Merc

Trowa's POV
______________

Fighting honed the reactions, the instincts of war. I was given an old suit that was salvaged from the enemy during a job. It had been disabled during the battle and abandoned as our opponents retreated. Our leader said if I could fix it, it was mine. I spent countless hours working on it and relished every moment of it. I’d never felt greed before, but I think, looking back on it, that is very near what it was. It was mine to do with as I pleased, and I couldn’t sleep until it was in top form. It had to be better, faster, stronger, and I made it so.

I was never taught how to do repairs, I just learned this action produces this effect. I think because I never learned any set “rules” of what to do and what not to do, I was better able to see many ways of repairing the same damage. I often just knew if I made a connection from this point to the fuselage, I would get more propulsion to my thrusters. If I made a gap to allow more air intake here, my pumps would work more efficiently and would prevent over heating as quickly as my opponents. Those few moments gave me an advantage that led to many deaths of many enemies.

The older model suit that I piloted became the most efficient mecha in the merc group. I couldn’t really update any programs, I wasn’t very familiar with the control panels at this point. Learning my way around the cockpit really was trial and error, but the mechanical workings of the suit I understood. My suit was able to be faster, stronger, with better reaction speeds which made up for the lack of advanced notification of enemies due to out of date central systems. That just forced me to be better as the pilot.

Sooner or later, the others noticed. At first they thought I spent so much time on my suit because I needed to learn through trial and error how to do the initial repairs, they didn’t know I had completed those weeks ago. I think they were waiting for me to ask someone for help, but then an assignment came and I counted myself in the number of suit fighters. The others laughed until I joined them in the field.

A few of the men expressed concerns over the fact that I didn’t know how to pilot a suit because piloting is much different than just being able to command the suit’s movements. I just told them if I couldn’t pilot, I would be cannon fodder, one more target for the enemy to hit rather than themselves. Comms went silent after that. Battle chat was the only thing coming over the communication systems after my statement.

The battle went well, we were outnumbered, which was often the case, but we had surprise and better positions on our side. We lost about five men, but we were the victors. We got a considerable amount of money, and, for my part, I got paid. All of that money went to repairing and upgrading my suit. I got better armor, which was my main concern with the older model. You can tinker with mechanics all you want, but you can’t avoid every shot fired at you. The armor has to be able to take those few shots that hit, if it can’t, you’re dead.

The others noticed the alterations I made and took note; several struck up discussions about the alterations that can be made to enhance a suit trying to draw me into the conversations. It didn’t work. Eventually, some just asked, and I told them several of the modifications I’d made. But I held onto some of the alterations I was proudest of. I wasn’t going to just hand out the enhancements I had labored over for so long. Just the simpler ones seemed to impress the men.

Because of my skill at mechanics and my willingness to work on suits other than my own, I was often found inside someone’s suit making adjustments. My suit was still the best, but theirs were better than before. I didn’t understand why most of the men had little concern over what alterations were made and how. As long as it got done, they didn’t care. Most were lazy, and had me do the modifications for them.

I didn’t mind. I enjoyed working on the huge machines, and I learned more about the more complex cockpit systems.

One evening, after we had just finished transporting the suits to our newest location, I began working on updating another suit, standard routine. I was in Skinner’s mecha which would have been of no consequence except for one thing, his love of music. Most of the younger fighters (and by younger I meant mid to late twenties) had some sort of portable music player they kept with them, but Skinner continuously had a headset on with one or both ears covered. He favored loud, chaotic music that could be heard clearly from a meter away. I never liked his favored genre, but he never asked my opinion.

I should have realized that he would want a music system hooked up in his cockpit, as well, but I never thought of it. Even if I had, it shouldn’t have mattered, but as it turns out, it did.

Crawling around his cockpit, I was finishing my alterations by making connections to his surveillance monitors. As I began to stand, backing away from the tight space behind the pilot’s chair, my hip flipped a switch by the footrests. There’s not supposed to be a switch by the footrests; instantly, I was on guard because I was unsure of what would happen.

Then I heard a loud boom echo through the cockpit. My first instinct was that we were under fire; suits would be the primary target. On a hair trigger, I threw myself backwards and out of the hatch, before I could register the action.

As I fell to what would have been my death, I felt the air curl around me. I was twisting, spinning in the air. Then I saw the ground coming up to meet me. My feet hit the ground, but I had too much momentum from the fall and my knees turned into springs flinging my body forward. I tucked my head to protect it from any ground-induced damage and landed flat on my ass, skidding to a stop.

Skinner and M.C. had been running up to the suits and saw my display. I scowled at them as I realized we were not under attack and they were laughing so hard they could barely stand.

I picked myself up, refraining from the urge to rub my sore ass; I think I broke my tailbone. And by that time, I had realized exactly what the noise was: his fucking music was still blaring in the background, clear to anyone in a three mile radius.

Looking up as Skinner was regaining his breath, I watched his mouth as he spoke.

And I remember exactly what was said… “Damn! He’s wound tighter than a hooker on three dicks!” This only made M.C. laugh harder, but Skinner continued, still panting from his stifled laughter. “What’s wrong, Nanashi? Sexual frustration?”

M.C. spoke up, his words difficult to understand because of his continued laughing. “It has been a few months; maybe we should get Dozer and Botch to kidnap him again!”

I simply turned and walked back towards the main camp with a response that if he wanted me to continue updating his suit, he needed to find a fucking mute button.

It was a seemingly inconsequential incident at the time, but as I lay down for the night, I remembered. I remembered the feeling of the air curling around my body. Tendrils of wind filtered through my hair and pockets of air cradled me as no mother ever had. It was an amazing feeling, and the most exciting thing was that I lived to cherish it. Jumping from that distance should have equated my death, but my body reacted in the proper ways to maintain existence. I didn’t come out completely uninjured; I was reminded of said injury as soon as I sat down to take off my boots. But, I had an instinctual reaction that caused my body to move through the air in a way to slow my descent enough to walk away from my fall. I was anxious for sunrise; I wanted to test how far my instincts would take me.

I had never had dreams before, but that night I dreamt I could fly.

Another thing that came from the incident was an explanation to a recent frustration. I had been waking up with an annoyingly persistent erection. I had previously thought it a remnant of puberty, but after Skinner’s comment; I rephrased my thinking.

The next time we had the chance to take leave, I went into town and bought another hooker. This time I made sure I was the one in control. She was not allowed to touch me. At all. She didn’t like my rules; a lot of it had to do with her not wanting to follow orders from a thirteen year old boy, but she needed the money.

It was much better than last time.

We were in that area for several weeks doing reconnaissance for a big job. There were only two needed to watch the target, so the rest of us were doing prep. I wasn’t used much for surveillance as a young boy around a base was pretty noticeable. I was mostly used for infiltration since I was accustomed to slipping around the shadows unseen. Plus, if I was caught, I could play the hungry orphan trying to steal food. I wasn’t treated kindly; but because of my age, I wasn’t under suspicion of espionage.

I didn’t know how long it would be until we had leave again, and since I wasn’t a fan of walking around with a hard-on, I took advantage of the resources at my disposal while I could in attempt to prevent future sexual frustration.

I kept returning to the same girl for no reason other than she knew my rule and followed it. She didn’t seem to mind once she knew I wouldn’t hurt her; I just didn’t like to be touched. She babbled about her thinking it was a power game that usually didn’t end well for girls like her. I said nothing and got what I paid for.

I spent the days loading ammunition into the suits for prep and every other night finding sexual release with that nameless hooker.

About a week before our scheduled attack, I went to the alley I normally found her in, but she wasn’t there. Someone else was in her place, a male someone else.

I turned to walk away, but he called out to stop me.

“Hey, you lookin’ for Sasha?” His voice was higher pitched than mine.

I didn’t know her name, but I’m assuming that was it. I kept my silence and just watched him. I felt his eyes rake up my body like a physical thing. I had seen enough interactions between people to know lust when I saw it.

Most hookers and even some strippers I had seen slinking through the streets had a very recognizable expression. Their face showed interest, a promiscuous smirk on their lips, baiting customers; but it never reached their eyes. The eyes were dead; like they had seen and lived through hell, and nothing you could say or do would affect them. He must have been new because his eyes were alive and eager, like he truly wanted to sell his body to me.

He looked to be a year or two younger than me, thinner, but more muscular than the girl. His eyes were bright blue, and his hair curled around his ears. He started walking towards me as he continued speaking. “She’s with a client.” His lips curled around the statement like it amused him. “But she should be back in 20. You could wait if you want, or you could try me on for size.”

I remember being confused. Weren’t men supposed to want women? The men in camp were always raving about the female body, and there were derogatory comments about men that did want other men. I assumed this was one of those men.

Or maybe he just needed the money and was a very good actor.

Male or female, I never remembered feeling especially attracted to either. But I wasn’t repulsed by the thought either.

By this point, he was only a few feet from me. “You’re so fucking hot; I’ll only charge you half of her price, anything goes short of drawing blood. And I promise I’m tighter than she is.”

I jerked my head to the side, and he smiled as he followed me to the nearest motel. I went through the routine of paying for the room; I usually paid for the whole night. Despite how run down the rooms were, it was nice to have a shower with hot water that was actually indoors. And once the mattress was flipped over, it made for a much more comfortable night than a bedroll.

Being with a man was much different than being with a woman. I could actually see the effects of his arousal, and feel the strength in his body. He followed the same rule that the girl did, but he seemed much more frustrated than her. He wanted to touch me, and his frustrated restraint was a powerful aphrodisiac. I had never been so hard before, or so satisfied after.

He was right, he was much tighter.

But there was more cleanup involved in sex between men. I left his money with his clothes, and went to take a shower. I expected him to be gone when I came out, but I was wrong.

He had dozed off, and was lying sprawled where I left him. His body was flushed and there were marks were my fingers had dug in too hard. I stood there in only a towel watching his chest rise and fall. I had never really taken note of my body before, but watching him made me compare his to mine. We were about the same age, but I was taller, there was more definition and muscle mass clinging to my frame. He was shorter, but he looked fairly strong, his skin was pale, where mine was tanned from sun exposure. I had just finished fucking him, but I couldn’t remember if his skin was soft or rough. There were few scars blemishing his skin, but I had multiple. Some scars were from the merc fights, and I knew what caused them. But I had several, mostly along my left arm, that I assume were from childhood.

There was a strange feeling about me as I watched him, I felt more connected to him than any other person on Earth. It was a ridiculous notion because I knew nothing about him. I could name countless facts and habits of the men in camp, but this boy, whose name was a complete mystery to me, felt like a friend.

I shook myself from the thoughts and intended to wake him, when I noticed he was awake and watching me. A careless, and potentially dangerous, mistake; it angered me.

His voice was hoarse. “Sorry, soldier boy, didn’t mean to crash on you. You fucked me into next week; it jus’ took me a while to get back. Lemme get dressed an’ I’ll be outta your hair.” He smirked through the apology.

I just watched as he got dressed, wondering how men that had known me for over a decade couldn’t, wouldn’t, think of a name for me, when this prostitute who had known me for an hour could hand me a nickname.

As he left, he told me not to forget him next time I was looking to party, winked at me, and then shut the door. I followed his path to the door and threw the deadbolt, locking out the rest of the world for the night.
_____________________________