Archive of Our Own ^beta

The CEO glares heavily at the Most Wanted wall as Korse adds a fourth red X covered picture to the array of posters.

“What is this one called?” she asks as Korse turns on his heels in a graceful spin.

“Jet Star.”

*

“Look alive, Sunshines!” Dr. Death Defying announces during a break between songs. “Listen up, Motorbabies, this is big news: Battery City has updated their Most Wanted list.”

Mikey sits up straight, lifting his head from counting their cans of food to turn the volume up. “Gee? Frank?” he calls, but gets no response.

“That’s right, Crash Queens, it seems there’s a fourth Killjoy out there making a mess. The Monochrome City doesn’t seem to be taking too kindly to him. The bounty for this one seems to be just as high as the ones for our favorite Trio of Terror.”

“Guys!” Mikey calls again. Nothing.

He rolls his eyes and cranks the radio volume to the max. He makes his way out of the diner, followed by Dr. D’s news report. Frank’s legs are sticking out from beneath the Trans Am’s undercarriage and he gives them a soft kick as he walks towards Gerard spray painting their brand new – well, to them – motorcycle.

“Hey!” Frank snaps indignantly, rolling out from under the car.

“Listen to the report,” Mikey responds as he tugs on Gerard’s collar to get his attention.

“Why?” Gerard starts.

“Shh!”

“You heard me right, Zone Runners! There is a fourth Killjoy zoomin’ through the Zones. He’s causin’ heaps of trouble for BLI, it seems. The reports say his name is Jet Star and he seems to be pretty fearsome to have skipped all the other criminal watch lists and hopped straight to the top.”

Dr. D goes on to introduce the next song as the trio – Dr. D’s Trio of Terror – contemplate the news.

“Hey,” Frank starts, “isn’t ‘Killjoy’ ours? Some dude can’t just come along and steal our name.”

“He didn’t, really,” Gerard says, “Dr. D called him a Killjoy. Actually, I think he invented the word, we just borrowed it.”

“Yeah, well, it still feels like this Jet Star’s stealing our thunder.”

Gerard shrugs as he contemplates his paint job, testing the tackiness of the spray color. “Whoever he is seems he’s in the same dust pit as us.’

“Should we try to find out who he is?” Mikey asks.

“Do we care?” Frank counters.

“Both very good questions,” Gerard says, rubbing the paint on his hands off on his jeans. “Still I think it would be safest to know who this guy is.”  He pauses to give Mikey a significant look. “What do you say, Kobra Kid? Take the bike out tonight and see what Riot has to say?”

Mikey heaves a long suffering sigh. “Fine.”

*

“Remember to keep your gun handy.”

“I know, Gee.”

“And always wear your helmet.”

“I know, Gee.”

“And stay alert.”

“I know.”

“And don’t stay out too long-”

“I know, Gerard, okay?” Mikey snaps.

Gerard steps back, looking wounded. “I’m sorry,” he says, more to his feet than to Mikey. “It’s just… I know you know, but…” He glances at Mikey’s right hand. Mikey hasn’t yet put on his glove and the scar tissue is visible, snaking its way across the back of his hand and wrist.

“Gerard,” Mikey says, stepping closer. “We were barely a day out in the Zones; we didn’t have a fucking clue about what we were doing. This was a kid’s mistake.”  He brings his hand up to emphasize the point.

“It was a huge mistake,” Gerard shoots back, “even for kids.”

“Riot fixed me, remember? Good as new.”

“Ninety percent function and scars for life are not good as new. And what if he hadn’t found us?”

“But he did.”

“But what if-”

“No ‘what ifs.’ We both knew the danger of leaving and we still left and no matter what happens I will not regret that decision. Now, if you keep me any longer I’ll be riding in daylight, so can I go?”

Gerard sighs, and then grabs Mikey in a bear hug. “Stay safe and stay out of trouble.”

“Of course,” Mikey hugs him back.

“Liar.”

Mikey laughs as he starts the bike and speeds away.

*

Mikey loves riding at night. The desert is cool and he can just enjoy the wind rushing over him and his bike. He revs the engine and goes faster, his excited yell torn from his mouth and lost to the wind. Mikey misses these midnight rides; he hasn’t done this since their last bike fell apart – almost literally – and they started monitoring their fuel consumption more.

Well, that and he no longer has a reason to make these runs across the Zones.

The trouble starts about halfway through his trip. Mikey comes down after popping a second wheelie and realizes he can hear an echo of his engine. He slows down; quieting his own bike’s noise, but the echo remains steady. Suddenly Mikey sees light cresting over a sand dune.

A motorbike – believe him, it’s not even close to the admittedly questionable quality of Mikey’s used motorcycle – comes flying over the dune, following the dim light from its front lamp. A second later a half dozen police motorcycles come charging after the bike. Mikey notes the pursuers with confusion. Their hoods with the BLI logo stamped on the face clearly indicate that they are City police, but City police - by definition - remain in the City and do not patrol the Zones, and yet here they are in Zone 6 of all places. Mikey swings his bike sideways to a halt, leaving the bike idling quietly. They haven’t noticed him; the police are too busy chasing their prey.

The bike rides up another dune and takes a turn so sharp it is forced to slow way down. At the tightest part of the turn a small bundle is tossed from the bike to roll down the other side of the dune. The police don’t appear to notice as they continue chasing the bike without pausing. As the bike makes another turn one of the cops shoots at it with his raygun. Normally the police aren’t good shots; however this one seems to have skill or maybe just dumb luck. His shot strikes the bike’s back wheel and the bike veers out of control, launching the biker across the sand.

Mikey stifles his own horrified gasp and hops off his motorcycle. He lays it on its side and ducks behind it, making himself smaller in case the cops start searching the landscape. The gang does a few loops around the now-smoking motorbike and the prone figure of the biker before riding off. Mikey waits where he is until the police’s tail lights are specks on the horizon.

He should go; he should just hop on his bike and leave. He knows the drill. In short order the BLI cleanup crew will come through and wipe away all the evidence of the confrontation. It always happens when a clap involves BLI. To get involved now would certainly mean risking getting caught by the incoming group of BLI operatives.

Mikey hauls his bike upright and gets on, with a quick glance around the landscape; he rides over to the accident. The rider was thrown a few yards from the wreckage, which is unsalvageable. Mikey barely gives the broken bike a glance as he makes his way over to the prone form. The biker is sprawled on his back, covered in dust and blood. His clothes are torn, but his helmet appears intact, if oddly astronaut-like with an old-fashioned rounded dome and what looks like tubes looping around the sides of the helmet. Mikey reaches below the biker’s chin to unbuckle it–

“Daddy!”

Mikey jerks upright and sees a child running towards them, covered in sand and wearing a helmet of her own, hers reminiscent of an old leather pilot helmet and barely containing a massive fuzz of hair that peaks out of it. When she gets close and sees Mikey she screeches to a halt.

“Who are you?” she demands.

Mikey can only gape. She was the bundle thrown from the bike during the chase.

“What did you do?” She shoves past him and fusses with the helmet, yanking it off. “Dad? Dad, are you okay? Daddy?”

With the helmet remove Mikey can see the biker has hair almost as frizzy as the girl’s. He groans and both the girl and Mikey lean in closer.

“Daddy?” The biker’s eyes open and focus on the girl’s face. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a wheezing cough. He tries to sit up, but groans in pain.

“Stay put,” Mikey instructs, pushing him back down.

Suddenly, Mikey is the focus of their attention.

“Who-” the biker begins, but is interrupted by a cough

Gerard is so going to kill him, but… “I’m Kobra Kid.”

Both their eyes go wide.

“You’re one of the Killjoys?” the girl asks, shocked.

Mikey nods.

The biker starts coughing again. He rolls onto his side and Mikey almost pushes him back until he starts spitting blood-tinged saliva. The girl gasps in horror. “Dad!”

The biker grabs her by the shoulder and shoves her away. “Pyret,” he gasps in between awful, wrenching coughs.

“What?” Mikey asks.

“Riot Pyret. A friend,” the girl replies. “He wants me to go to him.”

“Riot Pyret? You know Riot Pyret? How do you know him?”

The girl gapes. “How do you know him?”

The biker gasps another wrenching breath and they look at him.

“Go,” he gasps, looking Mikey directly in the eyes. “Please.”

“No!” the girl yells. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Mikey sighs, fuck his life. This dude he doesn’t know is probably dying miles away from any help and begging him to take his daughter to safety.

Well, the fuck else is he going to do?

“C’mon, kid, we’ve gotta go,” Mikey says.

“No!”

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back with help,” he explains.

“You come back with help,” she snaps, stepping away from Mikey.

“And leave you here, undefended?”

“I can handle myself!”

Mikey considers it, he honestly does. He will come back with help, he’s not that cruel to do otherwise, and if he leaves her he won’t have to worry about her being upset or anything. The cleanup crews are dispatched from the City, so Mikey has time to get to Riot before any more BLI operatives can get all the way out to Zone 6.

And then the biker looks up at him, blood staining his mouth and pleading in his eyes and Mikey’s pretty sure this dude wants to spare his daughter watching him die a slow and painful death.

In difficult situations Mikey likes to ask himself what Gerard would do.

That empathetic motherfucker would do what the biker asks.

Unfortunately for the girl, Mikey’s not as patient or as good with kids as Gerard is which is why, after a few minutes of coaxing; he gives up being nice and drags her bodily to his motorcycle.

She’ll thank him later.

He hopes.

*

It takes approximately five miles for her to shut up and sit still and stop wriggling in front of him. She does, once Mikey points out they'll get there faster if he can concentrate on driving. It takes a while to reach Riot Pyret’s shack. When they get there the girl launches herself off the bike and charges for the door, but before she can even begin yelling Riot Pyret is rushing out of the door in nothing but jeans, a towel draped over his shoulders.

“Grace?” he asks as she throws herself at him. “Kobra Kid? The fuck is going-”

“Dad’s hurt!” Grace half-sobs. “The cops were chasing us, and they shot the bike, and Dad wrecked, and he needs your help!”

“I didn’t want to move him,” Mikey chimes in.

Riot nods “Let me get my stuff. And you, little missy, you get inside and you stay there!”

“No! I’m coming with you!”

“Like hell you are, inside! Now!” He aims a soft kick to her rear and follows her through the door.

A few seconds later he comes back out without the towel, tugging on boots and hauling a medical bag, holding a key ring between his teeth. “You dwive,” he orders, spitting the keys into Mikey’s palm and leading him to a Jeep.

*

“So how is he? What are his injuries?” Riot asks, all professional and efficient.

“Doesn’t look to be anything obvious, torn and bloody. The worst thing is he started coughing up some blood.” Mikey is not irritated by the cold and disconnected tone.

Okay, maybe he is.

A little.

“Did you check his injuries? Did you try to patch him up?”

“No.”

Riot grinds his teeth a little and yanks a boot off, shaking sand loose from it. After putting his boot back on he pauses, looks down at himself, and suddenly sits up straight looking through the windshield with pursed lips. Mikey contemplates the expression for a second, confused, before suddenly smiling.

“You forgot to bring a shirt, didn’t y-”

“Shuddup.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes with Riot glaring out the front windshield and Mikey trying to clamp down on his wolfish grin.

“So,” Mikey says finally, “who is this guy?”

“They didn’t tell you?” Riot asks, surprised.

“We were kind of dealing with more important matters at the time.”

“Ah…”

Mikey glances over and sees Riot scratching his head, deep in thought. Mikey knows that look.

“Whatever promise you made seems kind of useless now.”

“Maybe. I just…” He falls silent again.

“Brian,” Mikey can feel him stiffen and he pretends to ignore it. He hasn’t used Riot’s real name in a long time and in another place entirely. “The dude trusted me with his daughter’s life. I think you can give me his name.”

Brian pauses, and then says, “He goes by Jet Star, but his real name is Ray Toro.”

The newest Killjoy. Mikey’s not at all surprised.

“Do you know what he was doing out there on that bike?”

“I have an idea.” Brian admits.

“He was being chased by cops. Cops. Cops don’t patrol outside of the city.”

“It’s not really my story to tell.”

Mikey wants to press, but Brian’s tone says he’s done talking about it.

*

A few miles away they see a plume of smoke rising from the desert. Mikey realizes with increasing concern that it’s coming from where Jet Star – Ray – was left. He speeds up.

Sure enough the bike is a mess of melted metal that was once an impressive blaze, if the burn marks in the sand are anything to go by. Luckily, though, Ray is out of harm’s way, still sprawled on his back where they left him.

“Ray!” Brian is out and running before Mikey even stops the jeep. He throws it in park and leaves it to idle as he follows Brian.

Ray is unresponsive.

“Do you think…”

Brian ignores him and presses two fingers to Ray’s neck. They wait in silence for a few moments.

Suddenly Brian breathes a sigh of relief. “He’s alive.”

“Okay, so what now?” Mikey asks, releasing his own breath.

“Get the stretcher and the neck brace from the trunk; I can’t do a lot more here.”

Mikey does as he’s told. The “stretcher” is a plank of plastic with a hard foam pillow and straps crisscrossing the plank. Mikey sees the handholds along the stretcher and groans. Lifting this guy is going to be difficult.

“Lay it down next to him,” Brian orders, taking the neck brace and strapping it around Ray’s neck. “We need to get him on it.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Mikey mutters.

Brian huffs a small laugh. “Okay, one hand under his leg, just above his knee, the other grab his jacket, about the shoulder.”

Mikey and Brian get firm holds, the placement of their hands almost mirroring each other.

“On the count of three, lift and move. One, two, three!”

They heave simultaneously and get Ray onto the stretcher. Brian straps Ray down firmly as Mikey gives his arms a break and studies the landscape.

Off in the distance he spots a dust cloud rising out of the desert. It’s coming from the direction of the City. That can only mean one thing: the cleanup crew is coming to dispose of the evidence.

“Uh, Riot. We have to go.”

“Yeah, I’m almost done.”

“No,” Mikey insists, “we have to go now.”

He feels Brian glance at him and then follow his line of sight. “Oh, shit. Help me.”

On a quick count of three they haul the stretcher up. Mikey’s vision blurs suddenly and he stumbles. Without Mikey’s full support the stretcher only makes it onto the very edge of the trunk.  Mikey shakes his head in frustration, he knows what the blurred vision means, and he’s dealt with it many times when his gang was new to the Zones before they found a safe hideout. Sleep deprivation. Thinking back on his past activities Mikey realizes that he’s been awake all day and now most of the night. He needs a break soon.

“You’re too skinny, Kobra.” Brian mutters, misinterpreting Mikey’s stumbling.

“Look who’s talking, Shorty. Hold the top.”

Brian takes hold of the top part of the stretcher on either side of Ray’s head. Mikey slips under the end of the stretcher and, using mostly his back, lifts it up and shoves it into the back of the Jeep.

“Gently, gently!” Brain snaps.

Mikey ignores him.

As soon as Ray’s in Brian hops in with him and Mikey shuts them both in. With a quick glance back at the growing dust cloud Mikey jumps into the driver’s seat, throws the jeep into drive and puts the pedal to the metal.

*

“On to the bed.” Brian instructs. Together they heave Ray onto the soft mattress. “Alright, now let me unstrap him. See the cart? Bring it here.”

“Okay, the lamp, too?”

“Yes. Now take the stretcher from under him. Gently! Put it out of the way. Now, see the big pair of scissors in the top drawer if the cart?”

“These?” Mikey asks, producing a large set of fabric scissors from the drawer.

“Yup. Now cut his shirt open.”

“Uh…” Mikey hesitates, not keen on cutting Ray’s clothes off.

“Just do it! Right down the center. Be glad I’m not making you cut his pants legs open.”

Mikey does, surprised at the ease at which the scissors slice through the thin cotton.

“Alright, give me those.” Brian instructs. “Get the rubbing alcohol out of the bottom of the cart and all the tools in the top drawer, start sanitizing them.”

“You’re going to cut his pant legs?”

“Unless you want to.”

“No, no, I’m good.” Mikey says quickly, still put off at the thought of removing some stranger's clothes.

“Alright, help me get his jacket off. I need to see his arms.”

“We can’t cut that.”

“No, we’re just going to pull his arms out of it, help me.”

“Should we get it out from under him?”

“No, I want to move him as little as possible, I'm worried about his back, and the possibility of internal injuries.”

“What about the coughing blood?”

“There’s a laceration on the inside of his cheek, it’s clotted. I’ll check it after I sew up his other wounds. Give me that needle and cut me off some of that thread.”

Mikey does as he’s instructed, cutting off a piece about a foot in length. “This much?” He reaches out to offer the tread to Brian when he feels a sudden shift in his vision as if the world was suddenly knocked askew. He shakes his head and his vision clears.

“That’s good…okay…the small scissors, now.” Brian waits a beat. “Kobra?”

“Huh?” Mikey asks, shaking his head more as his vision starts to swim again.

“The small scissors. And cut me more thread…okay, one stitch down and ninety fucking nine to go. The thread, please…Kobra?”

Mikey starts, realizing he’s zoned out again. “Oh, here.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, keep cutting more, we’ll need it…” Almost as an afterthought, Brian adds. “You okay there? You look a little out of it. Kobra?”

“What?”

“You having trouble there? More thread.”

“I think I’m fine. Here.”

“You don’t look too well...oh fuck, this is a big one…hey, a longer piece of thread…Kobra…” Mikey can see Brian glance up from his stitching, but the room feels off balance and he can’t really focus on what Brian’s concerned expression means. His head feels really heavy now.

“Hey, Kobra, you sure you’re okay? Fuck. Kobra? Hey man, I think you need to sit down. Kobra? You still there? I’m coming, hold on. You okay? Look at me…Mikey? Mikey you- Shit!”

*

Mikey wakes up with a start, cutting off his own snore. He looks around and sees that he is in a dark living room sprawled on a folded futon and he’s fully clothed, down to his boots and holstered gun.

“Kobra?” someone calls softly. Mikey looks over and sees Brian standing in the doorway and suddenly memories from the night before come slamming down on him in full force. He remembers passing out in the operating room and nothing afterwards.

“You should come hear this.” Brian says, before retreating.

Mikey hauls himself up on shaky legs and stumbles after him, scrubbing at a line of dried drool on his cheek.

In the kitchen Brian is sitting at the table listening to the radio turned down low, he turns it up a little when Mikey enters. Mikey flops into the chair next to him.

“Someone had a little fun last night,” Dr. Death Defying reports. “Seems a Motorbaby tried to outrun the long arm of the Better Living law. From what my sources have been able to gather, all that’s left of that particular clap is the charred sand about the size of a motorcycle. BLI’s cleanup crew was strangely thorough. Could be that particular baby got dusted, though we don’t know for sure. Of course this means increased patrol out in the Zones for a while, so tread lightly out there. Let this Crash Queen’s bravery serve as a lesson to us all, whether he be dead, captured, or – desert willing – safe in hiding fight for freedom until you’re dusted. Look alive and keep it shiny, this is Dr. Death Defying, signing off.”

Brian clicks the radio off.

Mikey drops his head into his hands and curses. “Gerard’ll think it’s me, that the report is talking about me.”

“And they’ll come here looking for you?”

Mikey peeks at Brian between his fingers. “How? He doesn’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

Brian looks at him, startled. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I promised you I wouldn’t, remember? You made me promise.”

“I thought you told your brother everything.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t. My brother understands that.” Brian gapes. Mikey feels a small flare of anger at Brian’s expression, as if Brian hadn’t believed he would keep the promise. A cruel part of Mikey’s brain wonders if Brian trusts him, if he ever trusted him. “But I need to go soon because my brother will tear this world apart looking for me. Not to mention we have a damn good tracker as well.”

Brian laughs and if a little part of Mikey melts at the sound, well that’s no one’s concern but his.

“Brian?”

Both men swivel around to see Grace standing in the doorway. Brian jumps up. “What’s wrong, Gracie?”

“Dad’s awake, you told me to tell you when he woke up.”

*

“So, how are you?” Mikey asks, hovering in the doorway and watching Brian inject Ray with a painkiller.

Ray tries to speak, but his speech is slurred and Grace shushes him with a tiny hand over his mouth.

“He’s fine.” Grace answers for him.

Brian smiles half-heartedly. “Of course he is.”

Brian checks on a few of Ray’s bandaged wounds. Once he’s finished he gets up, motioning for Mikey to follow him as they exit the room, closing the door behind them.

Back in the kitchen Brian drops heavily into a chair, letting his forehead meet the table with a thunk.

“How bad is he, really?” Mikey asks, sitting next to him, their knees brushing accidentally.

If Brian notices the contact, he doesn’t react, “He’ll recover, but he’s going to be hurting for a while and he won’t be able to move much. Also, I’m running low on painkillers. If I run out before he’s healed it’s gonna be a hell of a time for him. Oh and, of course, to go along with the fact that I can’t move him; we’re fucked if the patrols come knocking.”

“So, what do we do?”

Brian sighs. “I have to raid for medical supplies in the middle of a fucking increased security situation.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Ray needs-”

“Ray needs a live doctor. I’m going back home,” Mikey decides, getting up. “My gang will be able to help.”

“No!” Brain snaps, grabbing Mikey’s wrist. “Dracs have been passing by at a distance all day. You try leaving now, in the daytime, you’re dead.”

“My brother-”

“If your brother has any sense at all he’ll be waiting for nighttime to make a move.”

Mikey sighs and nods. He hates waiting, but Brian's right. Out in the Zones even Frank has learned to dig in and wait for safety.

Brian seems to finally notice that he’s holding Mikey’s wrist. He pulls away quickly, but not fast enough to keep Mikey from grabbing his hand. Mikey runs a thumb over Brian’s knuckles and across the healed scars. He remembers when they were fresh, pale pink flesh seeping blood and Brian ignoring the pain as he twisted a bandage expertly around Mikey’s own damaged hand. Brian leans into the touch and Mikey takes it as an invitation. He tugs at the hand and Brian goes with it, standing right in front of Mikey with about a foot of space separating them.

“Brian,” Mikey whispers, bringing up their hands and brushing his lips over Brian’s scarred knuckles.

Suddenly Brian is gone, slipping out of the kitchen and muttering something about checking up on Ray.

*

Mikey spends the day alone in the room with the futon, peeking out through a crack in the blackout curtain and watching occasional movement of City operatives off in the distance. Grace enters at some point, unnoticed. She's quiet.

“We’d be dead, y’know? If you didn’t help us, we’d be dead right now.” Her words startle him as much as her sudden appearance does.

“You would have been fine.” Mikey’s assurance feels empty.

“No, we’d be dead. The Dracs would have come and killed us.”

“But they didn’t. You’re safe.”

“Thanks to you,” she says, hugging him around the waist.

He stiffens for a second and then caves, hugging her back.

“Dad told me about the Killjoys,” she continues. “The first people to ever go against BLI and live. I never thought I’d ever meet you, you guys are superheroes!”

Mikey blushes a little at the compliment. “Superheroes? Says who? Your father?”

“Everyone, silly. You guys are proof that BLI isn’t undefeatable. You guys were the push my dad needed to get out. You guys were the hope when my mom…”

Mikey feels her tighten her hold on his waist and he knows she’s about to cry, but her mother? Is this why Ray was in the City? He pulls away from her just enough so that he can kneel and look her right in the eye.

“Grace,” he asks. “What happened?”

She throws her arms around his neck and starts sobbing.

*

Raised in the City, Grace never knew anything else. Her mom encouraged her to apply herself in school and learn as much as possible. Grace was sent to the best academy they could afford and it was assumed that she would go to university as well.

Her father was almost the exact opposite. While Grace’s mother believed in being quietly self-disciplined, her father encouraged her to be inquisitive. Her mother taught her the rules of the City and her father taught her to dream.

Grace’s favorite way to spend her time was sitting in the living room with her father late some nights after her mother had taken her pills and gone to bed. He would tell her stories he knew from something they used to have called comic books, books filled with colorful pictures that told stories of superheroes and villains of good triumphing over evil. That’s another thing she loved about her father, he told her things about the time before the Massive Fires when no one else would, not even her mother or the school. The one time she’d asked about life before the Massive Fires, beyond that it was supposedly very bad, she’d gotten yelled at and the school called her mother. When she got home her mother spanked her and told her never to ask about such things again.

That night her father sang to her for the first time. Not much, just a half-whispered lullaby as he held her, but she was shocked. Music was illegal and anyone at school who so much as hummed was reeducated. It was one thing to whisper about the past in hushed tones, another matter entirely to blatantly defy the rules. After that, he promised to tell her anything she wanted to know about the time before, before the Fires, before BLI, and before the City.

As he told her whatever he could over the following months she began to notice a change in him, a shift that she’d never seen before in anyone. He stopped taking his pills; she caught him flushing them down the toilet. After that she stopped taking her pills. After that the change in him became stronger and Grace started to feel it, too. Eventually she was able to put a name to the feeling: restlessness. Her father was restless for the world that was, the one he grew up in, and Grace started to desire that world as well.

They shouldn’t have been surprised when others noticed as well.

Grace’s mother was so excited when they got the news that her father would be participating in a new drug study. Her father turned white as a sheet when he found out. Her mother spoke about it being a great new opportunity that he should take advantage of.

As if he had any choice in the matter.

The night before he was scheduled to leave, Grace’s father took her into the basement and brought out an old radio, something Grace didn’t even know still existed. He played for her Dr. Death Defying’s broadcast. After it was over, he told her all about the Killjoys: Party Poison the leader and his two companions Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul, the first people to make a stance against the City and live.

The Killjoys were the reason BLI created an actual Most Wanted criminal list.

He also told her that the drug study was a front and that BLI was most likely going to force him back on the medication and if he refused they would terminate him. He explained to her that he was going to take a third option. He was planning on leaving the City in search of the Killjoys and that he’d be back to take her away, too, as soon as he could.

He put her to bed that night and vanished.

Two days later men in well-tailored suits showed up and encouraged Grace and her mother to take part in more drug trials. Her mother accepted. Grace refused.

She was in the children’s ward for three days, handcuffed to the hospital bed and being injected with a battery of mind-numbing medication, when her father showed up to save her, all by himself.

*

Mikey let Grace cry herself to sleep in his arms. As he sat on the floor with her he looked up into the fading light of the sky and saw a patrol helicopter fly by.

Not long after the moon swung past midnight he knew he wouldn’t be making a trip that night.

*

“You’re pacing like a caged animal,” Brian observes as Mikey makes another lap around the room.

“I feel like one,” Mikey shoots back irritably.

“Chill.”

“How? Three. Days. Three days I’ve been stuck here.”

“The patrols will ease up soon enough.”

“What if my brother isn’t that patient?” Mikey asks as he circles the room again.

“Kobra,” Brian extends his hand; Mikey watches it warily as he makes another loop around the futon. Brian leaves his hand extended. “Mikey-”

“And what if – I just thought of this yesterday – what if he assumes I’ve been captured and heads right to Battery City first?”

“Anyone with sense wouldn’t head to the City first.”

Mikey pauses in his pacing, biting his lip nervously. “My brother…he doesn’t always have sense, especially about my safety…”

Brian holds his hand out farther and Mikey takes a few steps closer. As soon as he comes close enough Brian grabs his wrist and drags him onto the futon.

“You need to relax, you’re pacing is making everyone anxious.”

Mikey huffs in disbelief. “How?”

The next minute Brian is leaning against Mikey’s back, massaging his shoulder blades in slow circles with his thumbs. Mikey leans in to the touch slightly, just enough to encourage Brian. Brian moves his hands to the base of Mikey’s neck, massaging the worry knots out with firm fingers.

“Worrying is not helping anybody,” Brian says.

“You worry all the time,” Mikey mutters, only half paying attention to the conversation.

“Yes, but when I worry it makes me productive. You are not being productive.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Brian has reached the really sensitive spot at the base of Mikey’s skull and Mikey’s kind of surprised his brain is working well enough to create comprehensible speech.

Mikey’s too out of it to realize Brian has moved, but then he hears Brian whisper in his ear, “Just relax, Mikey.”

When Brian gets up to check on Ray, Mikey does not slide to the floor in a human puddle.

No, he does not.

*

Gerard has barely begun screaming before Frank reflexively rolls over and slaps a hand over his mouth. He jolts and grabs Frank’s arm to help anchor himself to reality as he comes to full consciousness. Frank keeps his hand on Gerard’s mouth until he’s sure Gerard’s awake.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Frank rolls closer to Gerard, wrapping him in a tight embrace. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

“They had a machine,” Gerard gasps, “and they wired him up to it and shot electricity into his body until he started convulsing. Oh God…”

Frank runs a gentle hand through Gerard’s red hair as he mutters soothing nonsense about how it’s all impossible, they don’t have a machine like that and – more importantly – they don’t have Mikey and Gerard will realize that when Mikey comes home tonight.

It’s the same bullshit he’s been saying for three days.

Frank feels Gerard’s body start shaking so he slides his hand down to rest on Gerard’s cheek, pressing his thumb over Gerard’s cracked lips to hold back the sob that so desperately wants out. He can’t stop the hot tears, though.

“I can’t take it anymore; we have to start looking for him.”

Frank rolls over and looks out the window at the fading sunlight. “Let’s give it a few more hours, wait ‘til its dark.”

Gerard shifts closer and nods into Frank’s shoulder.

*

“You’re going?” Brian asks as Mikey pulls on his gloves and picks up his helmet.

“Well, I would, if you could help me get this off.”

Mikey shakes his leg and the girl who has her arms wrapped firmly around his calf, hanging off his leg as he holds it out. Brian huffs an amused laugh.

“C’mon, Gracie, you can’t go with him,” Brian says as he disentangles the girl from Mikey’s leg.

“He can’t go!” Grace whines. “What if he gets hurt?”

“He won’t, sweetie,” Ray says, hobbling into the room and leaning heavily on the door frame. Grace wriggles out of Brian’s grip and runs to her father.

“But what if he doesn’t come back?”

“He will.”

“But what if-”

“No more ‘what ifs,’ Grace,” Ray says, pulling her in close against him. “It’s a dangerous world out there, but Kobra Kid can handle it. Saying ‘what if’ isn’t going to help, okay?”

Grace looks down at her feet. “Okay…”

Mikey checks his holster, nods toward Brian who nods back. He’s watching, Mikey can feel Brian’s eye studying him, but what he’s watching for Mikey can’t be sure. It’s dangerous to leave, but Mikey promised he’d get medication and be right back, hopefully with his friends, and he intends to keep that promise.

As he makes his way to the door he pauses in front of Ray.

“Bye, Kobra Kid,” Ray says with a polite nod.

“My real name’s Mikey,” Mikey responds. “Mikey Way. I thought you should know that since I know yours. And I don’t say ‘bye’ anymore, it’s too final.”

“What do you say?”

“Usually nothing, my friends know me well enough I don’t have to. But in this case,” he shrugs, “see ya later, Ray, Grace.”

“See you later, Mikey,” Ray responds with a pat on his shoulder. Grace gives him a quick hug around the waist.

*

“We’ll find him.” Frank says, looking up at Gerard, perched carefully on the roof of the Trans Am scanning the landscape. They have been driving through the desert looking for any sign of Riot Pyret’s shack with no success. The radio is painfully uninformative. All Zone Runners are laying low in the wake of the increased patrol, including Dr. D. The crackling car speakers occasionally pump out selections of ‘80s rock songs amidst long bouts of white noise. The speakers are silent now, a result of Frank insisting they shut the car off to save gas.

Gerard grunts noncommittally, climbing down from his perch.

“The desert’s a big place. Just because we haven’t found him yet doesn’t mean BLI has him.” Frank offers a hand to stabilize Gerard as he hops off the car.

“But what if he has been taken and we’re wasting our time scouring the desert?” Gerard asks.

“But what if we go into the City and get captured and then Mikey really is all on his own?” Frank counters. He climbs into the driver’s seat and goes to start the car. He stops when he realizes Gerard isn’t getting in.

“We go to the City tomorrow,” Gerard is pacing outside the car but he stops to peer in the open window. He makes the statement as if it’s the end of the argument.

Frank disagrees. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Exactly what I said,” Frank says. “No, we are not going into the City.”

Gerard leans into the window, arms crossed. “Yes, we damn well are.”

“It’s a suicide mission!”

“We’re going!”

Frank chucks the key ring at Gerard. “No. You’re going.” He gets out of the car and slams the door behind him.

He starts walking, counting his steps. Exactly eleven steps later he hears Gerard call his name.

“Frank,” Gerard’s half-pleading. Frank stops but doesn’t turn around.

“Please, don’t leave me… He’s… he’s my brother, Frank. You don’t… You can’t-”

Finally, Frank turns around to face him. Gerard hadn’t tried to follow Frank, but he’s moved to stand by the driver’s side door, arms uncrossed and held out towards Frank.

“I’m your brother, too, Gerard. And part of being a good brother is doing what’s best, even if it’s not what you want to do.”

Gerard sighs down at his feet. “We keep searching for Riot Pyret?”

Frank nods, returning to the car. “That’s what I would recommend.”

Gerard jangles the keys and Frank snatches them from his grip. Gerard slides across the hood to reach the passenger side while Frank climbs in the driver’s seat.

“How did you know I wouldn’t go into the City without you?” Gerard asks, slipping into the car.

Frank reaches up his sleeve and retrieves the car key he’d removed from the key ring, flashing it tauntingly in Gerard’s face.

“I could say ‘because I know you,’ but I decided to have some insurance as well. And I’m a little surprised you didn’t notice it was missing.”

Gerard flips him off.

*

Mikey is off his bike and running as soon as he pulls up to the diner.

“Guys!” Mikey calls, bursting through the front door. “I’m back!”

There's no response.

“Guys?”

Mikey wanders through the diner, and then around it before he admits to himself that Gerard and Frank are gone and so is the Trans Am. Hopefully the lack of the gang’s beloved car means that they are in it, driving around and possibly looking for him, and not that they have been taken by BLI.

On his second round of the diner, he finds a note.

KK,

Stay here.

Please.

P2

Just enough information for Mikey, but not enough for an enemy. An operative reading the note wouldn’t know Mikey had been missing, and they wouldn’t see the desperation.  But Mikey can, in just three words Mikey can see how worried Gerard is, how desperate he is to be able to come home and see Mikey sitting on a stool waiting for him.

It hurts Mikey more than he can admit that he’s caused Gerard so much stress and he can’t even do what Gerard asks.

He raids their medicine cabinet taking most of the stuff and almost all of the painkillers and packs them away into the bag Brian lent him. He also takes one can of gas from their stash, not enough to hamper the Trans Am.

He writes a note, one that he’s pretty sure only Gerard and Frank will understand, before driving off with a whispered “I’m sorry.”’

*

“Tomorrow,” Frank promises, pulling the Trans Am into the makeshift garage on the side of the diner. “We’ll start looking again tomorrow.”

Gerard nods, staring blankly off into the distance.

They climb out of the vehicle and make their way back to the diner. Gerard stares at Frank’s feet as he trails behind him.

Without any clue as to where Riot Pyret’s shack is they had created a search perimeter designed to fan out from the diner. Frank had insisted on it, maintaining that they needed to cover ground carefully so they didn’t miss anything. The perimeter had them making larger and larger loops of the desert in the direction Mikey had gone as they scanned every direction for Riot’s shack. The pattern was too slow for Gerard and it made him antsy. He had wanted to drive the direction Mikey had been going and not stop until he’d found his brother. Frank wouldn’t let him.

However fruitless the search was turning out to be Gerard did have to admit that they had benefited from moving. In just a couple days they had come across two other gangs of City runaways within ten miles of their home. Both gangs were new to the area, Gerard was sure they hadn’t been there when his gang moved into the diner. One gang was a group of teenagers the other looked like an actually family, two women caring for a preteen boy. Gerard and Frank never asked them their stories; they had a strict policy to never ask about a Runner’s past.

The family was comfortably established in a broken down bus-turned-home. The teenagers, however, looked weak and sunburned. They stood in awe of Gerard and Frank when the two rolled up in their Trans Am. The teens wore torn City clothes and stared at Gerard’s hair as if they had never seen such a color. Frank and Gerard coaxed them from their hideout which was not much more than a skeleton of a building. Gerard fed them with a few cans of beans he dug out from their trunk while Frank brought their car back to working order with little difficulty. The gang had clearly never had to maintain a car as they stared wide-eyed at Frank as he patiently explained what motor oil was and how to use it.

By the time they sent the teens off, giving them directions to a trading post in Zone 5, the hours had faded away and they were forced to return home without Mikey again.

Gerard is so caught up in his thoughts, mulling the day over in his head that he walks smack into Frank, who has stopped in his tracks.

“Wha-”

“Ssshhh!” Frank hisses. “Someone’s been here.”

Gerard tenses up, his hand immediately flying to his holster. Frank is already drawing his raygun.

“Follow them,” Gerard instructs, watching Frank study the tracks in the sand.

Gerard pulls his gun and watches their back and sides as Frank follows the barely visible footsteps through the sand.

They move together as one, following the tacks to the entrance of the diner. They crouch at the door and raise their guns, preparing to shoot. Frank gives Gerard a swift nod. Ready.

Gerard kicks the door in and they charge, screaming, guns aimed to shoot.

Into an empty room.

They make a careful lap through the seating area but see no one. They spilt up to cover the rest of the diner quickly, sure by this point that no one is here. Gerard is checking the closet-sized bathroom just to be sure when Frank calls his name from the main room.

“Gerard!” He repeats, sounding excited. Gerard hurries to meet him and Frank points to a piece of paper on the counter, just where he had left a note for Mikey, sure his brother would come back.

Looking at the paper over Frank’s shoulder Gerard immediately recognizes his brother’s handwriting. It’s just a few lines in their coded language, but it’s enough for Gerard.

The first line is the number “2,” a poorly drawn star, and an arrow. Second star to the right, their sign for directions. The next line reads:

26m to the 2^nd pig. Below the sunrise.

“What does that mean?” Frank asks, tapping the second line.

“It means we’re looking for a wooden shack twenty-six miles to the southeast,” Gerard explains. “Do you think that’s enough information for you to find it?”

“With that and some of his tire tracks?” Frank smirks, tossing the keys to Gerard. “More than enough.”

*

“Riot!” Mikey shouts, bursting into the shack, “I’ve-”

“Shh!” Brian hisses, poking his head out from the bedroom, one finger pressed firmly over his lips.

Mikey hunches his shoulders apologetically and offers Brian the bag full of medicine. Brian nods and shuffles over quietly to take it.

As soon as he hands the bag over Mikey points to the bedroom, shooting Brian a questioning look.

“He’s not doing too good,” Brian shrugs. “Just too much moving around, I think. I’ve given him some painkillers and a sedative.”

Mikey nods, realizing he’s going to be spending another boring day or so quietly hunkered down on the futon.

“Brian, I-”

Brian pauses partway back to Ray.

“Yeah?” For a split second Brian’s face is so open that it catches Mikey off guard and his train of thought goes careening off course.

“I- I’ll be in the living room,” he finishes lamely.

Brian nods and retreats back into the bedroom.

Mikey starts towards the living room, but the feeling of eyes watching him makes him turn back.

Brian is standing in the doorway, staring back at him with a considering look.

Mikey feels a wave of heat rush through him as he stands pinned under Brian’s gaze. He licks his lips nervously and Brian’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue.

One of them moves first, but even after Mikey is sitting alone in the living room he can’t recall who it was.

*

“Mikey?”

Mikey glances up from the comic book he’s been flipping through as he lay sprawled across the futon, to see Brian standing in the doorway, illuminated only by the light spilling through the open door.

“Brian?” Mikey asks, not even sure what he’s asking.

Brian closes the door and comes towards Mikey who tosses the comic book aside and waits for Brian to make the first move.

He does.

Before Mikey realizes what’s happening Brian crosses the room and grabs him around the back of his neck, kissing rough and wet.

Mikey let’s out an unflattering squeak of surprise before he’s reciprocating, encouraging Brian by  hooking one hand around his shoulder and pulling him in. Brian runs his nails up the back of Mikey’s scalp and Mikey decides “fuck it,” before looping an arm around Brian’s waist and hauling the smaller man on top of him.

Brian goes with a surprising amount of grace, straddling Mikey and only breaking the kiss once he is on top in order to kiss and bite his way down Mikey’s neck.

Mikey slips his hands up Brian’s shirt and Brian stops kissing him so he can tug the shirt off and toss it to the side.

“Why did we ever break up?” Brian asks, unbuckling Mikey’s belt.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mikey says, sitting up enough to tug his own shirt off.

Brian’s next kiss shakes with suppressed laughter.

Mikey relaxes back and let’s Brian kiss and bite a path down his chest, closing his eyes and moaning encouragingly.

A small metallic thunk sounds somewhere close.

Mikey opens his eyes, but all he sees is Brian kissing down his stomach. Brian runs a few fingers along the top of Mikey’s underwear and Mikey loses himself in the feeling of Brian’s skin on his.

Mikey catches the sound of another metallic thunk and some scraping. This time he opens his eyes and looks in the direction of the sound, sure it’s just come from the other side of the covered window.

“Brian?” Mikey asks.

Brian hums in response, trying to tug Mikey’s pants down while he’s kissing his stomach.

“What was the sound?”

Brian freezes, mid-kiss, his eyes shooting up to meet Mikey’s. They stare at each other, not moving an inch and hardly daring to breathe, just listening.

Another sound. This time the sound of an engine starting.

In a split second they both launch themselves over the back of the futon and fly to the window; Mikey stumbling as he tries to hold up his pants and retrieve his raygun at the same time.

Brian throws the blackout curtains back just in time to see a Drac jumping onto a BLI motorcycle. He yanks the window open and steps back as Mikey takes aim and fires.

None of his shots even get near the Drac.

“Sorry,” Mikey says as the bike speeds out of range.

Brian shakes his head dismissively as he shuts the window. “It’s not your fault. You’re the one who heard him.”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, re-buckling his pants. “I wonder what he was doing.”

“We should check,” Brian says, retrieving his shirt and heading for the door.

Mikey follows him, pausing for a moment to collect his shirt and curse BLI for his missed opportunity.

*

“There’s smoke!”

Mikey skids to a stop at the back of the shack just behind Brian. “What?”

“Under the crawl space there!” Brian says, scrambling towards the steam of smoke flowing out from underneath the shack. The dip created by sandstorms molding the landscape. Mikey glances around for any other openings to the crawlspace and spots something that makes his heart sink. Gas cans. A pair of crushed gas cans lay tossed in the dust, smoldering. He follows the line of burning fluid back to the shack and sees it dip under the crawl space.

“They didn’t- Wait, what are you doing?!” Mikey grabs Brian, hauling him from where he had begun to slide feet-first under the building.

“Whatever’s causing the smoke, I have to get it out!” Brian snaps, struggling against Mikey’s grip.

“Brian, you can’t.”

“They’re trying to set my home on fire, I have to try!”

“They already did.” Mikey says.

“What?” Brian asks, finally turning to look at Mikey.

“It’s too late. Look!” Brian follows Mikey’s pointed finger and sees the accelerant. Following the trail back to the building they see smoke and flames licking up the sides of the shack.

“Oh god…” Brian gasps, charging back towards the front door. “Ray!”

“Grace!” Mikey calls, hot on Brian’s heels.

*

“Slight left!” Frank yells against the wind, head sticking out of the Trans Am’s open roof. Gerard makes the turn, following tracks only Frank can see.

After making the turn Gerard sees something that makes his heart drop.

“Straight ahead, right?” Gerard asks, cautiously.

“Yeah,” Frank responds, dropping into his seat. “How’d you know?”

Gerard point out the windshield at the smoke cloud billowing up from the desert. Frank gasps.

“Oh no.”

Gerard hits the gas.

*

The building is completely ablaze when they finally pull up. Gerard is out of the car before it comes to a complete stop. He runs towards the building, Frank hot on his heels. A gust of wind blasts a pure wave of heat into them, burning their eyes and sending them stumbling backwards.

“They’re inside!”

Gerard starts at the sound of another voice; he glances around and spies a jeep a few yards away. There’s a young girl sitting in the passenger seat, hanging out of the open side door. She has a mess of frizzy hair and a look of pure fear on her face.

“My dad!” She cries. “Riot and Kobra are trying to help and-”

“You stay there!” Gerard instructs, pointing at the jeep and pulling his bandana over his face with his other hand.

The girl nods, slipping back into the car.

Next to him, Frank is pulling his bandana up over his nose and mouth with a determined look in his eyes. He catches Gerard looking at him and smiles beneath the cloth.

“Into Hell’s furnace?”

Gerard nods, “Into Hell’s furnace.”

*

Mikey stumbles under Ray’s weight. He takes an unconscious breath and instantly regrets it at his mouth fills with heat and smoke sending him into a coughing fit. Somewhere to his left, on the other side of Ray, Brian is gasping for breath. Ray probably has it the best in his barely conscious state as they drag him out of the bedroom.

There is a sudden thump, as if something has dropped, and Ray’s weight suddenly increases as if all of it has been heaved onto Mikey’s shoulders, buckling Mikey’s knees under him and sending him sprawling to the floor. He finds himself taking greedy lungfuls of the clearer air below the smoke, relieved with the ability to breathe.

“Brian?” Mikey calls. There’s no response.

“Brian!”

“Ray?” Ray groans and coughs. Mikey pushes at his shoulder. “C’mon, Ray,” he begs between gasping breaths, “you gotta… get up. I can’t… alone.”

He yanks at Ray’s arm again and gets some response, he thinks. Mikey’s almost certain Ray tries to get up, but just can’t seem to manage it. Mikey slips Ray’s arm back over his shoulder and hauls, but he can’t get up either.

There’s just so much smoke and it’s so hard to breathe…

“Mikey! Mikey!”

Someone is calling his name. His name name, not his alias. That can only mean one thing.

Breathing in as much air he can find, Mikey yells back. “Gerard! Frank!”

Footsteps pound toward them. Through the darkness a hand finds Mikey’s head and moves to his shoulder, hooking under his armpit.

“We have to go,” Gerard gasps, tugging at him. Mikey refuses to move.

“Ray,” he gasps, “Brian.”

The hand disappears and a few seconds later Ray’s weight over his shoulder gets lighter as someone lifts him. Mikey puts all his energy into his legs and, shouldering some of Ray’s weight, hauls himself off the ground.

“Brian!” Mikey gasps again.

“Got him!” Comes a call off to the left.

Mikey nods to himself and pushes forward, with help, towards the front door.

*

Mikey trips over the steps and falls headfirst onto the desert sand.

“Mikey!” Gerard chokes out, lowering Ray gently to the ground.

Mikey waves his brother’s concern away as he curls to his side, enjoying the fresh air in his lungs, his consciousness fading in and out.

Gerard goes back to help Frank get Brian out of the burning building.

“Oxygen,” Brian gasps, “in… trunk.”

Frank hands Brian off to Gerard and runs as fast as he can, coughing and wheezing, to the jeep to retrieve the oxygen tanks.

Gerard is carrying Brian away from the fire when Mikey hears a scream, barely audible above the roar of the growing fire. He glances past Gerard and sees Grace running towards them, calling her father’s name. Then he sees movement behind her, a flash of white.

“Grace!” Mikey gasps a split second before the white car has pulled up and a Drac leans out to snatch the running girl.

Frank charges after them, pulling out his raygun and firing at the car’s wheels. One of the Dracs leans out the window and fires.

That last thing Mikey sees before his vision goes black is Frank crumpling to the ground.

*

“Frank!” Gerard screams, charging at the BLI car. A blind rage has taken over and he is determined get payback. The car has already picked up speed and is too far to chase down, but Gerard is not about to give up. He plants his feet firmly and aims for a back tire. Taking a deep, controlled breath Gerard fires.

The tire bursts with a loud pop, sending chunks of rubber flying.

The car skids and swerves, ricocheting off a sand dune and weaving back onto the road. Even with a flat tire the vehicle doesn’t lose speed; it just continues to drive with one wheel stripped down to the rim. In a few moments it is over a dune and out of sight.

Gerard curses in frustration and kicks up a cloud of dust.

A pained whine behind him brings Gerard back from his anger-fueled standoff.

Spinning around Gerard sees Brian crouched over Frank, pressing a cloth against Frank’s injured arm. He’s staring at Gerard in awe.

“I’ve-” Brian stutters. “I’ve never seen anybody- how did you-”

“Is he-?” Gerard asks, half in a whisper. It brings Brian back to the moment and he checks the wound gently. Gerard hurries over.

“He’ll be okay,” Brian says. “Just a scratch.”

“That’s one hell of a scratch,” Frank mutters, hissing in pain when Brian shifts the cloth. Gerard can’t help but laugh.

“You’ll be okay,” Gerard says, sighing in relief and running his fingers soothingly through Frank’s sweaty hair.

*

With a sudden jolt like an electric shock Mikey snaps into consciousness.

“You okay?”

Mikey looks around and realizes he is lying in the back seat of the Trans Am with Gerard driving and Frank peering at him from the passenger seat.

And there's an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

Mikey tugs at the mask in annoyance, trying to get it off, but only managing to get tangled in tubing.

“Oh no, don’t,” Frank instructs, fitting the mask back on properly. “You need to keep that on.”

Mikey huffs. Frank shrugs, “I know, but you did inhale a lot of smoke.”

“You can sit up, though,” Gerard says, watching him in the rearview mirror, “if you want.”

Careful of the tubing connecting his mask to the oxygen tank, Mikey slowly sits upright, settling himself comfortably in the middle of the backseat so he can look ahead.

What he sees is Brian’s jeep leading them through the desert.

He points at the jeep, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Frank shrugs again and this time Mikey spots a bandage peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeve. “We’re going to see some ‘friends of his’ apparently. He says they’ll be able to get the girl back.”

“Grace,” Mikey corrects without thinking, his throat burning and his words muffled by the plastic mask.

“Grace, right.”

“How did Ray react?”

Frank and Gerard share a pointed look.

“Not well,” Gerard responds shortly.

Mikey nods. It’s understandable.

“How are you?” Mikey asks Frank, pushing through the raw pain in his throat. “I saw you…”

“A graze,” Frank says. “And the great thing about raygun wounds is they cauterize themselves. But it hurts like a bitch.”

Mikey nods again and pats Frank gently on his unbandaged shoulder. Frank pats his hand in return.

The car lapses into silence and Mikey leans his head back, considering getting some more sleep.

“Mikey?” Gerard asks suddenly.

Mikey looks up and makes a questioning hum.

Gerard catches Mikey in the rearview mirror and locks eyes with him, staring at his brother as if he expects to read something in his face.

“Do you trust these guys?”

Mikey holds his brother’s gaze and nods. “Yes.”

Gerard nods in return. “Okay.”

*

They pull to a stop about an hour later on some part of Route Guano that looks like literally every other part of Route Guano. Gerard and Frank look back to Mikey as if he has some answer to where they are or what’s going on.

He doesn’t.

In front of them Brian hops out of the jeep. “Wait here,” he instructs, holding up a finger.

Gerard nods. Brian runs across the road and into a ditch on the far side, disappearing from sight.

They wait.

And they wait.

“You sure you can trust this guy?” Franks asks, staring in the direction Brian went.

“Yes,” Mikey says firmly.

“Okaaayyy…” Frank says, drawing out the word in mock-agreement. Mikey doesn’t acknowledge the response and Frank says nothing further.

Finally Brian returns, crawling up out of the ditch and running back to his jeep.

“Just a little further,” Brian says, before hopping in the vehicle and starting it up.

Gerard puts the Trans Am in gear and follows.

*

“He’s taking us to the City!” Frank says, pointing to the skyscrapers visible on the horizon. “What the hell?”

Gerard hits the brakes. “Gerard!” Mikey gasps, but his brother ignores him.

They slow to the side of the road and Gerard gets out, leaving the car idling he sits on the hood of the running vehicle and waits.

“I thought you said we could trust this guy?” Frank asks Mikey.

Mikey rips off his oxygen mask in frustration. “I did! We can!”

“We’re being led right to the City!”

“There’s a reason for it!”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know!” Mikey snaps.

Brian’s jeep makes a U-turn and heads back towards them. He pulls up alongside them and rolls down the window.

“Something wrong?” Brian asks.

Gerard’s look is positively murderous. “Any particular reason we’re heading into the City?” He seethes. “In fact, now that I think about it, what the hell were you doing earlier? Selling out The Fabulous Killjoys to the cops?”

“What!” Brian gasps. “No!”

Gerard speaks again, every word deliberate. “Look, you’ve helped us in the past and I’m really grateful for that, but now you have me following you and some guy I’ve never met without any explanation. And you’re taking us into the City. Do you realize who we are, now? Where not the same useless shits you patched up back in the day, we’re enemies of the state. We have to be careful.”

“Oh and you’re so brilliant at that.” Brian rolls his eyes. “Do you remember how many times I had to resupply you guys with bandages and medicine?”

“And do you remember how you never trusted anyone but Mikey to know where you live? And now I’m supposed to trust you just like that?”

Brian shuts off the jeep and gets out. “Kobra?” he asks, desperately looking to Mikey for support.

Mikey shrugs uselessly.

“We’re going to find some people who can help us,” Brian insists. “I told you.”

“Brian, we don’t have time for this!” Ray whines from the passenger seat.

“What people?” Gerard demands, ignoring Ray. “We’ve just been following you blindly and I need proof that this isn’t some crazed suicide mission.”

“It’s. Not. Your brother trusts me.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“What?” Mikey snaps, launching himself out of the car, Frank struggling to follow him.

Mikey storms up to Gerard, getting so close their foreheads almost touch. “When did my word become ‘not good enough’?”

Gerard steps toward Mikey so quickly Mikey has to take a step back. “When you disappeared for a week and I almost lost you. When you didn’t come home when you could have. I can’t risk losing you again!” The last word cracks and Gerard’s expression cracks with it. All the anger drains out of Gerard’s eyes, quickly replaced with a look of sadness and fear so open and painful Mikey has to look away.

“You could have burned alive and I never would have known!” Gerard turns away, covering his face with his hands. Frank hurries up to him. He grips Gerard’s shoulder comfortingly and offers Gerard a bandana. Gerard snatches the cloth and uses it to wipe furiously at his eyes.

Brian and Mikey share a stunned look, neither knowing how to respond. Mikey’s big brother doesn’t cry. Mikey can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen Gerard shed a single tear.

“Riot,” Ray calls from the jeep. “I understand, but we really can’t wait.”

“I know,” Brian says. He clears his throat and Frank looks at him, though Gerard keeps his head bent. “We’re going to a bar just outside of the City. Lots of runaways go there to get help; often it’s to get help getting someone out of the City. Ray’s been there before as have I. It’s our best bet for saving Grace so we’re going. You can come along if you want, we really could use the help, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Raids happen, don’t get me wrong, but the people who run the place have dozens of escape routes and almost no one ever gets caught.”

Gerard scrubs the bandana over his face once more and when he looks up his eyes are clear, albeit redder. “Okay,” he says quietly.

“But we have to go now, the longer we wait, the less chance Grace has.”

Gerard looks up at Mikey, Frank and Brian turn to him as well.

“I’m going.” Mikey says with finality.

Brian nods and gets in the jeep.

“You drive,” Gerard tells Frank before climbing into the backseat of the Trans Am with Mikey. They remain quiet as the jeep takes the lead and Frank pulls out to follow.

They sit together in silence for a long time before Gerard finally speaks.

“Your word is good enough, Mikes, I’m sorry.”

“I know. I’m sorry I scared you, I meant to come back and stay.”

“I know. And you told me how to find you. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

“No, you had every right.”

“I’m sorry, I was just so worried about you.”

“I was worried about you, too.”

“Oh, just hug it out!” Frank yells from the driver’s seat.

They do, but not before flipping Frank off first.

*

The bar could be described as seedy, dirty, drab, but it was definitely not quiet or desolate. It thrums with the conversations of the vibrantly-clothed people squeezed into it and beats with bass-boosted techno music Mikey doesn’t recognize. They weave through the crowd, careful not to lose sight of each other until they find a large booth in the far corner, surprisingly unoccupied. Brian heads off to get drinks and Gerard and Frank decide to take advantage of their first time really spent with Ray.

“So,” Frank starts. “The fourth Killjoy, huh?”

Ray blushes, “I didn’t mean to steal your thunder I was just trying to get my family out of the city.”

“I understand,” Gerard says. “So, why?”

“Why? Why what?”

Gerard leans in conspiratorially. “Why try to get out?”

“Because I’m sick of the restrictions and the control and the safety. Life isn’t safe, people shouldn’t be sorted into boxes in a black and white life. People deserve to be free to make their own mistakes, and achieve their own successes. But most of all I think it was because I missed the music. Music is, in all effects, illegal in the city and my life isn’t anything without music. I was a guitarist before BLI took over and I- No, I’m still a guitarist. I haven’t played in forever, but I still define myself by that. I’m a musician, something it is very dangerous to be in Battery City. And I just- I guess I couldn’t live in their smothering security anymore. No matter what it meant, I had to get out.”

Gerard sits back, staring at Ray thoughtfully. “Huh.”

“Oh my God,” Mikey mock gasps, “You’ve rendered him speechless!”

“Mark your calendars!” Frank crows, grabbing Gerard around his shoulders. “The most talkative man in existence can think of nothing to say.”

“Shut up!” Gerard whines, smacking them both upside the head.

“What did I miss?” Brian asks, joining them.

Mikey laughs. “Jet Star was ju-”

“Well, well, well, is that Party Poison?”

Mikey freezes as a voice interrupts, so close it sounds like the person is standing directly between him and Gerard. Both brothers twist in the direction of the voice only to catch just a flick of movement out of their peripheral vision.

“Definitely looks like it.” Another voice says from the entrance of the booth. Everyone turns to see a man in a royal blue suit jacket, bright red fingerless gloves, and a silver and royal blue mask. There’s even a royal blue fedora with a thin strip of silver wrapped around it perched on his head.

And he’s short. Not as short as Frank, but pretty close. This guy is also tiny. Mikey himself has always been described as thin, but this guy looks like a stiff desert breeze could carry him away, though he stands firmly as if he’s daring the wind to try.

Another man steps up beside him. “Think they can help?” Mikey recognizes the voice as the person who spoke behind him. Oddly high-pitched and nasally, like Ray’s. He stands just an inch or so taller than his friend, but they are completely different. Unlike his friend, this guy wears a loose sleeveless shirt and shorts. He’s wearing a plain green mask that goes well with his massive amount of reddish-brown curls and every inch of him looks like solid muscle coated in tattoos from his neck downward. The tattoo of a serpent’s body arches over his Adam’s apple and Mikey winces at the thought of how much that must have hurt.

“Who are you?” Gerard demands.

“Oh, of course,” the blue suit says, settling into a free seat with an easy smile. “I’m Blue Phoenix and this is Young Volcano.”

Blue Phoenix makes a motion inviting his friend to sit down. Young Volcano doesn’t move and the two stare at each other, holding a silent conversation with facial expressions. Finally Blue Phoenix waves dismissively and turns back to the group as Young Volcano stands just behind him.

“And, of course, you are,” he points to each one in turn, “Kobra Kid, Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, and… oh you must be Jet Star.” He pauses. “And, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Pyret.”

“Ah, Riot Pyret, the doctor,” His smile falters for a moment and then comes back again. “Volcano and I were wondering if you might be able to help us out.”

Mikey looks to Gerard, who’s clearly taken aback.

“We sort of have our own problem right now,” Gerard hedges.

“The prisoner that was just taken?” Volcano asks.

“How do you know about her?” Ray gasps.

“Well, we weren’t sure,” Volcano shrugs, “but now we are.”

“We make it our business to keep an eye on that sort of information,” Phoenix explains. “You see, we can really help each other out.”

“How so?” Gerard asks.

“Our friends are prisoners, too. We can’t infiltrate the Better Living building by ourselves, but with a few extra people…” He lets the sentence fade holding out his hands, clearly asking for help.

“Why should we trust you?” Brian asks.

Young Volcano leans over Phoenix’s shoulder and lowers his voice. “We have the building schematics for the BLI headquarters.”

“How do you know they’ve been taken there?” Frank pipes up.

Suddenly there’s a crash at the door and alarms start blaring painfully loud. A squadron of cops swarms into the bar, rayguns out and shooting at everyone in sight.

“Because we’re high-class criminals, Ghoul!” Volcano shouts, pulling out his raygun and moving between Phoenix and the melee. “They don’t take our kind anywhere else!”

“The North Tunnel. Ten PM.” Phoenix says quickly as Volcano pulls him up and pushes him towards an exit. As he does a Drac appears out of nowhere and catches Volcano by his hair.

Most of Mikey’s group is already up and over the back of the booth seats when he sees the other man get grabbed. He reaches for his gun, but before it’s even out of its holster Volcano yanks a large knife out of a sheath on his belt and slices upward, cutting clean through his own hair.

Without a second glance at the confused Drac holding a wad of hair Volcano is gone and Gerard is dragging Mikey off.

They get out of the bar without firing a single shot.

*

Later that night they are camped out in a ditch outside of the north tunnel entrance to the City jumping at every little sound they hear. They sit in a circle facing outwards, watching and listening for everything.

Despite their careful watch the two Runners manage to sneak up on them anyhow.

“Evening,” Young Volcano says in greeting, appearing without warning at the top of the ditch. His hair has been buzzed to his scalp, except for the top of his head which still holds a shock of hair. His mask is gone and in its place is a pair of dark sunglasses. It’s a surprise he can see in the fading twilight.

Blue Phoenix materializes in the ditch behind them as they are busy staring at Volcano with a more polite greeting. The light illuminates his smile and the bits of silver in his outfit, but leaves him invisible otherwise.

“Our apologies,” Phoenix says, “but we won’t be able to make a move tonight. Security is too high after the raid.”

“How long do we have to wait?” Ray demands.

“Only until tomorrow,” Phoenix explains, calmly. “They don’t concern themselves too much with something as little as a bar raid. You’re welcome to stay with us, until then.”

The group is reluctant, but without any other options, they agree.

*

“What is this place?” Frank gasps, petting the dust-coated soundboard lovingly, sending fine particles of sand into the air.

“An old recording studio,” Phoenix explains, taking his fedora off and frisbeeing it onto a nearby table. He rolls his shoulders and runs his hands through his strawberry-blond hair, making it stick up at odd angles.

“Our old recording studio, actually,” Volcano says, removing his sunglasses. “Mine and, um, my friend’s.”

“An- er, Volcano.” Phoenix calls, looking at his comrade with concern. “You-”

“Don’t.” Volcano snaps quickly. He reaches up to his head as if to push back his hair and then seems to remember that most of his hair is gone. He lets his hand drop uselessly. Phoenix is still looking at his friend in concern, the emotion more evident as he removes his mask.

“You don’t have any extra food, do you? We haven’t eaten all day,” Gerard asks quickly, hoping to dispel the tension that is beginning to build in the room.

“Oh, yes!” Phoenix says, grasping at the distraction as he invites them all into the “kitchen,” which is a meeting room with two hotplates and a fridge.

“You guys have electricity?” Mikey asks with shock. “I didn’t see a generator.”

Phoenix beams, flipping a light switch that illuminates the room with a dull glow. “One of the perks of living dangerously close to the city: access to the power grid.”

Their wide eyes and slack jaws make Phoenix throw back his head in laughter.

“Why don’t we make you guys a proper cooked dinner? What do you say, Volcano?”

Volcano’s lips turn up in a smirk, and his eyes twinkle with mirth. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

*

The two Runners are surprisingly good cooks and they lay out what is practically a feast for Gerard’s group, all of it vegetarian. Frank and Brian take full advantage of the offer of second helpings, greedily snapping up whatever servings are left behind. Mikey takes some second helpings as well, after Gerard talks him into it.

“You can have some more, too.”

Gerard looks up to see Volcano watching him, motioning to the mostly empty dishes.

“I’m fine,” he insists, pushing the last potato closer to his brother.

Volcano shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

*

It’s been hours and Gerard is still awake, lying on the floor surrounded by the snores of his companions. He sighs in aggravation. Giving up on getting a proper sleep he gets up, gently removing Frank who had started using Gerard’s chest as a pillow sometime in the first hour.

Gerard slips quietly out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

When he turns around he sees Young Volcano.

The runner is slumped in a rolling chair at the soundboard, lazily brushing dust off the knobs and faders. He looks up quickly when Gerard enters, but makes no other movement.

“Trouble sleeping?” Volcano asks. It’s little more than an exhale but the building is so silent that Gerard can hear him clearly.

“Yes. You?”

Volcano takes a long time to blink, as if slowly waking up from a dream, before finally nodding. He stretches out a leg and drags another rolling chair closer for Gerard to take. Gerard settles in it gingerly, but still sets a cloud of dust blooming from the cushions.

“Sorry,” Volcano says as Gerard sneezes.

“Don’t clean much, do you?”

Volcano shrugs. “I’ve sort of avoided this room ever since this place stopped being a studio and started being a hideout.”

“You don’t make music anymore?”

“It’s been hard.”

“But you’re here tonight?”

“I’m feeling sentimental.”

“For your friend?”

Volcano raises an eyebrow, “Well, aren’t you inquisitive?”

“It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Volcano smirks and huffs out a laugh. “Alright, we can play 20 Questions. Why are you and your brother out in the Zones?”

Gerard blinks. “Wha- how did you-”

“You’d be shocked at what you see when you take the time to look. It’s obvious you take care of Kobra and once you notice that it’s almost impossible to not see the family resemblance. I know you’re the Fabulous Killjoys, the trio who gives BLI the finger whenever you can, but why? What made you leave the City? Assuming you did leave the City and weren’t just blown in on some sort of dust storm for the purpose of enacting rebellion, or some shit.”

Gerard chuckles at the mental image of him, Mikey, and Frank walking out of a dust storm like some sort of action heroes at the climax of some epic film. “No, we’re normal humans, just like you and Phoenix and anyone else who ran away. The City was killing us. It poisoned us with drugs and suffocated us with government control.”

“And now you’re out here where you can get poisoned by acid rain and suffocated with dust storms.”

“Better to die on your own terms. I’d rather fight through a dust storm as Party Poison then go home to an Industry-sanctioned apartment as Draculoid Number 4,562.”

“Well put.” Volcano concedes.

“What about you? Why did you leave?”

“Because all my friends did.”

“That’s it?”

“My friends are my family. Just like you and Kobra and your boyfriend.”

“Yeah I guess you’re- My boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Fun Ghoul.”

“Fun Ghoul’s not my boyfriend.”

Volcano raises his eyebrows. “Sure.”

Gerard huffs in irritation. “Alright, smartass, what about you and Phoenix? You’re super protective of him.”

“He’s all I have left. Besides if I let something happen to him Gray would drag me to Hell himself.”

“Gray?”

“Lake Effect Gray, this is his and my studio. Star Shooter and he are our friends who were captured.”

Gerard nods thoughtfully and they lapse into a momentary silence broken only by the snores from the other room.

“Wait,” Gerard says suddenly. “‘All you have left’?”

Volcano shrugs, sliding lower in his chair.

“You don’t think your friends are alive, do you?”

The Runner sighs deeply. “I don’t want to be a downer, but it’s been weeks since Better Living caught them.”

“But you’re going into the City anyway.”

“Phoenix still believes we can save them.”

“Have you tried to tell him?”

“You don’t know him.”

“And you’ll follow him in?”

“He’s all I have left.”

Gerard squeezes Volcano’s shoulder sympathetically. Volcano pats his hand in return.

“Actually…” he says, quietly.

“Hm?” Gerard prompts.

“There are a couple of others, but I. I dunno. It’s complicated.”

“It always is, isn’t it?” Gerard says with a yawn.

“Oh God, now-” Volcano yawns, too. “You. Damn it.”

“Maybe we should get some sleep,” Gerard suggests.

Volcano nods. “Might as well try.”

He bids Gerard goodnight and gets up, retreating to another door.

“I hope we find your friends.” Gerard calls as an afterthought.

Volcano shoots him a small smile. “I hope we find your friend, too.”

*

When Gerard re-enters their sleeping area someone is awake and sitting upright.

“Party?” The voice calls, quietly.

“Ghoul?”

“Oh thank god,” Frank says, getting up and stumbling over to him. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Just in the other room,” Gerard explains.

“Don’t just leave like that!” Frank scolds, wrapping him in a hug.

Someone shuffles and turns over in their sleep.

Gerard can tell Frank has more to say so he pulls him back into the studio, hoping to avoid waking anyone else.

“I was just in here, Frank, I didn’t leave. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Frank snuggles closer to Gerard in his overly affectionate way that always gets worse when he’s tired. “Promise?”

“Uh, yeah, I promise.” Gerard says, pulling Frank into a tighter hug. Frank buries his face into Gerard’s neck.

“We’re probably going to die tomorrow,” Frank says.

“What?” Gerard gasps, pulling Frank away so he can look him in the face. “What do you mean?”

“Going into the City,” Frank explains, looking Gerard directly in the eye. “It’s a suicide mission. Haven’t you realized that?”

Well, no, if Gerard is honest he hadn’t really given it much thought. Frank is right, though. Infiltrating the City does mean almost certain death.

“I’m ready to die.” Frank continues.

“What? No, Frank.”

“No.” Frank says, pushing off Gerard’s hug. “I’ve come to terms with it and if that’s what happens tomorrow, if I die, it’ll be okay. I really have nothing to lose.”

“Frank…”

“I just have one regret.”

“What?”

“This.”

Frank leans forward and kisses Gerard firmly on the lips. Gerard is too shocked to move.

Frank pulls away quickly. “I’m sorry. I had to. Just once.”

Frank turns to return back to his bed, but he doesn’t get more than a step before Gerard is grabbing him by the shoulders, spinning him around, and kissing him.

“Oh god…Frankie…” Gerard says between desperate kisses. “I’ve been… so fucking blind…”

“Yeah…” Frank says, twining his fingers in Gerard’s hair and pulling him closer, kissing back wet and rough. “You’re… good at that.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

A soft chuckle is the only warning Gerard gives Frank before he picks him up and presses him onto the nearby table, knocking Phoenix’s forgotten fedora to the ground. Gerard pins him with his own weight kissing his way down Frank’s neck.

“Gerard…”

Gerard slides his hands under Frank’s shirt, pushing it up to expose Frank’s chest and then yanking it completely off.

“Gerar-”

Gerard silences him with another kiss, wet and desperate. He slides one knee in between Frank’s legs and hoists himself up onto the table as well, the wooden legs groaning in protest. Frank slides his hands up Gerard’s chest and Gerard reaches for the hem of his own shirt.

Suddenly, Frank shoves him and Gerard falls off the table, stumbling to keep on his feet.

“Wha-”

“Do you mean it?” Frank demands, staring him down from his perch on the table.

“What are you talking about?” Gerard goes to him, reaching out to grab Frank’s shoulders, but Frank bats his hands away.

“I. Have been. In love with you. For as long as I’ve known you,” Frank says. “And now you. All of a sudden you just.” Frank takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to know you feel the same.”

“Isn’t this enough?” The words are out of his mouth before Gerard even processes them and he instantly regrets it.

Frank looks like a kicked puppy. His eyes are threatening to tear up and he’s looking at Gerard as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

In one swift movement Frank snatches up his shirt and flees back to the other room.

When Gerard finally gains the nerve to go back in Frank is curled up between Mikey and Ray.

*

As the ominous skyline of Battery City looms closer Mikey can’t stop shaking. He stuffs his hands between his knees, but that only makes his knees start shaking as well. Brian sits next to him in the backseat wearing Killjoy gear Mikey’s never seen on him before, a solid-color mask that looks either black or purple depending upon the light and a raygun with black and purple stripes spiraling around the barrel. The eyeholes of the mask arch up on the outer edge and give him a steely, villainous look.

“You okay?” Brian asks, nudging Mikey’s shoulder with his.

Mikey nods.

“Liar,” Brian says. He slides his hand onto Mikey’s thigh, massaging over the warn material gently. Mikey reaches out and threads his fingers into Brian’s. Brian squeezes his fingers.

Mikey sighs. “I haven’t been back to the City since I left. I haven’t even been any closer than Zone 3 until yesterday.”

“Scared?” Brian asks, not mockingly, simply matter-of-fact.

Mikey nods.

“Just try to focus,” Ray says, watching him through the rearview mirror from the front seat, his mask – blue with red around the eyeholes – tipped up onto his head. “Use your adrenaline to keep your mind sharp and you’ll be okay.”

Mikey nods to him and takes a deep, calming breath. Next to Ray, Gerard is clutching the wheel with white knuckles, his mouth pinched in a fine line.

He’s scared too, Mikey can tell. And it probably doesn’t help that Frank’s not here, he’s usually good at reading the brothers. That morning Brian had recommended one of them ride in the other Zone Runners’ van to keep an eye on them. Mikey was shocked when Frank volunteered immediately, and even more taken aback when Gerard didn’t object.

Something’s wrong, Mikey can tell, but he has no idea what to do about it as they drive towards the looming City skyline.

*

As the dirt road of Route Guano turns into the smooth pavement of the East Tunnel they all pull their masks on to obscure their faces. Inside the tunnel is a toll booth with two cops lounging inside of it. The flimsy toll gate is down to prevent anyone from entering the City. The Trans Am doesn’t slow as they enter the tunnel.

“Uh, Gerard?” Mikey calls, watching the distance between them and the toll gate shrink at an alarming rate.

Gerard doesn’t respond.

“There’s a gate up ahead.” Mikey warns. Next to him, Brian’s tensing up and in the passenger seat Ray is glancing nervously between Gerard and the ticket booth. The cops have noticed them by this point and are out of the booth, frantically waving at them, motioning for them to stop.

Gerard still says nothing.

“They’re not going to open the gate for us.” Mikey says, as both cops race back to their booth, retrieving the guns they had forgotten in their panic. “We’re going to hit it!”

“That’s the idea.” Gerard says with deadly calm.

“Oh shit.”

*

The gate splinters into dozens of pieces, shards bouncing across their windshield and flying over their hood. Mikey can hear a few of them smack the van following in their wake. Neither vehicle loses speed as they charge through the empty streets. Gerard lets the Trans Am slow a little to allow the van to overtake them and lead them to the largest building in the City, the Better Living Industries headquarters.

They screech to a stop in a back alley a block before the building, hiding their vehicles deep in the shadows. Gerard, Ray, and Blue Phoenix had been all for pulling right up to the door, guns blazing, but while planning during the past day the others had talked them out of it. Getting themselves killed in the lobby wouldn’t help anyone.

Young Volcano and Blue Phoenix lead the way to a rusty industrial door in the loading dock. Gerard raises his eyebrows in disbelief as the door opened with a soft groaning creak. Mikey understands, it’s the first time they’ve ever seen any aspect of The City in disrepair. Rusty doors and creaking hinges just don’t happen.

They follow the duo to the service elevator.

“Are you sure this is the best idea?” Frank asks, eyeing the steel doors. “Won’t this make it obvious we’re coming?”

Young Volcano huffs out a quiet laugh. “You think they haven’t figured out we’re here by now?”

“The cells are on Floor 20,” Blue Phoenix explains. ”We can take the elevator and get there quickly, or we can climb twenty flights of stairs.”

Frank says nothing and they all pile in the elevator.

*

Brian grabs Mikey’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly as the group watches the numbers count up on the LED screen. Mikey shoots him a small smile and rubs the back of his hand with his thumb. Then he reaches forward and grabs his brother’s hand, squeezing it firmly. Gerard looks over his shoulder at Mikey and gives him a twitch of a smile that hardly reaches his eyes, before quickly looking away.

Out of the corner of his eye Mikey sees Frank looking at them and Mikey’s pretty certain he caught the exchange, but he doesn’t say anything.

Ahead of them Ray, Blue Phoenix, and Young Volcano stand firmly with their weapons drawn, prepared to fight.

*

The cells aren’t made of steel bars like Mikey had expected. Instead they consist of thick panes of glass, even the floor is made up of the clear, sturdy material. The only metal in the room is the steel grid lining the floor and the steel hinges and locks on the cell doors. Everything in the room is sickeningly clean and gleams with reflected light.

The cells’ inhabitants are much less clean.

There are only three cells in use and they are far from each other. All the prisoners are caked in sweat and grime and slumped uselessly in their cells. The closest cell holds someone Mikey recognizes easily.

“Grace!” Ray gasps, dropping to his knees in front of the cell door, pressing his face to the glass. The small figure shifts and Grace lifts her frizzy head, staring blearily at her father.

“Gracie!” Ray calls again.

Grace blinks and a little light seems to return to her eyes. “Daddy?”

Ray is almost in tears. “Yes, Grace, it’s me. I’m going to get you out of there, okay?”

Grace nods. “Okay.”

“Stand back.” Volcano instructs and Ray pries himself off the glass. Volcano pulls on an exterminator glove and presses it to the reader pad on the lock. The door clicks open.

Ray races in and scoops his daughter up, wrapping her in a tight hug while she sluggishly loops her arms around his neck.

Volcano hurries over to another cell. He releases the door lock and drags the prisoner off the floor. The prisoner stands taller than Volcano with a mop of brown curls obscuring his face. When he stumbles Volcano staggers under the weight, but holds steady. “You’re okay, Shooter, I got you.” He tugs the black jean vest back up from where it has started slipping off the Runner’s shoulder.

“This is too easy,” Brian whispers to Mikey as another cells door clicks open, followed by Phoenix softly calling Lake Effect Gray’s name. Phoenix pulls his friend up and out of the cell. Gray wraps his arms around Phoenix’s shoulder, but unlike Shooter he seems to be looking for comfort as opposed to support. He presses his forehead to Phoenix’s and mumbles something unintelligible. Phoenix whispers something back and runs a hand along Gray’s tattooed bicep.

Mikey nods. Brian is right, this is too easy. Far too easy.

Gerard must be thinking along the same lines because he quickly orders Brian, Mikey, and Frank to start looking for other ways out. Stairwells or elevators.

They separate and Mikey and Gerard scope out half the hallway while Brian and Frank take the other.

“Pyret!” Young Volcano calls and Brian runs over to him. Star Shooter is half standing, draped from Volcano’s shoulder with an unfocused look in his eyes. Brian helps Volcano set him down so he can get a better look at him.

Just as Mikey reaches the stairwell on the far side of the hall he hears the elevator chime.

The group freezes as the elevator door slides open and out steps an impeccably dressed woman. Her hair is straight and black and stops just above her shoulder, her eyes are narrow and severe and she holds herself perfectly erect with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Who are you?” The words are out of Mikey’s mouth before he can stop them. The woman spins easily on her heels to face Mikey. Her smile is positively predatory.

“I am the CEO of the Better Living Industries. And you and your friends are trespassing.” She pauses to regard the prisoners who are out of their cells, “And stealing.”

With her last word a tall, pale man steps out from the elevator behind her.

“Korse,” Gerard hisses.

The man turns toward Gerard and smiles evilly. “Hello, Party Poison.”

Gerard actually growls as he steps forward, putting himself between the exterminator and Mikey while pulling out his raygun.

Dracs start streaming out of the elevator behind Korse, firing wildly at the Killjoys, the CEO nowhere to be seen amongst the mass of white and black. Mikey crouches low and starts firing back and the entire room erupts in a chaos of raygun blasts and screams. Mikey can hear Grace’s high-pitched squeal coming from somewhere on the other side of the wall of black and white goons. He looks around frantically, hoping to see her. To see if she’s alright. They did not come all this way just to lose her again.

Suddenly his hand explodes in pain and he yelps, pulling it close to his chest. It’s his gun hand, naturally, and the same one that got damaged during their first week in the Zones. This time his hand has a deep graze, a red-black cauterized stripe running straight down the length of his hand and wrist. As quick as he can he switches gun hands and fires at the nearest approaching Drac. The Drac drops with a limp flail.

A shock of pain from a damaged nerve shoots through Mikey and his body seizes momentarily, causing him to drop his gun and double over in pain.

“Kobra?”

Mikey looks up to see Ray standing over him, using himself as a shield between Mikey and the approaching Dracs.

“Party?” Mikey asks in response.

Ray nods his head to the side and Mikey looks to their right. Gerard is in a standoff with Korse. They are facing each other, unmoving, while the battle rages around them. Both stand firmly planted, their gun hands hover over their holstered guns. They look like an old wild west film. Not a single Drac is attacking Gerard; they seem to understand that this fight is between Gerard and Korse only.

Mikey hears a pained scream from a voice he recognizes, looking further down the hall he sees Brian crumple to the ground, a tear in his pant leg showing a cauterized raygun wound. A Drac bears down on him and Mikey wants to scream, or get up and go help him, but he’s frozen to the spot, watching the scene play out in slow motion. The Drac raises his gun-

And jolts back as a shot hits him square in the throat. The Drac ragdolls to the ground as Lake Effect Gray, of all people, charges forward with a smoking white raygun in hand. Blue Phoenix follows him and together they haul Brian up and pull him away.

Satisfied that Brian is safe for now Mikey focuses his energy on getting up without using his right hand. It takes a lot of effort and he is thankful Ray is protecting him.

There are more Dracs moving in. More than they can handle, Mikey realizes.

“We have to go!” He yells to Ray.

Ray nods in agreement, still focused on the fight.

Mikey hoists his gun as best he can and steps out from Ray’s protection, plowing his way towards his brother, shooting at any white suit that gets too close.

“Party!” He calls, when he’s a few feet from his brother.

Gerard doesn’t react.

“Party!” Mikey practically shrieks, “We have to go!”

Gerard turns to him, just a bit, a mere infinitesimal flick of his head.

It’s all Korse needs.

Korse pulls his gun and Gerard is moving. With a speed that leaves Mikey speechless Gerard drops to the ground, yanking his gun out of its holster as he goes. Korse fires and Gerard’s head jerks back in an attempt to escape the shot. He fires his own shot and hits Korse in the leg. Korse drops to his knee and Gerard rolls away from him. As he turns Mikey sees a red-black streak across his brother’s forehead where Gerard hadn’t moved fast enough to escape Korse’s shot.

“Retreat!” Gerard yells, rolling to his feet and charging for the stairwell, pushing Mikey in front of him. Mikey goes without protest, charging full force towards the door and practically flying down the first flight of steps. On the landing he pauses to see if anyone has followed him. Gerard is as the top of the stairs, holding the door for the others. Brian is practically launched through the door with Gray, Phoenix and the other Killjoy, Star Shooter, following close behind. Ray charges through next. Gerard slams the door behind him.

“I lost Grace,” Ray gasps, meeting Mikey in the landing.

“Go!” Gerard snaps.

They go.

They group charges down the flights of stairs as fast as their exhausted legs will carry them. They run until they can’t hear the Dracs above them before they stop to catch their breath.

“Volcano has her.”

Mikey looks over at Star Shooter in confusion, but the Killjoy has his attention focused on Ray.

“Volcano has her,” he says again. “I saw them go for the other stairs.”

Ray sighs in relief. “I hope they made it out.”

“They did,” Star Shooter says, patting Ray on the shoulder.

“Where’s Fra- Fun Ghoul?”

Gerard is on the stairs above them, searching the group frantically.

Mikey whirls around and starts searching the faces as well. Ray, Shooter, Brian, Gray, Phoenix, Gerard. No Frank.

“We have to go back.” Gerard says.

“We can’t go back,” Brian says.

“But, but what if he…”

“I think he got out with Volcano.” Gray says.

“You think so?” Mikey asks, counting the group once more.

“He wasn’t there.” Gray insists. “I’m sure I didn’t see him on our side of the melee, alive or otherwise.”

Gerard hesitates, but the sound of a dozen feet echoing on the stairs above them make up his mind.

“…Okay.”

They continue their descent. Brian trips a couple of times until Mikey grabs his arm to support him.

“You okay?”

Brian nods, sweat pouring down his face. “Cauterized wounds… won’t bleed to death… at least.”

“Yeah, just get shot to death.”

Brian hums in agreement.

*

Ray hits the fourth floor landing solidly and swings towards the half opened door on it. The rest of them follow him through, putting the steel door between them and any approaching Dracs.

The floor is a wide open room with long steel tables. Every surface is covered with vials, beakers, Bunsen burners, and a host of other scientific tools. In the middle of the room there is a chair that looks oddly like a dentist’s chair with thick straps wrapped across it. It is surrounded by rolling tables covered in steel doctor’s instruments. The room makes Mikey shiver.

“What is this place?” Gerard whispers.

Mikey shrugs and shakes his head uselessly. Whatever this place is Mikey isn’t sure he wants to know.

“No.” Gray whines.

“Gray?” Phoenix asks.

“No. No, no, no. No!” Gray’s voice starts in a whisper and rises to a panicked scream as he backs towards the door. Phoenix goes after him, grabbing at his flailing arms and speaking soothingly to calm him.

“Gray, Gray I’m here. They’re not going to- I’m not going to let them hurt you. Gray? Gray!”

“We can’t stay here,” Shooter gasps, his voice pitched higher. “Not here. Anywhere but here.”

Brian lets go of Mikey limps over to Shooter, grabbing his shoulder firmly. “We’ll get out of here as soon as we can, just stay calm, okay?”

Shooter takes a deep breath and nods.

“What is this place?” Brian repeats Gerard’s question to Shooter.

“Experimentation Floor A.”

Next to him Gray whines pitifully and Phoenix drags him into a tight embrace.

Mikey turns to ask Gerard what they should do now – what’s their plan of attack, or escape – when a door on the far end of the room flies open and Frank stumbles through it followed by Volcano pulling Grace by the hand.

“Daddy!” Grace gasps.

“Gracie!” Ray yells, making a bee line for his daughter. He doesn’t get more than two steps before all hell breaks loose.

A side door bursts open and a dozen Dracs stream in, creating a wall of enemies between the two groups of Killjoys. Before any of them can get their guns out to fight the door behind Volcano slams open and a handful of Dracs squeeze their way in, blocking Volcano, Frank, and Grace from both front and back. The Dracs seem to realize this as they close in on the three immediately.

Ray goes completely still. Frozen in place as if he cannot believe what he is seeing. Mikey can’t either, really. They were so close to getting out.

So close.

“Over here, you monochrome bastards!” Gerard snarls, stepping forward, gun drawn. He starts firing at the Dracs closest to him, taking them down with terrifying precision.

“Yeah!” Shooter yells, stepping up with Gerard. “Come for us, you fuckers!”

Mikey doesn’t need anyone to explain what they’re doing, pull the attention away from the others, and give the three a chance to escape. He charges toward another group of Dracs firing erratically. Footsteps follow him and he dares a glance back to see that Phoenix is following him.

*

Contrary to the others’ actions Frank and Volcano haven’t drawn their weapons. The Dracs closing in on them have, but their rayguns remain firmly pointed at the ground.

“Aren’t they going to shoot?” Frank asks Volcano.

Volcano grunts negatively, not taking his eyes off the Dracs as he tugs Grace closer. “Uh-uh. They don’t want to kill us.”

“What do they want?” Frank asks, watching the Dracs just as closely as Volcano.

“Test subjects.”

Grace whines and wraps her arms tightly around Volcano’s waist.

“How are we going to…” Frank starts, but fades out as he realizes Volcano isn’t paying attention. Instead he’s staring across the room at someone else.

*

Mikey pauses mid-fire when he spots Volcano.

The other Killjoy is standing still, arm wrapped firmly around Grace, and staring at them.

No. Staring at Ray.

He says something Mikey can’t hear and when Mikey glances back he sees that Ray is staring right back at Volcano. He nods, almost imperceptibly.

*

“Time to go,” Volcano whispers, scooping Grace up.

“Go?” Franks asks. “Go where? How?”

Volcano smiles at Frank, his grin not reaching his eyes. “Take a leap of faith.”

*

“Don’t! No! You can’t!”

Gray’s hoarse yell startles everyone and even Gerard takes a second to pay attention to what Gray is screaming at.

It’s Volcano. He picks up Grace and takes off at a dead run.

“You can’t!” Gray yells. “You said you wouldn’t! Stop!”

But if Volcano can hear Gray, he ignores him.

The Killjoy charges as fast as he can and launches himself at one of the large widows, crashing into it shoulder-first. He wraps himself in a protective ball around Grace as he flies through the broken window and drops out of sight.

Mikey barely has time to register what he’s seen before Gerard’s shouting takes over where Gray’s dropped off.

“Don’t!” Gerard snaps at Frank, sounding more commanding than terrified. “Don’t you dare!”

Frank takes off running just as Volcano had, full out towards the shattered window, Dracs hot on his heels.

“Don’t you fucking do it!” Gerard yells, his voice pitched up another octave.

Frank jumps, throwing himself out the window and twisting so he falls feet-first out of sight.

“No!” Gerard yells, starting forward.

Or he would have, but Ray grabs him around the waist and drags him back.

“We have to go!” Ray yells and everyone does.

*

Gray leads the way down the flights of stairs. Mikey and Brian following in his wake. Mikey has to keep catching Brain as he trips on his injured leg. Ray is pulling Gerard behind them as Shooter and Phoenix take up the rear.

“I know where to find them,” Gray insists. “We have a meeting place.”

“Did you plan this?” Gerard snaps in disbelief.

“We’ve talked about it, him and I,” Gray admits.

“You never told me,” Phoenix calls from the back of the group.

Gray pauses on the next landing. “Did you see that? It was fucking insane. Absolute suicide. We were never serious about that idea.”

“Apparently one of you was,” Brian mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Mikey to hear.

*

The van stops in front of a dark alleyway that looks suspiciously like the last three they passed. This time however, Gray hops out, leaving the van running. Gerard follows his lead, telling Ray, Mikey, and Brian to stay put.

None of them listen to him. Naturally.

“Stay the fuck away!” a voice hisses from in the alley shadows.

“Ghoul?” Gerard calls.

“Party?” the voice whispers back. There’s a shuffling sound and Frank stumbles into the light, half-walking half-crawling. Gerard drops to his knees and Frank crawls into his arms, dropping his gun and slumping tiredly on Gerard. Gerard wraps him in a tight embrace rubbing Frank’s back and finally allowing himself to breathe. Frank’s alive. He survived and Gerard isn’t planning on letting him go any time soon.

“Where’re the others?” Gray asks and Frank gestures back into the alley.

Gray and Ray rush into the alley with Phoenix bringing a flashlight after them.

Brian lowers himself gently next to Frank. “Are you hurt?”

Frank nods. “My leg. I can’t.”

“Let me see.” Brian reaches for Frank’s right leg, which is sprawled uselessly behind him. As soon as he tries to pull up the pant leg Frank lets out a high-pitched squeal of pain, digging his fingernails into Gerard’s shoulders.

“You’re hurting him!” Gerard says.

Brian lets go quickly. “I can’t do anything for him here. Can you get him into the van?”

Gerard nods. Mikey hurries over and between the two of them they manage to get Frank off the ground and into the back of the van with only about a dozen new curse words from Frank as every movement jostles his broken leg. The brothers have to convince him to let them go once he’s in because he latched onto their arms and his fingernails had become firmly embedded in their shoulders during the move.

“Check on the others?” Gerard asks. “We have maybe five minutes max here.”

Mikey agrees.

*

Volcano is leaned up against a wall, babbling. “Hey…” he gasps out, between labored breaths, “I’m… I’m sorry… That… Fucking stupid…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Gray soothes, petting Volcano’s hair gently. “You did what you had to. You’re going to be okay.”

“The girl’s… Okay…”

“She’s fine,” Ray says, just as soothingly, holding Grace in a warm embrace. “Thank you.”

Volcano nods lightly, struggling to breathe. His lungs sound like they are spasming and every breath looks like agony.

“Hang in there, man,” Gray says. “You’ll be okay.”

Brian pushes past Phoenix and approaches Volcano.

“Hey, man, how you doing?” His words are light, but he watches Volcano closely as the Killjoy struggles to answer.

“Hurts…”

“What does?”

“Everything.”

“Can you be more specific?” Brain asks, motioning for Phoenix to hand over the flashlight.

“Back… Head… Chest…”

“How did you land?”

“Don’t… reme…” He gives up on the word and focuses on breathing.

“He landed on his back. Sort of on one side.” Grace answers

Brian glances back at the girl. “Hey, Gracie, how’re you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. So he landed on his back, on which side?”

“Uh, that one,” She points to Volcano’s right side.

“Okay, and did he get up immediately?”

“Almost. It took him a bit because he was in pain. He tried to carry me, but couldn’t.”

“Okay,” Brian says absently, using the flashlight to check for pupil dilation. “Why don’t you and your father go and get the others, okay?”

*

“Pyret, we really have to go,” Gerard says, following Ray’s instruction to go back into the alley way.

“I understand,” Brian responds in a way that implies that his attention is clearly elsewhere, “but Volcano is injured.”

“Well we can just get him in the van and you can treat him back at the hideout,” Gray suggests, reaching for Volcano’s arm. “C’mon.”

Fast as a striking snake Brian’s hand shoots out and snatches Gray’s wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Do not touch him until I say so.” Brian says, clinically calm. “We are going to have to move very carefully so that we don’t injure him worse.”

“We don’t have time-”

“Then make time!” Brian snaps, practically spitting venom. “You want your friend to live you do exactly as I say. Do you understand, Pete?”

Gray gapes for a moment, wide-eyed. Brian accepts that as agreement and moves on.

“Where’s Jet Star?”

“Here!” Ray calls, holding up a thin plastic stretcher.

*

They get moving just as the first BLI car zooms around the bend. The van leads the way as they outrun the BLI vehicles. The race out of the city is winding and dangerously fast, but they make it out. One cop makes a lucky shot and takes out one of the van’s back windows, showering the Trans Am with glass.

They lose the pursuing vehicles in a valley of dunes in Zone 2 and take Route Guano deep into the Zones.

“Where are we going?” Phoenix asks. He and Gray and Star Shooter have been squashed into the backseat of the Trans Am to make room for the injured Killjoys in the van. “What about our studio?”

“Too close,” Gerard explains. “We’re going back to our place.”

*

Mikey has never been so relieved to see the diner.

It’s not much, a run down, boarded up, sun-bleached shell of what it once was but its home and Mikey is so glad to be home.

It’s a team effort to move Volcano into the diner without making any of his injuries worse. Volcano groans in pain at every shift of the stretcher and the act of moving him from the stretcher to the table is a delicate and lengthy procedure. Once he is settled Brian begins ordering people about, delegating necessary tasks. No one questions him.

“Party, get your med kit. Phoenix, lift his shirt. Oh and Ray and Star Shooter, get Frank out of the van.”

Mikey helps Phoenix lift up Volcano’s shirt, moving slowly and carefully so they don’t hurt him. Once they bundle the material up to his armpits Brian moves in gently prodding his patient’s exposed torso, feeling for injuries.

“Multiple broken ribs.” He says, moving along to Volcano’s arms.

“What about his back?” Phoenix asks.

“Bruised. He’s lucky.” Brian explains. “With the amount we’ve moved him; if it had been broken he’d be paralyzed.”

“Uh, Brian?” Gerard is standing in entryway to the back room holding open their med kit with a stricken expression on his face.

The moment Mikey realizes what’s happened his stomach drops.

“What?” Brian asks.

“The med kit,” Gerard starts. “It’s–”

“Mostly empty,” Mikey finishes, flinching from the shocked look Gerard sends him. “I emptied it, remember Brian? When Ray needed medicine.”

The entire room takes a sharp breath.

“Oh, fuck.” Brian breathes.

*

“No.”

“Gerard! C’mon!”

“No.

“Plea-”

“No. No. No. No. No!”

Mikey scowls and crosses his arms, mimicking Gerard’s posture as he stands planted in the doorway staring Mikey down. The staring contest stretches on with neither willing to budge. Distantly Mikey hears someone whisper “they fight like brother, or something” before being shushed.

“A med raid like this is a three man job. I have to go,” Mikey says.

“Brian and Phoenix can take Ray,” Gerard says, through gritted teeth.

“No, we can’t,” Brian interjects. “Ray is the second best with doctoring here. You saw him set Frank’s leg. He needs to stay here to watch the patients.”

Gerard flails his arms in frustration “Then take uh…” He throws out an arm toward Star Shooter.

“Joe?” Star Shooter offers.

“Joe!” Gerard says quickly, “Or-”

“Pete,” Lake Effect Gray supplies when Gerard indicates him.

“Pete! Send one of them.”

“No,” Brian insists. “Those two have been in a BLI facility being subject to god knows what. They need time to recover.”

Star Shooter, Joe, perks up. “But I feel fine-”

“Don’t get involved.” Pete says quickly and Joe snaps his mouth shut, hunching his shoulders.

“Fine!” Gerard says loud enough to silence the room. “I’ll go.”

“Gerard,” Mikey gasps. “I can do this.”

“And I can, too.” Gerard says, placing his hands confidently on his hips.

“Brian!” Mikey calls, looking for backup.

“He’s got a point,” Brian admits.

“What?”

“Gerard is just as good as you with raids, as I understand it,” Brian explains. “And he’s the best sharpshooter I have ever seen.”

Mikey turns back to Gerard who’s standing taller in the face of his victory.

“You still treat me like a child, sometimes,” Mikey hisses, storming off to the back room.

“You still are one, sometimes,” Gerard snaps back.

*

As the sun dips out of sight Gerard, Brian, and Blue Phoenix – “It’s, uh, Patrick, actually. Since we’re sharing first names and all” – take Route Guano to the border of Zone 5 and Zone 6. Their target: the Zone 6 Betterment Camp. Betterment camps are BLI run internment camps. Their purpose is to “collect and reeducate the lost citizens of Battery City.” They are not of high importance to the City, a fact that results in them being run down and operated by a skeleton crew of doctors, cooks, and security personnel.

“And the security locks on the doors to med storage break down a lot,” Brian explains. “We’d always leave them unlocked so we wouldn’t have to be fighting with them in an emergency. At least in Zone 3.”

In the backseat Patrick is gaping at Brian, but Gerard can’t bring himself to be too surprised. A doctor out in the Zones with his own practice couldn’t have escaped directly from the city, he would have had to come from somewhere within the Zones in order to have made it out on his own in one piece. Doctors are very important to the City, as well as to the Zones.

“So, this should be easy?” Gerard asks.

“One person to collect the supplies, one person to guard the person collecting, and a driver to get us the fuck out of there,” Brian says. “Easy as lyin’.”

*

A high-pitched yelp shocks Mikey out of his daze.

Mikey wheels around and hops down from his perch on the counter, where he had been acting as lookout for the group while they slept. In the corner near the kitchen the two rescued Killjoys had curled up together for the night. One of them is sitting upright, breathing hard.

Mikey makes his way carefully over to the corner. As he approaches the details of the dark corner become clearer and Mikey can see Pete’s dark eyes watching him as he approaches.

“You okay?” Mikey asks, crouching down so Pete can hear him whisper.

“I dunno.” Pete responds, breathing heavily. “It- It felt so real…”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Mikey soothes, crouching down to wrap an arm around Pete’s shaking shoulders.

He’s taken aback when Pete reaches out and grabs his shirt in two tight fists, dragging Mikey closer. Mikey loses his balance and falls forward, dropping to his knees. He throws out his free hand to the wall for support so he doesn’t land on Pete. The move brings him closer to Pete and the dark-haired man loosens one fist so he can wrap his arm around Mikey’s back.

Mikey remains frozen, unsure of what to do. After a moment, when Pete seems determined to remain in the same spot, Mikey settles back into a sitting position. Pete shifts closer, resting his head on Mikey’s shoulder.

Some time passes - Mikey cannot be sure if it’s minutes or hours only that his butt is beginning to hurt - before Pete speaks again.

“Thanks,” he says, loosening his death grip on Mikey, but not shifting away. “It helps.”

Mikey mumbles, “no problem,” hoping that Pete will let him move.

“It’s just that-” Pete takes a deep breath and sighs. Mikey sighs along with him and wraps his other arm around Pete’s torso, giving up on moving for the moment. “Patrick’s usually here for me. He helps me wake up from the nightmares. Dr. Schechter says they’re a symptom of insomnia.”

Mikey stiffens suddenly, shocked by the name that slipped so easily out of Pete’s mouth. “Dr. Schechter?”

“Oh! You know him as Riot Pyret.” Pete says, misinterpreting Mikey’s confusion.

“I know who he is,” Mikey says, his voice coming out harsher than he meant it to. “How do you know Brian?”

Pete sits up; shying away from Mikey’s stiffness and harsh tone, but Mikey’s not done. He remembers a detail, something he’d hardly noticed at the time. “He said you name. Back in the City. He called you ‘Pete.’”

“He… He was my doctor.” Pete stutters. “Fucking years ago. He put me on meds, fucking Better Livings crap, it messed with my head. That’s when I decided to get out.”

He pauses then adds, as an afterthought. “Never believed he woulda left the City.”

Mikey is stunned, trying to absorb the information Pete is giving him. “Brian was a BLI doctor? Working for them? Prescribing their happy pills?”

Pete nods energetically. “Still have no idea why he’d’ve left the City.” He repeats. “His life seemed pretty damned good there.”

Mikey shakes his head, leaning against the wall for support. He tries to equate this new information with the man he knows. The happy-pill dealing BLI doctor with the rebel doctor, running a miserable practice out of a shack in the desert, treating the injuries of the renegades and the wanted.

It can’t be true. Pete’s Dr. Schechter can’t be Mikey’s Brian.

Can he?

*

“This is my baby.” Gerard explains, dangling the keys in front of Patrick’s face. “She is my pride and joy. Frank and I found her in a scrap pile and brought her back to life and she has not broken down once since. She is a piece of art. If you get a single scratch on her beautiful fucking paint I will end you.”

Patrick nods quickly, eyes wide. Gerard sighs and with a look of pain drops the keys into Patrick’s open palm.

“Be ready to start the car as soon as you see us leave the facility.” Brian instructs as he pulls an empty duffle bag onto he back.

“Okay,” Patrick says. He hops into the driver’s seat and begins adjusting it for himself.

“What about me?” Gerard asks, following Brian as he picks his way gently through the dry brush they hid the car in.

“Lead the way and follow my directions,” Brian says. “There will be two locked doors that we have to get through. Each uses a numerical passcode. There are five different codes possible for each door and they are changed in a rotation. It’ll take me five or fewer tries to get through each door.”

“Will they set off an alarm if you get them wrong?”

Brian shakes his head. “It’ll probably register in the system’s computer, but no one here would know how to access that information much less monitor it regularly. The back entrance we’re using leads almost directly to the storage rooms where the supplies are kept. Again, getting in there should be easy. Now, get your mask on.”

“You’ve done this before.” Gerard realizes as he tugs his Party Poison mask over his eyes. “Not just as a doctor in a Camp, but as a Killjoy raiding one of these.”

Brian looks back at him through the eyeholes of his own mask. An exaggerated pout pulls at the corners of his mouth and he shrugs. “Maybe.”

Gerard gives Brian a genuine smile, impressed by this rebel doctor. “I can see why Mikey likes you.” Before Brian has the chance to respond, Gerard brings the focus back to the task. “Shall we?”

Brian returns his smile. “Lead the way, Sharpshooter.”

*

The door lock pings green on the third try. Gerard pushes it open slowly, the sand filled hinges grinding pitifully. He opens the door just far enough for them to squeeze through. Brian slips in after Gerard and shuts the door behind him.

“Wait. You-”

“Getting out will be easy,” Brian explains. “But an open outer door is suspicious.”

Gerard sighs heavily but moves on, leading the way down the corridor. They get to med storage without running into anyone. Gerard stands guard while Brian grabs the door handle.

It’s locked.

He yanks at the handle again. Still locked.

“Riot?” Gerard asks voice tense.

Brian grinds his teeth and drops to a knee in front of the electronic door lock. It’s brand new, a gleaming block of white with a shiny metallic keypad.

“Can you get in?”

“I think so,” Brian says, beginning to tap away at the keys. “The Dracs always let the doctors set the codes so we’d remember them better.”

He enters four numbers. The lock beeps red.

He enters four more. Red again.

“Riot…”

“Let me just-” he types four more numbers. The lock pings green and the door pops open. “Aha.”

“Did you remember it?” Gerard asks, trailing Brian into the room.

“Nope, just guessed.”

“What was it?”

“Eleven, seventeen. The atomic numbers for Sodium and Chlorine.”

Brian looks back at Gerard, as if he expects Gerard to understand. Gerard shrugs.

“Sodium Chloride, it’s, um, table salt. Basically.”

“Oh…”

Brian sighs. “It’s like an in-joke with Zone docs. Don’t worry about it.”

Gerard accepts the explanation and turns to guard the door as Brian collects up the bandages and medications they need. A few moments later he hears Brian utter a quiet curse.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” Gerard asks, peering back into the storeroom.

“They’ve locked away most of the medicine. The only easy access stuff is BLI’s happy pills.” Brian is pointing to a large closet set into as far wall. The room has a glass door and Gerard can see lines of pill bottles on shelves along the walls.

“Do we need them?”

“Yes.” Brian nods firmly. “We can’t do much without them.”

“And you can’t get in?” Gerard asks, scratching his head thoughtfully.

“It needs an actual key. I don’t have it.”

“Okay, I can shoot the glass, but we’ll definitely attract attention.”

Brian nods. “Help me? I tell you what to grab and we each grab half the stuff and make a break for it?”

Gerard shrugs. “Sounds like the best plan to me.”

Brian write a string of strange names down Gerard’s arm, explaining how he can see most of them on the left hand side of the room before they both retrieve their guns and fire at the glass door. An alarm starts blaring immediately.

“Figures.” Gerard mutters and he steps over the shattered glass and starts scanning the shelves, grabbing any bottles with labels that match the names Brian wrote on him and dumping them into Brian’s open duffle bag. Too quickly there is shouting and the sounds of running feet approaching the storeroom.

“Time to go.” Gerard calls. Brian zips up the bag and follows Gerard out of the room and down the hall.

Around the bend they run into a small group of doctors. The doctors are in various states of dress ranging from pajamas and no shoes to full scrubs. At sight of the two Killjoys bearing down on them they freeze, some even throw up their hands in surrender. Gerard levels his gun at them.

“Get against the wall,” He orders. “Back to me, hands where I can see them.”

They comply. Gerard waves Brian on and together the two slip passed the doctors without firing a single shot.

“Get the door,” Gerard says. Brian hurries ahead and opens the outer door, the hinges grinding loudly.

Gerard turns to follow Brian when a side door is thrown open. A group of Dracs bursts through it cutting Gerard off from the exit.

“Party,” Brian yells. He slings the duffle bag over his back and charges toward Gerard, gun in hand.

“No. Go!” Gerard orders, pointing to the door, their only escape, while simultaneously taking out Dracs with his raygun.

“But...”

Gerard fires a few well-aimed shots at the nearest Drac, not even gracing Brian with a look. “I said ‘go!’”

Brian hesitates before turning and running for the exit.

He makes it to the doorway when he hears a blood-curdling scream.

Brian turns back just in time to see Gerard seizing uncontrollably, a pair of taser wires latched onto his chest. As soon as the electric shock ends Gerard drops to the ground with a sickening thunk. He remains motionless as Dracs and doctors alike surround his prone form.

Everyone in the room is focused on the downed Killjoy. Brian uses this to his advantage as he escapes, unnoticed, through the outer door.

*

Outside Patrick is waiting in the driver’s seat, engine running. Brian throws himself into the open passenger door.

“Drive!” he yells.

“Where’s–”

“Drive!”

Patrick drives.

*

No one even chases them. The alarm shuts off while they are still within sight of the facility and not a single Drac is dispatched to pursue them.

“What do you think that means?” Patrick asks, glancing nervously back at the building fading into the distance.

Brian shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

*

The second time Mikey is distracted from his vigil the reason is much more concerning. Young Volcano - Andy, as Pete had told them - is coughing. Ray wakes with a jolt and is immediately by Andy’s side, holding the injured Killjoy in a sitting position. Andy groans between each cough as the movement exacerbates his myriad injuries.

Abruptly Andy’s coughing cuts out and his hand goes quickly over his mouth. Mikey reacts before Ray has a chance to say anything. He grabs Gerard’s bucket of spray paint. Dumping the aerosol cans on the floor, he gets the bucket to Andy just as Andy retches violently enough that some of his vomit splashes, landing on the hand Mikey’s using to hold the bucket in place. Mikey shudders in disgust.

When he’s done vomiting Andy collapses, slumping against Ray.

“Can I get a light?” Ray asks Mikey, trying futilely to study Andy’s face in the dark.

A flashlight flicks on and Mikey looks up startled to see Frank sitting up on his makeshift bed. Frank looks like he just woke up with his eyes half-lidded. His broken leg sticks out straight, while his good leg is folded with a floodlight resting on his knee. Frank’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene he’s just illuminated.

A horrified squeak escapes Mikey’s lips as he realizes what Frank sees: Blood. A line of blood runs down the corner of Andy’s mouth and when Mikey looks at his own hand he spots blood dripping off his fingertips. However, the contents of the bucket are more stomach content than blood, with only a thin red layer mixed in with stomach bile.

“You think that’s bad?” Mikey asks.

Ray nods and then shrugs. “It’s bad,” he admits. “But it’s not much. Not enough for him to have internal bleeding in his stomach. I don’t think.”

“You don’t think?”

Ray shakes his head. “If it were internal bleeding it should be worse, much worse. This, I dunno. It’s not much though, it’s not bad. Not immediately at least. Sometimes a little blood in vomit means nothing serious at all.”

Mikey finds he’s not sure what disgusts him more: the vomit, or the fact that he’s suddenly relieved by it. Whatever this is it seems it won’t kill Andy tonight.

*

Mikey wakes to the sounds of sobbing.

He’d given over guard duty to Ray for the rest of the night in order to get some sleep himself. Ray had also stayed up to keep an eye on Andy in case he got worse.

Now, however, Andy lies completely limp, chest still. Pete has wrapped him friend in a tight embrace and is crying openly while cradling Andy’s head as if by holding him close Pete might be able to bring his friend back. Joe, on the other hand is kneeling on the floor by the end of the table as if he had dropped to his knees and forgotten to get up. He stares ahead blankly, eyes brimming with tears, and remains completely silent.

Ray is standing apart, watching the scene in front of him with a stricken expression. Mikey stumbles over to him, shaking off the stiffness in his joints. He opens his mouth to ask, but Ray beats him to it.

“He just fell asleep,” Ray says, voice breathy with disbelief. “He was breathing and then he wasn’t. It was so quiet.”

Mikey wraps an arm around Ray’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault,” he says, firmly.

Ray nods quietly.

*

The first light of day is cresting over the dunes when the Trans Am pulls up to the diner.

Mikey rushes out to meet them only to get brushed aside as Patrick pushes past him into the diner. Brian stops in front of Mikey, catching something in Mikey’s eyes.

“How is he?” Brian asks, shifting the duffle bag on his shoulder.

Mikey shakes his head. “Dead.”

Brian curses and yanks the bag off his shoulder. For a moment it looks like he is going to throw it, but then he seems to remember the bag’s contents. He drops it gently to the ground.

In the diner behind him Mikey can hear Patrick’s frantic denial as he takes in the scene Mikey had woken to less than an hour earlier. Before him Mikey watches Brian card his hands through his own hair with a frustrated groan. Mikey wants to reach out and take Brian’s hands. Wants to hold him close and convince him that Andy’s death is not his fault. He stays back instead, giving Brian some space.

Mikey looks beyond Brian to the Trans Am idling on the sandy road, both doors left wide open.

“Brian?” Mikey asks. “Where’s Gerard?”

Brian looks up at Mikey from under his bangs with a pained expression. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Mikey asks, confusion and concern furrowing his brow.

“We had to break into the medicine cabinet. It drew some attention,” Brian speaks quickly, the words spilling out of his mouth so rapidly it makes it difficult to understand them. “We we’re running. We were almost out and Gerard… Gerard told me to go ahead. And then a gang of Dracs showed up and- I’ve never seen that many Dracs in a Betterment Camp before- and I was by the door, but Gerard wasn’t and he told me to go, but I didn’t want to, but he told me to run and then they tasered him. And… Then I ran.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

*

By the time Ray pries Mikey off of Brian he has a black eye and a bloody nose. Mikey doesn’t have a scratch, Brian hadn’t put up a fight as Mikey had grabbed him by the shirt and screamed at him before deciding fists would be more effective than words. Now, held in a disarming bear hug by Ray, Mikey reverts once more to his words.

“You left him to die, you bastard!” Mikey yells, struggling against Ray. “You fucking coward! How could you leave him?”

Brian repeats the same words he had been saying since before Mikey started punching him. “I’m sorry.”

Mikey stills, giving up on fighting Ray he drops his voice to a deadly calm tone. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Each word is thrown like a knife and Brian flinches as they hit.

“I know.” Brian responds sadly.

They stay like that, no one moving, until Ray is sure Mikey won’t start attacking Brian again. He slowly releases Mikey and goes over to help Brian to his feet, pulling him inside the diner and leaving Mikey alone outside with nothing but his thoughts and his brother’s Trans Am.

When Mikey returns to the diner he speaks to no one and no one speaks to him. Frank glances at Mikey a few times, but when Mikey levels a glare at him he quickly shuffles away.

Together the group wraps the fallen Killjoy in a sheet and Grace holds the door for them as they carry him to the van. The remaining trio had decided that they wanted to bury their fallen comrade closer to home. Once Andy is in the van the rest of them pile in saying quick goodbyes. Even Frank shuffles out of the diner on crutches to see them off.

Brian climbs in with them, bandana pressed to his bloody nose, saying that he needs to retrieve his Jeep from where they left it at the other hideout. Grace argues that Brian should stay with them, but Ray shushes her. Mikey says nothing. Brian looks as if he wants to say something, but with Mikey refusing to look at him he gives up and closes the sliding van door.

“You know you’re welcome to stay with us. You and Grace,” Frank says to Ray as they watch the van drive away. “If that wasn’t already clear.”

Ray smiles. “Yeah, thanks. That. That would be really nice.”

“No problem,” Frank says. “Now help me get back inside, my leg is killing me.”

Ray agrees and carries Frank back inside with Grace trailing them with the crutches.

Mikey stays behind. As he watches the van fade into the distance he thinks about what Brian said, about how Gerard was captured. Before Mikey had freaked out Brian had said something that struck Mikey as odd. Now Mikey thinks back to the details of the story. Brian had said that the Dracs had tasered Gerard. That was the word Brian had used. Tasered.

Now, Mikey wonders.

*

Mikey enters the diner where the other three are tucked into a booth, eating straight from cans of beans. He notices an unopened one in an empty spot with a can opener and a fork beside it set for him, but he can’t imagine eating anything now.

He places his hands on the table firmly. Three sets of eye look up at him expectantly.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lip as Mikey tells his friends what he has just realized.

“Gerard’s not dead.”

*

Keep your boots tight, keep your gun close, and die with your mask on if you’ve got to. This is only the beginning…