Pain coursed through my body as I hobbled down those never-ending stairs, my arms wrapped around my gut while the wound from Vicious’ sword threatened to bleed out. The gash his blade left was wide enough to let my intestines cascade through, but I held them in place as best I could as I made my way to the bottom floor. My eyes were focused on the ground as I struggled to maintain consciousness, but I knew it would soon be of little use. I lifted my head one final time, gazing upon the crowd of suits below me, each with shock registered on their faces, and I smirked. With my fist raised I extended my thumb and index finger towards them, and then whispered the one word I swore to be my last.

“Bang.”

I felt my life draining from me as my body fell to the ground. I hit the stairs and lay there, completely motionless. I smacked my head against the stairs and busted my nose, but I had not the strength to even mutter a word of pain; I barely even felt the impact. There was no movement, no sound… not even a breath of wind that could distract me from the loneliness and darkness that I knew was coming on ever so swiftly. My limbs grew cold as my blood spilled from my wound, puddling below me and coagulating as only blood can. My eyes closed and my breath became a steady, yet strained, rattle as my lungs began to shut down. I breathed my final breath, slipping from the grips of reality.

Am I… dead?

Was it all… a dream?

Something has jarred me from my slumber…

Movement… sound… light…

I feel alive again, but I am unable to move.

Why is it so cold here?

My eyes opened, but all I could see was water; water so blue it hurt the eyes. The liquid clung to my eyelids and lashes. I strained against the liquid, struggling to see outside of it, but it was no use. I tried to lift my hands but they would not cooperate. Not even a single finger would move no matter how hard I willed them. I opened my mouth but water rushed in, muffling every word that I tried to shout and threatening to drown me, to take away this new bit of life that I had just begun clinging to. My legs refused to move as I floated, suspended in this watery grave. I could hear nothing but the sloshing of water around me, and the beating of my own heart. For the first time in many years, fear overtook me.

And then… voices.

“He’s awake! Drain that NeOxygen, hurry!” one shouted.

There was a rush of feet, the lights shifting and twisting as figures moved in front of them, and soon I felt the liquid drain from around me. In the absence of the liquid my glass canister-like prison was revealed. I tried to turn my head to look around, but unable to get it to move I had to be content with just moving my eyes. I saw white lab coats and face masks; people in doctors’ uniforms were rushing around, some observing me from the side of my prison, others staring intently at screens full of blips and beeps. I continued to attempt to move, but my limbs were just not speaking the same language. I felt like a zombie. I looked up at a doctor and opened my mouth, but no words came out. My throat was dry and my eyes full of water. Nothing felt right.

The main doctor motioned to a nurse sitting at a computer terminal. She nodded and pressed a few buttons, reading the output. Smiling, she turned back to the doctor and me.

“Everything is reading off the charts. His reanimation has been successful, Doctor White.”

“Good,” he replied. Then he turned to me. “Perhaps after a good night’s rest and a meal or two your body will have recovered enough for you to use your motor functions, eh, Cowboy?”

Cowboy?

Cowboy… bounty hunter…

Where was the Bebop…?

I struggled to use my voice, but it was just no use. The effort I used exhausted me and I finally collapsed, closing my eyes for what I figured to be a long night’s rest.