The soft music from the old record player was most of what kept the odd silence in the bar at bay. Seated by himself, holding a glass of Scotch, was a young man in a very stylized red Duster coat. His eyes were covered by the sunglasses that rested on his face, lenses mirrored and golden while the frames were black, sleek and shiny. His spiked blonde hair came around his face, short, but with enough length to be weighed down. Three thin red scars came down over the left side of his face, almost like cat's whiskers.
The other occupents of the bar were few in number; the owner and bartender behind the counter, who was a portly man with short hair and a thick brown mustache, and two men who were playing poker and a nearby table. Not much was said while those two payed attention to their game and nothing else. And so, the only real sound to be heard was the old tinsel music from the record player.
"Hey," one of the poker players said after glancing to his friend. "Did you hear what happened in Valentine City two weeks ago? The whole place got destroyed like a storm tore through."
The bigger man nodded. "Heard about that. They say that it was Vash the Stampede, showing up again after he vanished about twenty years ago." He paused for a moment, taking the chance to look at his cards, then examined his friend's face for any sign of clues to the hand he was facing. "Makes you wonder how someone could live that long, especially with that old sixty billion double-dollar price on his head."
The smaller man, who had a weasely appearence to his features, grinned and nodded. "Yeah, except that it's not sixty billion anymore." He shifted one of his cards, then smiled while sparing a look to the barkeep, who was carrying a large metal keg to a far corner of the room. "They raised the price to a hundred billion double-dollars."
There was a whistle from the larger man. That figure of numbers did impress him. "You'd have to be an idiot to seriously go after a guy like that alone though," he remarked, moving a couple of his cards around to better set up his hand. "He ain't called the Humanoid Typhoon for nothing, after all."
From his seat in the corner, the young blonde gave a soft laugh and sipped down his drink. It did amuse him, actually, to listen to stories like this. Talk of the legendary Vash the Stampede, the most feared man on Gunsmoke, had been around on this world for a very long time. If there was a story about the Humanoid Typhoon, he'd heard it, and knew which were true, and which were just total fabrication. "Never fails to amaze me," he muttered to himself. "People going all crazy over some story that's half a lie."
The two men glanced over at the blonde. "You know something about all this?" the weasely man said, his eyes narrowed a bit as he looked the young man over. "I don't see how anything said about Vash the Stampede could be a lie. He's a walking slaughter waiting to happen."
"Have you ever met him?"
The question took the two men by surprise. It wasn't something one expected to hear in regards to Vash the Stampede, because no one wanted to meet the infamous Humanoid Typhoon. But then, who was this person to say such thing? "Have you?"
Again, the young man laughed softly before draining down the rest of his drink. He set the glass on the counter, then sighed, but was smiling. "You might say that," he said after a moment. His head tilted slightly to his left, like he was listening for something. "But all I'm saying is that everything about Vash can't be true. Afterall..." He paused, standing up from the bar stool he'd been on and cracking his neck. "If everything were true, then he'd have to be well over a hundred years old, and have killed just about every person who did run across him. Since there are people who tell tales about him, obviously such is not true."
He headed for the door, not bothering too look at the confused expressions on the faces of those two men who sat at the table. He paused at the doorway, then, slipping a coin out of his pocket, flicked it with his thumb and landed it perfectly in the small tin can that served as the tips holder. "By the way," he said as he glanced out the swinging saloon style doors. "You all might want to get out of here before those guys outside open fire."
"What the-"
That sentence never finished as the numerous reports of over a dozen automatic fire weapons went off. Rounds split through the air, tearing into the building while the bartender and the two poker players dove for cover. The three men covered their ears as they hid behind the bar, but the young man who had warned them didn't even make any attempt to move.
A couple minutes later, the assualt ended, and there were some laughs from the well armed group who had unleashed the barrage. Their target was no doubt riddled with bullets, either dead or dying in a bloody heap, but most definitely recognizable once recovered.
But, as the smoke and dust cleared, the group of armed men gasped in shock to see that young blonde still standing right there at the doorway, not a mark on him and exactly where he had stopped. It was, by all means, impossible, because he was right in the line of fire. But he was untouched, perfectly fine, and not even the bangs of his hair had moved. The only thing that had been disrupted were his sunglasses, which had slipped down the bridge of his nose a bit.
With a sigh, the young man reached up and, pressing with two fingers, slid the sunglasses back into place snug against his face. "I really hate it when people do that," he muttered, though his voice seemed to carry little trace of real concern for his situation. He brought his gaze up toward the group of gunmen, making a quick count. "Sixteen of you to one of me," he said after but a second of calculations. "I swear, this isn't fair." He smiled. "But, why so concerned with simple little me?"
"Cut the crap!" came the yell from the large man who was obviously the leader of this group. He was tall, around eight to eight and a half feet tall, and very robust. His spiky black hair cropped up like spines, and there was a large cybernetic attachment where his right arm should have been, as well as pieces of machinery on parts of his legs. His left eye was replaced by a lense piece of some sort, noting where he'd lost his eye in some event long ago.
The young blonde smiled faintly. "So, why after me?" he asked again. "Am I so special to deserve this attention? You ruined a respectable business just to find me, so I'd like to know why."
The large man growled, not very amused at how nonchalant their target was acting. "You've got a rather large price on your head!" he shouted back at the blonde man. "And you have the nerve to ask why we're after you, Vash the Stampede!"
His expression dropped slightly. "Man, I was hoping they wouldn't figure me out," he muttered with a tone of disappointment. "Bad enough I stand out in a crowd already, do they have to announce to the world who I am?" He sighed, then snapped his arms down. The quick and sharp movement caused a pair of highly customized revolvers to slide out of his sleeves and in to his hands. One was a bright silver, shining in the sunlight, while the other, in his left hand, was a shiny black gun, an identical twin to the gun in his right hand. "If you believe even half the stories they say about me," he called out to the group at large, "then you do know that I could kill you all in the blink of an eye!"
"We've got you outgunned and outnumbered!" one of the gunman yelled out. His voice definitly was confident. "I'd say you're the one who's screwed here, Vash the Stampede!"
The blonde sighed. It was obvious in his face, even with the sunglasses over his eyes, that he was greatly disappointed. "When will you people ever learn?" he muttered half a second before his right hand brought its gun up and fired. The motion was so quick, the man who had been taunting him didn't even have time to blink before his own weapon went flying from his hand as a result of the shot. The blonde's other gun came up an instant later, letting his opponents know that he was no one to take lightly. "I suggest you all turn around and forget you ever saw me!" he stated coldly. "All the ammo you let off, and not even one scratch on me, so how good do you think it's gonn'a do you when I'm firing back!"
They stepped back as a collective group. They had all, of course, heard the stories, but to actually see the legendary Humanoid Typhoon in action was something they'd not been prepared for. They had been counting on the advantage of surprise to kill him with the rounds of ammunition they had let off, but when that failed, numbers had been their next hope. If he could move that fast and shoot the weapons out of their hands, then his ability to aim was better than any other gunman on the planet.
"So how 'bout it!" he called out. "Wann'a keep trying your luck against the Humanoid Typhoon!"
The leader of the group snarled. "He's only got eleven shots!" he cried to his gang as he raised his own machine gun up high. "He can't kill us all on his-"
A second shot, then his scream as he dropped his weapon and grabbed his now bleeding left hand where the bullet had punctured clean through. The black revolver was now discharging smoke from the barrel, and with a sigh, Vash lifted his guns upward to aim at the sky, but still ready to snap back into action. "I'm good enough to hold off worse than you guys," he said tauntingly to his foes. "I don't have to kill you all, just make sure you don't come after me."
He was still screaming in pain, his wound bleeding profusly, but the large man finally turned and stared at the man known as Vash the Stampede. "What the hell are you all standing around for!" he roared angrily to his men. "There's sixteen of us, and he only has ten bullets left! Shot him already!"
Vash arced an eyebrow up as the men he faced readied their own firearms. He wasn't sure if he should be impressed or amused by the scene. "Didn't expect that," he muttered just seconds before the rounds fired.
Florantine City
The secretary was typing away while a young woman waited nervously outside the office door, seated in a plush chair that was actually quite comfortable. She wasn't sure why she'd been called to have a meeting with Old Man Verandil, but it surly wasn't something bad. Her five year record was rather spotless, she'd earned many commondations, and she was the top of her class back in the academy. The only explination was some really big case that she was going to be assigned to.
The Verandil Investigation Agency was one of the most well known private security companies on Gunsmoke. They actually tended to do a lot of work in conjunction with the Bernardeli Insurance Society, especially in the last few years. While Bernadeli handled the insurance claims and smoothing out of compansations, Verandil was the one that actively went after the source of the problems. And for Annette Mallard, it was the best place to put her talents and education to use.
The secretary paid little attention to the young woman, and the silence which was only broken by the clicking of the typewriter was nerve-racking. She'd been waiting here for almost an hour now. What was talking the Old Man so long? He'd called her up to his office on such short notice, and after she'd just gotten back last night from August City.
The door finally opened, and Terrence Verandil ushered Annette in before closing the door behind her. "Sorry for the lack of rest after your last assignment," he said before taking his seat behind the old fashion wooden desk. "But this came up and I figured that you were the best person to handle the case."
There was a sigh of relief as Annette smiled. "I was half-afraid that I was getting laid off or something," she replied before falling back into one of the chairs in the room. "So, what's this big assignment that you want me to handle? More of the Graymare Gang stirring up trouble over in New July City?"
Verandil sighed while picking up a folder that had been laying on his desk. "I only wish," he said before handing it out to the woman. As she carely took it, he leaned back into his own chair, giving her a worried expression. "This is a very unusual and important case, Annie. Bernardeli was offered it first, but they passed it off to us considering their luck the last time they sent a pair of agents to investigate."
She flipped through the contents of the folder, then, finally reading the case that had been dropped into her lap, went wide-eyed as she read the notes and details of the problem. "You've got to be kidding me," she whispered just before looking up to her employer. "Vash the Stampede! You're giving me the Humanoid Typhoon case!"
With a nod, Verandil turned half-way in his chair and looked out the window. "It's been over twenty years since he vanished, only to reappear now." A pause. "Valentine City is in ruins, yet the strange thing is that there wasn't a single death from the disaster." He glanced back at Annette, his eyes filled with both determination and confusion. "I want you to look into it, see if this is in fact the real deal come back after missing for over two decade. If it is, keep a full time watch on him."
"And if it's like all the others?"
The man chuckled. There had been plenty of "sightings" over the years, all of which had proven to be frauds and hoaxes, some even bandit gangs trying to make their jobs easier by claiming to be led by the infamous Humanoid Typhoon. But if this was the real deal, then they had to be the first ones to find him. "If it's a fake, handle the situation. But this might be the real thing, if witness accounts are right." He smiled faintly for a moment. "Tall man with spiky hair, dressed in a red coat, and eyes like the Devil."
Yes, that sounded like the genuine description of Vash the Stampede all right. Infamous for the disaster in old July City over four decades ago, he'd been hunted by mercenaries, federal agents, and anyone with half-a-brain and a gun for that enormous sixty billion double-dollar bounty on his head, only for the Humanoid Typhoon to vanish twenty years ago. Most claims of having seen him since turned out to be frauds, but this sounded like the real thing. A city in ruins, yet no casualties. As the saying went, it was like you didn't need God for a miracle.
Wait...they had almost doubled the bounty on his head to one hundred billion! No wonder Verandil was sending an investigator; no one would be able to resist that price! But why her? Surely this would be better in the hands of one of the more experiences members of the company. Or maybe Old Man Verandil had that much faith in her after all. Either way, she had first shot at the case of a lifetime, and she was not about to let it go. "When do I leave?" she asked as she put the contents of the folder in order and held it tightly. "And where do I go?"
He smiled. "That's the spirit," Verandil quipped while he rose from his seat. "I've got you a ticket on the sand steamer out to Dankin, that's the last place he was spotted. You leave in two hours."
With an expression of joy on her face, Annette Mallard nodded quickly, then headed out of the office as fast as possible so she could pack and get everything she needed. Dankin Town was only a few hours away by sand steamer, so with any luck, she's get there and find the infamous Vash before anyone could claim that damn bounty.
Out in the sands near Dankin Town, the gang of mercenaries combed about for any sign of their quarry. So far, he'd eluded them for almost two hours since the gunfight at the bar.
The leader of them, the large man with the mechanical limb, growled while looking once more at the bullet wound in his organic right hand. The shot had punched clean through, and they'd stopped the bleeding, but it would be forever before his hand healed enough to be usable. "I can't believe he pulled that off, the bastard!"
"Boss, are you sure it's the right guy?" one of his compatriots remarked while lighting up a cigarette. "I mean, if he really was Vash the Stampede, he could have slaughtered us before we got off a shot." He waved the match to put it out, then took a deep drag from his cigarette before sighing and letting the smoke out. "There's no way it's the right guy, he's not even tall enough."
"Hey!" came the angry yell from his leader. "You saw what he looked like! Blonde hair, red coat, and eyes like the Devil!" Granted, on the last part, it was unconfirmed because their target was wearing mirror lens sunglasses, but there was little doubt as to why he wore those. Plus, the way those things reflected in the light did give him the appearence of having the Devil's eyes. "And a big handgun! That is him, and we're going to get that damn reward even if we have to kill him!"
The smoking man nodded, but something still bothered him. "I know, but, isn't he supposed to be really tall like you? That guy doesn't look much taller than some teenager off the street."
The large man grunted and looked out into the deserts. Yes, the rumors said that Vash was a very tall man, well over six feet, and their target was definitely less than that. He attributed that to faulty information, however. Everything else fit, including that damn revolver which had blown a nice sized hole in his hand.
The man who was still smoking shrugged. "I still dun'no, boss. Yeah, he didn't even take a hit, but if he's really Vash, then why didn't he just kill us and be done with it?"
"Because obviously he's not exactly all he's hyped up to be!" The large man reached over and grabbed him henchman by the head with his mechanical limb to lift him up. "If there's something I've learned about rumors, Hybird, it's that you don't take everything for the word!" He then tossed the man back to the ground, growling as he looked out into the desert. "He's out there, somewhere, and we're gonn'a catch him!"
One of the other members of the mercenary gang breathed nervously as he walked through the sands alone, his six-shooter revolver at the ready. He never should have gone our here without immediate backup, considering just how dangerous Vash the Stampede was supposed to be. But, so far, while he'd proven able to dodge bullets and have pinpoint accuracy with a gun, he'd not killed any of them.
But then what was he trying to do, running out here into the desert near Dankin? Did the rock formations make such great hiding places?
Just as the man walked past a lump of sand with a stick coming out, a hand shot up from the mound and grabbed him by the leg. The young blonde man from the bar came bursting up, gasping for air while the bounty hunter crashed to the ground. "God, I thought I was gonn'a suffocate under there!" he exclaimed, spitting out the stick that was actually a plastic straw he had been using to breath through under the sand.
"It's Va-" Crack!
"Thank you for shutting up," the blonde stated sarcastically as the bounty hunter fell face first into the sand, out cold from the blow. Vash quickly turned him over so that he wouldn't smother in the sand, then started going through his vest and belt for ammunition. "It's a friggin' miracle I pulled that off," he muttered while getting out his own twin revolvers for reloading. He paused a moment, glancing to the black gun, then sighed and just took the whole ammo belt. "I need to get you guys fixed up into autos. Six-shooters ain't gonn'a help when I need to least convince these guys to leave me alone."
He thought back to the bar, when the group of bounty hunters had opened full fire on him a second time. This being after he'd shot their leader's hand, of course. He'd managed to unload his remaining rounds and disarm some of them, but his guns only held six bullets per weapons, and when he'd used the first two shots to make a point, going up against sixteen men with fully automatic firearms was not the best way to drive them off. But, the old revolvers were friends he wasn't willing to part with at all.
"Hey, boss! I found him, I found Vash!"
His hand grabbed the unconscious mercenary's pistol, and whipping his arm around, Vash sent it flying through the air like a frisbee to slam right into the face of the man who was standing about a fifty yards away. The bounty hunter went falling back as the gun impacted, and Vash allowed himself an arm pump with his success. "Bullseye!" he cried, just before three more men appeared over the bluff to open fire. "Oh, shit!"
He quickly grabbed the man next to him and dove for cover, leaving the unconscious bounty hunter there in safety while he, being the proven genius he was, scrambled to get away even while dodging bullets like mad. Just as one burst almost caught him, Vash dove to the ground, sliding a bit before he vanished behind a rock arch.
"Where the hell did he go!"
"I saw him go behind that arch, someone check it out!"
"Alone! Are you stupid or somethin'!"
His ears kept listening carefully, and eventually, he heard a series of footsteps coming toward his location. "About three or four of them now," he whispered, flipping his guns in his hands so that he was holding them backward. Since the chambers were still empty, he didn't have to worry about accidentally shooting himself. Sometime, he wondered how he came up with these ideas.
The three men came through the arch, and then, he struck. His left hand came out and slammed the handle of the black revolver into one man's chest, then came up to bring it into his chin with a crack. That was one more down, and Vash turned about while the other two men stared in shock even while moving to try and capture him. The silver revolver cracked the second man across the face while Vash came around with a kick and caught him in the head and brought him to the ground, while the third man tried to use his own rifle as a blunt weapon. Vash caught the attack with his own revolvers, brought his left leg up hard, and snapped his knee into the last bounty hunter's crotch, which quickly caused him to howl in pain just before he found himself ramming face first into that same knee.
Less than twenty seconds, and Vash was the last man standing with three more of his enemies on the ground. He flipped his guns, caught them by the handles properly, then spun them on his fingers and slipped them into the holsters that stuck out through the flaps of his coat. "The old man's gonn'a hate me for having come up with that one," he muttered while he ran again. He's taken down about a third of his pursuers by now, without a single fatality, thankfully, but he knew that he still had the rest of them to deal with.
This was going to be one interesting day.
