'So,' Poison started, knuckles rapping against the BLI van's passenger door. There was a small, scorched hole next to the handle. Apparently, Romance had been the one to hit it – from a distance as well. 'What are we going to do about the kids?'

'They're not kids, Poison,' Agent Cherri Cola answered. He and Poison were outside smoking, while Ghoul checked out the van.

'Flame is eighteen. She's almost half my age; I don't like it.'

Cola sighed. 'We knew when we sent out that video, we'd reach young adults and teenagers. All we can do is try to keep them as safe as possible.' Poison laughed shortly and shook his head. Cola continued, 'I know you've got a kid at home, so I understand. But you can't parent these people.'

'Cola's right,' came Ghoul's muffled voice from beneath the van. A quick glance told Poison that the man was gritting his teeth around a wrench. His dark hair was streaked even blacker with oil. 'I'm sure they left behind their families. They're not looking for a surrogate.'

Poison looked away. He didn't disagree with them, not really. His daughter would be eleven now, but he'd not seen her in two years. Flame wasn't even old enough to drink, but here he was, asking her to put her life on the line? If someone asked that of his daughter…

And look at where the fighting had gotten her. The last he saw of her she was unconscious, and that wasn't even saying anything of Masquerade.

He didn't realise he was scowling until Cola called him out on it. 'What's bothering you now?'

'That surgery.'

Cola's expression hardened. Poison wasn't looking at Ghoul, but he knew they both shared his anger. 'I'm not sure who I'm more pissed at; Romance and Napalm, or the asshole who sliced into her.'

'Obviously they wouldn't have gone for it if it wasn't important. Still,' Poison took a drag of his cigarette. 'How could they believe the guy?'

'They must have been scared,' Ghoul reasoned. 'I dunno what it was, but it can't have been an easy decision to make.'

Well because of that decision, Black Masquerade lay unconscious and feverish. Poison wasn't keeping his hopes up for her survival.

Napalm was lost.

Not literally, obviously. She knew where she was; in the zones with Crash Poison, keeping watch while Jet and Kobra raided a BLI warehouse.

But mentally? She was screwed.

The last few months with Romance and Masquerade had been both a blessing and a curse; it was nice to have other British Killjoys to travel with. And yeah, okay. Being on the run from Better Living was utter hell, but it sure as hell beat home.

At first, things were great. The three of them were best friends, and Napalm quickly felt like she had known the two for years rather than days. Masquerade had a cheerful charm to her, and Romance always knew how to lighten the mood.

But then Manhattan happened, and her friends changed.

She heaved a sigh, forcing the two out of her thoughts. She was already stressing herself out, wondering if Masquerade and Flame were going to be okay. She didn't need to distract herself from her mission.

Crash seemed to notice that something was up. 'So, who's banging who?'

Napalm choked on her own spit. She was not expecting that. 'What?'

'You banging Romance, or you more of a tits girl?'

'I'm not having this conversation.' Crash had a look in her eye that said she wouldn't drop the subject. 'They're like a brother and sister to me.'

Was she imagining that disappointed expression? Nah, she shook her head. 'What about you? Who's Flame to you?'

'She's my little cousin,' her tone was flat, basically telling Napalm to back off. 'Her mom told me to look after her. We ran 'cause BLI tried to recruit her.'

Napalm shrugged one shoulder. 'At least your family tried to keep you safe.' At Crash's questioning glance, she continued. 'Things were different back home. I'm from Newcastle, and BLI took over factories pretty quickly – the ones left standing that is. The way they saw it, if you weren't contributing in some way, then you were against them. I didn't agree with the wars, and because of that my parents sold me to them.'

Crash did a double take. 'They what?'

'My parents were enforcers. They locked up "problem folk"; drunks, homeless people, people who refused to take the mandatory pills… I didn't want to be any part of it.' She remembered the fear that threatened to swallow her whole that one night six months ago. 'I managed to escape. Ended up on a plane as luggage and that's how I met Romance and Masque.'

She wasn't surprised that Crash fell silent. It was a memory that kept her awake at night, firmly clutching her ray gun against her chest. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw her father's furious expression. She could still feel the blood warm her hands from where she drove her pocket-knife into his stomach.

She wanted to puke.

To be honest, she hadn't even told Crash the worst of it; only herself, Romance, and Masquerade knew about what happened to Napalm inside the corrections facility. Only they knew about the people Napalm left behind.

She was saved from her thoughts when the warehouse door opened. Kobra stood at the entrance beckoning them inside.

Crash helped Napalm stand, pulling her up using her good arm. There was a look in her eyes of understanding.

'We need your help with the bags,' Kobra told them when they approached. 'I don't want us to be here longer than we need to be.'

Napalm nodded and followed Kobra past the rows of shelves. Most of the contents were weapons; guns, grenades, and she was certain she spotted a rocket-launcher in the distance. Jet stood close to the other end of the warehouse. Each of the five duffels they had brought with them were brimming with tinned food, batteries and ray guns.

'We got some medicine,' he told them. 'There were a couple of first aid kits as well so we can stock back up.'

'Guess even BLI agents bleed,' Crash muttered.

Napalm didn't acknowledge her comment. She shouldered one of the bags, grunting as she adjusted the weight against her hip. The bag was heavier than it looked, and she looked at the others apprehensively, wondering how they were going to carry five duffels between them.

She didn't need to wonder for long; Kobra and Jet each carried two bags the same way Romance had taken theirs the day before.

Crash led them back out of the warehouse, her ray gun trained in front of her. They were fortunate that there weren't any Draculoids nearby. Napalm was still shook up from the ambush the day before; she didn't think she'd be able to survive another battle.

They loaded the bags into the Trans Am and climbed inside, Napalm and Crash taking the back, and the men in the front.

'How's your shoulder?' Napalm asked.

'Fine,' Crash said tersely.

Napalm shrugged off the other girl's attitude. She was probably worried about her ginger friend, and an injured shoulder was bound to make anyone snappish. Napalm was trying to keep down last night's dinner, just thinking about the awful state her own friend was in.