The Winding Desert
Author Note: Where most Destiny crossover include RWBY I'd thought I'd try something a little different. So, I was wondering, what if seven colony ships escaped the early stages of the Collapse. And these ships were collectively called the SEEDS project by their descendants? That where it leads to Trigun's setting, and the thing about Plants, they kinda remind me of the Traveller, but the problem is that they are interdimensional beings.
Chapter 1
No Man's Land was a desolate world; it was desert everywhere save for the seven cities that most of the humans congregated around. And whatever small towns that laid outside them often were plagued by outlaws and highwaymen, it was where the blue-skinned redheaded woman came in. She was one of the bounty hunters wandering the wastes. Looking down to the Smith and Wesson Tri-lock that she had been given by her father as a gift on her 18th birthday, she smiled.
Her father was a strange one. His trances and the strange mumblings about "the storm" aside, he was a renowned scientist ever since their village appeared mysteriously among the outskirts of December 21 years ago; at that time, he had been newly reborn, from what little he had told her, and he had saved her mother from some Fallen dregs when they first met. They had married and a year after that Ania Solezulam had been born.
December was the second largest city; their industries there were based around some form of metallurgy and the place was well-known for having some of the best gun foundries. During the Great Octovern-December War some 70 years ago, the egomaniac Daimon McCrage had tried to seize them in an attempt to build up armies to unify No Man's Land in an empire with him as the head. It had failed miserably. He had been found dead in his bed, a knife in the heart, the result of a successful assassination attempt.
No one mourned his death. According to records, the man was a lout and had a history of bullying people to do what he wanted done. He was also kind of a lecher and had a propensity to rape teenage girls and young women who had worked for him. Her father also had a poor opinion of McCrage.
"He ruled through fear because he was incompetent," He had lamented when the two had paged through the history books at the library.
She had seen the floating AI that had followed him all her life; it was called Echo, and from what little she knew of the AI it often worked in tandem with him.
Ania readjusted the thin gold leather band that sat around her head. Her hair was in a straight chin-length style that she had worn ever since she was four. Her clothing consisted of a pair of black khaki cargo pants helped up by a gray holstered belt, a black long-sleeve turtleneck, and charcoal below-elbow leather gloves that went over her sleeves. A matching gray leather harness crisscrossed her chest, with one strap held up by two shoulder straps, while a thicker secondary one sat snugly under her unremarkable breasts. It had all joined in the back in the form of a racerback style.
Over the clothing sat a black cape that she had ordered in the catalog six months before she came of age. It had two gold stripes at the bottom edge and the hood was roomy enough that Ania could conceal her upper face and her glowing yellow eyes. The sturdy black buckled boots she wore had been re-soled two days ago: she had worn them out through the various journeys hunting the outlaws that terrorized the wastelands.
JOHANN WESTLAKE – WANTED FOR MURDER, EXTORTION, FRAUD AND THEFT OVER $$6,000.
The caricature on the poster she held in one hand depicted a skinny man with a weak chin, several scars on his faces and a big moustache. He had a smug smirk that Ania wished she could wipe off, and the ID number for the bounty was 231-40-92177. The first number was the area code; this referenced the area his crimes first begun. From what she had recalled it was where the gambling city of New Las Vegas was located. That city was situated 170 kilometres southwest from Old July. 40 represented the city's registry number in the archives that the old colony ships held. The last was far more well-known. It was Westlake's criminal ID number, and it was entered at the time of his first arrest and it was updated with additional info every time he committed another criminal act.
Johann Westlake had begun out as a small-time thug in the new Pozzologio drug cartel, but the more established factions in the drug trade hit back after the newcomers had tried to take it share of the burgeoning opiate trade in Old July and December. It had ended up becoming an all-out turf war including all factions, including the Jaxx Penthousers, a notorious gang that had once operated in the once-wealthy Pretia district of December. Ania had took out the leaders at the behest of an scientist who had suspected that there was old technology that would have been useful to further terraform No Man's Land buried under there. His search had not been fruitless, as during the trip they had found some technology that had been brought over from Earth with the SEEDS projects and left there to rot after Million Knives had crashed the ships on this forsaken world.
Her father, Cegrim Von and several other eggheads had been brought in to study the place they had found. After his AI had scanned the tech it turned out they were specialized computers that were designed to scan things in space and provide the experts there with data they could further study. They were reprogrammed to scan No Man's Land for any abundant water sources, as a further way to supplement the Plants' finite powers.
Johann Westlake begin climbing the ranks of the Pozzologio cartel with alarming rapidity, offing rivals at every opportunity; But when the turf wars had wiped the newly minted cartel out the man had fled into the wastes. He then begun extorting the businesses of the towns he came across and even murdered a few owners along the way. The final straw had come when he had stolen a prototype gun and used it to kill the CEO of DioBrek Limited, as well as his entire family in an attempt to seize control of the company's assets and redistribute it toward crime. The local authorities eventually assigned a starting bounty of five hundred thousand double dollars to Westlake, but as the years passed it slowly ballooned to 3 billion.
The information she had gathered from the denizens of Valdoor had indicated that he was heading toward Dankin Town; this was why she had boarded the bus there.
A sonata of gunfire rang out in whatever remote corner of No Man's Land; A saloon crumbled to dust under the heavy onslaught. The people had already fled the area when they had heard that the Humanoid Typhoon was in this area.
Five gunslingers stood in front of the destroyed saloon. A blond man clothed in a red trench coat stood up from the barstool. He pushed up his yellow-lensed sunglasses up his nose.
"I finally found you," a giant of a man laughed, "Vash the Stampede." His green mohawk and prosethic arm gave him away as a famed bandit called Descartes. His giant boomerang had already cleaved the roof off the aforementioned building. No one knew how the man had gained his monstrous stature. Some rumors had said he had been volunteered for an experimental super soldier program, others said it was the result of a chemical attack on his home village and others said he had a genetic mutation that caused such enormous growth. It was not uncommon to see such mutants on the world of No Man's Land. Vash had seen many things like that in his journeys, including a blue-skinned family with glowing eyes.
He drew his gun and begun shooting, but the sounds of his gun came out as empty clicks. He panicked and fled, dodging every bullet, ever went as far to creep across the ground like a spider. Once there was a lull in the shootings, Vash hid behind a rock, breathing a sigh of relief. He then tried to sneak away from the bandit's sight.
"Traveler…" Ania was shocked at the extent of the damage that had devastated Dankin Town; the place had been pocked with bullet holes and there was evidence of explosive-based damage. But the strangest thing about the place was that the entire populace was still alive; when she had asked if there were any fatalities the doctors said there were virtually none.
A golden-haired man in a gray suit and a fedora leaned against one of the remaining walls as she entered the sheriff's building.
"What does he look like?" he asked the frazzled sheriff.
"A short-legged giant in red. Green mohawk, and a metal arm," The officer replied, "I didn't get a good look at him."
"Thanks," the gray-clad man replied, slamming the door behind him as he left the building.
"Whatever you do, stay away from him! For your own good!"
Ania could see the thin cross-shaped gun he carried on his back as he walked away.
She turned to the sheriff.
"Where is Johann Westlake?" she asked, her arms crossed across her chest as she stood in the centre of the room.
"That guy I talked with got him a few hours earlier," The sheriff replied.
She sighed. Another missed bounty, again. Her father wouldn't be happy to hear about it, as much of the extra money she had earned from bounties funded his research to develop new, smaller Plant containers to place in far-flung towns like this one. Even with his intellect he still had to face roadblocks, like a corrupt grant system that favored the well-connected and wealthy over newcomers like him, and political wrangling in the Council of Technological Research.
"Another denied grant. These Traveler-damned nitwits don't still get it," A tall blue-skinned man cursed again, holding up a rejection letter. He had red hair in a closely chopped buzz cut and his green eyes glowed like nightlights in the drab quarters where he frequently worked.
"Guardian, I understand your frustration. The pointless squabbles these dunderheads indulge in waste resources and slow down innovation," His Ghost, Echo, nodded in agreement, "Even then people tend to let their egos take priority over sound reasoning."
"Cegrim, I've brought tea," a lilac-skinned woman entered the room, carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups. Her waist length silver hair was styled in such a way that it resembled ocean waves, and her yellow eyes gazed at him. She wore a white bustier dress with a thigh-high slit, a coin pendant and a pair of strappy black pumps.
"Thanks, Larymissa," Cegrim took one of the teacups, sipped it and took a long deep breath.
"The last few days has been frustrating. They approved an application to explore alien ruins to the north of Old July. I warned against it, and so did many others!" He spat out.
"And the fact that these ruins have signs of Darkness-caused interference should be enough warning on it own," Echo's flutters resembled the paces that a frustrated person might make around the room.
He had visited the ruins briefly, during a stop in Old July when his daughter was four. When Cegrim had sensed the presence of the Darkness, he had been in a train heading toward Octovern for a conference. It had led him toward the ruin of an alien temple; Whoever had found this temple had been smart enough to bomb the fuck out of this place, and with good reason. He had quickly discovered that it used to be a Hive spawning point before it was abandoned.
Little Ania had been left with her mother at a small hotel while he did the dirty work of purifying whatever remained of that taint with his Light. It had been his first and only time he had even used his powers to its fullest extent. Even then, he wouldn't risk the chances of other people fiddling with the ruins. As a Warlock he was a fountain of knowledge and wisdom, although it had come with its negatives. Like the trances he often went into when he was communing with the storms above December. The stares people sent him when he did that was beyond embarrassing. And there was that hated moniker, the Storm Whisperer; it reminded Cegrim of his glaring difference.
Unlike most Warlocks, he was clad in the civilian attire of No Man's Land as wearing the robes of the class would be highly frowned upon here. There were weird cults in the world's history that had caused a lot of damage. The Sacred Circle of Gil'ead was one such group. They were a group of humans who fanatically adhered to the tenets of the Old Testament of the Bible; they tried to compel the people of No Man's Land in obeying their twisted vison. Their terroristic activities had been brought to a halt with brutal efficacy by No Man's Land's combined forces over fifty years ago. The leaders were well-known for wearing robes. To see old vids of them being paraded down the streets in cuffs reminded Cegrim of how twisted the human species could be, to war among themselves.
His attire consisted of black loafers, gray twill pants, a maroon button-up shirt overlaid by a black, gold and maroon argyle vest. The necktie he wore was woven in shades of olive, drab maroon and bright yellow, and it was tucked in his vest. It was all covered by a white lab coat, and his Warlock bond was wrapped around his left bicep.
"By the Nine, did you get rejected again, my love?" Larymissa asked as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in closer.
"Yes. I still can smell the rampant cronyism in that fucking application process," he replied as he pulled her in for a passionate kiss.
"I received a letter from our dear Ania today. She said that the previous mayor of Valdoor was murdered by his brother-in law, along with three of his contacts. She killed the man after a year-long hunt two months ago," she caressed his cheek and jaw.
"How much was his bounty worth?"
"Three hundred thousand double dollars, Cegrim. It's a good start for her this year," She chuckled, "I still remember when she was a newborn. She kept us up all night."
"Even as a baby she was quite the introvert. And her explorer streak manifested itself when she was seven months," He let out a laugh, "Ania was constantly getting in things she shouldn't and climbing all over the house."
"Like the time she tried to climb to the counter to steal from the cookie jar?"
"Yes. And I remember that when we enrolled her in art classes, she took to it like a fish in water," he nuzzled Larymissa's neck.
"Are you on the same wavelength?" she swayed her hips.
"Yes," He shivered with anticipation. Tonight was going to be fun.
"All residents, go to your designated shelter areas. The next update will be at 1:30 PM. Please enjoy our music selection," a loudspeaker blared over the nameless bar that Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson had entered.
"What will it be?" The bartender asked as he wiped the moisture off another freshly-washed glass for the umpteenth time.
"A banana sundae," Meryl's answer was met with a nod from the bartender.
"A Mille-feuille with Ceylon tea!" Milly raised a single finger.
"Listen, misses, that gag won't work unless you order milk," a man lifted a table and slammed it down, his gaunt face in a lecherous grin.
"Then we'll give you all the milk you'll want," another man interjected in. His greasy hair looked like it hadn't been shampooed in months.
"Although it wouldn't be free," a third man added, his buckteeth showing.
"But I don't want milk, I want Ceylon tea," Milly's protests were met with derision.
Suddenly, a loud slam came from the ground; Milly's giant stungun hit the table. It then collided with the first man in the face. He yelped in pain, and the two men picked him up by the shoulders.
"I'm sorry!"
"You clumsy bitch!"
"It seems the strap on my gun has broken again," She gave out a nervous chuckle.
"You have a spare strap, do you? Be more careful next time," Meryl's reminder to Milly was kind of embarrassing.
The group ran off, dragging their injured comrade with them.
The door opened again, and a hooded blue-skinned woman stepped in. Meryl couldn't help but stare at her, the fact that her peculiarity made her stand out from the crowd.
"One curry udon soup, please," she approached the counter, a faint frown on her face.
"One moment, please," The bartender answered her, before he brought out Milly's order. He then did the same with Meryl's order.
She seemed to have noticed the stares the duo was sending her.
"Stop staring at me! It's so embarrassing," the woman responded as she pushed her hood off her head, "My name is Ania Solezulam."
Meryl could see her face; there were curving red markings that had circles on the bottom. These had dots on opposite sides of the circles and fang-like markings under them. They went across her glowing yellow eyes and she didn't wear lipstick, unlike most women Meryl had seen so far. Her face was heart-shaped, but it was so plain as to be unremarkable.
"What happened to make your skin that way?" it was one of these rare moments that Meryl desperately wanted to give her partner a good slap on the head.
"It's a very long story, but the short gist of it is that my ancestors tried to flee a war, but they were transformed during that attempt," Her answer shocked the insurance agents, "My family and I are what's collectively known as Awoken. You're probably never seen the rest of my kind."
"Holy shit!"
"So, what is a gunslinger like you doing here?" Meryl had noticed the gun holstered at her right hip.
"I'm seeking Harry Wilkes. He's a nasty fraudster who embezzled billions of dollars from firms he worked with in the past. A passing Catholic priest pointed me toward Fenlarl Town," her answer was not surprising.
"That's where we're going. Vash the Stampede was spotted in that town recently." Milly interjected.
"Are you after the 60 billion double dollars bounty on his head?" Ania's question caught the two insurance agents off guard.
"No way! We're insurance agents with the Bernadelli Insurance Society. We were sent to assess the claims involving the Humanoid Typhoon," Meryl held up her hands in vexation, sweatdrops on her head.
A hand reached out of the sand, ensnaring the leg of a bounty hunter. A head of spiky blond hair not unlike needles followed; Vash exhaled. He had taken to hiding in the sand to throw off his pursuers.
'I thought I'd suffocate,' He thought.
"Pardon me?
As the man tripped, he took the moment to pick the man's body for any ammunition. Vash grinned as he inspected the bullet he had just nicked.
"Thanks to you guys… I nearly went to pieces. It's a miracle that I got away," his monologue was quickly cut off as more gunshots rang out to his left; he threw his Colt .40 like one would a boomerang. More of Descartes's henchmen showed up and Vash panicked again, dodging the volleys of gunfire headed his way. He managed to hide in a small rock arch, for a while until he saw one of the gunmen looking out it, searching for him. Grabbing the subject's gun, he aimed it at a nearby rock, using it to draw a funny face on it with the bullets he was firing.
"Don't move now! I've got you in my sights!" he snickered, holding his gun against his pursuer's head.
"Boss, he's over here," he shouted.
"Er, I'd rather see you lower your gun. Quietly," Vash's response was met with disbelief.
"Forget it."
"Surely you don't like pain?"
"I'm used to it,"
The conversation lasted for a few moments; the man didn't notice the boomerang flying at Vash's head.
"GET DOWN!"
It cut through the rock, and simultaneously bisected it. Descartes stepped through the breach. Vash winced in pain, his face serious.
"B-Boss!," the man Vash was chatting with exclaimed.
"Well done. I commend you," Descartes's smirk reminded the red-clad gunslinger of the dozens and dozens of bounty hunters he had faced in the last 20 years.
"—The pain-,"
"—You hurt your pal, too. Where is the justice in that?" Vash asked, a hint of anger in his voice.
"We are not pals, we are partners in fate!," Descartes's sarcastic reply didn't do anything to mollify the blonde's inward concern, "His happiness is my happiness!"
"That's beautiful," he cried crocodile tears, even as he was inwardly formulating a plan to take the giant down.
"Go ahead and shoot me… if that big gun of your isn't for show,"
"I can't stand the sight of blood! The sight of it make me faint!"
"Okay, then! Let's see what happens when you see your own blood!" Descartes kicked the gunslinger Vash had just conversed with. The man landed in his arms, his shuddering cries reminding him of the pain this man was in.
"See how devoted he is? " Descartes pointed it out; Vash was tied up immediately. He screamed as he struggled to break free of the rope.
The sound of three sets of footstep approached in the distance; unbeknownst to the Humanoid Typhoon, they were heading toward him. That encounter would change his life.
Author note: What do you think? Anything to improve on?