“Wait a second. This isn’t Battery City. Kids don’t operate like zombies. They run around and play. How do you know they’re not off exploring somewhere?” Desi asked.
“It’s also the end of the world. Every kid here not attached to someone bigger than them knows to let people know what’s up. There is no such thing as a carefree kid running around willy-nilly like there used to be.” Kobra replied.
“Besides, I was going to find Fanta and talk to her about Candy and everything. I had an authority problem like her when I was younger. I get it. That’s why Lithium and I ran off at twelve and started our own gang.” Rasta shook his head. He hated getting off-track. Rambling off was something he must have picked up from me. “Anyways, when I went to go see Black Rain, she was freaking out. She couldn’t find her anywhere. And, since Fanta’s always running off and everything, anyways, she’s got a walkie so someone can always reach her. Black Rain had been trying her for a half-hour with no reply. She told me that never happens.” Rasta said.
“What about Epic Strike? I know he’s only about fourteen, but he went on the supply trip with us. You have to have your shit together to be a scout, and he’s got a walkie, too.”
“It’s the same point. Cyanide Smash came to me, and told me what happened.”
Kobra started to explain. “One minute they were having a conversation, keeping their separate watch points, and suddenly, there was no reply. He went to go see what was going on, and found a blaster scorch on the alley wall, and the walkie smashed, like someone had thrown it.”
“Okay, so something serious is happening. But what about the other kids?” Fun Ghoul finally spoke. So, that’s how he is in a crisis. He doesn’t say much until he has an important question or figures something out before everyone else.
Kobra sighed. “We’re not sure. But, they seem to have practically walked off. But one Killjoy said his little sister ran back to get her bandanna from the warehouse they were crashing at, and never came back. He went to go get her, thinking she might have gotten distracted by a friend or something. He found her bandanna crumpled on the ground, covered in street grime. Apparently, that was her favorite possession, and cherished. She didn’t do that to the bandanna.”
“Does Dr. D have his guys watching the BL/ind security cameras? In case whoever did this leaves the city?” Desi asked.
“Oh, he’s got better than that. Whatever’s left of L.A.’s city cameras were patched into his system hack. This new guy, Silicon Rocket, fixed it all up for us faster than D himself could get down here and do it. And, to answer your question, he’ll be all over it as soon as Jet Star gets to him.”
“We know Silicon. He used to run with our gang, ‘til something didn’t go right for Lithium. Then he ran like hell from that kind of crazy. We still keep in touch, sometimes.” Rasta said.
“Okay, so what are we doing about the kids?” Desi asked.
“As soon as we knew what happened to you, we were going to join up with a search-slash-assault party. Candy Bang-Bang and Black Rain have already volunteered, since they feel responsible for some of them. As well as that little girl’s older brother, Crash Rebel. Manic and the others must have rounded up a gang by now. We should head towards the main warehouse, if you don’t have any more questions.”
“Let’s go. I want to find these guys as soon as possible. Especially if it’s not BL/ind behind this.” Desi said. “It’s bad enough that eighty percent of the world lives a non-life. Having other kinds of evil to worry about just plain sucks.”
As they started to walk, Rasta drew close to Desi, and whispered in her ear. “Okay, so I’m trying not to worry about Fun Ghoul, but why did you come back with him?”
“I was walking around the city, and ended up finding an abandoned and undestroyed pier where it was quiet and nice to sit. It just happened to be that that spot was where Fun Ghoul came when he wanted to get away from the huge group, or to just think. We had a talk, and then we just sat and watched the water for a long time.” Desi sighed. “I mean, he’s like my brothers’ brother, and twice my age. He’s like another Kobra. Don’t worry, Ros. There will never be anyone else. Now, let’s focus on these missing kids.”
When Kobra, Fun Ghoul, Rasta, and Desi arrived at the warehouse, there were about a dozen Killjoys standing in a cluster near the door. Manic Phantom, Candy, Shasta, Cyanide Smash, and about four more Killjoys Desi recognized from Shasta’s group were there, with a few people she didn’t think she’d ever seen before. Manic looked anxious, like she’d also come to the idea that they might not be dealing with BL/ind. She can’t shoot for crap and goes unarmed, so fighting normal people leaves her vulnerable. When she noticed that Kobra and Fun Ghoul were there, her face went straight to stoic and badass.
“Besides the people connected to those that are missing, we have a couple new recruits.” Manic gestured to the strangers. One of them was extremely tall, with a spiky mess of green hair, rivaling even Manic in all her stiletto-booted glory. He also happened to be the stretchy kind of tall. He wore tall black motocross boots and a pair of bright red skinny jeans. A blaster was in a thigh holster on his right leg. It was yellow and green, painted like stripes of facial camouflage from some old war movie. His shirt was a faded gray, and had the BL/ind face logo on it. Only this one had red x’s over its eyes. He also wore a denim jacket that had studs all along the tops of his shoulders. “This wonderful and ever so helpful Killjoy,” Manic gestured to the boy, making ‘wonderful’ sound like ‘disaster magnet’ and ‘helpful’ sound a lot more like ‘obnoxious’, “is Uranium Suicide.”
“I’m Bubblegum Rocket,’ announced the Killjoy standing next to Uranium Suicide, before Manic could open her mouth. This Killjoy was barely five feet tall and full of attitude. She had bright pink hair that fell straight down past her shoulders, with wide, peroxide blonde highlights and roots. She had fire engine red shutter shades that looked like they’d been attacked by a paint-baller with purple ammunition. She wore a black crop top that had the words ‘Dance Like You Mean It’ emblazoned across the front. Her bright bubble-gum pink skinny jeans were stuffed into combat boots. She had a faded black bandanna wrapped around her right wrist, and her left arm was covered in a rainbow of jelly bracelets to her elbow. The handle of a red blaster spattered with purple paint stuck out of her right boot. And she looked fast enough to grab from that low and shoot you before you even knew she saw you.
Before the next Killjoy could undermine Manic, too, she tapped her on the shoulder, and announced, “This is Gunmetal Diva.” This girl looked nothing like a diva, unless you considered the pink handle and trigger on her pump-action scatter-shot laser shotgun that she had painted entirely in camouflage. She was tall, with aqua blue and blonde hair wrestled into a bun on top of her head, and a small patch of blue was falling out of the bun and into her eyes. Her black shirt read “Anything you can do, I can do better. Promise” She wore bright orange cargo pants over an old beat up pair of work boots.
The third Killjoy was the last one that she didn’t recognize from Shasta’s group. He had curly black hair, and piercing blue eyes that Desi had the strangest urge to not look away from. He was several inches taller than Desi wearing blue-buckled black motocross boots and faded black cargo pants. He wore a dark grey shirt with ‘AKA James Dean’ hand stamped onto it. He wore a red bandanna around his neck and a thin grey hoodie inside his black leather motorcycle jacket. She couldn’t see a blaster or anything, but Rasta was definitely not the only boy to keep it in the back of his waistband. For a Killjoy, he didn’t wear much color, but it wasn’t an official standard.
Manic noticed Desi watching him, and smirked. I have a man, you vicious twit. It’s not like I’m chasing this guy. I just have eyes. She stalked over to the Killjoy and trailed a finger down his arm. “Desi, this is Crash Rebel, the one who lost his little sister.”
Crash Rebel’s eyes hardened and he looked down at Manic’s hand. “She has a name. Use it.”
Manic coughed, and straightened her spine. “His little sister, Trouble Smash, is one of the ones missing.”
Manic ran down how many people were missing, and then Fun Ghoul spoke up with the plan of attack. ‘Party Poison and Jet Star are heading toward Dr. D to see if he can do anything to help. Kobra Kid and I will each head up a group, and Desi and Rasta will have the third group, while Shasta and Candy have the fourth. Desi, Rasta, why don’t you guys take off first and check all of the abandoned warehouses, in case they’re still nearby.”
Kobra Kid looked around the group of Killjoys. “Who’s heading out with Desi’s crew?” Cyanide Smash and Crash Rebel immediately stepped forward, along with Bubblegum Rocket and a few other Killjoys. “No one else? Okay then, get going.”
As they approached the first warehouse, Desi mentally scrambled for a plan. She’d never been a leader, and definitely not in any situation like this. How do I not screw this up? Little kids are in danger. These people think I’m strong enough to be a leader, a legend. A hero…
Desi straightened her spine, and whistled. “Okay, here’s the plan. We surround the warehouse; leave a Killjoy at every exit we find. I give the signal, and we go through, on guard, ready to shoot. Clear it out, step by step.”
“Doesn’t that sound a little hot-headed and brash?” Gunmetal Diva piped up. Admittedly, it might not have been the smartest, most defensive, text book plan. But, they were Killjoys, not one of the old-school tactical police teams from before the Fall.
“We’re Killjoys, not the S.W.A.T. team. We are a little hot-headed and brash.”
“She has a point,” Crash Rebel said. “Besides, we all know this isn’t a BL/ind type of move, especially with this many Killjoys around. Unless it’s one of the random rare survivalists and paranoids who are neither BL/ind minion nor Killjoy, it’s some rogue dark-hearted psycho ass bastard that calls themselves a Killjoy! Whether it’s my little sister or not, we all deserve to run in guns blazing, and shoot him until he can’t see straight. Killjoys don’t do that!” he exclaimed.
“Well said, but shouldn’t we still exercise a tad bit of caution?” one of Shasta’s killjoys spoke up.
Rasta slowly broke out into a smile, Desi’s favorite. It was the one that always preceded a kick-your-ass-in-gear pep talk. He looked up to meet Crash Rebel’s eyes, and spoke. “Like Rebel said, we’re Killjoys, and quiet and sensible are never words that apply to us. Screw caution, let’s kick some ass!”
Several other Killjoys, including Bubblegum Rocket, cried out, “Hell yeah!” and “Right on!” among other cheers.
Desi quickly shushed them. “I hope the bad guy isn’t in there, because if he is, we just gave him a head start.”
Quickly, the Killjoys dashed around, finding doors. Even if it was locked, the Killjoy still stood guard, in case they escaped from the inside.
When Desi reached the front of the warehouse, she banged on the big sliding doors twice, signaling the others. Rasta quickly helped her shove them open, and together they ran in, quickly scouting through the ware house for any sign of the Killjoys.
Four other Killjoys met her in the center of the warehouse as the two who had dashed up to the second floor came down after shouting the ‘all clear’. Luckily, this warehouse had been empty. Manic and the Fabulous Killjoys had warned them that some of these warehouses were still full, with varying contents, ranging from palettes of back stocked retail from before the Fall, to airplane parts.
They ran through four more warehouses, finding nothing of any importance.
As they approached the sixth warehouse, and radioed in to Manic back at the central warehouse what their status was, Rasta started looking like he was stuck under his own personal rain cloud. Whenever he looked like that, he was getting one of his gut instincts. Every time he had gotten this type of feeling before, Rasta called off whatever run or raid they were planning, whether it was when they were in Razor’s crew, or when it had just been the two of them.
“Are you okay, Ros?” Desi asked.
“I’m fine, just don’t like the way this feels.” he replied.
“Do we back off?”
“No, we can’t. The kids might be in there. Besides, since I’ve always taken the safe route, I have no idea if these feelings have any weight or not. It might just be nothing.” Rasta didn’t look like he believed what he was telling her. “Don’t worry about me, Dizzy, let’s find these kids.”
“I will worry about you. You are my man, and it’s really dumb to stick your blaster in your pants.”’ Desi joked, trying to not think about the situation.
“Everything will be fine,” Rasta said, tugging on the point of the bandanna tied around her neck. “Come on, let’s get this done and over with.”
Desi took a deep breath, and banged twice on the front wall of the warehouse. This one had a gigantic roll-up door like Desi had had on the garage door of her Living Unit in Battery City. Beside it, there was a tall metal door. Desi slowly turned the handle, holding her breath, and stepped inside.
The windows circling the upper floor of the warehouse had all been blacked out, so Desi was a little surprised when the front half of the warehouse was dimly lit by the bank of lights placed on the ceiling, as well as one smashed out ceiling panel, which left a strange halo floating in from the smoggy sun above.
Standing directly in the glow from the poor excuse for a skylight, like a sick and twisted version of an angel bathing in the glow of heaven, was a Killjoy. A killjoy Desi knew.
“Si--” Desi’s surprised exclamation was cut off as the Killjoy raised his gun, pointing it off to his right, where a group of about fifteen small Killjoys sat, each in their own aluminum folding chair.
“Guess what, you mushy bitch?” Rhetorical question. The Killjoy slowly started to walk towards her, striding out of the light. The shadows seemed to swallow him, even under the incandescent glow of the lights overhead. The gun, flat black, covered in glossy black tribal designs, the only spot resembling color being the silver trigger that glinted in the glow from the electric light, stayed pointed at the Killjoy children. Who, by the way, were doing a damn good job of being Killjoys.
A little girl, who looked like she couldn’t even have been seven, with strawberry blond flyaway hair, and unsettling bright blue eyes glared and fidgeted with the ropes binding her. Her face was splotchy and red, the way an unbelievably angry child tends to look.
“This is my territory, these are my hostages, and now I will be the one to talk. Listen up, and listen fucking well.” The Killjoy chuckled to himself quietly, the sound reminding Desi of the way oil slid over rain puddles and wet asphalt on the rare occasion it rained. “There will be a test later,” he mocked.
Desi, who had been scanning the crowd of children to get her mind off of the ice water currently rushing through her veins, spotted Fanta. Her purple hair showed no mark of the piece she’d lost this morning. A blooming black eye, though, showed that she made a terrible hostage. She looked to be unconscious.
“You got it right, you pitiful excuse of a human.” The Killjoy interrupted Desi’s worrying. “Silent Fucking Apocalypse, as I live and die.”
“Gee, I never knew you had a middle name!” Desi never was the type to butt out of a conversation, and the words jumped out of her mouth.
“Shut the fuck up when I’m talking!” Almost faster than she could see, his gun swerved from the children, and a beam of light shot towards Desi.
Bright lights flashed in Desi’s vision, and an electric pain raced through her nervous system, followed by a wave of painful numbness. Desi dropped to one knee, never looking away from Silent Apocalypse, even as the short blackout that came from a ray gun shot came and went.
Desi’s right shin throbbed as she rested her weight entirely on her left leg. Fuck you; I can’t wait to watch you die. Normally Desi had a major thing against shooting Killjoys, and especially killing them. Silent Apocalypse was a sick and demented bastard. The instant he began to speak, Desi realized he was not a real Killjoy. His eyes seemed wrong in his face, oddly normal. They didn’t gleam with the odd light that advertised ‘psycho and dangerous’ the way Razor’s did. But the voice, his voice. Every word from Silent’s mouth gave Desi a disturbing urge to escape her skin and crawl the walls.
“Silence. I like that.” Silent Apocalypse picked an imaginary piece of lint from his spotless, scuff-less, pristine black leather jacket, and continued. “Now, I know you have all of these, questions, rolling around in your mind. Don’t ask, I’ll just answer.”
He placed the muzzle of his blaster against Desi’s forehead. The plastic felt clammy, the ring of metal surrounding the opening of the barrel chilled. “Why would a sick fuck like me, smart as I am, let you all notice my presence? Why draw attention to myself, stealing seventeen young Killjoys in less than three hours.”
“Well, it’s like this. I got tired of being so very good at what I do. So I left my quiet little shack, let the ‘Fabulous’ Killjoys find me. I figured out where their base was, set up camp, and generally got to know the area. By the time there more than two thousand Killjoys, I left. You know how Killjoys come and go, in any gang. No one questioned the disappearance of a single silent, withdrawn man.
“I picked this warehouse. It’s defensible, close the water, and look,” Apocalypse jerked her chin up with the muzzle of his laser gun and nudged her to look at the children. On the far side, there was a large, clear tank. It could have been an aquarium. Silent had filled it with water, and Desi could see scuff marks from grubby Killjoy shoes trying to find purchase, and bloody marks where fingers had been worn raw trying to climb out and escape. “It’s a wonderful way to rescue them. Drowning is such a peaceful death, I’ve heard. When I was done with the ones I took, after I saved them, I left their bodies tangled in the pier nearby, for their families to find, or not. Who would question a little Killjoy kid exploring and running wild, and having an accident on the old, decrepit dock?
“See, but that explains why I’m here, but it doesn’t explain today, it doesn’t explain why you’re here, or why I have a particular urge to fry your brains ‘til they melt out of your pathetic little skull.”
The oil slick chuckle was back. It sounded like any other Killjoy laugh, but it made Desi’s skin crawl and all she could think of was gritty oil on water.
“You see, you stupid mushy bitch,” Silent Apocalypse started, shoving the muzzle of the blaster back into her forehead, painfully, but not yet hard enough to bruise. “My issue with you, is that you’re such a privileged airhead. Everyone loves you. When you’re nothing but a robot who thinks they found emotion and a cause.
“Mushies don’t leave, they stay in their pristine, monochromatic little houses on their ordered, neat little streets in their pristine, monochromatic little suburbs, in their ordered, neat little streets. They live their perfect, plastic, fake little lives like good little BL/ind minions. And then they fucking die! End of story.
“Oh, and I heard about your little family bond. How fucking adorable. All the better to worm your way into the Zones, and destroy the Killjoys from the inside, that’s what I think.” Silent Apocalypse pushed his blaster into her forehead, shoving her neck back painfully. He bent over, his cold, empty gray eyes boring into hers. “Korse, are you in there? Is this your wonderful idea? You’re one of the only people still left in this godforsaken fucking country with a brain on that side of the fence.
“Even if you’re human, you’d expect them to hardwire BL/ind into your system, so all your sensory input goes straight back to HQ. I bet, right now, Korse is standing in a room full of machines and TVs and all those lovely surveillance gadgets they have, just for you, glaring at the screen, pissed as hell that all this work, to make a legendary Killjoy worthy of taking down the Fabulous Killjoys, something no Drac could do, could be over at any moment.
“I could kill you right now, you pathetic mushy. I have the power! I, alone, could deal a major blow to BL/ind. I’m the only one who can see it, see through all the programmed bullshit, and know why you’re really here!” Silent Apocalypse’s voice kept raising, and he was almost screaming now. “I’m the real fucking predator here, not S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W.! I got you to walk straight into my trap!”
Suddenly the gun was gone from Desi’s forehead, and she tried very hard to not slump forward after being bent backward at such a painful angle. “Now, you stupid pathetic S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. tool, prepare to fucking die.”
A laser weapon whined to life in the distance, something bigger than a blaster, something that definitely didn’t belong to Silent Apocalypse. “Oh, no you don’t. She might be a pretentious little snot, for all I know. But she’s still a fucking Killjoy.” A flash of pink entered Desi’s peripheral vision. “And, you, you sick demented fuck, are not. So guess what? You can prepare to die.”
As she had talked, Gunmetal Diva had slowly crept closer to Silent Apocalypse, moving from the shadows at Desi’s right to stand behind Silent Apocalypse. Now, the end of her scatter-shot laser shotgun was only a couple of feet from his back.
Desi shot up to her feet, knocking Silent Apocalypse’s blaster arm away, so it was no longer pointing a gun at her. “Now!” she shouted, and the electric ‘thwang’ of Diva’s shotgun sang out, sending Apocalypse crumpling to the floor. Suddenly, Desi started breathing again, heavily. She hadn’t even been aware that she stopped. The first thing to come tumbling out of her mouth was not the most intellectual thought she had ever had. “I can see why you use that shotgun, Diva. The ‘pew-pew’ of a laser doesn’t sound half as bad-ass in moments like these.”
“No shit. By the way, you can call me Gunmetal, or Gunner.” The Killjoy girl stuck the shotgun back into the holster on her back, and extended a hand. “It was nice saving you life, Destroya.”
“You can do it again, any time.” Desi said, and then cocked her head to the side. “Wait, how the hell were you so silent in those work boots?”
Gunmetal Diva laughed. “I was a country girl who grew up in the Northwest farming Zones where BL/ind grows all the food they stick in those ugly little flavorless cans. With the livestock we watched and the farming equipment we handled, we couldn’t take Medication. It’s got side effects of weak attention span, apathy, and a general shittiness at handling dangerous equipment or crisis-like situations.” She smiled to herself. “I was a spunky girl, and I had enough in me to sneak out and come down here when the Fabulous Killjoys started rallying.
“But, back to your question, it’s in my blood. I’m part Cherokee, even though I look nothing like it. And, growing up on a farm, as automated as it was, nothing beats a human hand helping out, and creatures can be skittish until you befriend them. Being quiet is a useful trait.”
Desi laughed. “Okay, that makes sense. Now let’s go free the kids.”
As it turned out, Bubblegum and Rasta were already on it. Crash Rebel showed up, and ran straight for the strawberry-blonde little girl. Desi had figured she was Smash Trouble, from her eyes. Rasta scooped up the unconscious Fanta, and came over to Desi. “Let’s radio in to Manic and tell her we found them.”
Desi pulled out her walkie from her jacket, and pressed the ‘call’ button. The walkie trilled in her hand, and she knew all the other walkies in range did as well. “Yes?” Manic Phantom’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“We got lucky and found them. We’re headed back to the central warehouse, and we’ll fill you in when we get there.”
“Are you shitting me?” Manic exclaimed.
“Not at all. See you soon.”
When they walked into the central warehouse, Manic quickly met them near the door. “Dr. D pulled strings in the hacker network to reach the other groups who were out of walkie range. We’ll wait for them to show up. In the mean time, lets check these kids out and get them back to their groups.
Fanta woke up shortly after that, suddenly, probably resuming the angry ramble the Silent Apocalypse had pistol-whipped her to silence. “—kill you, you mother-fecking creepy ass kidnapper dude! You may have me subdued, but wait ‘til the cavalry shows up! Killjoys stick together and Killjoys never die!”
Rasta had just laid her down on the mattress she usually slept on (in the floor of the central warehouse, where all the extra rowdy ones were requested to be. He gently nudged her, waiting for her to realize where she was.
“What do YOU want?” Fanta burst out at him.
“Well, I would like to tell you that we got really lucky and found the ‘mother-feckikng creepy ass kidnapper dude’. We took him down while you were out. Desi and I used to know him, sadly.” Rasta replied.
“Well, isn’t that just great? Now I look like some helpless kid.” She pouted.
“Would you rather be tortured, drowned, and left under a pier for us to find, if we’re lucky?” Desi snapped, frustrated with Fanta’s anti-authority complex and ego.
Fanta sobered. “No.” Desi’s stomach dropped. A lot of the time, the big, brave Killjoy act was a distraction from all of the crappy stuff that Killjoys had to worry about. She should have considered that before she yelled at Fanta.
“Argh! I’m sorry I got you down, Killjoy.” Desi apologized, and then headed back to the target range. She wanted something to shoot at until the other groups returned.
When she got there, Shasta was talking with a Killjoy Desi had not met yet. He had a stockier build than the average scrawny Killjoy, like Jet Star, and was much taller than Desi. “Back straight, Raver. We know you’re tall, but you don’t have to stoop to shoot the short guys.” The Killjoy’s spine straightened. He wore black cargo pants, the pockets obviously sewn on after they were made, because every pocket was its own bright color.
“I told you to stop shooting with one arm, until you have made more progress on your aim. Yes, it may be bad-ass looking and a typical Killjoy thing. But it’s a higher level skill.” His tank top was fluorescent purple, and he wore a black and white checked scarf, with tassle-fringe and all, loosely draped around his neck. A gold ring dangled out of the one ear she could see, and his hair was a shaggy-cut, purple-black mop, with an aqua blue streak extending from his temple.
“I remember learning to shoot.” Desi said, walking over. “Rasta was ecstatic that I had a natural talent. When a Killjoy is allowed to handle a gun at about four, and can usually shoot well around the age of six, teaching a barely sixteen year-old girl from scratch is rough.”
Shasta laughed. “This kid had rage issues, and Mama Killjoy gave him a big-ass bowie knife. Told him, ‘if you’re gonna be trigger-happy, we’ll teach you why a gun should be respected.’ So, now he’s a master of hand-to-hand, and nervy as heck with a blaster and can’t hit the broadside of this warehouse.”
“Hey, when did you guys get back?” Desi asked. Shasta and Candy had been leading their own search group.
“We were the team to search outside the warehouse district. We all came in a little before Fanta was awake.” Shasta replied.
The tall Killjoy turned to face Desi and cracked a smile that reminded her way too much of the infectious smiles of Fun Ghoul and Rasta Blasta. “Nice to meet you, Miss Destroya,” he started, laying on the manners. “I’m Ultraviolent Raver.” He extended a hand for her to shake, but the classy moment was ruined when his other hand didn’t grip his blaster right and it clattered to the floor.
Desi grinned to herself, and knelt to grab the gun. “Here you go,” she said, handing him the blaster as she stood.
Shasta suddenly smacked the Killjoy upside the back of his head. “Focus, Killjoy. Flirting won’t get you any points. Not with me, and not with her, especially when you can’t hold a blaster one-handed without thinking so hard your ears smoke.” Raver’s brow crinkled, showing his embarrassment. Shasta turned to Desi. “He flirts with anything smarter than a mushy, honey. And knowing you’ve a got a man, one who nearly shot Fun Ghoul to make sure he wasn’t chasing you, probably won’t change a thing.”
Raver smirked. “Probably not.”
“Well, then I hope you get used to having Rasta Blasta chase you off.” Desi warned.
A whistle suddenly resounded through the warehouse, and Desi turned to see Fun Ghoul with his hands in his mouth. The boys were here. She and Shasta quickly walked over to where the four men and Manic Phantom were gathered.
“It sounds like you got lucky, kid.” Jet Star started. “Tell us what happened.”
“Well, we were just scouting the warehouses, and when we got near the last one, where… the kidnapper was,” Desi couldn’t say Silent Apocalypse’s name out loud just yet. “Rasta got this terrible gut feeling. He used to get them sometimes when my crew would go on a sketchy mission. He couldn’t resist the idea that something would go wrong, so he always called the mission off.
“We decided that we had to go in there, anyway. We all surrounded the building and went in the way we had been doing it the past few times. Most of the doors were locked, but we expected the kidnapper to run. We were wrong. Apparently, only the front door was unlocked, and Gunmetal Diva and Bubblegum Rocket managed to pick their lock when they discovered I had no back-up, and hadn’t come out for a few minutes.
“When I went in, I found Silent Apocalypse. He was a fairly dark and silent Killjoy when I knew him. Scared the piss out of me, only ever told me two words in the almost two years I was with the crew: his name. He never seemed to be as cold and ruthless when we were dealing with females or children, so I thought maybe he wasn’t all bad.
“I was wrong. He had been set up in his warehouse, with that… tank,” Desi forced herself to say the word. “For months. He had been taking children, quietly, since you had a couple thousand Killjoys here. He would take them, torture them, and drown them. I don’t know what he thought he was saving them from, but that’s what he thought he was doing. He left the bodies tangled under the piers, to find or not.”
Desi paused, collecting her thoughts. “Apparently, he was bored with ‘being so good at what he does’ and wanted to get your attention. He had also heard that I was in town. It seems that he’s had a huge grudge against me since I came out of Battery City.” she swallowed, bracing herself for the judgement that everyone would send her way.
“He insisted that I can’t be a Killjoy, that my story is false, that I’m a spy, and I’ve got surveillance hardwired into my sensory input. He believed that I’m a spy, sent with a time-released post-hypnotic suggestion designed to get me to kill the Fabulous Killjoys—” Desi looked around at the four men in front of her as she said those two words, lingering on Kobra Kid, and Party Poison. “And kill them. Destroy the Killjoy’s strongest hope, from the inside. Assassinate their superheroes, and make them feel vulnerable. Killjoys never die? Tell that to someone after the Fabulous Killjoys are gone.”
“You know, I see his point. But, there are loopholes. To my knowledge, BL/ind cannot alter memories. I never underwent anesthetic surgery while in Battery City, I can’t have been wired up like a human spy camera. I clearly remember hearing the radio, and struggling to decide if I would stay or go. Helena’s blood or not, they never could have proven that I would leave, choose to be a Killjoy, or even make it out of the city alive.”
“Are you done?” Party Poison asked, his voice cold. Something even more was roiling around inside that angry mind of his now. Desi didn’t know if it would condemn her in his eyes, or save her. The latter was unlikely, even if Silent Apocalypse’s idea didn’t make him hate her more.
“Yes, that’s all I had to say.”
“Okay, please leave, the guys and I need to discuss some stuff.”
Desi straightened her spine and calmly left the warehouse. Never let ‘em see you crack. Rasta, who had joined the group just as she started to explain everything that had happened before Gunmetal Diva killed Silent Apocalypse, chased after her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice giving her worry away.
“I told you that you would never make a great liar.” Rasta said, half smiling. “Come on, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m afraid, Rasta. I’m terrified.”
“Of what?” the look on Rasta’s face told her of his concern. His eyes seemed to tell her, you’re my fearless crash queen. Nothing should ever make you scared, and if it does, I want to kill it.
“I’m afraid, afraid that Silent Apocalypse is right. I’m terrified that BL/ind really can alter memories.”
Desi had been telling her fears to the grimy L.A. street under her beaten-up combat boots. Now, she looked up at Rasta, her ocean-blue eyes peeking out from under her fringey bangs.
“Rasta, I’m scared that I’m a spy sent to kill the Fabulous Killjoys.”