Vicious and Spike, each holding a cache of opium derivative, faced the drug dealers. The dealers calmly produced an attaché full of unmarked ten thousand woolong bills. Vicious handed his cache to Spike and stepped forward to take the attaché from the leader of the drug dealers. The leader supported the case and opened the lid for Vicious to inspect. Vicious inspected the money then nodded. The case was closed, and Vicious took custody of it. He motioned for Spike to step forward.

Spike stepped forward and opened one of the caches for the leader of the drug dealers to fish out a random sample. The leader opened the square vial and spilled some of the sample onto a square of film then covered it with another square of film. Closing the vial, the leader squeezed the drug sandwich between two glass plates and fed it into a small analyzing machine. Using this wet/dry chemistry first developed by Eastman/Kodak, the dealer determined his drug sample was pure. He nodded to Spike, and Spike closed the cache. He set the caches down and stepped backward, away from the leader, behind Vicious.

"Ten Million Woolongs is there for the opiate," the leader announced.

"And Ten Million Woolongs you will owe the Red Dragon when you sell your supply," Vicious countered. "You have two months. Do not waste time."

The leader of the drug dealers inclined his head slightly, as did his men; Vicious and Spike returned the gesture with grim faces. Both parties walked backward from the area where the deal was made. The Black Peacock on Vicious’ shoulder made a raucous cry.

Vicious turned toward the Red Dragon spacecraft and continued walking, and Spike followed. A bullet whizzed by Spike’s ear, and he whirled to throw Vicious out of the way. Soon, there was machine-gun fire strafing the two Red Dragon members. Spike pulled out his 941 Jericho and picked off several of the men with his powerful hand-cannon. He slipped out his empty magazine and replaced it while trying to reach his men covering the perimeter. Vicious pulled out a potato masher grenade, armed it, and threw it at a knot of drug dealers. At once, the grenade broke up the dealers and produced a smoke screen through which he and Spike could escape.

Vicious and Spike ran toward the ship and found themselves in an open area. Spike looked around and saw Red Dragon agents covering them from high walls, but from different corners he saw the drug dealers again. He and Vicious ran helter-skelter to make a harder target for their pursuers.

More shots threatened to overtake Spike and Vicious as they pounded the ground furiously toward the ship. Many of the drug dealers were taken out by the Red Dragon agents to the point where none were visible. The ship was in sight, and Vicious and Spike would make it to safety.

Spike struggled to grasp consciousness as he found himself floating in a dreamlike state. Though he always presented himself in a devil-may-care attitude, his awareness was extremely important to him. As much as he could, he strained his senses to organize his perception.

"Why did you render him unconcious?" yelled an authoritative voice.

A pause. Then, "He was in great pain. It would take a long time to get him here. He didn’t need to suffer." The voice was calm and cold. Spike knew it well: Vicious.

A tingle started down Spike’s neck then stopped at his back. He then realized the pain at the back of his head. When he tried to probe it, he found he could not move his hands, much less his fingers. Startled, Spike thought it was extreme lethargy and he tried his other limbs. One by one he found they were all paralyzed.

Lastly, Spike tried to open his eyes. His right eye gave a searing pain from the socket and surrounding area. He left off trying to open either eye and resumed trying to account for his surroundings.

"Pain is often the only way we can tell where to start and where to end!" continued the authoritative voice . Spike figured it must be the doctor.

The quick slide of metal on kid leather caught Spike’s ears, and he knew Vicious had drawn his katana. There was a long pause. It was the doctor’s voice next. "Kill me if you will, but it won’t save your friend’s eye."

Another long pause. No movement. "You will restore Spike’s sight. You will be handsomely compensated when you do. Do not, and share his fate." Spike heard Vicious’ katana unstick from the doctor’s neck flesh then slide back into its scabbard. Another pause, then the sound of Vicious’ hard-soled boots faded as he walked down the hall. Another shiver started at Spike’s head then stopped at his shoulders

"good morning and how are we today?" came that same authoritative voice Spike had heard threatened.

"Huh?" Spike struggled to rouse his vocal chords against the forces of delirium and paralysis.

"You had an extremely bad injury. We must proceed quickly. First things first: I must advise you to quit stopping bullet slugs with your eyes. They’re not well equipped for the task."

Spike was amused. He tried to laugh, but it came out in a monotone, punctuated by half coughs.

"We must replace your entire eye," the doctor continued. Spike thought the doctor very brave or very stupid to challenge Vicious as he did.

"Nurse, call down to the lab. We’ll need to type Mr. Spiegel’s tissue and send up an eye. When you send it up, copy Mr. Spiegel’s records, call this number for a courier and delete them from the system."

Spike settled a bit, satisfied. That was SOP for Red Dragon Syndicate. The encrypted information would be picked up by a Red Dragon courier and stored in the Syndicate’s vault. Should it be needed, it would be supplied.

Then Spike remembered. "Why can’t I move my arms?"

"We’ve given you a nerve block for both your arms and your legs. We have to perform this surgery while you are awake. This is also a clean room with special filters and ionizers to remove allergens and irritants. The humidity and temperature are controlled within small tolerances. We have prepared you with a special ionizing wash, and we have stored your clothes elsewhere in safekeeping. All staff in here must wear special clean smocks."

"To keep me from sneezing?" Spike smiled.

"Just for that. When we replace a natural eye with a cybernetic eye, it is essential to get the interface to the optic nerve just right. We can’t rely on our patient knowing when he’ll sneeze or cough, so we have this setup to prevent that."

"Pretty slick, Doc," Spike croaked.

"Well take this bandage off, now, so we can prepare your eyes for the transplant."

"Eyes?" spike asked.

"Transplants like this often involve some bizarre hallucinations. Research says that patients recover better if both eyes are prevented from seeing until the procedure is done," the doctor explained.

"Just let me know what’s happening," Spike replied.

"Um-hmm. Okay, help me remove this bandage." Spike knew this was directed toward another person opposite the doctor.

Soon Spike felt a warm, waxy peel slide up the sides of his face. His left eye saw muted tones of green and fuzzy shapes. When the two sides of the bandage met at his nose bridge, bright light blocked out any other sight he had.

"Put the blinkers on," came the doctor’s voice, and a visor was placed over Spike’s eyes. Spike didn’t see the blinding light, nor anything else after that. The visor electronically blotted out any light to Spike’s eyes while allowing the doctor to work freely with they eyes.

Spike felt a warm trickle down his right cheek. "Catch that blood would you?" said the doctor. A gauze pad daubed at Spike’s cheek.

"Okay, Mr. Spiegel, this is anesthetic. It will hurt your eye for about a minute. While it’s taking, we’ll get you typed."

"Uh-huh." Spike could only rely on sound due to the visor blotting out his sight. There was pressure and stinging in his right eye which faded away slowly.

"Mr. Spike Spiegel needs a tissue typing?" came an unfamiliar male voice.

"Yes."

"Sure thing, Dr. Lomas. Okay, Mr. Spiegel, I’m Shannon and I’m going to take some blood from you." A tug came at Spike’s wrist, and he was aware of Shannon confirming his I.D.

"Where?" Spike asked groggily. "Can’t see."

"Ah, yes, of course. Can you feel that?"

Spike felt a poke in the crook of his arm. "Yes."

"That’s where I’ll take it."

Spike felt the cleansing wipe and the stick. The movements told Spike that four tubes of blood were taken.

"We’ll send up the eye as soon as we get the results, Dr. Lomas," Shannon announced.

"Thank you, Shannon," Dr. Lomas acknowledged. There was clinking of tubes and rattling of objects inside a plastic carrying case. Soon, Shannon was leaving the room with the distinctive padding of hospital booties on his shoes.

"Doc?" Spike asked.

"Yes, Mr. Spiegel?"

"Is it an organic eye?"

"Not completely. It is a fusion of organically grown receptors and nano-technology-controlled movement. Also the interface is electronic between the optic nerve and the retina. It is the cutting edge of ophthalmology."

"I’ll test that at the firing range," Spike determined.

In the following hour, Spike heard Dr. Lomas give orders to nurses, surgery technicians and other medical specialists. He heard equipment rolled around or turned on and situated.

"The eye is ready, Doctor, announced one of the voices.

"Thank you. Mr. Spiegel, we are ready to begin. You might feel a slight tugging." Dr. Lomas explained the procedure.

Spike did feel some tugging deep in his right eye socket. There were clinking of instruments and procedural dialogue between the doctor and his staff. There was pressure on Spike’s eye–but he felt very little, like a finger poke. Something daubed at the edges of his eye socket.

Bit by bit, Spike felt small retractors pulling his eyelids back. First the lower lid was pulled down. He reflexively closed his upper lid in attempt to compensate tears for the lower lids. Next, the upper lid of his right eye was restrained. This irritated Spike, as he would have that eye close, but he understood the need for holding it open. He did not need to blink; it was merely the deprivation of movement and sight that irritated him.

"We are about to attach your replacement eye, Mr. Spiegel. This will take the longest time and will produce hallucinations. I’ll tell you when the procedure is complete. That usually is when our patients start recovering from the hallucinations. It takes up to a week."

"I’m not going anywhere." Spike grinned.

The procedure dialogue left Spike almost as in the dark as his sight was. Soon he was tuning it out, lulled as he was by the calm interchange between the doctor and his staff. Even the noises made by the clink of instruments had a hypnotic rhythm. Spike knew his eyes were deprived of sight, but swirls of color began swimming in his consciousness, and he occupied his time with mentally tracing their paths.

Through a smoke-glassed window, Spike saw the tell-tale signs of a bar within: round wooden tables and chairs, a cherry-wood bar with silver taps, the green felt of billiard tables. He was inside and hearing the clacks of the billiard balls. Muted tones of brown and green surrounded the atmosphere. In the midst of the dark miasma of tobacco smoke was a brilliant golden cascade of hair that seized Spike’s attention so that he could not politely look away when the woman who owned it turned around. Spike tried to speak, but his throat was paralyzed by her visage. Her face was so sad, so beautiful, something beyond the physical body she possessed. Spike reached out to her–the only communication he was able to make. The woman pulled her sunglasses down from her hair, and then she vanished. Spike gasped and tried to follow her, but he could not track her down. He stood dumbly in a thick cloud of brown.

Then he was fighting. Spike held off his enemy with his expert marksmanship using his Jericho 947. He backed up against his partner, Vicious, and shared a knowing smile with him. The two Red Dragon members were unbeatable against anyone else from any syndicate. "I’m the only one who can keep you alive…" Spike heard Vicious’ voice say.

Then Spike and Vicious faced each other with their weapons poised at each other. Spike saw the stream of primary colors across them both. He was aware of blood oozing from his body and the desperation of a fight to the death. "…and I’m the only one who can kill you." came Vicious’ voice again.

Then a woman held a gun point blank at Spike’s head. A woman in yellow. "Where are you going?" Five shots rang out.

Another woman pointed a gun at Spike. He could evade her gunfire if he wanted to, but this woman was special to him. He would die for her… "Be careful when you’re with that woman." Vicious’ voice again.

"Vicious, Julia…like a spell that unlocks a door that shouldn’t be opened…" the words of a man Spike did not know.

"Once you cross this line, you can never go back…"

"Mr. Spiegel, the procedure is complete."

Spike struggled to assimilate the last comment. He blinked–he found out he could blink now–and tried to connect the last comment with the scenes he had seen. Unable to comprehend the difference, he tried to focus on the doctor. His right eye blurred then focused onto the doctor and staff in scrubs along with the powerful lights in a circle above them. His left eye was closed, but he slowly opened it as well.

"Mr. Spiegel?" prompted the doctor.

Spike blinked several times. "Vicious?"

"Mr. Spiegel, I want you to look at my finger and follow it with your right eye." The doctor held up an index finger and moved it to Spike’s peripheral area and back to the center. Spike followed the finger unerringly.

"Very good, Mr. Spiegel. You will be taken to recovery, now."

Spike felt four sets of hands slide under his body and move him to another flat surface. Another set of hands picked up his still-paralyzed arms and slid on a hospital gown. A sheet was placed on top of him, and Spike was wheeled to his recovery room.

Spike awoke from unintelligible dreams and looked around him. A room of muted green, a bed with a lumpy mattress and side rails, an EKG machine with wires run to his chest, and a steel hat rack with a bag of fluid hanging on it. Spike flexed his legs and found that they moved. He bent his left arm and clenched a fist. Releasing that, he bent his right arm. A stinging pain made him straighten it out again. It was then that he figured out that he was connected to that hanging bag of fluid by the needle in his arm. It was then that Lin stepped into the room.

"Spike-san," he addressed his superior.

"Lin. What brings you here?"

"I wanted to see that you were all right."

"Yup." Spike tore the tape off of his IV, then removed the needle and tossed it aside. He twisted to one side and the other, looked through the side table’s drawers, then back at Lin. "Oy, Lin! You got a smoke?"

"Spike-san, this is a hospital. No smoking."

"Come on, give."

Lin glanced down at Spike’s right arm where blood made a tiny pool, then he reached into his breast pocket for a pack of Spike’s favorite brand of cigarette and a lighter. Spike took the cigarettes and lit one off of the light Lin offered.

"I hate hospitals," Spike muttered.

"Hai." Lin agreed.

Spike rediscovered the EKG leads, and he yanked them off of his chest. Soon a loud beep sounded, and two nurses ran into the room. Spike looked away from them, up to the ceiling, with his arms behind his head. When they ascertained what had happened, Spike innocently denied he did anything wrong.

"No smoking, Mr. Spiegel."

"No?"

"No."

"Okay." Spike opened his mouth and drew the cigarette inside then swallowed. He opened his mouth again to show the nurses his mouth was empty. One grimaced, and the other stonily stared back at him.

When the nurses switched off the EKG, they left the room again. Spike spat out his cigarette into the trash. "Let’s blow this scene, Lin. Where are my clothes?"

"Here, Spike-san." Spike’s employee handed him his blue suit and yellow shirt, newly cleaned and pressed, and held his overcoat while Spike dressed. Spike took the coat from him and put it on, securing the gold braid across the front.

"Lin, I want you to walk very close to me as we go out. I’m not sure I can trust my eyes, yet."

"We can get you a wheelchair to go out of here," Lin suggested.

"No. I can walk. Just be there and keep me from walking into any walls, okay."

"Hai."

Lin is a good man, Spike thought. He takes his job seriously.

The two Red Dragon members walked briskly down the hall, Spike in front, and Lin immediately to the rear. They walked past the nurses’ station and down the corridors to the exit and to the car Lin drove. Lin drove Spike to the Red Dragon tower as Spike directed him to.