Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Whispers In The Dark ❯ Inevitable Fates ( Chapter 5 )

Horror, Suspense, yucky violence, supernatural activity...somewhat canon charas (if I can manage it).

No Pairings. Maybe just a bit of shounen ai, but not in the way that us people looooovvveee.

Stand Disclaimers Apply: I do not own Gundam Wing. There.

Um...rated 'R' for some violence? (Some violence she says...)

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 = means scene change

A/N: Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! I am evil! And I will continue being evil until this wretched story is over with! Argh! Why do you always find the mistakes after you post?! Gah, can you people tell I really do know my shapes? Bloody, freakin' jumper-cracker...I am so dumb. See what happens when you constantly fuck around in math and don't pay attention?! Geez...I hate math. And geometry, even though they say that artists get that shit better than any other math-thingy available :grumbles:...Anyway! I'm happy, now! ^_^!

And :sniff: priscel, don't ya worry-ya'll will know who was looking at who in the end. O_O .

Chapter Five: Inevitable Fates

Trowa stared at his hand as he swept it through the wall, finding it utterly fantastic-he had been fascinated by it as they swept through people, but to know they could cross through walls and doors-! Without having to open doors as they normally had? Neat! He heard Wufei reporting that he could no longer hear Duo, and Trowa dropped his hand to his side as Heero suddenly shifted movement, signaling that they were heading up to the third level to meet with Wufei, to combine forces.

Something told Trowa that Duo wasn't silent for nothing-Quatre, either. The both of them combined would make more noise than a roomful of soldiers if they were in a good mood. If something happened to either-!

Trowa knew he would feel intensely bad for the deaths of his comrades, but then again, he knew he would be able to handle it. After all, people did die. There wasn't a way to being them back...but he knew he would definitely miss them both. Quatre and his kindness, Duo and his loud cheer. Really, while they were quite annoying in some ways, they were rather...well, rather comforting. Because they could express themselves. Could be normal. And Trowa envied them because of it. He was only angry with them because he thought they were so immature, so weak, so-lacking in instinct. But it wasn't like he carried a grudge against them...he liked them. He really did.

And Trowa felt bad now, for being angry with both. This place creeped him out, and his anger was really a mask to hide his worry. Because if anything had happened to them-! He knew he would feel intensely bad at never resolving his friendship woes with Quatre, who had tried so hard to get him to open up...and he would feel the same way with Duo because he'd hurt the guy on more than a few occasions, and expected him to deal with it. Maybe, once they left this shithole, Trowa would apologize to them both. He would fix Quatre and his friendship, and interact more with Duo. Because, really, they were the only true sources of light for him, and he really did like them...

He inhaled the oxygen that flowed gently within his helmet, figuring that he may as well peek in the various rooms they passed, just in case either were hiding within. He did just that, pausing before a door, peering quickly at the various things, and kept Heero close by. The soldier was busily scouting out anything suspicious (well, more so than now), and so wasn't making faster progress than Trowa.

Trowa stopped inside a door, frowning at the contents within. Strange...it was as if...this room was tainted with evil. Overwhelming loads of it. There were splatters all over the floor, leading in a vicious red trail towards the back of the room. From the other dark shapes about, and the heavy rumbling, it appeared to be the boiler room, where the heated water was transferred to the main water system throughout the residential areas above level...what were those splotches leading to?

He blinked when the lights went out with their sudden abruptness.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Heero frowned, blinking slightly to adjust to the sudden darkness. This was really getting irritating... if only it would stay light or stay dark. Decide on one and stick with it. Upon the descending darkness, there was a strange metallic combination wet sound that was rather...ugly, but Heero figured he'd stepped in something nasty. He lifted his foot, blinking at the sight of a decomposed body lying face down in the hallway. There were multiple bullet wounds along the person's back, so Heero had no problem identifying cause of death. This was his first body-now that he had a piece of the big puzzle, he could get down to figuring out what the hell happened on this mining colony. But this situation was weird-from the amount of dust that covered everything, this body should have been in its skeletal stages, not preserved with some skin intact...even with the cold air and thinness of oxygen.

The mystery was really irritating him.

"Trowa, let's go this way," he said, moving in the direction of a very familiar staircase. It would take them to the rooms, where he knew Wufei was waiting nearby. Upon no reply, Heero frowned, pausing in mid-step. He turned, flashing his light to see if Barton was listening to him, and saw no one behind him.

Frowning harder, Heero raised his gun, wondering where Trowa had gone without telling him. He started to venture forward when something caught the edge of his light, and he lowered his flashlight to see Trowa's bottom half sticking out from the doorway. Wondering what in hell was so interesting in the room that Trowa was positioned in such a way, Heero ventured closer and realized with some dawning horror that that wasn't the picture at all.

Rather, he was facing only Trowa's lower half. His hips, his legs...his oxygen tank was caught within the metal door, as if welded from within, crushed-and it was quite odd-it was as if-Heero's eyes widened in realization as he stared at the gruesome sight, flashlight shaking slightly. Trowa had been peering in a room with his ghostly form when the lights had gone out! Heero hadn't heard a single sound of his death! And Heero had no doubt that the mercenary was dead-there was no way a body could survive that!

Upon morbid fascination, Heero touched the knob of the door, and opened it, finding it blocked somewhat by what he knew was resting against the door. He pushed a little harder, venturing within the boiler room to see Trowa's other half, his body severed completely in half at his upper stomach section. Entrails dripped from the upper half, pooling on the floor and somewhat sticking to the door, the mercenary's face expressing surprise in his death from beneath the face shield of his helmet.

Staring at the sight, unsure of what to think, Heero couldn't move. Even as his leg throbbed painfully and he heard Wufei's inquiries through their comm-link, he couldn't move. For one thing, he couldn't believe that Trowa had died so...so suddenly. But it made sense. Because Trowa was a ghost when the lights were on, and then he wasn't when the lights were off. And the lights had turned off when Trowa was looking in a room, using his ghost form to move through the door rather than opening it in that sense. And because of that mistake, Trowa was now dead. Heero had to wonder how that had felt-one second you were alive and thinking about how cool it was to go through things, and then the next second, your body's cut in half by a solid object of which you were moving through. Huh. Death was so quick and unexpected, and it never continued to bore Heero.

It wasn't that he didn't have any feelings for the mercenary-Heero respected him. Trowa was a lot like him, but there was one thing they were so far apart on, and that was-well, Heero didn't like to think of that. Frankly, because it was wrong, and it wasn't respectable. Heero numbly took in the sight of body parts that had been severed by the sudden materialization, noting the liver, the spleen, and ooh, hey, was that part of the large intestine? Wasn't that supposed to be nearly twenty-two feet long when stretched out? Weirrrddd....Realizing that his mental dialogue was suddenly turning reminiscent of Duo's, Heero had to take several deep breaths, to calm himself. He recognized the rising edges of hysteria, and he knew that he couldn't quite break down now-he had to calm himself.

He was a soldier. He saw more gruesome things on the battlefield. He'd seen bodies stamped flat by mecha. He saw entrails burst upon gunfire. He saw many other mangled things that would make a grown man in the medical field entirely sick. But this...this was different. Different because Trowa was someone close to him, someone Heero spoke to everyday and learned from in the same amount of time. It was different when someone you knew died. And Heero was affected. He couldn't deny it.

Finally, swallowing the bile that was starting to rise in his clogged throat, Heero closed his eyes and walked out of the room. Really, there was nothing he could do...he had to leave Trowa behind and move on. After all, people died. There was just no other way around it.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Quatre stared blankly at nothingness in front of him, unable to move. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since-since Duo passed away. Ha. 'Passed away'. He didn't want to think of Duo's violent death any more than it was, and wanted only to focus in on the fact that Duo was no longer suffering. True, it was in a bad way that Duo would no longer feel pain, but...at least he wasn't hurting anymore. He could hear the slow sounds of his breath, hitched by an occasional hiccup. Crying wasn't going to bring Duo back. It was useless. Everything was utterly useless. Duo died because of him. With his death brought feelings of guilt, tremendous shame and even more guilt.

Guilt because it was him that Duo didn't want to leave the room. Guilt because he'd gotten lost. Guilt because he was afraid. Guilt because this was the last mistake he'd ever make. And what a mistake it was. His best friend died because of him. Like Trowa had.

Quatre knew Trowa was dead. He could feel it. And because of so, Quatre couldn't exactly think the same way again. Two people close to him had died, and he could do nothing about it. He couldn't bring them back. Though, he continued by some faint thread of hope that Duo or Trowa would appear to him in ghostly form, as Nigel had. But as time continued to flit by, Quatre knew it was a hopeless wish.

And he knew this situation was hopeless. Two people died because of him. Two of his friends. And he felt shamed of himself. He couldn't change his past decisions-and now look what happened.

Frankly, he wasn't sure how to feel now. He knew Nigel was intent on killing him. And he knew Nigel hated him, and he knew Nigel was twisted. He knew his death was not going to be a very quick, painless one. He deserved it, he felt. For doing this, for getting this far, for getting two innocent people killed. He deserved it. He only hoped that the remaining two would just...go. Give him up for dead and go. He didn't want their deaths to be on his conscience when his life was finally taken. Because, really-!

He started when the door opened in the darkness, and he shut his eyes quickly. He'd heard Nigel work on Duo's body for a while before leaving. It involved a lot of grunting, a lot of cursing, a lot of ripping and breaking that had made him want to vomit. He wasn't sure what Nigel did, but the smells...the sounds... he knew Nigel had done something truly and sickeningly disturbing to his best friend's body. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to see what had happened to Duo's body.

"One more to go," he heard Nigel's heavy voice whisper, sick glee in his wheezing voice. It seemed to freeze the marrow within Quatre's bones. It made him quiver slightly. Just knowing that the man was a very twisted ghost, capable of anything, sent him trembling.

"One more to go! And I'm through...But you're special. I have to take precautions with you...you got away once, I won't fail this time. I won't! This time, we'll be released. We'll all be released! My mission will be completed! With you, you're the final name. You're the final soul. The final step. My journey toward glory will be honored by the loss of your life. Except...except you're special. You got away once. I won't let that happen again...I've taken extra precautions this time..."

Quatre felt his breath hitch in his throat-he had accepted that he was going to die. He just couldn't control himself when he thought of how. He still felt fear. He still felt dread. He wasn't all dead...not like Trowa and Duo. He felt his eyes tear at the thought of Trowa. He hadn't even resolved their differences, yet. Well, it wasn't like Trowa was going to even listen, but...but there was always hope in trying. Quatre had hoped that they would patch things up, but none of that would happen. Trowa was dead. And he was going to be as well.

Quatre opened his eyes, observing darkness. He wondered if the lights were off again. Nigel kept his room entirely dark, so the only light that crept in was when the door opened and closed. He heard the sound of dripping liquid within a glass container, and could only guess what the man was doing. He heard Nigel's heavy breathing coming from his left, but it was entirely too dark to even glance about. He'd stopped focusing on his broken wrist awhile ago-there was much bigger things to whine around about. For instance, what Nigel was going to do with him. At least let him know...

The sock that had been stuffed into his mouth made the cavity dry, and he could barely breathe around it. He'd heard of victims that had died because their attackers had stuffed such things into their mouths, and they'd choked or suffocated because of it. Maybe...maybe if he could somehow swallow it, he'd take his own life. And wouldn't have to worry about Nigel doing whatever to him. At that thought, which was somehow very uplifting, he shifted his tongue about, adjusting the sock towards the back of his throat, struggling with the effort to do such because the material was so awkward within his mouth. He started to gag, eyes watering at the uncomfortable feeling, and heard Nigel's questioning grunt, pausing whatever he was doing. Quatre quickly tried to swallow the dirty, woolen material, but he suddenly felt pudgy fingers against the duct tape that covered his mouth, and suddenly ripped right off without pause.

Despite himself, Quatre gave a pained cry, made more awkward by the sock in his throat. That was removed, Nigel's wet fingers brushing against his lips and teeth, and Quatre made the effort to bite the offending appendages, but the man was quick. He received a hard cuff across the head because of it, and the tape was smoothed back into place.

Which was ridiculous, because who was going to hear him?! The other pilots weren't anywhere nearby, and would the other people, the other ghosts, hear him?! What would happen if they had?

But he didn't want to find out. He'd made his resignation to die, and so, he was going to die, damn it. He listened to Nigel shift about his room, muttering darkly underneath his breath. Quatre couldn't hear what he was saying, but the words were flowing, almost...almost a chant. As if...

With his eyes narrowing, Quatre strained his ears to listen to the chanting. It was in a foreign language, something he couldn't identify, and he wasn't sure what Nigel was doing, but he suddenly smelled burning hair and the awful, stomach twisting scent of flesh. Burning flesh. He was doing something to Duo-! As if his death wasn't enough, Nigel was continuing to desecrate his body?! Quatre was furious, and began pulling at his binds, struggling hard with fury that his best friend was being wronged even in death.

Nigel paused in his words, but the smell continued. The sound of crackling skin made Quatre shudder, but he was furious, yanking and kicking angrily at the bounds that held him to the bed.

"Stop it!"

Quatre paused in mid-struggle, momentarily freezing at the coldness of Nigel's voice. Hell. He was going to die anyway, right? Why should he be afraid? He began struggling again, feeling for the picks that Duo had given him earlier, using the ends to pick at the notches that kept the plastic binds in place.

"Knock it off!"

Fumbling with his awkward position, Quatre managed to loosen the cuffs enough to slip his good hand through the cuff, his other much too stiff and painful to continue moving in a working manner. Nigel returned to his chanting, and the crackling sound resumed. Fury building up within him, Quatre reached for the rope around his neck, quickly locating the knot, silently cursing himself for freeing himself so quickly when he could have done the same fucking thing while Duo was trying to fight for his life. So weak! So wimpy! Useless! He was all that his father had described, and more.

But this desecration of Duo's body was not going to continue any further! He reached down once picking through the knot at his throat, and undid his legs. Nigel was doing something else now, and Quatre wondered how the man could see in the dark! He himself couldn't see anything, but that was nothing new. Once free of the plastic cuffs and ropes that had bound him, he worked on the duct tape around his arms, and eventually struggled out of those. He reached up and ripped the tape from his mouth.

He was up and on his feet, flying forward to where he last heard Nigel when he smacked into something incredibly wet, stringy and slimy. It slapped against his face, hair and shoulders, swinging gently in a strung rope-like motion against him. Confused, Quatre paused in place, touching his face, pushing at the stringy ropes that he'd come into contact with. It was spread and held against the wall at his right, rising in several places up toward the ceiling and floor.

Nigel paused once more in whatever he was doing, and went silent as Quatre tried to figure out what was going on. He reached out, touching a long, thin rope of slime that was both smooth to the touch and yet very...sticky. And the smell-! Quatre traced the rope from where he was standing, toward the middle of the room, coming into contact with something solid, something hanging from the ceiling-

"DUO?!" he shouted in reflexive horror, his hand stuck on the naked, cold skin that he identified as Duo's side. Except...something was wrong-the position Duo hung in consisted of both arms raised and spread at the shoulders, braced from ropes suspended from the ceiling, his legs dangling rather limply from him. Quatre touched sticky, pungent moisture that coated the thin ribs, and felt around his former friend's side to his stomach-only, his hand disappeared within an open cavity that was once firm muscle. His fingers touched nothing but open cavity, and he swung them upward in an effort to withdraw his hand, touching various broken ribs that cut at his suit sleeves and bare hand.

With a reflexive shout of horror, Quatre withdrew his hand to his chest, realizing what he'd been touching earlier-Duo's stomach had been cut open, and his friend had been gutted. Gutted. Nigel had hung his entrails in a spiderweb-like netting that had spread from one section of the room to the other. Quatre felt his eyes roll up into his head at the thought of his friend being used that way, and he felt himself crumble like nothing onto the floor.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Wufei saw Heero's flashlight moving in his direction. Blinking curiously at just one light, he figured Trowa was off exploring somewhere and would join them later. Shrugging at that, he removed himself from the wall, waiting for Heero to join him.

"Well?" he asked gruffly.

Wufei shook his head. "Nothing more."

"Did you search all the rooms?"

"I searched all the ones on the top level, and was about to do these ones when you came," Wufei said, pointing out the rooms. "When's Barton joining us?"

Heero shook his head, sweeping past him. Wufei noticed the limp, lifting an arm to point that out when Heero spoke. "He won't be."

Wufei was confused, blinking. He lowered his arm. "Wha-? Why?! Is he going back to the ship?"

"Trowa's dead, Chang."

At that, Wufei felt every part of him grow suddenly heavy, and he was unable to move. He couldn't believe that Trowa was dead-the thought was impossible! Trowa, with his seriousness, his quiet tenacity... Wufei couldn't think of Trowa in such terms, terms of death. It was...it was impossible. Trowa was the type to live forever! He knew how to escape horrible fates, and he wasn't afraid to die. Wufei wondered how it would be to go on without looking into those serious green eyes, feeling the quiet boy nearby...He felt his breath hitch in his throat, feeling it clogged with emotion. He swallowed repeatedly, wondering how the mercenary had died. None of the two had exchanged any comments or cries of alarm, so how-?

"How...?" he trailed off as Heero began to open every door, searching every room. Wufei followed at a numb pace, hardly able to accept that the mercenary was no longer part of their life. Because it was truly stunning, because it was inconceivable...because it was almost as if Wufei saw Trowa was a god-the mercenary wasn't one to die. Not this way. Not like this.

"He made the wrong decision," Heero answered simply, emerging from a room and entering another.

Wufei blinked. Eyes then narrowing into dangerous slits, Wufei stalked over to the room Heero was currently investigating. He stood in the doorway, shaking from unexplained anger. "You didn't-!"

"I didn't kill him, Chang!" Heero spit, turning to look at him. He gave Wufei an incredulous expression. "Why on Earth would I kill him?"

Wufei looked away, shifting his eyes to a closed door down the hall, and moving forward to look through that one without answering Heero's question. His flashlight worked very well, but it pinpointed nothing. He began looking through various rooms, Heero covering the ones that he'd left for that purpose. As he moved, Wufei's mind was racing, wondering how Trowa Barton had died. Was it Heero caused? Did they have some sort of accident? Did something happen so quick that neither of them raised an alarm until it was too late?

When he met Heero later on in the hall, they had covered nearly a dozen residential rooms that were filled with personal items, but no indications of their fellow pilots or the souls that had lived there.

Heero was silent for so long that Wufei wondered what the other thought about him. He had to admit, that question he'd asked earlier was rather...well, it was rather offensive, he had to admit. With a bow of his head, he turned in Heero's direction, watching him open a door and push it open.

"Yuy, I apologize for the indication of my words," he apologized gravely, guiltily fondling his flashlight. "It was rather... inappropriate."

"Hn. Never mind that, Wufei. I found Duo."

Wufei snapped his head up, and looked at Heero with some cheer on his Asian features. Wufei hurried over, pulling his flashlight up and flickering it inside the room. He sucked in a large amount of breath in absolute horror, his eyes widening with disbelief. Heero had found Duo, all right. Duo was not to be missed.

Their former comrade was hanging from the ceiling, his arms stretched up and to his sides, his legs dangling from his mangled body. He was completely lacking in clothing-and for a purpose. His head was bowed, but there was blood steadily dripping from the hidden face. His genitalia had been completely removed, stuffed within the mouth with the aid of some duct tape. Burned into the naked flesh of his arms and legs were words in a different language, language Wufei couldn't quite identify. The extremely strong smell of burnt skin, blood and bodily entrails seeped through the oxygen of his helmet, and he put startled hands to his face, fingers and flashlight bumping into the protective barrier.

It was that horrifying-horrifying that someone had gone through the process of gutting the braided pilot-had sliced through his stomach, pinned the flaps of skin aside, the entrails pulled out and spread away from the limp body throughout the room, as if forming a sort of spider web. His ribs were exposed, broken and uncovered, the rest of his inner organs missing, revealing only his heart, which was stabbed with something resembling an upside down cross.

Duo's cross. Painted black. Wufei felt himself growing sick, and he quickly removed his helmet, bending to the side to vomit. Heero, after surviving the initial shock of the gruesome sight, ventured into the room. Duo was set up there for a reason. It wasn't just for decoration. That much Heero knew. He walked into the room, shining his flashlight on the floor, revealing the clues of a very physical fight. Broken shards of glass, dark liquid, the remains of the pilot's insides all lay on the floor in haphazard mess. Heero began searching for clues that were being left behind, because Duo's obvious death was trying to tell him something.

Duo had fought hard for a reason. He knew his partner wouldn't have allowed this to happen to him, broken leg or not, if something of great value wasn't at risk. With a grim expression, Heero shifted his eyes to the disemboweled body, hoping that despite the agony displayed, that his death had been quick, and not drawn out. He returned his attention to the floor as he half listened to Wufei continue to get sick just at the doorway of the room.

His light flashed upon various Polaroids that littered the floor, and he crouched, picking up several, and flipped through them. The depictions were sick-kids of varying age, most under five, and three different men. His mouth hardened, his eyes grew dry and gritty, and he felt his stomach overturn with serious nausea upon viewing the contents of the pictures. He heard Wufei move in behind him, breathing rather heavily. Without pause, Heero passed the Polaroids back to Wufei and began investigating the rest of the room. There, besides Duo's own liquids and bodily fluids, was a darker splatter of color all over the place, as if someone had just thrown the stuff about without conscious decision. Black magic books were scattered about, as well as interesting specimens of human fetuses, animal and human parts, and a spacesuit. The walls were covered in similar content, and Heero studied a few of the notations, the curses that were written backwards in black paint.

Was this person seriously insane? Or cleverly backed by the power of some unseen evil that he practiced?

Frowning, ignoring Wufei's startled shouts of disgust and fury upon looking at the pictures, Heero crouched next to the spacesuit, remembering that Duo had been wearing only his leggings when he left him. All of them except for Trowa were the same size, if not varying in thick or thinness. This suit was covered with a muddy substance that was very familiar to the stuff outside the water room on the level below, and Heero guessed that it had been Quatre's. But he wasn't here. And...why without his spacesuit...?

With a puzzled expression, Heero scanned the room, spotting the open boxes that lay opened and chaotically throughout the area. They all held mementos of such disgusting contents as the photos, and he could guess without looking at them what else they contained. The boxes were labeled merely with numbers, and held such things as children's underwear, curls of hair, a few toys or an article of clothing. They were dealing with something entirely twisted, sick and grossly perverted. The earlier photos that he'd passed to Wufei were similar in appearance, but Heero wondered what it all meant. What did this creature, this man, have to do with Duo's grotesque death? And Quatre's disappearance? Was the blond just as dead as the other two? Or was he still alive out there? Did it have something to do with the colony being in the condition that it was?

Heero was mystified at this sudden mystery, and he gestured to Wufei, holding the suit.

"Quatre's," he stated, letting go of it once Wufei gripped it. He removed his helmet to better look at things. Setting that aside, he noted the smell of dead funk on the suit that permeated the room, and he winced, blinking furiously to try and dispel the ugly effect it had on him once his helmet was removed. He touched the back of his hand to his throat, eyes watering. Yes, Quatre was definitely in that water channel in the floor below, but why was it here? Was there something entirely sinister going on that he and Wufei were not aware of? Did Duo know, and that was the reason for his murder?

Wufei made a few retching noises, then quickly slipped his helmet back on.

Heero moved forward, touching a broken jar of liquid that was dark in substance, smelling strongly of copper. He didn't touch it-he merely touched the broken shards, noting the spent bullets nearby. All right. There was a story here in this room, and he was going to figure it out! Because it was trying to let him know something, and he had to think fast! He had a feeling Quatre was still alive-there just wasn't any sign of his death, and even though it was a possibility that the former heir was just as dead as the other two-Heero was willing to bet a few credits that he wasn't.

"Yuy-Yuy, what are we looking for?"

Wufei's voice was broken, utterly broken, and Heero raised an eyebrow. So, the Justice Dragon had a heart after all! Despite his rather difficult image, he did care about what happened to Duo, about the pornographic material that openly admitted this man's crimes with children. Heero was both touched and amused upon realizing this.

"We are looking for clues, Chang. Why is Quatre's spacesuit here?"

"Yuy-!! This is-! We should go." Wufei's voice shook slightly. He was growing even more disturbed by the contents of this room, by the body of their friend hanging nearby.

And here, Heero had thought that Wufei had been a pretty strong guy-and yet, he wasn't. Wufei was a strong guy, emotionally and physically, morally and consciously, but he wasn't when it came down to things like this. The death of his comrades, the way one was spread out so gruesomely nearby, the way this entire situation was running... Wufei was showing a human side to him that Heero guessed would have never appeared before. Wufei was acting his age. Wufei was only fifteen years old, and while he fought a large war in a powerful mecha, he was only a kid. A kid that found child pornography very sick, a kid that couldn't handle such deaths as easily as he could handle bodies on the battlefield, a kid that was now currently taking back everything bad he'd ever said about his former friend.

Heero was somewhat amused at this. Wufei was human. Huh. It was funny what different situations did to people like Wufei. It broke them, made them weak. Made them human. Heero hadn't quite yet reached that stage, for he was too far trained to ignore it and to focused to complete a given mission, and thus far, this was a mission. Either he found the blond, dead or alive, he had to complete this mission. Without failure.

This room wasn't going to break him. Not yet. He had a mission.

"Yuy-Winner's not here. Let's get out of here. Maybe he's somewhere else within the colony," Wufei continued, swallowing repeatedly, avoiding the direction Duo hung in. "Let's just go...he's probably dead, Yuy. He wouldn't have lasted this long...he was-he was weak. Weaker than us. He's dead, Yuy. Let's just go!"

Heero shook his head, pushing at the jars with his gun. He spied something interesting nearby-a large pile of Composition Journals that were marked with numbers and dashes, with a man's name underneath. The pile was wrapped together with twine, and he reached for them, pulling them closer. Upon releasing them, he opened the top journal, revealing a couple of photos and detailed notes. Interesting.

"Not unless we know he's dead for sure, Wufei," he murmured, learning the names of a Lacy Smith and a Peter Bergin. The words 'Lust' and 'Gluttony' were written in bold lettering next to their photos. He learned the way this Nigel Van der Pool figured out their sins and how he carried out the murders. The murders were carried out a certain way so that each 'soul' was given a straight boot to whichever hell they belonged to-this included a ritual of sort that involved much pig's blood and what looked to be black spells, and often took Nigel nearly three hours long to complete. So far, he hadn't yet been caught, which he thought was a very good sign that he was successful.

Apparently, Nigel Van der Pool was on a mission from his Lord-made unclear whether it was a popular religious group or something on a darker level-to eliminate all the 'evil' within the colony. He'd been 'dispatched' to carry out his plan, and was promised 'endless riches in the bodies of virgins' and other numerous rewards if he were to successfully carry it out. That included killing the appointed people on a certain list, and it looked as if he were set to kill himself at the end.

Heero set that journal aside and began looking through the rest as Wufei continued to pace.

"Heero!" Wufei finally cried, startling the soldier.

Wufei turned in his direction, pleading with the Japanese's back, in an effort to leave this place. Heero ignored him, and Wufei ran his hands over his helmet in agonized impatience, darting glances in the direction of Duo's body. He turned slowly, shaking violently as he gazed once more upon the visage of his former friend, noting that at this close-up, he realized that Duo was missing his eyes. Quickly removing his helmet for a better view, sure that the shadows were messing with him, Wufei turned the flashlight at his former friend's face, and noted the emptiness of the eye sockets. Shuddering, closing his own eyes, Wufei turned away, holding his helmet tightly.

Heero resumed his search, touching the various items around him. He found another journal, near the bed, and he opened it, catching more than a few photos that fluttered from the pages. This one was different, he realized as he glanced at the photos. The subject was utterly familiar, and his face was one Heero would easily recognize. This Adrian Dunn was a dead ringer for their Quatre Winner, except he was in his early thirties, late twenties. And this one Nigel had trouble with, because, apparently, Adrian was a servant against Nigel's Lord, serving to distract Nigel from his mission. It appeared that Nigel was very infatuated with the father of two, and he hated himself and Adrian for it. Nigel had a hard time trying to remember why he wanted to kill him, and hated Adrian for making him realize that he was a homosexual. From what Heero gathered from the insane ramblings within the journal, Adrian wasn't a homosexual- but it was upon Nigel's belief that he was. And Nigel, being the faithful follower of some Lord that he was, was already condemned for looking upon another man the way a man is supposed to look at a woman.

And thus, Nigel had convinced himself that if he didn't kill this Adrian by the appropriate time and date, he would forever curse himself to continue on until he did. Adrian wasn't on the list, but Nigel had determined that he was a 'threat' that needed to be dispatched immediately because of his 'wrong' ways. Which was a load of crap. Heero wondered what was wrong with this man to declare such...such deranged things! He shook his head again.

"Let's just go, Yuy! Let's just-get out of here!" Wufei was getting hysterical. Not good.

Heero ignored him as he noted the ropes, the duct tape underneath the bed. They were just barely visible beyond the mess of scattered trash throughout the room, so he stood, picking up the mattress and thrusting it aside to note the obvious restraining materials. Ah. Here we go. This was getting interesting...

"I'm leaving! I'm getting out of here, Yuy! Fuck you!" Wufei shouted, throwing his arms up in defeat and striding for the door.

Heero rose, withdrawing his gun and firing once at Wufei. He didn't need to fire again, nor check to make sure his shot was true. At Wufei's crumpling body, Heero returned to the sight of abandoned plastic cuffs and rope, touching the loose ends. For Wufei to try and leave as he did, Heero had determined that the Chinese was a liability. Such traits could lead to betrayals on the battlefield, should they survive this mess. Heero couldn't afford that sort of behavior. He returned back to his investigation, frowning.

Yes, Quatre had been here. Whoever it was had him here. Was he here the entire time they were searching for him? Or was he suddenly moved? And for what reason?

Heero frowned hard, rising from the sight. He turned, stowing his gun into his pants, and reaching down for the various Composition Journals that lay about. Very convenient for this psychopath to leave behind. It made it much easier for Heero to understand why this situation was happening.

And without another glance in the fallen Dragon's direction, Heero began to read the interesting journal entries of one Nigel Van der Pool.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Quatre wasn't sure what woke him first-either it was the sensation of being touched, or the fact that he was freezing. Whichever, it made his entire body convulse with both disgust and natural reaction to the cold. Opening his eyes, he looked up into the darkness, and heard nothing. Very disoriented, he stared up at the darkness, trying to remember why it was so dark. So quiet. Why was it so cold? He felt very sluggish, very slow. His thoughts were coming somewhat groggily, and he had a hard time focusing on things.

He had to suspect the thinness of oxygen. He wasn't getting enough. His body was taking on that toll, growing very weak, his mind equally as so. When he finally realized that he was feeling something grossly sticky on his body, that his skin was being caressed and smoothed with something cold, his eyes widened further, goose bumps rising violently, stomach shifting with a sickened turn. He moved his arm, to dislodge the touch of the man's grip, but Nigel's fingers tightened around his broken wrist, causing him to cry out. With rising shame and humiliation, Quatre realized that he was without his suit, that he was lying naked on the cold floor, and that this man, this thing, was touching him! How was it that Nigel could touch him?!

The thought that this man was...was violating him in such a way made him horribly ill. Utterly disgusted, Quatre retched violently, pushing his heels against the floor, trying to move out of reach. Pudgy fingers gripped his thighs, holding him in place, and he struggled fiercely with a rising cry of horror and disgrace.

"Stay still!" he heard Nigel spat, the grip on his arm painful. The smoothing continued, until Quatre grew aware that Nigel was rubbing something on him. Something thick, something pungent, something... something utterly grotesque. In a way, it smelled familiar, and yet-there was a consistency that made it foreign, like...like runny butter. Still entirely disgusted that this was happening, having no idea what Nigel was going to do with him, Quatre struggled again, kicking his legs out, trying to rise to his feet.

"Sit down!" Nigel screamed, the sound making the pipes vibrate around them, ringing the metal. Quatre stilled, but only for a second because he'd been startled. Nigel gripped his wrist tightly and bent it downward, causing Quatre to move with it in automatic reaction. "Sit down and stay still...I'll gut you here and now, and make you watch, you faggot. Damn faggot...get back down."

Quatre hesitated, wondering with a brief mental laugh if he wanted to watch such a process than risk lying down willingly for this deranged Casper. Surely...yes, maybe watching his intestines being removed would be better than lying down. He began struggling again, managing to wrest his hand from Nigel's grip, and shot to his feet. This time, he held his arms out as he moved, to keep himself from bouncing off the walls.

Unfortunately, he heard Nigel close behind him, fingers entwining into his hair and yanking back. Quatre lost his balance and fell back, but he continued to struggle, trying to rip his hair out from Nigel's grip. The heavy man was breathing laboriously, trying to keep him from running again, and Quatre heard his bare skin squeak against the floor as he was dragged back to their previous space.

Kicking, punching, twisting and wresting himself violently to both sides did nothing to dispel Nigel's grip in his hair, and just as he made some leeway in loosening Nigel's grip, one meaty hand gripped his neck, fingers curling around his throat. Seeing that one hand was loose from his hair, Quatre upped his struggle, trying to bite the arm that held him in place. The next thing he knew he was seeing stars. Momentarily confused and disoriented as to why he was on his back once more, he became aware that his arms and feet were being bound once more. Terribly fearful of what was going to happen, Quatre began to struggle again, shouting in frustration when he couldn't even move.

"That'll teach you," Nigel breathed from somewhere down his left. "That'll teach you. I haven't finished setting up, yet. But you'll die soon. You'll die and we'll all be released. We'll all be released."

Why did he keep saying that?! Who was 'they'? And what did he mean by 'release?! Quatre paused in struggling, shivering violently at the cold. His mind was turning extremely groggy-he couldn't concentrate fully on things. He wanted to know what Nigel had meant by that, but he kept forgetting why it was so important. Air...he needed air...large amounts of air...to think clearly. What was that smell?!

When pudgy fingers touched his hips, Quatre jerked reflexively, kicking out. Nigel, enraged, rose from his side. Quatre stilled, unable to see, unable to determine what move Nigel was going to make now. But he merely caught the sharp stench of a lit match, but the odd thing was-he couldn't see the flame. He smelled smoke, now, but where was it?! What was he lighting? Was he going to burn his flesh as he did to Duo's?

But as moments passed, and nothing came to harm on his body, Quatre relaxed slightly. His body stiffened and readied itself for movement, ready to help him up and get him moving in case he needed to make another mad run for it. Being naked-well, that would have to be. He wasn't so ashamed to be caught by the others in this condition. They weren't coming. He was going to die alone. He knew they weren't coming. Two of them were dead already. There wasn't going to be a last minute rescue on his behalf.

They couldn't find him earlier, so what would make them come now? He wanted to cry, but he had no more tears to shed. And besides, crying did nothing but release the built up emotions that he had, and that was useless. He was going to die.

He wondered if this was the thought process that many would-be murder victims took on while they were in the clutches of their killer. Their horror, their pain, their disbelief, their confusion and their terror. All heavy emotions, all of them powerful enough to render the person immobile. Sick and still with fear. Knowing that their end was coming. As they were being tortured by their murderer, they had to suffer through these thoughts as well.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. What warranted these sick bastards the permission to kill and torture in this way? Why? Why?!

And it wasn't just that that made him utterly frustrated-it was the fact that he was going to die without explanation from this-this ghost-that made it even more unbelievable. Who was going to believe that he'd died at the hands of a ghost?! It wasn't fair...it wasn't fair.

Shaking from both the cold and the inevitable, Quatre stared up at the darkness, feeling that goo seep into his skin. It kind of blocked out the cold, but the cold was still there. Deep within his bones, deep in his skin, deep in his mind. He was cold everywhere. He was going to die. He was going to die so utterly pathetically. By Casper. By a strange, deranged and disturbed Casper.

The thought, as he dwelled on it, was kind of funny.

As a result, he snickered. The sound was hollow within whatever room Nigel had taken them to, but he knew it wasn't Nigel's room. For one thing, it was clean. For another, there was no comforting carpet to protect his rather white ass from the cold metal of the floor. Damn ghost. Didn't he have any common sense? Any regard to his comfort?

"Stop laughing at me," Nigel warned in a low, dangerous voice from his left.

Quatre stilled, but couldn't stop the other snicker that escaped his dry lips. How funny this situation was...what a complete cartoon. Entirely dumb! B-movie rated PG for obviously fake 'special' effects and bad acting. He thought of Duo, thinking that his best friend would regard it as similar as that flick, "The Evil Dead"...or whatever it was. With that Campbell guy. Yeah...while it was horrifying, it was utterly stupid. Ridiculous. Incredulously fake.

He had to laugh, his laugh ringing hollow and entirely forced. He felt the same way he had on ZERO, and he once he started laughing, he couldn't stop. He was going to die by Casper's hands! Scooby-Doo-! Where are you?!

"STOP LAUGHING!!!" Nigel screamed.

'Scooby-Doo'...God. That movie sucked. Duo made him watch it. Trowa had grown disgusted at the opening credits that he'd dumped his popcorn on his head. Heero had fallen asleep, and Wufei had been too interested in his book to even pay attention to Daphne. Wow. Daphene. But he liked Thelma better. The bookish babes were always the hottest.

"STOP LAUGHING!!"

Damn. He was going to die a virgin, too. Which really, really sucked. Ooh! He was going to be some sort of virgin sacrifice! What an utter loser he was...that was truly embarrassing. Fifteen years old, and he hadn't yet kissed a girl. Hadn't even held hands, hadn't even made one true prank call to the girl he liked. How truly devastating...maybe in the afterlife, when he met up with Duo, they could join forces to prank call all the cute human girls on Earth and he'd be satisfied. Maybe Trowa could join along-as far as he knew, Trowa wasn't gay. It was just that he was merely disinterested in such things...

Oh, listen to him...thinking about girls and dating while he was lying here, buck-naked, with a psychotic ghost pounding on the very essence of reality in his fury to get him to stop laughing.

So Quatre stopped laughing. But every so often, he snickered. Oh yeah. He was going to die, soon. He just hoped that Nigel would hurry it up. He had some phone calls to make.