Chapter Text
“We have a problem.” Fun Ghoul anxiously informs Dr. D as soon as he exits the colorful van.
“Did you get the bleeding to stop?” the man in the wheelchair asks, making a beeline to the diner.
“No… Well, we did. But only for a few minutes. It looked promising, but then he had… An episode of some sort?” he explains holding the door to the diner open.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“He woke up coherent enough. But then. Fuck. He started screaming at us to make it stop and shit, holding his head. And then he passed out. He hasn’t woken up since.”
“It might’ve been the side effects of that drug. Grab the syringe and give it to Tommy. He’ll smuggle it into Zone 3 for testing.”
“Right.” He agrees opening the door to Party’s room.
The room smells like blood- an unmistakable metallic stench that fills his nostrils as soon as he takes a step into it. Jet Star is leaning over Party trying to staunch the blood flow from the bullet wound on his shoulder. Kobra is pacing frantically by the door, and almost falls on top of Dr. D when he rolls in.
“Thank god!” he exclaims. “You have to help him! We have no idea what to do.”
“That’s why I’m here,” the older man responds, briefly clasping his hand on Kobra’s shoulder, before rolling up to the Poison’s bedside.
Jet Star and Dr. D start talking over Party’s body, using words that Fun Ghoul hasn’t even heard of. He has a fleeting thought that the only reason Jet Star is their self-proclaimed medic is because he knows all these long medical terms.
He remembers what Dr. D says about the syringe, and decides that if he can’t be of any use here, he’ll go be useful somewhere else. Grabbing the small medical instrument, he heads out to the van.
Show Pony and DJ Hot Chimp are waiting outside. Show Pony’s crouching by the Kid, comforting the small girl by the looks of it. Fun Ghoul once again feels guilty for not paying attention to the younger Killjoy, when it’s painfully obvious that she’s taking the accident just as hard, perhaps even harder, than them.
“How’s it going?” DJ Hot Chimp asks as soon as he’s in earshot.
“Oh, same old, same old. Our leader got in a clap with a bunch of Dracs and almost got ghosted. But, on the bright side, I found some granola bars.” He practically snarls.
“Don’t be such an asshole.” She retorts.
“Well then don’t ask such stupid questions.”
“I see you’re being even more difficult than usual.” She simply states, visibly amused at his antics.
“I see that you’re being even more of a bitch than usual.” He counters.
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. DJ Hot Chimp helped them more times than they can possibly count, from smuggling art supplies from Battery City for Poison and the Kid to driving them all around the Zones. She’s probably the least bitchy out of all of them.
Fun Ghoul once again feels like the worst shit ever.
“Sorry.” He mumbles, looking down.
He feels Chimp’s arms circle him and pull him into an embrace.
“It’s fine,” she empathizes, “I mean, I’d probably be the same if that was Cherri Cola in Party’s place.”
He nods, not trusting his voice, and leans in closer. DJ Hot Chimp is soft and smells like dust and the sun, and while he probably should be used to the smell, he’s not. It reminds him somewhat of home, and he wonders when the smell of his mom’s homemade eggplant parmesan and car oil was replaced by dust and sun of all things.
“He’ll be fine, you’ll see. He’s been through hell and back. Remember how banged up he was after the Wars?”
Fun Ghoul does. The Helium Wars managed to kill off almost all of their friends. They all took the deaths of their loved ones hard. Sometimes, he lays awake at night, thinking of those days full of chaos and demise. Cruel as it may sound, he’s happy that Jamia and the kids didn’t make it. He wouldn’t want them to see the world like this- always on the run, never truly getting anywhere. He wouldn’t want them to see him like this either- almost as lowly as those Dracs, shooting empty shells of what was once a loving mother or a rebellious teenager.
But, as hard as it was to mourn the loss of their dead friends, it was probably harder to think of those captured. Those people that had all of their feelings and thoughts and memories siphoned out of them and made into walking robots. They all established a rule of not taking off the Dracs’ masks after they kill them, because sometimes, it’s better to be left in the dark about some things. They learned that the hard away after the man under a mask turned out to be Bob Bryar.
Gerard, Mikey, Ray and Frank all died in the Wars. Party Poison, Kobra Kid, Jet Star and Fun Ghoul were all born during them.
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DJ Hot Chimp and Show Pony leave to Zone 5 to find Tommy Chowmein, and hopefully, find out whatever the hell was in that syringe shortly later. After the van rolls off towards Route Guano and the dust settles, Fun Ghoul kneels down next to Grace- who’s still crying, and pulls her into a hug. After a few minutes of just holding the little girl, and waiting for her sobs to subdue, he pulls away.
“Better?” he whispers, brushing his calloused thumb across her cheek, wiping away some tears.
She nods, but he’s not convinced at all. Missile Kid has been around the four of them long enough to pick up their habits. Along with Party’s drawing and Star’s hair styling, she also claimed Kobra’s poker face for herself.
“Hey, hey. Don’t cry, ok? Party would hate to see that beautiful face of yours covered in tears, princess.”
She sniffs defiantly, and rubs her sleeve across her face.
“There you go, princess.” He murmurs.
“Fun Ghoul? Party’s gonna be just fine right? I mean, he’s not going to end up like Mom is he?”
“Of course not sweetie. Just wait and see. Party will be back to himself in no time, ok?”
“You wouldn’t lie to me right?” she asks.
“Never princess.” He swears.
“Pinky promise?” she whispers hoarsely, holding her pinky finger towards him.
He wraps his pinky around hers, and thinks ‘You better not even think about dying Party’ after seeing the pure trust in his youngest companion’s eyes.
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Jet Star and Dr. D are arguing when Fun Ghoul and the Kid come back into the room.
“We need antibiotics!” is the first thing they hear as soon as they enter.
“And who knows how that will affect whatever the hell he’s been injected with?!” Dr. D counters.
“So we wait until he gets an infection? Sounds like a fuckin plan! Why don’t we just leave him here to die while we’re at it? It’s practically the same thing!” Jet Star contends.
“You know it’s not.” Dr. D insists, “We’ll get him the antibiotics after we find out what that poison was. Mixing antibiotics and whatever the hell that was might end up being a death sentence itself!”
Kobra turns to Dr. D and says, “I think we should risk it.”
“Do you really?” the older man condescends, “Think about this- both of you. We can prevent the infection a bit longer. Long enough for Tommy and Show Pony to get that syringe to Zone 3 and get in analyzed. Even if he gets an infection during that time, we’ll manage to fight it with antibiotics. But, I’m not going to let you make some deadly drug cocktail and kill him faster!”
“Sorry to bother you guys, but I’d thought you’d like to know that Show Pony and Chimp left.” He butts in. Although watching people argue is one of his favorite pastimes, it’s not as entertaining when it’s Party’s life they’re arguing about, and the Kid looks like she’s about to cry again.
Dr. D shoots Jet Star and Kobra Kid a triumphant look.
“So, yeah.” he clears his throat awkwardly, “They said they’ll be back by sunset if they can.”
Jet Star rolls his eyes and looks at Dr. D with a look that can only be described as ‘I want to murder you, but that would be counterproductive, so I won’t yet, but watch your back old man’.
Well, maybe not exactly, but the sentiment was still there.
“If they don’t get here by dusk, I’m giving him antibiotics.” Is all he says before storming out of the room.
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Fun Ghoul’s sitting on the steps of the diner waiting for Show Pony and Tommy to show up. He’s smoking a cigarette from the box Party gave him earlier. There’s probably something oddly poetic about that, and if there’s one thing he hates more than this goddamn life they’ve been living lately, its poetry. So, he’s pointedly ignoring whatever poetic irony this situation might have, and lights up another fag.
“How’s it going crash queen?” a voice asks from behind, startling him from his thoughts.
His hand immediately goes to the green zap in his holster before he realizes that it’s just Dr. D.
“Jesus Dr.” he snaps, “You scared the shit outta me.”
“Sorry.” the older man chuckles, not looking very sorry at all. He rolls himself up to where Fun Ghoul’s sitting and nods out to the horizon. “Seen anything yet?”
“Not a goddamn thing.” Fun Ghoul answers.
They sit like that for a few more minutes, a comfortable silence between them. Fun Ghoul likes Dr. D because, surprisingly for an illegal radio pirate, he’s a man of little words. Yet, he somehow always manages to find the exact thing to say for whatever situation.
“I’m not being an asshole.” Dr. D states, still looking out onto the horizon. The sun is starting to set, bathing everything in an orange light. For all its barren wasteland looks, Fun Ghoul doesn’t think he’s ever seen pretty sunsets than the ones in Zone 6.
“I know.” He responds simply. Dr. D really does have their best interests at heart, even though they’re sometimes not expressed the way they should be.
The man in the wheelchair nods and the two of them continue looking out into the distance.
Finally, the van pulls up in front of them. Fun Ghoul exhales in relief, and opens the door of the diner yelling “They’re here!”
The guys practically trip over each other trying to get out of the room, making Fun Ghoul snicker a bit.
“Where’s Missile Kid?” he asks Kobra.
“She’s gonna stay by Poison’s side. Y’know. Just… in case.”
Fun Ghoul can feel his eyes widen a bit. “You sure about that? I mean you saw what happen last time…”
“She wanted to stay.” Jet Star explains, “She has your stubbornness- we couldn’t change her mind.”
“Yeah? Well she has your hair.” he retorts, inwardly cringing. That’s like the lamest comeback in history.
“That was terrible.” Kobra says, voicing Fun Ghoul’s thoughts out loud, making the shorter man glare at him.
They leave the diner just as the van door opens and Tommy, Show Pony, News A Go Go and Agent Cherri Cola pile out.
“What’s the 411 on Party Poison’s condition?” News A Go Go yells, making her way to them.
“So far stable.” Kobra Kid answers, “But we’re not sure for how long.”
“Did you find out what was in the syringe?” Fun Ghoul asks.
“Well I have good news and I have bad news.” Tommy responds, grinning a bit.
His remark was met by four unamused expressions.
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Well. The bad news is that the syringe? It’s some kind of new BL drug. Really newfangled and shit. It’s still in the development and testing stages, but so far, they’re getting the results they’re hoping for. They already started to use it on the, erm… ‘Difficult’ cases.”
“Shit.” Dr. D mutters.
“So what does the drug exactly do?” Fun Ghoul wonders.
Tommy just looks down, shifting uncomfortably.
“Well?” Kobra prompts.
Cherri Cola steps up and slowly says, “It’s supposed to… Well. Fuck. Guys, it’s supposed to completely brainwash the person.”
“A new and more effective way to create a Draculoid.” News A Go Go quips bitterly, “It’s supposed to be quite painful too. Most of the victims died within 36 hours of being injected.”
“What’s the good news?” Jet Star asks almost desperately. Almost, because, well it’s Jet Star, who always keeps a cool head. It’s an almost comical contrast between Star and Kobra, who looks ready to lose his stomach over the desert ground. Fun Ghoul supposes he doesn’t look much better, and he’s suddenly glad that the Kid decided to stay with their leader. She would probably get a heart attack if she heard this.
“There is a cure.” Tommy pipes in, somewhat triumphantly, as if he’s the one to thank.
Fun Ghoul supposes they’ll all end up thanking him anyway.
“A cure?” Dr. D asks befuddled.
“Apparently,” Tommy explains, bouncing a bit on his heels, “the higher ups got pissed off after their captives kept dying. So, the Exterminators demanded a 100% foolproof cure be made in case the victims don’t show signs of becoming ‘converted’.”
“Are you serious?!” Kobra exclaims looking as if Christmas and his birthday came early, which, Fun Ghoul supposes isn’t an unfair comparison. He himself feels like screaming in joy.
“As a hard attack.” Tommy vows.
“Where?”
“Battery City obviously.”
“But before you start celebrating, remember that this is Battery City. That, and the cure has to be given before… well, death obviously.” Cherri Cola tells them.
“Killjoy.” Fun Ghoul mumbles.
They have a little over 24 hours to think of a plan, sneak into Battery City, steal the antidote and save Party.
No pressure.