Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Gundam Wing, or any of the characters used in this story. They belong to the series' creator, and whoever he sold his soul to. Do not sue me. No money is being made off this story; it was written purely for the amusement of anyone who decides to read it. This story, and all original concepts, are original (duh), and belong to me. Do not steal it, or archive it without my express permission. This fic takes place sometime after the events of Endless Waltz. Enjoy.

Heero the Homicidal Maniac

"It was then – as I lowered the empty pistol to the little girl's head – that I realized it. No one else understood. I don't think any of them could have even guessed what I learned then. Hn; I know the little girl didn't. I'm not sure if she was dead or just dying, but I know that she wasn't listening. And. . .and Relena. . .she. . .I think that when she heard me say that I didn't have to kill any more, that it meant I wouldn't. She was sadly mistaken.

"When I said that I didn't have to kill any more, I had just realized that I had the option. It was my choice who or when I killed. I had finally figured out that no one had to order me to kill, that I could just do it, whenever I wanted. And I swear, if there had been one bullet, one single bullet, left in that gun, I would have shot Relena right between her pretty eyes.

"But, at the time that I came to par with that uplifting bit of information, I do believe that I became. . .hysterical. She thought that I was relieved. Good God is that woman naïve. Or maybe she's just stupid; I'm not sure. Whatever she may be, I know one thing for certain: Relena will be next."

"Is that all?"

"No. I'm not quite finished. . .

"On the 3rd of June – exactly two weeks, twelve hours, and fifty-two minutes ago – I committed a murder. My first, unauthorized homicide. And I must say, it was very relaxing. It was also a very emotional experience for me. I think that I've grown as an individual because of it.

"The target had been a fellow Gundam pilot by the name of Duo Maxwell. Even now I'm not sure what prompted me to kill him. I don't remember what we were talking about or why I was over at his house. He may have invited me but I don't know. All I remember is taking the roll of piano wire from my pocket and tying his wrists together with it. He started bleeding shortly after. I had him on the living room floor; one hand holding his wrists down and my legs pinning his own. I didn't know that I was that much stronger than him. In any case, I began to hit him. Just the face, and a part of my mind even registered when I broke his jaw. After awhile, I took out a knife, and stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. Then I slit his throat, and ripped out his voice box with my bare hands. I held it there for a moment, gazing deep into those soft purple eyes. They were locked open in death, confusion, and pain. But even in the end he was beautiful. And, right then and there, I believe I fell in love with those beautiful, beautiful eyes. He looked godlike in that moment of sheer, bestial humanity.

"I kissed his corpse.

"His cold dead lips were warmed by the hot red blood that continued to bubble forth from his throat. That was the first time I ever experienced passion towards another human being. And no, my good doctor, I did not simply let my lips brush across his as a parting memory as I should have. No, I kissed him long and hard and deep, and I slid my tongue into his blood filled mouth. That was perhaps the most amazing, sensual, erotic, and bizarre thing that I have ever done in my entire life. But I knew. . .I knew it was love, doctor. I knew it was love. . ."

Doctor Tomosuki Uchiyama turned away. This was no man in his office: this was a fucking monster. It disgusted him – made him feel sick and nauseous – that his client had been able to tell him about this. . .this escapade of his. But perhaps what made him feel truly queasy was that the man's tone had not changed since their introductions at the beginning of the hour. And now, though doctor Uchiyama could not remember the man's name, the session was over, and he felt as if he himself might also need counseling.

"Are you done now?" he asked, voice slightly cracking and choked as he forced the words through clenched teeth, his throat constricting painfully.

"Yes," the other answered, his unwaveringly soft voice still without change. Doctor Uchiyama, compelled by some unfathomable reason and power, looked back to the young man. A violent premonition flashed before his dark eyes, too fast for any kind of recognition, and then. . .

A small smile settled on thin lips, as though the young man knew of the brief vision, the nervous apprehension that followed it. He tilted his head down, allowing his wild, dark brown bangs to cast a black shadow across the upper half of his face, and all that doctor Uchiyama could see was that eerie little smile.

The man stood, reaching into the pocket of his jacket – right side, dark windbreaker – and took a few steps forward, stopping just in front of the good doctor's chair. Something was raised to his face, and he felt cold metal on the skin between his eyes. Closing them, he knew what it could only be: the silencer on a pistol. Tomosuki could not help but wonder – if somewhat dispassionately – if this was the same gun that the young man held up to the dying little girl. And if it was. . .

"Good-bye, doctor Uchiyama."

Was it loaded?