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.
"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." Cowboy Bebop
Spike pulls a fresh cigarette from his pocket and strikes a match. The flame flickers in his mismatched eyes—one seeing the present, the other trapped in the past. The Swordfish II cuts through the yellow clouds
Back on the Bebop , the crew is eating a watery stew. No beef. No peppers. "Did you get him?" Jet asks, his voice soft. "It’s 50,000 Woolongs," Jet reminds him, his cybernetic
"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."