Standing there on the bluffs, the man with long black hair looked down on the small town in contempt. Vash was there, so he'd heard, but even as he rubbed his left arm, he couldn't feel the man's presence. "Who are you?" he asked of the sky. "You're not Vashu, so who are you, and why is it you can do the things he can?
Walking up from behind him, the young girl looked to be quite bored. "We could just tear the city up and find out if it's really him or not," she suggested while smoothing down her dress. "If it is Vash, that'll get up his nose."
He nodded, but something just felt so off about this whole situation. Vash had gotten much shorter since twenty years ago, and he'd apparently grown his lost arm back. He looked much younger as well, but his face bore very similar features to it, save that now he had those three thin scars on the left side of his face and the beauty mark was gone. Maybe the latter was just being hidden by his sunglasses. It felt wrong though. That couldn't possibly be Vash. Yet he had to admit, no one else had that kind of skill and luck.
Someone came from behind to join them. "Something doesn't smell right about it," came the harsh voice from a large Asian man dressed in loose robes, black hair coming down behind him into a tight braid. "From what you instructed me with, Vash would have attempted to save that giant man from the worm. If anything, this 'Vash' made sure he couldn't escape. For a man that holds a code to never kill, he is very hypocritical."
Again, the man nodded. "Vashu is an odd person," he replied while he watched a bird fly by over the city. "However, the few thoughts I picked up from him indicated he had not expected the sandworm to burst up right then. He probably had planned to bring the giant in alive." Now he smiled. "But you're right. The Vashu I knew would have still tried to save him." He straightened his posture, then, with a snort, turned to depart. "That boy is not Vashu, but he does have a connection to him. I want to know what that is before I kill him." A pause as he halted and glanced to the young girl. "Zazie!"
"Yes?"
Still loyal to their cause, even after over two decades. "Contact Cairon and tell him to bring our friend into the open. I wishu to find out just how this boy is related to the real Vashu."
With a nod, Zazie pulled out a small communications device, but then paused as she realized something else. "And what of Lord Knives? Loyal as we are, he will not approve of our taking action when we are-"
"Zazie!" he hissed. She gulped as she could feel his frustration. Questioning the order had not been the best idea. "Lord Knives will be most interested in this imposter who claims the name of his brother." A smile crossed his lips as he turned back to his companions. "He will see that we are more loyal and worthy than that pack of animals he created to replace us. I will resume my place as his right hand."
The girl frowned, but nodded. It was best not to upset him, considering that he could implode a human's brain with just a thought. While she had no true need to be concerned about his powers, it was still wise to keep him happy. But as to the 'pack of animals' he'd made mention of...well, as she well knew, animals they were not. But that was not here or now.
Tapping a button on the device, she whispered orders into it, then clicked it off after making sure that the recipient had affirmed his mission. "Vulture is making his move into the city. We'll know who this boy is soon enough."
A nod, and he continued on his way. Once this mystery was solved, he'd take his place again by his master's side, and to hell with that freak animal who had replaced him.
Knock, knock. "Hello!" Vash called as the door squeaked open. "Mister Marlon!"
There was a grunt from some where in the back of the house. "If you're going to come in, do it already, don't stand there and let all the cool air out!"
That must have been a way of saying 'welcome to my home.' Vash followed the sounds of tinkering into the back where he saw a man hunched over the table. Mostly, he saw a brown vest over a white shirt, and traces of brown pants. "Mister Marlon, I came to ask a favor of you."
Again, that indignant grunt. "Favors cost money, and my services ain't cheap, so if you don't have the-"
The silver revolver dropping onto the table next to his work, Frank Marlon looked over and suddenly went wide eyed as he recognized the firearm. "It couldn't be," he whispered before jumping out of his seat and turning to see the blonde young man who was accompanied by one bluntly shorter and very pretty young woman. "Oh my god, it is you!"
A bottle came up from in his coat; Wild Turkey whiskey. "I promised that I'd bring the drinks next time," Vash stated just before he and Marlon exchanged a friendly hug. Annette was unsure how to process this all. Did her companion really know the legendary gunsmith that well? This was just more proof that he had to be the Humanoid Typhoon. "Sorry it's been so long, Frank."
"God damn, Vash! After you disappeared, I'd feared the worst!" Marlon broke into a large grin and pulled out a couple of glasses while Vash poured him only half the glass while giving himself a full dose. "Still remember, and you haven't aged a damn day, you rogue!"
With a toast, then downed their drinks. It was then that Vash gestured for Annette to take a seat and join them. "Frank, this here is Miss Annette Mallard, she's the latest in a long line of pretty girls assigned to keep an eye on me."
Marlon gave a bow in greeting, then turned his eye to Vash. "I still remember when you came into this town two decades ago, asking for me to fix that old gun of yours. You wear it out again?"
"Eh..." Vash waggled his open hand up and down, then pulled out the black revolver and handed it to Frank. "It's both of these actually. Plus, I need you to do a hell of a lot more work to them, if possible." He paused a moment, looking at the guns that were mounted on the walls, then smiled and finished his whiskey. "I want you to convert them into autos, Frank. Rebuild the stock if need be, but I want the entire barrel chamber carried over."
That was an odd and very difficult request. "Vash," Malron began while he handled the black gun. "That's gonn'a be hard to do. You'd be better off just getting new guns. Why you so hung up on these old things?"
Vash didn't reply right away. He poured some more whiskey for himself, sipped at it, then set down his glass and sighed. "Things have gotten worse, Frank," he stated while looking at his old friend. "They'd got a hundred on my head now, and the feds aren't the only ones after me." He hesitated, sipped his whiskey again, eyes filled with worry, and then, he continued. "The Gung-Ho Guns have been seen again." A pause. "They tore through June about two months ago, I barely managed to draw them out of the city."
With his own glass refilled halfway, Frank took a long sip, set down his glass, and sighed. He remembered what had happened more than twenty years ago with the Gung-Ho Guns. But they'd supposedly all been killed in their conflict with Vash. Speaking of which, Vash did look rather good for someone who was pushing well over seventy. Then again, twenty years ago, he would have said the same thing about him pushing fifty. Marlon accepted that someone who was a walking Act of God didn't age, but...had Vash actually gotten younger? And he was shorter too. But he knew things that only Vash would know, so, why argue with it?
"I can have one of them done by tonight," he finally said after finishing his glass. "I'll have to completely rebuild the grip and chamber, but the barrels I can save." Again, he paused. Something else from the last time he'd worked on this kind of gun. "This has to do with that weird rod in the barrel, doesn't it?"
Hm. Marlon had done a little more tweaking than needed the last time. That made it easier to explain his reasons for wanting to retain that part of his firearms. "Something like that," Vash muttered. "If you could get them done as soon as possible, I'd be very grateful. Also, I'm gonn'a need about four or six clips of ammunition, think you could include those?"
If it had been anyone else, Frank would have refused them outright at the first request. But, Vash had saved this town before, twenty years ago, and guessing from the excitement earlier, that bit of town history had repeated itself. Not only that, Vash had brought him out of his life as a drunk, given him a reason to live again. He owed this man his life. And if the Gung-Ho Guns had returned after supposedly being destroyed... "I'll have them both done by tomorrow night," he stated at last. "The ammo is gonn'a cost a bit, but I'll have that as well."
"Thanks, Frank," Vash replied with a grin. He pulled out some bills from his coat, handed them to the older man, and patted him on the back. "That should cover the parts and ammo costs. I'll stop by later to see how it's going." He corked the whiskey bottle, slipped it back into the folds of his coat, then bid Marlon farewell and departed with Annette in tow.
"Why are those guns so important?" Annette asked as they headed down the street toward the inn. "They look great and all, but why all the work to convert them into autos? Like he said, it would be easier and cheaper to just get new guns."
Vash didn't answer right away as he stepped into the inn and looked around to find that the clerk was gone. "They were a gift from a friend," he said just before ringing the desk bell. "They're the only ones of their kind, Annie, so despite how much work has to be done and how much it costs, I'm going to keep those things around."
Odd. For someone supposedly coldhearted, Vash was proving to be very compassionate and sentimental. Wait, why was she thinking of him as the real thing? Maybe because he'd been proving he really was Vash the Stampede. His incredible skill with firearms, knowledge that only Vash could have, and he was friends with the gunsmith Frank Marlon. Why doubt him unless he truly proved otherwise? She wasn't assigned to bring him in to the feds, just to keep watch and investigate the utter mystery around him and his past.
Just like Bernardeli's agents twenty years ago.
Now that she thought about, having read the reports from Meryl Stryfe and Millicent Thompson, it seemed like history had been repeating itself in some ways. That showdown with the bounty hunters certainly seemed similar to how the Bernadeli agents had first found Vash back then, and that armor car robbery...twenty years ago, a similar incident had happened in this very town.
Why were events now echoing things that happened then? Was it coincidence, or perhaps fate? Was this boy really the legendary gunman of god-like skill known as Vash the Stampede? Annette had no other option but to believe it. This really had to be him, and yet, he defied many of the rumors just with his attitude and actions. What was the truth?
"Can I help you, sir?"
Finally. "I'd like a room please, for the next couple days."
Well, Vash was checking in, which made sure she could keep her eyes on him and find out just what was going on. He'd mentioned someone called the 'Gung-Ho Guns'. That name had been in the reports from Bernardeli, but she couldn't quite remember. Annette would definitely have to make a request for any information on a 'Gung-Ho Guns' gang.
The sun had set, and the town was starting to pick up in its rather quiet nightlife. People were going to the saloon, having a good time, and just outside the town, a figure draped with cloaks made his way toward the inn. His face was largely hidden by his large wide-brim hat, though poking out from under it was a long hooked nose, which resembled a beak. He was very thin, yet now unhealthily so, and he seemed to have a malicious gleam in his dark eyes. He smelled of carrion, the stench of rotting meat on him, so it was no wonder that he was known as the Vulture.
Hm, better to get Vash's attention than to just go after him, if this was indeed Vash. His superior insisted that it couldn't possibly be the real Vash, but Cairon had been paying attention to that boy back in Dankin. Even if his looks did not match, the skill did perfectly. So Vash or not, the target was no one to be taken lightly or trifled with.
A faint wind blew through the streets, his cloaks billowing like the wings of a vulture. So, it was better to find someone else to target first, then draw out the Stampede and handle him that way. A hostage was best, if this young man was anything like what he had been told of Vash. Besides, he was thirsty.
He changed his course and walked into the saloon. People started to notice the decayed stench almost immediately as he walked through the doors. With his eyes glaring out from under his hat, he stepped up to the bar and slammed down a series of coins from one claw-like hand. "Something stiff and hard," he hissed to the bartender. "Very hard."
That smell was disgusting. But, he had paid up front, so the bartender reached under the bar and pulled out the strongest drink in the house. A glass set before the wretched man, he poured the drink, then left the bottle. For how much he'd paid, this stinking fool could have the whole thing.
That same claw-like hand grasped the glass and threw down the contents in one gulp. After a moment, the man let out a sound of disgust and threw the glass against the wall, now garnering everyone's attention. "What the hell kind of drink is that!" he roared in anger. "You call that strong! I could milk a baby on that piss-water!"
"I'm sorry, pal," the barkeep replied. "But that's the strongest hooch we have here. If you don't like it, my apologies."
A chuckle escaped his lips. "Are you sure that's the bet you have?" he whispered, turning to the man behind the bar. "I dare say, I see something stronger than that water." Again, he laughed while extending his claw. "Tell me, young man. Do you know how to make a Holy Bartender?"
Chairs shifted as people started clearing back. The barkeep didn't get it, but it didn't sound like he wanted to find out, and judging from the reactions of the other people there, they did. "No, doesn't sound familiar," he replied uneasily. What was this old man who reeked like spoiled meat planning?
"He doesn't know how to make..." The man chuckled, then thrust his claws into the horrified young man, grinning maliciously while everyone started screaming and fleeing for safety. "That...is a Holey Bartender. It's my favorite, particularly fresh."
Pulling his hand out, Cairon the Vulture laughed and began licking the blood and other internal fluids of the now dying young man off his claws. "Hm...perfect taste. Nothing better than when it's fresh." He grinned, eyes flashing, and he leapt up over a group of people to land on a table just as they were headed for the doorway. "Please, please!" he exclaimed while spreading out his cloaks to reveal his other set of claws and create the image of him stretching a pair of wings. "There's no rush! We have to wait for someone, after all!"
"If I rework the chambers like this, then I should be able to..."
Frank Marlon was deep in his work, blueprints and notes on his study of those revolvers lying on his desk. The construction on Vash's guns was amazing, and the core rods of the barrels were something he still hadn't figured out, but they were meant for some kind of reaction. He'd done all kind of schematics of how to rebuild the revolvers as automatics, but he'd gotten so drawn into studying the guns themselves that he'd barely gotten started on the actually work.
But he was so close to figuring out those rods. They were some kind of control system, and there was a similarity between them and the control rods in a Plant. But why were they built into the barrels of a pair of custom revolvers? They had no use that way to humans.
Screams came from the saloon. Something terrible was going on over there, and judging from the number of people there were now scrambling to leave, it was pretty bad. The silver gun in his hand as he loaded it, Frank headed out and pulled aside one of the running survivors. "What the hell is going on!"
"Some maniac just walked in and killed Bill!" the woman screamed. "He looks like a monster, with claws and beak coming out from under his hat!"
It was them, it had to be. "Go to the inn!" he ordered her while turning toward the saloon. "Find that blonde kid and tell him that there's trouble down here!"
She nodded and ran off, leaving Frank to cock the hammer of the revolver and head for the saloon. Vash would make it in time to stop this maniac, but he should be able to buy some time for those hostages trapped inside. And as he took that step towards the doors, a body flew through and hit the ground, turning about to stare up in horror at Frank; Bill Hartford, the bartender, now dead. His chest had been torn open, and Frank almost threw up from how much it looked to be that internal organs were missing.
Then there was the laugh, and the screams. "Son of a bitch!" he hissed, now running up and kicking open the door. What he saw was a horrible vision to find; blood smeared on the walls behind the bar, a pair of bodies on the ground while entrails were scattered about. Three people were still alive, huddled up in a corner, and Frank found his eyes locked onto the cause of this insanity. Perched like a raptor on the bar, with a glass full of blood in one hand and what looked to be a human liver in the other, was a man dressed in bloodstained cloaks, a tight leather body suit which showed his gaunt frame, and a hooked beak-like nose which was framed by a pair of dark gleaming eyes. His hat lay on the bar, showing his rough black hair that now resembled feathers more than human hair.
"You're not who I wanted," he croaked, sounding like a vulture cawing as he raised his blood filled glass and drank it down. Frank wasn't sure whether he wanted to shoot the man, or vomit first, then shoot. The man's eyes caught sight of the silver gun. "That belongs to the man I was hoping to get, however. That means you have some relation to Vash the Stampede."
That proved it; this maniac was one of the Gung-Ho Guns. No wonder he was such a sick twisted bastard, and all just to draw Vash out! Well, this was going to be handled for a bit without the kid. "What's it to you!" Frank snapped back, aiming the large handgun and steadying his aim with his left hand. When that gun went off, it had to have one hell of a recoil. "You have any idea who I am, freak!"
Cairon grinned, hopped down from his perch, and threw the bloodstained glass against the ground where it smashed into pieces. "Frank Marlon," he stated calming while clicking his claws together. "Age, fifty-six. In good health since he quit drinking twenty-three years ago, works as a gunsmith, and maintains a once more respectable business in this city." Again, the Vulture laughed while Frank only held his aim. "Wife and daughter killed in a bank robbery thirty years ago, by a man who had been given his gun personally by Marlon. Did I forget anything, or should I now note your involvement with the fugitive Vash the Stampede?"
How dare he speak of something like that! His loss was well known, but to speak of it like it was some mere footnote was horrible and barbaric. "You son of a bitch!" Frank spat while his finger tightened around the trigger. "You walk in here and start killing people, then have the nerve to remind me of what I lost to people like you!"
Again, that detestable smirk. "Do you want to shoot me, then?" Cairon asked, spreading out his cloaks. "Will that make you feel better, Marlon! If you kill someone like me, will that make the pain stop!"
"Shut up!"
The trigger pulled and the round fired, sending Marlon flying back from the incredible recoil. Cairon leapt up just at that moment, dodging the bullet and landing to grab Frank by the neck. He swat away the revolver and lifted the man up, grinning while Marlon was now choking in his grip. "Foolish pathetic humans," he whispered, tightening his grip around Frank's neck. "You know Vash very well, I can tell. He wouldn't trust his gun to you otherwise." That horrible laugh, like a vulture's caw before it swooped down to a meal of carrion. "And I have a feeling I'll be seeing him soon enough, to find out if he is the real Vash, or just some fool who has the gall to impersonate him."
"Sir! There's trouble down at the saloon!"
Door swung open just as he finished pulling on his coat, Vash saw the terrified young woman standing there. "What's happening?" he asked in a calm voice. He could feel her panic, sense how much of a nightmare she has just escaped, but it didn't phase his own nerves. "What happened down there?"
"Some maniac walked in and killed Bill, then started going after everyone else!" she cried, almost bursting into tears at the things she had witnessed. "Oh god, he's a monster, he's not human!"
His hand pulled her head to his chest as he tried to calm her. "It's alright," he whispered just as Annette was coming out of her room to see what was going on. He glanced to the young blonde woman, nodded for her to arm herself, then returned his attention to the woman in his arms. "Just try and breathe, then tell me what you can. Is anyone else out there right now to stop him?"
A nod. "Frank Marlon went in there after he told me to get you!"
His head snapped up in shock. "Oh no!" Vash quickly left the woman standing there and raced down the stairs even as Annette came out of her room with her twin Eagle 9s in hand. "Annie, you go around the back of the bar when we get there, I'll try and get Frank out of there!"
"What about this maniac who's in there!"
Vash growled as he narrowed his eyes. He should have known what that chill down his spine earlier had meant. The Gung-Ho Guns had found him, and after he'd managed to eluded them over a month ago back in June City. It had torn up the town, but he'd drawn them away from killing anyone else after they had slaughtered an entire hotel just to get his attention. But there only seemed to be one of them here. Why only one? They had sent three of those maniacs last time.
But right now, he was more concerned about Frank and any other hostages who might still be alive in there. The Gung-Ho Guns were insane, brutally murdering anyone who they could find. One of them even indulged himself in drinking human blood like a vampire of old myths from pre-arrival on Gunsmoke. That one had been particularly of note to Vash, not to mention disturbing.
The body on the ground was the first thing that greeted them as they arrived. Annette almost threw up at the sight, but Vash's face only showed his hardened resolve. How often had he seen this kind of thing before? How many people had he seen die horribly, when he'd tried to save them? Was that the truth? None of it truly his fault, but all a matter of circumstance? "What kind of sick-"
"Knives," he spat, his tone filled with disgust. Vash slipped on his sunglasses and tapped a spot on the right side. His own vision through the lenses was overlaid by infrared, showing him the heat signatures from anyone inside who might still be alive. Three major heat sources, one of which was no doubt the Gung-Ho Gun who started this massacre. One of the others must be Frank. "Do as I told you," he stated while heading for the front door after turning off heat vision. "I just hope I can handle this with no more death for anyone."
She headed around to the back. Vash sighed, breathed in, then pushed open te door to be welcomed by a nightmare. Blood everywhere, internal organs thrown about, and there were two people huddled in the corner. That was two of those signatures...where was Frank?
"You're quite a bit shorter than I was told."
Jerking his head about, Vash saw the Vulture standing there behind the bar, one clawed hand on the counter while the other was hidden below. No, he didn't recognize this man, who was he? He hadn't been with the Guns two months ago in June City, Vash had already seen them all. There were seven of them, maybe eight, but this man was not one of them. "Who are you?" he demanded of the man who stood there, cloaks covered in blood. "Why the hell did you do this! What gave you the right to kill these people!"
Cairon laughed, tapping his right set of claws on the bar, but not moving. Vash could see what was under his hand now; his own silver revolver. How had he gotten that? "Well, you certainly talk like Vash the Stampede," he stated after a moment. Grasping the gun, he threw it to Vash, who caught it perfectly and flipped the weapon about to aim at Cairon. "You have his skills, true enough. But...Legato described you as taller, with hair that spikes up." A look of horror was on Vash's face now. That was just perfect. "Oh, and you seem to have grown your left arm back. You also look much younger than the photos I studied."
Legato? Legato Bluesummers? The leader of the Gung-Ho Guns? No, that was impossible. Legato was dead, killed the very gun in his right hand. "You're lying," Vash stated, but he couldn't shake the horrible feeling that was growing in the back of his mind. "Legato's dead! I-"
"You what!" Cairon spat while grinning. "You...killed him?" Yes, Vash's expression confirmed that was true. "Shot him in the head as he kneeled before you, blew his brains out with the very gun you now hold!" The reaction on Vash's face was indeed priceless now. Wait, was that surprise on his face? It looked like this was the first time he was hearing this. But why? If this was Vash, he'd been there twenty years ago, pulled the trigger himself. Why did he look so surprised to hear this? Could it be that Legato was right?
Was this not really Vash? But then how had he known about how his gun had shot Legato? His expression had confirmed that it was him who shot Legato, but he looked surprised to hear that it had been in the head, with Legato kneeling before him no less. Had he forgotten that?
No matter. This was his target, regardless of if it was truly Vash or not. Besides, he had some connection to Vash if he knew this much, and he obviously had been a friend of Frank Marlon's. Speaking of which...
"Your friend was rather brave," Cairon stated, his eyes narrowing while his grin broadened at Vash. "He came in here all alone, with your gun, trying to be the hero."
Fear crept in at the back of his mind. He could already figure out where this was going, but he had to hope for otherwise. "Where's Frank?" Vash said, noticing the gleam in Cairon's eyes. This was not good. "Where's Frank!"
And then, he raised his left hand to pull up the limping body and throw it over the bar, where it hit the gound and slid to a stop at Vash's feet. The young man dropped down and turned the body over, only to scream in horror as he saw what the Vulture had done; Frank Marlon was dead, his throat torn open and his eyes gouged out while his mouth hung open in a scream of agony.
"Now do you see what comes when you claim to be Vash the Stampede?" Cairon hissed sadistically as he leapt up onto the bar, perched there like a raptor about to strike. "When you assume his name, boy, you also assume his burden and pain!" His claws flashed out. "But unlike Vash, you won't be leaving this place alive!"
He sailed into the air, his claws angling to tear into Vash, but then a pair of shots tore through the air and slammed into him, sending Cairon jerking to the side and crashing into a table, now still upon the ground. He heaved once, then, fell dead, his hand clattering on the wood floor.
Standing there from the back entrance, Annette was holding her double Eagles, barrels still smoking from the rounds she'd fired. For a moment, she said nothing, but then she ran over to Vash and dropped down beside him. "Are you alright?" she asked. But he was only staring at her like she'd grown horns and was breathing fire. "What? I just saved your life!"
"You killed him!" Vash screamed in horror. "Why did you kill him!"
"Vash, he was going to kill you!" she snapped back. How could he yell at her for doing the right thing, for saving his life? "What was I supposed to do in this situation!"
His cheeks were running wet with tears now. Tears that shined...no, glowed, faint blue, glowing with their own light. "You didn't have to kill him!" the young man exclaimed angrily. "You had no right to take his life, no one has the right to take anyone's life!"
"Vash, he was going to take yours!" the woman screamed to her red clad companion. Yes, he was entitled to be upset over all this, but she had done the only thing she could. "The right to take a life or not, I did what was the right thing to do! He was a murderer, and there was no other choice!"
He shook his head, now pulling the sunglasses from his face to show that his eyes were watered over completely while those glowing blue tears poured down his cheeks. "There had to be," he whispered, now falling over into her arms. "There had to be another way. You didn't have to kill him..."
God, was this really Vash the Stampede? A legendary gunman who had destroyed July City in one shot, who had blown a crater into the fifth moon of their world? This...boy, who could not stand death. Was this the real Vash? Where all the stories just a wild tale cooked up? But, then how was it that this boy was the object of a one hundred billion double dollar manhunt? What had he really done?
"There had to be another way..."
Out on the bluffs, the man named Legato Bluesummers broke a smile. "Cairon has accomplishud his mission," he whispered, then turned to depart while Zazie and the large Asian man turned to watch him. "We have no further business here. Cairon did what I sent him to do."
"Legato," Zazie intoned as she and the large man followed their superior. "Cairon was killed by the woman, not by Vash, nor did he kill this imposter. How is that a success?"
"I have learned what I meant to," he stated as they all headed down the mountain side. Yes, Cairon had succeeded in his mission. He had tormeted this boy, broken him, and revealed that, even if this was not Vash himself, this boy definitely had Vash's essence, his mind and soul. That was enough for him. "We will watch him, Zazie, and when Malkav fails in his mission, we shuall bring Lord Knives his brother, prepared to join us and eradicate the humans."
While those three made their way down the mountain, a fourth figure was watching them from farther away. A lit cigarette was all that illuminated his features under his hat, while the large brown poncho on his body swayed in the wind. He took a drag, then pulled the cigarette out with his right hand and blew out the smoke before pulling up on the large metal cross that rested behind him with his left hand.
"Vash the Stampede," he whispered while putting the cigarette back in his mouth. He took one last drag, then threw the burned out butt away and made his own way own the mountain. "Looks like you've got just as much trouble as you did back then." He snorted while breathing out the smoke, then paused and took one glance down at the city. "The question is...are you the same man I'm looking for?"
