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“You take the main and I’ll check the back, okay?” Jet got his gun at ready and moved towards Canyon’s place. Kobra was following him, silently. “Is there anything you’d like to let me know?”
“I’m not fucking clairvoyant, Jet,” Kobra whispered. “Sorry,” he added, after a pause. “I just- I just wish I’m wrong.”
“That makes two of us,” said Jet, turning just enough to let him see his smile.
Kobra smiled back, meekly. He really wasn’t in the mood. Far from it. But Jet had this superpower, this ability to get a smile out of him even in the worst situations. And that was, one of those worst situations. Because as much as he’d not admit it, Kobra was pretty fucking positive something bad had gone down at Canyon’s. And he feared it. He feared he’d let his brother endanger Ghoul. He feared he’d let his brother endanger himself. It was fucking exhausting, having to be the responsible one. To fight over it. So, he just let go, allowing Poison to have his guard shift, because he couldn’t bear fighting with him again. Just one time. But there he was. The only fucking fatal time he should’ve fought.
“Hey,” Jet stretched one arm to signal Kobra to stop, so he did. They took cover behind some bushes.
Jet made a hand signal that indicated they were not alone.
For fuck’s sake. He wasn’t wrong after all.
Kobra wore his mask, and so did Jet. He leaned forward as silently as he could to check what the situation was, and there he saw it in the distance. A white car, BL’s logo all over it. A cop’s car.
He felt his heart rate increase and his stomach drop to the ground and a bad, whistling noise overwhelm his thoughts. If something bad happened, if he had let Poison get hurt-
“He’s okay,” whispered Jet, turning towards Kobra. “My instinct’s not as good as yours, but I’ve learned to read you over the years. And if you got all the way here, it’s because you think you can still do something.”
Kobra focused on those words, and the noise tuned down. He breathed in and out, deeply.
“So, ready to do something?” said Jet.
Kobra nodded.
They resumed walking towards the shack, but they reached the point where there were no covers soon and stopped. They gestured something that indicated they would part ways and cover both sides of the shack.
Jet leaped out first, and he moved like he had no fear at all, as always. Kobra saw him disappear in the dark.
Then he breathed in deeply and leaped out as well.
He would take the front, which meant Jet would cover for him if needed, but also that he was probably going to witness whatever had happened in there first.
He had to rewind Jet’s words in his mind over and over again like he’d do the only cd available to him growing up, during the nights in which Poison would be out somewhere and he would be alone, too terrified to sleep and too coward to join him.
You’re here because you can still do something.
He started moving, slowly, his gun at ready, towards the door.
All those times he was out there, who fucking knows where, and you were only a child and you had no one by your side to tell you that everything was okay. All the times you begged him to be careful, to stop acting like the consequences of his actions couldn’t hurt him, because you couldn’t bear the idea of losing him as well, and he never cared. All the times he screamed in your face because you tried to remind him that he’s not invincible. All the times he came back broken, and you didn’t have the heart to say “I told you so”, so you just got him back on his feet. And all the times you had to see him fall again.
Kobra was by the door, now, and it was closed. No sound came from the inside.
So many fucking times, Kobra, and you didn’t have the guts to fight just one more time. You chose to trust him now, out of all times.
He kicked the door open and pointed the gun in, inspecting the room from side to side quickly. But nobody seemed to be there.
Nobody but someone on the floor, face down.
Fuck. His stomach dropped again, and suddenly he couldn’t move.
He just felt his eyes begin to burn and his whole body freeze completely.
Jet came in the room soon after from the backroom, and he rushed to the body immediately.
Kobra closed his eyes shut. He could feel tears begin to stain his face. And sheer terror wash over him in a cold wave.
Just one time more, Kobra. You had to let him be angry at you just one more time.
“Canyon,” he heard Jet whisper.
Kobra opened his eyes. Jet was kneeling by the body, two fingers on the neck. “Fuck,” he breathed out, standing up and raising his arms behind his head. He turned to Kobra, then, with a serious face.
“Nothing to do for him.” He rushed towards the door. “But they must be still here somewhere. Let’s hope we’re not too late.”
Kobra dried his face with his sleeve, then followed Jet outside, silently.
***
A constant murmur was the only audible sound as Jet and Kobra neared Fennec's cave.
Better than silence, Kobra thought. His head had traveled in all the worst directions, and he had feared the worst, because although his brother had escaped extremely dangerous situations countless times as if he were actually untouchable, there was no guarantee that it would happen again. And the bad, bad feeling he'd had that night had made him fear his luck was overdue.
But now he was somewhat calmer. Something, he had no idea what, told him that Poison was alive and well. That the incomprehensible murmur was his voice.
And because of that, terror had been able to give way to anger. Fucking hell. He wanted to insult him, wanted to fight this time. He wanted to tell him that Canyon had a bullet in his head because of him. He wanted to ask him what the fuck made him go off on his own and ruin the plan for everyone.
He wanted to really hurt him this time, wanted to make him suffer. To make him understand what the fuck he had-
“He’s here,” whispered Jet, who had entered the cave first. “Is everything okay?” Kobra heard him ask.
He hesitated outside the cave, breathing deeply in and out to tame the raging feeling inside him.
"Hey, Poison. Answer me,” he heard from Jet. “The fuck happened here?” Jet sounded confused.
Poison didn’t answer. His constant murmur, in which it was now possible to recognize his praying, was the only sound he was making.
Kobra couldn’t really make out the words. He could make out nothing at all, because he was so enraged any sound rang like a distant whistle in his head. And he did his best to tame it, he really did, but he snapped, eventually.
He turned around and got in the cave. “Stop it,” he yelled. “"What the fuck do you want your prayers to do now?” He moved to reach Poison closer. “You fucked up, yet another one. The least you could do is fa…” he trailed off. He could still feel his chest raise and fall quick, the chest where he had built up all that resentment that he couldn't wait to get out. But now, he just couldn’t bring himself to speak, anymore.
Because Poison was crying. It was the first time in his whole life that he had seen him like this. Often, growing up, he had noticed his way of hiding his emotions. Whenever his eyes were red and watery, he would wrinkle his nose and let it all go away. He would joke about it, or insult someone. He had never seen him cry. Ever.
For fuck’s sake. He hugged him, and Poison buried his wet face on his shoulder. He was sobbing.
He kept his arms behind his back, and only then Kobra noticed he had his arms tied and was wearing nothing but his jeans. His back was so cold he could’ve as well been dead, and it was…wet?
“I’m so sorry,” whispered Poison. Then he moved back from the hug, to look Kobra in his eyes.
Kobra’s stomach hurt bad, seeing his brother like that, and he could feel tears stain his own face, that was still frowning with rage.
Jet moved to untie him, using his knife to cut the white plastic handcuffs. But Kobra saw him frown, worriedly, as soon as he was behind Poison.
“What the fuck’s the matter?” Kobra asked, quickly getting up to reach Jet.
Then he saw it. He saw what the fucking matter was. And he almost wanted to throw up.
He didn’t know if that came from the realization that his brother was alive by a fucking miracle, again, or from seeing the open flesh on his back spilling blood.
“Good god,” whispered Jet, quickly moving to dab the wounds with the handkerchief he wore around his neck. He shared a serious glance with Kobra. “It…it reads something,” he said.
But Kobra had already noticed that.
Exterminate, it read.
***
“I- I shouldn’t be alive,” murmured Poison. His face was blank, now, and pale as a ghost. Tears still stained his cheeks, but he had stopped crying.
Kobra was moving him so that he was laying on the ground, on his side. He covered him with his jacket. “What do you mean?” he asked. His voice was shaking with worry.
Poison’s voice was weak, and he was trembling. “I mean I- I shouldn’t be here. It makes no…” he trailed off.
“What should we do?” Jet asked, frowning to Kobra. “He’s…I’ve never seen him like this. Is it shock?”
“No,” Kobra frowned. Then he moved to kneel in front of Poison, so he could see his face. “I think you’re perfectly conscious,” he said to him, forcing a determined tone out. “I think you should give us some fucking clue on what went on here.”
Poison was still looking at the void, his face vaguely confused.
“Kobra…” Jet spoke softly. “I think he’s unwe- “
“No,” Kobra scoffed again. “He owes us an explanation.” He bended to face Poison again. “Tell me. Even if it doesn’t make sense.”
Poison moved his eyes to cross Kobra’s, now. He still had a confused face, but he looked present.
“They took him,” he said. “They took Ghoul.”
Kobra felt a thousand needles pierce everywhere in his stomach and his heart. “Is he…?” he didn’t dare to ask the whole question.
“He passed out before they got here. I tried to…” his face suddenly scrunched in the way it did to hide emotions. “But it was- it was hopeless.”
Kobra and Jet shared a worried look.
“I should’ve been dead,” Poison continued. “Ghoul was sick, I should’ve been dead. Am I dead?” he asked, moving his eyes back and forth between the other two.
“You’re not,” said Jet, stroking his shoulder. “Unless we all are.”
“Canyon is,” said Kobra, abruptly. “Ghosted out without even a fight.”
“Fuck,” whispered Poison. He attempted to stand up, only to fall back on his shoulder with a screeching noise of pain.
“Now can you explain what the fuck went on here?” Kobra said, impatiently.
“They shot me. I should be dead. I swear they- “Poison moved up again, and he managed to sit this time. He turned behind himself, looking for something. “Here,” he said, all of a sudden.
Kobra and Jet got near the place he was indicating. The rock had been scathed, it had a hole in it, like if a bullet had hit it. But there was no bullet.
They turned back to Poison, that frowned. “No bullet in me either.”
Kobra and Jet shared yet another look, but this time it seemed like a look of understanding, as if they had both suddenly realized something. “They must think you’re dead,” said Jet, with a determined face. He had lowered his voice again. “That means we…”
“We gotta get out of here,” added Kobra.
***
“There was a cop car few feet from Canyon’s,” said Jet, as they walked quickly. Poison was leaning on him, wearing Kobra’s jacket. “I have no idea how many dracs are there and what the fuck they’re trying to do, but we have to get away from this place. Our car’s by the cliff.”
“It wasn’t…” started Poison. He still sounded shaken when he spoke, incredulous. “The guy who shot me. He had a new weapon. And he wasn’t a normal drac.”
Kobra was walking backwards behind them, covering. “Was it him? On your back?”
“I have no fucking clue,” said Poison. “I was gone. I was dead, Mikey.” His voice was shaky again.
Jet frowned at him. “Careful with those names out loud,” he whispered. Then he stroked on Poison’s shoulder, because he had never heard him like that before. He had seen him dance around death so many fucking times, and he had never seemed afraid of it. “What do you mean you were gone?” he asked.
Poison turned to look him in his face. His eyes were watery again. “He put a hole in my head, Jet. I felt it.”
Jet had no idea what to say or what to do. Poison’s forehead was there, unscathed. And Poison was walking and talking. And he feared something had gone off that had shaken him too much.
He turned around and shared a worried look with Kobra.
But Poison noticed it and scoffed out. “Screw it, this is just what I needed.” He touched his head. “To definitely look like a lunatic to you.”
"Put yourself in our shoes,” said Kobra. “You're saying you were shot in the forehead, Poison. Again, you're saying it out loud."
Poison remained silent, then. He had a focused face, but in a different way than usual. He was looking down, his eyes lost in emptiness and his teeth nipping at his lips nervously. It almost looked like he was fighting with himself in his head.
Jet looked at him occasionally and sighed, concerned. We just need to get to the car, he kept repeating in his head. We need to get to the car and get out of here as soon as possible, then everything will be fine. Everything can be worked out. Poison will be fine.
But Poison stopped suddenly, falling to his knees in the sand.
"What the fuck are you doing?" asked Kobra, annoyed. But Jet sent him a look that meant wait, and so he stopped too.
Poison had covered his face with his hands, so his expression was impossible to see. But he clearly had started to cry again. He was sobbing, this time.
This was a first, too.
Both Jet and Kobra didn't have the courage to do anything. They stood there in silence waiting, looking around to make sure no one was lurking.
The crying lasted a few minutes, then turned to silence. Then back to a murmur of prayer, but this time the words were understandable, in the dead silence of the desert. The atmosphere was so tense no one dared even breathing, the only sound Poison’s whispering, broken voice.
"I thank you," he was saying, "For giving me a reason. This energy you have given me I shall return to the sand, and for the rescue of my lost soul I will pay with my devotion to the rescue of lost souls on your behalf."
Then again. And again.
Until Kobra found the courage to rest a hand on his shoulder, and only then did he stop.
Kobra's worry had become visible. He had heard his brother speak to her so many times since they were children. He had heard him pray and had never questioned what kind of religion he might be devoted to. As if in such a world you could fucking believe in god, he thought. But Poison had always believed in something, in her, and Kobra had never dared argue with him. Ghoul had tried to. But in the end, he'd been so blinded by love that he'd started fucking talking to her too. Every time he heard them, though, they were different from what was going on at that moment. Poison had always seemed casual, comfortable talking to her. He smiled while he prayed. He'd always addressed her from a position of equality.
But not now. Now he was speaking to her as if he owed her.
***
“It’s the only way,” Poison murmured.
Kobra was frowning behind him. He had no idea what to say. Jet was equally silent.
“She’s-“he turned abruptly around to move his eyes between the other two. “She brought me back because she’s not done with me.” His eyes were still watery, but his expression had turned into something different. Hopeful, somehow, and determined.
Jet squatted in front of him, still silent, with a worried face.
Poison put both his hands on his shoulders. “You have to believe me, Jet. There’s no other way.”
Kobra looked away, and Jet noticed. He couldn’t bring himself to contradict Poison, though. He was scared. He was fucking scared of what was going on with him. He had known Poison since they were both too young to even walk, but he had never once thought he could…what the fuck. He never once thought there could be something wrong with him. Not even when he was broken and wasted. But now, it was different. It was terrifying.
“Okay,” Jet breathed out eventually, hesitantly. “I have no reason to doubt you.” His eyes shifted to Kobra, just for a split second. He was still looking away. “But I need you to stick with my plan, now. We don’t know if she’ll keep us alive much more.”
Poison got up, silently, and so did Jet. His eyes were lost in the void before him. When Jet and Kobra resumed walking, though, he stayed still.
“No,” he said.
Jet and Kobra turned around to look at him.
“No,” he repeated. “You go ahead. I have something to do.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” scoffed Kobra. “We have to go now. Whatever went on in that cave, they think you’re dead. We need this lead to-“
“I said no,” said Poison decisively, now looking at Kobra. His face had shifted from blank to the hateful expression that meant he had made up his mind and could never be persuaded otherwise. Kobra knew that very well.
So, he shrugged, exhausted. “You know what?” he said, “I don’t give a shit anymore. I tried. See you in hell.”
He turned around and resumed walking. Jet could see his face was conflicting, and he was clearly on the verge of crying.
“Please,” said Jet, turning to Poison, as soon as Kobra was distant enough to not hear. “If you don’t care about yourself, try and think of him for once.” He was rarely angry, but this was the closest he had ever come to that.
But Poison didn’t even answer. He neared Jet, silently, his face still determined. He handed him something. When Jet lowered his eyes to look at it, he noticed it was a weapon.
And when he raised his eyes back, Poison was walking away, back towards the cave.
***
The drac’s car had moved from the place it had stopped. But Poison didn’t even pay mind to that.
He walked to Canyon’s place and got in, like he had nothing to hide from.
He stayed still by the door, just for a moment, before walking in and kneeling by the body that was laying face down in a pool of blood, in the middle of the room. They had put a hole in the back of his chest, right through his heart.
At least he must’ve died quickly, Poison thought. He turned him around.
Canyon didn’t look like he died being afraid. His expression wasn’t exactly readable anymore, but Poison imagined it to be the smug, evil smile he loved to see on him. He was pale, but not paler than Poison had seen on him at his worst, while he was alive. At least he looked peaceful, now.
Poison looked down at his own hands, now red with blood. He was shaking a little. He watched Canyon, motionless, dead, and could see himself in his place. He should be seeing himself in his place. Canyon had done nothing to deserve death. And he had done nothing to deserve a second chance.
He moved Canyon’s black wet hair from his face and moved him in a cleaner spot. He covered him with a blanket. Then he cleaned his hands the best he could, but the blood wouldn’t come off completely.
He did a little prayer over the body. Then he moved to the backroom, where he produced a tin of something liquid.
He walked towards the door, and collected two things from a shelf nearby before leaving: a pack of cigarettes and a tiny photograph. He put the photograph in the back pocket of his pants and a cigarette behind his ear.
Then he started pouring the liquid all around the shack and behind him, going back in.
Canyon didn’t have much, but between his few belongings were a mic and some amps. He also used to be in a band, and he would play at the New Pit, from time to time. Poison cursed, because he realized he’d never get to hear their music again. They had never recorded. No one did but the Gear. He’d forget how Canyon’s voice sounded very soon.
Poison set up all the amps and the mic, plugging everything in a sketchy-looking small generator that was the only source of power for miles.
He switched it on, set the volume on max. He took a deep breath. Then he screamed.
“I’m the only one that can kill the Party, motherfuckers.”
His own voice and a whole lot of feedback rang so loud he winced.
But he screamed again. “Come get me, if you dare to.”
He took the mic out and plugged the amps to a cd player, where he played Canyon’s Mad Gear and Missile kid cd. Everyone had one, like the Bible of the Zones.
It was a windy night. Poison knew the music would travel and echo through the dead silence of the desert, and that made him smile.
Canyon deserved to go away just like he loved to live.
***
Jet and Kobra were almost by their car. They were walking in complete silence. Not because they did not have things to talk about, nor because they feared they could be heard by some dracs. Just, both were too lost in their minds to speak to each other.
Well, Jet would’ve loved to hear something from Kobra, but he dared not ask. He couldn’t see his face, as he kept walking before him, eyes down on the sand. But he could feel his worry. He could feel he was in pain. He had learned how to do that, over so many years of witnessing it.
Suddenly, though, Kobra stopped and raised his head.
He turned around, frowning in confusion. That startled Jet for a moment, and he quickly turned around too, with the gun in his hands, but it looked like they were still alone.
“No,” said Kobra, eventually. “This is fucking weird.”
“What is weird?” frowned Jet. After a beat, though, he let out a tiny, bittersweet cackle to himself. Because what the fuck was not, weird.
“I don’t think we’re being followed anymore,” explained Kobra, looking and sounding like he was still trying to make sense of it. But he did sound confident in it.
And Jet didn’t need to question it, because he knew every time anyone did Kobra ended up being right.
So, he just sighed and lowered the gun. “Okay,” he breathed out. “What do we do next?”
“We go get that stupid fucker back,” said Kobra.
***
She said Come on come on kiss my battery
Come on come on I’ll be your android girl
Poison downed a whole can of beer he had found, and he was dancing around and singing to the music. He had worn his mask.
He was jumping around like crazy, like he was at the Pit. Like a party was raging all around him.
And something did begin to rage, around him. A handful of cop cars had rushed towards Canyon’s place and were storming down the small gravel path in a line. Poison peeked at those by the window and grinned, moving the cigarette to his lips.
She said Come on come on lick that battery
Come on come on and fuck this whole wide world
“Fuck you, assholes!” he screamed from the window, before rushing back near Canyon. He moved the blanket away from his face, just for a moment, and gave him a tiny kiss on the forehead. “See you in hell,” he murmured, as he was lighting his cigarette. Then, he moved back up and turned towards the door.
He could see one line of dracs already in the house, guns pointed at him. He didn’t stop singing, cigarette hanging from his lips. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were looking around and at each other, confused.
No one seemed to shoot, though. They must’ve noticed the gasoline tin by Poison’s side.
“Where is he?”, yelled Poison. “I don’t give a shit about a bunch of regular cops. Where’s that motherfucker?”
She said Come on come on kiss my battery
Come on come on I’ll be your android girl
One drac was feeling particularly brave, eventually. He stepped closer and signaled the others to run away. They had begun to do just that, but Poison threw his lit cigarette to the ground, in their direction.
The drac had shot him at the same time, but the bullet missed him completely.
The room and the whole surroundings of the shack burst up into flames immediately, while the music kept ringing, covering the screams and the shrieking sounds the dracs were making. Some of them were already caught into the flames, some others were moving around, trying to shoot Poison, while he walked away towards the backdoor, taking his time to dance around some more, still singing. No one managed to hit him.
She said Come on come on lick that battery
Come on come on and fuck this whole wide world
As soon as Poison was outside, he noticed Kobra and Jet had reached him there by car. He rushed towards them, ignoring their worried looks. The music had abruptly stopped, the amps must’ve overheated. Now the pained screaming of the dracs in the fire was clearly audible, and it sounded straight out some infernal circle.
Kobra’s and Jet’s faces turned from desperate to confused, when they noticed Poison had managed to walk out of the ring of flames surrounding the shack completely unscathed. Nothing of him had been touched by the flames, and he seemed to be unbothered by the heat.
He got in the car and took his mask off.
“Now we go get him back,” he said.
________________
III- ???
Korse observed the scene from behind a car. He hadn’t followed the voice. He knew it couldn’t’ve been real. He had personally blown Party Poison’s brains up with a laser beam. Quickly and easily, as always. For all the myths and warnings surrounding him, Korse had expected his extermination to be a much more stimulating task.
But he didn’t bother tell his subordinates that. He enjoyed the scene of their dumb, overachieving hopes in taking down the head of the Fabulous Killjoys being shattered. He would go back to Battery City alone, just as he liked it. He would announce the casualties and get assigned a new squad of dumb assholes. He would get praised for eliminating the problem at its roots. He would exercise undefeatable attraction on the swarm of dumb, over-masculine wannabe heroes of his subordinates, that would dream to be him in the future, and would try to be his in the present.
Then, he noticed something. Out of the flames that were eating that shack, between the pained screams and the cracking wood, a sound of tires rushing away.
And he saw him. His red hair swinging back in the wind. His forehead intact, no mask on. His two associates looking confused in the front seats.
Korse knew there was no possible explanation to that, and it would get him in so much trouble.
But he couldn’t help a big, big smile spread on his face.
***
“I’m telling you, he’s completely fine,” repeated Cola for the millionth time that morning, as he held Poison’s arms up and frowned at the skin on his chest. “There’s no trace of burn wounds anywhere.”
“And what’s left of my brain’s whole and functioning, Kobra.” Poison said, exasperated. That, too, must’ve been repeated a lot since the previous night.
Jet stared inquisively at Poison’s back, one hand supporting his chin. “How come he managed to fuck up your back?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone. He had entered his figuring-things-out- mode for hours, now, but nothing came out of it if not more confusion. “I mean, if we assume you actually are blessed, or something.”
“I wouldn’t say blessed,” corrected Poison. “That feels weird. We’re just animals, we can’t be saints.”
“Okay,” conceded Jet, frowning. “But you quite literally came back from the dead. That’s pretty miraculous if you ask me.”
Poison sighed heavily. Any mention of his death didn’t come lightly on him, which was just a confirmation that he must’ve really lived through it, for Jet. Because since he had memory, Poison had never allowed himself to show how seriously he was taking any bad thing that ever happened to him.
Kobra scoffed out a laugh, and that was the only sound he had made in the last hour, beside asking Cola to check better if anything was wrong with his brother.
“What?” Poison turned around to him, sounding annoyed. “You still don’t believe me?”
Kobra shrugged. “Not a big fan of superstitions,” he said.
“For fuck’s sake,” snapped Poison, retrieving his arms from Cola’s grip to stand up and walk in front of his brother. “She’s not asking you to believe, Kobra, She fucking showed you, goddamn.” He angrily leaned closer, like he did anytime he wanted to get the attention back. But Kobra kept looking at his side, his arms crossed. “You think this is some kind of burnt up junkie brain shenanigans? Or, like, a crazy fanatic situation?”
“I’m not saying that-” attempted Kobra, but Poison kept going, angrily.
“You know Ghoul’s alive, right? Or look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t know he’s alive.”
Only then Kobra turned his head to face Poison, crossing his bloodshot eyes. He did know that. There was no point in hiding it. So, he sighed, letting his arms fall at his sides.
“I know. Nothing to do with that, though.”
“It does have to do with that, Kobra. Why do you think you’ve always had your uncanny intuitions? You think it’s magic? Luck?”
Kobra shook his head, frowning, putting some space between them. “Maybe, I don’t know. Could be a coincidence.”
Poison was about to snap, again, but Jet stepped between them and took the word first. He kept moving his eyes between the two.
“Look,” he said, in a diplomatic tone. “I never told you because I feel crazy when I think about it, but-“
“Jesus,” interrupted Kobra, sighing. “You too?”
Jet gave him a look, his eyebrows raised as to say I’m sorry. Then he resumed his speech. “I have no idea how, but sometimes my hands move on autopilot and it’s like I know, okay?” He kept glaring around their faces as to gain enough confidence to keep speaking. Poison nodded approvingly to encourage him. “It’s, like, I got every manual ever written in my head. And I know how to fix things and work them. It’s not like I’ve been to school, you know.” He almost sounded like he was trying to justify himself.
“You’re just a genius,” protested Kobra, frowning. “We always knew that.”
“Probably,” Jet conceded. “But what if Poison’s right? What if we really are here for a reason?”
“That could be why Ghoul ended up with you,” added Cola. “She’s given him the power to foresee death because he’s also part of a mission.” He sounded completely at ease with what he was talking about. Beside Poison, Cola had always been the only person to speak of Her as a true thing. So, the whole situation didn’t come as a surprise, to him.
“Do you want to confess some fucking superpower too, now?”, asked Kobra, turning to him. His tone was mocking, but his face betrayed how he really wanted to know. How he was fighting with himself in his brain.
Cola shrugged. “If you see these like superpowers, then no.”
“But?” Kobra urged.
“But I’ve never missed a hit in my life,” he breathed out, almost guiltily.
Kobra let out a loud, exasperated breath as he covered his face with his hands.
Cola reached him and stroked his shoulder. “It’s not that hard to believe,” he explained, kindly. “You shouldn’t see this as an otherworldly, crazy thing. It’s just how energy flows, it’s around you all the time. It’s real.”
Poison neared them, he looked calmer. He spoke in a collected manner. “I know I don’t make it easy to believe,” he said, searching for Kobra’s gaze with honest eyes. “I don’t even know why she’d give this to me. But I know I can’t move on with it without you.” Kobra looked at him, now, and Poison moved to hug him. “I’m sorry for being a shitty brother. If you can’t forgive me for how I fucked up, I get it.”
“I’m trying,” whispered Kobra. It took him a second, but he gave in to the hug. He held his brother tight, releasing all the worry he had felt in it. “Don’t leave me behind again, okay?” he whispered on his shoulder.
“I won’t,” nodded Poison. “I don’t need to keep secrets from you anymore.”
***
“I want to make them pay,” said Poison, his tone low and dangerous as Cola worked a bandage all around his back and over his chest, to cover all the wounds. “They fucked up my beautiful back.”
“It kinda fucks, though,” said Kobra, inspecting the letters written in deep cuts on his brother’s back. “Looks like a cool scarification or something.”
“You should wear it like a crown of thorns, Poison,” smiled Jet. “Like, it will say I came back from the dead and I’m fucking pissed when you meet the guy again. How cool is that?”
“I didn’t even get to see their face in the dark. I don’t know who I should be hunting for.” Poison winced a little under Cola’s pressing hands. “But he sure as hell wasn’t in between those dumb dracs at the shack.”
“You got, what, ten at the same time?” asked Cola in wonder.
“Twelve, baby” smiled Poison smugly.
“Anyway,” interrupted Kobra, “We should get moving as soon as you’re done medicating. We need to capitalize on the surprise factor. Maybe get there before they can settle Ghoul somewhere super safe.”
Poison shook his head. “I bet it’s too late for that,” he said. “They won’t make the same mistake twice. Besides,” he took something out of the back pocket of his black jeans. It was a Polaroid. “I have something to do.”
Kobra knew exactly what he meant, and it didn't particularly sit well with him. He was sure that leaving right away would be the best thing. But he let it go. He thought of his brother's face as he saw him sobbing for the first time. He thought he deserved to pay a visit to the letterbox if that would make him feel any good.
So, Poison left, alone, and he spent the remainder of the day talking to Her, kneeling on the sand, Canyon’s picture pressed between his hands. Then he also talked to him. He contemplated that picture, the innocence of that black haired kid and his huge smile. Poison thought that innocence could only exist on a polaroid now. It could only belong to some old, forgotten relic of the past. It could only be buried with the dead it used to belong to.
Because, yeah. He guessed he had to admit it now. Canyon was fucking dead. Canyon was fucking dead, and he craved for a drink, or a pill, or anything that would muffle that knowledge for a while.