Chapter 1: The art of saying I love you
Chapter Text
Whenever Party Poison let their memory wander back to that night , they heard the deafening sound of the gun as its trigger was released. The sound of the air split in half by the bullet. The sound of it piercing skin. The sound of their friends’ screams. The sound of pain. The sound of… nothing.
Growing up in the Zones, they had fooled themself into believing war was nothing but a habit. They weren’t fazed by the death that surrounded them. Why would they?
No—more like why would they let themself be fazed by it? Killjoys died. ‘With their masks on if they had to’ and all that. Such was the way of life of a ‘joy. Either you ran from Battery City and accepted that as fact, or you were Zone-born and grew up with that mentality. There was no escape from it, no matter how many delusions of grandeur you buried yourself under. And Party Poison, of all people, would know about delusions of grandeur.
Party Poison, a hero amongst all ‘joys. A red-haired savior. A fucking poser, is what they really were, They marketed themself as a ray of hope burning bright above the deadly desert, but where had that ever gotten them. Sure, people thought they were nice and all, but nice didn’t save lives. Nice didn’t save the lives that mattered.
And maybe that was their problem. The fact that, at some point, there started being lives that mattered. Maybe they were no better than Better Living Industries, the power-hungry, mind-controlling institution that ran over Battery City. Maybe they were no fucking better than the people they ran from, because the lives of the desert-bound killjoys had started to blur before their eyes.
No matter on which side of the city border you lived, you were a slave to something bigger than yourself, it seemed. A pawn in a plan you had no say over. Forced to be born, born to be forced. Party had sworn to never become what they had escaped, but perhaps one could never truly leave the environment that saw them come to be. No matter how far they ran from that Witch-forsaken place, BL/ind blood coursed through their filthy fucking healthy veins.
The healthiness was probably the worst fucking part of it. Their liveliness was lost on an empty shell of who they had used to be.
Fuck, what they wouldn’t give to have been the one to die. Guilt, regret and shame didn’t really go well with coffee, but they were the only things they had in the cold desert mornings.
They could still hear that cursed gunshot.
It had been a rainy night. Party could remember that oh so well. Rainy nights were a cause for celebration. Rainy nights—or any sort of rain, really—meant life. What a cruel turn of events had it been to run into a BL/ind patrol.
Rain meant visibility was shit, but who fucking cared, right? Party Poison was the best at what they did, and no drop of water was going to change that. They and their crew were the killjoys of all killjoys, reaping patrol upon patrol as they freed the desert of Better Living’s empire. The Fabulous Four. What a fucking joke.
They had gotten ahold of themself. They must have had. To be honest, they didn’t really remember much of that night, except from the rain and the sounds .
The bullet had flown across the night sky and lodged itself tight and secure into Party’s hopes and dreams.
Party distinctly remembers the terror of not knowing who had been hit. Ghoul and Kobra had yelled almost at the same time, and Jet had sworn softly, barely louder than a breath. They probably wouldn’t even have turned around if it hadn’t been for that swear of hers, because Jet wasn’t really one for uncalled for profanities.
They had made quick work of the Drac they were fighting off, swirling around to find Ghoul lying on the wet desert sand, his blood mixing in with the rainwater.
Dropping their weapon, they had run to its side, desperation bringing them to their knees.
“Hey, Pois,” Ghoul had whispered, and a choked sound had escaped from Party. They couldn’t quite say how, but even then, a part of them knew .
They had shaken their head. “No. No, no. You’re okay. You—you’re.”
A bloodied hand had found their cheek. “Yeah. I’m okay. I mean. This is okay. It could be worse.” He had chuckled wetly. “I always thought it would hurt more,” he had added, more to himself than to Party.
Party’s eyes had grown wide then. “Hey, love? This isn’t happening.”
Ghoul had put its mask into their trembling hands. “Ha. Tell the other I love them, okay? And I love y—”
“Tell them yourself!” they had yelled. They were angry. As far as they could remember, at the very least. They weren’t angry anymore. The anger had long faded into a dull sense of sadness. “And tell me later,” they had begged Ghoul.
Ghoul had smiled weakly, their eyelids closing in his weakness. “Jet and Kobes need your help, babe. And I need you to go help them, please.”
Party had felt a single tear roll from their eyes, soon lost to the night rain. Mechanically, they had gotten up as a shroud of emptiness had lain itself upon their brain, and the battle was over.
They couldn’t remember anything after they had gotten up from Ghoul’s side. Maybe that was a blessing in and of itself. Maybe it was a curse, too. Ghoul had never gotten the funeral he deserved.
Party let their eyes wander to the dustied old zombie mask resting on the fireplace.
“I’m sorry, Ghoul,” they sighed, running their hands through their hair. Years had passed, and all the grief had done was to make them numb. At least the pain didn’t hurt as much as it once had.
The floorboards creaked, and Party cast a glance aside to find Kobra leaning against the doorway.
“You’re wasting away,” he reproached them disapprovingly when he looked at Ghoul’s mask on display. “Ghoul wouldn’t want you to be so fucking miserable.”
Party smiled, but there was no warmth in the action. “Well Ghoul’s dead, so it doesn’t fucking matter what he wants.”
Kobra gritted his teeth, but didn’t reply. Party’s head fell back down as they listened to the sound of their brother’s footsteps walking away.
How they wished they hadn’t walked away from him that night. They know, realistically, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Ghoul was dead the moment that bullet hit it. But sometimes, Party can’t help but think that they should have been there as he had taken his last breath, no matter the consequences. Not matter the fact that it would’ve meant taking their last breath as well. Maybe then a bullet would have gone right through them, too. Maybe then they would’ve bled out, their blood mixing in with Ghoul’s and the rain.
Maybe they should have let Ghoul say ‘I love you”.
They should have said it, too.
Chapter 2: Losing a friend, finding a friend, losing a friend
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Grief was a funny thing, Party thought as the hard light of the sun warmed up their skin.
Some days, they couldn’t bear the thought of brightness, of happiness. Today, though, they revelled in the afternoon glow, reminiscing of better times spent racing the day away in the very same car they now cruised in.
Despite what Kobra seemed to believe, Party liked to think they were somewhat living up to Ghoul’s memory. For the first time in a while, they had felt good enough to dye their hair back to its regular red. In spite of everything, they still stood proud against Better Living. Less proud than they used to, sure, but it was the principle of it that mattered. Maybe they weren’t fighting for the same reasons as before, but surely fighting the fight still had to count for something. They simply had become a slave to Ghoul’s image rather than a slave to the persona they had built for themself in the past, or some shit.
Anyway. Speaking of fighting, they were responding to a threat Dr D had flagged just north of Zone 4. Kobra was at a racing competition had Jet had gone to support him, so Party was on their own in the Trans Am. With the way their brother drove (recklessly, fast, dangerously, stupidly, the list went on), chances are he and Jet would be there well before them.
“Yo, D, what should I expect going into this thing?” they asked, praying the connection was good enough for Dr Death to actually hear them. The Witch knew radio waves had a hard time around these parts.
A particularly hard to decipher noise answered them. Party groaned, upping the volume in the hopes of understanding whatever the fuck D had said a bit better. Though to be fair, anything was better than nothing at all.
“... and the crew said it’s a part of those BL/ind fucks’ new test agents thing,” the old man was muttering. “But they’re kids, they barely know a Drac from a Crow, so who knows?”
Ah. Party hummed their understanding. There was a settlement of new killjoys right where they were headed, and it wasn’t the first time they had responded to one of their distress calls via Dr D. Part of the reason why they had radioed him about it was to know how serious they needed to be. Half the calls turned out to be over by the time they even got there.
If the kids were right, though, their presence would be worth the hassle of getting all the way there. Better Living had started a new program, and the details of it were… obscure, to say the least. All the killjoys knew so far is that they had launched a new series of numbered agents. They seemed to be on the same threat level as a Crow, but as mindless as a Drac.
Party had had the displeasure of meeting a few, and they couldn’t say they were a fan. There was something quite terrifying about seeing a human so brainwashed that they didn’t have an identity beyond a few symbols. At least Dracs wore those awful masks that obscured their empty eyes; their empty souls. At least it felt as though they expressed a sense of relief when the mask left their face, at the very end. Those newcomers, though? Party shuddered.
They had made prolonged eye contact with one, once. Even though her eyes were looking straight into theirs, they hadn’t felt seen at all. It was like looking at a statue and expecting it to blink. It had been their first time meeting one of those new agents, and they had mistakenly believed her to be a Crow. It wasn’t until they had tried to antagonize her the way they would Korse that they had come to the sickening realization that despite her humane looks, her mind was as dead as that of a Drac.
They had laughed, loosening their hold on their pistol. “This is going to be a breeze,” they remembered thinking. And the not quite a Drac, not quite a Crow women had promptly round kicked the gun out of their hand, under Party Poion’s gobsmacked expression.
“Agent C12-9874, eliminate the threat,” a Crow had laughed as he had stepped out of a parked BL/ind car. The woman—Agent C12-9874, Party supposed—had then thrown a mean punch their way.
“What the fuck is she?” Party had spat as they sparred with the mysterious woman.
The Crow had shown them a shark-like grin. “Why, our newest product, of course. Much more efficient than those pesky old Dracs, don’t you think?”
A wave of nausea had washed over Party. “She a fucking droid or some shit?” they asked. Not because they didn’t know the answer, but because they had hoped it wouldn’t be exactly what the Crow had replied:
“Of course not”
Party had prayed to Destroya for a sign of relief as the woman had let out her last breath. They hadn’t found any.
*
“About time you got here!” Kobra exclaimed when he caught sight of his sibling.
Jet rolled her eyes. “Pay him no mind,” she told Party. “We’ve barely been here for five minutes. We’ve been doing triage and maintenance waiting for more medically skilled killjoys to get here. Got any med kits left in that car trunk of yours. This agent of Better Living’s sure has been making a mess in here.”
Party tried to catch a glimpse of the said agent in the midst of the chaos, to no avail. “What’s the info we have on the guy?”
“He’s good at his job,” Kobra grumbled. “We don’t know much more than that, I’m afraid. Like Jet said, we haven't gotten the chance to check it out yet. Those fucking kids can’t even take a band-aid out of its wrapping.”
“Hey!” the ‘joy he was treating protested.
Kobra sent them a look . “Oh, do you want to treat yourself all on your own?”
“... No. Sorry,” the kid mumbled.
Kobra rolled his eyes, but a small smile peeked through his stoic facade.
Not a moment too soon, a bright pink car parked itself next to Party’s Trans Am. The redhead breathed out a sigh of relief. They knew the crew that had just arrived: they would make work of the wounded in no time while Jet, Kobra and Party could finally join the fight against the agent guy.
They took the safety off of their yellow ray gun. They hopefully wouldn’t have to use it, but they would be ready, should the fight take a dire turn. On the way over, Dr D had asked them not to kill the agent. Seeing as death regrettably didn’t seem to offer them any comfort, the old man wanted to try and see exactly what sort of mind fuckery Better Living had done to these agents, and what better way to find out than on a live specimen.
“I go left, you go center and Jet goes right?” Kobra suggested, Party and Jet nodded their approval. No matter where the agent was hiding, all the young ‘joys would still need help with the Dracs scattered all over the place.
They jumped over injured and fallen killjoys, reassuring them that help was on its way as they headed into the active combat zone.
Pistol in hand, they went to work, letting their fighting habits take over their mind. The faster they got through the crowd of Dracs, the faster they could find the mysterious new agent.
Soon enough, Party and Jet reunited, both throwing a powerful punch to the same Drac’s face.
“You done with your side?” Jet asked.
Party took a quick look around before nodding. The medic crew had even started to retrieve the fight’s wounded from the Jet and theirs’ side of the battleground.
“Where the fuck is Kobes?” Party wondered aloud. They frowned when another look sound revealed that his side of the fight was far from controlled.
Jet and Party ran towards the younger boy. Party searched the crowd. Expecting to find their brother in the hottest zone of conflict. He did love a good brawl, after all.
“Why isn’t he moving?” Jet asked, and Party realized why they hadn’t found their brother. He was standing awfully still, unnaturally so. Jet and Party didn’t even have to share a look before sprinting his way in a panic.
“Kobes!” Party exclaimed. “What the fuck is wrong with y—” Their words died in their throat as they registered Kobra’s expression. He looked like he had seen a ghost. And maybe Party was stuck in an incredibly cruel nightmare, but now they were seeing the ghost, too.
The worst part was that if it wasn’t for their brother’s expression, they weren’t even sure they would have noticed him through the crowd. He was short, for starters.
He didn’t look anything like himself: deathly pale skin, seemingly void of any tattoos. Buzzed hair. Clothes still impeccably white despite the surrounding chaos. Empty eyes.
But there was no mistaking the scar that ran from its mouth. There was no mistaking the person that they loved, no matter how deeply buried beneath BL/ind brainwashing he may be.
“... Ghoulie?”
Notes:
oh wow that's crazy who would have guessed like whattt
Chapter 3: A mind void of a past
Summary:
fun fact there wasn't supposed to be multiple pics but then i had a stroke of genius
Chapter Text
Agent X2-AT046 awoke in a cold white room. Bright light fought against squinted eyes.
A message popped up on the screen fixed on the wall next to the bed. A new mission, then.
After weeks of training, it would be the agent’s second day in the field. X2-AT046 wasn’t scared, nor excited: that would be unbecoming of such a refined Better Living Industries employee and would reflect poorly on Battery City. Besides, emotions were beneath someone like the agent.
The pinged location was a few kilometers north of the insidious, killjoy-infested desert’s fourth Zone. If the agent could feel anything, it would be disgust at the disgrace that those rebellious personalities brought upon the radiant Battery City.
The agent walked to the imposing wardrobe firmly planted in front of the bed before carefully picking an ironed out suit. Not that any suit wasn’t ironed. No imperfection, no matter how small, would be tolerated.
X2-AT046 frowned at the arms that opened the heavy wardrobe doors. Dirty arms, but no amount of soap could wash out the traces of ink Better Living Industries' laser treatment hadn’t been able to remove. The work of a killjoy, eternalized on an unwilling body. Why someone would put such markings on someone else escaped X2-AT046’s understanding.
The remnants of a sullied body were X2-AT046’s burden to live with. That burden had proved easier to live with when covered up. Every other Better Living Industries employee had porcelain-like skin: clean; untouched. The agent didn’t harbor any feeling of resentment towards the bodily markings—again, emotions simply weren’t an occurrence in a loyal and devout Better Living Industries mind. It was simply a matter of living up to the group Agent X2-AT046 served’s image.
The chosen suit’s sleeves were effectively pulled over the washed out imagery. No imperfection, no matter how small, would be tolerated.
The agent’s eyes fell back to the information panel regarding the mission. They skimmed over the project brief until they settled on the final sentence, revealing the ultimate goal of the day’s outing.
“Eliminate the Fabulous Four”
Agent X2-AT046 thought the rebellious group’s name was presumptuous. What sort of trio called itself ‘the Fabulous Four’? Perhaps it was an intimidation technique. Perhaps they wanted their opposants to believe they weren’t to be trifled with; that their strength equated that of four men. It still sounded foolish to the agent.
*
The Fabulous Four truly were foolish, Agent X2-AT046 realized.
The three of them seemed to be a beam of hope in the mind of the inexperienced youth that surrounded the Better Living Industries employee. What a shame those young souls had been corrupted so early on. Their ignorant faces lit up the moment who X2-AT046 suspected were Kobra Kid and Jet Star jumped off the former’s motorbike. A suspicion that came from the various iterations of relieved “Kobra and Jet are here, we’re saved!”s that came from the killjoys on the battlefield.
Agent X2-AT046 could have walked to meet with the newcomers, but decided against it. Patience was a virtue, after all. As Better Living Industries had so ingeniously predicted, causing a commotion in a strategic emplacement had lured out the target. They had come so far to meet X2-AT046: they wouldn’t turn back now that they were here. Not when their allies needed help. Agent X2-AT046 would wait.
The first Fabulous Four to find the agent was a blonde man in a red jacket. The agent assessed his performance as impressive. His martial art skills brought down the many Dracs that had accompanied X2-AT046. A shame: Better Living Industries would have to replace the damaged quantities.
Judging from the man’s prowess, Agent X2-AT046 had braced for a fight. However, upon seeing the Better Living Industries employee, the man had simply… frozen?
He was soon met by the woman he had arrived with and a third joy who the agent assumed was the third and final installment of the trio. Much like X2-AT046, they seemed confused by their friend’s reaction… that is, until their eyes found the agent’s. Like they were caught under a spell, the trio stayed as still as a statue.
The newcomer, the red haired one, scanned the agent from head to toes. “... Ghoulie?” they inquired.
The agent blinked, not familiar with anybody by that name. “The Fabulous Four, I suppose? I am Agent X2-AT046. I have been tasked with your removal from occupied Battery City territory.”
The sound of X2-AT046’s voice seemed to break the blonde man—Kobra Kid, if the agent had guessed correctly—out of his stupor. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed, raising his leg into a fighting stance.
“Don’t hurt him!” the woman—Jet Star, if the other killjoys were to be believed—protested. Agent X2-AT046 found that exclamation to be counterproductive to the Fabulous Four’s goal. Any employee of Better Living Industries was a direct threat to the group and its allies, after all.
The familiar sound of a Better Living Industries’ car made itself heard in the distance. Ah, right, Agent X2-AT046 recalled Scarecrow Korse saying he would make an appearance should his schedule see fit to it.
“I see you three have become acquainted with my coworker,” the agent’s superior told the Fabulous Four, a bright grin plastered onto his face. His hand landed on Agent X2-AT046’s shoulder, almost bruising. The agent fought back a wince of pain.
Scarecrow Korse was famous for his dislike of the infamous killjoy group standing before the two Better Living Industries employees. Agent X2-AT046 had underestimated just how much worked up they made him.
The agent also hadn’t expected the dislike to be so… reciprocal. The redhead—who, through the power of elimination, the agent had found out to be Party Poison—immediately pointed their ray gun at Scarecrow Korse.
“Stay the fuck away from him, you fucking freak! What the fuck is your messed up new project even about?”
Jet Star forced her friend’s arm down. “Party, put the gun down. We can’t afford to antagonize him right now. And while I would love for Korse to be blasted, we can’t hurt it .”
Scarecrow Korse let go of his coworker’s shoulder and took a step towards the killjoys. “I fear there has been a misunderstanding. There isn’t anyone here you would recognize. I simply happened to be close to the fourth Zone and saw my fellow Better Living Industries employee was in the middle of a mission. I see Agent X2-AT046 has everything under control.”
He smiled. “Until next time, killjoys.” Then, to Agent X2-AT046, “You may resume your mission.”
Whatever happenstance had thrown the Fabulous Four in a stupor had left them the moment Scarecrow Korse left the premises.
The red haired one was the first to run up to the agent, fiercely grabbing onto X2-AT046’s sleeve. Bristled, the agent tried to shake off the invader.
“Hey, Ghoul? Ghoul? It’s me, it’s Pois,” they said, confirming the agent’s suspicions as to their identity. And creating new suspicions as to their sanity because why were they still holding onto X2-AT046? And why were they talking to the agent like that ?
Agent X2-AT046 pushed Party Poison away, and the briskness of the gesture was enough to successfully put distance between the Better Living Industries agent and the killjoy.
“As I said earlier, I am here to rid the desert of your presence. Resistance is expected, but unnecessary. I assure you I possess the skills needed to see this mission through.”
Party Poison scoffed. “Of course you fucking do!”
The agent frowned, dumbfounded. The killjoy sounded… genuine? After an uncomfortable throat clearing, X2-AT046 said, “I… thank you? Pardon the unprofessionalism, I did not know you to be such a, erm, sport.”
The smile Party Poison flashed caused an uncomfortable sensation through the agent’s body. “Only for you,” they drawled, but the teasing tone didn’t quite reach their eyes.
The agent chose to ignore the mind-boggling killjoy in favor of pointing a polished black gun at one of their allies. The action finally put an end to their weird acting, and their expression turned into a cold glare.
“I see,” was all they said before drawing their own gun once again. This time, when they pointed it in Agent X2-AT046’s direction, Jet Star didn’t protest.
*
Agent X2-AT046 sat on a cold chair in the middle of an empty, colder room. Its bare walls were an immaculate white, the dirty handprint imprinted on the agent’s sleeve only more noticeable. No imperfection, no matter how small, would be tolerated. And that imperfection was far from small, taking up half of the agent’s forearm.
“Hello, sir. May I ask why you called me back to base?” Agent X2-AT046 asked when Scarecrow Korse entered the room.
Scarecrow Korse’s hand found its previous spot on the agent’s shoulder. His pointer finger prodded at the already forming bruise. “Patience is a virtue, is it not? The mission is ongoing. Fear not, young one: the day’s purpose has been fulfilled.”
Agent X2-AT046 frowned. What exactly had been the day’s purpose, if not to eliminate the Fabulous Four trio?
The agent’s confusion must have been obvious, for Scarecrow laughed softly. “I promise you have left a lasting impression on our friends . You have far from seen the last of them, Agent X2-AT046. You will get plenty of opportunities to put an end to their life in the near future. In the meantime, let us bask in the thrill of the chase. The hunting trade is an art, no matter the prey. Killjoys are no different.”
Scarecrow Korse patted the agent’s shoulder, releasing his hold. The agent instantly felt the coolness of the room cover the now empty expanse.
“Sir?”
The Scarecrow stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around to face the agent.
“The one with red hair… Party Poison? They seemed to think they knew me.”
A scoff. “And what made you believe that ?”
The agent’s eyes grew wide. “Oh! I don’t believe them in the slightest. I simply fear they have mistaken me for someone who goes by the name of ‘Ghoulie’?”
Scarecrow Korse walked back in front of Agent X2-AT046. “Fun Ghoul. An old acquaintance of them, and a disloyal relative of yours. It would seem that you regrettably share quite similar features—at least in the eyes of those that knew him. I see in you something much greater than that feeble excuse of a man. That traitor died years ago. Let us not tarnish Better Living Industries’ efforts by bringing his name to light.”
Agent X2-AT046 nodded. Scarecrow Korse left the room, the other agent’s eyes trailing after him.
The discovery of a genetic resemblance between X2-AT046 and a killjoy was… troubling, to say the least. The man that the Fabulous Four had recognized in the Better Living Industries’ employee was a mystery, one X2-AT046 intended to find out about. Fun Ghoul was a weakness; a crack in the rebellious group’s facade, and Agent X2-AT046 wasn’t scared to exploit it.
Scarecrow Korse had said it best: hunting was an art—one Agent X2-AT046 was trained in. There would be more encounters with the infamous Fabulous Four. To rid the desert of its depravity, patience was of the order. And Agent X2-AT046 was nothing if not devoted.
A plan now concocted, Agent X2-AT046 headed to the cafeteria. Standing in line amongst the various Better Living Industries employee’s, the agent’s eyes inexplicably fell back to the dirty sleeve.
Chapter Text
At the sound of their voice, Ghoul had turned its head. Not an ounce of recognition had flashed before his eyes.
The memory haunted Party, maybe even more so than that of Ghoul’s death.
He had died. He had died, hadn’t he? Party very distinctly remembered watching the life leave Ghoul’s eyes. That wasn’t anything people imagined for fun. Party Poison had watched the love of their life die before their eyes, and now he was back. Except he wasn’t, not really.
Ghoul had been stripped of everything that made it it. By the fucking Phoenix Witch, if BL/ind could have gotten rid of his scars, Destroya knows they would have, much like they had rid his skin of the tattoos it had oh so loved.
A hand laid itself on their shoulder, pulling them from their tortured musings. Party closed their eyes as they leaned into their brother’s touch.
“Do you think he’s still in there?” Kobra whispered, and Jet let out a quiet sob.
When no one replied, he only sighed. “I mean, what do we even do? It looks like him, but is it him? For all we know, Korse could be right. I hate to say it, but what if there really isn’t anyone we know behind a face we love? I wouldn’t put it past Better Living.”
Jet sighed. “We can’t assume it can be saved, but we’ll try. That’s the only thing we really can do, isn’t it?”
“It’s just so… disgusting,” Kobra spat. “I know they turn dead ‘joys into Dracs, but they had the decency to not parade them around, y’know? I can’t believe that the brainwashed fucks are gone enough to even think turning us into something lesser than them is okay. You guys aren’t blind, you saw how Ghoul looked at us. There wasn’t even any disgust! Its face was blank. Even Korse is allowed feelings.”
“It may…” Jet gulped. “It may not be him. I know we want it to be Ghoul. I want it to be Ghoul. But he did die, no? Who we saw could be a clone, or a droid.” She shook her head, pained by the very words she had just uttered.
She wasn’t wrong, Party had to admit. The thought had crossed their mind as well. But that would just be fucked, wouldn’t it? Party wasn’t sure what was worse: that Ghoul truly was gone and that BL/ind had weaponized his likeness against the Fab Four, or that Ghoul had been brainwashed so hard that he didn’t even recognize himself, that he had been turned into the very thing it had always despised. At the very least, if who they had seen was a clone of some sort, then it meant that, at the very least, Ghoul’s soul was at peace.
They buried their head in their head, willing the ache to go away. They couldn’t even think behind the throbbing pain. Party forced themself to zone back in the ongoing conversation.
“I’ll contact Dr Death,” Jet was saying. “Maybe he’ll know more about BL/ind new experiments. In the meantime, we keep an eye out and hope for the best?”
Party sighed, unsure what the best could even mean in such a situation.
*
“Wait, kids, hold on, what are you even saying?” was what Dr Death said upon hearing of Ghoul’s infamous return as a BL/ind agent.
“We were hoping you knew more than we did,” Jet admitted. “You’re more connected to all of the Zones than we are, maybe you would have heard something before we did.”
The older man rubbed his temples. “Can’t say that I have.” He chuckled. “So you’re telling me Ghoul’s not dead? I always knew that fucker was resilient.”
Party frowned. “It’s not itself, though. You weren’t there, D, you didn’t see it. He looked me dead in the eyes and didn’t even flinch. And before any of yo try to say I’m giving myself too much importance, he saw Kobes first and its reaction was no different.”
Dr Death shook his head before cracking a smile. “Kids, I’ve been a ‘joy for longer than you have, okay? I know I don’t look like much in this shitty old chair, but I’ve been around, alright? I know Better Living Industries, and I know Ghoul. Do you really think people like them can truly erase someone like him?”
Party blinked, feeling their eyes watering. They sat down next to the older man, the latter patting their back in support. “I want to believe you, I do, but I don’t know how to help it. I don’t even know if it is it, Doc.
“You said he had his scars, didn’t you?” When the killjoys nodded, his smile widened to show his teeth. “That’s your guy alright. Scars wouldn’t have been passed on to a clone, and I don’t see why they would have gone through the trouble of faking scars and removed tattoos on a droid.”
The redhead’s shoulders dropped. “Then how do we get it back?”
Dr Death gave one last pat. “I’ll look into it, okay? You three stay strong, especially in these times. If there’s anything that BL/ind is counting on at the moment, it’s your vulnerability. Don’t let them be right. You kids wear your masks and be proud, yeah? Make them regret fucking with y’all.”
The ride back to the diner was gloomy, to say the least. Jet, Koba and Party had all been hoping that Dr Death would have heard more about the entire Ghoul situation, and the lack of information was disappointing. Party felt as though they were stuck. They couldn’t just barge into Bat City and demand answers, either. It wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially Ghoul. Who knew how the fuckers were keeping it there. Any action on their parts could result in dire consequences for the dark haired boy.
It seemed fate was having a field day, for just as Party started to go down the inevitable road of thought-up scenarios in which the Fab Four heroically retrieved Ghoul from BL/ind facilities and miraculously restored his memories, a sleek and shiny car intercepted the Trans Am.
“No need to go to Bat City,” Party grumbled, and Jet and Kobra both shot them an inquisitive look.
Party didn’t have time to explain: a bullet pierced through the passenger seat window, narrowly avoiding any actual passenger. A bullet. Not any patrol, then. Party’s hand subconsciously closed around their ray gun.
“What the fuck!” Kobra exclaimed, brushing off shards of glass off of his red leather jacket.
The Fab Four exited the car, ready to make their assailant regret even trying to hurt them, but most importantly, regret breaking Party’s fucking car because what the fuck was that?
As their fucking luck would have it, the car’s door opened to reveal none other than Fun Ghoul. Or Agent X2-AT046, as he seemed to call himself. How insulting to the man he had used to be, Party bitterly thought.
“Fabulous Four,” it said. “It seems our paths have crossed again. I will admit it makes my task of killing you much, much easier.”
Jet walked up to it, defiantly crossing her arms. “Ghoul, it’s us! Dr D’s right, I don’t believe people as shitty as BL/ind get to take you away.”
Ghoul cocked his head. “Tell me about this Fun Ghoul of yours. Scarecrow Korse has mentioned him to me after our latest encounter. He seems fascinating,” it said, his facial expression not the slightest bit interested.
“It’s you, dumbass!” Kobra protested. “That’s as stupid a thing as me asking you to describe Kobra Kid.”
Ghoul’s eyes narrowed. “Well, he’s blond and annoying.”
“Bitch,” Kobra muttered.
“Fun Ghoul was a beautiful soul,” Jet said, smiling softly at the man itself. “He hated Bl/ind’s guts, too. I don’t think you would have liked him very much, agent.”
Party watched, incredulous, as Ghoul’s aggressive expression softened as Jet talked. A bittersweet feeling fell over them as they realized Ghoul seemed… pacified by Jet’s acknowledgement of his association with BL/ind. It wasn’t something they had ever thought they would see on its face.
“Ghoul left us a few years ago. He was hit by a bullet. One that came from a gun much similar to the one you handle,” she told him. “He always was selfless: he wouldn’t even let Party stay by his side. He forced them to get off the floor and come to me and Kobra’s help as he died alone.”
Ghoul’s calculating gaze fell on Party. “And you listened?”
Party gulped under the heaviness of its stare. Never had Ghoul looked at them with so little emotion. His face lacked any of the warmth that had once inhabited him. “It was what he wanted.”
“Hm. Interesting.”
“Why are you asking about Fun Ghoul?” Jet inquired. “You could have instantly fought us.” She gestured at the Trans Am, shooting Party an apologetic glance. “And I guess you did, but if you don’t mind my asking, what use is knowing about our fallen comrade to you?”
Ghoul smiled at her, but the action held no true feelings. It felt more as though he were smiling because he thought such was the adequate reaction to the situation, which was probably the most terrifying part of the interaction. Ghoul, a boy who shone brighter than the sun, reduced to BL/ind sad monochrome puppet.
“Scarecrow Korse mentioned he was a friend of yours. As observed the last time we saw each other, you don’t seem like easy opponents. While I would love to complete my mission, I would rather not break any Better Living Industies good,” he said, pointing at itself. “A lot of training was invested, and I would hate for it to go to waste. Besides, Scarecrow Korse suspects we will see much of each other. I thought it smart to gain more information so as to the Fabulous Four, and what better source than the source itself?”
“Do you even care what happens to you beyond how it might affect your shitty employers?” Party asked, incredulous.
“No. Do not feel bad on my account: I am not feeling-prone.”
“So what?” Kobra exclaimed, putting away his ray gun. “You just came here to chat about Fun Ghoul? ‘Cause I’ll tell you about him.”
“Kobes…” Jet warned, nervous.
“He’s about your height high, black hair, had a shitton of tattoos. He had a bunch of scars, but they’re in fairly hidden or discrete places. See, he worked with bombs a lot, so you would see a bunch of cuts and burn scars all over its hands. You know what scar it did have that was kind of obvious?”
“Kobra.”
“Yeah, he had a pretty big scar on his face, next to his face. Crazy how you have the exact same thing!”
Ghoul narrowed his eyes. “You do sound crazy. Sca—”
“Oh, fuck Korse!” Kobra interrupted. Jet was now actively trying to reign him in, but it was painfully obvious she was too late for that. “Hey, you even have a bunch of washed out tattoos! I really liked the ugly fucking grasshopper you could kind of see on Ghoul’s left arm. I wonder if you have anything like that, ‘cause boy that would be crazy, wouldn’t it, Agent X2-AT046?”
Ghoul brought his hand up to his mouth almost defensively. It seemed… scared, almost? But that wouldn’t fit the apathy he claimed to have. “I know what you’re implying, Kobra Kid, but I fear you’re mistaken. Scarecrow Korse said—”
“Fuck Korse!” Kobra yelled again, tears pearling in the corner of his eyes. “Destroya, stop fucking dickriding the guy who did this to you! Or you know what, better yet: go back to him if you’re willing to believe the blatant lies they’ve been feeding you.”
“You don’t mean that,” Jet snapped. She frantically returned her attention to Ghoul, but whatever friendly bridge she had attempted to build between the agent and the killjoys had long gone up in flames. “He doesn’t mean that. Listen, Gh—I mean, agent, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. How could we know about you better than yourself? What has your superior said about Fun Ghoul anyway?”
Ghoul pointed its gun at her and she sucked in a breath. To her credit, she didn’t move a single muscle. She faced the barrel head on, ready to move should the worst come to it.
“I’m not your friend.”
She smiled sadly. “I know you don’t see us that way.”
“Fun Ghoul is a distant relative of mine. Zone-born. I was raised in a family unit by very adequate androids, as is anyone born in Battery City.”
“And you… remember that?” Jet asked, hesitant.
Ghoul blinked. “I don’t need to.”
“That’s just great,” Kobra grumbled, and Party thought for sure this was the day he would find out after so much fucking around. Instead, the gun was pointed at them.
Ghoul took three great strides towards them, resting the barrel of the gun against Party’s forehead. At the proximity, they froze in place, their ray gun falling to the desert floor in a thud silenced by the warm sand.
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Ghoul observed aloud. “Why is that? The blonde one is angry, the brunette is trying to appeal to someone I am not, and you just stare at me.”
“I—I—” the words died in their throat. Party broke eye contact, instead opting to look at the ground.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Kobra decided, and he kicked Ghoul’s gun out of his hands. “You’ve had your little interview, now leave us the fuck alone.”
“Come one, Party,” Jet said, gently pulling at their sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”
Party let themself be pulled away. As their hand closed around the door handle they risked a last look at the BL/ind agent, surprised to find him in the same spot they had left him, staring right back.
Notes:
> three young adults run to their tired dad for boy advice
> three young adults run into the boy after leaving their tired dad
> three young adults are in dire need of advice. again.
Chapter 5: Sheer luck and cruel love
Chapter Text
“You don’t get it, Kobes,” Party lamented. “There was something about the way it was looking at me. Maybe his case isn’t as desperate as we thought.”
A week had passed since their last encounter with the fourth member of their group, and no matter how many times Party insisted that their shared eye contact had meant something, Kobra still wasn’t convinced. Matter of factly, he scoffed. “Did you forget the part where it pulled a gun and you and Jet? Phoenix Witch, I had forgotten how fucking stupid you are when it comes to him. The Fun Ghoul we knew is dead, and delusion won’t get us anywhere.” Before Party could protest, he quickly added: “I do want him to come back to us, but more than anything, I want us to manage our expectations. You know, in case he doesn’t.”
“Kobra isn’t necessarily wrong,” Jet said with a sigh. “But hey, it only shot at us once last week and he is much more receptive when he doesn’t have that disgusting Korse whispering into his ear.”
Party’s brother rolled his eyes and grabbed his boxing gloves off of the table. “Whatever. I’m heading out. I have boxing with Show Pony in an hour. I’ll be back with updates from Dr D, if ever.”
Once the door had closed behind him, Jet turned to Party, concern obvious on her face. “Hey, are you okay?”
Party laughed dryly. “Probably about as good as you.”
Jet was pretty good at hiding her pain, but Party knew their last encounter with Ghoul had hurt her more than she led on. Hearing Ghoul talk about his “upbringing” in Battery City while he had grown up in the Zones with her must have been awful. And then getting the gun pointed right at her… Party shivered. How terrible for your longest friend to forget all about you. Party would have been besides themself had Kobra ever forgotten them.
Visibly catching onto their train of thought, Jet shook her head.
“Party… he was your best friend. You don’t have to pretend like you’re fine on our account.”
They let out a long sigh. “I… I honestly don’t know. I don’t know if I’m getting my hopes up.” They looked down, avoiding Jet’s eyes. “A part of me wishes he was dead,” they added, no louder than a whisper.
If Ghoul was dead, then he wouldn’t be a slave to BL/ind. The Ghoul Party knew would have hated his shaved hair, his naked skin, his too-clean clothes. He would have hated fighting against killjoys. He would have hated endorsing Better Living. He would have rather been dead.
Even if they did get him back from BL/ind’s crutches, how horrible would he feel? He realistically wouldn’t have anything to blame himself for, but it would feel guilty all the same.
Jet being the lovely soul that she wasn’t didn’t need them to verbalize their somber thoughts. She only nodded understandingly, pulling Party into a tight hug.
“We’ll get it back, Party. And when we do, we’ll stand by its side and remind him he is very, very loved.”
Party closed their eyes and leaned back against the old couch they were currently sitting on. A couch that held so many memories. Kobra had lost his first tooth on that couch. Well, more accurately, Ghoul had pulled the tooth out of his mouth with its bare hands, but the tooth had been about to fall anyway. Oh how Kobra had bitched and moaned about that fucking tooth—before and after Ghoul had ripped it off.
It was on that couch that Ghoul, Party and Jet had watched the first thirteen and last thirty-eight minutes of an old Christmas movie. They had found the cassette in the dumpster behind Tommy’s stupid fucking store, and Party had had to explain the concept of Santa Claus to the two very confused Zone-born ‘joys. Not that they had a great grasping of the guy: Christmas was something they’d learned about in passing the way they’d been taught about dinosaurs. Battery City wasn’t a place for celebrations of joy, family, and religion—unless one counted BL/ind as a religion of sorts. Which wasn’t that far-fetched, come to think of it.
It was on that couch that Party had first kissed Ghoul. Jet and Kobra had already been off to bed, but Party and Ghoul had decided to stay up late. Party because they were desperately obsessed with Ghoul, and Ghoul, as he had told Party some time after the fact, because he was desperately obsessed with Party right in return.
A kiss that had turned into love that had turned into heartbreak that had turned into whatever was currently happening.
‘Very, very loved,’ Jet had said. Sometimes, Party felt ‘love’ wasn’t a strong enough word for it. When Ghoul died, some part of them had, too. And even though Ghoul was back, kind of, Party still felt so lost. Perhaps even more so than when they had believed Ghoul to be lost forever. Death was definitive. Now, Party was terrified of whatever sick and twisted brainwashing BL/ind had subjected Ghoul to. And they were still left with the cruel excess of painful, heart wrenching love, with nowhere to direct it to.
They sighed. “I’ll take the Trans Am for a run,” they told Jet. Destroya knew they needed to clear their head.
The mindless act of driving a car had always been calming for them. It was… peaceful, in a sense. They could let their thoughts drift away into nothingness as they focused on the seemingly infinite expanse of desert.
Around the steering wheel, their fingers progressively relaxed as the car drove off into the accidented road that led to Route Guano. They were itching for a fight; itching for someone to hurt them so they hurt them right back.
They laughed bitterly. What a terrible thing to want. Maybe BL/ind wasn’t all wrong when they claimed Party was a deranged individual. They hadn’t felt fully sane in. Well. A while.
As though the Phoenix Witch had heard their prayers, a ray gun blast tore through the silence of the desert. A small grin growing on their face, Party swiftly steered the wheel in direction of the commotion.
A louder sound soon followed. Party’s heart skipped a beat. A gunshot. Those weren’t just killjoys fighting off some Dracs. No, they had encountered a higher ranked BL/ind worker, and that could mean trouble. The grin faded from their face. Not all ‘joys were equipped to deal with Crows and others of the sort. This could mean bad news for the ‘joys. They pushed the gas pedal, the sudden acceleration pushing them back against their seat.
As it turned out, the ‘joys were doing just fine on their own. A little too well.
Party’s eyes zeroed in on the white Better Living car stopped next to two very flamboyant cars. There seemed to be about ten ‘joys and one agent. One agent that looked terribly familiar.
Before they knew it, Party was out of the car, ray gun drawn and pointed. Pointed at one of the killjoys.
In their defense, that one killjoy had their own gun pointed at a downed Fun Ghoul, so Party figured it was only fair. If they wanted a shot at getting him back, it would be much preferable for him not to be dead. Again.
“Drop your fucking gun!” Party yelled, distraught.
The killjoy swirled around, her eyes widening in recognition. “Party Poison! Look, I caught—” Her sentence died in her throat when she noticed the ray gun Party had pointed right at her. “Party Poison.”
They forced their expression to drop to a reassuring one, pointing their gun at Ghoul rather than her. Not that they had any intention to shoot, but maybe they had initially slightly overreacted. “You did really good. Truly. But I do need you to not kill him. I promise I’ll explain, I just need you to drop the gun. Mine is locked and loaded, alright? He’s not a danger to you. That’s also a promise.” Their eyes fell on Ghoul. “Besides,” they added, “it’s not you it wants.”
The girl gulped, lowering her neon pink ray gun. She frowned at Party, confused. “You know this guy?”
They couldn’t help the laugh that escaped their lips. “Ha. Yes, you could say that.” They rubbed their temple. What a headache inducing situation. “Could you please go find Kobra at the Zone 2 rink? I’ll take care of him.”
She shot them a dubious look. “Are you going to be alright on your own? We were nine and we only got him out of sheer luck.”
They grinned. “Don’t sell yourself short. You don’t just win against someone like him out of sheer luck. But yes, I’ll be fine however this turns out.”
The girl still didn’t seem convinced, but her crewmates didn’t need to be told twice. They tugged on her sleeve until she reluctantly left with them.
Ghoul scoffed. “I didn’t need you to intervene.”
Party cocked an eyebrow, looking down at the man lying on the warm desert sand. “You sure ‘bout that? ‘Cause she was ready to shoot you dead in the brain, man.”
Ghoul sat back up, brushing sand off of his not-so-pristine-white-anymore uniform. “Did you just come here to keep me from doing my job?”
Party offered him a hand up and back to the land of the standing. “I thought your job was to kill us.”
Ghoul stared at their hand, eyes calculating. “I have many jobs. Yours is more of a long-term situation.” He pushed himself off of the floor, eyes stuck on Party’s still extended hand.
By some miracle, Party managed not to chuckle at Ghoul’s choice of words. ‘Long-term situation’. If only he knew; if only he remembered.
Back on its feet, Ghoul clutched its stomach, groaning. He took a step back, seemingly disoriented. Out of instinct, Party rushed forward to help steady him. They only noticed the awkwardness of the situation until they were inches away from a very spooked Ghoul.
“What are you—” A groan interrupted his question, and he had no choice but to allow Party to help hold him.
Party’s eyes fell to a tear in its shirt, around stomach-level. “Oh, they got you good,” they exclaimed, kind of proud of the young crew of ‘joys. Ghoul would be just fine, he’d lived through much much worse than a ray gun blast to the abdomen—though it seemed it had forgotten all about that sort of pain.
“A kid was hiding in one of the cars,” Ghoul admitted. “Had a pretty good aim.”
The redhead chuckled. They took another look at the bruised agent and sighed, all humour suddenly gone from their voice. Would Ghoul even want their help? Would it even accept it?
“Listen, I know you don’t like him much right now, but Kobes is on his way, and Jet will soon be, too. We can help treat that wound, if you want.”
“Why are you helping me?” Ghoul asked, confusion evident on its face. “Did the hair dye fumes go to your head? I’m trying to kill you.”
“You’re pretty funny, for an emotionless BL/ind agent.”
“I try,” it deadpanned, and Party could almost fool themself into thinking they were speaking to their Ghoul.
Circling back to its initial question, Party cracked a small smile. “I’m helping you for Ghoul’s sake. Whether or not that’s really you. The Ghoul I know would have done the same had one of us been in your situation.”
Ghoul shook its head. “You’re truly convinced him and I are the very same person, aren’t you? Almost makes me feel sad for you. Though I guess you rebels’ bright personalities and wide range of emotions is captivating, if anything.”
Party hummed, looking into the distance. Talking to this Ghoul was… difficult. Of course they felt the disconnect between this version and the one they knew, but their stupid heart was still holding onto the hope that they could get the Ghoul they knew back. The hints of the killjoy they loved lingered here and there, a constant reminder that maybe, just maybe….
A motorcycle’s roar interrupted the silence that had settled between the two of them. Party let out a breath of relief at the sight of Jet and Kobra. As their friends stepped off of the bike, Ghoul forcefully pushed himself away from Party.
At the sight of Ghoul, Kobra’s face morphed from one of concern into one of disgust. “I had a feeling it would be about him,” he mumbled. “When that girl came to get me about you and a BL/ind agent, I figured it would be either him or Korse.”
At the mention of the later, Ghoul perked up. “What about Scarecrow Korse?”
“Ugh, kill me,” Kobra complained. “Ghoul would shoot himself in the head and honestly, I have half a mind to do so as well.”
Jet sighed, walking up to Party and Ghoul. “Korse is a long-term enemy of ours,” she explained. “It seems you are his newest weapon against us.”
Ghoul cocked his head. “Because I look like your friend?
“Sure,” Kobra scoffed. “‘Look.’”
“You shouldn’t let yourselves be influenced by something as superficial.” He gave Party a side look. “Though I guess it works out in my favor.”
Before their brother could escalate the situation, Party cut him off. “Anyway! Did you guys bring a med kit?”
Jet nodded, gesturing at the Trans Am’s hood so Ghoul could sit down. His abnormally pale face regained some color as soon as he was sat down. Was it really that horrible to depend on Party, they bitterly thought? They shook their head, reminding themself that this wasn’t really the Ghoul they knew. It was amazing he had accepted the Fab Four’s help in the first place.
“Oh!” Jet exclaimed as she moved Ghoul’s shirt away from the wound. “You’re not going to like that tomorrow. You should think twice about it the next time you think a ray gun to the stomach is a good idea,” she laughed.
Ghoul narrowed its eyes. “Yes, thank you.”
“There’s admittedly not much we can do about it seeing as it’s an internal wound, but I could apply some lotion, if you’d like?”
He hummed noncommittally. “I suppose it would be appreciated.”
Kobra rolled his eyes. “You know, we really don’t have to spend our very few resources on you if you’re not that convinced.”
“Fine. Fine! Are you always that unpleasant to talk to?”
Party and Jet couldn’t hold back their laughter, which only seemed to aggravate Ghoul and Kobra further. Yeah, alright: if they closed their eyes, Party could almost believe the four of them were normal once more.
Chapter 6: Self-assisted suicide
Notes:
hey so i remembered that this work existed and wrote like 3 chapters in an afternoon?????? sorry about that lmfao
Chapter Text
Jet Star was right: Agent X2-AT046’s stomach oh so terribly hurt. Pressure applied through the agent’s hand wasn’t enough to diminish the feel of the burn the ray gun had left, nor was the pack of ice a fellow employee had given out. X2-AT046 scowled. Yet another shameful and physical reminder of a failed mission. The agent wondered what Scarecrow Korse would have to say at such a display of incompetence.
X2-AT046 had been procrastinating the debrief with Scarecrow Korse. Sure, the older man had made it clear that he didn’t expect the agent to be done with The Mission anytime soon, but Agent X2-AT046 hadn’t exactly explained just how the Better Living industries employee was planning on achieving it. Scarecrow Korse was in the dark so as to the agent’s attempts to grow closer to the Fabulous Four in order to find a crack in their armor.
The agent hadn’t expected the plan to work so well. The Fabulous Four were oddly easy to fool. X2-AT046 had the mysterious Fun Ghoul to thank, it seemed. Their… enamourment for the fourth member of their group was coming handy. It would be useful to know more about him, but doing so in Kobra Kid’s presence often proved to be difficult. The blond would be the hardest one to convince, if the last events said anything.
Jet Star was much more approachable, on the other hand. She seemed to want to put the agent at ease, so she often steered the conversation to places she thought the agent would be comfortable. And it admittedly worked: Agent X2-AT046 felt as though more information could be obtained through her than through her blond friend.
However, she wasn’t as brutally honest as Kobra Kid. To his merit, the angry boy said everything that went through his head, which meant that his true opinions often slipped out of him. Jet Star was careful in her choice of words. Careful to say things she believed fit the agent’s vision of things.
Agent X2-AT046 sighed. That only left the red haired one, but something about Party Poison troubled the agent. Out of the three killjoys, they struggled the most to see Agent X2-AT046 as someone other than their late friend. For someone who by all means ought to be scared, they were all too quick to help the agent. X2-AT046 had not missed the way they had originally pointed their ray gun at the girl killjoy rather than the agent. The Better Living employee couldn’t make sense of their motivation; of them. It would be safer to seek information through their two crewmates.
“Agent X2-AT046 is called to the lobby, Agent X2-AT046.”
The agent’s eyes were drawn to the tiny intercom in the upper corner of the room. What could Better Living industries possibly want to talk about? An uneasiness began to form in the employee’s stomach. And not from the blast to the belly. The previous day’s mission had been… unorthodox, to say the least. The employee hoped Better Living industries wouldn’t be too miffed. While it felt as though The Mission was progressing, it was only a wild guess so as to how higher ups would perceive it.
The walk to the lobby felt endless, and yet it was over in an instant, too.
The employee opened the heavy doors of the lobby to reveal Scarecrow Korse and an unknown woman. Judging by her outfit, she was either on the same rank as the former, or above him. The stomach knots tightened, though the agent had no idea why. This was Better Living industries. They didn’t pose a threat.
“Agent X2-AT046,” Scarecrow Korse greeted. “This is Scarecrow Amirah. Given your injury on the field, we thought it best to postpone your debrief. However, reports have led us to believe you may have been in contact with the Fabulous Four yesterday. Would that be accurate?”
The agent looked down. “It would, yes.”
Scarecrow Amirah cocked her head. “Seeing as your mission is to eradicate the Fabulous Four, would running into them on the field not urge you to report directly to us, agent X2-AT046?”
“My apologies, Scarecrow Amirah.” The agent shot an unsure look at Scarecrow Korse. Had he not spoken to the woman about the longer nature of The Mission? “I was under the impression that I had clearance to take the measures I deemed necessary in order to bring the mission to success. I would be happy to do an extensive report as soon as you see fit.”
She sighed heavily, though the agent was unsure why exactly she seemed so tired. This was the employee’s only mistake in the field, after all. Surely it didn’t warrant such disappointment on her part. “It matters not,” she finally said, and the agent did a double take at her. Did performance in the field really not matter to her?
“If I may—”
“She’s not mad at you,” Scarecrow Korse drawled. “Let’s put it this way: you are a relatively new agent. She thinks the Fabulous Four should be dealt with by someone with more, erm, Better Living experience, you catch me?” He chuckled. “Of course, you don’t really, but that’s not your fault.”
“She should be mad at me,” the agent said, surprised the words had even been spoken. The two Scarecrows seemed just as surprised.
Scarecrow Amirah smiled coldly. “I would say something about speaking out of turn, but I do have to admit you have piqued my interest. How come should I be mad at you, agent?”
“I was saved by Party Poison. The one with the red hair. The Fabulous Four are troubled by my similarity with their dead friend. I believe they harbor a false sense of affection for me because of that. I have been trying to nurture that affection so they let their guard down next to me. I was humbled when I first met them. I won’t be a second time.”
Scarecrow Amirah cast a side glance at Scarecrow Korse. “Ingenious. I wonder where that idea of growing close to the Fabulous Four comes from. How odd that such an authentic Better Living employee would willingly be subject to prolonged exposure to killjoys. I absolutely cannot wait to see how this plan of yours turns out, agent X2-AT046.”
It sounded like a praise, but didn’t quite feel like it. The agent’s uneasiness only grew. Scarecrow Amirah spoke of something an agent like X2-AT046 wasn’t privy to. It seemed, however, Scarecrow Korse knew exactly what she was talking about.
“Agent X2-AT046, please excuse us. Scarecrow Amirah and I have much to talk about. You may spend the rest of your day as you see fit.”
The agent left the room and shut the heavy doors, but decided against leaving. A voice in the back of the Better Living industries employee’s head said it was wrong, but the agent leaned against the heavy wooden doors nonetheless. Clearly, X2-AT046 had said something wrong, but was the plan really that bad? The Fabulous Four’s trust was gained more and more through every encounter. Surely that had to count for something?
“Did you just hear that? Are you sure your pet project can handle spending time with the Fabulous Four of all killjoys? Party Poison saved your little toy, Korse. Do you really think your little experimentation will be keen on killing them after that?”
“Party Poison saved Fun Ghoul,” Scarecrow Korse corrected. “But Fun Ghoul is gone. I made sure of that, trust me.”
Scarecrow Amirah cackled, but there was no hint of warmth in her voice. “Please. You’re just as delusional as those killjoys you’re obsessed with. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when this blows up in your face.”
The agent fought back a wave of nausea. A weird, hot feeling spread through X2-AT046’s body. Anger? But that couldn’t be: Better Living industries training had made it so the agent knew better than getting mad over something so stupid as desert rebels.
Agent X2-AT046 would show them. Better Living industries wanted the Fabulous Four dead? Agent X2-AT046 would show them. Failure wouldn’t be tolerated. Not by Better Living industries, not by the agent.
*
The agent had been roaming the desert for hours. For infamous leaders of the rebellion or whatever the rebels called them, the Fabulous Four were oddly hard to find.
The heavy winds were making the radioactive desert harder to navigate than usual, but Agent X2-AT046 wouldn’t back down. Scarecrow Korse had said to spend the day however seen fit. The agent saw it fit to terminate the Fabulous Four and prove the employee’s loyalty to Better Living industries. Even if doing so meant dying in this insidious desert.
Not many killjoys were brave, stupid or strong enough to travel in this weather, but Agent X2-AT046 soon found a group of rebels. The three of them seemed inexperienced, and X2-AT046 almost felt bad for pointing the shiny Better Living industries pistol at who looked the oldest out of the batch. Who admittedly wasn’t all that old.
“Where are the Fabulous Four?” the agent tiredly asked. The day had been long, and precious time had already been lost to the sandstorm.
The oldest kid only stared at the gun, shell shocked. His wide eyes were empty of any rational thoughts, fear the only thing showing on his face.
X2-AT046 sighed, exhausted. “I’m not fucking shooting you. You’re what, twelve? What harm can you realistically cause Better Living industries?”
Out of misplaced confidence, the small boy crossed his arms. “I won’t betray my fellow killjoys, BL/ind scum!” To punctuate his statement, he spat on Agent X2-AT046’s shoe.
The agent looked down at the soiled shoe in disgust. “There was no need for that.”
“Just tell the man where they are!” one of the boy’s crewmated yelled. Her desperation sounded familiar. Agent X2-AT046 had heard it in the Fabulous Four’s voice when they spoke. Care, affection, love. How deeply burdening.
Agent X2-AT046 smiled coolly. “That’s where you're mistaken, dear. I am not a man. I am merely a devoted Better Living industries employee. And I lied: I will shoot if you don’t start talking.”
“Party Poison was seen on Route Guano!” the third killjoy yelped. The boy held at gunpoint shot her a smoldering look, but she only glared at him. “You were going to die!”
“And now Party Poison might,” the boy retorted.
“Oh, please! Like a stupid BL/ind agent could get to them.”
The kids continued to argue, but Agent X2-AT046 had heard all that was necessary. Headed for route Guano, the employee disappeared into a cloud of sand.
It was interesting how human connection affected the desert population, the agent pondered as yet another killjoy sold out the Fabulous Four for a member of their crew. It made them weak; naive; selfish. It wasn’t death that scared them, but rather the death of a loved one. A few had even offered to die in their friend’s place when the agent brought out the gun. Yes, it truly was selfish to be willing to die and let the other bear the pain of loss.
Since the ‘shoot until a killjoy betrays Party Poison’ technique seemed to be working, X2-AT046 decided to keep using. The agent had their gun drawn on some random killjoy when her eyes widened in recognition.
“Hey, aren’t you that guy everyone’s talking about? That died and came back? Fun Ghoul?”
In a fit of rage, X2-AT046 used the back of the pistol to knock her out cold. She’d been fine, the agent just needed her to not talk about him. Fun Ghoul. He seemed to be the cause of all the problems in the agent’s life. Fun Ghoul was haunting every single aspect of Agent X2-AT046’s life and the two had never even met.
“Ghoul!” That name again. Agent X2-AT046 glared at the newcomer, only to come face to face with none other than Party fucking Poison. With no hesitation, the agent’s gun found its way to their forehead. Party Poison’s eyes widened in what almost looked like fear. A dull sense of accomplishment bloomed in the agent’s gut. Finally. Finally, the redhead was looking at the agent without that sad, kicked puppy look. Or worse, without that weird smile like they knew something Agent X2-AT046 didn’t.
Party Poison shook their head violently. “You want to know more about Ghoul, right?” Party Poison asked, urgency shining in their eyes.
Agent X2-AT046 tightened the hold on the gun before nodding.
Something immediately softened in the red head’s expression. They lowered their ray gun. Dropped it. With their now free hands, they made a move for the agent’s. For some unbeknownst reason, X2-AT046 let them. The Better Living industries issued gun fell to the ground in a silenced thud. “Alright. Alright. Then come to the junkyard out in Zone Four tomorrow at 7 pm. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. And I won’t bring a gun. I won’t bring any weapons. You can kill me then if you want. Just… I know you call bullshit on what we’ve been saying. One last chance is all I’m asking for. Deal?”
The agent looked down at the gun. Party Poison was so close… The agent glanced back at the gun. A simple crouch and the killjoy was done for. “Never took you for a quitter. You’ve got yourself a deal, if you’re that eager to die.”
One day. Agent X2-AT046 could wait one day.
One day until Fun Ghoul was gone and buried, and Agent X2-AT046 reborn.