[ No version of Stampede, in any universe, should talk about Millions Knives with that kind of... of reverence. He's made a mistake, Wolfwood realizes, a big big mistake, and he needs to get away from this Vash immediately.
But before he can take a single step, before he can even start to move, those roots snap forward and then there's nothing but blinding pain. He screams, and falls to the ground, legs unable to support him, hands going instinctively to his pockets to find a vial. But he doesn't have any -- hasn't, not for months. He can't heal. No vials, no gun... no kind of luck. ]
I work for him! [ It's a desperate gamble, but what other option does he have? He tries to keep his hands raised and visible, for all the good that did him a moment before, his voice tight with pain. ] N-- Knives, Millions Knives, I'm one of his! I serve him, don't...!
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But before he can take a single step, before he can even start to move, those roots snap forward and then there's nothing but blinding pain. He screams, and falls to the ground, legs unable to support him, hands going instinctively to his pockets to find a vial. But he doesn't have any -- hasn't, not for months. He can't heal. No vials, no gun... no kind of luck. ]
I work for him! [ It's a desperate gamble, but what other option does he have? He tries to keep his hands raised and visible, for all the good that did him a moment before, his voice tight with pain. ] N-- Knives, Millions Knives, I'm one of his! I serve him, don't...!