Golden Recluse Chapter 6: Raison d'être, a trigun fanfic

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Trigun. This means, unfortunately, that I do not own Vash the Stampede, Planet Gunsmoke, Rem Seiburem (Saverem), Meryl Stryfe, Millie Thompson, the late Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Millions Knives, the deceased Legato Bluesummers, "Sound Life", geraniums, Project S.E.E.D.S., cranky geezers, frozen people-pops, any of the Gung-ho-Guns, any of the Seven Cities, or pretty much anything that appears in this fanfic! That's why it's a fanfic – I don't own anything!

Author's Note: Well, the cat's out of the bag – Meryl was indeed in love with Vash. In the previous chapter, she admitted her true feelings to Millie, and fell victim to a psychological breakdown. I love torturing the characters; why is that?

Also, thank you to vashie wuver!, iceburger, geranium and Keosis for the reviews. In regards to iceburger's question concerning Knives' whereabouts, the answer shall soon be revealed to those who are patient.

As a forewarning for everyone, this chapter is mostly Knives oriented, meaning there will be sarcasm, egotistical comments, and plenty of slanderous things about the human race. If you, for some reason, have a problem reading angst, or potentially philosophical things, I'd advise you to leave at once. However, if you enjoy peeking into the mind of a deranged psychopath, continue.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter, and leave me some of your thoughts once you've finished.

Chapter VI: Raison d'être

Weaving and dodging hastily amongst the thicket of branches, Vash had never been so thankful for the existence of trees. The towering saviors served as the sole barrier shielding the Stampede's frail body for the salvo of bullets. The fray had lasted several minutes thus far, and to his extreme displeasure, his adversary was showing no sign of capitulation.

Knives.

Utterly winded, yet refusing to accept defeat, the man loosely mirroring the Typhoon popped the trigger of his .45 Colt revolver, sending a barrage of sweltering silver in the direction of his brother. Desperation filling the psyche of the schizophrenic sociopath, the pale blonde made attempts at a number of risky shots, hoping to gain the upper hand; but how can you outmaneuver your reflection?

As far as Knives was concerned, his brother was nothing more than a reflection of himself. Not in looks mind you; as far as physical appearance, Knives had always considered himself far superior. He possessed the astounding intellect his brother so obviously lacked, and whereas Vash's gunmanship was attributed solely to dumb luck, Knives' shooting was perfectly accurate. He was perfect.

But you could not observe such perfection by simply glancing into a mirror. You could not take note of the supreme being's impossibly profound thought process, nor would you be capable of comprehending the complexity of his campaign against humanity – against the spiders.

Bear in mind that Knives bore no hatred towards the arachnid itself, if anything, he admired the cunning of the creature. The organism was apathetic towards the emotions of others; what reason did it have to care? What reason did a spider have to question the morality of its killings? Why would the creature feel obligated to show remorse for doing what it was born to do? There was no reason; and if there was no reason for a spider to care about the life of its victims, why should he?

Essentially, the man was accomplishing the same principle as the spider – he was causing death to postpone his own. Wasn't the basic instinct of life to survive? And in this world, did survival not mean kill or be killed?

Did the humans honestly feel they had the right to question his actions, when theirs were no more commendable? It is pure animal instinct to hunt when one is hungry, not when one simply desired the thrill of the chase. Humans killed for pleasure; he killed to survive. Not that he ate the seething carcasses, mind you, but it was the same concept upon careful examination. He was not killing because he merely wished to; Knives killed because it was his duty, because it was his purpose in life. And from the bottom of his stone-hard heart, he truly believed that.

'Unless the spider caught the butterfly, it would die of starvation anyway. You can't save both, don't you know that?'

Yes, I do.

'Wanting to save both is a naive contradiction. What would you rather do? Keep deliberating? The butterfly will be eaten in the meantime.'

Kill, or be killed.

It was common sense that further proved his theories! Had the butterflies been continually saved from nature's course, the spiders would vanish from the face of the planet. With the spiders wiped out of existence, the butterflies would be able to flourish and reproduce, unchecked. Almost certainly, the population would grow far too rapidly, putting excessive strain on the already depleted ecosystem, causing the irksome insects to ravage the entire planet. They would spread, eventually eating all that there is to be eaten, and through this chain of events, life would cease to exist. By the same reasoning, what was to say that if humans were allowed to populate without regulatory killings, they would not do exactly the same thing?

Never-mind the fact that Gunsmoke's resources were exhausted, it was almost inevitable that the humans would find some way to broaden their existence throughout the rest of the universe. They would jump from place to place, destroying what little salvageable habitats remained.

'Their immigration is out of the question. That'd be like spreading pathogenic organisms across our healthy universe.'

In a way, Knives was doing the human race a favour by killing. He was eradicating a percentage of the weak; whether they were weak mentally, or lacked something physically, they were weak. Despite what anyone thought, he knew that weakness only begot more weakness, and increased vulnerability meant almost certain death anyway. Besides, who's to say that the people he killed wouldn't have died soon after anyway – perhaps not immediately, but eventually they would have died somehow; it was the fate of all creatures with the exception of two.

The ones who live outside of time.

He and his brother were those rare exceptions to the law of nature. They could feel pain, of course, but they would never fall victim to death. They would never meet the same end as the creatures around them; they would never experience the bitter taste of the blade.

They were as immortal as the reflection of a person in a mirror; both would remain eternally, as long as the likeness was unbroken.

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C/N: I'm not sure why, but I love writing from Knives' point of view. For some reason, his insanity appeals to me.

Did you enjoy this chapter? Do you feel that Knives' mind was well described here, and his true intentions for killing were well explained? Let me know what you think by hitting the 'Submit Review' button in the bottom left hand corner of the screen.

Generally, the more thoughtful reviews I receive, the more likely I am to post a new chapter. Thank you for reading this installment of "Golden Recluse".