Cowboy: Bebop

Gunfire shatters the tequila bottles. Spike is a blur of motion, his Jericho 941 barking in the dim light. He moves with a fluid, effortless grace, dodging bullets like they’re nothing more than annoying flies.

The Swordfish II cuts through the yellow clouds of Venus, landing with a heavy thud in the rusted outskirts of Tijuana. Spike steps out, the collar of his blue suit turned up against the wind. The city is a graveyard of half-finished skyscrapers and neon signs that flicker with dying gasps. Cowboy Bebop

He finds Blue Note in a basement bar that smells of cheap tequila and ozone. The hacker is barely twenty, eyes wide with a manic energy. Gunfire shatters the tequila bottles

Back on the Bebop , the crew is eating a watery stew. No beef. No peppers. "Did you get him?" Jet asks, his voice soft. The Swordfish II cuts through the yellow clouds

"We’re out of beef," Jet grunts, not looking up. "And bell peppers. And fuel."

"It’s 50,000 Woolongs," Jet reminds him, his cybernetic arm whirring as he snips a tiny leaf. "That’s a lot of bell peppers."

"You’re not supposed to be here," Blue Note stammers, his fingers dancing over a holographic interface. "The past... it’s supposed to stay buried."