Years later
How the day ended this way, they never knew but it was expected. The high activity readings must have been off the charts; that's why the main head quarters where covered in old satellite dishes and under ground.
She was all suited up, a bright blue leather jacket with acid green designs on the back and a pair of grayed out denims, the sand crunched under her boots and she tugs on her bright red leather gloves. A couple of Crash Queens throw a few cat calls and wolf whistles her way and she winks at them, a few quiet down as they see the dirt on her face possibly mistaking it for a shadow of stubble, after all the jacket and protective vest are pretty good at hiding her breasts and curves. Granted neither or those two things are exactly something to notice, her breasts are small and she's got a pair of very grab-able love handles.
The killjoy smirks to herself as she walks toward the mechanics area that had been set up for the race. Amazing thing about living like bandits for the better half of their lives, you can assemble and disassemble a full festival in under a few hours. It wasn't anything too big but it was impressive once you knew that most of this stuff was carted around in a van, each safe house miles and miles away from each other. It was amazing once you think about it, these people got word and rushed over, put up a whole race with out a single argument. Like clockwork. Above their makeshift pit there's a Jolly Roger with a vicious yellow thunder bolt going through its head and looking mischievous as painted green smoke spilled from its mouth, the same emblem that's painted on her helmet. She stares at it fondly, it's one of the few traces they have left of the Fab and seeing it hug above the small military styled gazebo makes her heart flutter. "Shadows carry on forever", her mind echoes as she clasps Marauder's hand in a high five, his chill blue eye bright with that same spark she saw in Ghoul's once upon a past.
They go over the main route of the race and the overview of the activity feeds in the area, the lack of static reports makes them anxious. Marauder looked up at her and shot a comforting smile, "Jitters got you wide eyed Bonnie?. He goes behind her and plants a kiss on her neck hugging her waist, her eyes close as she lets her head roll back, committing every inch of his body pressed to up against her to memory. She could stay there until the sun burned up and then some. They lost each other for a moment on their first run from the city years ago; Sleeper came into the picture and got them back in black. She had almost given up thinking him dead.
They parted and sat thigh to thigh, checking some last minute equipment, nobody questioned anything. Having someone close enough to touch you was a gift in these sands. "I love you, remember that okay? No matter what babe" she whispered to him, the only time she'd ever admit it because something was tugging at her gut to do so. The same tug she got when she didn't see the Trans Am, she closed her eyes and scratched her nose. "No" she told herself, the man next to her didn't say anything he knew that she wasn't referring to him. She'd picked up the habit of saying 'No' when something was wriggling in her brain that wasn't supposed to be there, when the terrors came worse. Faded shoved away all thoughts of the baggy in her pocket and the moon shine in her pack. Now was not the time, she needed to be clear headed and not that kind of bright eyed. Marauder gave her a peck on the cheek and made to slap her ass as he jumped from the table and went to add and extra zap to the pack on her scrapped blue bike. A smile broke out over her lips as her favorite tune began to beat.
The feeling of sterilized black and white hit her like sideways kick to the chest, she hears it for a second and the innate survival instinct thumps in her heart. The radio that blasted 'Thunderstruck' stopped for a second as a blip of static pulsed through the speakers, nobody dares to breathe. It was three short beeps. Like switching a channel on an old TV, skipping over the news to the cartoons or a gory movie but, here in the Californian deserts a pretty teen in miniscule underwear wasn't the one getting hacked up bloody; you're the one on the chopping block.
Nobody dared move as several snipers and look outs checked the horizon and race track. The younger killjoys and children where moved to the center of battle hardened groups, every capable killjoy pairing up with the more wicker crash queens; all of them slipping on their masks and a hand on their holsters. The seconds ticked by and the static wave never came back, Black Marauder let out a breath and continued the final adjustments on the bike. The Scarecrows have learned to use radios as radars when someone switches or flicks off the dials, change station or turn it off and its lights out.
The festival erupted in a cloud of noise and color that overwhelmed Faded after the tense silence; it was a moan after a stabbing. Letting out a quick breathe she slipped on her helmet and tested the com links. A little flicker of joy ran through her systems, her flesh and blood had built the microchips and circuitry from scrap metal and out of date computers.
She felt her heart thump like a steady drum beat pelted with a bass that could raise the dead, if you know what I mean. Through all her excitement and shaky trust in the nearly three hundred or so Killjoys present, she still kept her hands loose and had a clear path to her friends and Grace mapped out in her head. She was pretty sure Black did too; every Killjoy here had a plan for this type of situation. They reveled in the danger and the chaos, uncertainty and the near death thrill. They laughed in death's face but had backup plans and escape routes worthy of an A grade trickster. She smiled and gave one last look at her heart throb; the bastard looked up from the com link he was tinkering with and smirked mischievously, wink and all. The Killjoy let out a chuckle and tightened the gloves and the rest of her gear, making sure her holster was secure as engines revved and people cheered inebriated. The Race was about to start. She had skulls to crush.
She gripped her head, dizzy and in pain, corpses surrounded her when she looked up. Her hair was matted with blood and grayed with dirt, nothing seemed to be standing and no shadow loomed over her. To her right she could fuzzily see her bike laying on its side, she tried to use her arms to get up and only got as far as resting her elbow. Dry mouthed and covered in sand, Faded made to get up after taking a few breaths only to see the ghosted runners surrounding her. As she dragged herself to her feet she picked up the zap she had under her stomach. She took a step and her legs gave out, she didn't know if it was the grave yard she found herself in or the injuries. The cerulean gasped and gritted her teeth when the pain shot up from her knees and side. A nasty scorch mark adorned her stomach opposite a similar burn, long since scarred. Everyone around her was dead, some partially covered with sand the desert winds tucked them in with. The throb in her head became worse as tears threatened to wash out the dust on her face. How long had she been here? The panic rose as her jaw clenched, Faded made sure her mask was still in place, the skull mask she had modified was still in place. The Killjoy was shivering from the sheer amount of death that surrounded her, she hadn't been this shaken up since... "Marauder?" Faded whispered in cracked voice, his zap was sticking out from behind her bike.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" she ran towards the fallen blue motorcycle and to her friend's side. "Black, come on!" she rested her head on his chest eyes open wide, ripping off her mask tossing it next to him from, eyes scared and panicked governed by the feeling that if all her senses where full throttle she'd hear his heart better. "No, buddy, don't do this." She started the chest compressions, no beat. No breathing. She stayed there going through the motions until a vulture called a few feet away; plucking someone's eyeball out, Marauder was as white as its sclera. She shook harden than before, no tears fell and not a sound left her lips as she starred at the scavenger. Its blue black feathers shining in the aching sun as it dunked its head through a tear in an abdomen. Faded blink and moved, the jolts that substituted for movements where frantic as she took off his mask and boots. His zap came next, Mischief Maker wasn't gonna be left here to rot in the sun, she turned the corpse around and removed his jacket with a careless tugs. Her hands became steadier and efficient; she propped him up and stole his shirt, undid his pants and tugged them off. Every scrap of anything ended up in a pile on his jacket. The only noises in the clap site were Faded's grunt and the vultures dining as the sun thought about setting. The Killjoy found a scrap of metal laying around, recently charred, and started to dig. She angrily made her way through the sand, not sound escaped her pursed lips as her eye kept wide open. She still held that stunned emotion, running on autopilot. She wasn't about to leave him for the snatchers or the buzzards.
Only the grunts of effort and a slight grimace changed her almost droid like expression. She had dug enough on her knees and sat back on her legs just looking at the nude corpse resting before her. His wounds became more obvious, he was probably long dead before she tried to get his pulse going. The sun was warning her as it tinged the sky a new alarming shade, got up and picked the body up under its arms, dragging it and looking at it for a second. She tilted her head narrowed her eyes, the bastard was smiling. He was probably glad she took his "waist not, want not" advice in robbing his corpse and paying it back with a grave. She took off a bracelet and left it on his chest before covering Black Marauder with dirt. She made sure it looked like another stretch of desert before taking on the task of forcing her aching body to right her bike and pack on her looted supplies. She saw a few other dusted killjoys, some already turned to dinner and others just as dead.
Her eyes flew back to her buried friend in a small twitch left before settling on the nearly twenty corpses, she went for it. She stripped them of batteries and plasma loads, she couldn't run out of juice like earlier and it's not like they needed it. Other things caught her eye, switchblades and a few smoke bombs, sharpies and makeup bits that were mostly lipsticks, kohl or grease paints. She took what she could and mounted her bike taking off with a prayer on her lips, no apologies or even a thought of them. Her face was stern and her jaw set, the once flecked chocolate eyes took on a wild burnt brown as she drove on though abandoned back roads and to an old motel. They had switched there base a few times and this was the latest. If anyone from the crew survived they would leave a message for the new HQ or be there. She kept her eyes open for cars or glimmers of metal in the desert sands, Motor Baby better be running and not chewing some dirt on the other side. If she wasn't Faded had only one person to blame. Faded would take all her anger and loss out on that very person, again she felt the burn of that wolf scratching up its cage for retribution.
The Killjoy took extra precautions making her way to the run down biker bar they has found a few cycles back. As soon as she saw the old bar come into view, a graffiti covered van parked around back with the doors wide open and people unloading gear, she made a choice.
Its not finished but I need some advice:
A) Does it capture the feel of Planetary?
B) Is the meltdown sufficient or should it be worse?
C) Any major mistakes I should correct?
D) Should it end there or keep going with an awesome fight scene to capture the song better?
E) If I should continue writing this chapter, what ideas do you have
Thanks, love you
Keep Running