Chapter 192: Vash the Stampede, Resurrected!

You step through the Icon's teleportation circle to the Anchorage, the familiar hum of the ship around you as you head to Cold storage. Your boots echoing on metal decking until you reach the refrigerated compartment.

Vash the Stampede lies on a steel shelf, wrapped in a preservation shroud. The Gentle Repose spell keeps him exactly as he was - blonde hair fanned out, the cross-shaped scar on his cheekbone pale against skin that never decayed. Bulma's shrapnel removal work is visible in the neat surgical incisions along his torso, now closed and clean. You lift him into your inventory with a thought, the weight vanishing.

"Bulma - where did you put Vash's outfit and gun?"

Her response comes through the Telepathy Web, slightly distracted. "Lab drawer B-7 in the crew quarters. I catalogued everything - red coat, black bodysuit, arm prosthetic components, and the .45 Long Colt revolver. The gun is... Brad, I've never seen anything like its internal mechanisms. It's not conventional firearms technology. I took extensive scans but didn't disassemble it further."

You retrieve the items from drawer B-7. The red coat is heavier than it looks, the fabric woven with something that shimmers faintly. The revolver sits in a custom holster, its weight balanced perfectly. Everything goes into inventory.

The galley is alive with activity when you arrive. Maria stands near the entrance, having apparently briefed everyone during your errand. Seven women are gathered in a loose formation - Erza in half-plate, arms crossed, her scarlet hair catching the overhead lights. Esdeath beside her, ice-blue eyes sharp with anticipation, her rapier at her hip. Mikasa in her Survey Corps jacket, blade sheaths full and her stance coiled. Yugito, still in her torn Cloud wraps, golden feline eyes watchful. Hinata in her miniskirt maid uniform, her posture calm. Kurumi in her French maid outfit, heterochromatic eyes gleaming with curiosity. Sinon leaning against the wall, her enchanted sniper rifle across her back.

"We're ready," Erza says simply.

"Thank you all for accepting," You pause seeing Riveria and Hancock's silence. "Roxanne, Liza - I need you two to talk with Hancock about what the slavery system is like in your worlds. She needs to hear from people who've lived it."

Roxanne's tail wags through the Telepathy Web's emotional resonance. "Yes, Master! I'll go right now." Liza's response is quieter but immediate.

You consider for a moment. Then you cast Scrying, focusing on the southern side of Crescent City, California - the overlook where you'd fought mercenaries weeks ago. The image is solid and I trace the ocean a bit south wind-swept cliffs, crashing Pacific waves, scattered pine trees clinging to rocky soil. No zombies visible. The beach below stretches empty, driftwood scattered across dark sand.

Perfect.

You stop a moment, copying the original Trigun series and movie to a spare phone from your inventory, then open a Gate on the side of the galley. The shimmering oval tears reality apart, revealing Crescent Beach Overlook - salt air rushing through immediately, the cry of gulls, the endless gray-blue of the Pacific stretching to the horizon.

You command. "Spread out. Enjoy the view."

Seven women step through onto California coastal soil. Erza inhales deeply, her armor catching ocean spray. Esdeath's eyes widen at the expanse of water - she's never seen the ocean before. Mikasa scans the treeline instinctively, then relaxes fractionally. Yugito crouches at the cliff edge, her feline pupils dilating at the vastness.

Hinata stands beside you, lavender eyes soft. "It's beautiful here, Goshujin-sama."

Kurumi appears at your other shoulder. "Where will you have him wake?"

You survey the overlook. A flat grassy area twenty meters back from the cliff edge, sheltered by three old-growth pines. Open enough to see the ocean clearly. Private enough that a man waking from death won't feel trapped.

"There," you say, pointing. "Under those trees. He'll have to stand up before seeing the water."

You notice Esdeath standing at the cliff edge, her ice-blue eyes fixed on the horizon where gray-blue water meets sky. Her rapier hand hangs loose at her side, forgotten. The wind catches her pale hair, and for a moment she looks less like a predator and more like a teenager seeing something vast for the first time.

"First time seeing the ocean?" you ask, stepping beside her.

She doesn't startle. Her eyes don't leave the water. "There is no ocean in the Northern territories. Only frozen rivers and tundra lakes that stay solid half the year." Her voice carries something you haven't heard from her before - quiet wonder. "I didn't know it could be this... endless."

"The ship we were on a few minutes ago was out in the middle of the ocean, far south from here," you say. "This one's called the Pacific. The ocean our other ships are on is supposedly warmer, though I haven't had the chance to test that myself yet."

Esdeath's jaw tightens. "You have ships on another ocean."

"The Atlantic ocean is on the opposite side of this continent, there are three, soon to be four ships there."

She turns back to the water, processing. You leave her to it.

The sheltered spot beneath the three pines is perfect - flat grass, dappled sunlight filtering through needles, the cliff edge visible but not immediate. You pull Vash's corpse from inventory, laying him out carefully on the grass. Then the red coat, folded beside him. The black bodysuit. The arm prosthetic components. The .45 Long Colt revolver in its holster.

You kneel beside him and make an Eternal Ring - silver band, glowing as you layer enchantments. Mana Capacity, Mana Generation, Sustenance, Cleanliness, Vigor, Regenerate, Aging Reversal, Lucidity, Zero-Sleep. The ring settles onto his finger, magic inactive through his dead flesh.

Next, the phone. You enchant it with Interface, Mana Capacity, Mana Generation, Connection, Conduit, Repair, Refuel, Energy Conversion, Thermostasis, Aura Ward. The battery flickers briefly, confirming the enchantments took hold, then dims. You set it beside his head with the Trigun series loaded.

You step back. The seven women form a loose perimeter - Sinon on the highest ground, Erza and Mikasa flanking the treeline, Kurumi and Hinata watching from the sides, Yugito crouched near the cliff edge with her feline pupils dilated. Esdeath hasn't moved from her spot overlooking the water.

You face the ocean and cast True Resurrection.

Golden light erupts from your hands, cascading across the grass toward Vash's body. The air pressure shifts. Seabirds scatter. The waves below seem to pause.

Vash's chest rises.

The first breath is ragged, desperate - a drowning man breaking surface. His back arches off the grass, fingers clawing at earth, and a sound tears from his throat that isn't quite a scream. More like every breath he missed while dead rushing back at once.

His eyes snap open. Green. Wild. Unfocused.

He rolls onto his side, coughing, gasping, hands pressing against the grass as if confirming it's real. Bulma's surgical incisions sealing shut, skin knitting seamless.

"Where-" His voice cracks. He looks at his hands. At the grass. At the pines above him. "Where am I?"

His gaze finds you first. Then the seven armed women surrounding him. His hand instinctively reaches for his hip where the revolver should be - and finds nothing.

"Easy, Vash" you say. "Your gun's beside you. Your coat too. You've been dead for a few days,. Welcome back."

Vash's fingers find the revolver first. He pulls it close, checking the cylinder with muscle memory that transcends death itself, then his gaze drops to the silver ring on his finger. He flexes his hand experimentally, watching the metal catch sunlight filtering through pine needles.

"Take a minute," you say, keeping your voice even. "Get your clothes on, get your feet under you. I'll explain what I can while you do."

He nods slowly, reaching for the black bodysuit with his left hand - then freezes. Both hands. He stares at his left arm. No prosthetic components needed. The limb is whole, flesh and bone and nerve, fingers curling and uncurling with the wonder of a man who'd forgotten what sensation felt like below the elbow.

"A few days ago we found your corpse and another's in possession of some very misguided scientists," you continue as he pulls the bodysuit on, movements jerky but practiced. "I'm not sure how much you realized after arriving in this world, but there's a bit of a zombie issue. Dead humans trying to attack, infect, kill the living. On top of which, random people from different worlds - people there's popular media of - are being dropped into this world. Some are treated well. Their fame gets recognized. Others like yourself..." You let the pause hang. "You died a lab rat."

Vash's jaw tightens. He's pulling the red coat over his shoulders now, the fabric settling around him like armor. "The Initiative," he says, his voice rough but steady. "They had me strapped to a table. Running tests. Wanted to know how a Plant worked." His green eyes find yours. "I told them I didn't know. They didn't believe me."

"Resurrection restored your arm and scars," you say. "Which brings me to the ring. It's granting you a number of effects you'll doubt until you feel them. Sustenance - you'll never need to eat again. Cleanliness - no more laundry or bathing. Regenerate is the important one for such a masochist. Next time you're injured, you'll recover fully as long as you can pull out the shrapnel. I doubt you'll even notice the age reversal unless you decide to give the ring to someone else in a misguided attempt to heal them or keep them alive as long as you will."

Vash actually laughs at that. A short, breathless sound. "You've also watched the show they spoke of."

"I grew up to it, waking up late at night when I was supposed to be asleep to watch your adventure." You admit. "The phone next to you is simple enough for someone of your intelligence to figure out. I've copied the original series you were known for - depending on which timeline you're from, it might be a potential future or simply the past. I've also enchanted it so it can act as a power source for vehicles and buildings."

He picks up the phone, turning it over in his restored hands. His thumb finds the power button instinctively.

"Now - as to your primary question. This world is Earth. Terra Prime. The big blue ball of mud." You gesture behind him. "I'm sure you have more questions, but take a minute to chew on what I just dropped in front of you."

Vash stands. His legs are unsteady for exactly two steps before the Vigor enchantment kicks in, and then he's walking toward the cliff edge with the loose-limbed grace of a gunslinger who's spent decades crossing desert wastelands.

He sees the Pacific.

The ocean stretches before him - endless gray-blue water meeting sky at a horizon that seems impossibly far. Waves crash against rocks below. Seabirds wheel overhead. Wind catches his red coat, billowing it out behind him like a flag.

Vash the Stampede stands at the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, alive, whole, and silent for a very long time.

When he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible over the wind. "It's green here. Real green. Not like Gunsmoke." He turns back to face you, and his expression is something complicated - gratitude warring with grief warring with the particular madness of a man who just woke up from being dead. "You brought me back. Why?"

Behind you, Erza shifts her weight. Esdeath watches from the cliff edge, arms crossed, evaluating Vash the way she evaluates everything - as potential threat or potential ally. Mikasa's hand rests near her blade sheaths. Sinon's rifle hasn't moved from its overwatch position.

Vash's blue eyes are steady on yours, waiting.

You meet his gaze steadily. The wind carries salt and pine, and somewhere behind you Esdeath has finally turned from the ocean to watch this exchange with predatory curiosity.

"I've had a similar question asked several times," you say. "The answer's always the same. This isn't your world. None of you deserve the crap it'll throw at you, and as you and others have already experienced, it throws plenty."

Vash's jaw works. He's listening with the particular intensity of a man who's spent decades reading people across desert wastelands.

"As for the gifts - one is thanks for being a childhood role model. The other is simply the best I can accommodate you while knowing you'd hate being cooped up with my group on a ship when there's this much life in the world." You gesture at the pines, the grass, the endless Pacific. "If you want to spend the next few hundred years frolicking among the trees, that's your call. Or you can go playing hero - there's plenty of people who could use an honest gunslinger wandering around. There's a few other honest idiots looking for other media characters too. If you happen to find them, get in touch over the radio. I suspect you'll find this world's technology acceptably functional."

Vash's thumb traces the edge of his phone. His restored left hand moves with the same unconscious grace as his right.

"If I succeed in making Gates to return otherworlders to their worlds, I have ways to find those I've met before," you continue. "The phone has a map on it, though it won't update or be very accurate with the networks down for another eleven to twenty months."

You pause, letting the weight of what you're about to say settle.

"Oh - be careful of predators. Larger dogs, felines, bears on this world will likely remember that humans are valid food sources soon, if they haven't already. And if there are inconsistencies between your memories and the media, or if you can locate where your timeline deviates, make a list. It might help get you home."

Silence stretches between you. Vash looks down at his hands - both of them, whole and warm in the coastal sunlight. Then back at the ocean. Then at the seven armed women standing in a loose perimeter around the clearing.

"A few hundred years," he repeats softly. Then he laughs - not the breathless sound from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of his green eyes. "You really do know about me."

He holsters the revolver with practiced ease, then tucks the phone into his coat's inner pocket. When he looks at you again, there's something resolved in his expression - the particular look of a man who's decided to move forward rather than dwell.

"I'm not much for frolicking," he says. "But playing hero..." His gaze sweeps across the overlook, the empty highway visible through gaps in the treeline, the distant shape of Crescent City's shattered skyline to the north. "There's a lot of people hurting out there, aren't there?"

"More than either of us can imagine."

Vash nods slowly. "Then I'll need directions to somewhere populated. And maybe..." He glances at Esdeath, at Mikasa's blade sheaths, at Sinon's rifle. "Maybe I should ask what you're building. Before I decide whether to wander or stick around."

Esdeath steps forward from the cliff edge. "He's smarter than he looks," she says flatly, ice-blue eyes assessing Vash with newfound interest.

Vash's hand drifts toward his holster - not drawing, just resting. "And you are?"

"Someone who could freeze you solid in three seconds," Esdeath replies without malice. "But won't. Today."

Erza clears her throat from the treeline. "Perhaps introductions should wait until we're somewhere less exposed?"