TWENTY-ONE: red coat

Four hours had passed, which meant that the journey had taken longer than he had anticipated. After all, he still had an untreated bullet wound in his left calf. But that didn't matter. Not really. What mattered was that he was here, and that Knives was waiting. There were so many questions Vash had to ask.

When he came to the valley, he stood on the tallest dune, silent, overlooking the alien fortress where he had imprisoned his brother. The great dome was nestled deep into the barren valley, hidden from view to anyone who did not know where to look. Vash had known, and now he knew without a doubt that somebody else had been here. In fact, there had been a lot of people here, very recently, and it appeared as though they had lain siege on his brother's stockade. Concern rippled through him, and he knew before he went inside what he would find there.

That didn't make him want to move any faster. He was glad for the 8-shooter strapped to his side, the weapon he had "borrowed" from Stryker. It meant that he had more to his defense than a near-empty machine-gun hidden in a chamber within his left, prosthetic arm.

Visions of the woman of his past, of Rem Saverem, filled his heart. He cherished the way she gave him new hope whenever he remembered her. He thought of her now, for all the pain in his heart as he realized the hardships to come. Vash, take care of Knives.

With a deep breath, Vash stepped down and into the valley. The soothing midnight breeze wind cooled him as it breathed gently against the thin layer of sweat painted against his skin. Of the many things that had been bothering him, most of his worries took a backseat to the oddity that had taken shape since he had neared the valley.

He couldn't feel his brother, yet he didn't see how Knives could possibly be anywhere but this place. It simply didn't make sense. Any escape simply wasn't possible. If Knives was gone, Vash couldn't see how. Not at this point in time.

Knives was either there, or he was gone. Vash just had to do a little investigating, that was all.

I'm coming Knives. Just hold tight, and it'll all be over soon.

----------

Vash fled the fortress as fast as he could, trembling and stumbling over every item along the way. Nausea crept up through his stomach to his brain, fighting him all the way. It was difficult to see straight.

He couldn't remember entering, or the long walk through the dark corridors along the way to the cells where his brother had been trapped. All that he remembered was his brother's face, somehow somber and peaceful, despite the dried blood caked in streams and the gaping hole where his right eye had been.

Finally, after what seemed to be forever, Vash stumbled back out into the sunlight. He staggered a little, moving until he was clear of the ship's entrance, and threw himself to the ground. He emptied the contents of his stomach into the sand. Tears of sorrow followed moments later.

"Stand up, Vash. I want you to see for yourself the man that slaughtered the brothers who were the first of our kind."

Vash's eyes widened.

The first of our kind.

He knew without a doubt that he had just stumbled into the biggest challenge of his life. It tore him up inside, having just located the man who had so brutally executed his brother. The man who shared his voice. Stryker? he pondered to himself, but realized that there was no way this was the same man he had faced in the SEEDS shuttle.

The time had come for him to choose. Again. He had failed his brother. The tears of his failure still fell into the pile of vomit that lay beneath him. The weight he had felt at his hip before grew only heavier as he realized the actions he would be forced to take this day.

The man standing nearby intended to take his life, just as he had killed Knives.

"No need to worry about your friends, either. They will soon join you and your brother."

Vash narrowed his eyes. "Don't you ever believe I'd make it that easy for you."

He looked up, seeing his duplicate some thirty feet away, standing there. Everything about him was Vash the Stampede.

The spiked hair. The red coat. The sunglasses. The leather straps clung to his prosthetic left arm. Vash frowned. The man knew the image before him well. He was Vash the Stampede. It was like looking into the face of the past.

Except the past was grinning. The real Vash didn't think it was all that funny.

There, in the valley that surrounded the titanium fortress that Vash had chosen as Knives' prison, the ultimate gun battle commenced.

The two Vashes moved like lightening, racing toward one another, drawing their weapons in a blur. As they leapt toward one another, they took aim.

Each was quick. Each knew the other was beyond limitation. Each filled the air with six bullets. Each missed their mark as they twisted in midair to avoid the deadly projectiles. Each gripped the other's arm, twisting at it, trying to knock away the weapon their opponent held.

Vash's eyes widened as he saw the silver magnum his duplicate carried, a magnum he thought he recognized. In fact, he was sure of it. His angel arm gun, the one he'd left after his confrontation with Knives.

They crashed to the ground, fighting to wrestle the weapons from one another's grip. Somehow, in the confusion, both plant-spawn found their way to their feet. Vash turned his eyes to his duplicate's face and saw sinister sneer on his lips. "Tell me who's responsible for this!" he shouted.

"It doesn't matter, Vash the Stampede," the other replied. "Soon, you'll be dead, and I will effortlessly slide into your place. I will treat your name as it is meant to be treated. No pussyfooting around."

"Not…that…easy!" Vash retorted, and at that moment used a rush of adrenaline to wrench the silver magnum from his grip. At the same moment, the impostor knocked his own weapon free. Both guns tumbled away. Seeing his opportunity, Vash unleashed his hidden machine-gun, but before he could bring it up to take aim, his duplicate wrapped his arm around the prosthetic limb, forcing him to spray the remainder of his bullets into the desert beyond.

"Easy enough." The man in red brought his left fist down across Vash's brow, knocking him to his knees. A boot followed, and he fell flat onto his back. That same boot kicked the black 8-shooter up and he caught it in his left hand. Turning slowly toward Vash, the impostor smirked. "Easier."

He fired. Vash spun left to avoid the seventh bullet of the weapon, sweeping his prosthetic limb beneath the other to knock his feet out from under him. In that instant, his hand found his silver magnum. It set in his grip like an extension to his arm.

Empty, Vash thought. Of course it is, stupid. You heard him fire six shots.

But yours isn't, Wolfwood's voice countered. Vash's eyes widened.

Time stood still as Vash spun to the right. Pain torched his right arm, though he knew he had only been nicked. At the same instant, he flung the magnum like a boomerang at his impostor, hitting him square in the face and knocking him back. Vash leapt to his feet, following through with a right-hand punch to the jaw. Two more punches followed, and in that instant he heard the eighth shot of Stryker's weapon ring out. His duplicate smirked, turning despite his swollen face and bloodied nose, he spun, turning his back as Vash crashed onto his back, snatching the angel arm magnum as it spun in midair. Vash was already on his feet as he snatched the tiny weapon from his belt. His duplicate pulled a fresh spool of bullets.

"Nice," his enemy murmured as turned back to take aim at Vash, certain that the fight was over.

There was another click as the angel arm magnum chamber slammed shut. Their eyes met in that instant, and the duplicate's eyes widened as he saw Vash lift his arm, revealing the derringer in his grip. One last gunshot echoed across the land.

----------

A series of images slid through Vash's mind as his duplicate slid to his knees.

In a desolate realm, far to the north of the northernmost establishment of Gunsmoke, lay the ruins of an ancient limestone city. Here was a world untouched by the settlers of Gunsmoke, more than 3000 iles from civilization, a fallen city that stretched for as far as the eye could see.

In the center of the city was a fallen coliseum, so large it would encompass five Roman Coliseums. Standing there, on the bare field, was an army of thousands.

Each soldier stood, identical to the one before, tall and slim, yellow hair cropped short. Each was draped in black armor.

Standing before the group was a man, large and muscular, his hair long and black. He wore a white overcoat with silver trim, and he carried a black shotgun. At his side was a Cross Punisher, like the one Wolfwood had carried. Two eyes, one real and one mechanical, glared out over the mass.

A hateful smirk played on pale lips. Next to him was a tall blonde, standing at attention with a cool, calculating gaze as her perfect, emerald eyes swept out over the army. A perfect woman with flush, pink lips, a slender face and lucid, slender body in a skintight, leather jumpsuit the color of blood.

----------

He stood over a fresh corpse, gazing to the west. It hurt knowing the truth, knowing that he had been forced to kill one more time.

This time he was not torn up inside. This time he could justify pulling the trigger. It was as though he had killed the devil within himself. What the bastard had told him mentally, before his death, was all too clear. How Stryker and this other duplicate had come into existence, who was responsible for the hell he had discovered back at the SEEDS shuttle, knowing that Morgante the Warhead was behind it all…

It all clicked. It all came together, making horrifyingly perfect sense. It was all too clear: killing would become a necessity, an evil toward a good end. It was inevitable.

He bent down over the corpse and began to fiddle with the red coat.

In the language of the flowers, red means "determination" and "courage."

A hand slipped slowly through one red sleeve.

The choices we make in life have unlimited possibilities. All I can do is think about them.

He slipped his prosthetic arm into the opposite sleeve and hiked the coat up onto his shoulders.

And if you keep your vision clear, you will see the future. What happens in our future is our own responsibility.

Ten fingers, five flesh and five plastic, began to slip the buttons into place.

Because they're angels… Perhaps we should pay more attention to them. Vash and Knives could be angels God sent us to point us in the right direction. They may even guide us to our dream.

"I'm sorry Rem," Vash whispered, staring to the Fifth Moon. "I shouldn't have left him alone. I shouldn't have left him defenseless."

He slid his sunglasses into the pocket inside his coat.

No one ever has the right to take the life of another.

"Morgante, I'm through running." He tested the hidden gun. It sprung free and disappeared back into the chamber in his palm in a matter of a half a second. "I'm coming after you this time."

The man in red, the real Vash the Stampede, drew a deep breath and started back toward the SEED shuttle, where his future waited.