Gantz: Parallel Stage
Summary: par AL' lel: (adj) lying in the same plane but never meeting no matter how far extended; consisting or having component parts connected; progressing so that the interval between parts remain the same
…Something I thought about starting after watching the anime; finally started after finishing the most recent chapter of the manga.
A/N: I guess I should say that this will eventually contain spoilers if you haven't read the manga…which I suggest you do because it is WAY more fulfilling than the anime. But the show was good of its own accord, don't get me wrong. Anyway, since I don't feel I could elaborate any further on any of the existing Gantz teams (seriously, go read the manga and you'll understand) I've decided to make my own. And before you groan about hating OCs, please understand that this is a parallel story. Meaning that the Tokyo team, the Osaka team, and any other teams mentioned/shown still exist. This is just my version of what the world's other teams were up to while Kei, Kato, and Reika were doing their thing in Japan. And because I live in the US and know the US' fate in the manga, this team will be from the US. New York City, specifically.
So to summarize, this is my take of the 5 Boroughs of New York City (Manhattan, The Bronx, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Queens) Gantz team…before the eventual fate of the US in the manga…that I may or may not elaborate upon since they did it with Kei and Tae-chan and everybody else in the manga.
…But chances are, I'll be writing mostly about the Manhattan and Queens Teams simply because they will have the most interesting characters. Maybe Staten Island too, because – let's face it, "Guido Sensation" can apply to more than just TV…sorry, that was off-color, wasn't it? Actually, the comic relief is going to come from a pair of girls from the Staten Island Team. I did all this on purpose so that I wouldn't have to keep writing 5 versions of the same missions, because that would get annoyingly repetitive to keep writing, and annoyingly repetitive for you to keep reading =]
ENOUGH RAMBLING! ENJOY ALREADY!
Sorry…just one more thing. There is a rape/assault scene in the first chapter…right down there in that first section, actually. Just a warning. It's not really graphic, but I figure I'd let you know anyway.
The Manhattan Team
She stumbled and rolled her ankle, colliding into the glass revolving door. Her blue eyes looked down at her feet in distaste and kicked off the too-high heels. She was already 5' 10", so what was the point?
"Rough night, Ava?" the hotel's late-shift security guard questioned, as he watched her breeze through the doors.
She turned her rouged lips upwards into a half-assed smile, but said nothing more as she traipsed barefoot through the lobby. Her shoes in her hands, she stumbled again. She paused, straightened her shoulders, and pretended that the few remaining feet to the elevator was a runway. She would merely repeat what she had done earlier tonight and no one would be the wiser. If she could just make it into the elevators, then she wouldn't have to waste time pretending not to be drunk off her ass…again.
"Need some help?" the security guard's grubby fingers wrapped themselves around a forearm and then the small of her back before she could even say anything. "I'll get you upstairs, don't worry."
Ava looked down at the top of the man's balding head. He was sweating, which would ruin the silk of her dress. But she released an unladylike hiccup-burp and decided to just forget about it. She had more than enough money and connections to get a new one, after all. So, she allowed the pudgy, sweaty man to escort her to the elevators like a little old lady. And why not? She knew the man was obsessed with her – half of Manhattan was – so she was probably going to get oodles of good karma for allowing this man to put his hand on her back like that.
"What floor are you again?" he looked up at her as they waited for the elevator to descend.
"Seex." Her accent was even more incoherent when her tongue was heavy with alcohol. But the man obviously knew what floor she was on, the stalker. He probably knew her suite number, too.
The door "ping!"-ed open and the fat man ushered her inside.
"Easy now…" he cooed, staring at the flesh her skirt revealed. "We wouldn't want you to take a tumble and risk slicing up those pretty legs of yours."
Ava narrowed her piercing eyes as he punched the button for the 6th floor. She got an uneasy feeling in her slender stomach when she looked at the greasy man. And coming from one of the most sought-after models in Manhattan, that was saying something. Ava dealt with creepy photographers, enamored passersby, and eager public servants on a daily basis. She handled it like a champ. But there was something unsettling about this man tonight. Something that was setting off the alarm bells of her woman's intuition.
"I hope you don't mind me saying this, Ava, but you're a very beautiful girl." He said suddenly, turning to her. "Just how old are you?"
She hesitated, staring uneasily into this man's beady, brown eyes. "Tventy-two."
He nodded and smiled, dabbing his sleeve on his forehead. "Your accent is very charming, has anyone ever told you that?"
She fished the key-card for her suite from her purse and turned to the elevator doors. They should open any second now. "Da."
"I should help you get to your apartment." He insisted, taking her arm again.
Ava tried to wrench it away. "No, tank you." She smiled as demurely as possible, which was difficult considering all the vodka clouding her mind. "I am fine now."
The guard scowled. "Nonsense." He licked his lips and placed his other hand on the small of her back again, giving her a little shove to get her moving. "A second ago, you were falling over yourself. It's my job to ensure the safety of the hotel's guests, you know."
"I leeve here. I am not a guest."
"Whatever." He growled impatiently. "What's your suite number?" She didn't reply, so he snatched the key-card from her manicured fingers and read the digits printed on it.
Ava halted and stood like a stubborn horse. "Geeve me beck my card."
"It's right here." He assured, tugging on her arm again. "I'll swipe it for you." He did so and kicked open the door, standing beside it innocently. "See?" he offered the card to her.
Ava creased her brows and quickly snatched back her card. Was it just the vodka making her paranoid? Was this fat, sweaty, bald man just as innocent as he looked?
"Tank you." She said, warily stepping inside her darkened suite. "I have no cash on me now, but I'll geeve you a teep tomorrow."
"I don't want your money." He snarled, stepping into her foyer and quietly closing the door behind him. There was a sinister sound in his tone and a primal look in his eye.
Ava screamed but he jumped on her and clasped his hands over her nose and mouth. Both fell to the ground, Ava beneath his pudgy and sweaty body.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" he commanded, voice feral. "I'll kill you if you don't shut up!"
Ava silenced her screaming, if only due to her lungs protesting. She kicked her legs to try and jerk him off her, but it was like trying to remove an unsolicited dog from your ankle. She propped herself up on her elbows and latched onto his ears in an attempt to cause him enough pain to submit. But that was when he lifted a fist and brought it down upon her jaw. His knuckles smashed against her cheekbone and sent her head to the right in an excruciating jerk. She was momentarily stunned, stars erupting in her field of vision and blinding her.
"I won't damage that pretty face again if you just stay quiet." He growled, hiking the skirt of her elegant silk dress up to her bellybutton.
Ava hissed and tried to curl into herself in a pathetic attempt to save herself. It was when she felt his hands prying her thighs apart, that she wished she'd worn some underwear. Visible-panty-lines be damned. She listened with an unwanted attentiveness to the jingle of the metal of his belt and trousers. Her stomach turned and her eyes stung with hot tears.
"Hmm, so the carpet does match the curtain…"
"Please." She begged. "Don't do thees. Just walk away and I promise not to tell."
"I told you to shut up." He lifted a hairy fist into the air again, making Ava flinch. "Take the dress off your shoulders. I wanna see the tits that are so high in demand right now."
"No." she clutched at the smooth fabric like a security blanket.
This time he backhanded her and her head whipped to the other side, smacking against the cold floor. In her daze, he tore the dress from her shoulders, bunching the light blue silk at her ribcage.
"Oh, that's much better." He breathed, reached his hands up to touch them.
Ava shoved against the floor to try and buck him off, but he was too heavy.
"Stop struggling." He commanded. "I know you're enjoying this, too."
"Liar!" she snapped, spitting into his face.
The security guard curled his upper lip in anger and swiped the saliva away. "That wasn't very ladylike." He removed his hands from her chest to snake his fingers around her neck. "Apologize to me, you dirty Nazi."
She glared back defiantly. "I am Russian!"
He squeezed. "Whatever…"
Ava's blue eyes widened in shock and she gasped for air as her face turned as scarlet as her hair.
"All you have to do is apologize." He kept one hand around her elegant neck as the other shoved her legs apart.
A yelp of pain disintegrated in the back of her throat as she felt him plunge into her. Hot tears streamed down the sides of her face and dampened her scarlet locks.
"I said shut the fuck up!" he barked, practically curling the fingers on her neck into a fist.
Ava gasped before she felt her muscles relax and her head loll to the side. She was able to make out the guard's horrified cry of, "Jesus Christ!" before her sight dissolved.
Funny, she always imagined the path to Hell would be dark and cold…
"Is this another one?"
"Yeah, it looks like it."
"Oh, yay! It's another girl!"
"Where are they coming from?"
"Beats the shit outta me, lady."
"Potty-mouth!"
"Oh, shut your trap, kid…oh, holy shit, she's naked!"
Ava squinted against the white light that shined into her face. Gingerly, she covered her face and attempted to sit up. "Syn suka…"[1] she breathed, falling back down.
"Uh…lady?"
She turned her head in the direction of the voice. "Hm?" Her blue eyes scanned the other faces that were looking back at her. There was a scowling old lady in pajamas shielding a little girl with a backpack, and three guys gaping at her. One was in a suit, another wore a hoodie and jeans, and the final…was in a Speedo.
"I don't think you realize…" the younger of the three men – the one in the Speedo – said. "But…you're naked…"
Ava sat upright and looked down at herself. They were absolutely correct. Her light blue silk dress was bunched up at her thighs now, shielding nothing beyond her hipbones. Quickly, she straightened the skirt out and slipped the sleeves back over her shoulders. But the damage was done. She wasn't talking about the impromptu peep show, either. That she could handle, having stripped down for photographers in the past. No, what she meant was the dress. It was spotted with dark stains of sweat and wrinkled to all hell. The one of a kind masterpiece designed for her – and only her – was ruined. Absolutely ruined.
"Holy shit, I know you!"
She turned to the young looking blonde in the Speedo and tilted her head curiously.
"Get outta here, man." The man closer to Ava's age snapped. He wore a very nice suit, but his tie was hanging loose around his shoulders. "There's no way in hell a punk like you knows a chick like that."
The younger boy scowled. "Screw you, I do too!" he turned to Ava. "What's your name? I swear I've seen you before."
Ava stood and leaned against one of the walls, peering beyond the accosting boy's head and out the window. The skyline winked back at her. "Where are we?" She took in her ambient surroundings – which was just the large black ball in the middle of the room.
"No one knows." The man in the suit shrugged. "We're locked in."
Ava's heart skipped a beat. "What you mean, locked een?"
"As in trapped." He stated simply, sticking his hands in his pockets. "We can't get past that hallway, and the windows are stuck."
"What's going on?"
Another shrug. "We're just as confused as you are, big red."
She glared. "Don't call me that."
He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry." He gave a suave smile. "What would you prefer me to call you?"
"My name." she snapped. "Ava."
"That's a very pretty name." he said. "I'm Jackson. Jackson Prewitt, but Jack is fine, too. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ava." He offered his hand for her to shake.
She took it warily. "I don't understand. Why are we here? The last thing I remember ees…"
"Dying?" It was the little girl who said it, making the rest of the room turn to her in shock.
"Well…yes." Ava replied. "Did you…die too?"
She nodded her raven pigtails. "I was hit by a car walking home from school."
"What is your name, sweetheart?" the elderly woman whose lap she was sitting in asked. "My name is Indira Dross…and I believe I passed away in my sleep."
"I'm Chloe Littlewood."
Four pairs of eyes fell upon the young blonde, who stared back with a blank expression.
"Introduce yourself, idiot." Jack said.
"Oh." He grinned sheepishly. "The name's Christian Marrone and I drowned."
The other five turned to the one in the corner expectantly.
"Levi Epstein." He supplied. "Hanged myself." Ava covered her mouth to suppress a gasp, and the man ignored the rest of their looks. "Look, trust me when I tell you that this whole introduction ceremony isn't going to help anyone."
"What?" Jack demanded. "Do you know something we don't?"
Levi nodded. "I know a lot of 'somethings' that you don't."
"Well spill it already, asshole!" Christian shouted.
"Fine, fine." Levi rapped his knuckles on the black ball. "This is Gantz."
"Gantz?"
"What the heck is that?"
Levi shrugged. "I don't know much, but what I do know I will tell you." He nodded his chin at the old woman and the kid in her lap. "You two don't stand a snowball's chance in Hell."
Indira gave him a confused look as Chloe scowled defiantly.
"My momma told me not to let anybody cuss at me."
Jackson ignored her in favor of leveling a glare on Levi. "Stand a chance at what?"
"Surviving." He said simply enough. "Look, even if I told you everything that's about to happen, you wouldn't believe me." He gave the black ball another good whack. "But, I will advise you to steer clear and cover your ears. Gantz is about to start singing Yankee Doodle, and then he's gonna blast open."
"Like a bomb!" Christian demanded.
Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony…
The room jumped, startled, before they stared at Levi.
"Don't look at me." He said. "It's Gantz that's doing all this. Isn't that right, Gantz?"
"Shut up!" Christian commanded. "What the hell is going on? How do we get outta here!"
"Just watch." Levi answered, pointing to the ball.
"I'm scared!" Chloe cried from the back of the room. Ava ran over to the two other females and knelt down beside them. But all six pairs of eyes watched the shiny black ball with rapt attention, until three shelves seemed to appear out of thin air. "I'm scared!" Chloe repeated, clutching a piece of either woman's clothing. Ava would have scowled and slapped the girl's hand away under any other circumstances, but her dress was ruined already.
"This, ladies and gentlemen, is where you'll have to pay attention." Levi approached one of the shelves and retrieved a metal suitcase with the words "Red Sonja" carved into its face. He turned to Ava. "I'm pretty sure this is you." He dropped it on the ground and slid it over to her.
Ava pried it open cautiously as the other four hovered over to sneak a peek. "Ees thees a joke?" she demanded hotly, holding the black suit up. "What ees thees thing?"
"It's your suit." Levi said. "And everyone gets one of their own."
"Eet's hideous!" Ava insisted.
Levi nodded. "That it is. But I promise only good things come from wearing it."
Ava dropped it like a hot potato. "I don't see how."
"It's like a super-suit." He was addressing the entire room this time. "It'll turn you into Superman, except you'll also have Batman's gadgets to fall back on." He grabbed a large gun from another shelf. "It's like the best of both worlds, really."
"No way that thing's real!" Christian exclaimed.
"It looks like something I'd buy my nephew from Toys R Us." Jackson scoffed.
"I assure you it is not." Levi said. "Now, I suggest you take at least one gun and bring your suit along if you aren't going to change into it right now. The transfer is about to begin and we've been assigned our target while you guys were busy dilly-dallying."
"Target?" Christian echoed. "You've gotta be kidding me. What is this, Halo?"
Levi merely smirked, feeling a breeze blow through the top of his disembodied cranium.
"Holy shit, what's happening to him!"
"He's dying!" Ava cried. "Someone help him!"
Levi could only laugh as he inwardly placed timers over their heads. Grandma and the brat wouldn't last 15 minutes. The Russian had potential if she didn't act like a stupid bimbo. And the other guys would more than likely finish the level after they accepted that this was not a dream.
[1] "Son of a bitch…"
The Bronx Team
"Do you think that's the last one?"
"I dunno, man."
"I think it might be."
"Hey, what's your name?"
The woman opened her eyes and sat up, clutching her aching head.
"Can you hear me, lady?" the man asked again. "Are you alright?"
She nodded; making her short curls bounce with the movement. "Where am I?"
"We don't know." The man shrugged his broad shoulders. "All we know is that we're still in the Bronx. I can see Yankee Stadium in the distance out that window."
"And that we're trapped." Another man added.
"Who are all you people?" the woman demanded, scanning all their faces. There was a black man wearing a bright orange vest and yellow hardhat across from her. To her side, ogling her as he leaned against the large window, was a tan kid wearing baggy clothes and a white bandana. The woman shuddered and settled her gaze on the man who had been talking – a butcher, judging by his bloodied white apron.
"My name is Henry Guillermo." He smiled. "And this is Heath Johnson." The construction worker. "Ray Parker." The kid with the bandana. "And over there is Trinidad Ortiz."
The woman turned and breathed a sigh of relief. There was another girl here, thank God. She looked fairly young still, even though she was huddled in a corner behind that weird black ball.
"Trini is fine." she snapped, and then stared back expectantly.
"I'm Rosa." The woman said. "Rosa Rodriguez. What is going on? Why are we all here?"
"What is the last thing you all remember?" Trini questioned, extracting herself from behind the black ball. She looked over to Rosa, her brown eyes piercing.
The older woman hesitated. "…Falling asleep." She fibbed, cheeks heating. Trini narrowed her eyes at her, but Heath spoke before the look could have any effect.
"The last thing I remember is falling off this building's scaffolding." He announced. "I'm a construction worker…I wasn't trying to kill myself or nothing."
"I got shot." Ray declared, a bit proudly. "We was ambushed in some alley by a rival gang."
Trini rolled her eyes and turned to Henry, who smiled sheepishly.
"Our meat delivery truck backed over me this morning…"
Trini nodded and headed back into the middle of the room to sit on the black ball. "Right. So, I was killed when the McDonalds I work at got robbed. But that was a while ago." She patted the shiny sphere beneath her. "This is the thing that kept us all alive."
"Wait." Ray said excitedly. "So, we ain't dead?"
"It's complicated." Trini answered. "I'm not really sure how all this shit works for sure. But this thing is gonna start singing Yankee Doodle in a minute before opening up. And then it's gonna give us these suits and guns, see, which we'll need to fight whatever alien it tells us to."
"Hold on." Heath held up a dark hand and scratched his head. "Aliens?"
"I know it sounds stupid." Trini said, stepping off Gantz to sit down by Rosa. "But it'll make sense in about a minute. Just –"
"Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony…"
"What the fuck is going on?" Ray exclaimed, stepping closer to inspect Gantz.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you…" Trini advised half-heartedly.
"Stuck a feather in his hat, and called it macaroni!"
"You brought me here, didn't you?" Rosa demanded in a heated whisper. "You're the devil or something, right?"
"Yankee Doodle, keep it up. Yankee Doodle Dandy…"
"Excuse me?" Trini snapped, giving her two severely raised eyebrows.
"It's because I took those pills and tried to kill myself even though I have two kids, isn't it?" she continued. "Because I'm a bad mother, you brought me to this place…this Purgatory…" she covered her face in her hands. "Dios mio…dios mio…"
"Mind the music and the step. And with the girls be handy!"
Trini stared at the sobbing woman until Gantz finally shot open, knocking the gang member to the ground. She laughed at him as she walked by. "Told you so."
"Shut the fuck up, you bitch." He growled, standing back up and glaring at the ball. "I should fuck your shit up, bitchass."
Trini rolled her eyes again and tossed a suitcase at him. "Think fast, Cobarde."
"What'd you jus' call me, bitch?" he caught the metal case and stared at the etching in disbelief. "This fucker thinks I'm a coward!"
Trini ignored him in order to hand Meat Man to the butcher and Butterfingers to the construction worker.
"Are these codenames or something?" Henry questioned.
"This isn't a very funny joke…" Butterfingers, previously known as Heath the construction worker, scowled.
"Just shut up and put on the suits."
"This shit's wack." Ray declared, holding up the suit.
"It'll save your life." Trini told him, grabbing her guns and controller. "Trust me. They may look retarded, but I'm wearing one too."
A jingle chimed and letters appeared across Gantz's screen:
'/0UR L1\/35 |-|4\/3 3|\|D3D. \/\/|-| j00Z d0 \/\/17|-| j00R |\|3\/\/ L1\/35 15 3|\|71R3L'/ UP 70 /\/\3. 7|-|47'5 7|-|3 7|-|30R'/, 4|\|'/\/\/4'/5…
"The hell is that?"
Trini shrugged. "Beats me. Just gibberish."
"Well, it's gotta be important if it's up there!" Henry said, rushing over to stare at the screen.
"Look guy." Trini snapped. "I've been here longer than you have. I know the rules of this game better than you do. If you want to go back home safe and sound and alive, you better shut up and listen to what I tell you."
"What do you mean alive?" he demanded. "I thought you said we weren't dead."
"No." she countered, placing an X-gun in the holster on her thigh. "I said it was complicated…which it is."
The screen jingled again, drawing the room's attention.
"What is that?"
Trini stared at the picture before her and scanned the gibberish. "That is our next target." She declared, snapping her controller to her wrist and grabbing hold of her H-gun. "I suggest you suit up or shut up. We're about to be transferred."
The Brooklyn Team
"Gah! Here's another one!"
"Another one?"
"Holy shit, how many are there?"
"I think it's pretty safe to say that no one is capable of answering that question."
"Ah!" the new person shrieked. "Who the hell are you guys? What am I doing here?" The Asian kid's eyes flitted from face to face.
"Calm down." An older woman in a pantsuit snapped. "You're not in any danger." She eyed a disgruntled looking teen in the corner. "…At least, I don't think."
"Who are you people?" the guy demanded again. "And what am I doing here?"
"None of us –" the man in trousers and a button down was interrupted by a sharp jingle. The room turned to face the black ball in the center of the room just as Yankee Doodle filled the air.
"What is that!" the Asian student demanded, covering his ears.
There was another jingle, followed by the formation of green letters on the black ball's screen.
"What does that say?" the woman questioned, squinting at it.
"Is that even English?"
"I think it's malfunctioning…" a blonde girl commented.
"No, wait!" the student shoved the two adults out of the way. "I can read this! It's leet speak!"
"What speak?" the woman arched a brow.
"Leet!"
The blonde rolled her eyes. "It's just a fancy way of saying 'nerd' talk, Principal Stonewall. My brother can read it too."
"Well, what's it say?" the man next to Principal Stonewall demanded.
"'Your lives have ended'." He read, voice quivering. "'What you do with your new lives is entirely up to me. That's the theory, anyways'…"
"Ended?" Principal Stonewall gasped. "I died?" she turned a vehement glare to the hooded boy sitting in the corner. "You killed me, you little prick!"
"Amy, calm down…" the man in the button down next to her cooed.
"No, Greg, I will not calm down!" she slapped his hands away. "This mini-Rambo just killed us!" she eyed the young blonde and held her hand out. "Christine, get away from him. He might still have a gun for all we know."
Christine eyed the younger boy with disdain before heading over to her principal.
"Wait, you guys were killed in a school shooting?" the Asian guessed. "What school was it?"
"Brooklyn Tech."
"No way!"
Amy fixed him with a stony glare. "And just who are you?"
"My name's Charlie Kim." He offered. "And I don't know what happened to me. All I remember is getting completely shit-faced at this party last night and then passing out. When I woke up, I was in here."
"You probably died of alcohol poisoning." Christine said, to which Charlie shrugged.
There was another jingle from Gantz, making the four surrounding it jump in shock. When its shelves flung open, they all leapt back like cats sprayed with water.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"What's on its screen now, Charlie?"
Charlie adjusted his rectangular glasses and leaned over to read. "It's telling us to destroy this alien." He pointed at the gruesome picture provided. "It's called the Zorro Alien."
"We have to kill Zorro?" Amy gaped at the screen.
Charlie ignored her. "Special abilities include: cunning, witty, can change into giant fox…! Dislikes: violence against women, guns, and stupidity…?"
"Keep reading! Is that it?"
"No, it has a catch-phrase." He almost laughed. "'To avenge the helpless, to punish the cruel, and to aid the oppressed'."
"What the hell is going on?" Greg ran his fingers through his hair as Charlie and Amy discussed the alien. "We're supposed to kill that thing? What for? Who says?" he slumped against Gantz. "Isn't this a job for the CIA or FBI or…the Goddamn Black Ops or something!"
"I think we should all just take some deep breaths." Christine said, holding several metal suitcases in her hands.
"What do you have there?" Greg demanded, clearly suspicious.
"I think they're suits." She replied. "They have names on them too. They sound like codenames or nicknames or something. Check it out." She laid a few on the floor. "Ralph, Freud, Smarty-Pants, Jezebel, and Crybaby."
Greg arched a brow at each one. "Well…they aren't very clever, are they?"
"Who's who?" Charlie demanded.
"If I had to guess, I think Mr. Allen would be Freud."
Greg looked up. "Why me?"
"Because you taught AP Psych at Brooklyn Tech." she shrugged, sliding the suitcase over.
"Who's Ralph?" Amy questioned, eyeing the kid in the corner. "Hey, you. Is your name Ralph?"
"It's Peter." He snapped back, tugging his hood farther down his face.
Christine rolled her eyes. "Weirdo…" Then she turned to Principal Stonewall. "I think you're Jezebel."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, c'mon, Amy." Greg gave her an incredulous look. "Your extramarital affairs are a hot topic at least once a month in my homeroom class…no use trying to play innocent now."
Amy rolled her eyes and angrily snatched the suitcase from Christine.
"Right." Christine said. "That just leaves Smarty-Pants, Ralph, and Crybaby." She looked over at Charlie. "I think you might be Ralph."
"How?"
"Well, you said the last thing you remember before coming here was getting drunk at some party. Maybe you choked on your own vomit or something."
"I thought you said it was alcohol poisoning?"
"Well, since being poisoned isn't an option, ralphing to death has gotta be you."
"Then who are you?" he snapped, grabbing his case. "Smarty-pants?"
"Actually, yes." She said. "That kid in the corner's been crying ever since he got here. He's Crybaby."
The room turned from the contents of their suitcases to stare at the kid in the hooded sweatshirt, his face buried in his bent knees.
"Forget about him." Christine said. "Principal Stonewall's right. Save for Charlie, he killed all of us. Let's just focus on the rest of us."
"Alright." Charlie said, holding up his suit. "What say you, oh fearless leader?"
"Put 'em on." She said. "They've gotta be important if they're here. Principal Stonewall and I will get changed on the other side of that door while you guys change in here." She grabbed her case and waited for her principal to leave first. "Maybe this is a step-by-step thing. Once we do something, something else will happen…until we figure out what's going on." Christine shrugged again. "That's my theory, anyways…" She joined Amy out in the hall.
Charlie nodded and turned to Greg. "Do you think we should tell that kid to change?"
Greg shook his head. "He's not deaf. He heard everything." His voice was full of venom. "Let him make his own decision…the little shit seems good at making life decisions…"
The Queens Team
"There's the dog."
"He's such a cute puppy." She paused. "Did we ever figure out what kind he is?"
"A pain in the ass."
"You just say that because he's always trying to hump your leg."
"Oh, look. Gantz has brought us new teammates…looks like two old dudes."
The dirty-blonde girl of the pair pouted. "That black guy looks kinda our age."
"You need glasses." The brunette quipped from her perch atop Gantz. "But the one with the tattoos is kinda hot."
"Oh, gross Lola. He's like thirty!"
"I have a name to live up to, you know." She paused. "It's my turn to give the introduction, remember?"
"Ugh…fine. Just don't start monologue-ing like some weird anime character again. You ran outta time last time."
"Shut up. I hate you."
They both erupted into a simultaneous fit of laughter.
"Huh?" the young black man looked around bewilderedly. "Where am I?"
"Welcome gentleman!" Lola grinned.
"The fuck?" the tattooed man took in the sight of the young blonde and brunette before him, clad in what looked like demented Catwoman suits à la Michelle Pfeiffer. "Is this…am I dreaming?"
Lola chuckled. "I'm flattered, really. But, trust me, this is anything but a dream." She leapt off Gantz and stood in the middle of the room, knocking the dog from her leg a moment later. "Stupid bastard…" she grumbled, watching as her friend tugged him away. "My name is Lolita Crossley, but you can call me Lola. And that over there is my good friend Camilla Crown…Cam is fine, though. And you two have been transported into the world of Gantz."
"Gantz?" the tattooed man echoed. "The hell is a Gantz?" he held a hand to his temple and rubbed. "Ugh…that fucker musta hit me harder than I thought."
"Is this some kinda joke?" the other guy questioned, staring at Gantz. "What's that ball for? Is that a bomb?"
Lola rolled her obsidian orbs. "We only have a limited amount of time, gentleman. So I suggest you shut up and listen." She smirked at their scowls. "At anytime now, Gantz is gonna try and grab our attention by blasting Yankee Doodle out of his speakers. And then he's gonna give you guys your suits and guns and then tell us which alien we have to kill this time."
The tattooed man stood up from his previously slouched over position and made his way over to the door. "It's locked." He grumbled, tugging harder before giving it a shove with his shoulder. "I'm seriously trapped in this room with these two whack-jobs…"
"We aren't whack-jobs." Camilla, the blonde of the pair, insisted. "Just wait a minute, you'll see."
"I ain't waitin' for shit." He informed her. "I've seen people like you on the news – cults or something." He shook his head. "You're hot and all, but even a guy like me has standards. I've done a lot of crazy things in the past to get some tail, but joining a cult is where I draw the line."
Camilla rolled her hazel eyes. "First of all, we're both jailbait as far as you and the FBI are concerned." She jerked her thumb to indicate Lola, who waved cheekily in return. "And secondly, this isn't a cult. Just be patient, will ya?"
"Fuck you both." He said. "I'm too smart to fall for shit like this. What's the deal here? You lure us into this room wearing those tight outfits and force-feed us the Kool-Aid or something?"
"Hey!" the other guy barked. "I take offense to that, man! Why's it gotta be Kool-Aid?"
He just rolled his eyes. "There was a cult in the 80s that made these people drink Kool-Aid poisoned with like anti-freeze or something. It killed everyone, is the point here."
"Actually." Camilla held up a finger. "It was laced with cyanide. And it took place in 1978." She paused. "The guy called it a 'revolutionary suicide'…or just a glorified mass suicide." She took in the tattooed man's expression and shrugged. "We talked about it in sociology class recently."
Impatient, Lola spun around to accost Gantz. She pressed a finger to its screen and placed an indignant fist on her hip. "Whassa matter, Gantz? You feeling sick or something? What's taking Yankee Doodle so long? You got some new people to play with…don't you want to play with them?"
"I'm getting the fuck outta here." The other guy said, approaching the door. "On the count of three, we ram it, 'kay?"
The tattooed man nodded. "One."
"Two."
"Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony…"
"The fuck!"
Both men turned frantic eyes to the girls, who each wore looks of victory and gloating.
"We tried to tell you…" Camilla shrugged.
"Now, just stay over there until Gantz opens up." Lola advised. "The last guy who poked around too close got smooshed against the wall."
The two men leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, wearing respective looks of fatigue and fear. When the song was done, a hiss of air signaled the opening of the shelves. The girls plus the dog scurried over to collect their weapons; Camilla helped their canine companion into his own suit – complete with little doggy boots.
"What are your names?" Lola approached the slumping men with two metal suitcases.
"Kyle." The tattooed one said, not bothering to look up from where he stared at his lap.
"B-Benjamin."
Lola squatted down in front of them, wearing a narrowed expression. She turned to Kyle. "What is the last thing you remember before coming here?"
He scowled. "What does that matter?"
"Just answer the question." She snapped, obsidian eyes fierce. "We only have a few minutes left. There are certain things you need to do before I can explain everything to you."
"Screw you!" he growled. "Tell us everything that's going on! Right now!"
"Yeah!" Benjamin nodded his head, a scowl marring his forehead.
Lola squeezed the bridge of her nose between her eyes. "For the love of God…I hate men." She mumbled. "I'm 17 years old and I hate men like a crazy old cat lady."
Finished with dressing the dog and sensing the impending bloodbath, Camilla took the suitcases from her friend. "Lush and Ignoramus, huh?" she read, scrutinizing the men below her. "What do you do for a living?" she asked Kyle, careful not to use the past tense.
He turned a curious look her way. "I'm a bartender, why?"
She tossed Lush's case onto his lap, and handed Benjamin the other.
"Ignoramus?" he demanded. "What the hell is this shit?"
"Just shut up and put on the suits." Lola snapped, getting up from her crouch. "Go out into the hall and change. No more questions until you come back."
"And don't bother trying to open the front door!" Camilla added, flinching when the door slammed behind them. After a moment, she turned to Lola. "Do you think any of them will survive?"
She shrugged. "They probably will. But that Benjamin kid seems like a secret pussy."
"He was just nervous!" Cam defended. "…The bartender seems like a real asshole."
Lola just smiled distantly. "Doesn't he?" she questioned dreamily.
"You have issues…" Cam frowned.
The Staten Island Team
"Okay…" the broad-shouldered man said, putting his hands on his hips and staring at the suitcases. "We got Jeff Gordon, Pokerface, Cookie, Fat Man, and Coca."
"I think we can narrow one down." A deeply tanned girl said, eyeing a rotund man breathing heavily from the corner.
"You got a point." The man said, picking up Fat Man's suitcase and handing it to him. The other man took without another word.
"I think I might be Cookie." Another woman, one with straight raven locks, said.
"Why's that?"
"It's my stage name." she grabbed her case and sat back down.
"You're an actress?" the first girl questioned, eyes widening in awe.
"No." the other said flatly. "I'm a dancer."
"Like ballet?"
"Like exotic?" she mimicked her tone sarcastically.
"Oh…well, there's lotsa kinds 'a dancers. That's no reason to be rude about it." She tossed her dark curls over her shoulder.
"Okay, take it easy." The bulky man in front of the suitcases said. "I think I'm Jeff Gordon. The last thing I remember is getting rear-ended by an 18-wheeler on the highway…whoever made these obviously has a sick sense 'a humor."
"That just leaves Pokerface and Coca." The wavy-haired woman said, turning to the young black kid next to her. "I think you're Coca 'cause it's like a Hershey Bar."
The room fell into a tense silence as each person stopped what they were doing in order to gape at the woman.
"What?" she demanded. "It makes sense."
The student took the suitcase from her without another word.
"You're thinking of cocoa…not coca." Cookie informed her. "And, by the way, coca is the plant they grind up to make cocaine. So not only are you racist, but you're ignorant, too."
"Well, if you're so smart, then why are you a stripper?"
Cookie shrugged. "Maybe I'm smart for being a stripper."
"…What?"
"Think about it." She rolled her eyes and unzipped her jacket in order to slip the top half of the suit over her head. "I can make close to a thousand bucks in a single night…just by showing guys my tits." The suit tugged at her chest and she scowled.
"You're actually wearing this hideous thing?"
Cookie shrugged. "I've worn worse…plus, there's gotta be a reason behind it. Why else would someone go to the trouble?"
"…To make us look stupid?"
She shrugged again. "Better safe than sorry." She gave up trying to fit into the top half and began to step into the pants. They glided smoothly until they reached her shorts. "I think we're supposed to go commando…"
"Ugh, gross!"
A/N: Okay, just humor me. There really wouldn't be much to work with without me giving you the standard "ZOMG, where are we? What's going on?" So now that that's over, we can move on (thank God!) I feel I should inform you that none of these chapters have a set length. Suffice to say that each mission will have its own chapter, where I will indicate a team switch using asteriks (*) and a POV switch within teams using hyphens or dashes (-).
Oh, before I forget! This is important! I was really, really nervous about using certain terms to describe nationalities. I really hope I didn't offend anyone by using "black" or "Asian" or any other term that's written. I can be more PC if you need me to, but I just decided that using those terms would maintain the original GANTZ voice. Like the Osaka team and their slang and missin' G's =] But again, if it bothers you, just let me know and I'll definitely do something about it! I love my readers too much to risk offending you!