Title: Empty
Author: Akanue
Fandom: Cowboy Bebop
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or its characters. They belong to Studio Sunrise, Shinichiro Watanabe, and other licensors and distributors. This is a not-for-profit fan work.
Summary: Vicious has survived the final showdown with his old nemesis, Spike Spiegel, but upon confirming that Spike, Julia, and the Red Dragons are no more, Vicious finds that his only purpose in life has vanished in the blink of an eye.
Author's Note: Something a little different from me – I hope Vicious is reasonably in character. I wanted to try a fic that takes place after the end of the series if it had been VICIOUS who survived, not Spike or even Julia. I think it turned out nicely. For the time being I am calling the fic finished, though that could possibly change in the future. I appreciate all reviews and constructive criticism!
Empty
The man awoke in the hospital, his medium-length prematurely gray hair sticking to both his mouth and eye on the left side. It was a very undignified image for the leader of the Red Dragon Crime Syndicate, a man who was feared across the entire solar system.
The pain in his abdomen was almost unbearable, and if Vicious hadn't already been used to high levels of pain he would have slipped back into unconsciousness. But he forced himself to remain awake, calm, and analyze the situation.
He lay still, his eyes scanning the room, taking in as much information as possible. He was in a hospital, that was for sure. In all likelihood on Mars. There was no one else in the room, but he could hear muffled voices and the beeping and humming of machines. The painful wound on his stomach had been bandaged and he was dressed in a nondescript hospital gown. He almost winced at the implication—that a stranger had undressed him. It made him feel violated somehow.
A nurse who had been passing by the door saw him stir and immediately called for the doctor. Vicious could hear the young man say, as he walked away, "Our John Doe is awake."
John Doe. So they don't know my name yet.
Vicious searched his memory, trying to recall exactly what had happened. What had landed him in his present situation. He didn't like what his memories dredged up. He'd been bested by Spike Spiegel when that lunatic had singlehandedly stormed the Red Dragon's headquarters with the intention of challenging Vicious to a final fight to the death.
So why wasn't he dead? That gunshot should have been fatal. Was it possible that Spike had survived their final confrontation as well? No. Vicious knew he never would have made such a mistake. Spike was dead. He was sure of it. Could feel it even. But if that were true, that would mean Spike was dead and he was alive. With that possibility came a chill that ran through his body. It had always been his assumption he would either die fighting Spike, or kill Spike and live to run the Red Dragon. There was no one else capable of defeating him. He had to learn the truth, as soon as he could get away from that damned hospital.
The doctor came in, diverting Vicious' attention from his thoughts. He sized her up as he would an enemy, for the ability to trust was something that had left him with Julia and Spike's betrayal. She was a short, middle-aged woman with an expanding waistline and long brown hair tied back into a bun. She appeared disinterested, as if it had been a long day and she was just waiting for her shift to end.
Almost instinctively he searched the room with his eyes for a weapon, in case this woman was not a doctor at all and rather a hitman from another syndicate, but there was nothing that could be used within arm's reach. He could launch himself across the room and grab the mop that had been left in the corner of the room, but such movement would put serious strain on his badly injured body, something he did not want to do unless it proved absolutely necessary. So he relaxed his muscles, in much the same way a snake did when it was ready to strike, and spoke to the woman.
"Why am I here?" asked Vicious, his voice as cold as the winter snow.
The doctor seemed unfazed by his countenance and tone. "You were brought in last week with severe injuries. Lacerations, burns, and a major gunshot wound. Quite frankly, you're lucky to be alive—you were found among a bunch of corpses in that tower. Could we get a name, please?"
"I do not wish to give you my name." Martian confidentiality laws stated that unless a patient voluntarily admitted him or herself to a hospital, the patient had a right to remain anonymous. Members of the Red Dragon had taken advantage of the laws many times in the past. After all, the law was in place partially because the syndicates had so much power to begin with.
She gave him a look, as if his refusal had proved a suspicion she already possessed, but she was aware of the laws too, and continued speaking. "We had to give you several blood transfusions and repair the damaged tissue. Your injuries would have undoubtedly killed most people." It was clear she suspected the reason this frightening-looking man had been admitted to the hospital with a near-fatal gunshot wound in his abdomen had something to do with organized crime, but she did not press the matter. A smart woman.
"I am not most people," Vicious said, flashing her a cold, cruel smile. "I wish to leave."
"I can't discharge you yet," she said. "You'll get my approval when you're well enough to leave and not a moment sooner."
Vicious met her large green eyes with his own blue ones, challenging her, but the decision was already made in his mind.
He probably could leave by force if he truly wished it, but it would be more logical to remain and gather his strength back. No ISSP member would come sniffing around there, not when his fearsome reputation was so cemented within the corrupt police force, and he was legally a John Doe, besides. It was a safe place to rest, for the time being at least. Vicious' head began to swim as the pain made him nauseous, and he finally gave up the fight and drifted back off to sleep.
It took nearly a week more, but Vicious was finally able to get himself discharged from the hospital. The pain had mostly faded to a dull ache, but it was still there, gnawing at him, reminding him of the fight he had... won? Lost? Until he knew more, both outcomes were true. It was a state of perpetual paradox that Vicious couldn't stand for long. So he set off into the city to learn the truth of what had happened that fateful night.
The first thing he did was return to the tower at the heart of the city, where the main Red Dragon headquarters had been, only to find it wrecked and abandoned. Vicious observed the rubble, finding himself impressed at the amount of damage. Spike Spiegel truly was Vicious' most worthy opponent. If he was still alive, that was. After finding several former members of the Red Dragon prowling the streets like common pickpockets, he was able to confirm his suspicions. That with the Van dead, the headquarters destroyed, and Vicious believed dead, the Red Dragons had been scattered to the winds. He had to resist the urge to kill them on the spot, for they had betrayed the Dragons and that was the fate that awaited any traitor, but that would only draw unwanted attention when he had no protection and wouldn't solve his problems. It would be pointless to punish those men for betraying an organization that did not exist anymore. It seemed that after everything, the Red Dragons were no more.
The next most important thing in his mind came to the forefront. Spike. Was he really dead? For that matter, was Julia really dead? For all he knew, Spike could have been lying to him in order to catch him off guard before beginning the fight.
He headed down to the pier. That old wreck of a fishing ship was not there, but there were so many bounty hunters Vicious couldn't have thrown a stone without hitting one. So he began to discreetly ask around. In spite of everything, those skills that had been drilled into him early on in the Dragons had not left him, and he successfully inquired into the Bebop's whereabouts without drawing much attention to himself. No one seemed to recognize him in the cheap clothes and fedora the hospital had given him out of an unclaimed lost and found box.
It seemed the Bebop hadn't been seen in almost two weeks, but one thing was sure. Only a man, who, going by the description, was none other than Jet Black, and a woman had been on the ship when it left Mars. Vicious found it hard to believe they would have left Spike behind if he had been alive.
Now bordering on desperate, or at least as much desperation as Vicious could conjure up, he went to the city morgue. The employees there had been working overtime in the wake of Spike's rampage through the syndicate headquarters, and he needed to sneak in the back while everyone was on lunch break.
In the sea of bloodied men in standard-issue black suits, there was a woman of unrivaled beauty on the final table with hair of sunshine and lips that were still red. Her eyes were closed and the expression on her face seemed almost... peaceful. Like the image of an angel that had departed from this world.
He stepped up to her body and gently touched her hand. It was as cold as ice. She was most certainly dead.
He tried to recall what he had thought of this woman. If he had loved her. He couldn't remember.
So that was the end of things. The Red Dragons were no more. Spike was dead. Julia was dead.
The rain was falling, turning slowly to snow as the cold night came.
Vicious wandered through the city, thinking of even the most mundane things, like the numbness in his toes and the fact that his pants were a size too large, in order to keep the reality of the situation from crashing down on him for as long as he possibly could. He finally entered an old, worn down motel and used the small amount of money that had survived in his pocket to rent a room for the night, because otherwise he would be sleeping on the streets and he was fully aware he had no where else to go. Before, he would have either stayed at a Red Dragon safe house or cashed in a favor with a contact, but none of those contacts were either still living or would allow him to pass the threshold of their homes alive.
He sat in the dark, all alone, finally taking a moment to allow the truth of what had happened sink in.
The rage had kept him going in the years since Spike's disappearance, giving him a purpose. His driving desire to kill Spike and take over the Red Dragons was what had kept him going. Now there was nothing. There was an emptiness that he didn't have the first clue how to fill. And slowly it began to eat him up inside.