Disclaimer: Trigun and its characters belong to the honorable Yasuhiro Nightow. I am making no money from this, it is just a fic. I write plenty of original work I hope to make money from someday.
This story is pretty intensely horrific towards the end. I caution the sensitive to click the Back button. This has a Mature (M, equivalent to "R" ) rating for a reason (not pornographic), but pretty raw and shocking all the same.
This story in no way reflects my social/political views, merely my views upon how a particular character might handle a situation. This fic is meant to take place in either Trigun universe (anime or manga) – it's meant to be interchangeable: imagine it for whatever universe you prefer to.
Midvalley the Hornfreak was not a man who discriminated much. Blondes, redheads, Caucasian, Black… as long as they were beautiful and female he would gladly spend a night with them. He'd slept with a few beautiful men, too, that he could recall.
Midvalley the Hornfreak was not a man who discriminated much. Blondes, redheads, Caucasians, Blacks, men, women, old, young… he would kill them all if he was given the order from his employer.
Plants he did not care for, at least the two that walked like men. One Plant he was set and destined to cause suffering to. The other he worked for because he had no choice. For all the death he gave to others, Midvalley was, himself, afraid to die. He knew that he would die very soon and wished to live every day that he could with duty and pleasure.
Life was suffering. It was brutal, short and cursed. You had to keep moving, living by whatever scratch you could come across, or else become a slave to one man because you could not get out. Midvalley's master, however, was not a man.
He smoked a cigarette outside the Coyote Azul saloon and thought about this. Midvalley did not smoke often. He'd light one up after sex, and, occasionally when taking a rest between sets while practicing his cover-occupation of being a legitimate musician. This bar had a good crowd today, not a large crowd, but one that appreciated his art. Mainly, they were drunks that really wanted to hear the blues. Being drunks, they didn't catch the subtle imperfections in the music that he did.
The General Store here didn't have the brand Midvalley normally smoked. These were the brand Wolfwood smoked. Midvalley thought about him, and hoped to contact him again, soon. The priest was strong, an amazing fighter. With his strength, maybe they could get out of this. They could revolt, eliminate the threat to mankind and free themselves from the mercy of devils.
Midvalley decided he would make Wolfwood another offer as well. He knew he'd probably be disappointed. From what he'd seen, Nicholas only went with women. A shame, really, for such a good-looking man, he thought.
The cigarette burnt down and sweat clung to his forehead and neck, slick, sticky and uncomfortable. Midvalley gazed out at the buttes and stone spires outside of town. If he had been a painter, perhaps he'd have noted the nuances of color in the layered rock. What he noticed and listened to was the echo of the wind off the stones. There were all kinds of subtle sounds as the wind shifted and swirled around the spires. There was music in it.
The saxophonist stubbed out his cigarette, closed his eyes and listened.
He turned to the direction the loud voice had called from, perturbed. A woman was running over to him from the dirt street, pushing past people. She waved and called. "Midvalley!"
Midvalley turned. Did he know this woman? He did not recognize her. He picked up his saxophone and turned to go back inside the saloon. He had a gig to finish, it was hot out here and he did not wish to bother with this stranger calling his name.
"Midvalley!" she cried, running up to him, "I've finally found you! Don't you remember me? It's me, Rhonda, from New Phoenix!"
Midvalley looked her over as she stood in front of him in the street. She was blond, had a fairly pleasant face, and was very pregnant.
"Rhonda…" he said, "I think I do remember you." He gave her a slow smile. "You were at the Firebird Blues Club, right? We got a room at the upstairs hotel, and you did that…thing…"
"I've been looking for you for months!" Rhonda began. "Where have you been? You said you and I could be together and that we could travel around to your gigs together! You were gone when I woke up, and I've been through all the towns between here and Newark looking for you! You had my number! You didn't even call!"
"Well, Sweet Pea…" Midvalley said softly, "I'm a musician, I really can't be tied down. I may have made some promises that night, but I'd had a few drinks by that time, and you're a smart girl. You ought to know that settling down is just not my style. You understand, don'tcha doll?"
Rhonda shivered a bit, despite the heat. Her eyes took on a hurt and angry expression. "You listen here!" she shouted. "I wanted a life with you! You told me we could have that, and now you just brush me off?"
She gestured to her swollen stomach. "This is yours, Midvalley! You're a father now! You have a responsibility to me and to this baby! If nothing else, I want some money to pay for this kid!"
"Are you sure it's mine?" Midvalley asked, holding his sax.
"It couldn't be anyone elses!" Rhonda replied. "I wasn't dating anyone when I'd met you, and I haven't had anyone since!"
"You don't understand, girl," Midvalley said, his face taking on, for a fleeting moment, a sad expression. "I have an employer that needs me to be committed to my services. He doesn't exactly allow family. I don't much fancy having any family around, myself."
"I'm not leaving," Rhonda said. She was confused when she saw the man raise his saxophone to his lips. "What? Are you going to play a song? Out here?"
"Remember, you brought this upon yourself," Midvalley said before putting his lips to the reed and letting loose with a song interspersed with sounds designed to be a focused percussion-blast.
Rhonda fell back into the dirt of the street, her body wracked with strange, unbelievable pain. It came in waves, jostling her muscles, moving through her veins and arteries, echoing off her bones. Her ears caught the sound of townspeople screaming.
Her abdomen felt waves pulsing through it, pressure on her bladder, her kidneys, and moreover her uterus. She could feel the amniotic fluid slosh and pulse. She felt as though her belly were about to split wide open. She could feel her child wildly kicking.
The saxophone music lowered and rose in pitch. Sudden pain seized her, as if her belly had just exploded. She felt a sudden, indescribable emptiness, but she did think of it much for the terrible pain she was in.
The music faded and died.
Rhonda tried to sit up and only managed halfway. Blood ran out from between her legs, dripping, sticking to her skin and pooling beneath her – dark blood and pale fluids. She heard footsteps coming toward her, slow and deliberate.
Midvalley looked down upon her. She could barely make out his face, her vision blurred from agony and from the dust that was blowing lightly in the wind. "What…did you do to me?" she gasped between waves of grinding misery. "What did you do to my baby?"
Midvalley spoke smoothly. "Sound is an amazing thing, isn't it? I have learned to hone it, to bend it to my will as a 'tool.' I merely corrected my mistake."
"Mistake?" Rhonda questioned, eyes wide and fearful.
"You were just a night's diversion," Midvalley answered. "I never should have left anything behind. A fetus is a fragile thing, protected by layers of fluid and the womb. Once the right sound can break through those barriers, the rending of fragile flesh and undeveloped bones is easy."
Rhonda felt the dribble of blood on her thighs, wetness on her buttocks. "You monster!" she screamed. "You… you monster! You inhuman monster!"
"If I were not human," Midvalley replied, "perhaps things would be easier." He began walking away.
"You… you aren't walking away from me!" Rhonda cried. "You murderer! You… you..!" Rhonda attempted to pick herself up. She was much too weak and in far too much pain to succeed at it, but outrage burned in her heart.
"I'm not walking away," Midvalley said. He stood a few feet away from her and lifted his saxophone once again. "Of course I cannot leave you. What do you feel, Rhonda? Life is suffering. Yours is about to end."
Rhonda tried to scramble back pathetically in the sand. No one was there to help her, for everyone who had witnessed the first wave of sound had fled. The music lilted and dropped once again and Rhonda felt the reverberation, this time, through her skull.
Then she felt no more.
Midvalley looked down at her wide-eyed corpse when he was done. "You understand, I couldn't be tied down," he said, "I'm not a family man, and not much for fatherhood."
Then he walked casually out of town.