When Spike woke the next morning, he was alone. He opened his eyes blearily to an empty bed, blinked once, then closed his eyes again.

'Fucking hell,' he muttered.

So much for true love, who was I kidding? He couldn't help but laugh painfully into the pillow before rolling over and looking at the empty room.

The sun was up and the bright white beams that streamed through the curtains pierced his tired eyes and gave blooming life to a hangover. His clothes still lay scattered over the floor, all a mess of navy and yellow. Her garments were poignantly missing. Spike couldn't feel sad or lonely. He kind of had a strange feeling of resignation, as though his subconscious had expected this all along and only his desperate flying will had snuffed out reason for an evening.

With a sigh, he sat up, swung his legs around and got to his feet, interlocking his fingers and pushing up palms up towards the ceiling. The extension of his spine spurred an odd energy into his being. Well, I guess there's only one thing for it.

Making his mind up on the spot, Spike dressed quickly and left the hotel, walking down the stone steps with his hands in his pockets. He was going to go back to the Bebop straight away and tell Jet what White Tiger had done, then go to kill them and thus satisfy his soul whilst simultaneously distracting his mind from the strange ripping sensation he was experiencing somewhere inside his ribcage.

He stopped at the foot of the steps, frowning slightly at a smear of dried blood embedded into the concrete. When he stood up to continue walking, it was a more wary and suspicious eye that surveyed the surrounding carpark and dormitories. He wordlessly dropped the room key on the counter.

'A hundred woolongs,' grunted the old lady, whose wrinkles gave the impression that her face was melting.

Spike dug into his pocket for his wallet and found – only a hundred woolongs in there. He smirked slightly at his own misfortune as he handed the hateful woman the money and sauntered off. Typical.

As he crossed the street, heading for the bay, a car pulled up by the curb. Only when Spike had rounded the corner did two men in longcoats get out and begin to stroll silently down the street and around the corner. Their hands were in their pockets.

The laneway was empty. Briny sea air mingled with a smell of off cabbage and piss permeated the alley but Spike didn't care. His mind was occupied as he watched his shoes walking over the cobbled stones.

Click.

He whirled around, whipping out the two guns from his pockets, to fire indiscriminately at the two men behind him, both of whom dived aside out of the line of fire. One slumped against the wall, bleeding from three holes in his chest. The other crouched behind a dumpster, clutching a wounded shoulder.

'You don't wanna kill me,' he said, in a husky, emphysemic voice.

'I'm pretty sure I do,' Spike replied evenly.

'Don't you wanna know where your bird is?'

Spike faltered. The blood on the pavement. He took a running leap atop the dumpster and fired the gun out of the man's hand before he could even raise it, stepping down in front of him and whacking him across the face with the butt of the Jericho.

'Where – the – fuck – is – she?'

Spike grabbed the man by the neck of his shirt, clenching his teeth and trying to ignore the intense ringing noise that was filling his ears. The man's lips were bleeding and he spluttered slightly.

'Tell me!' demanded Spike, gripping him tighter.

'In the middle of the White Tiger HQ, that's where!' spat the man, grinning bloodily. 'Let me go and I'll show you where.'

'That's fucking likely.' Spike threw him back against the wall and stood up straight, looming over the scum and raising the gun to his head. 'I know where their headquarters are. But I'll leave Carlos a message if he comes looking for you: I'm running out of patience.'

BANG. The man slumped sideways into a bloody heap on the ground.

Spike revved the Swordfish II, pumping the gas before shooting out across the bay and into the air.

'Jet,' he said into the telecommunicator. 'I need you to get the Hammer Head and come out to Mars. Bring ammunition.'

'Can it wait? I'm busy.'

'Quit watering your fucking bonsais, this is important.'

'Alright, alright. Over.'

Spike sped the Swordfish II up through the atmosphere and into open space. He was so full of rage that it made him sick. He knew it was a trap, that they would expect him to go to rescue Faye and jump him, but he didn't care. He didn't even care that she had left; in fact, that meant nothing. She didn't leave because she didn't want him, she left because she was afraid. He recalled that look of fleeting vulnerability in her eye that shattered her smoothly crafted façade of imperviousness, and sped the ship even faster.

'Why Mars?' came Jet's static voice through the telecommunicator.

'White Tiger are behind those Red Dragon traffickers and they kidnapped Faye.'

'Hm. That's an achievement.'

'Yeah, but it was my fault so we should probably go and get her.'

Spike was trying to sound indifferent, or even slightly exasperated at his task. He couldn't let the fear and rage show in his voice.

'I'm intercepting you,' said Jet, and Spike looked down at the radar to see their ships gain close proximity. 'I brought my Walther and a couple explosives, have you got missiles?'

'Four.'

'Good. Ed, do you read me? Ed?'

'Ed here, Jet!' came Ed's high-pitched voice.

'Can you find coordinates for White Tiger HQ on Mars and let us know if any malicious vessels might be patrolling any terraformed cities?'

'Yep yep!'

The sound of her plinking keys could be heard through the static.

'White Tiger HQ at 484 by 67.2,' she announced brightly. 'Ed's seeing not a plane around except cargo! Goooood luck!'

'Thanks, Ed.'

Spike's eyes were narrowed slightly as they entered Mars' atmosphere and flew low over the surface of the planet towards the appropriate city. He lit a cigarette as the two ships dipped into the artificial atmosphere and over the replenishing barriers. He felt like he had never been more ready to go on the offensive, to load his gun and eliminate any obstacle blocking contentment or satisfaction in his life. For once, he didn't give a damn about the money. This wasn't just about principle, this was about Faye. He had only just gotten her for himself and he definitely wasn't ready to lose her.

'Welcome to Mars,' said a cool, female voice through the telecommunicator.

Spike keyed in Ed's coordinates and found a static blueprint of the CBD, centred on a skyscraper just like Red Dragon's. Figures.

The Swordfish II and Jet's Hammer Head flew through the airstrips, joining a trail of ships heading to the CBD, before weaving between buildings and skyscrapers to come to land at a strip by Mizumi Lake.

Spike loaded his Jericho 941, strapped two more handguns to his torso beside six explosives, and opened the side-door to flick out his cigarette butt. He was walking a knife-edge between all and nothing; but to Spike, leaving with nothing wasn't an option.