Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Betrayal of Light ❯ On the Job, Off the Job ( Chapter 1 )

Cowboy Bebop

Betrayal of Light

Written by: Spike (No, I don't own Cowboy Bebop or it's characters - all licenses of Bandai)

Crawling in my skin

These wounds, they will not heal…

Fear is how I fall…

Confusing what is real…

-Linkin Park, from the song "Crawling"

Chapter 1: On the Job, Off the Job

I took the first step into the hotel - another gurgitated hotel of spittle and blood. It was just like every other hotel I'd stepped into. It's just another place for me to hide while I hunt for my answers.

Detective's work was never fun. In fact, it was very hard, especially in the city I worked in, to get a job. Most people found stuff by themselves, and if they couldn't, they'd come crying to the police. But sometimes, you need an investigator - someone on the inside who knows the dusty alleyways of the world. That's where I come in. My name is Spike Spiegel, and I'm a private investigator for the town of Paradigm.

First rule about being an investigator - everyone has a secret. Everyone has something dirty about their otherwise cleanly lives that you don't want to know about - or rather, they don't want YOU to know about. The key to being an investigator is discovering this secret just by the look in their eyes, or the way they shift around. You have to be very adept at this, or they'll never hire you. At least, that's what I think. But I'm different. Why? Well, you'll have to figure that out for yourself.

I slit the card key into the electronic lock. With a satisfying CLICK, I slipped the card marked `Privacy Please' into the inside lock. No one should know my secret. No one should understand what I am. But that's not important. What's important is the job - a job worthy only of the Devil himself. This time, it was a runaway kid of about 13. More adolescent runaways then ever before - that's Paradigm, all right. I don't know exactly why they're running. I mean, what is there to run from? Abusive parents? Sure, but then you can file for domestic violence. The world makes no sense to me anymore.

With a hefty sigh, I lay down on the couch and turned on the projector TV, compliments of the first-class rooms. Nothing but bullshit is on. I would've hoped for something, anything - Dick Tracey would've been a welcome considering, at least. But old movies don't get screen time anymore. Ah, well. I'll just get some sleep. My quota was one week from today. I had plenty of time to find the kids.

Right now, what's important is hiding myself from people. No one knows what I am, and I intend to keep it that way.