Chapter 2.

'I told you before, Spike... I'm the only one who can kill you and set you free.'

Surely he thought so. But there he was, hardly keeping straight on his own two feet. He had one arm pressed roughly against the right side of his torso. He felt blood spilling endlessly from the wound that Vicious had pierced through him. And for one second, he forgot about the fatal wound on his side and thought about how the blood stains had possibly ruined his trench coat. But now, pain shot through his whole being, bringing him back to the present. He winced slightly through clenched teeth and pressed his arm tighter to his side. He lowered his eyes towards a fallen figure before him. He was face down on the hard floor of the complex, his unruly silver hair tangled and wildly all over the place as he made his fall. There was no movement from Vicious, and the other had kept his place for more seconds, observing if he was alive. But there was nothing. His body was limp; blood from his gunshot wounds oozed out from underneath his deceased profile. Spike suddenly staggered back, feeling the sharp sting of his cuts throughout his body. His mix matched eyes tore off of the fallen man's corpse and darted throughout the ground, searching for his Jericho. He was not about to die without it. In mere seconds, he found it laying beside his feet, and he held his breath as he carefully bent over to take a hold of it. Hands shaking tremendously. Damn, this whole thing hit him hard, but he knew it was to be expected. Slowly, he stored the gun into one of the many pockets of his coat and turned his head slightly towards the front of the complex; the collar of his coat blocking a quarter of his sight.

His vision had grew faint; focusing in and out through the Red Dragon Syndicate. Blood was spilled through his left eye, making him unable to have clear sight of all that was in front of him. Figures were present within the large room, all standing in a rigid posture, armed with weapons, with their same black suits, with their same ties... So he waited with closed eyes; waited for the shot that would end him. He waited for the kill that would wake him up from this place. But alas, there was no sound, no greeting of gunshots to pierce the silence that filled the room.

Slowly, he opened his eyes once more, breathing heavily. With every breath he took in, it stung through his body, and from there he tried to take in short breaths to ease the wound. He took slow steps down the red draped staircase, twitching his lip each time for the cut he also received upon his left leg. He was careful to step away from the blown debris that were scattered across the room. The sole of his boots landing on each stair had rung through the room, breaking the silence immediately. It seemed from every step he took, the morning light had grew over him, casting light down upon the ruined building. For a split second, a faint smile had formed on the corners of his lips. He would die right there in this morning bliss. Spike Spiegel continued to descend the stairs, ignoring the wounds that dragged him down. Certainly he was bound to fall over. He already knew it was coming.

He came to a halt halfway through. He felt that his body did not want to function at this time, for his feet began to give out on him. He seemed like a drunk mess. He shut his eyes once more, relaxing his whole body. He could feel every single Syndicate member looking towards him with clear expressions of surprise on their faces. That's exactly what he wanted. He felt a grin spreading towards his parted lips, letting out a short breath of a chuckle.

Slowly, he lifted his free arm forward towards all of them; with his fingers, he formed a hand gesture. A gesture that was formed to seem like a shape of a gun.

"Bang..."

With those finishing words said, he finally collapsed to the ground, hitting his head against the edge of one step, and he let out a small grunt. But what did it matter, it was time for his end. The little things didn't matter for him. His eyes were narrow; barely even opened. All he saw was a bright light from the rays of the sun. One by one, he heard footsteps of the other figures below, proceeding to exit out of the complex. Their footsteps shuffling through the hard floor, now growing faint until Spike was left alone with the silence to accompany him. Wise move for them to take their leave, for the police would probably be coming shortly. Or was it the possibility that they knew that it was all over when Vicious was killed off. With no one else to run the Syndicate, they were sitting ducks. Now it was back to their old lives. Back to countless seconds of their passing. Doing the same thing they've done for years.

The

Same

Thing...

There he laid, hearing the members walk out of the room, unsure if this was all finally over. There he laid, feeling the warmth of his blood leak from his body to the steps. It matched perfectly with the steps. Red. There he laid, wishing for one more cigarette before his end. It's said that when a person is close to death, they come to a phenomenon of flashbacks of their entire life; rapidly seeing the totality of their past vividly; a flash of life. Now, he was a believer. Memories had shot through his mind left and right. His days as part of the Syndicate... engaging in the gunfight before dying the first time... the Bebop crew... he could recall the smell of the bell peppers and beef clearly. Mere images of their faces were flashed one by one. Jet Black, his stressful face concentrating as he is snipping bonsai leaves delicately with his scissors. A flash of the datadog, Ein had followed. Tiny dark orbs buttoned to his face, tongue hanging from the corners of his mouth. Beside the dog, he was being held close by a small girl; the hacker, Radical Edward. He could see the child's usual grinning face; her tan coloured skin flushed with a hint of pink on both cheeks. Another strip of memory appeared of a woman, with short purple hair and light green eyes. She was clothed in a skimpy yellow attire, a sly smile spread across her thin red lips. This woman was no other than Romani; Faye Valentine. Maybe, some things were just better left forgotten.

Spike chuckled lightly to that thought as he turned his head gently to the side to grasp more air into his lungs.

Faces of the people he connected with over his past suddenly shifted into memories; dim, mere flashbacks. One of which he was under a dark night, surrounded by bright stars that floated high above the skies. He recalled the warm air swirling through his surroundings. There, he sat upon the sand as it stuck to the fabric of his blue leisure suit; his legs huddled in close together for his lanky figure took up quite a bit of space in the tent. With one hand propped on his leg, he held it up to rest his head on top of the palm of his hand. Across from him was a stout native American; Laughing Bull. His face settled into a stern expression with his hand held forward. Sand was trickling down past the palm of his wrinkled hand, dropping into the ground below the red carpet where small patterns were shown through the sand. Behind the creases residing in his face, his eyes were intent on Spike.

'Swimming Bird, do you know where you body is made from?'

'I don't know. Probably some bird droppings that's rolling around somewhere.'

'Swimming Bird, do you know what your soul is made from?

'I don't know. Probably some cotton dust that's rolling around somewhere.'

'The answer is wrong; yet right. Your body is connected with the universe; yet it is not. Your soul includes the entire universe; yet it does not. That is for me... and for everyone. If you hate someone, you hate yourself. If you love someone, you love yourself.'

'I don't feel anything towards anyone.'

'That is... the greatest misfortunate on this earth.'

It is where the end that it all made sense to Spike now. Next was just where his soul will wander after he his done with this universe. He always lived his life never in fear, and still he did not. But once he was out of his body, once his soul drifts away from him, what would be left of his soul after it's gone? When it reaches the point where he has nothing left to connect to; a mere strand of string binding him to this planet, what will be to come?

At once, the image of Laughing Bull had vanished, now leaving his mind in pitch black. And for a moment, he thought that this experience was over. A hum now started to ring through his thoughts. As seconds past, the voice grew more audible; more clearer. The rhythm to their vocals were slow and beautiful. It was so familiar...

Now there was another memory. Squinting through his blurred vision, his eyes began to focus more clearly as he stirred awake from the voice. He was inside of a small home with pictures framed against the walls. To the right of his direction, a large window was shone replacing the wall, and behind the light's rays gleaming through the window was a figure of a woman. He could see it so perfectly beyond all the other memories he pictured. Julia; reading a book by his bedside, singing that tune as she was concentrated in her reading. Her azure eyes skimming through line, after line, after line... at the slightest movement of Spike's head turning, her eyes flickered towards his wounded being; her eyebrows arched with surprise. Immediately, her singing stopped abruptly, lips parted, wordless for anything to say. She leaned over towards the injured man; her long blond hair falling over her shoulders neatly. Spike's eyes grew soft, his face at ease, and he opened his mouth; struggling for a breath of words to say.

'Just like that... sing for me please.'

After his words, Julia lowered her eyebrows, flashing him a warm smile.

The image of her faded along with the memory and it was over. The flash of life was over. To not feel anything towards anyone... that was a lie. He loved her. Just like a snap of his finger, she was gone. Along with her end, it would be soon be his, and he accepted death. As he was growing older, he was fearless. And to this day it remained. His expression calm, and relaxed as he embraced death with open arms.

Spike inhaled deeply, turning over slowly to face the sky above. With great effort, he managed to succeed followed by a tremendous amount of pain that shot through is body. He recoiled back with a sudden twitch,; his whole frame stiff. Spike reopened his eyes slowly, careful not to harm his vision from the morning's rays. Through his blurred vision, he could see the blue sky. He wondered for a moment, what kind of blue was he? Spike scoffed after that thought, for now it was towards the finish line where he asked all these questions. There was no time for answers. There was just no time. His throat was dry, his sight was now out of focus once again. He could hear the sound of his heart beating, the slow rhythm of it still pumping through him. The beats began to slow down, like a timeless clock you see above the wall. The battery begins to give out, the hand ticking now slowing it's pace, by then it would come to rest.

When will it stop, Spike?

He said in his mind with an inward sigh. The olive haired man began to close his eyes once more, shutting out the blue skies above. His stiff frame was now at ease, and he waited. Slowly, he could feel the vertigo now taking over him, and he did not fight it. This was it, this was all he had been waiting for. He would finally wake up from this dream. He would finally wake up and start over out of this universe. He did not feel cold, perhaps because of the blood loss that spread out the openings of his wounds. Through his numb body, he could feel his lips struggling for a smirk. He heard stories from others; a saying that you'll know when you're dying when you see a flash of white light leering your direction. But there was no illuminating light, there was only darkness when he shut his eyes. After moments of losing all sense, he was plunged into pitch black shadows.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Put me in your blue skies,

Or put me in your grey.

There's gotta be some way.

There's gotta be some way.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A faint sound was heard ringing throughout Spike's ears. The noise was barely audible to him, as if his ears had been clogged for ages. He could feel his eyes twitch suddenly before they came open. With blurred vision, he blinked slowly a few times. With each time, he was able to see more clearer; his pupils adjusting to the sight of the dark starry night, regulating with the surroundings; growing larger, then easing down more to let his brown irises absorbing the light above him. His sense of hearing also was drawn back to him, now able to hear the chirping of crickets out in the dead night.

Am I dead?

He open his mouth slightly, with his mouth still arid; unable to let out any sort of sound. Under the crickets persisting chirps, he was able to hear his heart; he was able to hear the faint rhythm of his organ still pushing on. At that, he frown inwardly. So he still was alive. His eyes dimmed at the revelation. Spike exhaled his breath, attempting to sit up. With one arm, he slowly lifted it over to his ribs on his right. He could feel the tiny sparks of the numbing sensation surging through his arm as he gripped his side gently. His whole body was numb, but it was time to get up. If Vicious couldn't kill him, he wasn't about to let his hunger finish the job.

Spike winced slightly as his upper body struggled to remain sitting up. With much effort, he slowly dragged one of his lengthy legs forward; knees bending. Moving his toes through the inside of his boot, he regained movement into his foot. One down. He repeated the same actions as he did with his first leg; bringing it up, regulating blood flow to his entire leg. His teeth clenched as he did so, recalling the cut he had been struck with by Vicious. Spike's rigid expression had fell to a stoic look. He already had too many wounds to deal with.

He shook that thought out of his mind, now focusing back on his objective. Propping his free arm on the ground, he pushed a great force into his arm, now proceeding to rise off the ground. An infliction of rising pain had shot through the man all at once, forcing him to let out a grunt. He gritted his teeth, careful not to stumble over by the many steps in the complex. Spike's body swayed back and forth and he tried to keep his balance steady. Eventually he took control, focusing the force of his legs to keep steady. After those moments, he turned heel now descending the stairs one by one. His moves were sluggish as he continued down, and through his mind, he prayed for him not to fall over. But alas he was finished with the staircase, and now took slow strides towards the elevator. He pressed one finger lightly towards the downward arrow beside the elevator door, and he waited. Above the door, he saw the flash of numbers, ascending from lowest to his floor. One by one. Blink by blink... in seconds the door had opened for the olive haired man, and he stepped inside the shaft. He was uncertain of the police already arriving at the building, but if so, he'll avoid their company somehow. He never had any plans, he always just winged it. And every single time he had, it worked.

The lights of the control buttons to the right of him flickered to life; all the buttons flashing a tint of red, and he pressed down on one that led to the first floor. Before the door had closed, he took one last glimpse of the floor ahead of him. This destruction of the facility was his cause. The ashes that stained the red carpet permanently, the cracks and dents in the walls, the ceiling roof now torn apart, letting the outside world touch the complex, with all the artillery he managed to tuck into his coat... it was all his doing. The blasting waves of the nitroglycerin, iron oxide exploding throughout the masses producing tremendous heat, burning down all that it touched. It was beautiful... almost perfect under the blazing flames.

And he would love to see the building fall to the ground completely.

The sliding doors had finally closed, leaving Spike to lounge against the railings on the wall for support. Eyes shut, hands in pockets, he let the low hum of the elevator ring through his ears. A frown crossed through his face; this calm silence, this peaceful bliss was not fitting for him after everything that had happened. Beneath the pockets of his coat, his hands were clenched into tight fists; knuckles skin white.

Ding.

The signal of the elevator door opening rung through the small empty shaft. Spike reopened his eyes, facing the main hall in front of him. His eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a firm line. Men were sprawled on the ground, lifeless. Shattered glass and bullet holes were what became of the main floor. Shuffling of footsteps were heard through the center of the hallway, bringing Spike's focus forward. In front of him were armed police forces, coming to a halt feet away from him. He arched his eyebrows lazily at their presence.

"You, sir!" One of them had shouted throughout the space divided between them and Spike. "Step out of the elevator at once!"

Spike felt uneasy doing so; his frame rigid. He was not about to comply with them; not falling into being a suspect to all of this destruction. It was all already too much. With one hand, he slowly lifted it away from his side towards the operating panel, not taking his eyes off the police. They noticed his actions, shifting their eyes from his figure to his arm; their mouths falling open.

Eyes shrink-wrapped in doubt.

Heads whirling around to another unsure of their next move.

"Stop right now!" Another finally barked beside the officer, now reaching into his holster for his gun. Spike's fingers fumbled through the panel, pressing any button that he instantly came in contact with. The click of the sliding elevator doors had sounded abruptly, now beginning to close.

"Damn!" Cursed one of the officers and he began to fire. Spike immediately swayed off the center of the floor, taking cover to the left of him. Shots were blazing through the door as it closed, leaving traces of bullet holes; damaging the wall. The shots had ceased as the shaft began to ascend the floors. He rose to his feet, placing one arm on the handrail to support his figure up. Sweat was dripping down slowly from his face as he took in short, sharp breaths. He was certain they would be searching for him now. He had to think of means to escape, and he had to do so quickly. Mix matched irises were searching through the elevator, now coming in contact with the ceiling panel above him. Spike quickly reached for his Jericho, holding it by the butt and rapped it numerous times against the panel before it broke open. Storing his Jericho away, he removed his other hand from his wounded side, gripped the edges of the opening.

This was going to hurt like hell.

Spike shut his eyes tightly, pulling himself up off the ground to the roof of the elevator. Through clenched teeth, he grunted loudly as his side rippled with stinging pain. But he continued to pull himself up, slapping his arm forward to have more room to move up. Heaving his torso through the panel, he writhed his legs continuously to shift his whole body over the inside completely. Once doing so, he looked up through the elevator shaft, lights flickering through each floor. He was uncertain of which floor he had chosen, but he had to jump to another floor to avoid police arriving at his position. Spike was vigilant when rising to his feet, careful to not harm his body more than what had already been done. He shot his head up, seeing floor after floor pass by right before his eyes, each floor having two entrys; one on his side, and another to the opposite of him. He needed to time it all right...

One.

He stepped towards the edge of the elevator, his ears clouded with the low clinks of the roller chains below the elevator ringing throughout the shaft.

Two.

His wild hair blew with the air hitting his entire being as he ascended. His frame was slightly bent over, legs spread apart slightly, preparing himself for the jump.

Three.

Eyeing one door sharply, Spike had readied himself and jumped across the other side of the elevator, the sole of his boots barely landing on the small step. Spike grasped his fingers to the edges of the wall in front of him, steadying his lean frame with the step, his heart racing. If he fell, it would be a long fall to the bottom, and he wouldn't be able to make it out of that one alive. His lips twitched at the mere snap shot.

Spike came face to face with the closed door in front of him. He dug one hand into the pocket of his coat to grip his Jericho once again. His other arm gripped the edge of the wall tightly, balancing his body to the elevator door. He did not have the proper tools with him to force the door open, but he would make the attempt with the butt of his Jericho, once again. Placing his gun between the crack of the door, he carefully moved his other arm to it also; fingers clenched to the curves of the elevator door. He took in a large breath, now making an effort to force the doors open. He gritted his teeth, arms shaking vigorously. This was too much for one man to handle; fingers skin white, nails scrapping into the edges of the door. Spike heaved his shoulders, putting all the force in his body in his hands. With one screech, one door had snapped open; a crack of light shooting from the other side of the floor. Spike dug his Jericho through the opening, keeping the elevator door open as he now pushed on, the doors slowly opening. He slipped through the sliding doors once the gap was wide enough to fit his scrawny figure through. Afterwords, the elevator door had shut once again.

Spike exhaled his breath, relaxing his whole being. To his surprise, there were no officers in this part of the facility yet, making it easier for him to make his exit. His eyes flickered to his far left, noticing the stairways. That would work. Now taking his time, he descended the staircases, one by one. Big print numbers were painted upon the white with each floor number shone when he turned heel to the next set below. The soles of his boots echoed throughout the vast staircase, bouncing off the walls breaking the silence that plagued the surroundings. Thump, by thump, by thump...

Twenty.

His whole figure grew fatigue with each step, legs trembling slightly. "Just keep pushing through." He calmly said to himself with a deep sigh to follow suit.

Ten.

With one hand on the railings, he was relieved that it was almost over. Just a few more sets. Once he reached the end, he took cover by the edge of the wall, listening in for footsteps. Faint voices were heard through the distance of the main hallway, now was his chance to take his leave. Shifting his body off the wall, Spike poked his head through the door, looking left to right for officers. Fortunately, their back was turned, and carefully, he took his leave from the staircase and searched for another exit. With glass shattering at the soles of his shoes, he advanced towards the small exit where there used to be sliding door. The blast from his grenade earlier had changed things. Upon leaving the complex, he noticed a few people looking his way. He took no heed to it, for there was no way he could hide his blood stains that were patched left to right on his body. His lanky body staggering through the streets, back hunched over slightly, swaying side to side languidly. The man did not seem to notice the odd glances that the people were snapping at him. He only removed his hands from the pockets of his coat, straightening out the creases in his coat and ventured into the streets ahead of him. His heavy eyes scanned through the streets, shifting through each neon sign that hung about every corner of the shops ahead. His brown empty eyes were taking in only glances; he knew the streets all too well.

Now what, Spike?

A hospital. That was his top priority for the moment. To get there quickly before he fell unconscious once again. The thought of retrieving his Swordfish II was second on his list. If he made the walk to go retrieve the ship, there was a chance his body couldn't strain through. As soon as he was out of the hospital, he would go for it. Even though the Swordfish II was beaten with few dents and small imperfections, it was his and only his. With that thought, he reached into one pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes. He propped one into his mouth, placing the carton away. Now for a lighter. He reached in the same pocket, rummaging his fingers around for the small plastic container with the flammable fluid, but none was found. He pulled his hand out, now patting the other pockets impatiently for any sign, but there was nothing. Spike frowned in disdain; shrugging his shoulders, feeling cheated at that moment as he removed the cigarette from his mouth, and stored it away. He supposed it would have to wait.

A/N: this chapter was probably the most i've written in a story so far. cheers for me.

I'm currently working on the next chapter, and I think the next one will be longer, so be prepared for more reading! i have a general idea of where I want this story to lead into, but I'm still working on the details with that one. And feedback is always appreciated!