This is just an idea I've been meditating on for awhile. Furthermore, I can't seem to find any stories on Rai-Dei the Blade of the Gung-Ho Guns. It's sort of one of my philosophies on how people justify things and how truth is often overlooked, but I'll leave the interpretation up to you. Also, the history on Rai-Dei is fictional since his background is never revealed, but Midvalley the Hornfreak and Hoppered the Gauntlet's pasts are from the Trigun Maximum manga, not the show. If you haven't read them, you may not understand some of this.
I own neither Trigun, nor the song Chop Suey by System of a Down.
-Randall Flagg2000
Hi. You probably don't know who I am. Not that anyone would want to know me. Those who knew me always met a quick and painful end at the steel of my katana. Nobody even remembers my name, at least not my new name. If you asked about my old name, then you probably wouldn't hear it from me. It's in the past now. I gave it up for my new name; the one Millions Knives and his servant Legato Bluesummers christened me with. So why should I bother thinking about it? Why do these thoughts come to me now as I lie on the ground dying, a bullet in my body, slowly but surely working into me, tearing my organs open and bringing me closer and closer to death as the moments fly?
Maybe it's because I finally realize the truth which should have been evident to me so long ago.
Maybe it's because my devotion to Bushido and spiritual enlightenment were so fanatical I was blinded to the truth.
Maybe it's because I sold something much deeper then my soul to a madman whose logic seemed to pleasing and soothing that I dared not question it.
Or maybe… it's because I chose to make myself into a monster. No, I didn't quite do that. I made myself into something even worse then any monster or demon that the human mind and soul are capable of comprehending. Is there any word for it? I don't know. Perhaps it is better that there is not word.
Dominique, Monev, E.G. Mine, Zazie, all of you; were we wrong all along? What have we become? Have we become nothing then what we once feared? Was that devil of a man Vash the Stampede right all along in not wanting to hurt anyone while still fighting to protect the innocent? Have we really been devoting ourselves to an evil cause? I'm only sorry it took me so long to realize it.
Things are coming back now. I'm seeing it all in my mind again. Everything that led me to a life of dishonor and shame passed off as one of virtue and righteousness that would lead to spiritual awareness. I can even hear it. At the very least, I can unburden my soul before I too pass into the nothingness that I have sent so many into.
Wake up
Grab a brush and put a little (makeup)
Grab a brush and put a little,
Hide the scars to fade away the (shakeup)
Hide the scars to fade away the,
Why'd you leave the keys upon the table?
Here you go create another fable
People generally think that one turns evil or becomes disturbed because they suffered some sort of traumatic event in their lives, mostly abuse of some kind when they were children. It's only logical, right? John Doe was molested by his father so his sexual views became warped and he raped children as an adult. Jane Doe was physically abused by her mother, so now she drinks to repress the memories and beats her own children in a drunken rage. Nothing more then cause and effect right? That's how things work, at least according to people.
People don't like thinking that a child-or even a human being for that matter-is capable of becoming dangerous on their own. If such a thing occurs, they have to say the child had some sort of mental illness or something. Bobby didn't mean to throw a tantrum in front of all of my best friends. It's just his attention deficit disorder. Lisa doesn't mean to be so withdrawn and moody. Her bipolar disorder makes her switch moods all the time. I guess even psychology has its own form of black and white logic, at least to a degree.
I guess people don't like thinking about the effect without the cause because it makes them think of themselves and the ones they love or look up too. If a person simply becomes evil or wild without some motive or reason, then does that mean the "good" people are the same as the "bad" people? That we possess the same potential for evil and injustice as the "bad" people do? Perhaps it does. So to make themselves comfortable they have to find some explanation for things to make sure that they are different. Not better, just different. It is true, it is done to help people, but there is still that underlying element of fear. I wonder if anybody has ever consciously considered this, even if for only a second.
You wanted to,
Grab a brush and put a little makeup,
You wanted to,
Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup,
You wanted to,
Why'd you leave the keys up on the table?
You wanted to
As one of the most powerful Gung-Ho Guns, it was my duty to obey Millions Knives and Legato Bluesummers and carry out their work. I never questioned what I did at all. All I did was kill and kill and kill. I murdered men and women, old people, all of them. People who had physical and mental disabilities were shown no mercy either. Even children and little babies were slaughtered under my sword. Knives always seemed to enjoy seeing the babies and children killed the most. He said it was "preventing eggs from hatching into spiders".
I never questioned my orders. As a samurai of the Jigenzan-Ittou School, it was my duty to serve my masters and superiors. That was our traditional duty as Samurai, a duty which dates back to so many years ago before humans had even populated Gunsmoke. This was back when they still lived on that old planet called "Earth".
After the horrific extra forms of training I underwent under Knives and Legato, I felt no need for questioning my orders, even if they were dishonorable. As more and more bodies piled up, I began to feel it was right. It is stated that a samurai must defend his employers, so I began to believe-actually believe-that this killing was meant to protect my new masters. And so many other traditions began to merge with the apathy and lust for spiritual awareness that was gradually taking over me. I guess my traditions and teachings pervaded my mind so much that I became something that thought in such a narrow minded way that I overlooked the ethics and moralities of the samurai which I was violating.
The same went for all the other Gung-Ho Guns. Monev the Gale, Dominique the Cyclops, and E.G. Mine always seemed to enjoy the slaughters the most, although for different reasons then I. Monev only did it because he had been deprived of a regular life for so long. Dominique always said she was only "cleaning up garbage". E.G. was always the one who enjoyed it the most. He seemed to enjoy violence solely for the sake of violence. I can still remember his unflinching eyes and snarling voice when he crucified Dominique and Monev. Even then, I did not flinch. I only saw fear in his eyes when he realized he had lost, like a schoolyard bully. Maybe that was all that he was.
I don't think you trust
In, my, self righteous suicide,
I, cry, when angels deserve to die, die.
When I was born my mother died in labor with me. I have no recollection of her except through the photographs of her that Papa kept in some old albums. I never knew why I didn't have a mother. It confused me and pervaded my mind, but I wasn't exactly sad. Papa was always very proud of the way I was able to control myself in difficult situations. When a canary he had given me as a pet died of old age, I did not cry. I was aghast and saddened, but there were no tears. I had actually gone out and buried him myself in the backyard, saying a prayer in Japanese for him.
Papa was a kind man, despite what you may think about him from what I have told you of him so far. He always knew how to make people laugh, he loved me as a father should, and he raised me to be a good samurai. Papa's bloodline was descended from a long line of samurai, and after the banning of swords, a line of martial artists who incorporated blade techniques into traditional Karate. After Earth deteriorated, he was frozen on that ship where Millions Knives had been born. He was one of the few humans who made it to Earth after the sabotage and crash. After Gunsmoke had been taken over by the humans, he had eventually met my mother and married her. All that was left was the construction of the dojo and my birth.
Papa's training was intense, but he was fair. He knew when I could no longer heft my bokken, slice down trees, and when I was going to collapse. He told me of Japans traditions, its customs, and the way of the samurai. He would have taught me Karate instead of swordsmanship, but he wished for the small bit of old Japan to be preserved so the new human race could remember it. I was always surprised how he could still remember his teachings from his childhood. I guess the way of the warrior will never be completely dead.
I guess it started with Papa teaching me that a warrior must never stray from his goal at an early age. Many arts teach that both the masters and the students must always finish whatever they start, so perhaps it got to my brain, but in the wrong way. Papa taught me that the times forbade killing for honor and reputation, but also said that this was a piece of samurai tradition he did not believe in. We were both determined to better ourselves in the way of the sword, but I think in my mind back then I decided that both sayings were an illogical contradiction. It was like what I thought about Vash the Stampede showing me compassion in our duel. Such a thing was a worthless contradiction that had no logic behind it. Now I know how Knives must feel.
As this thought continued deeper into my mind, I began to change as my old self slowly died and my new self took over.
Wake up,
Grab a brush and put a little (makeup),
Grab a brush and put a little,
Hide the scars to fade away the (shakeup)
Hide the scars to fade away the,
Why'd you leave the keys upon the table?
Here you go create another fable
I almost forgot to tell you that Papa was also the headmaster of the Jigenzan-Ittou school. His abilities with the sword were unsurpassed, but with the new trend towards using guns, he had to increase its techniques. Guns were superior weapons to swords, so he had to teach me to use a sword in such a way that even a gun would not be able to match it. I learned how to dodge-and later deflect-bullets without worry of being hit. I learned how to move at speeds equal to that of Vash the Stampede and to slice through any sort of physical matter, no matter how hard. It was grueling, but it was for a higher cause, and I intended to finish it completely.
What Papa didn't know was how I was changing. Every night I contemplated on the belief of saving lives without killing and I could not understand it. It just didn't seem possible. Human wars had been fought with weapons of all kinds throughout years, both on Earth and Gunsmoke. In books and myths, the hero or heroine always had to destroy some great evil to save someone or something. I cannot recall anything where the hero or heroine tried to save the villain. Then again the struggle between good and evil has been so traditionally defined that people probably wouldn't want such a thing this late in time.
As I turned this over and around in my mind I gradually began to grow disgusted with what I perceived to be hypocrisy. You couldn't save both sides. It wasn't that it wasn't logical, nor was it that it would require so much thinking a solution might not be reached in time. For me it was simply that Bushido and traditions of my native country said you had to finish what you started. I had started this personal belief of my own long ago, so I felt compelled to focus on the one belief that seemed most effective. I know nothing is that black and white, but some aspects of Bushido put things in black and white to a degree. Even then there are so many angles and ideas interlinked beneath those that you can't really find the core of them. I guess one can only go so far.
I added more layers of justification into my mind, growing more and more resolved to end lives to save others. What I didn't count on was that I would soon only end lives for a much more sinister cause.
You wanted to,
Grab a brush and put a little makeup,
You wanted to,
Hide the scars to fade away the shakeup,
You wanted to,
Why'd you leave the keys up on the table?
You wanted to
It happened on the day my Papa deemed me worthy to use his blade. I had just completed a series of rigorous exercises and sword forms with my bokken and Papa knew I had become a samurai. He congratulated me and told me how proud he was of me and how he hoped I would find students to bring to his dojo. Believe me he would have done that much earlier, but people had become so wrapped up in their own lives that he would need a successor first to show his teachings were not false. People generally don't believe that something is real until somebody else tries it and it works for them.
Just as I was to receive his sword, he appeared. He was clad in some sort of cybernetic jumpsuit. His hair was so blonde it was almost white. But it was his eyes I never forgot. I have never seen such malice and contempt in those eyes. They were animal's eyes, devil's eyes, filled with so much hatred and bitterness.
Papa turned to him and that was the last time I ever saw him. The man held out his hand and I saw his fingers suddenly begin to shift into some sort of blade. It did not assume the physical shape of a knife like people think. The fingers simply became long and elegant, seeming to merge into one beautiful point. The color of the skin became seemingly scaled and reptilian, like a lizards tail. The man turned to Papa.
I shall never forget what happened next. Papa's body suddenly split right down the middle, cleaving him into two perfect halves. Both sides of him fell to different sides, his organs and blood already soiling the floor. As his intestines came undone, some thick brown substance which I knew was human excretion splattered out and a horrific stink filled the room. Then came an even worse smell: the smell of the internal body and I vomited in terror and disgust.
Suddenly my body snapped straight up and I found I could neither move nor speak. Another man came in through the front door of the dojo, dressed in a white coat with a skull on one shoulder and a device of torture covering his other like some spiked bubble. I tried to turn around and lunge at the man but I could not even flex the muscles in my body. It felt as though I had become a wooden board.
I don't remember anything after that. I only remember waking up somewhere that was dark and hummed with machinery. I still could not move no matter how hard I tried. I could hear a voice, calm and pleasant, telling me he was collecting "weapons" capable of mass destruction and slaughter. He told me how a man named Legato had been watching me from a distance, listening to me, and understanding how I felt. He also told me everything I wanted to hear. How one must "kill the spiders to save the butterflies", how humans were environmental hazards and how they only ate up resource after natural resource, and how selfish and mindless they were. Years ago this might have terrified me, but I had sunken so deep into what I perceived as Bushido that I felt something deep within my subconscious move within me. I began to listen more and more earnestly as the voice went on and on, slowly degenerating into a lunatic rant on humanity, lacking all sanity and kindness, becoming a tidal wave of hate and egotistical logic that I gave up trying to fight it and began to believe it, and then like it. I guess Legato knew I had conceded because he stopped using his telekinesis and allowed me to move.
The voice stopped for a moment and then continued in a more subdued tone, telling me how the samurai hadn't realized that death itself was the path to spiritual awareness and Nirvana, saying that I was a weapon that could do things few others could. I think one little part of my mind tried to say no, but the larger part of my mind warned me to say no would be death. This man had described everything I believed in (or had trained myself to believe in) and wanted. How could I refuse this? I couldn't. I wanted spiritual awareness and to find a way to justify the conflicting thoughts and emotions in my mind. I didn't care about whatever consequences may come. I thought things couldn't get any worse.
They did.
I don't think you trust,
In, my, self righteous suicide,
I, cry, when angels deserve to die
In my, self righteous suicide,
I, cry, when angels deserve to die
They said it was training, but it was really murder. When I say that I mean it was murder of one's own soul and image as a human. We were all taught different abilities and techniques that could kill people in horrific ways. The more we practiced and the more we killed, the more apathetic and desensitized to pain and suffering we became. But we all had our excuses and alibis and they made us keep going until we became those alibis and excuses. Soon we couldn't even call ourselves human. Caine the Longshot became so caught up in his training that his body withered and deteriorated, forcing him to wear a metallic suit and mask over his body. It was hideous and terrifying, that such a handsome man could be reduced to a corpse in a metal suit.
Knives and Legato taught me sword techniques that were inhuman and cruel. Knives noticed how strong my arm was when it came to swinging a sword and taught me to swing it with enough force to create a sonic wave capable of destroying entire buildings. And even after that they gave me a new scabbard for Papa's sword, one which contained a rifle inside of it. I couldn't believe it. For a samurai to use a gun was dishonorable and cowardly. I should have said no, but again I had gone too deep into myself to consider it or care about it. So I accepted it and began to plunge further into lunacy and darkness.
I think some of them tried to break away from it. Midvalley was always so depressed and quiet whenever I spoke with him. The man was so withdrawn and racked with misery and horror that he looked, well… damned. I remember talking to him about how Knives had selected him and suddenly he just burst into tears, weeping and shivering. He begged me to end it for him, to kill him and put an end to the bloody deeds he had committed. In an earlier time I might have tried to help him, but I couldn't. Instead I slapped him and yelled at him to stop being such a coward. I simply walked away from him, leaving him sobbing and quivering on the ground. He was clutching his saxophone so tightly I thought it would break.
Hoppered the Gauntlet also had some regrets he kept locked away. He told me once of how during Lost July the one he had loved had been killed in it. Even more, his body had been so horrifically deformed since birth that his body had been forced to be encased in the spider-like armor which he always wore. He told me nothing of how he was chosen to be a Gung-Ho Gun, but what he said was enough. He was always one of the more calm Gung-Ho Guns, able to think without his emotions getting in the way and make proper decisions. Yet even to him I could show no sympathy. I only wish I had.
We took off more and more pieces of ourselves, turning ourselves into hideous creatures of nightmares, things which could not function in society. When I told Vash the Stampede that he and I were demons, I guess that was the small remnant of good left in me trying feebly to bring me back to safety by making myself sound like a monster. Too bad it spoke too late.
Father, Father, Father, Father,
Father/Into your hands/I/commend my spirit
Father into your hands,
Why have you forsaken me,
In your eyes forsaken me,
In your thoughts forsaken me,
In your heart forsaken, me oh,
Now here I am lying on the ground with an unknown mans bullet in my chest. I wonder how many other Gung-Ho Guns will die, not knowing what they have brought themselves to and how they were deceived. I feel so sorry for them and myself. We have allowed ourselves to be trained and tricked, not just by Knives and Legato, but by ourselves and our own beliefs. As I said earlier, it is the effect without the cause. Internal beliefs and theories form something horrific on their own. Nothing is left for us now.
Why did I give up my honor and peaceful lives? Why did I allow myself to surrender to Knives and his deception? How could I have let the few Gung-Ho Guns who showed mild signs of remorse feel worse? How could I have confused killing with the path to Nirvana?
Most of all: why did I not bother thinking?
My vision is growing hazy and my body is growing numb. I fear I only have the strength to speak a little bit more before I am carried off to whatever Hell is reserved for angels turned into freaks like me.
Trust in my self righteous suicide,
I, cry, when angels deserve to die,
In my self righteous suicide,
I, cry, when angels deserve to die
It is strange. Tears are coming out of my eyes for the first time in so long. Even when Papa was killed I did not cry. I guess it is just another sign that I have gone beyond the point of no return. Or perhaps I have always been crying on the inside, but I was so busy killing people I never even considered it. It is a relief I can still cry. Maybe I could have turned away after all.
Goodbye to all of the Gung-Ho Guns that I knew for so long. Monev: I hope that Kami-sama can take pity on you for how you were forced to train and kill.
E.G. Mine: I know you were cruel, but I think there was still a little good left in you, like in all of us. May you have peace, and I hope you can forgive me for killing you without the slightest hesitation.
Hoppered: May you be reunited with the woman you loved and if you are incarnated I hope you come back in a body that was ugly on the outside, but once beautiful within.
And Midvalley: I don't think any of us can ever escape the hole we dug ourselves into, but I hope that if any Gung-Ho Gun can break free from Knives and Legato, I hope that at least you can be free and start a new life.
What else is there to say? My vision is growing hazy and I finally realize it is my time to die. So be it then. I am a disgrace to the samurai and I destroyed what little bit of dignity my country had after Earth had been depleted. May Heaven have mercy on me and all the other Gung-Ho Guns.
Bushido said a Samurai must commit seppuku should he lose his honor. Papa always told me such a belief was irrelevant in this day and age. I think an exception can be made in this case. I have to finish what I start, right?
Yes. I think that's fair.
THE END
I was originally going to write this idea out in a Ranma story, but I decided I've already got something similar going already, so I chose Trigun instead. It's sort of a cynical view on ignorance and personal belief over truth, but it's up to you to interpret it.
-Randall Flagg2000