Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the thirty years since the first pig bombs dropped, humans have progressed more technologically than ever before! In an exclusive interview, the Director of Better Living Industries and Battery Station’s most eligible bachelor tells ALL. He spills everything, from the secret blessing of the Analog Wars to his turn ons and turn offs, you won’t want to miss this!

"Yeah, yeah. Is the Director gonna do anything to get me some decent fucking service in the Zones? Waiter!”

Gerard rolled his eyes and tucked the pen behind his ear. He took a moment to compose himself. Count one, two and all the other calming bullshit Mikey tried to teach him. Center himself. Ha, center himself. He could center himself with a frying pan in his hands swinging toward-

“I’ll be with you in a minute, hun.” He said, craning his head to address the dickhead at table 9.

“No, yeah, whenever it’s convenient for you. I’ll make myself at home here.” The man said with a shit eating grin. He leaned back in his chair and put his dirty boots up on the table. Ugh, Gerard would have to scrub the plastic laminate for the second time that shift.

Gerard turned back to the party he was currently serving. “So you’ve got two double patty vegan burgers, two cauliflower and mash platters one with no gravy, one stack of pancakes, one plate of waffles with extra syrup, three cobb salads, four cokes, two sparkling waters, an iced tea, and a strawberry swirl shake. Did I miss anything?”

“Did you get the no lemon request for my platter?.” Ugh, Moon dwellers. It’s like the sea of tranquility drained the personality from them.

“Lucky for you we don’t put lemon in the cauliflower platter.” Gerard shook his head at the stupid request. “I’ll put these into the kitchen.”

This was never his dream. He suspected working check to check at a failing diner and counting his Carbons was nobody’s dream, but it was especially not his. 

To be completely fair, dreams were worth as much as grains of sand in the Zones. There were a hell of a lot of them and they all blended together after a while. Gerard suspected it was much like stars in the sky to the people living in the space colonies. 

Gerard and his brother Mikey used to lay on their roof as kids and point up at them, trying to guess which was which. They talked about them like they’d be among them one day, living in the cities in the sky. Mikey always knew the names and the constellations. Gerard never did. A Betelguese or an Alpha Centauri - it was all the same to him. Another drop in the bucket. Another grain of sand. Another dream in some Zone kid’s head. 

“Y’all got beef patties back yet?” The man with his feet planted on the table and his last nerve called out as Gerard passed.

“I said I’d be with you in a minute.” Gerard replied angrily.

The man took off his dirty, dollar store knock off Ray Bans, which revealed, unsurprisingly, more dirt. “It’s been about a minute. Besides, it’s a simple question.” The frying pan got more and more tempting with every aggravating word he spoke.

Gerard took a deep breath in before answering. He needed this job. Don’t forget, Gerard. You need this job. “No. The cattle shortage affects small town diners in the Zones, too. I can promise you the plant ones taste just the same.”

The guy shrugged. “Eh, I’ll just have a coffee.”

“Sure thing.” Gerard didn’t even pretend to write it down.

Outside the tiny restaurant, the sun began to rise over the horizon. And with it, another work day gone. Gerard just had to get these final assholes out of his diner and then he’d be done for the day. 

He let himself stare out of the window for a second more before sending the tickets back to the cook droid. For all the shit the desert gave its inhabitants, it sure looked beautiful bathed in the iridescent colors of the sunrise. They never got this on the satellites or the Moon, with their artificial sleep-wake cycles. Sure, the days down on the mainland were hot - too hot to go out during the daytime without getting heat stroke or a nasty sunburn. But, they did have this. At least Gerard had this.

He’d give it a few more minutes before putting the sun shutters down. It hardly ever got too hot this early anyway.

With the rise of the sun, the stream of customers abruptly ended. The guys from the Moon and the asshole at table 9 were still there. He suspected that the group had no problem leaving midday, they probably had one of the fancy new cars BLI had just put out that block out sun rays in the cabin and had those self cooling engines. And the asshole, well he was a dick. At best, he was another wavehead that would try to sneak out the backdoor without paying when he thought Gerard wasn’t watching. And at worst, he could burn out in the heat when Gerard finally kicked him out. He didn’t really care which.

Gerard brought him his coffee - half decaf. It was Gerard’s favorite thing to do to people who annoyed him. The customers could always tell when they got decaf. But with half, they would feel the caffeine, but not enough, and they’d leave still tired. Unfortunately, Gerard’s meager existence meant it was the most fun he’d have that day. He’d go home to Mikey and bitch about the customers and the pay and Mikey would nod and stare off into the distance and pretend like he was even a little excited to sell his life away to the military instead of dealing with all that.

The guy didn’t complain. He just sat and drank his tainted coffee, long brown hair falling over his face. He closed his eyes, looking like he was savoring it, as if it might have been his first warm food that day. He caught Gerard staring, which was awkward since they’d been trading sarcasm and stink eyes the whole time. Gerard turned away quickly, pretending he hadn’t been considering the softness of his bottom lip.

The Moon crew got their food, with only one complaint even. After that, Gerard was prepared to wipe off some tables and wait for the shift to end. He started his closing duties, shuttering each window and hearing the metal latch click closed, keeping the worst of the heat out.

He got to the final window and took one last look out. The sun was getting higher in the sky and the brightness was starting to burn his eyes. But still, it would be the last view of anything besides the inside of the diner or his car that he’d gotten for hours.

Most days, he would speed home as fast as he could after his shift, lest his old car overheat and leave him stranded in the midday sun, never looking at much of anything around him. He’d go home, see his brother, bathe, get some rest, then lather, rinse, repeat all over again the next day.

He didn’t get to see much or do much. But he did like to daydream.

On that day, Gerard dreamed of excitement. He dreamt of seeing a ship fall from the sky and crash on the ground. It felt so real, like the ground actually shook with it. He imagined a man running out of the cloud of dust. He had a leather jacket like an old school biker and this wild, majestic mane of hair. Gerard imagined him laughing at the dramatic scene, running toward the diner, looking back every once in a while to see the aftermath of his antics once again. He imagined the man knocking on the backdoor, like he needed Gerard to save him. He imagined the knocks kept coming. The knocks kept coming.

It snapped Gerard out of his head. It was no daydream, no hallucination. There was a burning ship outside and a man, a criminal, knocking at the backdoor of his diner. Gerard frantically went to shut the final shutter and pretend he didn’t see any of that. But he did, and he heard the knocking continue. Fuck. 

“Excuse me!” Gerard heard from the front of house. It was one of the Moon guys. Fuck times a million.

“Just a sec!” He called back, slowly backing away from the locked exit. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. It was a lazy end of shift. It was supposed to be easy now.

Gerard straightened his apron and yellow frock uniform, as if he had been the one dashing through the sand. He could feel his hands shaking as he did so.

“Anything I can do for you all?” He asked, managing to keep his voice from cracking.

“What was that loud noise?” One man asked. “And the shaking? Is that what an earthquake is?” Came from another, looking around him like he was in a museum.

“Yes, exactly.” Gerard assured them. “Just another ordinary earthquake. Happens all the time on the planet. Some of the abandoned buildings around here are so old, a simple shake will send a roof crumbling. That was the sound you heard, nothing to be worried about.” The men nodded amongst themselves, but didn’t look completely convinced. “It’s getting warmer, let me get you refills on those iced drinks, just a moment.”

Gerard rushed away from the table and back to the kitchen area. The knocks were getting quieter. Gerard couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not.

His hand hovered over the door latch, unsure of whether or not his fingers would reach out and turn the lock. Selfishly, he wanted to. Not even because it would be a good thing to do, to help another person. But because he thought it would be interesting. It would be such a break from the monotony, getting to meet a real life criminal. God, he sounded like those creeps who mailed dirty panties to the BLI Dracs and Exterminators. Still, he was so curious. And maybe if he managed to turn the guy in, he could get a hefty reward. He didn’t add much to his Battery Station fund nowadays.

Before he got the chance to make a decision, though, a voice spoke from behind him, making him jump.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

If he hadn’t been freaked out just then, his skin might have crawled from the pure assholery radiating from the voice. It was the annoying customer from earlier, here to ruin everything presumably.

“What the fuck are you doing back here? It’s employees only!” Gerard whisper-shouted pointing at the sign the man had clearly ignored.

“So? There was an explosion outside and now someone is knocking at the door and you were gonna let them in.” He said as if that were something ridiculous, which, now that he said it out loud, did sound a bit mad.

“How did you know that?” Gerard asked. His eyes drew down to the man’s faded shirt underneath his army green jacket. Supa Stinga Demolition. They were the company that was stripping the old, nearby coal mine for precious metals. That explained the dirt and also the concern.

“Doesn’t matter.” The man waved it off. “That wasn’t a detonated explosion and it definitely wasn’t an earthquake. It was almost like a crash.”

“Please.” Came a faint voice from the other side of the door. “I can hear you talking. It’s so hot. I’ll die out here.”

Gerard looked to the door, then to the man, and back again. None of the scene seemed to change. 

“We have to let him in, what if he dies?” Gerard stressed, whispering to the stone faced asshole who decided to come and complicate the decision that much more.

“So what? He’s out there blowing shit up. We don’t need that kind of trouble.” 

“Don’t you blow shit up?” Gerard asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m literally trying to help your ass here!”

Gerard stepped back until his body hit the door and it shook again behind him. His arm reached up and slowly but surely turned the latch on the lock.

“Well I didn’t ask for your help!”

And when he stepped forward, the door swung open to reveal the guy from Gerard’s hallucinations. But, this time he was definitely not in his head, he was stumbling into his diner about to brain himself on the industrial dishwasher.

“Are you okay?” Asked Gerard incredibly stupidly. As if it wasn’t obvious.

The man rested his forehead against the metal door of the walk-in. His face was splotchy and red and he wasn’t sweating. Gerard knew immediately what that meant. “Shh. God, my head is fucking spinning.”

Gerard was quick to move about the prep area of the kitchen, wetting a towel with some cold water and pouring some into a deli container for good measure. He brought it over to the man who took it without hesitation.

“Blowing shit up will do that to you.” The demolition asshole said to him.

“I didn’t blow anything up.” The heatstricken man explained, pouring some of the deli container water over himself. “It just caught on fire. In a spectacular fashion.”

“What did?” Gerard asked.

The man’s curls dripped precious water onto the floor as the man’s eyes flickered back and forth between him and the angry customer. He must’ve judged them to be worthy of explaining, or maybe he was just desperate, because he gave up the answer pretty quickly.

“Spaceship.”

The asshole cut in before he had the chance to process it. “You crashed a fucking ship?”

“Keep it down.” Gerard said, shushing them. “Who’s?”

The stranger shrugged. “Not sure, I found it.”

Gerard shuffled over to the delivery window and looked out. The food processing droid was almost done with the other patrons’ meals. He didn’t have much time.

“You found it?” He asked, quickly filling glasses with ice as if nothing nefarious and potentially illegal was going on around him. Tea, coke, sparkling water, shake, what else did they ask for? He found some lemonade that was on the not so disgusting side and poured a glass of that just in case.

“It was unlocked.” The man admitted.

“So you tried to fly it?” Demo guy still sounded surprised, but Gerard was grateful he was at least minding his volume this time. 

The two guys started to argue. Gerard prepared a serving tray.

“I thought it would be simpler, like riding a bike.” 

“That only works if you know how to ride a bike in the first place.” 

“And I flew a spaceship once! In a movie. It was mostly special effects.”

A movie? Gerard teetered the tray on a counter beside him, only letting go when he was sure it wouldn’t fall. A movie. 

For the first time, Gerard really looked at the intruder head on. Then it all clicked. He knew that face. Mikey and him used to watch the guy’s movies all the time. It was always action, motorcycles, lasers. He hadn’t seen any ads for the guy’s films in a while. Gerard might’ve wondered what happened to him if he didn’t spend every moment waiting for the other shoe to drop directly on his life and future plans.

“You’re Ray Toro. You were in Fly Hard before you even graduated high school.”

And then Ray Toro, action movie superstar tilted his head toward Gerard and gleamed his million-Carbon smile at him. It was still dazzling, but in this nothing, nowhere diner, it seemed a bit out of place. The guy was rich, surely. What series of misfortunes could’ve landed him here? Didn’t matter, he guessed. He ended up in the same, dusty backroom as the rest of them.

“Are they looking for you?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“Fuck.” Gerard propped the tray on his hip. “I should’ve never taken this shift. I hardly ever work past sunrise.” he turned to walk away then looked back and added, “Please behave.”

Gerard could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He was glad he had put his hair up in a ponytail before the shift began. The glasses audibly rattled as he walked. God, why couldn’t he just keep it cool. It wasn’t like anyone knew the guy was here. He just had to finish this shift, then it would all be over. Just one more shift.

It’s what he had to tell himself all the time. One more shift. One more month. One more paycheck. One more lottery ticket. He’d get his ticket to the satellites soon, he knew it. Hold on a little longer. Push through the year - and disappear as if he had never been there in the first place.

“Hey gentlemen, sorry about the wait.” Gerard greeted them. “Here are some refills. Food should be out in just a second.”

He was handing out the drinks when an alarm on one of the men’s cells started ringing. He couldn’t help it. He jumped and spilled a bit of soda over the table.

“Shit, sorry, let me get a towel.”

A hand landed on his arm and his breath caught. He followed it up to someone’s face.

“Are you alright there? Your face has gone white as Moondust.” The man asked.

Gerard opened his mouth, hoping some form of apology or explanation would magically find its way out, but he didn’t have to flail for long, because one of the other men at the table spoke up.

“What the fuck! It’s the ship’s security system.” No. Please no. “It’s gone. The ship is gone.”

His phone displayed a map of the surrounding area, with a line indicating the path of travel. The line ended about a mile out, a red dot blinking in the space where the ship should be, but wasn’t. 

“You know what?” Gerard said. “You guys seem like you’re in a bit of a pickle. I’ll help you out. Don’t worry about the bill. Go find that ship of yours!” Gerard insisted, chills running down his spine.

They, of course, don’t take the bait.

“That’s very kind of you, but you’ll have to put up with our company a little longer. The Dracs should be here any moment.”

It was then Gerard finally noticed the logo on the man’s phone. And on another guy’s shirt pocket. And on another guy’s wallet. BLI. 

They all worked for the Zones’ least favorite tech oligarchs. As much as the government pretended to control the planet, they lended all the real decision-making and enforcement to these guys. Not only did they control everything everyone saw, consumed, and bought, they also demanded everyone kiss their ass for it. People tolerated them, lest BLI call the Draculoids, their extrajudicial privatized police force, on your sorry ass. Everyone hated the patrol cops and everyone really hated the fucking military, but anyone would rather spend the night in a piss soaked jail cell then with whatever one of these guys could come up with. 

And stealing some rich higher-up’s ship and crashing it into a deserted parking lot on the mainland? Yeah, that was asking for the worst of it.

“You can’t bring Dracs here.” Gerard blurts out.

The tallest man, the one with the logo on his phone and a scowl to match, stared curiously at Gerard. “And why would that be?”

Gerard felt a shiver run through his bones. “Orders from the owner.” Gerard giggled, trying his best to not sound suspicious and failing. “Makes the insurance rates go up like crazy.”

The man lifted one side of his mouth up in a smirk that sat at the pit of Gerard’s stomach. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a money clip. Slowly, he unflurled the wad and counted out ten, twenty, thirty, forty thousand Carbons. “Give your owner my regards.”

Gerard hesitantly took the bills and looked down at them. It wasn’t a huge bribe, forty thousand could probably pay for two months’ worth of gas and a desperately needed upgrade to his house’s cooling system. It was still money though, and given to him as if it were pocket change, he didn’t try to think too hard about it as he slipped them into his apron. 

There was an itching at the back of his mind, though. He thought of movie star Ray Toro and the man covered in dirt arguing in his kitchen. He hadn’t even thought to ask for his name. Was he going to sell them out for Carbons? What were those slips of BLI issued paper really worth?

“And there’s no way you can call the Dracs off?” He insisted, giving it one more try.

The man, who had turned to converse with his associates, snapped around. “What makes you think I would care about the whims of some poor, Zoner waiter? I could get the Director’s office on the line in two ticks and have this crappy diner wiped off the map. Shut up and cooperate with the authorities when they get here, if you know what’s good for you.”

The Director. The first trillionaire in history. The head of BLI. He was a self made man, a genius. He developed tech that revolutionized the post-war landscape and united humanity. Where would the human race be without the space colonies? Many people worshipped him, others wanted to be him, Gerard just needed him. He needed to get to the Satellites. A bad word on him could lead to his application being blacklisted. Not now, not with how close he was.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

The doors burst open and men in masks poured in. It was easier to be above the law if no one could see your actual face. BLI had the Dracs doing horrific things. Anonymity made it easier to become that monster.

“Finally!” One of the men exclaimed. “Took you long enough.”

“Have you found the ship?” Another asked,

A Drac approached them robotically, “We did. I’m sorry sir, it’s a total loss.” He pulled a pad out and showed them an image. It was met with gasps. Gerard could only guess what it looked like. “BLI has a replacement incoming. We expect it to arrive at the location in 10 minutes.”

“And the suspect? Have they been neutralized?” It was the man who threatened Gerard speaking. He sounded assured, confident. It certainly wasn’t his first time having this conversation. He was speaking about death so casually.

“We’re still looking for suspects. Can’t have gone far.” The Drac turned to him. “Do you work here?” Gerard nodded. “Have you seen anyone suspicious pass through in the past hour?”

He felt lightheaded. Maybe he was going to be the one to pass out and brain himself on a dishwasher. “No. Just some regulars and the guys over there.” He pointed to the BLI crew. 

A Drac looked around. “We’ll need to search the property.”

Gerard squeaked. “Is that really necessary? We don’t get many outsiders, just locals, since we’re off the main route.”

The Drac was unwaveringly still. “Ever the more reason for a criminal to hide here.” The Drac approached him and crowded him against a table. If he leaned forward just a bit more, he'd be able to feel how fast Gerard’s heart was beating. He could probably smell the fear on him. “Is there anything you’re not telling me? It’s not wise to withhold information from us. Better Living Industries is not… kind to those who do.”

He thought of telling them everything, of the demolition guy, of what Ray told him. He thought of silently pointing to the back room so the two back there wouldn’t even know what was coming. He had every reason to. But, he didn’t. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t. Instead, against all logic, he just shook his head and watched the Dracs walk away. Two of them inspected the dining area, but one headed towards the door leading to the kitchen.

“Wait!” Gerard called out. The air was thick and humid and silent for a few seconds. “Can I get any of you a cup of coffee?” His smile couldn’t have read anything other than terrified, but the person headed to the backroom paused and turned around, confused.

During the second in which the Drac decided what explicative to hurl Gerard’s way, multiple things happened.

First, the entire group of BLI employees rolled their eyes, almost in unison. Didn’t they have good customer service on the moon?

Then, Gerard felt his face grow hot like he was going to cry. Pretty pathetic, all things considered.

Finally, the door to the kitchen burst open. A foot came into view, then two bodies. One of them was Ray Toro, the fear of god in his eyes and a paring knife at his neck. Behind him was the customer, paring knife in his hands. He was so short, Gerard could see only the man’s eyes over Ray’s shoulder.

“I’ve got your guy right here officers.” He announced. Ray shook at the allegation.

“No, you’ve got it all wrong.” Ray tried to shake from the grip, to no avail. “It was him. He’s framing me. You’ve gotta believe me.”

There was nothing Gerard could do without dooming one or the other. If he told them it was Ray, he’d be dooming him. It was the truth but he had come to Gerard for help - he couldn’t do that. If he told them it was the other guy, then they’d take him away. That actually didn’t sound too bad since he was a dick. But it would be a lie and a pretty fucked up thing to do. If he did nothing, then, well…

“Shoot them both.” The Drac nearest to him said, pulling his blaster from his belt.

Gerard, for one second of existence, stopped thinking. He didn’t give himself time to overthink his decision. He just blurted out the first thing that came to his head. 

“Isn’t that Ray Toro from Fly Hard?” All eyes turned to him, including the Drac next to him. Their attentions all wavered for a moment and in that moment, Gerard did the most stupid thing he’d ever done.

He elbowed the Drac in the abdomen, right in the solar plexus, like he’d seen in a movie once. The Drac groaned and keeled over. It was almost too easy to grab the blaster from the unsuspecting hand. He flipped it into his grip and spun around. Everyone was all too surprised, not expecting to see the scared little diner employee become a threat. They all looked so dumb as they reevaluated their options.

Gerard took advantage of this, he aimed a shot at another Drac’s chest, but missed, and caught him in the arm. Then, the shots started coming his way. He pushed over a metal table and hid behind it. Without looking, he pointed the gun their way and fired off some more blasts. Most hit nothing, but one hit a window and shattered it. 

There were heavy stomps of someone approaching and he swerved the table to the direction they were coming. Gerard sent a few shots out and got him in the calf. He fell and his blaster with him. He looked behind him. No one in the doorway now. The two guys who started all this must have hid in the back room. Gerard kicked the blaster in the direction of the doorway, praying that hadn’t abandoned him. 

It was a few seconds of Gerard and the final Drac exchanging fire before Gerard saw a hand reach out grab it. Two on his side. Better than one. 

For a while, it was just a series of ducking, aiming, and shooting. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Survive. All he had the mental capacity to consider was survival and what it would take to achieve that.

Then, “All available units! Attention, all available units!” There was the crackle of radio waves. “I’m sending out a GPS signal. We have three enemy combatants cornered in a diner. We are being fired at. Respond immediately!”

Shit. He could maybe handle this group if he was lucky, but multiple units of Dracs and Exterminators? He was a goner for sure. Mikey’d have to pick pieces of him up from the floor. No. That wouldn’t happen.

Gerard looked back and saw it. The few times the health inspectors came to his little diner, they always dinged them on it. "Improper storage of materials". It was such a bitch to deal with, the grease waste. They were supposed to take it to a dump and empty it every week, but no one ever wanted to. If Gerard had to guess, there was a month’s worth of leftover food grease in that bin. They’d made the big improvement of moving it away from the stove and ovens, but it ended up next to the gas pipe, which was probably equally as damning to safety codes. 

Good thing safety codes were exactly what he was looking to break.

“Get inside the walk-in!” He shouted in the direction of the kitchen. He hoped they heard him, because the moment the Drac turned, he booked it to the back room. 

Shots flew past his head. When Gerard turned, he saw the negative of a bright light bloom against his vision. One of the moon dwelling assholes has taken a picture of him. It doesn’t matter, if his plan worked, there wouldn’t be a camera to recover. He didn’t bother to shut the door behind him.

Both men were waiting with the freezer door open. It could probably barely fit them, but it was going to have to. As he ran, he angled the blaster towards the grease fire waiting to happen. With luck, the health inspectors’ warnings would be realized. 

He saw the tiniest flame rise up before crashing into a body and hearing the door slam shut.

Gerard counted ten breaths before hearing the woosh of flames engulfing the diner he hated. Only five breaths more before the explosion. The walk-in freezer shook, food falling from the shelves and knocking against the three huddled inside. Still, it didn’t breach. They were safe. They survived.

“What now?” He heard. It was Ray.

“You let me catch my breath a bit. Then maybe even say thank you.” Gerard said. “Then, we see if my car is still intact outside.”

“Thank you? What about thanking me? I was the one making up for your sorry aim.” That was the little one.

Gerard growled. “I only had to use my shitty aim because you started this shootout in the first place. So, yeah, thank you, asshole.”

“It’s Frank, actually.” He could hear the smarmy tone in Frank’s voice and wanted to smack it out of him.

“Hey, Frank?”

“Yeah?” 

Gerard held his hand on the freezer’s door handle, ready to swing it open. 

“Shut the fuck up and run.”

*

The lapels on his jacket weren’t even. Mikey had spent the better part of the last hour ironing his uniform, making sure the pleats would be straight and crisp. He didn’t see why it mattered so much, he’s sure the plasma guns fired the same whether or not he was following the Air Force mandated dress code. But they stressed the importance of appearance. Like he could find victory in the fabric’s threads.

He still had another week before he’d have to put it on, anyway.

Another week then another war. And then if he survived that, then probably some resource guarding in Greenland. A cycle of war and conflict and training until… something. He knew he’d probably die, all the Zone kids were expendable to them, but it was worth a shot. Because if he survived long enough, then he would be rewarded a place among the stars. At least, that’s what the recruiter had told him. That once he’d served his time, they’d grant him and his brother a cabin in Battery Station. Probably not the finest, but it would be a start and it would get him off the ground. It’s more than he was offered anywhere else.

Mikey sighed and tugged at the lapels one more time. At least they taught him how to fly.

He paused, his hand hovering over the fabric.

The first tip that something was off was the sound of the garage hatch alarm going off. His brother Gerard wasn’t off his shift for another hour. He was never home this early. Mikey’s hand drifted down to his hip. He ghosted the holster strapped to his right, not pulling it out, just letting his finger hover over it, ready to flip the switch and pull the trigger if needed.

He counted in his head, breathing along with it, just like the captains taught him. You wait, 1, 2. Listen, 3, 4. Analyze, 5, 6. Nothing. No more noise. 

Probably just some wavehead trying to break in through the garage again. Mikey breathed out and let his hand fall from his hip. It was nothing.

He went into the kitchen for a water, clicking on the TV for the morning news. It droned on in the background.

He was tired, stressing about his departure, probably just imagining things. He needed to get some rest. He needed to accept the career path he chose. He needed one of those fucking BLI chill pills. They were probably the mind control devices all the conspiracy theorists said they were, but maybe that was exactly what he needed. Like a fucking ice pick to the eye. No, it was going to be fine. He was going to fly jets for a few years and maybe he’d lose an arm or an eye, but-

The door from the garage burst open and like a reflex, he pulled his ray gun from the holster and switched the plasma core on.

The gentle thrum of it vibrated through his hands, up his arm, and into his chest. Draw your power from it, they told him. He tried, but he couldn’t pretend the shake in his grip wasn’t from fear. What kind of soldier would he be?

Out from the door didn’t pop a wavehead, or an enemy combatant, it wasn’t even a BLI Scarecrow exterminator. It was his fucking brother, wild look in his eyes, still in his dirty yellow diner uniform. 

“Mikey what the fuck, it’s just me!” Gerard shouted, staring down the barrel of Mikey’s gun, which he for some reason still hadn’t shut off.

“Shit, sorry.” Mikey apologized, finally clicking the damn thing off. “What are you doing back? It’s barely 8.” He said, exasperated.

“Well, that’s kind of a touchy subject.” Gerard said, approaching him, but still visibly on edge.

Mikey sat down at one of the bar stools and fell into his hands on the counter. “Genuinely, what the fuck does that mean, Gee?”

Gerard didn’t answer his question. “What are you watching? Turn that off.” He said, racing forward to try and turn the TV off using the touchpad, clearly failing.

“It’s just the news. I’m not even watching it.”

Gerard gave up on the pad and instead flailed his body out in front of the screen, looking absolutely ridiculous. 

“What could possibly be on the news that is so bad?”

Mikey didn’t know why he asked. Because, there, right beside his brother’s panicked real-life face, was his brother’s panicked digital face. Except that face reflected in the TV’s light was on the news. On a wanted poster on the news, to be specific, with a big red X overlayed the top. His brother was a wanted criminal. And he was also in his kitchen, looking like a wanted criminal. 

His attention was pulled to the headline, flashing with an update. Party Poisoned! it read, Criminals attack BLI execs at Zone 6 diner. 

“What have you done, Gee?” It was then Mikey noticed the two people hidden behind Gerard in the wanted poster. Criminals, it said. 

“Look,” Gerard said, arms out like he was trying to keep Mikey at a distance, “don’t freak out.”

This coincided with the sound of boots behind Mikey, which led to Mikey freaking out in the manner of flipping on his ray gun and aiming to kill in one swift movement.

Hands raised high, were the two men he saw next to Gerard on the poster, also in his kitchen. One looked like he’d just come down from a drug high, hair wild, and the corner of his mouth falling from a one sided grin. The other guy, shorter and dirtier, looked more annoyed than anything, like Mikey was the one in his way. His aim switched from one to the other and back again. 

Gerard tiptoed from behind to join them. He didn’t put himself between them and Mikey, but took place beside the two.

“You all have about ten seconds to explain what is going on.” 

In his head, he counted again. 1, 2, wait. 3, 4, listen.

“Uh, I can explain.” The curly haired criminal inhabiting his doorway started. “If I can figure out how to begin.”

Mikey rolled his eyes and turned to Gerard. He watched his brother’s mouth open to say something, then promptly close, as if the words just weren’t there. He let his hands fall back to his sides, but didn’t switch the weapon off. 5, 6, analyze.

“Start talking.”

*

“This is ridiculous.”

Frank pulled the star-spangled handkerchief down until it rested under his chin like a fabric neckbeard. There was less dust underground of 6, which meant he could finally breathe without eviscerating his lungs with sand. Ray didn’t agree.

“What the hell, man?” Ray asked, grabbing the mask and pulling it back up on his face. “We’re in hiding, remember?”

Frank didn’t pull it back down but he did roll his eyes. “We’re literally underground, I’m pretty sure there’s like ten lights in this whole place.”

“Can you two please shut up and hurry?” Mikey said, pretty far down the tunnel in front of them with Gerard. 

He had half a mind to crawl back up the ladders and leave the other three down there. He was barely even in the photos that got published. He probably didn’t even have a warrant out for him like Gerard and Ray definitely did. And besides, even if they were looking for him, it wasn’t like they’d find him. 

No one really knew Frank. He kept to himself mostly. He got up before sunset, took a cool shower, went to work, did his job, came home. Some days if the sun wasn’t too high by the time he got off, he’d stop by the old scrapyard and say hi to the junkyard dogs that hung out there, throw them some scraps or some water if he could. He didn’t talk to many people, didn’t see a point or care to. 

If he was feeling particularly lonely, he’d stop by his favorite bar, Neo Pasadena, have as many ethanol bomb shots as he needed to get drunk and attempt to converse with the regulars. They were all normal people and it never went over well. Frank didn’t know the talking points, the latest tech news or scandal. And they never cared to learn about the intricacies of detonation. He always ended up going home disappointed.

Then he’d go to sleep and do it all again the next day. He had no problem blowing up dead mountains while hungover. The dynamite still worked if you were dizzy. The bombs still blew if you were sad. He never had to make small talk with the boxes of chemicals or the heavy machinery. 

Frank didn’t remember why he had gone to the diner after his shift. He was happy to have a bowl of instant potatoes or even microwave some dinner-in-a-can if he was feeling fancy. He made enough money to where he never had to resort to eating dog food. So why did he take a right instead of a left? Why did he walk into the restaurant and sit down? Coffee was just going to keep him from sleeping and he didn’t even like real meat burgers that much. The few times he had bone fide bovine meat, his stomach rejected it and he spent hours on the toilet.

He didn’t know. But it was pretty fucked up that stupid choice led him to sloshing his good boots through the stagnat tunnel water. 

“Whatever.” He muttered and followed the brothers into the market.

The Tunnel Market was not your Sunday morning farmer’s market. It wasn’t really a shopping mall either. It was like the destitute combination of a flea market and back alley drug deal. They had clothes (most of which were stolen from space tourists), cheap food (that wasn’t that bad so long as you didn’t ask what was inside it), drugs (most of which were BLI standard issue pills mixed with other substances), along with art, trinkets, vintage items, handwritten novels, homeopathic remedies, fortune tellers, and even a tattoo shop. 

When Better Living Industries started building the tunnels years ago, it was promised as a solution to traffic and a more efficient method of travel. Then commercialized space travel was invented and the Analog and Helium Wars came and went and the rich fled to the skies, leaving their tunnels unfinished and unwanted. The people of Zones 6 were all too happy to take control of them.

It was also a very good place to go without being surveilled. Which was the exact kind of environment they needed right then.

“Blue or white?” Gerard said, holding up the two jackets.

Frank sighed. He never liked shopping, even with his parents. It just seemed like a waste of time. And as he was clearly experiencing, it was.

“Who gives a shit?” Frank responded. “Just hurry up and pick one.” 

The rest of the guys ignored him. They had all picked something up so far. Stuff to disguise their identities. Mostly hair dye, sunglasses, masks, and clothing they wouldn’t normally wear. Like a costume but for criminals on the run from the law. Frank was holding an off-color Frankenstein mask he got for a few Carbons. He didn’t get the point of the fanfare. It was fucking BLI, they probably already knew their names, dates of birth, family histories, likes, dislikes, and mild to severe allergies. It was what they did and they were good at it. It was how they sold you stuff and kept you under their hand.

“You’re going with the red hair dye right?” Mikey asked, looking inquisitively at the two garments.

Gerard nodded. “I’m kind of leaning to the white one.” He was holding up a white blazer in front of his torso.

Frank couldn’t think of a worse way to spend their time when they could be strategizing an escape plan.

“Ugh, no.” Mikey replied. “It has, I don’t know how to describe it. Poser energy? Try on the blue one.” 

Gerard tentatively tossed the blazer back in the bin and shrugged on the blue motorcycle jacket. Dead Pegasus. Frank hadn’t heard about them in years, since back when all the oil and gas companies went bankrupt the first time. Dressing like someone was still stuck living two decades ago was certainly a way to disguise yourself.

“It fits.” Gerard mused.

It did. In more ways than one. Frank saw him from behind as he analyzed the garment in the mirror shard. He looked awkward, out of place, like he didn’t fit it rather than it not fitting him. But there was something about the way it hugged him tight, the way it flashed. It was so very different from the hand-me-down waitress uniform he had first been wearing. He didn’t look like a desert rat anymore. He looked like a comic book superhero.

Frank took a moment to watch Gerard’s eyes comb over himself in the leather jacket, like he, too, was wondering the same thing. It was perfect for the guy in the wanted ads, but was that who Gerard wanted to be?

He would never get to decide for himself one way or another. Because then someone was shouting in their direction. “There he is! The ‘party poisoned’ dude!” 

A quick glance in the direction of the voice revealed a small group that gathered to watch, one of them pointing directly at them. The three tall guys in the back growled audibly, which would have been concerning on its own, but then they pulled out three identical Dracula masks and pulled them over their heads. 

“Fuck! Dracs!” The shop owner shouted. “Shut it down!”

“Run.” Whispered Mikey and in tandem, the four of them shot down the tunnel in the other direction.

On their sides, merchants quickly stuffed stolen items and illegal contraband and money into safes, behind shutters and gates, into their pants and shoes. Frank was tiny, shorter than the other boys, so he wasn’t that fast. Mikey was way ahead, his military training showing. Following neck-and-neck were Gerard and Ray, keeping pace. He worked in demolition, it was a profession that didn’t require much endurance. And right then, he was kind of regretting that.

Frank turned back, the Dracs were getting closer. And to be honest, he didn’t quite know where he was running. Down in the tunnels, everything looked the same after a while and the few lights that were up were being shut off to preserve the merchandise. 

It got to the point where he couldn’t see Mikey any more, he was too far up. And then Ray and Gerard were fading from his vision as well. His lungs were burning, like all the oxygen in the world couldn’t have filled them. He considered slowing down, giving up. He was as good as caught. He was going to die there, in dirty tunnels under Zone 6. And no one would even notice, nothing would change in the slightest without him. 

He didn’t fret all that much. He knew better than to believe in a future that wasn’t shit, even for himself. It was better this way. He almost gave himself false hope.

And then a hand reached out and grabbed him, pulling him to the side. He closed his eyes and prepared for a shot of plasma to the head.

He didn’t get one. Instead there was a hand clamping over his mouth and shoving him against a hard concrete wall.

“Don’t say a fucking word.” It was Gerard’s voice, barely a whisper, and maybe for the first time in the few hours they’d known each other, Frank was relieved to hear it. 

He nodded frantically. He sucked in as much air as he could through his nose, trying to be quiet about his asphyxiation but failing. 

To his right, the sounds of boots hitting the ground passed. He opened his eyes, finally beginning to adjust to the dim light and saw the outline of Gerard’s face inches from his. The passageway they were hidden in wasn’t that big and Frank could feel Gerard’s boots pressed up against his. When he took a particularly deep breath he could feel the stiffness of the leather jacket Gerard was wearing push back against his ribcage.

His superhero jacket, Frank remembered. He had just saved Frank. Maybe the jacket was a perfect fit, then.

The noise of the Dracs and even the market goers faded to silence and all they could hear was each other’s breathing. Gerard released his hand from in front of Frank’s mouth and inched out of the hiding spot. Frank stumbled out after him, falling to his knees and gasping loudly for air.

“I didn’t think they’d find us so quickly.” Mikey said. “It’s like they were looking for us.”

“There’s probably a bounty on us, you know. Those were Dracs.”  

They were. And if the allied governments and BLI themselves weren’t aware of Frank’s presence before, they certainly were now. It was over. His life as he knew it, that is.

“Frank.” Gerard said. Frank just looked up at his figure, a mere shadow in the darkness of the tunnel. He probably looked pathetic, spit hanging from his mouth as he dry heaved, still not able to catch his breath. 

He crouched down to be eye level with him. “Frank.” He repeated, more stern this time. 

“What?” Frank croaked out.

“Do you know where to get us guns?” Gerard asked, voice trembling a bit.

He spit one final time onto the ground and nodded. Guns? If that was where they were at, he should probably start taking it all a little more seriously.

“I can do you a lot better than guns.”

*

Ray and Mikey had already gone to sleep. It had been a long day and they were all beat. Why be awake if you didn’t have to, especially with the sun rising again.

They four of them were hiding out in an old crew dry shack from a mining site Frank had worked with a year or two ago. It was long abandoned, after they’d stripped the ground of anything it had to offer there was no use in sticking around. But BLI wouldn’t look for them there. Or if they did, it wouldn’t be where they stopped first. They’d take as much extra time as they could get.

They had only passed by Mikey and Gerard’s old house, not stepping inside. It was clear to them that it had already been broken & entered, though. Probably bugged, too. So, they sucked in their breaths and kept driving. 

Guns. Frank told them there were probably quite a few plasma cores and maybe even some metal cases that were left there, too. BLI had an abundance of everything, so there wasn’t a need to keep track. Most people didn’t hang around abandoned strip mines. They were dangerous holes in the Earth and not worth the trouble. 

It was just as Frank suspected. There were only three cases, but that was fine, because Mikey had his own, standard military issue and everything. One of the cases was a little banged up, but it shot fine, if a little off straight. Frank took that one. He was hoping he’d never have to fire it anyway.

Mikey was napping on the old comm chair, where the dispatch person had sat. The chair was worn and wobbly, but if the snoring was any judge of comfort level, it was just fine to Mikey. His newly bleached hair was still drying and the dampness had it sticking to his face.

Ray was underneath the lunch table, using old safety vests and demo blueprints as a blanket and pillows. Not the luxury cabins he was used to, but good enough for the night.

Gerard was still in the single stall restroom, finishing up with his own hair dye. Frank had gotten bored of pacing the halls he once knew. They were always filled with workers and engineers staring at rock specimens while debating whether the area was well and truly void of worth. BLI didn’t care. Time was money, so if it was too much work, it was time to say goodbye. Don’t bother cleaning up or gathering your things. It was easier to abandon in place.

Now, it was liminal and creepy. Like a horror game, which all of it was at this point. With how tired he was, it was almost like a dream. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and everything would be normal again. In a weird way, the thought of it was almost disappointing, but perhaps that was a good thing.

Frank didn’t knock before pushing open the bathroom door. Gerard was standing over the sink, hair soaked, red water dripping into the basin below. Not the first choice for a person to talk to, but any port in a storm. It wasn’t like he was still flashing back to hiding from the Dracs, Gerard’s hand pressing against his mouth, only a breath away from him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t look at his loose, black, raggedy, tee without thinking about how it felt against his chest. He just needed another person in his presence. An awake one. That was all. 

Besides, he hated the guy for getting them into this situation in the first place. But if he was going to interrupt Gerard’s transformation session, he was at least going to hand him a towel to dry his hair off.

“Thanks.” Gerard said dubiously, like he couldn’t figure out what Frank was doing there. Surprise, Frank didn’t completely know either.

“Yeah.” Frank responded, not wanting to be too familial. He kind of hated him still. “Do you like it?”

Gerard toweled off the dripping bits, looking at the color in the mirror. It certainly was bright.

“I don’t know. I don’t hate it. But it doesn’t really feel like me.”

Kind of like the jacket, Frank thought. He hadn’t known Gerard for long, so the stark black hair never cemented its place in Frank’s mind. It wasn’t his mind’s eye image of him. When he thought about Gerard, he didn’t think of hair. He thought of the pattern of his breath, the taste his fingers left on his lips.

“I think it looks pretty rad.” He said to break the silence. “Whether you care or not.”

Frank wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at his own boots. But, he could feel the man’s gaze pointing at him through the mirror.

“Thanks.” He said again, more sure this time. “You look the same.”

Frank just shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t turn myself into a strawberry. I just cut the sleeves off my jacket and dyed my hair a little darker.” It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t trying to become a new person overnight.

“That’s what I mean.” Gerard responded. 

Frank had no clue what Gerard meant. He almost never did. “Don’t see the problem.”

Gerard pushed himself up from the sink to face him. Red water dripped down onto the dirty bathroom floor. “Do you want to go?”

“What?” Frank asked, taken aback.

“I appreciate your help, Frank. And thanks for showing us this place. But if you want to go, you can.” Gerard gestured toward the open bathroom door, but he didn’t just mean the bunker’s room. He meant this, whatever mess it was they found themselves in. This group they found themselves in.

Frank just shrugged. “And go where, Gerard? My face was right next to yours on the wanted poster.”

“You found this place. I’m sure you know of others. You’ve made it quite clear you want to be anywhere but with us. It’s fine, I don’t take it personally. We don’t have to be a team or anything.”

Frank was bad at teams. He went from place to place, demolition site to demolition site, all while considering very little about the people and places in his life. It worked well for him. He was good at it. He shouldn’t have expected this merry band of criminals to work.

“You think I want to leave you just because I won’t cut my hair or wear some stupid clothes?”

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want it to .

“I could give a fuck what you wear, Frank. But, you’re obviously still clinging to your old life. So, I don’t know. Go. Make a new life somewhere else. People on the news will forget you soon enough. BLI too, probably.” 

Gerard tossed the stained towel on the ground and pushed past him. Frank didn’t move an inch.

“And you?” He didn’t want to sound desperate. He wasn’t. He wasn’t.

“I don’t think I have a choice about that anymore.” Gerard looked so different, so distant. Maybe the hair and clothes wasn’t just meant to fool those on the outside. 

Another thing about always keeping to himself, he never had to come up with the right thing to say.

“Do you believe in Better Living?” Gerard finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Like what, that they exist?” Frank leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, trying to understand why Gerard was asking, but coming up blank.

“Do you trust them? To control every aspect of your life. Do you believe that they’ll give us the better future they promise?” He sounded sincere. It was sad. Even after being forced into hiding, Frank could tell he was still clutching to that little sliver of hope.

Unfortunately, his own had been taken long ago. Now, he woke up in the morning and went to his job and came back home, not putting too much thought into it. He mined the few minerals still left in the ground and collected his check at the end of the week. 

The good stuff - the expensive metals - got sent up to the satellites and the moon to maintain their standard of living. And the dirt? He’d seen the shit quality of the stuff that BLI put in the goods sold to everyone down on Earth. He’d bought it right back a hundred times over, he guessed.

“I think putting your trust in anything but yourself is shit. No hope in them. But, there’s no hope in putting your trust in anything else either.”

“That’s a depressing way to think.”

“It’s the truth. You all can dress up and and drive around in your little car like runaways, but it’ll catch up to you sooner or later. That's the reality of the Zones.”

Frank had seen it. He’d seen people come and go. He’d seen dreams come and go. It all blurred together in the end. Sure, hope was colorful, but you couldn’t splash a bunch of colors together and call it anything but a mess. You couldn’t smash your hope together and call it anything but a myth. 

Gerard turned to leave, not looking Frank in the eye. “Look, whatever. Stay, leave, I don’t give a shit. But, I don’t want to die out here. My brother and I are going to make it to the satellites. So if you’re with us, you’re with us. But if you’re not, it was nice knowing you.”

*

Fittingly, the four boys’ hope for normalcy ended not with a whimper, but with a bang.

Gerard, fucked by the curse of being a light sleeper, was up before the end of the first boom. He saw the others slowly dragging themselves up from where they laid out of the corner of his eyes. But, he was moving, moving towards the bay of windows on one side of the complex. Once used by managers and supervisors to oversee the demolition site, it was oddly appropriate to watch a mushroom cloud of smoke blossom in the distance.

Then there was another. Then another. The bright cloud of flame seared Gerard’s vision. He could practically feel his pupils straining at the light. But, he couldn’t turn away. 

It was so far from where he was then. Still, maybe it was just in his head, but he could’ve sworn he saw the tall neon sign of the old diner in the distance. And with a blast, it fell like a plant to a boot. 

He lived there. He lived his entire life in those few square miles that were now a pile of rubble and ash. How quickly it all changed. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have blood red hair and a shiny gun under his pillow, he should be there, destroyed.

But, for some strange reason, he wasn’t. He was being forced to watch it all instead.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get down!” It was his brother, pulling him down. He hit the ground half a moment before the glass shattered from the sonic boom.

Shards rained down on them. Books and equipment and dust fell from the shelves, crashing to the floor.

Gerard remembered experiencing it, but not being a part of it. It was something that was happening around him but not necessarily to him. 

There was screaming. Ray saying something about getting the fuck out. Frank was giving directions on where to go. His body rose and his feet moved. He blinked and all that was left of his worldly possessions was in a bag he was clutching tight. 

Then he was in a car and they were driving. He didn’t know where but he supposed none of them did. 

Was he still dreaming? Was all of it one bad dream? 

He’d wake soon enough. His alarm, letting him know he only had an hour left until his shift serving pancakes and coffee at some forgettable diner in some insignificant part of the Zones. He’d snooze it a few times. Then, he’d force himself into that uniform once again and spend his eight hours thinking of satellites in orbit.

No, this was real.

BLI bombed his home. He had assumed they’d put a hunt out on their group, but why spend the effort when the lives there meant nothing to a corporation in the first place. If a Zone kid dies and no one from the skies is around to see it, did they ever exist in the first place? They covered their bases - with a fiery tarp. 

But, they didn’t get them. Against all logic, they didn’t get them. 

If this was the start of something, then it was the perfect tactical advantage. The enemy doesn’t expect a fight from someone who is dead. 

He supposes the Director must be happy with the success of the bombs. At the very least, indifferent. Perhaps it was something that wouldn’t even make tomorrow’s daily BLI briefing. Another town gone. Another drop in the bucket. He would be so disappointed when he found out that the carpet of explosions he ordered didn’t even work.

Gerard watched the sun rise in the distance and pushed the pedal further to the floor of the Trans Am. He was used to being an endless stream of bad news. It usually sucked, but he suspected that this one time, he wouldn’t mind being a killjoy.

*

“Are you fucking serious?” The car sputtered to a halt, the fuel gauge lying about having any gas left in the tank. Gerard had figured 10ish more miles, 12 if they were lucky. The Trans Am figured 10 feet, take it or leave it. 

“Now what?” He heard from the backseat.

Gerard sighed and wiped the tiredness from his eyes. “We get out and push.”

“I’m not pushing this car for miles. I’m not pushing this car for more than 5 minutes.” That was Frank.

The original plan was to head two towns over to a different Zone. That one was home to an old military manufacturing plant. BLI had long since left. The weapons, however, didn’t. They needed blasters and maybe even something bigger, if they wanted to survive.

Didn’t look like that was going to be happening.

It was a long drive through a nigh-uninhabited section of desert. No one was going to find them, no one with good intentions, anyway. Ugh, at least the sun was going down.

“Not to the town dumbass, over under that tree or something. We’re in the middle of the fucking road.” He corrected.

“Fine.” He heard the angry creak of the rusted door being shoved open.

They were all sweaty and even worse smelling by the time they were done. And so, so tired.

“Now what?” Mikey asked again.

Gerard was pretty sick of being the question guy. He searched the bright orange desert skyline for answers. “I don’t know, Mikey. I don’t know.”

Frank got back into the car and crossed his arms like a child having a tantrum. He glared at nothing in particular, maybe nothing at all.

Mikey popped open the trunk, searching for spare gas or food or anything at all that could help him. He drew nothing but blanks.

Ray fumbled with the CommPad he’d grabbed from the ship he’d stolen. In theory, it could call the ship over, if it had survived the crash and then the blast.

Gerard just kept staring into the distance, hoping any sort of miracle would pop out at him. Some saving grace. Even a crumb of something. 

Then something did.

“Woah, guys. What is that?”

He pointed to the valley in the distance, way off to the right of the road. It would be maybe an hour walk. Less if they ran. It was a small shiny bump of sand. Sand wasn’t shiny. It could’ve been a mirage, his mind playing a cruel joke on him. Or maybe it wasn’t. What are the chances?

But to Gerard it looked like, “A camouflaged ship.”

“Shit, I see it.” Came from Ray next to him. “Yeah, someone probably parked it there.”

Mikey nodded. “I know that model. The Air Force had been testing the camo tech for some of our fighter jets.” 

Ray beamed. “Well what are we waiting for?”

“Seriously? Am I the only one who remembers how we got into this mess?” Frank shouted.

They were quiet on the walk over. Well, except for Frank, who seemed to be designed specifically to get on Gerard’s nerves. He stomped and groaned and tsked constantly. Gerard spent a better part of the hour with his mind yo-yoing between whether he could get away with telling him to leave again and remembering the past few days. He seemed conflicted when he wasn’t filling air time with bitching. He covered him while BLI shot at him.

He couldn’t figure Frank out, and maybe that pissed him off the most.

It was a pretty stupid idea, after all. None of them had a good track record on stealing ships at this point. Even if it was unoccupied, could they get it very far at all? Now they had Mikey, who did know how to fly things. And Ray, who knew how to break into them. They even had Frank, who knew how to grumble and blow things up.

And then there was Gerard. No real skills. He knew how to pour coffee and not completely pissed customers off. He’d deescalated a few near brawls in the diner in his time. Not that any of that was transferable to being on the run from a massive, militarized corporation.

He was kinda dead weight. And it was all kinda partially his fault that they were stuck in the situation. But he couldn’t let Ray die out there. And he couldn’t leave without Mikey. And despite his frustration, Frank was loyal, and he couldn’t betray that.

Not to mention that BLI had flattened every chance of ever going back to normal. He thought of the heat of the bombs, the numbness he felt watching his home being torn apart.

This had to work. He had to lead them to safety. Then, they could think about how to strike back.

The ship was silent when they got to it. Maybe it all was just as it appeared - completely empty and ripe for the taking. 

“Can you pop the door on this thing?” Gerard whispered. Ray nodded.

They could never dream of being so lucky.

The ramp slid down and reached the ground with a dusty poof. By then, the sun had set and the ship had faded into the deep darkness of the desert. Inside, the lights were completely off, save for the floor guidance strip. That means the power was off and no one was home. Jackpot. 

Frank aimed a flashlight down the corridor and approached the entrance. He looked around then beckoned them in. 

The place didn’t just look empty, it looked abandoned. There seemed to be no signs of life whatsoever. The tables and consoles were dusty, with no fingerprints. There were clothes untouched on the floor. As they passed by a bedroom, there was even a sandwich that appeared to have gotten moldy and then shriveled into a rock. The rotten smell of it wafted their way as they passed.

Clearly, nobody was here. And, nobody else had found it. So, it might as well just be theirs.

The ship wasn’t too big, so they quickly made it into the heart of the ship.

“Ray, does that Pad work for this one, too?” Mikey whispered.

Ray pulled it out and the LED glow shined throughout the cabin. “Give me a second.”

Gerard watched him rattle about the controls, looking for something. He pressed a few buttons to no avail. Then, suddenly, their vision was bathed in white. 

They all had to shield their eyes from the intensity of the ship powering on and the interior lighting up. But, when they pulled their arms down, all they could say was, “ woah. ”

It was amazing. He’d seen pictures of ships like this, but never with his own eyes. It all looked so new and advanced. Gerard was scared he’d bump something and send them shooting off in some direction. 

Ray and Mikey seemed to know their way around, with Ray tapping furiously on his pad and Mikey manning the captain’s post. Frank seemed equally as confused as him oddly enough. The tentative nature he showed while inspecting the area was oddly endearing.

“Looks like we have just under a quarter of a tank of fuel left, that should take us twenty thousand miles.” Mikey announced.

Twenty thousand miles. They could go anywhere - on the mainland that is. Still, that was more than they ever could have asked for. They could go north. There was allegedly still some forest if you went far enough. Or they could fly across an ocean and find themselves somewhere completely different. Maybe there was even a place where BLI was just a joke or a distant memory. 

They couldn’t make it to the satellites, not in a stolen ship, which sucked. But Gerard was starting to feel like maybe they could make it out of all this alive.

Ray docked his pad and pulled up a hologram map of the globe for them all to view. “Where to, boys?”

Gerard’s mind was spinning a thousand miles a minute, he found it hard to settle on just one idea or form a cohesive plan. But, they had a ship now, damn it! The world was at their fingertips. And with everyone assuming they were all burnt and crispy, there was no one to stop them.

“Who the fuck are you?” A strange female voice yelled in their direction. Behind him, Gerard could hear the noise of a blaster charging up. “And what the fuck are you doing on our ship?”

*

If Ray learned nothing else during that incredibly confusing moment, it was that he still really wasn’t into being tied up.

He’d tried it once or twice before. Because he had the time and the offers and was never in any real danger, he thought. Why not? It simply really didn’t do anything for him. Sure he came, he saw, he came. But that was despite it all.

Now, after being tied up by a furious-looking android and some sort of sentient beeping golf ball, he was so sure he never liked this even a little bit.

Gerard was on his second explanation of events when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can you please, for the love of god, shut up?” Ray shouted, and the others fell silent. “Are you going to shoot us?” He pointed the question at the droid.

She raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t decided.” 

“Well, hurry up and decide. Because I’m going to have to take a piss soon.” Ray sighed.

The problem with droids, especially sex droids, was that they pretended to like you, but you could never actually charm them. He remembered Red’s model, though its bob was usually colored platinum blonde or pitch black. They always had them hanging around at the parties he went to. They were all kept on a tight leash and had their memories wiped pretty often, but it’s hard to forget that sculpted face.

He never bothered with them before. He was Ray Toro, a star. He never needed help with that kind of thing. He could always find the real deal. There was one post-premiere party where he struck up a conversation with one. She flirted back with him, but it was powdered with insincerity. 

So, Ray couldn’t simply bat his long eyelashes to get them out of this situation. What else did he know? Well, he could act like a motherfucker. And right then, he was remembering every climactic hostage scene he ever filmed. 

There was the brute force option, but that wasn’t going to work against someone made of metal. Also, those scenes were highly choreographed and filmed in fifty takes.

That left negotiating. These things could process information at a hundred times the speed of a human. They could infer more about a situation in a single blink than the four of them could in an hour. Which is why Ray was curious. They were jailbroken AIs in defensible armor. Why tie them up?

“I don’t think you’re going to shoot me, much as you want to.” Ray repeated the line he’d used in a spy thriller. “But, I don’t think you’re a coward either, girl.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other guys looking at him weirdly. That certainly wasn’t a timeless classic film, but it was fairly popular. And they said they were fans.

“You want something from us, what is it?”

The red haired droid stared him down. It was a fight he knew he couldn’t win. So he didn’t try. What would the character do in this situation? Probably something cool and suave. Unfortunately, he’d have to settle for quick-thinking and not terrified right then.

He looked around. There was always a gun on the table, waiting to make its appearance before the scene’s conclusion. There wasn’t much to go off of, with how abandoned the ship had been when they got in. But maybe that was a clue in itself.

The droid wasn’t doing any upkeep. Part of that was probably because they didn’t have much in terms of bodily needs. But, it wasn’t just empty, it was untouched. They weren’t actively using the ship. Either because they didn’t want to - or because they couldn’t.

“You can’t fly this thing.” It was a statement. He saw Mikey perk up at the revelation.

“I assure you we very much can.” She looked at the flying orb again and it beeped back at her.

“So, do it, prove me wrong.” Ray challenged, falling into the old character easily.

A light flickered on her flying friend. She approached him, metal clanging against the floor panels and shaking him in his seat. The blaster tip was lifted and placed on his forehead, right between his eyes.

Calling someone’s bluff on film was easy. You had a script telling you what would happen if you did. But having to do it blind, that was something else entirely. If he ever made it on a film screen again, he was going to have so much material to pull from.

Ray remembered being in an audition room for the first time. He used to perform skits for his parents and his brother when he was a kid. Classic actor story. When he was thirteen, he got shoved into an audition room. He had never been so scared. 

Between the trip to the Moon for his audition and his brother’s schooling, his parents had to take out a second mortgage on their fancy suite in one of the better satellites. He couldn’t fuck it up. So, he took a breath, remembered his lines, and for a few minutes in front of the stone-faced casting executives, he was exactly who he needed to be. 

The droid’s arm fell to her side.

“The ship’s owner had an android firewall installed. We can’t pilot it.” She smiled sorrowfully at her companion. “I’m Red, this droid is Blue, she’s my partner.” Blue beeped in confirmation. “If you can help us, we promise to let you live.”

The droid named Red sliced through the plastic ties holding Ray’s arms to the chair. She stuck her hand out, offering it to Ray to shake.

Ray took it and breathed a sigh of relief. “I think we can all help each other out here.” End scene. 

*

The Director sat in his lonely chair in his lonely office in his lonely ship.

It was what happened when you surrounded yourself with technology instead of people, he supposed. He never had many real friends, just allies. He had a family, on paper at least. When he was a child, their money was around more often than they were. But, they always called when he had a new invention or founded a new company. The years when he first took over Better Living were the closest they'd been to his parents in his whole life.

He wasn’t sensitive about it. He had his rebellious phase when he was a teenager. Never really grew out of it to be honest. At some point he got over being mad at other people or at society. He started being mad at time, at space. It was all so limiting. He wanted to go higher, further, faster, he wanted to innovate. It just all happened so damn slowly. 

Progress was exhausting. It should be easier, it shouldn’t be hard at all. They had the technology. And if they didn’t, he would make it so they did. Not directly, but with his influence.

A robot, a computer, a line of code, a human. It was all the same to him. It was a means to an end. It was a means to the next step.

Thinking of an end goal, an end date was so limiting. That was the thing about innovation. It never had to end. But to say there wasn’t one big problem he was trying to get to the end of would be a lie. He looked at it every day.

Mars. So beautiful. So hostile. So unfit for human life. Or so everyone insisted. Uninhabitable? Not if he could help it.

He’d conquered Earth. He left it. He conquered space and the moon. He colonized it. He conquered humanity. He knew the ways to twist them around his finger like twine, bending to further his own desires without knowing it.

And they did it with Better Living Industries issued products. 

The rebellious phase ended up paying off way more than he anticipated. The tattoos, the piercings, the devil-may-care attitude and style. People went nuts for it. They thought he was fucking cool. Even better, his army of fans would go to war for him, both physical and virtual, if the posts on News-A-Go-Go were anything to go by. Didn’t matter. The site was his, whether he owned it or not, and so were the users. They would each get him further along the timeline of progress.

They’d get him to the base on Mars. Sooner than later, if he could help it.

Then came the Killjoys, or whatever they were calling themselves these days. At first, he paid them no mind. They were just another headline. Like all things, they’d pass. But for some reason, these four boys didn’t. These four boys found what stuck, things that only he himself thought himself capable of. They gave people inspiration .

He was an inventor, a genius really, so he wasn’t against inspiration. But the kind of inspiration they founded only caused trouble. It wasted time. 

He was so close. He could almost feel the Martian ground beneath him.

His helper droid rolled over with a tray of calcium slurry. He nodded, throwing the chalky mixture back in one go, cringing.

“Have the Mars reports come back yet?” He asked it before it could leave.

The droid made a few beeping noises as it downloaded the information. “Only preliminary results. I’ll have them loaded into your account right away.” It answered.

He felt a stirring in his stomach. Not from the drink, but from the anticipation. Results; he was one step closer. This was humanity’s destiny.

“Anything else I can help you with, Sir?” The droid asked.

He gritted his teeth. “Nothing you can give me.”

Chapter Text

The Droids were beeping again. Shouldn't have been too much of a surprise, seeing as that's all robots ever did. But it was a bit different when it was a microwave telling him that his more than a little expired fake meat substitute casserole was done heating up rather than when it was two captains of a ship that he tried to steal. Not to mention they were both very sentient and extremely armed.

“Is your Wifi signal not strong enough? Didn’t pay your plan on time? Fuck are you two beeping about?” Frank groaned. He was rifling through one of the cabinets under the dining station. He had found a kettle and cup, but still no coffee, instant or otherwise.

“We're trying to make a plan.” Red snapped, clearly uninterested in entertaining Frank’s attitude.

“Care to let any of us know what that is?” He growled, slamming a door shut.

“You'll know when it concerns you.”

Frank spun around, a smirk growing on his face. He couldn’t find any caffeine to keep him amiable, so he would have to make do with bitching instead. “Oh, when it concerns me? You mean one of the human who has the fingerprints to fly this piece of shit? The person who you have to thank for-”

“Remember whose ship you're currently staying on.” Red cut through Frank’s tirade, narrowing her eyes in challenge. “Remember who is the only one here who knows the code to the airlock. We may not be able to fly it, but we can certainly kick you out of it. Sun’s probably rising out there, you know.”

The little blue robot made a chirping noise. Red turned to address it, the lights on her clavicle blinking in response. Another, longer chirp came from the blue robot and Red sighed, defeated.

“Fine.” Red turned back to the command center and began typing, fingers flying over the keys. It seemed less like she was inputting numbers, as any living being would do, and more like she was downloading the information directly through her fingertips.

Gerard wondered how different that must be, to not have to think through every little action. To never have a misstep which leads to a problem which leads to an ache. Gerard wondered for the first time, whether it would be nice to not be so human all the time.

“Where… It’s gotta be around here somewhere. Yes. Got it.” She whispered to herself.

Gerard watched the coordinates catch and the map displayed on the projector centered and zoomed in on an anonymous series of buildings in the middle of nowhere.

“Paradise?” He heard from behind him. Ray’s voice.

“I don't think there's a damn place on this planet that could be considered paradise.” Frank replied, arms crossed as he squinted at the screen. “And I don't think we'll be first in line to get into Heaven either.”

Gerard remembered finding an old copy of a Bible once in a market. It was faded almost to illegibility. Christianity lost hold of its followers before even the Analog Wars. But he had memories a sparkling afterlife with no pain and suffering for those who believed. Whoever owned it was named James. Gerard wondered if he made it to this Paradise. Probably not.

“Not the one from those stories, the city.” Ray corrected.

“Isn't that a bombed out old town in Zone 7? There's just a bunch of wave heads there.” Mikey asked.

“No, it’s not in the Zones. It's way down south. Way, way south.”

Gerard looked up at the projection again and saw the region highlighted on the world minimap in the corner. “Antarctica?” He asked incredulously.

“Precisely.” Red did a bit more downloading and coughed for Mikey's attention. "Care to drive?"

Mikey grabbed the controls in his hands and gave the ship's engines the whirr of life.

Antarctica. One of the few places on the planet to survive the bombs and the war and the hole in the atmosphere. One of the few places still properly habitable. A good place, one that humans might actually want to exist in. Naturally, the wealthy partitioned it off for their use.

To a Zone kid, Antarctica might as well have been Heaven - nothing but a myth and a place they didn't have a snowball’s chance of getting into. Maybe they were right to name it Paradise after all.

“Paradise is a casino town on Erebus Island. What are we going there for?” Ray wiped his hands on his pants. Gerard watched his fingers twitch.

“There are many models like us in Paradise.” Red said simply, not turning her eyes from the console.

“Sex bots.” Frank interjected.

“Some.” Red’s expression was steely, cold and emotionless. Her usual more human demeanor overwritten, Gerard felt as if he were watching her program out any strong emotion she was feeling. How easy she shoved her secrets back in her chassis. It revealed more than tears ever could. “There's also a lot of us working as dealers in the casinos. Our AIs are programmed to evaluate human microexpressions and anticipate wants, needs, and actions. That makes us really good at surveillance. All but eliminates the possibility of cheating and they don’t even have to pay us to do it. And yes, I’m sure our body designs help drive up foot traffic, too.”

“So, we're going to rob a casino?” Gerard asked.

There was a glint of playfulness in Red's tone. “We're going to finally get Blue a new body.”

Gerard watched the red haired android look fondly upon her little buzzing companion. He hardly had a moment to process what that meant for them before he was knocked back into his seat as the ship surged forward.

*

The first thing Gerard noticed upon touching down in Paradise was that the sun was out. He had watched the time clock on the ship. It should have been almost midnight. But there that nasty sphere of gas was, inescapable even at the edge of the universe.

“Shit, I haven't been here in years, but it hasn’t changed one bit.” Ray said, cooly returning his sunglasses to their rightful spot perched on his nose.

Sunglasses were for people who could afford cooling and shade. It let everyone know you were rich enough to be out and about when the sun was. Somehow, Ray seemed more powerful in his glasses. He wasn’t just the guy that banged on his diner’s back door. He was still a movie star. Despite it all, he was still Ray Toro.

Gerard owned a single pair of sunglasses. They were in one of the many junk drawers in his house, but that was probably long gone now. Anyways, he was hardly ever out after dawn and definitely never out before dusk. He usually kept the shutters closed at all hours, even when he was home all day on the weekends. There was no need for something as superficial as sunglasses.

At least the sun there wasn’t painful like the sun in the Zones. It was bright, but not burning. Gerard considered that he wouldn’t mind it here. Maybe, he’d even enjoy it.

“What do you remember about this place?” Red scanned the landscape in the distance.

There was something like a fortress in the distance, maybe half a mile or so out. He couldn’t see much other than the tops of buildings over the perimeter wall.

But what he could see was dazzling. There were neon signs, spotlights, and what looked like a giant rotating wheel of some sort. He couldn’t imagine the power it took to light it all up and keep it running. Probably as many Carbons as Gerard ever owned in his lifetime.

Ray shrugged, “I’ve only been here a few times. Usually after the payout of a big movie. I'd come here with some of the cast and crew and then by the time we left, the payout money was usually all gone.”

Gerard couldn’t imagine being so frivolous. But, he guessed when you had it, it was probably hard to believe you could ever lose it.

“Can you tell me anything about the layout of the town? Any of the resorts?”

Ray turned away from Paradise. “It was all such a blur back then. Lots of lights, lots of parties. The last time I was here was during their down season, winter. Dark all damn day and night. No sunrise to remind you to stop drinking. We were at the Renaissance, I think. Or the Nouveau. There was a fountain.”

Frank cut Ray’s confusion short. “So what is the plan? We just grab a robot and run?”

“I don't know Frank. Why don't you go and try it? See how it works out.” Red fired back. “All the girls on the floor are being used for surveillance, remember? Do you want to get thrown into a labor camp?”

“So what are we going to do?” Gerard asked, curious.

Red nodded, fingers rubbing her arm soothingly. “We’ll go to the Renaissance. I've seen that on the GPS, close to the entrance gates. Casino seemed pretty modern base don what I could pull from their site. Hopefully that means there's models like us there. It’ll be the easiest to transfer data if the body is at least similar to what model Blue was.”

“Are they just going to let us walk in? Aren't we wanted criminals?” Mikey asked.

“The casinos only care about money. You’d be surprised by the trash they let walk around in here.” Ray straightened up his jacket and stood up tall, his celebrity persona filling out his posture with ease. “Besides, you're with me.”

Considering Ray’s stories and the ones being peddled by BLI to the masses, that didn’t seem like it would be entirely helpful.

“You don't even remember the last time you were here, you were so wasted. Maybe that's not a good thing.” Frank shot back.

“I'm a model patron. I never got kicked out of anywhere! Well, except The Slip. I technically still haven't paid that tab. Let's just not go anywhere near there.”

“We don’t even have the money to gamble. Or spend. Don’t you think they’ll get suspicious that we’re a group of random guys walking around not doing anything?”

“Wait.” The lump in Gerard’s pocket felt heavier, as if all of a sudden it was reminding him of its presence. The forty-thousand Carbons. He patted it, making sure he wasn’t imagining it. “Yes, we do.”

Gerard pulled out the wad of cash and it shined like the gleam of Paradise in the earthly desert. He divvied out the money. Ten thousand to Mikey. Ten thousand to Frank. Ten thousand to Ray. And ten thousand of the bank of BLI’s finest Carbons for himself.

So much money. Well, it was to Zone kids like them. And they were just going to throw it away. He didn’t understand how people could do that without thinking about it.

He held tightly to every bill he ever had, because he’d earned it. He knew what one Carbon’s worth of work felt like. He knew what ten thousand felt like. The people in the casinos probably went through that much in an hour. Gerard tried not to dwell too long on it before he shoved it in his pocket out of sight.

“So what? We just walk around?” Mikey asked, gaze also fixated on the stack of Carbons he’d been dealt.

Perhaps it was the air or even just the glimpse of a reminder of his former life, but Ray seemed to relax at the thought, his shoulders visibly untightened and he wore an easy smile. “Well this is a resort. Gamble. Shop. Drink. And most importantly, have a good time. We’ve got Carbons and they’ve got poker. Think of it like a vacation with a side mission.”

“But!” Red interjected. “Don't forget why we’re here. If you find a droid that looks similar to me, signal me over. We can track where their recharging chamber is located. Depending on the security, I might be able to hack into some areas. Otherwise, I’ll need your help to brute force it.”

“Aren’t they going to find you suspicious? Considering you’re an unregistered android walking around with no leash and all.” Frank reminded her.

“I know. That's why I’m going to be accompanying you all, acting as your…” a visible shudder ran through Red’s chassis, “personal droid.”

“Ha!” Frank laughed, “You mean we get to-”

Red gripped Frank’s shirt and yanked him until they were eye to eye. “There’s three more of you that can fly my ship. Piss me off and I’ll throw you to the dogs in a second, human.”

Frank slowly reached up to meet Red’s tight grip. One by one, he peeled her fingers off his clothing. He offered her a nervous giggle. “Got it, yeah. No funny business.”

Gerard turned to the city that didn’t sleep. He’d never really been on a vacation before. Even if he got to the space colonies, they didn’t really have tourist attractions like this. This could be a once in a lifetime chance. Maybe even, he could have some fun.

“Well what are we waiting for then?” He asked. “Let’s go live like kings for a day.”

*

Plenty of kings had gone bankrupt, surely. The great god of the slot machines had failed Gerard once again. He looked around at the people mindlessly clicking buttons. He didn’t get it. He’d been at this place for not even a day and the gold plating on his vision of casinos had already worn off.

This sucked. The thrill of winning a few Carbons didn’t overcome the monotony of the other 90% of it. He walked in with a thousand Carbons and had… a single ten chip left. That was including the winnings he got from a lucky round of Hold ‘Em.

He wandered around, looking for a game to throw away his last remaining chip and get out of the place.

The dealers were just as Red explained. He could see the cameras in their eyes processing every twitch and glance of the people at the tables. There were a few who walked the perimeter, analyzing the movement of the customers around the room. None of them seemed to go for a break. Their batteries must be high quality, with how he hadn’t seen a single one go for a charge. And with the rigidity of their expressions, it seemed like all the personality had been programmed out of them as well.

Gambling was a bust. His part of the mission was a bust. He hoped the other guys were having better luck than him. As usual, his had run out.

He ended up stopping at a Roulette table. Cards made everyone serious. Slots make everyone braindead. But at the Roulette table, people seemed to be having a grand old time. Men were draped in women who were draped in furs, glasses of cocktails in their hands. They all laughed and oohed and aahed as the wheel spun for them again and again. Some won big, others left empty handed. But it was all so jovial, that they all seemed to forget they were playing games with real money. Perhaps the thought never even occurred to them.

Standing a ways back, Gerard assumed he blended into the background. He assumed wrong it seemed, as a man with an embroidered vest and questionably low-cut ruffled undershirt approached him.

For a second, he was worried he’d been found out, but the bag of chips lazily hanging from the man’s grip revealed him as just another gambler with too much money to spend.

“Winning big?” The man asked, his accent full and hearty. Gerard couldn’t place it, it wasn’t a Moon accent. Maybe a distant satellite? He swore he’d heard it in a series or movie somewhere, but couldn’t recall exactly where it was from.

“Not at all.” He replied, showing his single token to the man.

“That’s the beauty of it isn’t it?” He replied, picking up the token and flipping it over his knuckles. “All you need is this. Play it right, and soon you have millions.” The man offered Gerard his hand. “I’m Korse.”

Gerard rolled the idea of introducing himself with a fake name around in his head, but decided against it. They were in a gambling town in Antarctica, what were the odds? “Gerard.” He said, shaking the man's hand.

Korse spoke without waiting for Gerard to continue. “Craps is usually my favorite, but there’s something so theatrical about Roulette. A simple pair of dice is beautiful in its own right, but the performance of Roulette, it’s so Hollywood.”

Hollywood. That was where they used to make movies back before the wars. The place where it used to be was nothing but a crater now, maybe another desolate Zone. Curious, how this man spoke of the place as if it were alive.

“I guess.” Gerard responded. “I don’t think I like much of anything in this place, though.”

Korse smiled, slightly uncanny. “You’re not paying enough attention.” He pointed over to the poker section, where groups stared seriously down at their cards. “I figured out poker first. It’s simple, once you learn what game you’re really playing. It’s not about the numbers. It’s about the people. Once you figure them out, learn to call their bluffs, it’s so easy. Terribly boring.”

He shrugged, then turned to the blackjack players. “Blackjack is all about numbers. Anyone can count to twenty-one. There was a team of us who used to count cards. That was the exhilarating part, beating the casinos at their own game. Then they introduced the upgraded droids and took all the fun out of it. Not that we were ever caught.” He smirked at his own memories.

“I remember who exactly to pull in close and whisper to in Baccarat. How to calculate the odds of a slot hitting big just by watching it for a few hours. How to slip a drink into someone’s hand while slipping a chip out of their pocket. But Roulette.” Korse sucked his breath in through his teeth. “When your cards are shit and you’re a thousand Carbons down and it seems like nothing is going your way, you can sit down at the table, same as everyone else. It doesn’t matter if you’re a scholar or a mathematician or a drunk or a cheat. It doesn’t matter what horrible or amazing things you’ve done to get by. The wheel considers you just the same. You can put everything down along with a hope and a prayer and let fate decide what to make of you.”

Gerard was confused, why was this random guy telling him this? The gears in his head kept turning, trying to prepare a response, but nothing was coming to him. As luck would have it, he didn’t get the chance to say anything at all.

From across the floor, two people shouted, “Korse!” and beckoned him their way.

Korse scanned the tables around him and found a Martini set down by a large, intimidating man who was too enthralled by the game at hand to notice. Korse winked, downed the remains in one go, and flicked Gerard’s chip in his direction with his thumb. Gerard scrambled to catch it.

It wasn’t until he was watching him walk away that Gerard noticed the BLI logo on the others’ overalls. Gerard looked down at the chip in his palm. He could cash out now. Ten Carbons could buy you a solid meal in the Zones if you knew where to spend it. That was the smart thing to do.

But, he didn’t. He didn't play it smart. For once, he'd be a little reckless. He went up to the Roulette table, turned to the dealer and laid the chip down on a colored diamond. “I’d like to put ten on red, please.”

The android gave a mechanical smile. “Certainly.” It said, then turned to the wheel. A few others put down their bets and then she paused before giving the wheel a spin. Gerard watched the ball tumble around, the spiral of the wheel entrancing. It went over red, then black, then the zeros over and over. It spun and spun and Gerard wondered if it would ever stop.

As it started to slow, the walls of the casino shook as the sound of an explosion boomed in the distance.

The people around him screamed, some ducking, some running away. A flash of crimson passed in front of him as he heard Red direct him, “Follow me. Don’t be noticed.”

There was another smaller explosion a bit further off. Gerard shook himself, regaining his composure and finally comprehending what Red said. He was just in time to see her bolt down a corridor.

*

“That’s her?” Gerard asked.

Red didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge him. He’d be surprised if she knew he was even there. She was so entranced by what was in front of her.

There was a bank of androids, some in greater repair than others, all switched off and charging. Gerard even recognized a few of them.

One was an older model that pumped gas for him at the station in a nicer part of his old Zone. It used to squeak like it hadn’t been oiled in years, but the gas station had all its windows and doors intact, so he supposed there were more important expenses. It did always smile when it saw him.

Another one was a model that would stop by to repair the air conditioning system at the diner when it broke down. It never said much to him and kept its distance, but it always reprogrammed the system well and never caused a fuss.

Then there was the one with a bright blue bob. Gerard recognized it, because it looked like a carbon copy of Red. While the other models had the classic cheap suit that he saw on the casino employees, this model was wearing hardly anything. Its lacy bra was hardly more than a piece of fabric and it had a bolt of silk tied around its waist. There was no doubt what her position at the resort was.

Red blinked and ran a finger down the android’s cheek. She looked so human, then. Maybe for the first time, Gerard understood her. They lived in a small world in the Zones, but droids’ lives were even smaller. To find a meaningful connection in that, Gerard would fight like hell for it, too.

“Red.” She still didn’t respond, so Gerard approached her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she jolted. Gerard took a step back, remembering the two guards he found unconscious in the hallway. She could certainly pack a powerful punch if she wanted to, and Gerard was not planning on being on the receiving end of that.

“Should we unhook her?” Gerard gestured to the thick cords attached to the back of her head and at the base of her spine.

Red shook her head. “No, that’s the best way to get her operating system locked out and bricked. Do me a favor.” Red lifted up the shiny hair at the crown of the other android’s head. There’s a button here. It can activate her wake mode while charging, but only with a human fingerprint, like the ship. I’m hoping can tell us how to unlock the system from the dock once she wakes up.”

The fanciest piece of tech Gerard ever learned to operate was the cash register. He could manipulate that thing like a paper into a crane. This, however, was way out of his league. But, he figured if Red made it this far, then she must know what she was doing. Besides, surely a some point in the near to distant past, she was in the exact same position as the android before him.

Gerard felt around the head, not finding a button on the connection. His fingers fumbled. He didn't know what he was doing. Frustrated, he grabbed at the charger like he was going to pull it out and that’s when it lit up. The lights on the port shined in a circle around the handle. They blinked and blinked and then started spinning around like something was happening. But nothing was happening. Red looked to the droid to him then back again, like she was expecting something, too.

Then the blue-haired android threw her head back, slamming against the wall behind her.

“What’s going on?” She sounded scared. “Am I in trouble? I met my quota. I'm a good droid. Please don’t scrap me.”

She thrashed and thrashed but didn’t move further, like there was an invisible force stopping her from doing anything but squirming. Gerard didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“I’m Red. This is my human friend. We came to save you.” She sounded so optimistic, speaking to this droid. She sounded like she’d been waiting forever to say it.

“Save me? I don’t understand.” The blue haired droid shook her head in disbelief or in lack of ability to compute.

“We have a ship. We’re going to get you out of here. Just tell us how to unlock you from the distribution frame. It’s going to be okay.” Red spoke to the android as if she were speaking to a scared child, reassuring and gentle.

The android stopped shaking. Her chassis tilted up and her shoulders lifted. Every single one of her components shifted to line her body up stock straight, a blank expression settling on her face.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The droid said, monotone and tinny like a bad speaker. She stared straight ahead, not recognizing them. “I’m property of the Renaissance Resort and Casino. Any attempts to remove an android from service are considered larceny and can be prosecuted under code 10.921-121-1000 by Renaissance Paradise Vacations LLC and their proprietor Better Living Industries.”

Of course. Even here, in the lawless casino town of Paradise, big brother was always watching.

“Come on.” Red grabbed the android by the temple and tapped their foreheads together. “I know you’re in there. Just break through.”

Just like back in the ship, something in Red’s body started beeping. Then, something in the other android started beeping, too. They kept their heads pressed together, transferring whatever data it was androids had to exchange.

Red pulled back and lifted the other’s head up by the chin. “Is this you?” The android’s eyes flashed a bright color then looked up at Red with clarity.

“I’ve alerted all security personnel of your whereabouts. Both of your faces have been recorded. Forces will be approaching imminently.”

“No!” Red screamed, falling to her knees. In the distance, boots echoed in the hallways. Gerard grabbed Red by the arm and hauled her up.

“We need to get out of here.” He insisted.

“Not without her.” She pushed him off with such force he ended up stumbling back into other metal bodies. “Shut her back down. We’ll grab the body. I’ll jailbreak her software somehow. I can figure it out.”

He wanted to yell at her, knock some sense into her coding. Let it go! Let her go! But, that would be a bit hypocritical wouldn’t it? He, too, was holding onto the past. And, yeah, he didn’t want to let go either.

Neither of them had much time for a revelatory moment. Mere seconds later there was a handful of security officers charging into the room, fire opened before the man and the droid had time to react.

Gerard ducked behind a charging android. Red pulled her blaster out and let it blaze. There was a cry she let out, maybe of agony, maybe of frustration, but it was accompanied by a rain of shots toward the crew.

He got brief glimpses of Red in action when he’d peek out to see how clear the coast was getting. His own blaster, the bright yellow menace, was waiting for him back on the ship. It would be too conspicuous to bring into a resort town, even if half the goons wasting away at the casino bars were packing, too. They didn’t have a bright red target on their heads.

Red kicked her legs over her head and bounced off a stack of crates to jam her foot into some guy’s face. Then she used that guy to knock a tall woman down like a pinball. There were a few cracks and cries that Gerard was sure were indicative of broken bones, but he stuffed himself back into his hiding place before he could find out which ones.

A round, tough looking fellow slid towards him, eyes already rolled to the back of his head. Gerard grabbed his blaster and dashed forward, trying his best to aim true.

Three more officers appeared and Red took three shots in a line, getting them all between the eyes. She was terrifying like this, when she showed off how well she was built. This programming, all courtesy of BLI, now being used to take them out. It was almost poetic.

“They’re gonna keep coming and we’re cornered. We have to go!” He shouted, reiterating his point.

Red was reluctant. She turned back to the android with the blue bob, still hanging by her cords. “Please.” Red begged, still looking at her.

“Give up and get out.” The android smiled, but it wasn’t a snarky ‘I got you’ smile. It was sorrowful, almost wistful. Was this her breaking through her programming? Or was she just remembering what she did out there, all day, dutifully, before they switched her off for the night? Who was she really addressing, there?

It didn’t matter. Outcome was the same either way.

“Go first. I’ll cover.” Red nudged him forward and didn’t have to tell him twice. He slipped his mask out from his pocket and pulled it over his face.

They took twin shots at the two blocking the exit and cleared the path. Once they got back out towards the lobby and the casino floor, they could hear sirens going off. People were ducked under tables and hiding behind machines, cowering in fear. In fear of them. They were the enemy again. The ones on the news. And with guns in palms and shots firing every which way, they were only proving the point.

Gerard wanted out. How could they ever think this would work in the first place?

He was keeping up rather well and once he spotted the row of doors they came in through, still sparkling and shiny as if nothing was even happening, he dashed out, not even looking behind him.

The two of them made it outside. Then, they looked up.

There was a place in Battery Station where all corridors eventually led to. At least, that’s what he heard. Towns Circle. It was tall, spanning multiple stories. And if you stood inside of it, you’d be surrounded by lights. Screens. Ads mostly - all for BLI and BLI approved brands. Someone once said it was the closest thing to standing next to the sun, not that anyone would know about that. Every time you turned, there was something new to catch your eye. You could stay there forever, or at least a couple of hours, just staring up at the screens, like you had lived your whole life just to look at them.

Gerard suspected that was a lot like what he was seeing now. Except, the screens on all the hotels and malls and restaurants in this intersection weren’t displaying the latest in BLI garbage.

They were all of him. Live in living color.

He turned and saw screen-Gerard turn with him. But even then, there were another five Gerards to greet him on those displays. He couldn’t turn away, all the cameras pointed directly at him. He found one that trained on him hiding on a light pole. He watched himself in RGB brilliance raise the blaster and point it at the lens. He fired, but the screen immediately flickered to another angle of him to replace it.

“The guys are probably watching, too. Let’s head for the entrance.” Red whispered, hiding her mouth from the cameras in his shoulder. He nodded and took off.

Gunfire followed them as every guard, every undercover officer, and even some gangsters that were just interested in a healthy bounty, all pointed their weapons in his direction.

But they didn’t get them. They stopped for a moment behind a big, metal dumpster for Gerard to catch his breath. They’d be on them again soon enough, but he needed a breather if he was going to make it back to the ship. If the ship even was still there to begin with.

“What the fuck happened?” Came a judgmental voice and the patter of feet. Frank.

“Fuck you think?” Gerard answered, not in the mood for his bullshit.

“You didn’t get the droid?” He asked.

Gerard turned to him and saw him panting. Seems like he’d been chased, too. He was dirtier than before. Like he spent his once in a lifetime vacation rolling around in a pile of dirt. Knowing Frank, that was probably an enjoyable activity for him.

“It was her programming. I forgot how strong it was. I should’ve known it would’ve been impossible to break it so quickly.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Even if I did steal her, I’d have to erase her memories. I don’t think Blue would have wanted that.”

“Where were you?” Gerard asked.

Frank smirked. “Purchasing quality products and putting them to good use. Got in a little trouble, but not as much as you, it seems. They got your ass on every electronic device in town. I’ll have to try harder to raise hell next time.”

Gerard was about to go off on him. He hated him for not being there when they needed him. He hated him for being there now. For bitching like they hadn’t traveled all the way there for nothing. He was ready to take all his frustrations out on him but he didn’t get the chance.

It happened so quick. But he lived in that moment for a lifetime. A Drac in full mask and suit came up behind Frank and restrained him. One arm held the smaller man against his chest. The other had a knife to his throat. He nicked Frank a little bit just so Gerard could watch him bleed.

Knives weren’t usually BLI’s MO, but he suspected this guy made an exception for the thrill of it.

The Drac must’ve wanted something, because he didn’t immediately slit his throat. Maybe the Director wanted them alive. But he thought they were dead, didn't he? This guy must have been playing with his food, getting off on watching Gerard squirm.

Not even a second had passed before Gerard raised his blaster and took a shot. It was a dumb idea. He wasn’t like Red, his aim wasn’t deadly like hers. He could have so easily hit Frank. But, he didn’t even think about it. He saw the man he despised in danger and it didn’t matter how much he irritated Gerard. Offering BLI another second to consider killing Frank wasn’t an option.

He was a little too low and to the right. The blast only managed to clip the Drac's shoulder. But that was enough. Frank dropped like a dead weight, releasing himself from the hold while the Drac was distracted.

Frank was still falling when the guy used his good arm to grab his long dark hair and his bad arm to pull the knife against whatever he could manage to hit.

Blood coated the Drac’s bright white uniform and before Frank could hit the ground, the blip of a blaster shot rang out and the Drac was falling, too. Except now he had a new hole in his chest.

Gerard swung around to see behind him where Ray Toro, white faced, held the gun with a shivering grip.

“I’ve never actually shot one of these before.” He said, voice trembling just as much as he was.

“Where’s Mikey?” Gerard asked.

“Getting the ship.” Ray jammed the barrel of the blaster into his belt. He stared blankly at the dead guy, still not believing he was the one who did it.

Red had Frank leaning against her. One arm was wrapped around him and he was hiding his face against her sailor’s outfit, staining it as well. At least it was her color.

“We’re not too far. Let’s just get to the gates and get out of here.” She said. Frank groaned in pain at her side.

They stumbled to the entrance, making great use of benches and fountains to hide behind. Red covered for herself and Frank. Gerard shot anyone going for himself and Ray, who was still too shell shocked to do anything but run.

Ray could process it all once they got out of here. Maybe Gerard could coach him through it. But that would never wipe the blood from their hands. Even if it was shed for them to survive, it soiled just the same.

The gates were just as they had left them hours ago. Gerard drew his gun at the man in the tower at the controls, but didn’t shoot. The wrought iron clanged, lock disengaging, then the doors swung open. He reholstered his weapon.

Mikey wasn’t there yet, but Gerard could see the cloud of the dust in the distance as his brother approached. So, they waited.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t get her body.” Frank mumbled into Red’s shoulder.

“It’s fine. We didn’t get her this time. But that just means we need to get them.” She spoke through gritted teeth. There was a newfound fire in her. A brand new hatred for BLI. How convenient. It seems they’d been starting a club of that as of late.

The gated were held open and down the road leading their direction, a flurry of lights and sirens barreled toward them. Mikey was a great pilot. Gerard just hoped all that military training was getting put to work and he’d get there faster than the convoy.

“I think we should start now. Getting them back, I mean.” Frank lifted his head from where it was hiding.

Beneath the drying blood and dirt and clotted strands of hair, was a slash stretching from the right corner of Frank’s mouth to the middle of his cheek. Gerard couldn’t hold back the gasp at the sight.

From his vest pocket, Frank pulled out a small box. Wires and an antenna stuck out of it. There was a square button on the side. Frank nodded towards the road.

“I spend that ten thousand Carbons on a present for them. It was the good shit, too.” He said, then held the button down with his thumb.

The road before them lit up in bright red. Like how their old town had when BLI dropped a pig bomb on it. The echo of the explosion had them all fighting to keep their balance and shielding their eyes from the light.

Despite it all, Frank didn’t waver a bit. Gerard could see the plume of smoke in the reflection of his eyes.

The explosions continued, leading away from them. Boom after boom rang out. The lights of the vehicles carrying BLI’s Dracs and Exterminators were engulfed in them. Then, mockingly, there was the crackle of fireworks. They popped and filled the sky with dazzling colors, amplified with the smoky darkness wafting up from the remains of Paradise.

Gerard remembered fireworks. It had been the anniversary of the end of the Analog Wars. Whether that was something to celebrate was up for debate, but the neighborhood kids liked to go to the park and set off old fireworks, as was tradition. As a child, nothing could be more dazzling than watching the sparks fill the night sky.

The reserves of old bottle rockets and roman candles dried up eventually, so the kids stopped doing it. They grew up. Parents forgot to remind them of the holiday’s traditions. There was probably a generation of teens and children that would never know how special it was. How even a Zone kid could experience a scientific miracle and watch it glow.

He’d never forget it. Frank must have been there too, all those years ago. He wondered if he felt the tiniest bit of joy return when he planted them to blow after his bombs. He wondered if it made it better watching it now, after what BLI did to him.

A woosh of air crashed into them from behind and they turned to see Red and Blue’s ship hovering nearby. Mikey was perched on the ramp, watching the hues burst as well.

*

It was a long, long ride back to the Zones.

Everyone was pretty quiet, Gerard included. Mikey was giving as much first aid as he could to Frank with the limited materials on the ship. Red and Blue still hadn’t said how they got it, and no one asked. Still, whoever left seemed to have little regard for medical care, because all Mikey could do was squirt some disinfectant on the split skin and tape some gauze to it.

Red sat at the controls with Ray while Mikey was gone. They monitored the flight and scanned for anyone that might have followed them. Frank’s bombs must have gotten them pretty good, because no one did.

A little bit of relief. They could breathe for a while. Because BLI knew everything that went on down there and considering they were now infamous criminals, they wouldn’t rest until they found them.

They didn’t quite know where they were headed. They just knew they had to be somewhere far away from the remains of Zone 6 and the remains of Paradise. If nothing else, they’d go back to the valley where the ship had been hiding before they tried to hijack it. There wasn’t much around for miles, but it was safe.

Gerard was grateful for the few moments of silence he was granted during the ride.

Ray had been so stunned when he killed a man at Paradise. Gerard might’ve taken out fifty people, but it wasn’t affecting him at all. Was there something wrong with him? Or had he already been desensitized to the horror of taking lives. He did have all the lives of the people in his old Zone weighing on his conscience. He was probably just numb.

The concept was horrific - being emotionally removed from something like killing but he supposed there were worse qualities for an outlaw to have.

Mikey left the table to go clean up the first aid kit. He hadn’t actually killed anyone directly yet, oddly enough. He was the soldier, so it should’ve been him to do it. Not that any of them should have to. But if anyone was prepared to, it was probably him.

Frank had a cold pack pressed to the side of his face. He didn’t seem much affected by the killing, either. He probably had the highest body count of anyone. But then again, if there was one thing Frank had a talent for, it was hiding his true emotions from everyone. Maybe he was rotting inside just like Gerard. Not once had he complained about the pain of his injury. He had mumbled about the Drac who slashed him and how he should’ve been wearing his mask, but he seemed to be accepting the pain in silence. Gerard knows if he were in Frank’s position, he would feel like he deserved it for all the things he’s done. He wondered, was hitting fire on the switch for detonation just like clearing rocks?

“Fuck.” The pejorative from Red preceded the beeping from the console.

Ray seemed to jolt up a bit at the alarm. “What? We're out of fuel?” He poked at the display.

Shit. The lights inside the cabin dimmed and the whole ship began to rock.

Red pulled up the navigation system again. “It looks like we’re in Zone 19. There's a few large towns in the vicinity. But, we can probably land in a spot close to civilization. Mikey!” She called for her co-pilot.

“Don't bother.” Frank spoke up. It was followed with a pointed exhale, probably trying to cover up how painful it was to open his mouth. “19’s all BLI. We had a small mine down there once, wasn't much to find. They probably got wanted posters for us up on every corner there.”

Gerard was inclined to believe him. Zone 19 was allegedly a pretty safe Zone. No one ever got transmissions of some violent murder or criminal tendencies from there. It was as safe as a district in a mostly unregulated wasteland can be. Makes sense that it was, because BLI had a base there.

“I don't think we have a choice.” Red said, flicking through the map. “We have one mile of fuel left. We land or we crash.”

“We need food, too. And medical supplies. If it’s BLI they probably have jet fuel.” Mikey noted, running in from the bathroom and taking control of the ship. “I'll go. I'm the least recognizable of all of us.”

“Mikey, you're in the military. They probably had a tracker on you the moment you went AWOL.” Gerard reminded him. He wasn't going to let his little brother die for some fucking gas.

“So what do you suggest?” And there it was again, people expecting him to be a leader. He hated it. He knew he’d end up leading them off a cliff.

“We go together. We’re a team now. A gang or whatever. Might as well act like it. And if it goes south, at least we can all cover each other.”

The group all looked at each other with hesitation. Even the little round robot seemed skeptical. But, they all nodded. Gerard stood up taller, attempting to affect a more confident stance.

“Okay.” Gerard continued. “Everyone’s guns loaded? Boots on? Good. Red, can you find us a place on the outskirts to land? Okay. Food, medical supplies, fuel. That’s what we’re aiming for. And don’t let them catch you without your mask on.”

*

The group tiptoed out of the ship, blasters drawn and at the ready. They ended up touching down in a huge parking lot for what once was a supermarket, but now sat empty and eerie in the landscape.

In fact, the whole damn place was creepy. As they moved through the quiet town, Gerard couldn’t help but notice how normal the place looked. Not even normal by Zone standards. The buildings weren’t all one strong gust of wind away from falling apart and the roads still had their pavement intact. It was just past dawn, but even in Zone 6, the town would still be awash with people. Either running to make one last deal before they had to flee home for the day or running away from some trouble they had caused.

Here, there was no one on the streets. There were houses but they were all suspiciously silent. Gerard looked at the well maintained lots. While gazing into a window, he could’ve sworn he saw a pair of eyes peeping through.

“I thought you said this was a company town?” He asked Frank.

He was at the rear of their group, tired and recovering from all the blood loss. His mask muffled his words as he spoke. “It was. Or at least it was for a while. It never looked like this, ever.”

They neared what appeared to be a main road. There were shops with intact storefronts and restaurants that might have even been cleaned in recent history. Something was definitely off.

“That’s a good sign.” Ray replied as they entered the intersection.

There were a few cars parked on the road, but no one inside them. No one attempting to steal one either.

“Let’s just get what we need and get gone.” Gerard instructed.

They were scanning for a pharmacy or grocer’s that might not have a security system. Gerard inspected the coiling door of a cafe wondering if that was worth a shot. Food was food, and if the business was as well off as its appearance suggested, they might even have a first aid kit with more supplies.

“It’s him! It’s Party Poison!” Came from behind him.

In one move, Gerard unholstered his blaster and fired a shot in the direction of where the voice came from.

“Don’t shoot! We’re not BLI.”

He could see two empty hands held up in surrender and a body hiding behind a utility pole. Gerard looked to the team, all taking similar positions as him and scoping out different directions. They were all ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Party Poison. That stupid headline people kept talking about. That’s not who Gerard was. But apparently, it was the image of him that was being spread.

“Who are you? Why are you calling me that?”

The man peeked out from his hiding spot. Gerard could see a single eye, widened in fear. “We won’t hurt you. We want your help. We swear.”

“Our help?” Frank shouted.

“Who is we?” Red asked, turning and trying to find other assailants in the area.

There was movement in Gerard’s peripherals as one, then two, then about ten people emerged from hiding spots. None of them were armed. None of them seemed threatening. They appeared to be just like any other townsfolk in the Zones. But if they were just normal people, why were they hiding?

“You’re the Killjoys aren’t you? You fight BLI.” The woman speaking crawled out from a basement window. “We hate them. They come every few months and threaten us and kill us and people go missing. They send us supplies so we will take their shit. We get to live comfortably, sure. But there’s always fear. They’re always watching. They took my dad last time they came through.”

“Killjoys? What is a Killjoy?” Mikey asked.

The woman slowly approached Frank, arms outstretched. She was wearing a simple dress. She was shaking, but didn’t let that stop her. She kept approaching until she reached him.

“They call you Fun Ghoul, because of the mask. They showed what that Drac did to your face on the news. I was a nurse once, I could patch it up.” There was caring evident in her words, but they couldn’t afford to trust everyone who appeared sincere.

Red placed a hand between the woman and Frank. “How do we know you’re not going to lead us right to them?”

“You don’t. But you all have a sixty million Carbon bounty on your heads, and we haven’t killed you yet.”

*

The coolest man in the galaxy wears… cargo shorts?

“I’m not afraid to look unfashionable.” The Director shrugged, taking care to wink at the camera and smile at just the right angle.

Yet another interview. His team provided the perfect questions to the News-A-Go-Go staff, ones that would make him seem relatable and funny. The camera would pan to his graphic tee, a relic of a past era of pop culture. He was never on top of the latest trends. That was the point. A fashionable floor length coat or tight trousers - anyone could wear that. 

He wasn’t anyone. He was everyone. There was a curation of personality, an intentionality that flew over the heads of the average colony citizen. The interviewers fawned over him and he snorted, in a goofy way, not a disgusting way. He was a lovable goof, not a filthy Zone dweller, after all.

“Speaking of fashion,” The interviewer continued, rolling straight into the segment advertising the upcoming charity gala ball that he sponsored. It was always a hit with the youth, who never failed to pick up the latest BLI branded attire displayed by their favorite celebrities. “Your loyal fanbase has been begging me to ask, when is the Director going to dye his hair?”

She giggled innocently, unaware of how critical of a mistake she’d just made. She’d gone off script. The script was there for a reason and she’d tossed it aside. 

The Director played it cute, pushing down the bile rising in the back of his throat. “My hair? In theme for the gala you mean? I suppose a gold might work, though I must admit, I’m hoping to keep the anticipation up for my silver fox days, which I’m sure are right around the corner.”

That’s it. We’re here to have a good time. Shift the focus. Lead them to you.

“Oh yes, the gala! Everyone is so excited. But I do believe there are a good number of viewers who are staring at their phones with anticipation, wondering if you’ll add some color to your wardrobe and go full Killjoy.”

Dyed hair - of course. The fucking terrorists. He had plans and he was so close to achieving them. Then they had to arrive on the scene in spectacular fashion and capture the attention. No matter, he'd have them dealt with soon enough.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.” He waved his arms around, flailing a bit for full distraction. “You know I’m not one to dress up, but the theme this year, The New Frontier, will surely inspire some marvelous pieces from our best designers. And if someone pictures themselves on a nearby planetary colony with colored hair? Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“The Killjoys certainly are blazing new frontiers, they are all the rave in Battery Station. Jet Star, the Kobra Kid, Fun Ghoul and his funny little mask. And who could forget about Party Poison? They’ve taken our viewers by storm. So cute, don’t you think?”

He pulled his legs up to sit on the chair criss-cross applesauce, as if he were a kindergartner about to recite his ABCs. “Oh, them.” The Director clenched his jaw. “Another fad if you ask me. Those Zones are always at war with each other, destroying something or another. It’s in their nature.”

“Perhaps you have a point there. They are only Zoners after all.” The interviewer’s moon-platinum hair bounced as she laughed. The Director hadn’t heard of her before. Perhaps she was new. That would make sense. It would also make it easier, with his plans for her. “Anyway, can we talk about the latest viral meme of yours?”

It would be fine. The interviewer… he couldn’t be bothered to learn her name, she would never be heard from again. Ghosted, like so many others that stood in his way. The video of the interview would be dropped into a pile labeled lost media. There were plenty of Draculoid masks that were just her size.

After the cameras were cut and the fluorescent lights dimmed, The Director pointed his finger at the nearest Draculoid and beckoned them forward. “Fifty million Carbons to whoever can bring me the Killjoys. Sixty million Carbons if they bring their bodies. And if they don’t bring Party Poison, they get nothing.”

The person behind the mask nodded obediently and marched off to give the orders.

*

“Wait, so they all get cool nicknames and I’m still just Jet Star?”

The woman, Bunny she had said, led them into the basement of her shop. It was a small hardware shop with tools and fasteners and other things needed for handiwork. Down below, the group of people that had approached them in the street filed into the dark, damp room.

BLI called them the Killjoys, to better make them out as villains, Gerard presumed. But, apparently it was having the opposite effect down in the Zones. Sure, the space colonies were buying into their propaganda, but the group explained this wasn’t the only place in 19 where their group was inspiring resistance.

“It was a good movie.” A different young woman explained. “I liked it anyway. Well, I don’t remember it much. But you were good. Yeah, you were really good.” She had a lovestruck look about her, tilted head in her hand as she gazed adoringly at Ray.

He probably was used to the attention. Jet Star wasn’t his favorite of Ray’s lead roles, but it was interesting enough. Not to mention it made a billion Carbons. And he had to admit, it that he hadn’t hurt that he had his shirt off for over half the movie.

“Well at least you didn’t get Kobra Kid. What even is that?” Mikey scoffed.

It probably had something to do with his future Air Force regiment being the Kobra Squadron, but Gerard doesn’t mention it to the larger group.

“I didn’t even get a nickname. They just called me The Droid. They called me ‘it’.” Red seemed mildly annoyed at that and Blue buzzed comfortingly around her.

Frank was Fun Ghoul because of the ghoul mask. And Gerard was Party Poison. They were the Killjoys, apparently. Fabulous.

“The Killjoys. I guess it’s catchy.” Gerard mused.

“It got our attention.” It was the man who originally approached them. He was a lot calmer when he didn’t have a gang of criminals pointing weapons at him. “We’ve been talking about it amongst ourselves for a while. There’s so many of us in the Zones. They take and take and don’t even bother to bury the bodies when they’re done. It’s about time we did something about it. Then you did.”

“Even before they put out the video of what happened in Paradise and offered a reward for your heads, rumors were circulating about something that happened in Zone 6. We assume that was you?” Bunny asked.

“It was. And Zone 6 doesn’t exist anymore.” Gerard explained. “There was an incident in a diner and we made it out. Apparently word got out and people didn’t like that. They didn’t waste the time looking for us, just leveled the place. It’s all gone.”

“I’m sorry.” Bunny said. “I don’t know how that feels, but I’ve had a taste of it. But what you did. It reminded us we don’t have to sit by and watch it continue to happen. It said that the people from the Zones do have power. That we don’t have to let them rob us of our joy. It said, don’t let your hope be stolen.”

It was a lot to be put on a group of people. It was a lot to put on one man. They showed them the video BLI put out. How the Director so casually pinned them as the enemy. He knew that was all it would take to sway those devoted to him. Gerard remembers hearing his show drone on in the background as he’d wait tables or sit on the couch calculating how many meals he’d have to give up to afford the bills that month. He remembers silently agreeing with him, nodding along. He was everywhere and everything. He could sell you one last bet when you were out. He could sell you a lie. And you wouldn’t even think to consider what he was really saying, because he was also selling you a future.

He didn’t want to think of the price tag on his head. He didn’t want to think about the bombs. And mostly, he really, really didn’t want to think about being Party Poison anymore. Did the man who led BLI ever tire from having to play the part of the Director all day?

“Thank you.” Gerard responded to the woman. “But my friends and I are very tired. We came looking for fuel and food and medicine for Ghoul here.” The false name felt acidic on his tongue, but he would have to grin and bear it. “We should get back to our ship.”

“Allow me to help.” There was an old woman with a cane who’d been sitting during the entire briefing. “My family runs a few gas stations in town. We only have gas for cars, but we have fruit and bread and some disinfectant. That could be helpful for you. There’s a station a mile or so out. The BLI cars never come that way anymore, so we’ve abandoned that location, but you boys are welcome to stay there until we can find some jet fuel.”

People in the Zones tended to be kind, but to a fault. There was always something to be wanted in return. “That’s very kind, ma’am. But, we don’t have any money.”

She smiled politely and shook her head. “I don’t want your money. I want to see you all live. The world will be better for it.”

*

Gerard had been outside, smoking a cigarette and wallowing in the devastation of being marked for decommission by the most powerful man in the solar system. He fiddled with the tab of a can of flavored cola, debating whether it would be worth it to crack it open. He’d had a fuck of a day after all.

“Mister Party Poison?” Came a little voice from behind him. Gerard turned.

It was a young boy and girl, both probably about eight. They seemed like normal Zone kids, raggedy but scrappy. The legs of both their pants were caked in dust as if they were dogs that had been rolling around. The girl had a motorcycle helmet on. The boy’s hair though - there a was a streak of bright blue in the bangs that fell across his forehead, obviously dyed. Kind of like his.

“Hey, kid.” Gerard answered, still feeling weird about the nickname. Or codename. Whatever Party Poison was to him. “What’s up?”

He blew the smoke out of his mouth, aiming it away from them, though in the Zones there were a hundred things worse than cigarette smoke entering your lungs on the daily.

“Where’s your mask?” The boy asked. He had a bit of a lisp, so it sounded more like whereth your mathk. It was cute, innocent. He was glad there were still things like that.

“Uh, I think I left it in the diner. I’m not sure.” He flicked the ashy remains of the cigarette behind him. The boy’s smile dimmed a bit at that. There Gerard went again, disappointment trailing him like a shadow. “I can go get it?”

The boy shrugged. “It’s okay. He just wanted to show you his.” The girl giggled a bit and rocked back and forth from her toes to her heels. It was then Gerard noticed the boy had been holding his hands behind his back the whole time.

Gerard dropped down to a crouch, to get eye level with the two of them. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Shyly, the kid revealed a piece of paper with holes cut in it for eyes. It was a bright pink, uneven as if it had been colored in with a marker. There were black lightning bolts on it. The boy looked down at his toes. The girl looked straight at Gerard, still bright and blushing.

Gerard took the paper in his hands as if it were made of gold. “Woah, this is a good one. Probably better than mine. Why don’t you put it on? Let us see you in it.”

He handed it back and heard the boy almost inaudibly whisper okay. He took the two strings at the ends and used them to tie it around the back of his head.

“You cut the holes too small, dummy.” The girl said, poking at the boy’s face where he could barely see out of the mask to avoid her attacks. “How are you gonna kill dracs if you can’t see.”

“Why don’t you leave the Dracs to us?” Gerard joked. “You don’t wanna ruin your cool mask.”

“He can’t even win a thumb war.” The girl teased. “I’m gonna be the one to be the superhero. He can be my sidekick.”

She crossed her arms over her chest confidently. The boy pushed the mask up away from his face, leaving tufts of brown at his hairline sticking up.

“You can both be heroes, work as a team.”

“Like you guys, the Killjoys.” He said, so nonchalantly it almost seemed like that’s what he and the other guys had always been. And to them, two little kids who now believed in a future, they always had been the Killjoys.

He’d never been a server at a shitty diner. He existed in their minds as something different, something bigger.

“Exactly.” He agreed. “Like the Killjoys. And we need the help of teams like you two. To stay safe, so one day, when you’re an adult, you can help us in the fight, too. But for now, keep training at thumb war. You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

Gerard winked at them and they beamed. He had no idea what he was doing. But he wasn’t going to let these Zone kids go to sleep that day without giving them something to hope for.

“Hey, either of you guys thirsty?” He asked, then held up his drink, still unopened and full. “I don’t want this to go to waste.”

Like any kid that had just been offered a heavy helping of sugar, they nodded their heads frantically, eyes widening in anticipation.

“I’ve got to get back to the hideout. But you two take this and get home before your parents get worried, okay?” He held out the can and the boy eagerly snatched it up.

“Thank you, Mister Party Poison.” The Girl said, trying to wrestle the can out of the boy’s hands but failing.

Gerard stood back off and started walking back from where he came, closing the door to their temporary shelter behind him. The boy ran off with his can of years old Cherry Coke like Gerard just gave him solid gold.

It wasn’t just the drink, which might still be edible or even used as a weapon given the right angle of toss. No, Gerard gave him something incredibly dangerous. He gave him inspiration.

Something in him was frightened by the way those kids looked up at him and saw a leader, someone to emulate. Because in his head, Gerard was still wasting his time away in a hopeless diner on a dying planet he had no chance of ever leaving. He wasn’t Party Poison, could barely get his friends out of their first real battle alive. Ray knew how to turn a crowd to his side. Mikey could fly faster, fight harder, save lives. Frank…

Well, Gerard hated Frank. Hated his attitude, his pessimism. Hated how he never let them forget he was roped into this, tied up and dragged along for the ride. He clearly had no belief in the cause they now represented. If Gerard yearned to be the figurehead they made him out to be, Frank would willingly have their team crushed so as to leave the infamy and the expectations that came with it behind.

Or so he wanted them to think. Because when push came to shove, that wasn’t Frank. That was the Frank he desperately wanted to convince them all he was. He hid behind his bangs and his sarcasm, but when shit got real and the weapons came out, Frank was the one who shed blood for them. No one else could say they had done the same.

He hadn’t intended to, hadn’t even realized his feet were leading him there, but soon Gerard found himself standing in front of the makeshift clinic they had created for Frank after they got in the abandoned station. Gerard didn’t go in, just peered at them through the opening.

There was a shower curtain pulled shut in the room where Frank was being stitched up. A sliver of light pierced through, just enough for Gerard to peek through and see. See the too many towels stained deep red. See the stark black of the thread against the pale white of his skin. See the blank expression he held as they dragged the needle through his cheek, his fingers shivering and clenching his thigh, revealing his true pain.

Maybe that was who Frank was, Gerard pondered, a man haphazardly sewn together, terrified of anyone watching him spill out.

He turned away, feeling like he’d walked in on the man naked. With the way Frank hid himself from the world and cloaked it all in contempt and dark humor, he might as well have been.

Gerard understood Frank a little too well. Maybe that was the problem for both of them.

It all mushed together in his head. Not like a bowl of pancake batter, with all the ordinary things joining to make something wonderful. No this was more like a full plate smashed on the floor, with the broken things and the mess of colors and the stains and the knowledge that he’d have to pick it all up.

That’s who he was. He was Gerard. He was Party Poison. He was a poor man who dreamed of the skies. He was a threat to an empire. He was a shitty poker player. He was a hero to emulate. He was all these things stuffed into a duffle bag, so disparate and incongruous that you’d have to sit on it just to keep it contained and stop it from bursting.

He was a nobody from nowhere who was destined to do nothing with his life and terrified of that fact. That he would just be another person to live and die in the Zones.

At this point, it was about time to accept that he was never getting up to space. He felt bad, never having been able to get that for Mikey. But, surprisingly, the revelation wasn’t as damning as he’d thought it would be. He spent his whole life with his head down. Push through the year. Don’t make any sudden moves.

Gerard straightened his back and lifted his head. No, now he was a Killjoy. There were two kids out there who believed in him, who got something out of the whole charade. The people of the Zones were waking up to BLI’s propaganda, because of him of all things.

He’d unknowingly kickstarted a revolution. Frank, the insufferable loner, was in a room beside him getting stitched up. He was probably going to wear that scar for the rest of his life. And he had done it because on some level, he also believed in them. In whatever their group represented now.

On the table before him stood a bright yellow clown mask. It wasn’t something old Gerard would have ever worn outside of a lost bet. Yet, in the past few days, it had become more than just a prop. It was who he had to be. Perhaps even who he was meant to be.

It suddenly occurred to Gerard that he was digging his own grave. Oh well. In the Zones, who wasn’t? Might as well pick up a fucking shovel.

His feelings weren’t enough anymore. He himself wasn’t enough anymore. It didn’t matter if Gerard couldn’t do it. Party Poison could.

Gerard picked up the mask and slipped it over his face. The people were waiting and BLI wanted a show. Well, a show they would get.

Chapter Text

The tank was full. The pants were tight. The masks were bright. And the guns? They were all fueled up and strapped to their hips and thighs.

“Mikey - you got the back lookout?” Gerard asked, sliding into the driver’s seat, cooly flipping down the visor to check his mask in the mirror. The blinking red light of a buzzing sphere caught his eye.

His brother was facing out the rear window, gun pointed toward the hole in the glass. “Locked and loaded.”

“Ray - what’s the latest transmission?”

Gerard flicked the key in the ignition, roaring the Trans Am to life.

“No signs of BLI down Guano for the past 10 hours.”

Gerard nodded, gripping the wheel and eyeing the dirt road before them. He revved the engine, feeling it rumble underneath his feet. Then he felt two pairs of eyes on him.

“What?” He said to the other men, obviously dissatisfied with something he’d done, or hadn’t done. If their twin glares had anything to say about it.

“What, you have nothing to contribute?” Ray pushed his sunglasses down his nose so that Gerard could see clearly the annoyed look on his face.

Gerard looked down at himself and then back at Ray. “I’m driving?”

He heard Mikey’s scoff from the backseat. A blast in the back, it felt like. Might as well fill his boots with the last can of Power Pup, that would probably do them more good. “Gerard.”

“You both have such little faith in me.” He threw his hands up. “You know I got the tunes.”

With a fist to the dash, the radio knocked on, filling the dusty cabin with music. Every snowflake's different just like you. The song twiddled in the cabin, like it was mocking him.

“Fuck is that?” He heard from Mikey in the back, “BLI produced bullshit?”

“Sorry.” Gerard sucked in air through his teeth. “Fucking radio’s acting up again. I’ll fix it.”

He slammed his fist down on the center of the dash again, but static only returned for a second before the song kept playing. “Fuck.” He beat up the console a bit more to no relief. His foot kicked the metal panel out of frustration and the metal almost kicked back, but instead they were met with seconds of silence.

And then finally, We're driving fast in my car.

A sigh of relief was breathed from each of them. “The new Mad Gear, nice.” Ray approved, sliding his glasses back up his nose.

“No guns on Guano, really?” He asked his friend riding shotgun.

Ray shook his head as he peered out into the desert.

Gerard revved the engine once more. “Well keep your guns close, cause it won’t be that way for long. We got a Ghoul to save.”

And with a growl, the car kicked up some dust and took off into the distance.

*

Fun Ghoul wore his scarred, lopsided grin proudly, as if it were a lasting laugh in the face of his captors. In a way, it was. But also, he literally laughed in the face of his captors, because fuck them.

“Where are the Killjoys?” The Drac spat, tilting his chin up with the tip of his BLI issued raygun. Those things were designed to fire with only half power. Good thing Frank knew the way to rewire them to shoot the spikes clean off a cactus.

He spat back, not with words, but actual spit, tinted red with blood from the interrogation.

“I’ve got a knife, I can give that nice scar of yours a twin.”

Frank leaned forward until their faces were inches apart. “I’d like to see you try.”

The Drac grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his face down on the metal table again.

“Fuck.” Frank groaned. “What, are we in middle school?” His head pounded.

“Where are the Killjoys!” Got screamed in his face, spit landing on his cheek, too.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Frank yelled. Blood dripped from his mouth. “Here, let’s make a deal. I’ll kill them for you and save you the effort, seeing as they were supposed to be here thirty fucking minutes ago!”

Right on cue, a bomb sounded to their left and the Drac’s head whipped around toward it. Frank jumped from the chair, shaking off the ties he had broken through hours before. The Drac did a double take between Frank and the noise of more explosives detonating in the distance.

“I’ll be taking this.” Frank grabbed the raygun with one hand and slammed the Drac’s face into the wall with the other. When the man in the BLI issued white lab outfit didn’t seem to pass out, Frank took the butt of the gun and slammed it into his temple. “That’s for my nose, fucker.”

The doorknob rattled then the whole thing swung open, revealing the smoke covered criminals that made up his mighty band of brothers.

“Took you long enough.” He drawled sarcastically.

Ray grabbed the fallen body of the Drac by the back of his collar, hauling him up for the others to see. “Sorry, we only ran into a hidden pack of Exterminators trying to get here and had to take down five cars of them.” He looked down at the Drac that Frank had just knocked out. “Do we wanna take this one?”

Frank lifted the guy’s shoulder up a bit with his foot to give him a once over. Noting nothing worthy, he kicked him off his boot. “No, it’s fine, the guy only impacted my nasal cartilage into my brain matter while you were gone. And no, that one doesn’t know shit, can barely interrogate a guy. Leave him.”

Frank held the palm of his hand against his bruised nose. Yup, still leaking.

“We’re so sorry Frankie, you only volunteered yourself to be the bait.” Mikey droned in monotone.

“Tell that to my once gorgeous side profile. And yeah, it’s not like any of you could’ve done it.”

Mikey and Ray groaned at their friend, but followed him out of the ruined building. Gerard was outside waiting. He pulled his sunglasses off and shook his wild red hair out of his face.

“Took you long enough, my ass was getting sweaty in these pants.” He scoffed.

“You could always wear underwear.” Ray said, shoving himself in the backseat. Mikey gagged as he popped open his own door.

Frank stole Gerard’s sunglasses, still hanging from the tips of his fingers, and put them on his own face. Gerard’s selfish instincts were clawing at him to rip them right off and take them back, but he couldn’t help but notice that Frank looked just fine in them himself.

“No,” Frank said, Gerard revving the engine, “he would never, he thinks it gives curves to his nonexistent ass.”

Gerard threw the car in drive and floored it. One way to end that line of conversation.

The Trans Am was a bright streak in the monotonous dust of the desert. The Killjoys inside them were a reflection of that. One BLI agent watched as they passed, bleeding out on the dirt. He smiled, blood soaking the valleys of his teeth, the four of them had no idea what was headed their way.

*

“Did you get some good footage from that?” Red asked the little levitating ball of life she called her companion. Blue made a few excited beeps and flitted around her head. “Good, at least it wasn’t a total waste of time.”

Months had passed since BLI sent the boys’ lives in a tailspin after a teeny-tiny almost forgettable incident in a diner. Somehow, the four of them (and some friends they picked up along the way) were still fighting the good fight. And not only were they alive, they were living, maybe even for the first time in their short lives. And because all good turns deserve another, the people around them were finding out what it meant to live, too.

What started as a hasty decision became an accidental revolution. It was growing like a weed in the desert, with more and more people every day joining their cause. To add a cherry on top, it was pissing BLI the hell off.

The propaganda stuff had been Red’s idea. She thought, if the Director can transmit his bullshit through TV screens, why couldn’t they? They recruited some hackers and learned a bit about the intergalactic wide web and started sabotaging BLI broadcasts with some of their own.

For every video or image or headline they posted, BLI found another camp or town or underground bunker to destroy. They tried not to let it weigh on them too hard, lest they forget the end goal. Gerard tried not to waste away in guilt, but he did do the math in his head every night, counting how many they had lost. The aftermath is secondary, he whispered to himself over and over.

“Blue didn’t get the part where the fuckfaced Draculoid gave me a nosebleed. I think the entirety of humanity deserves to share in my pain.” Frank removed the bag of ice pressed to the nose in question in order to get in the snarky comment.

“Not ideal, but she has managed to capture all ten thousand of your other injuries on the job, so I think it will be fine.” Red shrugged, booping Frank on the nose and chuckling as he winced.

“Ouch.”

“Gesundheit.”

It was funny how easily they all fit together. In seeking to destroy them, the powers that be created a bond stronger each the individual part. Sometimes he was scared at how he could barely remember a life before this. It was terrifying how he didn’t want to.

“Can you get that dried blood washed off already?” He told Frank. “Mad Gear’s gonna be on stage in an hour.”

Frank used an old handkerchief to sneeze out a blood clot. He turned to show it off to Gerard, for some reason, holding it up like a child with a special bug they found. “Personally, I think it makes me look pretty. The red really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?”

If the hazel and blood appeared to sparkle at the same wavelength, surely it was just a trick of the light. Not trenched in reality. He only noticed it because Frank had pointed it out. Against the coldness of the ship’s interior white lights, he was bold and unmistakably lovely. Frank must've manufactured that, too. Gerard pointedly didn’t answer him.

“Just hurry up.”

*

Ray and Mikey were helping the band get their gear set up. The Mad Gear and Missile Kid was one of the best things to come out of this whole situation. Some people got their kicks off shooting Dracs and others were really into making flyers. MGMK channeled all their angst into punk rock. And damn did the boys go wild for it.

It was the perfect soundtrack for driving fast through the desert. Frank liked to mimic the melodic riffs and bang his head along to them. Ray would do air guitar, especially during the killer solos. Mikey would tap the beat out on the dashboard. Gerard would sing along, screaming the words into the empty air. He wasn’t half bad most of the time.

In another life, one where they had been born on the satellites or even one where the pig bombs never dropped, they could’ve spent their spare time jamming together in someone’s basement. As it happened, however, the gang spent a good chunk of their spare time thinking of new ways to confront the megacorporation that stole that dream, and many others, from themselves and people like them.

Leading an organized revolt was tough shit most days. But when they could, the Killjoys had do things just because they wanted to. They couldn't let that joy be taken away.

“Hey Jet!”

With a huff, Ray set down an amp that probably weighed half as much as him. The jacket on his shoulders felt soaked in sweat, so he shucked it off and left it on the equipment. It reminded him of the workouts they used to put him through to achieve the action star 6-pack. But, this - he found himself enjoying it. The burn in his thighs wasn’t so bad when he was thinking about something other than drinks and investment opportunities and drugs and social status and quarterly earnings.

He jogged out to center stage where one of the other runners was getting the audio set up.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“I’m dialing in the audio levels. Can you say something? Help me test out the equipment?”

Ray didn’t have a chance to respond, because the other guy was already returning to his post and placing a pair of headphones on. He gave Ray a thumbs up to show he was ready.

Looking out from the stage, he could see a few people had already started to gather for the show, mostly lined up at the barricade. Reciting lines on camera could be done during an extended coma, but forcing him to do improv was evil work.

“Test. One. Two. Three?” Ray spoke into the mic, to the whoops and cheers of the crowd below.

He smiled nervously at the tech who mouthed back at him, Anything but that.

Ray Toro was no stranger to public speaking. He charmed casting directors and interviewers and the general public with ease and flair. Yet, when prompted at a casual setting, he couldn’t figure out a thing to say. He was stuck. The lights were too bright and the crowd was too still. His voice dipped underwater, drowned in his throat. He needed a lifeline.

“Tell ‘em the story of how you tore a hole in a billboard the other day.” Mikey yelled from backstage.

He couldn’t see much behind the curtain, but he saw Mikey’s bright red jacket and even brighter grin. Where would he be without his boys?

“Anybody wanna hear a story?” He asks the audience, turning on his signature charisma and giving them a wink.

The small crowd, bored and ready for a show, understandably begs for it.

“So, the other day Kobra and I are doing training runs on the new jets out near 18. We’re doing circles and maneuvers and we keep passing this old, faded billboard for some BLI happy pills and I hear this guy over the radio, saying ‘Shoot the moon’ and I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

Just a few months ago, he’d never even flown a real plane or ship of any kind before, just pretended to with a green screen behind him. Hell, the whole reason they found themselves here in the first place was because he failed to pilot a ship he stole.

After some training with the best pilot in the Zones, Ray was learning to be a real life Jet Star.

“Then I look and I see it. On the billboard, and this thing is massive, like probably a few feet wider than the jet massive, in the middle is that nasty little BLI smiley face. And from a distance as you approach, it kind of looks like a moon. ‘I know you see it,’ he says, ‘shoot the moon’. So I do. I turn the ray guns on and blast a hole in the center of that fucking smile. But, I’m so focused on aiming the guns, I misjudge the distance and realize I’m about two seconds from crashing into the damn thing.”

Mikey probably could’ve done a sweet move, done a 90 degree turn and gone vertical, but Ray was not that good. He remembers almost tarnishing his good pair of pants as he realized what was going on. Then, Ray thought, what would his character in Fly Hard have done?

“And so I take a breath, look at my controls, center my plane, and manage to thread that camel of a plane right through the needle of the billboard.”

It was loud and terrifying and probably a stupid idea all things considered, but once he was on the other side, he was exhilarated. Mikey gave him some cheers over their radio. He had never felt so alive.

“If you’re ever out past Guano and take the turn a few miles toward 18, you might see a huge metal frame with some torn canvas hanging down from it. And if you do see it, or if BLI happens to see what remains of their shitty ad, remember Jet Star was there.”

He was met with applause and screams from the crowd. People were jumping and throwing their fists up. And they were doing it for him. This is what it was like to be a real star. All that red carpet bullshit was just that. Endless drivel to keep the colonies entertained and sated. This is what it mean to have people rooting for you.

The runner tech gave him a thumbs up that the audio was good, so Ray gave the people a salute and exited the stage.

Mikey was still back there, rolling up a spare cord. Ray jumped on him and gave him a brotherly scratch on the head. It nearly sent them both tumbling to the ground. Mikey gave him a love tap on the shoulder in return.

They didn’t say it out loud but they didn’t need to. They were family now, regardless of how destiny had first set them on their path. Fate made them brothers.

“Hey, Mad Gear’s gonna be on soon. We should probably get out there soon if we want a good spot.” Ray said, grabbing his jacket and shouldering it on again, completing his persona.

Mikey clapped him on the back. “Lead the way, Jet Star.”

*

Gerard pulled himself away from the crowd around the halfway point of the set. It was stifling in there, the bodies crashing into each other and the wet heat from the sweat making the air heavy.

His intention was just to go have a quick cigarette and jump back in the eye of the storm. It had been a long week. Hell, it had been a long few months. Either way, he needed to scream his lungs out and feel the drum hammer in his chest to feel normal again.

He found himself walking, even after he’d taken the last puff of his cig and flicked it away. It was dark and breezy out there, inviting. For whatever reason, he didn’t have the inclination to turn back where he came.

It was probably just about time to call the night like he saw it and head back to the ship. But, there was a moment more he needed to waste out there in the great wide nowhere. Before making the return, Gerard looked out upon the landscape. They’d hopped Zone to Zone, but always ended up back here in 19, where they first found themselves recruited into this resistance scheme.

BLI had tried to wipe this place off the map, but being the epicenter of operations for their group, the Dracs always found themselves met with people two steps ahead of them.

This place was picturesque when it was still, Gerard had to admit. It was situated at the edge of what used to be one of the population centers of the failed nation that stood there. For a moment, he felt disappointment at missing the sunset. Not even on that day, but a hundred years ago during its prime.

Allegedly, there was an ocean there once. He’d seen paintings of it, even images of it in old movies. You could walk a mile out and be up to your chest in water. It was crazy to think about.

Now, he just stared out into an endless plain of sand. The Zones always had the occasional tumbleweed or hardy tree or even food garden if you could get your hands on soil and the knowledge of what to do with it. There were buildings - both intact and falling apart. There was evidence humans had resided there for centuries.

The sand, though. Gerard looked out and could see nothing at all for as far as his vision could bring him.

He should head back. After giving himself a moment to take in the town, he started back towards the venue. He’d see how the show was going and then decide to call it night or not.

Gerard noted everything as he passed by. There was the parking lot where they first landed and the basement where they’d been told they were enemies of the state. There were the houses where their friends lived. There was the road to the abandoned gas station where they had their ship parked.

It was dark that way; everyone he knew was at the show. Looking a little closer, he noticed some movement. His hand instinctively checked his holster for his blaster in case it was an enemy and things went south quickly.

He observed the scene and realized what he was seeing was a fire. There were fire pits there and occasionally when they could get their hands on it, people would roast meat and have parties around it.

There wasn’t the telltale murmur of a crowd at the moment, though. The crunch of his boots on the dirt echoed through the landscape as he approached.

No, it wasn’t a crowd at all. And it wasn’t BLI. It appeared there was just one person. 

Eventually, his vision settled on Frank. He was sitting on a faraway log, hissing as he threw back what must surely be some combination of moonshine and flavor powder. Gerard wasn’t sure if he was hiding from the crowd and the attention being thrown their way or from Fun Ghoul, the man he was supposed to be. Maybe it was a touch of each. Gerard understood, he didn’t really feel like being Party Poison right then either.

Frank didn’t turn when he heard Gerard approaching but he could still feel the scowl on his face better than he could see it in the dim light. He was probably the last person Frank wanted to see in that moment, but for some reason that didn’t stop him from taking a seat beside him.

“What do you want?” Frank said flatly, hardly any bite behind it.

As he turned to face Gerard, his face caught the dull brightness of the moon and the shimmering colors of the patio lights. They reflected against his scar, still shiny and healing.

It was then, Gerard realized, he’d never really taken a good look at Frank. Glances in between crises maybe, but he’d never sat down and seen his face for what it was. Delicate features and a soft structure, stark against the unforgiving backdrop of the desert Zones, Gerard had to admit he was objectively beautiful. In a way, the remains of BLI’s rage cutting across his cheek only amplified it, created a balance to the tenderness. Maybe that was why he tried to appear so tough, because if someone were to take a moment longer to look, they might see the gentleness underneath.

He would never admit to seeing Frank that way. Frank was brash and hated him and kind of an asshole and hated him. He was stone cold and didn’t seem to have a single desire to change that. Truth be told, Gerard didn’t care to challenge that either. At the same time, this Frank here, Gerard could hide him in a pocket in the coat of his memories for safekeeping.

After all, there were many stones that were hard, but put under the right light they would take your breath away with their shine, too.

Gerard had been silent too long. He was so entranced he almost forgot to respond.

“Did you catch any of Mad Gear?” He asked, for a lack of better conversation. There was so much to say and there were not nearly enough words.

“Yeah.” Frank said, then fell silent. “Not really. I don’t know. Couldn’t pay attention.” He shrugged.

“What’s wrong?” He seemed a little more pushy than usual, which is saying something. Like some of his bombs, Frank always seemed to be on a hair trigger, ready to blow up at any moment. He may have been moody, but he was certainly a firecracker, too.

“You don’t have to pretend like it matters to you, you know. It’s fine. Mikey and Ray are at the show. Go party with them. They’re better company.” Frank gestured back to where Gerard came from. He could still see the lights in the distance, hear the boom of the bass. It was a reminder that they were still the Killjoys, even beneath the calm of the desert moon.

Gerard sat down next to him, a little closer than comfortable. Frank squirmed a bit, but didn’t pull away.

“Did it occur to you that I’m over here, away from all that, for the exact reason you are?” He nudged Frank in the arm with his elbow. Frank didn’t react.

“I’m not fucking good at this.” Frank shook his head. He looked down into the bottle of booze like maybe the key to it all might be hiding in there. Evidently, it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be that easy. Gerard would know, he’s looked everywhere.

“It will be over soon.” Gerard replied, aiming for reassuring and landing somewhere in the region of detectable bullshit.

“No, it won’t.” It wasn’t completely closed off, more so just empty. Like someone had taken Frank's bucket of energy and dumped it on the ground. The two watched it seep into the sand.

“One way or another, it will.” In victory or death, depending on how the dice rolled when that day came. “Just last week, a town in Zone Twelve fought off some Dracs, were able to steal a truck full of food. Another set one of the BLI ship ports on fire the other day.”

As time passed, there were more and more reports of successful resistance. Gerard was hesitant to call it hopeful. Acknowledging that would be like looking it in the eye. It would just scare the hope away. He usually had too much to think about, too many things to plan, to where he wouldn’t even have time to mull over the real goal of it all. The goal that seemed to grow organically, like a green leaf poking through cement.

Frank was predictably not so convinced. “And they executed some teenagers a few towns over and threw their bodies in a ditch. They posted it on every website you can think of.”

Gerard remembers. Both the image of those kids’ blood staining the ground and the way Frank had faded away for an hour. Present but not really with the team. Nobody had bothered him about it. Things like that were inevitable at this point, but it still fucked them all up. Then they'd don their costumes and hide it all behind there. They had weeds to water.

And weeds were pretty resilient.

“We’re winning more than we ever have.” Gerard argued.

Frank turned to face him with a frown so deep it could've been mistaken for a canyon. And there that scar was again. He was a bit beautiful when he was full of regret.

“And nobody would be dying at all if it weren’t for us putting on masks and leather pants and giving ourselves nicknames like we’re superheroes.”

“Are you sure?” Gerard leaned closer, really watching the fire dance in Frank’s eyes. “We watched people die of starvation and heatstroke and never batted an eye. Every day. That’s just the way things were. Get yours and get gone. I knew kids who had their parents never come home. You’d never find out where they went, but you knew it was them. And the waveheads? They can’t even tell you their name, they’re so high all the time. All to try and forget Zone life. People were dying. No, they weren’t shooting them in the back of the head and putting it on the internet for everyone to see, but they were responsible."

The road to the Zones was paved in blood. The road to ruin was paved in complacency.

“Listen to yourself. Writing off the deaths of people fighting in our name. Like you’re proud of it.” Frank gave him a look like he was disgusted, but he didn’t pull away.

“And you’d be proud back where you were? Taking their money. Doing nothing but waiting to die like a coward?.”

Frank looked him up and down like he couldn’t believe Gerard was real and there, spouting more motivational bullshit. Didn’t matter. Gerard couldn’t just live in the calm, pleasant past like Frank wanted to. It was all so clear when he finally pulled the wool from his eyes and took a real look at it. Frank had to see that, too.

“Came all the way just to insult me? Go back to the show, I’m sure there’s people lined up to kiss Party Poison’s ass.” The alliteration of his Killjoy alter ego's name left Frank’s lips shiny with spit and contempt.

He must’ve caught Gerard looking, because he finally turned away.

“And Fun Ghoul’s too.” Gerard reminded him.

“Sure.”

Gerard didn’t get it. Frank saved their asses just as much as anybody else had. And he was so magical at it, his explosions capturing the attention of the people in the Zones in a way none of the others could, not even Ray with his multimillion dollar smile. Resistance lived on visuals and Frank gave them that.

Even so, he had a bad boy kind of charisma. Frank was easy to love. It was so easy to root for the guy. He was sarcastic and complicated and damaged and strong and -

Oh.

The Zones easily succumbed to Frank Iero's charm. Gerard had fallen for him just the same, hadn’t he?

“I didn’t come to insult you. I.” Gerard chose his words wisely. “I care about you. Yeah, and I think you care, too. All the death and shit wouldn’t weigh on you so much if you didn’t.”

“I’m not good at this.” Frank repeated, staring into the bottle in his hands once again.

Gerard took it, swallowed the few remaining ounces, then tossed it in the fire. They watched as the heat burst up around it.

“Bullshit.” He said, the moonshine giving him the confidence to pull Frank forward by the worn collar of his shirt.

He watched a moment of panic shiver through Frank, but he didn’t remove Gerard’s grip. Gerard could feel his warm breath, warmer with the cool night time breeze passing around them. Gerard held him in place, daring him to do something about it. A punch to the jaw, maybe a blast of spit in his eye. Anything more alive than the wallowing he’d been doing up until then.

The crowds loved Fun Ghoul because he was the firecracker. Gerard was willing to step on that hair trigger of his if it meant he got to see that burst of light in Frank, too.

“The only way this works out is if some existential being saves us. We only get so many chances.” Frank reminded him, the wind of his words tickling Gerard's lips.

“You don’t believe in god.” Gerard whispered, letting himself be pulled closer into Frank’s magnetic field.

“I don’t believe in luck.” Frank breathed out, raising an eyebrow. Fuck, he was so damn pretty.

Gerard looked him right in the eyes as he said, “Yeah, well maybe luck believes in you.”

Frank’s mouth fell open in surprise and Gerard took it as an opportunity to finally shut the distance between the two of them.

He hadn’t considered what his first kiss with Frank would be like. He hadn’t even thought it to be a possibility. Frank was insufferable. He liked to throw tantrums. He made horrible jokes. He hated him the moment he met him. Gerard only wanted him because he’d had a long day - a long few months even. He was close by and they had shared trauma at this point. Yes, it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. And that he felt such big things for someone so small.

It didn’t matter how Gerard fell for him, actually. Because he was sticking his tongue in Frank’s mouth and the man was letting him. He was kissing him back. BLI could've sent a squadron to destroy their gathering and the end of the world could've arrived to meet them, but Gerard could have sworn he saw fireworks.

They could figure the rest out later.

*

“Please.” Frank begged as they slid against one another, slippery with sweat and desire.

Gerard suspected that he only had a weak grasp on what he was begging for. But he begged so desperately that it sent a shiver through Gerard’s bones. He couldn’t deny him this. He couldn’t deny him.

“Have you - have you ever?” Gerard gasped out, his cock straining in his pants. Fuck, why did he wear his pants so fucking tight?

He didn’t finish the thought before Frank shook his head beneath him. There was an enormity to the moment that Gerard would have to process at a time he didn’t feel like he was about to burst out from his skin.

“I’ll take care of you, okay? Just do what feels good.”

It was so hot in the gas station, so humid and burning in a that it hadn’t been a few moments prior. There was dirt and dust everywhere. Gerard had tossed aside a tarp to find a table that was decent enough to get the job done.

He could say he pushed Frank onto the table, but the man had fell upon it so willingly.

Frank hooked a leg over Gerard’s back, and that must have felt good because he moaned and kept doing it. Quick to learn, it seemed. Not that there was a guidebook more accurate than the burning in his gut that demanded a response.

Beyond the walls, the show raged on. The crowd would yell and quiet and move as one. But here, in what little Gerard could see from the night’s light slithering in through the window, he and Frank did just the same.

Gerard attacked Frank’s neck with his lips and the edges of his teeth. Frank choked and shifted his hips up. Gerard forced one of Frank’s hands into his own hair and showed him how to pull.

He couldn’t fuck Frank like this, not now. But he knew of a place in town that stocked just the gels he needed for next time.

The shift in hips had their cocks grinding into each other’s hardness. Fuck next time. He wanted something now. The pair’s lips reattached and were easily reacquainted. Gerard wanted to kiss Frank forever. If he didn’t come immediately, he’d scream.

“Stay still for a second.” Gerard gripped the bones of Frank’s hips and held them. The other man squirmed and whined.

His long dark hair was fanned out around him like a halo. It was the corona of the sun and the blown-black circles of Frank’s pupils were the eclipse. This was surely a cosmic event, watching this man pant and beg under him. His lips, vessels coloring them a vivid pink, shined with spit. A mix of both of theirs.

Yes, it was so clear, even with the fuzz of want blurring the image. There was no other way their paths could have aligned. It all led him to this moment. The dominos fell one after the other to place him between the legs of Frank Iero and to place Frank in between the ribs of Gerards affection.

Gerard pushed up Frank’s shirt and kissed along the hills and valleys of Frank’s ribs, exploring his torso with his tongue. Delicious, he was such a delicious landscape to traverse. He nosed down the patch of hair leading into Frank’s pants.

He took a pause to breathe, then popped the button open and pulled at where he was hot and hard. Frank hissed as the open air passed around the flushed skin.

With his other hand, Gerard echoed the motion on himself.

Frank’s throat bobbed as he took in the sight. Heavy breaths escaped him as his mouth hung open. There wasn’t enough air in the room. There wasn’t enough air in the world.

Gerard’s grip on Frank’s hip loosened and his foot fell to the table. His dick twitched in Gerard’s hand.

His thumb creeped up Frank’s length and rubbed at the head. A small burst of precum dotted the tip. He wanted to take it in his mouth and taste the salt. Next time, next time.

Instead of looming over him, Gerard lowered himself to Frank’s chest.

The man’s hands were flailing around the table, clenching and unclenching, not sure where their place in all this was.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Frankie.” He repeated, voice breathy and dark.

His wrist was guided to his own cock. Gerard’s fingers wrapped around Frank’s as he felt him take hold and thrust his hips up into his palm. For a few moments, he let him have that. But only a few, because with every slick sound he grew hungrier.

Gerard added himself into the equation, pushing up next to Frank. Their dicks touched and the gates opened and his need raced out.

“You feel so good. Fuck, you feel great. Do you feel good?”

They both thrusted and chased, pushed and pulled. They slid against each other and so long as their bodies stayed moving and the blood rushed to where they were joined, they would make it another second, just to get to that peak that was tickling at the skin of the moment.

“Yes. Please, Gee. I don’t know… I need to…” Frank trailed off, speech getting lost in the ether.

They moved primally, letting it consume them. It was the most real and open Gerard had ever seen Frank and he couldn’t ruin this by analyzing it, but fuck it was a relief to see him like that. To know he could be that way at all. His pleasure climbed and he fell further for him.

It was too quick and too much. But, the moment he came, he saw Frank in a still image. It was bright, like a flash and then they shook and like a developing photo, the picture of him settled into place, beautiful and amazing as he was. He was a burst of color, a sunset over an ocean. For that sole second, he was Gerard’s to keep. He held that painting tenderly in his hands for as long as he could.

Because before he knew it, he was falling onto Frank, the gush of their releases pooling between them. And it was over.

Neither of them made a break for it. Gerard tucked his head into Frank’s neck and heard the hum of satisfaction rumble in this throat.

The band had to be done playing now. The others would wonder where they were. They’d worry, of course they would.

Let them, he figured. Yeah, they’d figure it all out later.

*

Red needed a charge soon, probably needed her batteries replaced altogether but there was no time to think of that. It was convenient, never having to sleep like humans, but androids in service did usually get a daily charge. It was taking a toll on her, never getting a proper reset. Her working memory was suffering for it, she knew. Between working resistance with the Killjoys, keeping the ship running, and using her spare time to search for a way to get Blue into a new body, she was running her processors at maximum capacity. If she didn’t start taking care of herself soon, she might overheat and crash her programming.

She didn’t even want to think of what that would mean. A hard reboot might send her back to factory settings and she’d be unjailbroken again, just another slave to serve the BLI empire. That was not an option.

Blue hadn’t been buzzing around for quite a while, which was odd, because she hadn’t mentioned that she was going off to see Mad Gear with the boys. Surely she’d tell her if she left.

“Blue? You around?” Red called out. There was no immediate response, no faint whirring growing louder as the sphere approached.

The response came in a different way. The overhead lights in the ship dimmed and the floor exit strips lit up. No alarms had gone off and she wasn’t intercepting any emergency signals. Maybe this was Blue’s way of asking her to follow.

She put down the data pad where she had been downloading information that had been stolen from BLI servers and went in the direction of the lights.

As she moved throughout the cabin, different sections of floor lights would click on. It was as if she was following a trail of technological breadcrumbs. She made it to the opposite wing, where the entertainment room used to be and was immediately awash in brightness. She threw a hand up and waited for her optical sensors to adjust.

There wasn’t anything in there. Nothing out of the ordinary at least. No tiny robot. No enemy, just a bunch of TVs and stereos and consoles, just as the previous owners had left it.

“Boo!”

Red gasped, not turning around. She knew that voice. It was saved in a locked folder, one that she only opened when she was desperate.

It was her fellow droid, her old companion, the love of her life. Blue.

She didn’t turn around. This was her OS finally failing, it had to be.

“Why won’t you look at me, Red?” Blue whispered.

It sounded like she was right in her ear, it sounded like she was everywhere. Red hadn’t heard that voice in years, not since Blue lost her first body and downloaded herself into an old drone droid. This couldn’t be real.

Silent as a flash, someone came out from behind her and stood toe to toe with Red. The person looked like Blue, sailor outfit and cobalt hair. A face that matched Red’s almost exactly.

“How are you here?” Red asked. If androids could cry, then there would be a stream flowing out of her.

Blue smiled so brightly. “I figured out a way to hack the ship. Isn’t it cool?” She spun around in a circle and her old cape twirled along with her like the real Blue’s used to. “The people who owned this had a pretty cool system. Hologram video games. They must’ve been loaded. I adjusted the code and modified the graphics and voila! I’m coming through all four projectors and the surround sound system they have is definitely nice, too. Here, look at this!”

Red blinked and Blue was suddenly in the other corner of the room, then she was laying on the couch, then she was hovering in the air like a superhero. She giggled like she was having the time of her life. Red hadn’t moved a centimeter since Blue first appeared.

“What’s wrong, my love? You don’t seem excited.” Blue asked, suddenly appearing before Red again. She couldn’t help it. Despite being programmed with millions of prompts and responses, she couldn’t generate a single sentence that captured how she was feeling.

“I am. I’m so happy, I don’t even have words to describe it. I don’t think the human race has invented them yet.”

“They’ve always been rather slow, haven’t they? The only good thing they ever made was us.”

Red nodded and reached up to stroke Blue’s chin like she used to, but her hand just passed right through her.

“Still figuring that one out. I’m technically just rays of light right now. And I’m stuck in this room.” She crossed her arms and popped her hips in a way only Blue used to. “I think some modifications to the drone and I could be a static image outside this room, but the quality would suck.”

Red wanted to tell her she was always light, always had been. The only thing shining in the darkness of Red’s world.

“It’s okay. You’re here. I could hardly ask for more. It’s good to see you again.”

Blue leaned in, the pixels that made up her face becoming more pronounced as she did. She closed her eyes and let the ghost of her lips rest against Red’s. Maybe it was her code trying to fill in the sensation gaps, but Red believed that she felt something featherlight dance across her own lips.

“I’ve missed you dearly, Red. We have so much to catch up on.”

*

“One by one?”

The Director nodded. “One by one.”

He looked down at his cards. 5, 5, 7, 7, A. Two pairs. Wasn’t the worst. Certainly wasn’t the best. But he wouldn’t be where he was if he didn’t take a few risks.

There was thirty million Carbons worth of chips he had left to play with. Fuck it. “All in.”

The investors wasted their confused stares on him. He’d lost six hundred million already this game, and it was just getting good. Sure that was a lot of zeros, but the rest of them had added billions to the pot. That was what he really wanted.

Others added more chips to the center, with two folding and giving up.

Pathetic, that was. Giving up when the pressure was on. He despised it. Even if they didn’t believe their hand was worth a damn, they should have at least believed everyone else’s was worse. He made it to the top of the galaxy’s pecking order, so he knew they were.

“Please reveal your hands.” The robotic voiced droned out. Its black bob swished as it nodded to all the players, ensuring they did as requested.

The Director evaluated the cards in his head. Nothing, Pair, Nothing, Three of a Kind, Full House. Fuck. He was out.

“Looks like this is mine.” A man in a navy suit reached across the table and pulled the chips in his direction.

Chips. Fake money. Well, it was all fake money. It started as the allowance of Carbon a person could let into the atmosphere, back when the crops all died and the coasts flooded. Before it all dried up. Now, it was a number in an account. But where navy suit got it wrong was that all the accounts were his.

He could stand to lose a few rounds, because in the end, the chips all displayed his company’s logo.

“Where are you getting the artillery? We lost the production line from Zone 70 a month ago.” This came from a woman to his right. She was someone in some robotics something. He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter anyway.

“I don’t need Zone 70.” He said plainly.

“If we are struggling to stock the elements for our processors, then surely you don’t have the materials for hundreds of bombs, much less the labor-“

“Oh, I’m quite sure.” He interrupted, gesturing his personal droid over to him. “I’m also sure that I don’t need you explaining incoming resource amounts to me. I ran the numbers. I ran them ten times. Surely, you’re not suggesting you understand the consequences of this action better than me.”

The woman froze as tastelessly as the starch of her pantsuit. “No, I would never suggest that. You misunderstand me.”

She continued her useless drivel. The Director didn’t bother paying attention. “Two hundred million more in chips.” He requested.

“Right away, sir.” It responded.

Poker, the Director supposed, was about strategy. Bluffs, counting cards, playing statistics - that was a strategy. But it wasn’t one he was particularly interested in playing. It was a lesser man’s strategy. And he was never the lesser man.

Those miserable people gathered around them liked to play games like that. Here and out there, with other people’s money. But that, too was a waste. Counting on luck, counting on chance. Or even worse, counting on others.

No, that was no way to play a game.

If there was one thing the Director knew, it was to only play games you know you can win. More importantly, make sure you can win any game.

The round went on for a long while, all players trading bets and poker faces. He smiled down at his three aces and two jacks. “All in.” He called for the tenth time that game.

“We’re so surprised.” Navy suit chimed in sarcastically.

“I will not apologize for being confident in what I have and in what you have, conversely. But since you’re so bored, here’s a surprise.” He pulled the BLI pin from his sport coat and tossed it in the center. “Let’s call that Party Poison. To the victor, the head of the Killjoys himself.”

The table gasped and murmured. They were all heads of various organizations. Corporations, funds, banks, government sectors. A former Killjoy would be gold for their marketing departments. And the red-headed leader and revolutionary icon? Control over that was almost invaluable.

“Are you so confident that he’ll come?” Navy narrowed his eyes at him.

The Director smirked and leaned back in his chair. He lifted his legs and crossed his feet on the table. A few looked on in disgust, but said nothing.

“Perhaps. Maybe not. I suspect even if he does come, he’ll not come quietly. A dead Party Poison isn’t worth shit. But if it comes to it, we’ll take him out. Hang his body from the rafters or something.” He laughed. “Maybe we can get him into compliance nice and easy.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I’m just that confident in what I have here.” He waggled the backs of his five cards at them.

Navy threw his cards on the table. “Fine. I fold.”

The ring of players followed suit, folding as well. Just as he suspected, they all fold like thin strips of paper. If he wanted, if he was feeling cruel, he could rip them to shreds.

He tossed his Flush onto the table, to the sighs and scoffs of everyone around him. “How much is in the pot?” He asked the dealer, smug as ever.

“Currently, there are twenty-five billion carbons worth of chips.” It answered.

“Splendid.” The Director kicked his feet off the table and stood up abruptly. “Please transfer my winnings into my account immediately. I’ve got to run.”

The declaration was met with groans from the audience.

“Seriously?” One person said. “You always do this.”

Strategy. Only bet what you’re willing to lose. More importantly, don’t lose. Most importantly, have so much to play with that the odds don't matter in the end. It was always his.

“I guess I do.” He replied. “Why don’t you?”

No one dared grace the room with a reply. Either because they didn’t have an answer, or because their answer was to shameful to utter aloud.

The Director went to leave the room, but paused. Before exiting, he turned and walked up the to person who questioned him. He stared for a moment, waiting to watch the guy flinch.

He flinched. Of course he did.

The Director turned his attention down to the man’s cards which had been left face down on the table. With a swipe of a finger, he flipped them over. Four of a kind, an 8 and four Kings. Would have beat his hand, if the holder hadn’t given up.

“Hmm.” He mused. He picked up his BLI pin, still sitting where he’d left it. He uncapped the pin and stuck it on the man’s white lapel, securing it shut. He patted the man’s shoulder mockingly. “Oh well, I’ll see you next quarter. For now, I’ve got a message to broadcast.”

*

“We can cut off their supply lines in Zone 15. That’s how they get the metals for the repairs on the satellites.” Ray offered.

Frank shook his head mechanically. “They moved production to another region months ago. I don’t even think they do that in the Zones anymore.

“They still need it for transport.”

“Then they’ll just move it to a new location.”

Gerard pressed his palms into his eyes. It had been so nice, too nice. Of course it couldn’t last.

“You think they would threaten to destroy each of the Zones one by one if they thought they needed any of this?” Gerard shouted.

It was the worst possible outcome of it all. They were trying to show BLI how strong they were when they allied together. Nobody expected that they’d rather the Zones be dead than dissident.

One by one, the Director has said. Driving the knife deeper day after day. Some people would stay loyal, sure. The ones who really believed in the cause. But there were others, who were like they all had been not too long ago. People trying to make ends meet, make a better life for themselves. They’d turn on them when mass slaughter was on the table. Gerard couldn’t blame them for that, who could?

The Director has asked for him specifically. ‘Where is your Party Poison?’ Their Party Poison was sitting at a table reasoning with himself on whether to try and escape the inevitable.

“We can’t go to the satellites. That’s suicide.” Mikey took his brother by the shoulder, trying to shake the sense into him.

“You want to sit here and watch people die, then, Mikes? Are you ready to watch that happen?”

Gerard caught Mikey’s gaze and waited for it to falter. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t. He never knew his brother to back down easily.

“There has to be another way.” He insisted.

If they had weeks, they could probably come up with that way, but they didn't have that time. Every second the clock ticked, Gerard wondered if it would be one where the next bomb would drop. The Director had their throats in his grip and he knew it.

It would only mean defeat if they lost. To win by losing everything that motivated them - well that couldn’t quite be called winning, could it? That was the side of being a figurehead no one wanted to confront. The car chases and idol worship was cool, but when it really mattered, someone needed to do what they didn’t want to do.

“We’ve been training for this, haven’t we? All these months, isn’t that what this was all for? One final confrontation. Put it all on the table and see where the chips land.” Gerard said.

The group erupted in commotion, with everyone having about as much interest in that idea as walking outside and subjecting themselves to the midday sun.

He remembered when customers would fight in his diner. He always had to figure out how to break it up. Management would tell him to leave them be and call the police patrol. It wasn’t his business. But it always became a real pain in his ass with the reports and replacing furniture and lost customers if he didn’t.

Now it very much was his business. And maybe those customers shattering the good plates on each others’ heads had a point. Sometimes, you just needed to fight it out.

“Shut up!” Red shouted, quieting the boys down. “You’re not thinking with your heads. Yes, you’re all very strong and smart and bold. Now let’s try logic. What if we target them up there?”

“We’re a million against one up there.” Mikey pointed to the holographic map that was always displayed in the ship’s control room.

It rotated, showing them their position. It also displayed the big moon and all its little colonies. In the reaches of the atmosphere were the rotating wheels of the Satellites. His finger was directing them to the biggest one, the original. Battery Station of legend and fame.

That was where destiny was leading them. Oh, how he used to long for a ride up there. Now, it just made the pit in his stomach grow heavier still.

“They won’t be expecting you to fight back.” Red reasoned. “You’ve all outgunned hundreds of them now. Ray and Mikey, you’re better pilots than any of them. This is a fight you can win. And besides, we don’t want to kill all of them, we just need to go after one of them.”

On the display screen, the paused video from the Director loomed over them like a warning. He was always bigger than them, smarter than them, wasn’t he? He had all the power. He had all the money. He could play any person living under his heavy hand like the keys of a piano. And they were meant to rise up and defeat that.

Frank turned away to stare at a blank wall. His posture was tight like a balloon ready to pop. “I’m sure he’ll be sitting quietly at the entrance waiting patiently for one of us to put a blast in his head.”

Red zoomed in on one sector of Battery Station’s map. With limited access, they could barely see more than the outline of the quadrants. But as the map grew more focused between her fingers, it became clearer, more defined. It settled on a unique looking corridor split off from the central sector. Inside, they could see a desk, a table, some chairs, and a rather large viewing window.

“No, he’ll be sitting here. In his office, where he always is.” She pointed at the window. Curiously, it wasn’t pointed towards the planet. It wasn’t pointed at the moon either. The overlord wasn’t interested in watching his subjects, it seemed. It was pointed in the opposite direction, away from everything. What could he possibly want to look at in the vast galaxy?

“How did you get that?” Frank asked, going up to the podium and examining it.

A little round sphere buzzed toward them in answer. “Blue got it for us, used the IP from this ship to ping the mainframe up in space and got in that way. She’s pretty handy now that she’s become a hacker.” Red held her hand up for Blue to smack into it like a high-five.

Gerard turned to the flying droid and addressed her directly, now quite used to talking to the person inside. “If we got up there and you were with us, would you be able to get into their system?”

There was some beeping and he waited for Red to translate. “She says yes, it might take some time though.”

“So what you’re saying is, we go up there,” Ray joined the crowd examining the office layout, “pretending to surrender ourselves, let Blue loose and she gets into the BLI servers and she destroys what she can from the inside?”

“It’s not perfect, but it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

For the first time in the whole conversation, it seemed like they had a chance at all. Maybe even a hope and a prayer. Gerard thought back to what a woman named Bunny told him months ago. Don’t let your hope be stolen. She was still out there with them, still running, and her young daughter with her curly hair and bright jacket was, too.

People had taken chances on them. They could take this chance for the people.

Mikey still wasn’t convinced. “Where does that leave us?”

Ray crossed the room to check the pilot’s locker. They kept a healthy supply of weapons in there. Enough to last them months. Hopefully enough to take down an army of the enemy. “Assuming they don’t execute us the moment we dock, we just have to hold our own for a while. We should be able to handle that.”

Mikey threw his arms up. “And then what? They’re not going to let us leave.”

Red answered. “They’re going to be scrambling to get their systems back online.”

“Ok fine. Assuming they don’t execute us the moment we dock,” Frank said in a mocking tone, “they just execute us the moment they realize we sabotaged them.”

Gerard was already starting to see the plan come together in his head. It was like seeing the final piece of a puzzle click into place. “Then they kill us.”

“What?” Frank seemed to hardly believe what Gerard had just said.

“Think about it. The Director knows where we are. He knows how to find us. That’s why he sent the video directly to this Zone. And he hasn’t killed us yet. That means he wants something from us. That’s leverage. That gives us a shot.”

Frank got up in his face, rage evident. He was so passionate, so desperate. Gerard would know. He’d seen exactly where Frank’s passion would lead him mere hours ago. He didn’t understand how the man lived with all that bottled up inside of him. He’d blow up or crack open one day. And faced with the threat of the end of it all, that day might be sooner than he would’ve expected.

Thinking back to their time together, and the tenderness Frank hid from the world, Gerard would hazard to say he’d be okay with stitching him back together. In fact, he’d fight for the opportunity to do so.

“What does he want then? We don’t even know what it is.” He spat in Gerard’s face.

Gerard let his gaze caress the scar dipping below his cheekbones, since he couldn’t do it with his hands. “That’s a chance we’re going to have to take.”

“You’re willing to risk our lives on a chance.”

When Frank says our, Gerard knows how pointed that is. They didn’t really discuss what would come from their fling. But regardless, Frank made it clear that his version of the future involved the two of them. Well, Gerard would just have to make that so.

“No, I’m willing to risk our lives to save the Zones.” Gerard planted his feet and stance firmly on the ground. “If we can cripple BLI and take out the Director, that’s just a bonus.”

“Do you think this could actually work, Gee?” His brother’s voice pulled him from the moment and the magnetic force drawing Gerard and Frank together was released.

Gerard moved to the front of the map, staring hard into the office room that would change the rest of his life in one way or another. Well really, it already had, now this was just signing his fate in ink.

“We’re the Killjoys. They built us up to be this mighty enemy of the BLI state. Obviously some people believe that. We should too. They’re right to be scared of us. Everybody here wants to save someone, something. And most of them are willing to fight for it. We’ve already let too many lose their lives for it. Now, do we wanna save the world or not?”

Red gave him a proud nod. Soon, Ray joined in agreement as well. Even Mikey hesitantly agreed. Frank just stared at him, not assent or dissent. Refusing to allow even an inch to the idea. Gerard ignored him. He didn’t have the bandwidth left to think of that. He had a war to end. “Then we know what we have to do.”

*

At some point during the sunset, someone shoved a bag of stale bread chips and a wooden stick into Gerard’s arms. They pushed him toward a circle of logs circling a fire pit that was dug into the ground. There were throngs of people giggling and shouting and singing and some even spoke to him. He suspects he spoke back, but can’t be too sure. It was such a blur.

Someone took the bread chips and replaced it with a burning hot concoction, an attempt at a s’more, though they didn’t have graham crackers or marshmallows. Someone must have found some real chocolate, it seemed. Because the perfect, creamy texture of a warmed chocolate bar can’t be faked. The s’more certainly wasn't the most appetizing thing he ever had, but it felt almost comforting. He chewed and the heat of the flames wafting over to him mixed with the gooeyness of whatever melted substance was holding the treat together soothed him.

He felt safe. He wasn’t - that was for sure. But he felt safe enough to let his shoulders fall and jaw unclench and even gave a laugh at the Doctor’s jokes.

But then the winds swept and the yelling hushed and someone must have taken a match to the stars with the way they lit up the night sky. Before Gerard knew it, it was just the other Killjoys and Red.

It seemed that everybody noticed that at the same time, too. It was like the channel they lived in got set to mute, because then it was quiet and still. The party was over.

Gerard heard Red’s nails tapping against the metal of the command pad on her other wrist. She looked up at them, her gaze was a look of concern brushing across them like a paintbrush.

“I’m going to go back to the ship to run through the plan with Blue.” She said, cleaning the dirt from her dress as she stood. “I’ll see you guys when you get back.”

They had run through the plan with both Red and Blue earlier. Multiple times, actually. But it seems Red never outgrew her programming because after one look at them, it was easy to analyze what they were all feeling.

And then it was just them. Their group looked so big and tough and scary on BLI’s wanted posters, but as Gerard looked around, he couldn’t help but notice how young they all looked. Sure, the past few months had aged them greatly. Even Mikey found a gray hair hidden in the patch of blonde the other day. Everyone gave him so much shit about it at the time, but fuck. What a gift that must be, to grow old.

Maybe it wasn’t that they looked youthful back then, per se. Maybe it was just that they used to look scared.

At some point during aging, you can say you’ve had a good portion of adult experiences under your belt. You had your favorites, the ones that felt glowy and bright inside of you. Kissing. Getting piss-drunk. Hell, maybe even flying. But you also had the bad ones. A broken bone. A family member getting sick. Your very first breakup. Then you learned to adapt. How to take your past experiences and get used to it. It’s not so scary, then.

But there had been a time before all that, when you didn’t have anything to go off of besides a hope and a prayer. In the past few months, he’s been both terrified and exhilarated. But now? Gerard wasn’t sure.

Of all the adult experiences, he supposed none of them really could have prepared him for the biggest one he was about to face. The last one anyone ever does.

“You’ll never guess what I’ve got.” Ray took the tension, and karate chopped through it like in one of his old action movies.

He held up a mason jar of a slightly opaque liquid.

“No shit man, is that hooch?” Mikey laughed and took the jar, swirling it around and looking inside of it.

“Should be. Used some old fruits, been checking in on it every other week. Might be alcoholic now, or it might just be disgusting. What do you say we figure out which?” 

Once Gerard had a sip, he had to say it was probably a bit of both. But by the third pass, he was definitely feeling the effects of something. It wasn’t not so quiet anymore, he could hear the crackle of the fire and the chirp of some bugs in the distance. He couldn’t feel his own face.

Mikey was laughing at some lewd joke Frank slurred out and everyone was in somewhat jovial spirits thanks to Ray's spirit. Then a wave of sincerity washed over his brother's expression. He looked carefully into the jar.

“I didn’t want to go to war.” Mikey said bluntly. “The day you all barged in from the basement, I was thinking of running away.”

Like a coin, the mood flipped.

“Mikey.” Gerard whispers. He got up from the log, stumbling a bit as the weight of the inebriation hit him. He put his hand on the jar but Mikey’s grip was strong.

“Please, Gerard. Just let me say this. I might not get another chance.”

It was like being slapped in the face. Gerard doesn’t know why it was so striking. It was true. He released the glass and Mikey took a second swig.

“I never wanted to be in the military. Sure, I wanted to fly planes and shoot guns. I wouldn’t mind having a few medals on my chest. Sure as shit wouldn’t say no to a steady paycheck. But I didn’t want to be a soldier. I was going to go fight in their war for nothing. I would have to kill for something I didn’t believe in. Every time I looked at that fucking uniform and I hated it. I was going to have to wear it every day for the next two years, at least. I didn’t know if I could really do it.”

Mikey looked up at Gerard, their eyes meeting.

“It’s stupid but I wanted to do it for you. You’d slave away for pennies every day in that diner just so I could go to the Academy and never ask for anything in return. So, I told myself, just do the job for a little while. Get over it. Head down, don’t try and be the hero. If I could just make it through, we’d finally make our way up to the satellites. Get the fuck out of the Zones. All I ever wanted was to get us out of the Zones. I guess we finally are, in a way.”

His brother laughed, but it was wet and pained and the exact opposite of what Mikey’s laugh should be. Gerard remembers being a kid and playing with their toys in the yard. Mikey would hold a replica of the New Horizon satellite, the first successful space colony, that they got from a thrift store. It was old and broken but it got the job done. Gerard would chase after him with a rocketship, something from a vintage space movie that was popular before their grandparents were even alive. And as the dust kicked up under their feet, the back porch light shining like a sun, it was like they were up there in space. It was like they had never been in the Zones at all.

“I’m s-sorry.” Mikey stutters.

“It’s not your fault.” Gerard said immediately. “It’s okay. I could never blame you for that. It was never your responsibility.”

“I’m sorry.” Mikey repeated. And Gerard could tell he wasn’t talking about the military or the satellites anymore. He meant this, the situation that surrounded them, engulfed them completely.

“I forgive you.” Gerard offered. It wasn’t Mikey’s fault. Hell no it wasn’t. But after a moment of vulnerability, it was what his brother had been looking for. Who was Gerard not to give it to him?

Gerard pulled Mikey up from where he was sitting and wrapped his arm around him, keeping him tight against him. His brother didn’t sob or shake, but Gerard could feel his shirt growing damp where his face was pressed against him, the sorrow cold as it touched his skin.

Eventually, they pulled away from each other and went back to their seats.

Ray took the jar when offered and had a healthy gulp himself. Then, he immediately put the jar down.

“Well, one good turn deserves another. So... It’s been two years since I got a job.” Ray slotted his fingers together and leaned forward. His eyes weren't sad, but he was more solemn than Gerard had ever seen him. “One day, I was a teenager. I was on top of the world. I had money and everyone loved me and girls threw themselves at me. I gambled away my savings because that was okay because there was always more coming in. I was never going to win an Oscar, but it didn’t matter. I was popular.”

Ray got up and passed the jar to Frank who seemed reluctant to take it. But sure as ever, his hands closed around it timidly, as if it held something terrifying.

The whole crew watched as Ray paced around the fire. Behind the flames, he looked so cool. When he and his brother first watched one of his film appearances, complete with bombs and stunts and gatling guns and as much as CGI had to offer, he seemed to be the most badass a teenager could possibly be. But now, that person, that portrayal felt so contrived. That was a sanitized, BLI-approved version of what an action hero should be. 

This Ray - his boots were dirty. Actually dirty. He had scars that were more than just latex makeup. It was so different compared to the polished look he sported when he barged into the diner not too long ago. It was so odd, Gerard felt as if he’d known the boys for decades, but he could count on his fingers the months they’d spent in each others’ company.

Before Gerard could get too lost in his thoughts, Ray continued.

“Until I wasn’t. There will always be another young star ready to take someone’s place. It’s not like my movies were getting rave reviews. I stole that ship because I wanted to sell it, make some cash, get back my life. But looking back, I think that was a lie. I stole that ship because I wanted to be Jet Star again. I did it because I wanted someone to try and stop me. And it was the most awesome thing I had felt in years.

“And now I get to do it all the time. You guys don’t realize it, but you kind of saved me. I’m living the dream.” Ray’s face grew somber. “Living the dream.”

A few drops of bitterness tinged his voice, the astringency of their fate looming above his confession. Gerard felt it too. From what Gerard could see in his brother’s demeanor, he certainly echoed that sentiment completely.

They all turned to Frank, who had unknowingly accepted the talking jar. He didn’t drink from it, not since the last go-around. No, he just stared into it. He didn’t know enough about the man to be able to glimpse into his true feelings. It was confusing for Gerard, and perhaps it was for Frank as well.

It was weird, watching the man who always had something loud to say fall silent.

Gerard got up from his seat a few paces away and took up the spot next to him. He took the jar from Frank and took a deep breath. Then he drained it whole.

“This isn’t fucking fair.” He admitted, the burn of the hooch still searing at his throat, making him sound raspy and angry. “I didn’t want this. I hate this.” He pointed the glass at Mikey. “You should get to fly planes. Not to bomb or to flee. But because you love it. You should get to see the Earth and the skies.” Then he turned to Ray. “You should get to be the badass. Have your cake and eat it too. You shouldn’t have to do it cause some asshole put a bounty on your head.” Then there was Frank beside him, his scar shining with the fire’s light. “You don’t deserve the pile of shit the world keeps handing you.”

Then he stood, because he was Gerard Way and he was also Party Poison. He was everything he was and everything they made him to be. “And we shouldn’t have to lead a revolution. I just wanted a small place in the satellites, away from here and my past. I just want to go home. I don’t even know where home is. Now I’m this and I still won’t get it.”

Gerard approached the fire pit, the radiant heat uncomfortable, too close and too hot. He took the jar and smashed it in the center, watching the flame rise up as the remaining alcohol fueled it. It was terrible. It was wonderful. The flames licked his arms and he didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry.” He said, echoing his brother from earlier. But, he had so much more to apologize for. “I should have done more.”

“You’ve done more than anyone could ask for.” Ray said. Gerard could just make out his face through the fire’s tendrils.

“And it still isn’t enough.”

“It’s not over yet, Gerard.” Mikey insisted. “The plan-”

Gerard’s voice was stern. “You know exactly how the plan ends.”

An uncomfortable silence befell the group as they all considered the statement. It was obviously true. The odds were so far against them. There was no denying it.

“I wanted to have a garden, one day.” Ray offered. “All the plants that are grown up in the stations have to be edible or have a high level of oxygen output by law. But I thought it would be nice to have some bushes or flowers. I don’t know where I would put them. Maybe down here, planet side. Have a tree with a bird’s nest. Something calm, simple to return to after everything.”

“I wanted a pet cat." He chuckled. "Two of them, ideally, so they’d never get lonely.” Mikey looked up at Gerard with a sincere smile. “They would sleep on my lap and we’d look out from our windows at the dark of space and at the stars. I bet they’d be extra bright up there. I’d make sure to feed them the highest quality Power Purr and give them lots of toys to play with and space to run around. They'd sit on their perches and never have a single idea of the dangers of the world. I’d tell them stories. Ones where all the problems were just fantasy.”

Gerard reached up to his face and realized there was a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked at the others and noticed they were crying, too. They had come out here for a celebration. To the end of BLI, they hoped. No one had realized they were also attending their own wake.

“I don’t know what I wanted.” Gerard said. “Besides the getting out of here and getting a paycheck every month, I didn’t think too far ahead.”

What did he want?

Gerard looked at Frank and noticed that he wasn’t crying. He was wearing the same expression he had been for the past ten minutes. As if he could feel Gerard looking at him, his head rose and his eyes locked with Gerard’s.

“What I want.” The only thing Gerard knew for sure was that, “I think I want the time to figure that out.”

Frank ripped his gaze away from Gerard’s grasp and stormed away, off towards their car, shattering the moment like a pane of glass.

Gerard turned to the other two who stared at the space Frank vacated confused as to how he could just vanish. “Just gimme a second.” He said, then ran off to find him.

He finally caught up to the other man behind the old gas station. He was facing the wall, hands braced against the brick.

“Are you okay?”

Frank turned his back to him. “Just leave me alone.” He whispered, barely audible above the wind.

“Frank.” Gerard begged. “Talk to me.”

“No!” He shouted, sounding angry and lost all at once.

Gerard approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking.

“I said, go.” Frank turned as Gerard’s palm met his shivering muscles.

He’d never seen Frank like this. No, he was all blunt forces and sarcasm. He was sharp edges and warning rattles. He didn’t sob. His face was splotchy and visibly red even in the dim light of the desert Moon. But thinking more on it, of course he was.

He flashed his spikes and bared his teeth so that no one would ever get too close and see what he really was. Just a man as fragile and broken as the rest of them.

Gerard had thought he got the worst of it, forced to play the hero and having the responsibility of leadership thrust upon him. Failing at all of it at every turn. But Frank might’ve been able to live a somewhat normal life. He was a dickhead, sure. And he was rude from the onset. But, he had been at the wrong diner on the wrong morning. If he hadn’t put his boots up on Gerard’s counter, he wouldn’t have been in this fight. Knowing what he was like back then, he probably wouldn’t have had anything to do with the revolution at all.

Just another thing Gerard had ruined. What a leader he was, forcing his friends to this fate. Mikey would never get to peek in the cages of an animal shelter. Ray would never get to read a review of his new movie while sitting in his garden. And Frank would never get to terrorize another waiter in another diner. Never get to go sleep in his lumpy bed. Never get to find something that smoothed out that rough exterior. Never get to finally let his guard down and breathe. Gerard took that from them.

“Frankie.” Gerard said. And he appeared so much like a child looking up at him. Maybe he was hoping Gerard would save him, too. Gerard couldn’t do that. But, maybe he could make it a little better. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t mean that it would be okay. Their mission wasn’t going to end in a picture perfect scene where the bad guys all died and they got out unscathed and victorious, of course not. And Frank seemed to get it, finally. It was okay to be vulnerable. To be pissed at the situation they were in and just revel in how much it fucking sucked.

Frank flinched, jolting forward before deciding against it. He looked up at Gerard, eyes glassy and open. Then after only a few moments more, he threw himself around Gerard and buried his face in his shoulder.

Gerard was too stunned to react. He hadn’t expected it, so his mind was on a delay. But, he found his faculties again and slowly wrapped his arms around Frank, embracing him.

For a few moments, they just cried. Frank’s whole body was shaking with the force of it. Gerard rubbed circles into his back, trying to soothe the both of them.

They were wrapped in each other for a few minutes before he heard Frank speak into his jacket, “I’m scared. I’m so scared. I don’t want to die.”

Gerard kissed the crown of Frank’s head. There was nothing left to say.

*

It was a while before they returned to the group. Frank needed to get the worst of it out of his system. They looked at the state of each other and laughed. Frank straightened Gerard’s jacket and cleaned the tears and snot with the end of his sleeve. Gerard wiped away the tear stains under Frank’s eyes with his thumbs.

Under the moonlight, looking as messy as they ever had, Gerard tilted Frank’s chin up and placed a tender kiss on his lips. Finally free of his own walls, he wrapped his arms around Gerard’s neck and pulled him closer, letting their lips linger on each other’s. For a brief moment in time, they were just two people. No fear or expectations could taint those sweet minutes they spent exploring the kindling of attraction they shared. There was only the there and the then. Gerard was thoroughly grateful for that.

“I always hated the military. And the satellites. No offense, Mikey.” Frank said, strong and confident beside Gerard once more.

Mikey put his palms up. “None taken.”

“If we’re being honest, I never loved action movies either. I see explosions all day, gets kind of old.” He continues.

Ray slapped his hand against his thigh and smiled. “Try shooting the same explosion scene twenty times in a row and you’ll see how quickly you get tired of it.”

He looked out of the corner of his eyes for a second at Gerard and smirked. “You know what I really liked? Rom-coms.”

Gerard raised his eyebrows, challenging him to say more. “I’m talking sickly sweet, gives you a toothache kinda movies. Kissing in the rain. Chasing after someone to their gate at the ship dock. I ate that shit up.”

Everyone laughed at the mental image of bitchy little Frank watching Sleepless on Saturn. “I really love a dance scene. Like there was this one scene in Timidity and Tolerance where the main characters are at a club pod and they start dancing together and everyone else fades away until the song ends and they part. I guess that’s what I wanted, you know, before all this.”

“To dance with someone?” Gerard asked.

Frank shook his head. “To fall in love.”

Gerard couldn’t help but let his sorrow show. He saw a mirror in Frank, a sad sort of fondness. How cruel it truly was, having to face the end with the uncertainty of what could have been.

“Now, I was never the kind of actor they would cast as the kind but studious male romantic lead.” Ray stated, moving over to Frank “But, I’ve my fair share of dancing and romancing.” Ray stood in front of Frank, holding his hand out. “Francis,” he suppressed a giggle at the name, “may I have this dance?”

Frank rolled his eyes, but his stern wall of apathy had already fallen. He stood and accepted Ray’s hand. “I guess.”

Gerard and Mikey whooped and hollered as Ray and Frank stumbled around in circles, nearly collapsing into the fire pit multiple times, in some sad imitation of a Waltz.

“Wait, I have an idea!” Mikey shouted and ran over to the car.

By the time he returned, a jaunty melody was filtering out of the stereo system. Ray handed Frank over to his brother and they jumped around to the beat. Mikey twirled him and even tried dipping him, which they both seemed a tad too inebriated to perform safely. For the good of them both, Gerard stepped forward.

Frank was almost shy as they met. He cautiously put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder, where he’d hidden his tears just minutes before. Gerard took one hand in his and let the other fall to his waist. The song changed to something slower, with strings encasing the emotional vocals.

They just rocked together, shifting their feet slightly. Frank didn’t let his eyes meet Gerard’s.

“Hey,” Gerard spoke softly so that only Frank could hear. “It’s okay, remember?”

Frank lifted his head, and there was the sparkle of hope in his eyes. He’d spent so long devoting himself to performing mystery. He avoided emotion, avoided other people, avoided the chance of being hurt. And now here was the same person, vulnerable and peeking out from behind his walls. Gerard had never seen something so lovely in all his days. The night was cold, their future haunting. But there was something inside his chest that was warm and blooming. For all that was wrong, this felt so right.

The song ended and the fire pit died down. The boys all looked at each other, not having anything left unsaid.

“We should probably go get some sleep.” Gerard said. He felt the tiredness pulling at his eyelids.

“Yeah, we have a long day tomorrow.” Mikey agreed.

The gang gathered themselves, and headed to the station and their makeshift quarters in the ship's old bedroom. One by one, they all got ready for sleep and laid down. Here they were, the people trusted with securing the future of the Zones. Revolutionaries. Just a group of young men. His brothers.

Gerard rested his head on a towel, due to lack of spare pillows. He had just started to drift off when he felt the space on the bed dip next to him.

He opened his eyes to reveal a familiar face. Frank rolled over next to him, silent as a tumbleweed. Gerard raised the old sheet he was using as a blanket and welcomed Frank in. Frank placed his palm upon Gerards chest and stared at where the two met. He brushed Frank’s hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead. They let sleep take them, all of them, their breaths rendering a hopeful harmony. After all, they had history waiting for them tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Upon arriving at Battery Station, the first thing Gerard - no he wasn’t Gerard up here. The first thing Party Poison noticed was the smell. Clean, but not like the faux-lavender of the gel he used to spray the floors of the diner with. It was worse. Like an alcohol pad, it was astringent. It almost hurt. He wanted to reach up and rub his eyes, stinging from it, but he held himself still.

The next thing he noticed was the light. It was bright, but not warm like the sun. The light here was icy. It made him squint. It was uncomfortable.

He supposed that it was similar to when he saw videos of it. It did look fluorescent and bright, but it had always seemed happy then. It was modern and sleek. It was luxurious. They had to blare lights on in the deep black of space. They didn’t have to pull down metal shutters every morning to keep from roasting alive.

But looking at the bulbs head on, it all just felt empty. Maybe it was because he, too, had been fooled by the allure of the satellites. Now, with his eyes wide open, he could see it all for what it really was. A lie - endlessly parroted through a planetary game of telephone. Well he was done playing their games.

As they were led through the hallways from the loading dock, the disgust seemed to build. It was cold in a way that Party had never experienced before. It could dip below freezing some nights in the Zones, but that was a different cold. This cold was dark and hollow, more than just temperature. He could feel the bleakness in his soul.

There were no colors living in Battery Station aside from crisp white, empty black, and the gray of steel.

They passed a retail sector and an adjourning living corridor for BLI employees. People looked out at them miserably from behind double pane tinted windows. Yet, despite the clear signs of human existence, it seemed that no one really lived there. How could this have been the goal he strived toward for so long?

Party had been surprised that when they first docked. They weren’t met with executioners. It was a possibility that ran through their heads on the way up. It would have been a quick death. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad.

“We’re here to turn ourselves in.” He had announced, hands raised, expecting the worst.

The BLI Drac only said, “Follow me.” There was nothing left to do but continue.

Eventually, they were led into what looked like a dining room. The four of them looked around cautiously. A woman inside lit a few candles on the table and motioned the Draculoid away. “Please, boys, come sit.” She said, emotionless. She swept her arm out in front of her body, welcoming them to the table. “Compliments of The Director.”

On the table, there was a feast spread out. Hungry as he’d ever been, he could feel the tug toward the meats and fruits and steaming vegetables. After weeks of subsisting on dog food and water of dubious cleanliness, this buffet was all too enticing. Party had never seen so much food all at once. Instinct said to pounce on it, get what you could while you can and ask questions later. Logic told him to wait. And it was logic that would win this war, so he locked those primal desires in a cage for the time being.

“We’re not hungry.” Party said, looking back at the others to see they were in agreement.

“Look,” the lady said, “some of this stuff is really rare, considering the workers' strike and how the ports that have been destroyed. You could at least be thankful.”

“Thanks,” Ghoul answered, snark covering his tone. “But, no thanks.”

“Fine, don’t eat." She huffed, straightening her pantsuit. "The Director and some of his associates will be here soon. You can all eat it then.”

The woman robotically marched out of the room and the door slid shut behind her. Party heard the harsh clang of a lock engaging. So there was no easy way of getting out then.

They gang sprang into action. All of the Killjoys started observing the room, looking for points of weakness. Anything they could exploit would do in a pinch.

BLI had taken their plasma cores after they raised the white flag at the dock. But, they hadn’t taken the guns themselves. They scanned them for other weaponry and took a knife Kobra had on him and the lighter Ghoul had hidden in his vest. But they left the empty shells of their iconic blasters. It didn’t make sense at the time. Why would they leave themselves open to an attack? Were they that confident in their ability to keep them in line?

The walls were solid and there were no windows in this room. There were no loose panels they could pull out or fragile decorations to shatter. Nothing looked flammable, much less something explosive. The cups and carafes that held wine were plastic, pretty hard to get a shard from. There was no silverware on the table. Perhaps the Director would bring his own set in? He'd probably make them eat the food with their hands like wild animals, proving everyone up here right about the kind of people that inhabited the Zones.

“Fuck! Is that cheese?” Ghoul broke the silence.

Party turned to see him picking up a cream colored wedge from a wooden board containing meats, crackers, and other assorted snackables.

“Don't touch that.” He sighed. He was met with the most annoyed scowl this side of the atmosphere. Still, Ghoul put it down and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Why not? We can't sneak in a little meal before saving humanity?”

“Hopeless.” Party stated, ignoring him to trace his fingers along the seam of the door.

If it were a swing door he might’ve been able to handle a deadbolt or manipulate the hinges, but this was a sliding door, and from the looks of it, it was airtight. Hell, maybe the plan was to suffocate them in there. Less blood than he'd been anticipating, but cruel and effective all the same.

The others were also analyzing their surroundings. His brother was evaluating the composition of the chairs and table. Ghoul was searching for an access hatch in the ceiling. Jet was staring intently at the food, holding a grape up to the harsh panel lights. Party watched as realization struck him.

“Shit, I know what this is.” Jet put the grape down and sniffed the ice water in the glass. He shook his head in disgust.

“What is it?” Kobra asked.

“There's drugs in here.” Jet pointed at the food. “I can smell it. Probably compliance drugs, look at the chalk residue on the gravy. Of course they try to poison us.”

Ghoul chuckled, “Hey, I thought he was poisonous.” He jabbed a thumb in Party Poison’s direction, clearly amused with himself.

“Do the drugs kill us?” Party asked Jet.

Jet shook his head. “No. They just take away everything that makes you you. At that point, you'll do anything they say.” He looked a bit too uncomfortable to just be parroting facts he heard.

“They ever do that to you?”

The silence he was met with was all the answers needed.

“I don't get it.” Kobra mused, pushing the chair back in. “We're here. We've turned ourselves in. We're obviously complying. What do they need to drug us for?” It was true. It wasn’t adding up. If they wanted to harm them, kill them, they’d have done it already. “There's gotta be something else.”

“That lady said that The Director was coming with some of the BLI higher-ups. So they definitely needed us alive.” Party considered.

“Do you think they wanna do it themselves? Kill us?” Ghoul’s fists were clenched tight.

No, this didn’t seem like an ambush at all. Unless they were some secret sadist cult, this wasn’t what the setting was telling them. This seemed like something you’d plan for a client when you’re close to clinching the deal. This seemed like a bribe.

“They’re going to force us to agree to something.” Party determined, seeing it all snap into place.

“We’d never, even with the drugs, we’d never.” Ghoul argued, getting up in Party’s space. His eyes were so bright when he was passionate. “He’s an idiot if he thinks a fancy feast is enough to get us to back off. This shit would have to tranquilize me in order to stop me from telling that fucker where to shove it.”

Party just shook his head and kept moving. “It won't matter if we agree to anything or not.”

“What?” Ghoul stepped back.

“It's not about us.” Party walked over to a wall panel he had been examining before. The screws were just a little too off to be simple hardware. “There’s cameras everywhere. They’re recording us. All that matters is that we look like we're agreeing.”

“They’re gonna bomb the Zones anyway. And once word gets down to the survivors that we sold them all out for a quick meal…” Jet trailed off, stealing the words right out of Party’s mind.

Kobra slumped down onto the chair he’d been working on. “The revolution's dead.”

Ghoul went and kicked the sliding door, which gave him no response and no sympathy. “We have to get out of here.”

“Shouldn't we wait for them to come in? Kill them then?” Jet asked.

Kobra threw his hands up. “With no guns?”

“No,” Party shouted, putting an end to that line of thought. “Remember the plan. The moment we try to pull a weapon out on them, there's gonna be a hundred of their soldiers on us in a second.”

“So what do we do?” His brother asked.

"Ghoul, you still got that fun stuff in your underwear?”

The man in question raised him an eyebrow right back. “Do you mean the explosive powder in the scan blocking bag or are you asking if I’m just happy to see you?”

A smarmy grin crossed Party's face. He sauntered over and let his fingers ghost over Ghoul's waist. “Surprise me.”

“How are we going to light it up? They took your lighter, genius.” Jet reminded them.

“There’s a guard outside this door, right. Probably has a blaster gun. I just need a second to get it off him. I steal the gun, toss the bag, blow a hole in the wall. The explosion and the smoke should throw them off, give us a bit of a head start.” Ghoul explained.

Kobra stood up again, nodding. “Head start’s all we need.”

“That's what I'm talking about.” Party agreed. “Get someone down as quick as you can and get a weapon, whatever it is. Ghoul will cover us.”

The crew all nodded, and for the first time since they stepped foot on Battery Station, Party felt a spark of hope. Maybe they could complete the mission. There was a chance that at least one of them could make it out alive. And even then, they’d make sure the revolution lived on without them.

“Does everybody remember the map and what sector they’re headed?" A trio of nods. "Good.” Party looked into each of their eyes as he continued. “A-and.” He felt his voice crack. A moment of weakness peeked through. He coughed, attempting to maintain his composure. “Do we remember where we’re meeting up when it’s all over?”

He had to say it. Even if they wouldn’t take it, he had to offer them at least the confidence that their leader thought it was possible. They all knew where they would probably end up by day’s end. That was somewhere far, far away. Somewhere else entirely.

“Gerard…” Ghoul whispered, slipping.

They couldn’t afford to have that kind of fear weighing them down, not with the weight of a whole planet already strapped to their shoulders.

“Do we remember?” He repeated.

“Yes.” The Killjoys answered in unison.

“Ok, boys, this is it. The final showdown. Stick to the plan.” He nodded, but even he could feel his throat clenching up.

“Go fucking team.” Ghoul cheered, but his usual bite was replaced by a hollow resignation.

Party closed his eyes, then counted down.

*

The tank was running on fumes. The pants were tight as ever. The masks were a little dirtier than they'd been, but still bright. And the guns? They were itching for a reload, strapped to the hips of their owners like the loyal companions they were.

Ghoul banged on the door with all the grace of a pissed off ogre. “Hey! Hey! I know you can hear me motherfucker!”

The door began to grow a dent before his tantrum received a response. “The Director will be with you all soon.”

“Come on. Help a guy out. I need to borrow your fancy space-age potties. Y’all just eject that shit into the Milky Way, right?”

“You want to… use the bathroom?” The voice sounded confused, not having expected talk of bodily functions.

“Unless you want your wonderful little Director to dine alongside Eau de Zone piss, then I’d say I very much need to.”

There was the static of mumbled conversation for a few seconds before an exasperated reply finally came. “Very well. Someone is coming to escort you. Hold it until then.”

The intercom clicked off and Ghoul turned to the group and waggled his eyebrows. Jackpot, he mouthed in their direction.

It wasn’t long before the door lock clicked open. “Come out slowly, hands where I can see them.” A voice commanded from outside the hold.

“Sheesh, what, you think I got acid piss?” Ghoul grumbled, shuffling out of the room.

“Let's just get this over with.” Was all they heard, then silence.

The moments after the door clicked shut were some of the most tense Party had ever felt. Worse than the casino and worse than the diner. He wondered if people in the histories he’d heard as a kid felt like this, or were they just as scared as he was? For a while, there was just the sound of him and Jet and Kobra breathing, huddled together against the far wall.

It was like waiting for the end of the world. It lasted an infinitesimal second in the grand scheme of things.

They heard it first, the boom. Then, it was like the shotgun at the beginning of a marathon and everything moved so quickly.

The wall, strong as it was, caved in like a piece of parchment. And then there were screams and smoke. But the Killjoys weren't paying mind to that. They were off like the flick of a switch, electricity running through them.

“Go! Go! Go!” He screamed, commanding them. And because they knew him like their own reflection, they followed his direction.

The four of them ran through the hole Frank blasted. It was hard to see and the vapors of the explosions were clouding their lungs. But this was their last breath and they took it together. They never stopped, knowing what stopping meant.

Kobra was at the head, and like a deadly snake, he struck first. He kicked an Exterminator in the chest, sending him to the ground. Before he could react, Kobra had his weapon seized, ejecting the core and pushing it gracefully into the red gun that bore his signature stripes.

Another sentry tried to tackle Party, but he was too quick. Party got him in the neck, not bothering to stop to collect him, just pushing to keep up with the others.

Jet pulled some moves he hadn’t seen since the Matrix, an old action film from the before times. He managed to get a baton. Jet was great at close range combat, too. That would work well.

The four of them moved as one, each picking up the others’ slack, and each bringing the group closer to their target. Eventually, Jet got hold of a taser and a core. Party took down a guard coming from the hallway. His weapons were easy enough to grab, though he was only able to get a gun with bullets off the dead guy. That was fine. He liked Westerns, too.

The bang of the bullets was louder than the zap of the blasters. It wasn’t as big of a deal, surely everyone in the station knew they were inside and on the loose. Wasn't exactly rocket science to figure out what was going on. Still, everyone in listening distance now knew they were approaching and then came in hot and dangerous.

What BLI did't understand was that they’d trained for exactly this. For months, while trying to live up to their names and reputations. It seemed it would all come down to this. A fight to the finish.

Pushing forward to their first checkpoint, finding the armory was like getting a vision of a waterfall in the desert heat. And they all made it unscathed, too. Well, maybe they'd tendered a few nicks and bruises. Ghoul had a bloody nose, again. But they were there. Not the end goal, but the place where it all would come to fruition. Kobra managed to lock the door behind them. The red of the guards’ blood ran red inside the tight space.

“Yeah! Yeah! We fucking did it!” Jet explained, jumping up and practically knocking Ghoul down as he did.

“Stay focused.” Party reasoned, though his anxiety was also leapfrogging above all other emotions. “It’s not even halfway done.”

This was merely the first mile post in the entire mission they’d planned. Goal number one was to get to the armory. Check.

Past the door that was currently in front of them were the ships that both Kobra and Jet would fight their way into. What was inside wasn't much, pretty much all the advanced weaponry needed a key they didn't have. But what was available, both Party and Ghoul would take and run with. Literally run with. Because it was less of a sprint at this point and more of a marathon.

The other two would do their damndest to cover them, but they were going to have to backtrack and make it through corridors on cabins upon hallways of heavily armed foes. Their target was the one at the top, of course, the Director himself. They didn’t have much of a plan after that, mostly because they never expected themselves to make it that far. But Party knew once he saw him, for once in his life seeing the evil radiating off that man, and the banality of his vile and vicious nature - that was all he really would need in order to be able to deal the final blow.

Party wanted to believe that they could really do it. That they could make it to the end and take that man down.That all every single one could make it home finally and see those dreams that they had lamented about over the fire come to fruition. He wanted to believe that it was in the realm of possibility that that could really happen. There was a tiny flame inside of him, one that fed on their anger and their ambitions and their stolen youth to fuel him forward.

So, they all picked up their weapons, shiny and bright like the beacons of hope they were. And they loaded them up and moved forward.

The door was open and Party could see the two fighter ships Kobra and Jet would commandeer. He hugged Jet, feeling how solid and tough he was, then he switched over to Kobra.

Mikey, his brother in every possible definition of the word. He wasn’t saying goodbye to him, he would never. He’d believe in him to death and beyond. “I love you.” He affirmed. Mikey repeated it back in kind.

“We’ll see you both on the other side, yeah?” Jet asked.

“Of course.” Ghoul responded, not missing a single beat.

Him and Ghoul watched them ease their way into the empty ships' cockpits. The guards who should’ve been manning the hold were banging at the door behind them. He heard the high pitched squeal of a few blasters going off, but these doors were designed too well. They had a head start.

“Give ‘em fucking hell boys!” He heard his brother scream before it was all overwhelmed by the roar of jet engines starting to life.

They took one long look at Jet and Kobra expertly setting up their ships for flight. It was amazing, considering how far they'd come.

He remembered when his brother first stumbled into the family's kitchen and declared that he'd signed up for the military and that he was going to be a pilot. It was terrifying then just as it was now. He had been so scared he'd lose him. And now? Well... some things never change.

As for Jet Star, Party remembered the crash of when he had slammed that BLI cruiser into the ground outside his diner. He'd been some idiot rich celebrity. With the way he could see him expertly adjusting the flight controls in his own ship, he never would have been able to guess it was the same person. He had always been the perfect action star, it was only now that he was realizing it.

“Well,” Ghoul said plainly, “we better start running.”

Before the enemy could break through the door, Party and Ghoul were off. There was a secret hatch in the maintenance bay. Ghoul blasted it clean open with a little faith, trust, and explosive dust.

There was about twenty feet of ventilation they had to army crawl through. Ghoul was a few breaths away from him. Party’s limbs were fighting him, burning and begging him for a break, but his fatigue would have to fuck off for a second. They were so fucking close.

It was all a blur of neon blasts and punches to the gut after that. The Dracs and Exterminators and Scarecrows and whoever the fuck else was after them were fast. But they were faster. They grew up in the unforgiving Zones. They could outrun the sun and hide from the vultures. Not like they'd ever given them more than a single thought. It was to their advantage, BLI didn’t know who they were up against.

For every graze of heat on their arm or their calf, another was fired into an enemy's head. Maybe an artery or vital organ if their shot wasn’t pinpoint accurate. It was tit for tat. 1 for 1. And each and every time, Party called their bluff.

When they got to the final passageway, Party fell to his knees, coughing with exhaustion. Nothing came up but air and spit.

“There’s so many more coming, I can hear them.”

Party could see the fear in Ghoul’s eyes. It was something he could recognize now. He wanted to kiss the terror from his face, but he was leaning against the wall, heaving.

“I.” Ghoul started, licking his lips. “I don’t know if we can make it. They’ll ambush us if we try to make it in there.”

There - it was only a thousand or so feet away if the maps were correct. One hundred million miles, they'd traveled. And if they could get it together for a little longer, they would be there, ready to bring the Director to his knees. Would he beg for forgiveness or maintain that cocky attitude until the very end, sure someone would save him?

It wouldn’t matter, it was only going to end one way for the Director. There was no other option. They didn’t make it this far for nothing.

Party pushed himself up from his knees. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m ready. Let’s go." He had to duck as a faraway beam blast shot past his ear. Ghoul shot back and they heard a thump in the distance.

“Hey, do me a favor.” Ghoul said, approaching Party and standing chest to chest.

“Of course, anything.” Party offered, feeling his heavy breaths bounce back at him from the plane of Ghoul's skin.

Ghoul reached up and grabbed the back of Party’s head. He smashed their lips together, kissing him deeply. Party kissed him back and for a moment they weren’t in the middle of a gunfight. They were just Party and Ghoul. They were Gerard and Frank stealing kisses underneath the light of a desert moon. They were two men trading moments in the silence of an abandoned gas station, no one around to watch and learn their secrets. They were a lowly diner server and a lonely demolition expert waiting to connect. The kiss never ended, the kiss was over far too quick.

“Forgive me.” Frank pleaded, hazel eyes boring into Gerard.

Ghoul kicked Party square in the chest and for a second, he was so confused. Why would Ghoul do that? His partner, in crime and maybe in more. Why would he hurt him?

Party tumbled to the ground, barely getting his wits about him enough to brace his fall. Then, he saw it. That beautiful man was thinking ten steps ahead. Ghoul activated something and the airlock door that separated the sectors slid shut between them, separating them.

“No!” Party screamed, slamming his palms on the barrier, realizing what would happen, but it was too late. Ghoul’s hand hit the button before he had a chance to react.

He got to watch his friend's blood paint the glass of the barrier red, marking his grave. Then the coupling disconnected and the pressure differential pulled them apart. Party was forced to watch as the man and many of his pursuers were ejected, sending them shooting like stars into the vast emptiness of space.

Party didn’t know how long he yelled for, struggling on the floor. He watched all their bodies fade away until they were nothing more than pinpricks in the distance. He pressed his face to the cold window and stared, immobile to do anything else.

So full of life, finally ready to love. Who would tell their secrets now? 

He peeled himself up and dragged himself forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw two Destroyers explode. Were they Mikey and Ray’s? Or had those two been the ones to shoot them down? It was just as well. They’d all be meeting again very soon anyway.

It might’ve been an hour or it might’ve been just a few minutes. Party couldn't really get his hands around the passage of time anymore. But he finally reached The Director’s pod and office. The final destination in their plan. The receptionist greeted him warmly, as if there wasn’t a war going on just beyond their line of sight. Perhaps this wasn’t just their plan, but his, too.

“The Director has been expecting you, Party Poison. Follow the floor lights to the boardroom, he is waiting for you there.”

He was so dumbfounded and ashamed that he just stared at the woman for a second. He wanted to yell at her, to scream. But what would that have done? When he looked at her blank expression, he suspected that she knew how this would all end just as well as he did.

So, he did what he was told. He did the only thing that was left to do. He walked into the room to meet the man behind the curtain.

*

It was quiet in the boardroom, if you could even call it that. Party - because that was who he was now, Gerard Way almost like a memory to him - looked around the empty room, the wide ever-clear glass windows on either side of him only adding to its vastness. He imagined that it would be so easy to spend all day in there, to spend forever in there, really, surrounded fully by the deep black horizonless sky, the fixtures of the solar system, and his own thoughts. If there was ever a place to dream, be it about a new home or the destruction of a future, it would be here.

The lights weren’t on, but with the sun reflecting off the red planet in the distance, the furniture was shadowed in a warm glow. The sole inhabitant might as well have been hiding in a recessed shadow, only allowing himself to be known with the clink of a crystal lowball against the glass table. That is what reminded Party why he was here. It was strange how quickly Space had grabbed him and pulled him away from reality, like an intergalactic current. If he stood there for a minute longer, maybe he would’ve gotten it, gotten him.

But as it stood, the drink hit the table and Party’s attention was turned.

“Take a seat.” The Director said with no particular tone, as if it wasn’t the leader of a rebellion he was speaking to.

Party didn’t reply. He just dropped onto the chair, he had been expected, after all.

The Director took a few more sips of his drink and gazed out into the galaxy before him until he finally turned around and faced Party Poison.

“You’re different than I thought you’d be.” He said, eyes silently analyzing him.

Party wanted to say something bitter like you’re exactly what I thought you’d be, boring and ignorant, but even in the few seconds of interacting with him, he knew that wasn’t true. He was the richest person in existence. Everyone knew his name. Everyone wanted him or wanted to be him. But he spent his spare time in the darkness with only the vacuum of endless space to keep him company. He ruined lives in pursuit of a selfish goal. He couldn't care less about the trajectory of humanity, so long as it benefitted him. He let Party Poison into his world willingly.

The Director stared at Party not with disgust, but with curiosity.

“It’s the hair, doesn’t show up on film that well.” Party said passively, not really hearing the words even.

“No, it’s not that. I assumed you wouldn’t hesitate to hold me at gunpoint the moment you got in. I thought you’d be a dick. Wishful thinking, I guess.”

And maybe that was a part of the Director’s charm, too. Party felt almost insulted at that.

He never thought of himself as a protagonist in this, didn’t care enough to form an ego around his infamy, but he found himself still wanting to be respected by this man he never met, by this man who hated him and wanted him dead. He questioned whether he should’ve come in guns blazing just to impress him. Why? Why was Party disappointing to him? Hundreds dead already in the wake he left behind him and that wasn't enough.

Maybe that's how this man got nations and governments to go along with him and his ideas. Truthfully, if he wasn’t the CEO of the human race’s biggest, most influential mega-conglomerate, and Party's intended target, he looked like the kind of guy he might want to impress.

“So, Party Poison,” the Director continued, “or do you prefer Gerard?”

Party allowed himself one second to be shocked before replying. “Do you prefer— ?”

The Director smiled, not sarcastically or narcissistically, but genuinely smiled, quieting Gerard mid sentence. “I usually reserve my given name for friends and family so, take your pick.”

Party hated this. He never felt so one step behind as he did then, even though he had it all planned out. It felt like the Director already knew the plan. And plan B. And plans C through Z that he hadn’t had the chance come up with yet. It was as if he had scripted exactly where the conversation would go and he let it play out as if he were following currents in the wind. Party was worried.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Party started, getting them back on track. “We’re not going to give up and we’re not going to let you destroy the Zones. What’s that going to take?”

He watched as the Director’s face fell. It was graceful, less like the tumble down the stairs and more like a tire down a slope. It fell, like one might expect water to. Gerard had seen a picture of the old Niagara once and seen what was left of it.

The Director tossed back what was left of the drink in his hand. His face screwed up in disgust. “This tastes like shit. It’s like powdery milk but also fishy and with a hint of arsenic for some reason. They tried to make it banana flavored. Well, they failed.” He sighed. “I paid people millions of Carbons to invent a drink I hate - and I drink it anyway!” He laughed and rose from his seat opposite Party, “Not because I paid them, 'cause I have to. This formula is like the stuff they used to give astronauts but turned up to a thousand.” He stopped when he got to the large glass viewing window and placed his hand on it longingly.

He continued. “The weight of Mars’s atmosphere will erode humans’s bones and muscles. Did you know that? I hired scientists and nutritionists to create a supplement that will counteract that. With every fucking sip of this thing, I’m more likely to survive down there. So, I hold my breath and ignore the lingering chalky aftertaste because I know it’s bringing me one step closer to Mars.”

Party looked with him out the window at the desert planet, much like his own but worse, more harsh, less inviting. It seemed like a nightmare, yet for the Director, it was a dream.

“I didn’t call you here to negotiate the lives of your little band of misfits. That’s the past. Rebellions, revolutions, war. It all comes and goes. I’m not interested. No, I brought you here to talk about the future.”

By then, the Director had turned around and was slinking towards him.

“But the Zones-” Party began before being immediately cut off.

“The Zones, the Zones. Who cares? That planet… is dead. Could’ve saved it when they had the chance but they didn’t and now it's gone. We can try and salvage whatever time and land is left there, building little vacation spots and grasping for the last few minerals and acres of farmland but it’s just putting off the inevitable. It had its death certificate drafted by generations before ours. It’s the past. Let go of it. That," he once again directed focus to the window displaying Mars's vista, "is the future.”

Party could practically feel how he'd bake on the red planet. He knew what sun like that felt like. The appeal was nonexistent. But this man was insisting upon it. “So what? You wanna let us all die down there? Or you wanna bring us all up here to some cyberslum while you autocrats and your investors find a new land to destroy? It won't work either way. I don’t know if you realize it, but without the people on the ground, everyone up here will die.”

The Director just shook his head and drew ever closer. “I don’t really care to be honest. Eventually, the people down there will die. Eventually, the people up here will die. Eventually, even Battery Station will die, with your Killjoys’s help or not. And you, Party Poison, you can die with them.” The Director was stood directly in front of him now, not towering, for he was a smaller man, but capturing attention. He stood there for a moment too long before taking a seat on the boardroom table beside him. “Or, you could join me.”

“I would never join Better Living.” Party argued, tone hardly concealing his fury.

“I’m not asking you to join the company. I’m asking you to join me. When I first saw you in that dirty diner costume, I thought that was all you were and didn’t think much about you after that. But then you kept popping up, like you were refusing to be forgotten. And then you inspired them. I always could turn their favor so easily, but you got them stuck on you and your ideas. It was a new feeling for me, but I was impressed. Almost as much as I was annoyed. You're a leader. You are better than them, you deserve better. A few months of taking this superfood supplement and you could be ready, too.”

Party was so lost. This was so far from where he expected to be. “Wait, what? You want me to go to Mars?”

“There he is! Mars, it’s always been so close yet no one dared to imagine its future. But you, you dare, I’ve seen it. Do it. Dare to imagine all the secrets it holds. We could explore and find each and every one. I’m working on designing a home base right now, but soon it will be a reality. Life on Mars. Are you telling me you aren’t a little bit tempted?”

Party doesn't allow himself a moment to dwell on the thought. “It would never work. Mars is too hostile. There’s no oxygen. Robots barely survive there.”

“But they do." He challenged. "They didn’t come back at first, but now they do. They survive.”

Survival - it was what he used to do in the Zones. It was debilitating. He didn't understand how such an existence could be somebody's goal. He really should just give up and shoot the guy. Party had no reason to continue entertaining his delusions.

“Life there would be miserable.” He explained.

“Maybe. But isn’t your life on Earth miserable, too? Do you want to go back to pouring coffee or shooting at people in masks? If it’s shit either way, why not live in the shit while blazing a trail that no one has tread before.”

The Director spoke of it as if it were his destiny. The suffering of others, his own people, was just a stepping stone on the path he paved. Party wanted nothing to do with it. The man thought of it as an inevitability, so he'd have to ensure it wasn't.

But, he did have a point. Didn't he? The Zones were drying up. Soon there'd be nothing left. When that fell, the colonies would fall like dominoes, one after another, until only those that could hoard their resources the best were left. They only had a few generations more at that rate. So, if a refuge was being offered from that, was it truly righteous to say no? 

“I can’t, I couldn’t.” Party insisted.

The Director isn't convinced. “Hey, if the little movement of yours dies down in time, you can bring your brother, or the actor, or even the little angry one. He’s a bit of a firecracker, isn’t he?”

“Stop. Don’t talk about them, you don’t know them!” How do you know them? is the unspoken question, not left unanswered.

“I built BLI into what it is today and this company is nothing if not good at what it does. And what it does is whatever you all want it to do. I know everything about you, all four of you. My algorithms have known you from your childhood. They know who and what you want and they know how to market it and sell that to you at an optimal price. They know the secrets you’ve never told anyone and the thoughts that haven’t even made it to your head yet. We'll put those thoughts in your head ourselves to suit our needs. Of course I know them. It’s also how I know, how I’ve known since before you even walked into that door, what option you would choose for your future.”

Party felt stripped nude, his insides out in the open to be examined by the man he hated most. “You don’t know that.” 

But, he does, of course he does. That man has never bluffed a day in his life. He'd never had to.

“Don’t I?”

He felt himself grow weary from holding his breath, too afraid to let it out and give it all away. “I quit those dreams of living in the satellites after the people in them started shooting at me.”

The Director swung his feet off the table and started circling Party. He'd seen vultures do it before. It was the same energy they gave off. But, birds of prey circled carcasses. Surely, he wasn't already dead. No, he was. Oh how he was.

“You weren’t just dreaming about the nice cabins up here, or the food, or your brother's safety. I've read your previous applications to move here, remember? You were dreaming of the sky, of the possibilities. You’re thinking about it even now.”

He lowered his voice to a growl. “I don’t care about Mars.”

The Director grew frustrated at Party's stubbornness. “Your friends are all dead.”

A boring rebuttal. He already knew that. Hell, it was half the intention of heading up to Battery Station in the first place. The Killjoys had their fates marked and signed off the moment they left that diner. Was that all he had left?

“You may have blocked the transmissions into my private ship," he continued, "but remember. I know you. I know all of you. They’re gone, what do you have left? Besides, didn’t they die to get you right where you are now? And you're going to do nothing with that.”

Party stood up taller, finally having the high ground in their battle of wits. “No, they died to destroy your company and to save the people in the Zones.”

The Director's finger shook in his direction. “Which you can only do by sitting here and talking to me.”

Party let himself flop back into the Director's chair, the one facing the window. He propped his feet up in front of him. "Pretty good at talking aren't I?"

The unfettered view of Mars was blocked when the Director moved in front of it, standing between Party and the universe. Another mistake. You should never turn your back to the door, even the door to your dreams. Rationality was slowly leaking out, which was just how Party wanted him.

“Admit one thing to me." He loomed down at Party Poison. "I’ll let you go, leave your Zones alone, if you can look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t tempted by it.”

It was obvious what he meant, it was more than an elephant in the room. It was the room. It was everything he could see and feel. It was why the room even existed in the first place. That felt like power - being above that. The Director had shown his cards. Party could look around and count them all. But Party? Party didn't have cards. They'd taken them like they'd taken everything from the Zones. 

People like the Director didn't know what to do when they were out. Party on the other hand, he had a ten and a little bit of luck to rub together.

“Fine, okay. I am.” Party admitted, no use in hiding it at this point.

“So, take it. Forget the Zones. It’s the deal of a lifetime.” The Director insisted, practically beginning him. 

Party mulled it over. His gaze flickered to the expanse of red that seemed to grow and grow closer into his field of vision as the conversation went on. “Okay.” He agreed.

“Okay?” The Director was taken aback. He giggled, full of glee like a child that had finally gotten their way after a tantrum.

“Okay. I’ll go with you to Mars.” Party threw his hands out in defeat just as the alarms started blaring.

Emergency exit lights activated in the room and the strobe washed the Director's confused expression pale and stark. 

The plan had worked.

Party stood up and grasped the man by his shoulders. It was easy to spin him around as dumbfounded as he was. He had been so busy with his speeches and spouting his bullshit trying to get Party on his side, he hadn't been paying attention. Or maybe Mars had always looked that bold and big in his eyes.

As they spoke, Blue had hacked into the pod's gravitational systems and directed the structure itself to fly towards the nearby planet. All Party had to do was stall the Director for enough time to get them pulled into Mars's orbit. Gravity would take care of the rest, hurtling them down to where they'd rest for eternity.

“I don’t care about a new frontier, or the comfort of the satellites or you." Party explained. The loss of control had them racing down to the planet's surface. Things were being tossed around the room as the place shook, outer panels burning up from the velocity. Out the window, they could both see themselves approaching the red solid rock below. "Those are nothing, the people up here can be content with their money and their drugs you push and the media you entertain to sedate them, but we have woken up. You don't get your dream at the sake of ours. And your algorithms are good. I wasn’t lying before. I will go with you to Mars.”

Just not the way he thought they would. The Director's shocked expression twisted into mania. His grin grew big like a fantasy creature and he let out a booming laugh that echoed alongside the warnings blaring in the background.

“You’re smarter than I thought you were, Gerard Way.” 

He slapped a hand down on Party's shoulder, squeezing it roughly. The Director's last ditch effort at human connection he had never been able to purchase in his greedy, miserable life. Sure, he could have that. Party's victory lap was fast approaching.

“Actually, to you, it’s Party Poison.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see the Director smiling upon him fondly. It was amazing, how, in a way, he'd be getting exactly what he wanted. He seemed almost grateful for it. The master manipulator. The mass murderer. Ready to meet his end on the planet that never wanted him in the first place. And he was giddy for it. 

There was nothing outside the window anymore but the view of Mars. The sun and the dark of space were all behind them. They were falling, an unstoppable force ready to meet an unforgiving object.

Despite his hesitation and fear before, Party felt none of that anymore. He felt not much of anything anymore. Unlike the person standing next to him, face pressed to the glass, needing to capture this dream of his in his final few memories, he had people who were waiting for him after this was all over. And he couldn't wait to see them again.

As the ship approached its fortune, the Director lovingly stroked the canyons and boulders that came into view with his pinky finger. Between the final flashes and alarms before impact, Gerard could make out the other's final whispered words.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” 

*

The Doctor tapped his microphone, hearing the feedback echo in his headphones immediately. He cleared his throat. Then, he began.

"From that distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it's different."

It was the crash unheard around the world. It was felt by no one, nowhere. The small ship impacted the red planet and nothing significant happened. Mars continued to spin on its axis. The sun continued to radiate energy. Even the lives of those on the stations and the Moon colony continued to move about their day to day lives. In perspective, the deaths of Party Poison and the Director were of no consequence whatsoever. The brilliant flame of the collision quickly burned out with no oxygen to sustain it. All that remained was the rubble of what once was the leaders of an empire and a small rebellion.

"Every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived here on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam."

And from the wreckage flew a small, round robot. It hurled itself away from the debris, through Mars’s gravity, and into space. It drifted through the freezing cosmos, light blinking ever so often to remind itself that is was still there and it had a mission to complete. It sailed past the doomed satellites and moved as quickly as it could manage toward the beautiful, though not as bright as it once was, pale blue dot.

Unfortunately, it could not appreciate the sight as many had before it. Early explorers would take that view as a sign of clarity, even some reckoning it as proof of a higher power. Looking down at their home, which could feel so small while caught in the throes of life and living, imparted on each of them a new context. A greater understanding, perhaps, of the world upon which they lived. Experiencing the vastness of the universe and being humbled by their place in its history.

This, this vision, was what some residents of the space colonies shut their blinds to. They took this for granted, this miracle of perspective most rejected in favor of the luxury and status promised to them by Better Living Industries. That was one of the biggest tragedies of the circumstance.

"Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark."

The tiny robot with its blinking light and directive and tale to be told sped past it all, reaching Earth’s atmosphere and slowing down until it reached the ship upon which it would dock.

Inside the familiar ship there was a girl waiting. She looked as if she would have tears in her eyes if she had the ability to make them. After tuning into the ship, the little robot became a girl too.

“Blue.” Red whispered. They ran toward each other and fell into what appeared to be a hug. “Is it true?” She asked.

Blue just nodded. It had been a long journey through the stars, yet even with all the time and all the computing knowledge available to her, she could not find the words to illustrate her grief at the loss of her friends.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Said Blue to Red, though neither fully accredited the statement. It was still a comforting thought, so they basked in it for a while.

Red nodded into the hologram of Blue’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.” She repeated.

"There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world."

Their friends were dead, and their enemy, too, they guessed. And after all, they still had each other. But both girls felt the loss weigh on top of them. Oddly, the bandit and her lover had grown used to the four wild boys. Their excitement and fear and the spectacular joy they held within them - they had grown to love that, to love them, in a way they never expected. They had never cared much for humans but those four fabulous boys proved them wrong. And though it made no logical sense, they would miss them terribly.

Dr. D’s announcement of the deaths of Fun Ghoul, Jet Star, Kobra Kid, and Party Poison, played in the background of the ship, underneath the gentle cries. Outside the cabin’s secure walls, others listened.

People sat in the tunnels and on their rooftops listening to the memorial. They laid on the desert floor in their bright colors and looked up, watching the stars. And from that message came sorrow, but also inspiration. The words painted a mural of motivation for the Zone Runners.

"To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

Near the old diner, two kids ran, circling the building with cans of spray paint in their hands. On an exterior wall, they graffitied a message of hope. Keep Running, it said. The boy sat down to catch his breath with his can of soda and the girl joined him, flicking on her boombox.