I recommend something moody, something eloquent, something subtle for the first part. Cowboy Bebop's Knocking On Heaven's Door's soundtrack (Butterfly or Fingers) works nice, so does Memories. For the second part, I have a great deal of suggestions - definitly something more upbeat. I wrote it to Pushing the Sky from the Cowboy Bebop movie, but any Dave Matthews song might work too. I'd recommend What Would You Say, any particular jazzy rendition should do. Infact, anything jazzy and saucy and upbeat works well for the second part.
"Check."
Mars' Rockefeller Square bore only a distant resemblance to it's earthbound cousin, now nothing more than a half-sunken wreckage hundreds of thousands of miles away. The wide open space had been filled with vendors and booths of all types in it's hey-day, but now was suspiciously empty in the pouring rain.
Through the haze of falling rain, Clarissa watched the milling throngs of people go about their daily business. They resembled ghosts, gray silhouettes of men and women who followed their daily schedules like spectres who had long forgotten the reason why or what each event meant. A slumping economy and rising crime-rate had drained the city almost of all it's spirit, and taken it's toll on the police force, too. Clarissa's eyes still remained sharp as she scowered the crowds.
Her intuition had always been a boon to her, and she had a knack for knowing things before she actually understood them - When she felt a certain urge to move or do something, she often acted on the impulse and trusted in her instincts. More than once, her gun had found it's way into her hand before she had even realized she was in danger. Now, all that considerable intuition was focused on Rockefeller Square, lips pursed and eyebrows folded together, tapping the side of her cigarette pack with an even rhythm that had become an irritating habit to her partner.
"There." She breathed excitedly, catching sight of him before anyone else in the car had. Through that window covered in rain-drops and hazed over with condensation, she saw the piece of the puzzle that was out of place. A man walked forward through the throng of people, gliding past them like oil in water, his steps even and uncommonly calm. His skin was almost bleach white and his ivory hair curled up towards his ears. The long dark coat he wore looked like a death shroud. "See him? The tall drink of water on the left. He's the guy."
"You sure?" Frederick asked, but the older veteran detective had long ago figured out not to question his partner too much. He was all ready reaching for both the car door and his piece. Clarissa beat him to both, stepping out of the vehicle with her gun in hand.
Something about him didn't sing right in her mind, though. The way he walked was so unnerving. She wanted to see his eyes, see if she could get a feel for what he was thinking, but he looked like he was wearing black-tinted shades. Diving into the crowd with Frederick in close pursuit, she quickly began to slither through towards her target.
Where did he go? Warning bells went off in her head, and Clarissa didn't ignore them. Shoving a dark-skinned teenager listening to headphones aside and stepping into an opening through the crowd, she twisted her head either way to try and catch sight of him again. Somewhere behind her, Frederick was calling to her to wait up, but she wasn't about to. She wasn't going to lose this guy. He was their only lead in the case they were filing, an anonymous tip having told them to be here at this time if they wanted to find the guy who had iced Craggscleft and his boys.
Turn left. She did as her mind wanted, twisting and thrusting her hand out to shove a younger girl out of the way, who instantly shrieked and lashed out at Clarissa. She ignored the swing of the purse as it glanced against her shoulder, wedging herself into the streams of writhing people and wading in. She saw him now, walking calmly towards one of the side-streets out of the square, calm and dignified. How did he get over there so fast? "HEY! YOU! STOP!" She hollered, pulling her gun all the way out of her coat.
The man paused and turned with infinite patience, looking straight at her. Clarissa felt a slight icey chill run up her spine as he seemed to look right through her. Get a grip on yourself, Clarissa. She told herself. He's just another creep. Something about his face just didn't feel right, though. It was blank, almost empty, as if he were only sleep-walking. Or dreaming.
His left hand raised in the air, and she instantly brought her gun about to take aim. Was he pulling a weapon? No, it was too small. It gleamed like metal. More like a handle... A trigger? Just a trigger?
Somewhere behind her, a thousand years away, she heard Frederick yelling. In front of her, watching with the calm detachment that a cat must watch a mouse with, the albino's long fingers wrapped about the trigger like an anaconda squeezing it's prey. She swore she could hear the click it made from here.
Her ears and her eyes were overwhelmed, and for a moment she could feel everything, anything, and it was too much.
Then she felt nothing.
Three miles away, the reverbrations of the powerful explosion that obliterated 2/3rds of Rockefeller Square was barely felt beneath the humming throb of Rin's motorcycle.
He cut a distinctively handsome (Or so he thought) figure with his parted hair snapping wildly back behind him, a wild grin on his face and wearing one of his favorite brown leather jackets. The bright red motorcycle with it's wild angled design was perhaps a bit too much, but it was all he could manage to get on such short notice.
"Rin, you got a bead on them?" Guy's rough and low voice grated like stones in Rin's earpiece above the roar of the engine.
"Yeah! Hold on!" Rin replied with a shout, lowering his head and twisting the handlebar. With a snarl of pistons, he rocketed forward through the slowly moving bridge traffic. "Pink convertible, four of them, look like the guys!" He yelled into the reciever, creeping up closer. A black chrysler and blue minivan barred his passage up towards the bright pink car, but he could make out the blonde hair of it's driver and his three pals that had helped him rob the Midway Bank only three hours prior. "Contact the police, we'll set up a blockade, catch them before they know what hit th-"
Rin's words were cut off by the sudden shriek of firing engines as a dark shadow passed overhead. With a low curse he eased on the brakes, crooking his head up to catch sight of the slender length of a single-passenger space-ship shaped like an egg with two extending half-circles serving as it's rotating adjustable engines. It thundered forward with a dull bellow, and Rin could hear the bullhorn's crackling warble as the pilot's voice addressed the blonde-haired driver.
"Vladimir Stukhov? Pull the hell over, buckaroo, and there won't be any damn trouble!" The thick accented voice and the sturdy looking gatling gun that descended out of the bottom of the egg-shaped ship's exterior instantly told Rin all he needed to know about the Pilot and his perogatives.
"God damn it! I hate Cowboys!" Rin growled, gunning the engine to rush forward. Vladimir twisted in his seat, eyes wide and bulging, and began to say something to his companions that was lost beneath the rumble of the surrounding vehicles going a steady 60 miles per hour. Rin didn't have to guess what the gist of it was, though - suddenly, both men in the back seat were lifting guns into the air, an old-fashioned Uzi along with a heavy-duty Desert Eagle .50 caliber. The cracks and blasts of gunfire filled the air as they let loose with a deliberate spray of lead towards the Cowboy's shuttle, faces grim and determined.
"Rin, what the hell's going on?!" Guy spat out into Rin's ear. Rin replied hurriedly as he gunned the engine, rushing forward into the space between the mini-van and Chrysler. Both cars were wobbling now, and it was obvious their drivers were about to panic. Panicking on the bridge at 60 miles per hour with no place to pull over wasn't a good equation to work with.
"We've got a Cowboy screwing things up, Guy! Get me some police cruisers, NOW, and get a Medi-vac ready, this is a disaster waiting to happen!" The Cowboy's shuttle wobbled this way and that as sparks flew and crashed against the soft underbelly, leaving dents and holes that billowed forth smoldering smoke. "Please oh please don't return fire..." Rin murmured to himself in prayer, just as that gatling gun began to spin and unleashed a deadly barrage straight into the traffic.
Lead slugs burried themselves deeply into the chasis of the Chrysler, leaving gaping bulletholes as large as a man's fist. A burst of flame and smoke cracked open the hood and sent it spiraling off the front of the car as the heavy bullets obliterated the engine into sludge, igniting oil and gasoline. The long squarish car was all ready swiveling as the driver stepped on the breaks, sliding out of control and beginning to spin. Rin barely had enough time to slam on his own brakes. The front of the Chrysler swept around to the left and crashed into the Mini-van, sending it scraping against the side rail of the bridge. A small and sturdily built yellow car flew past on Rin's right, slamming into the Chrysler's back flank as it began to spin, twisting it fully around in a half-circle to face oncoming traffic and ripping the back-door off of the mini-van. Eyes narrowed and teeth grated in concentration, Rin let loose a growl as his motorcycle darted past the momentary opening created between the two cars.
The gatling gun made a horrible sound like metal drums spinning in the air as it continued to spit out a constant barrage of bullets, pelting the surrounding road with gaping holes and wildly spraying the bridge and nearby cars with deadly lead slugs. Vladimir had kept his cool so far, but all three of his companions were now armed to the teeth and letting loose on the Cowboy's Egg-ship, firing upwards as the convertible zig-zagged to stay out of the path of the incoming bullets. Cars up ahead were rushing to get out of the way, and Rin started praying to God there wasn't a traffic jam up ahead. Once again, Rin gunned it, charging for the back of the convertible and reaching underneath his leather coat for his gun. This needed to end now.
The slick-haired kid in the back seat saw Rin first - apparently he didn't appreciate being followed by a motorcycler carrying a hand-gun big enough to blow off his head. Without even blinking, he brought his uzi to bare on Rin's head, the muzzle belching forth flames and death towards him. Swerving sharply to the side and nearly slamming into the rail, Rin tilted the entire motorcycle to the left, gun pointed up to the sky and spitting out curses that would make sailors blush. The Cowboy had gotten enough of a taste for today, and the shakily flying hole-ridden shuttle was swooping off to the left, trails of smoke lazily following it. One less thing to worry about. Now to clean this mess up.
"RIN!" Guy's voice almost screamed in his ears. "THE BARRICADE'S UP! TRAFFIC'S STOPPED!"
Rin put 2 and 2 together. He couldn't see it through the mass of cars up ahead, but any moment this sixty mile per hour chase was going to come to a very brutal end. And from what Rin knew of Vladimir, he wasn't the kind of man who was going to let himself be taken alive.
"I hate complications." Rin responded with a murmur as his cycle snarled beneath him in agreement, charging forward like a knight on his steed. Through the haze of randomly unleashed gunfire aimed in his general direction, he began firing with his special .50 - slugs thick and powerful enough to leave holes in steel bursted from the muzzle of his piece, towards that zig-zagging convertible. He managed to squeeze off three shots before he had to swerve to the other rail, avoiding another hail of gun-fire from the uzi.
The third one hit it's mark. The back left tire didn't just pop, it literally exploded in a spray of rubbery chunks and a burst of sparks as the wheel itself was eradicated beneath the extra-heavy metal-jacket of the fifty caliber slug. The entire car's backside tilted downwards and clashed against the ground with a metallic shriek, golden sparks leaping and dancing across the pavement as the vehicle began to lose any semblance of control. Lifting his head above the windowshield, Rin could now see the cars up ahead slowing down and stopping.
Rin squeezed on the breaks with a squeal of tires and the scent of burnt rubber, desperately wishing he had worn a helmet. The convertible swerved to the left, swerved to the right, and swerved back again, unable to make it's decision. It finally was forced to as it snapped and crashed with a wet explosion of metal against metal, crunching heavily into the back of a rather large looking travel bus that shredded it's front into a gleaming metal pulp.
Vladimir, the hot-headed Russian Terrorist, hadn't deigned wearing his seat-belt a priority. His head met the back-end of the travel bus at a good 30 mile per hour clip, and ended up mostly splattered on it's backside. The passenger besides him never had much of a chance either way, as the entire right side of the convertible spun out like a twirling jack-knife and crushed him and the guy in the backseat behind him with a sickening splurt and crunch of bone. Rin was twisting the entire motorcycle around to swerve to a stop, leaving a streak of rubber behind him, when the slick-haired youth stepped out of the remains of his car and brandished his uzi drunkenly, blood pouring from his temple and his left arm hanging limply.
Rin was well aware of just what sort of danger desperate men posed. Swinging his feet off of the motorcycle, he dove for cover right before the bullets raked across it's side. Without any apparent accuracy, the stumbling Russian continued to fire blindly towards Rin as he rolled into a crouch and brought his weapon to bare.
It was a dangerous shot to make. Under pressure, bruised, exhausted, and currently in danger of being shot, Rin was trying to hit a target 15 yards away and who had a crowd of innocent people in their vehicles behind him. He was using a gun that not only would go through his target, but would probably keep going and slam into anyone or anything that happened to be behind him.
He didn't stop and think about it long. Lowering the length of his gun and clutching it in both hands, Rin didn't even wince as he blew off the Russian's foot.
With a slow but contented sigh as the man fell to the ground with a yowl, Rin stood up and turned to glance back at the mile of desolation and smoldering ruin that he had left in his wake.
"I hate Cowboys."
"Check."
Mars' Rockefeller Square bore only a distant resemblance to it's earthbound cousin, now nothing more than a half-sunken wreckage hundreds of thousands of miles away. The wide open space had been filled with vendors and booths of all types in it's hey-day, but now was suspiciously empty in the pouring rain.
Through the haze of falling rain, Clarissa watched the milling throngs of people go about their daily business. They resembled ghosts, gray silhouettes of men and women who followed their daily schedules like spectres who had long forgotten the reason why or what each event meant. A slumping economy and rising crime-rate had drained the city almost of all it's spirit, and taken it's toll on the police force, too. Clarissa's eyes still remained sharp as she scowered the crowds.
Her intuition had always been a boon to her, and she had a knack for knowing things before she actually understood them - When she felt a certain urge to move or do something, she often acted on the impulse and trusted in her instincts. More than once, her gun had found it's way into her hand before she had even realized she was in danger. Now, all that considerable intuition was focused on Rockefeller Square, lips pursed and eyebrows folded together, tapping the side of her cigarette pack with an even rhythm that had become an irritating habit to her partner.
"There." She breathed excitedly, catching sight of him before anyone else in the car had. Through that window covered in rain-drops and hazed over with condensation, she saw the piece of the puzzle that was out of place. A man walked forward through the throng of people, gliding past them like oil in water, his steps even and uncommonly calm. His skin was almost bleach white and his ivory hair curled up towards his ears. The long dark coat he wore looked like a death shroud. "See him? The tall drink of water on the left. He's the guy."
"You sure?" Frederick asked, but the older veteran detective had long ago figured out not to question his partner too much. He was all ready reaching for both the car door and his piece. Clarissa beat him to both, stepping out of the vehicle with her gun in hand.
Something about him didn't sing right in her mind, though. The way he walked was so unnerving. She wanted to see his eyes, see if she could get a feel for what he was thinking, but he looked like he was wearing black-tinted shades. Diving into the crowd with Frederick in close pursuit, she quickly began to slither through towards her target.
Where did he go? Warning bells went off in her head, and Clarissa didn't ignore them. Shoving a dark-skinned teenager listening to headphones aside and stepping into an opening through the crowd, she twisted her head either way to try and catch sight of him again. Somewhere behind her, Frederick was calling to her to wait up, but she wasn't about to. She wasn't going to lose this guy. He was their only lead in the case they were filing, an anonymous tip having told them to be here at this time if they wanted to find the guy who had iced Craggscleft and his boys.
Turn left. She did as her mind wanted, twisting and thrusting her hand out to shove a younger girl out of the way, who instantly shrieked and lashed out at Clarissa. She ignored the swing of the purse as it glanced against her shoulder, wedging herself into the streams of writhing people and wading in. She saw him now, walking calmly towards one of the side-streets out of the square, calm and dignified. How did he get over there so fast? "HEY! YOU! STOP!" She hollered, pulling her gun all the way out of her coat.
The man paused and turned with infinite patience, looking straight at her. Clarissa felt a slight icey chill run up her spine as he seemed to look right through her. Get a grip on yourself, Clarissa. She told herself. He's just another creep. Something about his face just didn't feel right, though. It was blank, almost empty, as if he were only sleep-walking. Or dreaming.
His left hand raised in the air, and she instantly brought her gun about to take aim. Was he pulling a weapon? No, it was too small. It gleamed like metal. More like a handle... A trigger? Just a trigger?
Somewhere behind her, a thousand years away, she heard Frederick yelling. In front of her, watching with the calm detachment that a cat must watch a mouse with, the albino's long fingers wrapped about the trigger like an anaconda squeezing it's prey. She swore she could hear the click it made from here.
Her ears and her eyes were overwhelmed, and for a moment she could feel everything, anything, and it was too much.
Then she felt nothing.
Three miles away, the reverbrations of the powerful explosion that obliterated 2/3rds of Rockefeller Square was barely felt beneath the humming throb of Rin's motorcycle.
He cut a distinctively handsome (Or so he thought) figure with his parted hair snapping wildly back behind him, a wild grin on his face and wearing one of his favorite brown leather jackets. The bright red motorcycle with it's wild angled design was perhaps a bit too much, but it was all he could manage to get on such short notice.
"Rin, you got a bead on them?" Guy's rough and low voice grated like stones in Rin's earpiece above the roar of the engine.
"Yeah! Hold on!" Rin replied with a shout, lowering his head and twisting the handlebar. With a snarl of pistons, he rocketed forward through the slowly moving bridge traffic. "Pink convertible, four of them, look like the guys!" He yelled into the reciever, creeping up closer. A black chrysler and blue minivan barred his passage up towards the bright pink car, but he could make out the blonde hair of it's driver and his three pals that had helped him rob the Midway Bank only three hours prior. "Contact the police, we'll set up a blockade, catch them before they know what hit th-"
Rin's words were cut off by the sudden shriek of firing engines as a dark shadow passed overhead. With a low curse he eased on the brakes, crooking his head up to catch sight of the slender length of a single-passenger space-ship shaped like an egg with two extending half-circles serving as it's rotating adjustable engines. It thundered forward with a dull bellow, and Rin could hear the bullhorn's crackling warble as the pilot's voice addressed the blonde-haired driver.
"Vladimir Stukhov? Pull the hell over, buckaroo, and there won't be any damn trouble!" The thick accented voice and the sturdy looking gatling gun that descended out of the bottom of the egg-shaped ship's exterior instantly told Rin all he needed to know about the Pilot and his perogatives.
"God damn it! I hate Cowboys!" Rin growled, gunning the engine to rush forward. Vladimir twisted in his seat, eyes wide and bulging, and began to say something to his companions that was lost beneath the rumble of the surrounding vehicles going a steady 60 miles per hour. Rin didn't have to guess what the gist of it was, though - suddenly, both men in the back seat were lifting guns into the air, an old-fashioned Uzi along with a heavy-duty Desert Eagle .50 caliber. The cracks and blasts of gunfire filled the air as they let loose with a deliberate spray of lead towards the Cowboy's shuttle, faces grim and determined.
"Rin, what the hell's going on?!" Guy spat out into Rin's ear. Rin replied hurriedly as he gunned the engine, rushing forward into the space between the mini-van and Chrysler. Both cars were wobbling now, and it was obvious their drivers were about to panic. Panicking on the bridge at 60 miles per hour with no place to pull over wasn't a good equation to work with.
"We've got a Cowboy screwing things up, Guy! Get me some police cruisers, NOW, and get a Medi-vac ready, this is a disaster waiting to happen!" The Cowboy's shuttle wobbled this way and that as sparks flew and crashed against the soft underbelly, leaving dents and holes that billowed forth smoldering smoke. "Please oh please don't return fire..." Rin murmured to himself in prayer, just as that gatling gun began to spin and unleashed a deadly barrage straight into the traffic.
Lead slugs burried themselves deeply into the chasis of the Chrysler, leaving gaping bulletholes as large as a man's fist. A burst of flame and smoke cracked open the hood and sent it spiraling off the front of the car as the heavy bullets obliterated the engine into sludge, igniting oil and gasoline. The long squarish car was all ready swiveling as the driver stepped on the breaks, sliding out of control and beginning to spin. Rin barely had enough time to slam on his own brakes. The front of the Chrysler swept around to the left and crashed into the Mini-van, sending it scraping against the side rail of the bridge. A small and sturdily built yellow car flew past on Rin's right, slamming into the Chrysler's back flank as it began to spin, twisting it fully around in a half-circle to face oncoming traffic and ripping the back-door off of the mini-van. Eyes narrowed and teeth grated in concentration, Rin let loose a growl as his motorcycle darted past the momentary opening created between the two cars.
The gatling gun made a horrible sound like metal drums spinning in the air as it continued to spit out a constant barrage of bullets, pelting the surrounding road with gaping holes and wildly spraying the bridge and nearby cars with deadly lead slugs. Vladimir had kept his cool so far, but all three of his companions were now armed to the teeth and letting loose on the Cowboy's Egg-ship, firing upwards as the convertible zig-zagged to stay out of the path of the incoming bullets. Cars up ahead were rushing to get out of the way, and Rin started praying to God there wasn't a traffic jam up ahead. Once again, Rin gunned it, charging for the back of the convertible and reaching underneath his leather coat for his gun. This needed to end now.
The slick-haired kid in the back seat saw Rin first - apparently he didn't appreciate being followed by a motorcycler carrying a hand-gun big enough to blow off his head. Without even blinking, he brought his uzi to bare on Rin's head, the muzzle belching forth flames and death towards him. Swerving sharply to the side and nearly slamming into the rail, Rin tilted the entire motorcycle to the left, gun pointed up to the sky and spitting out curses that would make sailors blush. The Cowboy had gotten enough of a taste for today, and the shakily flying hole-ridden shuttle was swooping off to the left, trails of smoke lazily following it. One less thing to worry about. Now to clean this mess up.
"RIN!" Guy's voice almost screamed in his ears. "THE BARRICADE'S UP! TRAFFIC'S STOPPED!"
Rin put 2 and 2 together. He couldn't see it through the mass of cars up ahead, but any moment this sixty mile per hour chase was going to come to a very brutal end. And from what Rin knew of Vladimir, he wasn't the kind of man who was going to let himself be taken alive.
"I hate complications." Rin responded with a murmur as his cycle snarled beneath him in agreement, charging forward like a knight on his steed. Through the haze of randomly unleashed gunfire aimed in his general direction, he began firing with his special .50 - slugs thick and powerful enough to leave holes in steel bursted from the muzzle of his piece, towards that zig-zagging convertible. He managed to squeeze off three shots before he had to swerve to the other rail, avoiding another hail of gun-fire from the uzi.
The third one hit it's mark. The back left tire didn't just pop, it literally exploded in a spray of rubbery chunks and a burst of sparks as the wheel itself was eradicated beneath the extra-heavy metal-jacket of the fifty caliber slug. The entire car's backside tilted downwards and clashed against the ground with a metallic shriek, golden sparks leaping and dancing across the pavement as the vehicle began to lose any semblance of control. Lifting his head above the windowshield, Rin could now see the cars up ahead slowing down and stopping.
Rin squeezed on the breaks with a squeal of tires and the scent of burnt rubber, desperately wishing he had worn a helmet. The convertible swerved to the left, swerved to the right, and swerved back again, unable to make it's decision. It finally was forced to as it snapped and crashed with a wet explosion of metal against metal, crunching heavily into the back of a rather large looking travel bus that shredded it's front into a gleaming metal pulp.
Vladimir, the hot-headed Russian Terrorist, hadn't deigned wearing his seat-belt a priority. His head met the back-end of the travel bus at a good 30 mile per hour clip, and ended up mostly splattered on it's backside. The passenger besides him never had much of a chance either way, as the entire right side of the convertible spun out like a twirling jack-knife and crushed him and the guy in the backseat behind him with a sickening splurt and crunch of bone. Rin was twisting the entire motorcycle around to swerve to a stop, leaving a streak of rubber behind him, when the slick-haired youth stepped out of the remains of his car and brandished his uzi drunkenly, blood pouring from his temple and his left arm hanging limply.
Rin was well aware of just what sort of danger desperate men posed. Swinging his feet off of the motorcycle, he dove for cover right before the bullets raked across it's side. Without any apparent accuracy, the stumbling Russian continued to fire blindly towards Rin as he rolled into a crouch and brought his weapon to bare.
It was a dangerous shot to make. Under pressure, bruised, exhausted, and currently in danger of being shot, Rin was trying to hit a target 15 yards away and who had a crowd of innocent people in their vehicles behind him. He was using a gun that not only would go through his target, but would probably keep going and slam into anyone or anything that happened to be behind him.
He didn't stop and think about it long. Lowering the length of his gun and clutching it in both hands, Rin didn't even wince as he blew off the Russian's foot.
With a slow but contented sigh as the man fell to the ground with a yowl, Rin stood up and turned to glance back at the mile of desolation and smoldering ruin that he had left in his wake.
"I hate Cowboys."