Gundam Wing: The Highlander
CHAPTER 2 - A Fateful Arrest
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. "Gimme the Prize" belongs to the surviving members of Queen. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Lieutenant Heero Yuy stood in the garage beneath the Garden as a sudden rush of adrenaline caused his breathing to intensify, much like it did every time he and the rest of the homicide divison was called out. He was a bulky man, clad in a raincoat and hat, with only six months left to pension.
Next to him in the underground cavern was detective Duo Maxwell, a tough, honest man, and something of a friend to Yuy. The lieutenant glanced at his comrade in a silent greeting, then turned his attention back to the torso which lay just a few feet away from them.
The head was just a few feet farther.
Television crew cameras jostled under the weak lights of the garage as hockey fans swelled behind the barricades.
"Hey! When can we get our goddamn cars?" an obnoxious spectator called out to the two men.
Maxwell and Yuy ignored the man's question as Hilde Schbeiker shoved her way through the crowd and ducked the barrier in one swift, graceful movement. It struck some people as odd that a beautiful woman like Hilde would choose a career in forensics, yet the bags of equipment that she carried were carried with pride.
Mueller Lebowsky, the head of the coroner's office with wild hair and a pasty complexion, took flash pictures of the grisly scene almost gleefully.
"Damn it, Heero," Hilde hissed as she stepped next to the lieutenant, "Forensics is supposed to be notified the same time as Homicide!"
She noticed the corpse and grimaced slightly. "What a mess," she mumbled, absently running one hand through her short black hair.
Yuy grinned. "Yep. This one came 'some assembly required.'"
A throaty laugh came from Lebowsky.
Hilde rolled her eyes at the morbid joke. "So? Have you made an arrest?"
Heero nodded, his blue eyes flashing as he did so. "Yeah. Some antique dealer named Winner on Hudson Street."
Hilde sighed and moved away, examining a row of cars with particular interest in the blitzed windshields. "What the hell happened here?" she wondered aloud.
Beside the body, Lebowsky was taking his final shots. As he snapped the last photo, he winked at Maxwell.
"How come you're not asking me the cause of death, Duo?" he said with a smirk.
Heero's expression hardened as he ignored Duo's chuckle. "Cut the crap, Lebowsky," he ordered. "What time did he bite it?"
Lebowsky kneeled down to examine the corpse and checked his watch. After a moment, he stood back up and brushed his pants off. "I'd say ten, ten-thirty...and whatever made this cut was razor-sharp."
Duo gestured towards the corpse. "Heero, wasn't there something on the teletype about a guy who killed in Jersey two nights ago, just like this?"
Heero merely scratched his head in wonder.
Meanwhile, behind a parked Corvette, Hilde froze as she stared down at a huge sword.
"Hey, Heero! Duo! Look at this!" she called, waving the men over.
Yuy and Maxwell made their way across the garage in a quick pace and joined the woman.
Hilde carefully turned the sword over to show its blade. "It's a Toledo-Salamanca."
Heero blinked. "A what?"
The young woman grinned as she dusted the jeweled hilt for prints. "A sword, Heero," she explained. "A very rare sword."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Worth much?"
"Only about a million bucks," Hilde said, standing up. "Any antique dealer with a shop on Hudson Street could tell you that."
Back at the police station, Quatre was sitting in a room, awaiting his fate. Paint was peeling off of the dingy walls, occasionally flaking onto the ancient tape recorder that rested on the beaten-up table.
Septum, the officer who had booked him, leaned against a wall, his fist itching to get even with the suspect.
Quatre suddenly stared at him, causing the officer to shiver. //This guy's eyes are like lasers,// Septum thought, looking away.
As if on cue, Heero and Duo entered the room, slamming the door shut. Heero held a package and a folder as Duo joined Septum against the wall.
Heero sat down across from Quatre, leaving the package by his chair. He clicked the tape recorder on and opened up the folder. Inside was a wallet, money, and a driver's license issued to Quatre Raberba-Winner.
He tossed a mug shot of a swarthy man onto the table. "Ever seen this guy before, Winner?" he asked.
Quatre shook his head.
Yuy smirked. "Name's Osta Vazilek. Bulgarian national. Got his head chopped off two nights ago in Jersey." He paused to unwrap the package. "Ever get over to Jersey, Winner?"
The suspect shook his head again. "Not if I can help it."
Yuy didn't laugh. "You're an antique dealer, right?"
"Yes."
Heero laid the jewelled sword down onto the table. "Then maybe you can tell me what this is."
Quatre blinked. "It's a sword."
The officer nodded as he checked his notes. "Not just any sword. It's a Toledo-Salamanca broadsword. Worth a million bucks," he responded.
By now, Quatre could tell where this was going. He shrugged his shoulders. "So?" he asked.
Heero leaned on his elbows. "You wanna hear a theory?" He didn't bother waiting for the suspect's response. "You went down to the garage to buy this sword from some guy. What was his name?" the officer asked quickly.
"I don't know, you tell me," Quatre answered just as easily.
Heero leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "His name was Iman Fasil. You fought about the price. Then you cut off his head."
Quatre closed his eyes for a brief moment, then reopened them. "Wanna hear another theory?" he asked.
Heero nodded.
"This Fasil guy was so upset by the Rangers' lousy performance tonight that he went down to the garage and in a fit of depression cut off his own head."
Maxwell laughed.
Heero glared at his comrade. "That ain't funny, Duo," he warned.
Septum, who had been waiting patiently all this time, could control himself no longer. "You a faggot, Winner?" he asked.
"Why? You cruising for ass?" Quatre retorted.
Septum was unshaken. He leaned in close to the suspect's face. "I'll tell you what happened, Quatre. You went down to the garage, looking for a hand-job, and just didn't want to pay for it."
"You're sick," Quatre stated calmly.
That was enough. Septum swung at the man. Quatre kicked the table aside and jumped up, smashing his fist into his attacker's sternum.
As Septum fell, Heero was on him in a flash, keeping one knee on his chest. Maxwell struggled to restrain Quatre.
"Calm down!" Heero shouted as Septum thrashed beneath him. "I mean, it dammit!"
Quatre flung Duo off of him and picked up his wallet. "Am I under arrest?"
There was no answer.
The antique dealer smiled cheerfully. "Then I'm through," he said, walking to the door.
"Winner, we're just getting started," Heero called, but it was too late. The suspect had already left.
Seeing no further danger, Heero let up on Septum. Septum struggled to his feet, wincing as he massaged his sore chest.
"Jesus, that guy hits like a train," he gasped.
"Shut up, Septum," Heero snapped. "I'll deal with you in a minute."
He turned to Duo. "Tail him, Maxwell. And try and pay attention. That sucker's as cool as ice."
Maxwell nodded and left as Heero turned to Septum. "Now as for you..."
Outside the station, Quatre stepped into the cool night air. He was oblivious to the traffic as his eyes scanned the darkness. He sensed something as he turned south, looking towards Jersey.
Somewhere on the New Jersey Turnpike, a tan Cutlass was knifing its way through the night. Behind the wheel was a chilling specter.
The Khushrenada. A man with shark's eyes and short curly hair.
Like Quatre, he hadn't aged a bit, but a hideous scar ran from ear-to-ear across his throat. The injury had affected his voice, transforming it into a horrible metallic gurgle. He smirked as he flipped the radio on. It was time for the evening news.
"Police arrested a man at the decapitation secene in Madison Square Garden," the newscaster's disembodied voice rang throughout the car. "They have not yet released his name."
Satisfied, Khushrenada turned off the radio. "I know his name," he laughed, his metallic gargle even more grating than before.
He slammed a cassette tape into the car's deck, a high-decibel, heavy-metal rock song with a raving singer and shrieking guitars.
"Here I am, I'm the master of your destiny," the singer warbled.
The Cutlass whipped past a sign that read "You are now leaving New Jersey, The Garden State. Hope you enjoyed your stay!"
Khushrenada smiled grotesquely.
"I had a better time than Osta Vazilek. That's for sure," he laughed, his voice sounding like nails on a slate.
"....I am the one, the only one, I am the God of kingdom come, gimme the prize..." the radio blared as it faded off into the distance.
CHAPTER 2 - A Fateful Arrest
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. "Gimme the Prize" belongs to the surviving members of Queen. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Lieutenant Heero Yuy stood in the garage beneath the Garden as a sudden rush of adrenaline caused his breathing to intensify, much like it did every time he and the rest of the homicide divison was called out. He was a bulky man, clad in a raincoat and hat, with only six months left to pension.
Next to him in the underground cavern was detective Duo Maxwell, a tough, honest man, and something of a friend to Yuy. The lieutenant glanced at his comrade in a silent greeting, then turned his attention back to the torso which lay just a few feet away from them.
The head was just a few feet farther.
Television crew cameras jostled under the weak lights of the garage as hockey fans swelled behind the barricades.
"Hey! When can we get our goddamn cars?" an obnoxious spectator called out to the two men.
Maxwell and Yuy ignored the man's question as Hilde Schbeiker shoved her way through the crowd and ducked the barrier in one swift, graceful movement. It struck some people as odd that a beautiful woman like Hilde would choose a career in forensics, yet the bags of equipment that she carried were carried with pride.
Mueller Lebowsky, the head of the coroner's office with wild hair and a pasty complexion, took flash pictures of the grisly scene almost gleefully.
"Damn it, Heero," Hilde hissed as she stepped next to the lieutenant, "Forensics is supposed to be notified the same time as Homicide!"
She noticed the corpse and grimaced slightly. "What a mess," she mumbled, absently running one hand through her short black hair.
Yuy grinned. "Yep. This one came 'some assembly required.'"
A throaty laugh came from Lebowsky.
Hilde rolled her eyes at the morbid joke. "So? Have you made an arrest?"
Heero nodded, his blue eyes flashing as he did so. "Yeah. Some antique dealer named Winner on Hudson Street."
Hilde sighed and moved away, examining a row of cars with particular interest in the blitzed windshields. "What the hell happened here?" she wondered aloud.
Beside the body, Lebowsky was taking his final shots. As he snapped the last photo, he winked at Maxwell.
"How come you're not asking me the cause of death, Duo?" he said with a smirk.
Heero's expression hardened as he ignored Duo's chuckle. "Cut the crap, Lebowsky," he ordered. "What time did he bite it?"
Lebowsky kneeled down to examine the corpse and checked his watch. After a moment, he stood back up and brushed his pants off. "I'd say ten, ten-thirty...and whatever made this cut was razor-sharp."
Duo gestured towards the corpse. "Heero, wasn't there something on the teletype about a guy who killed in Jersey two nights ago, just like this?"
Heero merely scratched his head in wonder.
Meanwhile, behind a parked Corvette, Hilde froze as she stared down at a huge sword.
"Hey, Heero! Duo! Look at this!" she called, waving the men over.
Yuy and Maxwell made their way across the garage in a quick pace and joined the woman.
Hilde carefully turned the sword over to show its blade. "It's a Toledo-Salamanca."
Heero blinked. "A what?"
The young woman grinned as she dusted the jeweled hilt for prints. "A sword, Heero," she explained. "A very rare sword."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Worth much?"
"Only about a million bucks," Hilde said, standing up. "Any antique dealer with a shop on Hudson Street could tell you that."
Back at the police station, Quatre was sitting in a room, awaiting his fate. Paint was peeling off of the dingy walls, occasionally flaking onto the ancient tape recorder that rested on the beaten-up table.
Septum, the officer who had booked him, leaned against a wall, his fist itching to get even with the suspect.
Quatre suddenly stared at him, causing the officer to shiver. //This guy's eyes are like lasers,// Septum thought, looking away.
As if on cue, Heero and Duo entered the room, slamming the door shut. Heero held a package and a folder as Duo joined Septum against the wall.
Heero sat down across from Quatre, leaving the package by his chair. He clicked the tape recorder on and opened up the folder. Inside was a wallet, money, and a driver's license issued to Quatre Raberba-Winner.
He tossed a mug shot of a swarthy man onto the table. "Ever seen this guy before, Winner?" he asked.
Quatre shook his head.
Yuy smirked. "Name's Osta Vazilek. Bulgarian national. Got his head chopped off two nights ago in Jersey." He paused to unwrap the package. "Ever get over to Jersey, Winner?"
The suspect shook his head again. "Not if I can help it."
Yuy didn't laugh. "You're an antique dealer, right?"
"Yes."
Heero laid the jewelled sword down onto the table. "Then maybe you can tell me what this is."
Quatre blinked. "It's a sword."
The officer nodded as he checked his notes. "Not just any sword. It's a Toledo-Salamanca broadsword. Worth a million bucks," he responded.
By now, Quatre could tell where this was going. He shrugged his shoulders. "So?" he asked.
Heero leaned on his elbows. "You wanna hear a theory?" He didn't bother waiting for the suspect's response. "You went down to the garage to buy this sword from some guy. What was his name?" the officer asked quickly.
"I don't know, you tell me," Quatre answered just as easily.
Heero leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "His name was Iman Fasil. You fought about the price. Then you cut off his head."
Quatre closed his eyes for a brief moment, then reopened them. "Wanna hear another theory?" he asked.
Heero nodded.
"This Fasil guy was so upset by the Rangers' lousy performance tonight that he went down to the garage and in a fit of depression cut off his own head."
Maxwell laughed.
Heero glared at his comrade. "That ain't funny, Duo," he warned.
Septum, who had been waiting patiently all this time, could control himself no longer. "You a faggot, Winner?" he asked.
"Why? You cruising for ass?" Quatre retorted.
Septum was unshaken. He leaned in close to the suspect's face. "I'll tell you what happened, Quatre. You went down to the garage, looking for a hand-job, and just didn't want to pay for it."
"You're sick," Quatre stated calmly.
That was enough. Septum swung at the man. Quatre kicked the table aside and jumped up, smashing his fist into his attacker's sternum.
As Septum fell, Heero was on him in a flash, keeping one knee on his chest. Maxwell struggled to restrain Quatre.
"Calm down!" Heero shouted as Septum thrashed beneath him. "I mean, it dammit!"
Quatre flung Duo off of him and picked up his wallet. "Am I under arrest?"
There was no answer.
The antique dealer smiled cheerfully. "Then I'm through," he said, walking to the door.
"Winner, we're just getting started," Heero called, but it was too late. The suspect had already left.
Seeing no further danger, Heero let up on Septum. Septum struggled to his feet, wincing as he massaged his sore chest.
"Jesus, that guy hits like a train," he gasped.
"Shut up, Septum," Heero snapped. "I'll deal with you in a minute."
He turned to Duo. "Tail him, Maxwell. And try and pay attention. That sucker's as cool as ice."
Maxwell nodded and left as Heero turned to Septum. "Now as for you..."
Outside the station, Quatre stepped into the cool night air. He was oblivious to the traffic as his eyes scanned the darkness. He sensed something as he turned south, looking towards Jersey.
Somewhere on the New Jersey Turnpike, a tan Cutlass was knifing its way through the night. Behind the wheel was a chilling specter.
The Khushrenada. A man with shark's eyes and short curly hair.
Like Quatre, he hadn't aged a bit, but a hideous scar ran from ear-to-ear across his throat. The injury had affected his voice, transforming it into a horrible metallic gurgle. He smirked as he flipped the radio on. It was time for the evening news.
"Police arrested a man at the decapitation secene in Madison Square Garden," the newscaster's disembodied voice rang throughout the car. "They have not yet released his name."
Satisfied, Khushrenada turned off the radio. "I know his name," he laughed, his metallic gargle even more grating than before.
He slammed a cassette tape into the car's deck, a high-decibel, heavy-metal rock song with a raving singer and shrieking guitars.
"Here I am, I'm the master of your destiny," the singer warbled.
The Cutlass whipped past a sign that read "You are now leaving New Jersey, The Garden State. Hope you enjoyed your stay!"
Khushrenada smiled grotesquely.
"I had a better time than Osta Vazilek. That's for sure," he laughed, his voice sounding like nails on a slate.
"....I am the one, the only one, I am the God of kingdom come, gimme the prize..." the radio blared as it faded off into the distance.