The air was hot and dry. Well past afternoon, the horrifyingly clear blue sky meant the almighty twin-sun's baleful shines would glare down on everything to the point of cutting one's shadow to right below their feet.
The few who would go outside were those who needed to go to some places, or those who had no choice but to bear the sunlight on their backs as they went around with their business. Well, the rustic town had seen little changes, but it was for better or worse life. In the arid wasteland of a planet people had come to call as No Man's Land, everyone needed to pull their own weight one way or other.
"Get out! Get out, you dimwits!"
A burly body was thrown out of the saloon doors. Following after him was a slightly shorter one, lanky in form. They wore ripped clothing that received a whole new sandy coating on them, and they scrambled to their feet. If there was one way to describe them, it'd be reaching the wits' end that reason had all but vanished from their pinprick eyes.
"You bastards—!"
Before the gunmen drew their weapons, ten different barrels glared back. The bigger one gasped, the shorter one turned around only to stare blank-faced as another dozen barrels pointed at them from the other side of the streets. It was an honest mistake on their part. But who'd have imagined their attempt on dine and dash ended up threatening them with a fate worse than pincushion?
"…d-damn it…! What the hell are you all, acting like you're united as one!"
They scrambled to their feet, but instead of lashing back at the world, they turned their tails and hastily ran out of the town. Away from the mad town they went, leaving the spectators a little bit speechless. Well, it was nothing unusual here or in other places. Death's omen was something people had to accept and consider in their daily lives.
After all, who knew when would their precious Plant come offline. It was nothing short than miracle that this town had managed to grow this far after over 150 years, but such was the tenacity of human spirits. In the face of adversity, only the most determined could carve out a path for everyone else to follow. Some of the men tipped their hats to each other. Some went back to their games and hobbies. Of the remaining leftovers, they turned to gossips, smokes and drinks; nothing too strong lest Lina would knock them down by a peg.
"What's this? I though I saw a commotion, but it seems nothing happened."
Then a youth entered the saloon. His voice was tinged with confusion, though there was a different emotion mixed in it. He seemed like he had a backbone, so it was only natural that he'd draw attentions. The moustached bartender, the owner of the humble establishment, raised an eyebrow. Seeing the apparent young man with a travel bag over his shoulder, he dipped his head in greeting.
This boy means no harm, move on everyone.
"Nothing big," the old man said. He had grown some more wrinkles over the last few years, but his spirit of service did not diminish. "Once you've seen one, you've seen them all. You smell of grease and hard cleaning agent, though."
"Hah, yeah." The youth in a worn out overall cracked a smile. "I'm a novice sandsteamer mechanic. Winds up here since I got led by the temptation of fine and chilled refreshments."
Somebody made a sound. From his seat, the man in a coat and cowboy hat pulled up his gaze from the card games on the table. "Oh! The train is here already?"
"Come on, you forgot already? It's been there since last night!" One of the other card game players remarked.
"Hah ha! Sorry, sorry. But man, you're young! Must be good with your hands, eh?"
A round of laughter erupted. It was neither loud nor quiet. The young mechanic somehow followed in suite, turning around the stool he sat in.
"It's an honest work," the youth said. "And the train is precious. Can't have her be treated wrongly, or she'll throw tantrums."
The mood was pleasant. It was good. Life here was not always all bad, but this might be a good turn of event after the earlier annoyance. The bartender softened his gaze as he finished preparing the requested drink.
"Oh. Thanks, old man." A big gulp, followed by a pleased sigh. "Yeah, that hits the spot."
"Only the best for the earnest." The bartender went over to the sink, turning the faucet to wash dishes. "Got any story to share? That glass is on me."
The youth's smile turned a little sly. Still, he turned back to rest his arm on the counter, his shoulders relaxing. It was then that the radio sparked to life.
[Here's to another hot day! No Man's Land Broadcasting is here with breaking news only to your viewing!]
Oh, brother. It seemed the timing was simply unfortunate. The old man turned off the faucet, but as the typical jingle flowed into the air, the young train mechanic shook his head. Well… fair enough.
[Today marks a new development in Octovern! The Ark Dome has seen further expansion, and reconstruction effort is almost done!]
A crowd of noise filled the saloon. Some looked up with lightness in their gait, others chuckling snidely. The smell of cigarettes wafted out of the windows, and so people's attentions fell back to their own matters. The bartender glanced at the mechanic. The boy shrugged.
"Well. Looks like we're back on schedule," the youth said. "The hubbub from the Ark Incident has died down a lot. We've got more clients than ever, but the sandsteamer isn't really a cargo vessel."
"Oh, your kind are getting government works?"
"Not to say we're moving up the ladder." The bitter smile on the youngster's face told it all to the owner of the establishment. "Those bunches from Earth are kind of intense, but thanks to them, we received priority medical check-ups and topline security for our fair lady."
The elderly man tending counter paused. He wiped dry the glass and placed it in the right shelf. Sometimes he forgot that a lot of things had changed. Was it for the better, or was it for the worse? At his age, you wouldn't expect yourself to have the flexibility to adapt, but the miracle of that day was hard to dismiss.
"…when he appeared, my life turned upside down." The mechanic wistfully looked to the side. From this position, he and the bartender could look past the windows and at an enormous, curved wreckage with an equally massive light bulb hanging onto the corpse of a colony ship. "Yours is also looking good, feels like she's loved."
"Yeah, well… I suppose we have granny and little Lina for that."
"Don't know who they are. Must be some really good folks." The mechanic put down his glass. The ball of ice crinkled in the half-empty container. "It's a good sight, anyway. Even if only cared recently, the fact that she's still running up to this point must mean you guys treasure her."
"…you're a flatterer, you know that?"
The elderly huffed. It made him feel a bit heckled, seeing a youngster talk so passionately like that. Almost reminded him of… no, that didn't matter. He and the rest of the town ratted that guy out in spite of all that he had done for them. It wasn't his place to talk as if he was fond of that man—
[This is NLBC, coming right up with a notice posted by the council of Octovern!]
The mechanic perked his head up. The announcer's voice had changed, from energetic young woman to a formal-speaking man. Even the regulars noticed, and needless to say, so did the bartender.
[Tomorrow is the day where the first moon will be seen in her brightest, fullest form! A sight for sore eyes, a good companion to have over a drink with your loved ones, or maybe a traveling partner…! But most of all… it is a day for mourning.]
There was a clink. The ice had melted.
[Stardate: 7/21/0104. On that day, a legend started. On that day, a nightmare awakened, clad in crimson. On that day, a mark was forever etched on this sand-blasted planet… The past is the past, but everyone. On behalf of the lost souls, we shall pray for Lost July.]
The mechanic lifted his head. Somebody dragged down his hat. Some stood up and left the bar, scratched coins and crusted paper moneys on the table. The elderly gazed at the air, and so he inevitably recalled the faint smile of that man. He who had once met little Lina and became a part of the town's daily lives.
Love, and peace… That was his motto, but it sometimes felt like a curse. Could it be that he believed in it because he wished to believe, or was it because he had no other choice except turning to those words as a form of absolution? Him, the blonde-haired man of legends. Only time will tell, I suppose…
The two bandits had escaped the Sheriff. It was just their luck that the knave actually got up and saw a reason to chase them down, the bastard.
However, there was no sand ostrich, no motorcycle, and no expensive things like automotive for the sucker to use. Obviously, it didn't take long before the filthy bootlicker with a rotund body lost the two, and now they found themselves out in the wasteland proper, away from the nearest civilization with the rocks and cacti serving as occasional landmarks.
"Goddamn it, that's a missed mark." His partner-in-crime muttered. More like an underling and a weakling, he still packed a mean punch with that large-caliber shotguns on his back. Perfect to blow off the heads of those happy-go-lucky civilians spoiled by their momentary fortunes. "How many times does this make?"
"Come on, boss. It's nothing big. Next town will be the hit, I'm sure of it!"
The man was easy to trick. Gullible to a fault, even. He never noticed the increasing amount of loot shares that never went into his pocket. Although, when all things were said, this so-called partnership wouldn't last for long. The lankier of the two hummed inwardly, wondering if he could make for a quick escape after scattering this loser's brains across the dune—
"…hey, look. That's a person over there."
What? The mind to the brawl whirled his head and indeed, they were seeing a person collapsed right there down the hill. It was difficult to know if the poor bastard was still alive, but a mark was a mark. Even if he had no pretty penny, no solo traveler would bring only clothes on their back. An easy picking, at last…!
The two outlaws exchanged looks. They smiled wickedly before rushing down the sloped sand dune, arriving with clouds of dust trailing behind them.
What lied at their feet struck them speechless.
They thought it was a person, but no, it was a creepy wooden puppet. Dressed in a silly suit, almost looking comical and overly fancy. What the hell?
Their surprise didn't last long. When the buried neck creaked, the pair of outlaws froze over and drew up their weapons. Instinct and experiences, no matter how rough and improperly taught, were still a semblance of skills. However, not even their whole lives of perils, killing and looting prepared them for a wooden puppet with two heads.
The puppet creaked as it came to life, the motion and audiovisual petrifying the outlaws in fear. It rose up, first taking out its heads that were coarsely drawn with childish drawings of a face that instead made it all the more terrifying from the sequence of motions it underwent. It propped its arms, rolled its shoulders, lifted its upper body, and finally stood up on its own two feet.
There was no mechanical machinery attached to it. As thin and form-fitting suit it wore showed an unreal sense of organic movement, the noise of groaning wood and creaking joints could hardly be heard coming from a living thing. This thing… whatever it was, did not fit within the frame of common sense seen throughout No Man's Land.
"Ah, I can sense it. The "mark" of a legend. The raw wound of emotion emanated from this place." The double-headed wooden puppet with no face except rough black lines on its heads lurched its upper body forward. "But alas. The legend, the sublime, is not here. Only residues remain, but meaning? Yes. Meaning can be derived from those very residues."
His partner clucked his teeth. He had the dreadful premonition of him losing to his nerves and making a choice that the two would forever regret, but then—the puppet "looked" at them. Properly, as if the creepy drawings on its faces were meant to be some sort of functioning face. It stared at them and petrified them in place like an awe-stricken audience of a concert.
"I bid you apology, travellers. Alas, I lack the necessary paint and brushes to represent the meaning I'd like to simulate from you. There is no appropriate canvas suitable for you gentlemen." With awkwardly open arms, the wooden puppet seemed as if it was saying "as you can see" to their faces. "And so, I shall bother you gentlemen no longer. You could neither be my ally, nor could you be an enemy with some sort of significance to bear."
He didn't get it.
What the hell was this thing talking about? What the hell was it trying to convey, and what did it see in them to give such a judgment. However, the anger that should have been flared up in his belly did not appear. No, in truth…
There was nothing. The fact that he couldn't sense anything, feel anything, and show even a twitch of expression… Alarming. Dreadful. Madness. And yet, he and his lousy but burly underling could only chatter their teeth. As the thing that felt like a puppet but not at all one walked past them, the growl and creaks of its wooden structure became an impression forever etched in the back of their heads.
It walked. It walked. And then it walked.
It headed past them, to a direction that could lead it anywhere with wobbly wooden feet that sank deep into the sea of dirt. Its presence, heavy and draining, gradually faded from view. When the pressure in the air all but vanished, the two outlaws fell to their knees. They stayed in that position as if for eternity, as the terrible sun shifted to the west to paint the bright blue sky with a tint of orange.
What… exactly did we just come across to?
He didn't know. His cowardly minion definitely wouldn't be able to tell, either. In the end, the otherworldly nightmare passed by them, and tall tales disappeared beneath the rolling sands of this blasted planet.
It was just how life worked.
A/N: Hello. Halo. Hola. Have a seat, folks. Yet another new title from yours truly.
Well, being honest, this story has been worked in the background for quite a while. I'm a fan of Yasuhiro Nightow's works (Kekkai Sensen, Trigun), but there was an empty feeling from having read a finished story, yeah? Then come Blue Archive, as well as a friend who got roped in to deal with my bouts of madness-driven idea exchanges. Boom. That's how this story's conception came to be. Guns, Vash, chaotic hubbub, and all-around nonsense like two peas in a pod. What do you think? I feel like Kivotos pairs well with the high-tension funky comedies of No-Man's Land, and Kekkai Sensen is similarly no slouch when it came to random zaniness.
I'm still writing the other stories that I have by the way, just... not in the same rate I usually do. Writer's block is a bitch, but my case can get particularly bad sometimes. I'm sorry for that, by the way.
Also, the cover art is personally drawn by me. I got consumed by the story I had outlined to the point it set me off to draw lots and lots. It's a nice inspiration, at least. And it keeps my hands and brain busy, which is a plus in my book.