside him, Heero frowned once more at the sight.

The slim frame of the bohemian slumped painfully into the mud, shuddering madly in a confusing mix of pain and suppressed rage. He'd barely been able to pull himself out of unconsciousness, but luckily there had been a man to beat him awake.

The angry fist of a new executioner hovered at the man's waist, waiting to curl back and strike again. He barked some wordless slur at Duo, marked with half-drunken fury, and the transparent green bottle gripped in his other fist shattered into a glittering shower on the bohemian's head, raining down on him. Mud and blood was caked into his chestnut hair, and dirt covered his face like a twisted makeup as he climbed to his knees clumsily. He had no use of his arms or hands-they were tied behind him, and his torso was quickly going numb. As soon as he labored to a half-upright position, violet eyes fluttering and half-lidded but still weakly glaring at his torturer, the merciless butt of a semi-automatic bashed into the side of his face. Duo bit his tongue and tasted blood as he spun back into the dirt.

Meanwhile, dark blue eyes spit fire at the bounty hunter currently laughing at the pain he'd inflicted and happily tossing up the gun in his palm, getting ready to swing it again. Like a sick boxing toy, one that bobbed back only to be punched again, Duo sat up with dead, distant eyes, moving in what seemed like slow motion. Moving a little like there was suicide on was simmering the brain.

Another pistol butt bit into his face.

Heero nearly slammed his fist onto the trunk of the car in frustration, but caught himself before it got him caught. He decided it was better to move then waste time being angry while Duo was beaten some more, just for the kicks of six very sick men.

Out of the ring of six cars forming the ring of white headlights, only five truly were in a circle. The sixth, probably owned by a procrastinator, had no room in the circle and was parked haphazardly behind them, the right headlight closely wedged between two cars. It was this rather boxy and clumsy looking one, an old grey model, which Heero decided to take. Noticeably unlocked, Heero lifted the metallic latch slowly, avoiding unnecessary noise that would tip six rather ticked-off hunters to his location and his undesirable doings. The door swung open and the Japanese man slunk inside.

A pair of furry pink die hung statically suspended from the rearview mirror. The pungent taste of cologne seemingly infected the very fabric of the interior and stung Heero's nose. It wasn't bohemian perfume, that was for sure. But it would have to do.

With his stomach pressed on the seat, Heero peered cautiously out the window, into the ring of white light. Even thrashed and bleeding and half-conscious, Duo couldn't seem to not cause trouble. A fist twitched violently as it waited to strike him again, a foul face snarling down at him in his reeling haze. The bohemian's violet eyes had long gone dull, and he barely registered the grown man screaming in his ears.

Heero bent down and crawled into the seat, instinctively crouching low so the threadbare steering wheel prodded at his collarbone. The Japanese man was still panting nervously as he closed his fingers around the metallic shape of the keys sitting idly in the ignition. Peering out the window, the shadowed forest and moonlight greeted him, a symphony of screams and angry roars comprising its morbid soundtrack.

An unseen, ghastly fist squeezed his chest, feeling like it was slowly crushing him; his heart wouldn't seem to stop throbbing painfully. Under his breath, he began to count.

"Son-Ni-Ichi!"

He gunned the ignition. Six heads whipped in his direction, startled, glaring expressions in a variety of grimy flavors. The current executioner pulled his boot from Duo's battered gut and let the body of one groaning bohemian to collapse into the mud as he half-gaped.

Heero growled to himself and glared defiantly back at the bounty hunters as he pulled the car into gear and thundered forward with a gurgling, mistreated bastard of an engine beneath him. It wasn't the best-kept car, he could surmise.

The six glaring expressions soon turned to shock and disbelief and regrets of not filing for better car insurance as metal clashed and crumpled like paper. Heero tore into the backside of the black coup and let out a sharp breath of surprise as the vehicle jarred him back with unexpected force. It was for only a second, however, that those disgruntled bounty hunters took to hover in shock, that Duo took to lift his bleeding head to see a furious traveler behind the wheel, and that Heero took to slam back on the gas. He spun the wheel and smashed deliciously into the Corvette, completely spearing the passenger side door and collapsing the metal frame.

Luckily, it seemed that he'd picked the ugly car with the unbreakable frame of steel.

Like a maniac at gunpoint trying to thrash away, Heero cursed and threw the demolition-derby tactic out the window and opted to run. The obviously pissed bounty hunters were clamoring shamelessly over the hoods of their cars in their hurry to get to the intruder on their battering session. Each scrambled to find his gun. Snapping something indistinct to himself, Heero lunged down to shift into reverse. A bullet bit a jagged hole into the windshield and sliced through the stuffing beside his head, followed in succession by five more. They burst onto the hood and lights, as the tires squealed from the force Heero slammed on the gas, veering the car sharply backwards.

More bullet fire rattled and bit holes into the back of the car, knocking the shitty bumper half-cocked and letting it trail in the dirt. The assault pierced whatever happened to unluckily be in the trunk at the moment full of holes, golf clubs or perhaps a strangled body or two. More whirred by, putting holes into the windshield, painting the glass an opaque blue around the jagged edges.

As stuffing exploded randomly in the seat around him, popping loudly, Heero quickly leaned over again and threw the car once again into drive, the furious din growing louder outside. Finally, the engine roared, the tires squealed and spat dirt, and he stormed down the narrow dirt trail from which the cars had used to travel up into the forest.

In frustration, the men holstered their guns or shoved them into a grimy pocket, and they scrambled to their respective cars. A glowering man clamored into John's passenger side, pure rage etched into his scowl. Apparently, he wasn't too pleased with his car being hijacked and then shot full of holes because of it.

The crumpled black coup was the last to roar into life and speed after Heero retreating vehicle, leaving a cloud of dust hovering in the chill night air and a bohemian lying, coughing and bleeding and grumbling, in the center of the dirt circle. Duo lifted his head and looked out into the darkness with glassy eyes, now that the glaring headlights had disappeared. He spat another mouthful of blood and, with a groan, began the delicate process of dragging himself from the mud.

Heero, meanwhile, was cursing and blessing himself at the same time. He was thanking God for his inborn talent for driving, but pounding himself for pressing his scant luck. His getaway car bucked roughly on the uneven, winding road and loud buckling of metal could be heard, the sides heavily scraping smaller trees as he motored off. Heero wondered why he just had to pick the car of the bounty hunter that had decided to drive a flaming lemon to the slow gangland slaying of a con man.

The car jarred and bucked like a distempered mustang hoping to spit out the foreign bit that was Heero Yuy. Low branches and stubborn foliage struck the windshield with disturbing force as he curved down the pitch-black road, running almost blindly.

But his luck could and would worsen. John's passenger was the only man with free hands, and quickly started firing at Heero. A bullet shattered the back window, whirring inches from his head. With the constant, high-speed motion, it significantly decreased his chance of being struck, but it didn't change the fact that he could still be hit.

Eventually, Heero began to pull away and few bullets bit into the glass and headrest, inches off target, and there were less explosions of stuffing by his ear. His fearless {or rather reckless} driving soon began to pay off. He had raced nearly a mile down the road and widened the between him and the bounty hunters. Plenty of time for the battered Duo to escape.

Although he really hadn't thought about setting aside a similar escape plan for himself, Heero remembered grimly.

Lit up like skeletons in the stark white headlights, it was impossible for Heero to see the tree trunks screaming at him in time. It was too sharp a turn for any human being to make. With a breathless gasp of shock, the blue-eyed traveler slammed his foot vaguely down at the brake and hoped to hit it and the muscles ached in his arms as he tried to spin the wheel. But it was for nothing. Bright white headlight and metal crumpling like paper filled his vision before his forehead buckled forward.

Sharp discomfort licked up his side, and unconsciousness was trying to claim him, and pain tried to seduce him. It screamed in his head. It was dizzy, it was all scraps of reality, and it was all a blurry, achy stew. The glass of the windshield had shattered a bit and piled down on him, filling up his lap and his hair with little glittering pieces. After what seemed like an immeasurable amount of time to him, Heero groaned as he was pulled from a hazy dream-like state of pain into a sharp, crisp one.

The car was mangled against the trunk of an ancient oak tree, the metal gleam of engine jarred from underneath the crumpled hood. One of the headlights flickered, plunging in and out of darkness. Nasty white steam hissed from the engine, escaping into the air. He was lucky he hadn't been thrown from the already-broken windshield, but Heero had been pinned just enough by the steering column to keep him in place. He realized now that it was causing the unpleasant sensation of something pressing his stomach against his spinal cord.

The traveler groaned into the steering wheel, where his forehead had buckled. Rubbing at the bruise that would be forming there, he hissed painfully and slumped forward, trying to catch his breath. His brain swam, but he knew he couldn't afford to sit and try and ride it out. Smoke was leaking inside from the engine, something else was prodding into his side uncomfortably, and the smell of gasoline started filling the car.

Heero steadied himself enough to regain some of his bearings and twisted to get out, rattling the doorknob and weakly flinging it open. But the dizziness dug its vicious teeth into him and he collapsed clumsily out of the door onto the grass as soon as he tried to stand. Spitting out grass and dirt, his brain wheeled and struggled to straighten itself in time. The Japanese man was lifting himself onto his feet when the searing white headlights returned and he turned his aching head into them.

Dust and gravel hissed as the wheels halted and five pursuing cars slowed and glared at him, their engines growling deeply into the night. Heero panted, furrowing his brows and frowning. Instincts, huh? If only he'd had the instinct to devise an escape plan.

Like an animal refusing to die, Heero crawled painfully to his knees and glared steadily into the blinding white lights, straightening himself like a man before the fury of the bounty hunters.

John, however, found the display of prideful defiance rather amusing. Smirking broadly, even visible through the brilliant haze, he popped open his door and smiled venomously at Heero. He received an expression of icy daggers in return, the Japanese man clenching his fist and refusing to stagger, though his head rang like a church bell.

The bounty hunter, his knuckles stained with Duo's blood, leaned against the open car door and began to clap complacently, congratulating Heero in the most insulting of ways. Now he understood what Duo had so eloquently described as a bigot piece of shit. "That was magnificent," he said, clapping alone as the others clamored out of their cars, their faces concealed by the white glare. "Truly, a beautiful try."

Heero only glared, hoping to melt the man in his shoes. But in truth, it was to bury the slow boiling rage and fear twisted up inside him, hoping he wouldn't lash out at the man like he had to the bohemian and stoop to his disgusting level.

"Okay, accomplice," John said loudly. "Before we kill you, why don't you tell me what it is about those things that rots your brain into puddles of shit? Why help those walking damnations?"

"What?" Heero barked lowly, snarling. He had the suspicion he knew whom he was speaking so highly of, and he didn't like it.

"You know," he replied, grinning darkly. "Those beasts. Those filthy animals. Demons, even. What is so goddamned attractive in those things that pulls you to them? How did that one trick you into helping him? Did he bewitch you?"

A dangerous nerve flared in Heero's chest. "Duo is not a demon!" he snarled loudly, grinding his fists into his palms until blood stung his skin. "Bastard."

John laughed and cupped a hand to his ear, leaning forward as if to catch the words that had been swept off in the wind. Heero loathed watching his deceptive, snake-like grin of hatred and revulsion rolled into the seductive wrap of power of violence. "I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't quite get that last part."

"He's right. I'm no demon," a low voice cut in suddenly. "I'm Shinigami."

Then the front of John's head exploded in red and he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

For a moment, time stood still and Heero silently watched the bohemian standing guilty over the fallen corpse, knowing that chaos would erupt in only an instant. But the soulless look in Duo's eyes hardened to ice and he moved one moment before the rest of the world.

Leveling his gun again, he noiselessly twisted his torso and aimed. Two thunderclaps bucked out of the barrel and flung two bounty hunters to the ground, precise red holes carved between their hateful eyes. The remaining three whirled their arms up in a panic to retaliate, but Duo easily and efficiently tossed the emptied pistol to the dirt and took the auxiliary from his pocket. Bullets flew and three dead hunters slumped to the mud, sprawled across the hood, and crumpled over the door respectively. When the brief din died down, only the traveler and the bohemian remained, standing stone still. Heero panted noiselessly, in a daze, watching the listless face of the bohemian, somehow waiting for the worst to happen and dreading he would somehow die on him, right there and then.

After glancing dully down at the pistol in his fist, Duo relaxed his wrist and the semi-automatic clattered uselessly into the dirt. And then he fell.