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"One Week"Written By: ELLE Disclaimer: GUNDAM
WING is a Registered Trademark of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency &
TV Asahi. This work of fiction was written for non-profitable purposes. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Drug and alcohol
abuse, Homosexual themes, Sex scenes: heterosexual and homosexual,
Nonconsensual sex,Violence Summary: War is fought by
people guided by powerful convictions. A warrior living a life without
war is therefore faithless. For years they've been trained for battle,
ideology drilled into their minds, fueling their will to fight for
freedom. But when the conflict between Earth and the Colonies was
finally over, their kind of faith could no longer guide them. Lost
in a world they helped to create, two such warriors end up building
themselves very different lives. Two worlds are about to collide:
Author's Note:
" One Week"
Chapter 00: Gate Out A buzzer screeched loudly and a heavy metal-bar door slid shut with a resonate 'thud!' A middle-aged prison-officer, a burly African man, gazed frowningly at the prisoner he was escorting. The convict stood casually in front of the closed door, wearing a cocky smile on his face. He was a tall and brawny individual, with a shoulder-length choppy-layered haircut and a gleam of bitter irony in his cobalt eyes. Long, chestnut-brown bangs framed his heart-shaped facial features. Dressed in a standard-issue bright-orange jumpsuit and heavy black boots, the only personal ornament he wore was a thick silver necklace around his neck, from which hung a large silver cross. He stood proudly, looking quite smug, as he turned to the officer, chewing rudely on a piece of gum. He reached his two cuffed hands forward and winked at the jailer in a flirtatious manner, gesturing towards him with his hands. The prison-guard exhaled a condemning sigh, shook his head and turned to unlock the handcuffs. "They oughtta shoot the motha-fucka who paroled you," he muttered with annoyance. "They shoulda let ya rot in here 'til ya drop." "No one's asking you, Hakeem, so stuff it," the convict - soon to be an ex-convict - replied smoothly. His voice carried a heavy American accent with a faint Southern touch. "I'm sure gonna miss ya, though. We had some good times, didn't we?" "Shut your piehole, Princess," the officer grunted and gave him a shove, urging him to move forward. "You're society's problem now. I don't haffta listen to your shit no more." "You're supposed to say - don't forget to write, Sugar." The officer snorted in disgust. "Get a move on, ya manic crackhead." "Oh fuck Hakeem, I miss ya already!" the prisoner teased haughtily and charged at the man with an excessively tight hug. "Get offa me, ya sick fuck!" the man growled and shoved the younger man away forcefully. He gave the prisoner a sharp jab in the ribs. "Get your skinny little ass moving, Princess. The sooner you're outta here - the better!" They arrived at a counter at the end of the hall. An old Middle-Eastern man in uniform stood behind it, looking at the prisoner from behind a pair of heavy black eyeglasses. "Inmate 58158?" he asked sternly; his voice carried a heavy Arabic accent. "Used to be, but I since I'm gating outta here, I'll go by Duo now," the prisoner replied with a cocky wink. "Very funny, Princess," Hakeem muttered behind him and gave him another jab in the back. "You ain't out the gate yet, so show Abu Fas'l some respect or it's back in the slammer for you." "Ah, you wish," Duo muttered and rolled his eyes. He turned back to the old man behind the counter. "Prisoner 58158 - at your service!" He grinned madly. "Right," the old man grunted. He reached for a box behind the counter and slammed it down in front of Duo. He picked up a clipboard and a pen and reached into the box. "One cigarette lighter," he said as he pulled a cheap green plastic lighter out of the box and placed it on the counter. "Check," Duo cut-in with an arrogant grin, which earned him another jab in the ribs from Hakeem. The old geezer behind the counter raised his gaze from the box to scold at him with a silent glare. After a short pause, he looked down again reached for another item. "One used pack of condoms," he droned on as he continued emptying the box. "One used pack of cigarettes, one pack of gum-" "HEY!" Duo exclaimed as Officer Hakeem suddenly shoved his hand down his jumpsuit pocket. "Da fuck you feeling me up, man!" he whirled around and glowered at the prison officer. Abu Fas'l looked up from his desk, clearly exasperated at being interrupted. Hakeem snarled in satisfaction as he retrieved a small folded combat knife out of Duo's pocket. He threw it up in the air, caught it again and then waved it before the convict's face in triumph. "You think I dunno you was carrying a piece on ya, ya sick piece of shit?" he grunted; "I ain't havin' ya step outta ma prison with a weapon, ya nut." It was Duo's turn to snarl insolently. "Shit Hakeem, and here I was hoping we were finally gettin' a little friendly. This knife has sentimental value, yanno," he informed him haughtily; "You can't just take it like it was nuthin'." "The knife stays with me," the officer replied and coldly, glaring at Duo down fiercely. "I don't care how many packs o' crackers[i] you used ta open with it back in the day," he muttered and shoved the switchblade into his uniform's pocket. "Fine then," Duo grumbled; "keep it. Consider it a farewell present. Keep the gum too. I hope you'll choke on it." He snatched the gum off the counter and threw it at the officer. Distracted by the falling pack of chewing gum, Hakeem didn't even notice when Duo slipped the folded combat knife back out of his pocket with the artful hands of a skilled pocket-picker. Smirking, Duo tucked the jackknife securely into his orange jumpsuit's pocket. Whistling innocently, he rose up and down by lifting his heels off the ground repeatedly, as happy as a clam. "If you two ladies don't mind," Abu Fas'l sneered and slammed another item down on the counter. The two turned to him and the old man continued emptying the box: "One T-shirt, one pair of jeans, one pair of sunglasses, one tank top, one short, one gym bag- and one passport," he looked up at Duo sternly and emphasized the following: "Expired back in AC 204." "No shit," Duo muttered and rolled his eyes. "Can I go now?" "Prisoner 58158, Duo Maxwell, released with the aforementioned possessions on August 20th AC 207," Abu Fas'l muttered as he jotted the date down and thumped a hand-stamper onto the form in his clipboard. "The dressing room is through that door," he said, gesturing with his head as he signed the form and ripped it off the pad. He handed it to Duo, keeping the copy to himself. "Yallah," he grunted, glaring at the young man. "Ma'a salama, ya majnon!"[ii] * * * It was about two hundred and seven years ago that the Anno Domini calendar was replaced with the After Colony calendar era. Human beings ventured into space with an aspiring endeavor to colonize the black vacuum and thus solve the growing problems in an over-populated Earth. At first, several nations established permanent space stations in geosynchronous Earth orbit. Those stations were the starting point of a much more ambitious project: the construction of the first city-size habitat in space. It had taken twenty years, but at long last the first space colony was completed at Lagrange Point 5. L5-A02026 was constructed by the Chinese, for the Chinese, since the great People's Republic of China could no longer support its ever-growing population. Only the Chinese could take on such an enormously complex task and complete it in less than twenty years. Their success encouraged other nations to join the Lagrange Colonizing Project. The United States of America, always competing with the growing success of China, soon sent people into orbit and in AC 022 they began building a colony at Lagrange Point 1. They joined hands with the Japanese for financial and technical support. The project didn't go as smoothly as the L5 construction. The engineering crews ran into severe conditions and construction was delayed. By AC 050, thirty years into the project, the US decided to withdraw and terminate its space program. However, life on the over-populated planet was becoming unbearable and some nations persisted with the project. Due to limited resources, disputes broke out between Earth nations; the program was depleting their already scarce means. The European nations began withdrawing from space before they'll collapse under the burden. Salvation for the space program came from no other than the Middle Eastern countries. Wealthy nations such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Kuwait searched for a new enterprise to invest in and joined the space colony project. With profuse amounts of money and energy resources to support them, the Middle Eastern nations began construction in space. They joined with the French to build the L3 colony. Soon the Americans resumed construction of L1. By AC 102, its construction was completed and the US moved on to build another colony at Lagrange Point 2. However, the construction was done rather poorly, due to their haste and depleted resources. Although functional, the L2 colony soon became known as "The Slums of Space." The growing success of the program encouraged more nations to join and the colonization project flourished. Large population centers composed of multiple colonies, popularly known as "Colony Clusters", were constructed. The L4 colony cluster, constructed by the wealthy Middle Eastern countries, was the first to be completed. By AC 120, it became an extension of the Middle East in space. In a surprising turn of events, having recognized the need for a skilled population, the Arab nations signed peace treaties with the Jewish State of Israel, which was known to be a successful "Start-Up Nation". An Israeli colony was also constructed in the Middle Eastern Cluster, completing a perfect copy of the nations below. By then, great conflicts had developed on Earth. Fleeing the various wars around the globe, civilians immigrated to space. By AC 130, 15% of the human population was living in space. Those who aspired for the good life, moved to the wealthy and advanced L4 colonies. Those unwilling to live under an Islamic or Jewish rule, compromised on a more difficult lifestyle at the rest of the Lagrange Point clusters. It so happened that the prison Duo had just been released from was located on the L4 cluster. It was a separate section of one of the L4 colonies; a space station which served as a penal colony. It was connected to the colony by a large tunnel-bridge. In times of uproar, the prison could be disconnected from the rest of the colony and sustain itself as an independent space station. Less than an hour after signing Abu Fas'l's paperwork, the recently paroled ex-con stepped out of the confines of the penal space station and into the long bridge that connected it to the colony. He was now dressed in casual clothing: plain dark jeans and a red T-shirt with an imprint of a green, crazy-looking cartoon dog, his blood spewing everywhere as he was being slaughtered by a large army knife. He was carrying a battered old gym-bag; a 'Don't fear the Reaper' slogan was written on it in a gothic font. He stood and took a moment to observe his surrounding, taking it all in from behind a pair of dark sunglasses. He made his way down the narrow road stretching across the space-bridge, leading towards the outskirts of the L4 space-colony. Not a car was in sight, nor was there any public transport. Duo walked along the road leisurely, tossing the folded combat knife up and down with the palm of his hand and whistling a catchy tune. After a while, he grew tired of playing with the small jackknife and shoved it into his jeans' pocket. He took out a cigarette and a lighter instead, and indulged in a smoke as he continued making his way towards the more populated area of the colony. At twenty-seven years of age, Duo Maxwell bore little resemblance to the lanky teenage terrorist he once was. His clothes, which he had long outgrown, clung tightly to his tall and muscular frame. An abstract gothic tattoo adorned the entire length of his left arm. Aside from growing taller and becoming much more masculine over the years, Duo had also cut his hair shorter. The chestnut cascade was no longer gathered into a lengthy braid but rather it was cut to mid-length; reaching almost to his shoulders, and layered so it was shorter at the front and longer at the back. Long bangs fell over his dark sunglasses, obscuring his vision some. Around his neck was a silver men's necklace with a thick cross pendant. It felt good to be out of his prison uniforms. He had worn them for the past seven years and that was more than enough. "Seven years," he muttered to himself as he took another drag on his smoke. "Fuck." The gravel at the sides of the road crunched under his feet as he walked. He listened to his own footsteps absentmindedly, lost in thought. A new sound entered his daydreaming; a vehicle was slowing down by his side. Frowning, he stopped and turned towards a large black limousine, now parked in front of him. The window at the driver's side rolled down to reveal a dark skinned man wearing a white turban. "Mister Maxwell?" he asked with a heavy Hindu accent. "Who's asking?" Duo muttered rudely. The man nodded once, as if to approve of something, and at the push of a button, the door at the back slid open. "Please," he invited courteously, "get in." Duo glared at him warily. "Courtesy of Mister Winner," the Muslim driver explained. Duo's expression turned even sterner. "I see," he said slowly as he leaned down to peek into the limo, examining its interior cautiously. "What's the catch?" "There is no catch, sir." "No shit," Duo rolled his eyes and threw his gym bag in. Securing his burning cigarette between his lips, he jumped into the back seat, making himself comfortable. The door slid shut with a quiet electric hiss. Frowning at the whole situation, Duo turned to the driver, looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror. The man sent him a short stern glance before turning to watch the road as he drove forward. "So where are we headed?" Duo asked as he reached for the burning butt, took a long relaxing drag and released smoke into the air. "To the spaceport, sir," the man replied reluctantly; "Mister Winner has arranged for a private flight." "A flight? A flight where?" "Anywhere you wish to go to, sir." "Oh yeah? How come?" "Mister Winner wants you off this colony - for good." "Now this shit makes sense," Duo sighed and leaned back into the leather seat, frowning as he smoked. "If you say so, sir," the Muslim man muttered and pressed a button to close the partition between the passenger and the driver's cabin. Duo was left staring at his own sullen image reflecting off the smooth black-glass surface of the sliding-screen. Sighing, he held his cigarette securely between his pressed lips and reached a hand into his pocket to pull out a crumpled old note. He unfolded it carefully; as if afraid it would tear, and then took the burning butt away from his lips, releasing smoke into the air. The writing on the note had nearly faded completely for it had been held and read so many times. In spite of the countless times he had stared at that note, Duo read it once again, memorizing what he already knew: 52 Edwards St. Philadelphia, PA The United States of America Earth Sphere Unified Nation He smiled weakly. "You just wait for me, man," he whispered; "I'm finally on my way." * * * [i] Crackers: slang for crack cocain [ii] C'mon, get going, you nut!
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