Disclaimer- I don't own Cowboy Beebop.
Detective Chris Jordan had seen plenty of crazy shit in his time with the Mars Police Force. Drug runs, gang violence, prostitution, that was every day crap that he dealt with. Space battles every now and then too, just for kicks. And a Syndicate caused massacre too, not that he or anyone else could prove it.
And sure, he took a few bribes, looked the other way every now and then, but hell, who didn't on this rock? It wasn't like he enjoyed it, but it was jut the way things went.
First dogma of Mars.
The Syndicate rules everything. You're either with them, or against them.
And those against them have the life span of a mayfly.
So when he got a call saying there was something going down at the Red Dragon headquarters, he figured he'd find a shootout, with a bunch of dead bodies. Probably another Syndicate war, he mused.
Ever since Mao died, and that guy, Vicious, began his coup, things had gotten dangerous.
So it was with great reluctance that he put out a call and hopped in his car. Wasn't really much of a point to going, seeing as how the Syndicates kept their business "in the family".
Hell, by the time he got there, it'd be over, and maybe there would even be a nice bonus for keeping quiet.
And so the detective began to look forward to spending that money on a new ship, or maybe a spa...
Of course, that was before he began to get more reports.
Same caliber of bullet being used, same gun being used.
A whole fucking roof being blown off.
Still, it seemed to be a particularly brutal payback, possibly some renegade dragons looking to take Vicious out.
Yeah, that was probably it, he thought to himself.
So when Chris finally arrived, he thought he knew the score.
Someone decided to take out the Red Dragons with extreme prejudice, he figured.
And he was right.
But from the moment he stepped onto the stone steps of one of the power holders of Mars, he knew that everything he expected had just been blown to Hell.
Tonight, the Red Dragon headquarters had become a war zone.
Bodies everywhere. Nearly all of them dead, though some were still alive. All of them had the same type of bullet shot into them, or had been killed by a grenade. The whole place stank of gunpowder and blood.
And even weirder, there didn't seem to be any opposing gangs in the area.
All of the bodies were Red Dragons.
Strangely, it reminded him of another night like this, and a church around these parts.
That too, had been full of dead syndicate men, but no opposing gangs. Just a lot of bullets and blood.
It was as if they had all been slaughtered by a demon from hell.
Just like tonight.
The case had never been solved, but a lot of guys on the force always speculated as to what had really gone down that night.
Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if they never really knew what happened tonight either.
"What the Hell?" Chris muttered, stepping light over a body and placing a cigarette in his mouth. As he lit it slowly, he knew that the nicotine wouldn't calm him down today.
Smoothly, the detective entered the elevator. From the looks of such a hit, most likely whoever was attacking would want the head honcho.
He shivered slightly. He had only had the displeasure of seeing Vicious once, and that was enough for him. Those cold, dead eyes...
Shaking his head, he heard the light, cheerful ping of the elevator's doors being opened, a contrast to the blood and faint smell of gunpowder in the air. As he exited, he briefly noted that there were already a few men observing the bodies, making notes and basically trying to figure out what the hell went down.
The slight, distinct smell of high explosives caught Chris' nose, and he wrinkled it. Quickly, he made his way over to a coroner, one he knew. A slick, corrupt Syndicate dog by the name of John.
"Jesus, who set off a war here?" the detective murmured, glancing at the body on the floor. "Who's this? He doesn't look like a dragon."
He knelt, observing the features of the corpse. The man's hair was dark green, peculiarly enough. The eyes were closed, and the entire face seemed at peace. The trench coat he wore was stained with blood, and thick with the stench of gunpowder. He had no gun in hand, but there was a pistol off to the side which Chris was willing to bet had his fingerprints all over it.
"We think this is the guy who attacked this place." John explained, looking wide eyed and shocked, his normally gelled hair in disarray.
Chris turned his head sharply. "Wait... you mean this one man did all of this?"
Grimly, the coroner nodded. "Hard to believe, but the evidence doesn't lie." Before he could say any more, a large contingent of officers came in, and gruffly and bluntly asked the same question Chris had.
As John left to explain the situation, the detective glanced at the man almost approvingly.
Who was this crazy bastard, who actually tried to take on the Syndicate, and won? Who dared to do what most in this planet would never think of?
Was he a hero, a crusader of justice? Was he a villain, looking for a little murder and mayhem? Or was a he just a man with nothing to lose?
Whatever the case, this was definitely a night that this detective would not forget.
"I didn't know you, but damn I wish I had. You must have been one bad ass son of a bitch."
There were worse eulogies, Chris mused.
The whole vignette was spawned from that last line. That other night that was mentioned was the night Spike was supposed to meet Julia, and was ambushed.