Danse Macabre

by Just-a-bad-Dream

Spike goes out 4 a bounty and he ends up versin mercs and the rating is 4 violence and language, and it cant b R cause i wrote it and im 15 and R is 17 0o

Danse Macabre Boogie

My first Fanfiction, so be kind. R and R wit observations and opinions and how it could b betta next time.

Oh yeh the first lot of writing until the break are the present. The second lot is the past and then it's mostly the past til the end.

Anything in this Fanfiction that may sound and be taken as being racist, I assure you it is not in my eyes. I was unaware that it was and I apologies for anyone that is offended by it, along with the amount of blood and death.

Though-out this Fanfiction I've inserted a lot of Spike's quotes, they are not mine, I don't own them, im merely using them to get Spike's character that little more accurate.

Midnight Blues:

The rain falls thinly, barely making a hazy curtain over the old buildings. It taps and bounces on the dark shape of that which was the swift and mighty but critically damaged Swordfish 2, which lay crumpled like tin foil behind him. The sound of rain on metal had always had a way of soothing and lulling him. It patters softly on his clothing as he sits at ease on a public bench, his legs stretched out comfortably. The light of a streetlight looms above, bathing him in its dull glow, his facial expression quite easily seen below his dark green un-kept hair. An expression vacant of emotion. It just seems to gaze up, past the light into the darkness. His mind is somewhere else. His soul is mourning the loss of a loved one. One of the few reasons he was still here. His love for this woman would never fade. Julia. He holds the stem of a red rose gently in his hand, slowly spinning it between his fingers, its crisp petals dancing in the light. And in his other, a small cigarette nearly burnt to the filter. He draws the last breathe of the sweet tobacco from the cigarette and gently blows it out into the cold air. It twirls and twists as it rises and fades into the light. He flicks the remains of the cigarette away onto the ground and closes his eyes. Just a bad dream

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The sun had long ago set. The fiery disk had sunk below the man made horizon that was the urban jungle, bringing on the night. The stars had shined brightly for a brief moment and the figure had lifted his head and stared up into the abyss. For centuries men had looked up into this sky and could only wonder what was up there. But in the present and future this sky has been explored and explained. There are no mysteries hidden in the stars in this day and age. Shame really he thinks. The clouds slowly rolled over, like waves crashing on the beach of the sky. They came together, falling into themselves, boiling and becoming darker shades of gray until finally as black as the sky that silhouetted it. Time seemed to stand still as for a brief moment there was nothing but and eternity of darkness. A streetlight, hanging far above him flickered and switched on. Almost instantly, this triggered the rain, a gentle drizzle that seemed to isolate him from the rest of the world. Thats the way he liked it. It chilled him to the bone, much more comforting then the blood-warm rain of the tropics. The echoing shot of a gun sounded in the darkness. He didn't even look towards where it came from. His wounds wept tears of scarlet, mingling with the tears of the sky. He smiled sadly into the lonely darkness and lit a cigarette.

And before this................

Spike.......wake up...........Spike?........SPIKE!!!!! Spike sat up groggily, his head ringing from Jets gruff voice. He was in the living room, Jet standing over him. He shook his head and his messed up hair wiggled. "Do you have to be so loud?" Spike asked still half asleep. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. "There's a new bounty out, could be worth our while," said Jet with a big smile. "I don't feel like it," answered Spike as he dropped his head back onto the couch and closed his eyes.
Jet's grin got wider "yep, they say there's a bounty of about 35,000,000 if we capture the whole gang, dead or alive." Spike lifted his head up from the couch and blinked a few times. His brain began to process this new information and the results were looking pretty good. With that much money we could get some descent food around her................REAL BEEF!.......

"Alright, you've got my attention, who are they?" Spike rose from the couch and started stretching again.

"To the 'Underworld,' they go by the name 'première escouade de mort'". Underworld being the big and small time crime units operating under the police radar, mercenaries, syndicates, assassins et cetera.

"Premiere ecsowhat?" blurted Spike with a blank look on his face.

"Première escouade de mort" Jet repeated,

"its French for 'First Death Squad.'"

"Well, that doesn't leave much to the imagination," said Spike dryly.

"Yeh, so far the premiere have at least fifty kills to their name, mostly other armed members of local gangs but in some cases, unarmed civilians."

"What would they want to kill civilians for?" asked Spike.

"Jellyfish, smellyfish, jellydish, bellymish........." Ed entered the room whilst doing her impersonation of a jellyfish, wiggling her arms back and forth at her sides and bouncing up and down. "

Who knows, spare change, or maybe just for kicks" Jet answered.

"Ed knows where bounty heads are!" Ed piped up. Both men turned to her simultaneously.

"Well?" asked Spike expectantly.

"The Boogie Jellyfish" yelled Ed as she continued waving her arms.

"Where'd you get that idea?" asked Spike weirdly.

"Computer knows all," answered Ed shaking her arms now in a ghostly fashion.

".....Why would a gang like that hang out at the Boogie jellyfish?" questioned Jet.

"Bounty heads also hired killers Ed guesses" Spike reached over, picked up his IMI Jericho 941 pistol and slid it into his jacket,

"Hmmm, the Boogie Jellyfish would be a good place to pick up customers, isolated, you could talk about anything there and nobody would squeal. Maybe that's what the random civilian deaths are about" Jet guessed. Spike closed the door behind him as he walked slowly to his modified racer the Swordfish 2.

"What do you think Spike"? Jet turned around to see no one behind him.

"Spike, You don't even know where the Boogie jellyfish is!"

"Im familiar with it, earth right?" Spike called back.

"yeh, still, you don't even know how many there are or what they look like, you could be killed!"

shouted jet at the door again. Spike smiled and muttered,

"whatever happens, happens."

Lets Jam:

"Hi, welcome to the Boogie Jellyfish, the only club in this area, we're open 24/7, enjoy!" Spike pushed past the attractive young woman waiting at the door to greet guests. This part of earth was desolate. The rubble of urban society lay everywhere, untouched for decades. This club was the only inhabited place for miles in every direction. Yet the streets hid something beneath their deserted shell. For at night, the streets and alleyways were alive with people. Gangs, dealers, drug addicts and most of all homeless people. Spike didn't plan on being here at night. Yet no bounty came without a fight, or at least a flee. That's why Spike came prepared, an extra clip for his handgun and a very small haversack. These types of clubs allow any weapons to be carried in with the guest. In a land of no law, anything goes. Spike sat down at the bar at the far end of the club past the booths of talking men and women on the left, the small dance floor and the saxophone player standing on a stage that took up the right hand side of the club. Spike ordered a beer in a schooner glass, paid for it and slowly sipped it. In the corner of his eye he saw a group of men occupying a full two booths talking quietly. At least twenty by Spikes count. There's more then I thought. Their guns were anything but hidden, some had AK-72's and MP5K's laying across they're laps, others laid their assorted pistols on the table, next to there beverages. There clothing wasn't uniform, trench coats with long dark pants or t-shirts and shorts, different colors and logos. They're skin colors were far from the same as well. Black, white, olive, yellow, it was obvious these guys were mercs. Maybe they are like the French Foreign Legion? Thought Spike. The French Foreign Legion consists of men from all nationalities that join to fight for France. They are men who have given up on life, or have committed crimes and want they're identifications deleted. They're identities are taken and in place they are given a gun. Maybe this is like a rogue unit of that? Spike's thought pattern was cut short by the sound of music. He turned in his seat to face the saxophone player up on stage. He was in his late thirties, streaks of silver ran though his full black hair. His face was weathered by the waves of time and from his instrument came a sad, soul touching melody. A sax solo. If the pattering of rain couldn't relax him, a slow sax solo could. He always had a heart for jazz, but never told anyone, even Jet. He closed his eyes and smiled. The song cut through him like a knife, the soft, sad, lonely tune embraced him and he- The sound of an opening door awoke him from his trance. He eyed the corner of the room, where the toilets were. Three men, the mercs walked in with a man in a suit. Spike put his beer down, rose from his stool and followed slowly. He walked in and stood in front of a urinal. While he did his business four men behind him were talking, the mercs. Their voices where low, they hadn't yet realized that Spike was listening. "10, 000 now, 10, 000 after" said one of the mercs, an Asian man with an evil grin.
The suit was hesitant but agreed. Spike slowly turned his head to get a better view when he caught the eye of one of the mercs. He zipped up his fly hurriedly and went to the sink. One of the mercs walked up behind him and placed a small Glock pistol to his temple. Spike saw him in the mirror. The bigger of the other two, an African American man, bald. His muscles bulged through his tight white t-shirt. He looked menacing and could mean business, yet spike allowed the gun to sit at his temple. "Do you want to die runt?" questioned the merc, his mouth now hard in a scowl. Spike stared at him calmly through the mirror before answering without looking away. "We've all gotta go sometime, as for me, i'm a man who's died once already." Spike's gaze never changed as he lifted his hand and pushed the gun into the mirror using the back of his hand. The glass exploded with the force of spike's arm. He then elbowed the man in the stomach, backfist to the face, elbow, backfist, elbow, backfist in a blur of movement. The suit, terrified as a small child ran out of the room. The other two mercs drew their MP5K's and waited for a clear shot, the mercs large back and shoulders protecting Spike. Spike slid from in front of the African American man and grabbed him from behind like a human shield. He was barley conscious, his nose broken and bleeding. Spike drew his pistol and loosed a few rounds into the air, as his shield was too bulky to shoot around without being shot himself. This started up the subs, from no more then eight feet away. Spike's 'human shield' literally fell to pieces as his body was riddled with the 9mm rounds. Blood spattered out from the corpse bathing the floor and the mercs in his still warm blood. The corpse vibrated in Spike's hand but was easily held thanks to all the bulk and muscle. Shit, bail now or there wont be much left of this body to protect you thought Spike. He used all his strength to push the corpse away from him and into the mercs. Using this distraction he sprinted out of the toilets, slipping and sliding on the blood. "Fuck, out of the frying pan and into the fire!" Yelled spike as he was met with more machine gun fire from the mercs companions. They must have heard the sound of gunfire and now they were looking for the reason, and he was it. He ran head on into hell but luckily the blood on his shoes made him slip and fall onto his back and slide across the dance floor and behind the counter at the bar. He pressed his back against the counter, and used the mirror behind the liquor bottles to see the battlefield behind him. The mercs began firing wildly, their bullets slapping hard against the bar where he was sitting earlier. Liquor bottles popped and exploded as the fire rose up to the where the ingredients for mixed drinks were kept. The mirror shattered and fragments of broken glass showered him. Fuck, there goes my window into hell. The two men from the toilets burst out from the closed door only to be swiftly met with carefully placed rounds to their foreheads. Their eyes rolled back, showing whites and they fell like stones into the blood slick floor. Spike put down his gun again. The walls were shredded with long raking scythes of arcing automatic gunfire. Their ammunition seemed limitless, some mercs stopping for only seconds to reload and begin their destruction again. Empty shell cases littered the dance floor as they were ejected out from the side of the firearms with lightening speed. Spike, sat there helpless for a moment, his mind racing, trying to think of some sort of division or something to give him- A smile appeared on his lips as he gripped the bag next to him. He had totally forgotten about the small haversack over his shoulder. Some how it had managed to stay on throughout this time. He opened the top and took out two palm-sized grenades with a six second delay. They were green and totally circular except for a small pin in the top. He put one in each hand and held them up to his mouth. Diversion one, coming up. He pulled both pins out with his teeth and lobbed them behind him over the counter and onto the dance floor. "Grenade, prendre couverture!" yelled one of the mercs as the grenades bounced and rolled across the floor. Using this as cover Spike stood up and aimed his gun right handed and scanned the scene. Empty, the civilians had bailed as soon as they heard gunfire and the mercs had taken cover behind tables and benches, preparing for the explosions. "Bloody French, always know what they are doing" muttered Spike as he holstered his gun. He ran swiftly out of the cover of the counter to where the two mercs guns laid in blood.

Danse Macabre:

He grabbed the two subs just as the grenades went off. Twin detonations, obliterating the middle of the dance floor, leaving nothing but a deep smoking crater. Spike ran towards the bar, MP5K in each hand as the mercs rose from their hiding places and lifted their guns. Spike leapt from the floor and landed shoulder, flank and hip onto the counter, using his bloody clothing as a lubricant to keep him sliding over the counter. He flicked the guns to automatic instead of three round bursts and let them rip. Spike's submachine guns furiously spat out rounds at the unsuspecting mercs. It cut through them like piano wire as the rounds left a line of ripped wallpaper and brick from one side of the building to the other. They don't even have bulletproof vests on! Thought Spike surprised. The majority of the mercs didn't even get a shot out before they were hit, the others who did, hit the pock ridden wood of the counter or glasses and bottles that weren't already blown to shit. Spike slid of the counter and hit the floor roughly. He was out of rounds on his left MP5K and he threw it away. He aimed his other at a wounded merc who had been hit in the shoulder but still had a pistol in his right. Spike cut into him with the remaining rounds of the sub. The merc shuddered in a series of convulsions as his body was punctured deeply by the rounds. "Danse macabre, fucker" murmured Spike as the body shook violently. In the military, when a soldier is shot continuously with a firearm and the body convulses, it is called 'le danse macabre,' which is French for 'the gruesome dance'. Because the body appears to be dancing. The corpse fell in a spray of blood. The remaining mercs who had barley survived the previous attack stood gasping at the hunk of meat on the ground. It was unrecognizable; its face had been ripped of by the ferocity of the rounds. The mercs turned and ran for their lives, as they knew they too would be given no mercy. Spike stood up and threw away the empty sub. He pulled out his pistol, shouldered his bag and tried to run after them. A sudden shot of pain ran up his whole leg and flank and he stopped and looked down. Blood dripped slowly from the wound in his thigh soaking his pants, yet it was only a flesh wound, he was lucky it hadn't hit an artery. He bound the wound with a piece of a dead mercs shirt near the entrance and stepped out into the sun. It was early afternoon, the sun had barely begun to set. He looked around for signs of the mercs but all he saw was abandoned streets and his racer. Wait, his racer. He stumbled and limped as fast as he could to his racer. But he was not fast enough. A moment later the Swordfish 2 erupted in a devastating explosion of fire and metal. It twisted and burned and slowly tipped over onto its side. Spike's left eyelid flickered and twitched as he watched the fuel tank catch alight. It blew with a sound wave that shook the ground sending the ship tumbling over again before resting finally in a pile of slow cracking metal. He looked to see a small fat man standing beside an old Ute. He looked European and had a long RPG rocket launcher laid down over his shoulder. A shrill cry came from the small man as he saw the ship burn. He dropped the empty launcher in a hurry and jumped into the back of the Ute with a heap of other people, laughing the whole way there. THE MERCS, YOU ASSHOLES!!!! Spike's anger flared and his body shook with rage. veins rose from the top of his forehead as his face filled with blood. He ran towards the Ute, the pain in his thigh forgotten, he drew his pistol and fired randomly at the escape car. It turned and sped of, the bullets bouncing of its metal harmlessly. But Spike was nowhere near finished yet, he still had grenades. He dropped the pistol and opened the haversack while still running, he pulled out a grenade ripped the pin out with his teeth and threw it as hard as he could. He continued to do this until the road all around the swerving Ute was erupting in clouds of smoke and tar. He finally hit home after about 7 grenades. It landed right underneath the rear axle before exploding. The back of the Ute was lifted up into the air and the car turned sharply on its front axle. The mercs tried to get out of the back but it was to late, the Ute collided with the side of a building. It hit vertically, sparking the fuel tank and exploding. A dark cloud of fuel smoke rose up into the sky and the bodies slowly burned. Shrapnel flew from the wreck flying past Spike and some lightly scratching him, Spike didnt seem to notice it. "Shit, there goes.......the bounty for those guys......the fire will melt........their faces to putty.......oh well, justice is.......served," said spike between deep gasps for breath. He lit a cigarette and stumbled back slowly to the club. He counted only nine bodies out of the original twenty when he got there. At least nine that could be recognized and taken in for the bounty. I wonder if they'll take nearly half the gang? Thought Spike. He looked around the club that only about ten minutes ago was alive with music and the murmur of people. Yet in that short time span twenty men had their lives taken from them, over one hundred glasses and liquor bottles were broken and a once decent looking club was totally and utterly shot to shit.

Spikes eye caught on a hint of red in the corner of the room. He walked towards one of the booths and looked on the seat. There sitting in all its beauty and splendor was a long stemmed rose, untouched by the sad atmosphere that lay around it. He gazed at the rose for a moment, his eye projecting images of a past that could not be forgotten. A groaning brought him back to the present. He closed his eyes tight, then opened them and blinked the images away. Spike picked up the rose and turned to the sound. It came from one of the mercs who miraculously survived. He was African American, and looked much younger then the other mercs, and his eyes looked kinder then the hard cold stare to the others. His legs were useless, caught up in the gunfire and ripped to shreds. Spike stood over him for a moment, silently, and then threw him a cigarette. He caught it, lit it, and took a deep breath. Spike turned and walked to the door. "Hey, you" called the merc. Spike turned and looked at him silently. "Who are you anyway?" asked the merc weakly. Spike smiled and replied, "me? Im just an old-fashioned cowboy."
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The sound of a ship fills the night air as something comes towards him. Spike stands up from the bench and limps to the road. Jet's ship the Hammerhead hovers and sits itself down in the middle of the asphalt. The cockpit opens and Jet looks at him.

"Hey, how's it going?" asks Jet

"Not bad," replied Spike. "

Couldn't get through to you, your frequencies gone haywire."

"The radio was in the ship."

Spike looks around at the large dark shape on the ground.

"What the hell happened here?" asks Jet slightly alarmed, seeing the condition of the Swordfish 2.

"I don't want to talk about it, the whole damn thing gives me a headache."

"Ohk, where are the 'Première escouade de mort' then?"

"Inside, nine bodies," replies Spike.

"Was that all of them?" Spike went silent for a moment.

"We'll talk about it later, just get someone out here to pick them up"

"Already on the way."

"Good, lets get back to the ship, I should have never got up this morning."

And with that Spike throws the red rose over his shoulder behind him and steps up into the Hammerhead. The rose falls and lands into a puddle on the asphalt. The rain drops gently onto its petals as they waver slightly with the breeze of the leaving Hammerhead. "

Si long, et au revoir" whispers Spike.

Cya space cowboy you've earned some sleep

That might of ended a bit abruptly for some people but my creative juices were runnin dry. 0o

Here's the meaning of some of the words if you don't get my lingo, technical names or just foreign languages.

Merc = mercenary Glock 9mm = pistol used by Austrian army and police, 18 round magazine AK74 = assault rifle with 30 round magazine (Russian) 5.45 mm MP5K = small version of MP5 (submachine gun with 15-30 or 45 round magazine (German) 9mm Sub = submachine gun Round = bullet Backfist = using back of hand and knuckles to hit (break nose) Si long, et au revoir = So long, and goodbye (French) Grenade, prendre couverture! = Grenade, take cover! (French)