His mouth was dry - still tasted of booze and stale cigarettes. His head felt little better. Not quite the pounding of a true hangover, but enough to tell him that if he had slept, he hadn't slept well. Wiping the crust from his eyes he blinked against the hazy yellow light spilling from the edges of the well worn curtains, trying to remember what had been circling through his mind.
A memory? A dream? Something, he was sure, but it was gone, lost between the cracks before he could even put a name to it.
The knocking at his door was more important.
"What?" he groused, reaching across to snag his sunglasses from the bedside table.
"Wolfwood, open the door!" Meryl's voice snapped. "It's…" She paused for a moment. "It's… Joe."
It took his semi-conscious brain a moment to process what she meant, but the instant the pieces slipped into place he threw himself out of bed, not bothering with a shirt.
He yanked the door open - she darted into the room without invitation.
"What happened?" he demanded, barely waiting for the click of the latch before he rounded on her, searching her face for answers.
She was still wearing the clothes she'd had on the night before. Her fingers clenched around the ends of her shorts, gripping the fabric like a lifeline, her eyes blown wide.
And she said the words he was dreading. The words he'd already known were coming.
"Vash is gone."
Wolfwood sucked a breath in through his nose. "Shit. I thought I told you-"
"To keep an eye on him, yeah, I know, I was in the hallway all night waiting for him to try and sneak out."
"Then he-"
"Went out the window," she finished for him.
On the third floor. Of course he did, the idiot.
He should have known something like this would happen, should have written off the idea of sleep entirely and waited out on the street to catch him in the act… Or maybe it wouldn't have made a difference. Maybe Vash would have noticed him, and scurried up the wall like a lizard to make his escape across the rooftops before Wolfwood even had the chance to react. Sometimes there was no telling with him.
"I suppose it's too much to hope he just went out for donuts."
He regretted it the moment he spoke - could find no humor in the words, could not summon even a hint of a wry smile - neither of them laughed.
Meryl bit her lip.
"I broke into his room when he didn't answer," she told him. "He left his bag… Wolfwood, I don't know when he left, but if he was trying to do it without us noticing he would have gone at night, and he would have been back before morning."
His gaze slipped back to the curtains. "Shit."
He suspected it was still early, but there was no doubt that dawn had well and truly broken. All of which meant that either Vash had landed himself in a quickly spiraling situation that kept him busy enough that he'd re-ordered his priorities and given up on sneaking back before they woke, or he was incapable of returning on his own two feet. Wolfwood didn't like either option.
"Go wake Roberto up," he said, grabbing his shirt from the floor, "I think we need to pay a visit to this 'spire'."
"What do you mean, 'wait'," Meryl asked.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Roberto had one foot in its boot and was busy cajoling the other to follow suit. "I mean," he said, jiggling the heel until it finally slid home, "it'll be another hour till the truck's ready. Wait until then before starting anything."
"But Vash is missing, we don't know… what if he's in trouble? What if they-"
"Kid's tough, he can survive without you mother hens for a few more minutes. If shit really hits the fan and we need to leave in a hurry I'd feel much better with a vehicle at the ready."
Wolfwood grit his teeth. From his perch on the windowsill he could observe the street below, the distant forms of people about their early morning business - buying, trading, stealing, off to church or off to work - life as usual despite the unease the lightless night had carried. Too busy living to slow. He wondered what they would give for someone to take their troubles away… Someone who could fix a plant every engineer had failed, and secure the thought of a future in their minds.
"He's right," he ground out.
Meryl paused. "He is?"
Several minutes ago, Wolfwood would have said otherwise, but the time it took to drag Roberto back to the waking world and impress the situation upon him had given him time to think. Whatever they were walking into, they were doing it blind. Even with Punisher's reassuring weight at his back, calculating odds without understanding the rules was a fool's game.
"There's a lot of people in this town…" he supplied, "better to leave quickly if we have to than give them the chance to stop us."
Meryl pursed her lips. "Fine," she said, her little hands balled into fists, "but just so we're clear, I don't like-"
She never finished the sentence. Part way through speaking, something moved, and they all looked up. The lone, dusty ceiling fan slowly began to spin.
In the mute silence that followed the sound of a cheer rising far below them rang clear.
Meryl was the first to break the spell. She darted for the light switch, finding it with fumbling fingers and flicking it back and forth.
On. Off. On again.
The light was dull, but it was unmistakable, a yellow glow that guttered in and out with the faint buzzing that often accompanied the cheaply produced bulbs smaller establishments favored.
She left it off in the end, but the ceiling fan continued to spin.
"Well," Roberto said, when no one else spoke, "guess we know for sure where our lost puppy went."
"He fixed the plant," Wolfwood murmured. It was stating the obvious, but his brain would conjure nothing else.
In the street below, a couple was dancing. People laughed. His grip tightened on Punisher's strap and he tore his gaze away and back to the room.
Roberto had finally finished with his laces and staggered to his feet. He pulled his flask from his jacket, giving it an experimental slosh before he unscrewed the cap and took a swig. "I'll go wait at the mechanic's, bring the truck 'round soon as she's ready."
"I'll go with you," Meryl said immediately, "you know you shouldn't be driving."
"It's not far, newbie. I could handle a drive like that in my sleep."
"I'll go with you," she repeated.
He gave her a hard look, but Meryl tipped her chin up and stared him down until he recognised the futility of arguing with someone who earnestly pursued a career in spinning words, and had a textbook knowledge of all the sneaky tricks other people liked to pull with them.
Roberto sighed. "Have it your way. Wolfwood, you wait here, we'll-"
"I'll go too."
Roberto threw his hands up. "Sure, fine, why not. But if either of you start shit with the mechanic, so help me God…"
The stranger at the saloon had been right, the spire was impossible to miss. It jutted out of the center of town like a sore thumb - an elongated metal cylinder that rose above the rooftops and continued up, up into the sky, narrowing at its peak until only a set of antennae stretched onward.
Up closer to the base it was possible to see the wire-topped fence enclosing the perimeter. This, Wolfwood had anticipated to some degree - a town rarely left their plant undefended, and a town as industrial as this had the means to barricade themselves in properly.
There were two gates that offered entry to the spire, both of them guarded.
Wolfwood's plan was along the lines of politely asking to be let in, politely asking where Vash was, and then politely threatening to shoot anyone who got in his way. This, apparently, did not constitute 'a plan'. It was as much of a plan as Wolfwood's work normally required, and he was confident it would get the job done. However, faced with an alternative for once in his life, he could admit to the benefits of a quieter approach.
Vash sowed chaos as effortlessly and unconsciously as others breathed. If bullets weren't already flying and the atmosphere was calm and reasonable, swooping in as the catalyst to spark off the next catastrophe was a bad idea.
Thus it was that when they rolled up to the spire's gates, it was Meryl who did the talking.
"Name and business," the guard on duty asked, sounding bored.
"Meryl Stryfe, Bernardelli News Agency," she said, shoving her 'press' badge out the window and into his face. "We were in town when the power came back on and if possible, we would just love the inside scoop. A harrowing tale of the men and women who, in the face of adversity, worked tirelessly to restore the town's only plant… if we could get a few interviews, a quick look around… Oh, I can see the numbers now… A story like that is sure to put this place on the map, our readers will be talking about it for weeks…"
The guard blinked, squinting at the badge before he looked back at Meryl and her rictus grin. His eyes traveled, taking in Roberto in the seat over, doing his best to sit straight and look sober despite the perpetual odor of whisky that pervaded the air around him. To Wolfwood, slumped in the back with his shirt buttons through the wrong holes and Punisher's bulky form cradled in his arms.
"You're all reporters?" he asked dubiously.
"I'm the photographer," Wolfwood said, as if this explained everything.
"We'll be as discreet as possible," Meryl added hurriedly, "no pictures you don't approve first, we'll keep out of the way of any work, and of course, we'll only speak to those who want to talk. Please. Getting this to print before the other agencies even have the chance to drive out here could be big. It would… mean a lot to me."
The hand not still clutching her badge tapped a frantic beat on the edge of the steering wheel. Her smile didn't waver for an instant.
Glancing at the badge once more, and back to Meryl's face, the man clicked his tongue. "I'll have to speak to my superior first," he said. "It's… not really protocol, but they might let you in. Been getting flack for the last month, finally getting to tell our side… well, it'd tempt me. No promises though."
"Of course. No problem at all."
They watched as he departed, wandering back to the little booth beside the gate to radio the situation in.
Meryl sagged in her seat. It was several seconds before she remembered to pull the arm still holding her badge back through the window and tuck the identification away.
"Okay. Everything's going fine. This is all fine," she muttered to herself, gripping the steering wheel with both hands again.
Wolfwood's eyes followed the guard. He was speaking into a receiver, but his body was angled in such a way that he couldn't follow the shape of his lips, could only try to read the conversation from his posture.
He could take one man out easily. If he struck now, he wouldn't even see it coming. That would be kinder in a way… a mercy he didn't always have the luxury of bestowing.
Then they could open the gate themselves and proceed onward through whatever blocked their path. He had enough serum on him that it wouldn't be an issue.
A cigarette was already in his fingers, his others tracing the shape of the lighter before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to stop. Pushed it back into its packet. Steadied his hands on Punisher's restraints instead.
The guard was still talking.
"It's not going to work," Wolfwood said.
"It is going to work," Meryl insisted.
"It's not. I say-"
"Would the both of you shut up?" Roberto groaned. "My head is killing me enough as it is."
"And who's fault is that? If you didn't-"
Any further argument died with the rough clank of metal. Squeaking on poorly oiled hinges, the gates to the spire began to roll open.
The guard put down his receiver and paced back over to the driver's side, nodding to Meryl. "You can go on in, someone will meet you out front. Stick to designated areas only and follow instructions at all times."
"Yes, absolutely, thank you so much!" she said all in one breath. "We appreciate this!"
Slowly she eased the truck forward, inching them into the compound until they drew to a stop by the concrete steps of the spire.
The man waiting for them by the front doors was gangly, in a uniform that looked two sizes too big and hadn't seen an iron in its entire life. His hair was a mess of orange fuzz, his complexion was the unfortunate pale and freckled kind that did poorly under the relentless suns of No Man's Land, and his left foot seemed incapable of staying still. It tapped, scraped, swiveled, and otherwise occupied itself in a pattern of no discernible meaning, while the rest of him stood sharply to attention.
"Hello," he said to the three of them as they exited the truck and approached. "I'm Miles… uh, Miles Beaker, that is. I'm here to show you to Doctor Jenkin?"
The last part trailed off on a high note, sounding more like a question than anything.
"You have medical personnel here?" Meryl asked.
"Oh? Oh, no, that's… I mean, that's just what he calls himself. Says it's an old term. From before the fall. It's like… it means you're an expert, basically. Says he would have a doctorate if they existed anymore. That our education system is a shambles."
"Sounds like a fun guy," Wolfwood drawled.
Miles stared at him despairingly. "I wouldn't know?"
"Ignore him, kid," Roberto said, slapping a friendly hand on his shoulder (which might have caused a heart attack if his reaction was anything to go by), "lugging that photography gear around just makes him cranky. Why don't you show us the way?"
Their guide visibly collected himself for a moment. "Right," he said. "Yes. Uh… follow me, please?"
The interior of the spire was cool enough to be almost pleasant. On a desert planet, that was a rarity - the fans and other devices cobbled together by its inhabitants usually did little more than stir the air, wafting it from one side of a room to the other. Sweat was a constant companion. Only the nights grew comfortable, and the respite was brief.
Here, Wolfwood suspected one could wear a jacket for more than protection it granted from the merciless open skies, and it gave him the creeps.
Worse was the lack of windows.
A lack of windows was always either to keep something out, or something in… possibly both. He'd been that thing once.
It wasn't a time he liked to recall.
Valiantly resisting the urge for a cigarette for the second time in a matter of minutes, Wolfwood set his mind instead to tracing their path through the building. Left, right, left again…
They came to a halt outside a pair of metal doors, and Miles tapped a button that caused them to spring open and reveal a small, empty room.
"Oh thank fuck, you have an elevator," Roberto said. "I thought there would be stairs."
Miles laughed. "Well, there are, if you like, but I don't think anyone actually uses them. Maybe if there's an emergency. Not that we get those. Definitely not. But I figured you'd prefer this to walking."
"Right on the money."
The ninth floor was indistinguishable from the one before it. Miles didn't hesitate, leading them through a maze of corridors and to an unmarked office.
Here, an elderly man in a white coat was seated behind the only desk, his hands folded in front of him.
Wolfwood decided then and there that the man had to be some kind of crazy - you had to be, to wear white in No Man's Land, where the endless red dirt and sand found its way into every nook and cranny conceivable. Either you bleached your clothes daily, or you accepted that a mellow cream was the closest you were going to get.
"Doctor Jenkin, at your service," the man said, inclining his head slightly, though he neither rose nor offered his hand.
Meryl flashed her too bright smile. "Meryl Stryfe. This is Roberto De Niro, and Nicolas D. Wolfwood. We're with the Bernardelli News Agency."
"Yes, so I was told. Do, sit down."
Three chairs were set out in a neat line before the desk. Meryl perched delicately on the first of these while Roberto sank into the second, and the third was left empty. Wolfwood found a spot against the wall to lean, hands tucked into his pockets and Punisher's ungainly angles digging into his back. This gave him an excellent view of the only exit, but he would be lying if he said he didn't take a little petty satisfaction in snubbing the invitation.
"Sir…" Miles asked, still hovering in the doorway, "do you need me to stay, or-"
Doctor Jenkin raised an eyebrow. "Did I ask you to leave? No? Then what do you think?"
"Sorry, sir."
Awkwardly crab walking into the room, Miles took up position a few feet to Wolfwood's right, gaze rooted to the floor.
"It's fine. Now, you three…" Doctor Jenkin pursed his lips. "I understand you came here looking for a story. Under normal circumstances I'd turn your type away - I've no interest in the gossip pieces you like to spin - but in this case your arrival here is… fortuitous, shall we say."
"Right place right time?" Meryl suggested, notebook and pen at the ready.
"Quite. See, I've been pondering the matter… did you know, there was a time when plant research was a well-invested field? Funding is a relative term, of course, but it was considered something of value, something worth the manpower, the time, the resources… In the last decade or two opinion has swayed. With no meaningful discoveries, attention has turned to simply maintaining our knowledge, preparing future generations to continue running the plants that are still in operation. They believe that a lack of results means that there is nothing left to be learned - that further experimentation is not only wasteful, but risks the stability of the plants we have. A short sighted and cowardly mindset. As if the little information we clung to is enough - ignorance will be our death."
Meryl's pen flicked across the paper. "And this… has something to do with your recent plant repair?" she asked.
Wolfwood was pretty sure she had stopped copying down the doctor's words halfway through his monologue and was simply scribbling down important looking but meaningless buzzwords to give the illusion of attentiveness. She had underlined 'sustainability' twice.
"It occurred to me," the doctor continued, as if she had not spoken, "that what they need is evidence - evidence that there is still more to uncover, that research yields results… That this might inspire a return to form, not merely for this facility but for the world over. And here you come, with the ears of towns far and wide, right to my doorstep. Almost makes a man believe in fate."
Roberto sighed. "You want us to publish your research?"
"Now you're getting it."
"With all due respect, that's not the story we came for…" Meryl interjected, "we were hoping for some details on how you managed to fix-"
"And you'll get them, naturally, but this is a collaborative effort. I will give you something worth printing, and you will allow me to oversee the presentation. If that doesn't suit you, by all means, leave. I can assure you no one on staff will talk if I forbid it."
Roberto leaned away, one arm slung lazily over the back of the chair. "And what makes you think your research is important enough anyone's going to take note?"
Doctor Jenkin smiled. It looked rather like a skull peeking out through a wrinkled film of curdling milk - visible in shape, but empty of all meaning.
"Because," he said, "I have the first breakthrough in any of your lifetimes. Something new, something to point the way forward."
Wolfwood felt himself tense.
He had heard the term 'like a pot boiling over' before, but never found it applicable. In that instant, however, he understood. His carefully lidded anxiety would be contained no longer.
He narrowed his eyes at this man - this baulding, stick-thin scarecrow in his silly white coat who would crumple like a paper bag around his fist - and wondered why… why it was that the telling spike of fear surged over him. Set his instincts howling.
Why he wanted nothing more in that moment that to seize him by the collar and drag him forward until they were nose to nose, and ask,where is Vash, where is Vash, where is Vash-
Because something had happened, something, this man knew something, but Wolfwood couldn't read it in his face, could only grasp at all the terrible possibilities at once. Wanted the truth in his hands where he could tear it apart.
Could they hold someone like Vash against his will? Was that even possible? Or what if they didn't have to, what if they plied him with pretty words, 'help' and 'need' and 'please' and all the things necessary to let him think that staying was the right thing to do, let his insufferable desire to martyr himself for the world be its own cage.
His feet pulled him a faltering step forward before he caught himself. Held himself rigid, not daring to move.
"And that is?" Roberto asked, tone carefully neutral.
Doctor Jenkin steepled his fingers. "We have an agreement? You will publish only what I first approve?"
"Yes, it's a deal," Meryl cut in. "Now what-"
"Excellent. In that case, I think it would be easiest to show you. We can speak more on the specifics afterward… I would rather another two days to fully analyze the data before putting anything to print, but we can make a start. Beaker, run ahead and make sure Hardie knows to expect guests."
Miles shot to attention. "Yes sir."
Before anyone could say another word he fled, the sound of his footsteps clapping down the hallway fast enough that it was clear he had taken 'run' in the literal sense.
"So this-" Meryl tried again, but Doctor Jenkin spoke over her.
"Now, before we proceed, shall we take refreshments? Tea? Coffee? There is no alcohol on site, of course, though we do-"
That was as much as Wolfwood was willing to take. He closed the distance whip-crack fast, palms flat on the desk as he loomed across its expanse with only the dredges of his common sense holding him back those last few inches.
"Enough time wasting!" he snarled into the doctor's face. "Show us now."
Time slowed. He could see every shift of his features, the shock, confusion, outrage, and still not enough, still not what he wanted…
Where is Vash? Wolfwood thought, the question locked behind his teeth.
Doctor Jenkin puffed himself up, his narrow chest swollen with indignation. "Excuse me? I'll warn you to watch your tone, young man, they may not have taught you manners wherever you hail from, but here they are expected."
Oh, Wolfwood could show him exactly where he could shove his manners…
A firm hand gripped his shoulder. He almost tore free - knew precisely how to twist around it, the right pressure to apply to break the hold - but Roberto's voice pinned him in a way brute strength never could. Familiar. Stern but not callous. The same voice that spent the days bemoaning Meryl's driving and the nights regaling them with ghost stories, and never stopped telling them how fed up he was with the mayhem they danced alongside, but never left them behind either…
Had it truly only been a few weeks?
"Wolfwood, cool it."
And as ridiculous as it was, Wolfwood did. Finally managed to turn his head away from the doctor and meet Roberto's gaze for a few fleeting seconds.
There was as much promise in those eyes as there was warning. Patience, they seemed to say, as if that wasn't yet another department of virtue in which he was sorely lacking.
Roberto gave his shoulder a squeeze before he let him go. His hand twitched - a gesture Wolfwood recognised as a habitual move for his flask - but he played it off as simple restlessness, adjusting the line of his jacket while simultaneously shooting an apologetic grin the doctor's way.
"Sorry about him," he said, "he's still pissy we passed over another job to make our way here. Wanted to visit his sister - going to be a long wait before work takes us out that direction again. If it's all the same to you though, we'll pass on the drinks. Good story's a better refreshment for our type anyways."
In another life, Wolfwood might have been a little terrified of how easily Roberto could spin a lie, but right then he was just profoundly grateful.
The doctor sniffed. "Well…" he said eventually, "I suppose allowances can be made. Make sure it doesn't happen again."
"Of course. Wouldn't dream of it."
Their next destination required them to pile into the elevator for a second time, riding up another three floors before they stepped off. They were greeted by a plethora of warning signs, all of which Doctor Jenkin ignored as he led them to a heavy metal door - the blast resistant kind, if Wolfwood was to guess - and tapped in a code on the keypad beside it.
For several seconds they stood there listening to the hiss and whir of unseen mechanics. Then, all at once, the door slid open.
The room on the other side was underwhelming. It was square, perhaps twice the size of the quarters they'd rented the night before, if significantly cleaner, and sported little more than a row of consoles and a second door.
Miles was standing beside a man seated in front of these consoles.
The stranger looked close to Roberto's age, with a pair of rounded spectacles and an angular nose. He was also half way through eating a sandwich. As Doctor Jenkin stepped into the room, this sandwich mysteriously vanished with a frantic rustle of paper, and the man turned in his seat to face them.
"Everything running as expected, Hardie?" Jenkin asked.
"Yes sir. All readings normal, no changes. You should be safe to proceed."
"Excellent," the doctor said, returning his attention to the three of them. He gestured vaguely to the man. "This is Philip Hardie, the current engineer on duty. Well… the one up here at the moment, I suppose. There's been quite a lot of coming and going - things to set up, curiosity to sate… You must forgive the bare bones appearance, until recently this section was closed off. It used to house our second plant before it was decommissioned. Ah, that takes me back…"
A wistful smile played out across his lips.
Wolfwood said nothing. He was being very good and not threatening anyone with violence, which was as much as could be expected of him, given the circumstances.
"So…" Roberto prompted.
"Yes, right," Doctor Jenkin said. "You must be eager to see what all this is about. Well, bear with me a little longer. I must ask that from this point on, you keep an open mind. What you see may be strange, but I can assure you, all questions can and will be answered in due course."
"Sure," Roberto said.
"Yep. Totally," Meryl chirped.
The doctor barely glanced in Wolfwood's direction before he made the obvious conclusion that no response would be forthcoming, and carried on. "Very well. Beaker, if you would?"
"Sir?"
"The door, Beaker."
"Oh!" Nearly tripping over himself in his haste, Miles hurried to the only other door in the room, opening it and ushering them through.
The light beyond was bright, an acrid, chemical tang suffusing the air. All the walls were solid metal, the floor and ceiling too. Half a dozen machines were strewn about with no rhyme or reason. It was to the center of this clutter that Doctor Jenkin moved.
Flipping his sunglasses down as he adjusted to the brightness, Wolfwood followed.
"Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen," Doctor Jenkin said smugly, checking that they were close on his heels, "on the first new plant specimen in over a century. And a divergence from all documented abnormalities."
The air left his lungs. There, on the steel table, was the worst of his fears confirmed, and all he could do was stare.
He recognised that spikey mess of blond hair. He would recognize it anywhere. Could pick it out by shade alone, the colour burned into his memory the way he could still taste his favourite brand of cigarettes.
But it was juxtaposed - it did not belong here, robbed of all context - all the life and passion Vash exuded conspicuously absent.
Distantly he heard Meryl's gasp. "What did you do to him?"
"Oh, nothing harmful, I assure you," the doctor said. "Some sedatives to keep the subject docile… the rest is… well, we had to adapt our approach, but it's more or less the same as you'd expect with any plant. See, a plant is a remnant of the lost art of bio-engineering - they're not mechanical… You can't simply flip a switch or turn a dial and have them dancing to your tune, it takes the right mix of electrical impulses and chemical stimulants to encourage them to produce what is needed. Thankfully, with some trial and error, we're looking at a groundbreaking success here."
Wolfwood barely registered the words. Sounds were immaterial, gaseous, swept aside as easily as cobwebs when confronted with the sight that lay before them.
Vash's skin looked sickly, and he did not so much as twitch. He could have been a corpse for all the life he displayed.
They'd stripped him of his shirt, stripped him of damn near everything except his underclothes - even the arm was gone, only empty space at the end of his shoulder…
The strange glowing patterns he recognised from the sandsteamer stood out on full display across his body. It was the scars that captured his attention though. Wolfwood had glimpsed them before, but he could never quite rid himself of the shock. The full horror that such a tapestry spoke of. Worse, now. Here. Worse, with wires and drips fed into his motionless form like the hungry, sinuous coils of sandworms, devouring him in silence.
Wolfwood could only think of needles in his flesh... the overhead lights pulsing all the way in the back of his skull as his breath fought its way down his throat in ragged, desperate pants.
His stomach rolled.
The doctor was still talking though, still prattling on as if he were discussing a particularly rare specimen of beetle he'd discovered, not the man lying helpless on the table.
"I had my doubts, but… but by god, this is the real deal! A new strain of plant! With the right stimulation there's enough power generation to keep the whole town running… more, even! We need to run further tests, but the creation of oxygen and purified water is looking promising too… A plant, but without the environmental controls necessary to keep the older models stable… easily containable, transportable… a single subject for now, certainly, but with enough physiological similarities to humans I have to wonder… If it were possible to breed them-"
"Enough!" Wolfwood snapped, slamming Punisher down with enough force that the sound reverberated through the room. His fingers moved on reflex, loosening the weapon's restraints.
The doctor was apparently not one to take a hint, because he didn't do the smart thing and stop talking. No, he had the nerve to look taken aback, offended even, as if Wolfwood was the unreasonable one in this scenario.
"I told you to watch your tone, boy. Do you understand what we're talking about here? Plants are a finite resource… we don't have the technology to produce them anymore, and they are prone to eventual failure… without them, it's impossible for human life to survive on this planet. We're living on borrowed time. But this subject presents a new and invaluable avenue of research into the matter, a chance, even, that we can finally secure a renewable energy source for generations to come! This is revolutionary! Don't you understand-"
Wolfwood ground his teeth. "He's not a subject, he's a person!"
Doctor Jenkin frowned. All at once something seemed to clear in his expression.
"Ah, I see. You know them," he said, with a wry twist of his mouth. "Well, it might be difficult for you to come to terms with, but this isn't a human we're talking about. It's a plant. I know it looks-"
It took all of his strength not to kill the man then and there. He stood with his feet spread evenly, Punisher's barrel leveled at the doctor's face and his finger tight on the trigger. One twitch and he might have done it. Might still do it. Did not even understand why he hadn't already, whether it's some baseless worry that the sudden violence might spur something, or that childish pacifistic bullshit Vash was always spouting finally rubbing off on him… Vash, who wasn't even moving…
His lips struggled their way around the words, but he got them out. "Shut up. Just… shut up."
The doctor's mouth snapped shut. He stared at Wolfwood.
Miles squeaked somewhere in the background and went ignored.
Taking several deep breaths until he felt a measure of calm return, Wolfwood tipped his head to the side and gave it a jerk in the direction of the table. "Roberto, get Vash."
"But-"
"On it," the reporter said. He grabbed Meryl by the shoulder and they both hurried over, hesitating for a moment over the mass of wires before discarding any sense of delicacy and simply tearing them loose by the handful.
The doctor's gaze wavered, torn between the gun in his face and the sight of his precious 'subject' so clumsily liberated.
Wetting his lips, he tried, "I can't let you take-"
"Yes you can," Wolfwood told him. "Cos otherwise, I'm going to shoot you, and anyone else who gets in my damn way. That clear?"
"Please. Think rationally about this."
"Oh, I'm thinking very rationally. I'm thinking I know exactly how many bullets I have, and how useless your own pathetic excuse for security would be against me. Now, Vash? He's coming with us. Non-negotiable, so forget whatever slimy little excuses or pleas you have, because they'll get you Jack shit. The only thing you get to decide here is who dies when we walk out. Think rationally, doctor… do you want to toss your life away on a fight you can't win?"
His smile was humorless. The doctor didn't smile back.
Then the lights cut out and the room was plunged into darkness save for a faint blue glow that twisted and warped the long, ugly shadows. Cursing, Wolfwood pulled his shades off and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just in time, for seconds later the door burst open.
"Hands where I can see them," Wolfwood told Hardie as he stumbled into the room. "Move over here slowly, by the doctor. Try anything else and I shoot."
Very cautiously Hardie straightened up and lifted his arms. "What's going on?"
"Robbery," Doctor Jenkin spat. "Did you call security?"
"How? The power's out."
"Then you should have gone and fetched them. Can you do nothing right?"
He kept Punisher trained on the engineer, following him until he stood next to the doctor as ordered. The two men watched him tersely.
"Roberto?" Wolfwood called.
He heard a grunt in response. "I've got him."
A quick glance behind him confirmed this to be the case. While stooped slightly under the weight, the reporter at least didn't look in any danger of dropping the limp body slung over his shoulder.
It was still less gentle than Wolfwood would have liked… but he couldn't carry Vash with the tenderness he deserved… not while wielding Punisher. Not with his bloody hands on the trigger, and murder on the tip of his tongue.
"Then get moving," he said. "I'll be right behind you."
Footsteps sounded loud on the metal floor. He knew the second Meryl paused, the lighter tap of her feet coming to an abrupt halt.
Her voice followed an instant later. "He came here to help. You should be ashamed."
The doctor's gaze drifted over to her. "So should you… risking the future of everyone on this planet for sentimentality."
"If we aren't sentimental, then what's the point?"
"Meryl, go," Wolfwood growled.
"I know, I know… just… ugh! I hate this. I hate all of this. People shouldn't… we should be better than this…"
They should. Wolfwood knew they weren't. He'd known since the day he'd left the orphanage. He knew that everyone had something they would sacrifice if the price was right… a promise, a moral, a life…
And yet… and yet, he thought, not him.
A cruel irony indeed that fate had brought them together.
A crueler truth that this was what the world did to a man like that.
With Meryl's footsteps fading, he wondered where that left him now. Standing with a gun in his hands and nothing in his way but the echo of a code that had never been his own.
It would be so easy. The light was so dim he could only see shapes now. He wouldn't have to see their faces.
He swallowed.
"Miles," he said, "you're with us. You other two - move from this room and I kill you."
Their new hostage was useful - he knew how to bypass the blast door through the emergency release mechanism. He knew the way through the spire. He also would not shut the fuck up, and making their way down twelve flights of stairs with his constant moaning and sobbing as an accompaniment was an exercise in frustration.
If he hadn't been so focused on Vash, Wolfwood might have reconsidered his decision to let the man live.
By the time they reached the bottom and Miles let them out the side entrance, he had no reservations at all about grabbing him by the collar and shaking him until he finally fell silent.
"Are you listening?" Wolfwood hissed.
Snot was dribbling down Miles's chin. His lower lip quivered. "Yes. Sorry. I'm sorry. I-I… oh God, don't kill me. I just work here. It's just a job. It's, I mean-"
"I couldn't give less of a fuck about you, Miles. Listen. To. Me. You're going to walk over to the guards at the gate. You tell them everything is fine. There was an issue with the plant, and they decided to get rid of us early. Get them to open the gate. Do you understand?"
He nodded frantically.
"You do this, Miles," Wolfwood told him, "and we leave. You never have to see us again. You get to live."
Miles continued to nod.
Wolfwood tightened his grip, leaning in closer. "You fuck this up and I'll shoot you and anyone else in my way. Is that clear?"
It was a wonder the man's head didn't come loose from sheer velocity with which it bobbed up and down.
"Good. Clean your face and go," Wolfwood said, releasing his hold and giving him a rough shove in the right direction. He watched long enough to be sure his instructions were being followed, then raced to catch up with the others.
Roberto had managed to smuggle Vash into the truck, spread out across the backseats, and Meryl was perched beside him, tearing strips of cloth from a spare blanket to turn into makeshift bandages. Wolfwood doubted he was in any danger of bleeding out, but there were still dozens of small punctures where wires and tubes had been pulled from. The slow trickle of blood stood out starkly against his sallow skin and the soft glow of his markings.
"Meryl, in the front. Drive."
"You drive!" she said without looking up, using her teeth to tear off the latest strip. "I need to take care of Vash."
He was halfway to a retort before he thought better of it. There was no time for argument, no time for their petty squabbles - she'd do just as good a job as he would. He could acknowledge that. Accept that.
Wolfwood tossed Punisher into the footwell and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary, damn near yanking the handle off as he opened the front and swung himself up into the cab. He had to push the seat back a good two feet so his knees didn't bump the steering wheel, but the moment he had it in place he was already turning the key in the ignition and flooring the gas peddle.
"Easy," Roberto spluttered from beside him, liquid sloshing from his fumbled flask. "Don't go stalling her."
"If you have a problem, sober up and maybe you could drive this hunk of junk yourself for a change," he snapped.
The gate was open. Nothing else mattered. He tore forward with as much speed as the truck could muster, no thought to subtlety.
One of the guards saw him coming and made a halfhearted attempt to block his path. Wolfwood didn't slow. The guard made the wise and snap decision to leap clear of the oncoming vehicle, and then they were out, gunning down the street without a backward glance.
If Wolfwood had his way they would have plowed right through the town and out the other side, but the truck could only take so much of a beating. Instead, they swerved and lurched from one lane to the other, horn blaring, following Roberto's directions until finally, finally, they hit open space and the ride smoothed. Until he could press down on the accelerator in earnest and revel in every yard he put between them and the place from which they sped. Until his heart no longer thrummed in his ears.
He breathed. Remembered he was a person. Remembered, too, the others.
Roberto was leaning against the door, eyes closed and an air of sheer exhaustion enshrouding him.
Wolfwood spared him only a moment's attention before his gaze flickered up to the rearview mirror.
Meryl had Vash's head cradled in her lap. Under any other circumstances that might have made Wolfwood feel the sort of emotions he'd have to spend a night with a strong bottle of whisky to fully unravel, but right then he was still too angry to care.
"He still hasn't woken up… do you think-" she began.
"He'll be fine," Wolfwood cut her off.
"But-"
"I said he'll be fine!"
His knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel. He must have said that part with more force than he'd thought, because the quiet that followed had a sudden weight to it, even over the sound of the tires rolling across the sand.
"Doc said they had him on some kind of sedative," Roberto said eventually, softer, the softest Wolfwood thought he'd ever heard him speak. "Probably going to take a while to get it out of his system, no need to start worrying just yet."
Meryl had no response to that.
He could still see her in the rearview mirror, her hand moving gently through Vash's wild shock of blonde hair, her eyes never leaving his face - slack and expressionless, in total contradiction to the whirlwind personality to which they were accustomed.
He tried to focus on the dirt in front of him instead. The sand, and dust, and empty miles they ate up, the necessity of the task he could surrender to rather than listening to the part of him that wanted nothing more than to throw himself down at Vash's side and clutch his hand. Any part of him. Something, to reassure himself that he was still there. Still breathing. Safe, in whatever measure was possible. And to drown out the voice that hissed like static in his head, your fault, your fault, your fault, you failed-
But he kept his foot on the pedal and continued to drive. And Roberto drank. And Meryl stayed silent. And he doubted it was what any of them wanted, but they made do.
((Wow, Trigun fandom really is dead on this site, huh?
Anyways, this will have to be a 3-part fic... maybe 4 part if my wordcount won't behave, but I'm hoping not.
And yes, I'm going to go ahead and ignore the apparent cannon that plants in stampede each produce specific things (because I feel that wouldn't make sense? Like who is going to give a crap about an amino acid producing plant when they're stuck on a desert planet and need water). My interpretation is more that plants can produce anything, but are often far more efficient at producing certain things. This might also explain why some plants end up burned out faster than others - if they're forced to make something they're very inefficient at producing, they'll run out of energy faster.
It's also interesting to me that, like... plants finite lifespan and the fact people can't make them anymore means that humans are... kind of screwed in the long run? But no one really seems to talk about that. I feel like they'd be super excited about discovering something like Vash.))