July 19, 2000
Rating: Adult...ish.
Pairings: Established 3+4 but... can't everybody have a little fun...? Sure they can... (now if I can only figure out how...)
Warnings: Yaoi themes. Sappy in some areas (blame it on the romantic). **Angst** in other areas. Incoherence and random POV switching throughout. Wet G-boys (gotta luv that!).
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters belong to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency and are only being used for non-profit entertainment purposes.
Thank You's: This part is on the ball thanks to two people who don't know how *not* to be nosey. ::grins:: thank gods! ::winks:: thanks Kitsune and Alexia! ::glomps:: (see! I can do *that* too! :op )
Notes: Well, we've seem to have quite the little situation on our hands don't we? For anyone just tuning in, or who doesn't quite remember just *what* situation we *have* on our hands, let me recap: The boys are on downtime after some really bad mission what I have no clue about (isn't that just reassuring? I really do wish they'd let me in on these things sometimes ::sighs::) Heero got called away on a mission. Here's the thing: it wasn't *his* mission. (we still don't know *who's* mission it was, but my guess is Duo's--but I've been known to be wrong before--not often, though) Heero's been doing something to the other's gundam/computer/email-like thingy that intercepts incoming missions and reroutes them to him. When we last saw him, his "partner" had a gun trained on him--and then a gun shot rang out! Iya! Iya! The suspense!
He ripped up the shirt and bundled it up to help staunch the flow of blood. 'Amateurs,' he thought, stepping over the body of his ex-partner. There was nothing really he could do right now except make a make-shift bandage and hope the bullet wound in his shoulder didn't get infected before he could get to a med unit. Reaching down, he picked up the dead man's gun and slipped it into his dark khaki pants. 'Might just come in handy the way this mission was proving...'
He spared another glance at his time unit and then swore. This little incident had set him back six minutes.
He had to take out that warehouse. Worse case scenario: the other team had met with the same dilemma he had, that meant he was by himself. Best case scenario: the other team was still alive--incompetent, but alive.
Taking a brief recount of his supplies he couldn't block out the thoughts that a.) it was better that *he* wasn't here in this position and b.) it would be really great if one of the other pilots was here providing back-up and not some riff-raff, wanna-be soldiers.
A number of small explosions went off across the warehouse facilities. Isolated, not one was large enough to do a lot of damage. Even put together, they weren't enough for large-scale destruction. But for the size of the particular warehouse that was his objective, it was enough to do considerable damage.
He hid in the shadows watching as soldiers ran from one of the other buildings. He depressed another detonator and another series of explosions lit the night sky.
The air filled with sirens and screams and shouts. Confusion. Chaos. Death.
It was what he dealt in this line of work.
Better him than...
There was movement to his left. He turned, trying to track it down. Unconsciously, he shifted his body to protect his wounded arm in a manner that would give him the best strategic defense/offense. He was momentarily surprised when the figure rose up from his right.
Momentarily, because the strike to his temple sent him down in a wave of unconsciousness.
End of Part Ten: Survival
Andrea Readwolf
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