TRANSMISSION 18
(POV: Fun Ghoul)
I don’t know if I can describe too well the feeling I had when we first got back. Something good, maybe even a little bit perfect. Everybody’s reactions almost broke my black little heart with happiness. Jet Star cried a bit. The Kobra Kid, once he started believing that it really was us, wouldn’t let Party Poison go. Missile Kid was happier than if you’d given her a freaking pony, I swear. ‘Aint never been a reunion as sweet as ours.
Nope, that didn’t cover it at all…
You gotta understand; they all thought Party and I had been dusted. For about three months, they’d been trying to learn to live without us. I can’t imagine what Missile must’ve been feeling (we went down trying to rescue her— no, not trying, succeeding). What Kobra must’ve been feeling… But in what I’m sure must’ve sounded like an idealistically happy ending to all of them, we weren’t dusted. We came home. How would YOU react?
The Steak House was crowded, so the four of us crashed overnight in the Trans Am. And before you make any dirty assumptions, it was all purely brotherly (really, now, don’t be a pervert), but the proximity to Jet and Kobra really was nice. Being separated from them had been truly awful, and being camped out together, just like we used to, made me feel safe again. At home again. I mentioned how rough it must’ve been on the others, but FUCK was it rough on me. Not knowing if anyone I loved was still alive. Not believing I’d ever escape that hell, wondering if there was anything left to escape to. Those feelings alone were torture, never mind the fact that I was literally being tortured. I don’t mean to sound like a whiner or anything, but it had all been very awful. Being reunited with my brothers erases it all.
It’s the end of one story—being separated and finding our ways home—and the beginning of another. Because now, it is time end this. Time to (and I’m paraphrasing Doctor D here) demolish those white walls, pull the pin, and let this world explode. It is time to take down Better Living Industries once and for all.
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TRANSMISSION 19
(POV: Jet Star)
*two weeks later*
“Together again… gee, it’s great to be together again.” Fun Ghoul sings under his breath in his best Kermit the Frog voice as he tries to fix the Trans Am’s engine. It got shot up the other day during a clap with some Draculoids. While his skills as a mechanic are exceptional, Fun doesn’t make a very convincing Muppet.
“Damn straight.” Kobra Kid gives a rare smile. “So what’s on the menu at the Steak House today?”
“Hmmm… I’m thinkin’ a supply run. Let’s see what the Boys in White got for us.” Party Poison smirks crookedly as he fiddles with our T/R/A/N/S/M/I/T/T/E/R, hacking into channel BLND.
A good amount of static comes through, followed by the familiar flat voices of Draculoids and Better Living Industries officials communicating amongst themselves… We get the info we need, though it takes a while to sift through the garbage. A guarded supply convoy is currently eastbound on Route Urea, headed from Production Complex 1A7 to Battery City. That means food, ammo, blasters, and medical supplies, all of which we need. With Doctor D’s okay, the four of us set to work cobbling together a raiding party.
We decide to split the work; Party and Kobra will get some and Fun and I will get some. First, we look for Eternal Thunder. Not at the bar… Nor the back room where people sometimes hang out… At the garage, yet another “no”…
We find her sitting alone on a stack of wooden shipping pallets, quietly playing a guitar. It’s plastered with duct tape from years of abuse, and I’m guessing she found it in the trash as I did mine. Her back is turned to us, and I hesitate to interrupt as I really love the song she’s practicing. “We are Young” by Fun. (like Fun Ghoul’s nickname, only they’re a band) Speaking of fun things, I notice a pining, attentive expression crossing Fun GHOUL’S face as he catches the sound of Thunder’s voice on the wind.
“Tonight… we are young… so let’s set the world on fire. We can burn brighter… than the sun…”
If I know Eternal Thunder like I think I know her, she doesn’t want to be caught in such a vulnerable moment. She can’t help but have a kind of guard; it seems to come with going through hard times. Her voice is sweeter than I would’ve expected, and she is singing beautifully. Not that she’d hear a word of it if we told her.
“Carry me home tonight| Just carry me home tonight| The moon is on my side| I have no reason to run| So will someone come and carry me home tonight?| The angels never arrived| But I can hear the choir| So will someone come and carry me home?”
We retreat without Thunder knowing we ever heard her. Me in true shy guy Jet Star fashion, Fun because he’s kinda got a crush on her. Well, I know he used to, but it’s been a while. So… maybe he has a crush on her? Anyway, we decide to hit up Laceration Gravity next. We can always come back to Eternal Thunder.
His usual spot, a little encampment consisting of a stolen motorcycle and a campfire, is about a five minute’s walk from the Steak House. So, we start walkin’.
“She’s pretty good, huh?” I ask Fun Ghoul. He smiles and nods.
“Thunder’s great.” He says happily, doing a little skip. “Didn’t know she could play.”
“Yeah… I miss playing guitar!”
“Why don’t you play? Hell, why don’t I play?”
“We should play more.” I decide.
“Agreed.”
When we get there, Gravity is sitting on a log skinning a dead coyote. Adrenaline Extermination is with him, talking about her ray guns.
“This one is Poison Glitter.” She says, showing Gravity a purple ray gun. Doctor D’s famous catchphrase, ‘Look Alive, Sunshine!’, is written on the barrel in sparkly black letters, and there’s a red and aqua flower on the main part.
“You painted this?” He asks. The twisted lump of blood and fur and… other things… that he is working over is disconcerting to Adrenaline’s dog, Jasper, who has a very quizzical expression at the moment.
“Yes I did.” She replies proudly, setting down Poison Glitter and unholstering her other ray gun. It is black and dark red with a bleeding heart painted on it and criss-crossing line details. “I painted this one, too. It’s called Black Blood.”
“You’re pretty good at that.” It’s a little hard to hear him around the gas mask.
“Aww! Thanks!” Adrenaline says energetically before she notices us. Fun and I have just reached the camp-thingy. “Hey, guys! What brings you two here?”
“We’re hitting Route Urea later to raid a supply convoy. Thought we’d invite you guys along for the ride.” I explain, and Adrenaline gives me a shrug.
“I’m in.” She answers. Laceration Gravity nods in agreement. “When are we leaving?”
“Oh, ‘bout an hour. Gotta round up some of the others. We’ll meet up at the parking lot, okay?” Says Fun Ghoul.
“Okay… I’d better get this in the fridge.” Gravity casually picks up the gruesome coyote corpse, careful not to drag any of the skinned parts in the dirt.
“Yay! We’ll celebrate victory with coyote steak!!” Fun Ghoul grins, patting Gravity on the back. As soon as he says that, Adrenaline cheers.
“It’ll be totally awesome!”
The four of us head back to the Steak House (Jasper in tow), and on the way I can’t help but think what an odd little pair Gravity and Adrenaline make. She’s hyper and tough and, for lack of a better word, young. She laughs and screams and dances across the battlefield. On the other hand, Gravity is spooky and detached. He barely speaks and has this dead-eyed stare that messes with people’s heads. Honestly, I never thought he could have a friend. And I’m not saying that because I dislike him, I’m saying that because up until Adrenaline started hanging around him, Gravity was almost incapable of interacting with people. So don’t roll your eyes, but I think in a way she’s sort of fixing him. It’s cute, ya know? She’s like his little sister.
“Oh, ya know who you should really invite?” Adrenaline pipes up suddenly. “You should invite Atomic Peach-Blossom. She’s real handy in a firefight. This one time—“ She’s talking to Fun Ghoul primarily—“This one time me and Atomic and Jet were taken by surprise by a whole unit of Dracs. She SNIPED them, Fun Ghoul. She’s a SNIPER.”
“I know, right!? She’s a ninja!”
“You think I’m a ninja?” A voice from behind. I whip around to see that none other than Atomic Peach-Blossom has been silently stalking us back to the Steak House. “Thanks.”
“Whoa! Where did you even come from?” Adrenaline Extermination asks her, wide-eyed. “How long have you been following us? HOW DID I NOT NOTICE THAT!?”
“Um… Somehow I think you’re better off not knowing.” The ninja girl winks. Her footsteps are still absolutely silent.
“You’ve GOT to teach me how to do that.” Adrenaline grins.
“Any time. Oh, and I’d love to come on the raid with you guys. I’ll get somebody to watch Rose for me.” There, guess the roster’s filling up pretty quick. By now, we’re right outside of the Steak House, standing in the parking lot. Eternal Thunder is walking out from behind the building, carrying her guitar in a way that draws as little attention to it as possible.
“Hey, Thunder, we’re going on a raid in a little bit!! You in!?” I ask, shouting across the parking lot.
“Sure thing.”
Kobra and Party bring along reinforcements of their own: Reinly Night, Dead Bunny, and Ritalin Ranger. Eleven Killjoys total. Awkwardly, we manage to split the somewhat large group into three vehicles (The Trans Am seats five, a Mustang we’re borrowing seats five, and Eternal Thunder takes her motorcycle. Okay, so technically the Mustang only has room for four, but Bunny graciously offered to sit on Ranger’s lap.) Party Poison drives the Trans Am while I sit shotgun. Fun Ghoul, the Kobra Kid, and Reinly Night are squeezed into the back seat, and The Mad Gear and Missile Kid is blasting through the radio.
Ironically, the song is “Black Dragon Fighting Society”. Wasn’t it just a month ago that we were on the hunt without Party and Fun, hearing this song and wishing they were with us to share it again? Funny how fast things can change out on the Zones… Now we really are just like we used to be—cracking jokes and singing too loud with the radio and having altogether more fun than we should—accept better, because what has happened to us has made us stronger. I mean, besides all the pain and heartache we survived, we’ve made so many new allies. Scratch that, I mean friends. All I expected when we drove into Battery City that night three months ago was to maybe rescue Missile Kid… I never thought all of this would happen. So many Killjoys have joined the cause because of what we did that night.
After some driving, the convoy comes into view.
“Well, are ya ready Ray?” Asks Party. Sometimes we use our old names when we’re just hangin’ out. I nod.
“Yeah…”
“How ‘bout you, Frank?”
“Oh, I’m there baby.”
“How ‘bout you, Mikey?”
“Fuckin’ ready!”
“Well, I think I’m alright…” He stomps on the gas.
With Party’s breakneck speed, we’ll be in the thick of things in just a few seconds. Blaster loaded and gripped tightly in my hand, I count it off in my head.
One,
Two,
Three,
FOUR!!
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TRANSMISSION 20
(POV: Party Poison)
You can kinda find a pattern among us Killjoys as far as fighting goes. You’ve got your Karate masters like The Kobra Kid and Atomic Peach-Blossom who do super badass kicks and stuff. You’ve got your crazy brute types with weird weapons like Dead Bunny and Eternal Thunder and Laceration Gravity who are maybe a little bit TOO creative when it comes to ghostin’ pigs. You’ve got your super-fast, flashy killas like me, Fun Ghoul, and Adrenaline Extermination. Then, there’s the “Don’t worry you crazy people, we’ll cover you”, balanced and cool-headed fighters, like Reinly Night, Jet Star, and Ritalin Ranger. And when you throw all of us together in a Molotov cocktail of pure awesome, you’ve got some screwed Draculoids.
I shoot to kill, pressing in on their weak defenses. Somehow, they weren’t expecting us. We’re not even outnumbered! We ran the pair of sixteen-wheelers and the little jeep that was guarding them off of the road, and together our little army is picking ‘em off. The others kinda seem to follow my lead, as usual. Just call me the slightly off-center leader…
“This shit’s easy-peasy!” I yell. “Pumpkin-peasy!! Pumpkin pie, motherfucker!!!!”
I put a smoldering hole in the nearest Drac’s mask and follow it up with a kick to the chest that puts him on the ground. Would’ve hurt worse if he was a girl and, ya know, had breasts. Funny, I’ve never seen a girl Draculoid, but it seems like half the Killjoys out here are of the girly variety. And I would say that the Dracs FIGHT like girls, but all the fabulous little ladies shootin’ ‘em to shit suggests otherwise. Clearly the Draculoids don’t fight like girls, ‘cause the girls fight like a bunch of freaking psychos.
Inadvertently making my point, Dead Bunny bashes a bad guy in the skull with her handy-dandy shovel. Atomic Peach-Blossom finishes the job for her with a well-aimed kick to the throat that definitively snaps the Drac’s spinal cord. A second Drac nearly gets the jump on them, but Reinly and Ranger have got them covered. The forces of evil are pretty much decimated by now. I scale one of the semis, which ended up skidding on its side when we ran it off the road. Kneeling on the passenger door, I peek in at the driver. He glares at me…. Injects something into his arm before I can stop him… And goes for his ray gun.
I narrowly dodge a shot, returning fire and missing. The door, which I’m on top of, swings open with unnatural force. I almost fall off, but manage to find my balance. Now this bastard has the upper hand, pulling himself out into the open air. He pistol-whips me good and hard, sending me off balance and causing me to crash hard onto the carrier part of the truck. I’m seeing spots… The Drac driver rushes me, but I draw too quick for him and land a shot on his leg that trips him and makes him fall on his back. I struggle to my feet and line up the kill shot.
“You FILTHY rebel!! Korse is going to kill you. ALL of you! You ugly, disg—“
“Shut up and let me see your jazz hands.” I roll my eyes at him. Really, I don’t see why the guy feels the need to talk shit when I’ve got him in my sights like this. Stupid Dracs. Soon, his hands are where I can see ‘em.
I know it’s stupid, but killing ‘aint as easy when you’ve got more than a split second to do it. When you’ve made eye-contact. Still, there’s no use in leaving this asshole alive… I take a deep breath and pull the trigger.
We’re all laughing and high-fiving and raiding for supplies and thinking we’re in the clear when we see the clouds on the horizon.
“Dammit…” Fun Ghoul grumbles.
“Oh, this is just perfect.” Jet Star sighs, looking to the sky.
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!!” Kobra Kid puts our collective thoughts to words.
We should’ve checked the weather before hitting the road… Then we would’ve seen the radiation storm coming.
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It’s not as dangerous as it sounds, honestly. I mean, it’s pretty fuckin’ dangerous, but if you can sit it out under cover you should get off alright. (I know, famous last words before contracting cancer or some shit like that.) Lucky for us we have the big supply trucks to hide out in. For the sake of safety, we all end up just staying in the same one. I’m hoping the storm won’t last too long… In the meantime, we’ve got more than enough provisions to hold us over.
Our needs go beyond Power Pup, though; we’re all banged up pretty bad. Adrenaline Extermination is nursing some road rash, Eternal Thunder had a glass bottle broken against her head, somebody broke Fun Ghoul’s nose, Ritalin Ranger sprained his ankle, etc. Lucky for us, the Dracs were carrying a shipment of medical supplies. I got kicked in the head and such, but that’s pretty much it. It’s gonna bruise like hell and look so cool.
I just can’t stop thinking about that second when the last Drac I killed today stuck that needle in his arm. They’re amping themselves up now? I can’t believe how strong it made him; that shot I made was a lucky one. The way that door burst open when he applied force to it was inhuman, the impact of his ray gun across my face blindingly painful. Worst was the look in his eyes… the same look Korse had… We’ll have to watch out for syringes on them in the future, and stop them before they can inject themselves.
Anyway, at the moment Jet is icing Fun’s broken nose. Kobra is bandaging Reinly (she got a nasty laser burn from where a Drac shot her weapon out of her hand). Atomic is cleaning the shallow gash on her calf. I’m sitting in a corner, trying to regain energy and ignore my splitting headache. I could really do with some coffee right now… Iced coffee, ‘cause it is hot as hell in here. A groan I didn’t intend to make escapes me, and I take off my jacket and toss it aside. You have no idea how hot it is in here…
Layout: there’re some pallets of water bottles, a pile of discarded tarps we took off the supplies, some crates of medical stuff and food, thirty cases of blank ray guns, and a little door near the front which we’ve shut. Seeing that I’m hot, (In which sense? Both. This is me we’re talking about.) I decide a drink is in order. So I go to where the pallets of water bottles are. Atomic Peach-Blossom is hanging out there. I crack open one of the smiley-face water bottles and get some of the stuff on my face as I take a desperate drink.
“Sure is hot in here.” Says Atomic. I nod, sitting down and leaning against the pallets. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah. You?” I can’t help glancing at the bandage on her leg.
“Oh, this is nothin’.” She does the hand thing… you know what I’m talking about? It goes with… c’mon, it’s that hand thing. I don’t know what they call it. “Say… you really don’t look so good, Poison.”
“Huh?”
“Uh, Jet Star? You busy?” She looks kinda nervous… why would she look nervous? I’m getting increasingly disoriented by the mixture of heat and headache.
“Not at all. What’s up, you two?”
“Aw, nothin’…” I say. Atomic rolls her eyes.
“I think Party hit his head or something.”
“Did you?” Asks Jet. I nod sheepishly.
“Kind of a lot.” I shift a little bit. “I mean, somebody kicked me in the face, and I got pistol whipped pretty good, and… well after that I kinda hit my head on a truck. So yeah…”
“Dammit, Party! You have to tell me when this sort of thing happens.” Jet Star ‘aint generally one to get worked up or put his foot down, so I feel kinda bad. It didn’t seem important to say anything earlier…
“Sorry…?”
He shakes his head in frustration. “Kobra, grab some ice. Fun, find me a flashlight.”
“I’m on it!” Fun replies. Kobra appears shortly with a bag of ice.
“Hold this to where it hurts.” Passing it to me, Jet is stern in his instruction. I oblige, feeling increasingly guilty under his distressed and watchful eye.
“Got your torch, boss.” Fun Ghoul drops the little white flashlight in Jet Star’s hand.
I think something of a crowd is starting to build… build… build the feelings of suffocation. No offense, of course. I mean, it ‘aint like they can read minds… it’s out of concern, all the eyes on me. And I understand that, but that don’t mean I wouldn’t be glad to get ‘em off. The attention, especially now, is nothing but embarrassing. Deep breath, now; otherwise shit’s just gonna get weird. That tends to happen out on the Zones, the weird stuff. If you don’t set out to keep a grip on right and wrong and reality, chances are you won’t. Reality, of course, is my main concern at the moment. Gotta watch myself, or soon I’m gonna see Drac masks on all my friends and Korse hiding behind every crate. And I’d hate to kill all my friends.
“Guys? Don’t crowd him.” Who’s that talkin’? I think it’s Ritalin Ranger. Good on the kid; I owe him one seeing that the concerned well-wishers are dissipating.
Jet Star switches the flashlight on. “I’m gonna check you for a concussion. Hold still and no blinking.” He shines the light in my eyes, then pulls it away. He frowns. Repeats. Frowns a bit more deeply.
I can’t help but grin the way I do when I’m up shit creek. “Concussion, eh? Sounds ugly. What should I do, Doctor?”
“Keep that ice on your head and don’t go to sleep.” He sighs. “Seriously. No sleeping.”
“Gotcha.” I salute.
This ‘aint no easy task, seeing that I fought my ass off earlier and I am dead tired as a result. But I know I can manage. Otherwise, I’ll just cause everyone more trouble, which I’d very much hate to do. So I grab a white pencil with a smiley face symbol on it and find me a pad of paper. Aimless sketching does nothing but relax me, so that’s out… I try to get Reinly’s face down on paper, but it is taking to much effort and energy. So I sit and think for a little while….
And for the first time in a long time, words come to me.
My hand trembles and the pencil shakes… I begin committing old thoughts to paper, thoughts from what feels like another lifetime. The words come in an inconsistent way; sometimes my pencil flies across the page and other times it is at full stop. But that’s just how it goes when you are writing lyrics.
“We hold in our hearts the sword and the faith…”
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END PART 9
*DEEP SIGHS OF RELIEF*
Wow, that took a while. My sincere apologies. But I think I’m finally satisfied with this… and I knew where I wanted to go, but I’m fully surprised by the route the story has decided we should take to get there. And DAMN is it good.
Wait… IS it good?
I do sometimes wonder if I’m just imagining that what I write is not craptown. I’m rather confident in my ability, but I still have my doubts about… storytelling, I guess. And the stories themselves. Like whether or not they have enough form and content and such. I just don’t know sometimes, and I don’t want to sound conceited. Am I losing you here? That’s okay. Wow, I’m pretty crazy. What am I even saying now? DIDJA LIKE THE STORYYYYY? WILL YA STICK AROUND FOR PART TENNNNN? XD
Feedback would be appreciated. Little musings on little details or bits that made you smile/ laugh/ frown/ sigh/ roll your eyes… Anything, really. You could review the thing, if you like. Whatever floats that metaphorical boat of yours? I’ll shut up now.
OVER AND OUT
