Chapter Seven
I Refuse To Answer
"This is it?"
The group glanced at Missile as she spoke, her tone utterly disappointed. And they couldn't blame her—standing in front of them, at the exact place and time they'd given on the radio almost three hours ago…
Were seven Killjoys.
"I'm sorry, were you expecting an army?" the girl closest to her asked sarcastically, and Missile frowned, ignoring the comment and turning back to Dr. D. "Is it even possible to think we'd beat them with eleven people?"
The Doc opened his mouth to speak and then instead heaved a sigh.
"You think half of the Killjoys in this dump have access to a radio?" the girl piped up again, and the ten-year-old faced her. "More like hoping…" she murmured, and the girl pushed her black hair out of her face, crossing her arms. "Well they don't. The only ones we've seen that have one, it's either broken beyond repair, or they can't get batteries." She sighed. "When the Dracs started upping their guards, they got rid of most of the machines we hacked for 'em."
DJ nodded. "Makes sense; I don't think they're too fond of us communicating with each other under their radar."
Missile crossed her arms, inspecting the seven closely. Aside from the girl who'd spoken and another, they were all boys. They were also only about seventeen or eighteen; if they went with only these, it would only be more lives lost too early.
"You'd have to go out and get them yourselves if you really wanted fighters." the girl continued, and it was silent for a moment.
"Why don't we?" Missile asked, and Dr. D stared at her. "Go find them on our own?"
"Yeah. Why not?"
The girl scoffed. "Yeah, all right. How long do you have, exactly?"
DJ glanced at Missile, who once again was looking down, and then said, "It wouldn't that hard."
A boy from the group spoke up. "You know, for sure, where there're Killjoys?"
DJ did not reply, but Missile brightened up a bit, reaching into her jacket and taking out the map she'd grabbed from the campsite—the map that Poison had obviously been marking with places he knew other Killjoys were. She held it up and said, "We do now."
"Really." The girl gazed first at the paper and then her, thinking. "You've got a plan and everything?"
"I will."
The girl sighed, subtly rolled her eyes, and then stepped forward, smiling. "All right. Lethal Rejection; and I'm with you."
Missile glanced at the Doc, grinning subtly. "Missile Kid," she replied.
The other five introduced themselves, though the only ones who really looked like they even somewhat trusted her idea were Rejection and her brother, Dark Blade.
"All right, Kid," Rejection said with a sigh, crossing her arms. "Where to first?"
Ray awoke to hear several soft sobs, and he sat up, frowning, running a hand over his eyes and looking over at Frank next to him, still sleeping, and then raising his gaze to the corner of the room, where Mikey had retreated to earlier, insisting to be left alone.
At first he thought that the other Killjoy was asleep as well, possibly having a nightmare, but then he shifted and let out another quiet cry of obvious pain, and Ray immediately was concerned. "Mikey?" he began, getting to his feet.
The blonde stiffened, wiping his eyes as Ray drew closer, kneeling next to him, clearly surprised to see both that he'd been crying and that he was trembling, his arms wrapped around himself like he was cold despite it feeling close to a hundred degrees in the room. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," Mikey lied, his voice hoarse, and Ray gave him an irritated look. "Seriously; tell me."
"I'm fine!"
Without giving him a chance to move away, Ray reached out quickly and pressed a hand to his forehead, his eyes widening instantly, and he recoiled in surprise. "You're on fire," he breathed, and Mikey shook his head, unknowingly moving one arm from around him to grab at his ankle.
Ray frowned. "Did you twist it or something?"
"No," Mikey murmured, but didn't release it, and before Ray could say anything else the blonde had looked away, his eyes watering again. "I don't know."
"Let me look at it," Ray said, beginning to gently try and remove his boot, but as he did so, Mikey yelped loudly, causing him to jerk back and Frank to jolt awake, startled. "Damn!" he exclaimed, sitting up and looking at the two. "What happened?"
Ray bit his lip, not replying and instead trying to figure out how to get the kid's boot off. Of course it would've been easier if they simply left it on, but if it was serious enough, they needed to know, and it couldn't be good for it being restricted in his shoe. He looked at Mikey, who was staring back, his eyes wide and tear-filled, both hands now clutching his foot.
"What happened?" Frank asked again, coming over to them and getting to his knees.
"He's sick." Ray said, frowning.
"No, I'm not." Mikey protested weakly, and Frank looked him over in instant disbelief.
"Aren't you supposed to take off the shoe if you've got a sprained ankle?" Ray asked, and Frank shrugged slightly. "How would I know? I mean, yeah, I think so, but—"
"No!" Mikey interrupted, turning to lean sideways against the wall. He already could no longer stand the pain as it was, and he did everything in his power to keep it still; he wouldn't be able to deal with it if they started fucking with it. "Go away!"
Ray glanced at Frank out of the corner of his eyes, and Frank sighed, slowly moving a bit over and placing a finger lightly on Mikey's shoe. "Can we please try to take off your boot?"
Mikey shook his head again. "No! It fucking hurts! Leave it alone!"
"Because it's probably swollen!" Ray said. "If we get the shoe off, the pain might stop!"
"No!"
"God, Mikey, you sound like a fucking three-year-old. Grow up!" Frank rolled his eyes, though his words were more for distraction than insult.
Scowling, Mikey opened his mouth to retort, but instead shrieked in pain as Frank pulled as gently as he could on the boot, unable to stop himself from letting out several choked cries. "Let go! Please!"
Frank did not, but he briefly stopped, and Mikey slumped against Ray as he got behind him, shaking terribly. "Please—d-don't—don't again," he whispered, and Frank bit his lip sympathetically; he hated causing him pain, though he knew if he let go now, the blonde would never let him close enough to try again. "Please, Mikey, you gotta let me get it off!"
"It hurts!"
"I'm trying to help you!"
"It's not working!" Mikey scowled, realizing he was clutching Ray's hand, like it was going to somehow stop the pain, and he blushed but was unable to let go, it being the only comfort he had at the moment. He felt Frank tighten his grip on the boot again, and he clenched his teeth. Don't…
"It's almost off," Frank soothed, and Mikey tightened his grip on Ray, who moved his other arm so he was in a sort of hug with the blonde, attempting to console him as Frank once again began tenderly removing his boot, cringing as Mikey cried out again, squirming in his grip, and then Frank sat back, setting the shoe down beside him.
The agony was abruptly lessened as his foot came free, and Mikey sagged back, gasping for air, tears running down his cheeks, both from relief and the pain he still felt, just about at his limit for withstanding it entirely.
"Holy shit," Frank muttered, widening his eyes and then looking up at Ray, unquestionably panicked, and Ray didn't have to look to know it was bad.
"Wha's it?" Mikey mumbled, his words slurred, and before Frank could prevent him from seeing it, he had. Mikey immediately felt sicker than he had before as he gawked at his ankle. It looked too bad to be simply twisted, and both he and his brother had had those before. It was very bruised and swollen, the skin such a dark shade of purple-blue that it looked like someone had drawn on it with a marker. "Oh…" he groaned weakly, dismayed, and Ray grabbed him as he shuddered and pitched to the side, pulling him back and wrapping an arm around his midsection again to support him. "Mikey," he murmured, getting no response, and he looked up at Frank. "Is it broken?"
Frank bit his lip, hesitating for a moment. "I don't know…but I don't think it'd look that bad if it wasn't."
"Shit," Ray closed his eyes, using his free hand to rub his eyes.
Frank sighed, folding Mikey's boot up as tightly as he could and then gently lifting his foot to rest on top of it. It wasn't much elevation at all, but it was certainly better than nothing. He then gave another soft exhalation and shakily leaned against the wall, flustered. Ray did the same, still holding the blonde, and then shook his head.
"God damn do we need to get out of here."
Korse stepped back from the red-haired Killjoy, who was once again tied to the same chair, watching as he slowly blinked back into awareness, raising his head reluctantly to look at the man, who smirked. "Feeling better?"
Gerard scowled, frustrated. "Oh, yeah, because I always love waking up to your face."
Korse rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to remain defiant?"
"Until you're dead."
"Or you are," Korse countered, and the boy only glared at him unwaveringly. He was very noticeably enervated, and yet he still showed no sign of giving in anytime soon, his eyes giving a silent reply.
Or that.
The agent sighed. "I know you're tired."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
"I mean," Korse frowned at the utter sarcasm, "you're weak. How long has it been since you slept?"
Gerard didn't respond; instead, he blinked very slowly, the mere mention of the thing he was forbidden to do alluring.
"Why don't you just comply?" Korse asked. "If you cooperate, I'll allow you to rest, and whatever else you may need." He paused for a moment. "Wouldn't you like to be treated properly again?"
Gerard briefly looked away, then back, silent. He was hungry, thirsty, and desperately needed to use the bathroom, and for a brief moment, making all that go away was extremely tempting. But he wouldn't trust the man to go through with the offer, and more importantly, he refused to put himself before the others, so he took a breath, shifted uncomfortably, and narrowed his eyes. "Never."
Korse shrugged. "You will eventually relinquish your fighting."
Gerard shook his head. "In your fucking dreams," he spat.
"You don't realize how close you are to doing so, boy." he said, calmly smiling again. "Don't you remember? You just killed someone."
Gerard flinched. "You killed someone, you son of a bitch!"
"It was your hand on the trigger, your finger that pulled it."
"You forced me to!"
The man smirked. "And I'll do it again, Gerard. Next time, I'll have you eliminate all of them."
"There is no 'next time'!"
"There will be," the man corrected, "or you won't like what happens." He paused thoughtfully. "And just think—if we stay on this time schedule, BLI will have rid all the Killjoys before the deadline is even reached."
Gerard scowled at the man. "What deadline?" he demanded. "For what?"
Korse chuckled. "That's confidential, I'm afraid. Especially to you. But it wouldn't be possible to achieve with all of you trying to ruin everything we do."
"'Cause what you do is horrible!" Gerard retorted. "You're taking advantage of innocent people and making them believe it's right."
"We do not force—"
"Yeah, you completely give them a choice about it!"
Korse struck him without a particular reason; his continual disobedience just irked him.
Blinking, the boy kept speaking. "Y-you've given them a fake reality that makes them think everything is just great when it's not!"
"And to think," Korse said, grabbing him roughly by his hair to shut him up. "You could have been part of that; could have lived a decent life instead of being an ignorant rebel."
"I'd rather—" he began to retort, but Korse jerked his head back, smirking at the cry of pain he gave, releasing him a moment later and taking a step back. "You could have escaped this entire situation by simply giving in to us years ago." He paused. "Your parents would still be alive if you had…"
That'd done it. "Go to Hell!" Gerard screamed, ignoring the man as he slapped him. "You fucking asshole!"
"Do not curse at me, boy. It was your own fault they died." He watched the Killjoy flinch violently, glaring up at him in intense hatred, and he continued. "You could have at least left their beliefs alone; but no, you forced your ignorance on them, got them to go along with it."
"They chose for themselves," Gerard growled, and Korse chuckled. "Then they chose at the wrong time."
Gerard averted his gaze, distressed.
Korse smirked. "You know you were terrified, Gerard; seeing your parents being dragged away to rot in prison, all because they just couldn't follow the law."
The Killjoy squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.
"You're terrified now." Korse continued. "I don't care how hard you try to hide it." He snickered. "You, your brother, and your idiotic boyfriend would've had the exact same fate along with them if you hadn't run away like the true cowards you are."
"Stop…" the boy mumbled, and the agent clicked his tongue. "So you do remember! You know you could've given in; could've simply taken your medication like the rest of the city. We even gave you a chance, but you only resisted." He paused for a moment, thinking of how he had previously gotten through the defiant, arrogant act the boy continuously put on. "What if I were to get rid of them, too, hmm?"
"Fuck you!" Gerard yelled, once again glaring at him and yanking on his arm in an attempt he knew was futile to free himself.
"They are the only two things you have left. If they were gone, you would have no one else. Wouldn't it be ridiculous to let this Killjoy group you lead take away everything left in your life? And you would have no one to blame but yourself."
"Don't…" he murmured weakly, almost desperately.
"I will, Gerard. You've seen me nearly do it before. And you just saw how little I care about you worthless Killjoys. I'd kill them without blinking, without hesitation. And I will make you watch." He paused as the boy trembled. "If you were upset I forced you to kill your useless allies—"
"Please…"
"—then how would you feel if I made your hand pull the trigger that ended your own brother's life?"
"No!" the red head shrieked, his eyes wide.
"Little Frankie's life, then?"
"Don't you fucking call him that!"
"You did. You did when you were in this exact position all those years ago, when I was attempting to give you a choice. And you still do, don't you Gee?"
"Shut the fuck up! God am I going to kill you!"
Korse scowled, striking him. "Don't threaten me again, Way. You've already worn out my patience. One more time and I'll kill them."
Gerard exhaled sharply but kept silent.
"Tell me what I want to know and I'll spare them." Korse waited for a moment, got no response, and then grabbed his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "Do I really need to make an example out of one of them?"
"No! I-I don't know anywhere else! Really!"
Korse released him, stepping back. "I don't believe you."
"I—please, I don't!"
The agent sighed in irritation. "So one of the three I have down the hall does?"
"They'd probably know less!" Gerard shook his head, uncaring if it was true or not, willing to do anything he could not to make them go through anything similar.
Korse crossed his arms. "You do realize I've had you as my prisoners for nearly two days, right?"
Gerard only looked at him, suddenly holding back tears.
"If I do not get rid of them, don't you think something else will first?"
It took a second, but the realization was painfully obvious. Food and water…
He watched as the man smirked and spoke up again. "Give me another location."
"I don't know!" he immediately replied, though vaguely knew he did; one last piece of information he refused to let go of. It was others or his brother, Frank, and Ray—how was he supposed to pick?
Korse glared at him. "I'm not a fool, boy. You're their leader. Or rather were," he added, trying to make him flinch again; it was amusing. "But nevertheless, you know more than the others. I will not stop until I'm positive you've told me everything."
"I have…"
Growing impatient, Korse hit him again, and then whirled around as the door was slammed opened, looking about to yell at whoever it was until he stepped back as the other man came in, walking over to stand in front of the half-conscious red head.
Gerard blinked up at him, frowning as he did not recognize who it was, and then exclaimed as the man suddenly grabbed him by his throat, staring at him menacingly.
"Where is my daughter?"
Missile Kid twisted the map, trying to read the damn thing as wind from the open window continuously tried to jerk it out of her hands. But it was deathly hot in Dr. D's van, probably due to the fact there were now ten Killjoys, along with Dr. D, Cloudy Skye, and Show Pony crowded in the back of it, the other thirteen in two other vehicles of their own, following closely.
And the little A.C. unit had chosen a very awful time to quit working. She would rather it take hours for her to finally find the next location, as long as she didn't have to deal with the heat; not that it was any cooler outside, but it did make a difference. And she was still in a surprisingly decent mood; they'd really made progress.
"Oh—okay," she finally murmured, smoothing the paper on her lap. She almost had to squint; it was getting dark outside faster than she could comprehend a whole day had nearly passed. She looked at DJ in the driver's seat beside her. "There's another place coming up at the edge of this Zone…"
"All right," DJ said, and then shook her head. "Really glad you had that map; this would've been a hell of a lot harder without it."
Missile smiled sadly. "Wasn't mine; it was Party's."
DJ looked at her. By now every single one of the others had figured out it had been the four; there'd been no use hiding it anymore. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head slightly. "We'll destroy BLI." she said determinedly after a moment.
DJ glanced at the others in the back. "Well, we certainly have more of a chance than we started off with. That's a good sign."
Missile nodded. "I just hope it's enough."
It took about ten minutes more for the vehicles to reach the warehouse, and by then the sky had turned slightly pink. It was actually kind of pretty, but Missile refused to focus even the slightest bit of her attention on that; they had so much else to do. Besides, as far as she was concerned at the moment, it was horridly ugly, just like the sun and the sand and the desert and the BLI building that loomed over Battery City. Pretty made no difference in what had happened; it didn't make anyone who had been killed come back. Seeing something as beautiful or ugly depended on the mood and current emotions of the person who saw it, and so, blaming the world for what had occured, Missile was seeing it as ugly, and she was damn sure the others felt the same.
"Hello?" DJ began, frowning and knocking on the front of the warehouse as she reached it, glancing around. "I don't think anyone's home."
"What a waste of time."
Missile turned as Lethal Rejection sighed, her eyes on a broken window on the side. "Look inside."
Hesitantly, Missile moved over to look where she had and then closed her eyes briefly. "Oops?"
The entire warehouse was filled with nothing but what must have been hundreds of boxes, all empty from the looks of it.
Rejection looked at her, and then gave something that might have actually been a slight laugh. "It's okay, Kid; you've been right about every other place so far."
Missile exhaled for a long moment and smiled, and they turned as Dr. D wheeled up to them. "We should make camp here for the night; it's as good a spot as any."
The three nodded and looked at all the other Killjoys as they got out of their vehicles, and then Missile frowned. "Wait."
Dr. D looked at her. "What is it?"
"Maybe we shouldn't stay in here. I mean, if someone comes by…" she trailed off. "Maybe we should just camp over there or something." She gestured behind them to where the sand descended, forming a hill-type formation, almost sounding panicked.
DJ frowned, stepping towards her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Missile shook her head and then sighed. "It's just…I don't want anything going wrong. Not after we've done all this."
With an understanding nod, Dr. D went off to tell the others, and Missile suddenly put a hand on the side of the warehouse, giving a shaky sigh.
"Hey," DJ began worriedly, taking her arm. "Are you okay?"
"Just tired," she murmured. She hadn't admitted it, but she had barely slept since the four had rescued her, both guilty and depressed that they had had to be killed for that to happen, and while she'd been able to ignore her growing exhaustion when it'd been daylight, it was getting harder now. She heard DJ say something about joining the others, and she allowed the older Killjoy to lead her to where they were all heading off to.
Gerard hated the man more than he hated Korse; and he'd previously thought that was utterly impossible. Missile Kid's father had been in the room for less than ten minutes and already he'd caused the red head nearly the same amount of pain Korse had the entire first day he'd been here.
"I don't know!" he insisted, only to be struck yet again. It was surprisingly it even hurt him anymore.
"You do!" the man growled. "You were the ones who took her in, were you not? You even managed to get her away after all of you were already captured. Who were the three in the van?"
Gerard did not reply, and the man scowled. "She's my daughter, boy. Tell me!"
"She doesn't want to come back! She's as much against BLI as any other Killjoy is!" He flinched as the words unwittingly left his lips, and then again as the man raised his hand. But instead of hitting him, he turned around to face Korse. "Really? Two days of interrogating him, and he's still refusing to cooperate?"
Korse did not respond, showing no emotions, and Missile's dad turned back to him. "How would you prefer I went to ask one of the other three, hmm?"
Gerard groaned softly. "I d-don't know where she is…"
"Who were the three who took her?" The man scowled when he didn't answer, hit him again, and shook his head, sick of waiting. "Do I need to give you something that will get rid of your defiance for good?"
"What, you mean drug me?" Gerard scoffed quietly and glared at Korse for a brief moment. "He's already made me kill someone; if you're trying to make me stop caring, you're a little late."
The man stared at him. "It wouldn't be to lessen your emotions," he growled, striking him once more and turning to leave, impatient.
"Is this how you treated her? No wonder she doesn't want anything to do with you." The Killjoy realized too late he shouldn't have said anything, and even though he'd only muttered it, the man still looked back, scowling. He then grabbed the chair and shoved it onto its side. "Stupid boy," he growled. "You need to learn when to shut your mouth." He whipped around and strode out of the room, and Korse stepped up to the overturned chair.
Gerard groaned exhaustedly; he had managed not to hit his head, but was still awfully dazed, and even as Korse uncharacteristically righted the chair a moment later, he couldn't snap out of it, and he murmured incoherently, wincing.
Korse glared at him for a moment before going out of the room, catching up without even meaning to with the man, who had stopped in the hallway. "Give him what you said News was adjusting," Missile's father ordered without glancing at him, "and do whatever else you need to. I don't care if you have to kill one of the others to get information. He will talk, and I will find her."
"It could take—"
"I'll go out looking for her myself, then." he said. "Up until Zone 4. It'll be dark soon, anyway." He turned to glare at Korse. "Call me on the radio if—when you get anything else."
Korse nodded, and then the man angrily slammed his fist against the wall, attracting the attention of two Dracs passing by that stopped and looked at him.
"You!" he shouted as he stormed past them. "Come with me."
Korse watched them go for a moment and then went back to the room, assuring the Killjoy was still awake.
"Frankie…" the boy mumbled, and Korse smirked, amused. "What?" he asked mockingly. "You want to see him?"
Gerard didn't answer—the agent wasn't even sure he'd heard him. But his smirk widened at the idea, and after a moment of thinking, he once again left the room.
Fine. We'll arrange it.
