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II- ???
Spite.
Hatred.
Loss.
Dismay.
They are yours, Korse. They’ve always been.
Tap into them. Let them blossom into something better.
You know you have that power.
You know we have tha-
Korse took out his headphones. Before him opened an ocean of orange sand that made him squint a little. He wasn't used to all that sunlight reflected in such a boundless, empty space.
And he wasn’t alone. Over the last year, any presence that wasn’t that of his closest colleagues had become an exception. But now that he had taken on one of the highest leadership roles, he had to take his subordinates with him. So much the better for solitude if you have to put up with these assholes saying bullshit upon bullshit thinking they are being clever, he thought. He wore back his headphones.
Finally, some silence.
Suddenly, his mind went back to River. What he liked most about him was that he knew he was stupid. He knew he was probably going to talk shit and that's why he generally kept quiet. He knew he had no talent and that's why he didn't even have any ambition, not like most of the assholes that surrounded him all the time. Korse hated ambition. He did what he did because he knew how to do it, nothing more. Not because he thought he had anything special, not because he felt part of a higher mission. Just and simply because he could do it, kind of like shoveling shit or whatever other job. If he had been born with a talent to shovel, he would have done that.
But he also knew in the end, of course, not having any talent is what had gotten River slaughtered in a dead end.
Korse did have talent, so he was going to accomplish his task without getting himself killed. It was a simple one; something that actually ignited a different feeling in him than the usual sense of having to get any crap done. He finally had the power to decide where to direct his efforts, and he chose it to be the smartest, most efficient place. He would direct them to the source of the contamination. And make an example out of it.
__________
7-KEEP THE TROUBLEMAKER BELOW
A buzzing sound. “And we report back from-” another buzzing sound. Then a different voice. “-with no effort to reach an agreement between the parties, the terrorist group known as the-“buzzing sound. Then something in an unknown language. Buzzing. “-quantité indéterminée de policiers ont perdu la vie-“. Then another voice. “- City is making an unprecedented effort to repair the damage and losses that-“Buzzing sound. “Lo que han provocado los Fabulous Killjoys es una vergüenza, deberían pagar con sus vidas.” Then a beeping sound.
There was some silence in the room.
“What the fuck was that?” Kobra broke it, after a beat.
“Seems like the news about you crazy bunch have reached the whole wide world,” said Dr D. “And I believe you’re the enemy.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Ghoul, confused. He leaned over the screen to better look at one of the pictures. “This isn’t us, we never stole a car from the City.” He reached to look at it even better, then he seemed to realize something. “Wait. It’s not us, it’s you.” He turned around to look at the others. “These are old pictures from when you broke my dad out of jail.”
Jet nodded. “They’re leaking these out only now. It can’t be good.”
Poison leaned over as well, squinting at the pictures, that looked like they had been taken from security footage. One showed the accidents caused by the cop cars crashing into each other, some others showed them, breaking out Ghoul’s dad from the prison building.
“Wow,” he said, brightly, pointing at his silhouette in one of the photos. “My ass looks great in this one.”
Everyone ignored him.
“I still don’t get it,” frowned Ghoul. “Why would they expose the existence of killjoys like that? I’m sure our living condition violates international human rights agreements, or some shit like that. And Battery City is part of every big guys club. I studied it in school.”
Kobra scoffed out a laugh. “You think they’d care? They’ve always known about us. Some of our parents were journalists and scholars, there were people working in high places whistleblowing since the beginning of this shit.”
“Wanna know where they are now?” laughed Poison. “Not-so-high places.”
“The world sees Battery City as the future,” explained Jet. “They dream of reaching its degree of progress. Some are trying by the same means, already.”
“And of course we just come to kill the party,” said Poison. “Everyone wants us gone, like a virus that needs to be eradicated.”
“The memory of a horrible legacy that nobody wants,” murmured Kobra.
“That’s why the reality tellers and history makers are picturing us as a murderous, bloodthirsty gang,” said Dr. D. “Even if we can barely stand upright.” He let out one of his bittersweet laughs. You could never tell if he was sad or not, behind his sunglasses.
Ghoul just frowned in silence. He could feel rage burning inside his stomach. How the fuck was that possible? How the fuck did no one in the City realize what was going on and how did the world just not care at all? How could they spit out blatant lies like that without any consequence? He had no fucking idea how to elaborate how angry and frustrated that made him feel.
“Give me a smoke?” he just said, in the end, frowning to Poison.
Poison handed him his pack, and Ghoul took two sticks, putting one between his lips and the other behind his ear, before turning to leave. Poison took a smoke for himself and followed him.
“You look like you're about to beat up the first guy you see,” he laughed, as soon as they were outside, lighting their cigarettes.
“Thanks,” Ghoul said, his voice roughened by the drag he was taking. “I might do that.”
“You’re about to get your ass beaten, then,” smiled Poison.
Ghoul’s pissed off mood lightened for just one moment. He had grown accustomed to Poison's closeness over the past few months, to their somehow improving relationship. He had gotten used to seeing him get better, build back some kind of stability, and show him respect. Not that Poison had stopped being his fleeting, complicated self, but Ghoul had decided to do his best to help him improve, even if it hurt sometimes. Sometimes it meant having to put up with his tantrums; other times it meant being unable to sleep when he left the diner alone for days. Most of the time, though, it just meant keeping him busy, keeping his energy on something constructive. Ghoul had to figure out countless mundane crap to do, like being taught how to shoot and how to drive. He had even started gardening, which Poison surprisingly liked. They ended up spending a lot of time together, and Ghoul could witness his smile gradually transform from a worrying mask to a genuine expression, something that felt sincere.
But still, it kept making his heart skip a beat, just like when they barely knew each other.
“It’s overwhelming,” Ghoul took another drag. “How fucked up things can get.”
Poison was looking ahead, leaning on the wall. Ghoul noticed that he had an excited smile on his face. “Waiting. That's all we've done so far. Wait for them to come here and take us out one at a time, while we rot and kill ourselves.” He took a drag. “And yet, we get the bad guy treatment.”
“Why’d you seem happy about it?” frowned Ghoul.
“Because it’s liberating.” Poison now turned his head to face him. “We get to act like the bad guys.” The determination in his eyes was something Ghoul couldn’t find in anyone else’s gaze. It was the reason he could see something special in him in the first place.
“You know,” said back Ghoul, “I could just safely live and die in the City. But I chose to come here with you to eat shit and freeze to death at night. So, hearing the world hate on us isn't that bad. It reminds me that I made the right choice.”
Poison flashed a big smile. He looked like he was about to say something, but he was interrupted by Jet’s voice.
“Guys,” he yelled, leaning out the door. “Come in, quick.”
They both put out their cigarette butts with their shoes and rushed back into the radio room.
Dr. D. seemed focused fiddling with some knobs to adjust the frequency on the screen. Scenes that looked like they were from a news program alternated with static. Eventually, the tuning settled on a newscast with an Australian accent. “Here you go, dolls. Keep your eyes and your ears sharp, there’s no rewind.”
They all leaned towards the screen to look better. A male host was talking over the same pictures they had seen before.
“In the night of yesterday, the armed group known as the Fabulous Killjoys has- “
“Who came up with that name?” Interrupted Kobra, frowning.
“Shut up,” scolded Jet.
“-In Battery City, the independent state in the California Territory known as the first sovereignty in the world to be governed by a corporation. The rioters, three young men linked to the Killjoy dissident movement born in the late '90s- “
“It was me,” announced Poison, brightly. “I wrote it on a wall in BCity. How fucking cool is th- “
“Shut up,” interrupted Jet again.
“-helping one of their undercover associates, whose identity remains anonymous, escape from a maximum-security government facility.”
“Maximum-security my ass,” laughed Poison.
The images that had alternated on the screen so far were the usual crap taken from security footage, some Battery City stock videos, and some scenes of the injured officers.
Suddenly, however, something appeared that made Ghoul shudder. Something that made him immediately nauseous.
It was his face, big, pale and stupid, clearly his own face. A picture of him with his buzzcut and bandages on his head, that must’ve been taken while he was at the hospital.
The announcer's voice became a distant, unintelligible whistle as Ghoul's vision darkened, and he had to clench his fists, hard, to recollect himself.
“-a citizen named Iero Frank, aged eighteen. The kidnapping led to the opening of an associated investigation between the military forces of the- “
“Can anyone tell me what the fuck is going on?!” snapped Ghoul, looking around at everyone. But they seemed equally concerned, staring at the screen intensely. He tried to keep listening, while more pictures of him, pictures of him as a kid, with his guitar, private pictures his mom had taken that were being broadcasted by fucking Australian news, kept rolling on the screen. He could feel his own blood boil.
“-current condition of the hostage is unknown, and government agencies have prohibited the release of further information.” A pause. Then the screen went back to the host’s stupid face. “Now let me turn the floor over to the sports se- “Dr. D switched the screen off.
Jet didn’t move. He kept his stark, worried face on the blank screen.
Kobra had his arms crossed and was walking in circles, nervously. "Here's why they let us win that time," he whispered to himself. "Those fuckers."
And Poison was storming out the room, his face enraged, cheeks as red as his hair.
Ghoul followed, instinctively, because he didn't know exactly what else to do. He still couldn't process what he had seen. Thinking back to his face being transmitted like that was alienating. It was fucking disturbing. Most of all, he didn't understand why. He just couldn't find any possible explanation as to why BL might have chosen to make up such an insane story, which could only backfire for them. Because he was alive and could tell the whole world the truth about-
“Stop following me,” shot out Poison, sternly.
Ghoul didn’t.
Poison turned around and shoved him away. “I said leave me the fuck alone for once, okay?”. He sounded enraged.
So, Ghoul did stop.
He watched him leave. He felt fucking guilty all of a sudden, and he had no idea why.
***
“I need the box. Where is it?”
“Good morning to you as well, baby.” Canyon was squinting his eyes and stretching, lying in bed. Poison had just entered his house and started opening all the windows to let the light in.
“Don’t call me that, I hate you.” He kept moving around things, like he was looking for something.
Canyon stood up and reached for him from his back, catching him by the hips. He attempted a kiss on his cheek, but Poison moved away, annoyed.
Canyon frowned, stepping back. “Okay, I see. If you really made up your mind about not seeing me anymore, what the fuck did you come here for?”
“I told you. I need the box back. Where is it?”
Canyon scoffed out a laugh. “Why would I give it to you? We found it together. When you weren't a boring little shit, remember?”
Poison turned to look at him, then, completely ignoring what he had just said. He had a completely unimpressed face and tone when he said, "Right, I think I remember where we hid it." He moved to go outside.
Canyon followed, yelling, “Hey, asshole. Are you just going to pretend I don't exist anymore?”. He sounded desperate.
Poison didn’t answer, he just kept walking. Canyon let out a frustrated sigh. His voice was cracking a little when he said, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry. I know I’m not good for you. I’m not good for myself either.” He stopped at a distance from where Poison had stopped and started digging in the sand with his hands. “But I don’t want you to be a stranger. I love you so goddamn much it hurts, you know?”
Poison just kept digging, fast, like he was in a hurry. Canyon sounded like he was about to cry, then. “I couldn't get my head around the fact that I got to be with you. Me, with Party fucking Poison, fuck. But it happened, and you've made me an infinitely better person than I'll ever be on my own.”
Poison finally turned around to look at him from behind his shoulder, then. His face had softened, just by a hint.
“And I’ve only made you worse,” Canyon sighed, defeated. “It’s not there, it’s in the backroom. I fixed some things.”
Poison stood up and joined him, he was wrinkling his nose as he did when he didn't want his face to show his feelings. He hugged him tightly and Canyon let him do it, sadly, dropping his head onto his shoulders.
"This world is hell,” murmured Poison. “And you manage to make it feel like a ball.” He broke the hug and looked him in his eyes, his face serious. “I can't do that anymore, but I get it.” Then he moved back inside, towards the backroom. Canyon didn’t follow him.
When Poison was back outside with a large, white box in his hands, he asked, almost whispering, “What do you need those for?”
“I’m done waiting,” Poison answered, decisively. Then he stopped, just for one moment, when he was by the car door, and turned around. The look in his eyes was new, but Canyon seemed to recognize the meaning of it.
“Keep holding on,” Poison said, before closing the door behind him.
***
“Dude, are you okay?”
Kobra had reached Ghoul, who was standing outside, alone.
“Couldn’t be better,” he said, closing his eyes in a sigh. “He left, didn’t say where he went. Wanted to go alone.” He had a miserable face.
Kobra got closer and put a hand on Ghoul’s shoulder. “You know,” he started. “When we were kids, up until we got kicked out the Pit, Poison was, like, a completely different person. He was kind of a loner.” He let out a little laugh, looking ahead of him. “He used to wear all black, you know? Because black is the opposite of white, he used to say. Then BL destroyed our home, and it had happened before, but the Pit was different, for him. He was twenty-two, which meant the oldest in the room, and that made him feel responsible all of a sudden. He changed, after that.”
“How so?”, asked Ghoul. His voice was barely audible, but Kobra could see in his face how much he needed to hear that story. How much he needed something, anything that would help him understand.
“He dyed his hair,” he laughed. “He used to say it was about bright colors, but I think he just went with what my mom used to dye hers.” He was serious, then. “The thing is, I think he felt like he needed to be some kind of symbol. He started preaching drastic things and he became less and less cautious. I have no idea if that was his fighting spirit or his self-destruction speaking.”
Kobra looked up, then. He sounded worried when he resumed talking. “I just know we started fighting about it, so he went looking for new friends that would get him. And he found many.” He turned to face Ghoul. He had a serious, heavy face. “Not all Killjoys are like us, Ghoul. There’s so many waiting for a purpose, any purpose. There’s so much rage, so much violence. And self-harm.” He looked down, and his face was exhausted. “I want things to be better, too. But I want to get out of it alive. I want to be able to think about the future.”
Ghoul moved to hug him without even thinking. He often thought about the future, too. And, every time, he struggled to imagine a scenario in which it was possible to fight for it and come out alive to experience it.
“I’m fucking scared,” he whispered on Kobra’s shoulder, hugging him tighter. Then he thought back about the story Kobra had just told, and his chest burned. And suddenly there was no reason to keep it implicit anymore. “I want him to be in the future.” His voice was shaky.
Kobra tightened the hold as well. “Me too,” he said. Then he broke the hug to look Ghoul in the face, and he had one of his half smiles on when he said, “I think you’re doing more than you realize, for him.”
Ghoul wanted to believe that with all his being. He really wanted to, but he didn’t, as much as Kobra was the person he trusted more in the world. His hearth ached just hearing it, because he knew that could never be true. He’d rather just get his mind around the fact that Poison was something distant and impossible to reach. He wanted to resign himself to the fact that no matter how much energy he put into it, their worlds would never cross more than they already did. He didn't want to hear anything that would give him hope. Or remind him of the deepness of his feelings for Poison. So, he just stood silent, letting his red, watery eyes say anything that needed to be said.
“Anyway,” Kobra broke the silence, changing his tone as to snap Ghoul out of his thoughts. “I think we should be worrying about you”. But he stroked Ghoul’s shoulder, and smiled, in a way that told him he had understood.
“Yeah,” said Ghoul, then he cleared his throat because his voice felt weird. “I hate this. Best gift for one who hates being the focus of attention.”
They moved back in the room with the others.
“I want someone by your side 24/7,” commanded Jet, walking towards Ghoul fast, as soon as he was in the room. Ghoul frowned, confused, but Jet put his hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes as he said, “You’re the damsel in distress, Ghoul. You’re, like, the Peach of BCity. And we’re the Bowsers.”
“What in the fuck does that even mean?” Ghoul laughed. Jet’s cultural references would often get lost in translation.
“C’mon,” Jet said in a surprised tone, moving back. “Not even Mario? What did you do back there, play with rocks?”
Ghoul shrugged.
“Anyway,” sighed Jet, disappointed in Ghoul’s lack of videogaming knowledge, “What I mean is, they’re trying to picture you as a kid in danger. Someone that must be rescued. The whole city is following this thing like a TV show or something.”
Ghoul frowned in confusion. “I don’t get it. When I was there, the news would be just positive and useless shit. They only talked problems if they referred to foreign countries, or the past. To brag about how better things are in the City.”
“That’s the scary part,” said Kobra. “They’re only coming out now with this whole sham. And I don’t feel good about it.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jet. He had a serious face. “It can only mean they have something planned. Something they were waiting for until now.”
“Fuck,” sighed Ghoul, as he leaned on a wall. “This was the last fucking thing I needed.” His mind went back to his mom. To the fact she had to endure the news of his son being kidnapped. Not that he feared she might believe it, he knew she wouldn’t. He was sure she knew what he had left for. But he feared for her, for the exposure this whole thing would bring her, for the danger she could be in. Hell, she could be in BL’s hands being interrogated or something already. He could never forgive himself if they hurt her. What the fuck. Why would they choose his face for this whole thing? Why care about him in particular?
“Red and Riot are off to zone 1, at the edge of the City,” explained Jet. “Red will gather some info from there, so we can actually get an idea of what they’re telling people. Have an insight on what their plan is and prepare.”
“You’ll be staying in a secure place,” added Kobra. “I think we should make sure this whole thing is over before you show up again.”
“What?” frowned Ghoul, angrily. “There’s no way I’ll just hang somewhere like a fugitive or something. That’s not fair. I wanna help. I wanna make them pay for using my face like that.”
“My ears have heard plenty, dolls,” suddenly laughed Dr. D, who had been silent for a while. He kept rummaging with some knobs on a device. “But a cat that sounds so much like Poison, that is a first.”
Ghoul didn’t feel like cursing at him out loud, because he was some kind of authoritative figure around there. But he did curse, in his head. And he just said “Look, we don’t even know if this will be over. What if this becomes, like, the legend of BCity? The story of the kidnapped guy? Am I supposed to sit on my ass in some abandoned place forever for fear of being caught?”
“Sorry Ghoul,” said Jet. “I’m with Kobra on this one. Having you around is a useless risk. I bet they’ll be looking for you with all means available. You should lay low until we sort this out.”
“But why?” spat out Ghoul. “What good would it even be if they found me? I’ll just- “
“For fuck’s sake, Ghoul,” interrupted Kobra, stepping in front of him. “Stop playing dumb.” He sounded seriously pissed off. It was the first time Ghoul had heard him being pissed off with him- or with anyone, actually-. “Do I really have to list what they can do? They can kill you and blame us. They can bring you back and arrest you as a symbol or whatever the fuck. They can mask you, goddamn. Stop the whining and just do the only smart thing you can do to help.”
Kobra paused to breathe, then, resuming a calm tone. "Sorry," he said. "But we don't need any more heroes. We need friends, living friends."
Ghoul just sighed, looking down. He knew Kobra was right, that he was probably saying the smartest thing. But he hated it, he hated it with all of his being. He hated the idea of being treated like a special individual or something. He never wanted to be protected again. Every time someone had ever protected him, it ended in death. And he hated BL for putting him in that situation. He had to make them pay. He could feel his rage burn in his body. It was scary, overwhelming. It didn’t allow him to speak.
“Ghoul?” called Jet, from the other side of the room. But he just stood silent, looking down, his face darker and darker, increasingly lost in anger.
Until he managed to nod, snapping out of it. “You’re right,” he murmured, finally looking up at Kobra. “I’ll do as you say.”
Kobra didn't seem convinced. He looked at him, suspiciously, and waited a moment before saying, "Thank you."
They exchanged a serious look for a few seconds that seemed to last for ages. Then Ghoul turned around and left the room, bringing the cigarette he had stored on his ear to his lips.
“Well, we lost him,” said Kobra, shrugging, as soon as Ghoul was out of hearing range. “I wish I was the one with charisma, but here I am. The boring brother who has to do damage control for the cult leader.”
“Don’t say that” frowned Jet. “He listens to you. He’s always trusted you more than anyone else.”
“The hearth wants what the heart wants, Jet.” laughed Dr. D. “And that cat’s eating from Poison’s hands. You'd see it nice and clear from a mile away, even in the storm.”
"Come on,” sighed Jet, opening his arms in defeat. “Why is it only me that doesn't notice these things? Am I really that stupid?”
"You're a genius at literally everything else," Kobra said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "It’s only fair there’s something you’re dumb at."