Heaven above, this had been a long day of driving. With one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel of her sunset yellow convertible 69' Chevelle, Harley Raygun lit a cigarette and look a long pull, holding it in her lungs for a couple seconds before blowing the smoke from her lungs. She was on her way back to a podunk settlement to turn in a headhunting mission. It hadn't been fun; taking a day longer than the anticipated two, hunting down a hermit in a neighboring zone, but she had beheaded the poor bastard as requested from her 'employer' and was on route to getting the rotting, smelly head out of her back seat. She thanked whatever gods or angels that flew above her that she had extra car seats back at her place; the old storage hangar-made-cozy home.
After another half hour of long,straight highway, the silence could no longer be tolerated, and she flicked a switch on her cracked black leather dashboard to turn on the radio, turning a dial to immediately escape the static coming through the speakers. It had been on 109 before, but her trusty steed enjoyed changing her radio channel when she wasn't driving him. Steed was the name she chose for the vehicle, deciding it was a clever and epic name for a trusty car that never broke down on her.
Finding her zen channel, Harley couldn't help but smirk with Dr. Death came through her speakers, announcing whatever pickle the infamous Killjoys had gotten themselves into; today it was a near dusting out on a route she rarely visited due to numerous Draculoid run-ins. She had always been a magnet for trouble, and recently shook her freelancing reputation from her shoulders by going into unofficial hiding. She still worked occasionally, but usually spent her time driving, looking for 'damsels in distress' or D.I.D.s. They were a good source of quick money, and no one needed your name. Harley favored never giving her codename away to anyone unless it was a matter that involved a charged ray gun aimed at your left eye. She had recently lost a stripe of hair above her left ear due to a near fatal high caliber blast. She had been lucky and fast enough to flinch out of the way when the Drac sneezed and squeezed the trigger as a reflex.
Taking another pull from her cigarette, she propped her left elbow on the rolled down window. She hoped she would reach the settlement before her smoke was gone. The sun had started to go down; a welcomed sign that this day was about to cool down and be over. The oranges and pinks danced over the horizon like some toxic, twisted Aurora Borealis. Thin lines of green pollutant tangoed with the sunset, making Harley's lungs hurt more than the cigarette. The green was a byproduct of BLI's "Air Re-freshener", it's job to keep 'harmful' dust out of people's precious lungs. Instead of doing what good it was intended for, it poisoned peoples lungs and stomachs, making them cough and puke up what acid-worn organs they had left. More deaths had been reported since the introduction of that one product than the hundreds of useless, senseless products BLI had ever put on the market. She had figured out their plan a long time ago, being a proficient hacker and making her way into the BLI database. They were taking peoples money by putting junk together and making it pretty, promising to their towns and cities that it would do good and convince them of the Hell outside their walls, all while poisoning and surveying the sorry bastards to make sure the guinea pigs stayed in their houses and used the purified tunnels provided for them.
She shook her head, ashamed on the Industry's behalf. It had to be a sorry existence to constantly try and control your surroundings and be loved by the people you're killing so slowly. Whatever floats their boat, she concluded, taking one more drag before flicking the built ash from the end of her cigarette. Sighing as the small circle of squatty buildings came into view as black squares, Harley could hardly contain her relief. She could finally get this nasty ass head out of her car before it killed her!
Two miles later she pulled into a circle drive, parking and hastily getting out, flicking her cigarette butt into the darkness. She walked around the other side of her car to whisk the head from her back seat, marching it into the "bar" of the settlement, where the camps six occupants stared at her entrance with glazed, drunken and even startled eyes.
"Don't everyone get up at once." She said flatly, tossing the head onto the rooms largest table. The leather pack she had wrapped it in unfolded itself and exposed the hermit's wide eyed, open mouthed face to the men and single woman in the bar.
"Yer a day late, lass." A gravely grumble came from the bartender, who stood with his back to her, wiping alcohol droplets from the bottom of a just-used glass. He turned his head enough to watch her from the corner of his eye, and smirk as she huffed and threw her weight onto one foot, gloved hands on her hips.
"At least I got it done for your sorry bunch, asshole." She snapped, "I still expect my money."
"Of course, dear. But I hope ye don't mind us keepin' a third of it for yer lateness." He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, setting the glass face down on the counter and taking a small stack from the wad before setting it on the bar. With an unsatisfied growl, Harley took a long stride forward and reached for the cash, whipping out one of her two guns as her hand was held to the bar counter by the tender's bigger, stronger hand, riddled with scars and callouses. She pointed the barrel at the man's burly mustache, figuring if her hand shook like it sometimes did she would still hit some part of his face. That was good enough if he tried anything.
"Get your hand off of me." She warned, cocking the gun and switching to an incendiary battery. He smiled and leaned closer, pressing his large nose to the barrel of the gun.
"I just wanted to remind yeh that we gave ye the job outta the goodness o' our hearts, lass. Yeh came around alookin' so lost and in need of work, we just couldn't resist ye. Don't be fergettin' that." He grinned, breath smelling of unbrushed teeth and salami, topped with unsavory cherry spirits that made this experience stomach curdling.
"Aye, captain." She muttered, yanking her hand from the bar and tucking the money into a pocket on the inside of her purple leather cropped jacket. She holstered her gun and saluted the room with two fingers before taking a step back and grabbing a bottle of rum from the open liquor cabinet. Smirking as the attendants jumped up, offended at her actions, she backed out the door and disappeared around the corner to her car, hopping in and taking off before anyone could get outside. The drunk bunch would have been lucky to make it to the door without tripping over themselves or each other.
As she sped away from the settlement, headed west into the dark orange glow of the remaining sunset, Harley gripped the chain on her neck and held it's pendant; a rough diamond shaped piece of shrapnel she had made dull with fine sand paper. It was a jagged reminder of her life before the Scarecrow made his first booming appearance. She had once been a docile wife, a devoted mother and a lover of Better Living Industry's many life altering products. She bought into all of it, creating massive benefits for everything in her head and believing whatever the box said with no further research. Hacking and shooting were skills she adapted shortly after the explosion in the streets of her town on the edge of the desert and flipped her loaded family car. She was the only survivor in a three car crash'em derby that ended in a massive gas explosion. Harley was lucky to be alive.
That same night would be the night she replaced her name, Quinn Riley, to her now infamous Harley Raygun. To be honest, she was surprised no one had affiliated her with the Killjoys. She would be less than overjoyed to meet the fuckers that keep the Scarecrow and his Dracs entangled in a constant game of cat and mouse, though the actual situation is more like cat and cat. She didn't mind a good old fashioned shoot out with the clumsy masked lackeys of BLI, but constant baiting and fighting was uninteresting.
Almost back to her sweet hangar, Harley untied the yellow and black diagonal striped scarf from around her head and tossed it in the back seat, running her left hand through the mess of unstyled medium length and crayon red layered hair. Her roots screamed at her for her neglect over the last few days. Now it was straw-like and oily at the roots, and she made a mental note to wash her hair before she went to bed.
Arriving at home, she parked the Steed around back, away from the yard so no passerby noticed anything out of the ordinary. Her windows were boarded up, with small slits cut in the wood to allow surveillance of her property; there had been a couple run ins with wannabe bandits trying to get in and take her stuff. She sent them all howling, and prided herself on self security.
Walking around front, she unlocked the main door and ducked in since the door was two inches to short for her near six foot tall slender body. Once inside and locked in, she lifted her unbreakable hard plastic red and black diamond-checkered harlequin mask, revealing her emerald green eyes and dirtless forehead to the occupants of her home. Occupants being her bed, a shoddy couch, and random miscellaneous tables scattered through the space, some holding nuts and bolts, others holding bottles of water and handles of whiskey she had accumulated in her time as a freelancer. She walked to one table housing a stack of plates and an empty milk jug and set her new rum treasure on the cleared surface.
Pulling and wiggling out of her purple leather windbreaker, Harley walked toward her bed and once free of the leather confines, tossed it over the back of a salvaged chair that sat with it's back turned to her mattress. She sat on the edge of her almost too soft bed and unbuckled her blood red boots, three straps to the outside of each boot. They were well loved and very worn, having been worn every day since she found them in an old abandoned sports store a year ago. In her twenty two years of life she had never gotten so much use out of a single outfit, but it wasn't as bad as she thought. It was easy to spend her morning hand washing her clothes with thrifted soaps and shampoos, opening a hangar door and hanging the clothes on a thick wire line to dry. With as dry as it got in this desert of a Zone, it often only took twenty minutes to dry, and that gave her plenty of time to shower and eat whatever she had recently picked up. She usually didn't keep food longer than a week, and often made scavenging trips to get more. Sometimes she even worked for a share of whatever others were eating.
She lined the boots against the same armchair her jacket rested on; weary from the three days she hadn't been home. It had taken all of her strength and energy to get that mission done, but she now had enough money to venture into some nearby town and buy food instead of scavenging for it in abandoned and rotting markets. Perhaps she would do that tomorrow, since she had nothing else to do other than drive and look for random D.I.D.s.
Unholstering her two ray guns, one yellow and one white, she checked her cartridge life on the reader nestled in the grips. Two hours left on each of them, taking a mental note to change them in the morning. Each of her guns held three cartridges of whatever ammo you loaded into them. She chose one of each of her favorites; classic laser, high caliber laser, and incendiary laser. Loading one of all three in each of her guns gave her the ability to choose what she needed for each shot, instead of having to load a new cartridge for each enemy. The storage capability and ability to switch from one round to another entirely different one were technical changes she made to her guns, using her engineering degree from before the Zones were created and her life was blown to pieces. She tried to keep her technology as updated as possible, but with BLI creating newer viruses that shorted out all ray gun function, every Killjoy wannabe and freelancer in this Zone had gotten used to using the old fashioned cartridges and making their own changes to the weapons they had.
After a quick wash with a couple bottles of water and a nearly gone bar of soap, Harley fell back onto the bed, arms out and one leg still over the side of the bed. She was exhausted and didn't give a shit how she fell asleep. Nowadays, she was always sore from one thing or another and sleeping in some crooked position was the least of her worries.
One thing that had damn near gone extinct was the ability to read books. Sure, there were plenty of people who could read, but who on Earth kept books when they can be burnt in the wintertime? It had gotten to a depressing point when everywhere she went she didn't find a damn thing to read in quiet times like these.
Rolling over to face the wall, she held her necklace between her left hand pointer and thumb, rubbing it like some good luck charm. It was always a miracle that you woke up every morning with a shelter, and not glowing embers of the building you once took refuge in. The last two homes she had made were burnt either while she was out or while she was asleep. Granted, it woke her up when all the oxygen she got was in the smoke; she was able to get out just in time for everything to fold in on itself. Bandits were the worst in this Zone, she heard; rebels out to plunder and steal everything they could get their grimy hands on.
She awoke to a clang outside her hangar and leaped out of bed before giving herself a chance to blink the sleep from her eyes. Throwing on her boots and mask, she grabbed her guns and yanked one of the large hangar doors, ducking under and sprinting around back to see four masked men around Steed, one reaching inside the window to see what he could find inside.
"Get the fuck away from my car!" She barked, startling every one of them. They spun around, pointing their own ray guns at her. Tsk'ing, she took three steps closer, switching both guns to high caliber rounds. "I don't give a shit who you are or what you want. That car is mine, and so are all of the items inside."
The man who was inside her car, a thinner man with a similar mess of bright red hair as she had, held his gun with both hands, "I would really appreciate if you put your guns down, dude. We were trying to get a radio frequency and get an update from Dr. D."
Narrowing her eyes, Harley holstered her yellow ray gun but kept her right arm up and ready to fire.
"There isn't any signal out here, the nearest tower is on the border of Zone 3. Who the fuck are you people?" She demanded, walking toward them and her car. They kept their weapons drawn, and the same fiery headed man spoke again.
"That part has nothing to do with what we're doing. Put your gun down and we will too."
"Ha, how the hell am I supposed to trust that? Four of you against the one of me, and you're on my property! I think you should abide by my rules, first." She spat, "Get away from my car, and put your weapons down, assholes." She was almost surprised that they surrendered, holstering their weapons and standing back from the Steed. She gave her car a once over, making sure they hadn't scratched his paint more than it already was. It was sad enough seeing him with exposed metal from a high speed chase and high caliber laser fire from the Dracs she eventually outran. Looking over her shoulder, she sat on the hood of her Chevelle and sat her white gun beside her and gave the group a once over. The red headed one wore a cheap looking yellow mask with blue spots and black diamonds over his eyes. Two of them wore motorbike helmets, one with large white letters "GOOD LUCK" on the visor. The other had a single diagonal lightning bolt down one side. A shorter man wore a Frankenstein mask.
Ragamuffin bunch, she thought. "So, trespassers, why did you pick my car to break into?" She asked sharply, looking from one member to another until the Good Luck helmet stepped forward.
"We were on our way to the heart of the Zone and our transmitter went out. Dr. D is our eyes when we're on our way somewhere, and if we can't hear him, we could run into a hundred Exterminators and have no escape route." He stated, flipping his visor up to reveal shaded hazel eyes. Nodding boredly, she looked over the other three.
"So what are you, the infamous 'Fabulous Killjoys' or something?" She scoffed as the red head nodded, running a gloved hand through his hair. "Awesome. Now this place will really burn it a day or two." She slid to stand and holstered her gun, "Thanks for stopping by, gentlemen, but if you don't mind excusing yourselves, I have to pack up whatever the fuck I have left that's valuable so when the Dracs find this place, I can already be gone." Her voice shook with both anger and tears.
"Wait a second!" She turned to see the red head jogging to meet her, "We didn't mean anything by stopping her, Miss..."
"Harley." She stated flatly.
"Harley, I'm sorry we're here, we didn't think anyone was around. That's the only reason we were trying the radio." He sounded sympathetic, "I mean, you can always come with us. We have a place that hasn't been found yet. And for being chased all the fuckin' time, that's saying something."
"Y'know, I'm really not interested in running with the Killjoys. I've been able to manage my way through this hellhole of a Zone without your help so far. No, actually you've been a huge help. You tend to lead BL/ind away from the area I'm headed to, so I should thank you." She hissed, turning and marching into the hangar, leaving him standing in the dry heat of the morning. She was positive the Dracs were chasing these damn Killjoys right now and even if they cleared out and didn't leave a trace, the hangar would still burn. Just in case. Bastards!
Looking back at his group, the red head; Party Poison, shrugged, "I guess she's seriously not interested." He walked back, looking at his brother, Kobra Kid, who removed his Good Luck helmet and pursed his lips.
"She sounded pissed too." He added, and the remaining members, Fun Ghoul and Jet Star in his lightning helmet, nodded in agreement. Poison sighed.
"Let's go then. Don't worry about the radio, she obviously didn't want us touching it." He nudged his brother and they walked back to the Grand Am they called their own.
Harley listened to the conversation outside, feeling guilty for snapping back at them, but at the same time holding her ground. She was angry that she was going to lose her home and upon hearing them drive away, set to gathering water and cartridges and clothes for the road. Most of what she owned could be found elsewhere, but her pillow and blanket were trinkets from her previous life and she couldn't afford to lose them.
Walking outside and tossing her duffel bag into the trunk, she walked inside to grab her jacket and head scarf, putting them on and returned to the Steed, climbing in and slamming the door behind her. She sat still for what felt like eternity, hands on the wheel, looking at the hangar. Saying her own personal goodbyes to her home for the last six months. Patting the pocket in her jacket that held the money, she double checked that it was still there and upon feeling the large lump, started her car and spun out of the drive, hitting the road and the gas to hit her high speed in less than two minutes.
She didn't know where she would go from here, but as long as there was gas in the tank, she figure she would just keep driving.