Chapter Text
A lonely rebel is a dead rebel.
This saying, known throughout the Zones, made you keenly aware that you had been living on borrowed – or, maybe more aptly, stolen – time. This anxiety hummed in the back of your skull as you kicked over some of the sun battered boxes littering the floor of the abandoned hardware store you had been squatting in for too long on the outer edge of Zone 5. It could be dangerous to stay in one place for too long, especially with no one else around to help keep watch or back you up if things went sideways.
But the benefits of a hardware store had proved too tempting to leave so far. It was a comfort to have so many tools at your fingertips to fix up your broken radio or improvise a weapon with some chain or hammers. You shook your head in an effort to clear your thoughts. You set to work hoping to forget your anxieties, or at least use them to do something proactive. You carefully pulled a thin wire until it was taut, securing it to the perforated metal shelving lining both sides of the front door. Gently, you nudged the wire with your toe to check its steadfastness before moving to the back door to repeat the process. It didn’t beat having a band of rebels by your side, but booby trapping your makeshift dwelling was the next best thing.
While you had always been something of a drifter in the Zones, floating from group to group and Zone to Zone as it served you, you missed your most recent Killjoy comrades. You had stuck with them for about a year, and had begun to feel like you could see yourself sticking around for the long haul. Nitro Pop, Ruby Dagger, Neon Sugar, Lithium Static, and you. It felt right.
When you had gone on a solo supply run one early morning – quick and easy visit to a semi-permanent outpost, nothing that necessitated backup — you returned to remnants of chaos. Your crew had been ambushed. Ghosted. There was nothing you could do; they were gone for good. You didn’t even try to scavenge anything from your base, lest some Draculoids or a Scarecrow were still hanging around. You just ran.
When you had semi-deliriously stumbled upon this place a few weeks ago, you had found yourself very surprised that there were no other inhabitants. You couldn’t believe your luck, so much so that you braced yourself for an ambush. You hardly slept for the first few days, waiting for anyone, friend or foe, to return from some battle, supply run, or some other misadventure. That day never came though, and you found yourself sinking into a more comfortable existence. At least, the most comfortable existence a lone wanderer could find inside a dilapidated old building that couldn’t quite withstand the oppressive desert heat and acid rain storms.
You continued your work around the store, being careful not to make the place look too occupied, when the sudden sound of an approaching car froze you in your tracks. Quickly, you pressed your body flat against the nearest shadowy corner, nervously picking at the yellowed and peeling wall paint as you held your breath. Please keep driving, you silently willed whatever entity was nearby. The rumble of the engine grew louder and louder until everything fell silent again as suddenly as it had started. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping for a peaceful night. You decided to count to ten before you would move again.
One…two…th– a car door slammed, cutting your counting short.
Shit.
Time to move.
You instantly crouched down into your corner as your hand instinctively flew to the holster on your hip.
Where was your ray gun? Why you, why now?
Your eyes scanned the dry dirt outside of the smudged windows, trying to assess how close your potential assailants were and how much time you had to prepare yourself. Not seeing any impending doom, you began mentally retracing your steps. You woke up, ate half a tin of Power Pup, nailed some plywood over a hole in the wall, used the work bench to fix up your ray gun – ah, the work bench!
Shooting another glance toward the window in search of danger, you started carefully working your way across the floor to fetch your gun. As you moved hugging the wall, you began to see four Draculoids making their way toward the front entrance of your hideout. Their bright white suits and masks were stark against the road behind them.
Of course it had to be Dracs. Where was a friendly fellow BL/ind defector when you needed one?
As you neared your gun, the Dracs neared the glass door. You had never relished killing like some of your more trigger happy counterparts, but it was impossible to deny the invigorating effects of adrenaline. Plus, when it came down to it, blasting some Dracs or Scarecrows would always beat out getting yourself dusted or worse, finding yourself at the mercy of Better Living in Battery City. You would rather die with your freedom and your mask than stumble through their fake world scarfing down their mind numbing pills for the rest of your life.
After what felt like an eternity but was realistically just a minute or two, you reached your goal. In one swift motion, you snatched your ray gun from the top of the work bench while pushing yourself from the wall to crouch against the cabinetry of the bench. You craned your neck over your shoulder, peeking through the gaps in cluttered store aisles just in time to see the band of Dracs grabbing the metal handle and pulling the door open.
Show time, you encourage yourself, flipping the safety off your gun.
As the first Drac steps through the doorway, your plan played out as perfectly as you could have hoped. The crude trip wire you had installed earlier sent the Drac straight to the ground with a hard thud, and the unsecured shelves that you used to hold the wire are pulled along with his momentum. The heavy hammers and screwdrivers rained down from the shelves onto the Drac before the shelving units themselves finished the job, pinning him to the ground as he fell unconscious.
With one Drac knocked out and the other three briefly stunned by the unexpected collapse, you take the opportunity to fire off a few quick blasts from your ray gun. You nail one Drac square in the chest and see him stagger back as the bright red blood saturates his formerly pristine white suit jacket. The two remaining Dracs look around wildly, trying to spot your hiding place before they duck behind the fallen shelves. With that, you leap up from your corner and leg it to the back door. You vault yourself over your remaining trip wire trap as you bust the door open to reveal the unforgiving desert heat.
As you made your escape, one of the Dracs signaled to his partner that he had eyes on their target – you. It didn’t matter. Your goal was no longer stealth, but speed. You had the advantage of a head start and better knowledge of the floor plan. You hung a right as you flew out the door to the side of the building and immediately launched yourself up the rusted ladder to the roof. You moved upwards quickly, struggling to keep yourself from falling as one of the worn rungs crumbled under your foot.
You reached the roof of the hardware store, hooking your arms on the ledge and swinging the rest of your body weight up and over the lip of the building. You stayed on your belly instead of standing, both to reduce your visibility and the risk of the structure cracking beneath your weight. You used your elbows like ice axes, wincing as you created new cuts and scrapes along your arms in order to drag your body into position. Peering over the building berm, you scanned the scene below.
The two remaining Dracs had split up and each ran around one half of the perimeter of the building to find your escape route. You set your aim on the Drac closest to you, trying not to let the guilt of killing innocent people seep into your conscience. BL/ind had stolen their lives and bodies to turn them into mindless drones. The blood of whoever these Dracs used to be stained the hands of those at Better Living, not you. In a fucked up sort of way, you were doing the only thing you could to give them back their autonomy.
ZRRP.
ZRRP.
ZRRP.
Missed. Missed. Missed. You cursed yourself for giving up your position without gaining an equal fight. The Draculoid started his ascent to the roof to continue your tango. As he swung his leg onto the roof to stand, you rolled onto your knees and trained your blaster on him. He lunged toward you with balled fists but you leapt back and managed to parry his attack, causing him to stumble. Glancing over your shoulder, you grew weary of how close you are to the edge behind you. The Drac’s next movements catch your eye and you snap your focus back to the fight at hand. Once again, he pounced at you.
This time, you couldn’t react before the Drac tackled you. The sudden weight made your balance falter and before you knew it, the two of you were careening over the edge tangled together. By some miracle, you managed to flip yourself in the air so that you are on top of the Drac as the two of you freefall. All too quickly, the ground rushes up to meet you and you can feel the Drac’s spine crunch and crack upon impact. You see blood begin to pool under the back of the Drac’s head as your own head spins from the adrenaline and the force of landing.
Before you get a moment to catch your breath, you hear the other Draculoid moving toward you, and moving fast. You whip your head around, trying to orient yourself to the ground level. You spy the Draculoids’ car on the road, a standard issue boxy white hatchback from Better Living. With no time to formulate a better plan, you launch yourself off the dying body of the Drac who broke your fall and toward the vehicle.
You break into a sprint, all but flying across the dirt and worn asphalt to reach the car. You’re still reeling from your fall but you can’t afford to stumble or slow down. Channeling all your willpower and focus, you rip the car door open and fling yourself into the driver’s seat. Frantically, you palm around the dashboard and seats in search of the keys. You white knuckle the steering wheel and curse between huffed breaths.
No keys.
You slam the car locks shut to buy yourself a minute.
No time to hot wire. Where do you go from here?
Looking back out in the direction of the hardware store, you can see the Draculoid rapidly approaching. However, you don’t have time to do anything before the ear splitting screech of metal grating metal pierces your thoughts. Gravity almost instantly sends your body flying up in the cabin of the car and brings you back down hard. You feel a white hot pain as the steering wheel attempts to pass through your forehead.
As you slump sideways into the passenger seat, your world fades to black.