Chapter Two: Family Failure

Crash followed Kobra into the diner. She watched as two men who must have been Party Poison and Fun Ghoul carried the unconscious girls to separate booths.

'What happened?' the redhead (Poison) asked. 'Who are these girls?'

'Jet and I found them in Zone Five. He's still there now with the other two.'

'Guess your video worked,' Ghoul commented. He had a first-aid kid in his hand and was headed for Flame.

Poison grimaced. Crash got the impression that he wasn't too pleased about it.

'I'm Crash Poison,' she told them. 'That's my friend Synthetic Flame. I think her name is Black Masquerade.' She nodded towards the black-clad Killjoy.

'No kidding,' Ghoul muttered. He dabbed cotton wool with some kind of alcohol and started cleaning the crusted-over gash on Flame's temple.

Crash still felt sick. She promised Flame's mother that she would take care of her, and all she had succeeded in doing was get her cousin into trouble and nearly killed. She sniffed, holding back tears. She had to remind herself that she was at the diner, and that she was safe.

But Flame looked so small in that booth.

It didn't take them long to see that the bleeding had stopped, and after measuring her pulse, Ghoul declared her stable. For now.

'There's not much I can do until she wakes up,' he explained as he threw his tools into a bin. 'We're limited to these packs.'

Crash nodded and took over his spot on the table by Flame's side. She could see over the back of the seat to Masquerade. Poison had managed to get her parade jacket undone, and he had pulled up her shirt to reveal something that horrified Crash.

She'd seen ray gun wounds first-hand; she had watched other killjoys die by draculoid hands. She felt the pain herself now in her shoulder. But that wasn't what shook her.

Just below the shot was a long, jagged scar stretching from hip to hip. She could just make out a poorly stitched incision through ugly infected burns.

'What the fuck,' Ghoul whispered.

Crash didn't trust herself to say anything – scared that she would vomit as soon as she opened her mouth.

The door jingled open, and she jerked her head to see Jet, followed by a tired Romance and Napalm.

'How are they?' Jet asked.

'Someone did a number on this one,' Poison answered. 'I'm surprised she's alive at all.'

Crash narrowed her eyes, watching Romance and Napalm wear twin grimaces. 'Botched surgery,' he explained. 'We only had a day of rest before they came.'

'We met a doctor – he called himself Shining Angel,' Napalm said, her voice hollow. 'He did the surgery and stitched her up. Then he used the lighter; said it would stop infection.'

'Clearly,' Crash said sarcastically, 'he did a great job.'

Poison shook his head and took the bottle of alcohol offered. 'I'm going to clean it as best as I can, but she needs antibiotics. I'm not a doctor, so I can't guarantee that the stash we've got is enough.'

'It will have to be,' Romance rasped. 'I'm not letting her die.'

'You're doing a great job there,' Crash told him. 'Whose idea was the surgery, anyway?'

He didn't answer, not that she expected him to. She turned away from the sight and looked to her cousin. Flame looked almost peaceful in her sleep.

This was messed up.

Three years ago, Crash and Flame hardly even knew each other. They were cousins, sure, but there was a seven-year age difference. Flame was fifteen and still in school. Crash…

Well, Crash was the family failure.

She could never do anything right by her family; she was a disappointment to her parents, and she was pretty sure Flame just saw her as the useless cousin. She spent her days working at a dead-end job, living paycheck to paycheck, saddled with student debt after dropping out of college.

But then 2019 rolled around, and the world ended.

She found out early on that her parents were dead. Their bodies lay just before the steps leading to the shelter. Another minute and…

She couldn't think like that; she found her aunt and uncle and Flame huddled underground, clinging to each other. Aunt Helen took her in and Crash actually had to look responsible. She even got a job at Better Living Industries in one of their packing factories. For once her family actually looked proud of her.

What followed was seven months of war as the remnants of humanity fought to gain territories. Seven months of disappearances, bombs, fear… the war was cruel and unregulated. No one cared, and no one noticed when Better Living Industries expanded.

But one day Flame came home in tears. Better Living were recruiting teenagers for their war, and they wanted her to join. Her friends had either joined the effort or disappeared, and she was scared of what would happen to her if she refused.

That was the day the Fabulous Killjoys released their video. They called Better Living out on their emergence, and their sudden appearance after the apocalypse. The leader – Party Poison, he called himself – accused Better Living of kidnapping and enslaving men, women, even children. Whoever they could get their hands on.

'We are the ones willing to die for you,' Poison had said. 'Everybody wants to change the world. No one wants to die.'

Aunt Helen told Crash to take Flame and go. She told them to escape with their lives before Better Living could get their poisonous hands on them.

'Take care of your cousin,' Aunt Helen told her. 'Do something worthwhile with your life, for once.'

Crash buried her head in her hands and quietly sobbed.

She was useless.

When Flame awoke, she was lying on a metal shelf with a blanket draped over her body. The room was big enough for twelve people if they were packed like sardines. It wasn't the comfiest bed she'd ever slept on, but it was enough.

She looked across to the bunk opposite, and saw Black Masquerade passed out. Her face was pale and flushed, and she was mumbling something Flame couldn't quite make out.

Flame pushed herself off the shelf and stepped over to the other girl. She wore her black-and-silver colombina mask even in sleep.

She jumped as the door opened. Electrifying Romance stood in the doorway. His expression was sad as he took in the sight of his unconscious friend.

'How long was I out?' Flame had to ask, forcing herself to tear her gaze away from Romance's hollow eyes.

'A day,' he said. 'Is she still-?'

'Yeah.'

He let out a deep sigh. 'Crash is out with Kobra, Jet and Napalm. Masque needs more medicine, and there isn't enough food here for all of us.'

Flame nodded. Her hand jumped to the back of her head as pain flared from the action.

'Come on,' Romance told her. 'I'll get you a drink.'

She followed him out into the diner, squinting at the sunlight through the windows. He headed behind the counter and started making a pot of coffee. It was just the two of them, but she could hear voices outside. Out here, away from Masquerade's unconscious body, Romance looked a lot less tense. The stiffness in his shoulders eased, and his thick eyebrows softened.

He was attractive, for an older man. Older than her, anyway; she was eighteen and she guessed that he was at least thirty. With pitch black hair and bright green eyes, a sharp jaw and pointed nose, he could almost be a Disney prince… if not for the fact that he was short.

'It's amazing,' he said, voice cutting through her thoughts. Flame hoped he didn't notice her staring. 'The world ended, but we still have coffee. Like, lots of coffee.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Um…?'

'I'm serious. When we were in the desert, we had to ration our water, but here? There are pipes. And there's got to be fifty bags of instant coffee here. Maybe I actually died and I'm in heaven.'

'Or hell,' Flame deadpanned. 'The draculoids?'

He waved a hand. 'Not important. If I can go a day without wondering if there's enough water for all of us to drink, then I'm happy.'

How long had he been in the desert?

Flame shrugged and took the coffee mug he offered her. It was black, but she'd tolerate the bitterness if it meant she'd actually get something to drink.

Huh.

It was the best diner coffee she'd had in her life.

She eyed the mug suspiciously. 'What did you put in this?'

He looked confused. 'Nothing.'

'Then why does it taste so good?' He blinked a few times, and then burst out laughing. She scowled at him, annoyed that he was making fun of her. 'What's so funny?'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'It's just been a long time since someone complimented me.'

Well that was depressing. 'What about your girlfriend?' she nodded towards the backroom.

His smile faltered. 'Who, Masquerade? She's not my girlfriend. Besides, we don't surprise each other anymore; she expects me to be good at whatever I do.'

'What about her?'

'Oh, I lose her all the time.'

'You… lose her?'

'Yeah.'

Apparently, he wasn't going to elaborate. Go figure.

She sighed and took another sip, sitting down on one of the bar stools. He seemed in thought as he cleared away after himself. 'So… what made you join the Killjoys?'

He froze. 'Uh, Masque did. She never really trusted Better Living; kept talking about how convenient it was that they showed up all of a sudden. They locked her up for it, and she wasn't the same when she came out. When that video came out… we knew that she was right.'

Flame was still struggling to accept that the cheerily cynical woman was able to take out that van in one hit.

'It was like that for us, too,' she mentioned. 'They took over my school. When my friends started going missing, I didn't know what to do. They wanted to recruit us for war, but…'

Romance looked away, a jaded expression knitting together his brows. 'To be honest, I don't even remember who else was fighting in the war before Poison and everyone came along.'

When Flame thought about it, neither did she.