Greetings once again, loyal readers! Once again, all disclaimers apply to
this fic. Trigun and its characters do not belong to me; otherwise I would
be too rich to be worrying about writing fanfics. Hope you all enjoy this
fic, and beware the demons within!
DEMONS OF THE PAST
PART 1
My little demon, comin'on down.
My little demon's turnin' me around.
all of my friends keep on tellin'me
that I just ain't the man I used to be.
I really don't like it...ain't nothing I can do.
I really don't like it...I'm leaving it to you.
Lindsey Buckingham
The loud groaning and grunting echoed down the dark hallways. In each of the small cells, prisoners tried their hardest to ignore it. To some of them, it sounded as if a man was being tormented somewhere at the end of the cellblock. And little did they know that, in so many ways, he was. "Does he have to make such a God-awful racket?" one of the guards muttered to some of his companions as they watched the activities within the cell on the surveillance cameras.
"Look at it this way" one of them said in response, "At least when he does this he stops singing."
"He never could find a way to get all those swear words to rhyme" a third commented.
"They sure they want to let a thing like him out?" the first one asked his companions. The other two shrugged.
"They can't keep him here. Takes up too much of other people's money to keep him locked up. Besides, you complaining about him getting out of here?"
None of them could come up with a response.
Officer Carl Resnick slowly walked down to the end of the cellblock. A ring of keys jangled on his belt. He stopped a few feet away from his destination and sighed heavily. He did not want to do this.
He stepped up to the cell. Inside, the sunlight that poured through the barred window illuminated the cot that was bolted to the wall, the small shelf lined with books, all religious scriptures, and the variety of babble that its occupant had scrawled all over the walls. He sighed again; another mess to clean up.
The single figure inside the cell gripped a pair of drainage pipes that poked out of the ceiling. He groaned as he slowly pulled himself up until his head almost collided with the plaster ceiling above him, and then lowered himself back down with a long breath. He was doing chin-ups.
Resnick winced as he watched. Each movement caused the scars and tattoos that littered his torso to wriggle and slither, as if they were alive. A tattoo of a serpent ran down his left arm, writhing with each flex. On his right forearm, flowing scripture spelled out a single word: DEMON. On the left side of his back, another tattoo read "VENGANCE IS MINE," and just below his shoulder blades, a grinning skull gazed out at the entire world. The overall effect was very unnerving.
"All right freak-show" Resnick finally said, "Its time. Get your stuff together."
The figure in the cell paused a moment, mid-lift, and then dropped down to its feet with a loud thud. It straightened up, and a deep chuckle emitted from its front.
"They can never cage me. I will always find a way out."
"You'll be back here in a week."
"I'm never coming back here, Resnick. Not as I am now, at least." He chuckled again, and then put a shirt on. He gathered up what few possessions he had in the small cell, and then stepped out into the hallway. Resnick placed a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, checked that they were firmly secured, and then escorted him on his way.
"So long, weirdo" one of the security personnel along the outer gate said as the prisoner waited for the main entrance to open. "Going to look up some old friends?"
"Can't" came the reply.
"Why's that?"
"Tore them all up already."
The security officer's jaw dropped. He strained for a response, but found none. He watched as the gate opened, and the monster stepped out of the facility that had been his home for the past eight years. As he left, the clouds parted, and a ray of sun fell on the prison for what seemed like the first time in ages.
Outside, the newly released inmate grinned a long, hideous grin. If anyone had been near him, they would have noticed that his canine teeth were intentionally filed to a razor sharpness, giving him an almost vampire- like appearance.
"All but one..." he whispered to himself. He reached into one of his pockets, and withdrew a small photograph. He gazed at it for what seemed like a long time. His eyes wanted to burn holes in it. A small line of drool ran down his chin as he hissed to himself.
On the photograph, the face of Nicholas D. Wolfwood smiled at him.
He grunted, crumpled the picture up into a small ball, and tossed it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and then started walking.
DEMONS OF THE PAST
PART 1
My little demon, comin'on down.
My little demon's turnin' me around.
all of my friends keep on tellin'me
that I just ain't the man I used to be.
I really don't like it...ain't nothing I can do.
I really don't like it...I'm leaving it to you.
Lindsey Buckingham
The loud groaning and grunting echoed down the dark hallways. In each of the small cells, prisoners tried their hardest to ignore it. To some of them, it sounded as if a man was being tormented somewhere at the end of the cellblock. And little did they know that, in so many ways, he was. "Does he have to make such a God-awful racket?" one of the guards muttered to some of his companions as they watched the activities within the cell on the surveillance cameras.
"Look at it this way" one of them said in response, "At least when he does this he stops singing."
"He never could find a way to get all those swear words to rhyme" a third commented.
"They sure they want to let a thing like him out?" the first one asked his companions. The other two shrugged.
"They can't keep him here. Takes up too much of other people's money to keep him locked up. Besides, you complaining about him getting out of here?"
None of them could come up with a response.
Officer Carl Resnick slowly walked down to the end of the cellblock. A ring of keys jangled on his belt. He stopped a few feet away from his destination and sighed heavily. He did not want to do this.
He stepped up to the cell. Inside, the sunlight that poured through the barred window illuminated the cot that was bolted to the wall, the small shelf lined with books, all religious scriptures, and the variety of babble that its occupant had scrawled all over the walls. He sighed again; another mess to clean up.
The single figure inside the cell gripped a pair of drainage pipes that poked out of the ceiling. He groaned as he slowly pulled himself up until his head almost collided with the plaster ceiling above him, and then lowered himself back down with a long breath. He was doing chin-ups.
Resnick winced as he watched. Each movement caused the scars and tattoos that littered his torso to wriggle and slither, as if they were alive. A tattoo of a serpent ran down his left arm, writhing with each flex. On his right forearm, flowing scripture spelled out a single word: DEMON. On the left side of his back, another tattoo read "VENGANCE IS MINE," and just below his shoulder blades, a grinning skull gazed out at the entire world. The overall effect was very unnerving.
"All right freak-show" Resnick finally said, "Its time. Get your stuff together."
The figure in the cell paused a moment, mid-lift, and then dropped down to its feet with a loud thud. It straightened up, and a deep chuckle emitted from its front.
"They can never cage me. I will always find a way out."
"You'll be back here in a week."
"I'm never coming back here, Resnick. Not as I am now, at least." He chuckled again, and then put a shirt on. He gathered up what few possessions he had in the small cell, and then stepped out into the hallway. Resnick placed a pair of handcuffs on his wrists, checked that they were firmly secured, and then escorted him on his way.
"So long, weirdo" one of the security personnel along the outer gate said as the prisoner waited for the main entrance to open. "Going to look up some old friends?"
"Can't" came the reply.
"Why's that?"
"Tore them all up already."
The security officer's jaw dropped. He strained for a response, but found none. He watched as the gate opened, and the monster stepped out of the facility that had been his home for the past eight years. As he left, the clouds parted, and a ray of sun fell on the prison for what seemed like the first time in ages.
Outside, the newly released inmate grinned a long, hideous grin. If anyone had been near him, they would have noticed that his canine teeth were intentionally filed to a razor sharpness, giving him an almost vampire- like appearance.
"All but one..." he whispered to himself. He reached into one of his pockets, and withdrew a small photograph. He gazed at it for what seemed like a long time. His eyes wanted to burn holes in it. A small line of drool ran down his chin as he hissed to himself.
On the photograph, the face of Nicholas D. Wolfwood smiled at him.
He grunted, crumpled the picture up into a small ball, and tossed it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and then started walking.