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    Summary

    “You pull a gun on everyone who stops here?” Wolfwood calls. “That’s not very hospitable of you.”

    The man lifts his weapon, points it towards Vash. 

    “You the Stampede?”

    Vash shrugs and Wolfwood releases the wrapping around the punisher. 

    “Wolfwood,” Vash warns. “No.”

    “I won’t kill you if you let us walk away,” Wolfwood calls. “We really didn’t mean any harm.”

    “We don’t need to fight,” Vash says, holding out his hands.  “I–”

    The sand in front of him explodes. Vash is gone when the dust clears, he’s behind Wolfwood, moving with inhuman speed to shove him hard towards the bike. The gun the man wields has to have some kind of modification. It leaves craters in the sand, holes that burn so hot little balls of glass litter the area around them. 

    “Fuck,” Vash gasps. “Fucking run.”

    Language:
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