I 've been typing like a maniac this past week to get as much of this done as I can XD I've written all the way up to Chapter 37 so I can turn it in on Wednesday with the majority of it complete, and holy hell am I excited to post it x33 for now, enjoy this chap!
CHAPTER 24: A FUTURE GAZING OUT, A PAST TO OVERWRITE
October 31, 2013
The Abandoned Warehouse Killjoy Headquarters, Zone 4, California
6:14 PM
Chester and Amy were waiting silently when the majority of the Killjoys re-entered the large room. Crash had long ago given up trying to make conversation with the pair, as both were mute with worry and exhaustion. The events of the past day had certainly taken teir toll on the younger couple.
"We reached a decision," the green-eyed man, whose name they still dind't know, told them.
Poison turned to them. "You asked about the Killjoys previously. Why?"
Amy frowned. She still wasn't sure how much she could tell them about their idea, because from how Taylor had spoken about it, mentions of the rebel group seemed nearly taboo. But Poison had asked her straight out. There simply wasn't a way around it.
"We…oh fuck it. We want to join them," Amy sighed. "A friend of ours told us about them when we were at Adrienne's place. We don't know if it's safe, and we don't know if they're real. But ut's our last option. All we have to do is find them. We'll leave you alone as soon as we do."
Her small speech triggered a flurry of eyebrow-raising and hushed murmurs among the group of strangers. Finally, the green-eyed man stepped forward.
"You've found them," he announced.
Amy blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I'm Doctor Death Defying. On behalf of the Killjoys, we welcome you."
"Oh, thank you," Amy gasped, grabbing his hand and shaking it. "Thank you so much!"
"You're not fully in yet," he warned her. "We've tightened security since our last recruits,k because of all the shit with Better Living and the Draculoids that's begun over the past few months. We're still busy deciding on all the details. But you'll be probationary members for a month, or until you prove yourselves trustworthy. We'll teach you everything we ourselves have learned about BL/ind, fighting, and Killjoy life in that month. At the end, you get your rayguns and names and we let you on the radio show. Capiche?"
"Awesome," she breathed. Beside her, Chester's face had broken into a smile, too, and he looked excited.
"What are you gonna teach us?" he asked curiously.
Doctor Death Defying shrugged. "Intelligence we gathered about the company. How to deend yourselves against Dracs—shooting and basic self-defense moves. How to live life in the desert. Everything we know, basically, and you'll have to bear with us because this is the first time we're trying it."
"When do we start?" Amy asked excitedly.
The Killjoy smirked. "Right now."
Over the next hour, Amy and Chester were formally introduced to all the Killjoys by their codenames ("Real names get revealed at the end of the month," Doctor D told them.) They were an eccentric group with names to match—besides those they already knew, there was Adrenaline, Detonator, Surgeon, Angel and Wolf, the latter of who Chester apologized profusely to for attacking him. The pair ate their mangled dinner ravenously, not realizing how hungry they had been until they were already devouring it, listening with half their attention as Revolution informed them about where they got food and supplies. Poison pulled out his shiny yellow raygun and fired a shot at a target painted along the back wall, obviously showing off a bit for them as he hit it dead center and jokingly blew on the smoking gun. They'd been 'commandeered' from fallen Draculoids, he informed them. Finally, when Amy's eyes began to flutter closed from exhaustion, Doctor D announced they were done for the night.
"Kobra, move in with Jet, would you? They can share your old room," he asked the young boy. "You two can lead them upstairs."
Kobra nodded, seemingly unfazed by the request and gestured to the pair. "Hope you don't mind sharing a twin-sized bed," he said apologetically. "We can get you something better tomorrow."
"Don't worry too much about it," Amy said kindly. She reached for Chester's hand in a sudden need for reassurance, and her fiancé tightened his grip, smiling at her gently.
"Jet, get your ass over here!" Kobra yelled. There was a loud groan, and the curly-haired boy dashed over to meet them at the foot of the ladder against the wall.
"Go clean your shithole up, I'll have to sleep on the floor tonight," teased Kobra, slugging Jet in the arm jokingly.
Jet feigned hurt. "What, you don't want to sleep with me tonight?"
"In your dreams!" Kobra laughed. Jet chuckled along with him and began to climb the ladder, calling down "And don't try anything in the middle of the night!"
"Like I'd try anything with your nasty ass!" Kobra shot back, almost unable to breathe from all his laughing. Still chuckling, he began to climb the ladder just as his friend reached the top, waving to Amy and Chester to follow him.
"At least they seem friendly enough," Chester murmured as Amy followed Kobra.
"We're pretty much safe from now on," Amy answered quietly. "Look at what they've done out here! It's an entire community completely out of BL/ind's clutches. It's what we've been searching for."
"The fighting part worries me, though," he whispered. He would have continued, but Kobra had reached the metal catwalk and was extending a hand to help Amy up. The pair hauled themselves onto the small platform and Kobra set off down the hall, the two rushing to keep up.
"Bedrooms," the younger boy called over his shoulder, gesturing left and right. "The end rooms are storage, be we're nearly done clearing them out. One's gonna be a hospital room, and the other's a music room cause some of the guys used to be in a band. Your room's here, on the end."
Kobra pulled open the door and ducked in first, coming out a few minutes later with an armful of clothes, blankets and books. "Sorry if it's a bit of a mess," he said apologetically. "Short warning, y'know?"
"Thank you for letting us stay here," Chester replied, grinning. "We owe you."
The younger boy smiled back. "Goodnight, guys. Glad you're here."
"Oh believe me, we are too," Amy laughed.
Contrary to Kobra's warning, his room was immaculate after his two trips down the hall to Jet's and his new bedroom. Amy soon collapsed onto the small bed, just about ready to pass out from exhaustion.
Chester smiled gently and flicked off the light. "We made it, Ames," he whispered, making his way over to her.
"We're actually here," Amy agreed, sounding surprised through her haze of sleepiness. "I didn't think we'd make it."
He wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his chin on her shoulder and his hands on her stomach. There was a small kick as the baby stretched, almost as if it was aware of its' father's presence.
"It's been almost eight months," he murmured.
"That long already?" Amy laughed quietly and fiddled with the engagement ring on her finger.
"Time flies," he answered.
"It'll be born in a month," she said, surprised. "In a month, we'll have a child."
"In a month, we'll know whether it's a boy or a girl," Chester responded.
"I think it's a girl."
"How do you know?" he asked curiously.
Amy shrugged. "I don't know, really. Motherly instinct?"
"Whatever it is, it'll be beautiful," he murmured. "And it'll be ours."
"And we'll be a family."
And so the soon-to-be family fell asleep like that, Chester's hands placed tenderly atop Amy's on her stomach. Not since before the cataclysm had they ever felt so safe, so assured, and never before had they felt so close to their child. That night, they didn't have to worry. They could revel in their security.
Unbeknownst to them, no one else in the building was sleeping. All twelve of the Killjoys were, at that very moment, finally getting the time to discuss all the crazy events of the past two days in detail.
"Start from the beginning, the very beginning," Phoenix requested. "From the moment you left here yesterday morning."
Gerard shifted uncomfortably. Under his black t-shirt, his arms and chest had been hastily bandaged against the damage done by the acid rain, but the memory still made his skin sting. They hadn't had time to do much else for the suffering boy—Chester and Amy had been in much worse condition when they came in, and Joe, the only one trained in any sort of medical practice, had only been able to spare a few short minutes.
"The acid rain caught us at the motel," Frank reported grimly. "Gerard—"
"Code names only," Billie murmured. "They could be listening."
Frank rolled his eyes, but complied. "Sorry, Poison had to run through it twice. He was in horrible condition for a while. We weren't sure if he would live."
"Though the van survived the rain somehow," Ray added. "And then there's this."
The taller boy reached behind him and grabbed his leather jacket, laying it out carefully in front of him.
"It's your jacket. So what?" Brad asked.
Ray shook his head, sending his curls bouncing. "Gerard wore it through the rain."
"Whoa!" Brad glanced back at it with renewed interest. "It doesn't look burned…"
"Because it's not," the teen said proudly.
"Dude!" There was a flurry of movement, and the Killjoys gathered around the piece of clothing, staring down at it curiously.
"I'll have to run tests on it," Mike D was murmuring. "Check for which synthetic compounds repel the acid and see if they can be replicated."
"Can you really do that?" Mikey asked, shocked.
The older man smiled. "I'll show you sometime."
"This could totally solve the entire problem of acid rain," Billie exclaimed. "I wonder if BL/ind knows about it!"
"Let's hope not," Rob answered. "God knows we need an advantage over them."
"Still, this is…this is revolutionary," Billie grinned, teeth gleaming.
"Then what happened?" Joe asked.
Billie turned to Gerard. "This is your story, man."
Gerard held his friends captivated as he recounted the whole story of how he'd gotten caught in the van and his race back to the hotel, then how he'd spotted something moving out in the desert on their journey back and found Amy and Chester, half-dead in the sand.
"Then we came back and got you guys, and, well, you know the rest," he finished.
"I can't believe we missed all of that," Brad wondered. "That was some crazy shit you guys went through. That was…that was wow. Jesus."
"All part of being a Killjoy," Gerard smiled weakly.
The group slept late the next morning, exhausted from the nonstop action of the past couple days. It was nearly noon by the time a still-sleepy Billie knocked on everyone's door, shouting that they'd missed the eight o'clock show and whoever's turn it was had better get their asses out of bed that minute or else.
Chester and Amy had been awake for a couple hours already, but had been content to lay half-conscious and wrapped in each others' arms on the tiny bed. When Doctor Death Defying made his rounds, they roused themselves and drifted to the door, peering out into the suddenly bustling hallway.
"Morning!" Ghoul chirped as he dashed past their room. A moment later they heard him yell "Poison, you bastard, where'd you put my raygun after you finished painting it?"
Kobra appeared behind them a moment later, pointing and waving a bright green gun with a white stripe shooting down the side. "I've got it, idiot!" he hollered down the hallway before turning to the confused pair. "Sorry, it gets kind of crazy in the mornings," he apologized.
Amy giggled. "Bit of an understatement," she said, watching a shirtless Wolf run down the other side of the catwalk after Adrenaline, whose hair was messy with bedhead.
"Adrenaline, you fuckwad, what did you do now?" Kobra yelled at the older man, who was now cackling like a maniac as he ran. The younger boy shot them an apologetic smile and began to run after him, too.
"What's going on?" Poison yawned, walking up behind the pair. He stretched his arms over his head leisurely and glanced around at the panic surrounding them.
"I have no idea," Chester muttered.
The jet-haired boy smirked. "Has anybody died yet?"
"Er…" Amy and Chester exchanged worried glances.
He laughed. "Joking. But it does get crazy, having twelve men living in one small area. Well, thirteen men and a woman now. Maybe they'll start calming down for you." He nudged Amy and winked, and she couldn't suppress a giggle. "C'mon, let's get downstairs. It's a bit calmer there."
At the top of the ladder they met up with Ghoul, who had seemingly calmed down. The green raygun was now safely tucked into his belt. He smiled brightly at them.
"So there's a woman in the house now," he said conversationally.
Amy giggled. "You sound excited."
"Oh, I think we all are," the boy exclaimed. "It's been so long since any of us have had a girl in our lives! Maybe we'll actually get some food in here!"
"I wouldn't expect too much," Chester chuckled as he followed her down the ladder.
Ghoul frowned. "Why not?"
"She's not very good at cleaning, and God forbid you let her cook," he exclaimed. Amy stuck out her tongue at her fiancé as he reached the ground, helping her off the ladder.
Poison and Ghoul's expressions fell. "Damn," the older boy muttered. "Nothing?"
"Er…I make a mean bowl of cereal," she suggested.
Despite their disappointment, the Killjoys couldn't help but crack up at this.
"I can sew, though," she said in an attempt to redeem herself.
"I guess you never know when that will come in handy," Poison grinned.
The pair watched the bustling activity of the Killjoy headquarters, fascinated, as they ate the crushed provisions Poison and Ghoul supplied them with. The older boys narrated the entire scene for them, pointing out when Angel, Jet and Revolution left to make the twelve o'clock radio broadcast, when Kobra came down to practice his shooting skills on the target painted sloppily on the back wall, and when Doctor D, Crash and Detonator left for what they called 'desert patrol,' apparently a quick sweep of the 'Zones' ("That's what Better Living is starting to call Battery City and the surrounding areas," Ghoul told them.) Eventually, Poison, who had been staring at the target longingly for an hour, stood and pulled out his raygun.
"Who wants to learn how to shoot?" he asked cheerfully.
Poison was an amazing shot. Amy and Chester watched in awe as he fired at the target quickly and cleanly, hitting the bulls-eye every time. Ghoul stepped up after a few minutes, but only managed to hit the marking twice, leaving small scorch marks peppered on the wall surrounding it.
"I'm not the best with a raygun," he said apologetically. "Nobody can compare to Poison, though."
"You flatter me, Ghoul," the taller boy laughed, spinning his sunshine-colored gun on his index finger.
"Don't let it go to your head." Ghoul ruffled Poison's hair and pushed him forward, then offered his own green gun to Chester. He took it uncertainly, holding it as if it would explode at any moment.
"That's not how you hold a gun," Poison laughed. "Don't be afraid of it, it won't hurt you unless you really suck at shooting."
"Oh, that's reassuring," Chester griped. Still, he tightened his grip on the gun, covering the trigger with his fingers.
Poison grinned. "Better. Now these things have a lot of kickback, so I find it easiest to hold it all the way out for support. Don't shoot if you don't have a clear aim—unless, of course, it's life or death in which case I guess you don't have a choice. Most important, though, is don't be scared of the gun. If you get scared, then you won't shoot straight, and stray lasers are the most dangerous things of all."
"Lasers?" Chester gulped, staring down at the green metal with apprehension.
"BL/ind technology is apparently too advanced to use plain old bullets," Poison said grimly. "We wouldn't stand a chance against the Draculoids with regular guns. We're taking whatever we can get from dead Draculoids for now. We've got eight of these babies, but Revolution, Kobra and Detonator—they're the smarter ones—are running tests on one of them to see if we can try to modify them ourselves. Either way, we still need four—or I guess six now—more."
"How do we get them?" Amy asked innocently.
Poison grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll have to kill some more Dracs, won't we?"
Amy couldn't shoot for her life. Her aim was for the most part steady, but something about the gun put her on edge. Every time she went to pull the trigger, her arms jerked as if in a reflex reaction and her lasers went wide, hitting all over the walls and even the ceiling. Chester, in contrast, caught on quickly, but still she couldn't shoot properly until when he tried to help.
"Look, hold it like this," Chester murmured, sliding his arms around Amy. "Straight out." His hands covered hers on the grip, their warm fingers lining up on the cool metal.
"Now shoot," he whispered in her ear. "You've got it."
Amy gulped as she moved her index finger to the trigger. Chester's shadowed hers', pressing down lightly, and squeezed the trigger. This time, her aim was true.
"Bulls-eye," he breathed.
Amy spun around in Chester's arms, the gun clattering to the floor, abandoned, as her hands came to rest lightly on his chest. Neither of them could resist the tension a second longer as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, pressing his warm lips onto hers' with a passion neither had felt since they fled from Battery City. Amy felt her knees go weak. She pressed herself closer to Chester, curling her fingers into the material of his shirt, craving the attention, craving the closeness.
Poison coughed rather loudly, and the couple broke apart, blushing bright red. Amy took a step back and stared down at the ground. "Thanks for helping, Chaz," she murmured, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Anytime you want," Chester grinned.
The afternoon passed without incident. Amy's raygun skills improved slightly, but she never managed to recreate the shot Chester had helped her with. By the end of the afternoon, she was able to graze the outer edge of the target. "Good enough for your first time," Poison assured her. "Nobody's perfect at it as soon as they start."
Amy groaned. "But I'm horrible!"
"I'll try to give you more help," Chester suggested, but Poison shot him a look.
"You're a distraction. Making out isn't going to help anyone," the older boy said.
"But—"
"No buts," Poison interjected. "Amy's not going to be able to concentrate while you're here. I can give her some guidance. Go…explore the warehouse or something."
He would have protested more, but Amy was nodding, frowning slightly as she turned the gun over in her hands. It was obvious she didn't want him to leave her, but she seemed to think Poison was sufficiently trustworthy and believed that Chester's absence really would help.
He sighed heavily. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes," he murmured. "Good luck, Ames."
"See you soon, Chaz," she answered.
Chester watched for a moment as Amy turned back to the target, Poison lightly guiding her hands into a better position to aim, and then turned away. It wasn't that he didn't trust either of them, it was just that it was his responsibility to protect Amy. They were supposed to stick together always in the face of danger. And, to be honest, he needed Amy there with him—for security and reassurance. She was all he had left. Well, her and his guitar. At least he'd managed to keep his guitar.
He hadn't had time to play his guitar in ages. The instrument was probably dusty and neglected, rested still in it's case up in the room he and Amy had been allotted. But Chester found he was missing his guitar severely all of a sudden. Kobra had said yesterday that one of the rooms on the top floor was a music room—maybe he could get some peace and quiet there.
Chester dashed back up to his room and grabbed the black case, then apprehensively made his way over to the large metal door their young guide had pointed out the night before. There was a sloppy music note splattered onto the front in red paint—Poison's handiwork, no doubt. From what Chester had heard, he was the most artsy of the Killjoys and the one who had colorfully redesigned the rayguns.
He tugged on the handle, letting the door swing inward slowly with a creak. He expected the room to be empty. Instead, another man glanced up at him, looking surprised and strangely guilty. He was seated on a cardboard box with some sort of instrument laid across his lap.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped, glaring at Chester.
"I—I—" Chester stuttered nervously.
"Get out," the Japanese man ordered. In a movement that looked almost subconscious, he clutched his instrument—what looked like a red guitar—closer to him. But something was wrong with it—the neck was flopping limply over his arm, no longer attached properly.
Chester gulped. "But your guitar—"
His glare was shooting more lasers than a raygun ever could. "It's none of your fucking business," the man cried harshly, cradling the broken instrument to his chest.
Every shred of Chester's common sense was telling him to turn his back before he risked provoking the already-furious man even further. He was never sure why, but something possessed him to take a cautious step into the room.
"Can I see it?" he asked softly.
The Asian man bristled. "Fuck no," he snarled.
"Maybe…" Chester swallowed nervously. "Maybe I can fix it."
It had struck a nerve. The man froze, letting the guitar fall limply back into his lap. "Really?" he breathed.
Chester studied the guitar. Paul Reed Smith electric, scuffed but still shining. As he suspected, the neck had broken off, remaining attached only by six very thin nylon strings.
"That happened to my guitar once," Chester murmured, unconsciously drawing his case closer to his body as he spoke. "My brother dropped it. I thought it was broken forever. My dad showed me how to fix it."
"It…you can make it better?" the other man whispered incredulously.
Chester nodded."Do you have any wood glue?"
The man rose slowly, placing the instrument on the box. He led Chester over to a corner of the room where a toolbox lay open, tools and supplies spread haphazardly over the ground.
"I've tried almost everything," he muttered, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Nothing works. It always breaks again as soon as I play a note."
"You were probably gluing it in the wrong place," Chester mumbled distractedly as he knelt next to the toolbox. He sifted through the contents, pulling out a small bottle and a screwdriver triumphantly a moment later.
The Asian sighed. "Probably. I just have no idea what to do…"
"How'd it happen?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy and pregnant, before the Killjoy sighed again and handed the instrument to Chester carefully. He pressed his lips together tightly. Chester took this as a sign that he wasn't going to answer, so he bent over the guitar, examining it carefully. The problem was the exact same one he'd had so many years ago—neither half had been broken, but the bolts holding them together had snapped. Thank god he remembered how to fix it.
"It was a Drac." The other man's voice broke the silence a few minutes later. "A Drac stepped on it when we were running away. We got all the other instruments out, but not this one. We were a rock band, you see."
"Really?" Chester pulled away from his work for a moment to glance up at him in interest. "That's pretty damn cool."
The other nodded. "I miss it so much. Playing music just isn't the same when there's no one to listen to it."
"Maybe you could play for us some time," the younger boy suggested softly.
"That would be amazing," the Killjoy sighed. He sounded wistful to Chester as he stared off into space.
Ten quiet minutes later, Chester sat back, grinning. He picked the guitar up and handed it to the older man. "Try it," he said.
The Killjoy seemed almost reluctant, his hands hovering over the fret board tentatively. He bit his lip as he pressed his fingers down. They formed a cautious C chord against the black wood.
His right hand moved down to brush the strings with a feather-light touch. The guitar barely made a sound, but the strings vibrated slightly under the movement. The neck held steady.
He strummed, and the room filled with the sound of a single, beautiful sustained chord. The note vibrated through the space with warmth and purity. A massive grin began to spread across the older man's face. He switched his fingers, playing another chord. Soon, his fingers were flying across the frets, playing an unfamiliar but achingly gorgeous tune. His eyes slid closed as his smile grew. Chester watched in awe.
After a couple minutes, the man stopped, seeming to remember Chester again. "You fixed it," he breathed. Chester shrugged and smiled at him.
"You fixed it! You actually fixed it!" The Asian looked like he was about to hug Chester, but instead he only grabbed the younger boy's hand, gripping it tightly.
"Hey, I know what it's like to have a broken instrument," the brunette shrugged. "Hurts like hell. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
The older seemed unable to stop grinning. "Thank you so much…sorry, I don't know your name," he apologized.
"Chester Bennington," he laughed. "And you?"
"I'm Mi—Angel," the Asian answered.
"I wanna hear you play again sometime, Angel. You're really good."
"You play too?" Angel asked, gesturing to his case.
"Sometimes, yeah."
"Then we should play together, Chester." Angel's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. And with that simple gesture, Chester sensed he was on his way to being accepted by the Killjoys.