I'm back! :D sorry I didn't update sooner, but school's been hitting me hard this week what with makeup work and my eEnglish portfolio...all that's left now is finals and then freshman year is finally over *phew*

Anyway, enjoy the update! We revisit some old characters again, cause I know you guys have been wondering ;D

CHAPTER 28: YOU'RE THE SOLDIERS OF THE NEW WORLD

March 21, 2014

Battery City, California

9:47 AM

War.

That was what everyone would remember 2014 for—war. Eventually, they came to be known as the Helium Wars, a name coined by BL/ind scientists when they discovered the secret of the helium bomb. Helium was suddenly the most dangerous substance on earth as the Japanese scientists worked to harness it first into the form of ammunition, then toxic gas, and ultimately a highly explosive, radioactive bomb. This was their secret weapon—an idea so revolutionary, so controversial, so utterly deadly that no one could ever know unless they absolutely had to use it.

It was a war of old and new—the remains of America's once-great military, now downtrodden and shrunken, versus Better Living Industries' ever-growing army of brainwashed Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units. What BL/ind lacked in numbers and support, they quickly made up for in technology and influence. They held California as their base, drawing on the constant supply if refugees flowing into Battery City seeking shelter. The newcomers found no shelter. Instead, they were pumped full of emotion-erasing drugs and packaged away into small, pristine apartments, assigned a menial job to keep them occupied and to keep Battery City running, and controlled as tightly as BL/ind could manage. If they were unlucky, it would be them that would be chosen at random to be removed from the city and relocated to the top-secret complex miles away from the city. Citizens went in, and Draculoids came out. Nobody knew what happened inside. The citizens of Battery City didn't have enough free thought left to be curious.

It was a cruel, efficient system that nobody dared to question. BL/ind's control was simple and complete. If you lived in the city, you would be monitored each day by medical tests administered by government doctor to assure you continued taking their drugs. If you missed a single day, you would be swiftly dragged away to the "reformation facility," where you would make the transformation from human to monster, citizen to Draculoid.

But the government had made one small mistake. They did not have control over every person in California.

Lacey Mosley watched the war from Terry's tiny, grainy television, hidden safely away on the coast. Terry didn't care much for news of the war. His only focus was keeping himself and Lacey alive and free. He continued to spend his days on the ocean, searching for food for the both of them.

But to Lacey, monitoring the unfolding of the Helium Wars was like watching a car crash—horrific, violent, terrifying and utterly fascinating in the most morbid way possible. She spent her days with her eyes glued to the television, where a battle raged almost as strong as the one being fought in the Northwest. BL/ind dominated the airwaves for the most part, but it was a common occurrence for the image to suddenly black out and reappear with men in army fatigues, or sometimes even the President himself. They would spit out a few quick sentences about how the war was really progressing before BL/ind would retake control and reassure their viewers that the battles were nothing to worry about and the war would never reach them.

The war angered Lacey. She had never much liked the American government before the apocalypse, but at least they had tried to uphold the most essential of human rights—freedom. This was a war for freedom, and the Americans were losing. BL/ind was evil—she had no doubt on this fact.

But the Japanese company's oversight didn't stop there. Their self-assuredness went so far that they didn't even notice the people in their own city that were not completely under their control.

Hayley, Jeremy and Taylor were hanging onto life with all that they had. They, along with Sierra, Jack and Alex, were still sheltered in the abandoned mall on the fringe of Los Angeles, but that didn't limit the number of near-death situations they'd been thrown into. The building was unstable, and cave-ins were all too common. Jeremy was nearly crushed once. It had taken Taylor, Jack and Alex to free him from the debris.

Then there was the difficulty they faced in staying hidden from BL/ind. The six didn't enter the city often, but when they did, what they saw shocked and horrified them. They knew nothing of the pills or the Helium Wars, or even the Draculoid camps—but they knew they never wanted to be forced under the government's control. But being free was much harder than it sounded. The first time the Draculoids had swept the old suburbs, it had been by pure luck that Hayley and Sierra had seen them coming towards the mall when the two girls were coming back from a short trip into the city. They'd raced back into the mall and alerted the four boys, and while the Draculoids were distracted with the other ruined structures in the area, the young teenagers had shifted their mattresses and all their food down into the darkest location they could find—the place where a Hot Topic once stood, now only a 'Ho T pi' according to the sign. They'd made as little noise as possible when the policemen came by a couple hours later. It was due to extremely good luck that the drones were exhausted and bored by the time they reached the mall, at the very outer edge of the area. They'd managed to stay there for nearly a year now, hidden away from BL/ind and their drugs. They didn't bother the government and the government didn't bother them.

Then there were the Killjoys.

Gerard always described their rebel movement as a mosquito—a quick, invisible annoyance to the Japanese government's utter control, and one that they couldn't catch. It was true BL/ind hadn't thrown that much effort into fighting the rebels yet—but that was something the fifteen citizens of the desert colony were grateful for. If the Killjoys were a mosquito, the Helium Wars were like a bear intent on crushing BL/ind's stolen control.

The Killjoys all supported that bear. They were utterly sick of watching conditions in Battery City decline with each visit, of seeing civilians fall under the spell of influence and literally lose their minds. The purpose of their cause was renewed with every foray into the dangerous city. Even so, it was all they could do to stay alive themselves. Most of the Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units were being deployed to Utah, Colorado and Nevada to fight the former military, but BL/ind seemed to be able to spare just enough to keep the Killjoys on edge. They'd gotten accustomed to the constant slaughter of the agents and learned never to remove their masks, for fear of recognizing a face. They hadn't yet taken down a Scarecrow, but the kill count on the Draculoids rose nearly every day. For each slaughtered Drac, the Killjoy responsible got a tick mark slashed next to their codename on the wall alongside the three rules they all lived by. Gerard was in the lead with eleven marks slashed next to Party Poison, and Billie and Chester trailed him, with nine ticks next to each of their names.

Life in the desert had finally reached a sort of disruptive, unpredictable routine. The Killjoys had become a highly dysfunctional family, one that argued often, never agreed on anything and loved each other with all their hearts. Each rebel was an indispensable ally. There had been no more recruits in four month, but they hardly even noticed—it was enough of a task keeping themselves alive. Adrienne was their only outside source. Once a week, a group of two or three—always led by Billie, to everyone's amusement—would sneak out to the city in Xero's old van, now heavily armored with scrap metal, and rendezvous with the young woman for information on BL/ind and any food or supplies she could steal from her store without the Draculoids noticing. This was how the rebels learned the real story of the Helium Wars and not the one that BL/ind had approved to be broadcasted on the television and the airwaves. In their efforts to keep the citizens uninformed and brainwashed, the government had downplayed the war so drastically it sounded as if there was no conflict at all. But Adrienne had a different story. The Draculoids were loose-lipped around her, thinking she was just another mindless slave to the company. From their gossip and discussion, she found out that BL/ind's army of Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units were slowly but surely overpowering the American military, pushing them further away from California and back into their base in the Rocky Mountains of Utah, where the remains of the old government sheltered in their armored bunker. They were winning—slowly, but they were definitely beating the Americans.

The Killjoys still hoped for a sudden victory by the old government, but they weren't stupid. They knew the chances of BL/ind ever completely fading away were miniscule. The war was keeping the Japanese executives' attention away from them for now, but once the conflict was over one way or another, their focus would be turned to the small rebel movement. They were going to be annihilated if they didn't do something—and soon.

Mike D, Chester, Mikey and Phoenix were still busting out weird experiments in their secret office-turned-makeshift lad, heavily undersupplied and barely functioning. They claimed they might be getting closer to their own new weaponry, some sort of improved ray-like bullet compatible with the rayguns they'd taken from the Dracs, but they needed more information on the Scarecrow technology so they could adapt to BL/ind's improved fighters. All they'd really found so far was a weird compound in leather that repelled acid. From this, they'd determined that everybody should probably wear as much leather as they could to be better protected in case of emergency.

Still, it was progress. The Killjoys were progressing as a movement. They were easily taking on everything Better Living Industries threw at them.

The next disturbance in the settling dust of the desert wouldn't come from BL/ind, though. It would come from a restless upstart teenager and their guardian.

Of course, the Killjoys didn't know this. Things were about as normal as they could get for fourteen young adults and a baby living in an abandoned warehouse in the post-apocalyptic Californian desert. Brad and Phoenix were cuddling on the couch, Tré was arguing with Mikey about some band the younger boy loved, Mike S was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his guitar unplugged, and Amy, Chester, Gerard and Frank sat in a loose circle in front of the TV, half-watching Grace lie on her stomach and gurgle happily at her companions and half-talking.

"I think we'd need more planning and support before we try—oh Gracie, no! Be careful!" Amy stretched her arms out towards her baby, who was pounding her heels excitedly into the concrete floor.

"But we need to strike now, while BL/ind's distracted with the Helium Wars," Gerard explained. "Just think—if there are forces fighting them both outside and inside the company, they'll finally weaken enough that just maybe someone can beat them!"

"We've got fourteen people, Poison," Amy reminded him, rolling her eyes. She lifted Grace into her arms and passed her to Frank, who somehow managed to always calm the baby down when she was overly excitable. Frank's face crinkled into a smile and he tickled Grace's stomach. The baby laughed happily.

"But if we're sneaky…if we fight well enough—"

"Where are we going to learn to fight?" Chester glanced around the large room at the rest of the Killjoys. They really were a motley crew—lumbering, clumsy Ray; scrawny, gawky Mikey; commanding but tiny Billie; utterly crazy, trigger-happy Tré; non-violent Mike D…they wouldn't stand five minutes within the company's center.

Another voice brought his attention back to the conversation. "We need better training," Frank was saying, watching Grace distractedly as she grabbed at one of the colorful tattoos on his forearm. "If we could all fight as well as the 'Crows, then we might stand a pretty good chance. But not while we're all unorganized and unprotected like this. Half of us can barely shoot, and what if we lose our guns?"

"So you think we should learn hand-to-hand combat?" Gerard questioned.

His best friend shrugged. "It's something to think about. Having our own kind of weapons would help too."

Frank's argument made sense—too much sense. He'd meant it to discourage Gerard from his crazy rebellious ideas, but it had the opposite effect. Gerard's eyes were gleaming like they did whenever he had an idea.

"Gerard—" the younger boy warned.

"Mikey knows the basics of karate," Gerard said. "Ray fenced when he was younger, remember? He was so embarrassed, but his parents made him. Chaz was just telling us a few minutes ago about how his dad taught him how to wrestle. And me…well, I've learned a thing or two about fistfights." He grinned, teeth gleaming, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You think we can fistfight a Scarecrow?" Chester asked dubiously.

"Nothing is invincible," replied Gerard. "If we get strong enough—yes. We could beat them."

"I think you're crazy," Chester muttered under his breath, but the raven-haired Killjoy didn't hear him or didn't take notice.

Gerard sprung up quite excitedly and tugged on Frank's hand, who reluctantly passed Grace back to Amy and stood too. Chester and Amy watched skeptically as the older Killjoy curled his hands into fists and began to elaborate on how to throw punches, using Frank as a pretend Draculoids and lightly landing hits on his arms, legs and torso. Frank rolled his eyes and stood still.

Finally, Amy broke in. "Great," she said, "but you do realize Dracs and Crows actually move when you try to attack them."

"Well, we'll have to find some moving targets to practice on," Gerard answered flippantly.

"You really think this is gonna work?" she asked more softly.

He sighed. "I dunno, Sunshine. But we'll have to try. If we don't kill them, they'll kill us."

"Terry, if we don't do something, they're gonna overrun the world."

Lacey stared at the ceiling, swirling the fingers if her left hand into her short brown hair. The carpet pricked into the back of her neck.

"What are we supposed to do?" Terry asked. His tone wasn't condescending, but rather morose and hopeless, as if he was resigned to watching BL/ind take control of their universe.

She frowned. "I don't know."

The girl rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands so she could stare up at Terry. Her feet swung lazy circles through the air.

"They're not hurting us here," Terry said softly. "They haven't found us yet. Maybe they never will."

"So you want to…stay? Just hide here, forever?"

"I want to keep us safe," he replied. "You're like a daughter to me, Lacey. I can't let you get hurt."

Lacey's heart swelled at his words. It was very uncommon for either of them to show emotion, but Terry was her father now. It made her happy to know he thought the same.

"We can't hide here forever, though," she whispered.

"I know," he answered, equally quietly.

She fell into silence, watching her pale fingers pick at strands of the carpet distractedly. She heard Terry stand and saw his large boots pace away towards the kitchen, and she sighed.

It was the Helium Wars that had done it. She had to do something—but she had absolutely no idea what. They were two people. Better Living Industries was a highly organized army of soldiers headed by maniacal geniuses. Nobody rebelled against BL/ind unless they seriously had a death wish. They'd get killed, or worse yet, turned into a Draculoid—and who knows what that entailed.

There was a thump from somewhere near the kitchen, and Lacey swiveled her head around lazily. Terry didn't say anything, didn't even swear like he usually did when he dropped something.

"Ter? What was that?" she called out.

"Dunno," he shouted back. "Came from outside. Probably a wave breaking or something."

A moment later, the noise came again, a loud, hollow knocking from the front of the house. Groaning, Lacey stood and stretched her arms over her head. If Terry wasn't going to figure out how to shut it up, then she would.

Her bare feet padded across the stubbly carpet as she made her way to the front door. The metal handle was slick and cool against her hand, and she tugged it open, poking her head out cautiously.

She didn't know what she was expecting to see, but it definitely wasn't a Draculoid.

The BL/ind employee stared back at her coldly. "Is this your place of residence?" it questioned.

Lacey cleared her throat nervously and tried to rearrange her face into a less frightened expression. "Y-yeah," she replied.

She'd never come face-to-face with one of the policemen before. She'd seen them on TV, prowling in the background of any footage of Battery City, and of course in the few scenes of the Helium Wars, but she'd never actually met one in real life. They were more terrifying than she had expected.

"State your name and age."

I can't give him my real identity. "Hannah Smith," Lacey blurted. "I'm—I'm fifteen."

The Draculoid raised an eyebrow skeptically and raked its eyes down her body. Lacey knew she had made a mistake—she'd turned eighteen last September; there was no way she'd pass for three years younger.

But after only a moment's hesitation, the agent moved on with its questioning. "Does anyone else live with you, Hannah Smith?" it asked coolly.

"Erm—um…hold on a sec," she stuttered, before slamming the door in his face.

She was dashing back to the kitchen as soon as he was out of sight. "Terry," she gasped out, grasping the door frame for support. "Terry. Draculoid."

He spun around, and there was a sound of shattering china. He swore loudly, then swore again.

"I don't know what it wants," she murmured. "But—Terry. I told it my name's Hannah Smith. But they know about us. They know we're in here."

Terry's face was set in a stony frown, and he pushed past Lacey brusquely on the way to the front door. She followed after him carefully.

"Hello," Terry said evenly. His voice was completely unemotional.

"Are you the legal guardian of Hannah?" the Draculoid shot back.

Terry cleared his throat. "I'm her uncle, John Smith."

The policeman pulled a small metal device, no larger than a cell phone out of its pocket and tapped a few buttons. "Your names are not located in the Better Living database," it informed them.

"BL/ind has never bothered us out here," Terry refuted. They were calm enough words, but there was something about the way he said them—a hint of a protest. They were fighting words, and the Draculoid knew it.

"You will be entered into the registered database immediately," the agent informed them. "You will be required to apply for government occupations and will receive all supplies necessary for a comfortable life. Better Living takes care of its' citizens. We have your well-being in mind."

Lacey wanted to scream. She wanted to rail at the drone, to lash out and somehow harm this physical representation of the company. She wanted to get rid of the thing that was threatening her liberty. But she'd seen video of them in action. There was no way she would ever stand a chance against them, especially unarmed and untrained as she was.

She could see Terry was barely containing his anger, but she could only tell because she knew him and his expressions so well. Terry was a master of controlling his emotions. His face never changed unless he wanted it to.

But even Terry was having problems repressing his revulsion as the Draculoid reached into the pocket of its white police uniform. "All BL/ind citizens and customers are required to take BL/ind's patented miracle pills, a cure for all pain, suffering and ailments," it droned. "Trust BL/ind. We will solve all of your problems."

"Um…" The Draculoid was offering them two small, clear pill bottles. Terry wasn't reaching for them, obviously just as suspicious of them as Lacey was.

"Take them," the agent said, and it wasn't an offer.

"Well, we'd rather not—" Terry began.

But in a movement too fast for either of them to fully follow, the Draculoid had whipped a stark white shotgun out of a holster hidden at its' side. "Resistance is unacceptable," it announced. "You will comply with BL/ind's regulations."

"I don't think we will," Terry growled.

"Ter—um, Uncle John," Lacey said quietly, laying a hand on his arm.

"Get out of here, Lace," Terry breathed so the Draculoid couldn't hear him. "Fine something to protect yourself with."

She wanted to resist. She needed to stay there with Terry, for moral and physical support. But they were unprotected, and it was armed, and sticking around would serve no purpose but to get them both hurt. She had to save Terry.

He was stalling for time. Terry watched Lacey disappear into the kitchen and shot a silent prayer to God. He hadn't prayed in what felt like ages, certainly not since Day Zero, but this situation definitely necessitated some sort of divine intervention. So Terry prayed, prayed to a God he wasn't quite sure he believed in, for the safety of the one person he cared for in the world anymore.

The Draculoid wrenched the lid off the bottle and tipped one blue-and-white pill into the palm of its gloved hand. "Take it," it demanded.

Terry shoved his arm hard enough that he dropped the open bottle.

He felt the next movement more than he saw it. There was a searing, ripping pain in his shoulder blades and a horrible wrench in his arms as he felt them twisted behind his back. A strong grip seized his chin and his mouth was forced open. The Draculoid leered down at him, its face still obscured by that absurd Halloween mask all the agents wore as a part of their uniform.

"Those who defy us will not be tolerated," it informed Terry in a malicious whisper.

Terry shook his head violently, desperate to escape the Draculoid's grip, but the enemy was too strong. His jaw was held open with only two fingers as the other two dangled a tiny pill over his mouth. The Drac was hesitating, toying with him, relishing the success and the feeling of winning. It enjoyed torturing Terry.

"I'm sure they'll turn you into a Draculoid," it informed Terry calmly. "Your niece, too, if she can physically endure the treatments and training. They always do with the rebellious ones."

"Not Lacey," Terry choked out, his words emerging breathy and half-formed.

The Draculoid chuckled cruelly. "So Hannah isn't her name. That's what I guessed. I assume your name isn't John Smith either." It tightened his grip on Terry's arms, twisting them further and making the man cry out in pain. Something made a horrible popping sound, and his left hand went numb.

"It doesn't matter," the BL/ind slave continued. "Soon enough you won't have any identity. You'll just be a number. Just like me. Just like BL/ind's perfect army."

BL/ind's army was about the furthest thing from perfect Terry could think of.

"It erases your emotions," the Draculoid confided in him. "Every last one. You won't be able to fight because you won't want to. Submit now, and maybe you'll be spared."

"Never," Terry gasped out.

"That's what I thought," it smirked, and released its grip on the pill.

Terry struggled against the impulse to swallow, but he was gagging against the medication, and the Drac had relocated one hand to grip his neck, and his throat was convulsing against his efforts. He choked out one last cough in a desperate attempt to keep the mind-control out of his system.

And suddenly, the pressure on his throat and arms was alleviated. His ears registered a full, metallic clunk as he fell to his hands and knees, coughing and gagging and spitting the pill onto his carpet.

A small hand landed on his back, stroking comfortingly as he fought to regain his breath. Finally, air began to enter his lungs again in rapid, shallow gasps. He rocked back onto his heels and sat up, kneeling on the carpet.

Lacey threw her arms around him and pushed her face into his shoulder. She was mumbling something incomprehensible, but Terry caught the gist of it when she turned her head to the side: "I thought you were dead, Dad."

"Dad?" Terry asked curiously, wrapping an arm around Lacey's shoulders.

She looked up at him with shining, tear-filled eyes. "Dad. You're my dad now. I thought you died, just like the first one did…"

"Sh, sh, it's okay," he murmured gently. He squeezed her shoulders with one arm. "Look, Lace, I'm fine. I didn't even swallow the pill, see? The Drac let go before I choked…"

"I knocked it out," Lacey whispered. "Killed it, maybe." That's when Terry noticed the heavy metal skillet lying next to her knees and the deep crimson blood leaking from the Draculoid's collapsed form on the pale entryway carpet.

"Lacey, I told you to go," he protested.

"I couldn't leave you," she responded. "You're the only family I have left. You're the only person I care about anymore."

Terry's eyes were beginning to water, too. "We have to go, Lace," he said quietly. "They'll come looking when they realize that Drac isn't coming back. They'll arrest us."

"I know," Lacey answered. But she didn't move, just pushed her head into the crook of her father's neck and let her eyes slide shut as she relished the quiet, intimate moment.