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Korse rubs the condensation on his glass. He watches his ice cube slowly melt. People talk around him. Gamble. Laugh. Girls hang on the shoulders of men who pretend to be wealthy. They ignore him. He’s glad of it. There’s cheering from somewhere far away. Someone’s won big. Good for them. He doesn’t play.
Korse is wasting away in Las Vegas.
He killed his first love. He wasn’t there to hold his second while he died. He’s utterly alone. He’s washed up, wasted, watching his money drain away on booze and cheap hotels. Maybe he’ll move on when the money’s run out. Keep wandering. Maybe he’ll stay and become another face in the crowd. Maybe he’ll just fade away.
Someone slides in next to him.
“Shot of vodka and a beer,” they say. Their voice is roughened by cigarettes. But Korse can tell they’re young. He turns to look.
His neighbor’s face is angry. His jaw is set. His eyes are dark. His hair is red. Bright, bright red. His nose is upturned. Freckles dust his nose in a way that’s far too familiar. His clothes are dirty with desert dust.
Korse is staring.
He notices.
“I’m too young for you, old man,” he sneers.
Korse jolts.
“No, I didn’t mean- I’m sorry-”
“Yeah right.”
“Look,” Korse shakes his head and turns back to his drink. “You just remind me of someone I used to know, is all. It’s your hair.” It was more than that. The kid next to him was the spitting image of Party Poison. Nearly. But he doesn’t need to get into it.
His neighbor chuckles.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Can’t wait until this damn dye washes out.”
Korse nods a little. “I’m sure.”
They’re quiet.
Korse finishes his drink. He orders another. The silence is awkward.
“Look, I’m sorry if I seemed strange, I just-” Korse starts
“Huh?”
“I mean. Well. I had a son, a long time ago.”
“A lot of people have.”
“I mean-” Korse’s palms are sweating. “I had one with. With someone who looks like you. And I never got to know them.”
“That’s crazy.” Korse’s neighbor rolls his eyes and downs his shot. He chases it with a sip of his beer.
Korse sighs. “I’m sorry.
“Yeah.”
The news flickers on the mute tv screen above them. The captions cover the bottom half of the screen,. The news is about the Zones. Two talking heads discuss the latest bombing of a settlement. One argues that the town was full of terrorists. Another argues that there may have been terrorists, but there were maybe. Possibly. Innocents killed. The presenter seems unconvinced. Korse chews on his lip.
“Can you believe this shit,” Korse’s neighbor snarls.
“No,” Korse murmurs. “I thought people stopped making excuses a long time ago.”
“People lost their pet martyrs and stopped sympathizing.”
“That’s a cynical way to view it.”
“It’s the right way.”
“How old are you?”
Korse’s neighbor pouts. He stares at his beer.
“...fifteen. Just turned.”
Korse chuckles.
“Ah, yes. I was cynical at your age too.”
“What about now?”
Korse sighs. “I really don’t know. I don’t think I care enough to be cynical about anything.”
“How did you stop caring?”
“I lost everything I could care about.”
Korse’s neighbor is quiet. Korse stares at the tv screen.
One day, Battery City would fall apart and it would all end. But he’s far from that fight now.
“What’s your name?” Korse’s neighbor murmurs. Korse sighs.
“I’m Korse.”
Korse’s neighbor curls his lip into a snarl.
“Scarecrow.”
“Not anymore.”
“You still were.”
“And I regret it.”
“You still were.”
Korse sighs. He stares at the bartender and orders a shot for himself and a shot for his neighbor.
“I did. And I’m sorry. I regret it more than anything.”
“Sorry doesn’t change anything.”
“God, you are just like-” he stops himself.
“Like?”
“Like….like someone I used to know. A killjoy.”
Korse’s neighbor softens.
“Who were they?”
“They were…” Korse smiles at his shot glass. It’s filled to the brim. “They were angry, spiteful, perfect. They were a fighter, a rebel, mean, passionate, half out of their mind. I’ll never know what they saw in me.”
“Is that who you had a son with?”
Korse downs his shot.
“It is. They died before we could raise our child.”
“And you didn’t step up?”
He orders another shot. He orders another drink. He takes the shot. He starts sipping the drink.
“No. I let him be raised by someone else. Someone cityborn. I thought…I thought. They’d have a good life. I was assured they’d become a Scarecrow. A good exterminator, with all the money and power and privilege that comes with it. And I left it alone.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Yes.”
“You regret a lot.”
“Yes.”
“Kinda sucks, to be old and regretful in Las Vegas.”
“You keep talking like that and I’ll stop buying your drinks.”
Korse’s neighbor laughs. Korse smiles. His neighbor holds out his hand.
“I’m Val Velocity.”
Korse shakes his hand.
“Good to meet you, Val. I’ve seen your file.”
“I’m sure you have, Scarecrow.” Val flashes a smile of tiny, even teeth. Korse swallows.
“Jesus.”
“What?”
“You look like…”
“Party Poison?”
Korse orders another shot. He takes it. The room is swimming. Fuck. God.
Fifteen years ago he saw Party Poison dead on a gurney. Fifteen years ago he thumbed the wound on their chin and sobbed. Fifteen years ago he found out they were pregnant with his child.
The Director rubs his shoulder.
“Your 15 minutes are up.”
Korse wipes his eyes.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You know…” she walks over to Party’s cold body. She rubs their stomach. “We found out something interesting while we were preparing the body.”
“Yes?”
“You’re a father, Korse. No need to worry about it though. The embryo is being incubated. We’re excited to see what you two have produced. After all, you and Party Poison both had such impressive grades in your examinations, a Scarecrow made from your genetics would be a masterpiece.”
Korse bends over and retches on the cold tile floor.
“You act like I’m not doing you a favor,” the Director hisses. “Under any other circumstances, your progeny would have been cremated with your little pet traitor.”
Korse is snapped back to reality by a flick on his shoulder.
“Jesus old man, you good?” Val says.
“Yeah, I’m. I’m fine.” Korse rubs his eyes. He orders a water.
“Liquor get to you?”
“Maybe so.”
“I think so.”
“Probably so.” He sighs. “Anyways, you do look a lot like Party Poison.”
“Like I said, it’s the stupid hairdye.”
“It’s more than that,” Korse murmurs. “You’ve got their nose. And their smile.”
“Fuck, how do you know Party so well?”
“Long story.”
“It’s early.”
“I don’t feel like telling.”
“Oh my god, that’s what I hate about you old fucks. You give me inklings of some crazy good chisme, and you refuse to tell me because-”
“I think you’re my kid.”
Val just stares at Korse.
“You need to stop drinking.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re out of your mind. Party Poison would never be with a Crow.”
“They were.”
“Prove it.”
Korse stares into Val’s eyes for a long, long time.
He grabs his wallet. There’s a pocket in there full of pictures. He yanks them all out and starts flipping through.
He tosses a picture of him and Party on the table.
Its grainy. But Party is on his lap. His arm is wrapped around them. The reds and oranges of the desert sunset bathes them both. Party is pressing a kiss against his cheek. Freckles cover their nose. Their under eyes are smeared with two day old mascara. Korse is smiling. He’s happy. He loves them. They were so full of life. Perfect and bright and alive.
He hates that picture. He always keeps it close.
“Does this prove anything?”
Val stares at the picture for a long, long time.
Val lights a cigarette.
He keeps staring.
He finishes the cigarette.
“Buy me another drink,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse. He keeps swallowing. He keeps touching the picture.
Korse obliges. Val drinks. He finishes. The corners of his mouth twitch.
“So where were you?” Val starts
“I had no idea where you were.”
“And you never looked for me?”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
“Why? Because that was easiest for you? Because you wouldn’t have to come to terms with what you fucking did?”
“I just-”
“You know it’s a holiday in Battery City? When you killed them? You know they play the tapes of you shooting them in schools? On tv? Everywhere? You’re telling me I watched my mom get killed over and over and over and over again by my fucking dad?!”
“I-”
“Shut the FUCK up!” Val screams. The bartender looks up. Korse swallows.
“I. I wasn’t.” He swallows again. “I wasn’t a good man then.”
“No shit! You fucking fucked them and knocked them up and shot them in the goddamn head!”
“It was a mercy,” Korse growls.
“You killing them? You betraying them?”
“Would you have rather been caught alive?!” Korse snaps. “Would you have rather seen them tortured and broken? Would you have rather watched their execution after weeks of torture? Would you rather have had them raped again and again and again? I know what would have happened to them, Val! I’ve seen it! I was sparing them! I was sparing them! It was a mercy, what I did!”
Val sets his jaw. His hands ball into fists.
“You still killed them.”
“And not a day goes by that I don’t regret it.”
Val swallows. Korse continues.
“I should have turned around and shot at the Dracs. I should’ve tried to get them all out safe. I should’ve run off to the desert with them. I should’ve raised you. But I was a coward. And I’m sorry. But being sorry will never turn back the clock. I can never go back.”
“You deserve to feel guilty.”
Korse gives a bitter laugh.
“Maybe I do. The universe sure believes I do. I found a lover a few years ago. I thought I could be happy. The universe reminded me no good deed goes unpunished, and no bad dead does either. I came home to him dead on the floor. Dead from a bullet to the chin.”
“Just like Party.”
Korse’s shoulders fall. He hunches. He’s Atlas, Atlas broken.
“Yes. Just like them. The universe gave me her retribution.”
“You deserved it.”
“I did. I won’t argue that.”
Val Velocity is fifteen and angry. He orders another shot. He puts it on Korse’s tab. He lets him.
“You were a deadbeat.”
Korse laughs. “I was.”
“You are.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an awful person.’
“Yes.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Yes.”
“You’re my dad.”
“Yes.”
Val’s world is swimming, and it’s not just because of the alcohol.
“I don’t know how to feel,” Val ventures.
“You don’t have to know.”
Val sighs. He plays with the shot glass.
“Do you want to be my dad?”
“Yes. I want to try, at least.”
Val tips the shot glass over.
“I’ll sleep on it.”