Animals Are The Best

animals are the best <3

Good boys ^___^

They could pretend it's all in the name of getting the bounty but we all know what's really up...

yea

The reek of burnt flesh and smoldering corpses was heavy in the air despite the rain pouring down from unfeeling skies. There were easily a dozen bodies strewn amongst the rubble from what was undoubtedly caused by grenades, and half a dozen lay dead from bullet wounds beyond the destruction wrought by explosives.

Well, never let it be said that Spike Spiegel wasn't dramatic.

Vicious refrained from sighing as one of the syndicate brats that had tagged along on his mission became noisily sick at either the rank odor or the sight of dismembered White Tiger soldiers.

He had been ordered to investigate the disturbance at St. Jude's Cathedral and had gone to do so despite being well aware that he would not be able to recover Spike's body. The other man had done a bang-up job of ensuring that the battlefield bore no traces of anyone's survival, though Vicious could not believe that Spike had perished in the skirmish.

Odds had been against him, of course, but it's not like Spike had been required to attend to the infestation of White Tiger lackeys at this mournful edge of Red Dragon territory. Most would assume that he had gone out seeking notoriety because that is what they themselves were after. The Van would believe whatever Vicious told them about the matter since they didn't much know or care about Spike's character - he was merely one of countless pawns in their endless games of power over Tharsis.

Julia... well. Her reaction would be curious to behold. He had given her an assignment to end Spike's life - certainly not at the behest of the clueless Van - and it would be very telling to observe her response to his apparent death. Did she still plan to escape on her own now that he was gone? Had she ever truly wanted to leave? Would she be just as disbelieving of his fate? Had it all been part of the deception designed to hide them from the syndicate's watchful eyes and vengeful retaliation?

Deserters were not tolerated, after all. Spike and Vicious had eliminated a fair number of that type of doomed bastard over the years. They knew better than most what torture and demise awaited anyone who foolishly thought that they could elude capture.

The cormorant's talons dug into Vicious's shoulder for a heartbeat before the bird launched itself into the dreary sky with a horrible caw. Out of the corner of his eye, Vicious saw a different Red Dragon upstart flinch at the abrupt motion. It took everything in him to not draw his blade to end the lives of these inept oafs who had followed him to the ruins here. Their presence had not been necessary, the danger that had dwelt within these shattered stone walls and burial mounds had obviously been eliminated hours prior, yet they had been instructed to tag along anyway.

Perhaps the Van had less faith in the accuracy of Vicious's reconnaissance than he originally believed. It would not do to underestimate them, regardless of how weak-natured they were becoming as the years rolled on. That he had once revered those cantankerous fools... well, the past was the past and he was a wiser man now.

"Search the debris. Let me know when you find the eye." Vicious ordered. It was a futile mission - like seeking a needle in a haystack - and all the more impossible given that Spike's remains were most assuredly not present. But it gave him a perverse pleasure to send these spineless brats out into the massacre, a place they clearly found disturbing and would likely haunt their waking hours as much as their dreams. Good. Perhaps it would toughen them up a tad.

As for himself... it was time to track down Julia. Time to see what she knew, what she suspected, what she intended to do now...

Glancing boredly over the devastation one more time, eyes not taking in the brutality but rather sharply investigating the outskirts of the cemetery in case Spike was lurking nearby to oversee what sort of effect his supposed last stand had on his compatriots, Vicious was soon satisfied that there were no witnesses about.

A pity, that. He had been looking forward to letting his blade taste blood.

St Jude - the patron Saint of the hopeless and the despaired; also of desperate cases and lost causes; also of the impossible, of intentions that seem hopeless

@febuwhump prompt: alt 7 Last Words

***

How many times had he been in this position? How many departing words had his ears caught? How many desperate eyes stared at him rather than face Death, seeking one last moment of human contact... Hoping perhaps for a salvation he could not provide... Trusting in him to bear witness to their passing, to carry on the memory of their life in that moment if nothing else.

He refused to rewind time too far. There had been so many instances during his time in the syndicate... Too many. And even before that...

Even starting at the beginning of his partnership with Jet was too much. There had been so many deaths... So many lives winking out with him in their vicinity.

The more recent ones haunted him too strongly to be dismissed.

Katerina. Soundless, he had read on her lips the whispered goodbye she spoke before the police destroyed the vessel she and Asimov had desperately tried to escape in. Asimov whose life Katerina herself had ended.

The thug threatening Faye. Taunting him. Arrogance heavy in his tone as he assumed he held all the cards. Spike had casually disabused him of that notion by firing a bullet straight through his skull.

Giraffe. Bleeding out and still only concerned about doing what he could for the comrade he had once served with. Passing on to Spike the responsibility of ending the life of a monster.

Wen. The monster. Much like Frankenstein's creature, the boy-who-was-not-a-boy had not had much choice in how he came to be. The reality of his existence was still one that Spike found hard to believe despite having all the evidence and testimony that could be had. Killing the monster he had become had allowed the corruption of the boy's soul to be reversed, to bring the poor kid into the peace of death at last. Or so Wen had said before the arrested development of his body catapulted him to a decrepit state.

Roco. Just another well-meaning youth who had taken the wrong path for the right reasons. Stella hadn't cared about her own blindness, she had accepted life as it was for her, she had only wanted to have her brother around. So really was Roco being a hero for the right reason? Not that it mattered now of course... he'd been so earnest, had been so trusting... It was odd to think that his last words had been to wonder about friendship with Spike. There hadn't been that many years between them but there had been a world of difference between being a foolhardy kid in a Venusian mafia and being an enforcer for one of the toughest syndicates on Mars. It had felt like a terrier puppy wanting to befriend a grizzled mastiff.

Gren. The sad soul whose final words had been a desperate plea to return to a time and place he could never revisit, and who had also wasted his own precious breath to share what he had been granted of Julia... how she had spoken of Spike's eyes and how she had indulged in that damn tune, that haunting music...

Mad Pierrot. Perhaps the saddest last words... a broken mind, childishly sobbing for a mother long gone...

Londes. Somewhere, a living soul. But in the ruins of the building where he had led Faye to die, speaking out of countless shattered screens, he had been more displaced technology than anything else to Spike. And yet, his plea had been alarmingly human... the fear of nothingness, the fear of dying alone, and bitching about fairness as if the universe had anything to do with that vaunted concept.

Annie. Fuck. One of the more personal ones... one of the most needless ones. Arms dealers weren't supposed to be casualties even in conflicts within a syndicate. It had been her closeness with Mao and with Spike himself that had signed her death warrant. Him coming back to life had indeed been worse on her than anything else she could have done to herself. Those hadn't been her final words, of course, but even spoken months before they echoed in Spike's mind over her actual murmur at the end, so commonplace and simple... a remark about the weather...

Julia. What had it all been? Is a dream a lie if it doesn't come true or is it something worse? They had been fooling themselves when they were messing around... fooling themselves by fancying themselves to be in love... imagining that they could one day live a dream together. Though he had harbored affection for her long after she failed to show up, her decision to flee on her own had severed some of the bonds between them. Everything had been so meaningless after he escaped the syndicate without her at his side. He had been drifting from that point on... forging new friendships almost against his will, having people barge into his life and into his heart and being entirely unable to push them back out again... and then it all came crashing down and reality blurred once more and... was any of this real?

Shin. Idealistic, naive, brave Shin. "I wanted you to come back..." ...well, Spike did feel bad about abandoning Shin and Lin to the clutches of the syndicate, but they'd still been brash boys gung-ho about the life of gangsters. They hadn't become disgusted with themselves like Spike had. Hadn't fallen for an angel whose own hands and wings were soaked in blood. He wasn't sure if he could have made their lives better by staying in the first place or if he could have kept either alive if he'd done a better job of staying away instead. It didn't really matter now... done was done and he had their lives - their deaths - on his conscience like so many more.

And now... bloodied and battered and staggering away from the crumpled corpse of Vicious... "if that's your wish..." certainly not the most profound last words ever spoken. Then again, he might have uttered his own before that... although, "let's end it all" was by far a much cooler line to exit on if you asked him.

He could do better though, right?

Memories of his own childhood reared in his mind suddenly. Was this his life flashing before his eyes? It had happened quite a few times before, though never this far back... never all the way to an age of jubilation, scrawny rascals racing around playing cops and robbers with finger guns, the sun shining on their wild antics and their laughing mothers hanging laundry on clotheslines stretching between buildings...

"Bang."

@febuwhump prompt: rope burns

***

Her wrists stung painfully from where the rope had chafed her skin. It had been a pointless endeavor in the first place, trying to slowly and methodically adjust her wrists to get the synthetic fibers to loosen enough to tug herself free.

She had known from the first sight of the colorful coil that it was a material that would prove impervious to abrasion, which meant she wouldn't be able to use friction to deteriorate the fibers. That, coupled with the terrified obedience inspired by the silver-haired syndicate man and his suit-wearing lackeys, had led her to instead offer her hands willingly to be bound.

At no point had she been left on her own to try and use the scant centimeters of advantage she'd managed to secure by positioning her arms and wrists for the bondage they'd inflicted upon her.

And then they'd cut the ropes and tied her up anew once they reached their destination: a crumbling cathedral shrouded in darkness of several types. Shadows from the setting sun that stretched into every crevice, shadows which faded into deeper darkness as clouds covered the sky and began a merciless downpour. Then, a more subtle darkness, the sins of man that radiated from each of these well-dressed thugs.

Strung up with her arms behind her back - behind, indeed, a pillar against which her back rested - she had been helpless to attempt to free herself. More than that, fear kept her firmly in place.

At first, when she had realized they not only knew her ruse of familiarity with Mao Yenrai but that they were intent on using her for their own nefarious purpose, she had been relieved that they wouldn't be slitting her throat and tossing aside her corpse. She was also thankful that violating her - beyond merely trussing her up - was not on their agenda.

But it was difficult to pretend that she wasn't terrified. She had to draw upon every ounce of will power to keep her voice light, to keep her eyes clear of tears, to keep from trembling.

Seeing the boys on the screen when she was forced to call and beg for their help - something she frankly refused to do, choosing instead to be as nonchalant as possible - was such a relief that she sagged against her bonds. The rope burns on her skin made her straighten back up a heartbeat later, the reminder of the danger she was in even if Spike decided to show like he'd mentioned he might.

Hope threatened to rise in her heart and she angrily dashed it aside. He had claimed it wasn't for her and so she knew she could not truly rely on him for a rescue attempt. Whatever odd games were being played here - she wanted no part in them and regretted getting involved. She was a pawn here, not even a player, and that rankled as much as the fact that she was tied to a rough pillar that was most certainly leaving gouges against the bare skin of her back.

Between her wrists and her spine and her pride, she wasn't sure what hurt the most. It was better to focus on the pain than the horror of her situation though. The sharp memory of Mao's mutilated corpse sitting beside her in the opera box. The callous manhandling of her person there and here. The utter indifference with which Vicious gazed at her.

Well. At first his look had been considering. Sizing her up, judging her worth, trying to determine her merit. And then... following Spike's casual dismissal of interest in her... she was surprised that he hadn't killed her immediately. Her use to him was obviously null and void at that point, unless he intended to use her as a distraction if and when Spike showed up.

It didn't matter. She had to keep herself on task.

The grunt assigned to keep her in line was rearranging the ropes holding her arms together behind her back. She was being released from standing before the pillar - a minor improvement as now she could feel cool air blowing along the scrapes of her back - and the man was positioning her at his side in one of the darkest corners of the cathedral.

"Move when I move you. Say nothing. Disobey and die." He muttered to her when she dared to look in his direction.

Fresh fear spilled down her spine and she forced herself to stand straight and tried to give off an air of being entirely unaffected by everything that had happened and was going on around her. She summoned all the grace she could muster, determined to act as if her presence was by choice. These bonds might as well be ribbons, the gun pressed to her temple could be the weight of a crown sitting jauntily upon her head.

She was not a frightened woman, shivering internally at the prospect of her imminent demise. She was not a terrified prop whose abrasions burned with every brush of the rope against her soft flesh. She was not going to die here like a panicked animal.

She was going to control her breathing and continue to try and shift out of her bonds. She was going to stomp this man's foot with her stiletto heel while ducking and twisting to avoid the bullet he would automatically fire. She was going to use these rotten pews as a cover to manage an escape from this situation all on her own.

And then, over the sound of the rainfall outside the decrepit building, she could hear the repetition of steps that indicated someone was approaching at a steady pace...

@febuwhump prompt: time loop

***

It takes her three weeks to realize what's happening.

She's almost embarrassed that it takes so long but on the other hand... who ever expects to be repeating the same seven days ad infinitum?

All the stories she's read and the shows or movies she's seen have led her to believe this phenomenon (aside from being entirely fictional) is the sort of thing that takes place on just one day.

She forgives herself because grief is confusing. This has been her first suffering (that she can recall, anyway) and it has been A Lot. Bursts of tears randomly whenever she thinks of Spike-person's likely fate. Heart wrenching sorrow when she considers what might have become of Faye-Faye and Jet-person. The information out of Mars is sparse. The video feed is grainy. There are more questions than answers and her sadness is profound.

Ein does a lot of whimpering and snuggling at her side. His eyes are filled with remorse - but what could they have done? If she'd pushed for him to stay with Bebop-Bebop... could things have panned out another way?

When her father does not understand why she and Ein continue to howl at the sky... at first she assumes he has already forgotten about the news that broke his daughter. He is dreadfully forgetful. But when even MacIntyre seems surprised by the hellish scene being shown on the screen (not a replay like Ed thought at first) ...well, that confirms the existence of a time loop and one that has apparently only trapped herself and Ein.

Once she realizes what is happening however... The why of it becomes rather obvious. The week cycle ends on the most horrible note possible. Therefore, that must change. She has to break the cycle of sorrow to end the loop of time. She has to secure a happily ever after ending for her former companions and herself.

Stealing a monoracer is their first act and it does not go well. Dying in a blaze of glory is Spike's style and is clearly not the answer.

She hadn't planned to try breaking the cycle with her own demise (and poor Ein's as he'd been plopped on her lap) but it at least assures her that she is important enough to the madness of this situation to have a sort of failsafe in place. Still, she does not plan on dying again.

Waking up to the first day of their repetitive week is a comfort after the terrifying ordeal of smashing into flaming pieces on the unforgiving surface of the Earth. She and Ein spend that week celebrating life and making the most of their time with her father and MacIntyre. It is a necessary reset after the abrupt end they narrowly avoided.

After that though... When the week starts over fresh...

She doesn't waste any of the days. It only takes a couple repeats to ascertain how to get to old man Doohan as expediently as possible. From there it is a thing of ease to convince the grizzled and grumpy mechanic to lend her a refurbished zipcraft. He seems equal parts amused and disbelieving at her tale, but he is practical and earnest when instructing her on how to pilot the craft. The fact that she is telling the truth about her needs is immaterial to him. All he cares about is the fact that one of Spike-person's friends requires a fast ship and needs to know how to fly it.

By the fourteenth round of the same week, she feels confident enough in her fledgling skills to actually take to the stars.

Ein has used the time Ed spends under Doohan's tutelage to devise a flight plan. He researches travel times and flight paths of other vessels traveling to and from Mars during the week and comes up with the best option for their departure from Earth, Gate access, and arrival to Mars. Somehow he's even managed to finagle his way into the priority listing so their ship is able to cut to the front of the line to save even more time.

Time. Ed realizes she is grateful for the time loop. It saves them the significant trouble and messy hassle of figuring out time travel and all the complicated and conflicting mathematics involved therein.

Though, quite frankly, she is becoming more and more confident that if anyone could devise a time machine it would be her dear sweet Ein-woof-woof.

Ein's hacking skills are a cut above Ed's own, a fact she has been aware of (and in awe of) since the incident with poor Rosny Spanngen. Watching the data dog sneak into well-protected websites and run amuck there is like being an apprentice watching a master at work. He correlates all the data, he syncs the various systems to run smooth and grant them continuous access. He orchestrates all the fine details that will be necessary for their success.

Once they nail that portion of their mission, the real job begins.

Tracking the Bebop is a breeze. Determining the course of events that led to the breaking news report is also not terribly difficult. It is hard to stop themselves from interfering though. The few times they try (unable to stop themselves) it makes matters much worse. It only takes a few attempts (and their own grisly deaths) before they decide they cannot save the women Spike sees die. They aren't even able to help against the Syndicate fighters who bring the Bebop crashing down. Eventually they manage to school themselves into being solely observers so they can sort out all the factors at play.

Following the trackers on Spike and Faye's ships was simple enough even if they can't jump into action to change how any of that turns out. Figuring out how to find reliable medical help is a bit more frustrating - at least until they realize Spike and Jet have recently utilized a doctor who might be bribable. Backtracking to that point of discovery is exceedingly tricky just because it is almost too far back in the week for them to reach Doohan, convince him of Ed's capability so he'll borrow them the zipcraft without requiring no-longer-necessary training runs, and then rush through the Gates even with their front-of-the-line fast pass.

But once they have that information - once they can put that vital ally into play on the gameboard... That is everything nearly sorted out.

And now it becomes a matter of timing things precisely right.

After all, the threat has to be neutralized before the hero can be saved.

They could try and try and try again, but the emotional reality of seeing Spike devastate the building and then shuffle off the mortal coil... That's too much. Witnessing that with their own eyes for the first time, well, their plan is waylaid for a solid week as Ed and Ein grieve again. The brutality of his assault on the syndicate headquarters is gruesome enough, but to then see what the news bulletin fails to capture... Spike's faltering steps down the broad staircase...

The news lady whose coverage of the horrific event enlightened them to the massacre hadn't known the details and so when this all began (how many rounds ago? Ed has lost track) ...they only knew they'd have to ride in as calvary. To realize it is going to take more than just showing up to fix things... well, it is heavy.

Neither Ed nor Ein want to repeat this portion more than necessary. Even knowing it's gonna come down to a matter of seconds... Too soon and they interrupt the fight. Too late and he bleeds out despite intervention.

Once they throw caution to the wind and leap into the fray, rushing the good doctor into the ruins of the penthouse, it is all a blur. Faye-Faye and Jet-person show up in the Hammerhead and lay waste to the remaining suits on the platform. Faye hastens over to help Doc until Jet can reach their side and then she is gone in a flash, descending into the smoke and flames to eradicate the rest of the survivors.

Jet's eyes are wide when he sees Ed and Ein here in all this awfulness but his attention is pulled back to Spike when Doc demands his assistance. There's no time for questions or answers anyway - Ed and Ein are too busy on Tomato trying to keep the ISSP and the media from showing up and throwing a wrench into the works.

It's fortunate that all the law enforcement and emergency vehicles have kill switches that can be activated by hacking into the proper programs. Still, it's a lot of intense work for a few minutes. And then, equally crucial, reprogramming a heli-ambulance to navigate itself over to the roof sans operator...

All too soon (though the way she is shaking from adrenaline and anxiety makes it feel as if this last day has taken YEARS) they are clambering into the various zipcraft and departing at top speed from the scene of carnage. Rendezvous back on the Bebop and then Ed is too overcome by emotion and stress to do anything other than collapse into Jet's welcoming arms, blood soaked as they are.

She and Ein are home. They've done their best.

It's only when she wakes up to Ein's gentle tongue licking her cheek... Waking up stretched out on a familiar couch under the slow rotation of a familiar ceiling fan... Hearing voices that ease her mind and soothe her heart...

It's only then that she lets herself sob once more. A salty deluge of tears of relief. The warm sideways embrace of Faye as the older woman drops onto the couch beside her. The proud look in Jet's eyes as he takes the seat across from them. And then she notices Ein has moved to sit patiently at the foot of the ambulance stretcher that is set up in the open space across the table from the stairs into the living room, where Spike is unconscious but - judging from the calm beeps of the machines Doc is tending to - truly alive.