"Ghost" Trigun x reader

Hell has Frozen Over

Had it been hours or maybe days? Your eyelids were heavy and your eyes glazed over as they lingered over empty frigid walls; nothing felt quite real anymore.

It all seemed like an awful nightmare, or maybe a waking trance of some sort. But you had long since stopped hoping you would wake up from it. If anything, everything you had lived the last few weeks had been the sweet melancholic dream you were struggling to make peace with now that you were thrown back into the harsh reality.

Everything in this place was cold; the walls, the lights, the people. It was such a contrast from the sunny busy life you'd just gotten accustomed to while traveling No Man's Land that you wondered if maybe this wasn't just a figment of your imagination.

However, the ache in your body from sitting immobile on the freezing bare floor of this tiny room they had thrown you in, and the still stinging pain on your hands and forearms from repeatingly beating on the locked door reminded you that this was all too real, unfortunately.

You hadn't known what to expect when, after almost a full day of driving through the sandy dunes, you had finally reached July. You remembered the city, not by its people or atmosphere, but by the shear size of it and the looming tower that overlooked it and in which Knives resided. He hadn't said a word since you had gotten in the car, even when he brough you inside the large labyrinth-like tower, he didn't speak to you; he gave orders to the blue haired man that had been shadowing your every move and simply left.

You found yourself surprised at Knives only leaving you with a single man to watch over you, an unarmed one at that. But the deadly look said man held in his eyes told you he was not afraid to kill, and the murderous aura radiating off of him let you know he was hoping for an excuse to hurt you or kill you.

He had directed you to a room, ordering you to clean yourself and change into the clothes he provided. Then, the only other thing he did before leaving was instruct you to wait patiently for 'Master Knives' to call for you.

The way he had called the platinum blond brother unsettled you, but you didn't pry into it. It was not the time to ask questions, in fact, it was no longer necessary for you to even think. Your existence, while here, was entirely controlled and dictated by Knives whims; to keep poking around was simply a waste of precious energy you knew he couldn't wait to tear out of you

You hadn't been here in over two decades, but everything seemed to have stayed frozen in time. Even the bare room they had locked you in was exactly the same as the one you had lived in all those years ago. It was empty and cold, like everything else; a small round table with a chair and a tiny side cabinet, that was all. There was no bed since Knives didn't allow or believe in your need to sleep. There were no closets or dressers, the only clothes you'd be allowed to wear being that forsaken skin-tight suit. No window, no hanged pictures or paintings, it was devoid of life.

There was a door to the side that lead to a bathroom, or perhaps you should say shower-room, since that was all that was in there. A simple glass panned shower and sink. No mirror and no toilet; afterall Knives didn't allow any food or beverages to even come near you, let alone him.

This- this was it. This was your current cell. You ran your fingers on the glacial floor you sat on, absent-mindedly staring at the fluorescent light on the ceiling. It wasn't even your old 'room'. You had checked, and double checked again after attempting in vain to get out when you had realized you had been locked in, there were no marks under the sink, no little scratches, no scribbles, nothing.

For some reason, that had deeply saddened you. When you realized you had been put in a room with a shower and sink but nothing else, you had naively hoped it was your previous one. It felt scarier, lonelier, with the deafening unfamiliarity surrounding you. You had found yourself wishing you could see those little marks, those smalls but lasting proof you had been there and survived and in which you found comfort in somehow.