Danger Days

by nightwish-shadowstalker

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE Danger Days-verse. Killjoys and OC. How one kid managed to bring down Better Living... with a little help from desert friends. Rated for swearing and violence.

A/N: Kerosene Skye is my character, I don't own MCR or the Killjoys. Might post a profile of her if anyone's curious.

Danger Days: Kerosene Skye's story

That morning began like any other, I guess. I didn't know what that day would start.

Just like normal, I got woken way too early by my alarm, got washed, had the usual fight with the work uniform, grabbed a coffee and caught the end of the newsflash:

"...And finally this morning, in local news, there has been a spate of graffiti on Better Living Industries buildings in recent weeks. We can now go live to our reporter at the scene of one of the latest incidents. Stephanie?"

"Thank you, James. This senseless vandalism has been linked to the renegade citizens known as 'Killjoys' and there have been multiple incidents occurring over the last three weeks. I have here with me an expert on the Killjoy groups, Dr. Richard Fisher, who has been studying them for the past four years. Dr. Fisher, can you explain the meaning - if there is any - behind these attacks?"

"Thank you, Stephanie. As you can see behind us, much of the writing refers to the 'Destroya' who is an almost mythical figure among the Killjoys. Their belief about this 'Destroya' is that he or she is a child of Battery City who will rise up in the final days of the conflict between BL/I and the Killjoys. They also believe that this person alone will decide the outcome of the battle. Personally, though, Stephanie, I don't think it's going to happen any time soon, do you?"

"I highly doubt it! This is Stephanie, reporting for BCN, back to you in the studio."

"Reporting from the South quarter, Stephanie Collins. I'm afraid that's all we've got time for today - we'll see you same time tomorrow. Keep smiling!"

I glared at the TV like it had done me an injustice and switched it off, bringing cries of protest from my flatmate and my sister.

"Hey, I was watching that!"

"Sarah! Put it back!"

I rolled my eyes and chucked the remote to Soph. "Whatever. I've got to go to work. Have a good day at school."

"Don't work too hard," she replied, her eyes glued to the set as she flicked through the channels for cartoons. Louise smiled slightly as I grabbed my bag. "You picking your sister up this evening, or do you want me to?"

"It's ok," I said. "I'll go." Gives me a chance to spend time with her away from you, I added mentally. But I smiled back at her.

"I just thought, if you're not feeling great..." she tailed off. She must have heard me crying in my sleep. "Thinking of your brother?"

I nodded. "I miss him. And I don't think she even remembers him any more. Somehow that makes it worse." I forced a false smile. "But I'll be ok. See you later."

I walked as fast as I decently could out of the apartment, trying not to fall apart altogether. Please, not now. I swung into the car and held my breath for a moment. It was all I could do not to cry.

Danny.

I didn't bother with the radio. It was locked to the comm channels, like most cars in the city, and I didn't care enough to jailbreak it. Besides, Louise used this car, so if I did jailbreak the radio, she'd report me in a heartbeat. No disrespect to her, she's alright as a person. I think, under other circumstances, we might have been friends. As it is, I fake it around her because I don't - can't - trust her.

I pulled up outside the office block and flashed my ID at the security guard. It was Mark this morning, so I smiled back at him and said "You too" when he grinned at me and told me to have a good day. He's ok. I mean, we're not close friends or anything, but we've been out for coffee a few times to commiserate over crap apartments and crap bosses.

Speaking of crap bosses...

Mine pulled in behind me and parked next to me. Uh-oh, I feel an awkward moment heading my way. By a jerk who wants some fun, someone stupid my way comes.

"Can you come to a company function tonight, Sarah? I know it's really short notice, but I thought, well, you've always been such a hard worker, so I thought you deserved something as a bit of a reward for your efforts," he said, as we climbed out of our respective cars.

Well, that was a shock. I always thought he was a corporate wanker. He's surprisingly human. Shame about the timing.

"I'm really sorry, I can't," I said. "I have to pick up my sister from school and look after her this evening. I wish I could come, but..."

"No, no, that's ok," he said, smiling regretfully. "Family first and all that."

"Yeah," I agreed, making my way to the office.

I wasn't a proper BL/I worker. I didn't actually do much for them, I just kept their systems ticking over. To give my proper title, I was the "assigned computer and software specialist to Group Twenty-Nine, Works Administration". It wasn't that bad, as a job: most of the people in the office knew what they were doing, and got on with it. As a result, I had a pretty comfortable life most of the time, because most of them could work though simple, everyday problems on their own. When we got bugs in the system - a Killjoy virus, maybe, or tracker software accidentally installed on a machine – that's where I earned my pay.

It couldn't happen often enough, as far as I was concerned. But, sadly for me, because my co-workers were largely pretty smart, as well as being soulless bastards, I didn't do much most of the day. And therefore, I spent most of my time quietly going mad with boredom.

What I usually ended up doing during my work hours was going through password-protected stuff on the server: basically, hacking. I covered my tracks and kept a separate, innocuous browser window open to avoid being caught. It kept me awake, and it kept my technical skills honed. I couldn't help thinking how it would go down at a disciplinary hearing if I did get caught, though. "Well, sir, you see, I was just really bored, so..." Hmm...Yeah, that could be fun.

That evening, when I picked up Soph, she asked me why I was upset in the morning.

"I wasn't upset," I replied. "Did I seem upset? Sorry about that."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "You said something about a guy called Danny."

That hit me like a punch in the gut. I had to force myself to stay calm and stay normal. She doesn't even remember her own brother.

"It's nothing," I told her. "Doesn't matter."

You can lie to other people, but you can't lie to yourself, kid.

That evening was horrendous. Louise was being particularly soulless, talking about how she hopes BL/I can get rid of "those damn Killjoy freaks" before anything "really bad" happens. I was sorely tempted to ask what the Killjoys could actually do that constituted "really bad" for her: spray graffiti on her car? Sing some songs she doesn't like? Actually think for themselves, and encourage others to do the same? I wondered if she was capable of independent thought herself, or if the only way she could speak was by repeating the newscasters. I excused myself as soon as I could, saying I was going to a company function. Short notice, but my boss asked me to go, sorry I didn't tell you, I'll be back late, I'll try not to disturb you.

Within five minutes, I was heading for the lockup.

"The lockup" is a storage facility on the other side of the south quarter. It's run on a 'no questions asked, and no questions answered' basis. It's a good place to keep secrets. Or in my case, my alter ego.

Yeah, I wasn't the signed-up, Killjoy-hating, BL/I worker I appeared to be. I was secretly rebelling against the city because, deep down, I thought it had betrayed me. I mean, I wasn't making bombs or running away from my life. I hadn't got there yet. I was just another kid at the underground shows, yelling the words to Killjoy songs I should, by rights, never have heard. That's what jailbreak radios are good for.

That night, I went down by a roundabout route – playing it safe – and changed from the white shirt and black work slacks into red skinnies and a black t-shirt with the slogan "I'm the one the newscasters warned you about" that showed my tattoos. (Yes, I have tattoos. Quite a lot, actually.) I pulled on my black biker boots, my fingerless bike gloves and my battered leather jacket. I left the work clothes there, neatly folded, and hid my face with a scarf and tinted goggles. I wheeled the bike out and locked the container behind me. I loved that bike. It was my brother's, but he taught me how to ride it one summer. It was a Black model Kawasaki, and they go like lighting if you keep them in tune.

"Real life, you have been warned," I muttered, kick-starting and roaring back into the city.

It didn't take long to find that night's gig. "For one night only: the Fabulous Killjoys are here!" The posters were all over the walls of the Black Rock. They used to work on a ticket basis, but they stopped it a while ago. Too many kids just sneaked in, so they gave up and made the gigs free. Attendance – and runaway rates – shot up. Killjoy recruitment 101: make the music free, and all else follows.

I went and got a beer as soon as I got in – there wouldn't be time, or space, later. I could hear the hum of the amplifiers as the band did their pre-show sound check. It was bizarrely comforting. It felt real, instead of the plastic, auto-tuned 'music' on the radio. Like when Danny and I were kids, we'd jam together – he played bass, and I played guitar – the amplifiers hummed in the same way. The memory made me smile, and I went over to watch the band setting up. It was pretty quiet at that point – by Black Rock standards, anyway. There were plenty of people milling around, and a few kids – hardcore fans – standing by the barriers. The guys in the band were chatting to them as they tuned their instruments. As I stepped up, the kids turned briefly to look at me, decided I was one of them, and let me in, chatting to me like friends and asking how I was. The guy sat on the stage – the singer, Party Poison, he of the impossibly red hair – grinned at me. "Hey, how you doing?"

"I'm good," I said. "And you?"

"Pretty good. How'd you get here?"

"Motorbike. And you?"

"Trans-Am," he smiled. "What kind of bike is it?"

"It's a Kawasaki Black."

"Nice!" he laughed. "They're awesome. I always wanted one of those."

"Poison!" the bassist called. "Get your ass over here!"

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, guys," he said to his little audience. "When Kobra calls…" He shrugged helplessly and went to talk to his brother. One of the guys next to me – violet hair, hazel eyes and a rare, genuine smile – turned and asked, "Is that true? That you've got a Black Kawasaki?"

"Yeah," I replied. "It was my brother's. He worked in Osaka for a year, and they gave it to him as a parting gift."

"Awesome," he said, his eyes shining. "How fast does it go?"

"I've got it to top out at about a hundred and thirty on the flat," I told him.

"Wow," he said. "That's epic."

Someone beside him hissed, "Shush! They're starting up!"

The show was amazing. Their guitarists – Fun Ghoul and Jet Star – absolutely threw themselves into the music. I'm not sure they even knew what they were doing half the time; it seemed almost unconscious. (This is, obviously, the best way to play a show: instinctively.)The drummer, Bomber Boy, and Kobra Kid were incredible, not trying to take the spotlight, but quietly stealing the show anyway. Party Poison? Busy driving the crowd mental. Everyone was singing the words back at him, and in between songs, he'd just talk with the audience. It felt like he was trying to connect with everyone in the room – and he was succeeding.

"Listen," he said. "I know it feels like BL/I are trying to beat you down, trying to make you like them. I know it feels like they're winning. I've been there. But you know what? They're not winning. You are. You're here tonight, fighting back. And they're fucking terrified of you. They are afraid of you guys. Because you're stronger than them. You're better than them. And goddammit," he added, smirking, "You're much better looking." As the crowd screamed, he yelled, "I want you to wake them up! Shut up and sing it with me!"

As Jet started the riff for 'Na Na Na', everyone was jumping up and down and yelling the words. I guess everyone, at that moment, felt the way I did: invincible.

It couldn't last.

Draculoids burst in, throwing everything into chaos. What had been a kick-ass gig quickly became a laserfight, with kids crouching behind upturned tables, amps, or – more gruesomely – the bodies of those already ghosted.

The Killjoys grabbed their instruments, sending them out to relative safety with the rig runners. Then they ducked behind their equipment and started taking out the Dracs.

I hid behind the steps going up to the stage. I was pinned down: Draculoids in front, Killjoys behind. I was terrified, and I was unarmed. Defenceless.

One of the Dracs collapsed, sprawling in an untidy heap like a discarded doll. The raygun skidded across the floor, stopping a couple of feet from me. I had to force myself to go for it, twisting round and taking out two that hadn't seen me.

Eventually, the fighting stopped. The walls were blackened with laser burns – shots gone wild. The Fabulous Killjoys stood up, one by one, and started trying to help people: checking for burns, picking up kids who'd had a limb stunned by a glancing shot. Kobra noticed me, crouched by the stage, and made his way over. "You ok, kid?"

"I'm good," I said shakily, getting to my feet. "Think I better go."

"Before the clean up crew get here," he nodded.

I thanked him and walked to the bike. Surprisingly, it was fine. A glance down at my leg revealed that I wasn't. Some stray laser burst had caught the back of my calf, leaving a six-inch burn that throbbed painfully. I felt pretty grim as I went back to the lockup, changed, dumped the raygun, and walked home. I showered quickly and went to bed, hoping things would seem better in the morning.

Unsurprisingly, they didn't. Louise was as close as she ever gets to outright hostility, and Soph was particularly demanding. I felt like strangling the pair of them, but I went to work instead. Back to the hacking cliff-face, then, business goes on as usual.

Most of what I found when I was going through these secret files was pretty dull. Personnel lists, payroll codes, stuff like that. Most of it I wasn't interested in, because I was only trying to challenge myself, not actually steal any data. But this time was different.

Pretty innocuous-looking file. A word-processor program document, fairly small, about 35 KB. I opened it up.

"Dust Storm memo."

Huh. Probably just about procedures used in the aftermath.

"As BL/I have played a major role in the production of this 'disaster' it follows that employees and citizens must never be informed. The comm channels of the city are currently being used for the purposes of persuasive adjustment of the citizen's collective viewpoint re. the Dust Storm and the Killjoys. Vital that the Killjoys are discredited/linked to violence as they may understand what role BL/I have played…"

I stopped reading after that.

BL/I caused the Dust Storm.

BL/I caused the deaths and injuries of thousands.

BL/I got my parents killed.

I couldn't take it in. I mean, I'd never liked or wholly trusted the corporation – I have the healthy cynicism regarding multinational industrial conglomerates that most sentient people have – but to cause the Dust Storm?

I've had enough. I've got to get out.

In a daze, I quit work early and said I felt ill, so I was going to go home and get some rest. No-one questioned it. By the time I got back to the apartment, I'd worked through my options and had a rough plan of what to do.

Take Soph? No way. Too dangerous. I will not put my baby sister in harm's way. Louise will look after her.

Tell Louise I'm going? Fuck no. She'll split on me, and I'll get caught.

Wait for a Killjoy raid and ask for a ride? Again, fuck no. I'll go mad waiting.

I packed my stuff into the black rucksack, assumed a neutral expression and once again started taking my usual oblique route to the lockup.

By the time I got there, it was mid-evening, but still light. I slid the key into the lock and was about to go in when a flicker of movement gave me pause. I stopped, took a step back and laughed.

"Oh, damn, wrong row…"

I walked as calmly as I could to the next row of lockers, but turned and sneaked into mine through the back entrance. I changed as fast as I could into my bike gear – black boots, grey skinnies, clean violet t-shirt and leather jacket, plus scarf, goggles, gloves and the stolen raygun – slung my bag over my shoulder and crept out again.

For a moment, everything was silent, but for the distant hum of city traffic. Then I heard the murmuring of low, close voices, and knew that what I glimpsed was still there. I climbed up on to the roof and lay flat against the metal. Over the ridge, I could see three uniformed, armed Draculoids. What was meant to be a quick, clean getaway had rapidly disintegrated into a bloody mess. No wonder they let me go at work, I thought. They knew, or at least guessed. I took out two before they knew what had hit them. The third was – worryingly – smarter, ducking behind his car and hitting the alarm. I jumped down and blasted him, but the damage had been done. Now HQ knew something was happening, and they'd send another group. By the time I got the bike working, they'd be on top of me.

"Feet, don't fail me now," I muttered, sprinting for the alleyways.

It wasn't long before I heard the Drac sirens wailing. I flattened myself against the wall and held my breath until it passed. The sky was darkening. It wouldn't have been long before I was running blind. Already I had to move more slowly to avoid hitting things.

At least half an hour had passed since I'd ghosted the three Dracs at the lockup. It was almost completely dark. I'd been going by the light pollution the sky gave, but even that wouldn't be there for much longer. They switched off the power every night citywide at evening curfew. Only the hospitals and BL/I buildings were exempt.

Then I heard the music.

It was muted by distance, but it was definitely Killjoy music. I grinned in the darkness. My ship – or rather, my raid – has come in. I waited close to the mouth of the alleyway, still in the shadow. Sure enough, there they were. They killed the engine and got out, all of them silent and watchful. It took me a moment to work out why, and then the wail of a Drac siren cemented it.

It's a trap. They're drawing them in to annihilate them.

The Draculoids obligingly turned up – wave after wave – but they all went down. The Killjoys didn't even look scared by the onslaught. If anything, they looked bored. After maybe twenty, thirty minutes of solid laserfighting, the Dracs seemed to stop coming. The four of them looked around, looked at each other for confirmation, and appeared to relax a little. They started checking the Dracs for weapons, supplies, anything that might be useful. They were laughing about how easy it had been tonight, how someone else must have given them a distraction. They were off guard.

Hidden in the alleyway, not blinded by the glare of the streetlights, I could see what they missed. There was one left alive. Maybe it was just stunned, or it played dead. Whatever. It was alive. Right behind Kobra. Coming straight at him.

"Kobra!" I yelled. "Move!"

He looked over at me, and saw the panic in my eyes. Even as he threw himself to the street, three shots slammed into the Drac's body. Poison looked across at me. "Good shot."

I was about to reply when Jet shouted, "Look out!" I could hear running footsteps behind me; another one that played dead.

"Oh, come on," I snapped, twisting round and kicking it hard in the stomach. As it staggered, winded, I put two short bursts into its skull. It dropped. "And stay down," I muttered, turning back to the Killjoys, who were watching with expressions ranging from curiosity (Ghoul) and confusion (Jet) to admiration (Kobra) and amusement (Poison).

Kobra grinned at me. "Thanks for that."

"Any time," I said. "You alright?"

He nodded. "I'm fine. You? That was a hell of a kick, by the way."

I smiled. "Thanks."

Fun Ghoul wandered over, checking his raygun over. "Are we done for the night, Kid?"

"I think so. I'm nearly out," Kobra replied.

Party Poison was still looking around, listening. After a moment, he apparently decided things were okay and relaxed. "Checking we haven't got any more fakers," he said.

Jet Star seemed uneasy. "Let's get out of here before the next wave turns up, then."

Ghoul glanced at me. "Need a lift?"

I nodded. "I found the lie. I can't exactly stay in the city after that."

He smiled slightly. "Agreed. I'm guessing you were the 'distraction' we talked about. What's your name?"

"Kerosene Skye." I stuck my fist out. "Good to meet you."

He bumped knuckles with me. "Fun Ghoul. Likewise." He turned to Poison. "Room for a runaway?"

Poison looked at me. I held his gaze, staring straight back. He grinned suddenly and offered me his hand. "Party Poison. Welcome to the gang, Skye."

I piled in the back of the Trans-Am with Jet and Kobra. Jet seemed more relaxed now that the others had approved of me, and introduced himself. We got talking about guitars and music – he's obsessed, and so am I – and slowly, the awkwardness broke. The others started talking about the raid, plans for tomorrow, and Kobra and I ended up chatting about martial arts. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Black belt tae kwon do. My brother got me into it."

"Wow," he said, apparently impressed. "How long did that take?"

"Four years? Five? It's not easy. You have to earn it."

"What happened to your brother? Did he run away?"

I took a breath. Even thinking about him made me want to cry. "I don't know. But yeah, he ran away. I'm looking for him."

Kobra seemed to sense he'd hit a raw nerve, and the conversation moved to other things. I felt more at ease the further we got from the city. It felt good to be out of the suffocating smog and under clear desert skies. I hadn't seen the stars for so long, I was twisting round in the seat to watch them go past. Jet smiled. "Yeah, you're a city kid alright."

I was falling asleep as we drove. I vaguely remember Kobra putting an arm over me and letting me lean on his shoulder. Ghoul said something like, "Lightweight."

"Hey, I've been awake since seven, and I got all of three and a half hours sleep last night," I mumbled drowsily. By the time we hit the diner, I was barely conscious. I moved mechanically out of the car, inside, upstairs to the room Poison led me to. I didn't even bother to wash, I just crawled under the blankets in my underwear and fell into the dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

Unfortunately, that sleep didn't last all that long. I woke up, in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, crying, with Poison standing by my bed – he must have woken me up – looking genuinely afraid for me.

"Nightmare?" he asked sympathetically.

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Wanna talk about it?"

I untangled myself from the sheets and grabbed my shirt off the floor, tugging it over my head as I sat up. "Not really. Me, my brother, death, horrible. Not much else to say."

He squeezed my hand briefly. "I know. Losing a brother…" He tailed off, thinking of Kobra. He shuddered slightly and forced himself to speak. "But it was just a dream. Right?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. That's the worst part. I never knew what happened to him, so for all I know it is real." In the little light from the night sky, I could see him shivering and offered him the edge of the blanket. He hesitated, but gave in to the cold and crawled in beside me. I carefully moved closer.

"God, you're freezing. How long were you there trying to wake me?" I asked, huddling against him to try and keep him warm. In the dim light, I felt him shrug, rather than seeing the movement.

"Not sure. Five, ten minutes?"

"Long enough to become a human icicle," I muttered. He giggled, then asked, "Do you want me to stay?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "Please."

He wrapped an arm around me and stroked my hair. "Alright."

We stayed like that all night, sleeping in each other's arms.

Next morning, I got woken up by the sun on my face. I smiled drowsily: best night's sleep in a long time. I felt better for it. Almost perfect. I was still curled up in Poison's arms, and he was apparently still asleep, red hair tangled on the pillow. The nightmares of a few hours ago were all but forgotten. I lay there for a little while, thinking.

What do I do now?

How do you start looking for someone when you don't even know if they're still alive?

And how do you explain the fact that you have feelings for the rebel leader – and that he may have feelings for you – to the rest of his gang?

Heh…this could be an interesting day, I thought.

I twisted round to look at Poison, accidentally nudging him in the ribs. He smiled sleepily and mumbled, "Stop wriggling and go back to sleep, it can't be time to wake up yet."

I looked at him, and replied sarcastically, "It must be. We're awake, aren't we?"

"Shut up," he laughed, opening his eyes.

"Will you move and let me up if I ask you nicely, or do I have to push you out of the bed?"

"I'd like to see you try," he mumbled. I giggled.

"Oh, it's on, pretty-boy."

"'Pretty-boy'?" he said, eyebrows raised.

I nodded. "Yep. That's your nickname now. Pretty-boy. Now move."

"Make me."

I shrugged. "Alright." I poked him in the ribs and he flinched, wriggling away. I moved closer, still laughing, and kept moving him back until he was on the edge. He clung onto my shoulders, helpless with giggles. "Alright, I surrender! I surrender!"

I lay back, smirking. "I warned you." I was trying to act confident, like it didn't mean anything. He must have seen through that. He leant forward, still smirking, and kissed me. Briefly, on the lips. It wasn't long enough.

"I think I win."

"Whatever," I replied, trying to ignore the fact that I was blushing. "I can still push you out of bed."

"But you don't want to," he said.

"No," I agreed. "I don't." I kissed him again, hands resting on his shoulders. He tangled his fingers through my hair and ran the other hand down my back, making me shiver slightly. I pulled him on top of me, our limbs tangled together.

The moment was rudely interrupted by Jet Star hammering on the door. "Guys, I don't know what you're doing in there, and I don't think I want to know, but get up or you'll miss your coffee. Kobra will drink it if you don't get your asses downstairs, pronto. Also, the doctor wants to see us," he added as he walked away.

I smiled up at him. "I win. Now you have to move."

He stuck his tongue out at me, but let me up. We hastily dressed and went in search of coffee.

The others were waiting for us at the table by the window, drinking coffee and smoking. Ghoul offered us the two remaining, untouched mugs – "I had to save them from the addict," he laughed, earning a glare from Kobra – and introduced me to the girl sharing the table (her name's Cherri Cola, she's Ghoul's sort-of girlfriend).

"What did Doctor D want to talk about?" Poison asked, draining his mug.

Jet shrugged. "I think he wants to see Skye." He turned to me. "You said you were looking for your brother, right? Have you got a photograph or something to work from?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He sent me one picture, about two and a half years ago." I carefully took the photo out of the plastic wallet I kept it in. "It's got their Killjoy names on the back, and their group."

I passed it to Ghoul, who turned it over, reading the list of names. "Acid Rain, that's him, right?" He pointed to the boy on the left with dyed black hair. I nodded. "Yeah, that's him."

"What's the group name?" Kobra asked. "That might be the easiest way to figure out what's happened."

Ghoul turned back to the list. He frowned as he read the words. "That can't be right."

"What?" Poison said. The tone of his voice was worrying. "What's their group name?"

In answer, Ghoul passed his the photograph. "See for yourself."

Poison glanced at it, shook his head. "Okay, that's just weird. I thought they'd all–" He broke off, like he'd thought better of what he was about to say.

"What is it?" I asked, very nervous now.

Ghoul sighed. "There's no easy way to say this. Your brother was apparently a member of the Heartbreak Squadron." Seeing my blank look, he explained: "They were an undercover group who went back into Battery City with fake names and IDs on the system and worked for BL/I. They were trying to bring them down from the inside, working out when their desert friends could strike and where to do more damage to the corporation. They got away with it, with a few near misses, for about eleven months."

"Okay…" I said. I could pretty much guess what was coming next. "What happened?"

"BL/I swooped and arrested all of them. Every last one. They'd been betrayed by someone on the inside. We never found out who it was. We never found out what happened to most of our guys either. Some of them were killed on the spot – those we could find. Some of them were assimilated into BL/I and now work against us – those ones we're not sure about. But some of them we just never tracked down."

Someone else – guessing this is Show Pony – walked in. "Doctor D wants to see you guys," she said, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

This can't be good, I thought, standing up and drinking the last of the coffee.

I was right.

"So, we've got another Heartbreak Squadron case, have we?" Doctor Death Defying asked, turning in his chair to look at us. "I hate to disappoint you, kid, but we don't have the data. The only ones who know where your brother is are working at BL/I. And they're not exactly going to give you what you want under the Freedom of Information in America Act." He laughed sarcastically. "I mean, we've got our moles in the system, our little transmitters, but they couldn't get that kind of information. It'll be buried too deep. You're on your own, Skye."

I paused, thinking. "Would BL/I keep that kind of information, then?"

"Oh yeah. They record everything that might be useful."

"So they'd have a list of who they've got, what happened, who went rogue…"

"Probably. But encrypted, encoded, more passwords and keys than you could dream of. Good luck getting into that database. Sorry." He turned back to the radio and carried on with the show. There was nothing more to say.

"Damn," Jet said, as we left the studio. "I guess you'll never know now."

I laughed. "Oh, I don't know about that."

Ghoul looked at me, eyebrows raised. "You want to try hacking into BL/I's most secure database? Remotely? From the middle of the fucking desert? What the fuck was in your coffee this morning?"

"Dude, you've clearly never seen me at work. All I did, all day, every day, was hack into BL/I servers and look at files I wasn't meant to know even existed, never mind read or copy. I even found the payroll once, gave myself a raise just to see if anyone would notice." I smile at the memory. "They didn't, by the way. Got a laptop I can steal?"

"What was your job meant to be?" Kobra asked, as Ghoul went upstairs looking for a laptop. "I mean, I'm assuming they didn't pay you to hack into their systems."

"I was the assigned computer and software specialist to Group Twenty-Nine, Works Administration," I replied. "Basically, the technical Miss Fix-It. So because most of the group I had were reasonably intelligent monochromes, I basically got paid for doing nothing most of the time."

"Best kind of job to have," he laughed.

Ghoul came back down, carrying the machine. "It's not that great, but it's the most recent one we've got," he said.

"Right then," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. "Watch and learn, boys. Watch and learn."

It was a little trickier than I'd expected to get in from the outside. I guess I'd just got used to going straight in from my workstation in the office. I'd got rusty on outside work from lack of practise. Once I'd found the main BL/I web login, though – for workers off with medical complaints, presumably, who wanted to maintain their dedicated pointlessness – I logged in as one of the administrators of the server group and started setting up the filter programmes I used to search for files like I usually did. Getting rid of anything about sick days, or propaganda plans (otherwise known as newscast "information"), was a good place to start. Working through the layers of keycodes and passwords surrounding the data – that half the time weren't secure enough to protect a kid's jewellery box – was just playing.

"Okay, I take it back," Ghoul laughed, as I pulled up the 'Dust Storm memo' file. "You know what you're doing alright."

"Want me to copy it?" I asked. "So we've got a permanent record of this shit."

"Now you're just showing off," Kobra muttered wryly.

"I'll take that as a yes," I laughed, emailing the file to Doctor Death Defying and adding as the subject line, 'Thought this might be useful'.

I kept looking, trawling the databases for anything that might help. I spent most of the day working on it, sat in the diner drinking coffee. Most of the time, one or more of the Killjoys was sat with me, either just talking or wanting to understand what I was doing. I was happy to teach them some elements of hacking – Jet seemed to know a lot already, as did Poison – and it had been a long time since I'd had an interested audience. The monochromes in the city just wanted it to work, they didn't care about why.

I was starting to think I could get used to the desert.

I worked like that every day, most days. Wake up, have a shower, eat breakfast, drink coffee, hacking, drink more coffee, lunch, stay inside hacking, drink more coffee, target practice, teach Kobra some cool stuff, even more coffee, evening raid on the city, sleep. Try not to crave caffeine in the middle of the night. I was surprised how quickly I settled into the routine of life with the Killjoys. I felt like I belonged.

Eventually, a promising-looking file turned up. I made a mental note of the name, to find it again, and opened it up.

"Ah. Houston, we have a problem."

Poison looked at me. "What is it?"

Most of the files I'd found earlier had required a basic password or security code – ten characters, or six digits – and I knew a lot of them anyway. The files that wanted administrator passwords also weren't that complicated: they all obediently opened up with my password, or with the other one I happened to know from watching my security buddy Mike at the gate if it wanted two. But this file was apparently one they didn't want people on the outside looking at in a hurry.

I leaned back in my chair. "I knew they put extra precautions on files when outsiders – people on the Ethernet – looked for them, but this is extreme. It wants all three administrator passwords, or two thumbprints of administrators, or two retinal scans of administrators." I look back at Poison. "It's a cyberspace brick wall. A dead end."

He shrugged. "Isn't there another way in? That's what you've been relying on for the past–" He glanced at his phone. "Four and a half hours?"

I pulled a face. "I wish. Think of this file as a castle. Usually, there are two ways in: through the front gate, where everyone can see you, or in the back way, where they can't. Front gate is easier to use – maybe one or two passwords – but everyone can watch you, and if you do something wrong, they'll know about it. Back way is longer and more complicated, but people can't see you as much and mistakes are easier to hide. But this file is weird, because there is no back way. No drafts, no backup copies, just the front gate."

"Couldn't you guess the third password? I mean, you know the other two, right?"

"Unlikely. I know two of the admin passwords, but I can't take the chance on the third. This kind of security protocol is the kind that sends a message saying 'someone's trying to hack in' and starts off a major alert at HQ if someone tries to view the file and gets one of the passwords wrong. And I don't have another administrator to hand for retinal or thumbprint scans. And if I tried and got it wrong – which is pretty likely, if not certain – then they could in theory trace the signal from the alert back here." I swigged back the last of the water and pulled a face. "So no. We're stuck. The only way I might be able to get this is if I could go back to Battery City, get back to my old job, and try hacking in from there. And even then it might not work. This file is seriously well-protected. Whatever it is, they don't want people to read it."

Jet wandered over, carrying coffees. "What's up?"

"Hit the cyberspace wall," I replied. "I've found the file I think we need, but I can't open it from this end."

"What do you mean, 'this end'?" he asked. He sounded wary.

I took a sip of the coffee and thought. "Didn't Doctor Death Defying say you guys had some people in the city as 'transmitters'?"

The two of them looked at me like I was mad. "The Heartbreak Squadron was all but wiped out because of undercover work," Poison said. "And you want to go back to the city?"

I sighed. "I think it's the only way. Unless you've got a better idea?"

They were quiet for a moment.

"Think about it," Jet said. "Don't rush in. Take a break, do something else for a bit. If you still think it's the only way, then we'll help you get back into the city."

I smiled. "Thanks, guys."

"In the mean time," Poison added, standing up and clicking his joints, "Should we go find the others?"

"Depends. Do they want to be found?" Jet laughed.

It wasn't that difficult, as it turned out. They'd gone to talk to Doctor Death about a raid they had planned, and they'd just stayed after a transmission from the city came through.

"One of the moles in the system," Kobra said. "He didn't want to broadcast the plan over the static, but he says he's got a plan for getting some serious information out of the BL/I data banks."

Party Poison looked unimpressed. "He says he's got a plan. Where's the proof he's not lying?"

I shot him a look. "This could be my chance to get back into the city. If he wants that kind of information, he wants someone who knows what they're doing when it comes to breaking virtual security." I turned to Kobra. "What kind of info are we talking here?"

He shrugged. "We're not sure. He says he was working and found some stuff on the Ethernet that looked like it could help us, so I guess we're talking shift times, groups, plans, that kind of thing. And what are you talking about? You want to go back to the city?"

"I've found the file I want," I said. "I just can't open it from this end. I need to be in the city, connecting directly with the BL/I database. It won't work over the Ethernet, it needs a password I don't have."

The brothers exchanged a look. In my head, I translated it to: she's mental.

"Look," I said. "I need to do this. If he went missing–" I gestured to Kobra "–you'd do anything to find out what had happened to him. Please."

Another look. This time, it translated to: God, I hate this. She's right.

"Alright, we'll help you. But if things start to go wrong, if you're being watched, promise me you'll get yourself out of there," Poison said quietly.

I nodded. "I promise. Cross my heart and hope to fly."

He hugged me. "Come back in one piece, yeah?"

I smiled. "Yeah."

God, I wish I'd known then what I was getting myself into.

I started a few days later. I left the desert the day after the transmission – they dropped me at the edge of the city at night – and spent the next few days getting used to the city again. After the vast expanse and freedom of the desert, the regimentation of city life was enough to drive me nuts. The regular power cuts, every night, 2300 sharp, were unbelievably annoying. I got caught twice in the first few days and had to use up the battery on the laptop to work. I couldn't get Party Poison out of my head either. The way he smiled, his laugh, the way I'd catch him just looking at me sometimes and how he'd turn away, trying not to giggle. I missed him like crazy, and wondered if he felt the same. I would send a short transmission by encrypted email to him every night, and read his reply in the morning. It made me feel less alone.

I met up with my cover on my third day in the city – the Doctor Richard Fisher who was on the newsflash the day this whole stupid, crazy, brilliant thing started. I admired the guy's chutzpah: he was supposedly a Killjoy expert, meant to be one of the people who detested the group the most, and he was one of their moles. What I didn't admire were his attempts to flirt with me. He was just plain creepy: all grey hair and glasses and trying-to-wander hands. Apparently his last secretary quit because of 'workplace harassment', so it wasn't just me. The first time, I nearly slapped him. I ended up swearing at him and explaining exactly what parts of his anatomy I would irreparably damage if he tried it on again. Funnily enough, he didn't do anything for a while.

They'd set me up with a fake identity: I was Emily Michaels, I was twenty-three (flattering for a twenty-eight year old) and I had lived in Battery City all my life. My parents had unfortunately died in the Dust Storm of 2015 (no awkward questions to ask, if Mr and Mrs Michaels did exist, and happened to crop up on the system for whatever reason) and I now lived alone and worked as a secretary to Doctor Fisher. It gave me fifteen hours where I wasn't with anyone: plenty of time to break into secret systems I wasn't meant to know about. In a strange way, it was almost like things had gone back to how they were before: boring job where I did basically nothing, hacking every day, crappy, creepy boss. I tended to do most of the secret and illegal work at night: it wasn't for any real reason, I just preferred being able to look up from my work and not see the city smog. It's harder to notice the suffocating layer over the city when it's dark. It took me a fortnight or so before I found the file again. This wasn't because I'd forgotten where it was, or what it was called, or mixed it up with another, similar data cache. It was because I was being watched, so I had to be careful. I didn't know where the information ended up, or why. But I knew the apartment I lived in was bugged. Apparently, BL/I had their own 'transmitters'.

Before I left the desert, Jet had given me a little piece of Killjoy tech to hang on to: a bug sweeper. I'd gone over the whole apartment the first night I was there, thanks to an artificial 'early' power cut. (Oh, the joys of hacking the city's power grid.) In the five minutes I had, I found two in the living room, one in the kitchen, one in the bathroom (now that's just perverted, guys), and three in the bedroom. I couldn't disable them – too obvious. People would ask why they had been switched off, how they had been found, et cetera, and I would be in major trouble. So instead, I told them what I wanted them to hear: the modern equivalent of radio silence. No illegal or questionable activity logged: just a young secretary in her own apartment, doing normal, young-secretary-type things.

Meanwhile, I got busy breaking through the security around the file. I wasn't hugely bothered by the bugs: I'd effectively disabled them and I could work in peace. What worried me was how BL/I had come to the decision to put them in to start with. I'd never had my apartment with Louise bugged (to my knowledge, at least). That paranoia got me thinking. Doctor Fisher was our mole: the Killjoys had got some solid data out of him in the past, and he was always willing to throw up a smokescreen on BCN for them – saying that there might be a raid in the south, when actually the plan was to go east. But double agents aren't unheard of. And there had to be someone on the inside to betray the Heartbreak Squadron. And that particular mole never got caught, did they? They were still out there. Maybe even still working for the Killjoys. I couldn't forget what Ghoul had said – "We never found out who it was." I didn't like it one bit. The promise I made to Party Poison kept coming back to me too: "if you're being watched, promise me you'll get yourself out of there." I felt bad for breaking it, but nothing had actually happened. And nothing would, I told myself: I break into the file, copy the data, and break out. Easy.

I was instantly reminded of the man who once said, "I'm just going outside, I may be some time."

Famous last words.

Three weeks after I started working for Doctor Fisher, I came back to the apartment, as normal. I ate quickly, watched the end of the newsflash, and drank coffee. Just like I had every evening for the last twenty-one days. Then someone knocked on the door.

"I know you're in there. Just come out now with your hands up and no-one gets hurt."

I recognised the voice. Korse, the lead exterminator of the Killjoys. The most devout believer in the sanctity of the monochrome. The biggest bastard of the lot. I didn't go out. I waited. It's easier to take people down in a dim, confined space they don't know with than it is in a well-lit, familiar corridor. Sure enough, after a few minutes, I heard the door go. I was in the bedroom, already changed into bike gear, with the laptop in my bag, and armed, waiting by the open window. Then I heard Fisher calling from the living room.

"Emily, come on out. They won't hurt you if you just give yourself up now," he said. I didn't believe a word of it. I stayed silent and waited.

"Are you sure she's–" Fisher began. He broke off abruptly, and when the other man spoke I understood why.

"If you don't give yourself up in the next ten seconds, I will kill Doctor Fisher."

At that point, I changed my plan somewhat. I didn't like Fisher much, but I didn't want him dead. However, more importantly, it was unlikely they'd kill him straight away. They would torture him first, get all the information on the Killjoys that they could, and then they'd kill him. His life, or potentially the life of every Killjoy in the Zones.

I swore under my breath. In the darkness, I climbed out of the window as fast as I could, crawled back into the building through the window into the next apartment, and shot the four Dracs in my apartment in the back of the head before they had time to turn round. As they dropped, Korse turned to face me, still holding the gun against Fisher's head. The doctor was babbling like an idiot, begging my forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Emily, I couldn't stop them. They said they'd kill me if I didn't bring them here. Oh god, help me, Emily, please…"

I held Korse's gaze. "Stalemate."

He smiled like a wolf. "Don't you want to see Danny, then?"

I could have screamed. Instead, I forced myself to ignore him and looked to Fisher. "I'm sorry." I shot him between the eyes and ran.

That was the worst part. Having to look into his eyes and tell him I'm sorry for what I'm about to do. Even if I probably did save him from a month's worth of torture and a painful demise, it's still the worst thing I've ever done. Even if he did get other people killed. It's the kind of thing you take to your grave. I got to the lockup in record time, swung onto the bike and went out of the city like a rat leaving a sinking ship. I spent the night in an abandoned barn in the Zones, shivering and getting very little sleep, haunted by what Korse had said. As soon as it was light, I drove back to the diner.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I yelled at Doctor Death Defying. "You knew. You knew, you lying bastard, you knew Fisher was the one who betrayed the Heartbreak Squadron. You let me go in to draw him out."

The Killjoys were utterly confused. "Skye, what are you talking about?"

"My apartment was bugged," I snapped. "How would they know to do that unless Fisher had told them?"

"What?" Poison hissed. His voice sounded halfway between anger and sadness. "You told me you'd get out of there. You promised."

"And here I am," I replied sarcastically. "Sorry I'm a little late, pretty-boy. Korse tried to get me on the way out."

"Shit," he said quietly. "I take it back. I didn't know."

"S'okay," I mumbled, allowing him to hug me.

The doctor seemed unbothered by my outburst. "We needed information. What you two got back to us will keep us going for a year. And I knew he might have done something, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't prove it. And he had good contacts." He shrugged, unrepentant. "He was the best way to get the data."

I nearly punched him. Instead, I turned and walked away. "I need a break."

Poison followed me upstairs, into my room where I was packing up my things. He hugged me and just held me, letting me cry in his arms. Between sobs, I told him about what had happened to Fisher. "I mean, he was a creepy pervert, but I didn't want to kill him."

He was sympathetic. "It's okay. I think what matters is that it was the right thing to do at the time. It's never easy, but you had no choice." He stroked my hair gently. "It's alright. You're safe here. Right here, right now, is what's important." He kissed the top of my head. "You're here. You're safe. And you are loved and cared for."

Not for much longer, I thought. I pulled back slightly, looking up at him. "I can't stay, Poison. You know that."

He sighed. "I know. I could see it coming when you walked in the door. You feel like you can't trust us any more because of what Doctor Death did. I just hoped…" He tailed off. "I just hoped you'd give us one last chance. I know it isn't fair. I know you're hurt. I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around me again.

"He told me I could see Danny," I mumbled into the side of his neck.

He pulled back sharply. "What?"

"The night I ran away, Korse came to the apartment with Fisher and threatened to kill him unless I gave myself up. We were both armed and it was a stalemate – you know, if I shoot him, he'll shoot me. And he said to me, 'Don't you want to see Danny?' Like he knew where he was." I looked down. "That's the other half of the reason why I can't stay. They know where Danny is. So I'm going to find him."

He smiled sadly, took my hands in his. "I admire your stubbornness."

"Bloody-mindedness," I corrected, half smiling.

"I'm not going to stop you," he told me. "I'm not going to try and make you stay, because you'd just hit me and walk out of here anyway. And I don't want to remember you like that. I want to remember us just being happy." He kissed me, long and slow. I twisted my hands through his hair as he held me close, pressing himself against me like he never wanted to let go. When he eventually pulled away to breathe, I said softly, "One day, we'll meet in the burned out ruins of the city's music and say to each other, I missed you, I love you, stay with me." One last hug, close and tight. "Goodbye, Party Poison."

"Goodbye, Kerosene Skye," he said.

I grabbed my bag and walked away. I didn't say goodbye to the others – I couldn't face it. I got back on the bike and went back to the barn I'd slept the night in and spent the rest of the day there, planning.

The most important thing to do was set up here on the basis that this was my hideout. That meant water, electricity and food supplies, warmth, shelter from the desert weather, and an internet/Ethernet linkup. The last one was the easiest. I still had the laptop Ghoul had given me, and at this distance from the city I could quickly link up to and hijack the city's Smoke. It wasn't actually called that – it was the Battery City Denizen's Cloud Network, BCDCN or the Cloud for short – but I always thought of it as the Smoke. All the rest meant I needed to steal from the city's stores: not a pleasant prospect in terms of the human impact, but fun to pull off. I plotted my small revenge and spent the night shivering again by a pathetic fire, hacking into the Smoke and creating another fake persona (complete with fake bank details and non-existent credit) to take what I needed. The next morning, I changed into neat, respectable clothes and went back to the city, hiding the bike in an alley behind the bins. I hated leaving it, but I didn't have much choice. That day and the day after were taken up buying everything I would need from various stores across Battery City's vast commercial district. That was another thing I'd learned from the Killjoys: don't buy everything from one area if you're flying blind, or using a false name. The Dracs might be stupid, but their computers are not, unfortunately, and they will see the pattern of purchases you produce. Moving over a bigger area – spreading what you buy at random – makes that pattern harder to detect, and so by the time they work out that you have massively defrauded the city, you're back in the Zones, safe and clear.

It took a few days in the barn to make it habitable, if not great. I had to use water and electricity from the city's network: they had a couple of desert bases, so I hooked up with the water and buzz lines to them and skimmed off what I needed. The emergency food stockpile was cheap, but it wasn't too bad: dehydrated, surgically sealed, enough for two weeks. I discarded the pills that came with it, burying them in the ground outside. I went into the city most nights and ate there, in the halfway bars, the ones that will happily feed anyone as long as you can pay for it afterwards. The barn had two levels, so I set up half of the lower level as my area, covering the walls in insulator foam and then putting boards over the top to protect it. The sleeping bag, the insulated cot and foil blankets looked weird, but I knew from the desert they'd work well on freezing nights. Working on the barn kept my mind off the Killjoys, and how much I missed them.

Going into the city helped, too. Most nights I'd go to one of the bars, get something cheap and just stay half the night there, just listening to people. The other half of the night, well, it could get…fiery, let's put it like that. I mean, sometimes it's nice to be alone, or just to work on something difficult and absorbing. Other times, I just wanted to be around other people. I struck up a friendship with the bartender, Jamie, in Sunrise – a Killjoy sympathiser, he would have joined up with us, but his sister, who part-owned the bar, needed him. He hated it, and wished death on the bar, but he never told his sister that. I went there regularly, not drinking much, just listening to the newsflashes and liking the company. A lot of Sunrise's patrons were like Jamie: sympathetic, but unable to leave the city for other commitments, generally family. The difference between us made me smile: they couldn't leave because their family needed them in the city, and I couldn't stay because my brother had already gone. I worked like that for almost a year when things started to shift. After I'd split off from the Killjoys, I'd been running down the middle of the two groups, not allying myself to and not working with either, but by then the battle lines were being drawn in the proverbial sand. I kept going as long as I could, but I knew it wouldn't last forever. It was Hell's Gate that forced me to accept what was happening: that the end was coming soon, one way or the other.

Hell's Gate was another halfway bar, and a nasty one at that. I'd gone in there for a change, and swiftly regretted it. It was scuzzy, and not in a good way. The only other guys in there, apart from the guy at the bar, were two older men who apparently detested the Killjoys.

"I mean, really, what do they do? They come into the city, kill a few peacekeepers, make a lot of stupid noise, and leave again. All they achieve is getting us early curfews and less freedom. That really helps, doesn't it?"

It went on and on. They complained about the music – "It's a load of crap, it's just noise, I don't think they even sing" – and the raids – "Really, what difference do they think they make?" – until I was about ready to scream.

I turned round and glared at them. "Guys, do you mind? Some of us want to have a drink in peace."

"What d'you think you're gonna do about it, desert rat? Sing at us? Graffiti the bar? I'm so scared," one of them replied. They laughed.

The bartender sighed. "Stop it, you two. Let's have some quiet, the news is on."

"If you call it news," I muttered darkly, running my fingertips over the raygun, then the lighter in my pocket. It calmed me a little.

We only got the end of the show:

"Finally, there have been a series of arson attacks on buildings in Battery City. It is believed that the renegade citizens known as 'Killjoys' are behind this violence, although they have publicly denied any links. The attacks are also believed to be linked to the 'Destroya', although exactly how or why is unclear. If you know anything about these attacks, we urge you to come forward. If you know someone you think might have been involved, please come forward immediately for the sake of the city…"

I smirked into my drink. Clearly someone upstairs had noticed me. I ran my fingers over the shape of the raygun again, then the lighter. It had started to become a tic, a nervous tell – something to watch. I swigged back the last of the beer and looked back at the two guys in the corner, who suddenly looked rather more afraid of me. I giggled softly.

"Better start running."

I watched as Hell's Gate was consumed by the flames. It seemed appropriate that the only thing that survived was the main doorframe with the 'Hell's Gate' sign – obviously the fire wasn't hot enough to melt the metal. The roof timbers fell in, sending up a shower of sparks and fuelling the blaze. The two guys who had pissed me off earlier had long since gone, along with the bartender, and they'd all been too sozzled to remember me to anyone, least of all the Draculoids. I smiled. I must have looked pretty well demonic as the flames flickered in my eyes. Alcohol burns like nothing else. I hadn't even needed any gasoline: all I'd had to do was douse the place in spirits and throw down the light. It took most of the night to burn down completely, and when it did, I left the usual note in the embers and took off. As I hit the zones, I wondered if anyone else would get the references I always left: probably not, it was pretty specific.

"Help me. I'm drowning in gas under the twilight. Gonna bring me the noise, killer? Meet me in the ruins of the music, midnight under moonless sky."

I watched the bulletin the next morning in bed, trying to stay awake. I usually slept during the day now and worked at night. It's easier when you can look up and just look at the darkness, instead of the smog from the city.

"Last night, the Destroya claimed another building in Battery City. It is not yet known who they are or why they are acting against BL/I in this way. Anyone with information is urged to come forward immediately…"

I fell asleep after that. But the message got through.

"Guys, have you seen this?"

"What?" Kobra said blearily. He was shattered after the night raid. It was getting harder and harder to get away safe. Last night they'd almost lost Jet to the Draculoids. He looked across at his brother, who was watching the screen intently. "Poison, what is it?"

"This Destroya thing. All these fires in the city." Party Poison looked up, meeting his brother's inquisitive gaze. "It's not a Killjoy thing, it's not our style. It's almost secret. Like they don't want to be found out."

"Setting light to buildings is hardly 'secret'," Ghoul commented wryly, sitting down next to Kobra on the sofa. Poison laughed.

"No, I mean whoever it is, they don't want people to know who they are. They're not mocking BL/I, they're not trying to show off how they'll never be caught. They're careful. They always pick places that either don't have surveillance, or they take out the cameras first. They said on the bulletin that in some places the cameras have actually been disabled with a bug, a white-screen tech. They always fix the cameras afterwards, so the burning building's on tape, but they've never been caught themselves." He leaned back against the sofa, accepting the coffee Ghoul offered him. "Doesn't that say that there's some serious know-how behind this?"

"Okay, maybe there's someone in the city setting these fires. Maybe they have the tech to take out the cameras so they don't get caught." Kobra raised an eyebrow. "What's your point?"

"My point is, I think someone is trying to send a message to us. Someone is using the myth of the Destroya to get our attention."

"And that someone is…?" Kobra left the sentence hanging.

Ghoul sighed. "You think it's Skye, don't you?" He stood up. "She's been gone nearly a year, Poison. If she was going to contact us, she would have done it by now. Just let her go."

The brothers watched in silence as Ghoul left.

"He thinks I'm going nuts, doesn't he?" Poison said sadly.

Kobra shrugged. "Maybe he's right. She would have got in touch by now if she was ever going to, wouldn't she?"

"If you felt like I'd betrayed you, would you ever want to speak to me again?" Poison turned back to the screen. "She's alive. I know her. She's too smart to get killed."

"I hope you're right," Kobra muttered.

He went back that evening – alone – to what remained of the Hell's Gate bar. He walked through the wreckage, hoping for something. Anything that might prove she was still alive and still fighting. The smouldering embers were choking him, and he knew that to stay too long would only bring the Draculoids down. Anything more than a few moments was dangerous. A flicker of white caught his eye: the only clean thing in the sea of dirty-black and smoked-stained grey ruins. Gingerly, he picked it up, trying not to smear ashes over the paper. The scrawled inked words made him laugh, and then brought him close to tears. Smiling, he made his way back to the Trans-Am and hit the gas, roaring out of the city in a cloud of fumes.

"It's a trap," Ghoul said. "There's no way either of you could expect to go back there and not get caught by the Dracs. Either she's lying to you, or it's fake."

Poison shrugged. "I don't care. I'm going anyway, whether you guys come with me or not."

"We're not letting you go there alone," Jet said. "You'll get ghosted, no question."

"I'm still going."

"You don't even know that it's meant for you!" Ghoul snapped in frustration. "It could mean anything."

"Gas under the twilight, Kerosene Skye. Bring the noise, killer, Party Poison. Ruins of the music, the burned out Black Rock where we met. Midnight under moonless sky, tonight, because it's a new moon."

"Kobra!" Ghoul hissed. "You're the only one who can convince him it's fake. Tell him!"

Kobra sighed. "Ghoul, I agree with you. But we both know that he's stubborn enough to sneak out in the middle of the night and go on his own anyway. And he'd probably get ghosted in the process. I say we all go, and then at least we know he's safer, because we're there if he needs us."

"Looks like we're going for a little midnight ride, then," Jet muttered. "At least you can say 'I told you so'."

They drove out in silence, Ghoul behind the wheel with Poison riding shotgun. The Dracs seemed to have disappeared from the city overnight, and the silence was unnerving.

"Where the hell are they?" Kobra muttered. "There's always Dracs around somewhere. What the hell's going on?"

"There's something else happening, that's what," Jet said quietly. "Someone has created a diversion."

"Or they're waiting to strike," Ghoul replied, glaring out the window.

I didn't pick that night by chance. I'd already planned for it, asking my friends Messrs. Sandman and Benzedrine in the Fallout Killjoys (another desert gang, mostly from Chicago) to play a show in the city that night as a diversion to buy us a little time. They'd gone along with it, happy to play for the kids who still cared about music. I'd asked them to hide out overnight too… just in case. I got to the Black Rock around half-eleven and sat on the bar, remembering the last time I'd been here. A little over a year ago: June 2018. In the year since, I'd been shot at, almost died, killed a man, fallen in love… and now it might all be over. I glanced up at the clock on the wall, surprised it still worked at all. I guess quartz lasts.

Three minutes to midnight. I heard the low growl of an engine, then quick, light footsteps, heading down the alley. The door opened slowly, but with a disappointing lack of creaking. I smiled.

"Party Poison, long time no see."

I thought about trying to play it cool, but I jumped down off the bar and ran towards him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. "I missed you."

"I love you," I replied. "Stay with me."

He laughed. "It's good to have you back. Come on. The others are waiting."

"We have to get out of here," I said as we sprinted down the alleyway. "It's dangerous. The Dracs could be onto us any minute."

"We haven't seen any all evening," he said breathlessly.

"I know. The Fallouts are playing a show in the south quarter, that's our diversion. As soon as the Dracs catch up to that, we're screwed."

The other Killjoys were waiting by the Trans-Am, looking impatient. Kobra saw us first. "Poison? Is it – Oh my god!"

"Holy crap – I take it back, dude!" Ghoul shouted, grinning. "Skye! Wow, you're still fighting."

"Never stopped running," I laughed. "Come on. We have to get out of here."

The five of us piled into the car and Kobra hit the gas. We were almost in the zones when they finally caught up to us.

"This vehicle is surrounded. If you try to escape, you will be shot. Get out slowly, drop your weapons, hands up where we can see 'em."

Oh no, I thought. Please, no. Tell me I don't know that voice. Tell me my mind's playing tricks. Anything, please.

"Danny?"

The man sighed, stepping towards me out of the darkness. "Sarah, what did you think you were doing? What did you think you could achieve?" He shook his head sadly. "I'm disappointed in you. I thought you were smart enough…" He tailed off. "Obviously I was wrong."

I was close to tears. "Danny, please, look at what you're doing. Just stop. Help us. We'll be killed for this. Please."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before you joined up with these freaks," he spat angrily. "Take them away, I don't want to have to see them." He looked at me one last time, disgusted. "You are no sister of mine."

In the back of the Drac van, I told the others I was sorry. I was expecting violence, fury, physical attacks. They had trusted me, and now we were all dead.

"It's not your fault," Kobra said quietly.

"Yeah, we knew we were taking a risk doing this – any of this," Ghoul agreed. "We had to get caught sooner or later. We were never going to get away with it forever."

"The fight won't end just because we're gone," Jet added. "There are other kids out there, still running."

Poison didn't say anything. He just held me as the van rattled on through the night.

We spent the remains of that night in cells, listening to each other. Looking back on it, I think that was one of the biggest mistakes BL/I ever made. Probably the best piece of luck we ever had, too: they put us next to each other, in sequence. We could communicate. That's probably against the first rule of dictatorship policing: if you catch a group of dangerous criminals, don't let them talk to each other, because they'll plan a way of getting out. I never worked out how it happened. Maybe all the other cells were full.

In the morning, Danny came to see me. He let himself into my cell and gave me what passed for breakfast in the prison: cold toast, and lukewarm coffee with too much sugar and not enough caffeine. I ate anyway, needing the fuel for what I had planned.

"Just swear allegiance to Better Living, and this is all over," he told me. "You can go home, go back to your normal life. You're not as important as the Killjoys, you could just go home if you swore your alliance to the Industries."

I stayed sat on the edge of the bed, curled up. He frowned. "Sarah? Are you alright?"

A strangled sob escaped my throat. "Can I have a hug? Brother to sister?"

He got up off his chair and sat down beside me, wrapping his arms around me as my shoulders shook with sobs. "Don't cry, sis, don't cry. It'll be okay."

"It won't," I sobbed.

He rubbed my back gently. "Yeah, it will…"

"No, it really won't," I said calmly, suddenly no longer tearful as I slid his raygun out of its holster. "Not for you, anyway. Sorry, man. But you said yourself, you're not my big brother any more. And therefore I don't feel any guilt whatsoever about doing this." I hit him hard across the temple with the butt of the gun.

He crumpled, and I grimaced slightly at the next part of the task. There weren't any cameras in the cells – some human rights laws they did stick to, apparently – but people would start to get suspicious if Danny did not re-emerge shortly. I pulled on his white trousers and white shirt over the clothes I was wearing and grabbed his mask off the floor. I also slid the key ring and mobile phone off his belt for good measure, quickly dialling Mr. Sandman's number as I left the cell and locked my ex-brother in. I knocked on the cell doors of the others as I went past, on the pretence of 'checking up on the prisoners'. What I was really doing was warning them to get ready.

"Who the hell are you, and how'd you get this number?"

"Dude, Sandman, cool your jets. It's Kerosene. Remember I told you to hide out overnight?"

"Uh-huh. Has it all gone Costa Rica up there?"

"Not quite. But it could if you don't help me."

"On the way. What do you want us to do?"

"Bring the gang and make some noise outside the front of the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit. Tell Benny to sneak in and get to the prison cells and help me. Alright?"

"Done." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Kerosene Skye, over and out." I cut the line and got to the armoury, getting the five confiscated rayguns back, along with my personal tech supplies. I was relieved to find them intact; I'd half expected the Dracs to just smash them up and dump them in a side street. I set up another white-out screen and was halfway back to the cells when a noise made me jump. I turned slowly, expecting to find a raygun-wielding Drac. Instead, I got Dr. Benzedrine, tapping on the high window. I laughed and let him in, helping him down to the floor.

"Benny! How are you, dude?"

He laughed tiredly. "Been better, been worse. The Dracs are getting tougher."

"I know, trust me," I smiled. "Come on. Let's jailbreak these guys and get out of here." Between the two of us, we woke the Killjoys and funnelled everyone out of the window. The air outside was baking, and the asphalt was hot underfoot.

"Greetings Sandman, this is Dr. Benzedrine here, we are go for the zones!"

The van pulled up and the six of us scrambled in. Sandman was driving – "Oh no," Benny muttered, "I liked this van as well" – and Donnie and Dreamer were up front on shotgun duty.

"Alright?" Donnie called to us.

"Never better," I laughed. "Everybody in, let's get out of here."

Sandman punched the gas and roared down the highway as Dreamer turned up the radio. By the time we hit the zones, I had a plan of attack.

I was sick of running and hiding. Time to take the bastards on, and take 'em down for good.

"I know that look," Poison said wryly as we pulled up to the diner. "You're plotting something. I can see it in your eyes."

"Something like that," I replied. "But first, coffee."

As we sat around the tables talking, I outlined the plan to Poison and Sandman. "If we could get every desert gang organised – if everyone worked together – we could hit the factories and hit the HQ at the same time. If we hit hard enough, and get the timing right, they'll fall."

Sandman nodded. "Yeah, no question. The only problem is the 'getting everyone to work together' part. There's a hell of a lot of infighting in the desert gangs. You know, you've got bleeders, you've got straight-edge, you've got Alkalines… How can we get everyone to stop hitting out at each other for long enough to hit BL/I?"

I shrugged. "You guys all have your own gangs. How do you get them all to work together without killing each other?"

"Common goal," Poison replied, swigging coffee. "We all want to hit BL/I, so we plan and work together. We're stronger as a group than we would be alone."

"So, apply that to the desert. If everyone has their role, and everyone is working to take down BL/I, then we might pull it off. Most of the desert gangs want to take the pigs down, they just can't do it as they are."

"If we all pull our weight," Sandman mused, "Then it might just work."

Poison nodded. "If it works, that's amazing: we get rid of BL/I, and we save the zones. If it doesn't, then it doesn't really matter, because chances are that if this doesn't work now, it never really will."

"One question, though," Sandman added. "How d'you get everyone to listen to you at once?"

I smiled. "Jailbreak radios."

Dr. D glanced up at me as I wandered into the studio.

"Hey. I need a favour."

"Well, everyone seems to think I owe you one," he shrugged. "What is it?"

"I need to make a broadcast. Every frequency you can get me. I want to talk to every Killjoy in the Zones." I smiled briefly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You've got a plan." It was a statement, not a question. I nodded.

"Yeah. Something like that."

He smiled properly for the first time. "That's a Killjoy if I ever heard one. You want to take the pigs head-on, right?"

I nodded. "We've been running for long enough. It's time to fight them."

"Maybe they were right," he murmured, half to himself, as he busied himself with the keyboard.

I frowned. "Right about what?"

"Maybe you are what we needed. Maybe – just maybe – you really are the Destroya."

Even if I'm not, I thought, what does it matter? They think I'm the Destroya, and that's what counts. They believe in me, and they think we've got a chance. Whether I actually am the Destroya – whether the Destroya is just an urban legend – isn't important. I'm the figurehead of the revolution.

I turned back to Dr. D. "How long?"

He pointed to the mike. "Whenever you're ready. I'm gonna record it and play it back, rather than send it out live."

I took a deep breath. The fight back starts here.

"This is Destroya, calling all desert rats, calling all red liners. I'm calling every Killjoy in the Zones, so listen up. I'm done running and hiding. I'm calling all-out war on the monochromes. If you're with me, get to the Zone 6 diner by tomorrow night. If you're against me? Stay the hell out of my way. We are launching an attack, and this time we're not backing down. We are not giving up. It's death or victory. Because you know what? I'd rather go down fighting than live in this for one more day. Get down here, people, because this is the end, one way or the other. This is Destroya, over and out."

I turned back to him. "How was that?"

He smiled. "Heroic. I'll play it every half hour. You cool?"

"Frosty," I said, walking out.

They started arriving within the hour. It was a trickle – just the Rising and Avenging Killjoys at first, then the Fearless, then Valentines – and it became a flood. A riot of Killjoys. By the time people stopped turning up, we must have had kids from every gang in the Zones. When we finally got people into the diner to explain the plan – even with just one person from each group – it was jammed. People were sat on tables, on the counters, stood up at the back. I had to stand on a table to be seen.

"All right. We're splitting into two groups, Attack and Sabotage. Attack group is going into Battery City to BL/I headquarters to take out as many of the bastards as we can. Sabotage is going after the factories. With me?"

The crowd roared assent.

"Damn right. We've waited too long. Now. You stay with your own gang, you work with them and you keep each other alive. But if I need you to do something, you do it, because if you don't then shit goes wrong and people get hurt. Shadows and Avenging Killjoys are leading the Attack group, Wrath and the Rising Killjoys are taking Sabotage. You listen to them and you work with them. Okay?"

Another roar.

"Good. You already know this, but I want it to be clear: this is it. This is our one shot at changing things. This time, we can't back down and we can't run away. So either we win, or we die. One way or the other, this is the end. Who's with me?"

They yelled themselves hoarse.

"Fuck yeah. Shadows, Wrath, over to you. Fabulous Killjoys, you're with me."

"What's going on?" Kobra said, puzzled, as the five of us walked outside into the cool twilight. "I thought we were running with Shadows."

"We are. Sort of. We go in with them, but we break away early."

"Why?" Ghoul asked.

"The truth," I replied.

Jet looked at me, one eyebrow raised. "Sending the memo round?" He laughed. "You're either a genius, or you're completely mad."

"All the best people are, right?" Poison smiled.

"So, while the laser fights rage all around you, you want to get into the headquarters, find the memo, and hijack every official channel to broadcast it to the entire city," Ghoul said dryly. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: what the fuck was in your coffee?"

I shrugged. "Well, if there are laser fights raging all around us, it means that none of the Dracs are going to notice me until it's too late – they'll be too busy trying not to die to stop me."

Kobra laughed. "That's one way to look at it."

I heard footsteps behind me and glanced round to see Sandman and Benzedrine running over to us. "Hey."

"Wanted to say goodbye," Sandman explained. "You know. Might be the last time and all that."

I smiled slightly. "Don't say that. We'll be okay."

Benny sighed. "All right. But – good luck or whatever. Stay beautiful." They both hugged me.

"Keep it ugly," I called after them as they walked away.

We got to the city after dark, pulled up in a side street close to the HQ building. The rest of Attack were with us, waiting for Shadows to give the word. The radio crackled softly, then flared into life. "It's show time, motherfuckers!"

Everybody ran at once. The guys in the lobby didn't know what hit them. They didn't even have time to hit the alarm. Groups started splitting off, taking out the cameras and securing the rest of the ground floor while the rest of Attack waited. Shadows and his gang just listened – even through there must have been hundreds of kids in the room, it was almost completely silent.

"We're clear. Let's move up."

"What floor are we splitting on?" Ghoul asked as we hit the stairs - not the elevator, because it could be stopped and sealed off.

"Sixth. That's where the communications banks are."

Synyster – part of Shadows' gang – caught me on the way up. "This is going way too easily," he muttered. "What the hell are they playing at?"

We soon found out. Turned out they had seen us coming, and instead of securing the ground floor, they'd decided to defend the fourth instead. We nearly walked into a hail of laser fire. The only reason we didn't was because two gangs – the Fearless and the Valentines, the advance party – had gone up ahead and seen what was coming. We ended up filling the floor with smoke and sealing it off, just climbing over it by the fire escape. The Dracs on those levels were just cannon fodder, for want of a nicer term. They'd been left to die by their employers, poor bastards.

Finally we hit the sixth floor. Shadows glanced across at me and nodded. When they moved up, we stayed. As soon as they'd gone, I headed for the computer bank.

"Jet, can you find me the broadcasting controls?"

He nodded. "Give me a minute."

"Alright." I sat down and logged in as admin, and started setting things up. "Let's get to work."

It didn't take us long to set up the mike and find the file. The difficult bit was the recording.

"'As BL/I have played a major role in the production of this 'disaster' it follows that employees and citizens must never be informed. The comm channels of the city are currently being used for the purposes of persuasive adjustment of the citizen's collective viewpoint regarding the Dust Storm and the Killjoys. Vital that the Killjoys are discredited and linked to violence as they may understand what role BL/I have played…' Better Living Industries have lied to you. They have manipulated you and used you. They caused the Dust Storm as a means of taking control of the city. I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear it. But it's true. Too many people have already died in this fight. Let's end it now before we're wiped out completely. Please, don't try to join in the fighting, just stay inside. It'll be over soon, just wait it out. This is the Destroya, over and out."

I switched off the mike and saved the file.

"Okay, Jet, over to you."

Kobra looked across at me as Jet sent the recording out, fingers flying over the keys. "You sure this is going to work, and not just bring the Dracs down on us?"

"It has to," I replied.

I won't go into what else happened over those next few days. I won't write about the number of Draculoids ghosted, or the kids who fought, or the ordinary people who saved the lives of others. I won't write about the bodies in the streets and the blood and the fires that burned out of control from the laser fights. I won't write about how it felt to find my brother's charred corpse because, honestly, I don't want to remember it. I know it happened, and that's enough.

Instead, I'll tell you how things are now. The new society is thriving, just a few short years after its creation. There are kids growing up in this city now who don't know what it was like to live under the rule of the smog and the medication. Lucky them. They don't know how narrowly they escaped. I mean, there's still so much work to do – the ghost of Better Living Industries haunts the city and the zones, in the empty factories and the fading logos and the burned out headquarters building. But we're getting there. Slowly. The new government – chosen by the people, for the people – is working hard to eradicate the influence of the old one. They're teaching the kids to think for themselves in the schools, not to just learn facts by rote. About time.

Sometimes, I still miss the desert life. I miss the friendship of the Fabulous Killjoys, as they used to be. They've taken other paths now. We still see each other sometimes – just meet up to play music and remember the good times – but I guess there are too many skeletons to keep a closer friendship. Jet Star – otherwise known as Ray – lives by the coast now. He couldn't take the feeling of being confined in another city, so far from the ocean, so as soon as he could, he moved away. He still plays guitar, and we talk regularly by phone and by email. I think he's got another band now. Fun Ghoul – Frankie – moved north, sick of the heat. He lives in New York and runs a clothing business and a record label. He's settled down now – got married to Cherri, had a kid. He's happy where he is, but he comes down to see us sometimes, and emails practically every day. Last I heard, there's a second little girl on the way. Kobra Kid – Mikey – stuck around, surprisingly. I wouldn't have blamed him for wanting to get out and go as far away as possible, but he stayed on, helping to set up the new government and working to make things better. Maybe it's atonement, I don't know. Doctor Death Defying still runs a radio station, but it's no longer pirate, it's legal and licensed. He still plays the same kind of music, though, and I'm pretty sure Show Pony – I never knew her real name – still hangs out there. I'm still in touch with the Fallout Killjoys – Pete (Mr. Sandman), Patrick (Dr. Benzedrine), Andy (Donny) and Joey (Dreamer) still work together as a band and still make music. They've got another album coming out next year.

And Party Poison?

In the immediate aftermath of the attack, when the smoke was still rising, I said I wanted space. I wanted to just forget what we'd gone through and start over as friends. I wanted to find my sister. I was scared.

His reply?

"We've got all the time in the world."

I still wake up some nights screaming for Danny to run while the flames lick at his heels. He still has times when it feels like everything is falling away and nothing has changed and he's back in the desert where it started. We keep going. We look after Sophie between us. We're not okay, but it's alright.

"Gerard?"

He wanders back into the living room from the kitchen, towel in hand. "Yeah?"

I smile slightly and brush a lock of impossibly red hair away from his eyes. "Did I ever tell you I miss you?"

"Yeah," he laughs, wrapping his arms around my waist and slow-dancing with me. "I think you did."

"Did I tell you I love you?"

"Yes."

"Did I ask you to stay with me?"

He kisses me lightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Fin.