Chapter one: The light
This particular bar was not frequented by the usual no-good scum, with bounties on their heads and emptiness in their bank accounts. This was the bar for the bounty hunters, cops, prestigious political figure heads, and leaders or top-level participants of some of the worlds most dangerous crime organizations. All of the men and women in this bar had one thing in common. They had failed, in one way or another. Some had failed in their chosen professions, but most had failed in their personal lives.
The locals accurately called the place suicide bar. It was no wonder, every person in the bar had a reason to re-evaluate the importance of their lives. Some broke under the pressure, some remained strong, hoping one day they would make it back to the lighted area of contentment. Until then they came to this bar every night. No one spoke, no TV or radio played. No one tried to pick anyone up for a one night stand or a longer no strings attached affair.
All of the occupants of the bar dwelled within themselves, reliving events that lead to their depression. The all had much to think about, but none so much as the man that sat in the corner of the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. If everyone in the building were a part of a group, a cult maybe, then he was their ring leader.
The man never drunk more than two glasses of liquor when he came every night. Tonight however, he had been in the process of drinking that one drink going on five hours now. The bartender stood a good amount away from him, drying a beer mug. Every so often he would glance his way, wondering if yet another one of his customers was going to bite the bullet- no pun intended.
He had stopped noticing the people that came into the bar. They never stayed customers more than a year. They would move on or some person they had wronged in the past would kill them. But he had noticed this guy. He wasn't overly impressive, but something about him had struck a cord of uncharacteristic compassion in the man behind the bar.
It wasn't his build, the guy was slim at best, but the bartender reckoned that he was extremely fit, just by the way he moved. It wasn't his limp which rarely showed. Only on rainy days, perhaps an old wound. It wasn't even his clothes, the baggy slightly wrinkled blue suit and the crisped yellow shirt. No . . . the bartender had seen far more impressive get-ups. It was the man's eyes, first seen briefly, when he had ordered his first drink, nearly a year ago.
From the look in the man's eyes the bartender would guess that the man had been in misery longer than any of his previous customers. He found himself daily wishing that the man would be able to face and defeat his personal dragons.
Now he wondered if the man had finally given up. He had never seen such a grim expression on his face before. It had been a bad idea to get his hopes up, the bartender decided. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
************************
Spike had a reason to be grim. He had gotten caught up with the Syndicate when he had been young and impressionable. He had only seen the folly in it when it had been too late. Then he had spent the following years trying to forget about something that refused to be forgotten, and looking for Julia. Julia . . . the woman he loved, the woman he had searched for and found, the woman that had died in his arms. Her name still had the power to rip his soul to shreds.
Spike's hand clenched around the whiskey glass. Hard enough that for a moment he thought he might have heard the glass cracking. His other hand came up to his chest and subconsciously rubbed the sword wound there. For some unknown reason his memory of Julia was permanately linked to his memory of Vicious. Julia wasn't the only one on his mind, there was also Jin and his brother and many others whom he had cared for and who had died.
Not the least among them being Blaze. Spike jerked the glass up from the table and downed the contents. Even before the glass was fully down on the bar the bartender was refilling it. Spike looked at the bartender curiously, he had never seen him move so fast.
He nodded his head slightly in thanks but he left the drink where it was, his thoughts going back to Blaze. The source of one more sadness, one more burden, and yes, one more anger in his life. The sadness because Blaze had been a dear friend of his. One he had met five years ago. Spike was a loner and took his time choosing who he called friend.
There were only two people he had ever had an instant connection with. A young kid named Roco and a serious assassin by the name of Blaze. He realized now the reason he and Roco had become fast friends was because of the personality resemblance between both Blaze and Roco. When Spike and Blaze had become friends, Blaze had shown his teasing, carefree side. Spike had known it was a facade, he had seen the deep agony in the other man's eyes. Spike closed his eyes, remembering how Blaze had looked two days ago. After all these years Blaze's eyes hadn't changed.
Even when they were friends Blaze had put up some immovable barriers between them. He would never take Spike to his home. Spike had been and still was sure that his friend had trusted him. He had decided that the reason for that particular barrier was for his own protection, and because Spike suspected that Blaze had, had someone or something at home he didn't want anyone to know about.
Which was obviously the case, Blaze had revealed this two days ago when he had been shot several times in the back by the thugs who had been chasing him. It seemed that Blaze had vowed never to take another life. He had been in the process of settling all of his debts and other business so that he could return to his "light." He had given Spike an envelope and had made him promise to protect his "light." Then Blaze had told him to leave, that the people who had shot him wouldn't hesitate to kill Spike for what he had seen.
Spike had refused to go, refused to leave his friend to die alone. Before Blaze could take his last breath, Spike had been attacked by several men dressed in black from head to toe. In the ensuing tussle he had been pushed back away from Blaze. When all the men were defeated and he was able to stumble back to where Blaze had laid, his body was no longer there.
Spike ground his teeth together and resisted the urge to drop his head on the bar surface and never open his eyes again.
He was tired of watching his friends die.
But Spike knew he was not that type of person. He couldn't just lay down, no matter how much he wanted it to end. Plus he had a mission now, a reason for living. He had to remove all danger from Blaze's "light."
Spike stuck his hand down his pants pocket and pulled out the envelope. He ripped it open and reached inside. He had waited two days because even though he felt an undeniable loyalty to his friend, he seriously didn't want this job. It had all been for nothing, he already knew he would do it regardless of the way he felt.
He pulled a piece of paper out of the envelope and turned the envelope upside down, letting a gold chain fall out. It had a small heart on the end with an engraving. On either sides of the heart were two separate gold balls each holding a precious diamond in them.
Spike looked at what he thought to be a regular piece of paper. In actuality it was a photograph. On the photograph was the face of a young girl. The face was young, but it was still the most beautiful face Spike had ever seen. Cliché though it may seem, for a second Spike couldn't breathe.
The picture was black and white, not because of it's age, but because of the photographer's preference. The girl's smile was so bright and so warm that Spike felt like he would melt from it if he stared at it for much longer. Her hair was long and thick and her eyes were blank. Spike turned the picture over and read the two words on the back.
Trac University.
That wasn't too far from where he was, and suddenly Spike was feeling anxious.
Never one to ignore his gut feelings Spike hurriedly stuffed the items back into the envelope and took out his wallet, peeling off the appropriate bills.
He shouldn't have waited two days. He thought that when Blaze had spoke of protecting his "light" he had been talking about an artifact or some kind of object. He should have known better. Blaze had never been that superficial. Spike lengthened his stride, and ignoring the disappointed look from the bartender he left the bar.
Sorry much, This is the shortest chapter I have ever written. I promise the other chapters will be longer. I would have made this chapter longer but I am exhausted. So tell me what you think so far.
This particular bar was not frequented by the usual no-good scum, with bounties on their heads and emptiness in their bank accounts. This was the bar for the bounty hunters, cops, prestigious political figure heads, and leaders or top-level participants of some of the worlds most dangerous crime organizations. All of the men and women in this bar had one thing in common. They had failed, in one way or another. Some had failed in their chosen professions, but most had failed in their personal lives.
The locals accurately called the place suicide bar. It was no wonder, every person in the bar had a reason to re-evaluate the importance of their lives. Some broke under the pressure, some remained strong, hoping one day they would make it back to the lighted area of contentment. Until then they came to this bar every night. No one spoke, no TV or radio played. No one tried to pick anyone up for a one night stand or a longer no strings attached affair.
All of the occupants of the bar dwelled within themselves, reliving events that lead to their depression. The all had much to think about, but none so much as the man that sat in the corner of the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. If everyone in the building were a part of a group, a cult maybe, then he was their ring leader.
The man never drunk more than two glasses of liquor when he came every night. Tonight however, he had been in the process of drinking that one drink going on five hours now. The bartender stood a good amount away from him, drying a beer mug. Every so often he would glance his way, wondering if yet another one of his customers was going to bite the bullet- no pun intended.
He had stopped noticing the people that came into the bar. They never stayed customers more than a year. They would move on or some person they had wronged in the past would kill them. But he had noticed this guy. He wasn't overly impressive, but something about him had struck a cord of uncharacteristic compassion in the man behind the bar.
It wasn't his build, the guy was slim at best, but the bartender reckoned that he was extremely fit, just by the way he moved. It wasn't his limp which rarely showed. Only on rainy days, perhaps an old wound. It wasn't even his clothes, the baggy slightly wrinkled blue suit and the crisped yellow shirt. No . . . the bartender had seen far more impressive get-ups. It was the man's eyes, first seen briefly, when he had ordered his first drink, nearly a year ago.
From the look in the man's eyes the bartender would guess that the man had been in misery longer than any of his previous customers. He found himself daily wishing that the man would be able to face and defeat his personal dragons.
Now he wondered if the man had finally given up. He had never seen such a grim expression on his face before. It had been a bad idea to get his hopes up, the bartender decided. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
************************
Spike had a reason to be grim. He had gotten caught up with the Syndicate when he had been young and impressionable. He had only seen the folly in it when it had been too late. Then he had spent the following years trying to forget about something that refused to be forgotten, and looking for Julia. Julia . . . the woman he loved, the woman he had searched for and found, the woman that had died in his arms. Her name still had the power to rip his soul to shreds.
Spike's hand clenched around the whiskey glass. Hard enough that for a moment he thought he might have heard the glass cracking. His other hand came up to his chest and subconsciously rubbed the sword wound there. For some unknown reason his memory of Julia was permanately linked to his memory of Vicious. Julia wasn't the only one on his mind, there was also Jin and his brother and many others whom he had cared for and who had died.
Not the least among them being Blaze. Spike jerked the glass up from the table and downed the contents. Even before the glass was fully down on the bar the bartender was refilling it. Spike looked at the bartender curiously, he had never seen him move so fast.
He nodded his head slightly in thanks but he left the drink where it was, his thoughts going back to Blaze. The source of one more sadness, one more burden, and yes, one more anger in his life. The sadness because Blaze had been a dear friend of his. One he had met five years ago. Spike was a loner and took his time choosing who he called friend.
There were only two people he had ever had an instant connection with. A young kid named Roco and a serious assassin by the name of Blaze. He realized now the reason he and Roco had become fast friends was because of the personality resemblance between both Blaze and Roco. When Spike and Blaze had become friends, Blaze had shown his teasing, carefree side. Spike had known it was a facade, he had seen the deep agony in the other man's eyes. Spike closed his eyes, remembering how Blaze had looked two days ago. After all these years Blaze's eyes hadn't changed.
Even when they were friends Blaze had put up some immovable barriers between them. He would never take Spike to his home. Spike had been and still was sure that his friend had trusted him. He had decided that the reason for that particular barrier was for his own protection, and because Spike suspected that Blaze had, had someone or something at home he didn't want anyone to know about.
Which was obviously the case, Blaze had revealed this two days ago when he had been shot several times in the back by the thugs who had been chasing him. It seemed that Blaze had vowed never to take another life. He had been in the process of settling all of his debts and other business so that he could return to his "light." He had given Spike an envelope and had made him promise to protect his "light." Then Blaze had told him to leave, that the people who had shot him wouldn't hesitate to kill Spike for what he had seen.
Spike had refused to go, refused to leave his friend to die alone. Before Blaze could take his last breath, Spike had been attacked by several men dressed in black from head to toe. In the ensuing tussle he had been pushed back away from Blaze. When all the men were defeated and he was able to stumble back to where Blaze had laid, his body was no longer there.
Spike ground his teeth together and resisted the urge to drop his head on the bar surface and never open his eyes again.
He was tired of watching his friends die.
But Spike knew he was not that type of person. He couldn't just lay down, no matter how much he wanted it to end. Plus he had a mission now, a reason for living. He had to remove all danger from Blaze's "light."
Spike stuck his hand down his pants pocket and pulled out the envelope. He ripped it open and reached inside. He had waited two days because even though he felt an undeniable loyalty to his friend, he seriously didn't want this job. It had all been for nothing, he already knew he would do it regardless of the way he felt.
He pulled a piece of paper out of the envelope and turned the envelope upside down, letting a gold chain fall out. It had a small heart on the end with an engraving. On either sides of the heart were two separate gold balls each holding a precious diamond in them.
Spike looked at what he thought to be a regular piece of paper. In actuality it was a photograph. On the photograph was the face of a young girl. The face was young, but it was still the most beautiful face Spike had ever seen. Cliché though it may seem, for a second Spike couldn't breathe.
The picture was black and white, not because of it's age, but because of the photographer's preference. The girl's smile was so bright and so warm that Spike felt like he would melt from it if he stared at it for much longer. Her hair was long and thick and her eyes were blank. Spike turned the picture over and read the two words on the back.
Trac University.
That wasn't too far from where he was, and suddenly Spike was feeling anxious.
Never one to ignore his gut feelings Spike hurriedly stuffed the items back into the envelope and took out his wallet, peeling off the appropriate bills.
He shouldn't have waited two days. He thought that when Blaze had spoke of protecting his "light" he had been talking about an artifact or some kind of object. He should have known better. Blaze had never been that superficial. Spike lengthened his stride, and ignoring the disappointed look from the bartender he left the bar.
Sorry much, This is the shortest chapter I have ever written. I promise the other chapters will be longer. I would have made this chapter longer but I am exhausted. So tell me what you think so far.