Chapter Text
Prologue → 32nd Century, Gunsmoke
Location: Abandoned SEEDS project ship 32 isles from town “Greystone”.
Time: Late
Status: Hectic
Vash slips his boots across the sand-slicked metal floor of the ship, rounding the corner in a maneuver that is half-coordinated and all flailing limbs. Shots ring out behind him as he dives deeper into the bowels of the dimly lit ship, the reserve powers clearly due to fizzle out any day now. The bandits behind him are shouting obscenities, although frankly they are not the most creative Vash has heard in his time. A little half-baked, to be honest. Just like the ugly bald head of the leader in the gang. He wonders idly how people like that prevent sunburns while he tilts his own head out of the trajectory of a passing bullet. They must spend a fortune in SPF.
Sunburnt as they might be, the rag-tag gang is steadily catching up to Vash as he darts through the ship’s metal hallways. The 60 billion double-dollar man lets out a little yelp, for flair. He even does a little wiggle in the air for kicks as the bullets come a bit too close for comfort along his backside. These guys are pretty sloppy, but there’s at least one member of the gang with half-decent aim. He skids to a halt at the end of a hallway appearing to be a dead-end and turns around with his hands up, his face teetering somewhere between a grin and a grimace.
“Woah fellas! You’re sure we can’t talk this out?” Vash shouts in a friendly tone, waving his hand at the wrist to the group collecting ‘round the corner in front of him.
“You piece of shit!” one of the gunslingers shouts, his face red and sweaty with exertion. “The time for talking out your ass was when we was back on the ground, fifteen minutes ago! You’re as good as vulture-feed now you dumb bastard!”
His breath huffs out in front of him, the rest of the gang looking equally exhausted and pissed off. The gun in his right hand raises and clicks ominously, followed quickly by a dozen or so more from the men around him.
“Any last words, Vash the Stampede?”
“Nonononono-” Vash rushes out, his hands waving in front of him, “Come on now fellas, we don’t want to hurt anyone here right?”
“Oh yes we fuckin’ do!” Shouted a smaller man near the back, his gun waving comically in the air. The rest of his friends shout “Yeah!” in unison. Quite an impressive feat of camaraderie. It would touch Vash’s heart, were it not for the fact that their shared desire to see him dead was the driving force behind their union.
“I think we all need a minute to cool down,” Vash says, backing up slightly. The men’s guns do not lower. He lets out a little rushed chuckle, his grin sliding more towards a grimace. “Well, alright then-”
Quick as a flash, Vash flips his gun out, firing several shots in quick succession into a steam pipe running along the ceiling. The men in front gasp in surprise and pain as the hot air hits their faces, their arms instinctively rising upwards to cover their faces. Vash reaches his own hand backwards into the console behind him, breaking the glass and releasing the handle on an emergency air lock. The wall to the left of the group erupts loudly as it flings away from the side of the ship, bright sunlight flashing into the hallway next to the bandits.
“Well this has been a lot of fun guys, but I think I’ll be seeing you later!” Vash says with a flourishing wave of his hand. He fires off two more shots at the plating on the floor below their feet, releasing the rusting brackets away from the sheet of metal and shifting it outwards. The men shout in confusion and anger as they slide out the open wall next to them, their shouts growing progressively quieter as they slip out into the sun and heat of the desert below. Vash waits to hear them huff to a pile below before he lets out a long breath, humming to himself.
“Geez,” he says to the open air, holstering his gun and turning around. The console behind him is hissing angrily, the ship’s comms letting out a synthetic chirp as the decrepit system attempts to convey a message with whatever limited power it has in its reserves.
Vash’s brows furrow. Is there a plant still active in this ship somehow? He ducks back through the corridors, cutting around through the maze of hallways towards the center of the ship. Sure enough, a pre-recorded message begins to play over the intercom system, warning him of an imminent power failure. The ghostly voice warbles and distorts, cutting out as Vash approaches a large door marked with caution signs and strict warnings about approved personnel. Well, he’s pretty sure he’s approved, given the circumstances, and Vash yanks the old door open, his prosthetic creaking along with the old metal sliding door as it is forced apart.
The center of the room is grim. A plant bulb fizzles weakly, its sickly red light reduced to a somber maroon, barely producing enough ambient light to see by. It’s beyond saving, Vash knows, but he still rushes forwards to put his palm against the glass. A pit forms in his stomach and that old feeling of failure, of mourning, of something - gnaws against his ribcage. He lets out a huff of air, sliding down to a crouching position in front of the console.
He’s only in that position for a brief moment of wallowing before a noise to his right brings him back to focus. His head snaps up at the sound, an aggressive synthetic hissing, as a hatch disconnects and begins to open from within the wall next to the plant. Vash’s eyes widen in recognition and he darts forward on instinct, his arms outstretched.
He used to spend hours aboard the ships cryo-sleep room. Making up names for the people peacefully sealed away, creating histories for them, imagining who might be friends or neighbors or rivals. Never speaking to any of them but imagining them as close friends anyway. He’d recognize these enclosures with his eyes closed, although he’s never exactly seen one open before. It’s cold and it smells sterile, something foreign on this dusty planet, but the result of the hatch falling open is predictable. He’s able to make it in time as the human falls out, the body landing squarely in his open arms. Nice catch!
Vash leans down, setting the body gently on the floor of the ship. It’s such an unusual sight. He recognizes the standard set of cryo-sleep jumpers, the intricate blue patterns over the white latex of the suit. So clean. He reaches his hand forward and feels for a pulse, letting out a shocked sigh of relief as he finds it, strong and thrumming with life along the neck. How long has this human been aboard this ship, sleeping away as the relentless sandstorms of gunsmoke beat against the metal hull of their cocoon? They look healthy at least, no clear signs of injury. Vash lets out a strained laugh, feeling a weird sense of joy at seeing this little pocket of life tucked away next to the dying plant. Guess this wasn’t all bad today.
His sense of relief is short lived, as soon as the sound leaves his lips your eyes flash open, a huge gasp of air filling your chest. Your pupils lock onto his face, then scan throughout the room, settling on the ominous husk of the plant. You let out a furious yell, sitting up abruptly to fist your hands into the front of his jacket.
“What the fuck did you do?!” You shout, your face inches away from Vash’s.
“I-” Vash stammers, unable to make any sort of comeback before your eyes roll back and your eyelids flutter closed.
You make a pathetic whump as your head knocks back against the metal floor of the ship.
“... don’t think you should sit up so fast.” Vash finishes, his arms hanging weakly at his sides as he stares down at you.
Well, what now?