Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W’s POV:

Gunshots.

That familiar sound that rings in my ears. I’ve heard it so often I desensitize myself from it. It’s my job after all. Dispose of those who rebel against the Better Living Industries. The traitors who ruin the perfect utopia of Battery City. They call themselves the Killjoys, but to me they’re pests who want to ruin tranquility. It’s not hard, when you’re at such a high ranking in the BL/i hierarchy, every weapon that the Draculoids could only wish to touch is at your disposal. And like the old saying goes, “ never bring a knife to a gunfight , ” it’s much easier to kill when all they’re armed with is ray guns. Sometimes they get cocky, and get other illegal weapons to fight back with, maybe a bomb if they get spoiled, but it never works.

It’s almost amusing.

But nothing’s amusing anymore. Nothing’s funny. There’s no sadness, there’s no bad. There’s no guilt or emotions or pain. You’re numb, you’re unstoppable. Because of the pills. The BL/i pills. The perfect little capsules that make life all the better. The Killjoys reject it, they refuse to take them, but I embrace it. I feel at my best when I swallow that goodness, like I’m Destroya himself. Because I feel like nothing . I don’t feel pain. A gunshot won’t affect me like it’d affect a Killjoy. They call me robotic, but I call myself perfect. There’s nothing hampering with my work. Normally you’d have to duck down, take a break when you’re pained or injured, but I keep going. I don’t need to stop. There’s nothing for me to stop for.

And that’s how I’m ranked as the top S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W in all of Battery City. Because I’m a killing machine. I keep going. There’s nothing for me to wait for. I exterminate and leave the scene. Killjoy after Killjoy. I’ve done it so many times it has become a routine. I almost do it automatically. There’s not much difference between every gang either. They all fight back, they think they’re saving something, that they’re defending their values. But it always ends the exact way, with them dead and myself victorious.

It’s all the same. And I love it. Unity. It’s perfect. All the Draculoids look the same, they act the same. All the buildings in Battery City are the same. There’s nothing out of line, everything is in order. Like it should be. The Killjoys think that there should be color, diversity, expression, music, and that everyone should have an identity . They think that the alikeness of everything isn’t right, that it’s a dystopia . They think wrong . They compare the civilized society of Battery City to the chaos known as the Zones. They think the fighting, the raiding, the unorganized nature of the Zones is how the heart, the core, the center of everything, beautiful Battery City , should be. It disgusts me. The weak shouldn’t have an identity, they shouldn’t choose their purpose or how they present themselves. They’ll get out of the line, they’ll ruin everything, they’ll cause chaos like the Zones have proved. When everyone follows their role, society thrives. Only the higher ups know the difference between right and wrong. They’re the only ones who should have free will. No ordinary person could, they’ll ruin everything. That’s why the Draculoids lose all their sense, their mind. They’re just soldiers, minions, following the orders given to them. And it works out perfectly .

You have to earn your identity. It’s not something handed to you on a silver platter when you come into this world. You can’t just claim it. Everyone starts out insignificant. You have to prove your worth, that you know right from wrong, that you won’t ruin the flow if you’re given the power of expression. That’s what the Killjoys don’t get. They think that they can just take what isn’t theirs. They ruin society. They break the rules, they rebel . And they expect to be treated the same as those who listen. Ridiculous. Everything’s ridiculous. Their logic is ridiculous. Go against the norm. They say they want to protect the freedom of expression, and paint their damn colors everywhere. They graffiti the walls with their symbols, they run illegal clubs, they go against rule . Only because it’s there. If we went back in time and allowed for all of this nonsense they’d still find a way to rebel.

They need a checkup, a punishment, a reminder that what they do doesn’t slide and they won’t get off scot free. That’s where the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws come in. They’re the BL/i’s top exterminators. After the Dracs proved themselves ineffective in disposing of the Killjoys, Korse took the best vigilantes in all of the Zones and combined them together into the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit. They’re the greatest exterminators of the Zones. Each of us get assigned to a Zone and kill every Killjoy that runs into our sight. It’s a messy job, but messy is my style.

You’ll never wash the blood off your hands after your first kill. It sticks and sticks and not even the once flowing oceans could clean it. Blood, blood, blood. The color red is your only friend. Once that body goes down, your entire existence has changed. You’re now a part of the BL/i. There’s no going back. The life you stole is your binding with Korse. It’s the metaphorical contract that you have one purpose and one purpose only: exterminate .

I’ve gotten pretty good at extermination over the years. I can top at least 10 to 15 Killjoys a day while most other S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws usually don’t get more than 5. With that I climbed the BL/i ranks rapidly, getting more privileges, and became Korse’s favorite S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. My name has also become taboo within the Killjoys. They call me Red, and my fiery hair is a dead give away that they aren’t making out of the moment alive. I don’t even need to hide my face. I’m feared by all, just like I wanted.

“Alright, clean this mess up faster, we’re on the clock!” I yell out to the Draculoids. Another squad exterminated, and a pretty big one on that too. Crouching down, I examine the patch on the purple hair’s jacket. Violet Star . What a stupid name. Well they’re all dead anyways. Hoisting the body up on my shoulder, I take him to the truck where the rest of his gang is. That’s the last extermination of the day, and this group added another 7 to my total. 28 . That’s one of the better runs. I’m sure Korse will love the news.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Arriving at the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W facility, the Dracs wasted no time taking the bodies to the basement. Despite being mindless figures who could only follow orders, somehow they manage to get out of line. While I was watching them unload the truck, Korse came and snuck behind me. I wasn’t expecting him to be here.

“AY! My favorite S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W!!” He exclaimed, grabbing my shoulder a bit too roughly, scaring the living shit out of me. My hand immediately grabbed the handle of my raygun from its holster. “Whaddya get today, my top exterminator?”

“Dear Destroya” I muttered under my breath, my grip relaxing. I mock counted the fingers on my hands, “28 Killjoys today.” His eyes immediately lit up as the number left my mouth, a rare grin on his face, and gave me a rough pat on the back. He then grabbed my shoulder again , pushing me into him for an awkward side hug.

“28!? No fucking way!! I knew I could count on you ‘7! That’s more than what the other guys tallied up in total today! Maybe I’ll fire ‘em all and just keep you!” He chuckled darkly. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually did it though, especially knowing Korse. He thinks in the same way that I do; crush the weaklings and select the best. It’s a battle of the fittest, afterall. That’s probably what makes us get along so well.

My wristband suddenly vibrates against me, signaling it’s time to take my pills again. As if he could sense it too, Korse gets a bottle from his pocket and hands it to me. I open the lid hastily, getting a few capsules and shoving them down my throat, letting the sweet numbness enter my body.

Korse gives me another slap on the back, having that trademark sadistic smile on his face. “That’ll be good for today. Good job on your hard work today, ‘7. Go back to your quarters and report at the same time tomorrow.” He says, his voice going back to the normal stern and professional tone.

I nod slightly, leaving his presence and going into the elevators, mingling with the rest of the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws. I never really bothered to get to know them. Though luckily for me they weren’t in the mood for conversation either. They left pretty early anyways, since the low-ranking S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W’s quarters were on the lower flowers. I was left to myself soon after, leaning against the wall and sighing. I was more tired than I usually am for some odd reason. Though I was snapped out when the elevator dinged, signaling that I’m at my floor.

I slowly tread to my quarters, rummaging for my keycard in my pocket and opening the door, being greeted by my simple and dull room. No colors, perfect. I collapse onto my bed and lay down, my eyes feeling heavy and my body fatigued. My thoughts were racing, my legs were giving up on me, I felt too weak to even take off my boots. My white blood stained jumpsuit remained on my cut up skin. I felt paralyzed. My body just gave up on me.

And for the first time ever, since I first joined the BL/i and took the pills,

I didn’t feel numb.

Chapter Text

Fun Ghoul’s POV:

The blazing hot sun was shining down on us in the alleyways, where the smell of graffiti is strongly lingering, burning our noses. We were standing right in the place where we shouldn’t be- but we didn't listen to the rules. Normally we don’t venture out this deep into the Zones, but for some reason today, we all were insane enough to go to Battery City, the center of all the Zones. This is where all the Dracloids like to linger the most, and where the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/o/Ws crack down the hardest. If we were to get caught anywhere, it’d most likely be here. Though the thrill of it is what motivated us the greatest. The fear and adrenaline rushing through us when we sense shadows behind us. We’re not mad men though, and the closer we get to the main City, the less over the top our feats get. Now we’re truly in the city, which means we have to lay somewhat low in what we do. We went to one of the less crowded areas, The Lobby, with a beautiful plain brick wall, just begging to be inked on.

It didn’t stay that way for long after we arrived, though. Our logos covered the copper slates, vibrant greens, blues, and reds popping out in the creases.

But we didn’t stop there, we painted whatever came to mind: phrases like “Destroya isn’t coming” or “The BL/i will fall,” caricatures of the higher ups like Korse and the Director, and anything else that we wanted to shout out in our rebellious little hearts.

“I need another yellow” Jet Star calls out, shaking his used can before tossing it next to the other empty bottles we finished up. I crawl to the bag, grabbing a new spray paint can and throwing it to him. Popping the lid off, he shakes it aggressively before continuing to finish his artwork. I take a swig of the whisky bottle we brought before looking up to see what he drew. It was Red. Yet it was drawn so well. It wasn’t like any of the other drawings, where they all looked like monsters.

He looked… human. Not like the sadistic bastard he is.

“All that detail for that asshole?” Kobra scoffs, “You gotta little crush on him now? On the guy who wants to rip you to shreds?” He says, patronizing, grabbing all the empty cans and throwing them at one of the buildings for them to deal with. I giggled slightly, it was a good jab.

“Over my dead body,” Jet mutters, “Look at Ghoul! He’s blushing! I’m sure he has a huge crush for that murderer.” He tosses the yellow can back to the bag, taking a step back to admire his work. It's pretty good artwork, though. I’ll admit, I didn’t know Jet could draw like that.

“Oh shut up, I don’t!” I whined, “The artwork is just good… I’m used to seeing him look like a biblically accurate angel, y’know? It’s weird seeing him somewhat normal.” I mumble, clutching onto the top of the whisky bottle, trying to defend myself. Though Jet gave me an unimpressed look.

“Yeah ‘cause Monet here drew him like the damn pornodroids.” Kobra groaned, grabbing a crimson can and scribbling devil horns and all sorts of words on it. He covered the gleaming eyes, the rosy cheeks, the psycho smirk, showing his true colors, and making it fit with the other monsters on the wall.

“Better.” He smirked, tossing the can aside to fish out the Jet Black Spray Paint, signing it with an ominous “CATCH US IF YOU CAN” at the corner. The once bare boring brick wall was now filled with colors, emotions; all the rage that was pent out thrown up to speak our minds. We won’t be silenced, we’ll find a way. Art is the weapon, and it’s deadly. Who knows how long it’ll take for them to find it, we chose the least populated alleyway, after all. But our message will remain ‘till the end of time. I take another second to look up and admire everything. It wasn’t our greatest work, but it was pretty damn good considering the circumstances.

“We’ve done enough, let's get the hell out of here.” Kobra mutters, packing up all the spray paints and grabbing the whisky bottle from me. I reluctantly got up, disappointed the alcohol was taken away from me, and that we have to go so soon. I would have loved to make an even bigger mess. But I also would love not to get caught by a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W and get my guts ripped out.

“I call shotgun!” Jet calls out while Kobra slings the spray paint bag on his shoulder. I take one last look at the wall, more like five long stares, before catching up with the other two, who were already by the Trans AM, waiting impatiently.

“Hurry up, Ghoul, before you get mugged by a Draculoid!” Kobra Kid calls out annoyed, pretending to check his non-existent watch. Petty. I stick my tongue out at him before trudging myself to the door, reluctantly sitting down, still catching glances of The Lobby from the window.

“Dear Destroya… you painted a wall! Stop acting like an Analog War veteran. Even Dr. D can walk faster than that, and he literally has no legs!” Kobra chided, but all I did was muster up a ‘shut up’ before spacing out as we went back to the Diner.  

Though even as we left, the only thing that seemed to be on my mind was Battery City. I desired to know more, see more. What’s beyond The Lobby? Are there more boring blank walls? Do any other Killjoys venture there? Does the Director broadcast from there?

I remember once Dr. Death Defying told me a random fact: There are more pills produced in Battery City than grains of sand in Zone 4 . If they’re what takes away all the emotion, then it shows how their ideology will always fail unless they heavily drug their victims. So in theory, wouldn’t the higher officials take higher doses? Then that would mean Red would be like a robot… exactly how they wanted.

He’s insane. He doesn’t even wear a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W mask, so he can show his authority. Is he even his own person at that point? Maybe he isn’t the monster we all put him out to be, just a boy forced under the rule of a regime.

What if he truly was a good-

“Zones to Ghoull! Are you with me?” Jet called out, interrupting my thoughts by waving his hand all over my face. I swatted it away, trying to get back in my thoughts, but he wouldn’t have it. “Don’t push me away. Talk to me, what’s on your mind? You were quiet the entire ride. That isn’t you.” He sighs, climbing into the backseat and pulling me into a hug, which I reluctantly accepted.

“I’m fine. Just thinking for once in my life…” I mumble trying to dodge the topic all together- and failing. He gave me an unamused look. Dammit Jet Star, always seeing through my lies. He squeezes me even tighter, practically suffocating all the air out of me trying to get me to talk. His arms were crushing my ribs and my chest began to hurt a shit ton. I try to struggle my way out by kicking and wiggling out of his arms, but that man has an iron grip.

“Ghoul, I’m not your enemy. You can be open with me,” he sighed, finally loosening his grip on me after my fruitless attempts. I cross my arms and turn away, trying to avoid him again. He’s going to kill me if I try speaking my thoughts. What kind of Killjoy would I be, sympathizing with the BL/i . A fake one, that’s what. And Red out of all people, the worst of all evils. What a sellout I am.

“I don’t want to talk about it…” I mumble, angrily kicking the door and jumping out of the car. I was considering running the other direction, maybe until I hit Dead Pegasus so I could pick up a newspaper. Though it’d be useless, because he’d drive after me. I could go to Dr. D, but he’d rat me out once Jet realized I went missing. I also didn’t feel like dealing with Show Pony, knowing he’d complain about the massive debt I’m in with him, which left me stuck at the Diner. But I couldn’t withstand another second of Jet’s questioning, so I stormed into my room, shutting the door aggrievedly and locking it behind me.

I wanted to shut out Jet and Kobra and all their annoying comments.

I wanted that damn sentence to stop ringing in my head: ‘ I’m not your enemy… I’m not your enemy... I’m not your enemy… ’

I wanted Jet to stop acting like he cares just a moment before he backstabs me.

I wanted that bastard Red to get out of my head.

I wanted his stupid smile and his stupid laugh and his stupid hair and stupid uniform and stupid fucking everything to stop overrunning my thoughts.

I wanted to stop thinking about that drawing Jet made.

I wanted to forget about The Lobby and anything related to that godforsaken hellhole known as Battery City.

I needed to wallow.

I grabbed one of the illegal magazines I got from Show Pony. It cost me a good 700 carbons and 3 blowjobs but it was worth it. It was the most recent edition of my favorite mag, Blastas and Batteries . The BL/i made getting Killjoy media harder and harder, and a single copy costs the same amount as 2 full crates of PowerPup, if you’re lucky. If you want to get a full variety box, then you’re down a good 15,000 carbons minimum . Though, I don’t have nearly that much to my name, and my desperation for them often leads me back to the floor with a cock in my mouth.

I tried flipping through, but I felt so awful I couldn’t even read the first few words without being reminded of Better Living. The Director’s dead smile flashed in front of my face. The white background she always records in. Better Living Industries invites you to join us . Her monotone voice. That plastic expression. Goddammit . Somehow seeing cool-as-fuck Killjoys and slick new raygun models didn’t appeal to me anymore, and I threw the magazine at the wall without second thought.

The rosary I wrapped around my arm fell off in the process though, and the silver made an aggressive clash with the floor. Shit, shit, shit . Gingerly I scooped it up and rewrapped it, making sure that it's nice and snug this time. Something about those green and white beads really appealed to me at that moment. I’m already fucked up enough, it won’t hurt to do a decade… Though any and every form of religion is illegal in the Zones… but when did I ever care about rules? Maybe just a…

Suddenly an aggressive knock came from my door. “Ghoul? Are you here?” Fuck. “Stop hiding from me! I just want to talk.” It was Jet. Of course. I stay in my little corner, not bothering to get up and have a stupid ‘talk.’ Maybe if I don’t acknowledge him he’ll get the message and go away.

That didn’t work.

“GHOUL!!” He exclaims, banging on the door harder and killing my ears. Jesus Christ, does he ever quit? “If you won’t let me in I’m still finding a way!”

I groan, finally getting up and unlocking the door, opening it ever so slightly before hiding again in my little corner, fidgeting with the rosary beads on my arm. Jet immediately comes in, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking down on me. I didn’t bother to make eye contact though; I knew how his face would look. Disappointed. I wouldn’t dare look up. But eventually I was forced to.

“Hey…” He says, in almost a whisper. His voice was calm, not aggravated like I expected. “What’s wrong… I know something is up. You don’t need to hide from me. I’ll listen to whatever you say.” His words had an impact: I just wanted to spill my guts to him, to confess everything. But I couldn’t. I would lose him that way. I’d destroy all that I’ve built, all these years of running away and building a new life- wasted.

I bit my lip hard, trying to stop myself from letting a thought slip. “I can’t.” I spilled out, “I can’t tell you. You’ll kill me. You won’t understand… It’s…” I immediately pause, already saying too much. Now he was going to pry me for information.

“Something was wrong.” He replies, patting a spot on the bed, inviting me to sit with him, “C’mere. You can tell me, y’know. I won’t judge, even if you told me you killed a man or something.” He chuckles slightly, trying to ease the mood. I finally looked up at him, hesitantly getting out of my corner and sitting on the bed with him.

I kept my distance though, and brought my knees to my chest, hiding my head in them.

I couldn’t run away this time.

I was stuck with him and the awkward silence that loomed over us both. The ball was in my court, but I refused to make a move.

Though after a while, I couldn’t take it.

It was building up.

It was ready to explode.

“What if Red isn’t as bad as we think.” I blurted without a second thought, getting up from my curled up ball position to now pacing around my room restlessly. “What if he’s truly a good guy? What if he isn’t the heartless killer we know him as, and is just brainwashed by pills?”

Jet stared at me in disbelief.

I knew I shouldn’t have talked.

And that silence was back again. I was anxiously waiting for him to say something. To call me batshit insane. To kick me out back to Battery City. To turn me in with Korse.

My delusions were eating out my mind as I sat there quivering, waiting for my fate.

“Please don’t think I’m a traitor…”

Those were the only words I could weakly mumble out. It was more of a broken prayer though. My voice was hoarse and cracked as my body trembled anxiously.

My heart was pounding frantically in my chest. My life could’ve ended right there.

Until he finally spoke up, asking the vague question of just, “Is that why you were so quiet?”

No acknowledgment that his gang-mate was a BL/i sympathizer. No screaming that I was poisoned and feeding into the propaganda. Just a simple question.

“Yeah, I guess… I got carried away with my thoughts…” I mutter, biting my lip a bit, “Sorry… for my whole mini-spiel. I-I don’t mean it or anything it was just that…” My words trail off before I could fuck this up anymore.

He remained quiet though. The logical reason was that he was just professing everything, but my mind still dove into the worst theories. He hates me. He hates me so much. He’s probably just acting nice so I won’t get suspicious.

Though after a long agonizing silence, he finally speaks up.

“I know.” He smiled reassuringly, motioning for me to come back on the bed with him, “I know you better than that. I knew you didn’t mean it.”

I calmed down a bit, sitting back down on the bed as he immediately pulled me closer to him. “Loosen up, Ghoulie. You’ve been stressed ever since we left The Lobby. You’re not yourself.” He kisses my cheek before pulling back and looking at me with a serious glare.

“Though I mean it. I’m here for you, Ghoul. You don’t have to hide this from me. I wanna know what’s going on.” He says, grabbing my hand and intertwining it with his own, squeezing it gently.

“I know… I’m sorry…” I reply, biting my lip slightly, “I- I didn’t know how you’d react. You seemed pretty pissed when Kobra commented on your drawing and-”

“I deflected it back to you. That was an asshole move on my part.” He sighs, caressing the top of my hand, “But I’m always here to listen, okay? I want you to trust me Ghoul. We’re partners in crime… And I want to be there for everything .”

Before I even had a chance to acknowledge his words, he leaned in and kissed me on the lips- slowly and tenderly. His lips moved gently and carefully against mine, as if I was fragile glass that would shatter if he didn’t treat me too delicately.

My body shook at the contact but I hesitantly caved in, moving at the same soft rhythm as him. It was different from the million other times we kissed: It wasn’t passionate or rough, it wasn’t the interlude between a raid and sex as we hurried to the bedroom. It was loving and… authentic . Real. As if he truly loved me and I wasn’t just another thing to pleasure off of. My arms tied around his neck, and his painted hands left mine to rest on my scuffed up waist as the kissing continued. My eyes fluttered shut and I melted into his arms, feeling protected in his embrace.

After what seemed like hours, he finally pulled back, leaving me breathless and panting as he tucks a stray hair behind my ear.

“I love you so much, Ghoul. I’d take down the entire BL/i along with California itself if it made you smile.” He had a genuine look on his face as he interlocked his pinky with mine. A wave of guilt washed over me as I remembered how I thought of him before- calling him a backstabber and wanting him out of my life.

Now, there was nothing more I wished but to lay in his arms all day as he shields me.

Chapter Text

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W 007’s POV:

Good morning S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws. A new day has come. Please wake up, take your pills, and prepare for extermination. Roll call will begin in 10 minutes.

The Director’s voice woke us up like always. Monotone, yet cheerful. Emotionless, yet excited. It always plays at the same time, same place, same tape. There’s no music, there’s no joy or screaming or exclaiming. No slogans, no pep talks, nothing . Just her and her voice. Wake up, take your pills, kill, rinse and repeat. There’s a beauty to the simplicity. What if though… What if it changed? What if it was different. What if she changed her greeting? Rise and shine, S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W s ! Killjoy spotting in Zone 2! Please take your pills and prepare for the headcount. Remember the Aftermath is Secondary . Some emotion, expression. Something that makes you want to take those pills and strap on your gun to murder all those damn punks in cold fucking blood. The Draculoids spotted a Killjoy Club in Zone 6. That adds 25 on your quota! A motive…

What was I thinking.

That’s not how things should go. We’re simple, we don’t feel feelings, we don’t express ourselves. The aftermath is secondary. Raid, detain, exterminate… Raid, detain, exterminate. That’s all we are made for. We don’t need music or emotion or motives… love. Friends. We’re not here to get connections, we’re here to fulfill our purpose. What’s happening to me!?

I frantically grab one of my pill bottles from the nightstand. I can’t let any more of this bullshit cloud my mind. These shits wore off yesterday and made me lose that perfect numbness. I need a higher dose. The morning dose is 4 capsules… Maybe I’ll bump it up to 7… But the dosage 2 and dosage 3 times equate to 7… I’ll add a pill to those and make it 9… Fuck it, I pour out 7 pills from it and shove it down my throat, impatiently wanting that delicious feeling of absolute numbness to flow through my body. I don’t need emotions, I don’t need a sense of belonging. If I can lather myself in the warm blood of those color fuckers I’ve already fulfilled everything I wanted. To feel the texture of blood on my tongue and see those beautiful stains all over myself… That’s my true love.

And I’ve only got 6 minutes before I can relish in that feeling.

I changed out of my old blood-soaked uniform, making myself look a bit more presentable. Running my fingers lazily through my shaggy red hair, I smirked. It was its beautiful shade of iconic crimson, and that’s all that matters. The look of shock on their faces when they see that small red dot approaching towards them… it’s beautiful. I savor that fear for as long as I can before all their blood dyes it a crimson red.

Red.

I love red.

It’s gorgeous, so vengeful.

It tastes metallic. It melts in your mouth.

It’s the name that they scream when my cars approach.

The sound they gag when my hands are around their throat.

I just love red.

Roll call will begin in 5 minutes.

I can’t wait to see it.

Please get ready and stand outside the door.

Opening my closet, I admired all the bounties and wanted posters that dressed the plain wooden walls. It was like my own personal trophy case, just with graffiti and sand. I’ve built my darkly beautiful collection over the years, every poster stamped with a huge “Exterminate” X over their faces.

Wanted: Bloody Vamp, Dead or Alive.

Wanted: Plague Saint, Dead or Alive.

Wanted: Vex Vanity, Dead or Alive .

So many names… So many faces… And still it was never enough. I could get lost in the tattered paper. The screams, the faces of horror, the gunshots… It was like a drug to me, but a drug I never wanted to sober from.

My hands grazed the rough ink gingerly, running my fingers up to trace their figures. I killed them all… I’m the one who ruthlessly murdered them. Knowing that got me off so fucking much. It drove me crazy like those desperate Pornodroid whores. My eyes couldn’t leave the posters. I was staring and lost in their covered eyes. Before I realized, it was time for headcount.

Roll Call is beginning now. Please stand outside your door.

Perfect.

I blow a kiss to my lovely papers before walking outside of my room, standing in front of the door. The rest of the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws were there as well, faces covered with masks and standing like statues.

“Go get ‘em, sugar,” I purred teasingly to the exterminator next to me, 218. He was one of the newer S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws, replacing 187 after Korse fired him. The newbies were my favorite to mess with; it was hilarious seeing him try to act tough. He was standing as stiff as a board and clenching his fists by his sides. Their reactions always spurred the sadistic part of me, but being a sadist has helped me a lot in this gig.

They couldn’t stop me anyway- everyone knew I was Daddy Korse’s favorite. I was the one who exterminated the most Killjoys… who hunted down all the Wanted targets… who lasted the longest without getting fired. I was his perfect little plaything, his favorite toy to use. He wouldn’t dare kick out the sole thing that brought him control and power. And I made sure to take full advantage of being the poster child of the BL/i.

Roll call is beginning. Please wait outside your door.

Roll call complete.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

As I go down and walk through the halls, I see Korse angrily storming out of his office with Draculoids following him behind. The walls next to him were lined fully with Wanted Posters of the Fabulous Three, and he angrily grabbed one of Fun Ghoul, ripping it into shreds.

“God fucking dammit, you Killjoy bastards!” He screams furiously, throwing the shreds of paper as he grabs his ray gun.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed…” I mumble sarcastically, walking past him. Clearly I didn’t read the room well enough though, because he immediately pinned me up against the wall, pointing his ray gun at me as his other hand wrapped around my neck.

“I allow a lot of your shit to slide here, 007 ” He growls under his breath. He even used my official name- he’s definitely pissed. “But I’m not dealing with your snarky and rude bullshit comments.” He presses the gun higher up my chin, though his hand wasn’t directly on the trigger. At least he knows proper gun technique. “I’m still the authority here.”

“Sorry…” I mutter out half-assed, “I don’t normally see you deciding to rip those posters up. Thought you only broke your favorite toys.”

“Watch it!” He yelled, as I felt his grip tightening around my throat. I was desperately trying not to gag or show any submission. That’s not who I am. “Those fucking anarchist vandalized the Wall! Pieces of shit ruined my damn operation!”

“What operation?” I choke out, wondering what “wall” could be so important. He usually worried about more important things than a simple useless slab.

“ The fucking Wall! The beautiful brick wall we placed in the Lobby. It was suppose to be used to inform those fucking whores and washed up shits to report any graffiti sightings to the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws and instead those fuckers go and vandalize it!!” He screamed devilishly. Korse wasn’t known for his anger management, that’s for sure. But I haven’t seen him this pissed in ages… Especially not towards any average Killjoy antics.

“The irony couldn’t get any worse…” I mumbled, though immediately took it back as I heard the gun cock, “Sorry, sorry.”

“I want to pay those pieces of shit a huge fucking lesson…” He whispers under his breath, finally loosening his grip around my neck. Thank the Director… One more second and I would’ve gotten knocked out.

As he started to walk away, a thought popped into my head. I needed a way to get back into Korse’s good graces. No doubt he’d be pissed after this. Call me his little whore but I couldn’t stand the idea of him hating me. I was his golden toy, his first choice. I had to please him. Be a good little obedient boy… Maybe I could land a surprise attack on them… just stop by their base and fuck some shit up. They’re just Killjoys, anyway. They’re all the same in the end. Stupid little anarchists with crowns too big for their heads. “The Fabulous Three” are just like every other loser gang. Legendary my ass. All they do is be the bigger terrorist and they get themselves the big fancy wanted posters with their faces on them. Exterminating these fuckers isn’t much of a step from the rest of them.

“I can pay them a little visit.” I say, rubbing the sore part of my neck. God, it hurt like a bitch, “After I knock out some Killjoys, I can stop by their base.” No doubt this was a big step, especially with no prior planning. But I didn’t really give much of a shit. It’s an extemporaneous idea, but definitely not a hard one.

He turned back to me, eyes lighting up, a small smile playing on his face. “Really? Well, I definitely have more faith in you than all these other useless shits… You’re excused from exterminating today. I want you to say hello to our little friends.” He smirked, strapping his gun back into the holster. The pissed off expression completely melted away as a look of purse sadism overtook it. 

Excused from exterminating!? Did he lose his mind or something!? “What do you mean I’m excused from exterminating? Won't the total quota go down? I’m the one who always has the most Killjoys killed!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m fine with the number going down for a day if that means I can give even a fragment of pain to those rebels” He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming. The look . The look that pierces through you, silently telling you that you have one chance, one shot to tame the beast.

And with that he walks away. I give a slight nod, clutching onto the handle of the gun resting in my holster. Suddenly, I didn’t feel that cocky after all. My one simple raygun didn’t feel powerful enough against three Killjoys armed with even more ray guns on top of explosives. Sure, I had the Draculoids, but what use are a hundred mindless zombies against three tacticians? I glance back at the wall with the posters so perfectly positioned. Their blank stares, the big Xs.

Oh what the fuck was I thinking. I’m 007, the fucking Red . I’m ruthless; even Killjoys like these quiver at the sight of me. My damn emotions are keeping me out of check. I grab the pill bottle from my pocket, downing five capsules straight from it. Numbness . I needed it. I’m the BL/i’s top S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, I take my pills and kill the fun. Feeling the rush already in my bloodstream, I storm out of the hallway, my boots echoing with rough, hollow thuds as I head to the armory. These cunts got a huge storm ahead of them.

A raygun isn’t enough. They’d surely outnumber me in terms of weaponry. I needed more . I stumble upon the grenades- perfect. Maybe I could even blow up that entire shit-hole Diner. I rummage for more explosives, wanting to make sure they wouldn’t outgun me in any sense. After loading up, I headed to the Draculoids floor. I needed a lot. A hundred minimum.

“Alright, alright!” I bark out, my voice rough and commanding, “I need at least a hundred of you to come with me!” Without hesitation Draculoids immediately march in a single file line, leaving their quarters and heading over to me. Their rayguns were already strapped against their hips, ready for battle.

“Hundred and eighteen, hundred and nineteen… hundred and twenty,” The numbers leave my lips in a mumble as I count them off. “That’s enough!” With the weapons and Draculoids at my disposal, there’s no way they stood a chance. I had over a hundred BL/i soldiers with me.

All I needed to take down were 3 rebels and one fucked up Diner.

They were dead.

And it was going to be such a beautiful sight.

Our cars immediately pulled up in front of the Diner, black trucks screeching to a halt as Draculoids poured out of them. Without hesitation, I lobbed a grenade right at the door, a loud bang ripping through the air. The calm atmosphere that was once here was far gone, the message now clearer than glass.

It was fucking over .

Chapter Text

Fun Ghoul’s POV:

As a kid I remember hearing stories about survivors of attacks recounting what they were doing moments before.

Walking to work.

Calling a loved one.

Taking care of the kids.

Something so normal, something that happens every day you don’t think twice.

Then a disaster strikes, and your life changes.

You don’t think the same way anymore, your perspective shifts.

The world feels different, it never sits right.

It’s like a ringing in your ear that never goes away.

And in this moment, everything shifted.

739- seven hours after sunrise. I was sitting alone in my room, making a bracelet. Kobra calls me a sissy for it, but there’s something soothing about tying different strings together.

Then it started.

There was a thunderous boom. The kind that rattles your bones and silences your thoughts.

I didn’t believe it at first.

Maybe someone dropped a grenade by accident.

But the only one who handled explosives was me.

I heard screaming, weapons being tossed around.

Kobra burst in, his ray gun strapped to his holster as he was carrying loads of ammunition in his arms. “Ghoul, get up! We’re getting fucking raided!” he yelled, running off to get more supplies. I dropped my strings, the realization not hitting me yet. I was so fucking naive. But it doesn’t dawn on you at first.

We can’t be under attack… Right?

Jet soon comes to my room, once again holding grenades and having a raygun by his side. “Buddy, come on, let’s go! I don’t want to see you dead at the hands of Red!” There was a slight panic in his voice, something that seemed alien to the calm and collected Jet. We got raided multiple times before, but he never sounded this urgent. Red’s name also never came out of his mouth.

Suddenly the realization crashed down on me.

We weren’t just being raided.

We're being raided by Red.

My brain tried to deny it, the name swirling in a whirlwind of thoughts- but deep down I knew it like my own.

The thought of that made my stomach churn anxiously and my hands started to shake.

Red was a big deal- he didn’t stop until bodies fell and blood was dripping from his hand. No other S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W would go to the lengths he would. The urge to shoot myself was strong. Get out quick and avoid facing him. But it wasn’t an option.

It didn’t feel real though.

Fucking Destroya. Immediately I got up, forgetting about the string and trying to get my shit together. Scrambling around my room, I tried to locate my ray gun, which was hiding between my piles of clothes, old cigarette stubs, and beer cans. My room was basically a nuclear power plant. By the time I got it adjusted in the holster, the screams were getting louder and the explosions more frequent. I knew I had to run in there, to help Jet and Kobra with what seemed like a fucking army, but I couldn’t. I was stuck, lost in the wasteland known as my hideout. This isn’t happening, not now.

I unwrapped my rosary from my wrist and gave it one last kiss before tucking it in the drawer, hoping it would send some sort of message to my mom, wherever she may be.

At least if Red takes my life I’ll finally get to see her again.

If she saw me like this though she’d burst into tears. I wasn’t the son she knew anymore- I was a dirty killer doing it to survive.

The BL/i has destroyed us all before it even began.

“Fucking hell, Ghoul,” Jet’s voice pierced through my thoughts again. He was back in the Diner, though he was more banged up from when he was going out. I could see his mask already shot through. “I told you to get up 5 minutes ago! He got Kobra in the arm, get up and fucking fight!”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

He shot Kobra.

I throw the rosary in the drawer, hurrying out of my room. I needed to get out there. Following out the door with Jet, I grab an explosive I had lying in my pocket, throwing it directly at a Draculoid. It wasn’t strong, but it knocked it out pretty well. Kobra was still landing shots with his uninjured arm- his determination always impressed me. Something I never had.

I kept throwing bombs, staying back as I prayed one of them would hit Red and that this would finally end. The air was thick with smoke and grunts, the ground shaking beneath us like an earthquake. Everything was blurred together. My body didn’t think, I just reacted. Priming grenades with my teeth, tossing them out without aim, and landing a few shots with my raygun. But it was as if my eyes went blind. My vision blurred and I couldn’t make sense of anything. My ears rang with a piercing buzz, and I wanted to scream. To reach out and hope that someone could help me instead of trying to kill me. This felt like one awful nightmare that I wanted to wake up from. But the noise was too real, and the blood all over my body said otherwise. Someone screamed my name- probably Jet. But I couldn’t tell if it was real or if my mind was fucking with me.

I was only a kid.

A kid dragged into this lifestyle, whether I wanted it or not.

A kid who lost both his innocence and his will to live.

A kid who was nineteen years old and now fighting against a ruthless killer who wanted my body shot up and disfigured.

Keep breathing, keep running, no matter what you do, survive . The words echoed through my head. But I couldn’t… I knew deep inside of me that this could be the end of the road.

Kobra’s arm was bleeding profusely now. Jet had wounds all over his chest too. Both of their clothes were ripped up and scratched. Looking down I finally realized how messed up I was too. Drenched in blood and bruised all over. It seems like the pain got numbed out for all of us though, and our only thought was to survive.

The noise only got louder, piercing screams cut through the air. I wanted it all to stop. Even for a second, so I could catch my breath amidst the dust. The thoughts of my mother filled my mind. If she was alive and seeing me right now, her knuckles would bleed with how hard she’d pray for me. Such a sweet pacifist, her dear son now at the battleground, watching bodies fall. Whenever I was afraid as a kid she’d whisper gently in my ear, little quotes on how God and the angels would protect me. But there is no God in the Zones and no angels flying around. I’m on my own.

As I started to feel hopeless, the smoke started to pass. I saw a silhouette, but it was unlike the ones of the Draculoids. It was messy, human.

It was Red.

His raygun was lowered, however. He wasn’t fighting or attacking. It was as if he already killed everyone on the premise. But all of our hearts were still beating. His face was emotionless, as it always was. But somehow I got drawn into him like a moth to a flame. My eyes locked with his, and I couldn’t stop staring. I was absolutely mesmerized. Even if I tried I was unable to look away. And it seemed like he was looking back at me with the same intensity.

He looked so lost, like there was a real boy hiding in the drugged up shell. I felt so much sympathy for the one who shot all of us up, but I couldn’t feel any malice even if I tried. The way he stopped so suddenly, his weapon down and just standing there, looking so lost. The Draculoids were the only ones fighting now, Kobra Kid and Jet Star struggling to fight against the sheer number of them. I didn’t fight with them though, I was stuck in my place, looking deep into his eyes. Those deep green irises. He acted differently, it was like emotion crashed upon him. Maybe it was just an act, or maybe the BL/i had mercy. Was he not drugged up anymore? Sympathy gripped my heart, I wanted to help him. Despite it being so wrong, I wanted this whole fight to end, and to run and save him. They’d label me a traitor, but I saw something beneath his bloodied jumpsuit.

Everything I thought I knew about Red shattered. I didn’t see an enemy in front of me, I saw someone lost and broken. Someone who I wanted to know more about.

Chapter Text

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W 007’s POV:

The feeling of the capsule was still on the tip of my tongue, but all the beauty and effects of it wore away too soon. I could’ve overdosed with how many pills I shoved down my throat, but they started to falter like last night. They used to make my brain go blank, make me feel nothing. Numb. They made me the perfect S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. Now all the emotions I was taught to despise were leaking through the cracks.

The empty feeling I used to feel was long gone, and at the worst time.

It was as if I woke up from a coma, but I wanted to fall back asleep. My vision cleared and my mind started to think again. Yet I felt so weak, losing all the power the pills gave me. My shooting arm limped down and I had neither the strength nor courage to continue. I just stood there, looking pathetic as the Killjoys kept attacking. But any purpose to continue left my brain.

Why was I fighting?

My hands trembled as I struggled to hold the raygun. Something, something Wall… That’s all I was told. Then I stepped in and offered to raid the Fabulous Three in order to please Korse. I could’ve knocked out so many Killjoys by now- but instead I’m stuck here, shooting them while they still remain alive. But it was Korse, and I could never disappoint Korse. Obey orders like a good little S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W . That’s all I’m meant to do. Then I can ravish in the afterglow as the blood drowns out everything.

Except now I didn’t have the usual thrill of hunting down Killjoys. Of landing shots and seeing them bruised up and injured, purely human. Because this gang was completely different from what I’ve encountered over all my years of killing. They were… determined. Banged up and practically at their death beds, they didn’t stop fighting. I still saw Draculoids falling down and explosions being set off. It was as if they were a completely different species. No one ever fights that hard unless they believe in something; unless there is a motive that they will die to fulfill. It was as if every other Killjoy I’ve encountered didn’t believe in the message- just in it to piss off the government and blast loud music. But they… they were the only ones who’d take it to heart and defend it.

That was what was so unique… not the grenades being thrown or the illegal artillery they possessed… but the fact that they actually believed . That was the strongest weapon of all.

Their eyes burned with purpose. Even after I shot one of those punks in the arm, Kobra Kid, he still continued to take down my Draculoids. Jet Star had the same intensity, and I swear he shot up at least 12 soldiers while Kobra Kid was still staggering from the shot. They were tough cookies- I underestimated them. The Fabulous Three was unlike any Killjoy group I ever encountered. But hiding in the shadows of hotshot 1 and hotshot 2 was one last Killjoy I didn’t even notice at first. I don’t even think he was here when we arrived.

I mistook him for a girl at first, thinking he was some tagalong fuckbuddy of the two rebels. He had long hair and a soft little face, too soft for a Killjoy bastard. His petite little body was hiding in the shadows behind the two others, throwing bombs at random times- he wasn’t even trying to aim. Every time I crouched down or slid to land a shot back at them, I was dodging every one of his half-assed explosives. It was only when he came out and started shooting with his ray gun that I realized he was a man. Or boy? He was slender and short- much shorter than the two other fuckers. He looked scared, like a lost puppy latching onto the two big guys.

My mind spewed insults while I attacked, still drugged up with only the thoughts of killing all these Killjoy bastards flowing in my mind. Shoot, reload, shoot, reload, throw a bomb, bark orders… rinse and repeat.

Until the world came crashing down on me.

The pills wore off and I became human again. I was no longer an infamous juggernaut, but sober and weak. Helpless.

I looked out, searching for the meaning of nothing. Because the only meaning I have been taught in this world is to kill. I’ve lost all my memories from before that my brain is only filled with one motive. A motive I’m failing to carry out.

My gun felt too heavy for my body all of a sudden, and it limped by me. My hands were shaking as fear coursed through my veins, replacing the drugged up adrenaline I was starting to miss. I don’t like emotions. I don’t like being able to feel things. Having thoughts flood through me made me feel worse. The perfect numbness I’ve always craved left, and I would do anything to get it back.

The smoke hurt my eyes, the bombs were too loud for my ears, I was consciously experiencing everything that once was drowned out. I felt like a child out of the womb: a major sensory overload taking over me as everything crashed down at once.

How could one live such a life? A life where every small jab from the wind was completely felt, that there was no escaping the little things life brought you. To be completely conscious at every moment, why would one embrace this? Why run away from something that’d free you from unnecessary pains. Being sober only encouraged me to take more, to shove down more pills until I’ll never need to take another dose again.

I hated this, the constant wearing off. This is the second time they fucked me over and every dreadful second feels like I’m dying and being revived again. I wasn’t able to fight back against the rapidly approaching fire anymore. The infamous “Red” was nothing more but a weak set of bones paralyzed and standing mindlessly. I never realized how badly a bomb affected you till now. The whole thing was pathetic, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t even move 2 steps.

It was a huge shock. I didn’t really get used to the constant sensory, but I distracted myself from it as my eyes refocused at the issue ahead. Fighting was still going on, and it was hitting me harder than ever. Now I’d probably have a snarky comment following the lines of “punk,” “rebels,” or “motherfuckers,” but shockingly or not, being sober took away my sense of humor, and replaced it with much unwanted empathy. These three kids were sacrificing their  lives, fighting a battle they’ll most likely lose for nothing more but standing up to their morals. Not even I was so dedicated to any moral I held over my short, lost years. Even as a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W hazed out on drugs, there never was a moment where I had to fight for the death, where I would put my life in order to defend my values.

And no matter how hard I tried, my disobeying naughty eyes wouldn’t stop drifting back to Fun Ghoul. It was as if he was the perfect embodiment of this in some fucked up way. I always had a fascination with him- his poster was Korse’s favorite to rip up, and he’d often show me his files often. He hid behind the shadows, not engaging head on, but yet he was so determined. He had those big puppy eyes that showed all the fear yet strength in them. He could die in any moment but still deep down he doesn’t give up. It’s the small things like these that you only notice when sober. The things that make it more painful because you see something in them; they aren’t just pieces of meat to kill and run off.

Goddammit I want a pill.

Call it God’s will or the luck of Destroya, but our eyes locked like two hallway crushes. He looked like a kicked puppy, all innocent and… I’m getting attached, fuck. Why did they have to wear off, why now? Why when he’s looking at me with the same childlike fear. He’s just a kid. A fucking kid. And here he was fighting for his life so he could live another day. Exterminate … The big letters crossed right over his eyes. But can’t there be an exception? Can’t I just break one promise… take the fucking just for him…?

Curiosity sparked in his eyes. I can’t kill this creature. Not when he’s looking at me like that. But I couldn’t look away either. Why did the world have to be so cruel to curse him to a life of being a Killjoy. If only fate had treated him differently… he could’ve been safer with the BL/i. He wouldn’t have to constantly fear because he would’ve been the one feared. He’s not made for this life… he doesn’t deserve to die so young…

I’m feeling sympathy. Emotions. I shouldn’t be doing that. I came here for one thing and that was to exterminate . And instead I’m staring at the same person I’m supposed to kill. Fuck any motive, I came here for a job, and I better fulfill it or get killed by Korse himself.

Pop a pill and shoot him when he’s vulnerable . Easy. Pill, gun. Pill, gun.

My body was less in shock, that’s good. I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of my bottles, pouring the remaining down my throat and throwing the empty plastic to the side. Pills down.

Now shoot.

My raygun still felt like a ton of bricks, but I can deal with it. He still had that same look on his face, stopping dead in his tracks as he looked… hopeful? I heard screaming in the background, no doubt one of the other two getting pissed at him for stopping, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I have better things to put my attention to. Him. Reload and shoot. Now that I’m beginning to get fogged up the guilt doesn’t stab as hard. He’s cuter when he bleeds.

Grabbing a cartridge from my pocket, I slammed it back into the raygun. Reload .

He wasn’t moving- an easy target. My finger rested on the trigger as he continued looking at me enraptured. They do say curiosity killed the cat. I slowly brought it up, aiming it right at his heart. Then without a second thought, I pushed it, and with a loud BANG he was dropped onto his knees, coughing blood. His face was full of terror and shock, the innocent look still etched on as he tried to shove his bandana into the wound. I could stare at it all day.

Screaming continued. Kobra Kid put his empty hands up in a sign of surrender as Jet Star ran over to the kid. My work here is done. I’d rather him bleed out a slow painful death then die immediately. He was different from the others, he must die differently as well. His body also wasn’t collected like normal- it can rot in the desert sand. There was twisted beauty in his suffering. Delicious, manic beauty. I didn’t even care to kill the other two; my excitement to tell Korse was far more important to me.

Piling the Draculoids back into the truck, we sped off into the distance as the widest grin formed on my face. This is the thrill I lived for, the motive I needed. The image was burned right into my mind, and I knew I would be thinking about it for the rest of the day.

Director save me, but I wanted to make that boy suffer for all of eternity just for my own twisted pleasure.

Chapter Text

Fun Ghoul’s POV:

The only thought I could formulate in my head was why, why, why, why, why ?

I flew too close to the sun and now I wonder why I’m burning.

So naïve… too young… didn’t catch the signs… And now I’m paying for my ignorance with my own life.

His piercing eyes bore right into mine, I swear I could sense some sign of regret, confusion, maybe guilt? It was human- he was human again. I was mesmerized and drawn in like a moth to a flame. I craved to know more, feel more, see more. Help him. Maybe it all would end… maybe I could save him. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But then he reached into his pocket, and got out the forbidden container of everything evil in this world. I recognized that white bottle with the black smiley face all too well. Without a second thought I saw him empty the entire jar down his body, throwing it away, a smirk immediately playing on his face. They work so fast… one second he’s standing still in utter shock and the next I see him grabbing ammo and loading his weapon. Yet I still want to learn more! How do they work like they do? Oh how I craved this knowledge. Even in the middle of a major raid my biggest worry was medicine.

As I stared directly into his soul, I was too lost to notice the gun being pointed directly at me, in the center of my chest.

When I finally gained realization, it was too late.

A raygun shot is more painful than a normal gun. The bullets are harder on your body, and physically weaken you once you get hit. Your arms and legs become practically paralyzed as they attempt to cover the wound.

He shot me directly into my heart, and I felt the blast piercing into my skin as I immediately collapsed on my knees, retching out blood. So much blood. The golden yellow sand stained a dark scarlet under me as my body continued to tremble.

Compression… I needed compression. At least I learned something useful being a fugitive all these years. I yanked my bandana off my neck, frantically shoving it into the large gaping hole spilling out thick vermillion liquid. My two little hands shoved it as deep as it would go inside, staying there as I felt my knees shuddering and giving up under me. Don’t die… not now. If I get killed now at least I would die in what would be considered “honorable” in Killjoy standards. But now that I actually was close with death, the thought of passing away mortified me.

I was so fucking stupid.

It was like the story of Icarus- I didn’t listen and now I’m being left for dead.

Icarus… ignorant… Do they relate? Is it all make believe? Does the word come from the name? I am thinking like a child but I can’t help myself. Before we die do we get more innocent? Maybe this is all a big nightmare… in a few seconds I’ll wake up in a nice cozy bed, the sounds of bombs nowhere to be heard… and a pair of warm motherly arms with little beads wrapped all over will be around me, and the sweet scent of vanilla will surround me. And I’ll be tiny and just a child and my thoughts will all be pure and there will be no worries to surround me. And, and…

“Ghoul! Can you hear me? Oh Destroya… keep that bandana in!” Jet Star’s voice interrupted my thoughts. My vision started getting hazy as he ran over to me. I heard Kobra shouting something, his blurry arms shooting up as the noise of cars faded into the distance. More bandanas got shoved into the wound as Jet transferred me to his lap.

“Stay with me buddy, please ,” his voice was a weak whisper, and I felt a warm salty tear on my pale skin. Wet. Tears. Salt-

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

“Wake up… c’mon I know you’re with me…”

Voices . I can hear them but I don’t see them. They sound so familiar though…

“Give up, Jet. He’s dead. Shot in the heart point blank. We’re wasting resources on him.”

Am I dead?

“He’s breathing! That motherfucker still hasn’t taken him…”

I could barely register what those words meant. The pressure in my chest got even harder, and I felt my body weakly grasping for air. Each breath was a struggle, shallow and ragged. I was getting consumed by the darkness, and in sheer panic my eyes finally opened as I shot up with a heavy gasp, taking in my surroundings.

First aid kit. Bandages. Window, sand on the horizon. Colorful car. Carpet. Spray paint cans. Blonde hair… Kobra Kid. His arm is wrapped up. Gloved hand pressing hard against my chest, I look up: Jet Star. There is a large rag all bunched into my chest. The white has been stained red. Around that bandages are protecting it.

Jet’s worried expression shifts as a sliver of hope leaks through. I can make out small whispers of gratitude under his breath. He tries to bring me closer while not messing up the uncomfortable set up I had going on. My legs were slightly elevated as I laid down on the old worn couch. Might as well have been dead laying like this. His hand never left my chest as the pressure still remained.

Kobra was sitting across from me in our brown leather arm chair. His focus was still completely on me as he lit a cigarette in his mouth with his unshot arm. Then his eyes focused on Jet, making some sort of gesture I couldn’t understand. Jet Star’s body tensed up but Kobra still spoke up.

“Y’know,” he said, taking a long drag out of the cigarette, “You are one to blame for ‘this’ whole thing,” vaguely he gestures to his shot arm and my wound.

“How?” I question, not understanding what I did to get us all bruised up. Not like I willingly wanted to get shot and almost die. Or hurt anyone either. I’d much rather have wanted peace.

”If you had actually gotten your ass out inside of praying to a fucking made up god, or whatever faggy things you do, maybe we would’ve stand a chance against those motherfuckers,” his voice was laced with venom as he continued inhaling the toxic smoke from the cig, “Instead we had to surrender like cowards. We could’ve gotten killed because of your stupid bead necklace. Just a little reminder, religion is one of the highest treasons here, mama’s boy.”

“I wasn’t wearing it or anything!” I exclaimed defensively, but Kobra’s face remained unamused, “Besides, I was only behind just a few seconds… It wouldn’t have made a significant difference…”

Kobra Kid scoffed, “No, it took you 10 minutes and multiple reminders from Jet Star and me to get you out on the battlefield. They set off six explosives before it actually went into your ill mind.”

I kept my mouth shut after that, turning away slightly as Jet spoke up for me. “Stop arguing, okay? There’s nothing we can do about it anymore. Yes, Ghoul was wrong for not coming out sooner, but you two hurling excuses is not going to fix anything.”

I thought that’d shut Kobra up so he’d leave me alone, but it only pissed him off more. He took an angry drag as he spat out, “Okay, and!? The only reason you’re defending him is so you can get your dick sucked afterwards. The front of the Diner is blown into bits and all three of us have major injuries. None of this shit would’ve happened if he followed the right orders for once in his life!” Pure fury was radiating through him, and I could sense Jet getting frustrated too. I let out a small whimper of fear as the argument escalated, Jet adding more pressure to my heart.

“This is your comrade you’re talking about! Besides, we got raided by Red out of all S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws- it’s already a miracle that none of us died out there.” Jet’s tone was still tense but he was doing a much better job at keeping his composure.

Kobra scoffed, “Yeah, and it would’ve been double the miracle if we actually won the fucking battle. But Bible thumper over here decided he had more important things to tend to.”

All I wanted to do was sliver away as they continued arguing about me as if I was some misbehaving dog. But the position I was in forced me to stay, so I settled for staring up at the ceiling that looked quite interesting now as cigarette smoke clogged my lungs and my ears were getting blown.

“That wouldn’t have happened and you know it. It would’ve been completely impossible. Now stop arguing, you’re scaring the poor kid.”

Kobra rolled his eyes but didn’t say another word, only dropping his cigarette to the ground and angrily stopping it as an eerie silence filled the room. Jet got up to rewrap Kobra’s bandages as I was left alone on the couch. It felt easier to breathe now that Jet’s massive hand wasn’t shoving me down, but I still felt awfully dizzy. I guess I should count my blessings for surviving a shot like that but a part of me wondered what would happen if I let myself get killed out there. What would people think?

From what it seems a part of me believed Kobra Kid wouldn’t care. His tone and expression made me think he’d want to kill me himself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that furious. Though I’ve never really seen Kobra too angry about anything- stubborn or uptight sometimes, but never actually mad. I did always think he thought less of me, however. I was only 19, the youngest of the group, and always followed someone else's lead, never taking charge in anything major myself. It was pathetic. I was too fucking submissive, responding to anyone’s beck or call. But I can’t help myself, I’m eager to please.

On the other hand, as Jet said, we’re comrades. Gangmates. Partners in crime, in a way. Would it at least make somewhat of a difference? Maybe the anger was speaking for him, maybe it isn’t my fault… Maybe, maybe, maybe…

“Ghoul!!” Jet’s anxious yell snapped me out of my thoughts. The tingly black feeling started fading away as my eyes opened wider in shock. He grabbed my shoulders and adjusted me onto his lap as he checked my vitals again. “You almost passed out on me, buddy. That fucker did a real number on you…”

Kobra walked out of the room, angrily mumbling as he shut his bedroom door with full force. The noise made me wince as I instinctively huddled closer to Jet. Loud sounds made me think of raids. Which made me think of the BL/i. And the BL/i meant S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws, and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws meant… Red.

My heart rate quickened as I pictured his face again, but I couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or affection. He looked so broken out there… as if he didn’t want this. It was all the pills controlling him to be the psychopathic murderer he was… in that case my theory was right. If only I could help him- find a way to get closer. If I-

Traitor .

The word rang in my ears. It sounded like Kobra… and then Jet.

I would be a traitor… I am a traitor. A dirty little coward who is thinking about the enemy.

Who am I…?

“I- I’m going to my room,” I muttered quietly, trying to get up as Jet immediately pulled me back down.

“You got shot in the heart, Ghoul! You’re staying here until a medic comes,” he had a stern tone, and I knew I couldn’t change his mind. But I felt so trapped here.

“I left something in there… I need to get it,” it was a lame excuse, but was half true.

“Stay here and I’ll get it. What was it?” he slowly tried to get up and now I was the one grabbing his arm and roughly shoving him down.

“I hid it somewhere… before the… raid! You won’t be able to find it. I’ll be right back I promise!” My voice got more shaky and unsure the more I spoke, and I was shocked he couldn’t see right through my lies. Or half-lies. Maybe gunshots affect your consciousness and he was playing it off as that.

“Fine. You got 30 seconds or I’m grabbing you and dragging you back,” he crossed his arms and I frantically jumped up and attempted to hurry to my door. Or, at least get there as fast as I could while my legs started to feel numb. And then my arms… and my chest… and soon my head.

And the world went black again.