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Books » Twilight » Over The Top: Terror on Gay Street
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Author of 13 Stories |
Over the Top: Terror on Gay Street
Chapter Eight: Endgames Part 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or the KGB. Those are owned by Stephanie Meyer and Vladimir Putin. Also note, this story is rated M. So you young uns, click the back button while you still can.
Side Note: This story is based heavily off of another fanfiction story called Over the
Top by starfish422. Fans of that story can think of this as an AU fanfiction
of that fanfiction. It begins with the same budding relationship between
Edward and Jasper and takes a disturbing twist when a slew of colorful new
characters are added. This story begs the question - how far would their love
have gone had drunken KGB agents became involved? Fasten your seat belts
folks, and enjoy the ride.
Thank you to starfish422 for your permission to borrow your take on Jasper
and Edward as well as certain scenes from your story.
OTT can be found in the Twilight community, Some like it hot.
Birds flew, grass grew and in the city of Seattle, people were getting hurt. On Beacon Hill in Seattle, just in front of Cavalry cemetery, all hell had broken loose.
In the streets, all manner of thugs, goons, bruisers, bad boys and brigands were fighting it out. Vietnamese gangsters, Korean scrappers, ass kicking nuns, a mad lawyer disguised as a priest, a Russian cowboy and many others were giving out freely the fist, the bullet, the blade and the bomb.
Several patrolmen had seen the riot of fighters and had been spotted. The beat cops hadn’t stood a chance against the surprisingly well trained and ferocious street fighters. One policeman didn’t get off more than one shot before his clock was cleaned by a Korean kung-fu master. His partner was less fortunate; his ears were hacked off by a crazy nun wearing clawed gloves.
In the middle of this bedlam, Peter and his bar fighting buddies were just trying to stay alive. A few hours ago, they’d gone out and beat up people in a seedy bar. That was fun, this was just insane.
In one hand he held a hockey stick, which he used to break people’s ankles and smash skulls. In his other hand, Peter held a portable nail gun. Anybody that got too close to him that wasn’t a good friend got a hail of nails in the general vicinity of their genital area.
To his right was Sweet Kapoyanis, the homophobic son of a Greek pimp. Kapoyanis was using a cigarette lighter and a can of hairspray as a handy impromptu flame thrower. An ass kicking nun attempted to slice Sweet in twain with a katana but instead had her habit set on fire.
And Dennis was being . . . Dennis. It was like somebody unleashed a large bear on the battlefield, shaved it down and gave it a weapon. One could easily imagine Dennis caged up with the rest of the dangerous animals at the Roman circus and made to fight the gladiators, ten at a time.
That big brutish son of a plumber was using a blue painted steel door as a weapon. He would swing it and dispatch an easy half dozen opponents. A lot of people weren’t going to walk away from this battle. Dennis was also using his big weapon as a shield against stray bullets and arrows, of which there were no shortage.
Standing on top of a building, one Vietnamese gangster used a crossbow to pick off opponents down in the streets below. Down on ground zero, another Vietnamese gangster rode on a unicycle and sprayed the thickening crowds with a submachine gun.
Hong, the Korean War veteran jumped up and drop kicked the unicycle riding gangster in the face, effectively taking him out of the fight.
With all this madness running about, common sense would follow that the number of fighters would decrease. Common sense had no place amidst the terror on Gay Street. Here, there was only room for battle reflex and craziness. Gay Street was long overdue for a seismic event and Jasper and Edward had unwittingly stepped on the fault line.
The smell of battle drew all manner of carrion birds and predators. Lured in by gunfire, a crew of Mafia enforcers had come to investigate. When one of their number was shot down, they had no choice but to call for help and stay and fight.
Slightly drunk and a little angry that the day’s event had been cancelled, a group of World War One recreationists with live ammunition decided to reenact the battle of Ypres.
Revolver Ocelot was pissed. This was the second time he’d lost an arm and it was the first time that an attempted rape on his part had been foiled.
Ocelot was pulling himself out of the ruined body of the red sports car he’d hijacked. That mad priest was good as any opponent Ocelot had faced in his many decades as a black ops operative. When they met for the last time, Ocelot was going to shoot Anderson in the knees. Then he’s shoot Anderson in the stomach. Afterwards he’d shoot him in the elbows. If he had any ammo left, he’d shoot Anderson between the eyes.
With bloodshot eyes, Ocelot looked at the anarchy that spread before him. Though he was furious, he brought down his pulse and his temper. Replacing white hot fury was cold sadism which would permit maximum efficiency.
Easily as slicing pie, he throw open his trademark weapon and spent cartridges. A bullet hit the ground near his feet. He didn’t bat an eye. The mob drew closer; somebody got their brains splattered all over Ocelot’s boots. It was all irrelevant.
Using only one hand, Revolver Ocelot, one of the great assassins of the cold war, reloaded his Colt single action army revolver. It was the greatest handgun ever invented. Six bullets were all that Revolver needed to kill anything that moved.
And so, he started off in pursuit of Edward and Jasper, utterly uncaring about the heap of slaughter and bloodlust happening before his eyes.
Meanwhile, Jasper and Edward ran as fast as they could into the heart of the cemetery. To the left of them was a thick grove of oak trees. To the right were rows and rows of tombstones.
Finally they could run no further, even though the sounds of battle were easily heard through the grove of trees and forest of tombstones.
Exhausted, the two men sat themselves down heavily on the thick grass and leaned on whatever was handy. A handy tree proved to be not an ideal but a convenient backrest for the tired lads. The pair of them were panting and sweating as if they’d had the sex Edward had originally promised to Jasper.
Out of sight, out of mind; the expression was never truer. Removed from the sights of battle, Edward could slow down and start to ask a few questions. There was something he wanted to ask Jasper but first he needed to take a look around.
Okay, first thing; look to the left. No homophobes there; that’s good.
Alright, don’t be sky; look to the right. Okay, no assassins there. It might not be exactly as safe as could be, but for now it’d do.
Between his panting he asked of his companion, “Hey, Jazz.”
Jasper ran a hand through his hair, soaked through with sweat. He took two more deep breaths before responding to the other gay, “Yes, Edward?”
“Remember when Ocelot pointed a gun at me and you pushed me behind you?”
“Yes.”
Edward was able to address the initial cause to this chaotic night quite easily. The whole thing seemed so bizarre as to have been a dream. This was probably a defense mechanism and he’d have nightmares for weeks after this involving Russian cowboys and Vietnamese gangsters. He had to know, “Why did you do it?”
Jasper seemed to seize up, the tension was returning. He knew the reason but the words wouldn’t come to him.
“Jasper?” The utterance of his name seemed to shake him out of his embarrassment. When he’s first conceived of this plan, it didn’t look so wild. Now though, he wasn’t so sure this would work out.
Edward sat up from the stout tree trunk and focused on his companion. He could see the turmoil behind Jasper’s gorgeous features. Damn, this fellow was something. He was hot, but he was so much more. Jasper was unbelievably cute. It was more than his physical features; it was his voice, his mannerisms and his attitude.
Edward saw Jazz biting down nervously on his lower lip. Good gosh, Edward was blown away by the gesture. He just wanted to lean forward and take that lower lip into his mouth. Oh yeah, Jasper was cute as Sam hill.
“It’s a little embarrassing.”
“That’s okay; I won’t react badly to it.” Edward wasn’t normally so tender with people. Normally, he was cold and business like with all of his lovers. Actually, “lovers” was a bad term for it as no love was exchanged between his partners and Edward.
There was something about Jasper that encouraged Edward to show him a little bit of trust. Also, there was an odd kind of familiarity about Jazz, but he couldn’t place where they’d met before.
Slowly, Jasper began to unveil the truth for his companion of this dreadful night. “Edward, how much do you remember from your high school days?”
“More than I care to remember.” It was true, Edward’s past held many painful memories. The vast majority of the time, he tended to forget the past and focus on the now. Often times, he needed help focusing on the now; that’s where all those sexy men came into play.
Jasper was about to explain more, but he was tragically cut off by the sound of motorcycles.
VA-VRRRRROOOOM!!!!
A huge Harley-Davidson motorcycle tore over a hillock behind the two boys and went sailing over Jasper and Edward’s heads, nearly decapitating them. That one motorcycle was followed by another, then two, then ten and then an entire gang of Harley ridin’ thugs.
Jasper looked so disappointed. He had been about to profess his love for Edward. “OH MAN, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!!!!” It just wasn’t fair. He was so vulnerable; he wanted to just cry like his sister did only in private.
Realistically, he was about to reveal his dark secret to Edward and now the Hells Angels wanted to intervene.
The first rider gunned it across the green grass of the cemetery, shredding the manicured lawn and throwing dirt clods all over the grave markers.
In the spaces between the tombs and in the wide stretches of grass, the bikers ran roughshod. Grass was torn to shreds and gravestones were knocked down by the capricious outlaws.
Actually, these men weren’t the Hells Angels; they were a neo-Nazi group referred to as The Last Battalion. Cruising on their bikes, vandalizing a cemetery and causing general mayhem were just how this group of individuals found a way of chilling after a long day of pushing smack, robbing jewelry stores and killing hookers.
Edward and Jasper both were paralyzed with fear. They daren’t sprint away lest that action draw the attention of the reveling bikers. In front of them, innumerable swastikas danced this way and that like a swarm of insects amidst the red and white of headlights and signal lights.
If they had been cartoon characters, the boys’ hair would have been standing on end. Slowly, they started to move away from the potentially homophobic neo-Nazis.
With their karma tonight, they should have seen it coming, but they didn’t; they got spotted in another perfectly predictable stroke of bad luck
The leader of the neo-Nazis laughed gleefully at the overall havoc in the cemetery. It was a beautiful night out. The gang tonight had knocked down several Jewish grave markers; that was always a plus.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, the gang leader saw two men in trendy outfits perfect for clubbing. That one man with the bronze hair, she knew him!
The gang leader slammed on the brakes of her bike, smashing down another gravestone and nearly totaling another bike. She screamed something in German, lost above the din of fifty motorcycle engines.
Sensing their leader’s unease, the swastika wearing brutes all cut their engines and stood aside their commander.
The leader of the neo-Nazis was a woman, a lesbian in fact. But Zorin Blitz was not your run of the mill lesbian. Zorin was butch to the max; as far back as junior high she’d been mistaken for a man on account of her well developed muscles and violent temperament.
Oh, fuck. Edward hadn’t thought it possible that his rotten luck could get any worse, but it just had. Hadn't he used up his quota almost getting when he almost got raped by three Russian thugs and almost murdered by a crazy Scottish guy dressed like a priest?
He knew Zorin Blitz. He’d known that crazy East German bitch during junior and high school. She was always in trouble, getting involved with gangs and beating up other students. Physically he’d been an equal to Zorin, and he’d never once bowed to her tyrannical will.
Now though things were a little different. Zorin looked twice as muscular as Edward was and she had an entire biker gang at her command.
Jasper couldn’t believe it. Holy shit. That gang leader looked like a pretty nasty guy, not to mention freaky. The dude was whacked out; seemingly the entire left side of his body was covered in grey and black tattoos. Muscles rippled beneath a black wife beater shirt. He’d tucked his cargo pants into his combat boots. Zorin had dubbed these boots “Jew stompers,” but they’d have a similar effect on a homosexual.
The night air was as quiet as could be with the sounds of a fight so near. The bikers didn’t seem to notice. Fifty sets of eyes gazed upon them, eyes filled with hate and bloodlust. The bikers were jackals in human form; only the word of their fuhrer kept them from attacking.
Zorin’s German accent broke the heavy silence. “Vell, Edvard Cullen. Are you still the same cock sucking faggot that I remember?”
Behind her, Zorin’s current lover watched in rapt fascination. Her name was Danica, but she preferred to go by the soubriquet, Steiner.
Danica watched her fuehrer with rapt fascination.
Edward stood tall, his gaze unflinching. He was tired, his feet hurt and frankly, he was a little pissed. Edward knew how Zorin Blitz thought, he knew what motivated her. Despite being a lesbian, Zorin was one of the worst homophobes at his school. Showing weakness of any sort in front of one such as her was to invite instant death. Right now, his and Jasper’s chances of survival looked nil, but if he was able to stall and play a few word games with her then they might survive long enough for another miracle to happen.
He began, “Zorin Blitz; you’re uglier than I remember.” This statement elicited a chorus of coarse laughter from the gang.
Zorin looked around with her good eye and her lazy eye; there was no mistaking the murderous rage on her half tattooed features. At her men she shouted, “Shut the fuck up! I’ll kill you myself!”
At this, all of the gang members shut up. Each and every one of them remembered what happened to the last guy that lit Zorin’s short fuse.
Danica shook with excitement in the saddle behind her lover and leader. Her jittery hands went up to the bandanna with the totenkampf symbol that was tied around her shaven cranium.
Zorin sneered for another round, just daring somebody to even giggle a little. When nobody did, she turned back to her old high school chum. Once again, that hateful grin was back on her face. One eye gazed directly at Edward while the other gazed off in a random direction. “You haff not changed, Cullen. You’re still the worthless cum bucket vith a big mouth und no bite.”
Edward smirked a little bit, Jasper couldn’t help but be awed at the ease with which Edward could hide his emotions and put on this fearless mask. “Well Zorin, I am what I am but it’s a lot better than what you are; you disgusting, degenerate cow.”
Zorin gritted her teeth a little bit but otherwise kept her cool. “I’m the vone here vith the guns und the power. I can crush you like a vurm, any time I vant.”
She was right, of course. But at this point, all Edward had was his ability to beat Zorin in a battle of words. He wanted to know if he could still destroy Zorin verbally like he used to in his youth, “Zorin, you can kill me but you can’t kill the herpes that’s making puss drip out of your pussy as we speak.”
Zorin was so shocked by Edward’s crass comment that for a second her eyes just bulged out and her cigarette fell out of her mouth.
Danica made the mistake of tittering. Naturally, she tried not to let it out but it just slipped into being.
Zorin might have expected this from one of her other lackeys but not from her little Steiner. Furious at her lover, she smacked Danica in the face hard enough that her nose bled.
Jasper turned to Edward, who was genuinely enjoying this little word game. “You know him?”
“She was a bully in my first year of high school.”
Jasper blinked in confusion, “You mean that is a girl?”
“Yep.”
Having dealt with her rebellious girlfriend, Zorin turned back to Edward, tired of this horseshit. “You like haffing your ass split in half? I’ll split your ass in half good.”
Wordlessly, Zorin held her hand out to her girlfriend. She gestured that she was impatient.
Danica looked down at the blood on her hand with a mix of shame and excitement. On the one hand she had dishonored her beloved fuhrer and that was unacceptable, but on the other hand she loved pain and she loved it best when Zorin smacked her in the face and other places.
Zorin hated anything that was feminine, which included straight women, femme lesbians and gay men. She found Danica’s love of pain and abundant facial hair a turn on, she forbid her little Steiner to shave.
Her fuhrer was a very impatient woman, and she’d already tried it enough for one night. Without even a pause, Danica reached behind her and pulled a long machete from the sheath strapped to her back.
Blitz imperceptibly nodded in approval as the handle of the weapon reached her hand.
Danica tried to shout, “Heil, mein-
“Shut up!” Zorin cut off her lackey. With flourish, she swung the machete in a gleaming arc. Her smile widened. “Somebody hold them down!”
Several bikers dismounted from their bikes and started to run for Jasper and Edward. Several other bikers aimed assorted handguns at the duo, so running away was impossibility.
The time for words was over; they were now in Zorin’s preferred arena. Rudely, a pair of bikers grabbed Edward in a bruising grip and thrust him to the ground.
He tried to get up but a foot attached to a three hundred pound body pressed him down. His ribs felt like they were going to snap.
Gazing to his right he saw Jasper in a similar predicament. Jasper . . . had this look on his face. It was a face of sadness, regret and above all, love.
Edward didn’t deserve that look Jasper was giving him. He hadn’t done anything to warrant any love from the perfect, blond haired man. He wished that Jasper didn’t have to be here. After all he’d done in his life; Edward was the only one who deserved to be in this predicament.
He could hardly breathe. It hurt him to see Jasper’s pained face. He mouthed to this strange and brave man, “I’m sorry.”
Zorin stomped across the grass with the most ungraceful stride you’ve ever seen. She was going to enjoy this. She always loved carrying on the legacy left behind by the greatest man on earth: Adolf Hitler.
Just when it seemed that all hope had died and that villainy would prevail, fate threw in another twist.
The sounds of a helicopter could be heard. That in itself wouldn’t be cause for alarm or pause, but the chopper sounded like it was flying right overhead.
The police helicopter flew over the cemetery. The size of the riot in the streets had grown and now nearly every scoundrel, hoodlum, psycho and anybody with a weapon was in the streets, fighting it out like the end of days. The entire Seattle police force was being called in to contain the problem and they had orders to shoot to kill.
This police helicopter in particular was carrying a military grade mortar cannon. It’d had been a wedding gift for the chief of police. He never though he’d use it, but eventuality had proven him wrong.
When the helicopter pilot shone his spotlight on the group of motorcycles parked in Cavalry cemetery, he’d assumed the worst and gotten his aircraft into position. “FIRE!” he screamed at the gunner.
The mortar spat its deadly ordinance. The muffled sound of it firing could not be compared to the thunderous boom of the shells detonating. The explosion shook the ground and tore apart bikers along with their bikes.
Alexander Anderson heard the sounds of a mortar. He’d lost track of his quarry but now his hunter’s instincts were telling him to run towards the explosions. The cemetary was big, but he'd find what he was looking for.
He’d taken the bayonet in his mouth and driven it through somebody’s heart a while ago. His smile was now exposed for the world to see.
His long legs began to propel him at speed which nearly rivaled his strength. As his bellow like lungs worked, he breathed in deeply the smells of the night. What he smelled was blood, death, fire, gunpowder and sin; it was all good.
What ran through his body now was a weird species of arousal not normally felt by members of the human race. It was the exact opposite of the feeling he received when he killed Felix and Dmitri and downed Ocelot. He felt dirty, like an animal. He wanted to punish himself. But more than that, he wanted to punish the entire world and every soul in it.
The world was spinning, was he drunk? He remembered some things. He remembered a man with dimples and blond hair. He remembered a man dressed like a cowboy, cruelly spinning a pistol (he couldn’t remember what kind.)
Edward opened his eyes. He saw much but it was like someone threw the off switch on the volume for the world; he couldn’t hear a thing. All around him, he saw bikers fleeing into the cover of the trees as mortar fire rained down from the police chopper. Some of them went on foot.
He was strangely calm about the whole thing. Was this what it was like to be a shell-shocked soldier? He was aware that everything around him was real, but it all felt like a dream.
In front of him, he saw Zorin Blitz and Danica on their Harley, speeding right at him. His sense of hearing and self preservation suddenly returned to him. Throwing himself to the side, Edward only just managed to avoid being run down.
Okay, he was terrified. Scratch that, he was beyond terrified at the moment. He wanted a drink. He wanted to suck his thumb. He wanted his mommy even though they’d been estranged for years. He wanted . . . Jasper!
Where was Jasper? Frantically he spun around, looking for blond hair that didn’t belong to Alexander Anderson. More shells fell, taking out a few more bikers but there was no sign of Jasper.
Oh God, was he alright? Had he been injured? Or worse?
He started to scream out the name of this mysterious man, “Jazz! Jazz! Jasper! JASPER!”
It was pathetic; he couldn’t even be heard over the din of the helicopter.
Elsewhere: at the entrance of the cemetery. “Boom.”
There was another explosion, but in the air and not on the ground. A rocket propelled grenade struck the side of the police helicopter.
In the cockpit, warning lights flashed and klaxons wailed. The pilot struggled to maintain any form of controlled flight. “Hang on, we’re going down!”
The helicopter went down past the line of trees, out of sight. From what his ears could tell him, the chopper had not landed gently. Its landing had shaken the ground nearly as badly as the mortar shots.
Edward turned around, tears starting to spill from his eyes. The gigantic fight was spilling into the cemetery. He couldn’t believe how many people were getting involved with this. It was like a football game out there, with hundreds of spectators all fighting it out.
He stepped a little closer, trying to get a better view of the main gates of the graveyard. Standing in the gates of the cemetery was a group of men. From this distance and in this darkness he couldn’t tell how they dressed or what they looked like. He only could see that one man was spinning something around with his hand.
Edward’s gut clenched. Despair and hopelessness washed over him. It was Revolver Ocelot. No other feeling he’d ever had could match or approximate this feeling of smallness and insignificance.
It seemed that no matter whom he called or what he did, Ocelot would always keep coming after him.
Tears now falling like a waterfall, Edward turned tail and ran into the trees as fast as his feet would take him. The fear and worry in his heart was as much for himself as it was for Jasper.
Ocelot was feeling a lot better. Sure, the blood loss was making him feel a bit woozy, but that was hardly anything. He’d got in touch with some friends. His friends had provided him with a couple of energy bars and some drugs to numb the pain of a missing arm.
Surrounding him was seven of his KBG mates, all of them eager to avenge Felix and Dmitri. There was Gregor “The Lech” Hakson, who’d have sex with anyone or anything. There was Vadim Mendeleev, who had a talent for gouging out people’s eyes.
Standing to the left of Ocelot was Sasha Drakesh, an artist with knuckle dusters. It was he that fired the RPG that downed the police chopper.
Then there were the twins, Edik and Ivan Berzin. Their faces would be the last you’d ever see if you so much as looked at them the wrong way.
Completing this hideous group of seven were two mysterious men nicknamed Vamp and Solidus. They recent members of the KBG and in the murky past had had the honor to serve with Revolver Ocelot.
Ocelot looked around at his boys, “Gentlemen, let’s broaden our minds.”
And with that, a tidal wave of rioters swept past them, using up any and all space in which to complete their fight.
While we're at it, I'd like to reccomend shallowswan's story Cullen Shagger D: Romancing the Nessie. It's a fantastic crossover that will be worth everybody's time.
I'd like to thank everybody that reads and reviews and everybody that puts this story on their favorites. The attention you lavish on this story means the world to me and I wish all of you long life and prosperity. :)
Stay Healthy,
Ta
Msster of the Boot
