Prologue
Open 24 Hours
It was just... that he was just all alone. He couldn't enjoy a game with anyone else. Like living in a dream... that's the kind of man he was.
"Jack, wake up." Jet said, nudging me a little as I slept on the couch.
I slowly got up, grabbed a set of headphones and a CD player (one of my prized possessions, due to its rarity), and headed out.
I got into a van Jet had rented. We spent the money on it because, according to him, Earth vehicles were "the classics".
Spike was sitting in the back of the van, as well. Like me, he was listening to music on his headphones.
He pulled his headphones off for a moment.
"What are you listening to?" he asked.
"This jazz band out of New Japan." I replied. "The Seatbelts. Heard of 'em?"
Spike smiled. "What are you listening to, 'Clutch'?"
"Nah, that's too up-tempo. I'm too sleepy for 'Clutch'."
"'Too Good, Too Bad'?"
I grinned back.
Spike slipped his headphones back on. "I like 'Clutch' better. It has a cooler bass line."
"Yeah, yeah." I said, and put my headphones back on.
Eventually, the van came to a halt. Spike and I climbed out, and started to lazily stroll towards the convenience store.
Jet headed into an alley next to the store. "I'm gonna head in the back." he said over the radio, which was patched into the headphones. "There are three guys inside the store, and a handful of civilians. Try not to get any innocent people shot, okay?"
There was a large brute of a man at the front door.
"This store's closed. You two better go somewhere else." he said.
Spike looked down at his shoes, as did the guard. It was a trick; Spike brought up his foot, nailing the man in the chin. He went down instantly.
"Nice." I said. Spike grinned.
We stumbled into the store, and started sifting through the aisles.
"Hey! You two!" a man with a gun, sitting on the front counter, said.
I kept looking around the cold area. I pulled out a six-pack of beer, and inspected it.
"Yo! Headphone-boy! Are ya deaf!"
Spike pulled his headphones down, and brought up a small toy.
"How much is this?" Spike asked.
He fired off the sparkler in the thug's face, shocking him. Spike nailed a roundhouse kick on him, and the man crashed into a pile of cans.
A thug approached me, gun drawn. I took my headphones off, and looked at him.
"Want some beer?" I asked, throwing him the six-pack. He dropped his pistol to catch the liquor, and didn't notice that I had taken one out. The thug looked up just as I smashed him in the cheek with the bottle. He crashed through an aisle.
One last thug in the middle of the room fired off a few shots. The civilians got down, but Spike and I didn't really care. He was scared, and his shots were way off mark.
Jet busted in through the ceiling, landing on the punk.
"Now, now. Don't play with guns." Jet remarked.
Spike stood up. He had stuffed a donut into his mouth. "Put it on their tab." he said, pointing to the thugs.
I had chugged the beer I had used as a weapon. "This, too." I said, holding up the empty bottle.
Suddenly, a fourth goon left the bathroom. He looked around and panicked, drawing his gun and holding an old woman hostage.
"'Scuse me, Jet." Spike said. "You told us there were three."
Jet looked over at Spike. "Hey, sometimes deception can be useful for enemies as well as allies-"
"Oh, don't give me that 'Art of War' crap!" Spike interrupted.
"I am going to kill this old woman!"
"And you! You take too long to take a shit!"
"Put your guns down!" the thug shouted. "Put 'em down, or granny's brains are goin' all over!"
I took out a pistol and dropped it. I still had another one in my coat, but he didn't need to know that.
Somehow I knew Spike was going to be troublesome. He pulled out his gun, and pointed it straight at the thug.
The thug was a bit more scared now.
"P-put the gun away, cowboy!" the thug yelled.
"Sorry, grandma." Spike said. "But we're no charity organization. We're not the police. We don't protect or serve. To us, this is all just business. I guess you're just gonna have to chalk it up to bad luck."
"Spike, you can't mean that!" Jet said.
"You sonofabitch!" the old lady yelled.
The thug pointed his gun at Spike and fired, but missed. Spike then fired back, and sent the punk through the freezer behind him.
Just as the thug stood back up and went to point his gun at Spike again, I picked up my empty beer bottle and whipped at the man's head. There was a satisfying crack as it connected, and he went down.
I started to head towards the door.
"That man- why did he call you a cowboy?" the old woman asked. "Who are you?"
I patted Spike on the shoulder.
"You can have the line." I whispered, turning to watch him.
Spike blew imaginary smoke from the tip of his pistol, spun it, and smiled.
"Ma'am, we're just humble bounty hunters."