Chapter Text
The train arrived with a scream of metal against metal.
Steam poured from the engine as it rolled into Dustfall Junction, the sound echoing through the small frontier town. Wooden buildings lined the dusty main street, their faded signs creaking gently in the afternoon wind. A few horses tied to the hitching posts snorted at the sudden noise while townsfolk stepped aside to watch the train slow to a stop.
Dustfall Junction wasn’t a large town. It was the kind of place trains passed through more often than people stayed. The locomotive finally settled with a heavy hiss. The doors opened. Passengers stepped down onto the wooden platform. Among them were three newcomers.
The first was a young woman with sharp eyes and short dark hair, already pulling a small notebook from her coat pocket the moment her boots touched the ground. Meryl Stryfe wasted no time. “Alright,” she said briskly, flipping the notebook open. “Dustfall Junction. Population roughly three hundred if the rail registry is accurate.”
Behind her, a much taller girl stepped down from the train with considerably less urgency. Milly Thompson adjusted the strap of the large, strange-looking weapon slung across her back — a heavy multi-barrel frontier rifle that looked far too large for a reporter to be carrying. She smiled brightly at the dusty little town. “Oh! It’s cute!”
The third member of their group climbed down last, far slower than the other two. Roberto De Niro stepped onto the platform, already pulling a small flask from his coat. He took a long sip of whiskey before glancing around the town with tired eyes. “Cute,” he muttered. “Sure. That’s one word for it.” Meryl ignored him. “We’re here for a story,” she said firmly. Milly nodded eagerly. “Yes ma’am!” Roberto sighed. “I still think chasing rumors about a legendary outlaw is a terrible idea.” Meryl flipped a page in her notebook. “Vash the Stampede,” she read aloud. “Wanted for destruction across multiple frontier settlements.” She turned the notebook so the others could see the sketch copied from the wanted posters. The drawing was… not good. The man in the picture had oddly shaped eyes, a crooked nose, and what looked suspiciously like a mustache that no one had ever confirmed actually existed.
Milly tilted her head. “…Mr. Roberto?” “Yeah?” “Has anyone actually seen this man before?” Roberto took another drink. “If they had, that poster wouldn’t look like it was drawn by someone who’s never met a human being.” Meryl snapped the notebook shut. “Either way, he’s been spotted moving along the rail lines. Dustfall Junction is the most recent lead.” She turned toward the town. “Let’s start asking questions.” Roberto groaned quietly. “We are journalists,” he reminded them. “Not bounty hunters.” But the two women were already walking toward the main street. Roberto sighed and followed.
Dustfall Junction’s main street was exactly what you’d expect from a frontier rail town. A general store. A stable. A small sheriff’s office that looked like it hadn’t been repainted in twenty years. And across the street from the station stood the largest building in town. A wooden sign hung above the swinging doors. THE BRASS RAIL Music drifted faintly from inside. Piano. Laughter. The clink of glasses. Milly peeked through the window. “Oh! There’s a lot of people in there!” Roberto leaned against the railing beside the entrance. “Rail town saloons always get busy when trains arrive.” Meryl was already writing. “Perfect place to ask questions.” She pushed the doors open.
The Brass Rail Saloon was loud, warm, and full of life. A piano player tapped out a cheerful tune in the corner while several men crowded around poker tables. The long wooden bar was lined with whiskey bottles, and the smell of food drifted through the room. Near one of the tables sat a tall blond man in a long red coat. He was laughing. Actually laughing. A half-finished dinner sat in front of him while a group of locals argued over cards. “Come on!” the blond man said, grinning. “You can’t blame me for that hand!” “That was the worst bluff I’ve ever seen,” one of the players replied. The blond man raised his hands dramatically. “I’m an honest man!” The table burst into laughter.
Milly blinked. “...Mr. Roberto?” Roberto followed her gaze. He studied the blond man for a moment. Then he glanced at the terrible sketch in Meryl’s notebook. Then back at the man. “...well,” Roberto muttered. “That’s interesting.” Meryl had already spotted him. She walked straight toward the table. “Excuse me.” The card game paused. The blond man looked up. Bright blue eyes. Friendly smile. “Yes ma’am?” Meryl flipped her notebook open again. “Are you Vash the Stampede?” The entire table went quiet. The blond man blinked. Then he scratched the back of his head. “...well.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes.”
Silence hung over the poker table. The men sitting around him stared. Then one of them snorted. “Oh come on,” the man said, tossing his cards down. “You’re telling me this idiot is the Vash the Stampede?” The blond man pointed at himself. “Hey!” Another player leaned back in his chair, squinting suspiciously. “You mean the outlaw with the sixty million dollar bounty?” Meryl flipped the notebook around and shoved the sketch toward him. “Do you deny it?” The man looked at the drawing. Then at the blond man. Then back at the drawing. “...that artist did you dirty,” he muttered. The blond man leaned over the table to look. His expression immediately brightened. “Oh wow!” He looked genuinely impressed. “Is that supposed to be me?” Meryl stared at him. “You’re not concerned about the bounty?”
“Well,” he said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “I mean… the mustache is new.” The poker players burst into laughter. Meryl did not. She stepped closer to the table. “Multiple towns have reported large-scale destruction after your arrival,” she said firmly. “Property damage. Explosions. Fires.” She flipped another page in her notebook. “Witness accounts describe you as extremely dangerous.” The blond man blinked. “Oh.” He looked around at the men sitting with him. “Is that how people are describing it?” One of the poker players shrugged. “Last time you passed through town you accidentally shot a water tower.” “That was an accident!” the blond man protested. The bartender from across the room shouted over. “You flooded the whole street!”
“I said I was sorry!”
Milly leaned toward Roberto. “...he doesn’t seem very scary.” Roberto took another slow drink from his flask. “No,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t.” Meryl, however, remained completely focused. “Your name,” she said again. The blond man sighed. Then he pushed his chair back and stood up. He was tall. Taller than Meryl had expected. His long red coat shifted as he moved, and she noticed the revolver resting low at his hip. “Well,” he said. “If you’re writing about me, it’s only fair I introduce myself properly.” He placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly. “Vash.” He straightened again. “Vash the Stampede.” Milly clapped her hands once. “Oh!” Meryl ignored that. “You admit it.” “Sure.” He gestured at the table. “Can I finish my dinner first though?” Meryl blinked. “...what?” “I haven’t eaten all day,” he explained. “And this stew is really good.” The poker players nodded in agreement. One of them pushed the bowl back toward him. “Eat before the reporter lady explodes.” Meryl pinched the bridge of her nose.
Vash picked up the spoon again. “So,” he said cheerfully. “What newspaper are you from?” “The Frontier Ledger,” Meryl replied automatically. “Oh!” Vash brightened again. “I read that sometimes!” Roberto raised an eyebrow. “You read?” Vash looked mildly offended. “Of course I read!” He paused. “...well. Sometimes.” The poker players laughed again. Meryl shut her notebook. “This conversation would be easier outside,” she said. Vash shrugged. “Sure!” He grabbed the last piece of bread from the bowl and followed them toward the doors.
As they stepped out onto the wooden boardwalk, the late afternoon sun painted the dusty street in warm light. Horses shifted lazily at the hitching posts. The faint sound of the piano continued drifting from inside the saloon.
Meryl turned toward him immediately. “Your presence has been linked to multiple disasters.” “Unfairly,” Vash said. “According to witnesses—” “I think those witnesses might be exaggerating.”
Milly watched him carefully. He didn’t seem nervous. He didn’t seem threatening. He mostly looked… tired. Roberto noticed it too. “You ever actually shoot anyone?” Roberto asked casually. Vash tilted his head. “...define shoot.” Roberto stared at him. “...that’s not a reassuring answer.” Vash scratched the back of his head. “Well I mean—” He stopped. Mid-sentence. His head tilted slightly. The piano music drifted out of the saloon doors behind them. The tune had changed. Inside the building, someone else had taken the piano bench. The melody was slower now. Elegant. Almost delicate.
Vash’s expression changed instantly. The easy smile disappeared. His shoulders went still. Meryl frowned. “Something wrong?” Vash didn’t answer. He was staring at the saloon doors. Listening. “...no,no,no,” he whispered. Roberto straightened slightly. “You recognize that song?” Vash’s hand drifted toward the revolver at his hip. Peacekeeper. His voice was quiet now.
“Stay here.” Then he turned. And ran back into the saloon