I don't know why, but I feel cold.

I don't like this feeling… this depressed, sad, sick feeling of loss… what would I lose?

… Will I lose my angel?

_Begin Transmission, New Data Reel Acquired._

Star Date; Year 0019, October 20th.

I sat against the wall, my dark hair falling to cover my eyes; my entire body was swathed in bandages and I could feel this foreboding. It was everywhere; like a smoke or maybe radiation… yeah. It could have been radiation.

Across from me all I could see was a tuft of black, spiky hair and a blanket. I suppose he was asleep, but I knew better than that. I knew he was just waiting for me to say something… probably so he could contradict me.

I lightly drummed my slim fingers across the sheets, smiling weakly, as if I had been shot again. Bullets seemed to be my friends, always following me; always hitting their mark…. That is with the exception of his bullets. Not one had even grazed me.

I was beginning to wonder; is it possible for Angel's… to be more than just something we strive for?
My role on Earth was simple; unlock the secret to an Angelic state of euphoria. Where reality and fantasy create a world and wings are simply grown by the subject…. My purpose was a sin against God, in an attempt to be the being closest to God.
But my role on this planet supposedly dubbed 'No-Man's Land' by none other than the man in the bed beside me; my role was to protect him at all costs.

I was not assigned this role. Initially my role was to kill Vash the Stampede and retrieve the 'Angel Arm' as a valuable piece of research equipment. He was initially going to be a test subject, but I was going against orders. And I would pay ultimately for my infidelity.

In this world, we have our walls… our walls to protect us from the unparalleled destructive force of mankind's evil. And yet some of us have never had that wall… and we are perfectly capable of living on anyway.

I sincerely thought that maybe, just maybe, this 'Vash the Stampede' and I had a remarkable similarity… we were both lacking that protective wall…

We are the tortured souls that would put on our fake smiles and sing false praises.

My thoughts ended just like that and I was thrown back into harsh reality; the very reality where I was sitting in a hospital bed, my hair falling to cover my eyes and my life most likely on the line. I was just there to go along for the ride.

"… When I die, please don't sing my praises… I only wish to be acknowledged as gone from this world.
No false chances, no lost dances…
Just a meager hope of recompense."
I remember hoping my words had fallen upon deaf ears. My little song of sorrow was heard though.

"… For the worlds last advances, and our past sinful lances…
Truly we have no cold war, truly we have nothing to adore.
Just a meager chance at a better tomorrow."
A deep voice uttered a reply to my sung plea to the abominable world.

I knew he had been awake.

"As we lay waiting, still abating.
We're losing strength, we're losing numbers.
Our war is soon to be over and done."
I had always wanted to meet someone like him.

"Cold hands grip at rusted guns, gaunt faces lack the strength to sing.
Our war is over, our war is done.
But really, who are the lucky ones?"
I thought maybe we, him and I, could take a chance and save this world.

"When all is over, said and done…
Really, who are the lucky ones?
The people who regain their breath, the people who still have energy left?"

"We are lucky.
We are the providers and we are the destructors…
Down, down, all of the sins are like rain."

And then the oddest thing happened; me, with my face stained from tears long since dried up, and the man, with hope still left in his wobbly voice; our voices joined and we filled the ward with a melancholy melody.

"Falling to Earth, like little seeds left from the sparrow's mouth,
we will grow this world as our incubator.
And our children and our children's children will sing this same song, and maybe we will regain our humanity."

It ended as less of a song and more of a happy hope. We hoped that the world would become good again, and perhaps we would be able to go on living without fear of war or destruction.

I felt refreshed, as if all my sins had really fallen away from me like rain, leaving only a shell. Because, without our sins, what ties our soul to our sullied bodies?

I glanced to the bed beside me and smiled dully at the raven haired male, who now sat up lopsidedly in his bed. Maybe we had a chance.

We shared a moments glance before we both spun and landed on the floor, me slinging a black and red plaid messenger bag over my shoulder and strapping my sheath around the hospital gown I wore, and he shrugged a large leather, one-shoulder backpack over his shoulder and placed the holster for his gun around his hips.

"Let's go!"
I remember shouting the command before turning and bolting toward the door, my hair billowing behind me in some obscene show of… vanity, perhaps? Anyway, I jumped, gently nudging what I would guess was the 'Ward Mother', but in reality was a tall woman who I assumed to have been armed to the teeth.

I could vaguely hear the obnoxious screeches as our guards realized we were making a brake for it.
I guessed that they hadn't wanted us to leave yet.

They had put up several guards around the hospital facilities in an effort to keep the 'Earth trash' and the 'Human disaster' there long enough for the assorted mafia, gang, bounty hunter, or police enforcement to get there and apprehend us.

It made me laugh.

I reached into my bag and fumbled around for a moment while still pushing my way to the door. I needed Mortem for this one.

A cold smile fluttered on my lips as I pulled out the silver gun, holding it without aiming as I rushed toward the unfortunate skull that was bound to get in the way.

My first hit was the back of a young male nurse's cranium, though I was relatively sure he would not sustain any permanent cranial damage.

_End Transmission, Data input has reached the limit._

"Oh damn it all!" I blared, my hands nearly crashing down upon the small laptop, "Almost to the good part, too!"

I growled and slammed the laptop shut, not even bothering to hit send on the latest edition of what I like to call 'The idiot's encyclopedia to dealing with Vash the Stampede'.