#[here's to us—here's to love. here's to all the times that we fucked up; orangetintedglasses]

[forgivenpunishment]

Vash looks at Wolfwood like he's trying to get a dog to trust him, and all he can do in turn is gawk—stunned somewhere in the middle of confused, horrified, and ashamed. It's Vash. It's Vash. He'll repeat it to himself a million times if he has to, the man in front of him is his partner—

Metal pelting metal pulls the undertaker out of his own mind, and when he pulls his hand away from the door he notices a bullet lodged into his palm. That wasn't there before, he's pretty sure. Judging by the hole torn through the metal beside him, it seems that hunch is correct. He stares at his wounded palm longer than he should before he viscerally removes the bullet and tosses it to the side.

Any pain at all would be better than the cold, numb feeling that's freezing his insides right now.

Give in. You always give in. You always go back, what's stopping you now?

After a deep breath, Wolfwood falls forward onto his hands and knees, still keeping himself off of the floor as he crawls forward. He tries to stand but can't find the strength—his legs have been replaced with rubber. Somehow, he finds his sunglasses and swipes them, returning them to his inside blazer pocket for now before he loses his balance and throws himself into Vash.

At this point, Wolfwood's not sure what's real and what's made up; for all he knows, Vash could be standing, he could be sitting, hell, he might not even be there, but the worst of the moment is finished. Now boneless, Wolfwood collapses onto Vash's lap with a deadpan stare and hardly any other movement. All he can do is keep his breathing calm.

Behind him, another 'pew' of lead cracking through the door breaks the silence. The hole the bullet leaves behind is right where his head had been moments ago. All he can do is sigh listlessly, knowing that if Vash can hear him it's only because of his supernatural hearing.

"... Don't wanna be here... take me back... get me out of here... Safe with you."

Ah—!

When Wolfwood moved like that, it was… startling, to say the very least. Blue eyes widened as the typically composed man flailed and, in turn, knocked the vial out of his hand and sent it flying, spilling it in the process. Wasting it in the process. That in of itself was more than enough of a red flag, but— but then Wolfwood was pleading with him; pleading for him not to do something, and—

And that was… fear, in his eyes. Real, tangible fear as he pulled himself away. It was clear as day in both of them, somehow, even the injured one, and seeing it had realization's bony, ice-cold fingers rolling up along his spine.

Wolfwood hadn't looked at him like that in a long time.

Not since they'd met up again; spent that entire night on the top floor of the derelict apartment building to escape that mob of people. He remembered that night with vivid clarity, still— and the look Wolfwood had given him then (the flinch, the jolt, pulling away from him) was nearly identical to the one he'd given him now.

… no… no, maybe not identical. Just very, very similar. This was a lot more visceral a reaction— one that had the undertaker moving back towards the door still being pelted with bullets, which sent Vash's stomach plummeting into his boots, shaking him from his catatonic state and into action—

"Wolfwood—!" he started, and even took a step forward, b-but… but reality slammed into him and he froze pretty quickly in place, after that. He shouldn't go to him right now, should he? Even with the helpless look on his face, there was something about Vash that had set him off; forcing himself into the undertaker's space might not go well right now...

… which, ultimately, just begs the question… what should he do…?

For all his usual tricks— words, physical touch, affection and understanding —everything in his arsenal that he knew worked normally… wouldn't help here. But neither would standing there exchanging helpless glances, however, so… so the blond just swallowed. Did his best to keep his voice from shaking as he tried… whatever came to mind, first, which apparently meant entreating his companion from a distance; making himself smaller as he took a step back and pleaded in return— "I… I don't know, either. I want to help you, though, just… please get away from the door, Wolfwood, please—"

He doesn't even have to come closer to him if it'll help but bullets are still punching through parts of the door like paper, he has to get away from there, it isn't safe there—

[forgivenpunishment]

Some extra things seem to have made their way into Wolfwood's bag! Nothing crazy or anything, since they haven't had time to replenish their funds, but Vash has his ways! There's a fresh pack of cigarettes and two bundles-worth of colorful lollipops, all tied together with a thin piece of ribbon. It's just tight enough to keep them all together...

... and, maybe, the chocolate bar or two tucked in behind that. Three, actually. Vash has his ways.

(merry crimbo! have teeny tiny cwimmus treat for mw!)

⩥ @orangetintedglasses || mer crimmbus

Wolfwood has been out and about these past few days that they've been staying in a quiet inn on the outskirts of a town named Holiday. The community gets especially festive around this time of year for Christmas—unfortunately, they're most likely aware of the holiday because this is an Eye of Michael pilgrimage location. Despite the darker secrets this location may hide, the town is quite alive and joyous for a day that celebrates some guy who did some thing and became God or whatever back on Earth. Here, Eye of Michael cultists attach this identity to Knives, but exaggerate a ton.

There's almost never any mention of Vash, despite the emphasis on twin angels that the sermons teach, so the whole thing is a crock of shit anyway. Wolfwood, frankly, is glad no one worships Vash—and it's not just because the man doesn't want to be worshiped, nope. Wolfwood doesn't want to have to compete with every man, woman, child, and otherwise that would worship him if they knew.

Nope. Vash is his.

He happens to get back to the room at one of the times Vash isn't there��much to his relief actually, he needs to wrap his present—when he happens upon the bundle. When was the last time someone ever gave him something? It must've been when he was still a kid.

Naturally, he treats the otherwise mundane items with gentle reverence as he fights back a blush and weepy eyes. He's not alone anymore. Neither of them are. Stupid Vash. Stupid presents—making him look like a fool in the middle of their shared room. Hopefully Vash appreciates the sentimental value of the gift he'd gotten him, or all of this is going to make Wolfwood look like a sap.

"You idiot," he mumbles fondly, gingerly sliding out one of the chocolate bars and opening it slowly, "Don't need to get me nothin'..."

With a small square of chocolate melting in his mouth, Wolfwood begins to put together a gift of his own.

[forgivenpunishment]

⩥ @orangetintedglasses || tripwire [plotted starter]

Sometimes, when Wolfwood closes his eyes, he's back in that place.

JuLai, but not the operating table—not anymore. Those nightmares are much rarer than the ones where he's suspended in mid-air, pinned to a sleek metal platform that looms over where Vash—

—No, not Vash. It was Knives's will, Knives torturing him, Knives controlling Vash's every move, every decision...

...Where that thing wearing Vash's skin would rest occasionally. It didn't need to rest, but it'd spend time with him by gazing upon Wolfwood as though he were a work of art. It'd marvel at how the undertaker's wounds would close around kingpins that it personally pushed through precisely chosen locations on his body. They were symmetrical, clinical, and impossible to break through.

It was exactly what he deserved for leading Vash to JuLai in the first place.

Day after day, he'd spend sleepless hours with his eyes forced open due to pain; the needles would provide him with the bare nutrients required to survive, along with doses of serum to keep the wounds shut. If Wolfwood deigned to struggle, it would only make the pain worse.

His reward at the end of each day was always a genuine smile from Vash.

Not Vash.

He'd managed to escape once by feigning death—it was risky, but the trick caused doctors—the Doctor included—to take him down and run tests on him before attempting to resuscitate him. The Doctor found himself at the edge of a blade for scolding his boss for keeping his prized subject at death's door, which quickly shut him up.

By the time he returned, Wolfwood's departure was marked by dead assistants—one of their coats missing.

Wolfwood met up with Meryl after that, who was assisting the survivors of the twins' wrath. He never did give her details.

Not that it mattered, since Vash was hot on his tail as soon as he noticed his darling moth was missing.

'Why risk your life out here, when it's safe at my side?'

'Don't you know it hurts to watch something so precious to me throw itself into danger?'

'Let me protect you, darling moth; you don't belong with humanity. You never have.'

———

The final words caress his mind with barbed wire before he awakens with a jolt. Wolfwood's heart pounds too fast for its cage, wishing once more to be let out. It's still dark, the room is too hot, the blankets are too suffocating—but he has chills as he sweats with wide eyes and a panting mouth. Vash, somehow, sleeps beside him, curling up against the wadded up blankets that Wolfwood shoved aside and making a noise of protest.

On nights like these, he wishes he could see the moment for what it is—a nightmare about some place he'll never return to—but generally the emotionally dense undertaker must get up out of bed, take a shower, and smoke.

Smoke... a lot. Until the suns rise. He's starting to believe that the smell and the hiss of his breath keep Vash asleep, like a soothing lullaby. Thankfully, this gives him plenty of time to shove that nightmare back where it belongs—in a trunk with a broken lock, hidden in an attic that someone hid by covering the entrance.

He ignores how the trunk seems to open more often lately.

Vash always asks him about what's wrong, and Wolfwood never gives him an answer other than, 'Just a nightmare, don't worry about it.' While it was a point of tension once, now it's just more of an annoyance than anything else for the both of them. The silver-eyed man's capacity for affection breaks on these days, often not wanting to be touched until finally, finally he sidles up to Vash at night and offers an apology. It seems to hurt them both, but there's a mutual understanding. Sort of. Sometimes he makes it up to Vash in bed, just to make him forget anything was wrong in the first place. It only sort of works.

This time however, the spell of the nightmare has lasted two full days. Wolfwood didn't sleep last night and added whiskey to his medical routine at four in the morning. Just... something to take his mind off of it. Just for a little while.

(It doesn't work, it only makes the memories louder.)

Though he goes through what would be enough to get a normal man plastered, it barely affects him as they drive onward to the next town without power. They're finally almost done with fixing all of these damn power grids that got shorted out from whatever took out Vash for almost a whole day. He just needs to get through these last few towns, and then maybe he can muster up the strength to tell Vash just how much he needs him—how much he cares, how strongly he loves him... something like that. It sounds nice.

(It doesn't soothe him like it should, though. The thought stresses him out even more, worrying that he can't love him when these bouts of tension haunt him like a swarm of earthquakes.)

He hasn't said a damn thing all day by the time they reach the next town—some backwater place named New Plymouth. Wolfwood parks Angelina someplace he deems secure, then tucks his goggles into a sidepack and autonomously circles around the vehicle to help Vash out of the sidecar. His eyes almost look devoid of life as he holds out a hand, staring over Vash's shoulder instead of making eye contact.

It's going to be a long day. Again.

[forgivenpunishment]

Letting his hands be held and touched, Wolfwood makes direct eye contact despite what his glasses may suggest. Vash is so sweet. So gentle. He doesn't deserve this.

(Doesn't deserve him.)

But they have a job to do and reality to face. This probably won't even be the hardest part, somehow things always find a way to get worse. He releases Vash's hands and checks over his mostly unused weapons. Everything is loaded and ready to deliver mercy—which is all he'll end up doing because there's no way anything could have survived this long without care.

(Right?)

Wolfwood thinks back to the memories shared with him by the dependent. The last visitor was a lone man—likely someone who knew what they were doing if he was back here. He would've had access to do whatever he wanted to do... hell, he could still be here, working on his projects.

"Mm. One thing," Wolfwood pauses before they begin walking, "Your sister—one of the scenes she showed me was the Plants' lives when there were people around. Then she showed me the next time she saw a person, and it wasn't us. It was just one guy."

It's so strange to think that he was let into these memories like Vash would have been. Stranger still that she trusted him to do so.

"There might've been someone poking around down here after the Eye abandoned this place. They'd either be a fuckin' genius or have clearance. Maybe it was a shithead who just couldn't abandon his sick project."

He shrugs before beginning to walk towards the third door that they hadn't gone in yet, giving Vash a determined glare of disgust that is clearly not meant for him. Releasing a long sigh, Wolfwood stares up at the sign and the light above the door and waits for his partner not-so-eagerly.

"Let's just get this over with and get out."

"Right... r-right, you're right..."

The hold was... nice. Comforting. But as much as he tried to relax in the familiar warmth and weight of Wolfwood's embrace, Vash could feel himself starting to tremble at the thought of continuing on and finding something waiting for them down there. Alive or not-- perfectly preserved or composed to bloated, weakened scraps of water-logged tissue --it was going to be bad. All of this, already, was so, so bad...

... but he couldn't succumb to this right now. He couldn't. They needed to keep moving, finish what they started-- and there was still so much to do before they could even call it finished. The list had only gotten longer with each and every new discovery they made here.

It feels like his heart is going a hundred miles an hour; stirring the dread that had settled in his veins with every moth-flutter beat. Vash takes another breath, closes his eyes, and tries to focus more on the feeling of Wolfwood's body against his.

"I-I... I really like your idea, the repurposing one, but--" talk. Talk, just get through it, focus, "--but you're right. They'll come back here eventually, storm the place and start again. Hurt more people if they're given the chance. B-but if we move the Plants, we cut them off. No power, no resources..."

And people in need, who would help the Plants in return, could have more-- a silver lining in the storm that could still cut the Eye's plans for this place off at the knees. That... was probably just about the best they could do in this situation.

And if that was all they could do, then it was what they would do.

Vash breathed out again and slowly pulled himself away from the undertaker; turning around to look at him straight on with what little sparkling resolve he had left, flickering behind his eyes like a candle's dying flame. Despite this, he took Wolfwood's hands in his own-- one more hit of comforting, sympathetic touch to share before they moved on--

"Thank you, Wolfwood." he said softly, gratefully, squeezing both the undertaker's hands in his, rolling his thumbs over his knuckles, "... let's finish things, yeah? And maybe leave them a little worse than when we found them for the people who have to clean up after us~."

[forgivenpunishment]

While he can't help but grumble about Vash removing his fingers, the mood quickly recovers (not that Wolfwood is actually grumpy) with how cute the man is while he's worrying over him. Wolfwood takes his hand back and uses the other one to stroke back Vash's hair endearingly. It always surprises him how gentle his touch can be when he's nothing but a killer. Vash... manages to bring out something else in him. It's uncomfortable... but... pleasant.

With his other hand still covered in nectar, he really can't help himself but bring the coated fingers to his mouth. Wolfwood parts his fingers and licks between them—he stares Vash in his pretty blue eyes as he runs his tongue wide up one finger, then the other. It's a taunt, yes, but it's by no mean an empty threat. If Vash ever needs his mouth, he's happy to provide.

"Wouldn't mind a show, Blondie," the undertaker chuckles darkly, his voice still warm like rich melted chocolate, "I got plenty of rest and whatever last night, so I can go a couple more times. You're so insatiable~"

Fine, fine. Go get water. I'll sit here waiting impatiently. Don't keep me waiting too long though. I'll get cold.

Vash seems so happy like this, and Wolfwood feels a sense of satisfaction knowing that he did this. He went out and bought that gift, braved wearing it, and now, well, he's going to be sore as hell in the morning. Definitely worth it though.

Anything to make those genuine smiles shine bright.

Ah...! O-okay, he really should've seen that coming...!

The sudden intrusion pulled a sound from the blond that was somewhere between a yelp and a moan-- or maybe it just trailed off into one at the end as Wolfwood slipped his fingers in with ease. The outlaw was, indeed, still horny; enough so that that simple motion allowed a drip of nectar to roll over the undertaker's knuckles and all the way down to his wrist before slowing down. It was genuinely embarrassing...!

"M-- mnh...!" he tried, only to fail rather spectacularly right out the gate thanks to the shudder that licked up his spine. Vash let his head bob forward and hang there a moment, shutting his eyes-- it was quite the effort to keep up the dominant, composed persona up when his partner was so good at playing his body like a damn instrument...

It really is his own fault, though. He isn't that upset about it.

"M-maybe I would... or maybe, I could p-put on a show for you... let you see just how much of an effect you've had on me~..."

Tempting as Wolfwood's fingers were, he had seen the fatigue in the other's eyes just before he'd crawled over him. Both options were available, and he'd follow through with whatever the undertaker preferred to do, but regardless of what they ended up getting up to, the man was not going to escape aftercare--!! So without much ceremony, the Plant moved and pulled himself off of his companion's fingers with a slick sound-- much to the chagrin of his body, when it very much was starting to feel empty --but he refused to leave Wolfwood as a messy pile of a person while he selfishly took more--

Sans vines, this time. It's your choice, but you're drinking water and letting me clean you up first...!

[forgivenpunishment]

Wolfwood chuckles at Vash's comment, but it's clear that he's exhausted from putting on a face that long. It almost—almost—got him back in his old mindset, the one where he couldn't care about others, the one where he was an object to be used, he was a killing machine that punished the Eye's castoffs. There was no room for emotion back then, and even when joining up with Vash the first time his humanity was simply a facade. He and Vash are similar that way.

Now he has to do something similar because he needs to be strong for Vash. None of this comes as a surprise to Wolfwood, he's aware of the evils the Eye of Michael is capable of, but to Vash this must be him witnessing the darkest slough of what humans can do to each other. That's just life.

"Hey, come here," Wolfwood reaches out to grasp Vash's wrist and drags him backwards into his arms. He holds Vash to his bloody, holey blazer and shirt and gives the man a warm hug. Normally, he'd let Vash settle things on his own, he'd allow Vash to take in the facts—to absorb the image of humanity and judge them as he sees fit, but with them like this it's... nice to have a little comfort. Just a little.

"I only take charge like that in situations where I think I know more than you about whatever it is," he mumbles into Vash's golden hair, "That, or I care about whatever it is that's on the line. This time I think it's you that I care about—you're already exhausted, and now this? I had to step up and be there. Otherwise, I'm happy to listen to what you tell me to do. Unless it's stupid."

He sighs, and it's as if a vice-grip detaches from his heart and lungs.

"Take just a second. It's gonna be a lot, but we'll get through it, alright?"

With all that additional helpful information logged and a half-hearted 'no promises he'll still be alive if he tries to pull anything', the Captain hobbled out the other entrance to the lab, dragging Ashton right along with him... leaving the two of them alone. Again.

Thank God.

The sting of tears was immediate, and Vash's hands were up in a flash-- plucking his glasses off the bridge of his nose so he could rub his face, put pressure on closed eyes that felt too heavy to open again. One slow, deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth-- rattling with disgust and horror and guilt and just about every other emotion that they just didn't have time for right now --and he could push it down, away. Anywhere else until later. Nevermind how hard his heart was beating, or the way his stomach wanted to launch out his throat. How airy and too-light his limbs felt when he took a step forward; signaling the start of their dread-march towards the only room left in this veritable nightmare.

He hopes Wolfwood is right-- that there's nothing to find but old lab equipment and empty tubes --but when has his luck ever been that good in situations like this?

"Taking charge in rough situations comes naturally to you, huh? You're really good at it." he said, forcing some levity into his tone. Still wearing that same empty smile, though, even if he was trying to make it more genuine, "how frustrating must it have been being forced to follow my lead all the time, back then?"

[forgivenpunishment]

"Yeah, yeah," Wolfwood waves off the Captain, secretly very grateful for him agreeing to split off. Vash is clearly in distress, and, ugh, it does something all... mushy and weird to his heart. He wants to be his strength, but some of the things he might have to do he'd really rather other people didn't witness. Especially a party as unpredictable as bandits. As much as Ashton really didn't serve as a threat to them, they still shouldn't underestimate him. The untrained scared puppies can be some of the most dangerous people to give a gun.

"Just don't kill 'im. Gonna need his help later to wipe this disgusting slate clean. There's gotta be a way to scrub all of this shit off their database or whatever so no one ever does this again. There also has to be a larger shipping entrance to this place somewhere, might be helpful if we wanna get the Plants to a safer standard power station. Not gonna lie, even if we did repurpose this place, it won't stop the Eye of Michael from storming the damn door and continuing their research on whoever ends up working here. They have access to weapons a lot less reasonable than me, I can tell you that."

Weapon. Yeah, that's right. No matter what he does or what Vash says, nothing will change the fact that Wolfwood is a weapon to be used. No amount of kisses or affection can change that. That's something he can ruminate on later over a cigarette, not something to deal with right now.

"There won't be anything alive back there. Eight months is long enough to starve someone, and who knows what was keeping the... keeping the ones in the tanks alive," he speaks with such confidence, but a tiny tiny part of him worries that perhaps something will be alive. Vash seems to intend to pull the plug on them... which is a lot different than what he'd led Wolfwood on to believe. "Now get outta here, this shouldn't take too long."

Wolfwood turns to Vash, happy to hear his voice again before he turns in the direction of the holding cells, ready to advance at Vash's command.

No, Vash hadn't forgotten. He also hadn't forgotten that one of Wolfwood's signature moves was to try and redirect the flow of conversation and attention when he was uncomfortable, or wanted to focus on anything else. Good tactic, since it meant that more stuff got done, but... well. It was still a tactic.

Vash couldn't really find it in him to blame the undertaker, though. He couldn't summon the energy to argue with him, either, insist that he be the one to go it alone like he normally would-- so he just offered a fond shake of his head in response, and a smile as hollow as an open grave.

He hoped that Wolfwood couldn't blame him for that right now, either.

"Feh." the Captain hissed, shrugging one shoulder. "If there's nothin' to do but kill time, might as well help the cause. I'll check on my second and update whoever's still conscious while patchin' up. S'probably for the best to split us all up anyway; can't guarantee any of 'em would be happy to work with ya after all that~."

... that was a fair point. They hadn't exactly been the pinnacle of stealth after a point (not after Vash failed to knock his first target out quick enough) so these guys definitely knew their faces... especially the ones who had gotten a glimpse of them in actual action.

The word of demons and monsters stalking the halls and threatening grievous bodily harm had probably traveled quite a bit since then.

The Captain continued, "I'll take the prick, too. Might need a hand opening doors, and we can't rely on Johnny for everything, now can we? Up and at 'em, science-boy!"

... speaking of, Ashton hadn't said anything in a really long time. He didn't say anything now, either, but Vash did glance over just in time to see the man curl up into a tight, reluctant ball as the Captain approached, bending at an awkward angle to grab up him and hoist the hostage to his feet.

There... probably won't be any more sudden spikes of 'heroism' from Ashton, even if he does get free; the older man made it pretty clear that he's basically waiting for any reason to clobber him...

"We'll be in touch. We did steal two of your radios, after all~..."

"You sure did, Goldilocks-- remember to use your ill-gotten gains to let us know if we need to come shoot some actual monsters. Don't wanna be left out of all of the fun!"

[forgivenpunishment]

Pleased to see that this bandit captain (he's so civil for a bandit, what gives?) sees reason in his words, Wolfwood backs down. He gives Vash a displeased look with lowered eyelids and cinched brows, but first begins by addressing their friend(?). "Before you ask, no, I didn't know anything about this place. Not exactly part of the circle that gets to know things, if you catch my drift. Not my choice."

He doesn't want to reveal any tragic backstory to a stranger (God, has he even told Vash about any of it? Everything he knows is probably by observation...), Wolfwood figures the man is smart enough to know what that means. He's one of them. He could've been one of these people farmed for parts, but God decided to bless him with making him his special golden boy. Him and his stupid S-tier genetics, or whatever. His parents really missed out on raising a bonafide progeny—wherever those assholes are. Instead, he's a plaything for scientists who really, really enjoy plucking at his insides and watching his body function while he's alive and awake—that sort of thing.

"Spikey, you said yourself that fixing the Plants is gonna take a lot outta you. I'm not gonna let you do that alone down here," Wolfwood gestures with a nod of his head towards the Captain, "Captain over here's got at least twenty guys up top. It's not like they can leave the place in the sandstorm, and probably half of 'em are still healthy because they ran. The ones that we shoved into rooms and closets have gotta be wakin' up by now too, and they've got radios."

He looks at the radio on his hip and shrugs, "Well, most of 'em anyway."

Shaking his head, Wolfwood puts a firm hand on Vash's shoulder and gives him a gentle gaze behind his semi-opaque glasses, "I'm a big boy, I can handle some gore. Did you forget who I am or what?"

The Captain sneered, but ultimately conceded; while he did share the opinion that the sniveling little prick deserved a good beating just on principle at this point, pride be damned, the duo clearly had some idea what they were doing...

... well. Sort of. Vash looked a few dozen iles away; staring out at the group rather than actually looking at anyone. But blue eyes quickly sharpened when Wolfwood asks what their next move is. Much as part of him had wanted to ask for a minute, Wolfwood was focused, so he should be, too-- they needed a plan of action right now, not him... being distant and mopey.

That didn't mean he had any clue of what the next step should be, though. They needed to help the Plants, but reducing the energy output meant that they were... most likely going to end up discovering just where those samples were being kept, and what had ultimately become of them in the past eight months of inactivity. Eight months wasn't long enough to do any sort of permanent damage in stasis... at least, not in cold sleep. This, though...

That was another thought Vash would quickly discard. He didn't have any idea and he didn't want to put too much energy into speculating at this point-- if it came to that, it came to that. End of story.

They don't get the option to stop moving and bow out, now. They have to help the Plants. He has to help the Plants--

"... there shouldn't be anyone left to sneak up on us, so you two should do a final sweep of the upper facility." he said, looking at Ashton, then at the Captain, and, finally, at Wolfwood. The blond looked... tired. Guilty. Sounded it, too-- "I can go check the last room here by myself. It'll probably just be empty cells, but if those holding tubes are in there, I'd really prefer if only one of us had to see it."

[forgivenpunishment]

Wolfwood doesn't want to get into the ethics of whether this guy should die or not—frankly he doesn't give a shit, but would prefer Ashton dead—pragmatic reasons wrangle him back into this reality as he instinctively flies from his seat to break things up. Thankfully it's just the butt of Captain's gun, but still, things could change in an instant.

"Woah—hey. I'm just as pissed as you are about this, but we might need this guy alive still," he sticks an arm in front of the older man, getting in the way of a potential next swing, "I think we've got bigger things to worry about than this wet napkin of a guy. Let's save beating him to shit for after we're done with him, yeah?"

Yeah, yeah. It's not perfect. Vash won't be happy about the implication of later being fine, but an intervention is an intervention. Vash can pull the strings later, because, again, Wolfwood really does not give a fuck. Anyone from the Eye of Michael may as well be food for the worms for all he cares. In fact, if it were up to him, they would be.

"So," Wolfwood attempts to guide them back onto the rails, "What's the goal here, Blondie? Gotta put a stop to any unnecessary uses of energy for the sake of the Plants, or are we just sweeping the place? I'm gettin' a serious case of the creeps over here."

Levity. Yes. If he doesn't take things as seriously as he should, then he'll keep his mind in one piece. Definitely.

He didn't want to look.

He didn't want to look, but Vash's feet still moved his body without much consideration for the way his stomach and heart were now sitting in his throat, wound around each other in a horrible, ice-filled knot. His hesitation was plain as day as he approached the system in slow, mechanical strides; the heels of his boots clunking heavily against the metal floor and situating himself where he could reach the keyboard.

He didn't want to look, but he clicked through, anyway. Subject 9030NT appeared to have been a particular favorite, once he was able to be contained, and used for--

No. Nope. Vash's mouth watered in disgust, discarding the rest of that thought and quickly moving on to the next.

"... th-they..." was all he could really manage to get out, shaken and too soft to be overheard by anyone but Wolfwood close by. The thing was... human bodies did contain every nutrient that plants like this would need to grow. Chock full of nitrates and the like, someone who opted to be turned into fertilizer when they passed would, by all accounts, be perfect plant food with some help. It was a concept he was unfortunately familiar with-- Luida had told him about it, once. How they were supposed to offer it as an alternative to being buried, but she had never been comfortable with the idea.

That wasn't the part that bothered him, Vash told himself.

What did bother him was the fact that these photos didn't exactly scream 'ethical practice'; Wolfwood's discovery that they'd done this with people who 'died' or were 'sent away' didn't scream 'done with consent'. Those things screamed something much, much worse... something much more in line with what they knew about the Eye of Michael.

But even this... to go so low as live human harvesting. Corpses as fertilizer... w-which Vash told himself again and again that that part wasn't what bothered him because, fundamentally, it shouldn't. With consent, it... it could...

... no. No, he really didn't want to think about it beyond that. That wasn't what was happening here, anyway-- what was happening here was completely insane. Immoral, vile, insane. His mind raced; thoughts formed and fled from his mind like Worms from a burning nest.

it's a farm it's a literal farm they kept disappeared people here alive livestock harvesting them are there still subjects here did they leave them here

The blond-- still as a statue and wearing a stoic, stony mask up until that point --suddenly pulled back and away from the computer, as though the keyboard had burned through the leather of his gloves. He looked to Wolfwood, eyes wide and full of barely-concealed emotion, but a sound from behind them caught their attention before he could even open his mouth to speak-- the pretty unmistakable sound of the butt of a gun clattering against someone's face.

Guess the Captain had been listening, looking furiously down at the pile of person and cables that now embodied Ashton-- "did you know about this, you sick fuck?!"

[forgivenpunishment]

"I got all the pretty pictures," Wolfwood responds grimly, shaking his head slowly, "These people would either 'die' or get cast out of the town somehow and then end up here. They... The Eye kept them here in comfortable cells and... gradually took parts of their bodies. For dirt. I don't... really understand that part. There are pictures of only dirt with some chemicals or something next to it, I dunno."

He flips to the next photo and... it's gruesome. Despite giving himself the title 'Undertaker,' Wolfwood has never seen bodies this chopped up. Surely by now this man is dead, why is he still in the 'In Progress' folder? His skin is peeled in some places, floating at the top of the vessel, and yet—

Subject 9030NT Status: Alive.

Seeing the Eye's handiwork like this never gets easier.

That was the last photo for NT. The final update. If this place has been abandoned for eight months, then... where did they put all of their subjects...?

"I think you should look at some of these. They kept their 'samples' alive and—harvested them. Probably cause you can't... grow food from rotting flesh... I guess."

Wolfwood rocks back against the back of the chair, rolling it slightly away from the computer. Despite the air of aloofness he attempts to maintain at all times, this situation definitely breaks it. His brow furrows in worry as he looks toward Vash, as if searching for the right words to say in this situation. There aren't any.

The Plant was quiet for a solid few moments-- stuck in place with his back still to the rest of the room as he stared out at the screen in front of him. Unfortunately, it appeared that Vash was rapidly reaching a similar conclusion to the one the undertaker had gotten to... though thankfully one where he would be spared the pictures. Not like he needed them; not when the documents inside the 'Enhancements' folder had started going into quite a bit more detail than any of the others.

This next one, Vash would read out loud, since Wolfwood had been doing the same. Maybe he should've been doing that from the beginning for the benefit of everyone in the room-- or, maybe not. It probably would've been boring reading off charts and values like that... were their buddies in the back even listening at this point?

... he... could ask, but it was probably a weird time to be thinking about stuff like that. Brains often had funny defense mechanisms--

E_Batch_104. 10 hour cycle. Depth: 15cm. Nitrate enhancements provided by sample pool 10. Additional supplements (K, Ca, Fe) provided by--

Vash... swallowed, his throat resisting with a click. His mouth had gone dry before he'd even started talking, and by the end-- where their individual findings were starting to hit some overlap --his throat was sticking to itself. He swallowed again. No dice. Still, he continued... to the best of his ability.

"Subjects... 3021ST. 5350AE. A-and..."

And someone else. People. Those serials were all people, humans-- subjects that were now regarded as donors for supplements for-- for soil that would be used to grow food.

That already had been used to grow food--

What does 'in progress' mean? What does that mean? In progress of what? There shouldn't be anything in progress, this place is abandoned, it's--

"What did..." another swallow. Vash couldn't help the tremor in his voice as he spoke; his blood had gone cold, and left him completely frozen in place. Completely bereft of any ability to move or even turn his head. His voice shook again, but the blond managed to get the entire question out this time: "what did you find?"

[forgivenpunishment]

"A farm? Then why would they—need... the... people..." Wolfwood trails off, shaking his head of an idea that popped up in his mind. They clearly needed staff members, so the Eye must've indoctrinated the townsfolk for a farm that must be down here somewhere. It's natural for the Eye of Michael to horde resources as well; the entire city of JuLai was meant to monopolize water providing Plants, after all.

"Yeeeah... there's at least—" Wolfwood clicks back to the folder he was in before, then counts by fives down. This must've taken place over the course of years. "There's... around 80 of these files in the finished category."

He then notices another folder below 'Final.' 'In Progress.'

"There are 30 in the 'Persons of Interest' folder... and..." the undertaker pauses again to click through to 'In Progress' before continuing. "15 in the 'In Progress' folder. Why? Do you have an idea?"

How are there any in progress if the entire faculty abandoned this place? May as well take a look.

The first person in the folder is 9447AV. When Wolfwood goes through their folder's contents, he finds photos similarly as invasive as Hyde's. Instead of getting banished at the end though, AV appears to be bedridden and feverish. They never appear to make a recovery, but there are more photos to go through even after a seemingly final one with their friends and family surrounding them in the small hospital room.

Squinting at the corner of the screen, Wolfwood spots an older man—about as old as the space-faring scientists he knows—lurking in the doorframe. This must be the mortician, but something about him gives Wolfwood the creeps. In the next picture, it appears to be an autopsy, but... the room and the equipment is far too familiar to him. They weren't done with AV, far from it.

Next is a shot of AV yelling at the camera, screaming with red, red eyes. By their side is an empty—

... an empty vial. Of course.

He's gone completely silent at this point, entirely focused on this monitor. Next image. AV thrashes around in rage, ready to combat the camera. Next. AV lays dormant again—it looks like they are dying... or already there. The photos end. They're likely doing something, or did something, but Wolfwood can't tell what it is or was.

With a quiet growl of frustration, he backs out again and picks another 'In Progress' person at random. This time, he checks the identification document and finds that this man was exiled from the community for cheating on his spouse. They took the affair in as a subject as well; Wolfwood supposes they must've both been exiled.

The photos are about as boring as they come. This guy is a real scumbag, and it was a miracle he even had a wife to begin with. Treating a spouse like that... disgusting. If he had a spouse, he'd treat them like they're the best thing to ever happen to him. Every day would feel like the first day they fell in love. And every night would—

Wolfwood swats away the bubbly dreams; they aren't possible anyway. Even if he knows exactly who he was thinking of, it is not. Possible. More importantly, the undertaker realizes that he's looking at photos of... dirt? A timelapse of some kind? How the fuck did he get here?

Back a few photos—the man scowling, flipping off someone in front of his cell. The next one... a lone finger on a tray. Pale. Dead. Clean. This causes Wolfwood to sit up, his mouth parted slightly as he flips from the photo of the man to the finger and back again. Then he goes... forward. Top-down, a shot of moistened soil and a note next to it.

Subject 9030NT: Right middle finger.

It then lists the rest of the composition's nutrients and chemicals. Science stuff Wolfwood knows nothing about.

Okay—well, clearly this was someone thinking they were being cheeky. There's no way they'd build an entire facility dedicated to—

Subject 9030NT: Appendix.

That... sure is an organ.

Then a photo of a large holding tube. The man is naked, hooked up to some wires and wearing a mask inside the liquid. He's asleep but he's—

He's alive in there.

Wolfwood looks pale against the light of the monitor, even if the image is dark. Slowly, slowly, he turns to Vash, "Vash... I think I... I know what's going on here. You're... really not gonna like it."

While that data was... oddly thorough, it was normal, for the most part. It meant that they had definitely been keeping a close eye on absolutely everyone who lived above ground, yeah, but that wasn't shocking given who it was they were dealing with, and the data itself was pretty standard cataloguing affair...

... minus those last few lines.

"Conflict over diseased vegetables..." was what stuck out to Vash the most, because that string of information specifically would help the pieces inside his head slide more firmly into place. Tables of micro and macronutrients, environmental analysis detailing things like UV cycles, artificial versus the natural suns, fertilization, irrigation system blueprints--

"... so, this place was a farm." the blond concluded after a few moments of silence, throwing Wolfwood a look over his shoulder. "Actually, that's probably not the best word for it, but it looks like they were trying to produce fertile soil to be able to grow flora themselves-- the same thing Luida does in the observatory. And from the sounds of it, they wanted to use this place for food production..."

A decent enough conclusion to come to with what they had... but that just couldn't satisfy that one squeaking wheel-- because if that was the case, then why keep such detailed tabs on the people above all the way down here? Wouldn't that just clog up the experiment data? This sort of thing was all well and good for the furthering of humanity, but... that wasn't what the Eye of Michael had been focused on. What they'd wanted was the advancement of the human race itself; evolving past the need for food and sleep to be more like... them, a detail that Vash was loathe to think about, and skipped over it as quickly as he could.

Knowing all of that, one question remained: why the hell would the Eye of Michael bother with food production? Aside from maybe taking strain off of the Dependents as they worked-- or some other reasons he would really, really prefer not to think about at the moment --those two aspects just didn't align with each other at all...

... Vash frowned and banished everything from the screen, finally clicking open the final folder available to him. Enhancements. Inside were two more folders-- one labeled 'Plant-derived' and the other labeled 'Compost'. The first one was pretty self-explanatory: raw nutrients made by Plants that they mixed into the soil samples with-- from what he glimpsed as he took to speed-reading over this section --varying degrees of success.

Compost, though... had even more folders when he clicked it open, with labels that somehow managed to be straightforward and entirely vague, like calcium-enriched. Magnesium-enriched. Potassium-enriched.

Iron-enriched.

... may provide additional supplements and beneficial data...

"... Wolfwood, are there more people on file there?"

[forgivenpunishment]

"Hm, so they were here even after JuLai..." Wolfwood trails off, moving the cursor back to the beginning of the folder where a document—one of those fancy, ready to print ones—stares back at him. He'd wanted to get an idea of what was in the rest of the folder before opening it. Bored of the simple everyday shots, Wolfwood skips towards the end, where it becomes... a little more interesting.

He's confused by what he's looking at in the last picture. The woman appears to be leaving town with all of her belongings. The crops are entirely wilted—honestly, they look sick. This isn't the scene he saw at the beginning of the folder.

Backtracking, Wolfwood flips through a gradual decline of aggression and depression until he reaches what seems to be a breakpoint.

It's a town hall meeting. A woman is crying—not whoever this poor sap was—and pleading with the mayor. The subject sits horrified in the corner of the room—genuinely horrified. Next are a few more shots of the subject working the fields, using the same tools and materials as always.

A camera in the corner of the medical office's waiting room spots Hyde meeting with a doctor of some kind amicably. She's in motion, walking back with him. His expression is grave. The next image, she's fuming, rushing out the door mid-yell. She's... worried about something. Now, the snapshots begin to get... weird. There are cameras in her house, watching her take care of her two children. One is a teenager, the other is maybe nine or ten. They seem happy together, but the mother is putting on a face to hide the truth from her kids.

The more the pictures go on, the darker the teenager's expression becomes. He turns, what appears to be, mistrusting... skeptical. At one point, the mother catches him snooping around the field at night and they appear to get into a huge spat. More and more of the townsfolk appear, guns are flashed. She backs off immediately, confused. She gestures to herself in frustration, shouting at the other townsfolk as though scolding them.

And then...

A dark corner of her house. She's crying. Praying. Wolfwood squints and can, of course, see Eye of Michael related materials. The symbol on a banner on the wall, the Eye's special bible, a painting of the 'angels'...

Another fight with her children. The younger one is confused—they look sick. They look like a light breeze will knock them over. Finally, it's the last picture. The subject walking in the distant horizon, away from the fields, fully draped in all of her things.

Then how did she end up here?

Wolfwood opens the introductory document and begins to read it aloud:

Subject: Clara N. Hyde ID: 2244CH Sex: F Age: 34 Status: Widowed Occupation: Manages the fields.

He mumbles through some basic details like height, weight, and vitals. Health conditions. Family. Why she moved there.

Then... it feels weird.

Diet: Red meat, hearty vegetables. Fruit rare. Indulges in sweets often. Particularly a fan of white chocolate chip cookies—a family recipe. Always cooks own meals, rarely hosts guests. Build: Muscular arms, abdomen, and back. Stays in shape due to nature of her work. A healthy padding of fat. No missing parts, no major scars, and no clear disabilities of note. Retrieval Method: Social Extraction due to conflict over diseased vegetables. Banished from town indefinitely. Notes: Feisty. Hard to keep in a cage, hard to tame. Partial to hunger strikes. Capable of unarmed combat. Active mind may provide additional supplements and beneficial data.

The undertaker adds a questioning inflection to the final sentence he reads. What the hell does that mean?

"Definitely found something..."

The computer closest to Vash did not have files on people. It had three separate folders, all with different names, and Vash clicked the one that grabbed for his attention with the most emphasis: 'Control'. Inside were text files-- a good few dozens of text files all (thankfully) sorted by date from most recent to least, and Vash found and opened the oldest file he could find, dated back around nearly a year.

Inside, there were batch names-- samples of something not identified within the file itself and spreadsheets with various nutrients, all listed by their symbols on the periodic table in the center-most column.

Control_Batch001. 12 Hour Cycle, no additions or enhancements. Depth: 15cm. Phosphorous, potassium, magnesium, calcium, sodium, nitrogen...

Squinting, Vash opened another file, then another. All of them had pretty much the same information, just with different dates attached (about a week apart) and different values next to the micro and macronutrients in the right-most column. The numbers themselves were written in different colors, as well, something Vash was fairly familiar with; just a quick way to communicate the range of the values...

... the further forward in time he goes, the more seems to be written in red and categorized as 'too low'. 'Control' batches one through forty just get worse and worse as time goes on, but there aren't any notes on what that means... like everyone who worked here knew what was going on, and they just wrote down basics...

"Looks like it's been about... eight months since anyone's been down here, give or take. Explains why the Plants are in such bad shape..."

So, that meant that they currently had a list of residents, tables of undisclosed data relating to nutrient and pH levels, and almost a year's worth of inactivity... the latter of which was good to know, but it was the first two that really worried him; essentially confirming the presence of experimentation here.

Surprising? No. But, still...

Even with just that, though, the blond had a few guesses as to what this all meant. But speculation wasn't the most optimal idea when there still were two more folders to look through at his computer alone: 'Environmental Analysis' and 'Enhancements'. Hesitantly, Vash decided to check the first one...

[forgivenpunishment]

"You mean you didn't see the way his lip curled when you brought out the cigs? He was getting ready to say something then," Wolfwood mentions idly, furrowing his brow at the monitor and keyboard. He's no technophobe, but he's really better suited for mechanical operation and repair as opposed to... this. Where does he even start?

Okay...

Well, who was in charge here? Is there anyone he recognizes?

Wolfwood taps the keyboard with just his two index fingers, glaring at the screen as he flips through menus and dialog boxes. Because the computer didn't require him to log in, there's mostly generic information available to him. No list of contacts, emails, dates...

There are... folders. One folder on the desktop is vaguely named "Persons of Interest." It's not a contact list, but it should give him a decent jumping off point for figuring this place out. Clicking on it brings him to a menu of more folders. Each one is labeled with someone's first initial followed by their last name. If they don't have a last name, it's just their first name. Some first names have a number indicator for if they shared a name with another person of interest.

Going down the list, there appears to be a folder at the bottom titled, "Final." Clicking through it gives him more folders that look the exact same as the ones prior. Wolfwood can only assume this means whoever they were, the Eye was finished with them. He squints, choosing one at random named, "CHyde01." Just to check, the undertaker backs up to the previous folder and finds, "CHyde02" and "CHyde03." It must've been a family of C names. Back to 01...

Inside "CHyde01," there are two more folders and many, many pictures. One folder appears to be a subject number, and the other is marked as "deceased." Well, that's grim. Wolfwood sets those aside for later and instead clicks through the pictures. Many are blurry stills from hidden cameras, watching the person go through their day to day routine. This person is often photographed working the fields, though appears now and again at the bar—nothing but smiles and laughter.

While Wolfwood has been quiet during his investigation, he breaks his gaze from the monitor briefly after perusing all of the candid shots. Looking over towards Vash, he checks in, "Findin' anything, Blondie? I got what looks like a list of residents. Whole town had eyes on 'em."

Bodyguard? Of all the glaring road signs pointing to the fact that these two were, in fact, a lot closer than they were trying to openly portray, it was the fact that Wolfwood called himself a bodyguard to 'the most dangerous man' on the planet that got the Captain chuckling again, shaking his head. Sure, sure... bodyguard, right...

He just shuffled past, giving the undertaker a bit of a nudge as he did so, and in a knowing sort of rumble, the man muttered, "so do I~."

Then, he straightened up-- and quickly grunted in discomfort, shifting a hand back over his wounded hip, "right. Since I'm out of the loop of whatever this is, I'll keep an eye on our sharpshooter. Got a few words for 'em anyway..."

"It shouldn't take too long." Vash assured, his back to the rest of the room. Thankfully, it didn't seem like anything else required a fresh biosignature: the screens might've been idle, but they brightened as keyboards were bumped and touched, like they were eager to welcome the Eye employee that had been detected at the door. Anything Wolfwood would've liked to prod or poke... seemed to be right at his fingertips for him to do so. And there were plenty of files and documents there for the poking...

Another idle grumble from the Captain, hobbling his way across the rest of the room. He was about to take a seat relatively close to where Ashton had been oh so delicately placed, but stopped just short, and looked around the room as though he was only now noticing just how dark it was. A quick left would take him straight over to the light switches, reaching out to flick the fuckers on... just for Vash to pipe up without a beat missed.

"Leave those off, please. Your guys threw a flashbang; still dealing with some pretty bad photosensitivity."

... slowly, and somewhat spooked, the older man pulled his hand away, looking over at Vash like he had eyes in the back of his head, "... eesh. It was a joke before... now I'm convinced you're her clone. Quick, tell me how bad cigs are for my health, next."

"Sorry. We've got work to do." the blond chuffed, sparing a glance over his shoulder and offering a ghost of a smile. "I'm all tapped out on nagging for the time being~."

[forgivenpunishment]

'This guy has a wife?'

What a strange man. If he has a wife, why isn't he with her? Why would he bother coming down here? Or leading bandits? So many questions about this guy, and they're not really relevant but—

"H-huh?" Wolfwood gives the captain a wide, empty stare that even his sunglasses can't hide. Blush rushes so fast to his cheeks that it almost gives him a headache. He thought they were hiding things pretty well! The only time they fucked up was in the Plant room, and this guy wasn't even there, so...

He looks over at Vash, slightly agape, as if there's anything he could say to smooth this over, but he's turned away and sifting through documents.

"We-we're not—!" the undertaker returns his attention to the raider, his mask slipping slightly, "I-I mean... um..."

A pause as he scratches the back of his own head.

Anyone knowing that they're together puts them even more at risk than they are right now. Someone could use one of them as leverage to get what they want, and at this point Wolfwood believes it could be either of them.

... He also realizes that the captain said nothing to imply he and Vash are actually...

"H-he does that to everyone, actually." He doesn't. "I'm not much more than a glorified bodyguard." He is a lot more, actually.

Wolfwood turns away to begin searching for anything that appears to use biosignatures to log in before muttering, "Besides, maybe I like 'em bitey."

He was getting a pout for that one...! And for many reasons, chief among them being the laundry money joke, which had Vash crossing his arms-- "don't listen to him, please. Getting that cleaned isn't saving it anyway..."

Vash still wasn't sure if that was the spare suit or not and this was not the time to ask, but he was beaming it into Wolfwood's brain as best he could (without actually doing so, since their connection had been broken for a while now) that he already said he was getting him new clothes, don't pester the man--

The Captain just snorted, shaking his head and flicking the retrieved, bloody bullet somewhere else in the room, where it bounced off one of the many metal surfaces with a ding! "Well now! Who knew the Humanoid Typhoon sounded just like my wife...!"

And that sort of unexpected commentary had the blond's jaw on the floor; coloring his face a shade of pink so bright and so fast that it reached the tips of his ears in record time. Quickly turning away, his pout returned, now a full, royal affair, hmph--

"I'm gonna start looking for info, if you two wanna keep snarking at each other over here!"

"Exactly like my wife!" the man barked a laugh, wiping his hand clean(?) with the front of his well-worn tactical vest. "Believe me, Johnny, the pretty blonde ones? Always get real naggy. Cute, until they're biting your head off--"

[forgivenpunishment]

"Hey, I'm not as nice as Goldilocks here. You say you're not fit to go on, I'm leavin' your ass," Wolfwood defends his image, knowing that Vash is so much more soft than he could ever be. Still, he maintains an air of humor about it, chuckling. "Some of your boys got knocked out, but other than a few stray bullets here and there y'shouldn't have too much to deal with other than makin' fun of 'em for pissing their pants as fast as they did."

From an outside perspective, Wolfwood does suppose that a man soaking up as many bullets as he did would be pretty freaky. He mulls it over internally, then shrugs. "Guess I can't blame 'em. I did take an entire mag from one of their rifles. Got my blood everywhere. Kinda gross."

He gestures to the many holes in his bloodied dress shirt.

"It'll be a pain in my ass to clean up, you best be givin' me some laundry money for the trouble," Wolfwood grins, wishing he still carried around that old checkbook. It was always surprising how often it actually worked. It wouldn't work here, but it sure would've been funny.

Wolfwood didn't even bother roughing their former guardian angel up like he had with some of the others they'd run into down here. Maybe it was because he'd stopped putting up a fight and gone quiet, maybe he just wasn't worth the effort, maybe both or none of those things... whatever the reason, the Eye-adjacent mask slipped right back off when he was done tying him up, and Vash offered him a smile. The old man, however, just grumbled, waving a hand somewhat dismissively, even as Vash offered him a hand up.

"I got it, Johnny... don't make me tell you the same shit I told Goldilocks..."

With a few huffs and puffs (and a grunt or two for good measure), the Captain was back on his feet and waving that same hand in Ashton's general direction, who had fallen completely silent. "You two got history with that jackass?"

"Ehh... sort of. He helped us get down here... under the assumption that we were here to help deal with you and your guys." Vash said, switching off the more serious tone of voice in favor of something quieter, but lighter, scratching the back of his head. The answer earned him a dry chuckle; the Captain flicked his eyes towards Wolfwood.

"Scare them, too?" he asked, giving him a bit of a wry look before he started fishing for the bullet in his arm with just his fingers. The blond winced, hypocritical a reaction as that was-- "or do I got more piles of gore to clean up?"

[forgivenpunishment]

"Traitor? Me? How outrageous!" Wolfwood scoffs, searching for something to cuff or tie this guy up so he doesn't make a break for it. Under a desk, he finds a couple of unused extension cords, which he begins to drag out with his foot. "Y'know, I think the only one who has actively worked against the Eye of Michael is... well, heh, you shot at me. So... Interesting."

Pushing Ashton against the desk with his restraining hands and a knee, he kicks a cord up to his free hand. Thankfully, he manages to grab the shorter one first, allowing him to bind the man's wrists properly. With the second, longer one, Wolfwood sits Ashton down to bind his ankles.

He squats above the employee smiling menacingly, making sure he's a safe distance from any sort of... kicking.

"Don't you worry Pumpkin, I did my job," unfortunately, to a T, he bitterly reminds himself, "My contract is over and I haven't been given a new one. Guess that's their way of laying me off then."

It is definitely not.

It's only a matter of time...

don'tthinkaboutthatrightnow

"Now, take a time out. Let the experts handle all of this stuff. Can't have you doing somethin' else stupid," Wolfwood grumbles, backing off and rejoining with the others. Once he's back, the undertaker speaks under his breath, "Okay, bought us some time. Man's a weasel, so I don't expect those cords to keep him in one place for too long."

Gesturing to the captain's wound, he continues, "Is that somethin' you can walk off, or are we on our own from here?"

"ANY data about him a-and a traitor to the Eye are valuable--!" Ashton protested, but it was starting to sound like he was trying to convince himself more than anything with the way his voice faltered at the end. Unfortunately, though, the information they'd been given really just... shuffled more pieces around the board, and Vash frowned trying to sort everything out in his head.

If he didn't even know about the outages, then the Eye really must have all but abandoned this place... but then, why place people here at all? At least two people, at that, maybe three if the person who had brought the raiders actually had worked here... and on top of that, if Ashton was to be believed... they didn't know what was actually down here. Why wouldn't they tell them...?

"He's right. Even if they could get your messages, they're not going to reward you for your efforts here." Vash said, the frown deepening the creases on his face. "I'm sorry, but from the sounds of it, you're just an expendable body here to keep secrets from getting out."

"Rrgh, you're both s-so... delusional!"

"They're delusional?! You didn't recognize one of the biggest threats to walk the planet--"

Vash is genuinely surprised when the man throws him a sort of 'eh, no offense' look before he continues--

"--and you don't even know what you're guarding! They didn't even think to arm you, or have enforcers around... sittin' on empty halls and an entire stock of weapons and secrets, you didn't think that was odd at all?! Fuck's sake, listen to the man!"

The Captain's outburst led to a cough, and a wince, clutching at his side a bit harder. Which, of course, had him holding Vash's attention again-- come on, take it easy--