A Note From The Author

It is highly recommended you read this and understand what I am about to say here, before indulging right into this story.

My first warning. This story will hint at and possibly contain actual spoilers from the anime series. You have been warned.

My second warning. The way I have this story envisioned, a lot of it will go against the actual story line of the Trigun world. A lot will remain the same, but a lot will change. I hope you will find MY version just as entertaining.

I do suppose I need to explain how I came up with the idea for this story. It is rather complicated really, but I will try and make it as easy to understand as possible. I cried when Wolfwood died in episode 23. I cried again when Legato passed on in the very next episode. It really got me thinking, how can somebody hate themselves so much that they would welcome death as eager as Legato was?

Yes, we always hear people committing suicide because they can't stand to live anymore, but Legato's case seems to be different. Perhaps I will explain this in more detail as I write this story, no guarantees. Anyway, that night, I had a dream. A dream which I still pretty vividly remember; It was about the past; the past of planet Gunsmoke and the past of Legato Bluesummers. What I dreamt that night, was something I could probably never create in reality as I did in my dreams. I can remember waking up the next morning, and feverishly writing down everything I could remember. The ideas I wrote down, I will somehow be weaving together, to this story you are about to read.

I am a very slow writer. I am a perfectionist. I will not submit another chapter until I am beyond satisfied with it. I also suffer from bouts of writer's block. (Don't we all?) In short, if you plan on sticking with me during what I hope will be an epic of a tale, you better hope you make plans to stay for the long haul.

A complex, unique character like Legato deserves this. I will not disappoint him.

Prologue- The Man In The White Coat

What caused people to fear the man in the white coat? They stood a hundred strong, give or take a few all were armed. Some possessed pocketknives, pitchforks, pots and pans while others deferred to using their fists. These people stood in a tightly knit circle; the man in the white coat was surrounded. Escaping by breaking through the chain of people would grant him an early death. Not that he wouldn't mind embracing Death, the most beautiful being to ever grace this hellhole of a planet, next to his Master, of course. But this man was on a mission, and no one was going to stop him, no one.

"You fucking bastard! You'll pay with your life for what you did!" a beefy-built, middle-aged man shouted, breaking the subdued silence. His pitchfork was raised high up into the air, a mad glint in his eye, "My wife...my wife...she's dead!"

"My only son, Sam. He died because of you!" another nameless man shouted, teeth clenched.

"Why...Why did you do this?" a elderly woman sobbed, both weather-beaten hands which were holding a broom, shaking violently from her display of emotion, "My husband of 52 years... I loved him... and he's gone, forever..."

The man in the white coat still stood, composed and relaxed. In fact, he hardly seemed distressed by his current predicament. His right eye remained closed the entire time; no one could tell if his left was open or not to watch their pained faces since locks of cobalt blue hair neatly fell over and covered the left side. The right corner of his mouth curled upwards just slightly, into a devious smirk.

Doesn't this scene look familiar to you? He thought to himself, Like deja vu.

Humans, these pathetic organisms hiding their fear behind whatever they could scrap together, to salvage as reasonable weapons was worthy of a faint chuckle. He could almost lick the sweet flavor known as fear off their sweaty cheeks. He could never recall it tasting so good. He got immense hidden pleasure from it. These townsfolk hands aren't dirty from the blood of others. They never could kill another human being. Hell, they would be plagued with nightmares for the rest of their lives, should they slain the man in the white coat.

This characteristic of not taking the life of someone else reminded him of the man in the red coat, the one in which he seeked.

Vash the Stampede: The name left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You'll pay for this...with your life!" one shouted behind him. All they could do is make empty threats; none of them could react. This "fear" has paralyzed them. How foolish. They just have to rush the inevitable and meet the fate of their kith. They were going to die tonight. How the man in the white coat envied them.

How he could describe what he did to his victims, he could not. Before he knew it, they were dead. Sometimes, he made it fast; sometimes he made it painstakingly slow. It all depended on his mood. Right now, he had very little patience and was in a hurry to be somewhere soon. He made it fast.

Walking over the bodies of the dead was almost second nature to him. With all whom he has killed in the blink of an eye, he never was traumatized on how many died because of him. His justification might have been because the end was near anyway, and he simply was doing them a favor by ending their pain of living that much sooner. Or perhaps, perhaps it was for another reason, a reason he could not quite pinpoint. He shrugged it off; of course he did it for his Master!

The man in the white coat headed west, as the double suns fell over the horizon behind him, allowing the triple moons of planet Gunsmoke to rise, blanketing the planet into the depths of the night.