4-1-2002


Title: False Prophesies
Part: errrrr…three?
Author: Sunday
e-mail: all_in_leather@yahoo.com
page: http://www.geocities.com/error12211
warnings: AU AU AU AU AU AU, eventual yaoi, Relena is a good human being in this one, people, so if you don’t like her at all, then this will be painful. This is in a universe I made up, so if you don’t like OC, and OU then…errr…this is not for you. If you don’t like disturbing nasty futures, this will really suck.
Notes: my universe….errrrrrrrrrr….I plan to turn this into a novel one day. Dedications: To Taylor, who is the only person out there who reads this stuff.

 

A low metallic buzz filled the air, and for a moment it seemed so complete that it had filled his mouth as well. Metallic flavors clashing over his tongue as he tried desperately to awaken. Slowly his eyes opened, and he found himself on some sort of concrete runway. The ending of it dropping off, and the horizon nowhere to be seen.

Shit.

Shit.

Oh shit.

Heero stood gingerly to his feet, attempting to locate his Gundam, not that he wanted to know. If he was laying on the ground the likelihood of his Gundam’s fair shape was improbable at best. Wincing, he turned around and surveyed his surroundings. Staring at the crumpled heap of Gundanium that towered over his comparatively slight frame, to dominate the scape of the monotonous poured concrete.

His space suit groaned as he took a step forward, attempting to dispel the feeling of having missed something. Attempting, but failing to get away from the deep pit of despair that had opened beneath his feet and threatened to swallow him whole. There was something of the surroundings, the constant music of grinding metal, as a breeze, that not once touched his hidden skin, blew over the emptiness of the plain.

Shit.

He approached the pile of metal, noting, in no small amount of wonder and disgust that the whole of the Gundam was far from merely destroyed, it had been pulverized. The tragically twisted Gundam reaching with one outstretched limb into the sky, while the rest of it crushed far below into the cement, and lay shattered in heaps around it. The head was nowhere to be seen, and the cockpit hung open, as if some great forced had twisted off the covering. Heero swallowed hard as he realized that only the lack of restraint had kept him alive, the inner cockpit was smashed, the pilots chair compressed beneath huge slabs of Gundanium.

A drop of sweat ran down his cheek.

He licked his dry lips, and attempted to brush the drop away, surprised when his ungloved hand hit the glass of his helmet. He studied the scenario lightly, before releasing the pressure on his helmet, satisfied that the unit had recorded a sufficient amount of oxygen, and pulling it off his head. The song of the metal pierced the air, and he screamed, as the sound intensified, and the wind proved to be substantially more then a breeze. The piercing howl angry upon the wind, surging around him, singing higher and higher, until he was sure he would go mad, if he was not so already.

And then it was quiet.

He could hear nothing, ignoring the wetness that ran down his neck he drew in a strangled breath, his first within the lurid place he had been damned to. And he would have screamed, but he dared not. For the air was heavy with the smell of the dead, the metallic taste of blood rich within the air, permeating through the stench of rot and of festering flesh. An undertone of the metallic decay layered just beneath the reek and spoke of the movements of the metals he could not see.

He stumbled up, realizing that he had fallen painfully to his knees, staggering to the end of the platform, to the end of the concrete desert, and as he approached, he forced in another pull of the stench. His lungs protesting the amount of moisture that seemed almost suffocating, his tongue swollen from the taste of the air, and the reek of it. In front of him loomed a city, so giant that the buildings themselves could have stood upon the area of a town, each falling, breaking apart, crumbling slowly in some places, staying put in others. Entire thousands of stories, floated in the air where their foundations had crumbled to join what lay upon the ground below. The lower levels covered by a smog so thick that it almost seemed solid. And those mammoths swayed and tumbled in the wind, twisted and turned, scorched metal upon scorched glass, that lifted itself up to the blue heavens turned red. Other buildings bent like the bodies of the old and decrepit, pushing against other structures that bent out of the way. Others were split, their carcasses opened like the maws of great beasts.

A grin spread on his lips, as his lungs tried once more to catch upon the air, choking on the moisture, unable to find their fill of oxygen.

“so this is hell”.

And the world went black.