Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop isn't mine, which should be fairly obvious.
Sons of the Silent Age
It was not entirely unlike being drunk. Not entirely unlike the one and only time he'd sampled the goods that the Red Dragon peddled about Mars and half a dozen other colonies. But not entirely like those feelings, either. His head hurt, but it didn't, the pain was abrupt and terrible and at the same time far, far away. Spike opened his eyes.
Eye. Singular. The other one was gone somewhere, wasn't it? He recalled that, vaguely. A dim lit room, white hot agony. It had probably been crushed under someone's boot heel. He fought back a ridiculous urge to laugh. There was a joke in there, somewhere. A big, cosmic joke.
"Don't worry." The rumble of Vicious' voice cut through the fog--deep, gravely, sounded ridiculous on someone barely twenty, Spike thought idly before realizing his thoughts were spiraling away from him. "They didn't damage that face of yours."
"My most valuable asset," he joked weakly. Strange to think part of him was gone. Part of him was dead.
"Mao already contacted someone. They can replace it, but you need to heal, first. I killed the bastards for you," he added, almost as an afterthought.
Of course he had, Spike thought. What else were friends for?