𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘳

Chapter 19. Lost My Cool

*Wrote my own route as my own birthday present aka I need to improve. (yesterday, aug 18 was my bday)

Thanks for support+votes thus far. I know the Trigun fandom is dwindling but I just couldn't stand my old version of this, so I rewrote so people can actual read some better quality. not saying that my writing is exceptional, feeling like Revy is bland rn ʅ（◞‿◟）

enjoy
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"Thou shall not kill' right?! I thought you had the same religion as the priest!" Vash says.

"I did, when I was papa's girl," I reply with a sigh. "Then my faith died along with my parents, and I was certain I was cursed. I was right, too."

"So are you trying to play God now? You must have thought he decides life and death... But we're not God."

"We're not, you're right! You don't get to decide who lives either, rose-coloured boy! People will kill eachother to satisfy their greed, it happens," I snap. "I shoot to save what I can, but I am not omnipotent. I can't decide life or death, and I'm not some persuasive hippie-fuck who can make everyone a happy-go-lucky gray coloured pacifist like you. I didn't say I like it, and I have no qualms about beating the shit out of people, but sometimes there's no choice!"

I grab my glasses off the table, ammo off the shelf, and my bag out of the corner of the room. "Don't wait for me," I say. "And consider your hotel rooms paid for, you were never supposed to see me again in the first place. It was supposed to be over."

I put on my glasses, revving up the engine of my bike before taking off, with an incessant, annoying motor behind me soon after.

"You were supposed to say sorry! That's the worst sorry ever!" Wolfwood says. "Nothing's going to get better without us working together, and you said you owed him!"

"He also has a debt that can't be repaid. Makes us even," I spit back. "Go back, Wolfwood. Sure, you're supposed to be there but I'm not. And don't even think of following me, I've got work to do."

I'm lucky we were just nearing my hometown. Old December, the one that got half blown up. Not the big city about half the world away There's nothing to see there, my house doesn't even stand anymore. But there's a lab underneath the plant, that has kept functional since the fall, and serves as my home-base. Where I'd make and store my equipment. Brand new jacket, here I come.

About nightfall, since the argument was this morning, I wheel my bike into town, noticing all the windows shut. I pause, looking around for the saloon. Of course is filled by scarred- macho-makes of men grinning at me like they've won their next prize.

I glare, before moving on. Times have changed. If I want some peace and quiet, I better deal with them first thing in the morning.

I go 'round the plant, finding the large hatch and slide it open, revealing dusty, untouched stairs. I was here over the two years, before I headed for crazy town and wrapped up in a mess all over again. I roll the bike down, closing the hatch behind me. Once I make it down the flight of stars, I turn on the lights, looking over everything I've left. I've shoved most of the earth tech to one side, to make space for living. They're a bunch of old, big clunky computers, microscopes, wires, and other scientific instruments. I push my bike against these computers, going over to my side filled with old, blotchy photos of my childhood, my parents, and one of Shana. I've got no time to make film now, so the camera sits in the corner, the lens dusty and the cap slid down and covered with grime. The mattress on the ground is dusty too, so I go to the cabinet in search of new sheets and a blanket and make the bed. There's a nightlight, a stack of books, a Nobel prize belonging to my parents, and multi-color fluffy pens scattered in one corner. Stuffies in another. A map is on the wall, my old identity forums up there, as well as pictures of Knives and Vash. Some knife marks have tattered the messy wanted drawings. The walls have scribbly window drawings, which are terrible and bring no comfort at all.