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Vash had to admit that this was Knives’ cleverest, most diabolical punishment yet. Even if the tiny cell carved into the steel underbelly of the Ark hadn’t been fitted to the exact dimensions of Vash’s body, Legato’s metal threads, reinforced by his loyalty to his master, ensured he wouldn’t be moving a single muscle. Vash could barely wiggle an eyebrow, let alone his fingers and toes.
Knives wanted him to stay alive, of course, so he had accounted for the fact he’d need some sustenance. A sliver of sunlight shone through a tiny slit in the roof that opened up daily. After he’d subsisted on that slender sunbeam for a few weeks, Vash’s stomach stopped cramping, and his persistent cravings—his morning egg on toast, a platter of salmon and canned-ham sandwiches, a bowl of soy-sauce-drenched fried rice, a heaping plate of spaghetti served with salad and garlic bread—faded away. There was also a tiny crack in the bottom of his prison, too narrow to wedge his toe into and pry the floor open like a trapdoor, but wide enough to let in some air from outside. Small mercies.
However, Knives hadn’t provided him with any form of entertainment, unless staring at Legato, still and silent as a corpse inside his iron-lung coffin, was supposed to be entertaining. Vash’s boredom would have been soul-crushing and unbearable if he hadn’t been alive for a hundred and fifty years. He took great solace in the full and colorful life he’d lived up until now, as much as it hurt to be separated from all the people he loved.
He tried not to think about his traveling companions, but they flashed behind his eyes every time he closed them, and the guilt was overwhelming. He’d hurt Wolfwood and Meryl, albeit in different ways—burdening Wolfwood with his ideals and Meryl with his memories. Milly had gotten tangled up in this whole mess because Meryl was her partner. Vash knew better than to dwell on the real reason, which was that she cared about him, too.
The last time the girls had seen him, he’d been falling apart, drowning himself in drink and hiding his pain behind false smiles. And though he knew Wolfwood could handle himself, he regretted having to leave him alone at the foot of the stairs when they could have faced their foes as a team. There were so many things he wanted to say to each of them, to all three of them. Part of him kept fearing that for one reason or another, he might never get the chance.
He thought about Lina and her grandmother, who had tended to him at his lowest. Brandon, who’d provided the familiarity and stability he’d needed following the ordeal at the Dragon’s Nest. Brad, who’d looked so shaken in the days after the attack on the colony. Jessica, who must have been heartbroken that he’d left so suddenly. Luida, who’d taken everything on her shoulders when Doc died. Every time he remembered that Doc was gone, he had to swallow the whimper that threatened to escape his throat. He couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.
Whenever he couldn’t sleep, he thought of Rem. And there was no sleeping here, not in his current position. If he drifted off even a little, his body would sag, and Legato would tighten the threads. So he thought of her often, which was why he never fell asleep and never moved a muscle. Determination would keep him going until he found a way out of here or someone came to his rescue. Then it would keep him going after that.
About a month had passed when Vash decided he was done moping. He resolved to stop thinking such personal thoughts so loudly and carelessly. If he needed to have a mental conversation with himself, he’d do it in French or Pig Latin. Or he’d only think about silly, unimportant things. He had plenty of memories that were useless to others, but he treasured all the same, like the time he’d turned on “Crocodile Rock” for four-year-old Brad and three-year-old Jessica. Nobody could bust a move like toddlers.
“Crocodile Rock” was stuck in his head for a week afterward. He didn’t mind. It was a nice song. He wanted to listen to more Elton John, so he “listened” to everything else on the Greatest Hits 1970-2002 album, from “Rocket Man” to “I’m Still Standing”—the perfect power anthem to lift his spirits—to “The Circle of Life.”
That reminded him of The Lion King. He probably had most, if not all, of the movie memorized. So he watched that, then decided to watch Tarzan. It had always been one of Knives’ favorites, but Vash had liked it, too, and liked it even more as an adult, since Tarzan’s adoptive mother survived the whole movie. And how could you not love that amazing soundtrack? “Strangers Like Me” had always been Knives’ favorite; Vash had used to prefer “Two Worlds,” but it was undeniable how just the thought of “You’ll Be in My Heart” soothed him like being wrapped in Rem’s arms again.
After two intense animated movies back-to-back, he needed something cheerful, so he chose Mary Poppins. It was hard not to laugh when he got to the tea party on the ceiling—those giggles were infectious—but decades of learned self-control helped stifle any snorts. He kept his face stoic; he knew better than to smile. Legato might think he was laughing at him and crack his ribs with the metal threads, squeezing the joyful air from his lungs.
Vash had memorized Monty Python and the Holy Grail by his first birthday—once he’d come to terms with his own grievous flesh wound years later, he seized every opportunity to quote the Black Knight whenever he removed or lost his prosthetic in front of someone he didn’t know well—and it came in handy now. The only problem was that his brain got stuck looping the “intermission” over and over. Watching movies in his head used up a lot of the little energy he could muster, since he had to remember what happened when and recreate the scenes to the best of his ability. The intermission required little effort beyond repeating the same fifty-second organ riff over and over, so he was tempted to continue listening to it. Except it was getting horribly annoying, and it also marked the end of the movie. If Legato was watching along, he must be wondering what could possibly follow the longest intermission in history.
Vash nearly gasped as he snapped awake, his drowsy eyes twitching. Horribly annoying… Legato watching along… that was it! He didn’t have to watch movies and listen to music alone. By telepathically projecting his thoughts to Legato, he could force his captor to witness everything running through his brain, from the entirety of The Princess Bride to a five-hour loop of “Mr. Blue Sky.” He wouldn’t move; he’d be perfectly silent and still, so he wouldn’t break any of the unspoken rules of his captivity. There was a slim chance he might irritate Legato enough that he’d finally let go of him.
Wolfwood had always groaned and rolled his eyes at Vash’s fondness for show tunes. Vash couldn’t help it—sometimes, he was so overcome by joy that he burst into song just like a character in a musical. Slowly and agonizingly—at least, he assumed it would be agonizing for Legato—he went through his entire catalog from Cats to Grease, and threw in “Physical” after that, because a guy could never have enough Olivia Newton-John, and he was really missing his morning workout. Then he watched all two and a half hours of The Sound of Music in his head. He knew his favorite movie so well that he timed the intermission perfectly.
The shared show tunes didn’t have much effect on his tormentor beyond the occasional brow twitch or sniff that was more likely due to boredom. Neither Rent nor Les Mis convinced him to loosen the metal threads. Vash started to wonder how much longer Knives planned on keeping him here. Sometimes he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand one day more of this torture, let alone 525,600 minutes.
He moved on to something that had made Brad laugh as a kid, but now made him grumble—corny jokes. Vash had a mental list of thirty terrible knock-knock and other jokes an overenthusiastic kid from July with a knack for memorization had told him, which he had unfortunately recently remembered in its entirety. Not even the worst puns, like, “What do you call a magician from No Man’s Land? A sand witch!” or “Knock-knock! Who’s there? July! July who? July, ju-liar!” could break Legato’s concentration.
Vash’s love for centuries-old music had irked Meryl to no end during the months he’d spent on the road with her and Milly. She’d always complained about him singing those silly love songs, though he suspected she’d had a soft spot for a few. Those “silly love songs” were his most effective weapon right now. “Barbara Ann”? Catchy as hell for sure, but also one of the most repetitive songs ever. Legato didn’t even falter after eight hours’ worth of Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann, which was when Vash hit his limit and had to shift gears before his brain turned to mush. So he switched to “I Get Around.” Round, round, get around, I get around, get around, oo-oo-ooh, I get around wasn’t too different: equally catchy, and equally annoying. Still, no reaction. But determination was carved into every bone in Vash’s emaciated body. He wouldn’t give up. Ever.
If there was one thing that would surely get on Legato’s nerves, it would be the Fab Four’s earliest, cheesiest tunes. Vash was sure Legato would hate The Beatles’ message of love and peace with a burning passion. Did that sick monster even have any love in his cold, ruthless heart? Vash enlightened him with catchy-but-repetitive classics like “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and “She Loves You.” “Twist and Shout” was a fun choice. It also stung a bit, since Vash could neither twist nor shout in his current position.
Now and then, Vash cut off his constant flow of thought and silenced himself completely. Not because variety was the spice of life, but because sensory deprivation right after sensory overload could be a lethal combination. That, and he needed to take breaks now and then. Like any other weapon, his brain required “maintenance” to remain in peak condition.
Vash was capable of a wide array of impressions, but the people of the ship almost unanimously agreed that Elvis was his best one. Luida was the one person he knew who didn’t appreciate it. She’d laughed her head off at his dance moves at ten, and by the time he’d returned five years later, she’d cringed when he whipped them out at a party. It wasn’t the same since he couldn’t croon aloud or shake his hips, but he cycled through everything from “Blue Suede Shoes” to “Hound Dog” to “A Little Less Conversation.” Vash thought they could use a little more conversation, but he couldn’t imagine that blue-haired nuisance being at all inclined to discuss anything remotely pleasant, so his lips remained zipped.
Milly had always been a patient person, but even she’d had her limits. She’d snapped at Vash after he’d reached bottle number forty-five of his rousing rendition of “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” during a long bus ride, begging him to quiet down already! He’d been taken aback at the time, but now the memory just made him snicker. Vash was certain this was his ace. What could possibly be more insanity-inducing than all ninety-nine verses of that song? But Legato’s determination matched his. When the last bottle of beer had left the wall, his mouth was set in the same grim line, glassy gaze fixed straight ahead.
Vash scraped the inside of his skull for the most annoying songs he could think of. All six minutes of “Rock Lobster,” every delightful scream and wonderfully weird noise and the fun, off-beat lyrics, would have been absolutely intolerable to Brandon, but Legato didn’t bat an eye. “Wheels on the Bus”—Rem’s least favorite; “It’s a Small World”—Jessica had used to scream at the top of her lungs whenever he’d sung it; “I’m a Goofy Goober”—Lina had told him to “shut the hell up, you giant dweeb,” and he’d stifled his laughter about as well as the soldiers in Life of Brian who’d found a certain name “risible”; and “Banana Phone”—one Knives had used to bother him with, and his longest earworm, stuck to his brain like gum for at least twenty consecutive years of his life—all very enjoyable, but none of them made his captor snap.
He was about to return to square one and figure out another method of escape when the obvious answer popped into his head. It was something Knives had always, always despised with a burning passion.
This is the song that never ends, Vash began. He imagined leaning back against the wall of his cell with a smug, confident smile. It just goes on and on, my friends. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they’ll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends, some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and they’ll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends, some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and they’ll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends, some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and—
LA-LA-LA! I can’t HEAR you!
Vash was slightly startled by the addition of a new voice into the shared telepathic space after three months of being its sole occupant. I CAN’T HEAR YOU! Legato warbled. He was grimacing. His sunken eyes were rimmed by ghastly dark circles. LA-LA-LA, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!
A rush of triumph surged in Vash’s chest. His incessant diarrhea-of-the-mind approach had clearly worn on Legato, but he couldn’t celebrate too soon. He hadn’t won yet.
They’ll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends, he continued undeterred as Legato’s la-la-la-ing got louder and louder. No one was more skilled at being a pest than Vash. It was how he defused tense situations, saved lives, and distanced himself from others. Irritation was one of his core survival methods. This was a battle Legato would never win, and he likely knew it.
This is the song that never ends!
I CAN’T HEAR YOU! LA-LA-LA! LA-LA-LAAA!
It just goes on and on, my friends!
LA-LA-LA! I CAN’T HEAR YOUUU!
WOULD YOU BOTH SHUT UP ALREADY?
screamed Knives, his telepathic shout echoing painfully inside Vash’s skull.
Vash nearly reached up to rub his head before he remembered. For the first time in three months, he met Legato’s glazed-over golden eyes. Legato glared at him. A wide, manic grin lit up his face.
In unison, Vash and Legato began to sing. Though they weren’t singing out loud, Vash had never sung louder or more triumphantly.
This is the song that never ends. It just goes on and on, my friends.
Just like his life on this planet for the past one hundred and fifty years, and for all the years to follow. An endless stream of memories, laughter, and song, woven together by the threads of the lives of everyone he had ever met.