Fic: Turn Up the Fakes and Lies
Title: Turn Up the Fakes and Lies
Author:iron_fist123 andvinvy
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R (for language)
Word Count: 3036
Summary: "There were exterminators crawlin' out of the dirt, I swear! There's gonna be some serious dust fallin' if we don't split now!"
Warnings: Profanity, "interruptions", Violence, Show Pony ('nough said,) blood.
Disclaimer: Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or using heavy equipment. (Yes we know you love it but still, no computers in the car). Oh, by the way, We dont own MCR, the Killjoys or anything else but the plot.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to those who are reading and continue to leave us beautiful words of praise. We wouldn't be here still without you.
iron_fist123 really, really loves this chapter and she hopes you will too.
Also, the formatting is continually being fucked up, so I apologize in advance for the weirdness.
Act 1
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Act 2
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
(Scene 3)
Act 3
(Scene 1)
Frank stepped out of the bathroom still scrubbing the water out of his hair with a threadbare towel. His inner clean freak had hated going downstairs before a shower and now he felt right, even if he was still stuck in a dusty pair of jeans without a clean shirt.
The room he’d been sleeping in smelled of nicotine. He caught the scent before he reached the door. Party Poison sat cross legged on his bed, smoking. “You take longer showers than Kobra’s girl- did you know that?”
“He’s got a girl?”
“Yup- she’s stayin’ safe in a Fuck You House out in 6, which isn’t like her. It’s my personal theory that those two will be having a little dust angel of their own soon. Which means I’m gonna be an uncle... Not sure what to think about that.” He took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. “I brought you back some of your old clothes, by the way. Find a backpack for ‘em or something. They’re gonna get in the way or get stolen.”
He made a noncommittal sound and sat beside the red head. “You know smoking kills people.”
Poison shaped his mouth into a wide “o” and blew a couple of smoke rings before answering. “So does spying for the infamous Fabulous Killjoys.”
“Touche. Give me that.” He reached for the cigarette but Poison held his hand away.
“No way, these things’ll kill ya.”
They fought over the cigarette for a few minutes, neither of them really trying to win, before it was relinquished with a laugh. Frank inhaled the smoke slowly, careful not to burn his throat.
“I think the last four years of my life or so have been one long, ugly nic fit,” he concluded, exhaling.
“Oh really? What makes you say that?”
“When I started working for BLI they made me quit and it was fine for a while but... I used to smoke when I got bored. See, if I hadn’t stopped smoking I’d have simply lit up instead of wandering out into the desert that one day and getting into all of this.”
“Ah, so it shouldn’t be “smoking kills”- it should be “not smoking creates killjoys”. The idiots who run BLI think they’re keeping people safe and happy when they’re really only adding to the resistance with their health regulations.”
“You’re blowing it a bit out of proportion there. Just because I’ve got issues with being under-stimulated doesn’t mean everyone does.”
“Speaking of BLI,” Poison gestured towards Frank’s bare chest, “How’d you manage to work there with so much ink?”
“Easy- long sleeved shirts and liberal amounts of cover-up.”
“That had to be time consuming.”
“And disgusting. It was like wearing a second layer of skin on my hands and neck. It’s really a relief not to have to bother with it every day any more.”
“I’m sure it is.” Poison ground out the cigarette on the foot-board.
“I have a question.”
“I’m all ears.”
He took a deep breath. “Why… did you kiss me last night?”
“Oh, is that all? It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“That’s what I said.”
“What about now?”
Poison’s hazel eyes turned introspective as he looked at Frank. He could tell the other man was genuinely thinking the question over so he could give a truthful reply. He appreciated honesty, he really did, but an instant answer- whether it was what he wanted to hear or not- would have been much easier on his nerves.
“Right now, I think it’s a very good idea, Frank.”
Frank’s breath hitched as Poison leaned forward and cupped his face gently in both hands.
“Stop being such a girl,” the red head smirked.
“Fuck off. Do you want to make out or not?”
Poison’s expression grew serious and he leaned forward, breath heavy with coffee and smoke. “Have you ever kissed someone like that before, Frank? Something tells me you haven’t.”
Frank swallowed heavily as Poison’s eyes glazed over. “So what if I haven’t? Does that make any difference?”
“All the difference in the world, Frankie,” Poison replied, lips brushing his. (Frank liked the way he said “Frankie”- it was low with affection and want, nothing close to the whiny way others used it.) “See, you have to start slow. Then, after the person gets comfortable, you start to ask for more.” Poison deepened the kiss ever so slightly, increasing the pressure on Frank’s lips. Frank moved his hands out of the way, resting them on Poison’s hips.
Poison pulled away slightly, brushing his fingertips along Frank‘s jaw line. “Are you comfortable, Frank?”
He nodded, licking his lips.
“This is when you ask for more.”
Their lips were together again, Poison working his mouth against Frank’s hungrily. The red head’s tongue was pushing against Frank’s closed lips and Frank granted hesitant access. He’d never kissed anyone like this before and suddenly he was very glad that Poison was the first. His hands found their way into Poison’s surprisingly clean hair, fingers threading through the locks, careful not to pull. Their tongues locked together, both fighting for dominance that wouldn’t be had. Poison pressed a hand against Frank’s chest, pushing him back on the bed.
“Gerard…” The word slipped out and Frank was momentarily terrified of the reaction he would get.
Poison simply smiled, kissing him with renewed fervor. A thigh slid between his legs, causing a choked groan to escape his throat. Poison’s lips left his own, trailing kisses down his jaw. His teeth sank gently into Frank’s neck, then his tongue lapped at the sore spot, eliciting another choked, “Gerard…”
A hand trailed up his bare side gently, dull nails scraping back down and causing a violent shudder to rack his body.
“God…”
Poison looked up at him, a mischievous look in his eyes. “No. Just me.”
The door flew open suddenly, slamming into the wall with a bang.
A blur of blue and white shot into the room. “Oh my God Frankie!”
Frank jerked back, slamming his head against the headboard. “Shitfuck!” I hate how he says my name! Show Pony you Fuckin’ buzzkill!
“ I was out in 3 pickin’ up some batteries and sharpsticks for you motor goblins and everything went costa rica like nothin’! There were exterminators crawling out of the dirt, I swear. There’s gonna be some serious dust fallin’ if we don’t split now!” Show Pony’s expression of urgency melted into a puddle on the floor and he rolled forward a little on his skates. His sad excuse for a shirt fell off one shoulder. His brain had finally caught up to what his eyes were seeing.
Poison pushed himself up off the bed and stood in front of the messenger, daring him to mention it. “What’s your mouth hangin’ open for Pony, huh? You makin’ an offer?” He tossed Frank a shirt. “Get up, Fun Ghoul- we are out of here.”
A crash from downstairs jerked Show Pony out of his shocked state and he wheeled out of the room, shouting for the others and drawing his flasher.
Frank stuffed his feet into his boots as fast as he could, his hands shaking as he pulled up the zipper. His brain chemistry was not equipped for these sudden changes in objective. Now that the distraction was gone he wanted nothing more than to crawl back onto the bed and take Poison with him.
“Well, this would be a really bad time to for you to say “no” but: you have fired a flasher before, right?” Poison had his huge blue Mousekat helmet under his arm and Frank wondered where he’d been keeping it.
“I’ve fired shot guns- the real kind with buckshot and some serious clavicle-breaking recoil. I prefer those and rifles, actually, but handguns are just fine.” Having said that he tugged on his Frankenstein mask. The bemused expression on Poison’s face made him feel good- the Killjoy hadn’t been expecting him to know what he was doing.
“Okay,” his voice was muffled under the helmet, “A flasher is similar to a pistol but with less recoil and they get hot. Very hot. Kobra hasn’t perfected the cooling systems yet and these models are a little out of date.”
He was already sweating by the time he got downstairs. Latex was awesome but it did not breathe well. He moved to front door immediately, checking out the clouds of dust that were being stirred up. They were in cars this time, not on motorcycles, which meant that there where at least four times as many Dracs. And Korse. Korse was most definitely with them- the feeling in his gut gave him no reason to doubt that.
Frank turned to face Kobra, who was standing beside him, staring blankly at the fast-approaching dust clouds.
“We’re not gonna make it out in time,” the man said. “D and Pony will, they‘re good at this packing and running shit. But they make a habit of ditching us so we’re gonna have to fight. I just wanted you to know- I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.”
It was a surprising change in attitude and Frank could only nod. Kobra clapped him on the shoulder and turned away, moving to help D pack up the last bit of his broadcasting equipment, tugging on his helmet as he went. Suddenly the layer of latex over his face felt
inadequate for anything more than obscuring his identity .
A few minutes later, D and Pony were gone, just like Kobra had predicted and they were hurrying out to the Trans Am, Jet carrying a whimpering Grace in his arms. Poison opened the trunk, throwing bags into it haphazardly and muttering off their contents to himself.
“Shit.” Frank heard Kobra spit behind him. He turned to where the man was staring and bit his lip.
Korse stood just a few yards away, flanked by three Dracs pointing flashers in their direction.
“Well, well, look what we have here,” Korse’s gravelly voice was flecked with amusement.
A door slammed and Frank jumped, glancing over to see Jet locked away with Grace in the Trans Am. He looked over at Poison, who had turned toward the bald man.
“I told you to keep running, Gerard, you remember that, don’t you?”
It pissed Frank off to hear him use Poison’s real name. It was wrong on his thin lips- he said it with too much... was that?... affection? It made Frank sick to hear. He wanted rip the teeth and tongue out of his head so he couldn’t ever say it like that again.
Poison’s back tensed, his coming out voice flat underneath his helmet. “’Keep running and your luck won’t run out,’” he recited, “Yeah. I remember.”
“It looks like you’ve stopped running. I’m afraid your luck has run out.”
Simultaneously the Killjoys (Frank could think of himself as one of them now, as he was staring death in the face) primed their flashers. The rest of the Draculoids had pulled into a semi circle around them, effectively pinning them to the side of the house right by the breaker box and generator that provided the electricity.
“Now I’d think a bit more before you do that, boys,” Korse began, “you’re rather outnumbered. Gerard, since you seem to be in charge I trust you to talk and to listen to sense- we only want three things from you. First we will apprehend you nasty little Killjoys and bring you to justice. Then we’re going to take these poor innocent citizens you’re holding hostage and return them to their families. Well, that’s what the papers are going to say. Would you like to know what’s really going to happen?
“We’re going to kill you,” he said with a toothy smile, “your baby brother and that dumbshit janitor hiding in the car. Grace- the resilient little beauty that she is- will go back to the Better Living Research and Development Facility, where she belongs. Little Frank will come with me because there is a conversation that needs to take place between he and I, a very important one. You see, Frank, your boss is not happy with you right now- she’s spitting mad, actually- but she is merciful. She wants to hear your story and if she likes what she hears you might just get a second chance. She might even let me recruit you- we are in serious need of more Draculoid units.”
“Is that what you think is gonna happen?”
“I’d bet my life on it, actually.”
“You cocky fucker,” he scoffed, “You should know better than to bet on what we can and can’t do.”
The power generator beside the house exploded. Beside Frank, Kobra’s arm was still extended- he must’ve added a silencer to his flasher because Frank never heard it prime or fire. The explosion was blinding and sent shrapnel flying along with a few Dracs. He barely had time to cover his head as he was knocked to the ground.
He raised his flasher and pumped off a few shots in front of him, narrowly missing Poison’s head but taking out a Drac and singeing Korse’s shoulder. That felt fuckin’ good to do. Poison and Kobra were doing the same, the red head fumbling to get the Trans Am’s door open while the blonde covered him. Inside it Jet Star had Grace shoved down into the floorboards and was struggling with some piece of equipment. Frank crouched behind the rear wheel of the vehicle, exchanging laser shots with the Dracs opposite.
His body count was around five. The flasher was hot in his hand- the stench of burning skin mixed with that of wood. The house was on fire. The smoke in the air tasted metallic and stung his windpipe.
Something made the car shake and Frank realized that he couldn’t hear anything. Poison was behind him, shoving him into the back seat. Jet Star stood beside him, half out of the car with a grenade launcher propped on his shoulder.
That thing must have some bitchin’ recoil…
The car was speeding away, almost spinning out in the dirt. Poison looked frantic as he shifted gears as fast as he could without popping the clutch. The recoil of the launcher shook Jet again. Behind them several pieces of minced Drac and desert rock spewed into the air. Grace was huddled by Frank’s leg in the fetal position, her hands over her ears.
After a few seconds more the windows were up and Jet star was dismantling the launcher.
Kobra dug through a duffel bag in the front seat. His helmet was discarded and his mouth moved a mile a minute. He was probably cussing hard enough to make a sailor blush. Frank couldn’t tell.
A hand touched his shoulder. He turned. Jet Star’s lips worked slowly: Can you hear me?
“Not really,” he said in what he hoped was a low voice. It’d suck if he were really screaming. His ears must have had bullets glued into them or something- he could hardly hear anything. The sounds that did reach him were slurred together and garbled. His brainbox was getting some seriously poor reception.
Frank swallowed a few times, his eardrums popping from the release of pressure. The first real sound he heard was the roar of the engine that was carrying them away from the
scene of the fight. Then there were words.
“I’m really scared-”
“-found it-”
“-hurry the fuck-”
“-sh, Grace, its over-”
“- your damn shirt off-”
“- bleedin’ all over the leather-”
“Ghoul, can you hear me?”
“- I need to steer, dumbass-”
“- they’re gonna take me-”
“- no-”
“- off now-”
“- a lullaby-”
“- damn it I’m trying to-”
“- hush, little baby don’t say a word-”
“- I said, “now”!-”
“Uh, yeah, I can,” he said when his vocal chords finally caught up to his brain. His own voice sounded far off. Something kept getting in his eyes and making it hard to see.
In the front seat Kobra steadied the steering wheel with one hand while Poison stripped off his shirt with a snarl. It landed in Frank’s lap. It was blood soaked. Not letting go of the wheel, Kobra untwisted the cap from a clear bottle with his teeth and poured its contents over Poison’s bleeding stomach and chest. It was vodka. The red head howled when the alcohol soaked into his skin, his foot punching down on the gas pedal.
“I fucking hate you Mikey!”
“It needed to be disinfected. Jet, will you see about picking all the bits out when we find a stopping place?”
He looked up from where he was humming nursery rhymes in Grace’s ear. “Yeah. Bandage it if you can. Party, I’m sorry, but its gonna hurt like fuck when he does that.”
Poison returned his violently shaking hands to the wheel. “Whatever.”
Grace let out a strangled sob and Jet Star was focused back on her. Kobra rummaged for something to use as a bandage. Poison’s face was a sour shade of yellow and sweat was dripping down his brow.
Frank wanted to do something to comfort Gerard- put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. Some stupid shit like that. His hands wouldn’t cooperate though. Every movement he tried to make was clumsy and off target. It took some effort but he managed to get his mask off. He touched the side of his head. His hand came back bloody. Oh, that wasn’t good.
His Killjoy had given up steering, leaving Kobra in the awkward position of keeping them from spinning out and bandaging up his brother at the same time. At least they were in the desert- they wouldn’t hit anything too damaging. Gerard’s shaking hand dropped to the gap between the driver’s and passenger’s seats where a cup holder ought to have been. It convulsed there as Kobra worked on stopping the blood flow. Frank was pretty sure someone was still talking. He couldn’t focus, though. His vision was blurry and he was very sleepy.
He reached for Gerard’s hand.
Author:iron_fist123 andvinvy
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R (for language)
Word Count: 3036
Summary: "There were exterminators crawlin' out of the dirt, I swear! There's gonna be some serious dust fallin' if we don't split now!"
Warnings: Profanity, "interruptions", Violence, Show Pony ('nough said,) blood.
Disclaimer: Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or using heavy equipment. (Yes we know you love it but still, no computers in the car). Oh, by the way, We dont own MCR, the Killjoys or anything else but the plot.
Author's Notes: Thank you so much to those who are reading and continue to leave us beautiful words of praise. We wouldn't be here still without you.
iron_fist123 really, really loves this chapter and she hopes you will too.
Also, the formatting is continually being fucked up, so I apologize in advance for the weirdness.
Act 1
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Act 2
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
(Scene 3)
Act 3
(Scene 1)
Frank stepped out of the bathroom still scrubbing the water out of his hair with a threadbare towel. His inner clean freak had hated going downstairs before a shower and now he felt right, even if he was still stuck in a dusty pair of jeans without a clean shirt.
The room he’d been sleeping in smelled of nicotine. He caught the scent before he reached the door. Party Poison sat cross legged on his bed, smoking. “You take longer showers than Kobra’s girl- did you know that?”
“He’s got a girl?”
“Yup- she’s stayin’ safe in a Fuck You House out in 6, which isn’t like her. It’s my personal theory that those two will be having a little dust angel of their own soon. Which means I’m gonna be an uncle... Not sure what to think about that.” He took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette. “I brought you back some of your old clothes, by the way. Find a backpack for ‘em or something. They’re gonna get in the way or get stolen.”
He made a noncommittal sound and sat beside the red head. “You know smoking kills people.”
Poison shaped his mouth into a wide “o” and blew a couple of smoke rings before answering. “So does spying for the infamous Fabulous Killjoys.”
“Touche. Give me that.” He reached for the cigarette but Poison held his hand away.
“No way, these things’ll kill ya.”
They fought over the cigarette for a few minutes, neither of them really trying to win, before it was relinquished with a laugh. Frank inhaled the smoke slowly, careful not to burn his throat.
“I think the last four years of my life or so have been one long, ugly nic fit,” he concluded, exhaling.
“Oh really? What makes you say that?”
“When I started working for BLI they made me quit and it was fine for a while but... I used to smoke when I got bored. See, if I hadn’t stopped smoking I’d have simply lit up instead of wandering out into the desert that one day and getting into all of this.”
“Ah, so it shouldn’t be “smoking kills”- it should be “not smoking creates killjoys”. The idiots who run BLI think they’re keeping people safe and happy when they’re really only adding to the resistance with their health regulations.”
“You’re blowing it a bit out of proportion there. Just because I’ve got issues with being under-stimulated doesn’t mean everyone does.”
“Speaking of BLI,” Poison gestured towards Frank’s bare chest, “How’d you manage to work there with so much ink?”
“Easy- long sleeved shirts and liberal amounts of cover-up.”
“That had to be time consuming.”
“And disgusting. It was like wearing a second layer of skin on my hands and neck. It’s really a relief not to have to bother with it every day any more.”
“I’m sure it is.” Poison ground out the cigarette on the foot-board.
“I have a question.”
“I’m all ears.”
He took a deep breath. “Why… did you kiss me last night?”
“Oh, is that all? It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“That’s what I said.”
“What about now?”
Poison’s hazel eyes turned introspective as he looked at Frank. He could tell the other man was genuinely thinking the question over so he could give a truthful reply. He appreciated honesty, he really did, but an instant answer- whether it was what he wanted to hear or not- would have been much easier on his nerves.
“Right now, I think it’s a very good idea, Frank.”
Frank’s breath hitched as Poison leaned forward and cupped his face gently in both hands.
“Stop being such a girl,” the red head smirked.
“Fuck off. Do you want to make out or not?”
Poison’s expression grew serious and he leaned forward, breath heavy with coffee and smoke. “Have you ever kissed someone like that before, Frank? Something tells me you haven’t.”
Frank swallowed heavily as Poison’s eyes glazed over. “So what if I haven’t? Does that make any difference?”
“All the difference in the world, Frankie,” Poison replied, lips brushing his. (Frank liked the way he said “Frankie”- it was low with affection and want, nothing close to the whiny way others used it.) “See, you have to start slow. Then, after the person gets comfortable, you start to ask for more.” Poison deepened the kiss ever so slightly, increasing the pressure on Frank’s lips. Frank moved his hands out of the way, resting them on Poison’s hips.
Poison pulled away slightly, brushing his fingertips along Frank‘s jaw line. “Are you comfortable, Frank?”
He nodded, licking his lips.
“This is when you ask for more.”
Their lips were together again, Poison working his mouth against Frank’s hungrily. The red head’s tongue was pushing against Frank’s closed lips and Frank granted hesitant access. He’d never kissed anyone like this before and suddenly he was very glad that Poison was the first. His hands found their way into Poison’s surprisingly clean hair, fingers threading through the locks, careful not to pull. Their tongues locked together, both fighting for dominance that wouldn’t be had. Poison pressed a hand against Frank’s chest, pushing him back on the bed.
“Gerard…” The word slipped out and Frank was momentarily terrified of the reaction he would get.
Poison simply smiled, kissing him with renewed fervor. A thigh slid between his legs, causing a choked groan to escape his throat. Poison’s lips left his own, trailing kisses down his jaw. His teeth sank gently into Frank’s neck, then his tongue lapped at the sore spot, eliciting another choked, “Gerard…”
A hand trailed up his bare side gently, dull nails scraping back down and causing a violent shudder to rack his body.
“God…”
Poison looked up at him, a mischievous look in his eyes. “No. Just me.”
The door flew open suddenly, slamming into the wall with a bang.
A blur of blue and white shot into the room. “Oh my God Frankie!”
Frank jerked back, slamming his head against the headboard. “Shitfuck!” I hate how he says my name! Show Pony you Fuckin’ buzzkill!
“ I was out in 3 pickin’ up some batteries and sharpsticks for you motor goblins and everything went costa rica like nothin’! There were exterminators crawling out of the dirt, I swear. There’s gonna be some serious dust fallin’ if we don’t split now!” Show Pony’s expression of urgency melted into a puddle on the floor and he rolled forward a little on his skates. His sad excuse for a shirt fell off one shoulder. His brain had finally caught up to what his eyes were seeing.
Poison pushed himself up off the bed and stood in front of the messenger, daring him to mention it. “What’s your mouth hangin’ open for Pony, huh? You makin’ an offer?” He tossed Frank a shirt. “Get up, Fun Ghoul- we are out of here.”
A crash from downstairs jerked Show Pony out of his shocked state and he wheeled out of the room, shouting for the others and drawing his flasher.
Frank stuffed his feet into his boots as fast as he could, his hands shaking as he pulled up the zipper. His brain chemistry was not equipped for these sudden changes in objective. Now that the distraction was gone he wanted nothing more than to crawl back onto the bed and take Poison with him.
“Well, this would be a really bad time to for you to say “no” but: you have fired a flasher before, right?” Poison had his huge blue Mousekat helmet under his arm and Frank wondered where he’d been keeping it.
“I’ve fired shot guns- the real kind with buckshot and some serious clavicle-breaking recoil. I prefer those and rifles, actually, but handguns are just fine.” Having said that he tugged on his Frankenstein mask. The bemused expression on Poison’s face made him feel good- the Killjoy hadn’t been expecting him to know what he was doing.
“Okay,” his voice was muffled under the helmet, “A flasher is similar to a pistol but with less recoil and they get hot. Very hot. Kobra hasn’t perfected the cooling systems yet and these models are a little out of date.”
He was already sweating by the time he got downstairs. Latex was awesome but it did not breathe well. He moved to front door immediately, checking out the clouds of dust that were being stirred up. They were in cars this time, not on motorcycles, which meant that there where at least four times as many Dracs. And Korse. Korse was most definitely with them- the feeling in his gut gave him no reason to doubt that.
Frank turned to face Kobra, who was standing beside him, staring blankly at the fast-approaching dust clouds.
“We’re not gonna make it out in time,” the man said. “D and Pony will, they‘re good at this packing and running shit. But they make a habit of ditching us so we’re gonna have to fight. I just wanted you to know- I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.”
It was a surprising change in attitude and Frank could only nod. Kobra clapped him on the shoulder and turned away, moving to help D pack up the last bit of his broadcasting equipment, tugging on his helmet as he went. Suddenly the layer of latex over his face felt
inadequate for anything more than obscuring his identity .
A few minutes later, D and Pony were gone, just like Kobra had predicted and they were hurrying out to the Trans Am, Jet carrying a whimpering Grace in his arms. Poison opened the trunk, throwing bags into it haphazardly and muttering off their contents to himself.
“Shit.” Frank heard Kobra spit behind him. He turned to where the man was staring and bit his lip.
Korse stood just a few yards away, flanked by three Dracs pointing flashers in their direction.
“Well, well, look what we have here,” Korse’s gravelly voice was flecked with amusement.
A door slammed and Frank jumped, glancing over to see Jet locked away with Grace in the Trans Am. He looked over at Poison, who had turned toward the bald man.
“I told you to keep running, Gerard, you remember that, don’t you?”
It pissed Frank off to hear him use Poison’s real name. It was wrong on his thin lips- he said it with too much... was that?... affection? It made Frank sick to hear. He wanted rip the teeth and tongue out of his head so he couldn’t ever say it like that again.
Poison’s back tensed, his coming out voice flat underneath his helmet. “’Keep running and your luck won’t run out,’” he recited, “Yeah. I remember.”
“It looks like you’ve stopped running. I’m afraid your luck has run out.”
Simultaneously the Killjoys (Frank could think of himself as one of them now, as he was staring death in the face) primed their flashers. The rest of the Draculoids had pulled into a semi circle around them, effectively pinning them to the side of the house right by the breaker box and generator that provided the electricity.
“Now I’d think a bit more before you do that, boys,” Korse began, “you’re rather outnumbered. Gerard, since you seem to be in charge I trust you to talk and to listen to sense- we only want three things from you. First we will apprehend you nasty little Killjoys and bring you to justice. Then we’re going to take these poor innocent citizens you’re holding hostage and return them to their families. Well, that’s what the papers are going to say. Would you like to know what’s really going to happen?
“We’re going to kill you,” he said with a toothy smile, “your baby brother and that dumbshit janitor hiding in the car. Grace- the resilient little beauty that she is- will go back to the Better Living Research and Development Facility, where she belongs. Little Frank will come with me because there is a conversation that needs to take place between he and I, a very important one. You see, Frank, your boss is not happy with you right now- she’s spitting mad, actually- but she is merciful. She wants to hear your story and if she likes what she hears you might just get a second chance. She might even let me recruit you- we are in serious need of more Draculoid units.”
“Is that what you think is gonna happen?”
“I’d bet my life on it, actually.”
“You cocky fucker,” he scoffed, “You should know better than to bet on what we can and can’t do.”
The power generator beside the house exploded. Beside Frank, Kobra’s arm was still extended- he must’ve added a silencer to his flasher because Frank never heard it prime or fire. The explosion was blinding and sent shrapnel flying along with a few Dracs. He barely had time to cover his head as he was knocked to the ground.
He raised his flasher and pumped off a few shots in front of him, narrowly missing Poison’s head but taking out a Drac and singeing Korse’s shoulder. That felt fuckin’ good to do. Poison and Kobra were doing the same, the red head fumbling to get the Trans Am’s door open while the blonde covered him. Inside it Jet Star had Grace shoved down into the floorboards and was struggling with some piece of equipment. Frank crouched behind the rear wheel of the vehicle, exchanging laser shots with the Dracs opposite.
His body count was around five. The flasher was hot in his hand- the stench of burning skin mixed with that of wood. The house was on fire. The smoke in the air tasted metallic and stung his windpipe.
Something made the car shake and Frank realized that he couldn’t hear anything. Poison was behind him, shoving him into the back seat. Jet Star stood beside him, half out of the car with a grenade launcher propped on his shoulder.
That thing must have some bitchin’ recoil…
The car was speeding away, almost spinning out in the dirt. Poison looked frantic as he shifted gears as fast as he could without popping the clutch. The recoil of the launcher shook Jet again. Behind them several pieces of minced Drac and desert rock spewed into the air. Grace was huddled by Frank’s leg in the fetal position, her hands over her ears.
After a few seconds more the windows were up and Jet star was dismantling the launcher.
Kobra dug through a duffel bag in the front seat. His helmet was discarded and his mouth moved a mile a minute. He was probably cussing hard enough to make a sailor blush. Frank couldn’t tell.
A hand touched his shoulder. He turned. Jet Star’s lips worked slowly: Can you hear me?
“Not really,” he said in what he hoped was a low voice. It’d suck if he were really screaming. His ears must have had bullets glued into them or something- he could hardly hear anything. The sounds that did reach him were slurred together and garbled. His brainbox was getting some seriously poor reception.
Frank swallowed a few times, his eardrums popping from the release of pressure. The first real sound he heard was the roar of the engine that was carrying them away from the
scene of the fight. Then there were words.
“I’m really scared-”
“-found it-”
“-hurry the fuck-”
“-sh, Grace, its over-”
“- your damn shirt off-”
“- bleedin’ all over the leather-”
“Ghoul, can you hear me?”
“- I need to steer, dumbass-”
“- they’re gonna take me-”
“- no-”
“- off now-”
“- a lullaby-”
“- damn it I’m trying to-”
“- hush, little baby don’t say a word-”
“- I said, “now”!-”
“Uh, yeah, I can,” he said when his vocal chords finally caught up to his brain. His own voice sounded far off. Something kept getting in his eyes and making it hard to see.
In the front seat Kobra steadied the steering wheel with one hand while Poison stripped off his shirt with a snarl. It landed in Frank’s lap. It was blood soaked. Not letting go of the wheel, Kobra untwisted the cap from a clear bottle with his teeth and poured its contents over Poison’s bleeding stomach and chest. It was vodka. The red head howled when the alcohol soaked into his skin, his foot punching down on the gas pedal.
“I fucking hate you Mikey!”
“It needed to be disinfected. Jet, will you see about picking all the bits out when we find a stopping place?”
He looked up from where he was humming nursery rhymes in Grace’s ear. “Yeah. Bandage it if you can. Party, I’m sorry, but its gonna hurt like fuck when he does that.”
Poison returned his violently shaking hands to the wheel. “Whatever.”
Grace let out a strangled sob and Jet Star was focused back on her. Kobra rummaged for something to use as a bandage. Poison’s face was a sour shade of yellow and sweat was dripping down his brow.
Frank wanted to do something to comfort Gerard- put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. Some stupid shit like that. His hands wouldn’t cooperate though. Every movement he tried to make was clumsy and off target. It took some effort but he managed to get his mask off. He touched the side of his head. His hand came back bloody. Oh, that wasn’t good.
His Killjoy had given up steering, leaving Kobra in the awkward position of keeping them from spinning out and bandaging up his brother at the same time. At least they were in the desert- they wouldn’t hit anything too damaging. Gerard’s shaking hand dropped to the gap between the driver’s and passenger’s seats where a cup holder ought to have been. It convulsed there as Kobra worked on stopping the blood flow. Frank was pretty sure someone was still talking. He couldn’t focus, though. His vision was blurry and he was very sleepy.
He reached for Gerard’s hand.