I fear this chapter will not be exactly perfect, grammatically. However, I would be willing to wager that most of you care less about comma splices and more about reading something. At this point, I will continue to update regularly, though I will fix previous chapters at a later date. Reviews are appreciated.
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Chapter 3: Transformation
"When are we going to escape?" A female voice asked cautiously.
"Soon." A male voice answered.
"You've been saying that for so long..."
"Yes, I know. I'm sorry. But it's difficult to plan for this sort of thing. You can't just run away from the caravan."
The two figures spoke in hushed voices, whispering to one another. Both of them were wrapped in large greyish cloaks that obscured their identities completely. Despite this precaution, they were still in the shadows between tents, voices barely audible. They'd met many times before, but it grew more and more dangerous each time as others began to suspect.
"It just seems to take so long..."
"Hush. We'll leave tomorrow night. Everything should be ready by then."
"We leave tomorrow?" There was just a hint of hope.
"Yes. Tomorrow."
"No." A third voice broke into the conversation, silencing them both. Starting in surprise, both of them began to bolt for the entrance, only to find their way blocked by a similarly cloaked figure. Trapped. "Ssh," the figure went on, "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Who are you?" the young man asked. Slipping into the shadows with them, the third figure silenced them with a gestured.
"Do not speak, just listen. I know the cargo this caravan is taking, and I want to stop them too. But if you go now, even if you escape them, you'll die in the desert. Wait until you get into the city, then both of you can make your escape. Besides, if you go now, this caravan will no longer be able to survive."
"You can't understand what it's like," the young woman gasped. "I have to get away!"
"Only if you want to die." The figure moved back from the shadows, glancing away from them. "Consider what I have to say. I could help you."
"We don't need your help," the boy bit back. "But fine, we'll wait until the city."
"Good." Without another word, the other figure was gone. The two convened between tents for a while longer, but eventually decided that waiting was the best choice. In silence they departed, going their separate ways.
Pushing back the large grey hood, Marianne freed her hair from the confines of the cloak and continued on. These massive cloaks were bulky and annoying, but they worked wonders for hiding one's identity. As soon as she got back to her makeshift residence within the caravan, however, she could change back into her other clothing.
It was fortunate those two kids had listened to her as well as they had. In their place, she never would have taken any advice from mysterious strangers. But she had banked on the guess that they were a bit naive, and it had paid off. Hopefully they'd wait to make their escape until the city, and then all could go well. Plus, as soon as they were in the city, she had a better chance of the proper authorities prosecuting the caravan leaders.
Stopping by her tent long enough to switch to her normal clothing, Marianne went back out into the night air. Where to go now? After a few days in the camp, she already had all the information she could possibly need to prosecute the leaders, thanks to the help of that priest. In fact, everything had gone wonderfully. Hopefully, after such a successful mission, her boss would let her go on another. Here she could let the night wind rustle through her hair, no longer be in such a confining space, actually be doing something.
But now there was little to do. Rarely had she experienced the feeling of having extra time to spend. Really, there was nothing in the entire camp- except of course the bar, but what was the point of going there? It seemed that all the men just went there at night to get drunk.
She veered in that direction anyway. What else was she going to do tonight? Though it changed location from stop to stop, the bar of the caravan was always obvious. It was the only tent that still glowed with activity, and faint bursts of drunken song could be heard from within.
Just a she reached the entrance to the tent, however, someone else was attempting to come out. Marianne stepped aside, intending to let them pass, then did a double take. The man walking from the tent was none other than that guy she had met so long ago! What was he doing here?
"Hey... it's you," she said awkwardly. He glanced down at her over his reflective glasses for a moment, then his eyes focused in recognition.
"Hello, Marianne." He even remembered her name!
"What are you doing around here?"
"Just following the caravan. What about you? Or would it not be wise to talk about that here?"
Brushing aside a curl of her hair subconsciously, Marianne shook her head. Abruptly she turned, walking away, hoping that he would take the hint. Apparently he did, as he moved in the opposite direction as if he had nothing more to say.
Without another word, Marianne made her way back to her small tent. By this point, she had a feeling that some of the men in camp were suspicious of her. She couldn't have any more conversations in the bar, just to make sure. With any luck, he would understand what she had intended. It was only a short way across camp; Marianne quickly reached her tent and slipped inside.
Less than ten seconds later, a tall form slunk around the side of the tent, darting inside. Vash nodded to her, then pushed his glasses up to cover his eyes. It was a small tent, but with both of them sitting it was big enough.
"So why are you here?" he asked. His voice had changed, Marianne noticed; it was brisk, cold and far, far more serious. She had suspected his actions before had been a front, but this was more than she had suspected.
"The people in charge of this caravan are shipping slaves from city to city. The Police Department wants me to put a stop to it."
"I see." Vash folded his arms. "I take it you joined the Police Department?"
"I didn't have a lot of choice," Marianne admitted. "They kind of just appeared in my town. If I hadn't agreed to work with them they probably would have kicked me out. As it is, this is the first real operation they've let me on."
"This Police Department..." Vash shook his head, "I'm not too sure about it."
"Really?" she asked, wondering if his thoughts were similar to hers. "Why?"
They continued talking late into the night, discussing the current situation of the planet. It was the best conversation Marianne had carried in a long time, and it was actually very refreshing. He had obviously changed, the guy she had known would have been clueless about all of this. The change was almost nice...
Yet something was incredibly different. While he discussed everything on a much higher level than before, he was emotionally cold, as if there was an impenetrable cocoon around him. It remained up in the entire conversation, and she saw that his hand was never very far from his gun. Did he not trust her?
One incident from the first time they had met resurfaced, and somewhat painfully. He'd taken her by the shoulders and asked her to marry him. Though she'd gotten out of the situation rather easily, it'd made her very uncomfortable. Where was that now? Had that all been part of his act? If so, he was rather thorough. Some small part of her had hoped...
But that was obviously nothing more than a fantasy. This person was completely different than the one she had known well. He was emotionally cold, and seemed very focused. While she had known he was skilled before, this version of him seemed... dangerous. She couldn't imagine this man asking anyone to marry him. Overall, though, she liked the change: he wasn't an idiot fawning over her.
"It's late," Vash said eventually, rising to his feet and ducking out of the tent. He stayed by the opening for a moment. "Are you staying with the caravan long?"
"At least until they get to the city."
"I'll see you later then." His cloak swirled behind him as he vanished into the night. Within seconds he had melted away as if he had never been there. Lying down on her bunk, Marianne turned off the light and prepared to sleep.
It wasn't until she was almost drifting off that she remembered she still didn't know his name.
Glancing right and left, the young man surveyed the area before him. It was a clean shot to the other side, but part of the area was well lit. He needed speed more than stealth, so he opted to run straight through. Taking a deep breath, he moved from around the corner and darted from the safety of his hiding space to the opposite side.
Ducking behind a few trash cans, he stayed motionless for a moment before moving on. It would have been a simple matter to flee the caravan into the city. But he wasn't out to just escape. He had to save her while he was at it.
Fingering the key in his jacket just to make sure it was there, he peered around the next corner to make sure it was clear. Good. Running again, he darted into the large gaping door of the metallic trailer that was a part of the caravan. The slaves were kept here. Of course, all that mattered to him was rescuing her.
Making his way inside past the dimly lit cells, he quickly found the one containing the slave that was so precious to him. Hearing his movements, she came up to the bars, looking at him with those big, green eyes he loved so much.
"Who's there?" a voice boomed from down the corridor. Both of them froze, realizing there were guards within the trailer. Cursing violently, the young man jammed his key into the lock, opening the door as quickly as possible. She got out and they both fled, leaving the key in the door behind.
He could hear the guards rousing themselves behind them. They were at the end of the corridor when he heard a roar when the first guard found the unlocked door. Curses, he should have been more careful. Stopping her at the door, he carefully glanced out. A call was already going out, telling people to stop them. If they wanted to make it out, they'd have to be extremely careful. While they couldn't kill him, he fingered the tatoo on his arm, he couldn't say the same for her.
Finally both of them worked up their nerve. They bolted from the building, making it nearly two feet before falling flat on their faces. Something must have tripped them up. He attempted to scramble to his feet before he heard the tell-tale sign of a gun being cocked and froze.
"Stay where you are," a rough voice grated at him. "Turn over very slowly so I can see who you are."
Though he obeyed, he felt a trickle of sweat rolling down the side of his head. They couldn't kill him... could they? It was one of his father's mercenaries, he recognized instantly. His gun was pointing at both of them, and his hand was actually on the trigger.
With a heavy sigh, the boy let his head drop back to the dirt beneath him. Busted.
"He's right over there," one of the men whispered. "We're sure that's him."
"Go," another urged. The leader of the caravan didn't move, hesitating. His balding forehead was covered in tiny droplets of sweat. Pulling out an ornate handkerchief, he wiped off his forehead and took a deep breath. It was going to take a while for him to work up his nerve to talk to this guy. Normally, as the leader of the caravan, he was certain everyone was beneath him and would bow to his wishes.
But this guy... he was Vash the Stampede. An outlaw like that cared nothing for authority. There was no one else capable of doing the job right, though. His son had too many places to go, too many ways to escape. Though he wasn't actually his real son, he'd taken after him; his mind was shrewd. This city would swallow him easily, and then all of the caravan's work would have been for nothing. The trading empire he had worked for would fall into dust. And there were many who would happily help that happen...
Steeling himself, the caravan leader made his way across the floor of the bar. The figure in the long red coat didn't move, just holding his drink in one hand. He'd sat in the bar for the past five minutes, not speaking or even taking a drink. Very creepy.
"Excuse me," the caravan leader asked softly. Instantly the man's gaze snapped up to meet his. A pair of yellow mirrored glasses were over his eyes, making him seem inhuman. Then again, maybe the legendary outlaw was.
"What do you want?" he asked coldly. Wringing his hands, the caravan leader pushed on, regardless.
"Are you Vash the Stampede?"
"Yes." With that short answer he turned away, looking back down at his drink. Refusing to be dismissed, the caravan leader went on.
"My son is our caravan's only ticket into this city. I'm afraid he's a very rebellious boy, and he tried to run away. I need you to keep him here."
"You want me..." Vash growled, his voice dangerous, "to babysit?"
"No! No!" The caravan leader quickly assured him, backing up slightly. "There's more to it than that. Many people in this city... disagree with my business practices and want to see me put out of business. I think they're planning a strike to kidnap him. So the real reason I want to hire you is to keep him from leaving, any way that he might."
"25 million double dollars," Vash demanded. "Up front."
"But... but, I don't have that sort of-"
"The price is not negotiable." Noticeably, his hand rested on his gun.
"Right, right. Whatever you want," the caravan leader agreed, eager to get out of the situation. "You are authorized to use whatever methods you want."
"Fine." Vash abruptly got to his feet, draining his glass completely and replacing it on the counter. The caravan leader communicated to one of his men to get to the money. Without another word, Vash turned and swept away.
Wiping sweat from his brow, the caravan leader glanced after him and sighed. That was undoubtably Vash the Stampede.
Emptying the suitcase of money, Vash placed it inside his coat and nodded to them.
"Goodbye, gentlemen," he said icily, dismissing the flunkies. They eager took the opportunity to scurry away, and get out of his presence. Turning, Vash moved back to the clearing.
They had set up in the middle of a large open space, in the middle of the camp. In the very center sat the two captives, the son and another, probably a slave. Vash's sensitive ears could hear her weeping. So that was the way things were. Around them stood a broad circle of men, all well armed.
Obviously, they couldn't kill the boy, Vash deduced quickly. He was far too important for them. But the girl was only merchandise, they'd probably shoot her down in an instant. That was why their guns held both of them at bay, the boy was horribly afraid of her death. It was probably a mistake to get involved with this, but Vash had already committed himself. Besides, there was a very real possibility that this could work out for his good.
"All of you, freeze," Vash demanded, raising his gun and pointing it at the circle of men. They gasped and turned to him, only to stop at the sight of the gun. In a flash they took in the reflective glasses and the red coat and recognized who he was. None of them seemed willing to move, not wanting to face the legendary Vash the Stampede.
"What are you doing?" one of the braver men demanded. "Aren't you supposed to be helping us protect them?"
"Unbind them," Vash ordered, ignoring him completely, "and let them go. If you have any interest in living, do it now."
None of the men moved, paralyzed by fear and remnants of loyalty to the caravan. There was a momentary standoff, then two of the men moved, attacking from opposite sides. One reached for a gun from further way, Vash dropped him before his fingers closed around the handle. The other was far closer, but also without a weapon. He slammed a fist into Vash's chest.
Gasping in pain, the man pulled his hand back. It felt like he had punched iron. Unbeknownst to him, he had. His fist had struck the metal grill embedded in Vash's chest and it couldn't possibly have felt very good. Regardless, the bullet that struck him a second later ended any pain he might have felt. Returning his gun to an upright position, Vash glanced at the rest of the men cooly.
Shocked, the rest of the men hurried to obey his orders. The two kids were quickly unbound and standing in the middle of the group, looking confused and nervous. Vash kept his gun leveled at the others.
"I thought the boss hired you to stop the kid," one of the men nearly whimpered. Vash's head shifted slightly toward him, his glasses covering his eyes so it was impossible to tell where he was truly looking.
"He told me I was authorized to use whatever methods I want. And I want to let them go."
"What the h*** was he thinking?" one of the thugs muttered. "He never should have hired a killer like Vash the Stampede. Now we're all going to die."
"Go back to your boss," Vash continued, voice brooking no argument. "Tell him I know about the cargo he's carrying. Tell him that unless he turns himself in to the proper authorities I will personally slaughter his entire family. Go."
Needing no second urging, the thugs dropped their weapons and ran in the opposite direction, back toward the main part of the camp. Vash put his gun back in his holster silently. Had he really been as ruthless as they thought he was, he would have shot them all from behind.
Vash turned back to the two kids, who were still motionless.
"Go," he told them. "Are you interested in surviving? Get out of here."
"Thank you, Vash the Stampede!" the girl told him hesitantly.
"Why would you help us?" the boy asked.
"That's none of your business. Don't tell anyone about what happened here. Now go."
They didn't say anything else, turning and running into the shadows of the city itself. Once again, Vash was by himself. If this didn't confirm his reputation, nothing would. At least, nothing he was willing to do. Obviously, he couldn't slaughter a city of people or anything of the sort.
Most likely, the thugs would return armed in mass, angry and wanting to fight. But by then, he would be long gone. The threat would be enough to make the leader of the caravan turn himself in. Call it a parting gift to Marianne.
Turning and walking from the scene, Vash fingered the scars across his shoulder lightly. Perhaps his entire escapade would be worth something after all...
"Really, ma'am, thank you for your help. I can't believe they were trading slaves into this city right under our noses."
"Just doing my duty," Marianne saluted the city sheriff smartly. They were both standing outside of the sheriff's office, within sight of the city hall and the Plant, which loomed just inside the city. "Are you sure things will be fine here?"
"With your help and information, we were able to round up all the perpetrators really easily. Everything should be fine." The man scratched his head, expression becoming puzzled. "What I can't figure out is why the leader of the whole thing up and turned himself in. He probably could have gotten away with it."
"It wasn't me." Marianne shrugged. That part confused her, too. He'd come in the night they were capturing all the criminals, sweating profusely and periodically glancing behind him as if expecting to be followed. She wasn't going to question her incredibly good luck, though.
This was a nearly perfect operation. All members of the slave ring had been captured incredibly quickly, the slaves had been freed, and there had been no fighting. Two of the men in the camp had been found dead, but that was all. Another part of her hoped the two she had met before had escaped as well. She silently wished them luck.
"Yeah, it was a funny situation," the sheriff was still speaking. "I've always wondered what makes people decide to go into lives of crime..."
His words faded from her ears as Marianne saw a figure in the distance. He was far way, moving toward the Plant, but his red coat was unmistakable. Suddenly Marianne's focus vanished, she barely heard any of the sheriff's words. It was far more important to catch up to him, and perhaps find out his name this time. After that, of course, she had to report back to headquarters.
"Excuse me," she interrupted, "I have something I need to do. Bye."
Not waiting for him to response, Marianne turned and began walking her fastest after the retreating figure in the red coat...
Sighing, Vash glanced at the official through his yellow tinted glasses. It would have been a simple matter to kill this guy and go through, but he didn't want to do that. For one thing, he needed to stay in there for some time, and in that time he'd be vulnerable. No sense getting everyone angry at him. Besides, it wouldn't have been right and it was unnecessary.
"I'm afraid I can't let you through here, sir," the official repeated. "Only authorized personal are allowed access to the Plant. It's very dangerous, you know."
"Listen, I just need to go inside for a while. I'll leave tomorrow and I won't have changed everything. I know my way around Plants, trust me, I won't ruin anything."
"It doesn't matter your reasoning, sir," the official shook his head, "no entry to the plant without access is allowed. I absolutely refuse to bend on this principle."
Reaching into his coat, Vash grabbed several bundles of bills. He had very little personal use for money, so he might as well use it now. This official seemed to be pretty duty-oriented, committed to his post. Time to see how far his principle went.
The official's eyes practically leapt from his sockets when he saw Vash slap the money down on the table. Obviously a lot more than he was used to seeing.
"I promise I won't do anything, I just need inside."
"Whatever you say, sir!" The official snatched up the bills and then grandly gestured toward the door of the Plant. "I have seen nothing and nobody went inside."
So much for principle.
Less than half a minute later, Marianne mounted the same steps to the Plant. She'd been hurrying, and was only now catching up to him. Going here made her puzzled, however. Why would he want to go to a Plant?
"I'm afraid I can't let you through here, ma'am," the official repeated. "No entry to the plant without access is allowed. I absolutely refuse to bend on this principle."
"Out of the way," Marianne told him without slowing, pulling her sheriff's badge from her pocket and flashing it in his face. He immediately backed down, not getting in her way as she strode up to the doors. Opening them, Marianne moved inside, glancing around. She couldn't hear anything, but he couldn't be that far ahead, and the Plant layout seemed to be relatively simple. With any luck she could catch up with him quickly.
She was moving down the corridors at such a fast pace she very nearly missed the glow that came from under one of the doors. It was a soft humming sound that caught her attention, making her go back.
Touching the control panel on the side of the door, Marianne waited for it to slide open, then gasped. The room on the other side was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was filled with technology obvious of an ancient age, beyond anything this planet was capable of creating. Most odd, however, was the fact that all of it seemed nearly biological, almost as if it had been grown.
Standing on the opposite end of the chamber was the red cloaked man. She had finally found him. Hearing her entrance he turned quickly. Seeing her, he calmed and merely turned back to his work. He was facing a large blue sphere, one that glowed with some manner of energy. It continued to hum as he manipulated the panel beside it.
"What are you doing here?" he asked as she walked up beside him. She shrugged.
"Following you. What are you doing here?"
He waited a long moment before responding, as if considering his answer. Meanwhile, his fingers continued to fly over the computer terminal.
"There is something I have needed to do for a long time," he finally answered. "Only the technology of a Plant is capable of accomplishing it."
"How do you know how to work one of these things?"
Turning to her, he smiled just slightly. Very different from the smile she had seen before, when he had been pretending. "Let's just say that I have a lot of experience with them. Did you need to talk about something terribly important?"
"No, not really." Now that she was here, Marianne felt more silly than anything. Why on earth had she followed him in the first place?
"I'd love to talk to you, but I need to do this right away. You'll need to step out of the room."
"Oh. Alright." This was odd, to say the least. Nonetheless, she moved back toward the door. "When will you be done?"
"Sometime tomorrow," he told her.
"Ah. I'll just wait, then."
"Alright." He nodded, then turned back to the terminal. When she left the room, he was still making modifications. Behind her the door shut, and she heard a locking mechanism activate. So he was serious about her not coming in. It was probably dangerous, though, so that made sense. Putting her back to a wall and sitting, Marianne waited.
Inside the chamber, Vash finished his tinkering. Stepping back from the computer terminal, he calmly stripped off his clothing and set it neatly aside. He glanced over his scars one last time, just for memory's sake, then stepped into the blue sphere. It closed over him like a liquid, encasing him entirely. On the computer terminal, the countdown began.
A smile on his face, Vash pushed open the door, to see this man who was somehow related to Rem. The sight that greeted him struck like a physical blow, making him stumble. He was slumped on the table, a pool of blood collecting beneath him. Calmly sitting on the table was Knives, who grinned maliciously at Vash.
"Now, your last contact with that woman has been severed."
"You... killed him..."
"You sound almost like you can't believe it or something. Fool." Knives smiled, nearly demonically. "You haven't changed a bit, you know that? It disgusts me. I'll bet you still have all those scars, don't you? For some stupid reason you don't want to let go, you hold onto them, just like you hold onto all your stupid ideas."
"You... you're wrong..."
The steel wall of the Plant was getting cold, as the sun's light ceased to warm it. Despite herself, Marianne shivered. It was going to be cold, but nothing she couldn't handle. At least in here there was no wind, and the building would retain its heat somewhat well.
What am I doing? What's wrong with me? Here she was, spending the night inside a piece of ancient technology, just for the sake of waiting for him to get out. And she still didn't know his name, no less. Had it occurred in anyone else, she would have labeled it as an obsession. Of course, it didn't feel like an obsession. Most obsessions probably didn't. But what was it?
Admit it, you're just lovesick, she told herself. After being cramped up in the office with idiots, you finally meet someone and you go crazy. Let it go. All that's going to happen after this is you'll go back to the office, maybe get another job, maybe not. What can you possibly be waiting for?
Yet she waited still. Call it perseverance or stubbornness. He had smiled, once. That smile had been so incredibly different; somehow it seemed like it actually mattered. Before, he had been constantly cheerful, and she had wished he would grow up and be serious. Now that he was being serious all the time, she desperately wanted to see him smile again.
That was what it was, she finally recognized. He seemed so sad, like something was wearing him down from the inside, like he was carrying a gigantic burden. No one deserved to have to deal with that. No one.
Thoughts still on a certain figure in red, Marianne drifted off to sleep.