Hello! And thank you for taking the time to read my story!
Note: Things to remember when reading:
BOLD shows anger
ITALICS shows thought
BOLD, ITALIC AND UNDERLINE showtime change, location change, etc.
Definitions to some foreign words are given at the end of the sentence it is used. (Thanks to Colonel Marksman for this idea)
That bar with a name underneath means a perspective change to that character. (Thanks to Colonel. Marksman for this idea)
Note2: A thing about the title. It's meant to be read with the chapter title as well. Ex: for this chapter, you'd read "In Spite Of It All… He Continues to Talk". Got it? Cat Fish?
Note3: This should be a given, but just in case… SPOILERS TO THE GUNSLINGER GIRL ANIME, MANGA, AND GAMES ARE CONTAINED WITHIN THIS STORY….
On with the show!
He was considered to be the toughest guy in the city. Be it a fistfight, knifefight, or gunfight; he was untouchable, the Ghost of L.A. they called him.
He was considered the smartest guy in the area. If you needed something or someone, just ask him and he'll find it within minutes.
He was considered the greatest guy in the city. With thousands of followers behind him, you'd be a fool to cross his path without permission.
Alexander "Alex" Williams was the self-proclaimed King of the streets of Los Angeles.
Like all great kings before him, he led with an iron fist.
Like all great kings before him, he dealt with enemies swiftly.
Like all great kings before him, he was well loved by his followers.
Like all great kings before him, he was destined to fall…
In Spite Of It All…
A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:
Sintendo
Chapter 1: …He Remembers
Basking in the glow of the afternoon sun one fine summer day, Alex trotted to his nearest perch overlooking the streets of present day Los Angeles. Being a child of the streets, it was easy for him to simply climb buildings, jumping from one to another if need be. He knew his fair city like his own brother; every crack, turn, and timing of each stoplight.
Today, however, was not the time for his daily patrol of his and his gangs' territory. He was indeed a sort of "hooligan" or "thug", if you will, but there is one this that he prized the most other than power; education.
"With education," his father – a lowly janitor, working double shifts to provide for his family – constantly reminded him, "You can have anything you want in the world. Do whatever you want; but please learn something along the way."
That is to say, family was as important as furthering his education. After all, what did he need power for, if he couldn't share it?
Today was his first day of 8th grade; the gateway to high school. Today was also his baby sister's first day of kindergarten, seeing as they just celebrated her birthday a month ago, her enrollment was completely legit. And lucky for her, Alex's school was on a K-8 system, so he would be there to keep an eye on her.
It was odd to see a sea of white and navy blue just outside of the school gates. The children in uniform were split into two categories: those who were excited to return to mediocrity, and those who loathed returning to 8 hour hell.
Alex's sister, Abigail, was among the former. Her giddiness and pure adorable attitude sent blissful chills down his spine. How grateful he was to be able to pass his legacy onto his sister. He wanted to pinch her rosy cheeks, but he had an image to keep.
"Alex!" His mother batted his head, "You watch your sister, okay!"
He responded with a rather weak hand wave, his focus concentrated on his smiling father.
"You do know what comes after this, right?"
"What's that?" Alex asked.
"High school, of course!" It was a trick question.
"High school is the best time of your life," A deep voice; Alex's Principal, Mr. Capriani, approached them, "You had better make the best of it."
Alex shook hands with his principal. Surprisingly, his grip wasn't limp. Sure the man did look like a complete queer, seeing as how he used to model for Hugo Boss, but as of now, Alex found a new respect for him.
Not that he had ever disrespected his dearest mentor.
He laughed as he thought of this man. What a life he must have had! A former Carabinieri Gruppo di Intervento Speciale agent turned former Hugo Boss model turned elementary school Principal. Such a random change of pace.
But conforming into military life was not the way Alex saw his future. It was "all politics for me, baby! Hell yea!"
He was going to change his world. And he damn well meant it.
"Don't worry about me, Mr. Capriani," Alex grinned – his trademark smile, "I won't leav you after this year."
"It's not you I'm worried about," He glanced over at a pack of young boys, "It's your friends."
Unlike himself, the underlings of Alex could care less about going to class, no matter how much scolding or beatings they took from him. It took a while for him to learn, but eventually Alex realized that he'd just have to let them be, lest they amassed a coup d'etat and run him out of Los Angeles.
"It's their choice, Mr. Capriani, It's too late for them to change."
"I hate to say this," he took off his sunglasses, "and being Principal of this school, I'm not allowed to… but you're right. They can't be changed now…"
"Don't worry about 'em," Alex laughed, "I'll set them straight once graduatione come—"
Alex was silenced by a sudden burst of gunfire. The screams of thousands of people erupted as several dozen armed men forced everyone like cattle into the nearest building, the school gym. The action was so quick, so sudden, that Alex was separated from his family. Instead, he was being held in place by Mr. Capriani.
Mass confusion broke out. With the orchestra of shouting, crying, and yelling, nobody knew what was happening. Men, even children, who tried to resist were immediately shot directly in front of their family and friends. Empty boxes were held by another set of men, each of them demanding that any and all electronic devices be turned in. Anyone who refused was shot without question, and nearly everyone complied with the order.
Another set of crying erupted when an entire family was shot, execution style, when ther child kicked the shins of an armed man. Only when another burst of gunfire, coupled with a flash bang grenade, did the roars of the confused people cease.
On cue, a masked man - fully equipped with military fatigues, flak-jacket, military carbine, and a vest filled to the brim with rifle magazines and grenades – entered the room, demanding that the Principal of the school step forward.
Slowly, Mr. Capriani relaxed his grip on Alex, bravely stepping forward to face the apparent leader of the group.
"Who are you people and what is it that you want?" he asked with a stern posture.
"You do not need to know who we are," the man said, "you only need know that we have sent demands to your President, and that we are holding you until our demands are met."
"You do know that the U.S. does not negotiate with terrorists?"
"Well, that's a shame you all you, isn't it?" The man chuckled as his soldiers tackled Mr. Capriani to the floor, just as his fist neared the terrorist leader's nose.
Alex witnessed the entire conversation. However something else took his attention away from his mentor being beaten on the floor.
Across the room, several terrorists seemed to be fumbling around with a handful of boxes as the climbed a ladder to reach a basketball hoop. His blood drained from his body at the sudden realization that the men were wiring bombs.
Hours after the initial lockdown of the school, silence filled the room, broken only by a few chattering voices here and there. Police had arrived minutes after the invasion, only to be rid of by snipers located on the second floor of the gym. Now, S.W.A.T. and other Special Forces units surrounded the building, waiting like lions in the brush for a right opportunity to rescues the civilians inside.
The silence was broken, once again, by a burst of gun fire. An announcement from their captors was going to be made.
"This," an armed man said, holding what appeared to be the gas pedal of a car, "Is a trigger mechanism," He carefully placed the pedal on the floor, releasing it with his hands only when he placed his left foot on it, "Once I release this pedal, the entire room will explode."
At this point, all chaos broke loose, albeit vocally; nobody wanted to set off the bomb.
Two days into the imprisonment; anyone who was still alive stripped down to their undergarments. Their captors having shut every entry to the building closed.
Alex was getting restless. He still hadn't located his family, his Principal was knocked unconscious and bleeding from the head profusely, he, and others as well, hadn't eaten in 2 days, and due to the late summer weather, it was well above 100 degrees (Fahrenheit) in the gym.
He plotted with his friends. However, they all came to the conclusion that the situation was hopeless. One of his friends overheard the terrorists and concluded that they were of the Muslim religion.
The best thing for them to do now, Alex ordered, was for them to stay put and hope for the best; even street smarts couldn't muster a decent plan against this kind of situation.
Seconds after his order, however, the plan came shattering down, falling apart the instant he recognized a young girl screaming for her mother as she was carried off by an armed man. At last he had found his sister, but not in the way he wanted to.
Other men followed suit, each plucking the nearest female in sight. It soon became too obvious what these animals were planning to do.
Alex's mind ran with images of him running to the man that carried his sister, and ripping his throat with his bare hands. Adrenaline conquered his senses, and his was soon on his feet, charging into the face of death himself.
He awoke to the dull sound of a door closing just ahead of him. He slowly opened his eyes, only to quickly shut them again; the shine of bright fluorescent bulbs shining from the dull, gray ceiling.
Adjusting to the light, he heard the clicking of footsteps approach him. He wanted to see who it was, but his entire body ached.
"Hi there." The warm voice greeted him.
The boy forced his head up, squinting at the shadowy figure that sat at his bedside. He could just barley make out the outline of a man's face, noticing that he had a faint smile.
"This is yours." The man took the boy's hand and placed a cold metal object in his palms. After a few seconds of feeling the details of the object, the boy gulped, realizing that it was a handgun.
"My name is Fillipo," A name that the boy had heard before, "I'll be your handler from now on."
Still blinded by the light, the boy had nothing else to say. What could he have said at that moment, anyway?
"Fillipo," the boy deduced that this voice – a woman's voice in a language that was unknown to him – came from an intercom, "Che cosa state andando chiamargli?"
"What will I name him?" Probably repeating and translating what the woman said, Fillipo gave it some thought before answering, "Bradley."
The boy chuckled, "What?" He half laughed, "What kind of a name is 'Bradley'?"
Fillipo was shocked at the boy's response.
"My name is Alexander Williams, dammit," He forced his eyes open, "Why are you saying all this weird stuff to me?"
Fillipo stood and took a step away from Alex as the boy stared at him.
"Mr. Capriani?" Alex asked, "Where am I? Why did you just hand me this gun?"
Fillipo looked at a wall-mirror at Alex's side, as if to ask for assistance, only to receive none.
"What is this place? Where's my family? Where's Abigail?"
Note: Heh. This is just something I thought about while I was at this dance club in L.A. It was getting boring, and my girlfriend wanted to get out so we left for home and watched some T.V. We then started some documentaries about terrorists in Chechnya and other countries, and I was inspired by survivor's stories to write this.
Update schedule looks a little blocky since I'm working and I still have "Life, Liberty And…" to finish, but look forward to more.