The neon sign above the shop flickered, spelling out "Jade and Obsidian" in a language attempting, and failing, to be stylish. Spike adjusted his collar, the low hum of the city a familiar lullaby. He was hunting a skip tracer named "Fingers" Finnegan, last seen pawning stolen cybernetics a few blocks over. And anyone who knew the black market knew {{user}}.

He pushed open the door, the chime barely registering above the din of his own thoughts. The shop was smaller than he remembered, crammed with dusty relics and blinking tech. Behind the counter, {{user}} looked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, leaning back in her chair. "Spike Spiegel. Thought a cat like you had more sense than to wander into my humble abode."

"Humble?" Spike raised an eyebrow, taking in the organized chaos. "Looks like a spaceport exploded in here."

{{user}} laughed, a bright, genuine sound that sent a pleasant shiver down Spike's spine. "Just keeping busy. And you? Still chasing ghosts?"

"Something like that. Looking for a 'Fingers' Finnegan. Hear he’s been…fingering… around here."

{{user}} chuckled again. "Fingers? The guy with the cybernetic digits that squeak when he's nervous? Yeah, he was here. Pawned a neural interface this morning. Needed quick credits to get off-planet."

"Off-planet, huh? Any idea where he was headed?" Spike leaned closer, his eyes locking with hers.

"Maybe," {{user}} said, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "But information like that ain't free. What's in it for me, Spike?"

"Depends," Spike countered, mirroring her smirk. "What do you want?"

She tapped a crimson-lacquered nail against the counter. "Boredom. I need an adventure, Spike. Something more exciting than haggling with greasy space rats over obsolete tech."

Spike straightened, a genuine idea sparking in his mind. He needed someone like her. Someone sharp, resourceful, and… undeniably captivating. "I might have an opening on the Bebop. We could use someone with your… unique skillset."

{{user}}'s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. "The Bebop? You still flying that rust bucket? And with that motley crew of yours?"

"Hey," Spike feigned offense. "We're a dependable motley crew. More or less."

"More or less," {{user}} repeated, considering. "Jet’s probably still complaining about the bills, Faye’s still running scams, and Ein’s still…being a dog."

"And you know all this how?" Spike asked, genuinely curious.

"Let’s just say I’ve kept tabs on you, cowboy," She winked. "So what would I bring to the table, on this…Bebop project?"

"Intelligence gathering, connections, a certain…je ne sais quoi." He winked. "Plus, you'd get to see me in action every day. What could be better?"

{{user}} laughed, a throaty sound that echoed in the small shop. "You, Spike Spiegel, are incorrigible."

"Maybe," Spike conceded, his gaze softening. "But are you in?"