Author's Beginning Note: Hello all. I come to you with my first non-song inspired fic (we'll leave it at that…). So you know, this is a post rfb's fic. I know, I know…Spike died, blah, blah, blah; but bear with me, here. Let's just say that Spike survived by the skin of his teeth, and after finding his self alive, things go downhill, fast.

This fic deals with rough subject matter. Spike goes through a lot of stuff, and subsequently takes the Bebop along for the ride. Since this is a post rfb's fic, please don't get mad if the characters are a bit ooc at times...it happens.

I guess that's it for my pre-fic spiel. Oh, and to let you know (in case you cared), I actually did do research for this fic. I looked up Spike's problem so I could make things more believable for you, the reader, so I hope you can see that extra bit of effort. So now, that's it. Read, review, and most of all: enjoy! And if you review, no flames, please. Constructive criticism? Sure. But rudeness for the sake of rudeness never helped anyone. Well then, on with the story!

-phoenix521

Prologue: I'm An Addict


April 17, 2072

Who would ever think that I'd sit down and write shit in a book of blank pages? Isn't this something that moody teen girls do? Ah well, fuck it I guess. I'm doing this for that damned shrew. I tend to do a lot of things for her. I should have told her 'no'; told her to go get a bounty or something. (She still owes me about 3.000 woolongs.) But she comes to me with those puppy dog eyes of hers and asks me to "write down my feelings" and I do. But I guess I'm doing this for me, too. I know I'm falling apart. I know I'm deconstructing. And I think I'm doing a bang up job at it, too. So, I guess out of morbid curiosity, I wanna put what I'm doing into words…shit, how corny does that sound? Give me a pen and some paper and I turn into fucking Shakespeare.

But like I was saying, I guess it'd be interesting to look back and see what I was going through. Is that weird? To want to remember how I fucked up? Then again, I doubt I'll ever have the chance to go back and read this crap. I actually shouldn't be here writing right now. I should be dead. I finally face my past, and all I got was this crummy journal. Julia: dead. Vicious: dead. Spike: alive. Now what's wrong with that equation? A lot, if you ask me. They're the lucky ones. They always were.

I guess that I should put it out there, what exactly this is all about. It's simple, really; I'm an addict. Heroin is my drug of choice. And it's true what they say. It really does just take on hit to get hooked. Or maybe I just wanted to get hooked. I dunno…doesn't really matter.

So, I was just sitting there in front of the vid screen, hoping for something, expecting nothing, and wondering in the back of my mind, when my next hit will be. Then here comes Faye, all concerned and shit. And she has one of my needles in her hand. Shit, I think. Where in the hell did she find that? I didn't think I left any out. She tells me that she found it in the hanger by my ship and that she's had her suspicions for about a month now. Well whoop-di-fucking-do, Faye had a suspicion.

So she tells me that she wants to help me; that she wants me to kick this addiction. I dunno; it's like she cares or something. Stupid wench. I know she's lying. All she cares about is money. She didn't fool me with that whole "I got my memories back" crap she sputtered at me a couple months ago. She says that she wants me to write down why I do this; the drugs that is. What's going through my mind before, during, and after? She wants me to "document it" so she can try and find some way to really, truly help me. Don't know why she wants to, though.

But like I said, she asked me to, and I figured "why the hell not". She wanted to know what I was thinking before, during and after, so, let's see. Before, I was sitting on the couch, like I said, when she tosses this book my way. After I listen to her prattling, I go to my room and write down this shit. Now just one sec and I'll tell ya what I'm thinking "during"….

Oh yeah…I'm feeling good "during". Damn good. It takes away the shit-hole that my life has fallen into. I suddenly don't care anymore. That's why I do this. I guess I'm just trying to ease it all until I finally get the balls to finish what Vicious started. A lot of people would call me 'depressed', and I guess I kinda am. What do I have left to live for? My girl's dead, my ex-best friend is dead, my mentor is dead; the Syndicate I worked for is dead…seeing a pattern, here? It's all down hill from here and I pray that this drug takes me out fast and painless. And maybe with a bang. Yeah, that seems good.

So, I guess to finish this up right, let me say that my name is Spike Spiegel, and I'm a heroin addict.