Killing Mr. Dragon
When he woke up Vicious found himself tied to a chair. Remembering what had happened he wondered where Julia had managed to find this chair. It was from the business room. He could see the cool light from the navigation board framing her figure as if it were a halo. Suddenly and violently, he hated himself and wondered how much she hated him. She was stronger than him. As if she'd heard his thoughts, she turned to him. Her eyes were sad.
"I'm doing this for you more than anyone," she said. "You would have made a different decision if I didn't start this."
"No I wouldn't have," he muttered. He braved a glance at her.
"When I untie you, will you come with me and help me, or will I have to do this alone?" she asked.
"He'll kill you," he wheezed.
"Better than him haven't managed yet," she whispered back. "Are you going to argue with me, or plan?"
He didn't answer. She left her seat, knelt down by him, waited for his eyes to meet hers. She kissed him, softly, and rested her cheek against his.
"It fucks every thing up," she said, "when you care. When you think of saving your friend, instead of getting the job done, that friend is a lot more likely to die. When it's a lover." she reflected on the word, and drew back to look at him. "Don't think you don't mean as much to me as I do to you. We don't have to explain to each other what's between us. But we don't have to let anyone change it." She kissed his forehead on her way to standing up. "Okay?"
Again, he didn't answer, but he knew he would be ready when the ship docked.
* * *
The cathedral was lined with gunmen. Julia could sense them even from outside. But they had anticipated this. Both Julia and Vicious wore gas masks. They knew his father probably anticipated this. Vicious carried two katanas. Julia carried two guns disguised as the heels of her boots. Vicious took out the fly-walkers, handed a pair to Julia. Slowly, and silently, they began to climb the outside of the cathedral wall. Every stained glass window held the hidden presence of the gunmen. Probability opened like a constellation in Julia's head. There would be five at the top window they planned on coming in through. She told this to Vicious, who nodded.
There were five people at the window. Vicious took care of them silently. Julia marveled at his speed. Her stomach turned when she saw they were all wearing gas masks. The poison would be useless, then. Still, no one knew they were there, yet. Julia crawled towards the balcony, and through the bars she could make up the cross Vicious's father kept Spike on. She held out a dropper of acid and calculated the exact angle they needed to fall to dissolve the wire his wrists were wrapped it. She hoped he'd have the wherewithal not to let on he'd been freed. But then, having your eye poked out takes a toll on your wherewithal. She let the acid drop. Nothing seemed to shift out of balance downstairs. Behind her, Vicious was making his way through the lackeys, knowing poison would only make their presence known.
Julia walked back to the window and climbed down as quickly as possible. Ten, fifteen, twenty. She calculated the amount of lackeys Vicious had made his way through. She walked around the cathedral and in through the front door. Vicious's father was standing at attention as though he knew she'd come at this exact moment. She could see Spike behind him, playing dead until she made a move.
"So you came," he said. He was the most composed she'd seen him. She thought, for a moment, this was how Vicious would turn out if this was allowed to go on. "I suppose my son is taking down my guards at the top?" At this, there was gunfire. She hoped she hadn't left him too much to handle. Mr. Dragon gestured at the guard who had a gun to Spike's head. "Don't try anything." He walked towards her, picked up a strand of her hair and dropped it. He walked around her, looking for places she could hide a gun in her black catsuit. There weren't any. He made a big deal out of searching her anyway. There was still an occasional pop from a gun. Mr. Dragon was close to her, and whispered in her ear, "Of course, you will try something, so I better do this quick." Suddenly, there was a knife at her throat. She saw Spike cartwheel off the cross, so she took the gun from the heel of her boot and shot Vicious's father in the heart once, and then in the head. She dove for a corner, took the other gun from the heel of her boot, and tossed it to Spike. They started working their way up the levels. Julia wondered why anyone was even bothering to fight now. After all, this probably made Vicious the leader of the Syndicate. She heard Vicious groan, upstairs, directly after she'd heard a gunshot. Then speed took over her. She shot at men she was blind to, ran past gunmen and left them to Spike. It seemed like an hour before she found Vicious, but it was probably only a few minutes. He was stepping from a gunman he'd just decapitated. Blood stained his shoulder. He smiled when he saw her. They nodded at each other, and turned around to meet Spike.
He was two levels down. Julia could make him out in a corner, exchanging shots with two gunmen. One of them turned to her and shot. The shot brushed the side of her stomach, tearing the leather and skin. She stumbled, the gunman smiled, and while he was indulging in his victory she shot him. Spike was above her, pulling her up.
"Are you alright? Have you been shot?" he asked. Vicious was next to him, unconcerned and nearly proud. There were no more gunmen left.
"La Mouette," Vicious said. "A swordfighting move. I've never seen it used in gunfighting. Very impressive." Julia couldn't stop the immediate smile that came to her face. She straightened up, and Spike stood back to survey them. His eye was a bloody scab, and his expression was unreadable. "So," said Spike, lighting a cigarette, "you two are a couple now, is that right?" If Julia wasn't mistaken he sounded almost bitter.
* * * Control over the Red Dragon Syndicate went not to Vicious, but Mao Yenrai. There were always people trying to take power from the blood that ran the syndicate, and Mao made the case that since Vicious had made the move that killed his own father and sixty-three Red Dragon men, he should be disgraced, not rewarded, along with Spike and Julia. The elders accepted the proposition, but the practice of their decision was different than the one Mao proposed. In fact, Mao had not meant his proposal to be carried out exactly. Both he and the elders had known how Dragon men train their sons for years, and both parties had wanted the practice abolished. If anything, they were grateful to Vicious's play. Just the same, they feared him, and wanted to test him before they would give control of the Syndicate to him. Still, the decision rankled in Vicious's belly. He knew himself to be superior to Mao. He had the Dragon arrogance, and didn't like obeying authority. After all, his introduction to authority had been painful, to say the least.
Julia was relieved that Vicious's position remained inferior, knowing there was more of a chance for them to escape. She didn't know how to tell him her desire to leave the syndicate, knowing she would need to expose her betrayal. She was also worried about what Vicious might do to Spike if he found out.
Spike had proposed drinks at a local bar on the outskirts of town. It was a bar he'd frequented before he became mixed up in the Syndicate, or spying, however you wanted to term it. He was dressed down, in a leather jacket and jeans. Julia, knowing the area, wore an unremarkable short dress and jacket. Vicious was the only one who stuck out, in a long jacket and silken, white scarf.
Spike was waiting for them when they walked in, arm and arm. Julia faltered at his stare, leveled accusingly at her. He looked as if he'd never even lost his eye. The only difference was that one was off by a shade. For a moment, she was unsettled by the difference between Spike and Vicious. Spike had been willing to die. Vicious had been willing to let him. But then, who could offer someone they love as a sacrifice? She shook her head, and they took seats across from him.
Spike sucked on his cigarette. "You're just so cute together," he remarked drily.
Julia looked at Vicious. He was smirking.
"First round's on me," Spike said. "You did save my life." Again, his view favored Julia. He nodded at her, and she wondered what he meant by it. He stood, returned shortly with two glasses of Martian beer and a shot of Martian vodka. They took their glasses. "A toast," said Spike.
"To what?" Vicious asked.
Spike was at a loss. Then he said, "Fucked up shit."
Vicious and Julia grinned. They lifted their glasses, which clinked together. Then drank them, and began to talk as if it had always been the three of them, on the inside and the outside of whatever it was they were in. Spike and Vicious played pool against each other. Julia watched, noting the easy camaraderie that she hadn't seen either of them share with anyone else. Vicious won. Spike blamed his eye, but Julia thought he'd let Vicious win. Then Vicious went to the back to relieve himself and Spike came to her table, standing and looking down at her.
"I've got to hand it to you," he said. "You're not half bad." He realized it wasn't as conciliatory as he'd meant it to be. "I mean that. You saved my life." He sipped his beer experimentally. "But. I don't know what the fuck you're doing with Vicious. I mean, have you thought about-"
"Not now," said Julia. "This is something we should talk about later."
Spike nodded, and put his glass down on the table so hard the beer it was nearly emptied of sloshed over the sides. Just then, Vicious returned. They ordered another round, and another, until all of them had forgotten their most pressing concerns. The bartender had to kick them out, and when they left, they were laughing. It was raining. Vicious grabbed a newspaper and held it over Julia's head. He pulled her to him and kissed her cheek. She pulled away, giggling, and ran into Spike. Surprised, he nearly sat down on the cement. He saved himself from the fall and ran after her, grinning as she eluded him and then escaped him by encircling her arms around Vicious's waist. Vicious leaned his head towards her, and Spike thought of how odd it was for Vicious to demonstrate that kind of gentleness, without any awkwardness. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and realized that whatever was between them, was real, was a relief to them. He wouldn't have minded saying, if anyone had asked him, that he was a little bit jealous.
Julia returned to her house that night. She's been given a solo mission early the next day, while Vicious and Spike had time to recover from their respective rooms. So Vicious was alone in his room when the bird came. A chill went down his spine seeing it. He was sure it was a bomb, or would emit poison, but then it cocked its head, opened its mouth, and burped out a holographic recording of his father. He was much younger. He looked saner. He looked like Vicious.
"Vicious," he said. "All I will ever want from you is to kill me. I never killed my own father, and for that I didn't have the chance to become a man. But, if you're hearing this recording, you've killed me. Thank you. The bird is yours. You know what it can do." The holographic image was preoccupied with its feel, and its voice was gravelly when it said, "I love you, son. But this life always turns love into something horrible."
When he woke up Vicious found himself tied to a chair. Remembering what had happened he wondered where Julia had managed to find this chair. It was from the business room. He could see the cool light from the navigation board framing her figure as if it were a halo. Suddenly and violently, he hated himself and wondered how much she hated him. She was stronger than him. As if she'd heard his thoughts, she turned to him. Her eyes were sad.
"I'm doing this for you more than anyone," she said. "You would have made a different decision if I didn't start this."
"No I wouldn't have," he muttered. He braved a glance at her.
"When I untie you, will you come with me and help me, or will I have to do this alone?" she asked.
"He'll kill you," he wheezed.
"Better than him haven't managed yet," she whispered back. "Are you going to argue with me, or plan?"
He didn't answer. She left her seat, knelt down by him, waited for his eyes to meet hers. She kissed him, softly, and rested her cheek against his.
"It fucks every thing up," she said, "when you care. When you think of saving your friend, instead of getting the job done, that friend is a lot more likely to die. When it's a lover." she reflected on the word, and drew back to look at him. "Don't think you don't mean as much to me as I do to you. We don't have to explain to each other what's between us. But we don't have to let anyone change it." She kissed his forehead on her way to standing up. "Okay?"
Again, he didn't answer, but he knew he would be ready when the ship docked.
* * *
The cathedral was lined with gunmen. Julia could sense them even from outside. But they had anticipated this. Both Julia and Vicious wore gas masks. They knew his father probably anticipated this. Vicious carried two katanas. Julia carried two guns disguised as the heels of her boots. Vicious took out the fly-walkers, handed a pair to Julia. Slowly, and silently, they began to climb the outside of the cathedral wall. Every stained glass window held the hidden presence of the gunmen. Probability opened like a constellation in Julia's head. There would be five at the top window they planned on coming in through. She told this to Vicious, who nodded.
There were five people at the window. Vicious took care of them silently. Julia marveled at his speed. Her stomach turned when she saw they were all wearing gas masks. The poison would be useless, then. Still, no one knew they were there, yet. Julia crawled towards the balcony, and through the bars she could make up the cross Vicious's father kept Spike on. She held out a dropper of acid and calculated the exact angle they needed to fall to dissolve the wire his wrists were wrapped it. She hoped he'd have the wherewithal not to let on he'd been freed. But then, having your eye poked out takes a toll on your wherewithal. She let the acid drop. Nothing seemed to shift out of balance downstairs. Behind her, Vicious was making his way through the lackeys, knowing poison would only make their presence known.
Julia walked back to the window and climbed down as quickly as possible. Ten, fifteen, twenty. She calculated the amount of lackeys Vicious had made his way through. She walked around the cathedral and in through the front door. Vicious's father was standing at attention as though he knew she'd come at this exact moment. She could see Spike behind him, playing dead until she made a move.
"So you came," he said. He was the most composed she'd seen him. She thought, for a moment, this was how Vicious would turn out if this was allowed to go on. "I suppose my son is taking down my guards at the top?" At this, there was gunfire. She hoped she hadn't left him too much to handle. Mr. Dragon gestured at the guard who had a gun to Spike's head. "Don't try anything." He walked towards her, picked up a strand of her hair and dropped it. He walked around her, looking for places she could hide a gun in her black catsuit. There weren't any. He made a big deal out of searching her anyway. There was still an occasional pop from a gun. Mr. Dragon was close to her, and whispered in her ear, "Of course, you will try something, so I better do this quick." Suddenly, there was a knife at her throat. She saw Spike cartwheel off the cross, so she took the gun from the heel of her boot and shot Vicious's father in the heart once, and then in the head. She dove for a corner, took the other gun from the heel of her boot, and tossed it to Spike. They started working their way up the levels. Julia wondered why anyone was even bothering to fight now. After all, this probably made Vicious the leader of the Syndicate. She heard Vicious groan, upstairs, directly after she'd heard a gunshot. Then speed took over her. She shot at men she was blind to, ran past gunmen and left them to Spike. It seemed like an hour before she found Vicious, but it was probably only a few minutes. He was stepping from a gunman he'd just decapitated. Blood stained his shoulder. He smiled when he saw her. They nodded at each other, and turned around to meet Spike.
He was two levels down. Julia could make him out in a corner, exchanging shots with two gunmen. One of them turned to her and shot. The shot brushed the side of her stomach, tearing the leather and skin. She stumbled, the gunman smiled, and while he was indulging in his victory she shot him. Spike was above her, pulling her up.
"Are you alright? Have you been shot?" he asked. Vicious was next to him, unconcerned and nearly proud. There were no more gunmen left.
"La Mouette," Vicious said. "A swordfighting move. I've never seen it used in gunfighting. Very impressive." Julia couldn't stop the immediate smile that came to her face. She straightened up, and Spike stood back to survey them. His eye was a bloody scab, and his expression was unreadable. "So," said Spike, lighting a cigarette, "you two are a couple now, is that right?" If Julia wasn't mistaken he sounded almost bitter.
* * * Control over the Red Dragon Syndicate went not to Vicious, but Mao Yenrai. There were always people trying to take power from the blood that ran the syndicate, and Mao made the case that since Vicious had made the move that killed his own father and sixty-three Red Dragon men, he should be disgraced, not rewarded, along with Spike and Julia. The elders accepted the proposition, but the practice of their decision was different than the one Mao proposed. In fact, Mao had not meant his proposal to be carried out exactly. Both he and the elders had known how Dragon men train their sons for years, and both parties had wanted the practice abolished. If anything, they were grateful to Vicious's play. Just the same, they feared him, and wanted to test him before they would give control of the Syndicate to him. Still, the decision rankled in Vicious's belly. He knew himself to be superior to Mao. He had the Dragon arrogance, and didn't like obeying authority. After all, his introduction to authority had been painful, to say the least.
Julia was relieved that Vicious's position remained inferior, knowing there was more of a chance for them to escape. She didn't know how to tell him her desire to leave the syndicate, knowing she would need to expose her betrayal. She was also worried about what Vicious might do to Spike if he found out.
Spike had proposed drinks at a local bar on the outskirts of town. It was a bar he'd frequented before he became mixed up in the Syndicate, or spying, however you wanted to term it. He was dressed down, in a leather jacket and jeans. Julia, knowing the area, wore an unremarkable short dress and jacket. Vicious was the only one who stuck out, in a long jacket and silken, white scarf.
Spike was waiting for them when they walked in, arm and arm. Julia faltered at his stare, leveled accusingly at her. He looked as if he'd never even lost his eye. The only difference was that one was off by a shade. For a moment, she was unsettled by the difference between Spike and Vicious. Spike had been willing to die. Vicious had been willing to let him. But then, who could offer someone they love as a sacrifice? She shook her head, and they took seats across from him.
Spike sucked on his cigarette. "You're just so cute together," he remarked drily.
Julia looked at Vicious. He was smirking.
"First round's on me," Spike said. "You did save my life." Again, his view favored Julia. He nodded at her, and she wondered what he meant by it. He stood, returned shortly with two glasses of Martian beer and a shot of Martian vodka. They took their glasses. "A toast," said Spike.
"To what?" Vicious asked.
Spike was at a loss. Then he said, "Fucked up shit."
Vicious and Julia grinned. They lifted their glasses, which clinked together. Then drank them, and began to talk as if it had always been the three of them, on the inside and the outside of whatever it was they were in. Spike and Vicious played pool against each other. Julia watched, noting the easy camaraderie that she hadn't seen either of them share with anyone else. Vicious won. Spike blamed his eye, but Julia thought he'd let Vicious win. Then Vicious went to the back to relieve himself and Spike came to her table, standing and looking down at her.
"I've got to hand it to you," he said. "You're not half bad." He realized it wasn't as conciliatory as he'd meant it to be. "I mean that. You saved my life." He sipped his beer experimentally. "But. I don't know what the fuck you're doing with Vicious. I mean, have you thought about-"
"Not now," said Julia. "This is something we should talk about later."
Spike nodded, and put his glass down on the table so hard the beer it was nearly emptied of sloshed over the sides. Just then, Vicious returned. They ordered another round, and another, until all of them had forgotten their most pressing concerns. The bartender had to kick them out, and when they left, they were laughing. It was raining. Vicious grabbed a newspaper and held it over Julia's head. He pulled her to him and kissed her cheek. She pulled away, giggling, and ran into Spike. Surprised, he nearly sat down on the cement. He saved himself from the fall and ran after her, grinning as she eluded him and then escaped him by encircling her arms around Vicious's waist. Vicious leaned his head towards her, and Spike thought of how odd it was for Vicious to demonstrate that kind of gentleness, without any awkwardness. He took out a cigarette, lit it, and realized that whatever was between them, was real, was a relief to them. He wouldn't have minded saying, if anyone had asked him, that he was a little bit jealous.
Julia returned to her house that night. She's been given a solo mission early the next day, while Vicious and Spike had time to recover from their respective rooms. So Vicious was alone in his room when the bird came. A chill went down his spine seeing it. He was sure it was a bomb, or would emit poison, but then it cocked its head, opened its mouth, and burped out a holographic recording of his father. He was much younger. He looked saner. He looked like Vicious.
"Vicious," he said. "All I will ever want from you is to kill me. I never killed my own father, and for that I didn't have the chance to become a man. But, if you're hearing this recording, you've killed me. Thank you. The bird is yours. You know what it can do." The holographic image was preoccupied with its feel, and its voice was gravelly when it said, "I love you, son. But this life always turns love into something horrible."