--- Episode 2: Ballad of Stories ---
The dim lighting flickered again before the power grid stabilized. Usually, low rumbling could be felt here and there, but dinner time had long passed. It was just the occasional night owls or overtime workers who would linger around the maintenance corridors now.
"Paranormal activity? Now that's one hell of a garbage to hear around here."
"Come on, it's a true story! Even some of the elders saw it!"
Oh, is that so…? He'd say that space colonization and the reality-altering property of Plant were no different than fantasy stuff. As he turned the wrench clockwise, he found it awfully hard to budge. Gritting his teeth, Brad threw all of his might in it for one last spin. He who could now call himself a real adult pulled himself out from the machinery, the flashlight on his safety helmet tilting while his brows were slick with sweat, oil and grime. He felt like taking a hot shower.
Where's my towel… right, it's on my shoulder.
After he wiped his face, it was a good time as any to get a smoke break. Taking a cigarette and a lighter, he bit on the former and ignited the latter.
Hah… nothing beats nicotine polluting your lungs after a job done well… "What's with that look?"
"Brad, you sure is acting like a punk these days. Not that you have ever been anything but that."
The man with a pompadour scowled. "You picking a fight or something, huh?"
His fellow mechanic raised a hand in a half-hearted sign of surrender. Brad clicked his tongue, though his tempers went down as fast it had appeared.
"I mean, this whole region is kind of always in a lockdown state." His peer threw up a dramatic shrug. "The gravity plant helps protect us from bandits, keep ourselves invisible, but it makes things eerie when night falls. Not even insect-variant sand worms could approach the area."
And what does that have to do with a dumb ghost story? "Didn't know you're into superstition bullshit like that."
"Oh, shut up. At least let me finish." The guy cleared his throat, even as Bradwick gradually and surely losing interests in the topic. "Ever since the Ark Incident, we've got a more stable line with Earth. The colonies stranded in this forsaken planet can be saved, and even if it's impossible to return because of what they said about cultural shifts and mores… There's still the treasure trove of knowledge and advanced technology to fix up all the plants that we have."
"Right…"
"So, then. That'd mean opening up closed off sections."
Bradwick groaned. This was getting nowhere, and he had longed to hit the bar more than two hours ago. "Can we get to the goddamn point already?"
The slacker had the nerves to complain when he didn't even once do much beyond talking about all the things everyone that lived in this colony ship knew as good as the back of their own hands. Thankfully, the tasteful flavour of the cigarette helped distract the head mechanic of the ship. Just a tiny bit.
"Ugh. I can't believe you, Brad." The slacker grumbled. "Fine, have it your way then, absolute killjoy."
Finally...! As Brad refilled his lungs with smokes, he leaned his back against the cold iron plating walls. He tuned out half of the things that entered his ears from right to left, but even as he lifted his chin, he could hardly see the colours of the skies. His team were particularly deep in the lower sections of the colony ship, close to the missing portion he had once ejected to dispose the grotesque "masterwork" of that son of a bitch.
Bastard should already be bone powder down there—
"Whenever the gravity plant is powering down, there's just this strange… figure of a headless man in a coat holding a photo frame to his chest."
Huh… a headless man in a coat, hm? "Oddly brutal. Just where do you even sight that kind of thing around here?"
"The cryogenic chamber and the… uuh, think it's the Plant hangar." His underling shrugged from his bored look. "Also, one of the high-definition cameras sighted the ghastly thing at the bottom of the valley, too. Right next to the section you ejected some years back."
…oh, is that how it is? Somehow, Brad found himself incapable of getting surprised, though he harshly sucked in more smokes than ever. The cigarette quickly was spent and a load of smokes drifted in the air. Amidst the haze scented with old oil and rust, memories evoked only to come apart.
Well, people like that rarely die in peace.
It was his just desert, he supposed. While Brad could age and die surrounded by his kin, the bastard down there would wander around this planet for eternity. He deserved that for killing the old man and so many others.
So long, sucker.
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The night was cold. Even worse with the absolutely hopeless climate of this sand-blasted planet that lied deep in the corner of the universe.
From the balcony made from repurposed cabin of a voyager age's colony ship, the moon waned past midnight. Rough winds blew from the dead tree-like wreckage which formed a radio communication tower.
It made her coat taking the brunt of the cold night air. Utterly noisy.
The radio tower was set to be dismantled this weekend, and in its place would stand a cutting-edge telecommunication array taken from a fallen Super Destroyer ship of the fleet she was associated with. It was something else, indeed.
What usually took half a day of construction back on the Sol System nearly took a year to build in this far-flung deep space zone. For some reasons, it made her realize how tough living was for the colonists and their descendants. Respect… well, that was reserved for the first generation who had managed to eke out their roots on this wasteland. The later generations, though?
"Mixed bag at best, downright infuriating at worst."
Chronica took a sip of her coffee. As part of the latest generation, her constitution barely required effort and energy to keep on working. That said, her superior could be a bit too considerate for his own good. It wasn't bad, just a bit… well, like having a doting uncle of some sorts. In any case, the last-minute fine-tuning was her personal touch, so hopefully they could make contact with Earth for minutes absent of noise tomorrow. It took times to launch enough satellites that could catch and ping back signals from the Sol System.
Next step, requesting large-scale humanitarian aid...
The resources that survived their fleet's crash landing had quickly dried up after the situation stabilized. Hundreds… if not thousands of quirks followed up as she saw witness to the greatest union of Plants history had ever recorded.
The dome set a fair distance below was slowly turning off most spotlights meant for work construction effort. When only several remained to highlight the broad shape of the Ark, workers traded places with security and the area was cordoned off, the site getting closed for the next few days-off. Many of the fleet's soldiers were equipped to the teeth, yet they lacked much information of the local. As such, teams were made with a native advisor assisting in the workflow. It wasn't the best setup, but it wasn't like they could complain much. Besides, their crushing defeat had made for a low morale, so the city council suggested the fleet crew to work across the region.
"Not the right season for stargazing, don't you think?"
Ah, there we go. A familiar face. A familiar voice. The tall stature of her direct superior appeared from the catwalk. With thin-rimmed glasses on his nose, a neatly shaved beard, and with solemn dignity in his posture. The familiar human let out a white breath that quickly dissipated in the roaring winds; his tattered coat fluttering in a futile resistance. The Plant raised an eyebrow.
Does he ever replace that coat?
"It's been several years," she started. "I didn't expect you to hang on to that thing for so long."
The man blinked. He pulled at the collar of his coat and chuckled. "Well, it doesn't look bad on me, does it?"
"Among the rest, I didn't expect you to take in the local culture so well, Captain."
"Hah. Yes, I suppose that's just how human adaptability goes. Though, it looks almost as if time has come to a standstill only for you." A short silence. "I was out of the line for that… I apologize."
"No offense taken." Chronica shrugged. It was their usual byplay. The fleet commander was the honest sort, maybe a bit blunt and willful even. In the way that the illustrious Stampede refused to take lives, her superior was one who could not hide his thoughts and conviction. Him expressing his fascination with Plant kind had been duly noted since their first meeting. "It's been a while since we last talked outside of work matters, Captain."
"True enough." The man approached. He stood next to her, his hands resting on the railing. The place he had set his gaze on was the unimaginatively named dome containing much of the colonies' old Plants. "What do you make of life here, then?"
Chronica glanced to the side. His profile, weathered from age and experience, was stern as stone. At the same time, he always raised the right questions. In the right time, in the right position. Sometimes, one could do more just by meeting specific criteria in a very specific situation. The folks from Central Government could learn a page or two from him.
"…well," the Plant in the shape of an adult female human muttered. The warm drink had started to cool down. Still passable, however. "Our food, gas and water are strictly rationed. The late military chief was at least diligent with internal management, so the adaptation procedures managed to come through just fine…"
Chronica paused, a topic suddenly coming to the forefront of her mind. She spun her head and threw a thousand-yard stare at her direct superior.
"Right. Tell the masses to get off from the goddamn dome." She grumbled, "I don't give a damn how grateful they are. Religious fervor are too radical of an influence for brats who haven't even finished forming their sense of selves."
"N-now that came right out of nowhere…" The Captain blinked dumbly.
"Who. Cares. If you can't scatter them, stop them from coming over every goddamn week! My work keep on piling up with all the freaks and cultists barging in!!"
"C-Chronica, calm down…! I'll bring it up in the next council meeting, so watch your step!! This isn't exactly the most stable platform!!"
Good, then! Common sense, at least, had yet to entirely vacate the Captain's head. His pride might have taken a harsh beating from having been thoroughly outwitted by Million Knives, but he was not so inflexible of a person to keep on bashing his head against the wall.
There are times and places for every approach.
Bullheadedness was best reserved for the absolute buffoons. She'd rather not have more overpowered Independents that swung between the two extremes of moral compass. Too many unknown. Too many variables to count. Too little ways to assure herself that everything which had worked elsewhere could be applied in this godforsaken planet.
Chronica clicked her tongue. "I also have other complaints—but that's not the answer you're looking for, right? Captain."
Taking his silence as her signal, Chronica rolled her shoulders. She lifted her chin, slowly adjusted her vision, and gazed upon the night sky. It was vast. Much too vast than back on Earth.
The wasteland stretched in all directions. The ribcage of the colonization ship's corpse became jagged claws that crawled towards the heavens. As if praying. As if hoping. As if they were the beaten fingers of a penitent seeking for salvation. What did the people, hopeful for a new start, think upon landing in this dead planet? What did they see, what did they feel, and what did they say as they looked towards the empty horizons?
This remote star system only answered with the baleful blazes of the suns and the frozen light of the moons.
"A hopeless place, is one thing." Chronica was a little surprised by the somberness in her own voice, though maybe it was a given. Children. Adults. Men and women and those weird insects alike. This sand-blasted hell wanted nothing more than to prey on those who were frail enough to expose their weakness. "A sad, dark and merciless prison that people ended up sealing themselves in."
She had scoured the records. 150 years of stasis… nay, perseverance. More than a century of scrapping things back up together just to create a semblance of a livable human habitat, poor and destitute by modern Earth standard. The spaceship wreckage became shelters from the scorching twin suns, Plants were unearthed, then technology proliferated to redevelop civilization. Little by little, little by little…
That fine, delicate balance broke with the first drop of bloodshed.
Human malice had won out.
She hadn't gotten much more than fragments back on Sol System, and what little thing she had salvaged from her access into her dear friend's last will drowned in the flame of vengeance. Now that she had to live with her failures, she recognized and accepted the reality of it all. The cruelty of man. The twisted obsessions that bore fruits to unending wickedness. The unimaginable suffering of her distant relatives… Independents—
Chronica blinked, tiny dots of colorful light spread across the sea of darkness far below on the surface.
It was a distraction. A crude show of colorful lights that portrayed the night life in this post-apocalyptic world. The sight just so happened to catch her eyes, and the distance and height allowed her to scoop up a sea of artificial stars amidst the hollow darkness. Obviously, she could hardly tell if those bright lights were just the lights of lamps, or the flashes of gunshots and grenades.
"Chronica?"
Chronica smiled, wan like the moonlight. The woman heaved a sigh, her spirit a little down from losing a bet. "It's like that gunman had said."
Give us a chance. You wouldn't want to regret it.
…
"I hope he eats shit."
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Standing on the side, the Captain pushed up his glasses. He secretly shelved away a fairly worrisome report for later dates. His co-worker really needed a break, from the looks of it. Or maybe he could just force her to take the vacations she kept on skipping under the excuse of being built different.
Yes, that sounded good…
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Hundreds of miles away. Past the ghost towns, occasional small settlements eked out a degree of life. As hardscapes that dotted the wasteland, the starlight began to grow faint. The scarred moons began to descend, their soft lights fading into the old night. Jet-black shadows melded with the world, disguising the movements of armed people who had been observing one small town from distances away.
The darkest hour was always before dawn.
Their steps were quick yet steady. The lead bullets in their holsters weighed their every footstep, the mechanical modifications adorning their bodies aching in the scattering sand particles across the dead land. In the cold of night, they arrived, a band of guns for hire; fast approaching a town targeted by a slob that cared only for the splendors of gold and the seduction of dictatorial authority.
But who cared about that? They all had been doing this gig for years, decades.
Even after the craziest incident in the history of mankind, you still needed money, water, food, and cravings. No matter what reason there might be, the world was ran by multiple different forces which hardly made any sense to anyone of them. Truth and flowery words could hardly fill their stomachs.
So, they went back to their old job.
To hurt, maim, kill, pillage, or even rape. It wasn't like they could turn back the clock and redo their whole lives anyway. It was much easier to stick with what they were familiar with. Nobody was free from sins. Nothing personal, right?
"Hrm~ huhuhh…"
A strange voice moaned out from the darkness.
An awful sound, like the murmurings of a drunkard. The murderers stopped in their tracks as a tall, lanky man with a tilted cowboy hat stumbled out of a dark alley. A pair of guns belted behind his waist. The red-faced loser was clearly out of it, but an inebriated gunman was always a nice spoil. They could start with this one, and those looked like some damn good gears he had…
"Oh, whoops!"
A gust of wind. An awkward upward swing of arm. The gunman tripped and suddenly reality stopped making sense. A pile of thrown up dirt replaced the drunkard, not a single trace of his figure on the scene.
The guy at the front felt a heavy, solid object pressed against his neck. It came from behind, but when he tried to rotate his head, he felt the barrel of a gun pressed deeper into his skin. The ghastly, impending premonition of death claimed his being then and there.
"W-what…!?"
"Whoa, there. Buddy, let's not do this, yeah?" A cowboy in tattered cloak that barely covered half of his rugged frame tipped his hat. The gunman was… a young man with a disfigured side to his face. His looks pissed him off, all smile and smelling of alcohols. But the gun he toted was real as can be. "There's only respectable citizens toiling for honest living here. A Plant sustains this town, so everyone will quickly fade into dust without it."
Is he threatening us?! The guy could have smeared his brains out any moment and he spent his chance with negotiations?! Did he feel himself so lucky? Did he think of himself an agent of justice, huh?!
What nerves!
"…now that's quite a bloodthirsty look." The sounds of clicking hammers, the swish of gun barrels, the rolling belt of bullets. A full dozen set of guns of all kinds aimed at the hero-wannabe, yet the drunken haze must have killed the naïve kid's survival instinct. "I guess you lots don't care about your friend? Not even a single sense of camaraderie between you all, wow."
The mercenary saw his chance. He lowered his hips, turned around and raised his revolver. "Die—!!"
Suddenly, a wall of blinding orange blocked his vision. He felt his retinas burning from the zero-distance contact with the curtains of light. Glints of silver and black flickered in the storm of light, and it was with loud sounds that threatened to rupture his eardrums that he suddenly felt a heavy impact slugging all of his limbs.
It burned. It burned!
It hurt!!
The mercenary wailed, screaming as his body hit the ground. When his elbows flexed, his muscles screamed from horrific sensations. The rustic scent of blood wafted in the air along with gunpowder smokes. Pain assailed his whole body, but why was he still alive? His arms… his legs… his hands…! Tears spilled along with saliva and snots, his vision clearing out only to see the other fools groaning in the same state. Wounded. Disabled. Crippled.
Only one person stood before them all. His mercenary gang… had been neutralized by a measly gunman sloshed in liquors!!
"Y-you…! Fucker…!!" The leader of the operation gasped. "You're not getting away with this…!!"
"Yeah, well. I heard that a lot," the dual-wielding gunman airily said as he picked up his hat. Patting away the sand off it, he wore it as if he had won the battle! How much was he looking down on them?! "So, how about this, then?"
The mercenary gasped.
Instead of the coldness pressed against his neck prior, it was a smoking hot gun barrel lingering dead center between his eyes. The maw of death waited upon him, glowing red after shooting a whole magazine of bullets at his gang.
He was going to die. He was going to die!
Why, why, why would this guy stand for a bunch of spineless weaklings…!?
"Now," the gunman said. A ghost of a cackle drifted in the air. He locked eyes with the bastard—and saw intent oozing from the guy's left eye. "You want to try that again, or do you want to have a taste of molten lead? I don't give a shit about your scores."
Insanity.
Murderous intent.
A trip of death.
This guy was dangerous. Way too dangerous! He needed to get away!
Get away get away get away get awaygetawaygetaway—!!
"Aaaasss if!"
A silver flash slammed down. His skull rattled, the blow so strong his pupils rolled into the white of his eyes. The mercenary's consciousness fell into darkness.
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Hmph, small fries. The lot of them.
There, there. Livio chuckled, hoisting himself up now that he was finished with rounding up all the hoodlums in one spot. Crowds clamoured a short distance away from him, citizens woken up by the obvious sparks of a shootout. It was just an instance, but life here was so harsh that people had grown sensitive to gunfire and threats of bloody murders.
And you're soft as always, Livio. Come on, where's my excitement?
"Well… it's not like I can help you with that, Razlo." He tipped his hat, a habit he had grown accustomed to these days. "I still need to get some information about the client who hired these good for nothings."
We aaaaaall know who that is.
Right… that was true enough.
At the core of it, many people had a hard time in changing their own tune, and this was one common example of it. One guy with too much money and too little thoughts to figure out what was best for himself. It started out with a simple brawl escalating into guns for hire. Going for the drastic measure just to claim one Plant indicated extraordinary obsession that refused to be let go.
Past history? A long-time grudge left to fester? Feh, that could be for later…
"Mister Gunman? Sir?"
Brought back to the present time, Livio blinked before dipping his head. Meeting the half-perplexed visage of the local sheriff made him smile wryly. It was out of reflex, all thanks to his timid personality. However, he also couldn't lie that it helped him remember his dearly beloved, and hellish past. The moustached old man pushing past the regular age for a peacekeeper talked about imprisonment and bounty issues over the hired thugs.
It was with a great deal reluctance on his part. There weren't enough space to contain the heaps of criminals until military police could come over.
Not enough food. Not enough hygiene supply. Not enough facilities and able manpower to confine cybernetic-enhanced outlaws far too willing to pull their triggers. Not enough time for the federal officers to come over and take these seeds of troubles before they rioted. A remote town which could only barely get by tended to live on a tightrope balancing act of resource management, so this was just the natural outcome. Livio's smile faltered. He could see one ending for these bandits, and it wasn't a pretty sight…
"Eek! One of them escaped!!"
Wait, what? Livio and the sheriff snapped their gazes at one guy who had somehow broken free of his restraints, prancing with unbalanced gait to his feet which showed glints of iron. His veins bulged and he panted and wheezed as if the demon was hot in pursuit.
Enhancement drugs, and fake legs—!
Just as Livio took aim, the roar of an engine swept in. From the shadow of a building rolled out a large passenger car boarded up with a satellite dish. It plowed through wooden barrels and racks, barely missing the building only to commit a sharp turn into the perimeter. The vehicle spun from left-to-right until it swung its side straight at the fleeing thug. With the solid sound of a hard object impacting a bulwark, the latter soared to the sky in an arc which made Livio wince and half-commit to a prayer.
That guy would live… sort of. All the implants meant the thug was harder to kill.
And then there was the car… Well, more like a van. Its wild rodeo spun it around for several times, which was quickly followed by a terrible growl. The tires screeched, the engine bucking like mad, and the van pounced to do a front wheelie that scared the crowds. It rapidly swerved which caused the townsfolk to scatter away, the gobsmacked Livio a bit late to realize it was coming his way.
Oh shit—
His alter ego's thought mirrored Livio in that exact same moment. The iron beast did another wheelie, this time on the side, and then it slid across the paved ground with a terrifying acceleration. The thugs cried for their lives. The sheriff cried for his life. Livio felt his heart jumping out of his mouth.
"DoryaaaaaAAAaaaaaAAAAHHH!"
In the last second. At the very last moment, a hair breadth away from getting himself turned into a human-shaped dent on the van, the vehicle screeched to a halt. Its whole frame stood on its right tires, mere degrees away from toppling on him like a boulder at the cliff's edge. As the iron beast groaned, it slowly tiled back to the other side. Finally, the van parked then and there, dead and silent to the world as if its earlier rampage was just a fever dream.
…
...ah, ain't that logo…?
Livio blinked. Once. Twice. When he gazed upon the scratched logo with blown up N, L, B, and C letters, memories resurfaced to the forefront of his skull like a runaway sandsteamer. The passenger door then powerfully slid open. What appeared next was familiar… way too familiar to the point of anxiety-inducing.
"Geho! Keho!! God… I'm still alive, thank goodness…" A tall lady with light-blonde hair limped out from the van, gripping on the dented door frame as a crutch to push forward. Her smile was easy, caring. However, beads of tears from having been thrown around by the van's wild maneuvers, dribbled down her cheeks. That strange mix of emotions made her out to be oddly childish and frail in spite of her larger-than-average stature. "Uuugh, Meryl… That was totally horrible, come on…"
As if that served as the next cue, the driver's door flew off its hinges. The whole thing bounced off the ground and crashed upon the rounded up thugs which elicited yet another round of miserable groans and squeaks. Livio traced a pair of boots, black tights, a white dress, and a two-toned cape with a neat design to it. Unceremoniously climbing out of the half-totaled van was a petite black-haired young woman who bore an impressively sharp gaze.
"Blah! Phwee!! Got some sand on my tongue, geh…" Patting herself off the dirt and grime, Meryl Stryfe shook her head before promptly looking up. "...ah."
...ah, indeed.
"Nope! Sorry, you're not the scoop I've been aiming for!!"
What.
The woman… Meryl crossed her arms. Her cheeks were puffed and she merely gave the crushed thugs behind a cursory glance before tapping the ground in annoyance… What the hell?
"Hey! That's rude to say when we haven't met each other for months, Meryl!!"
The woman in white turned her half-lidded gaze to her partner. Rather, she looked like she was utterly done for some reasons. "Milly, we've been seeing this guy for so many times it's not even funny."
"Still… Mrrrgh." Grumbling all the while, Milly gave up arguing and walked up. An apologetic smile graced her face. "Sorry about that, Mr. Livio. Good to see you again, yeah."
"Hm? Uhh… yeah, likewise."
Livio scratched his cheek awkwardly. Man, this was yet another of those weird turn of events he still couldn't get used to, even after all these years.
...on hindsight, maybe that was just the way their dynamic was. Fine by him.
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Some years ago… a story began. One so grand and ridiculous and fantastical beyond the wildest imagination. It was a tale which resounded throughout this sun-baked planet, engraved upon its surface forevermore. The magnitude as well as weight of that fairytale-like story remained in the hearts and minds of all who were still alive to this day.
Livio had been a part of that story. In the tail end of that legend which stretched over 150 years.
A bad guy through and through, his meek and timid self shrouded itself in the aegis of misguided faith and overly relied on his other self. He lost sight of himself, of others, even his own family. But well, that was now a story of the irreversible past. Presently, he made a living from hunting down bounties, prancing around as a busybody whenever possible, and also acting out the duty of a tradesman in some small capacity. No-man's Land never lacked thrills and excitements, so he just somehow… took up the last one as a side-side hustle.
Livio still didn't pick up a lighter to this day.
Does it even matter, anyway? He smiled wryly at Razlo's remark. Yeah, that was a good point. Did it even matter?
Stop that damn soliloquy then, it's maddening.
Livio huffed with a sniffle. Morning had swiftly arrived, but the town bustled with chaotic activities. Tensions were palpable, emotions running high and only slightly restrained from flying out of control. He believed there was a brawl or two happening, but nothing irreversible had happened just yet. The townspeople seemed to be cut of some good cloths, rather unusual but might be the norm when you lived so far out from larger settlements. The former Eye of Michael sorted his thoughts together and addressed the subject at hands.
"Well," he started. "Didn't think you would chase down news all the way out to the boonies like here."
"Excuse me, we do try to get by." Meryl drew away her glass from her lips, sitting across the round poker table repurposed for dining. She fiddled with the badge on her white dress only to let out a long sigh, "we've been following the latest rumors, but that turned to be a total dead end."
Right, right… that must be it, then. "Still looking for Vash? You sure are tenacious with your Typhoon Interview corner."
Though she puffed her chest in pride, smug and all, that didn't stop Meryl from deflating soon after. The news she covered revolved around the biggest, most elusive celebrity of No-man's Land. It was a respectable work ethic on her part to chase after Vash the Stampede's footsteps and successfully cornering him for a live interview times and again, but knowing that her livelihood depended on her TV program made her motive feel a bit smudged.
It was still infinitely better than turning to crimes, though.
"Hmph. You'd think the guy will eventually show up like a passing by storm, but he's improving himself only on how to scurry away like rat." Meryl lowered her eyelids and grumbled. "His bad habit is
absolutely incurable."
I think that has to do more with you outing his privacy to the public…| "Well, I don't really get it, but I'm guessing I'm your next lead, then?"
"Really?! You know where Vash is?!"
This woman swings her mood around like a goddamn pendulum, holy smokes. Livio had to agree with Razlo on this part, though he'd never be caught dead saying it out loud. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, yadda yadda. Pushing his hat from below with an index finger, Livio smiled, hapless. Milly in the meanwhile was completely indulging herself with her favorite drink.
Wow, they're total weirdos.
Livio promptly refrained from calling out the pot. That way lied a reign of chaos.
"...nah, not really. Haven't seen him for months either."
"Whaat? Stop getting my hopes up." Meryl slid back to her seat.
"I figured he'd be doing something special though." The gunman rubbed his stubbled chin. "The national mourning date for Lost July is today, right?"
Vash had no choice but to live as a wanderer. He originally had a mission to fulfil, a vision to realize, and a promise to keep. All that and some more reasons he picked up along the way eventually led him to the Lost July—formerly known as July—a flourishing city the Humanoid Typhoon held so dearly in his heart.
That city had vanished from the map overnight.
"Ugh. Now that you mention it…" Meryl sighed.
Yeah… logically, he'd go there, right? Logically, that is…
All three people on this table knew all too well the kind of person Vash was. The man would never stop moving if he had a goal to fulfil, a vision to realize, a mission to accomplish, and people to save. He'd mourn for the dead and regret his mistakes, but the past was the past. Moved by purposes he sometimes didn't even truly understand, the kind man had to keep on walking and fighting; away from the irrecoverable past, forward to the uncertain tomorrow. No matter how dark and scary the night was, Vash the Stampede had to—
"Here you are, kiddo! Breakfast's on the table!!"
Livio's nose twitched. From the kitchen, a wonderful aroma brewed up in the air, and no sooner after that, the friendly and burly cook walked out with a mountain of dishes on her hands. Even Milly and Meryl stopped drinking, drools leaking from the corners of their lips as dishes after dishes were laid out on the round poker table.
The ladies' eyes glinted. Like hungry cats, they immediately grabbed for the forks but the moment they launched their attacks—
"Mine!" Faster than his thought could perceive, Livio suddenly took the backseat as Razlo assumed direct control of his body. "All mine!!"
Oh, come on, Razlo…!
"Shut it! You don't get a feast like this often, Livio…!" Razlo held up the plate of stir-fried meat and vegetables and shovelled it all down his throat. He inhaled rather than ate the meal, the empty plate tossed aside in a blinding speed ungratefully. At least savour the taste!! "Shut! Next one…!"
"W-why, you…!" Meryl cried out, either aghast or infuriated judging by her pale white face. "Hey, stop! We didn't even eat dinner last night, you psychotic alternate personality… aaah, Milly!? How could you!!"
Indeed. Somehow, Milly had also stolen one of the dishes and consumed it all on her own initiative. That was the second plate down, and now there were only less savory dishes on the table. Livio could feel the muscles on his face twisting, an arrogant smirk thrown at the black-haired reporter courtesy of Razlo.
"Ugh…! Mghgghghgh…!" Meryl ground her teeth together, veins bulging around her temple. "That's it! Have at it, then…!!"
And so the three-way war for food commenced itself. The tranquil bar immediately overflowed with the noise of forks and spoons fighting against ceramic plates.
The occasional howling and hollering of humans who had devolved into ravenous animals, however, needed not be mentioned. Livio wasn't even sure who had blubbered out like a monkey tasting its first chocolate bar, but he guessed that human dignity had ignobly died in this table. Its defiled corpse probably didn't even want company. Then again, no matter how much you tried to rationalize an excuse, hungers were hard to beat.
It was at this moment that a functioning brain began to act up…
"Say… doesn't that mean Mr. Vash is at July right by now?" It was at that moment that the happy-go-lucky Milly stopped nursing her drink. "You know how he is, right? He's easily swayed by sentimentality, so going there seems like a matter of course."
Livio would have agreed on that sentiment, but he remembered another piece of news which had reached his ears a while back. Was it since last year, or was it six months ago?
Either way…
"Isn't Lost July a restricted area?" Livio chimed in, smoothly regaining controls of his body now that Razlo had gotten a bit distracted from filled stomach. He sensed a click of tongue from the depth of his subconsciousness, but his other self relented all the same. Probably off to sleep, how carefree. "Something about the previously opened Gate there being done in an extremely crude way that the local physical laws wildly fluctuated as a result… was it?"
That notification came about around a few months ago, he believed. Weirdly not from the main channel, and wasn't even using the national line shared together with NLBC. Normally speaking, official news went through all channels and transmission station, but matters related to Lost July tended to drown out in the wake of humanity's irrational fears of the unknown.
It was, after all, nothing but a crater now. Not even bloodstains remained in that empty burial ground.
"To this day, I still can't get used to the two of you switching back and forth like that…"
Livio raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "You're saying that after all the time we've seen each other?"
"Well, it isn't like your eccentricity takes the cake, but…" Meryl stared with narrowed eyes, hummed, laid her chin on her hand, and then nodded as if seemingly convinced by something. "Yeah. Life must be hectic with a voice in your own head like that, Livio."
Before the only gunman on the table could think up a response, Milly awkwardly cut in; completely used to the byplay. "Maybe the ban's lifted up, now?"
"Hmm. Reconstruction efforts for all big cities should be almost done, but I heard only vague rumors when it comes to Lost July's progress." Meryl suddenly brought up what everyone was thinking about. "Today's an auspicious date, so there's nothing wrong with unveiling a national monument or two. Even I, a novice reporter, can think up a flimsy excuse for publicity stunt like that. How is it we only heard so little, even from the federal government?"
"Aside from it being the marks of a living legend…" Livio hummed. The broadcast by NLBC announcing the mourning for Lost July abruptly appeared yesterday, even though there could have been plenty of times for it long before the due date. It felt a bit fishy, but he also couldn't dismiss the chance of it caused by the big wigs dismissing Lost July as… well, utterly lost. Nevertheless, something about this felt a teensy bit off… "Huh. Maybe it does bear some investigating."
Milly smiled. "Aha! So we're moving out? Like old times!!"
The atmosphere happened to be just right for that. Lost July was a long way from here, but it wasn't impossible to run across of him in the way. Knowing Vash, that man would somehow pop out in the weirdest place; caught in some complex problems he shouldn't have minded. The man was too kind for his own good, but that was why he shone so bright. Regardless, there wasn't much better things to do, except for…
"Well. Can I finish my business in this town, first?" Livio coughed, much to the dismay of the other two women. "Oh, come on! I need to earn some pretty pennies too, alright!?"
Meryl stuck out her tongue. "Fine… but I'll get some exclusive scoop from you! I need money to fix my car, dammit!!"
That's all on you for breaking the thing in the first place!!
A/N: The opening might be a bit slow-paced, but we're getting there. Then the real fun will start.