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"Boot Camp"Written By: Snowdragonct Disclaimer: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing or the characters, more's the pity. This is for fun...no profit involved. Warnings: AU (sort of), yaoi, swearing (lots), some OOC (probably), some violence, references to NCS (especially in later chapters) Pairings: 1+2, 3+4 (to start with) A/N: This is the first time I'm getting up the nerve to post a story...hope it's not too similar to anyone else's (haven't seen one just like it). Candid, kindly-delivered critiques will be greatly appreciated...please don't rip my head off too much? Um, and the old "don't like, don't read" phrase holds true. Oh, and it's fiction, and I don't have a law degree, so there's sure to be some inaccuracies...can we just pretend, please? Thanks in advance. Rating: NC 17 Summary: Four boys in the juvenile justice system
receive a last chance to make something of their futures. Will boot
camp make or break them? And can they ever learn to be a team? "Boot Camp"
Duo POV... My God. I can’t believe I’m sitting on this piece of shit bus being driven miles into the most godforsaken wilderness on the stinking planet. Yeah, pretty surreal. I mean, I’m not surprised about the fact that I’m on this particular bus. I was, after all, caught for the third time breaking and entering and stealing high-tech computer parts. Notice the word ‘third’ there. That is to say, despite the fact that I’m only seventeen, I’d have been on my way to prison (real prison, rather than juvenile hall) if it weren’t for the Peacecraft Initiative. And honestly, I oughta get on my knees and kiss the Peacecraft Foundation’s board of directors’ feet, because truth be told, prison would have been the end of me. Like I said, I’m seventeen…nothing but a skinny kid…and to make matters worse, I’m kind of—well—pretty, for a boy, and I have long (I’m talking ass-length long) chestnut hair I wear in a braid. Okay, before you say I’m asking for it, there’s a very sad, sentimental reason for the hair, and we won’t even go there. But the bottom line is, I won’t cut it off. And if they sent me to prison with it…with all the tough guys and gangs…I’m sure it’d end up hanging on some inmate’s wall as some kind of a sick trophy. So, color me grateful for the Peacecraft Initiative. It’s a last chance law for repeat offender juveniles like me. Before they ship us off into the big bad prison system, they’ve got to make one last-ditch effort at rehabilitating us incorrigibles. That’s why I’m here, on this bus, headed for Camp Peacecraft. It’s a made over army base in the middle of the wilderness. Surrounded by a few million acres of trees, mountains, and lakes, it’s a summer camp from Hell. Actually, boot camp would be a more accurate term, because that’s how the program is designed. At least the way my court appointed public defender put it was that it would be run just like a military boot camp crossed with a prison. Confused? I know I am. But I get the general idea. The inmates will undergo physical training, classroom, and what they call “field” work. If that means picking up trash by the side of the road, I am so out of here! But the ultimate goal is to educate us reprehensible kids into potentially productive members of society. Or smarter criminals…heh, heh. And those who succeed and receive a recommendation might be invited to attend the Mobile Suit Corps Academy. From there, it’d be an automatic commission in the Corps, a quasi-military peacekeeping organization designed to prevent insurgents from starting a civil war. Known as the most elite branch of the service, they look for raw material (i.e. reformed juvies, for God’s sake?) in unusual places…they want free thinkers and innovators, rather than mindless drones. And for some insane reason, they seem to think they might find those qualities in us. Go figure. At any rate, I’m going to be part of the first group to attempt this cutting edge rehabilitation program. As humorous as that might sound, my lawyer managed to slide me in…I think it had to do with some silly aptitude test they gave me in juvenile lockup. So when offered a choice between dodging rapists and thugs in a grown-up prison, and spending a few months in the wilderness with kids my own age running obstacle courses and scratching poison ivy, I chose the obvious. But the further this bus hauls me into the middle of nowhere, the less appealing this choice is starting to look. I’m no outdoorsman. Hell, having grown up on the L2 colony, I didn’t even see a real, honest to goodness tree until I was a teenager. I see why they put the facility here. My silly notions of escaping and blending into the population fade away with each mile we travel away from civilization. By the time we turn off the paved road (notice I said ‘off the paved road’) I know escape would be useless. I’d starve or be eaten by whatever creatures actually live and know how to survive in this wasteland, within twenty-four hours. How sad is that? Okay, we’re on a gravel logging road now…and the bouncing has nearly tossed me into the ceiling several times already. Isn’t there some rule about ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ for inmates? And so much for sleeping. I’d managed that for the first six hours of the drive, but once we passed the last vestiges of civilization and the sheer vastness of the wilderness began to close in, I couldn’t have slept if my life depended on it. Smart, Maxwell, smart. Couldn’t stop after the first two convictions, could you? Aw, face it, this is just a stalling tactic. Sure, I’ll play the game and try to survive their little ‘wilderness camp,’ but then what? Best case scenario, they consider me educated and reformed and release me…and since I don’t lie, I have to admit, I’ll go right back to hacking my way into any computer system I can. Yeah, I will. And again, I’ll use the information to scope out places ripe for breaking and entering…no doubt I’ll eventually slip up and cops will show…and I’ll resist arrest again, probably enough to be charged with assault again…and there I’ll be, in that big, bad prison system I so wanted to avoid. That’s pretty much how I picture the future. What else could I do? In the slums of L2 there aren’t many legal occupations, and I’m an L2 street rat. There’s no changing that. I look around at some of the other kids on the bus. There are around forty of us. With a quick glance, I can see who the ‘predators’ are…and who’s gonna end up ‘prey.’ Frankly, I often fall into the ‘prey’ category, until someone tries to test that theory and ends up bleeding. I’m a lot tougher than I look, physically…and a lot tougher than I act, mentally. I mean, I’m sociable, chatty, and as obnoxious as hell, to guards, wardens, and inmates alike. I come across as a bit flaky and silly. And that’s very deliberate on my part. If they think I’m harmless, I’ll have the advantage in any altercation. If I were six inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier, I wouldn’t even be afraid of prison. But I’m not, and so I am. As I said before, I wouldn’t stand a chance there. But speaking of ‘prey,’ there’s a very
pretty blonde boy two seats ahead of me, staring out the window with
soulful blue eyes. He’s going to be a target from the word go.
But that’s not my problem, right? I give him a longer look…perhaps
this is the place to mention my, er, sexual orientation. I like guys.
But let me interject here that my being gay doesn’t make me eager
to be dumped in the hardcore prison system. Those are definitely not
my kind of guys. And nobody wants to be forced…ever. But back
to the good-looking blonde boy. There’s something so pure and
innocent about his looks that I’m not even thinking about him
as a potential romantic interest. He notices my gaze, and glances
back with a faint smile, no doubt reassured by my innocuous looks.
Sucker. And yet, I smile back, feeling an unaccustomed twinge of pity
for the sweet-looking kid. He’s gotta be younger than me, maybe
by a year or two. I thought no one under fifteen was allowed in this
program, but now I’m not sure. I’d guess he’s all of
thirteen or fourteen…with a classic baby face…but I could
be wrong. And I can’t help but notice the two boys who got on
the bus with him aren’t hassling him at all. I wonder why, and
I study him for a few minutes, trying not to be too obvious. Either
he’s way tougher than he looks (which I can totally relate to)
or he’s got a protector…a friend or someone with a vested
interest in his welfare. I’m guessing he’ll need both, where
we’re going…boot camp indeed. And just about the time I
decide that my teeth are jarring loose from the bumpy ride, we arrive
at Camp Nowhere.
tbc... |
