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Holt bounded to his own car, jumped in and took off after Armamin as Jet knelt beside his still screaming partner. "Shit! Spike, you ok? SPIKE!" Jet grabbed his friend's wrists to pull his hands away from his face, "Let me see. It's all right. Just let me see." Fearing the worst, he worked Spike's hands from his face and was somewhat relieved to see no sign of injury. Spike's eyes were squeezed shut, his face contorted in agony. Leaning over him to keep the sun out of his eyes, Jet pried open first one eyelid then the other. His natural eye was bloodshot, the lids looking irritated. Of course the cybernetic eye looked normal in a ring of red that was Spike's lids. "Can you see me? How many fingers?" Jet held up three fingers for Spike to count, but his friend didn't answer, just stared at the fingers in horror. Spike had stopped screaming, but wasn't responding to Jet's questions, just looking wildly about him. Jet pressed his fingers into Spike's wrist and felt the racing pulse and cursed. They weren't parked far away, so Jet hoisted Spike over his shoulder and hurried back to the Hammerhead. He managed to stuff Spike's writhing body into the pod and climbed in after him, raising his carrier to clamp onto the Swordfish to head back to the Bebop. *** Cursing, Holt pursued the green car along the desert road back towards Reno. He felt badly leaving Jet and Spike back there, but he was out of food and fuel was getting low. And what the hell did he do to the kid? Shit! As soon as he catches this asshole he would call Jet to make sure everything's ok. He made a mental note to try not to get too close to this guy. Nothing says I can't kneecap this jerk, he thought. They entered the center of the ruined city when Holt got a better idea. He broke off the chase and turned his car in the direction of Armamin's mono carrier. Holt found the carrier where it was left surrounded by half ruined buildings and parked his car out of sight and waited. Since he had time, he pulled out his communicator and dialed the number he had programmed in there. *** Who were those guys? A rival syndicate? Did the ex-wife send agents after him for back alimony? Bounty hunters, had to be. The chemist navigated the damaged streets, skirting craters and pot holes in the unrepaired roads. Glancing in his rear view mirror he noted with relief that he had lost his tail. He was free! Time to get off this rock and get back to his lab to make more of the drugs that were so in demand. Too bad, he used his last ampoule filled with somnizine on that kid that tried to grab him. Well, whoever he was, he's fucked now, he thought. Too bad, kid, should have left well enough alone. Armamin circled the city for a half hour, making sure he wasn't being followed, finally reaching the low slung building where he rented the car. He circled that area, looking for that maniac who was chasing him, not wanting to be caught now when he was so close to being free. Satisfied that he wasn't in the area, the chemist turned in the vehicle, paying the tab with the last of the cash he had taken from the suitcase. Satisfied that he had shaken the bounty hunter off his tail, he shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled off towards his mono carrier. *** What WAS that shit? Spike clung to Jet's leg, shaking, through the entire trip back to the Bebop. Jet tried to talk to him, to calm him, but his words weren't getting through. Finally reaching the ship, Jet parked the Swordfish, disengaging the clamps then landed the Hammerhead next to it. He opened the pod, and prying Spike from his leg, climbed out, hauling his shivering partner after him. Spike hit the floor and crumpled. Jet, shocked, tried to drag him to his feet, but there was no cooperation from his partner. With a sigh, he lifted him and carried him to the infirmary and laid him on the table there to try to see if he could figure out what was wrong with him. He lay there, eyes closed, with all the appearance of being in the throes of a nightmare. Jet tried to rouse him, but Spike was completely unresponsive. Jet pried open his natural eye and saw that the pupil was dilated, but did respond only slightly if he flashed a ligh across it. Maybe it's a new kind of hallucinogen that'll wear off in a few hours. What if it's poison? Shit. Jet managed to hold Spike's arm steady long enough to get a blood sample to see if the analyzer can come up with anything that it recognises. He set the sample in the analyser and put his hand on Spike's shoulder, talking to him, hoping to either rouse him or find out what he's going through. His partner looked like he was in pain, but Jet couldn't tell if it was physical or psychic or both. Eyes opened and stared sightlessly across the room, their owner mumbling something incomprehensible. Jet leaned in to see if he could make out what he was saying and recognisned it as being Chinese, the same thing over and over again, "uhr sahn uhr sahn" - two three two three. He shook his head, I hope this shit wears off soon! A tone from the analyzer told Jet that the analysis was complete. It found a compound, but no identification. A chime from his communicator signaled an incoming call from Holt. "Where are you? Did you catch the sonofabitch?" Jet sighed, "Not good. He looks for all the world like he's having a nightmare and I can't wake him up, but he's starting to settle down a bit. I put a blood sample in the analyzer but the compound is coming up as 'unknown.'" There was a lengthy silence on the other end, "Hello? Marty? Did I lose ya?" Jet wrote down the information Holt gave him and hung up with at least a ray of hope. "It's gonna be ok partner, we'll get this shit outta you, just hang in there." He dialed the number Holt gave him and hoped someone would be there to answer. *** Spike rolled over in bed not quite ready to face the day. He was far too sleepy, his bed was far too comfortable and he knew what was in store for him for the day. He definitely wasn't interested in what he had to do that day and contemplated just telling people he was sick, maybe I can call in dead. Yeah, that should work. He rolled over again and noticed that something wasn't quite right. The sheets were sticky, and what the hell is that smell? He sat up and looked down at himself. He and his bed were completely covered in blood, the gore clotting in pools on the floor, sending up a sickly metallic smell that settled in the back of his throat. SHIT! He dived out of bed onto the floor, trying to avoid the coagulating puddles and checked himself for wounds. Nothing. He couldn't find his gun and no knives were in reach. Looking around, he saw that he was alone and that almost every surface in the room was covered with blood, even the ceiling was splattered. Shuddering with horror, he rose and opened the door and looked out into an endless, featureless hallway lined with doors. He quickly closed the door and started rifling through a dresser across the room looking for clothes, but everything in the drawers was covered with blood and slashed to ribbons. Deciding to brave it in his underwear, he'd have to try to find someone who could take him some place to clean himself off and put on some clean clothes. Yeah, anyone seeing me like this would probably run screaming. Opening the door again, Spike ventured out into the hallway and started walking. The doors were all locked, and any shouts for help just echoed endlessly off the walls, reverberating in his head with a force that he thought would liquify his brain. He kept walking, the sound of his heartbeat and his own breathing echoing off the walls into his skull. He started to run, trying to reach the end of the hall, hoping there would be a set of stairs there where he could get out of the building. When his foot hit something, he looked back to see what it was and saw a woman's leg skittering across the floor from where his foot hit it. Spike was suddenly aware of the sound of a second set of footsteps behind him, but looking back he saw nobody there. The footsteps continued, faster now. He didn't know how long he was running, it felt like an eternity without getting anywhere and he was completely out of energy. He sat down and leaned against the wall, waiting for the pursuing footsteps to catch up to him. While he waited, he looked at the door across the hall from where he was sitting, and noted a number, twenty three, written in kanji. Two three. Two three Two three, he thought as his eyelids grew heavy. Rest. I'll find my way out of here but right now I need to sleep. *** Quietly, Holt exited his vehicle, staying out of sight as Armamin approached the mono carrier glancing furtively about. The chemist climbed into his pod and fiddled with the controls, but nothing happened. He could hear the man cursing as he jumped out then opened the hatch to examine the machine's workings. He gaped at the sabotage that faced him, his face reddening to the point where Holt thought he resembled an ambulatory tomato. Frantically, he opened the hatch to the storage hold to find that empty. He stared stupified at the empty space until he was distracted by a tap on his shoulder. He whirled and met Holt's fist. Armamin's body slammed into the side of his mono carrier, then was grabbed and slugged a second time. Holt grabbed the man's wrists and cuffed them behind him, shoving him towards his car. Armamin came to and started screaming curses at Holt, demanding to know where his money was. Holt threw him face first onto the car, bending the man over the hood. He stood behind him, holding his neck down with one hand, frisking him with the other. No further drug sprays were found, but he did relieve the man of a gun, wallet and the key to his carrier. Drawn by the noise, a very large woman wearing a gaudily-patterned housedress emerged from the doorway near the car and gaped with indignation at the sight of the two men, the younger of whom had the other bent over the hood of the car, fumbling with the man's belt buckle. "Get outta here!" she screamed at them. "I don't want none a that shit in my neighborhood! Get out or I'm callin' the cops!" Large woman just kept screaming at them. Satisfied that Armamin had no further weapons on him, Holt straightened him out and shoved him into the passenger seat, "You heard the parade float, let's get the fuck outta here, sweetheart." Blowing the woman a kiss, Holt threw the car in gear and sped off, leaving a three foot long patch of rubber on the pavement. "You asshole, you have NO idea who you're dealing with," sputtered Armamin. Holt ignored the curses coming from the passenger seat, then came up with an idea, "What was that shit you sprayed that kid with back there? What's it doing to him?" Armamin groaned, "There is no antidote." Like it? Hate it? If you have any feedback, we can talk about it on my blog.
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© 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 - stories by MrsSpooky are based on Cowboy Bebop - Spike Spiegel, Jet Black, the ship Bebop, images and cultural universe are owned by Sunrise Studios, Inc. God bless you, Hajime Yatate!! |