Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or the other four series I have included in this oddity.
Beta Credits: Thanks to ReadingWhiz89, who is responsible for the title and numerous suggestions.
This is my first attempt at an anime fanfic, and a crossover at that, so please give me any suggestions you may have! Also, I would like to encourage reviewers to guess the series I have thrusted into Gunsmoke. Enjoy!
The night offered a sound beauty to the overburdened citizens of Inepril who were striving not only to maintain, but also improve the city. In the harsh, scorched deserts of the mad planet, the very fact that the community was even capable of elevation stirred the citizens to toil for the best. Not all places on Gunsmoke could say the same.
Learning to harness any resource available was key to survival. However, the spark of hope that ignited the will of the people came in the form of a red-coated drifter dedicated to a cause that few in the forsaken land would recognize. His incredible talents instilled a great unity in the people.
The town mayor instated a new job soon after the hero arrived. It involved a form of scouting, recovering lost technology from amidst the old rubble left in the desert from the Great Fall. Several volunteered to join the search, but few possessed the technical savvy required to operate the old machines and determine what and how to salvage material.
"Hey, Lewis, what's in this room?"
Anything that looked important to desert riders was brought to the local evaluator. Upon careful examination, the appraiser would then offer a sum on behalf of the city government. This hardly ever came to a considerable amount of double dollars, so several reserved the activity for leisure riding instead of a full-time job.
"Eh, old finds, junk that really has no important use, but looks pretty and is in good shape. Some weird stuff in there too. I'll show you what I mean after we finish stock tonight."
At the end of the week, the gathered materials would be hauled to a facility on the outskirts of town for management. Though involvement with lost technology might sound fascinating, dealing with the vast amount of material soon became monotonous to workers. The low pay did not help either.
"Yeah Floyd, just put the box by the table. Alright, now we can call it a night. Come with me."
The muscular man had stayed long enough to adjust to the work load, and knew exactly where things went almost before the manager himself did. The younger, skinnier worker was just beginning to realize the pains it took just to work with the old parts.
"That should give the researchers coming in next Tuesday enough to work with."
"Really think they'll find a use for any of that stuff? Looked like junk to me."
"Well, they've had some interesting finds, but nothing revolutionary. You'd be surprised at what they can make out of a few nuts and bolts."
They went through the door into a hall, very narrow in comparison to the larger section of the warehouse. The pair arrived at a skinny door. Floyd attempted to contain his excitement.
"On to the reliquary," said Lewis as he unlocked the door, flipped the outside switch, and entered, followed cautiously by his young apprentice-of-sorts.
The two entered a fair-sized room, adorned with paintings, sculptures, and strange pieces that seemed to lack any apparent use. The room itself was a dull space contrasting the opulence of several recovered objects.
"I hear they had all sorts of stuff like these in places called museums. Bet that's where most of this came from."
"What about those?"
Lewis turned to face the area where Floyd pointed: a pile of large, odd containers.
"Ah those," he murmured as he approached the ordered stack.
"One of our smarter guys told me it was some sort of cryogenic storage device, but didn't have time to check it. Said it may have had the stuff installed for some reason. They look like coffins to me. Ornate, yeah, but still just coffins. That one on top is still a mystery to me. Check out the engraving."
For some reason, Floyd hesitated. Something warned against his approach. There was no apparent fear, just a strange feeling. The intangible warning gave in and his muscles resumed, guiding him toward the container.
"It's not like it'll bite you," chuckled Lewis.
Ignoring him, Floyd quickly identified the tiny plaque Lewis mentioned. Time had not been too kind, as the damage rendered it partially illegible. He touched the oddity, then began to gently pressure what he thought to be the lid. It moved slightly, then fell shut. He tried again for the same reaction. Then he began reading the inscription.
"The bi… mes… name, eating… ings to make… What the hell is this?"
Lewis burst into a laugh, greatly humored by seeing someone experience the exact same muddled puzzle he encountered.
"Hah, I love showing that to people. Always the same reaction."
Floyd turned and returned to the other side of the room, wading through some antiques.
"But Lu, that doesn't even make sense! What could it have said even if it was legible? Some nut had a weird idea for an epitaph…"
"Dunno, but there was another one like these. They sent it off for whatever they do. Hey, did I tell you about this one piece over here…"
The subject drifted into the mass of decorations, distracting the workers from the dark liquid-like substance oozing from the small crevice that had been left by the youthful worker. It gravitated to the center of the dimly lit room before rising to the shape of a tall figure.
"And you see, no one's been able to figure out what this…"
Lewis' explanation was arrested by his sight of the monstrosity. Sets of eyes began to form irregularly on the flowing black mass. It was evident the dark matter had targeted him, but Lewis' body was paralyzed entirely out of his overwhelming fear of the unnatural beast.
It did not take the assistant too long to find the source of his friend's terror. The sight of the hellish creature had a different effect though; shaking in the demon's presence, he drew his revolver and fired all six rounds into the morphing being. The creature did not take this hostile attitude too well. It reared slightly from the impact of the bullets, but then charged, bending abnormally before shooting at the ground near the attacker's legs. The ooze then launched at great velocity toward the stomach of his foe, driving him upward to the ceiling.
Lewis watched, still frozen as the mighty hell-spawn pillar literally devoured his aid. Frantically, he reached for his own pistol and began to unload into the flowing eye-laden void as it formed into what appeared to be a long-haired man wearing an obscure leather outfit. A glowing red eye peaked from the dirty, drooping hair, bursting with arcane power.
The fully-formed humanoid then struck with its serpentine limb, severing Lewis' gun-arm in a fatal blow, splattering the timeless artifacts nearby. The other destructive arm reared back before jetting into and through his chest, then lifting the impaled body the demon began to lick the blood slowly dripping to his shoulder. Once satisfied, the victor thrust his arm downward, irreverently forcing off the corpse and slamming it to the ground.
A satisfied grin spread across his face, clearly pleased with his work. The jagged, tensed muscles in his body relaxed, and the being took a step backwards in a very odd manner. The seals on the gloved hands began to glow, even burn as the leather suit liquefied, morphing into a Victorian outfit complete with a long red overcoat. It began to speak in low volume with a deep, confident voice.
"Well, it seems we are no longer in England… how interesting."
Amused with his newfound knowledge, the monster-turned-man faced back to the stack of coffins. An invisible force lifted his former resting-place and gently laid it aside. Tightly he gripped the lid of the next container, and steadily opened it, revealing a woman in a yellow guard outfit, possibly that of a private militia.
"Awaken, police girl!"
The long-cold body stirred, and barely mouthed a word, but did little more.
"Your master summons you."
The body moved again, this time more gently, and raised a hand to grip the outer rim of the lid, then repeated, this time audible:
"Master…"
Then the blonde-haired woman opened her eyes to find her caller and rose from the coffin. She stepped from her bed and began to focus, first seeing the one she called master, and behind him the slaughter. More alert, she began to inquire of the situation in a British accent.
"M-Master Alucard? What happened? Where are we?"
"Why don't you find out for yourself? The meal is still fresh."
She responded to the offer with a skewed look. Though her initial fear of feeding had long been dispelled, it was still sometimes an uneasy task, however pleasing to her cravings. Approaching the pierced, one-armed corpse, the vampire took note of the crimson ceiling.
"If you were going to kill them you could've been a bit cleaner you know."
"Just see how you handle your inevitable craving, Seras. When our kind lie dormant for too long they must recover not only their strength, but also satisfy their thirst."
Seras Victoria understood what he meant, as her gaze upon the bloodied corpse grew more intent, more fascinated. Without thinking she cleanly bit into the neck of the man, and began to drain the blood, staining her sharp canines. At the first drops of blood the true hunger began, transforming the pupils of her eyes from their natural blue color to a burning red, and quickly she sucked what remained of the corpse dry. Ending the task, Seras rose from the body and turned to face the smiling Alucard. Distant memories began to flow into her mind, not all of which she immediately understood. She gripped her head for a moment, trying to understand some of the biological data provided by the life force. For the moment she let it settle, and soon her eyes reverted to their former color.
"What about him?" she asked Alucard while pointing to the smear above.
"I'll take him," Alucard replied, in a nondescript tone.
"What, are you going to lick him off the roof?"
"Hmph."
The molecules in the stain began to vibrate, and soon coursed in a slow steady flow. It moved across to the nearby wall, slid down to the surface, and drew toward the vampire as though he were a vacuum. The blood pooled under his feet and finally became absorbed by the entity.
"Fancy. Why can't I do that?"
"Oh, you will, once you discover how to transcend your mortality and harness your 'gift'."
She had grown accustomed to this type of response when asking such questions. In a way she understood what he said, but again was not entirely satisfied with the answer.
"So I gather we're stuck on some other… desert… planet?"
"Indeed."
"And… we're far isolated from Earth, much less London?"
"Your visions are correct, Police Girl."
"And… Hey! What are YOU doing here!?"
"I am everywhere…" began the dog-eared newcomer with a content tone before feeling the old vampire's cold steel pressed against his forehead.
"…and nowhere."
It was a little-known fact that New Oregon's hospital facility was top-notch. The medical staff had years of experience, as well as several of the salvaged machines recovered in Inepril. In their endeavors, the team had dissected both the hardware and software of such devices, recorded a vast array of data regarding treatment, and was always involved in a side-project that would contribute to the patients and the research database.
Their most recent success involved reviving a man who had been preserved from a time long before The Great Fall. Nothing was known of him other than the strange weaponry attached to his cryogenic chamber; some suggested it indicated he was some sort of warrior hero from long ago.
In any case, the researchers were astounded to find that the person did not operate in the same manner as most living humans. Although the body was far more durable than the average man's, it required certain biological enzymes and lubrications to remain functioning in one piece. The scientists believed a lack of this may have caused the disappearance of the subject's left hand. For this, a bionic replacement was attached to the body, and strangely enough integrated very well into the neural network.
For the first few days of monitoring him following the resurrection, no one could clearly understand what exactly the man was physically (despite bringing him back to life) or how he felt mentally. When questioned, he responded in a polite, yet weak manner. Soon the examiners had recorded enough information for the project, and decided it was time to move to another.
"So, you're leaving now?"
The tall, reborn man stood in the strange attire in which he had been discovered: the outfit was very unique in a black-red-and-white color scheme, and included a matching hat. The corresponding emblems adorning his suit were foreign.
"Yes, thank you for all you've done, Dr. Morgan."
It was, of course, a lie. Long ago, when last he was fully awake, he had been prepared to end his existence, to die alongside his old friend. After a long, difficult journey, his emotional instability had grown, his memories tormenting him at every turn. The battle had nearly ended so he could rest… but someone had decided otherwise. His silent discontent was aimed more at the ones who had preserved him; he could tell these kind doctors meant no ill, and could not come to admit his dissatisfaction after their hard work.
"Well, as you know, your weapons are still here, and I would suggest you take them on your way out. I don't know much about the old world you've come from, but here we have plenty of crime and violence. Even with your superhuman body, you may run into trouble. Some ammunition was found accompanying your equipment, but I'd suggest you take a trip to a small town west of here to stock up. You can find a gunsmith there. Remember what we've told you about Gunsmoke."
"How can I repay your services?"
"With the information we found in the process of your recovery. But if you still feel indebted, I would be interested in knowing your real name, Grave."
A dim smile appeared on the gunman's face as he headed to the doorway of his small hospital room, and stopped.
"There was a man once known as Brandon Heat. I am all that remains of that man."
Grave said little more as he checked out of the hospital.
A mere glance had told Vash more than he had wanted to know. The peaceful scene had been interrupted by this newcomer, and his intimidating appearance was more than enough to negate his innocence.
Upon the blue-haired man's right shoulder was mounted a grand white pauldron, and sticking from it an odd semi-circle of iron spikes. The other sported a chap-less skull tightly secured onto his white suit. He took a seat near the outlaw as he established a telepathic link. Before opening a mental conversation the man took a generous bite from his fresh hotdog.
'I finally found you, Vash the Stampede.'
'What? Who are you?'
'Legato. Legato Bluesummers.'
'What do you want from me?'
'Your life.'
He paused a moment before continuing.
'Perhaps that was a bit too dramatic. Actually I'm here as a messenger. That's right. I've come here to warn you. I'm afraid your life is going to end… today.'
'What?'
'Do you think I'm lying to you?'
Following his question, the poor girl who had rejected Vash's offer to play earlier returned, strangely drawn to the daunting man. Legato offered his second frank to the child and began to stroke her hair.
'I haven't given you a gift yet have I?'
And then, for a moment, Vash's mind somehow deceived him. In a slight instant, he heard the hand take an iron grasp, and violently wretch the head backwards. With a gasp, he turned to see the psychic man's hands raised to demonstrate his innocence, and then the girl left, giggling contentedly.
'Heh, your reaction was better than I had hoped. You're fun. And to think I could kill every man, woman, and child here in the blink of an eye if I wanted to… the power of death is intoxicating.'
Vash's expression had grown quickly from a surprised fear to a seething anger as the sweat became clearer on his forehead. He turned to face the man, but Legato still faced away from his subject.
'Don't be in so much of a hurry. You still have a little time left. Or…perhaps you don't. And don't worry, no one else needs to get hurt. So do you want to draw?'
Finally Legato turned the side of his face where Vash could take note of his one visible eye, a piercing golden hue. The humanoid typhoon did all he could to restrain himself.
'A wise choice. And oh, I almost forgot; this is a little farewell gift. It contains a lesson from me. I'll just leave it here.'
Legato left the hotdog bag as he walked from the square. As he disappeared a woman came running in panic, and screamed the murder of her husband, the shoemaker. Almost before the gunman realized what had passed, a voice sounded.
"Yes sir, that was the man!"
One quick hand grasped Vash's shoulder and soon following the other, while another pair applied the handcuffs.
"Hey, what's the big deal?"
"Don't act innocent, we have a plenty a' witnesses that'll testify. Yer' goin' to the joint, troublemaker!"
The outlaw's eyes widened as he realized he had been framed.
"Hey! I finally found you. I've been looking for you for a whole week!"
A heavy dust storm blew outside the Belding's Shoe Store. No one could be seen out on the streets; every town dweller had instinctively taken shelter in their homes or the town taverns.
"I was told that you're rarely open 'cuz you sell other stuff. Well, besides boots I mean. Who knew?"
The red-coated customer gave a slight chuckle. The owner wasn't very amused, but perhaps his ill-spirit could be contributed to the poor weather. It certainly did not impact the shopper's mind.
"Hey, sonny, you sure like to talk a lot. I hope you like to talk about boots for your sake."
The young-looking gunslinger leaned back, closing his eyes in a nervous manner as he responded.
"I do, heh heh, but there's something else I want to know.
I'll abide by your rules, I won't make any trouble. Come on,
what do you say?"
His expression then became exceptionally cold. In front of him, the insurance agents attempted to persuade the sheriff of his innocence, but to no avail. His concern, however, was not for his binding position, but rather for the "warning" the blue-haired man had delivered.
Somewhere far away, a rental ship cruised through space, the passengers completely unaware of the danger they would soon encounter.
"Hey, you agreed to come on this trip! Don't start with me!"
The brown-cloaked redhead had become as irate as he was impatient. With repairs on his prized ship long overdue and unnatural exhaustion afflciting the majority of his crew, Gene Starwind and his catlike friend had set off to track bounties and… possibly pleasure-cruise. Gene found it funny how he had once been sick of space travel, yet now enjoyed it over land more than ever. His recent journeys had done much to awaken his spirit of adventure.
"Just because that was such a BORING place! Any longer in that prison of a city and I would have SNAPPED!"
Gene had initiated yet another argument with a crew member. As captain, it could be argued that his skill in flight and combat outweighed his recklessness, but he still quarreled with anyone who would challenge him, and generally with little persuasive power. The matter was of little importance, and became completely meaningless when Gene noticed a familiar spaceship fly by.
"Wait, shut up."
"HEY!"
"I think I see that cargo ship from the ad, this'll be easy money!"
Aisha's anger simmered to doubt as she grabbed the thin electronic monitor. Holding it to the ship's window, she scrolled through the list of recent bounties, and discovered that for once Gene was correct. The device recorded a visual and confirmed the identity. The two-man crew hurried to their battle-stations, Gene instinctively piloting as Aisha's trigger finger screamed for the main gun.
"Target acquired!"
The odd little combat ship nicknamed GX3 (Hell if Gene knew why) was vastly inferior to the Outlaw Star, especially for a two-man crew. The speed was a painful joke, the cannon a weak pea-shooter compared to competitors, and the pathetic list of features out-stank even the lowest consumer standard.
"Alright, I'm going to push this hunk o' junk as hard as I can, be ready to fire when you come in range!"
Just as the armed ship came within that range, the bounty sped off at a much greater rate. The ctarl-ctarl failed to land a clean shot, and gave a growl of disapproval.
"Damn! I was afraid we'd have trouble with speed. I'll follow it. Aisha, keep your guard up!"
The fleeing vessel tried all manner of cutting turns, but Gene matched them with even more brilliant maneuvers, pushing the bulky mass to its absolute limit. It did not take much to outrun the GX3, but dealing with the persistence of the pilot was another matter entirely. Bend after bend and still the ship remained in pursuit. The smuggler considered how to use his superior spacecraft to his advantage over a game of chase. Soon enough, the opportunity arose.
"Well, are you even going to try to hit it?"
"Stay still for a second, and I'll get a shot off! WAIT! NO, NOT HERE!"
It was too late. Gene had fallen into a clever trap laid by his target, and had been led to a strange phenomenon he did not immediately recognize.
"What the hell is that thing? Some sort of space hole?!"
"I don't know, but you better do something Gene! It's pulling us in!"
In a flash, the oddity had swallowed them and violently spit them out into unidentified territory with great force. The phenomenon had been rumored to be a connection to separate time and space, though the portal's specific destination was impossible to predict.
The entire event happened in no time at all, much unlike what either Gene or Aisha had expected. When Gene could finally take control of the ship while unhindered by the turbulence or blinding light, his immediate concern was for the desert planet that began to draw him in.
"Shit, we're already too close to its gravitational field. Looks like we have to land here."
Gene's prediction was correct; the ship plummeted toward the greedy world as he aligned the angle of descent with the surface. A quick warning then flashed on the main control panel.
"What? Landing system inoperable?! WHAT THE HELL?!"
And in an entirely different realm came an entirely different struggle. In the grand terrible halls of a robotic metropolis reeking of the dull scent of oil, coolants, and other such lubricants, a mechanical squadron of peacekeepers dragged a body to an interrogation room. Following was their malevolent leader, a massive dictator sporting a vile bionic left arm, the dark steel laden with a set of keys corresponding to the functions of his armored suit, a dark red and black armor forged not simply for protection, but also the intimidation of his enemies.
The iron-fisted monolith of a man had led a dark path of betrayals in order to achieve his notoriety, and soon he would take a vital step to insuring that no man, army, or force of nature would disrupt his reign.
Finally, the group arrived at a doorway in the dimly-lit hall. One of the steel humanoids slammed the switch to activate the slide door. Slowly the shutter rose.
Deep in the terrible city's inner sanctum this room featured all manner of torturous equipment and sadistic devices reserved for experimental purposes. None of the machines, however, would match the fiendish reputation of the evil doctor's patent cyborg-maker. Those unfortunate enough to be selected for the cruel process became mindless drones, puppets of the warlord.
The red-haired teenager appeared to have been handled roughly by the assault squadron. The blue vest, cloak, and boots contrasted slightly with the dull iron surroundings despite being dirtied in her arrest. The dark orange battle-suit was hardly visible, making it a viable stealth option. Apparently the equipment failed to protect the wearer from the detection of a metal adversary, as demonstrated by the earlier skirmish.
"Dear nephew, do the bio-signs confirm her genetics?" asked the deep, distorted voice of the commander. He was met with a nasally answer.
"Yes sir, you are correct. This is indeed the daughter of Maximilian. She is the royal heir."
"Was, nephew, was."
The monstrous villain snapped his steel fingers, a signal to strap the dazed body to the hated machine.
"Now she will become my servant, and her ridiculous charade of a liberation organization will be eradicated."
Sensing the body secured on the chair by metallic restraints, the machine began to come to life, calculating the best method of converting flesh to machine. The high pitched electronic sound of the spinning blood-stained utensils finally awakened the sleeper, who immediately registered her predicament. The blue eyes focused, searching for any possibility of escape. There seemed to be none, and hope faded… before she identified a familiar blade mounted against the circuitry of the wall…
SHORT VERSION (for sheer amusement):
-player lewis66 enters the arena-
-player fl0yd enters the arena-
lewis66: lol loot
fl0yd: omg coffinz!11
lewis66: lol they dead noob
-player -HS-nolifeking enters the arena-
-HS-nolifeking: no u dead noob
-player fl0yd has been eliminated-
lewis66: wtf h4x!
-player lewis66 has been eliminated-
-player -HS-policegirl enters the arena-
-HS-nolifeking: sup
-HS-policegirl: wut map is tihs?
-player -1000-dogboy enters the arena-
-1000-dogboy: lol speedhax
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-player m0rg4n enters the arena-
-player BTG enters the arena-
BTG: thx for rez
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-player LUVnPIECE enters the arena-
-player GHGL3g0 enters the arena-
-GHG-L3g0: ima pwn j00.
LUVnPIECE: …
-player -GHG-L3g0 exits the arena-
-player LUVnPIECE has been kicked for team-killing-
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-player ST4RW1ND enters the arena-
-player -cc-catchick enters the arena-
ST4RW1ND: coo free kill : D
-cc-catchick--: w00t!
ST4RW1ND: WTF DIALUP!?!?!
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-player 1\/0 enters the arena-
-player shorty enters the arena-
-player -HoA-Sal enters the arena-
1\/0: you ma bish now
shorty: lol
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Thank you for tolerating my insanity if you made it this far. Be sure to check out my homepage for information, pics, and other cool stuff relating to this fanfic (and also my experimental gmod comic)!
And a note: The last series is a stretch, but look to the parody for more clues on its origin.