The latest disaster area was Dankin Town. Meryl and Milly had received word through the usual rumor mills, so they packed up Meryl's heavy typewriter and the rest of their belongings to make their way across the perpetual desert to the small outpost. When they arrived, people were still trying to dig their homes out of the rubble. The two women picked their way through the mess to the sheriff's office.

The building was entirely destroyed. The back wall, facing out on what had once been the market, still stood enough to hold one window and some semblance of privacy to the man inside. Meryl and Milly walked to the door and Meryl knocked on it. Milly was leaning to one side to look into the office; the door alone stood among the ruins, and when the sheriff called, "Enter," they found him looking somewhat annoyed.

The sheriff was a tall man, only slightly more so than Milly. He was built well: sturdy, as though he worked with his hands along side his fellows in the town, unlike so many of the more rotund and complacent town officials the women had met in their travels. The man's dark hair was cropped short, and his moustache was well-groomed.

"What can I do for you, ladies?" he asked. He stood up and walked around the desk, offering Meryl his hand.

"My name is Meryl Stryfe," said Meryl, shaking his hand. Then she gestured to Milly. "And this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson, sir!" The big girl bowed awkwardly and her stun-gun swung out from under her arm to hit the sheriff in the knee. He swore profusely and his hands flew down to the injury reflexively, and Milly looked even more upset. "I'm sorry!" she said, anxiously.

"It's alright," said the sheriff, who seemed to be trying to put on a brave face, refusing to show pain at the hand of a flustered young girl. He leaned back against his desk, sucking in a long breath through his teeth. "So," he said. "What was it you needed?"

"We're from the Bernadelli Insurance Company, investigating the damages caused by one alias Vash the Stampede." Meryl said all this in her most professional voice. She pulled a small notebook and a pen from the folds of her cloak and flipped it open to a blank page, looking expectantly at the sheriff. "What happened here?"

"Vash the Stampede and some other man had this massive duel," the man told her, his arms gesturing broadly. "The whole town was caught in the crossfire!"

"A gun battle?" prompted Meryl.

"More like a goddamn canon battle," said the sheriff.

"Oh my!" said Milly.

"There were these two HUGE men, each of them with about a dozen henchmen—"

"Henchmen?" asked Meryl, frowning. This didn't fit the usual profile.

"—One was all in grey and had this... this... laser or something," the sheriff continued. He started looking frantic, losing his calm as though he were reliving the incident in describing it to them. "The other was this short-legged monster in red, but he didn't have a gun—all his cronies did, see—he just had a gigantic metal blade. It cut through anything!" He gestured around his office. "It tore apart the whole building!"

"Oh my," Milly said again.

"How many casualties?" asked Meryl, still writing notes furiously in her mangled shorthand.

"None, actually," said the sheriff, seemingly amazed.

Meryl's hand slipped, and the pen slid across her notebook in a thick slash of ink.

"None?" she asked, looking up at the man. Her forehead began to ache, and she knew her eyebrows were coming together in confusion; it was an expression she made all too frequently. "None at all?"

"Not a one," he said, shaking his head as he folded his arms across his chest. "Dozens of injuries, maybe hundreds, but no deaths."

"Just like the others!" Milly said, excitedly, putting a hand on Meryl's shoulder.

"Hush, Milly," Meryl said quickly, trying not to snap at the younger woman. Milly looked cowed and Meryl felt like she'd just kicked a puppy.

"What others?" asked the sheriff, frowning, calming again as he stroked his moustache. He looked from one woman to the other. Meryl sighed. She might as well tell him.

"We've been trying to catch up to Vash the Stampede for several months," she explained. "We always seem to arrive at each disaster area just a few days too late, or too early, or have even been there when it was happening." Meryl rubbed the aching muscles of her forehead. "And we still can't actually tell who he is. There are so many different rumors or descriptions... The only consistent fact we have found in our investigation is that there have never actually been any deaths at any of the sites he was believed to have appeared."

"Isn't it odd?" Milly piped up, already eager again. "Mr. Vash is supposed to be this terrible man, killing people left and right—"

"Milly," interrupted Meryl, trying to keep the girl from getting too excited.

But the younger woman continued speaking, undeterred.

"—but no one has ever actually been killed! Maybe he's not really as bad—"

"Milly, he's a criminal!"

Meryl had snapped at her this time, and immediately she hated herself for it.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Milly said, quietly, looking down the long distance to her feet.

A whole litter of puppies. Goddamn it.

Meryl opened her mouth, but the sheriff denied her the chance to apologize to her partner.

"Well, I don't know about all this business of yours," he said, shrugging. "But this man was definitely Vash the Stampede. I'm sure of it."

"Yes, but which one?" asked Meryl, exasperated, turning back to face the man.

"Which one?" the sheriff repeated, looking surprised. "The second, of course! The giant in red!"

"How can you be so sure?" Meryl's forehead ached even more. "You just said there were two of them—"

"The second one won," interrupted the sheriff, speaking decisively. Then he smoothed his moustache again. "I think."

Meryl sighed.

"Do you have any idea where he might be going next?"

"He drove away toward the east." The sheriff nodded toward the distant horizon.

Meryl stowed away her pen and notebook in the folds of her cloak and offered her hand to the sheriff again. He took it, and then quickly side-stepped as Milly bowed again. The stun-gun swung out and put a dent in the sheriff's desk.

"Thank you," Meryl said, as Milly tucked the heavy weapon under her arm again.

"Of course," he replied, returning to sit at his desk. "Good luck, ladies."

Meryl sighed again as she shut the door behind them. Milly waved at the sheriff one last time, through an area in mid-air where a window might once have been, and followed Meryl down the stairs.

"That didn't sound like any of the other descriptions we've heard," Meryl said, retrieving her notebook again and flipping through earlier pages.

"Well, maybe it's because this time we finally have the right one!" said Milly, cheerfully. Despite the almost completely flawed logic, Meryl appreciated the younger woman's ability to remain in such good spirits throughout the frustrations of their assignment.

"Let's hope so, Milly," Meryl said.