Blood Stained Desert Rose
April 29 2001 - May 27 2001
Gah. I have got to stop starting these things before I finish the others. Anyway, I might as well say right off the bat that this story is inspired by a lot of things. Some of them are "Mad Max" the movie with Mel Gibson, "Gone in 60 Seconds" the movie with Nicholas Cage and numerous others, but those are the main. I'll explain it now, so you don't get confused: This Gundam Wing, alternative universe fic is based in an apocalyptic version of our world. It's all desert, and the only transportation are dune buggies, cars, trucks, motorcycles and other all terrain vehicles. Dig? Okay, on with the story.
Disclaimer : I. Own. Nothing.
========================
It was hell. But it was home, and all they had.
Never had `survival of the fittest' been in more play. Anyone who was weak enough to not be able to handle the style of living was left behind, or killed, if they were troublesome enough. Compassion and love for the fellow man didn't matter, and didn't help when the cold barrel of a pistol was pressed to your forehead. It wasn't surprising when your blood is dripping on the burning sand, and your best friend is riding off with your prized truck and your whore.
Fortunately, Heero Yuy was one of those stronger people. With tanned skin, muscled body, disheveled hair and painted face, he rode the pure envy of a motorcycle through the wastelands of the Eastern `Sphere. He was so close to ruling it all, but not everyone was the Perfect Soldier he was, including the people in his gang. There were hundreds, but in the OZ group, there were thousands. His three captains, Chang Wufei, Trowa Barton, and Quatre Winner helped him guide the Gundams to near victory each time. However, he was fairly sure he could handle it all himself. Beneath his heartless, emotionless mask held a very cocky young man.
No one quite knew why their gang was called the Gundams. It was quite the mystery, but no one really bothered to look into. All that mattered that was when one saw the priceless bike leading hundreds upon hundreds of warriors on all types of vehicles, they would run and scream in fear. And they did just that. There were stories, myths, but none of it was true. They were just tales conjured by other riders to satisfy the itch that is the unknown. Like religion.
It was on a fairly particular day that this fairly particular story begins. Heero and a team of scouts were returning back to their base after a spying mission. Their headquarters was in the plain view, because there would be no threat to them at their safe base. To attack at the home would be such a dishonorable act that anyone would be able to destroy you, for you had just titled yourself scum of the Earth.
Heero stared stone faced over the top of his cycle visor. They had discovered a fairly decent amount of information, and he was deeply contemplating it as he rode on. His dusty, dark hair whipped at his face in the wind as the cycle spat dust out of its backside at his fellows. So many things to think about, and nothing but the open desert before him.
He flinched slightly and straightened up from the sitting position his craft was designed for. Had he just seen someone crawling about in the yard that sat beside their cleverly disguised, rackety building? And Howard's disgusting little freak of nature pet giant, man-eating Venus fly-trap blob of flesh wannabe was twitching rather hungrily at the form.
Heero's perfect eyesight had never failed him, through every grain of sand whipped into his eyes. He sped on, leaving even more dust clouds in his wake. As he grew closer, he was sure that there was someone there. A young person, possibly his age of seventeen, with long hair, most likely a girl, was crawling on all fours, stumbling and half-standing, occasionally clutching their side and shuddering as waves of pain lanced through their body. Blood dripped on the sand behind them.
"Fuck."
Heero scowled at the creature as its amorphous body shot out and seized the form, sucking it into its own fleshiness. Damn, if that thing swallowed her up completely, there would be no rescue. She would suffocate, or worse. Turning his bike, and suddenly breaking, Heero vaulted over the ride and broke into a run to the yard. He skittered to a stop before Howard's beastly monstrosity, and sucked in his breath. A slim, pale arm was reaching out to him and the injured side was painfully visible, a maimed wound bleeding profusely. An angular, masculine face stared blankly at him, mouth whispering silent pleas and glazed, violet eyes begging.
As the fleshy mass crawled over the now discovered boy's injury, his mouth widened in a soundless cry of pain. Suddenly realizing that his life depended upon his actions, Heero drew the gun he kept in a holster at his waist, and blasted the being once. The whole thing shuddered, but did not relieve its prize. Frowning, Heero shot the monster repeatedly. Once, twice, thrice, again, five times. It finally twitched violently and spat the boy out, crawling back into the shadows were it lived.
Heero knelt down beside the boy, and turned him over carefully. His body was quavering, pallid form swathed in tattered black rags. His long brownish hair was so sand ridden that it would be quite impossible to tell what shade he was born with. His hand roved down the rawboned chest and peeled back the soaked cloths that covered the wound. It was atrociously grotesque, white bone peeking out among the fleshy tissue and muscle and crimson blood. He shook more as Heero touched the area and his hands felt out blindly, finally grasping the boy's vest and pulling himself close. He stared deep into the peculiar, blank amethyst eyes. That's when he realized what was wrong.
He scooped the boy up in his arms, regardless of blood and shaking, which had increased even more as he had felt true, human body heat. Neatly kicking sand at Howard's pet as walked by, Heero strode hurriedly into the building. It was cool and dark inside, and the gang leader ignored the nosy inquires of his sudden charge. He wove his way through the bodies and forms scrawled through the safe-house, at last reaching the stainless steel infirmary where Sally Po was sending off a suposedly hurt Wufei.
"Whoa, Heero. What happened?" The soldier scowled as he placed the twitching boy upon a steel operatating table. "He's got Gravy, Po." The woman's legs nearly buckled benaeath her as she discovered the victim's wound. "Oh my god... " Heero wrenched her away from it. "You've got to get him out of it, Sally. That can wait. It's absolute gurantee that if he doesn't lose it now, he's not going to live."
Sally nodded understandingly and readied the injection. She checked his eyes, noting the near white color. A clear liquid exploded from the needle point as she tested it, and regarded Heero carefully. "You can't be too sure if this will work, Heero. If he's been under too long, he could be dead already." The leader urged her on with a steady glare. Sighing, Sally ran a finger down the boy's sinewy neck, selected a vein and injected the fluid into his bloodstream. Heero quickly held him down as his back started to arch off the table in agony, limbs twitching and struggling against the liquid that flowed through him.
His fingers grasped the edges of the table as he continued to squirm, throat pulsating in struggled whines until a hoarse, drawn out moan finally escaped from slender lips. He collapsed onto the table in exhaustion. Blood continued to flood out upon the metallic surface, dripping upon the floor with macabre splats. Heero sighed, and let his hand slid off the boy's chest, watching it move with his uneven, labored breathing. His eyes traveled up and down the lithe, starved body, from the blood soaked shirt covered the rawboned chest, the flimsy, black pants barely covering long legs in their unsightly, tattered manner. The slender, bare arms and long fingers, and.. Heero paused for a moment, and gingerly lifted the boy's left arm. On the inside of the wrist were tattooed symbols: simple, bold numbers that read `02.'
"Um... Heero?" Sally interrupted his thoughts suddenly, his head jerking up without warning for the confused, angry look in his blue eyes. He placed the arm back down. "He's bleeding all over everything. It might be a good idea to take care of that now." Heero flinched and looked down at himself for the first time during the ordeal. His own leathers were also clinging wetly to his body, making sickening squelching noises when he moved.
"Maybe you should get cleaned up," she suggested. "I'll take care of this." Heero blew hair out of his face and nodded slightly. He walked backwards, keeping his eyes upon the still slightly shaking form. He bumped into the steel door, and opened it. Before he left, however, he poked his head back in. "Take good care of him, all right? Keep me posted." The door shut with a metallic ching.
This had all happened before. Heero would occasionally find an injured pretty girl (or sometimes boy), and bring them back for Sally to fix up and make better. And afterwards, Heero would rock their world for a few days. And then they would either die somehow, or simply leave. The young soldier was not at all ashamed of his actions, and quite enjoyed it all. But this one, this one would be different. He was afraid to touch him like he had touched the others. Perhaps those lips would shatter if he pressed his own to them, and maybe that hair would crumble if he stroked the silken strands between his fingers. The boy was intriguing, and he just wanted to know. Those vacant violet eyes had drawn him in like a trap, and there was no getting out of it now.
Heero pushed easily through the confused members of his gang, to the rackety staircase tucked into a corner that led up to his room. Sure, it was much more luxorious than all the others, but it being on the second floor made it all the more dangerous in case of an attack. He liked danger, and his crew found this somehow comforting. And he, of course, needed someplace special to court his lovers.
He ended up scowling angrily as he found a long haired blonde laying luxuriously across his bed, in nothing but a nearly translucent white robe. She smirked and winked suggestively at him. He glared at her as he slipped off his black vest and tousled his hair.
"Get the fuck out of my room, Relena."
Her face fell as she heard his words, and watched him kick off his boots and heard towards the bathroom to get washed. "But... but.. "
Unfortunately, Relena was the only one he regretted taking in. She was vaguely pretty when he found her lying unconsious in a base they were infiltrating, but he had tired quickly of her irritating personality and annoying infatuation with him. He had tossed her out within two days, but she had come back and refused to leave. Eventhough he had brought in many others since she had decided to stay, she sat firmly and shrugged them off as self-destructive soul searches. She pleaded with him to stop these stands, for they were supposedly `slowly killing him' and she somehow ended up laying half naked on his bed whenever he walked in. Like now.
"Don't make me throw you out again. I'm sure that was rather humiliating." Relena leapt off the bed, starting towards the apprehensive gang leader. "But Heero!" Within a second, Heero had drawn his gun from the holster he had yet to remove, and had the pistol pressed against the woman's forehead.
"I don't want to kill you, Relena. Really. Put if you utter one more word, I swear I'll blow your head off."
She smiled softly and attempted to lean closer to him. "Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't do a thing like that to little m-." An icy click interrupted her as Heero ticked the safety off. For a brief moment, Heero saw complete fear in her eyes as she faced someone who would truly kill her. But she pasted on a nervous smile and backed away from him. The gun followed her as she left through the door, waving at him and smirking. She'd be back later.
Heero groaned and tossed the gun onto the bed, which was usually hidden from the door by several folding paper screens. Stretching, he removed the holster off his hip and staggered into the bathroom.
It was a relatively large affair, with a big rectangluar tub and shower built into two walls, taking up most of the space. A tarnished porcleian toliet and sink complete with medicine cabinet took up what was left.
The gang leader walked over to the tub and twisted the faucets. Luke warm water poured out of the showerhead, steam slowly filling up the room. As the air grew stiff and warm, Heero peeled off his blood soaked pants and stepped into the water's path. It hammered against his lithe, musucular body, washing the boy's blood away into the drain. His head fell back, wetting his dark hair and face. Sharp pinpricks of water massaged his neck and back, rolling in waves down his torso and legs.
He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked away the water from his Prussian eyes, and brought up his left arm. His slender, calloused fingers traced the boldly tattooed '01' on his wrist.
========================
To be continued.
Yeah, that's it. For now. Nice cliffhanger, eh? Anyway, go review! Reviews are not appreciated and asked for, they are DEMANDED. Now do your deed, petty servant! Bwah! Oo..
April 29 2001 - May 27 2001
Gah. I have got to stop starting these things before I finish the others. Anyway, I might as well say right off the bat that this story is inspired by a lot of things. Some of them are "Mad Max" the movie with Mel Gibson, "Gone in 60 Seconds" the movie with Nicholas Cage and numerous others, but those are the main. I'll explain it now, so you don't get confused: This Gundam Wing, alternative universe fic is based in an apocalyptic version of our world. It's all desert, and the only transportation are dune buggies, cars, trucks, motorcycles and other all terrain vehicles. Dig? Okay, on with the story.
Disclaimer : I. Own. Nothing.
========================
It was hell. But it was home, and all they had.
Never had `survival of the fittest' been in more play. Anyone who was weak enough to not be able to handle the style of living was left behind, or killed, if they were troublesome enough. Compassion and love for the fellow man didn't matter, and didn't help when the cold barrel of a pistol was pressed to your forehead. It wasn't surprising when your blood is dripping on the burning sand, and your best friend is riding off with your prized truck and your whore.
Fortunately, Heero Yuy was one of those stronger people. With tanned skin, muscled body, disheveled hair and painted face, he rode the pure envy of a motorcycle through the wastelands of the Eastern `Sphere. He was so close to ruling it all, but not everyone was the Perfect Soldier he was, including the people in his gang. There were hundreds, but in the OZ group, there were thousands. His three captains, Chang Wufei, Trowa Barton, and Quatre Winner helped him guide the Gundams to near victory each time. However, he was fairly sure he could handle it all himself. Beneath his heartless, emotionless mask held a very cocky young man.
No one quite knew why their gang was called the Gundams. It was quite the mystery, but no one really bothered to look into. All that mattered that was when one saw the priceless bike leading hundreds upon hundreds of warriors on all types of vehicles, they would run and scream in fear. And they did just that. There were stories, myths, but none of it was true. They were just tales conjured by other riders to satisfy the itch that is the unknown. Like religion.
It was on a fairly particular day that this fairly particular story begins. Heero and a team of scouts were returning back to their base after a spying mission. Their headquarters was in the plain view, because there would be no threat to them at their safe base. To attack at the home would be such a dishonorable act that anyone would be able to destroy you, for you had just titled yourself scum of the Earth.
Heero stared stone faced over the top of his cycle visor. They had discovered a fairly decent amount of information, and he was deeply contemplating it as he rode on. His dusty, dark hair whipped at his face in the wind as the cycle spat dust out of its backside at his fellows. So many things to think about, and nothing but the open desert before him.
He flinched slightly and straightened up from the sitting position his craft was designed for. Had he just seen someone crawling about in the yard that sat beside their cleverly disguised, rackety building? And Howard's disgusting little freak of nature pet giant, man-eating Venus fly-trap blob of flesh wannabe was twitching rather hungrily at the form.
Heero's perfect eyesight had never failed him, through every grain of sand whipped into his eyes. He sped on, leaving even more dust clouds in his wake. As he grew closer, he was sure that there was someone there. A young person, possibly his age of seventeen, with long hair, most likely a girl, was crawling on all fours, stumbling and half-standing, occasionally clutching their side and shuddering as waves of pain lanced through their body. Blood dripped on the sand behind them.
"Fuck."
Heero scowled at the creature as its amorphous body shot out and seized the form, sucking it into its own fleshiness. Damn, if that thing swallowed her up completely, there would be no rescue. She would suffocate, or worse. Turning his bike, and suddenly breaking, Heero vaulted over the ride and broke into a run to the yard. He skittered to a stop before Howard's beastly monstrosity, and sucked in his breath. A slim, pale arm was reaching out to him and the injured side was painfully visible, a maimed wound bleeding profusely. An angular, masculine face stared blankly at him, mouth whispering silent pleas and glazed, violet eyes begging.
As the fleshy mass crawled over the now discovered boy's injury, his mouth widened in a soundless cry of pain. Suddenly realizing that his life depended upon his actions, Heero drew the gun he kept in a holster at his waist, and blasted the being once. The whole thing shuddered, but did not relieve its prize. Frowning, Heero shot the monster repeatedly. Once, twice, thrice, again, five times. It finally twitched violently and spat the boy out, crawling back into the shadows were it lived.
Heero knelt down beside the boy, and turned him over carefully. His body was quavering, pallid form swathed in tattered black rags. His long brownish hair was so sand ridden that it would be quite impossible to tell what shade he was born with. His hand roved down the rawboned chest and peeled back the soaked cloths that covered the wound. It was atrociously grotesque, white bone peeking out among the fleshy tissue and muscle and crimson blood. He shook more as Heero touched the area and his hands felt out blindly, finally grasping the boy's vest and pulling himself close. He stared deep into the peculiar, blank amethyst eyes. That's when he realized what was wrong.
He scooped the boy up in his arms, regardless of blood and shaking, which had increased even more as he had felt true, human body heat. Neatly kicking sand at Howard's pet as walked by, Heero strode hurriedly into the building. It was cool and dark inside, and the gang leader ignored the nosy inquires of his sudden charge. He wove his way through the bodies and forms scrawled through the safe-house, at last reaching the stainless steel infirmary where Sally Po was sending off a suposedly hurt Wufei.
"Whoa, Heero. What happened?" The soldier scowled as he placed the twitching boy upon a steel operatating table. "He's got Gravy, Po." The woman's legs nearly buckled benaeath her as she discovered the victim's wound. "Oh my god... " Heero wrenched her away from it. "You've got to get him out of it, Sally. That can wait. It's absolute gurantee that if he doesn't lose it now, he's not going to live."
Sally nodded understandingly and readied the injection. She checked his eyes, noting the near white color. A clear liquid exploded from the needle point as she tested it, and regarded Heero carefully. "You can't be too sure if this will work, Heero. If he's been under too long, he could be dead already." The leader urged her on with a steady glare. Sighing, Sally ran a finger down the boy's sinewy neck, selected a vein and injected the fluid into his bloodstream. Heero quickly held him down as his back started to arch off the table in agony, limbs twitching and struggling against the liquid that flowed through him.
His fingers grasped the edges of the table as he continued to squirm, throat pulsating in struggled whines until a hoarse, drawn out moan finally escaped from slender lips. He collapsed onto the table in exhaustion. Blood continued to flood out upon the metallic surface, dripping upon the floor with macabre splats. Heero sighed, and let his hand slid off the boy's chest, watching it move with his uneven, labored breathing. His eyes traveled up and down the lithe, starved body, from the blood soaked shirt covered the rawboned chest, the flimsy, black pants barely covering long legs in their unsightly, tattered manner. The slender, bare arms and long fingers, and.. Heero paused for a moment, and gingerly lifted the boy's left arm. On the inside of the wrist were tattooed symbols: simple, bold numbers that read `02.'
"Um... Heero?" Sally interrupted his thoughts suddenly, his head jerking up without warning for the confused, angry look in his blue eyes. He placed the arm back down. "He's bleeding all over everything. It might be a good idea to take care of that now." Heero flinched and looked down at himself for the first time during the ordeal. His own leathers were also clinging wetly to his body, making sickening squelching noises when he moved.
"Maybe you should get cleaned up," she suggested. "I'll take care of this." Heero blew hair out of his face and nodded slightly. He walked backwards, keeping his eyes upon the still slightly shaking form. He bumped into the steel door, and opened it. Before he left, however, he poked his head back in. "Take good care of him, all right? Keep me posted." The door shut with a metallic ching.
This had all happened before. Heero would occasionally find an injured pretty girl (or sometimes boy), and bring them back for Sally to fix up and make better. And afterwards, Heero would rock their world for a few days. And then they would either die somehow, or simply leave. The young soldier was not at all ashamed of his actions, and quite enjoyed it all. But this one, this one would be different. He was afraid to touch him like he had touched the others. Perhaps those lips would shatter if he pressed his own to them, and maybe that hair would crumble if he stroked the silken strands between his fingers. The boy was intriguing, and he just wanted to know. Those vacant violet eyes had drawn him in like a trap, and there was no getting out of it now.
Heero pushed easily through the confused members of his gang, to the rackety staircase tucked into a corner that led up to his room. Sure, it was much more luxorious than all the others, but it being on the second floor made it all the more dangerous in case of an attack. He liked danger, and his crew found this somehow comforting. And he, of course, needed someplace special to court his lovers.
He ended up scowling angrily as he found a long haired blonde laying luxuriously across his bed, in nothing but a nearly translucent white robe. She smirked and winked suggestively at him. He glared at her as he slipped off his black vest and tousled his hair.
"Get the fuck out of my room, Relena."
Her face fell as she heard his words, and watched him kick off his boots and heard towards the bathroom to get washed. "But... but.. "
Unfortunately, Relena was the only one he regretted taking in. She was vaguely pretty when he found her lying unconsious in a base they were infiltrating, but he had tired quickly of her irritating personality and annoying infatuation with him. He had tossed her out within two days, but she had come back and refused to leave. Eventhough he had brought in many others since she had decided to stay, she sat firmly and shrugged them off as self-destructive soul searches. She pleaded with him to stop these stands, for they were supposedly `slowly killing him' and she somehow ended up laying half naked on his bed whenever he walked in. Like now.
"Don't make me throw you out again. I'm sure that was rather humiliating." Relena leapt off the bed, starting towards the apprehensive gang leader. "But Heero!" Within a second, Heero had drawn his gun from the holster he had yet to remove, and had the pistol pressed against the woman's forehead.
"I don't want to kill you, Relena. Really. Put if you utter one more word, I swear I'll blow your head off."
She smiled softly and attempted to lean closer to him. "Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't do a thing like that to little m-." An icy click interrupted her as Heero ticked the safety off. For a brief moment, Heero saw complete fear in her eyes as she faced someone who would truly kill her. But she pasted on a nervous smile and backed away from him. The gun followed her as she left through the door, waving at him and smirking. She'd be back later.
Heero groaned and tossed the gun onto the bed, which was usually hidden from the door by several folding paper screens. Stretching, he removed the holster off his hip and staggered into the bathroom.
It was a relatively large affair, with a big rectangluar tub and shower built into two walls, taking up most of the space. A tarnished porcleian toliet and sink complete with medicine cabinet took up what was left.
The gang leader walked over to the tub and twisted the faucets. Luke warm water poured out of the showerhead, steam slowly filling up the room. As the air grew stiff and warm, Heero peeled off his blood soaked pants and stepped into the water's path. It hammered against his lithe, musucular body, washing the boy's blood away into the drain. His head fell back, wetting his dark hair and face. Sharp pinpricks of water massaged his neck and back, rolling in waves down his torso and legs.
He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked away the water from his Prussian eyes, and brought up his left arm. His slender, calloused fingers traced the boldly tattooed '01' on his wrist.
========================
To be continued.
Yeah, that's it. For now. Nice cliffhanger, eh? Anyway, go review! Reviews are not appreciated and asked for, they are DEMANDED. Now do your deed, petty servant! Bwah! Oo..