Trigun Fan Fiction ❯ The Kunain Order ❯ The Beginning of the End (very cliche) ( Prologue )

The Kunian Order:

The Beginning of the End

(very cliché)

(This first chapter is sort of like an introduction to my story. It switches from 1st person to narrative a lot, so just try to follow along, okay? Thanks.)

Flashbacks

Thoughts

On with the show!

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3 minutes till midnight. It was almost time. Just three minutes. I'll admit I was a bit anxious. I was excited. It WAS my last mission. My last hit, and then I was done. I would be out for good. Or so I thought. I hadn't really told him that I wanted out. I had mentioned it to a couple of the others, but they just laughed. Serpentine fell out completely, and couldn't stop laughing. It was so…annoying. Frankie didn't even believe me! Egotistical maniac.

<"You've got to be kidding, Bass! I mean, really! What makes you think Demarco is going to let you out. You're the best we've got, next to me, of course. There is no way in hell that Demarco is going to let you leave the Order. You're worth too much!">

How much was I worth, Frankie? Not nearly as much as our target. My last target. My last hit. I didn't even see it coming. I was blinded by my excitement. I thought I could reason with Demarco. Convince him to let me go. Frankie was good, Serpentine, too. And Wings was getting better. They didn't need me. I thought I could make him see that. I would pull the last job, then convince Demarco to let me out.

Heh. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing about my life was easy, especially back then. I don't know what made me think I would be able to leave the Order, no questions asked. I must have been delusional. Probably from spending too much time with Enfante and Camo.

I sat there, left knee on the cold, stone floor, left hand down, head bowed. Just like I had been trained to do since I was seven years old. The clock chimed twelve times, but it wasn't exactly a chime. It sounded more like an anguished scream. Mmmm…music to my big, floppy, deformed ears. I could feel the blood pumping through my veins. It was time. I heard the familiar swoosh of the sliding metal doors, the loud clank as they locked into place. I stood slowly and waited for the clock to stop, and behind me I could hear the others do the same. We walked forward to the long, rectangular table, each one of us taking our place.

I couldn't believe it. It would be my last time sitting at the table. I looked down the table from my normal position (left side, first chair from the head) and noticed, for the first time in over ten years, that the table was actually oval shaped. The ends were sort of rounded off, but the sides were straight. It was an insignificant observation, but I guess I was just desperate. I wanted to remember everything. I'd had some terrible memories from my years in the Order, but I also had a few good ones, too. The "people" sitting around that table were the only family I had. After losing my parents, I was desperate for company. Guess that's why I fell in so easily. Too bad I couldn't have been stronger. If I only could have tried hared to resist.

But, for all of the horrible things I've done, I couldn't have picked a better group of sinners to roll with. Frankie Legs, Serpentine, Camo, Enfante Colossal , Wings, Nightscreech, Arachnia, and Mono Apollo. My "family". Granted, they're not the nicest group around. In fact, they're just as bad as me, if not worse. But they accepted me. They didn't think of me as a monster. That was because we were all monsters. All shunned by society for one reason or another. We were all different. I remembered how I came to know each one of them. How every single "person" at that table became a member of the Order. They all had a story. Just like me. It hurts me now to think about how I left them, and it hurts even more to think about what I did when they came after me.

But I wasn't concerned about hurting their feelings. I wanted out. And I didn't care if they wanted me to stay or not. I had someone waiting for me. I had a reason to leave. Just thinking about him made me feel warm. I wanted to see him, to start a new life like he was. I wanted to help him start over. I had been thinking about him for a month, and my work was slacking. He didn't approve of what I was involved with. He probably would have been pissed if he knew I was in deeper then I had let on. He only knew that I was in the Order, not that I was making the hits. And that was all he would know. I wouldn't tell him anymore than that. But my "family" had other plans.

I wasn't focused. That's one of the main reasons why the mission went so wrong. I was too busy daydreaming. It wasn't like me.

But I was snapped out of my stupor by His voice.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

I looked up, turning towards the open sliding doors. There He was, Demarco Christian. The leader of the Order. Not a bad looking guy. Had to be about 33 at the time. Jet black hair, always slicked back, with just a few strands hanging in his face and the rest pulled back into a ponytail that trailed down to his flat ass. As thin as he was, he was pretty muscular. Prominent nose, thin lips, big, dark brown eyes that turned black whenever he got pissed. He was tall, almost as tall as me. He always wore white, which is kind of funny, considering how evil he truly was. White pants, white long-sleeve shirts, black jacket and black boots. I got my sense of style from him, actually. He not only taught me how to kill, he taught me how to dress. It makes me laugh just thinking about how weird that sounds.

I counted exactly 25 steps, listening carefully as He walked down the twisted metal of the spiral staircase, then 10 more as He took his place at the table, at the head next to me. He hadn't sat down, and we knew what that meant. He looked us all over, and I could tell he was pissed. He laid into us immediately, screaming and pointing, calling us lazy and stupid. His voice was deep, kind of intimidating, and commanded attention and respect. He sounded so sinister, he could have scared a sandworm to attention.

"I can't believe you idiots! How stupid could you possibly be!? You were sloppy and you know it. You're all lucky Bass was there to cover for your sorry asses, or you'd all be on display in a museum right now! I can't stand incompetence. I won't have it."

"But, Mr. Christian. What did we do wrong?" Everyone looked toward Enfante. I smacked my hand against my head, almost unable to believe he could be stupid enough to ask that question. Almost.

"WHAT!! You know very well what you did wrong!" Oh, yeah. He knew. We all knew. Our last mission hadn't gone very, um, smoothly. Basically we all fucked up, real bad. And I mean bad.

We had been tracking our last target, Ezra James Whitworth, for only two weeks. He was a fat, disgusting man into prostitution and illegal weapons trading. He also didn't know how to pay debts. Borrowing money and not paying it back was a big insult to Demarco. Whitworth owed him about $$14 billion. Camo had been put on surveillance, but he hadn't been too thorough with his reports. Apparently his mind was elsewhere, like on Serpentine. It was common knowledge that Camo was good at stealth missions, but it was also common knowledge that he was horny 24-7.

When we went to take Whitworth out, we were met with what could be considered a small army. Whitworth was well prepared. It seemed that Camo hadn't been too careful about sneaking around. He'd accidentally let Whitworth see him, and he had failed to read Whitworth's file, or he would have known that the man had connections to every gun shop in New Oregon. It was an all-out war, 4 hours of back and forth shooting, and in the end I had to track the fat bastard down an alley and hack his brains out. We collected the money and were prepared to get back to base, but we were met with a town full of shocked people and Whitworth's backup arsenal. It took us another two hours to take care of them. It was the bloodiest mission we'd had in over five years.

I looked to Demarco. He'd sat down, so we knew he had calmed down significantly. He sighed, straightening his hair and adjusting his clothes. Demarco liked to look good at all times. But where he is now, he doesn't have to worry about looking good. He doesn't have to worry about anything, except fire and sulfur. Heh heh.

"Alright, boys and girls. Time for the song and dance. Now, I know you guys can do good work. It's time to show it. We've got a bit of a problem, but yours truly has come up with a solution. We're tight on money, so we need a big hit to bring in the big bucks. Professor B. has come up with a fool proof plan, so I need you fools to pull this job off spotless. The professor thinks that if you act right we'll get the job done easy."

Demarco was met with groan after groan after groan. None of us liked Professor B. he was a small, loud, annoying, sickly looking man with a high pitched laugh and barely any hair. He always smelled of alcohol and tobacco, two things I hate. He was kind of like your crazy uncle who went nuts after he blew all his money gambling and his wife left. But, none-the-less, he was pretty evil. He fit in well.

"All of ya shut up!" demarco yelled. "Like it or not, Professor B. knows his shit. He spent weeks on this plan, and it WILL work, as long as you whack-jobs don't screw up." Serpentine spoke up, trying her best to keep from hissing. "Sssss-o, what'ss our misssssion? Who'ssss our target?" Demarco smiled one of those typical evil smiles. You know, leaning forward, eyes narrowed, teeth bared, nose scrunched up. After seeing him do that for over ten years I was still freaked out. "I was just getting to that. Oh, Professor! Bring me the stuff."

We all turned to the doors in time to see the shoadowy silhouette of Professor B. He swaggered in with that stupid, toothless grin on his face, wearing those hideous purple glasses and chugging a bottle of gin. He sauntered over to us, rambled on and on for about ten minutes about how it was our job to bring honor to the Order, gave Demarco our mission information, took a couple swigs of his liquor, promised us the entire universe if we eliminated our target successfully, then stumbled out and went to get in his down-stuffed bed to sleep of his high while we went out and got our hands dirty. I thought we'd probably take, at the most, two days to get done with the mission.

We were anxious, barely able to sit still as Demarco passed the folder around the table. He stood and began to circle the table, moving towards the gigantic computer that controlled the base operations. He hit a button, scanned the picture he was carrying, and typed something. The hologram that appeared in the center of the table was of two tall blonde men, one in a white shirt, black jeans, and boots, and the other in a blue shirt, blue jeans, and old, faded sneakers. I barely noticed who they were until the folder finally came to me. I looked from Demarco to the folder, and my eyes nearly jumped out of my head. I looked to the holographic image being projected in the center if the table, and my mouth dropped open.

"These two men are our next targets. One of these men is worth $$60 billion. We will be going after…Knives and Vash, the Stampede!"

The cheers that erupted from the rest of the group didn't help settle the nausea rising in my stomach. Did I say two days? If I had my way, this mission would never go through. Of course, we can't always have our way now, can we?

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So, how was it? Drop me a line @ Lin0902@aol.com, if you want. I had to re-write this thing twice, so please take the time to read it. It ain't half bad, I think. I kinda hate it, but I got tired of re-doing it.