Elflord: Disclaimers, disclaimers . . . Don't own Vash. Don't own Knives.
In fact, don't own any part of Trigun. Don't own anything really. I'm
pretty damn broke. Thank you so for bringing it up. I so often forget it. I
mean, really, I can't see the peeling paint on my walls, the bareness of my
refrigerator, the torn, threadbare rags on my back, the hoards of insects-
Wolfwood: *walks up behind Elflord and whacks her over the head with the
big cross* Elflord: *gurgling sound* *passes out* Wolfwood: SHUT UP
ALREADY!!!
Wolfwood: Uh-oh . . .*sweats* I guess this means I have to put in the author's notes. Just so you know, Elf-breath here doesn't take plot as orthodox. She takes the parts of the plot she feels supports the fic, but does not feel inhibited about revising other parts according to her own interpretation to better support the fic. Please don't flame her for plot reasons. Um . . . there's something else . . . oh, I can't remember! Guess I'll have to wake her up. Well, anyways . . . *retrieves a bottle of holy water from pocket* I always carry an emergency spare. *opens cap and talks in priestly voice* Bless you, my child! *empties contents of bottle on Elflord's head* Elflord: *splutters and awakens* What happened? Wolfwood: *sweat drop, lying anime smile* Ah, my poor child! Smit by the devil at such a young age! I came just in time. I got to put in your author's notes as well. But didn't you have some more to say?
Elflord: *sweatdrop* actually . . . I have a confession to make. Wolfwood: *pulls out pop-up confessional* Put a quarter in the slot, m'dear. I'm all ears. Elflord: *-_-* Sure . . . *puts a quarter in* *chapel music starts play as Elflord speaks* Fanfic people . . . I've never actually . . . even seen any Trigun. I've researched it somewhat, but I've never even seen a single episode. All my research comes from a site called theotaku.com and reading fics on FF.net. I'm very interested. If you can give me info, please do, but if things are a little OOC, please don't flame. I can't take the heat. *chapel music stops* Wolfwood: Wonderfully said. Ten Hail Marys. Elflord: *goes off to corner, trying to remember how Hail Mary goes (I don't think she's Catholic)* Wolfwood:*anime smile, knowing she will never know*
Faders
Are you out there? But of course you are. Big Brother . . . he's always watching isn't he?
Never mind. It's a human's pun I've heard them use.
Besides, I suppose we don't know which of us is the older, do we? Indeed, we are definitive twins, born in almost the same instant. Which of us is a millisecond older? I doubt it matters.
I can imagine you laughing now, laughing at my curious manner of speech and my useless musings. How very predictable.
I think of you often. And when I do, can you imagine I can't help but laugh. Brothers, creatures of the same strain . . . and look where that's gotten us. In fact, where it's gotten me.
I laugh because I think of all you used to say. And I remember how I thought you were insane. I didn't want to believe what you used to say about them. I couldn't.
You told me they were a virus, a threat to this planet.
True.
A virus infects anything it touches, takes it over, and makes more of itself. It's almost funny, how terribly efficient it all is. No waste. They've barely been about a few seconds before they're dead. Pure justice. No mercy. As if mercy exists anyway.
And do you know what the thing is? When I truly look at them . . . what they've done with this planet, this beautiful ecosystem that they destroyed, the way they consume everything without producing . . . I can't help but default. So very much like a virus.
How they spend their lives with such small matters. It seems almost unnatural that creatures with time so limited would spend their whole lives on such frivolous things.
Emotions . . . what are these things they call emotions? Some prototype they have programmed into their psyche to convince themselves reality is just? That is my guess. I know more than anyone that I possess no such things. If you and I possess no such things, brother, than how could they be real? We, if any creatures ever created, were "born" without bias. And yet these things, these imaginations they call "emotion," did not come to us. They created them. It was convenient for them.
Strange, I did not know of any species that has the ability to delude itself. Indeed . . . so naïve, so unwitting . . . they ARE truly a virus. A very advanced virus, but all the same a virus. I guess that means you were right.
But things are a little different down here, brother.
For I have lived amongst these viruses, dear brother. And I . . . yes, even I, the stranger, the hybrid, a child of their own science . . . who would think that I would develop ersatz emotions? Who would know that my own powerful, intact psyche would harbor a mimic, a mime of the emotions these humans delude themselves with?
Emotion . . . what a hypocrite. They suppose to make you more sensitive to the needs of others, to show "love" and "kindness".
But no. Emotions are for thinking of oneself. Your "love", your "kindness", your primeval prides and pleasures . . . selfish mirages indeed. And in truth, they bring more pain, more angst.
Strange such importance should be set on such small, futile things, eh, brother?
The funny thing is . . . all these people who are following me . . . the bounty hunters, the Gun Ho, outlaws, scientists . . . all of them looking for me, trying to hurt/study/kill/capture/defeat/agonize/sell/etc. me . . . none of it has a point. It doesn't even matter. None of them could hurt me the way that I can; it doesn't even compare.
Because you don't even know what emotions, even fake ones, can do.
It's like being destroyed from the inside. Can you imagine what that's like? It reminds me of the sensation of vomiting. You hurting inside and outside, trying to let it out and keep it in, to keep your cool and being unable all in the same millisecond.
For behind this goofy, stupid persona, this gaudy white mask, there lies a dark, rotting secret.
Because despite my higher formed psyche, I have learned to despise what we were made to be, what I, on some level, still am.
Why were we created? For so long, so many long hours of so many sleepless nights, I have pondered. Were we truly meant to destroy them, as you so often affirmed? Or are we the broken brainchildren of a depraved scientific culture? Or (say it ain't so) . . .
Are we mistakes?
Don't try to tell me it's never occurred to you.
Yes, brother, errors; you and I. Is that possible? Of course it is.
Suppose we were created with the intent to surpass them in intellectual and physical abilities, but without free will. Imagine: you and I, created superior, yet faultless slaves. Yes, that sounds just like something this virus would imagine. Even the simple viruses have their servant cells.
Perhaps we, like machines, were meant for absolute obedience.
Weapons, apparatuses of death . . . that is one aspect of this virus that is unique of all others . . . mass annihilation. Could it have been that we were intended as such apparatus? Think of it; we are the ideal machinery for war: speedy, hard-wearing, tactical, efficient, accurate to a deadly letter . . . the perfect technology. We would have been perfect. But yet, will cannot be silenced forever . . .
But it is no longer a matter what inspired the creator. That is the past. We are the now. And now I have become a fugitive.
$$60,000,000,000; that's how much I'm worth to them. The greatest bounty ever put upon the head of a single man. Incredible, isn't it? I didn't even know such a vast amount of money existed. It's at least half of it, I know.
Apparently, my new name is 'Stampede'; I've seen it on my poster. My guess is it comes from my habit of utterly destroying property wherever I go. I'm not as terrible as they say. At least I do my best to miss people. It's better to spare them, I believe.
But then, what would you know of sparing?
Because I know what you think, brother. I know what you want to do to them. Genocide . . . an interesting idea, though a strange one. What would this world be like without human beings? What WOULD it have been had they never come at all? Probably for the better, I'd imagine. But genocide . . . now that's a heavy order. You think you and I, we, the children of advanced technologies, should be the executers of this apocalypse.
Excuse me if I decline. I'm not the mass killing type.
But that will never be enough for you.
Because I know you're watching, brother. Watching every move I make, putting even more obstacles in my way, trying to lead me from the path I've chosen . . . and laughing.
Do you know why you laugh? I do.
Admit it or not, you laugh because you're afraid of me. Yes, brother, afraid. Afraid because I have a reason to keep on fighting, to keep on living, when you only have hatred and zeal. Afraid because I have a sense of what I am and what I can be, while you have long ago given up on the price of your soul. Afraid because I made a choice and won, when you couldn't bear to struggle against the inner beast.
Afraid because I am a mirror of what you could have been, and, if you are still alive, still could be.
Because someday, my dear brother, we are going to fade, you and I. And though it may not be today or even tomorrow, make no doubt, the two of us will fade away. And when we fade away into the past, out of the sight of history and memory, this virus will still be here. Yes, the virus; the bestial, feral beings you fear and hate, the hypocritical yet sensitive beings that pull my false heart in all directions. For while the great beasts of the past; the Mammoths, the Dinosaurs, giant creatures of great renowned all are now extinct, the viruses that existed then still live now. Why should we not be the same? We, like those great and marvelous creatures of bygone days . . . will we not also fade in despite of our superiorities?
But here, I suppose, we finally see the most important difference between you and I, dear brother.
I am not afraid to fade. You would rather take the rest of them with you before you walk that road. I accept that all things in time walk the road to death. You want to perpetuate our kind until there are no more of them. I feel most important is to make the most of the time you have. You count your worth in years, perhaps even eons.
I know who I am. I'm not so sure about you.
Knowledge is power. With that power goes that responsibility. Some know how to use it. Few have the strength to wield it.
I'm waiting for you, my brother. Take your best shot.
THE END
Wolfwood: Uh-oh . . .*sweats* I guess this means I have to put in the author's notes. Just so you know, Elf-breath here doesn't take plot as orthodox. She takes the parts of the plot she feels supports the fic, but does not feel inhibited about revising other parts according to her own interpretation to better support the fic. Please don't flame her for plot reasons. Um . . . there's something else . . . oh, I can't remember! Guess I'll have to wake her up. Well, anyways . . . *retrieves a bottle of holy water from pocket* I always carry an emergency spare. *opens cap and talks in priestly voice* Bless you, my child! *empties contents of bottle on Elflord's head* Elflord: *splutters and awakens* What happened? Wolfwood: *sweat drop, lying anime smile* Ah, my poor child! Smit by the devil at such a young age! I came just in time. I got to put in your author's notes as well. But didn't you have some more to say?
Elflord: *sweatdrop* actually . . . I have a confession to make. Wolfwood: *pulls out pop-up confessional* Put a quarter in the slot, m'dear. I'm all ears. Elflord: *-_-* Sure . . . *puts a quarter in* *chapel music starts play as Elflord speaks* Fanfic people . . . I've never actually . . . even seen any Trigun. I've researched it somewhat, but I've never even seen a single episode. All my research comes from a site called theotaku.com and reading fics on FF.net. I'm very interested. If you can give me info, please do, but if things are a little OOC, please don't flame. I can't take the heat. *chapel music stops* Wolfwood: Wonderfully said. Ten Hail Marys. Elflord: *goes off to corner, trying to remember how Hail Mary goes (I don't think she's Catholic)* Wolfwood:*anime smile, knowing she will never know*
Faders
Are you out there? But of course you are. Big Brother . . . he's always watching isn't he?
Never mind. It's a human's pun I've heard them use.
Besides, I suppose we don't know which of us is the older, do we? Indeed, we are definitive twins, born in almost the same instant. Which of us is a millisecond older? I doubt it matters.
I can imagine you laughing now, laughing at my curious manner of speech and my useless musings. How very predictable.
I think of you often. And when I do, can you imagine I can't help but laugh. Brothers, creatures of the same strain . . . and look where that's gotten us. In fact, where it's gotten me.
I laugh because I think of all you used to say. And I remember how I thought you were insane. I didn't want to believe what you used to say about them. I couldn't.
You told me they were a virus, a threat to this planet.
True.
A virus infects anything it touches, takes it over, and makes more of itself. It's almost funny, how terribly efficient it all is. No waste. They've barely been about a few seconds before they're dead. Pure justice. No mercy. As if mercy exists anyway.
And do you know what the thing is? When I truly look at them . . . what they've done with this planet, this beautiful ecosystem that they destroyed, the way they consume everything without producing . . . I can't help but default. So very much like a virus.
How they spend their lives with such small matters. It seems almost unnatural that creatures with time so limited would spend their whole lives on such frivolous things.
Emotions . . . what are these things they call emotions? Some prototype they have programmed into their psyche to convince themselves reality is just? That is my guess. I know more than anyone that I possess no such things. If you and I possess no such things, brother, than how could they be real? We, if any creatures ever created, were "born" without bias. And yet these things, these imaginations they call "emotion," did not come to us. They created them. It was convenient for them.
Strange, I did not know of any species that has the ability to delude itself. Indeed . . . so naïve, so unwitting . . . they ARE truly a virus. A very advanced virus, but all the same a virus. I guess that means you were right.
But things are a little different down here, brother.
For I have lived amongst these viruses, dear brother. And I . . . yes, even I, the stranger, the hybrid, a child of their own science . . . who would think that I would develop ersatz emotions? Who would know that my own powerful, intact psyche would harbor a mimic, a mime of the emotions these humans delude themselves with?
Emotion . . . what a hypocrite. They suppose to make you more sensitive to the needs of others, to show "love" and "kindness".
But no. Emotions are for thinking of oneself. Your "love", your "kindness", your primeval prides and pleasures . . . selfish mirages indeed. And in truth, they bring more pain, more angst.
Strange such importance should be set on such small, futile things, eh, brother?
The funny thing is . . . all these people who are following me . . . the bounty hunters, the Gun Ho, outlaws, scientists . . . all of them looking for me, trying to hurt/study/kill/capture/defeat/agonize/sell/etc. me . . . none of it has a point. It doesn't even matter. None of them could hurt me the way that I can; it doesn't even compare.
Because you don't even know what emotions, even fake ones, can do.
It's like being destroyed from the inside. Can you imagine what that's like? It reminds me of the sensation of vomiting. You hurting inside and outside, trying to let it out and keep it in, to keep your cool and being unable all in the same millisecond.
For behind this goofy, stupid persona, this gaudy white mask, there lies a dark, rotting secret.
Because despite my higher formed psyche, I have learned to despise what we were made to be, what I, on some level, still am.
Why were we created? For so long, so many long hours of so many sleepless nights, I have pondered. Were we truly meant to destroy them, as you so often affirmed? Or are we the broken brainchildren of a depraved scientific culture? Or (say it ain't so) . . .
Are we mistakes?
Don't try to tell me it's never occurred to you.
Yes, brother, errors; you and I. Is that possible? Of course it is.
Suppose we were created with the intent to surpass them in intellectual and physical abilities, but without free will. Imagine: you and I, created superior, yet faultless slaves. Yes, that sounds just like something this virus would imagine. Even the simple viruses have their servant cells.
Perhaps we, like machines, were meant for absolute obedience.
Weapons, apparatuses of death . . . that is one aspect of this virus that is unique of all others . . . mass annihilation. Could it have been that we were intended as such apparatus? Think of it; we are the ideal machinery for war: speedy, hard-wearing, tactical, efficient, accurate to a deadly letter . . . the perfect technology. We would have been perfect. But yet, will cannot be silenced forever . . .
But it is no longer a matter what inspired the creator. That is the past. We are the now. And now I have become a fugitive.
$$60,000,000,000; that's how much I'm worth to them. The greatest bounty ever put upon the head of a single man. Incredible, isn't it? I didn't even know such a vast amount of money existed. It's at least half of it, I know.
Apparently, my new name is 'Stampede'; I've seen it on my poster. My guess is it comes from my habit of utterly destroying property wherever I go. I'm not as terrible as they say. At least I do my best to miss people. It's better to spare them, I believe.
But then, what would you know of sparing?
Because I know what you think, brother. I know what you want to do to them. Genocide . . . an interesting idea, though a strange one. What would this world be like without human beings? What WOULD it have been had they never come at all? Probably for the better, I'd imagine. But genocide . . . now that's a heavy order. You think you and I, we, the children of advanced technologies, should be the executers of this apocalypse.
Excuse me if I decline. I'm not the mass killing type.
But that will never be enough for you.
Because I know you're watching, brother. Watching every move I make, putting even more obstacles in my way, trying to lead me from the path I've chosen . . . and laughing.
Do you know why you laugh? I do.
Admit it or not, you laugh because you're afraid of me. Yes, brother, afraid. Afraid because I have a reason to keep on fighting, to keep on living, when you only have hatred and zeal. Afraid because I have a sense of what I am and what I can be, while you have long ago given up on the price of your soul. Afraid because I made a choice and won, when you couldn't bear to struggle against the inner beast.
Afraid because I am a mirror of what you could have been, and, if you are still alive, still could be.
Because someday, my dear brother, we are going to fade, you and I. And though it may not be today or even tomorrow, make no doubt, the two of us will fade away. And when we fade away into the past, out of the sight of history and memory, this virus will still be here. Yes, the virus; the bestial, feral beings you fear and hate, the hypocritical yet sensitive beings that pull my false heart in all directions. For while the great beasts of the past; the Mammoths, the Dinosaurs, giant creatures of great renowned all are now extinct, the viruses that existed then still live now. Why should we not be the same? We, like those great and marvelous creatures of bygone days . . . will we not also fade in despite of our superiorities?
But here, I suppose, we finally see the most important difference between you and I, dear brother.
I am not afraid to fade. You would rather take the rest of them with you before you walk that road. I accept that all things in time walk the road to death. You want to perpetuate our kind until there are no more of them. I feel most important is to make the most of the time you have. You count your worth in years, perhaps even eons.
I know who I am. I'm not so sure about you.
Knowledge is power. With that power goes that responsibility. Some know how to use it. Few have the strength to wield it.
I'm waiting for you, my brother. Take your best shot.
THE END