AN - Well chapter three rolls around. First of all, thanks to R&R'ers and any who show interest. Anyone that reads please review! I appreciate it and always incorporate ideas and suggestions. On that note, feel free to post a negative review if you think it'll jar some good ideas into my head, lol. Alrighty, I appreciate everything and I'm trying to keep the juices going...

DISCLAIMER - Forgot these in the earlier chapters x_x. I dont own Trigun or anything related to it outside my own assortment of DvDs. The storyline is my own, so please no republication, and all that jazz. Read and Enjoy.

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The sandcrawler was slow, but it moved. Nick and Giddeon road the ambling mechanical beast for a numner of hours, eventually able to make out the distant shapes of what seemed to be tents. Minor amounts of luminescence escaped rounded walls and low-slung flaps. Nick could make out the shapes of people here and there, all milling around sparadic camp fires. Even before Nick slowed the low fueled crawler to a stop, the general air of the campsite set in on him. The figures shuffling back and forth carried a defeated burden on each shoulder. They dragged their feet, hung their heads, and spoke in low voices. Why were they not in a city? What kind of life was this?
His train of thought was altered a touch as Giddeon's voice brought him back to the present,"Please, boy, I insist you stay with us tonight. We can get you refueled and some provisions." Gideon's voice was already strained, but Nick could hear the subtle pride in his voice. Apparently even being able to spare something for a wanton stranger was respectable. "We dont have much here, but we get by."
"You live here?" Wolfwood's voice held no inflection, but if it had, surprise would predominate. It was the first word's he'd spoken since Giddeon had fallen asleep hours prior.
"Its one of the coolest places in the desert. Our moisture farmers are successful enough, we have food that grows fast enough in the cool tent. Only real problems out here are sandstorms."
"Why dont you live in the city?" The both swung themselves out of the crawler, and it seemed as his feet stomped into the shifting sand, a harsh reality set upon him like a whipcrack. The Punisher, like some necessary symbiote, rested on his shoulder like an extention of his body. He shook his head, sad, so sad. He didnt, however, make any move to replace the Punisher.
"City?" Giddeon's old face held a concerned and quizzical look. "Barely any cities exist anymore." the old man shook his head. Such knowledge was set behind aged eyes. "Nearly every city was annihliated in the panics. Where have you been, boy?" Giddeon didnt wait for an answer. He headed instead toward the closest fire, where people had now noticed the approach of the pair.
Wolfwood settled in step behind Giddeon. Again his mind slipped into the three beat waltz it had become familiar with; why, when, and what for? Various answers moved through his head like intangible mists, and he couldnt place any logic with them to make them stick. He hardly noticed the first row of tents pass, or the questioning eyes of people who looked like weathered sheeks. Wolfwood recessed into himself. He felt sorry for these people, but not because of where they lived, or how they lived. When he did bring himself to look through his tangle of hair amoung the people of this "camp", he saw in their eyes a lack of faith, a lack of something to believe in. He'd seen it before. These people werent living, they were surviving.
Giddeon had stopped. The haggard old one had stopped before an octagonal tent that wouldnt have looked out of place with a band of gypsies. Now that he thought about it, Nick noticed that none of the other tents had any color at all. This, however, was splayed with reds, greens, and a hint of blues.
"Wait here," Giddeon had a gnarled hand raised towards Nick's chest, and after a moment to make sure Wolfwood wouldnt follow. Giddeon stepped inside, leaving nick, and the Punisher, standing where they were. The priest let his eyes roam. Here and there were odd shaped or sized tents, all constructed of canvas or animal hide. From near each weary eyes watched him from behind tired visages. A small smile crept into the corners of Nick's mouth. God was with these people. He could see it in the set of their jaws, the square of their shoulders. He shifted his feet, adjusting the Punisher on his shoulders. Had he forgotten what it was to be a priest? He feared that the Gung-Ho Gun ran in his veins. How close had he been to killing those slavers?
"Come inside," Nicholas was snatched from his deepening thoughts by Giddeon's sandpaper voice. Wolfwood half turned to see the old one hunched through the flap of then large tent, holding it open for him. Nick nodded and stepped through, tucking the Punisher under his arm and ducking his head to allow passage. Light inside the tent permeated from several knee-high braziers, and several torches were hung from the angled roof. It was a meagerly furnished tent, but Nick could gather that even these meager furnishings were lavish in this village. A two high-backed chairs, a small table, a cot, and what looked to be a cooking area. Indeed lavish. As his assessment completed, Nick found the tent's occupant. An elderly woman sitting just to the left of the cooking pit. She sat indian style, looking up at him with pupiless white eyes.
"Welcome to Hope, traveller," he grandmotherly smile almost felt comforting. Almost.
"Hope?" Wolfwood waited for Giddeon, who upon taking the four-step causeway to where they were, promptly sat indian style opposite the woman. Nick followed suit, letting the Punisher rest against his back.
"Hope is what we call our fair settlement," she made a sweeping hand gesture, "Hope is all we have." She re-folded her hands in her lap. "Giddeon tells me you rescued him, in a fashion. Its rare to find those kinds of acts these days. We wouldnt even have known, the old codger never stays in touch." Those sightless eyes swept toward Giddeon.
Nick only allowed his confusion to last for the briefest of instants. Giddeon wasnt a village member, but obviously important. "I assume you are the leader of Hope?" Wolfwood's voice was laden with repressed curiousity, but he managed one question at a time.
"Hope doesnt have a leader. We have a council. I just happen to be the oldest citizen. The council looks to me for guidance on some issues, and they consider my age an asset. I've seen most anything this desert has to offer." She sighed once, reaching over her shoulder and pulling forward a long white braid. It immediately became an instrument of her attention. "Where do you come from, traveller?"
"I'm not sure, honestly," Wolfwood. "I should be dead. I think I was dead. I remember Millie and Meryl, and Chapel." Wolfwood ground his teeth, but continued. He didnt know why he felt compelled to tell these two elderlies anything, but he found that he didnt want to stop. "I remember Millie smiling," Wolfwood smiled himself, for once recalling the full image of her smiling features, "and I told her to take the Punisher to Vash. And -"
The blind woman hissed, and her eyes went wide. "Never, Never mention that name!" As if she could see, she glanced nervously about, tugging on her braid once or twice. "Why do you mock us with this tale? The Red Man hasn't been seen for more years than any human alive has lived. We are easily offended in hope, traveller. Explain yourself."
Nick looked back and forth between the two, angry looks were his only response. "You'll have to pardon me, ma'am, I-"
"Hazel, My name is Hazel. Before you continue, outlander," Wolfwood noticed the connotation that went along with the change in label, "what name do you go by. The truth, mind you."
"Wolfwood, my name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood." Hazel went white. Her face was slack, and her jaw trembled.
"Giddeon, look at this man, describe him to me." Apparently Wolfwood was no longer in the general convorsation.
The old man, as Wolfwood had so many times referred to him, glanced at him, his composure movie beyond worried. "He is tall, dark hair, sharp features. He picks at his pockets as if looking for something. He," Giddeon wrung his hands over his lap, glance darting between the two, "he wears a blue suit with silver cross cufflinks." Hazel inhaled, her voice moving into a hurried whisper, a look of utter horror crossing her face.
"Anything else, Giddeon, anything?"
"He carries a large cross, covered in straps and canvas." Giddeon whimpered the last part.
"Impossible," Hazel breathed. Her sightless gaze fixed on Nick, holding him like an iron vise. "You must wait outside, Priest." Again the change in label, and apparently status. "Please, Giddeon and I have much to discuss."
Wolfwood stood and frowned, shaking his head, hefting the Punisher and wishing he could ask more questions. He recognized a volatile situaiton, and did as requested. A few steps and he was outside. Giddeon was right, he found himself fidgiting at his pockets for a cigarette he knew wasnt there. Why had she acted so strangely? Did she recognize Vash's name? There were answers to be had here, he could feel it. The tempo of his mind's waltz was increasing, and answers just out of his grasp were becoming tangible. At least, he hoped so.

"Giddeon, you mustn't speak of this. This man is to remain unknown, unquestioned, and unscathed." Hazel was sweating now, cracking her knuckles, and breathing heavily. "He must, must remain here, in my tent. I have much to ask him. If he is who you've described, then something phenominal has happened." A lightbulb went off in her head, "Quickly! Get him back in here, he musnt be bothered!" She maked rushed shooing motions with her hands.
"Alright Hazel, but who is this man?" the tremble in Giddeon's voice as he scrambled for the tent flap betrayed him.
"If he is who he claims, Giddeon," Hazel took a deep, fearful breath, "the the Cross Man walks the world again."
Giddeon thought he had almost made it to the flap of the tent before he realized he was no longer moving. It seemed as though the essence of fear had manifested in Giddeon's recent rescuer. It wasnt possible. The Cross Man had been the Red Man's friend, and there was no way he could be alive. Simply no way.

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Quick Note - Just wanted to make it clear that thus far, all chapters are dedicated to Trin. She's been a great friend and a serious confidence crutch even when I didnt have either leg. I appreciate it and hope I continue to please. Enjoy all.