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Drowning in Rain

A chill gust of wind blew through the streets, twisting and twining its way around everything in its path. Icy needles of rain fell from the sky, beating a steady rhythm on the ground. It was still fairly early in the evening, but the black clouds had engulfed the light that was present and cast everything in darkness. The streets were empty save for the occasional homeless person huddled between a doorway and a lone man making his way down the street. The man walked unconcerned towards his destination, ignoring the rain pelting his uncovered head. As he walked past each structure, the rain cast the lights from the buildings and the colors of the neon signs in an eerie glow across his black clothed frame. Finally he reached the building he had been looking for, the dulled gold of its light spilling onto the street from frosted windows - it's name The Archer.

The door opened with a tinkle from the bell perched atop of it, the sound swallowed in the noise of the room before it could reach the ears of any inside. Warm air laced with the pungent smell of alcohol and food hit him with a blast as he crossed the threshold, rivulets of water running down his coat and silver hair. Some of the heads at the nearby tables turned to regard him, however most of the patrons were too engrossed in their conversations to give him any notice. The ones who had taken a look at him quickly lowered their eyes. He had long had that effect on people. They were drawn to look at his distinctive countenance, yet were too afraid to keep their gaze on him for more than a moment. The corners of his mouth elevated ever so slightly. He supposed he radiated menace, even to those who had no idea of who he was or what he was capable of.

Making his way to the bar in a few long strides, he took one of the two unoccupied stools that was left at the corner near a pool table. Four boys that looked to be in their late teens were playing an enthusiastic game, two against two. He turned his head away from the scene, as he heard the bartender approach.

"Welcome, terrible weather we've been having lately. What can I get for ya?" The man's round face beamed at him, but faltered somewhat as he took in the cold look on Vicious' face.

"Vodka. Leave the bottle."

"Right away sir," the bartender replied as he filled the shot glass he had produced and left the less than half-full bottle near it.

"Anything else I can get for ya sir?" he asked nervously, hoping that the answer would be no and that he wouldn't have to serve the man in black further that night.

"No, that will be all."

Nodding his head, the barkeep quickly made his way to the other side of the bar to attend to the other customers.

Vicious downed the drink in one gulp, filling the glass again. Glancing down at his wristwatch, he took in the time. There was still twenty minutes left before his contact would show up. Inadvertently his left hand made its way to his side for the tenth time that night. The spot empty, for his katana had to be left behind. Instead, he was wearing a holster under his coat. It felt confining and uncomfortable around his upper back and shoulders. Guns weren't his style. However, he needed to be inconspicuous tonight. The Red Dragons had a minimal presence in this city, a fact they wanted to rectify as soon as possible. The local ISSP hadn't yet been fully enlightened to the rewards of working with organized crime. To further complicate matters, the White Tigers were moving their presence into the city in hopes of getting a foothold and shutting the Dragons out. The Tigers had been growing more arrogant and more ambitious in recent years, hoping to depose the Dragons' power all over Mars. Soon they would have to be taught their place and learn that a Tiger's claws are no match for a Dragon's fire.

Very ambitious indeed, he finished his thoughts as cheers from the boys at the pool table drew his attention away. How many times had he and Spike spent their nights together like that, playing pool in bars all over the planet after their missions? It seemed so long ago now - a lifetime ago. Another life, someone else's life. Was it ever real or had he dreamed it all?

Suddenly feeling the need for a cigarette, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack and a lighter. Lighting the thin, black stick he felt himself relax as he inhaled deeply. Again reaching into his coat, he pulled a packet out of an inner pocket. It was full of pictures. Pictures he had lost track of how many times he had looked at since receiving them the day before. Pictures of two men together and separately - one with unruly green hair and the other with a cybernetic arm. For months he had searched, at times he thought in vain. But at last, the day before, his men had brought the pictures to him with information. Spike's whereabouts had finally been discovered, laying to rest any suspicions that he was truly dead. To his chagrin, it had been with slightly shaking hands and a vice around his heart that he had first opened the packet the morning before. What if Spike was not only living free and happy, but was also with her? It was the one scenario that he knew he wouldn't be able to stand. So it was with some ironic relief that he saw Spike was alive and well, living with another man. She wasn't with him. He would still be able to get his revenge on his own terms.

It seems Spike was a bounty hunter now, of all things. He almost laughed at the thought of Spike ridding the solar system of crime. Not that Spike had any skills to fall back on that would allow him to live a normal life. Neither did he for that matter. They had been so young, barely in their teens, when one of the Dragons' scouts had recruited them from the local gang they had been running with. That had been so many years ago. So long ago that the two of them had been best friends and br-brothers. Brothers for life he had thought…

Looking through the pictures again, he came across one of Spike and the man laughing together while washing their zip crafts. The smoke from his cigarette drifted in front of the image, casting a haze in front of his eyes. So. Spike had found himself a new best friend. He and the man, Jet Black, had been partners for a year. He was a former ISSP officer with quite a reputation in Ganymede. The Black Dog, an honest cop who wouldn't quit until he got his man. Apparently he couldn't be bought and left the ISSP. Now he really was going to laugh. If this Jet Black was truly a man of integrity, then it was laughable that he and Spike should be friends. After all, who knew better than he that Spike had no honor. That word was hateful to him now, but once he had believed in it. No matter the life he lived or the things he'd had to do, he had had his own code and his own honor within the syndicate. He'd mistakenly thought Spike had shared the same code. Instead his brother, through his betrayal, had opened up his eyes to the truth that honor was a meaningless commodity in this world.

Yenrai had been searching for Spike as well, refusing to believe that Spike was dead. His search had been fruitless, however. Fool old man. He never really did understand the way Spike's mind worked. Oh, but what he wouldn't give to see the look on the old man's face when he found out that his golden boy and heir apparent had betrayed his vows to the syndicate and was living the life of a poor, inconsequential bounty hunter on a run down fishing trawler. Spike who had always dreamed of becoming an important man of great power and wealth. Dreams that he had shared as well.

Everything had been so easy, so effortless for Spike since the first day they had joined. He'd had to struggle every step of the way where Spike won confidences and friends through his charm, even amongst the older boys. He'd pushed everything there was in him to learn all that the syndicate had to teach and to become an expert with the katana, but he'd always come second to Spike. In everything Spike was chosen first. Even the one person he had foolishly believed to have preferred him to anyone else, had chosen Spike over him.

He took another shot, feeling the slow burn of his anger flowing through his veins. He would bide his time and get his revenge on all of them! He would take away everything Spike had and wanted, no matter how long it took. He would crush the old man under his boot and take his place as leader. Then he would destroy her and go after Spike for the final bloody denouement. Only then would the rage in his blood be abated.

Still, it was too early. It wasn't the right time to stage a coup yet. He wanted to lull Spike into a false sense of security, strike at him when his defenses were down.

Crushing his finished cigarette, he put the pictures away and back into his inner pocket. As much information as he had received on Spike's movements there were still some things his men weren't able to find out. He had sometimes wondered if Spike had found himself a new woman. Part of him hoped that it was so, so that he could use her to hurt Spike. Let Spike believe that he had walked off into the sunset, with a new best friend and a new woman. In time, he would learn that there was no escaping a vicious heart.

Pouring himself another drink, he looked through the mirror at the people around the room. Old men playing a game of cards, two couples deep in conversation, groups of friends around the tables- their faces animated and their voices a cacophony of happiness. He looked at his own image as well, so pale and out of place in the surroundings. It seemed that he looked black and white, while all around him was in color. Perhaps it had been a mistake to choose this particular location for the meeting, for he was getting sick of the cheery atmosphere of the pub and the insipid laughter of the patrons.

Mercifully the door opened at that moment, admitting a man in an expensive looking suit with a white rose in the lapel. Shaking the rain off his umbrella he surveyed the room, his gaze finally resting on Vicious' hunched over form. Certain he had found who he was looking for, the man headed straight for Vicious. The man sat down in the unoccupied stool next to him and raised his hand to get the attention of the barkeep, ordering a shot of bourbon. Finishing his drink, both he and Vicious left wulongs on the counter and stood to leave, commencing their business once outside.

"It's a pleasure to do business with you Vicious-san. I've heard a lot about you."

Not wanting to engage in idle chatter, Vicious looked stonily on the man as if he hadn't heard what he said.

"Do you have the stuff?"

"Yes, I think that you'll be very pleased with this shipment. First rate product in every vial."

"It better be."

"You have my employer's personal guarantee, Vicious-san. If that's all, my van's out in the new parking structure a few blocks down."

"I'm parked there also. My men are waiting with the money."

"Perfect, shall we go then?"

And with that the two men stepped onto the wet street, their breaths forming white mist in front of them as they walked on in silence. The rain was nothing more than a light drizzle now. A crash of thunder could be heard off in the distance as the wind blew new black clouds heavy with pent up rain towards the men, casting a shroud over the land.