“Here, food for you.” Spike says, slamming down a bowl of red death on the coffee table in front of me.

“What’s this?” I ask, uncrossing my legs and putting out my smoke in the near-overflowing ashtray.

“This, my dear friend, is the finest tomato soup you’re gonna taste on this side of the continent. Added in a bit of the best herbs we can afford, as well. I think it turned out well.” He says, giving the ashtray a wary glance as the topmost butts starts to tip.

I look over the bowl of red slushie again, seemingly the only person aware of the floating green chunks rising to the top.

“Uhh.. Spike, not to alarm you… But that’s not any herb I’ve seen… That’s mold.”

Spike sits down on the worn-out couch alongside mine, a puff of ash and dust welcoming him back to its embrace.

“Like I said, the best herbs we can afford.” He proceeds to grab a smoke from the pack, lifting it up to his mouth with practiced ease. “Jack, we needa talk about the budget.”

Ahhh, this again… “What about the budget?” I ask, grabbing another smoke from the pack.

“Oh, nothing. Just the fact that I found a receipt this morning. From your night out.” The lighter clicks as he snaps it open. He lights his smoke, taking a deep breath, and lets out his own cloud to join the rest.

“For half of our fucking monthly budget.”

Ahh, crap. I’m in deep now. Half of that night’s a blur, but I can definitely remember swiping Spike’s company card before it started… Guess that sin-revealing slip followed me home.

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Spike looks at me from over the tip of his smoke. He looks as calm as can be, leaning back on the couch, smoke in hand. His leg crossed over the other. Arm slung over the headrest. But I can see it in his eyes.

I fucked up big time.

“Can’t you requisition some more?” I ask, trying to keep the guilt out my voice. “The Feds shouldn’t mind giving us a few extra credits.”

“Jack, every time we ask for more, they do an investigation on why we need more. They don’t mind us spending a bit on pampering ourselves, in fact they encourage it to keep our sanity, if it helps us do our jobs. Now, by this point, you have a reputation. That’s why they limited your card.”

He takes another deep drag from his smoke. His massive chest rising, then falling as he lets out another cloud.

“Thing is, this time, when they do the investigation, they’ll find that both of us went over budget. Because you swiped my card.”

Oh boy. Here it comes.

“So now, if I ask for more, we’ll both look like a bunch of pricks. And I won’t let your mistakes cost me my reputation. So, here’s what we’re going to do.” Spike says, gesturing towards the bowl of red goop, it slowly congealing as it cools down.

“I’ve brought us a surplus box of soup from the discount bin. We’re gonna be eating these until our next pay. I dunno how old they are, or how long they’ve been sitting there, but they cost a hundred credits so as far as I’m concerned they’re the best damn soup in this country. The cards, both of them, will be staying with me. If it has nothing to do with the mission, it doesn’t go off the cards. Understand?”

I look at the menacingly red semi-solid again. I think back to last night, of all the girls, all the booze. All the strobe lights and nightlife. Was it really worth it? Looking at my current fate, I would dare say no, it wasn’t.

“But wait, wait, wait… Spike… It’s only the first of the month. We’re gonna survive off of this… Stuff? For thirty days?”

Spike looks at me, an evil glint in his steel grey eyes.

“Well, Jackie boy, best get used to them then. Bottoms up. And remember, this is gonna be the best damn soup you’re gonna have on this continent. For the next thirty days”