Melody of Sorrow

Venus

October 3, 2068

10:10 P.M.

In the street, next to Open 24

The night was young. The lonely fog had of yet to creep from the crevices of Venus, to take up its guard on the lonely and darkened streets of the night. For now, the dark stood alone. It was there to take your mind, make your sorrow consume you, and force the cold death unto your mind. Though tonight was a special night. The darkness lay in wait, and watches the evil down below.

It was watching two former friends. One, a self-centered yet caring man. He did as was told, asked little questions, and came back, like some dog playing fetch.

The other, a shrewd, morbid creature. He cared for no one, not a thing. He would kill, even if not ordered to do so. He believed in no god or savior, he believed no one cared for him, not even his birth mother. He was all-alone in this world, ever since he betrayed his friend.

The darkness laughed hideously to itself, sending wisps of cold air into the streets. It was happy, for this was no ordinary fight between friends, he knew. These were brothers, blood brothers, who had been turned against each other because of a horrible murder. Assassins, bullets, blood- all the things evil adores. The darkness ceased, and let the rest unfold.

Below, Spike and Vicious stood staring at each other.

Nearly one hundred people were crowded around, though behind street signs and brick walls. They all stared, to scared to move, to excited to leave.

Two men, one brandishing a gun, and a dead body lying in the middle of the street. No explanation needed. Spike realized this was no time for bickering between foes. He stared at Vicious, and with his eyes, motioned him to go through the crowd on his left, and get away. Vicious barely nodded his head, and they both silently walked into the crowd, the crowd themselves forming a path for the two mysterious men.

Vicious's crane flew away, and he put his gun inside a holster on his waist, and they slowly resided into the night.

Vicious had a small car waiting around the corner; they got in, Vicious at the wheel, and drove off. Spike rested his head on his hand, which was balanced with his elbow on the windowsill of the door. Vicious just stared straight ahead, and then finally broke the silence.

"Listen," he began. "I...I'm sorry. I know it isn't worth bullshit to you, but it's really all I can say.

Spike sighed, and kept staring at the window. Rain was beginning to fall from the darkened yet cloudy skies.

"Man, there is nothing I can do. Yeah, sure I wish I could take back what I said. I was pre-occupied with my target; I said the first thing on the tip of my tongue."

Spike lifted his head, and looked at Vicious, with his eyes squinted in an annoyed way.

"Vicious," said Spike, "I don't care what the fuck you say. Because of your 'mess-up' I am going to get my ass handed to me sometime soon."

"Don't worry, they won't be after you," Vicious said.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Spike.

"What I mean is they have no time. They won't contact Quinn again until he contacts them. Do you know why, Spike?"

"Nope."

"It's because there is a war going on, a huge war. Right on Ganymede, at this very moment."

"War, what kind of war?" asked Spike.

"Well, it happened very suddenly. We were at warehouse seven, the ammo warehouse, and, out of the blackness of the night, came entire cases of bullets screaming towards us. They took out Mr. Kaustrik. I still remember him, lying in that puddle of blood. You couldn't see his real expression, since he'd been shot three times in the head, twice in the cheek, once in his left eye."

"He deserved it. It's always annoying when guys like him just order us around to kill tons of people, and he himself can't even aim a pistol correctly."

"Shut up!" he screamed. "He could shoot better than both of us combined! He was a great man, and a steady marksman, may he rest in peace."

Spike sighed once more.

"They got 'cha Vicious," mumbled Spike to himself.

Vicious could apparently understand him and replied. "They don't 'have' me. I chose to be there. I love the thrill of the kill. I'll be up there some day, mark my words."

Vicious stopped in front of a fancy restaurant named Le Bistro Rouge.

"Here?" asked Spike.

"It's the bisque, I s'pose. Can make a man smile, even when he's about to die."

10:30 P.M.

Spike and Vicious stared at their menus, pondering the specials. Eyes sitting in the corners of their heads peered at the mysterious newcomers to the restaurant. They eventually went back to their finger sandwiches and wine, and left the two alone.

A somewhat fat woman came over, dressed in a black dress, with a pen resting on her ear, and a pad of paper and a pencil in her hands.

"Now what can I get for you two fine gentlemen?"

The two didn't smile. They both folded their menus, and put them on a pile at the end of their booth.

"Red Pepper Bisque, please," said Vicious.

"Excellent choice, Sir," said the waitress, scribbling some kitchen lingo on her pad. "And for you?" she asked, staring at Spike.

"A burger, just ketchup 'll be fine for me," said Spike.

The waitress sighed annoyingly. "Yes'ir." She strolled off, and Vicious and Spike just looked down, not expecting the other one to speak.

"So...what to do...what to do..." Spike went on.

"What?" asked Vicious.

"If no one's after me anymore, what should I do now?"

"What are you talking about? After a month, the syndicate will have killed the family, and they will check your case out."

"But you said-"

"I said right now they won't come after you, but later they will."

"Damn," said Spike, "I am not in a good position."

The waitress delivered their dishes.

"But for now, I'll just eat my burger."

Spike inspected his burger. Medium thickness of buns, full thickness of meat, and a nice layer of ketchup, grilled to perfection. He smiled to himself; seeing the hamburger as his last second of joy. He placed the burger to his lips, and took a bite of it.

Suddenly, some man burst through the front window, wielding an AK-47. He wore dark panty hose over his face to conceal his identity, though they would easily recognize him later at the city morgue- he had just interrupted Spike's burger, and Spike was mad.

"What...the...fuck," said Vicious.

"Seems bad luck is following my trail. Damn. Give me your gun."

"What?"

"Give me your goddamn gun."

Vicious handed Spike his gun. Spike concealed it in his jacket, and acted natural.

"Everybody, into the kitchen! Hurry up or I'll fill you wit' lead!" said the man. He jumped up onto a couple's table, and shot some bullets into the ceiling, sending plaster cascading onto other guests. "Now!"

11:02 P.M.

All the guests of Le Bistro Rouge scurried into the kitchen, and then they were locked into the giant walk-in freezer. Spike stared into the window, brushing away hanging stalagmites that had frozen onto it. The man had taken off his "mask" and was just sitting on the counter, smoking his cigarette. Spike turned around and listened in on conversations of the people.

"He's going to kill me Marty! He wants my jewelry!" said one woman.

"We're all gonna die!" screamed a man in the corner, holding himself and shivering like he had just taken an extremely cold shower.

Vicious just leaned against the wall, and watched everyone else. He stared at Spike and rolled his eyes. This wasn't scary, this was just a waste of his time.

"OK, OK people, calm down!" shouted Spike. "You may be thinking that he's going to gun your fat, pudgy, spoiled rotten little heads off the moment we annoy him, and, well, you're right!"

Everyone started screaming. The robber put his panty hose mask back on, and peered through the window.

"Ya'll shut da hell up in 'dere!" he screamed through the window.

Spike was out of view from the man because he was leaning on the door in which the window was. Spike made his thumb and forefinger into the shape of a gun, and put it to his head. He pulled his thumb down, and jerked his head, motioning that he had been shot in the head. Everyone screamed.

The man finally opened the door, and came inside.

"Shut the fuck up you idiots! You wan' me to fill you's full a lead?" he screamed. He hadn't noticed Spike.

Spike casually walked up to the man, and smacked him on the back of his head.

"Don't waste our time, padre, and we won't waste you," Spike said.

"You son of-" he was cut off when Spike put the S&W to his neck. Spike pushed the barrel hard against his neck.

"Feeling lucky, punk?" he taunted.

Vicious quickly ran over and kicked the AK-47 out of the robber's hands. The robber didn't move.

"Will you do the honors Vicious?" asked Spike. Vicious nodded, and punched the man in the back of the base of his neck. The robber fell to the ground, unconscious.

"One of you call the cops, we haven't got time for this," said Spike, as he twirled the gun on his finger, and quickly slipped it into his jacket.

Spike and Vicious walked calmly to the front of the restaurant, before they were interrupted by gun shots at their feet. They dove under a table, and knocked it over for cover. A different man, a simple manager who had been in the back apparently, was holding the AK-47.

"You messed up our plans, dammit! Now you gotta die! Eat lead!"

He sprayed bullets into the isle next to the booth in which the two were hiding; a few scraped the table. They sat under the table, waiting for the impatient cohort of the robber to come to them. Before they could, they heard a scream, a woman's scream. Vicious and Spike peered over their table.

The man was holding the gun into the stomach of a waitress, yet another person who had been in the back during the robbery. She had a red dress on, with a white apron tied around her waist. She was not a person to be working in a place like this. She was slender; with perfect curves; perfect form. Her face could brighten a frown, she was beautiful. Every inch of her being was a vacuum for beauty, even her long, shoulder length, blonde hair.

Vicious and Spike were in love. If the present time wasn't so wrong, they would have stared and mumbled like fools. It was love at first sight. But love at first sight was usually nothing more than a spontaneous and momentary crush, though this, as the two knew, was much, much more. They had to save her; her life depended on it.

Spike was about to jump to another, closer to the robber, cover, when the previous robber awakened from his unconscious state, and pulled a pistol from the crotch of his pants. He cocked it, and readied it at Vicious and Spike's location.

Spike jumped to another booth, just to the left of theirs. Shots fired, none hit their target. Spike shot some bullets at the wall above them, which diverted their attention, and he quickly jumped over the booth, and ran to the wall just next to the small corridor they were standing in.

Vicious looked at Spike. Spike looked at Vicious. Their eyes winced; they had made a plan. Vicious jumped up and fired shots around them, but he was certain not to hit them. Spike rounded the corner and sent two rounds into the second robber's head. He grabbed the robber's body and used it as a shield as the first robber pumped bullets into the second robber, trying to hit Spike. Spike threw the body at the robber, and then shot the robber twice, once in the leg and another in the chest.

He grabbed the women and led her outside; Vicious followed, providing cover from the semi-recovering man.

Spike led her to the car, and Vicious jumped into the back. They sped away into the consuming darkness called night.

11:27 P.M.

The hum of the old engine on Vicious's car drowned out any sound for the moment. It didn't matter though, no one had anything to say, or, rather, no one wanted to talk about anything.

Vicious sat in the back seat, holding his gun, and constantly peering out the back window.

Spike sat at the front wheel, seemingly shrugging off the recent gunplay, and yawned.

The woman, though a bit dazed, didn't seem to be mystified by the whole experience. She just lay her head back on the seat, and closed her eyes.

"Well, I guess we better get a hotel room. I'm tired, and I never got to finish dinner," said Spike out of nowhere.

Vicious jumped when Spike spoke but tried to hide the fact, to show his ease of mind to the woman in the front seat.

"Aren't you going to ask me my name?" asked the woman, still lying her head back with eyes closed.

"What?" yawned Spike.

"That's what always happens, right? The guy, or in this case guys, save the damsel in distress, and then take her to their home and sleep with her," she mumbled.

"Not really. I'm too tired to have sex with you," Spike said. "Maybe in the morning."

The woman hit Spike in the stomach; he swerved the car, then smiled and said "Uh...Sorry?" and yawned again.

"Julia," she said. "I'm Julia."

"That's a pretty name," said Vicious, now also resting his head, but still clenching his gun.

"Oh, thanks," said Julia.

Vicious smiled to himself.

"So about that hotel," Vicious went on, "how's about Motel 3? It's a nice place, no rats or roaches last time I slept there."

"Whatever," Spike said, who yawned again.

They arrived at the motel, and were surprised that this one, which was recently renovated, had it's own lounge bar. Vicious headed to get a small shot of whiskey, and Julia went and stood by a magazine rack, holding her folded apron over her arms.

Spike went to the counter to get a room.

"How may I help you, Sir?" asked the deskman.

Spike yawned again. He wasn't in the best of moods.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

"Yes sir, of course," said the deskman.

"This is a hotel, is it not?"

"Correct sir."

"And when you go to a hotel, you usually stay in a room, and sleep there, correct?"

"Yes, indeed, sir."

"Well then, why aren't you getting me my goddamn room!" he screamed.

The deskman fumbled his pen he was holding, and quickly typed in some information into his computer.

"R-Room for one, sir?" he asked.

"Sure."

He typed some more.

"Tha-that's 75 woolongs p-per night sir!" he squeaked.

"Uhh...how about I give you an I.O.U.?" asked Spike.

"Sir, we don't accept I.O.U.'s. You either have the money, or ya don't," said the deskman, slightly happy that the rude man before him wouldn't have to annoy him during the night.

Julia came over and slapped a money card on the desk.

"That'll take care of it," she said, and winked at the deskman.

"Thanks," said Spike, without turning around. Spike took the room key-card, and walked over to Vicious, now sitting on a barstool, and downing shots of gen.

"Vicious, lets go to the room," said Spike.

"That's your name, Vicious?" Julia asked, not so much amused as perplexed.

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" asked Vicious, now obviously getting drunk from his drinking.

"No, not at all. Then what's your name?" she asked Spike.

"Spike, Spike Spiegel."

"I see."

"You coming Vicious?" asked Spike.

"I'll see ya later," said Vicious, and he walked off to a pool table.

"He doesn't even know the room number," said Julia.

"Don't worry," assured Spike, "it doesn't matter."

11:37 P.M.

Spike and Julia sat on the elevator for ten minutes, right next to some smelly man, with an outgrown beard, and an outgrown head of hair.

"Room two, floor three," Spike though to himself. "This elevator is as slow as crap."

The door's eventually opened, and Julia and Spike ran out before they vomited from the unbearable stench. They walked along the barely lit hallway, and found their room.

As soon as they got in, Spike plunked himself on the bed, and turned on the TV. Julia inspected the place. A tacky red carpet covered the floors, and two big, blue beds were up against the wall of the room. They were facing an old TV, the one Spike was watching. The ceiling had many strange holes from who-knows-what, and the fan hanging onto the ceiling seemed to not be working, as some wires dangled out of the top of it and made some sparks that shot against the wall when the fan's switch was flipped on. A small patio with old, rusty, generic patio furniture was outside a sliding glass door. To the left of the room's entrance was a very small bathroom with only a toilet, a sink, and a shower.

"They didn't bug the room for god sakes; no one is even after us," said Spike.

"I know," said Julia, "just checking this hole-in-the-wall out."

She sat down next to Spike, and dropped the apron next to her. Spike looked at her and realized she had no other clothes.

"Oh, sorry," he began, "I forgot about getting you some clothes."

"That's OK, I can get some tomorrow."

"Oh, okeydokey then," muttered Spike as he tossed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He got up and went onto the porch and check out the view. Turned out he could see all the way down the road to the nearest fast-food restaurant.

"Thanks," said Julia.

"For what?" asked Spike; inspecting some people pumping gas into their cars.

"Saving my life," she said.

"Oh that? No problem."

"No problem? How many people have you killed?"

Spike didn't speak.

"Too many," he said, and then sighed.

"What?" said Julia; starting to back towards the door.

Spike noticed this and smirked.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Julia. But I will admit my bullets have pierced more than walls. Let me ask you, ever heard of the Red Dragon Syndicate?"

Julia didn't gasp; she actually calmed down and sat back down on the bed.

"Yes, yes I have. I faced one down once."

Spike looked up towards her, astonished.

"Yeah, nothing big. I was at a gas station convenience store, and a syndicate member pulled up outside. He jumped behind his car, and pulled out an Uzi. An ISSP guy drove up and hit the car, knocking the syndicate member down. The officer got out, but his leg was hit full of bullets as soon as the guy got up. The he fell to the ground, and accidentally threw his pistol through the window, just a few feet away from me. The member went over to the officer, and put the Uzi to his head. I picked up the gun and shot at him, barely missing him. He jumped back and slipped; fell straight to the ground. I ran out of the store and shot him in the legs; kicked away his Uzi, then helped the officer to his feet. He called dispatch while I was forced to hold the gun to the guy's head."

"Damn," said Spike, "nice one."

Julia smiled.

Suddenly, Vicious burst through the door, holding a gun. He swayed back and forth, and his hand holding the gun seemed to tremble. Sweat slowly dripped down his face. He licked his lips, blinked his eyes, and steadied his hand.

"Spa-Spike!" he shouted drunkenly.

"Vicious, you're drunk. Put the gun down," said Julia, trying to calm the situation.

"It's OK, Julia," assured Spike.

"Is-is not OK Spike!" yelled Vicious.

Spike calmly walked over to Julia and held her shoulders.

"It's gonna be OK, and get down."

Julia ducked by instinct, and Spike did a roundhouse and kicked the pistol out of Vicious's hand, sending a bullet flying into a picture of two passing sparrows hanging on the wall.

Vicious dove for the gun, but Spike kicked him in his chin. Vicious spun over to his side and clutched his chin, then jumped to his feet. Spike held the gun to Vicious's head when he stood up straight, and Vicious didn't even bother to look at him.

"Vicious, don't be an idiot. This is just stupid," said Spike.

Vicious lowered his head and stared at the ground. He closed his eyes. Spike lowered his gun, barely, just so he couldn't shoot Vicious. He unloaded the gun and tossed the clip and gun on the bed. Julia had retreated to the wall, holding to it as if it was protection from the two men in front of her.

Spike put his hand on Vicious's shoulder, and said, "Why don't you get some sleep? Let's just forget about this." Vicious shook his head and looked up at Spike. He lifted his hand, as if to put it on Spike's shoulder, but instead, punched Spike in the face, knocking him against the wall. He grabbed the gun and clip and stumbled into the hallway.

Spike followed him and ran around the corner to see Vicious trying to stick the ammunition clip into the gun. Spike ran into Vicious's waist, tackling him. He punched him in the face, and picked him up by the collar.

"Get the fuck outta here!" yelled Spike.

Spike heard a click, and something pressed into his shoulder-it was the gun barrel. Vicious smiled as the bullet grazed Spike's shoulder, splitting his shirt, and cutting Spike. He stumbled into the wall, holding his shoulder. Vicious hit him on the shoulder with the handle of his gun, and Spike collapsed to the ground.

Spike got up, and Vicious forced him into the wall, and pointed the gun into Spike's heart. He was now no longer drunk.

"What was I thinking? This whole escapade is just a waist of my time." His eyes quickly flashed over to Julia's face. She was just standing there, eyes forced to watch the situation. She was sad and scared, but had the ability to hide it. Vicious wanted to comfort her, but knew love was a weakness, a weakness the red dragon elders would never allow. He blinked, a tear formed in his eye. He squeezed his eyes shut to evaporate the tear, but it still fell down his cheek.

"Crying, are we? Weakness," Spike teased. Vicious shoved the barrel hard against Spike's stomach.

"Weakness?" he screamed. "I have no weakness! I shall never fall! The elders should never be alive; I deserve to rule the syndicate! I am the only one!" He stopped for a second, his eyes seemingly searching for something. He mumbled to himself. "Me, yes, yes, of course. Only me. Those old men shall die a quick death.... but.... but not now. No...." He looked up and put the gun to Spike's neck.

"You are the only one who can stop me,"said Vicious. He smiled dryly. "Therefore, you must go." His eyes flashed over Julia, stopping for but a mille-second, then returning to Spike. "But not here, not now. Angels deserve not a sight of morbidity, that they do not." His eyes once again searched."You will pay for what you have done, you will never see the gates of Heavan, all that's left for you is Hell. You will burn there, Spike, forever more." He kneed Spike in the stomach, and Spike doubled over in pain. Vicious looked to Julia. Her mouth gaped, her eyes wide open. Vicious stared with no emotion. He turned and ran out down the hallway, and into the darkness.

No One to Trust, No Need to Live...