Chapter Text
The back alleys of Battery city were more desolate than usual. They usually had a bit of life still scrounging around in them- not in a pretty way, more in a subway rat kind of way. All the worst kinds of people coalesced in these parts of the city. People down on their luck, porno droids, thieves, and the like. And then runaways, like yourself. ‘Slum strays’ or ‘batt rats’ or whatever you wanna call them. But within that there was a sort of underground community that developed, that attracted people like yourself- not willing to submit to BL/ind’s reign, but not quite willing or able to run away. So instead, you’d come to places like this, where you could make art and music and avoid the prying eyes of Bl/ind agents and cops and all. The streets were dank and dangerous, a far cry from the sterile main parts of the city. The ‘proper’ parts. Usually if you looked hard enough you’d find a basement somewhere with music pouring out through cracks and holes in the brick walls. You could peek in and see all kinds of freaks in there, drinking and laughing and singing. But not lately.
Most underground activity had stopped, and for good reason. You had first heard it from Dr. D himself. Gathered in some other basement with a few other people, huddled around an old radio. Someone had found a way to rig the thing to tune into Dr. Death Defying radio station, and that's how you all kept up with what was going on outside the city walls. You had to be careful about it, and only a few people actually had radios that could get the right signal, and even fewer people knew who had them and where or when to find them. So if you were lucky enough to meet someone who did, you had to keep that information close to the chest, and make sure you knew where they’d be when they tuned in next. If BL/ind caught wind of that sort of thing, we wouldn’t just be screwed- so would the killjoys on the outside. And most of you all were rooting for them, so you kept your secrets safe.
You’d picked your way through the streets to get to the basement where Angel said to meet her, and sure enough, a few other people were there already, sitting on the ground as she messed with her radio. She was some sort of tech whizz- apparently she actually went to college for a year or two before dropping out to live here. The radio crackled to life, and there was the soft ruffling of clothes and clinking of various chains and pins as the entire room leaned in. It was a sort of escapism, almost, to hear what went on in the Zones. Plenty of people spoke about leaving. Quietly, among yourselves, you speculated on what it would be like. How you’d manage to get out of the city and how you’d get by out there. You yourself had drafted quite a few plans.
You could hardly believe it when Dr. D’s resigned voice announced that Party Poison-the leader of the killjoys, the legend themself, was captured. Dead, alive, no one knew. But either way, his body was with BL/ind. You could hardly hear the rest of the announcement. Even Angel, who generally didn’t display any emotions that were pissed off and ‘I’m working go away’ looked surprised. And… scared? I mean, they were supposed to be untouchable. Sure, killjoys were ghosted every day, but Party Poison? He was like a god to us- or, some of us at least. There was always someone talking out of their ass about how the killjoys were cowards and runaways, but generally people around here idolized them. Even if you’d never really run away, they were a symbol of hope. In theory, you could. There was another option, another life out there. One that might be tough, and gross, but there was a place just outside the city walls where you could listen to the damn radio all you want, as loud as you want, not in some random cramped basement, a different location where week so you wouldn’t get caught, there was a place where people played rock and roll till their voices were raw and weak. Where you could live and love and do whatever without propaganda right and left telling you what pills to take and distracting you from the hell you were living in with reality TV and endless BL/ind advertisements talking about how they were your damn saviors or some nonsense. Poison represented all of that, he was the face of the revolution.
Soon enough, though, it was all you could see on TV. BL/ind was taking advantage of it and milking it for all its worth. And those fuckers were being smart about it, too. They hadn’t killed them, not yet at least. No, they were trying to take apart their very image first.
“Domestic terrorist captured, put in reform facility”, “Violent gang leader ‘Party Poison’ receiving treatment for mental illness” -and other bullshit headlines were stamped literally everywhere. They blared from the TV and were printed boldly on the newspapers. They stared at you from billboards and were on flyers pasted to buildings. They crackled out from BL/ind issued earbuds, and it was all anyone talked about in the main streets of Battery City. It was a huge win for BL/ind, and they knew it- and possibly more importantly, it was a huge loss for the rest of you. As in, killjoys, and anyone in Battery City who was against BL/ind. And as much as you hated to admit it, it was disheartening to see. Their stupid scare tactics were working. How could they not? Poison was more than a person.
Of course, most of Battery city fell for all of that bullshit about Party Poison being some undiagnosed mentally ill teen. They fed the people all kinds of stories about how he was crazy and violent, and just needed ‘help’. And of course, the ever compassionate and benevolent BL/ind was there to provide that service, even after all those horrible, horrible acts of violence Poison committed. See how forgiving they are? See how generous? That was the message they were sending, and the people ate it right up. They put up photos of Party Poison in his cell, his bright red hair buzzed off, wearing a stark white straitjacket everywhere, and it was jarring. They took his hair. They took his goddamn soul. It was… terrifying. And it was obvious everyone felt it. The mood was tentative, cautious.. It was a violin chord stretched far too thin. A string ready to snap. They took our symbol, our hope, our fighter- what was next? Would they take what little else we had? The dirty corners we carved out for ourselves where we could live? We couldn’t risk losing it.
So most underground activity stopped- no one was willing to be caught with stolen or forbidden goods, and it was way more likely that that would happen now. BL/ind was using the momentum they got from Poison’s capture and our lowered morale round up those of us who slipped through the cracks. Patrol cars were now seen in the most shady parts of the city, and BL/ind had introduced a new program to detain people. They called it a ‘troubled teen reform program’, and they were using it to clean up the streets. Anyone caught breaking even the smallest rule, talking about revolution or life outside the city, or holding something that could be a symbol of rebellion was taken in. They were targeting people like you, runaways. There were plenty to be found here. Kids that got tired of being lied to, kids from shitty homes, or kids who’d been treated like shit by BL/ind. Kids who saw things they shouldn’t have. Kids who maybe dreamed of going to live in the Zones, becoming killjoys, but couldn't leave.
With all this going on, the streets you were so familiar with that used to teem with a resistant sort of spirit were mostly empty. It was a vicious cycle, since being able to trade and bargain lifted our spirits too. It was hard to stay positive when you can’t even trade a few stolen cans of food for a new CD. For a bunch of people who could just barely call themselves ‘not homeless’, you’d all created an impressive little system for yourselves. You want non-BL/ind, pre analog war books? There’s a guy for that. You wanna know where you can catch the next basement show? There’s a gal for that. You need food, or clothing, but got no money? There’s a person who settles somewhere between guy and gal but isn’t either who will trade for that too. And if you actually did have real money to spend, you might be able to get your hands on some lexapro, which you sorely needed. But with everyone laying low, you were lucky if you could even find someone willing to give you weed for a blowjob, never mind lexapro, even if you had the money to pay.
You trudged through the streets towards a flat you were sharing with two other people. Well, actually, usually there were four or five other people in there at once, excluding you, and they tended to cycle in and out, but it was better than nothing. And besides, now isn’t the time to complain about couch surfers when you’re all just trying to get by. You were taking what should’ve been a safe route- patrol cars had never come through here before. Except, they do now. Surprise, motherfucker.
Panic spiked through your stomach as a car pulled up, flashing its lights at you. You were carrying stolen food in your messenger bag, but honestly, that didn't even matter. People didn't need a record or proof of anything to be arrested nowadays, not with the way BL/ind would twist words and justify things. And come on. Teen boy with dyed hair walking around a place like this alone? It was obvious you didn’t exactly align with the interests of BL/ind.
You were only a block away from your apartment, but if you went there you’d risk leading them right to the people you roomed with, and you may be a thief (among other things) but you weren’t a snitch. So you kept walking, trying to act natural.
Wait, wait, how do you usually walk?
It’s probably smoother than this, right?
Yeah, smoother.
No no- now you look stupid, stop that.
You shouldn’t walk like you, anyway, walk like someone who doesn’t steal stuff-
“Out here all alone, kid?”
Fuck.
The voice of a cop tugs you from your thoughts, and you trip over your feet, looking up. Brilliant, real fuckin brilliant. Way classy.
“Just gettin back home.”
You respond, nodding to him and trying to look nonchalant.
“You ain’t in school? You look like you oughta be in school.”
Okay, that felt a little backhanded. You clear your throat and shuffle a little, shrugging.
“Well ‘m not.”
You mumble vaguely, but you know this isn’t gonna cut it. And you’re sure your voice sounds scared rather than nonchalant to him- though you can hardly hear it over the pounding of your heart(when have you ever even been nonchalant though). He only nods in response, but not like any normal person would nod while having conversation. Like some sort of psycho who was playing with their food. He was already approaching as he nodded to your satchel.
“So what's in the bag, then.”
He inquires, except it definitely felt rhetorical to you, considering the way he was walking over. Not like someone who planned to stop a respectable distance. You almost thought he was planning on walking straight through you, that's how little he seemed to acknowledge your presence, despite having a whole conversation.
“Nothin’ why-“
You mumble, backing away, one hand immediately finding its way to cover the flap of the bag.
“Mm, ‘nothin’. You know what really pisses me off about you slum strays? It’s the real lack of honest-to-god manners. Didn’t yer mama tell ya to be nice to cops? Really, we dont ask much. Answer the questions, cooperate, for the love of god, stop pissin’ on our vehicles-”
You could resist cracking the tiniest smile at the memories that brought up, before quickly sobering at the situation at hand.
“-and yet, you little druggie rats can’t even handle that. It’s real unfortunate, you know? The filth.”
He scuffs the toe of his thick boot into the concrete, kicking up dirt and making a face of distaste as he glanced down at it. You still backed away as he kept pushing forward. Everything felt suffocating, all of the sudden. Like you forgot how to breathe. You saw his thumb flick idly over his gun holster. Jesus fuck. Had you imagined this a million times? Sure. But things truly were different now. This wasn’t just a cop being an ass, this was way, way worse. You were completely alone. The dead silence of the streets that you knew to teem with life buzzed loudly in your ears, the way the hum of electronics feels completely deafening in the isolation of night. And also, genuinely being face to face with possibly getting your guts blown out is a little different than imagining it.
“And ya know, we really are so kind to you guys. We just want to help. What you need is us. And you know what? I know the perfect little place for a kid like you where they’ll fix ya up real classy like. Really, all ya gotta do is put down whatever the hell it is ya stole, and come with me. Huh? That sound nice?”
You feel panic rising in your gut as you swallow dryly. He’s gonna take you to an institution, that fucker.
“I didn’t steal anything. And my manners are just fine when I want ‘em to be, thanks.”
You growl, eyes darting around to where you could run. But your legs felt tingly and weak with fear. And what was the point of running? He could blast your goddamn brains into the sidewalk if he wanted right now and justify it later, saying you were crazy or something. You fight to take measured breaths, what with your throat closing up and all.
“Ah, when you want ‘em to be, huh? What if I gave you an incentive, then. Then you’d play nice?”
You were barely listening anymore, though you didn’t miss the threat in his phrasing. Your eyes fell on an alley only a few steps from you. There were two dumpsters by the back of the dingy place, and a chain link fence. If you could climb that and get over, you just might be able to lose him long enough to hide. But barely a split second after you made the first move to slip into the alley, you heard a soft metallic clinking that made your heart drop.
”Ah-ah,”
He tutted patronizingly, his nails tapping against the gun, creating the clinking noise. He only gave you a look and you knew exactly what he wanted from you without him having to speak. But this felt so… wrong. Where was the fight? The brawl? You were supposed to be tough, you weren’t supposed to give in unless they physically forced you to. Except, they did. He could shoot you dead for fun if he wanted. He didn't even need to take his gun out, because he had the power. Not you. It was the first time you truly saw that, and the reality of it hit you like a truck. Try as you might to create a life out here with all your defiance and spite and ego, you’d always just be a Battery City rat. And you’d always answer to the wishes of BL/ind.
The rest passed you by in a fuzzy blur. You’d never felt so useless in your life. Just… walking over. Like a dog having been beckoned. You gave one more futile attempt at defiance when he asked for your wrists, but he only chuckled, slamming the toe of his boot sharply into the back of your knee. Your kneecaps slammed into the pavement and he kept his weight on that joint as he cuffed your hands behind your back.
BL/ind’s radio station played as he drove. Some bubblegum bitch was raving on about a new season of some reality TV show. Every now and then the cop would snicker at something on the radio, muttering how he loved that show or commenting to himself on his opinion on a new song that played. Anger and helplessness vied for your attention, each violently clawing at the back of your mind when the other was the focus. Useless kid. One damn cop and a few words was all it took, and now you’re on your way to an institution where they’ll do god knows what. BL/ind facilities were the stuff of goddamned nightmares. Experiments, torture, abuse, stupid fucking pills. The whole goddamn shebang. And you let it happen. You’ll always be a pushover, anyway.
Your mind drifts to Party Poison. They probably didn’t go out like this… they probably fought and clawed. Even if the other guy had a gun and they didn’t. The man's voice snaps you from your thoughts as the car pulls up to a large, unnaturally white building and you quickly blink hot tears away.
“You lucky dog, you, this is where yer little psycho leader is. Did ya know that? Whaddya call him, anyway. The pretend name,- Poison-something? This is that little freak’s facility too.”
His words make you grit your teeth. He’s probably lying anyway, but to hear him use Poison against you seriously hurts your pride. Or what was left of it, at least.
“Party Poison. And he's not a goddamn psycho, he's a hero, and he-“
You’re cut off when your door opens and you’re yanked from the car and thrown to the ground. You grunt when you slam into the asphalt, the wind knocked out of you. You roll over, unable to get up from your hands being cuffed and your knees being badly bruised up from getting dead-kneed earlier. The cop shares a few words and a laugh with the guard before. Before getting back in his car.
There’s two guards standing above you and they peer down. You don't remember what they say to one another, because you receive a sharp kick right to the temple from one, who then laughs crudely. You hear one of them say something about “should’ve scrambled 'im up enough” before they tug you up and drag you into the building. Between your head being completely full of white static after everything and every hall being the same stark white, you could swear they were just dragging you around in circles. You had no idea where you were in relation to the entrance, or goddamn anything at all. You were shoved to the ground in a new room (at this point the shoving thing was getting old) where your clothes were cut off and they sprayed you down. They were definitely more invasive than they needed to be, but they gave you a new uniform soon enough.
Every time you lagged a bit to follow instructions you received another sharp kick, or a slap- one of the socked you in the eye for a spluttered attempt at cursing them out.
The uniform was just white, with a number and the Better Living logo on the left side of the chest. By the time you were forced into a cell, the wind was knocked out of you yet again and your knees buckled at the force of their rough handling. Your ribs are all bruised up, as are your knees, and you feel a nasty black eye starting to form on your face, among other things. After a moment of just laying there, you groan, pushing yourself off the ground. Everything spins for a bit as you slowly get back onto your feet and look around.
The cell is tiny- two beds, a window that’s barely a foot in both length and width, and- holy fuckin shit theres a person in here-!?
You jolt back slightly when you notice him. The boy looked not much older than you. He was wearing a straitjacket, slumped on one of the tiny cots, and his feet were strapped together at the ankles, he couldn’t move at all. His nose was pointy and upturned, and his hazel eyes were narrow as he looked you up and down. He definitely seemed like he was judging you. And you were more than a little embarrassed, considering your pathetic entrance.
“What the hell are you, my new roommate?”
He asked pointedly after squinting at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. His voice was slightly high and nasally.
“…I don't- yeah, I guess. I don't know. “
“You don’t know? You some kinda idiot? Are ya here, or not?”
“…I guess I’m here, but-“
“Then you’re the roommate. The hell was so hard about that.”
You open and close your mouth a few times, unsure if you should mention that if he put the pieces together himself then there was no point in asking you in the first place. In the end, the raging headache you were feeling won and you decided you didn't feel like saying anything at all. You sit on the other cot, the firm sorry excuse for a bed seeming to let out an unceremonious sigh under your weight.
You had begun to just sorta stare off, looking at a speck of dirt on the floor as your dull mind vaguely contemplated your sorry state, when you glanced up and did a double take. Wait a goddamn minute, you know that face-
“Party Poison-?”
The name escapes your lips before you can even think about it. You hadn’t recognized at first, with his flaming red hair that used to adorn wanted posters throughout the city buzzed off. But this image, of the straitjacket and the short hair, this now covered every free surface of the city now that he’d been captured and BL/ind was bragging about it endlessly.
A flicker of something passes his face at the use of his name. His lips quirk imperceptibly and he looks almost pleased at being recognized in a place like this.
“Don’t wear it out, now.”
Came the response as he leaned back and eyed you. You simply gaped, your mind racing and coming up with nothing to say at all.
“C’mere.”
It takes a second for the command to register but you nod and get up, slightly bewildered at the request. He seems pleased with that too, and almost smiles again, nodding to himself. You stand dumbly, having no idea what was going on.
“Are you lost? I wanted to look at you in better light. You have nice hair, they haven’t taken it yet.”
“Oh- oh, right, yeah-”
You shuffle back so the little light from the tiny window hits your face, and comb your hair back so he can get a good look. He hums and nods again to himself.
“Mm. Handsome,”
He observed offhandedly.
“What?”
Came your response. Maybe you got a concussion earlier cause this was entirely too much to take in at once, and you were processing at an extraordinarily slow pace.
His pixie nose scrunched up at your response and he let out this sort of obnoxious, gremlin-like laugh. His little teeth were revealed as he let out little snorts between his yipping giggles, apparently finding your disorientation entertaining.
“You always this clueless, sugar? Or did they just hit ya real hard?”
He had a shit-eating sort of smirk on his face as he spoke, his expression still alight with amusement. Oddly enough, you didn't mind being the subject of his laughter, as obnoxious as it was in combination with his commentary.
“Bit of both, I guess.”
You admit with a mumble, shrugging. But you also have a tiny smile on your face as you sit back down in your cot.
He just nods, seeming satisfied with whatever observations he took of you during his thorough visual analysis and dry remarks.
“Well, try to sleep it off. I don’t want another idiot in here.”
You thought that was a fair enough request.