i suppose at this point i need a disclaimer. no, i don't own trigun, you loonies.

second chapter. less blood and gore this time, i swear.

-vethia

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Tried to kill it all away

But I remember everything.

--nine inch nails

He had never been cold before.

It was a strange sensation, to shiver like this. It took him an hour or more of slowly seeping consciousness to figure out that the strange sound was his teeth chattering. The steel floor was cold, unbearably cold; it had sucked all of the life out of him and still thirsted for more. Legato had no idea how long he'd been lying there, glassy-eyed, shivering on the floor. When he regained enough sense to curl into a fetal ball, it was an astounding achievement. His mother—if he'd had one—would have been proud.

After twenty minutes or so, it occurred to him that his coat, stained and crumpled in a corner, would be a valuable asset in the battle against the cold. Movement returned to him slowly. First the toes on his left foot twitched in their boot, then the right. With a concerted effort he managed to wriggle his right fingers. Little by little, Legato eased himself into a half-sitting position, supporting himself with his trembling right arm as the left hung slack and motionless in its socket. He didn't dwell on the left arm. Somewhere, tucked away in a corner of his mind, was the core of horror that knew why it wouldn't move, but his conscious mind refused to tread there. For the moment, his focus was entirely on the practice of movement.

He couldn't stand, but he could crawl, inching along the floor stained a flaky, rusty brown. The stains were, of course, the reason for his current lethargy; the dizziness and headache of blood loss made even the short trip seem like a marathon. With single-minded determination, Legato concentrated on his objective, narrowing his world to the coat and the short stretch of floor that stood between him and its acquisition. How long it took he would never be able to say, but when he achieved his goal, he experienced a sensation of triumph far greater than he'd ever felt after completing a task for his Master.

The stray wisp of thought brought back paradoxically sharp yet fuzzy memories; he could not remember precisely what had happened, but he knew that it had hurt, a deep and biting pain that far exceeded the work of the knife in his arm. His own pain was quickly relegated to second string, however, as he suddenly recalled his master's condition.

With a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a cry of horror, Legato jumped to his feet—or intended to, at any rate. The net result of his impulse was a profound nausea as he lay, gasping, where he'd fallen. The room was spinning. He swallowed and closed his eyes, but that only made it worse. Finally he settled for focusing on one object, keeping the black metal med kit box firmly in his sights until the dizziness subsided.

When he could think clearly again, Legato moved inch by inch, slowly clambering into his bulky white trench coat. His left arm refused to respond, so he had to make do with the right, pulling the coat around himself despite the left arm's inability to make it into the sleeve. Even hanging awkwardly off of his lean frame, the coat provided a good deal of warmth, and he could finally stop shivering. For a while, that was enough.

Eventually, however, the practical portions of Legato's mind began to intrude on his exhaustion. His thoughts contained an undercurrent of quiet imperative, and when he could bring himself to pay attention to them, he remembered why. Knives. His master had been severely injured in the blast that had consumed July, and in the Plant's frenzied state, the command that his human servant graft his brother's arm onto his own flesh had superceded Legato's far more pressing need to care for Knives. Now that the task had been accomplished, however, the servant was free to do as he willed—and for Legato, this meant helping his master. There was no telling how long he'd been drooling, half-conscious, on the floor. Knives might already be—

Closing his eyes, Legato summoned just enough energy for a telepathic message. Forcing it out of himself like a body's rejection of a foreign object, he sent a single word. ::Master…?::

The effort left him gasping on the floor, but before long he was rewarded with a weak, though audible, response. ::Legato…?:: He felt a surge of power as his master gathered himself, sweeping brusquely into the servant's mind, inasmuch as he was able. Legato felt immeasurable relief. His reason for living still drew breath.

Knives' mind-voice was strong, almost fanatical, as he gripped his servant's mind with words as solid and uncompromising as a vise. ::Is it done? Did it take? Did you do as I commanded?::

Legato swallowed and nodded, forgetting that his mater couldn't see him, but knowing that he'd be understood nonetheless. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach recalled to him the events from which the defense mechanisms in his brain had been trying to save him. He surprised himself by suppressing the urge to vomit. ::Yes, Master. It is done. The operation was a success.:: His mental sending was barely a whisper. He had so little strength… surely Master would see that, and forgive him.

No such luck. Knives' reply was like a slap, almost physical in its contempt. ::Do not speak to me like that, vermin. I have bestowed upon you a tremendous gift. You are of course unworthy to carry it, but as I have seen fit to have it cleave to your miserable body, the least you can do is use it. Now speak up when you talk to me!::

::Yes, Master.:: It was easier than he'd expected; almost frighteningly so. Though the arm remained dead and dangling, it was almost second nature to draw upon its strength to boost his telepathy once he let go of his own barriers. Legato could feel its inhuman, golden-glowing energy seeping into him, flowing up his arm and pervading his body as walls he didn't know he'd erected crumbled in its wake. He shuddered. Knives' consciousness slapped him.

::Do not be so free with that. It is for you to use, not to pervert with your disgusting human body.::

::Yes, Master.:: Legato struggled to find a balance, pushing the warm golden light back into its prison, erecting a wall just thick enough to keep his essence separate and distinct while still siphoning off enough power to enhance his mental and physical functions. It was easier than he'd expected, and after a few moments, he found that he could use the energy to speed regeneration of his wounded flesh without allowing his blood and the Plant's to intermingle.

::That's better.:: Knives' voice, though tinged with the usual disdain, was not as sharp as Legato was accustomed to. Alarmed, he used his new strength to instinctually assess the link Knives was maintaining, and gasped when he felt how weak his master was. Knives could sense him, of course, and Legato felt his consciousness slapped away like an errant fly. The thing that frightened Legato most was Knives' reaction; he could feel annoyance, but none of the usual violent, blind rage that accompanied his taking of a forbidden liberty.

::Master, you are injured.:: Legato fought to keep his mind-voice as neutral as possible, and either he succeeded, or Knives was too weakened to protest the thread of concern. ::You must be healed. Tell me how I may serve you in this.::

The mental nod of acknowledgement was a sign that, even if he had overstepped his bounds, Knives was not going to punish him for it this time. His master's voice had an odd tinge to it, a sharp edge of bitterness with a swirl of irony. ::I need a bulb.::

At first, Legato wasn't sure he had heard correctly. ::A… a bulb, Master?:: he repeated stupidly, without thinking.

::Yes, you idiot. A bulb. It will provide nutrients and regenerative chemicals that I need. There are two on Level C, in the large machine chamber. At least one must be in working order. Go there and prepare one for me. Quickly,:: he added, and Legato felt a sinking dread in the pit of his empty stomach. For such an imperative to be placed on speed, Knives' body would have to be in very poor repair.

Drawing strength from the arm, Legato forced himself to his feet, fighting back lightheadedness and nausea. ::At once, Master,:: he replied, then ceased transmitting so that he could put all his strength into moving.

It took several too-long moments for the world to resolve into stationary forms around him, and Legato swallowed again as he surveyed the tiny cell that had been sole witness to his grisly operation. The room seemed small and mean, messy and stained with blood and vomit. It smelled. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his focus, then opened them again and strode stiffly out of the room. The heavy steel door shut behind him with the same ominous clang it had issued when he entered. Legato walked away and did not look back.

The corridors had never seemed like such a twisted maze. Legato limped forward, caught in a waking nightmare, stumbling towards a vague goal with only Knives' occasional weak mental prodding for guidance. His left arm dangled uselessly beneath the fold of his coat, but it lent him a slow and steady strength that kept him on his feet. He used his right hand to steady himself against the wall as he walked, mirroring the now-dried handprints that had formed when he'd come down this way.

After what seemed like ages, he found himself standing on Level C, slumped before the huge double doors that led to the machine room. Legato breathed heavily, punching in his access code from memory to coax the steel to slide away. The sight that greeted him took his breath away. There weren't two bulbs here. There were dozens.

He didn't realize he was staring. The machine room was bathed in blue light, a soft glow emitted from the rows upon rows of glass bulbs, each with its own twisting blue filament. Reflexively, he looked for Plants within the bulbs. Of course there were none, and he shoved the momentary thought deep down inside, praying that his master hadn't caught the sinful implications. To suppose that Knives himself would be keeping his brethren in subjugation—horrible! Legato forced his mind to focus on the task at hand.

He could see, now, that Knives had been frank with him. Upon closer inspection, only two of the bulbs were large enough to house a full-grown Plant. Of the two, one was dark, cracked along the side and presumably unusable. The other was set at an obscure angle, listing crazily to the left and glowing fitfully. It was obviously in no shape to receive his injured master, but it was better than nothing. Legato took a moment to breathe and focus before beginning his work.

Though he couldn't admit it, he would never have been able to make the repairs without the new left arm. It boosted his telepathy so that he could receive the ever-weaker instructions from his master. It seeped memories into his mind that dealt with lost technology, giving him the knowledge to understand the machinery. It lent him the strength that kept him on his feet. Somehow, without his knowledge or consent, he and the hated prize had formed some sort of uneasy relationship. Parasitic, symbiotic, or otherwise, he couldn't tell—and he didn't have the liberty to analyze it at the moment.

At last, it was finished. Legato stood still before one fully restored bulb and one that had been glutted for parts. His left arm twitched occasionally, but that was all. The sudden stillness of the room after hours of activity was stifling.

The taut, intense man bathed in a light blue glow bore little resemblance to the Legato who had stumbled blindly out of the ruins of July. Always a focused and driven individual, there was now something more extreme about his demeanor. It was like a painting in which every angle was just a bit too acute; the wrongness could not be defined, but it was there, sharp and unnatural. His eyes were just a bit too open, his abdomen just a bit too sunken, his hair just a trifle wild. The most profound difference, though, was of course the arm that twitched occasionally like a worm, stuck on a hook in a bird-trap. The fingers contracted ever-so-slightly, flexing and relaxing like the death twitch of a slaughtered animal. Legato's thoughts were blank. All concerns that did not directly relate to the task at hand had been pushed aside, relegated to a portion of his mind that was quickly being locked off behind walls very similar to those that separated him from the gleaming gold essence in his left arm.

His breathing was louder than the hum of the machinery. He ignored it. Reaching out with a tendril of thought, he sought Knives' mind. ::Master, it is done. I have completed the task you set for me.

The answer took longer than he'd expected. Legato frowned slightly. At last, a breath of thought brushed against him. ::Good. Now… come get me.

The weakness was alarming, but Legato kept his mental tone calm as he replied. ::Of course, Master. Guide me to your location.::

When he found the Plant, slumped against the bare wall of an upper storage room, Legato's mental wall nearly crumbled. He could not believe he'd been set at menial tasks while his master lay, bleeding and broken, expiring alone in a forgotten nook of the underground complex. Those emotions were locked away, though; the rational, calculating portion of his mind that had risen to the forefront of his consciousness knew that if he had not first prepared the bulb, his master surely would have died. The expiration of a god… Legato did not want that on his conscience.

Carefully, gently, ever-so-gently, Legato gathered his master into his own arms. Knives would never permit this sort of filthy contact with a vermin, but desperate times were upon them, and Legato knew quite well that the scorched and broken man before him could not protest. With infinite care, he carried his master down to the machine room and prepared the bulb for his entrance.

It was the hardest thing Legato had yet had to do. Stripping his master bare was one thing; it was necessary to clean the wounds and attach the electrodes that would monitor Knives' progress from within the healing tube. It was the act of consigning the superior Plant to a glass-enclosed prison, even if it was for his own good, that Legato balked at. It flew in the face of everything he had been taught, everything that Knives himself had conditioned him to believe. This bulb might not look like the others; it might not siphon power from his master, and of course Knives was being put into it of his own free will, but Legato could not shake the feeling of blasphemy. The subtle wrongness seeped into his bones as he opened the bottom of the tube and carefully placed his master inside. The soft sliding sound of the glass door as it sealed itself over the Plant grated against Legato's ears like fingernails on a chalkboard.

He watched, silently, as transparent blue liquid filled the horizontal tube, first causing Knives to float within it and then closing over him. Inside it, the choppy cut of the Plant's hair was softened to a fluid texture. It waved back and forth like the ancient myth of seaweed, serene and barely bothered by the fluid circulation as it began to pump nutrients in for osmosis. A light flashed silently on the control console and Legato pushed the indicated button. The machinery whirred to life, bringing the tube-bulb to a vertical position, the better to supply Knives' head and nervous system with vital blood. Legato found himself face-to-face with the upside-down visage of his master. It took his breath away; even wounded, his master's perfection was enough to force him back a pace in reverence.

Several minutes passed, and the system seemed to be working. Knives' pulse was steady, and though barely any time had passed, Legato could trick himself into thinking that he saw an increase in general vital signs. The silence was too much. With utmost reverence, he reached out a miniscule tendril of thought, so tiny that its brush against his master's mind was almost, out of necessity, a caress.

::Master…?::

Knives was slow in replying, but Legato could feel the Plant stirring, and waited patiently. At first it was just a brush of thought, a response in kind to his own query. Then, slowly, words formed, as if Knives were remembering how to speak.

::You… have done well, Legato.::

The surge of fervent awe and gratitude was impossible to lock away. On the inside, blood surged and rushed madly to the space just below Legato's cheeks. On the outside, his pupils grew just a little larger.

After a long moment of silence, Knives continued. ::You have… a new mission, Legato.::

The blue-haired man's head raised quickly, though Master's eyes were closed; he couldn't see his servant's nervous reaction.

::Your old mission remains, but it seems… it seems our schedule has been pushed back a bit.::

Legato swallowed, and ventured a tentative communication. ::How long, Master…?::

::At least twenty years. Probably more.::

The clear, succinct answer nearly made Legato's jaw drop. Even his mental voice stuttered as he protested. ::B-but master! I will no longer be of use to you then; my body will be weak. It can't take that long…::

::Quiet!:: The unexpected vehemence in Knives' voice cowed Legato and he cowered, reminded forcibly that his master might be weakened at the moment, but he was still a force to be reckoned with. The Plant took a few moments of silence to rest, and Legato silently cursed himself for angering his master. At last, Knives continued. ::You will remain just as you are, foolish vermin. You do not deserve it, but my gift will see to that.::

Legato's flesh crawled as he glanced sideways at the arm. He forced himself not to shiver. His pupils grew just a bit wider.

::Until such time as we resume our mission, I have another task for you. Primarily, you are to protect my body and see that it does not come to harm before it is fully healed.:: Legato nodded instinctively at this. Of course he would protect Master. Master was his life. ::In the meantime,:: Knives continued, ::you will assemble a force. A band of assassins, if you will. They must be trained and ready to serve me when I require them. Can you do this, Legato?::

The question was shot out like a challenge, and Legato answered immediately. ::Yes, Master. I shall not fail you.::

::Good.:: All at once, Knives sounded tired. Never before this nightmare had Legato seen his master exhibit any sort of weakness, and a black weed of hatred began to sprout within his mind, seething at the man who had done this; the man who could do this, not only to a perfect being, but to his own brother. He buried the thoughts quickly, however; Knives was speaking again. ::Now leave me in peace. I desire rest.::

Legato bowed low, his head nearly touching the ground, and backed reverently away from the tube without another word. He closed the door silently, locking it with his code despite the absence of any other beings in the complex. There was no such thing as being too careful when the man he was protecting was his master.

Outside the machine room at last, Legato found himself slumping against the wall. He had no idea how long he had been in that room making repairs, let alone how long he had wasted away in the bowels of the complex. Now that he was no longer calling on the enemy's stolen strength, he nearly fell to his knees. It must have been days, at least, since he'd eaten—and suddenly, Legato felt the sharp, twisting pain of starvation.

He pushed himself off of the wall, fighting the blackness that threatened to close in from the edges of his vision as he stood. The arm was draining him. He could feel its metabolism, higher than his own, eating away at his very essence to feed itself. He hadn't ingested anything to sustain himself in goodness-knows-how-long, and before that, he'd lost everything he had. In a madness born of hunger, he half-ran, half-stumbled to the complex kitchen, where he was used to fixing sparing meals for himself when he and Master stayed underground for periods of time. He could only hope there was something there.

It seemed like an eternity before Legato reached the modest room. Lost technology powered a refrigerator that could keep food fresh for days, weeks, or even months on end without the aid of ice. He nearly tore the door off in his hurry. If he didn't eat something now, immediately, his stomach was going to cave in like a great black hole, and he would be sucked into it, along with the complex and Knives and the whole damn world. He had to stop it. He had to fill the void.

He couldn't say what he ate, later, or even if it was indeed fresh. All he knew was that he did eat, and it was the purest bliss he had ever felt. Bite after bite, he crammed anything edible into his body, anything that could stave off the terrible emptiness. Anything that could keep him full. He needed, desperately, to be full. This place was so empty… he, inside, was so empty…

Twenty years, his mind managed to speculate, amidst the fistfuls of food. How can I go on for twenty years without Master here?

Legato shoved food into his mouth, but no matter how much he ate, it seemed to keep dissolving. He could not fill the black hole that gaped before him, twenty years wide.

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well, there you go. yes, there is more. will i write it…? who knows. hope it was enjoyable, and less nausea-inducing than the last chapter. please do leave comments if you can. as you may have noticed, i really do listen to what people say and use comments to edit my work. any commentary is appreciated.

-v.