-Kindred Spirits-

AN: Kindred Spirits does NOT belong to me. I DID NOT write this. This story was written by someone else, a guy that goes by the name Sandrock. I happened upon this story over the summer as I was checking some Gundam Wing websites. The website was a typical Gundam Wing website with fanfictions and info on GW. I started reading this, and it instantly became one of my most favorites fanfics. This story had such a unique and original plot. So unlike any of the GW fanfics I've read on FFN. So I decided to post this story under my profile so that all of you can read it and hopefully enjoy it too.

Standard Disclaimer applies.

Summary: Kindred Spirits deals with an alternate Gundam Wing universe - a universe where mechas don't exist and where nothing but a fragile peace holds together a world divided by two hostile governments. It is a universe where Heero Yuy is a normal college student, leading what he believes to be a normal life, until a certain braided teenager drops into said life and changes everything that he holds true. He finds out the truth about himself, and about the world around him. The hidden menace behind the Dreams that plague all of humanity is laid bare before him - a dark fate that he could well be destined to thwart...or to fulfill.

Chapter 1 - Kindred Spirits

April 17 AC 195 0900hrs EST -Chinatown, Los Angeles-

The sky was a clear azure blue - a pure blanket of reflected ice crystals, unmarred by the presence of clouds and daunted only by the shining ball of flame that radiated its relentless heat down on one of mankind's great metropolises. The world below moved along with the bustle and inefficiency of any major city, harried pedestrians jostling for space on the sidewalks. Cars and other vehicles jammed neck-to-neck, the occupants extremely free with their horns. The occasional police siren could be heard, along with the sounds of people scuffling in a fight, of glass breaking and metal bending as cars hit each other.

All the wonders and sounds of city life.

The boy surveyed all that was taking place beneath him, as he stood tall above the organized chaos that was the city below. The wind responsible for the cloudless sky picked up, with it providing some temporal relief from the unrelenting heat wave that was engulfing Los Angeles. Not that the boy felt the heat, of course. He felt the wind reach into his clothing, the gentle tendrils of air sweeping back his unbuttoned black windbreaker into a flowing arc, in much the same manner as his dark chestnut-brown hair, now whipping gently in the wind.

Dropping to a crouch, his deep amethyst eyes peered out from behind a pair of black shades - deep piercing eyes that seemed to take hold of you and refuse to let go. He peered down from the rooftop of the building he was scanning the horizon from, and his gaze shifted, taking in each corner of the street below. His eyes finally fixed on a small convenience store located some three hundred meters down. Flipping open the small brown folder he carried in one hand, his eyes shifted down to read through the lines as though seeking confirmation, then swept up to stare at the convenience store one more time.

He whispered to himself, in a voice that could only be described as smooth.

"He's there."

Deftly leaping to his feet, the boy made his way across the rooftop, descending down the fire escape as silently as he had arrived.

The wind died, first into a fluttering breeze, then into nothingness.

April 17 AC 195 2100hrs SGT (0900hrs EST) -The Central Business District, Singapore-

Siting one's office at the top of a skyscraper had its advantages, thought Quatre Raberba Winner as he took a deep breath, leaning against the railing of the full-length windows. Gazing out those windows, he looked out at the city beyond - a city that mixed together the neo-titanium and transpari-steel skyscrapers that technological advancements had provided, with the remodeled quaint concrete two-storey 'shophouses' that had been the city's only infrastructure centuries ago. A testament to the advancement of technology, the city bathed in an orange glow from the lights that provided refuge from twilight.

The blond teenager walked slowly away from the windows, seating himself firmly in the large chair situated behind an ornate table - that of the CEO of one of the largest neo-titanium manufacturing corporations on the planet. Quatre had inherited the Maganac Corporation from his late father, who had died somewhat unexpectedly in an accident during a routine walkabout at one of the processing plants in lunar orbit. At first, there had been concerns that Quatre was not up to the challenge, but the young blond had proven himself against all his critics. He allowed himself a contented smile as he picked up a china cup from a side table, taking a sip of strong black coffee.

An insistent beeping from the communications panel on the table spoiled the moment. Composing himself, though not entirely able to mask his annoyance at being disturbed, he slapped the 'receive' button, his voice soft, yet with a hint of contempt.

"Yes, Rashid?"

The deep male voice of his personal assistant responded through the speaker, "Sir, the person you were expecting has arrived."

A momentary tinge of uneasiness crept up Quatre's spine. Trying to shake off the chilling effect, the blond teen took a deep breath and another sip of coffee, before nodding, "Send him in."

Standing up, Quatre Winner made his way towards the polished-oak double doors that led into his office, reaching them just as the large frame of Rashid pushed them slowly open, admitting the black-clad youth he was escorting.

Quatre forced a smile, as he extended a hand towards the newcomer, "Glad you could make it, Mr. Maxwell." The newcomer nodded, reciprocating the handshake, ignoring Quatre's firmer-than-necessary grip. Gesturing towards the table, Quatre motioned for the other youth to sit, as Rashid closed the doors behind them. Seating himself primly in his own chair on the other side of the table, Quatre Raberba Winner took a moment to assess the person in front of him.

Maxwell, as he knew him, was wearing a deep, all-black windbreaker, worn loosely over a light grey T-shirt that clung tightly to his sleek, well-toned body. Coupled with a black jockey cap, deep blue jeans and a pair of black shades, Mr. Maxwell looked like one of the many ordinary youths you could pick off the streets…especially with that smirk on his face.

The smirk broke into a grin, as the youth leaned back, allowing a waist-length braid of chestnut-brown hair to dangle from behind the chair. He put his feet, along with the pair of high-cut sneakers they were in, on the table.

Quatre gritted his teeth, forcing a nasty smile. His voice was tight, controlled, as he spoke, "Have you confirmed it?"

The braided youth nodded, taking off his cap and twirling it on one finger, revealing a thick mess of chestnut-brown locks that almost covered his deep amethyst eyes, "Oh yeah...it's all true. Every single last thing I told you about. It's all in there if you don't believe me." He tossed a large brown envelope on the table, whistling softly.

Quatre scowled at him, "I see."

The braided youth took his feet of the table, sitting upright and folding his arms across the table, "I take it...this means you'll support us?"

The blond youth picked up the envelope, staring at it for a moment, "I don't suppose I have a choice." He pressed a button on the communications link on the table, "Rashid, prepare the documents and see that they are sent according to my previous instructions."

"Very good, sir."

The braided youth grinned again, leaping to his feet, already making his way to the double doors, "Well then, it was a pleasure doing business with you, Quatre."

Quatre sighed, "I suppose the same can be said of you, Mr. Maxwell. I just hope I'm not getting myself into more than I can handle."

The braided youth winked at him as he left, his parting sentence somewhat muffled by the door, yet still audible.

"The name's Solo, Quatre. Use it."

April 17 AC 195 0915 hrs EST Chinatown, Los Angeles

Only a handful of customers, thought the young Japanese boy behind the counter, as he wiped up the hot cocoa a careless customer had knocked over while trying to pay for it. While he worked, his deep blue eyes kept a constant watch on the aisles of the store, his vision only slightly obstructed by the thick locks of deep brown hair that swept down his face. He put away the cloth and closed the cash register as the careless customer left, the cheery 'ding' of the bell on the door marking her exit.

The Asian youth sighed. He had only been on the job for two weeks, but he was already regretting his decision. But he didn't have much of a choice - he needed a means by which to pay for his studies, and what his folks back in Japan were sending him was barely enough to meet the inflated prices this year. Considering the options available for undergrads these days, he figured this was the best of bad choices.

But, three robberies in the last week alone were enough to unnerve anyone, especially one as unaccustomed as he was to life in the City of Angels.

His train of thought broke as he spotted a suspicious looking character, lurking in the back aisles of the store. The Japanese youth mentally noted that he'd been skulking around the back for nearly ten minutes now, not moving very much, randomly picking up and looking at some items. However, as though suddenly aware that he'd been spotted, he walked hurriedly to the opposite side of the store, where they kept the juices and milk.

The Japanese teen narrowed his eyes, taking a mental picture of the suspicious customer, in the likely event he'd need to describe him later. Slightly taller than average, the customer looked to be a typical American, in his teens, wearing a black jockey cap that covered his head. It wasn't much use at concealing his hair color, though, as a thick waist-length braid of hair swept down from behind his shoulders. He wore a deep black windbreaker, unbuttoned over a white T-shirt that snugly clung to his form, a pair of dark blue denim jeans and high-cut sneakers, finished off with a pair of black shades.

The Japanese boy snorted. Typical troublemaker. A foolish one, no doubt, but still a troublemaker. He snorted. Anyone stupid enough to wear a -windbreaker- in this heat had to be a few screws loose.

A light tap on his shoulder broke his intent gaze on the black-clad youth. Turning his head, the Japanese boy inhaled sharply, stepping back from the counter and the large, unshaven man pointing a pistol at him.

The man breathed heavily, exhaling pungent whiffs that smelt distinctively of stale alcohol in the Japanese boy's direction. He aimed the gun at the boy's head, his voice gruff when he spoke, "You know the routine."

The Japanese boy nodded, opening the cash register and filling a paper bag with its contents, all the while keeping a wary eye on the gun trained at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a hint of black moving up from the back aisles. What was the black-clad youth up to? He glanced back at the man holding him at gunpoint. The guy was too engrossed in watching him fill up the bag to notice anyone else in the store.

"Hey."

Both the man and the Japanese boy whipped their heads in the direction of the voice, only to find the black-clad youth now standing next to the large robber. The youth had both hands on his hips, and a cheeky grin on his face.

"Hey, tell you what - what say you put the gun down, turn around, and get your sorry ass outta this place before I do it for you?"

For a moment, all the man did was stare at the youth. Without a word, he turned back to the Japanese boy behind the counter, motioning for him to continue transferring the cash.

"Hey! I said put the gun down and get the hell outta here!"

The large-sized man grunted, and whipped the gun around, pointing it squarely at the black-clad youth's chest. The youth frowned, looking down at the weapon pointed at him, then up again at the man. His voice was grim when he spoke.

"Last chance…get that thing outta my face and get out before I make you regret it."

The Japanese youth could see the robber's face turning redder and redder. What the hell was that kid trying to do? Get killed? Was this some sort of crazy diversion?

The kid was speaking again, "What say you play nice and listen to me, huh?"

The man squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the youth squarely in the chest.

The Japanese youth backed away instinctively, his back hitting the ice-cream machine, his heart beating furiously. I'm next.

"Wrong answer."

His head whipped around. It was all he could do not to gape.

The braided youth was still standing. His shirt was drenched with blood, and the Japanese youth could see the hole in his shirt where the bullet had struck, but...the black-clad youth was still standing, his face grim rather than stricken.

By now, the robber had probably realized that something was not right, and had backed away from the black-clad youth somewhat. His weapon still pointed at the boy, but one could detect a slight wavering in his hold.

The youth began walking towards him. Slowly.

The man fired again. And again. And again. Each round struck the youth with precise accuracy, but the end effect would've been the same if he had missed. The boy just seemed to shrug off the bullets, his face not even registering pain when hit.

All of a sudden, the youth charged forward with deadly speed. It was all the Japanese youth could do to follow his movements.

The weapon flew out of the man's hand, landing several meters down the aisle looking somewhat bent out of shape.

A hand clenched around the front of the man's shirt, and for the second time that day, the Japanese youth tried to back away, as he realized that the black-clad kid was holding the large-sized would-be robber two feet off the ground.

The robber panicked, and realizing his violent struggling didn't seem to have any effect on the boy's hold, brought his right arm up in a wide arc of a punch.

The braided youth's free hand came up as well, intercepting the guy's fist and stopping the blow head-on. The youth smiled. He applied pressure, and the sickly crack of bone snapping filled the room as he crushed the man's fist in his own. He released the broken hand, and a dark smile crossed his face as he glared at the now whimpering man.

"Bye."

He threw the robber-wannabe out the door, sending him flying out onto the pavement in a hail of shattered glass and metal. Several vehicles horned and some pedestrians swore, as they sidestepped the new obstruction and pretended not to notice anything.

The black-clad youth made a show of dusting his hands, breaking into a grin as he turned to face the now-somewhat-pale Japanese store assistant. Leaning against the counter, he eyed the petrified teen.

"Omae no namae wa Yuy Heero desu ka?"

The Japanese teen behind the counter blinked. Is your name Heero Yuy?

The braided youth had just spoken to him in fluent Japanese.

Heero found his voice, "H...Hai."

The braided youth winked at him, "Glad to meet you. The name's Duo Maxwell, but you can call me Duo. Everyone else does, anyway." He stretched a hand out towards the Japanese boy.

Heero eyed the hand warily.

As though sensing his uneasiness, Duo chuckled lightly, reaching over instead to pat Heero on the shoulder.

The Japanese youth winced instinctively, managing to ask, "What do you want?"

Duo tugged playfully at his braid, "Well...that's kinda hard to explain...all I can say is that..."

He paused.

"I was sent to find you."

So how do you people like the story so far? Don't forget to review. If you want to send Sandrock a message or whatever his email is sandrockia(at)gmail(dot)com.