It was the perfect name, really. A single word that summed up this pitiful planet, that simultaneously spoke of its heat and its harshness, its dry winds and its scouring sands. That word gave him hope, helped maintain his belief that one day the humans really would die out, that those damn pods hadn't made any difference anyway. Rem hadn't won yet. Knives was very much still in the game, and all because of one little word, one brilliant little word.
Gunsmoke...
Knives turned to a disgruntled Vash and grinned, proud.
"I still say we should have named it Bob."