Archive of Our Own

Every horizon held a mirage. Every dune hid bones. Every day brought sunburn. Every night sky was lit up by flares.

The Zones were harsh, but like the Juvie Halls in the City, like urban foxes, like cockroaches, the Killjoys found a way. The desert wasn't meant for life, but out here no one could deny that they felt more alive than anywhere else.

Every horizon held unknown adventures. Every dune hid treasures. Every day brought colour. Every night held infinite stars.

Months had passed since the fateful storm that had blown the two mysterious brothers across the threshold of the diner and into Jet and Ghoul's lives, and it was like the four of them had never known any other way of life. Ghoul had never been as close to another person as he was to Party, even if Party was made of silicone and circuit boards. The two of them had a romantic relationship, yes, but also an incredible friendship; while Jet was a great companion and mentor, Party was on the exact same wavelength as Ghoul, and they were like two halves of the same person. Party was just as close to Jet too, the redhead's presence softening Jet's rough edges and changing him for the better. He was still just as sharp-minded and protective as he always had been, now just with a more understanding and forgiving side when it came to new killjoys and strangers in need, as well as the softest spot in the world for Party.

Jet and Ghoul also had a close kinship with Kobra, finding that past the cold, serious exterior was a fascinating, unique person, just as unique as his brother was. Kobra's experience working at the pill dispensary in Battery City had given him a familiarity with medications, which had been invaluable when a lone Killjoy had traded a meal and a ride to Zone One for a pillowcase of assorted drugs from the City and from the Zones.

His affinity with mathematics meshed well with Jet's mechanical skills too, and the two of them were able to fix almost anything in half the time it usually took Jet by himself.

One on one, everyone had very different relationships with each other, but together they were a family, and unstoppable. They had the perfect combination of strengths, balancing out one another's weaknesses and knowing each of their roles in any situation.

They hadn't had any claps yet - no serious ones, at least - but they were confident that when the time came, they'd be victorious.

Outside Dr. D's radio station, the sun was high, but not as high as it had been. Still, the air was hot, the sand was hot, and Ghoul was hot. It was too warm for jackets, and even Jet had stripped down to a tank top for the little while they were spending outside. Party was lucky in that he didn't need to worry about sunburn, but for the others, day time was inside-time. Thankfully it was past high-noon now, past the most scorching part of the day, so it was time for practice.

Since Ghoul and Jet had learnt that Party and Kobra had never even held a gun, they'd taken it upon themselves to teach them how to shoot - or in Kobra's case, simply how to defend himself.

While Party was completely okay with learning to shoot, and was actually quite enthusiastic about it, Kobra refused. He stood by what he'd said to Ghoul all those months ago about never wanting to fire a gun, which had led them to where they were now.

Once a week they did target practice at Dr. D's shack, where Jet, Ghoul, and Party could turn the outside wall of the building into their own little shooting range, with bottles and cans lined up alongside a couple of old mannequins (that Dr. D had needed to assure Party were only mannequins, and were not - and never had been - droids), and Kobra could brush up on his self defense. Show Pony was almost always around, too, and always willing to impart a little of their martial arts knowledge and skill onto Kobra.

While Pony and Kobra jabbed and kicked at a mannequin in a Drac mask that hung from a nearby tree, Jet and Ghoul were taking shots at the old cans and helping Party practice his ambidexterity.

"If your dominant hand gets broken or something, you've gotta know how to fire with your weaker hand." Jet closed one eye as he aimed down the sight of his gun, the white plastic painted royal blue, the white and red stripes going down the barrel reminiscent of an old album cover Ghoul remembered from the jukebox in the diner.

"Nothing about Party is 'dominant'," Ghoul remarked with a smirk, getting a harsh glare and laugh from Jet.

"Oh, shut up," Party grumbled, shoving Ghoul's shoulder as he took his own gun - painted a shocking shade of yellow - from its holster, switching it from his right hand to his left. "You're switchier than the neon signs in the Lobby."

Ghoul's smirk dropped as Jet laughed harder; that was not something that Jet needed to know.

"Dude..."

"Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can't take it?" Party smiled, turning his attention back to the gun and taking aim at a can, firing, and watching it clatter to the ground, glowing red hot and smoking where it lay.

"Nice one." Jet peered at the inanimate victim of Party's shot. "And I don't just mean your aim."

"He's too fucking sassy," Ghoul muttered, taking aim himself and blowing a bottle to pieces. "Been spending too much time with Show Pony."

"Ey!" Pony yelled, turning around and staring at Ghoul accusingly, flipping their hair from their face, hands on their hips. "I can hear you! You guys love having me around, but I can't help that Party's so naturally bodacious. And Ghoul, honey, he's right; don't give what you can't take."

Ghoul shook his head and took aim at a can, "Ever heard of privacy?"

"Ever heard of not talking about someone behind their back when they're in earshot?"

Scowling, Ghoul yelled, "Suck me, Pony!" and took a shot, missing the can completely.

While Pony cackled at him, Party walked over and kissed his cheek, saying softly, "Ignore them, you know they love being an ass." He put his hands on Ghoul's shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze, relaxing him with the simple touch and grinning. "You were asking for it, though."

Ghoul rolled his neck and took aim again, firing three times in quick succession, hitting two cans and a bottle.

"Good shots, babe," Party took up his firing stance beside Ghoul and took aim, taking out a bottle and a can with three shots of his own.

"Are you sure you don't have, like, aim calibration or some shit hardwired into your brain?" Jet asked, folding his arms and smirking. "I swear you've been a natural shot since day one."

Party rolled his eyes and dropped his arm, unable to hide a smile from the compliment. "I told you already, there's no way BL would build a droid that's able to perfectly aim a gun. It's probably just because I don't have a heartbeat to make my hands shake."

Ghoul looked over at Kobra, watching for a short while as the blond landed round kick after round kick on the mannequin hanging from the tree, the battered plastic torso swinging wildly from the beating as Show Pony looked on like a proud parent. Everytime Ghoul saw Kobra in action, he knew that anyone on the receiving end of Kobra's melee would not be walking away from that fight, but he still worried. Anyone wanting to hurt them would not need to get within arm’s length of Kobra to do so;  everyone has guns in the Zones, and even though Kobra was quick, he didn't have the same range as a laser beam.

"Hey, Kobra," Ghoul called across the yard, snapping Kobra out of his combatic trance. "You wanna join in with us?"

"No."

It was the same answer they got every time any of them asked, but they always asked regardless. Ghoul always hoped that Kobra would see the three of them having fun and would want to join in, but Kobra had always stayed well away from it all. He still hadn't even touched a holster, let alone an actual gun - Party, however, had already customised his own gun: bright yellow with a red stripe going down the side, cross-hatched with black. It was very much his own, and Ghoul and Jet were proud of how easily he seemed to be taking to life as a true Killjoy.

"Are you sure?" Party asked, aware that Ghoul was trying to coax his brother into joining their practice. "It's fun, honestly. You can use my gun...?"

"I said no," Kobra shouted back, resuming his assault on the mannequin, jabbing fiercely at the torso in a way that did nothing to hide his annoyance at being constantly asked to fire a gun.

"He's gotta learn sometime." Jet shook his head, kicking at the sand. "But we can't force him into it. Unless he wants to learn, he's not even gonna try."

"I really don't think he'll ever want to," Party shrugged, raising his arm to take aim again. "Anything he's found difficult or not wanted to do before, he's always gotten over it pretty quick. It's been too long with the whole gun thing, we really need to just give it a rest."

Before he'd had a chance to line up a shot properly, Dr. Death Defying rolled out of the shack, calling out to the group, "You kids might wanna come listen to these waves."

Jet rolled his neck "Can it wait?"

"'Fraid not, Starboy." Dr D's face was set hard and sombre, and they all knew instantly that, no, really, it couldn't wait.

They called Kobra and Pony back over as they ran inside, overtaking Dr. D on their way to the radio room.

Dr. D wasn't live, but the lights and equipment were all glowing gently in the cosy, cool confines of the studio. A buzzing hum was playing through the speakers, and they all fell as silent as the dead and listened.

"...out west from the City. Not a scooby doo what they're out for, but they're coming, kiddos." NewsAGoGo's voice filled the room as Dr. D turned up the volume, the six of them crowded around the sound desk. "This is no regular snow patrol; Korse is out on good behavior, so run for the hills. Get as far out as you can, 'cause I don't think even Zone Five is safe today. Get underground, get to the caves, get to your strongholds and hold tight. We'll always outnumber them, but if I were you, I'd run. Dr. D, Hot Chimp, if you're hearing this, spread the news. I've only got so many frequencies, babes. Good luck and godspeed, my colourful comrades. NewsAGoGo, over and out!"

A song took over the airwaves, but the group only caught the first few bars as Dr D went straight to setting the station to a live broadcast. No one had a chance to even think about leaving before his voice boomed into the microphone.

"Look alive, look alive, look alive! Calling all of you Zone rats, focus your audio, this is not a drill. Keep the anti-frantic but Korse is on the loose with a full blizzard at his disposal. Fire up flat out and head to Zone Six if you can, 'cause there's no knowing what these pigs are planning..."

As Dr. D relayed NewsAGoGo's warning to the masses, Ghoul was frozen to the spot.

He'd only heard stories about the notorious Korse, and never from the people who had faced him; most people didn't survive a clap with Korse. He was different from the Dracs and other Exterminators in that he didn't wear a mask. He had no need or want to hide his face. He was a celebrity in Battery City, and he was disgustingly proud of his murderous career. Everyone knew his name in the Zones, and everyone hoped they would never have the misfortune of knowing his face.

Ghoul was shaken out of his terror trance, literally, by Jet's hands gripping his shoulders.

"Dude, we gotta fucking go." His voice was calm, but the panic showed in his eyes, even in the dim light of Dr. D's studio.

"Where, though? We barely ever hit up Zone Five, let alone have a place out there."

"There's the safe room in the Lockup basement."

"That's not even Zone Four!"

"It's out of the way of the old main roads, and it's better than nothing. We've gotta fucking go!"

"Where are we going?"

Party looked outright terrified, as did Kobra. It only then occurred to Ghoul that the two of them knew firsthand how Korse was deified by the City, how his systematic murder of people whose only crime was craving autonomy was praised, framing him as the nation’s saviour. To the Killjoys, Korse was a homicidal bastard who hated anything outside of his greyscale, binary world. To the citizens of the City, he was a god, and Kobra and Party were hellspawn.

Jet put his hand on Kobra's shoulder and took hold of Party's arm, gently steering them towards the door.

"We're going home, to the Lockup. We're gonna grab some supplies and hole up in the basement."

"What about Pony and D?"

Party's question prompted everyone to look over at Dr. D and Show Pony, who had taken up their spot on the desk next to the old stereo. Dr. D, still relaying the warning over the airwaves, glanced over and and paused his broadcast.

"More updates to follow, friends, hang tight." He leaned back from the microphone and flicked a switch, music filling the space left by his voice. Slowly turning his chair, everyone waiting patiently, Dr. D looked up at Party and smiled.

"You're a damn kind soul." His smile carried through to the tone of his voice as he tipped his glasses and looked Party in the eye. "But we'll be peachy. Plus, I've got a job to do, sweetheart, I can't leave my post."

Party bowed his head for a moment, a gesture of understanding; Party, just as with all of them, respected Dr D too much to argue that they knew better than he did. If he said he had to stay, then he had to stay.

"Pony?"

Show Pony smiled and leaned on the back of Dr D's chair, shaking their head. "Sorry, the good doctor needs his nurse. Someone's gotta stick around to help when his wheels get stuck in the sand." They smirked. "We'll be fine, honest."

Party glanced back at the other three before rushing forward and hugging Pony tightly, quickly springing back across the room to Kobra and taking hold of his arm.

"Come on, we gotta go."

The two brothers ran outside and around the building, out of sight as they headed for the car. Ghoul looked back at Dr. D and asked once more, "You sure you'll be alright?"

"You think I don't have protocol in place for this kind of thing?" he grinned and reached across his body, pulling a fire truck red gun from his side and spinning it on his finger, "We're all set here, kids. Go, save your own asses, I've got mine covered."

Jet looked out of the door but hesitated to leave, taking a moment to walk over to Dr. D and hold out a hand. Dr. D raised an eyebrow, considering Jet's hand for a few seconds until he took a firm hold of his fingers and gave it a quick, firm shake.

"We'll swing by tomorrow if we can, safety in numbers, ya know?"

"I'd tell you not to, but you'd do it anyway." Dr D laughed, the sound coming from deep within his chest and echoing strangely. "I'll be here if you wanna swing by, but put yourselves first. Look at me," he gestured down at his wheelchair, still smiling, "Legs like mine ain't no use in a revolution, so run while you still can, you've got a world to save."

"Got it, Doc." Jet raised his hand and performed a small salute, then turned on his heel and left before Ghoul even realised he was leaving.

"See ya, Twinkle," Pony called after him, knowing that Jet found the nickname endearing and annoying in equal parts. "See ya, Ghoul. Stay safe."

Ghoul nodded and started stepping backwards toward the doorway, reluctant to leave the two of them alone, "Yeah, you too."

The engine of the Trans Am was already running by the time he'd climbed in next to Kobra, Party riding shotgun as Jet drove them to - hopefully - safety. The wind whistled and the engine roared too loud for conversation, but words weren't needed to sense the fear amongst the four of them.

Korse had been out in the desert before, but it was usually small patrols through Zones One and Two, almost like it was for show. Korse was too much of a precious piece of propaganda in the City to actually send him out into the real thick of it. They paraded him around, he got a few more easy kills under his belt - unprepared kids who'd barely made it out of the City and were probably on the brink of death already - and then he was brought back to the City and praised for keeping them all safe.

This was different, though. NewsAGoGo was reporting an entire fleet of BL agents out for blood, and if Korse was leading the pack, then it had to be serious. They were after something, or some one , and knew that Korse and his men wouldn't spare any Killjoy who crossed their paths.

Ghoul silently hoped that one of NewsAGoGo's Zone runners could find out who or what those Dracs were after, and the rest of them could keep clear of trouble.

The Lockup wasn't too far away, which was a worry. It was just on the border of Zone Four and Ghoul could barely consider it a safe place to be, but they had very few options that didn't involve begging kindness from strangers, all of whom were just as scared of being found by BL as they were.

There were almost no words exchanged as they all jumped out of the Trans Am, headed up to their room, and started grabbing whatever they could and shoving it into bags. Food, blankets, and batteries were all hauled down into the building's basement, the air feeling cold and stale; a strange contrast to the dry heat of the Zones, and almost unwelcome.

There were already some mattresses down here, blue striped and definitely looking worse for wear, and the sight and smell combined reminded Ghoul of the first and last time he'd been down here.

They'd come at night. They never came at night, and no one could put out their campfires fast enough. He was reckless enough to monkey his way down the wrecked staircase and hide in the basement, but not everyone in the building had known the route so well. Him and Jet had cowered in the darkness, shaking, fingers twitching at the triggers of their guns, as they listened to the screams and blasts echoing through the concrete walls. They'd been lucky, though; the Dracs were only out to kill for fun, not for competitive sport, not for more City propaganda. Their victorious hoots and hollers rang out over the noise of the engines as they drove away into the dark, looking for the next pinprick light of a camp on the horizon. They didn't come hunting in the basement of the ruin. They didn't care to go to so much effort for an easy kill.

It was the only time Ghoul had seen Jet cry. Not sobbing hopelessly, not making a noise at all, in fact. He'd simply let the tears roll down his cheeks, eyes trained on the basement doorway, gun raised up beside his face and ready to shoot. He'd stayed like that the entire night, until they were sure of the signs of morning and carefully exited the darkness.

There hadn't been many bodies, they could have been counted on one hand. There were no unmistakable BL body bags. No one was coming back for them.

Jet, Ghoul, and the few survivors of the night had driven out to Zone Five, to the Ghostpark, and spent the day digging graves. They were shallow, but they were enough, each one marked with a rock painted with the deceased's initials. The final gesture had been slipping each of the fallens' masks into the Phoenix Witch's mailbox. Ghoul didn't hold much belief in things like that, but the dead they'd buried might have, so he obliged in the ritual. If it brought their souls some rest, then he wasn't going to be the one to deny them this last rite.

As the mask he'd taken from one of the bodies slipped from his fingers into the darkness of the mailbox, a warm breeze had drifted past him, and perhaps... Maybe Ghoul had thought there was something to it.

The experience hadn't instilled any kind of belief in him, but somehow that night had never haunted him.  

Not 'til now, at least.

"I hate being back in here." Jet threw his bag onto the floor, the tins and packets inside making an unpleasantly loud noise that echoed off the walls and snapped Ghoul from his thoughts. "Bad memories, you know?"

He was probably thinking the same as Ghoul, who nodded in agreement, setting up a lamp on one of the old wall brackets.

"It's not gonna be like that this time, though. We're prepared."

"What happened?" Kobra asked, walking over to the discarded mattresses and pulling one down from where it was leaning against the wall.

"The building got ambushed at night. We ran, people died. We stayed down here 'til sunrise, didn't get any sleep." Jet sighed and sat down. "One of the worst nights of my life, and I've seen some shit."

"That's not gonna happen this time, though," Ghoul repeated, putting down his own bag and walking back over to the door, shutting it firmly and putting the makeshift barricades in place. "If they're actually out looking for someone, then they'll have a plan, and I don't think they'll stay out all night. Can't overwork their precious Korse."

"What do you think they're up to?"

Jet placed his portable radio on the floor and threw himself down onto the mattress beside Kobra. "I reckon they're either looking for someone or something really specific, or they're doing a general sweep. Kill-on-sight type'a deal. But while we don't know, we gotta stay out of the way. I don't wanna cross those fuckers unless we have to."

Ghoul briefly surveyed the room, old pipes lining one wall, mattresses against the other, with Kobra and Jet sprawled on top and Party, stock still, off to the side with his arms full of bedding.

"Hey, Party," Ghoul called across the room, taking a few steps towards him, but getting no response. The other two had looked over, but not Party.

"Party?"

He twitched and turned his head to look at Ghoul like he'd just woken up, or snapped out of a trance. His eyes were vacant, surprised to have Ghoul calling his name.

"Hm?"

Ghoul frowned, "Are you okay?"

"I, uh... Yeah," he nodded, seeming a little unsure. "Yeah, I-I'm fine. Let's just..." he looked over at Jet, "Does the radio work down here?"

Surprisingly, the radio did work in the confines of the basement, and the next few hours were spent channel hopping between WKIL, NewsAGoGo's, and Hot Chimp's frequencies, waiting and hoping for news between songs. Some did eventually come through, close to sunset, but it wasn't good.

"It's looking like it's gonna be a frosty night, supastars," NewsAGoGo's voice rattled the old speakers, "From all accounts, the S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. units are having a li'l camp-out in Zone Three. They're not advancing, but they're not retreating either. Stay in your hidey-holes tonight, or keep running if you wanna risk it- Hell, take out a few Dracs if you can, and if you run into Korse, put a bullet in his brain from me? I'm personally staying put, for my own sake and yours. I'll keep one finger on the play button and another on the pulse to keep you entertained and informed. Also, sending out a whole lott'a love to my Runners, my eyes in the skies and my ears to the ground. If anyone sees Ko Holo and Cero Mile out before sundown, give a dog a bone, a meal, a place for the night, would ya? Now, let's spin some more tunes to soothe those stresses, supastars..."

NewsAGoGo slid up the fader and a song took hold of the air, sounding like something straight out of a wavehead's record collection. It sounded strange, but in the cool air and the dim lighting of the basement, it was almost calming.

They'd been down there a while now, and Ghoul was more than ready to sleep. The others had been keeping themselves occupied, though: Jet and Party were reading a book together by lamplight, a dog-eared old novel with a brown, aged cover; Kobra had one of his Murder magazines, a morbid fascination that the others felt better off not questioning him about; Ghoul was sewing. Whenever he had spare time, he was always patching up clothes, and tonight he was mending the most worn out pieces that Party and Kobra had brought from the City. The rough and tumble of life in the desert was beginning to take its toll on their clothes and Ghoul was the most competent at mending busted seams and tears, so the job fell to him to make sure no one's bare asses and thighs were exposed to the elements.

Ghoul balled up the pair of jeans he'd just patched up and launched them across the room at Kobra, with a warning shout of "Kid, head's up!"

Kobra looked up, but still ended up with the jeans wrapped around his face, failing to raise a hand in time. It took him another second to reach up and pull the pants off his head, leaving the others staring at him, bemused.

"Thanks." He nodded at Ghoul and set down his magazine, folding the jeans and tossing them on top of his bags.

Ghoul frowned and picked up the next closest garment. "You know, for a guy who's so good at hand-to-hand combat, you're kinda slow."

"Hey, it's been a stressful day," he scowled. "I'm tired."

"Me too."

"Me three," Jet chimed in, shutting his book and leaning forwards, forcing Party to sit up from where he'd been leaning. "You guys wanna eat then hit the sack?"

Dinner was over quickly - it was slim pickings between the few supplies they'd brought, so the meal ended up being tinned tomatoes and some slightly stale bread. Soon they were all layered up and ready to pass out.

Party had already said he could stay powered on for as long as they needed him to, and despite Jet and Ghoul's insistence that they could take shifts, they relented and let Party keep watch overnight. Ghoul did however say he'd stay up and keep Party company for a while, and that, apparently, was allowed.

Ghoul had found that, on the coldest nights, the whirring of Party's circuits warmed his chest a little, and Ghoul could almost imagine he was living flesh and bone. In the quiet and cool and dark of the Lockup basement, though, it was impossible to pretend - but that was fine.

The soft glow of Party's eyes followed him across the room as Ghoul fetched his blanket and book from one mattress and brought them to Party's.

"What book is that?" Party asked softly, conscious of the fact his brother and other companion were both asleep already.

"It's called Catcher in The Rye." He settled himself on the worn out springs and looked lovingly at the ancient book cover. "It's about a boy, Holden, and he gets kicked out of school and he runs away to a city called New York... He's got all these problems, and then he finds the real world and it's... It's all lies and sex and disappointment." He looked over at Party and smiled. "It's the best thing I've ever read."

"New York..." Party tried fitting his mouth around the foreign words, pondering them for a moment. "How old is this book?"

"Only about seventy years, but that world is long gone. I don't even know if New York exists anymore, it might just be another Battery City these days."

Party looked at the worn, faded book cover; it had once had a dust jacket, but was now left naked and grey, the ink from the indent of the title nearly faded to nothing.

"Do you like it because it's about a real place?"

"Eh... Kinda. I like it more because it's about real shit. Like... It's about a young boy in a fucked up city of lies and sex, it would resonate with any kid who's managed to escape Battery City. But it's still just fictional enough to distract from real life."

"I think I'd like to read more books."

"I'm guessing you didn't get to read books in the City?"

"Nope. Some droids knew books, though." He sighed a little. "They didn't get to read and enjoy them though, they just had the knowledge put into their brains. Clients sometimes liked to have intelligent conversations. Dunno why they couldn't just talk to other humans."

"Probably because they were nasty motherfuckers who couldn't get a date if they tried," Ghoul scoffed, rolling his eyes and leaning back onto the mattress, before catching the frown on Party's face. "The men in the City are scum, not one of them is a decent human being. They're worse than the roaches."

Party thought for a moment and raised his eyebrows, "I always sort of thought that, but the longer I'm out here, the more I feel like… Like I'm allowed to think it."

"You're allowed to think anything you want." Ghoul leaned forward and smiled. "They can control our bodies, but not our minds."

Party smiled, but his face slowly shifted to a frown as he mulled over Ghoul's words.

"They can, though... Me, especially. The City and BLI pump biological humans full of drugs and broadcasts, and for me... If they got their hands on me, they could wipe my brain. Reprogram me. Scrap me, even... How do you deal with it?"

"Deal with what?"

"Fear. Aren't you scared of these things?"

"Of course, but where's the fun in being scared all the time? I could die tomorrow, why waste the one day I have left being scared?"

"I guess I haven't managed to find that mindset yet."

"Are you actually scared?"

"Of course I am!" Party kept his voice low, but the indignance wasn't easily masked. "Unless I have a distraction, I'm constantly terrified of what might be around the corner. I try to stay calm." He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. "I know that you and Jet will protect me, whatever happens, but now that I get to live my life, I'm all too aware of how easily it could be taken away."

Ghoul gently pulled Party against his side, sighing heavily, "That's what it's like out here. I wish I had something positive to say, but, I dunno... You can't ignore it, but you learn to accept it. And you're right," he squeezed Party's shoulder, "We will protect you, no matter what."

Party managed a half smile, glancing at the book in Ghoul's hands.

"Do you want to read in peace, or could I read with you?"

"You can read with me, but I'm a fair way into it so you might not get what's going on."

"That's alright." Party pulled up the blankets and arranged them over his and Ghoul's legs. "I can always read from the beginning when you're asleep."

---*---

Ghoul's sleep was not peaceful, consistent, or nightmare-free. Most of the night he spent cruising the edge of sleep without ever falling in, the hours stretching endlessly.

Finally, light appeared to seep in around the edge of the barricaded door, and Ghoul gave up trying to sleep.

Soon, as though by instinct, Jet and Kobra were awake too, joining Party and Ghoul in the cold silence of the basement.

Not much was said in the tired quiet, which was usual for the early mornings, but this time there was the added tension of not knowing if the desert above was crawling with Dracs.

Jet finished up his breakfast first - someone had grabbed a bag of supplies that contained granola bars, and no one was about to say no to the rare snack - and turned his attention to the radio, trying to tune into any station that might give them some peace of mind about the world above.

The static crackled and whined for a while, the airwaves strangely silent. Eventually a voice came through, and it was familiar, though unexpected.

"-ome through overnight that the Dracs camped out in Zone Three, so are likely to head out again today. They'll for sure get out to Zone Four," Show Pony had never sounded so serious, and it took a few moments for Ghoul to place the voice, " Please , head out as far as you can. Ko Holo, Cero Mile, if you're hearing this, GoGo needs you at the station, so turn tail and head back. I don't wanna be a Debbie Downer, but I don't think anywhere is safe. We don't need to fight them, just outrun them. We know the desert better than the City scum; we're built for this, they're not. Just keep running. I'd be right there with you if the station didn't need someone to man it, and while Dr D is much more of a man than I could ever be, the good doctor needs his forty winks. This is Show Pony on the audio riptide that is WKIL, you know the frequencies..."

Jet turned down the volume as Pony hit play on another song, leaving the basement in silence.

"We're in the same Zone as them?"

"No." Jet swallowed hard and turned to Kobra. " They're in the same zone as us . This is our turf, they're the ones who don't belong here."

"It doesn't matter who 'belongs'." Party stood up from the mattress. "We're only a couple of miles from... From Korse. Him, and a whole S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. unit, who won't hesitate to shoot anything colourful that moves. We need to go."

Party was right, they all knew that, but there was no way to ignore the fear on his face. It was the same that Ghoul felt on the inside, but that he couldn't afford to show.

Jet must have seen Party's fear too, as in the blink of an eye he had moved across the room and was holding Party's shoulders tenderly, reassuring and soothing him.

"I know, we're gonna go. You don't need to be scared, they're not gonna get us."

Without a word, Party leaned forward against Jet's chest, Jet taking him into his arms without a thought.

"Is it even safe out there?" Kobra frowned, less scared and more concerned - always more logical than emotional.

"It's the Zones, it's never safe."

"I mean," his frown deepened, "How do we know the coast is clear? How fast can they move, how fast can we move? How do we get away?"

"We drive."

Everyone looked at Ghoul. They looked as though they were expecting more of an explanation, so he carried on.

"We drive until the tank runs dry, then we run for cover. We just keep running. I know Hot Chimp is out in Zone Five too, but," he shrugged, "I don't know if heading for a broadcasting station is a good idea. Trackable signal, you know?"

"If anyone else has headed for the station, then there'll be safety in numbers," Jet reasoned, still holding Party tightly. "Us four, plus Chimp, there's her two runners, uh...."

"Kerplunk and Boodskapper," Kobra interjected.

"Yeah, them. So there'll be at least seven of us, and I'm willing to bet that place is fucking reinforced. People will be heading there, I think we should too."

Ghoul considered it for a moment; they could either be technicoloured sitting ducks out in the open, or they could take shelter with familiar faces who had been out in the desert longer than he had.

"Okay, head for Hot Chimp. Are we agreed?"

Party nodded, as did Kobra, which settled it.

The simple task of moving their non-essential supplies from the basement to their lockup room felt like a clandestine mission, everyone unsure if a Drac could be hiding just out of sight, ready to murder them without a second thought.

Once they were packed up and ready to escape to the Trans Am, Kobra stopped and got the attention of the group, his demeanour calm and his words clear and resolute.

"I'll make sure the coast is clear. You guys get your masks on, I'll go first."

"What? No," Jet spoke out impulsively, catching himself as he stepped forward and put a hand on Kobra's chest, holding him in place. "You... You can't."

"Why not?"

"I won't let you."

"That's not a reason." Kobra's brow furrowed and he pushed Jet's arm away from himself. "I'd rather head out to the garage knowing it's safe, and I'm not about to send one of you guys into possible danger for my own peace of mind."

"That's... Are you sure?"

"Ghoul, don't fucking encourage him!"

"He's volunteering to keep our asses safe, will you let someone else call the shots for once?"

Jet didn't dare argue back and the four of them looked between one another for a few minutes, no one sure what to say or do, until Kobra made to walk down the hall to the staircase.

"Masks on, I'll whistle when it's safe."

Gathering their bags, the other three followed after in silence - partly because they didn't know who or what might be in the building, and partly because there was really nothing that could be said. Kobra had taken the wheel, and no one was going to fight him to take it back.

The Lockup was eerily quiet as they made their way to the ground floor. Usually there would be music or raucous laughter coming from somewhere, maybe the rumble of engines from the dust roads, but this morning there was only the distant whistle of the wind.

Watching Kobra walk out into the open of the garage was enough to make Ghoul nauseous with anxiety. He could all too easily imagine Kobra going down from a ray gun shot to the head, and he couldn't stop his imagination from playing it over and over for every step he took towards the Trans Am.

He didn't realise how tightly he was gripping Party's arm until Kobra called out, making him jump and send the shock through Party's body too.

"Come out, then," Kobra said, not so loud that he was yelling, but loud enough that his voice echoed off the concrete walls. "If you want to shoot me, then shoot me, you city sons of bitches."

From the other side of the doorway Jet managed to catch Ghoul's eye, shooting him a look that said ‘ What the fuck is Kobra doing’ . Ghoul didn't have an answer, and instead looked at Party who was stood at his side. Party looked understandably terrified; this was his brother taking one for the team in the most literal and deadly sense of the term, and they could do nothing but watch and wait for the signal.

The air felt suffocating and still until a loud clear whistle came through from the garage, Kobra's signal that it was clear to come out.

The trio wasted no time in racing over to the car, Jet immediately jumping into the driver's seat while the others chucked their bags and themselves into the back. They held on for dear life as the Trans Am’s engine roared, the car lurching back and then forwards as they left the Lockup and sped off in the direction of DJ Hot Chimp's studio.

Although it wasn't a daily occurrence to see other killjoys out in the desert, there were usually at least one or two vehicles kicking up dust on the horizons, sometimes campfires, smoke bombs, even fireworks for the hell of it.

Today, the desert was unnaturally still. Quiet. Dead.

Ghoul found his eyes fixed forward, wishing for the station to appear in the distance and to know that safety was within reach. Party, however, had his eyes fixed behind them.

Twisted awkwardly in his seat, Party was watching through the rear window as the Lockup shrunk into the distance. His eyes seemed to scan across the dusty landscape, looking for something.

Ghoul placed a hand on Party's leg, getting his attention."What're you looking for?"

"I'm watching to see if anyone follows us."

He nodded, a simple gesture of understanding. Ghoul didn't know what might happen if they were being followed; he didn't want to give that eventuality much thought, but he knew it would end in an onslaught of laser beams.

With Jet driving and Party holding onto the back of the seats to keep himself upright, Ghoul was the only one with his hand on a gun. The thought made not just his fingers but his whole arm feel twitchy, the anxiety drying his mouth, closing his throat, his heart hammering in his chest and the pit of his stomach feeling hot and tight and uncomfortable.

The drive was taking far too long, so Ghoul had taken to scoping out the horizon on the left to try and occupy his mind, with Kobra watching the right hand horizon and Jet watching the road ahead. There had been no signs of life in any direction by the time that the small tin settlement of trailers that WILD Radio broadcast from came into view.

As they got closer, the radio interference coming through on the car stereo combined with the sight of Hot Chimp's battered old van let the four of them breathe a sigh of relief. She was home, and she was live on air. The engine was too loud for them to bother tuning the radio, and they were so close and desperate to get inside that they had no patience to, either. All they wanted was sanctuary.

After pulling up, there was a mad rush to grab bags and get to the door of the trailer. Ghoul wasn't sure whether they'd even be welcome inside, especially if other people had taken refuge.

"It could be wall-to-wall in there," Ghoul called to the others, "Might have half the desert taking refuge."

"I'm sure Chimp will have space for four little ones," Jet replied, pulling off his mask. Any other time Jet's words would have sounded cheery but his face seemed shrouded in gloom as he stormed up to the tin door and knocked. One knock, then three, then two, then one.

Ghoul refrained from rolling his eyes, considering how dire the situation was, but he never understood why Hot Chimp had a secret knock when every Killjoy from zones two through six knew it.

There was a rattling against the other side of the tin door of the bolts and latches being undone before the door opened a crack, whoever was inside still not trusting the knock.

Jet opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out he was cut off by two white laser beams being fired from inside the trailer, one skimming past his head, the other seeming to find its target. Jet fell to the ground, making a noise that was beyond a howl or a scream, a noise so inhuman that Ghoul didn't know what to do and froze to the spot.

But when the white suited, white face, black haired figure appeared in the doorway of the trailer, his first instinct was to run.

"Get in the car! Get in the fucking car!"

He didn't stop to help Jet, he didn't even stop to think as the three of them dropped their bags and ran back to the Trans Am. Ghoul jumped in the driver's seat but his stomach dropped as he realised he didn't have the key; Jet did.

There was more than one Drac now; there were at least six, and more seemed to file out of the station door, stepping over Jet's writhing body on the ground and making a beeline for the car.

"We need to fucking go!"

"I don't have the key!" Ghoul screamed, realising that he'd just trapped them inside the vehicle. "Get out! RUN!"

Throwing open the door, Ghoul lost his footing and fell down into the dust, seeing only the white military boots of the the Draculoids around him as one reached down and pulled his mask off.

The last thing he heard was Party's scream, before the white boot connected with his face. Then there was nothing but black.

---*---

Woosy. Heavy headed. Brain... Bruised, bobbing painfully in its skull. Face aching, stiff, crusted. Small red lights, noise, both blurry and fuzzy around the edges.

Ghoul went to reach up and touch his face, but found his arms stuck behind his back, bound tightly at the wrist. It took a moment to think through the fog that was consuming his mind, but it didn't feel like zip ties. This felt sturdy and metallic and like handcuffs.

He pushed off from whatever he was leaning against and lifted his head, the ache in his neck making it far harder than usual, and tried to look around. The first thing he managed to focus on was the streaks of white in the darkness around him.

Then he remembered what had happened and realised what those white streaks in his line of vision were.

Draculoids. An entire patrol of them, standing around the dim room they were in. The realisation jolted through him and he sat up straight, ignoring the way his body ached and protested at the movements. He needed to wake up and be aware, firstly of where he was.

The tiny lights seemed to be soundboards, stereo systems, and other audio equipment, so he knew they were inside Hot Chimp's trailer. The next thing he noticed was a blonde body laying on the floor by the door, face up, a still-smouldering crater in the forehead and cheek, the flesh and exposed bone burnt black.

Hot Chimp was dead.

It was a sickening view, and his mind struggled to comprehend what he was looking at before he turned his face away, vision still swimming with the movement of his head.

The next thing he saw was a dark figure sat in Hot Chimp's desk chair, caught in the shadow of the corner he was watching the room from. He was dressed head to toe in grey, the ruffled sleeves of his jacket looking obnoxious and impractical for any kind of work. He seemed to wear a waistcoat and straight legged slacks, his entire outfit looking entirely inappropriate for the desert, and far more theatrical than everyday life in the City would call for.

Ghoul's stirring seemed to have caught his eye, too, as he raised his head and locked eyes with Ghoul, sitting up straight and leaning back comfortably, smiling.

"You're awake. Good."

His voice was smooth with a gravelly edge, not especially deep but strangely charismatic. His eyes were still caught in shadow despite his face now being lit up by the small amount of light in the room, his small mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ghoul spat, "And where the fuck are my friends?"

"Excuse me, but there's no need for that language." The stranger leaned forward again, forearms resting on his knees; now, Ghoul saw the pure white gun in his right hand.

"You really expect me to be fucking polite?"

The stranger considered his question for a moment, tipping his head to one side in a kind of shrug, "I guess not, I shouldn't really expect manners from anyone out here. And my men have put you in an inconvenient situation, so the least I can do is introduce myself. My name is Korse."

Fear rushed through Ghoul, his heart starting to pump adrenaline through every fibre of his body, but there was no way he would let that show.

"So... You're the bastard."

Korse chuckled, dipping his head for a moment. "I suppose I am, yes. You've heard of me."

"Unfortunately."

Korse stood up, stretching his arms for a moment and walking over to the desk, perching on the edge closest to Ghoul.

Ghoul could see him much better now; his head was completely bald, his brow strong, as was his nose. He looked dignified, but also smug, which made Ghoul's blood boil.

"Are you not going to introduce yourself to me?" Korse made the interaction seem almost casual. "You know my name, it would only be polite for me to know yours, too."

"Fuck you."

Korse chuckled again. "Delightful."

There was a cold, steely silence for a few moments, Korse's smirk still plastered to his face, until he looked Ghoul in the eye again and raised his eyebrows.

"Well?"

"What?"

"I was expecting you to be more persistent in asking where your compadres are."

Ghoul didn't want to give Korse the satisfaction of being right, so he stayed quiet, despite wanting to scream out for Party. Then he thought of Jet.

"You shot my friend."

"No, I didn't." Korse shook his head, like Ghoul was confused and he found it endearing. "One of my men did. I told them not to shoot or harm anyone we came across, but some of them are a little... Trigger happy. He'll face repercussions, as will the one who kicked you in the face. Apologies on his behalf."

Ghoul felt his nose throb at the mention of the kick, realising that the stiff crusty feeling on his face must be dried blood. It hurt like hell, but didn't feel broken. He knew what a broken nose felt like.

"Where is he?"

Korse gestured vaguely behind him. "With the others. Regretfully, he is unconscious, probably passed out from the pain. He's still alive, though, don't worry about that."

Ghoul regarded Korse for a moment, then the Dracs that were stood around the room, some stood on guard, some picking through Hot Chimp's belongings for anything that might be of interest to them. He resisted his morbid curiosity to look at her body again, another part of his brain threatening him with vomiting if he laid eyes on the smoking holes where Hot Chimp's face used to be.

Korse seemed to allow him to have this moment to take in everything around him, waiting patiently on the desk.

Eventually Ghoul returned to the conversation, giving Korse as hard of a stare as he could muster, directing all of his surging rage into one look at his captor.

"What do you want?"

Korse smiled. "Excellent question. You know," he wiped his nose, adjusting how he was sat, "we wouldn't even be in here if it weren't for you trying to make a break for it! We could have just had a nice little chat and I'd have let you go on your way."

"I said, what do you want? "

Ghoul wasn't here for Korse trying to play nice; he had asked a question and he wanted an answer.

He got one, but it sounded like a rehearsed line that Korse was rattling off for the umpteenth time.

"In Battery City, we aim to reuse as many resources as we can, especially electronics, as they're made of many, many complex components that need not be wasted if just one out of a dozen is broken. A good example are our many droids, which share a lot of their makeup with other commonplace appliances." He smiled like a salesman trying to sell something he knew was faulty or fake. "We're currently trying to track down and reclaim any and all droids that have malfunctioned and left the City. We're aware that some of these, especially our coveted Pornodroids, have uses here in the Zones and are sometimes taken in as 'one of the community'." Korse put his words in finger quotes, as though he were mocking it. "We just need to know if you know the location of any droids, or any locations that may be harbouring rogue droids."

"Why would I tell you?"

Korse's smile stayed in place, cold and empty, as he explained. "If you don't cooperate - which you've been great at so far, by the way - then we will hurt you. And it will be very deliberate this time."

Ghoul's heart was racing, knowing that they really would go to any lengths to get the information they wanted, but there was something else - he only knew one droid.

He could be the hero and say nothing, endure the torture, hold out long enough for the others to maybe make an escape from wherever they were being kept; or he could lie and say he knew none, or send the Dracs on a wild goose chase past Zone Six.

There was no way he was betraying Party, no chance in hell. But the longer he was stuck in here, the longer Party, Kobra, and Jet were alone, the longer the Dracs had to figure out that Party was a droid.

Ghoul decided to play along and lie his ass off, daring to throw Korse a rogue bone.

"If you wanna find any droids, go sniff around Zone One, that's where most of them are. The City limits fry their circuits anyway. Aside from that," he shrugged, "I can't help you. I don't know any droids."

Korse's smile broadened, his eyes creasing at the corners as he leaned towards Ghoul. "I don't think you're telling me the truth."

"None of us know any droids, we just keep to ourselves and trade when we need to."

"Really?" Korse scoffed, "A band of four men who don't associate outside of one another? I struggle to believe that."

Ghoul said nothing. Korse didn't seem like the kind of man who could be easily convinced of something without evidence, and he had no idea what kind of reaction he'd get if he explained their situation. There was every chance that Korse may kill him on the spot.

The stoney silence stretched as Korse's expectant look faded, replaced with thought, then something like uncertainty.

"Wait... You're not..?" Korse sat back, surveying Ghoul for a second and laughing as Ghoul's eye contact faltered. "You are! A group of homosexual men, how unconventional. Is that why you left Battery City?"

"I don't owe you any fucking kind of explanation. You don't know shit."

Ghoul's words were fiercer than he'd intended, but Korse's words had struck a nerve within him. The last time he'd heard someone use that word, it had been a jeering official in the City school, laughing, mocking him for being a defective digit in BLI's black and white system of binaries. There was nothing wrong with him.

With a frustrated sigh, Korse stood up from the desk and walked across the room, standing against the opposite wall.

"I have lived in and worked for the City my entire life, you don't know what I know."

The cold smile was gone from his face now, but his eyes stayed icy and dark as he glared down at Ghoul, still slumped against the wall and feeling shrunken and insignificant compared to Korse's height.

"Besides," he sniffed and quirked an eyebrow, picking up a record sleeve from Hot Chimp's desk. "I thought we'd moved past that vulgar language? I understand you're frustrated, but- Hang on, you ," Korse pointed at one of the Dracs, clicking his fingers to gain their attention, "Undo our guest's handcuffs."

Even with the Drac approaching, key in hand, Ghoul wasn't sure whether Korse was being serious or not until he'd been hauled up from the floor and freed. He stood rubbing his wrists, scowling at the bald man who seemed to be reading the track listing on the sleeve.

"Why?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes, setting the record back down. " You're welcome. We only put you in cuffs because you'd tried to make a break for it, so let's establish some trust here."

"I've already told you that I don't know any droids."

"Shall we see if your little boyfriends can corroborate that?"

Korse raised his hand again, pointing and clicking his fingers at a different Drac, and gave him an order. "Go out and get the other three. If the injured one is still unconscious, then carry him in, prove to our guest here that he's still alive."

The Drac obeyed the command without a single word or gesture of acknowledgement, stepping back outside of the trailer.

Ghoul was still on guard; he was a mouse in a room full of cats. Cats with guns. With his eyes trained on Korse, he listened closely for sounds of what was going on outside.

Talking, car doors, yelling, small voices, footsteps scuffing along the ground.

The door of the trailer flew open again, the sunlight paining Ghoul's eyes as he watched a Drac march inside, followed by two familiar figures and a third, carried by two other Dracs.

Korse seemed delighted by the new company, and ushered Kobra and Party in, directing them towards Ghoul against the far wall. Party immediately fell into Ghoul's arms, sobbing hysterically as the two of them slid down to the floor, while Kobra's nervous footsteps slowed as he saw Hot Chimp's corpse still laid out on the ground.

"Don't look at her, okay?" Ghoul called out, "Just...  Try not to look."

Party whispered to Ghoul, his voice as small as he could manage, "Jet's face, his eye... That's what they did to him, too."

Jet's body was placed carefully in the far corner, the injured side of his face tilted away from view. As soon as the Dracs had stepped away and returned to their positions, Ghoul crouched down to Jet's side, trying to gently rouse him and check for a pulse.

His skin was burning up, his breathing hard and fast, and he was still unconscious, but just barely.

This time, Ghoul gave in to his morbid curiosity and carefully turned Jet's face towards him. He couldn't prevent the sharp intake of breath when he saw Jet's face, a mixture of shock, disgust, and disbelief.

His right eyelid and most of the skin around it, including the bridge of his nose, was red, raw and weeping, his eyelashes almost entirely gone. The exposed flesh was drawn tight by the burns and his eye was pulled open, exposing the bloodshot cornea, his iris and pupil clouded translucent blue with a quickly forming scar. It was grotesque and looked wrong on Jet's face. He'd be lucky if he didn't lose the eye, but the fact he was still alive was lucky enough for now.

"So," Korse started talking cheerily, entirely unbothered by the state they were all in, "I didn't get your name before, and I've only just met these three. What do you all go by?"

"You asked me before," Ghoul hissed, the sight of Jet's face and the way Party cowered against him renewing the swelling anger inside of him, "And I said, fuck you ."

Korse looked almost disappointed for a moment until he hung his head and tutted Ghoul's profanity.

"Clearly, you're not going to stop using that profanity, and I really doubt I'll get names out of any of you." His demeanor was like that of a frustrated parent, but with a far more dangerous, sinister edge to his voice. "I'll just do what we do in the City and call you each by your hair colour, alright?"

Ghoul couldn't object to this, and couldn't see any way around it without giving Korse a way to identify each of them. Names held power, even more so in the City than in the Zones.

Korse pulled the desk chair to a spot in front of the wall that Ghoul and the others found themselves against, and sat down. It was like an adult sitting down to talk to a troubled child, there was a separation of knowledge and power and a feeling of fear and shame in Ghoul, instilled just by the way Korse looked at him.

"So." Korse pressed his fingertips together. "You're not in trouble, not yet, but we're looking for droids. We've had several malfunction, go rogue, and come out here. We're just trying to retrieve them for resetting, or in the case of major damage, recycling.

"I've already asked your friend Mr. Black here," he looked between Party and Kobra, gesturing towards Ghoul, "where we may find any droids, and I'm just hoping you can corroborate the information he's given me."

"What's he said to you?"

Kobra's voice was low, void of emotion, and his face said nothing either. For one, Kobra's unreadable nature was an advantage, because anyone who knew him would know he was going to pieces with fear on the inside.

"If I said what Mr. Black has told me, then you could just agree. You tell me what you know," he smiled, "so I know that you're telling me the truth, Mr. Yellow."

For a few moments, Kobra shifted his weight from foot to foot, not wanting or knowing how to answer. He seemed to look to Ghoul for a fraction for a second before he turned fully toward Korse. His shoulders were back and his stance was firm, almost like he was squaring up to their captor.

"We don't know any droids. Never seen any, couldn't tell you where any are. You're wasting your time with us. Try Zone One."

With eyebrows raised in surprise, Korse stood up and rocked on his heels for a moment as he eyed Kobra thoughtfully. He folded his arms across his chest and placed a hand on his mouth, thinking.

"Interesting, Mr. Yellow. Interesting." He frowned and nodded. "Now obviously your unconscious friend can't give me any information in his current state, so," the sickening smirk returned to Korse's face, this time more real and more smug than Ghoul had seen before, "What can you tell me, Mr. Red?"

Party was still sat on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees that were pulled up to his chest, his head bowed and face obscured by his hair. He looked so small and vulnerable, but aside from a small flinch when Korse addressed him, it was almost like he didn't know anyone else was there.

The silence was almost too much, the still air holding everyone in place as they waited for Korse or Party to speak.

Korse seemed surprised that Party had barely moved, and looked between Ghoul and Kobra as though to confirm that he was indeed being ignored.

"Excuse me," Korse's voice was suddenly low and threatening, as he crouched down to Party's level, "I asked you a question, Red."

With those words, Ghoul realised. The entire situation made sense, and Kobra seemed to catch on at the same moment.

Party shook, then again, this time with a laugh. "I can't tell you anything you don't already know."

The sinister smirk spread across Korse's face into a shark-like smile, his eyes creasing at the corners with genuine amusement. The smile lines spidered their way across his skin like the adrenaline in Ghoul's veins, setting him up for a fight or a flight.

"Sorry," Korse laughed, "I didn't quite catch that. Say it again for me?"

Party started shaking again as he raised his head, his sunbleached eyes emotionless despite the way his lips seemed to twist up into a snarling smile.

"You know."

The stiff silence that had taken hold of the room was broken by the maniacal laughter that erupted from Korse, his expression one of pure maddening delight. It was one of the most unsettling things Ghoul had ever had to witness, and his hand instinctively twitched towards his holster, but there was no gun. None of them had any guns other than the men on BLI's side, leaving the four of them absolutely powerless.

Korse knew that Party was a droid. He'd known as soon as they'd been captured. He'd been playing a game this entire time, knowing Ghoul and Kobra had lied to him. The reason they'd hadn't been shot on-sight was so that Korse could toy with like a cat with an injured mouse; no matter how many times they were dropped and given a taste of freedom, the end for them was inevitable. They were trapped.

"So what now?" Party yelled over the laughter, not moving from his spot on the floor. "What are you gonna do to us?"

Korse had started pacing the tiny tin room as he laughed like this was the most hilarious situation he'd ever seen, meanwhile Ghoul was both seething and preparing to die.

"Oh, for such an advanced piece of tech," Korse spat, slowly starting to come down from his laughing fit, "That is an unbelievably stupid question. You know what's going to happen. You are going to be scrapped and your friends will be executed."

At these words, many of the Dracs around the room adjusted their stance, straightening their backs, squaring their shoulders, some even placing a hand on their guns. Through the fear, Party somehow managed a smile, which Korse took issue with.

"What's wrong with you, you glorified sex toy? There's nothing to be smiling about here."

This only made Party smile more. The smile turned to laughter of his own, which shifted the atmosphere of the room immediately; Ghoul and Kobra were no longer just scared for their lives, but confused and disturbed too.

"You know exactly who I am. A-and I don't just mean 'a droid'." He couldn't stop himself from smiling now. "You know me. And I know you, Korse."

Those words held more weight than Ghoul could have known, as they pulled any remnant of Korse's hysterical laughter and amusement from his face. The already intimidating man had not appeared dangerously serious until now, his entire demeanour changing from almost lighthearted to one of evil incarnate, with no intention of letting anyone leave that place alive.

"You shut your disgusting mouth right now, or I will ensure your friends suffer for as long as their pathetic bodies can hold out."

Party's eyes seemed to darken as he rose to his feet, taking up a confrontational stance and shaking his hair from his face, determined to say what was on his mind even if it meant the end of his life.

"I'm sure your men would be fascinated to learn about your frequenting pornodroid brothels, especially your preference for the orange haired male models."

The next few moments happened too fast for Ghoul to properly comprehend, but he felt an arm around his neck, pressure on his face, and he tasted blood.

Party was curled up on the ground, fallen to one side of where he'd been sat with his face obscured by his hair. Korse was in a similar position to Ghoul, only he was on the floor in the corner, an arm around his throat and his own gun to his head. Behind him, using Korse's body as a shield, was a furious looking Kobra.

"If anyone does anything ," Kobra yelled, making sure he would be heard by everyone, "I will scramble this motherfucker's brains."

Ghoul tried to look around at the Dracs, but the slight tilt of his head resulted in a paper cut sensation across his face. Then he realised that the cause of the blood in his mouth was a Draculoid pressing a blade against the corner of his lips.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the white barrels of BLI guns, all pointing in various directions - some at Kobra and Korse, some at Ghoul, and some at Party's still unmoving body.

Ghoul couldn't speak without causing more damage to his own face, but was desperate to call out to Party. He didn't see what had happened, it all moved too fast, but the laser mark on the wall where Party's head had been wasn't reassuring in the least.

He tried to silently catch Kobra's eye, which was more difficult than he had hoped, as the blond was wild eyed,his eye twitching around the room from Drac to Drac.

Eventually he glanced over, and the only way Ghoul could communicate his panic was with rapid eye movements between Kobra and Party's motionless form.

"Hey, brother," Kobra yelled, not wanting to give away Party's name to the enemy, "You alright?"

"I think so."

Party didn't move, but it was definitely his voice coming from his body, and Ghoul felt his mind relax a little.

"Can you sit up?"

"Is it safe?" Party daren't move, obviously fearful of what situation he might find once he raised his head.

"No one's safe right now, we're kind of at a stalemate."

Tentatively, Party tilted his head up, glancing around though the curtain of hair that covered his face. One scarlet lock was scorched and frazzled, proving just how much of a close call he'd had with the laser beam. Looking up, he spotted Ghoul's predicament and his mouth fell open, not knowing what to say as he looked over at Kobra.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Well... This motherfucker," Kobra jabbed at Korse's head with the gun barrel, "Took a shot at you, and I... I might have overreacted."

Korse seemed to find this funny and dared to chuckle, which made Kobra tighten the arm he had around the man's neck and give him a vicious warning shake.

"Actually, scratch that. This is a totally normal reaction to seeing someone shoot at your brother."

Somehow, Korse had the gall to taunt the man with a gun to his head. "Brother? It's made of silicone, you really think it can comprehend the idea of family?"

Kobra seized up with fury for a moment, not knowing what to do or say in retaliation. Ghoul knew what was going through his comrade's mind, a struggle between killing Korse or making sure they all left this place alive.

Ghoul silently commended Kobra for what he did next, for not entirely snapping.

Kobra removed the gun from Korse's skull, where the barrel had left an indent on his scalp, and pointed it downward, firing a warning shot between his captive's legs.

He struggled against Kobra's grip for a moment, a panicked floundering effort to escape harm. Kobra likely had no intention of causing any actual damage to anyone, but to Ghoul's knowledge, that was the first time he'd ever fired a gun, and there was no way of know how good his aim might be when the adrenaline started going.

"Try saying something smart again, fucker, see what I shoot next," he looked around the room at the Draculoids, who almost all had their guns drawn and trained on Kobra, "And you, you all put your guns away."

None of them moved, almost like Kobra's command didn't compute with them, so he shoved Korse's head with the barrel again.

"Do as he says," Korse called out, his authority over them allowing them to reholster their weapons. Unfortunately, this didn't include the one with a knife in Ghoul's mouth.

Kobra still had a feral kind of rage in his eyes, the same that Ghoul could feel inside himself too, but it was a familiar feeling to him; he had never seen Kobra like this. Kobra was calm and logical and vehemently anti-gun-wielding, but here he was instigating a hostage-taking within a hostage-taking.

He'd never been pushed so far, and there was no way of telling if this was him on the edge or if he'd already been pushed over.

"Right," Kobra sighed, settling back into the corner of the room and sitting up straighter, hauling Korse with him, "Seeing as these dunderfucks only listen to you, I'm going to tell you what to do. Then, you're going to make sure they do it. Is that understood?"

Korse looked uncomfortable, but the fear was still visible on his face and in the way his hands grasped at the arm around his neck.

"It's understood."

Kobra's voice, as well as his personality, became calmer and more controlled as he gave his instructions.

"You have a vehicle nearby, right?"

Korse nodded.

"You're going to tell your little fucking toy soldiers to step outside and to get into your vehicle. Once they're all gone, we're gonna wait a little bit and then I'm gonna let you go."

If he could, Ghoul would have protested; if he'd been the one with the gun in his hands, Korse would be dead as soon as the door shut behind the last Drac.

"You're gonna drive back to the City, and you're not gonna touch anyone else you come across, human, droid, or otherwise," Kobra jostled Korse by the neck again, "And if I hear that anyone has been hurt by one of your lot, we will find you and kill you. Even if you don't, the next time we see your ugly fucking face out here, you're back to being enemy number one. Shoot on sight. This is the only time you will see any of our colours and get to walk away."

Korse seemed to squirm uncomfortably and swallow hard, nodding silently to show he understood before giving out the orders to the Draculoids.

"Men, file out. Go back to the truck, wait for me there, I'll be with you in a moment. If anyone comes past, do not open fire."

Without protest or hesitation, every Draculoid stood down from attention and turned to file out of the trailer, hands by their sides rather than poised on their holsters. Ghoul watched as they left, carelessly stepping over Hot Chimp's body that remained by the door, but found that he was still held in place with a knife pressed to his cheek.

Kobra noticed this singular Drac remained too, holding Ghoul in place, and wasn't having it.

Jabbing Korse in the head with the gun again, Kobra barked, "That one too, tell him to let my friend go."

"He should've... I don't know why... Draculoid." Korse was actually nervous now, and didn't understand why the Drac hadn't obeyed, "Release the miscreant and return to the truck. That's an order."

The Drac did not obey. If anything, Ghoul felt the grip around his neck tighten and the blade press harder, the sting of the blade cutting into his skin worsening as he tasted metal again. He couldn't talk, but he also couldn't stop the panicked, pained moan from escaping his mouth. His hands flew up in impulse and tried to pry away the arm that was holding him in a headlock, just to loosen the grip a little, but there was no budging it.

"Draculoid!" Korse yelled now, realising the gravity of his situation if he didn't do as Kobra asked. "Stand down! Now!"

There was still no reaction, and Ghoul was starting to freak out. He started trying to wriggle his hands up between his throat and the Drac's arm, just to get some kind of leverage, but there was no room. He could barely move his jaw now without causing a cutting pain, but he daren't try to move the knife for fear his hand would slip. He started to consider that he may need to deal with a cut across his cheek in order to escape the deranged Drac's hold.

Between the literal face ache, the chokehold, the panic, Kobra's yelling at Korse, and Korse's equally frantic yelling of orders at the Draculoid who remained unresponsive, no one noticed what was about to happen.

The last thing Ghoul could properly comprehend was Party's urgent yell as he lunged across the floor for Jet. A fraction of a second later, there was nothing but searing pain as the Draculoid restraining him jolted violently, his arms tensing without warning and drawing the knife hard and fast across his face before falling forwards on top of him, pinning him against the ground with the knife still in his mouth.

This didn't last for long, though, as all hell seemed to break loose around him. The yelling, the pounding footfalls reverberating through the floor and into his skull, the sound of guns. The slight metallic taste in his mouth was now a flood of blood, seeping into every gap and making him want to vomit as the carpet beneath his face grew damp and warm.

The weight on top of Ghoul was moved, causing the knife to shift against his tongue and make him cry out, the adrenaline in his body unable to cope with any more pain than what he was already experiencing.

A door slammed, an engine rumbled to life, and Ghoul's body was rolled over onto his back, the knife left behind on the floor and the back of his throat quickly filling with blood.

There was a shriek, Ghoul coughed and turned away, his vision swimming as he tried to spit out the blood only to find his mouth wasn't moving how it should.

There was enough time for him to run his injured tongue along the inside of his cheek, only for it to slip out through a gaping hole that split his bottom jaw from the rest of his face, before his eyes rolled back and everything went dark.

---*---

The cool darkness was unfamiliar, but comfortable. The ache in Ghoul's face was equally unfamiliar, but incredibly unwelcome, and was probably what woke him up.

He felt as though his face had been absolutely pummelled; stiff and aching and swollen. Ghoul opened his eyes and, while his tired eyes were reluctant to let in any light just yet anyway, his right eye seemed immovably half-shut.

Ghoul struggled to remember what had happened. He didn't remember what caused him to pass out and wake up wherever he was now, but he did remember taking a kick to the face from a Draculoid. He remembered waking up from that, though, so he tried to recount the events following being captured.

Korse. Hot Chimp's body. A bloody nose. Jet's blasted face. Kobra's hero act. Party's terrified shouts.

He struggled to sit up, wanting to look around and figure out where he was, but as he tried to force his aching bones into a sitting position someone came into his peripheral vision and knelt beside him.

"Easy, dude, easy." Jet's voice was rough but soothing, and the warm hand on his shoulder made Ghoul want to curl up into his arms, just to feel some physical comfort.

"Jet..."

Ghoul's mouth and tongue were so swollen that his friends name sounded more like a muffled clicking noise than a word.

"Try not to talk, you've got a lot of morphine in you but you've also got a lot of stitches in you. Wouldn't wanna go popping them."

"Where... Are... We?"

"Dr. D's basement." Jet sighed and sat down beside Ghoul, just out of his line of vision.

Ghoul tried looking around, his stiff neck protesting as he did. The only light sources right now were four very high windows, two each on opposite walls, but there was also a bare bulb hanging from a wire in the middle of the room. The walls were bare, but there were boxes stacked off to one side, plus a few beds that looked like hospital cots from the City. He looked down and saw that he was resting on one just like them, with Jet sat beside the pillow.

"Yeah, I didn't know he had a basement either, but I guess the guy needs to sleep somewhere other than the studio."

Ghoul tried turning himself to put his legs over the side of the bed, his lower back and knees feeling stiff and rusty. Jet placed a hand back on his shoulder and helped him stay upright.

The lighting of the room didn't help Ghoul's tired eyes, but as he looked right at Jet, there was no mistaking the burn across his nose and the bandage over his eye. It looked clean and properly cared for, but Ghoul knew how horrendous the injury looked beneath the dressing.

"What..." Ghoul paused to swallow his own saliva, his swollen tongue was making things extra difficult, "Happened?"

Jet opened his mouth to speak but dropped his head with a sigh, then a laugh.

"I guess we had a clap? I-it's kind of my fault."

"But you... Were out cold?"

"I was, yeah, but I came to, must have been all of Korse's yelling. You had your back to me." Jet clapped his hands together between his knees. "All I saw was a Drac with its arm around your neck, so I grabbed its gun and..." He made a gun with his fingers and mimed the firing recoil, making a small 'bzew' noise. "I didn't know the bastard had a knife in your mouth. I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

Then, Ghoul remembered.

The Drac that had been holding him hostage, ignoring Korse's orders, had been pressing a blade to his cheek. He remembered Party's yell, shouting Jet's name, and how the Drac had suddenly tensed and fallen.

That must have been the moment Jet had regained consciousness. He'd shot the Drac, and the Drac had sliced through Ghoul's face with a last dying spasm of pain.

His injuries throbbed at the memory, and, unthinkingly, he reached up to touch his cheek.

He was thankful that they'd given him some painkillers before he'd woken up, because even the lightest touch made him jolt with the sting of the wound.

It was hard to discern the crusted blood and scabs from the stitches, the hard, swollen line trailing from the corner of his mouth almost to his back teeth. The stitches, where he could feel them, felt secure and neat, and the fact Jet said he'd been given morphine made Ghoul think that it was maybe professional.

"Stitches... How?"

"As soon as Korse had legged it, we put out a call over the radio. The static we heard on the way over, Hot Chimp's broadcast," Jet frowned, "i-it was her emergency recording telling everyone to stay away. She must have put it on loop as soon as the S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. unit pulled up. She knew what was gonna happen." He sniffed and blinked rapidly, fighting back tears for only the third or fourth time that Ghoul had ever seen. "But uh," he coughed, "Kobra put out the broadcast, and a roving medical unit happened to hear us. They're gonna come back in a day or two, make sure we're healing okay."

Ghoul only hoped that they'd left some painkillers behind for when this dose wore off, because he didn't even want to know how much his face was going to hurt without them.

He cleared his throat and said simply, "Your eye... I thought you... you were dead."

Jet managed a small smile. "I thought I was dead, too, to be honest. A laser beam to the face? I almost wish it had killed me, the amount of pain I was in... It basically boiled my eyeball from the inside out, it's completely useless now."

"Are you... Gonna lose... It?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, "The medics reckon it'll just scar itself over, but if... Uh, if it... Falls out," he swallowed nervously, "It might be easier. We just need to worry about infection."

Ghoul tried to move the conversation away from talking about Jet's loss, and attempted to lighten the mood.

"Well, hey, we're... Gonna have some wicked scars."

"Dude, I'm gonna need a fucking eyepatch, " Jet laughed. "Pony's already offered to sew me all kinds of different ones, told me to look at it as an opportunity to accessorise."

Ghoul tried smiling, but the severed muscles and stitches in his face prevented him from doing so and caused a threatening kind of pain.

"Hey," Jet nudged his shoulder, "Party's been going absolutely spare while you've been unconscious. It's been, like, a whole day."

"A whole day?"

Jet nodded earnestly. Ghoul had assumed it was still the same day as the run-in with Korse, the daylight through the window fooling him, but he must have been more injured than he realised.

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit. You lost a lot of blood, Party was so freaked out he decided to power down for a few hours just so he didn't have to deal with it."

"Is he okay now?"

"Well, he's been fussing over me while you've been out, but he’s fine. I didn't want him stressing over your face."

"I wanna see him."

Jet gave Ghoul an affectionate nudge and stood up from the bed. "Sure thing. But you stay here. You're gonna be out of action for a while, you lost a lot of blood."

For a little while, Ghoul was left alone in the cool darkness, feeling more awake but his body feeling incredibly weak. He figured it would be this way for a few weeks, maybe months. He didn't know how long to took to heal from having your face ripped open. The fact that Jet was inches from death yesterday, and that Ghoul may have been just as close, was hard to comprehend, but simply coming face to face with Korse and being attacked by a Drac was enough for him.

They didn't have many altercations out in the Zones, especially not with patrols from the City; most claps were with other rebel crews who thought they were somehow more important or had better claim to supplies, vehicles, or shelter. Korse was rarely seen out there, and rarely involved in any of the action, and it was unlikely that anyone would believe their story of what happened, despite having the scars to show it.

Jet had left the door to the basement open, and the distant sounds of Dr Death Defying live on air were drifting down the stairs to him.

As another song was set to play, the footfalls upstairs grew closer, and Ghoul's heart started fluttering.

Party swiftly made his way down into the room, stopping just a few feet in front of the bottom of the staircase.

For a few moments, all he did was stand and look at Ghoul from a distance, like he was scared to approach. Ghoul realised he probably looked pretty horrific right now, and if Party was scared of him he wouldn't be surprised. He couldn't even smile at Party, and felt something akin to shame and anxiety from the way he was being surveyed.

He opened his mouth to speak but the look on Party's face left him unable to think of anything to say. Nothing he could think to say seemed quite right, so he bowed his head silently instead.

"Ghoul?"

Party made his way across the basement and sat down beside Ghoul. He was too conscious of the fact that Party was sat on his left, where he wouldn't be so confronted with the scar.

"Are you okay?"

Ghoul nodded, eyes still downcast as he said, "Yeah. I can't talk... very well."

"Oh, god." Party sighed and gingerly rested his forehead against Ghoul's shoulder with barely any pressure. "You fucking scared me. You've been unconscious since yesterday, I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Jet told me... You powered down yesterday."

"I-I just needed a break from it all. No one was alright yesterday apart from me, but there wasn't anything I could do to help."

Ghoul turned a little and reached across to stroke Party's cheek. "None of us... Were okay. You... Didn't have to... Do anything."

Party didn't reply, but seemed to be thinking hard. He didn't look up to meet Ghoul's eye.

If Ghoul believed in such things, he'd say that Party's aura felt different. Something was... Off. Considering how much they'd been through, it wasn't surprising, and could have been because of any number of things that had happened. Still, Ghoul couldn't help but give credence to the nasty voice in the back of his mind.

"Party?"

He made a small noise of acknowledgement, but still didn't look up.

"Party, look at me, please?"

He finally raised his head, his bright bleached eyes sorrowful and starting to swim with tears.

"How... How bad is it? My face?"

At first, all Party did was open and close his mouth, averting his eyes for a second, flusteredly blinking. It took Ghoul grabbing him by the hand and asking again to get a real reaction, but it was clear that Party didn't want to look.

Carefully, he took hold of Ghoul's chin and tilted his head to the side to get a better look at the wound, squinting, trying to obscure the gory details.

"Be honest," Ghoul swallowed hard, the tilt of his head pulling at the taught, swollen skin.

Party shook his head and stammered, "I can't."

Ghoul shook his head out of Party's gentle grip and shuffled away from him.

"I probably wouldn't want to look at me, either."

"It's not that-"

"It's fine." Ghoul shook his head. "I don't want to see it either."

"It's not... I just..." Party sighed out of frustration, tipping his head to one side. "I hate seeing you like this."

"It's gonna scar."

"I know." He reached up and stroked the back of Ghoul's head, scrunching his fingers in his hair and resting his palm on the back of his neck. "But that's not what I mean. I just hate seeing you in pain. I hated seeing you with that... That knife in your mouth... A-and laying on the floor with your face..." He suppressed a sob. "Sorry. Sorry, I just... Seeing you hurt, it hurts me too."

Ghoul felt a pang of shame again, this time not from how Party looked at him, but from assuming Party didn't like his face anymore. He remembered just how stuck he had felt, held in that headlock at knifepoint, but hadn't thought about how trapped Party must have felt seeing everything unfold around him.

He mentally shook himself, his mind was drifting to uncomfortable and irrelevant places.

"Are you okay?"

He took hold of Party's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, Party squeezing back.

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm just a bit... Shaken up. I thought I watched you and Jet die yesterday, it was... It was a lot to deal with."

"But you dealt with it, and you stood up to fucking Korse ," Ghoul reminded him. "You laughed at the biggest bad guy to come out of the City. You showed him up in front of the Dracs!"

A small smile formed on Party's lips, but it faded when he opened his mouth to speak.

"I did, but I... I dunno. I guess I feel kind of bad?"

"Why would you feel bad? He tried to shoot you."

"Because," Party wobbled his head, unsure, "He's the City's posterboy, but... I mean, I can only assume, but he's gay. What I said, I wasn't lying. That's why he reacted like that."

"Really?"

"If I made something up, he would’ve just shrugged it off. A-and if he was really gonna... Try to kill me.." Party fidgeted, taking a deep breath. "I wasn't gonna let him without bringing him down a peg or two. Remind him who he is."

Ghoul had a sudden, uncomfortable, stomach-turning thought, and he needed to know the answer, "You didn't... He... You and him never..."

"Oh god!" Party shook his head and laughed nervously. "No, no, never. He liked the orange haired guys, not droids like me."

He breathed a sigh of relief and half-smiled on the one side of his face that would allow it. "Okay, sorry. I just... I dunno, morbid kind of curiosity?"

"I understand." Party put his head back on Ghoul's shoulder, the soft thrum of his circuits feeling warm through the fabric of Ghoul's t-shirt. "Do you want anything? Water, something to eat?"

Ghoul hadn't registered the feeling, but he was famished, and his mouth tasted like old pennies and something dead.

"God, yeah. Both."

Party chuckled and leaned against Ghoul's side, but quickly recoiled.

"Oh, you're, uh, still covered in..." he trailed off and pointed to Ghoul's chest.

He pulled at the shirt and looked down, finding the khaki green stained with dried blood, the dark dried brown splotched all down the front and across onto the sleeve. It was a frankly alarming amount of blood, and explained the spacey feeling and blurred vision that Ghoul was experiencing.

"Oh," he picked at rather dark patch on the neckline of the shirt, "Yeah, that's... I should get cleaned up."

Party smiled and stood up, offering out his hands to Ghoul. He gladly took them and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, his knees feeling weak and unsteady, and Party maneuvered their limbs so that he was supporting Ghoul around his back and under his arms.

Making it across the room wasn't too bad, no worse than when his legs fell asleep after being sat cross-legged for too long, but he wouldn't have been able to negotiate the stairs without Party's help.

Every few steps he would murmur words of encouragement, the sounds from the broadcast upstairs getting louder and clearer as they approached the basement door.

"You're going to be really weak for a while," Party started, watching Ghoul find his footing on the next stair, "Blood transfusions aren't exactly an option out here."

"Not even with all the stuff the medics can get?"

"Nope." He took another step up, waiting for Ghoul to follow suit. "It's just not safe. Best to just keep you hydrated, comfortable, and make sure you eat enough, and hope that your body can do the rest by itself. The medics said you're probably gonna be pretty woozy for a while because your blood pressure is so low, but Dr. D said we can stay here for as long as we need."

They reached the top of the stairs, and Ghoul found that they were still in a part of Dr. D's building that he didn't recognise, nor could he mentally place it anywhere on the building layout that he knew.

Party let go of Ghoul for a moment and turned towards what looked like the corner of the small landing they were stood on, only to take hold of a notch-like handle and push it open, giving view to a familiar room.

Ghoul leaned his weight onto Party again as they walked through, arriving in Dr. D's studio. An old and familiar new wave song played over the speaker system in the warmly lit room as Dr. D, sat in his usual spot behind the sound desk, nodded his head along to the beat.

The door he and Party had just walked out of was entirely covered on this side by posters, fliers, and other loose sheets of paper that Dr. D deemed to be suitable decor, letting it blend seamlessly into the wall.

Dr D turned to face the newcomers, a broad smile gracing his round friendly face, warm as anything.

"Fun Ghoul," he beamed, sliding his headphones down around his neck as he looked Ghoul up and down, drinking in his appearance. "You steel weapon, how're you holding up?"

"Hey," Ghoul managed a half smile, "I'm... I'm alive. Feel like I've been hit by a truck, but I'm alive."

Dr. D nodded approvingly. "Every day's a blessing, kid, you've got the right spirit."

This tiny piece of positive reinforcement was enough to make Ghoul's heart swell; Dr. D's words had that effect, most people in the Zones could attest to that.

"We're gonna get Ghoul something to eat and some clean clothes." Party put his arm back around Ghoul's middle, ready to help him hobble through to the next room. "Do we have any wash water in?"

"If I have guests, I have provisions." Dr. D threw out his arms in a welcoming gesture. "What's mine is yours, children."

"Thanks, Doc." Ghoul starting making his way to the door. "Oh, is Kobra around?"

"I think the Kid is out front with Starboy." He spun back around to face the sound desk, putting his headphones back on. "Good to see him finally gunslinging! Seems like a natural."

Once Ghoul was clean, dressed, and fed - and informed that he'd be living off soup for a few days at least - he and Party were sat out on the front doorstep, watching Jet and Kobra practice their shooting, with Show Pony joining in and watching from the sidelines, curious to see how their prodigal karate kid fared with a pistol.

Dr. D was right; Kobra seemed to be a natural with a gun, hitting most of his targets on the makeshift shooting range. Jet had a different task, however. He'd lost use of his right eye, and being right-handed left him with a choice to either learn to shoot right-handed but left-eyed, or learn to shoot with his left hand. Ghoul and Party watched him switch between the two, his hit to miss ratio being about the same either way around. His frustration was clear, but he kept trying, until Party politely intervened.

"Before you throw it at something."

Jet sighed and looked down at the royal blue gun, bowing his head and reholstering it as Party rubbed his shoulder and tried coaxing him back over to the doorstep.

Jet stomped over and slumped down against the doorframe next to Ghoul, with Party sitting beside their feet, watching his brother send tin can after tin can flying with blasts of light and smoke.

"I've got a fucking headache."

"When did you last take your painkillers?"

Jet thought for a moment, realising out loud, "I can take another dose now, it's been, like, four hours."

"Okay, Ghoul?" Jet rose to his feet again and dusted off his jeans. "You could probably do with another dose about now, how're you feeling?"

Ghoul's face ache was at an almost eye-watering degree, and he couldn't do anything but nod gently.

"Alright buddy, I'll be back in a sec."

Show Pony skipped over and plonked themself down next to Party on the ground, beaming up at Ghoul, who was surprised at the sudden attention.

"Hey, Pony," he tried to smile, but ended up wincing with the pain of the stitches. Pony didn't take offence though, they just cooed.

"Oh, Ghoul, you poor sweet thing. I can't imagine going through what you guys did." They placed a hand on Ghoul's knee, giving a reassuring squeeze. "Coming face to face with Korse, and winning . You're gonna be a thing of legend."

Ghoul huffed out a small laugh and pointed to his cheek. "Does this really look like a win?"

Pony smirked. "You look like a winner to me, baby. But really, once the swelling goes down, I bet it won't look that bad. Plus, a big bad battle scar like that?" There was a glint in their eye. "You could have your pick of the pretties."

Ghoul snorted, catching Party's eye. "I've got my pick already."

Party grinned, abashed, but didn’t have the chance to say anything before his attention was taken by the shadow stood over them.

Kobra had paused his target practice to finally come greet Ghoul. Looking at the trio sat on the ground, he slipped his as-yet unpainted ray gun into the new holster on his hip, and held out a hand to Ghoul.

He let himself be pulled to his feet, whereupon Kobra swiftly embraced him; something that Kobra had never done.

They stood hugging for a moment until Kobra broke away and held Ghoul by the shoulders, keeping him steady and upright and looking him straight in the eye.

"I'm so fucking glad you're alive. I don't..." Kobra had never been speechless before now, either, speaking with such earnest in his eyes. "I cannot be more sorry. Everything that happened yesterday-"

"Dude, Kobra," Ghoul had to interrupt him, "Don't be sorry. If you hadn't done what you did, we'd be dead."

Kobra replied with a sigh, hanging his head for a moment. He took a deep breath and dropped his hands, glancing at the gun in the holster on his hip.

"I get it now," he said, "I get why you have guns. I get how serious this shit is, out here. I just... I get it."

"There's no going back now."

"I know." He shook his head. "I don't want to go back. I get it, this whole thing. And what I said to Korse, I meant it. I'm not scared anymore. I've seen what they can do."

Ghoul sighed and wrapped a hand around the back of Kobra's neck, pulling him forward and resting their foreheads together, a brotherly show of understanding.

"With what you did yesterday, BLI better be scared."

As the sunset drew closer, pinks and oranges danced across the horizon, and a warm breeze came in from the east.

Ghoul was dosed up with painkillers again, and he found that he was able to appreciate everything more, even just having clean hair. He knew this feeling wouldn't last forever - come this time tomorrow, things could be entirely different - but for now he had a beautiful view, no pain, and there was a strange lull around the station that put everyone at ease.

Dr. D had allowed them to drag a few rugs and blankets outside, the heat of the day escaping out into the clear, cloudless sky, and the five of them huddled up together on the front doorstep.

Jet and Party shared a blanket, with Ghoul resting between them on the ground, his left cheek resting on Party's knee as the droid gently raked his fingers through Ghoul's soft hair. Kobra and Pony shared a blanket too, resting against the outside wall of the building, with Pony mostly curled up under Kobra's jacket that he'd kindly given to the scantily clad zone runner.

The window of Dr. D's studio was open, letting his broadcast drift out to their ears even clearer than before, the electronic music soothing Ghoul's soul and making everything feel dreamy (though, it could just have been the pain medication).

As one song ended, another began, only for Dr. D to turn it down and talk over it, the smooth, deep, dulcet tones preaching his positivity and love, reminding Ghoul that things, for now at least, were okay.

"To all the lovers and fighters out here, listening to me and my dusty old record collection tonight, I just wanna give you a little message:

“We have all felt the call of the desert. Like magnets being pulled, or, if you were born in Bat City, maybe you felt like a magnet being repelled from the inside out. Wherever we came from, we have that in common. We all came out here into the static lands for something more than what we had before. More freedom, more colour, more life worth living.

“Any time you think about going back, giving up, if you feel like there's no point, remember that magnetising force. That reason . Gather your near and dear, hold hands, make music, make love, bury your feet in the dust and feel the pull, those vibrations of revolution. Something is coming, and even if it's just more rebel-hearted souls from the City, let's give them something to come home to. Let's show them the reason."