Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Quatre's Slip ❯ Quatre's Slip ( Chapter 1 )

Just a reminder, I don't own these characters. And all of that junk.

 

 

Quatre's Slip

 

By Omega_Red9

 

These stairs are rough on my legs tonight. The pain shoots up my knees like an ice pick being shoved into my shins. Needless to say, it isn't pleasant. Its dark in the stairwell; these damn landlords keep all the expenses down on the account books by making cuts at the tenants' expense. At least I can sit down for a minute on the stairs. DAMN IT!! I sat on a fucking nail. I get a closer look at the stairs from my resting place and notice, as my eyes adjust, the number of nails actually sticking out of the floor boards. I run my hands across the coarse wood and feel some of the fibers from the remnants of the carpet that once matted my feet on the trek to my apartment. Amazingly, I can almost imagine what the carpet would feel like running through my fingers, but then, just as the memory arrived, it is removed violently by the depressing realization of how far I have fallen. I, once a great warrior, am now reduced to getting the only joys from life by imagining how smooth carpet would feel instead of splintering wood jabbing into my legs.

 

Imagine how close I was to death in the days of my youth. Imagine how wealthy and powerful I could be had I simply stayed with my father on the colonies. Imagine how I wouldn't be living in a slum village apartment living off of the scraps of society. I used to be power incarnate. Why did I destroy my Gundam? If I had Sandrock, I could beat this universe into submission. I would show this pitiful colony why they should not have killed my father. He was a genius who fell into the bad graces of this impudent universe. He was a god among men and they treated him like an insect. He gave them everything that they ever wanted. He sacrificed and slaved for those ingrates, and they repaid him by turning their backs on him, on us. Even my sisters, who were on other colonies serving as doctors, were treated as lepers for their simple association with the name Winner.

 

I, however, have suffered the greater disgrace. I am the inheritor or the Winner legacy; that means that the people transfer their hatred of my father onto me. Those bastards. It isn't as bad as it was a few years ago though. I couldn't walk down the street without someone throwing produce or raw meat at me. I suppose I should thank them though; it was only because of that food that was hurled at me like an outcast that I was able to survive. All of the local establishments refused to serve me so I was left scrounging for food in the trash like a dog. Everyone laughed at me and lashed out at me. It wasn't my fault that I was born a Winner; I was not the one that they hated. I kept trying to tell myself that it wasn't their fault for being deceived by OZ, but I couldn't surpass my hatred of them. It festered in me like a gangrenous limb that was slowly over-taking my entire body and soul. Soon there after, I was solely concentrating on making them pay for their crimes. I did not care about survival or even the means to which I arrived at my vindication. It felt good to have purpose again. I realized the futility of my efforts though, and I slipped back into my own little corner of darkness where no one could see me.

 

I had better get going. It is getting late and I can feel blood running down my legs from all the nails and splinters sticking out of the stairs. I start my climb again and notice how dull the wallpaper has become. It used to be the most beautiful pearly white I had ever seen; it shined like a bright light down from heaven. It was a guiding light for me, and whenever I was depressed and on my way home it would always be able to cheer me up. Now, after more then a decade of abuse and disrepair, it had a dingy yellow color to it, almost a urine tint. I take in a whiff of the stagnant air in the hallway and get a faint smell of piss. It seems that the entire hallway has been passed through someone's digestive tract and spit out onto the world, left to rot without a care. No one cares but me. My eyes burn as the aroma becomes so strong that it overwhelms my senses. I guess one of the neighbor's hell spawn kids pissed in the hallway or something. Animals, all of them.

 

I finally make it up to my room. I am on the top floor. There is only one other resident living up here because these types of building are under the constant risk of fire, and it is impossible to make it downstairs before the blaze blocks off a floor. So I am essentially dead if the building lights up, not that I really care. The other resident is hardly ever in his apartment either. You would think that I would find that a blessing, you would think that I would really enjoy the extra quiet that I get up here. I would, if it were just that. The bastard owns a cat. It always seems as if he never leaves it enough food either. So after he has been gone for two days, the damn thing will not stop meowing. And sure enough, as soon as I reach my floor, what do I hear?

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

It is faint, but when there is no other noise in the building's dead of night, it stands out like fingernails on one of those old fashioned chalk boards from a few hundred years ago.

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

I strip down to my underwear and look at myself in the full-length mirror. It's absolutely filthy and distorts the image a little, but I can still make out my general features. I can even see some of the scars that I received in battle and from the massive beatings that I took after the war. I rub my hands over them to see if they are real; for a brief moment they look as if they were painted on and I hoped against hopes that it was all just a dream. I wished that I would wake up and see all of my former friends standing by my side once again. Unfortunately, they don't rub off and the crushing realization that everyone has abandoned me sweeps over me like a blanket that's put over a dead body in the morgue. I am all alone. All of my friends left me and I am alone.

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

Damn cat. My friends, the Gundam pilots, they all left me. They turned their backs on me like I was nothing. After I fought beside them and shed blood with them, they have the audacity to do that to me. The funniest part about it is that I don't even remember why. I even tried to kill them after they betrayed me, but I couldn't even get close. I have no way off of this colony. The only way I can seek revenge on my comrades is if they come here. That will never happen, but I still check the incoming rosters everyday in hopes that I can at least spill the blood of one of them. I'm sure if I kill one of them, the others will come running. They are all still very close after all. I am the only forgotten warrior on this battlefield. I am…

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

DAMN THAT FUCKING CAT!!! Where was I? Oh yes, time to go to sleep. I walk over to my bed and slip off my underwear. I wish I had the energy in me to jerk off. The release could prove to be relaxing and give me a moment's comfort in an otherwise lonely day. But I just don't have the energy in me. I haven't in years. It is torture, to be like this all of the time.

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

I try to ignore it and go to sleep. I turn the lights out and hit the bed like a rock. I'm out.

 

…

…

…

…

…

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

How long was I asleep for? I look over at the clock and see that it was only for two hours. Just enough to dangle the cheese of a goodnight's sleep under my nose and yank it away just as I get a whiff of that sweet treat. Damn cat.

 

I look around my room and see shadows sliding on the walls. My glance over the corner reveals a figure standing there. I don't move. Maybe whoever it is hasn't realized that I'm awake yet. I slow my breathing down and try to act asleep. The figure doesn't move an inch. I slowly reach my hand under my pillow and slide my fingers around the handle of my scarab sword. It is the only memento that I have of my earlier life and it will finally get a chance to taste human blood again. I spring to life and launch the blade at the shadow cloaked figure. I hear the blade hit the wall. No scream. Did I kill him instantly? Damn, I miss the screams so much. The thrill of battle. I remember that I was the pacifist in my youth, but hind sight is 20/20, and I truly realize how foolish I was. I now know how rich and delicious the taste of death is in my mouth, and I long for more. I suddenly realize that I don't feel that taste now. I just killed a man and the thrill is not present. I chuckle at myself and realize that there was no one there. Now all I have is a hole in my wall.

 

I get up to retrieve my sword and the shadow around the blade starts to swirl and spin around me. It is almost as if it has become me. It is me. It wraps around me like a warm blanket and comforts me. I smile for the first time in years. The shadow separates from me and begins to enter a form. I slowly begin to see features like arms and a head. It slowly becomes to resemble a human. My god! It is my father!

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

Damn cat. The spirit looks at me with familiar eyes and begins to move its lips. I can't hear it but the sound is deafening. My father bashes me for falling so far and becoming so weak. He screams at me for what I have done to the family name. I look down in shame as my dead father scolds me like a child. In a way it feels good to be absolved of my adult hood like this. The responsibility has been lifted and I feel slightly freer than a moment ago.

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

DAMN CAT!!! I am trying to have a personal revelation and that damn thing keeps breaking my concentration. I…

 

…I turn back to my father who is still talking about how I have failed him. Just like I remember him too. That disappointed love. I know that I hated it when he was alive, but after not having it for nearly twenty years, I will take anything. The lecture must go on for about thirty more minutes before I can get any of my input in at all. This is just like I'm a child again. He yells at me for running off to fight. Here we go again. Then he gets a somber face and begins to discuss his death. I am sinking in every word because I don't know if I will ever get another chance like this.

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

I ignore it and go back to my father. He tells me how ungrateful those bastards in the colony were to him. I agree with him and he begins to ask me to avenge him. I tell him that I have no way of doing that anymore. Maybe if I had my Gundam… He snaps at me and yells at my lack of ingenuity. He says that I can just do the colonists one at a time.

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

“meow”

 

I hear footsteps; that jack ass is finally home. It's about time. My father tells me how I can simply go from house to house killing people with my scarab sword. It is only fair since they killed him. The blood debt must be paid he says. I agree. I know who has to be first too. I walk through my father and into the dark shadow to grab my blade. The pitch dark surrounding me is nice, and as I walk out of the shadows the darkness never really leaves. It simply hovers around me like a shield, protecting me. I feel invincible with this. I walk into the hallway and see my neighbor drunk and fumbling with his keys. He sees me coming but is too drunk to realize that I am carrying a huge sword and I cut his head clear off and throw it down to the end of the hall. I kick in his door and see his worthless feline sitting in the middle of the floor. It's half starved and looks at me with big eyes begging me. I guess it wants some relief from the growing pain in its stomach. I kindly oblige and slice the damn thing in two.

 

I smile as I look around me at my work. I hear my father's voice in the back of my head tell me what a good boy I have been, but I have a lot of work to do. He tells me to savor the moment and move on to the next filthy traitor. I walk up to the cat and grab half of its body and smell its insides. They smell surprisingly clean and fresh. I expected it smell rank and horrible. I wonder what the man's insides smell like. I walk back into the hallway and grab the sick bastard by the shirt and cut him open. The aroma leaks out of him like a broken sewer pipe. It is sick. He smells like rotten eggs. I suppose it might be all the alcohol that he was clearly drunk off of.

 

I forget about it and start to walk down the hall to the stairs. How interesting a day this has turned out to be. I step into the stairwell and am hit in the face with the aroma of piss again. Hey, I know! The next victim is gonna be that stupid ten year old brat that keeps peeing on the stairs. I think I know what apartment he lives in. Not that it really matter. They will ALL be dead in due time, but he gets to be next.

 

I start to stalk my way down the stairs when I trip. Everything turns to slow motion and I look down. My foot has been snagged on a nail. I had forgotten to put on shoes. I had forgotten to put on clothes. It doesn't matter now. All of my weight has been shifted forward and I am gonna fall down these stairs and there is nothing I can do about it now. I wonder if my shield will protect me at all?

 

Then, in a flash, I start to tumble down the stairs. I scratch myself up on the splinters and nails, break my bones on the exposed floorboards, and cut myself up real damn good with my sword. When I finally stop, I am bleeding greatly. Damn, I was sort of hoping that my spine would break and I would die instantly. Oh, well. I have suffered my entire life, what's a few more seconds gonna hurt. I see my father grin and drift away. Bastard. He was getting revenge on me for betraying him, wasn't he? Oh well, doesn't matter now. I look down at all of my wounds and see that the sword has actually slashed a very large gash in my side. I can see organs starting to slide out. Then the smell hits me. It wasn't the smell of urine in the hall and wasn't the clean smell. Hell it wasn't even the smell of rotten eggs. It was the smell of a dead carcass that had been drying in the sun for weeks. Lying out to rot for years even. That is the last aroma that I would be graced with. A stagnant wind of death infiltrated my nose and raped my sensed. No, not raped. I brought this upon myself, with years of hate and loathing. This is the way it will end. This is the way it has ended. Back against the wall, my blood against my skin.