Introduction

Introduction

The quiet thrum of the engines at work. The subtle tremor of the ship as it passed smoothly through the Gate. The hiss of wet ingredients being heated on a frying pan over the burner.

Sounds and smells and the vibration under foot... all these things slipped beyond Spike's notice into the category of "miscellaneous inconsequential background bullshit" as he worked his way through the sweat-provoking movements of his Jeet Kune Do workout.

Even now, after three years on the behemoth repurposed fishing trawler, he hadn't quite gotten used to the peace that lay heavy on the battered old ship.

Long years in the syndicate had kept him on his toes constantly. Before that, there had never been serenity while he exercised. The commotion of life on the streets, no place of his own, and then the boisterous years undergoing ruthless and exhaustive training... there had always been shouting, jostling, distractions aplenty. That had been half the point, to be fair. For the rough-and-tumble upstarts taken into the Red Dragon it was crucial to educate them on how to function while life went to shit all around them. You had to be able to concentrate your focus. To be aware of everything happening. To take in the whole picture and then filter out the parts that could be ignored. How could you be trusted to handle yourself under enemy fire in a public situation if you couldn't roll with the punches from a gaggle of feisty and anxious adolescences constantly looking for someway to prove themselves.

There were moments, few and far between, where his mind would cast itself back to those riotous days and he would wonder if he genuinely missed any of it or if nostalgia was just designed to fool oneself into misremembering instances of hellish struggle as something cast in a more favorable light.

Certainly this was an improvement. Right?

No racing down a narrow hallway, elbows digging rudely into his ribs, bare feet shooting out from either side as other kids tried to trip him out of their way towards the kitchen. They had been treated like rambunctious puppies, encouraged to nip at one another, literally kicked around by burly syndicate soldiers who were required to be as tough and mean as possibly. Fight for meals, fight for a place to drop into a fitful sleep, fight to be the first to draw blood. Everything had been a competition.

Now he had a room of his own. A thin mattress with a threadbare blanket. A stack of milk crates where each level was designated as a different "drawer" for his few pieces of clothing.

Spike Spiegel was a simple man. He didn't need much. Though whether that would still be the case if he hadn't been raised in such a minimalist fashion, who could say? Food in his belly, even if there was no assurance of more on the plate in the future. Clothes on his back, even if they stank of sweat and were stained by splatters of blood. A roof overhead and at least three walls of protection against the elements - shit, the more he recalled of his beginning days as a Dragon the more he realized they were basically kenneled like hounds.

And now? A place to live that could sail around the solar system and bring them wherever they needed to go to make money. Clothes on his back, and in crates, and a washing machine to get it all clean in between wears. A stalwart partner with no interest in learning about Spike's past or about divulging details of his own. Even better, for the first time in his life Spike had a companion capable of creating meals. None of the rabble he'd been raised with had any culinary skills. Neither had Vicious. Neither had Julia.

So, he'd embrace the quietude of the ship as he went through the motions of his preferred flow of martial arts. He'd be grateful for the vessel that gave them a home so suited to their way of life. He'd cherish the fact that food was about to get into his belly and that the fridge often held ingredients to become future meals too. What comforts! A life so rich!

Later, digging around his plate with his chopsticks and half-ignoring Jet's voice droning on about some new bounty they should pursue, Spike felt his earlier jubilation sink back down to where his mood typically stayed. No meat. Not even a morsel of protein. This was no divine existence after all. Just another level of survival only marginally above the previous ones he'd endured and escaped.

Life would always be a struggle. Of fucking course.

if you missed out on the physical copies... don't feel bad! we live in a digital age for a reason... so we can have beautiful things that we enjoy and take them on the go with us! no worries about spilling coffee on your magazine if it's on your phone or tablet or whatever! (i mean, your phone or whatever will not take kindly to getting water damage but at least the digital zine will be A-OK regardless, lol) anyway, act now and own some lovely fan-made artwork and written pieces about one of the hottest and most enduring couples in the X-Man Universe... Remy Lebeau and Anne Marie LeBeau <3 <3 <3 hands down my OTP for this fandom for decades now! Cheers to Gambit and Rogue!

Hey all! Preorders are now offically closed for physical bundles as we start up production. 🙌 However, digital only tiers will still remain available for a few more weeks in case anyone still wants to get in on the action. Thank you all for your support so far! We can't wait to send it all out to you! ❤

Home & Harbor Fanzine

Home & Harbor Fanzine

Again

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

This time it was supposed to be a win!

SHE was the one going in to con them! To catch Londes and rake in all that bounty and start to whittle down her entirely unjust debt.

How the fuck had it all gotten twisted around? How had she become the victim AGAIN?

She was Faye Fucking Valentine, dammit!

It had seemed so simple. Masquerade as one of many gullible fools seeking enlightenment or absolution or whatever the hell these people were enticed by. She just wanted a life free of debt. A slate scraped clean. A fucking chance at making her own mistakes instead of being held hostage by bullshit beyond her control.

The decrepit building should have been the first red flag. And, truthfully, it had been. Her hackles had been raised.

But it had also made sense. If you were conning folks out of a fortune by getting them to sign over their life rights and whatever... tricking people into paying out the ass for the "latest and greatest" gaming technology... why wouldn't you be holed up in some abandoned warehouse waiting for the dust to settle before emerging to lord your riches over the masses like the mastermind you were?

So she had swallowed her fear and ventured in. Crept past the rooms with doors blown off or otherwise unhinged, slipped underneath the tentacles of technology that reached down from the dislodged ceiling tiles to dangle in the air of hallways and vacant rooms alike. The sense of ill ease had ramped up when she came across the first body. But she hadn't been without protection. Her trusty Glock always had her back - was always tucked away behind her back until the gun was needed, in fact.

Who was the corpse? Who knew? The body was relatively fresh, so to speak. The air of the interior of the building was thickly cloying with the disturbing scent of decay, though this particular body showed no signs of that yet. So he wasn't the first, whoever he had been. But he certainly hadn't been killed in whatever disaster had left most of this quadrant of the city in disarray. Someone else searching for the man behind the program. Someone else hunting the bounty that Faye herself was after.

Her heartbeat pounded in her chest, all her senses straining. Perhaps it had been an overconfident oversight to chase this tech-whiz, this supposed guru, on her own. Like so many times before, the dollar signs of the bountyhead had filled her mind with all the ways she could spend said money after turning this yahoo in. Don't count your chickens before they hatch, wasn't that the saying? Well, Faye had the tendency to not only count her chickens but to daydream up all the ways she'd cook those birds too.

And now, poised on the brink of success... or else about to plunge into the time of doom that had met the other corpses she was encountering... now she was feeling regrets.

And... something more than that. There was a whine in the air, not quite like Ein's favorite way to voice his complaints... something more like... a high pitched hum, perhaps? It tickled at her fragmented memory. Something to do with televisions?

The combination of the sound-that-wasn't-exactly-a-sound and the rotting flesh of half a dozen unfortunate souls was beginning to take its toll.

Without warning her vision blurred. Stumbling, panting with abrupt fear, Faye continued forward. This was a mistake, her mind told her. You've fallen into a trap again... again... again...

Suddenly she was terrified right down to her boots. The enormity of the error loomed over her like the damaged ceiling tiles so far above that they were lost in shadow. She was a stranger in a strange land, utterly alone. No one knew where she was. No one was looking for her. No one would be coming to save her. Alone... alone... alone...

Alone again. Tricked again. No hope for you here, no hope at all...

Fumbling lethargically for her COMM device, Faye struggled to keep standing. She wouldn't give in to whatever was happening. She couldn't let this bastard win. Just a few more paces and she'd be in the room where all the intact cords seemed to be leading. Oh, wouldn't Ed be overjoyed to discover whatever lay at the end of this maze of wire? Ed... maybe just... Ed... if she called Ed, well, maybe she wouldn't have to share the bounty very much. Ed never cared about woolongs. Ed might be able to unravel the mystery... or at least let Spike and Jet know that...

"Help... I need... help..." Faye activated the COMM as she managed to enter the room at the end of the hall, dread tingling down her spine. So many bodies.

Was she about to become the latest? It wasn't fair. It wasn't FAIR!

The COMM made a little noise as the connection was made. A sliver of hope shot through her and Faye grasped onto consciousness desperately. "I'm... in a little... trouble..."

the confidence. the charm. the charisma

Bebop Man

Lol, OP you nailed it with this chart

Please enjoy this silly art I spent way too long on today

Love this for them

a rare sentimental moment between my two favorite losers