I Believe We're the Enemy

9. The Only Hope for Me is You

Gerard's POV:

"No!" Fun Ghoul shouted as his friend fell to the floor with a crash. A bullet had grazed his leg enough to tip him over and probably leave a decent sized scar. It wasn't close enough to his bone for permanent damage, though.

I crawled over to him, ready to finish him off with the pocket knife. I held the blade to his neck before he spluttered out what I thought would be his last words:

"Gerard... Please... It's me... It's Mikey," I froze. I knew that name.

Mikey was the name of my brother. He had been killed by Better Living the same night my parents met their end; but it was for a good reason, they'd told me. He deserved to die.

"You shut your mouth," I growled, my hand gripping the knife with everything in me, "Mikey's dead."

He shook his head frantically, "Gerard no.. I'm not dead. Please.. Please! It's me, it's Mikey," He cried, I felt my heart pounding in my chest.

"No," I snarled through my teeth, letting the knife slip, grazing the tender skin of his neck.

He couldn't be Mikey, this wasn't possible.

Mikey was dead. Mikey had died years ago, I had seen the evidence, I had heard the gunshot. Mikey was dead. This could not be Mikey.

"It's me-- Gerard, please," He lifted his hand up towards my face, not to attack me, not even to defend himself, he was gripping something tightly in his hand, I didn't bother to look at it.

"No you.. You can't be," I furrowed my brow in confusion, this was impossible. He didn't say anything else, but I glanced down to see him holding the chain I had linked around my neck a few days ago before I left the city. My mother's ring was still strung onto the metal chain. It proved nothing, but the sight caught me off guard.

Before I knew what was happening next, Fun Ghoul had me pinned to the ground, locking my arms behind my back. My face was pressed against the dirt floor, I breathed in the dust as my eyes searched the face of Fun Ghoul.

Kobra-- or... Mikey-- or whoever-the-fuck-he-was sat up, clutching his leg tightly in pain. A new person appeared in the room, kneeling by Jet Star-- Helmet-- you know what, fuck them and their confusing ass names! I felt Fun Ghoul stab my arm with a needle and I passed out. Fuck him and his stupid fucking needles.

—

I had another dream.

It was a continuation of the last one, beginning with me in the room, Fun Ghoul stood next to me and The Director stood in front, still holding the blindingly white gun in her outstretched hand.

The woman who I'd viewed as a parental figure for some of my early years at Better Living Industries had just shot me. She had just shot me. I fell to the ground in agony, clutching my chest as blood pooled around me. Fun Ghoul came to my side, somehow soaking up the blood with his hands. The Director left us, walking away and never turning back. It seemed that as Fun Ghoul soaked up my blood, my pain, he took it onto himself. He was taking away my pain and giving it to himself.

I stood up, the feeling in my chest fading as he fell to his knees in pain. His eyes rolled back as he held his hands close and blood began to pool around him. I watched him as his body fell limp on the floor and I felt something unfamiliar, something sick within my gut. I felt anger towards the one who had done this, betrayal. Why I cared whether he lived or died was beyond me, but suddenly I felt as though I owed him something.

When I thought about death, I never explored the idea of my own death, and it always came as a numbness to me. I would kill those who needed to be killed and I never had any sort of feeling to go along with my actions. It was just something I did, but in that moment I felt something inside of me burning, a fire growing within. I felt anger, resentment and betrayal towards The Director.