Fic: The Science of Sleep - Part Six

[chimneythunder]

The next few days pass in a strange blur. Frank throws himself into his work in both worlds, trying to forget about Party-fucking-Poison but despite the initial relief that he’s not going to see him again, Frank’s more on edge than ever. He nearly has a heart attack one morning when someone with red hair walks past his cubical in his own world, and then realises it’s only Audrey from the Fraud department and he’s an idiot, it’s the complete wrong shade of red anyway as Audrey’s got more of a natural auburn colour to hers while Party Poison’s is a slap-you-in-the-face-motherfucker-everybody-pay-attention-to-me-cherry-bomb red and why is he still obsessing over him anyway?!

“I’m losing it,” he says, rubbing his temples with his fingertips, ducking down behind the walls of his cubical. He settles for going outside, smoking several cigarettes and jotting down more notes about Better Living Industries.

Maybe that’s the key, he thinks. Maybe if he can help the Killjoys figure out who Fun Ghoul was, it’ll be the thing that snaps him back to his own reality and stop this whole thing. He’s actually getting pretty good at memorising things in one world so he can work on them in the other, which he tells himself is always a useful skill to possess (although he’s not too sure if it’s one he can put on his CV).

He doesn’t get to see Gerard much though; hit with pure inspiration for The Black Parade and a looming deadline for several pages he was supposed to have done weeks ago, Gerard disappears again, locking himself in his studio and only emerging for toilet-breaks, coffee and cigarettes. Trying to be supportive, Frank gives him his space but he does go round Gerard’s house once after work, turning up on his doorstep with the largest cup of coffee money could buy and some kind of vaguely-healthy food from Starbucks.

“Aw, Frankie! You didn’t have to –” Gerard says, sounding delighted but Frank cuts him off.

“I’m making sure you actually eat something during this time!! You can’t live off nicotine and caffeine alone!”

“Best. Boyfriend. Ever,” Gerard says, giving him a quick kiss. In all honesty, his clothes don’t look any more paint-splattered than usual although it’s pretty obvious he’s been using his arm as a colour pallet. “How’s work going? You heard back about the promotion yet??”

Perhaps more coffee was a mistake... Gerard’s already pretty wired. Or maybe he’s just buzzing from the adrenaline.

“Nothing yet, I’ll find out soon enough.”

“That’s great!!” Gerard says, beaming widely. “Hey, you’re still coming to the gig, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world! I’m curious to see what kind of music Mikey plays -”

“Great!!” Gerard says again. Frank notices him try to discretely check his watch.

“Don’t worry, I’m not staying,” Frank says, trying to sound fine. “I just wanted to provide fuel and make sure you hadn’t accidentally drunk paint thinner by mistake.”

“That was one time!!” Gerard laughs. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, though it sounds more like a mantra he’s been repeating to himself a lot. “The deadline’s tomorrow morning anyway, so this time tomorrow, I’ll be freeee!!!”

He leans forward and gives Frank another quick kiss; it’s almost aggressive. Man, Gerard must be really stressed.

Back at Better Living Industries, Frank spends his time exploring Battery City, safe in the security of the highest tower of Scarecrow surveillance. Battery City actually reminds him a lot of the world he came from. For one thing, despite the high-tech nature of everything else, there’s still public transport that consists of trains and buses which run every ten minutes from 5am to midnight. They’re always on time, even with how at certain times in the very early morning and incredibly late at night there are power glitches that cause everything to momentarily stop.

Frank hates himself a little for being impressed by the efficiency of it all; back at home, while the drive to work is a bitch most days, he sticks with it because the trains are notoriously unreliable. If the drivers aren’t on strike, then the train engine’s failed, and if it’s neither of those, then you can bet someone will have thrown themselves under the wheels during rush hour. He remembers what Korse said about the suicide rate, about how it rose to dangerous levels before Better Living Industries stepped in. A quick check on the records confirms it’s virtually non-existent now.

Oh sure, Party Poison’s voice suddenly sounds through Frank’s head. People aren’t dying but they sure as fuck aren’t living either.

People man the trains. Even during the hours when nobody gets on, the trains still run. Unemployment simply doesn’t exist here. Everybody has a job, everybody has a purpose. The buses drive their routes through empty streets at 3 in the morning, calling at every empty stop diligently. People get on with their lives, going through the motions and patiently keeping themselves occupied. The mechanics who service the trains do their jobs with devoted attention and expertise. Kids go to and from schools wearing their uniforms and incredibly well behaved.

There’s no denying it – Battery City works. Everything runs as it should and thanks to the pills, no one seems unhappy that this is their life now. Yes, ok, Frank’s sure it goes against some kind of moral or ethical law, but really… if it’s keeping people alive, keeping them safe… is it really wrong?

He looks out at the desert screen at the Zones. Nothing ever really shows up on them – most of the Zones are completely uninhabitable due to the radioactive fallout from the Helium Wars. If Party Poison doesn’t get himself gunned down at some point, he’ll probably eventually die from radiation poisoning or cancer.

Movement on one of the city screens suddenly catches Frank’s attention. It’s more teenagers, sneaking around the streets.

“Wow,” Frank murmurs with a grin. “These kids really don’t give up do they?”

He rolls his eyes and hits a few buttons. An alarm goes off on the street, making the kids immediately scatter and meanwhile, several streets away, the nearest Draculoid patrol starts running at top speed in the wrong direction.


~*~*~


Gerard’s system of keeping signs by Frank’s bed as a way of keeping track of what day it is and where he is works a treat, especially on the morning where Frank wakes up to read “Thursday. Home. Mikey’s gig with Gerard!”

Thursday morning, however, is also the morning when Frank gets trapped in his car. Against all odds, he makes it into work early so he decides to chill in his car, drinking his coffee, listening to a CD and smoking an extra cigarette. The whole thing is quite pleasant... until some asshole in a BMW pulls up and parks so closely that Frank can’t open his door. He sits there for a few minutes, trying to work out what to do, and he’s trapped for a good 10 minutes and is this close to winding down the window for an escape route when it occurs to him that his ‘prison’ has wheels and he’s a fucking moron.

The rest of the day passes, mercifully, uneventfully. Frank loses himself in his work, spends his breaks smoking and scribbling down more and more ideas about Fun Ghoul, Party Poison and the world of Battery City. The more he thinks about it, the more he realises it actually is a really good set up for a science fiction novel. Frank hopes that maybe, when he isn’t actually living through this nightmare, he might be able to do something with the idea. At the very least, he’ll have something to show the psychiatrists.

No one bats an eyelash when he ducks out the office half an hour early. He sneaks into the toilets to change out of his usual work clothes into some more gig-appropriate wear and toys with the idea of putting on some eyeliner, before dismissing the idea with a laugh. He could get away with eyeliner and dressing up when he was in his early twenties but not now.

He realises that he doesn’t even know what kind of music Mikey plays. For all he knows, Mikey’s band could be some soothing country-folk mix (although he prays to God it’s not; fond of Gerard as he is, there are some things he won’t do for anyone). He shrugs and pulls on a thin cardigan over his Misfits t-shirt.

The gig’s held at a tiny, grotty club on the wrong side of town in a venue that’s as notorious for its drug deals as it is for the bands who’ve played there. Gerard texts to say he’s already inside so Frank gives his name on the door (“Hey, this might sound a bit weird, but I think I’m down as … ‘Frank, shirtless wet guy?’”) and goes in. The venue’s already packed by the time Frank gets in and some heavy-metal thrash band are on stage with the pit going strong.

“Hey handsome, what’s a good-looking guy like you doing here in a place like this?”

A pair of arms wrap around him from behind and lips press to his ear. He grins and turns around to see Gerard beaming at him.

“Glad to see you made it!” Gerard says delightedly.

“Glad to see you’re still alive!!” Frank replies. Even in the dark lighting, he can see the bags under Gee’s eyes are particularly vicious. “You get your deadlines done?”

Gerard laughs. “Yeah yeah, all good!”

He says something else but Frank can’t hear him over the sound of the band.

“What?!” Frank yells.

He says it again but he’s drowned out by the screech of feedback. He rolls his eyes and points to the bar, to which Frank nods.

“God YES,” he says, and allows himself to be led by the hand through the crowd towards it.

“What you drinking?” Gerard asks when the bartender comes over to serve them.

Anything but BombBunny, Frank thinks.

“Don’t mind! What’s your poison?” he yells, struggling to hear himself over the music.

“Coke.”

Frank blinks, not sure if he heard him properly.

“I don’t drink,” Gerard explains off his look. “Long story. If you want a drink though –”

“Nah, it’s fine – I’ll have a coke too!”

Gerard orders their drinks and they go stand back in the crowd on the edges of the pit but they can’t talk above the noise so they stand next to each other instead, watching the band. At one point, Frank reaches out and grabs Gerard’s hand; his fingers are rough and Frank can feel spots of paint flecked all over them. Gerard laces his fingers between Franks and gives him a squeeze, and Frank tries not to grin too much. It’s sappy but he’s really missed him.

“Mikey’s on next!” Gerard says when the band finishes.

“Awesome!” Frank grins, still holding his hand. “So, how’d things go with the Black Parade?”

“It was great!! Yeah, my publisher loved it, like really loved it. She wants there to be a proper story arc, I’ve been commissioned to do a six-issue storyline!”

“Oh my God, that’s fantastic!!” Frank throws his arms around Gerard’s neck and kisses him. Someone behind them yells “fags” but they ignore it; Frank can’t even be bothered to flip them off. Gerard looks slightly embarrassed when they break apart but also pleased.

“Christ Frankie, anyone would think it was your comic with that reaction,” he says, ducking his head.

“Sorry, sorry… It’s just been a while since I’ve heard good news for anyone. Besides Gee, this is a big deal! It’s so fucking cool!”

Gerard grins, showing off all his ridiculously tiny teeth. They talk for a bit longer about what it means now that Gerard’s going to be an awesome world-famous comic book artist when Gerard suddenly asks “Speaking of creativity, how’s things going with your novel?”

Frank makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “Not now,” he says carelessly, “This is about you!!”

He doesn’t want to have to think about it right now. He doesn’t want to have to think about double agents, perfectly sinister cities or amnesiac red-heads. Right now, his boyfriend has just had his first big break. Right now, he’s at a gig and he’s buzzed for to see the band. Right now, he’s happy.

Gerard frowns and he’s about to say something when there’s suddenly a screech of a guitar and the audience goes wild, cheering as the next band comes on stage.

“There’s Mikey!! On bass!!” Gerard yells excitedly (and slightly unnecessarily). He points, as if Frank would have any trouble spotting the incredibly skinny man in a band of -

Frank suddenly chokes on his mouthful of Coke.

“Frank! You ok?!” Gerard’s got a hand on Frank’s shoulder, worried.

Frank wipes his mouth with his sleeve, staring at the guitarist onstage next to Mikey.

“What’s Ray Toro doing up there on stage with your brother?!!” he yells.

“You know Ray?? Awesome!! He’s the guitarist, him and Mikey have been friends for years! How’d you know him?”

“He works- We went to school together!” Frank catches himself in time.

It’s just a coincidence. That’s all it is. It’s just a coincidence… but it’s a fucking weird one.

When the band finish their set and step off stage, they head through the crowd to the bar where Gerard waves them over. Frank can’t take his eyes off Ray. Technically, he hasn’t seen him in years. He wonders if Ray will recognise him...

“Frank Iero!? Get outta here!! No way man, what are you doing here?!?”

Ray pulls him in for a quick hug despite being sweaty from the stage. His curly hair seems to have exploded from the heat.

“Gerard invited me,” Frank explains.

“Gerard?!” Ray asks, surprised. “As in Mikey Way’s Gerard?! Small world!!”

“You have no idea,” Frank agrees, taking a mouthful of Coke.

Not for the first time in recent weeks, Frank finds himself catching up with Ray Toro. Gerard and Mikey disappear off to talk to other band people, leaving Frank and Ray alone at the bar. Ray’s a lot more immediately friendly here, Frank notices. They chat about what they’ve been doing since they left high school (Frank omits his alternate-world adventures); Ray’s recently started working in the IT department of his job as tech support.

“… and OK, so it’s a bit rubbish at the moment but eventually, it should progress up into actually working and developing tech and software!” Ray explains.

Frank hides a smile at the irony.

“So, how long have you known Mikey?” he asks, curiosity building.

“A few years now,” Ray says. “I met him at college - him and Gerard actually. They’re pretty decent guys, I can’t believe you actually know them!!”

“Yeah, I know! Weird, right?”

“I don’t know,” Ray says with a sudden sly smile, “Gerard’s been talking about this awesome short guy he’d met who’s covered with tattoos and writing a book. When he said you were coming tonight, we – the entire band, I mean – were looking forward to finally meeting you!”

Frank’s wondering if there’s any way at all in which he can ask if Ray happens to know someone who may or may not already go by the moniker of Kobra Kid when Gerard and Mikey show up, flanked by a few other band people. Gerard grabs Frank’s hand and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, we’re thinking of heading out to a club,” says one of the guys who Frank vaguely recognises as the drummer. “You guys coming?”

“Sure,” says Mikey. “Gee? Frank?

“Actually, we’ll give it a miss,” Gerard cuts in before Frank can reply. He gives Frank’s hand a squeeze. “Frankie’s still got work tomorrow, we need an early night.”

Oh. OH.

“Are you sure?” Ray asks, not getting it. “You could always join for just one drink –”

“Nah, I’m sure,” Frank says. He’s determinedly not looking at anyone else but he can still sense everyone else’s amused looks. “Ray, dude, seriously though, it was good seeing you – we need to stay in touch.”


~*~*~


“Oh man, could we have been any less subtle?!” Gerard shrieks with laughter the moment they’re both in Frank’s car.

“Fuck ‘em all,” Frank grins. “They’re just jealous. So… your place or mine?”

“Mine’s closer.”

“Right.”

The drive to Gerard’s is one of the most torturous ones to ever exist, mainly due to how Gerard’s hand keeps stroking Frank’s thigh which does nothing for Frank’s concentration on the road.

“If I crash, the blame will fall entirely on you,” Frank points out when they stop at a red light.

“Live a bit, Frankie!!” Gerard laughs. “I trust your driving.”

Frank’s about to retort when Gerard’s hand suddenly slides up further up and in, getting dangerously close to Frank’s crotch. The entire car jolts forward as Frank’s foot slips off the clutch.

He drives as fast as he can after that. Frank’s incredibly good at focusing on a specific task when he needs to.

At his house, Gerard doesn’t even wait for them to get inside before he’s pinning Frank up against the front door, attacking his lips with his own. Frank kisses him back hungrily, clinging to Gerard’s arms.

“Shouldn’t - shouldn’t we go inside?” Frank eventually manages to gasp out. Gerard’s undeterred and makes a low noise that’s muffled by the fabric of Frank’s t-shirt. The tip of his tongue traces over Frank’s scorpion tattoo. “I – uh – don’t you have neighbours?!”

“Yup,” Gerard says, his breath hot and wet against the skin of Frank’s neck. “But they’re probably enjoying the show.”

“Didn’t realise you were such an exhibitionist…”

Frank tries to look past Gerard’s head but all he can see is the brightness of the porch light, blinding out everything else in the street. They’re too exposed, anyone could be watching…

His hands slide down Gerard’s arms and come to rest on his hips; looping his fingers under Gerard’s belt, he pulls Gerard’s body as close to his as possible and rocks his hips against Gee’s. Gerard suddenly – unexpectedly – lets out the most beautiful guttural moan and his own hands tangled in Frank’s hair suddenly grip. The pain is sudden, sharp and sweet, and it forces Frank’s head back slightly, exposing his neck even more, something which Gerard immediately takes advantage of.

“Now now Frankie… play nicely…”

There’s the jangle of keys and suddenly the front door’s open and Gerard’s warmth is abruptly gone, but he’s already grabbing Frank’s hand and pulling him into the darkness of the house. They stumble up the stairs into the part of the house Frank’s never been into before and then they’re in a room – Gerard’s hand is gone, leaving Frank momentarily standing in the dark, then there’s the rustle of blinds and the room is dimly lit with pale blue moonlight.

“Hey, is this your room?” Frank asks, somewhat stupidly, seeing as the room could only belong to Gerard, what with the random canvases stacked against the wall and the bookshelves filled with comic books and old horror movie DVDs.

“Well, it’s not Mikey’s… Hey, come here.”

He says this in an unusually quiet, gentle tone, holding out his hand to Frank. Frank crosses the floor in three steps and then they’re kissing again, Gerard’s arms wrapped around him. Frank suddenly feels a swoop of nerves as Gerard’s long fingers are tugging on the edges of his t-shirt; Frank immediately lifts his arms up, letting himself be undressed.

“Ahh, fuck... I love your tattoos,” Gerard moans suddenly, and then there’s a click and light fills the room. Frank blinks, momentarily blinded – and then he feels Gerard’s hands pressing to his back.

“Frankie... this is gorgeous,” he murmurs. “I love this, the way it looks... the grin makes it creepy but the eyes make it trustworthy...”

“My pumpkin?”

“Mmm.”

Suddenly, Gerard lightly traces it with the tip of his hot, wet tongue; Frank gasps, his back arching as every nerve in his body suddenly seems to be on high-alert. Gerard keeps moving, his tongue sliding all the way down Frank’s spine over each individual ridge, and then his hands are gripping Frank’s hips and spinning him around and pushing him up against the –

“Ouch!!”

The shelves rattle dangerously behind Frank as they collide painfully into his back.

“Shit, are you OK??”

Frank looks down and – oh. Looks down. Gerard’s on his knees, his dark hair dishevelled and his lips swollen and would be looking so completely and utterly fuckable if it wasn’t for the look of worry on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just... wasn’t expecting shelves...”

“Oh... you sure you’re OK?”

“I’m fine, really!”

Gerard’s lips twitch, like he’s trying not to laugh. He leans in and kisses Frank’s stomach and the pain’s immediately gone. Gerard moves lower and Frank gasps and grips the shelf –

And then there’s a horrifically loud CRACK as part of the shelf snaps and the lamp on it plummets to the ground, smashing and plunging the room back into darkness.

Frank jolts upright like he’s been burnt. He looks at Gerard, who’s still on his knees. Even with just the moonlight illumination from outside, he can see Gerard’s eyes and mouth are comical O shapes. Simultaneously they both burst out laughing.

“Oh man, this isn’t going as I’d hoped,” Gerard laughs, shaking his head and pulling his hand through his hair.

“Uh... maybe we should move this to the bed?”

“Might work,” Gerard nods and slowly climbs to his knees, staggering slightly. He’s turned and heading towards the bed in the middle of the room, and perhaps it’s because the atmosphere is now just so stupid and relaxed that Frank feels a rush of daring but suddenly, he reaches out and grabs Gerard’s wrist with a small “hey.” He grabs the hem of Gerard’s t-shirt and pulls it up, over his head.

“So we’re kinda on even footing here,” he explains with a smile.

It’s the first time Frank’s seen Gerard shirtless and he’s – he’s actually exactly as Frank suspected. He’s pale and slightly chubby.

He’s the most attractive person in the world Frank’s even seen.

He leans in and kisses him again, savouring the feel of skin on skin. It isn’t until he feels the mattress under him that he realises he’s horizontal and Gerard’s manoeuvred him so they’re lying on the bed. There’s a dull crash as Gerard pushes a sketchbook off the bed out the way and then they’re kissing again. Gerard’s weight is warm on top of him and Frank can feel Gerard’s erection through his jeans, but then Frank starts to wonder if maybe Gerard’s waiting for him to do something. He’d kinda got the idea that Gerard liked being the one in control but he’s not really doing anything – not that the kissing isn’t fantastic, but he thinks maybe he’s supposed to do something – maybe Gerard’s waiting for him to take the lead?

His hands slide towards Gerard’s belt buckle. Gerard instantly pulls back.

“Hey, why so eager?” he says with a grin. Frank can’t really see the finer details of Gerard’s face but he can see he’s grinning... and with a rush of excitement, Frank suddenly realises Gerard has – and always has had - a game plan.

“Come on Gee... I’m this close to coming in my pants right now...” He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate but he’s always believed honesty is the best policy.

“Well, since you’ve asked so nicely...”

Gerard’s trails down Frank’s chest with light kisses, stopping when he reaches Frank’s hips.

“Third time lucky?” he says with a grin.

As Gee tugs on his trousers, Frank lifts his hips slightly, kicking his jeans and boxers off, and then he’s completely naked, spread out on Gerard’s bed and his cock’s finally free. Frank can’t help the moan that escapes his lips as Gerard licks the tip and then completely envelopes it in his mouth and there is no way in hell he’s going to be able to last very long at this rate and – shit, when was the last time he trimmed anyway?? – and – and fuck, Gerard’s good at this.

“Fuck – fucking Hell Gee – I’m not gonna – I’m –”

He cries out this strangled noise that’s somewhere between swearing and screaming as he comes. For a few seconds, he lies there, gasping as his chest rises and falls. His entire body is humming but he’s not completely satisfied. Gerard sits back, pushing his hair out his face and wiping the corner of his grinning mouth. He’s so... so fucking confidently cocky. Frank wants to see him come undone.

He grins and wraps an arm around Gerard’s neck, pulling him roughly down to kiss him again. Frank can taste himself on Gerard’s tongue, salty and bitter, as Gerard’s finger’s grip Frank’s biceps, his nails digging in and leaving little half-moon marks embedded between the stars tattooed. This time, he doesn’t try and stop Frank as Frank unbuttons his jeans; instead, all he does is shift a bit so that they’re both lying on their sides facing each other, and then, noticeably, he gulps.

“OK?” Frank asks.

Gerard only nods quickly in response, breathing quickly in and out through his nose. He’s suddenly so very visibly nervous, all his usual dominance and confidence diminished.

Frank pushes some strands of hair out of Gee’s face and kisses him again, reaching down as he does and fumbling with Gerard’s zipper, pushing the material away. Gerard’s breath suddenly comes out in a burning gasp in Frank’s mouth as Frank’s fingers wrap around his cock. It’s hot and firm, and there’s a few beads of pre-come already leaking out, which Frank smears around the tip with his thumb, earning a small whimper from Gerard. He starts sliding his hand up and down Gerard’s cock, slowly at first, trying to sync the rhythm with how Gerard moves into him. Frank always imagined Gerard would be louder but he’s surprisingly quiet and non-verbal, and for a while, the only sounds he makes is his breath hitching over and over again. The only extra clues Frank gets when he’s about to come is that he suddenly gasps, and his fingers grip painfully into Frank’s shoulder; Gerard’s entire body tenses and his back arches, and then, shaking, he completely comes apart as he buries his face in the crook of Frank’s neck.

Frank quickly wipes his hand off on the edge of the duvet as Gerard drops heavily down onto the bed, his hair fanning over his face. His eyes are just visible, blinking lazily.

“Hey,” he says with a smile.

“Hey,” Frank replies. He can’t keep the grin off his own face.

He lays his head on the pillow next to Gerard’s so they’re facing each other; Gerard reaches out and lazily traces down patterns over Frank’s arm and Frank watches him as his breathing slows. He waits until Gerard’s completely asleep before he pulls the duvet over them both.

He doesn’t want to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to fall asleep because (not like that fucking song as Frank’s one hundred percent sure that Steve Tyler didn’t have to deal with parallel worlds) if he does, then that means that he’s not going to be here anymore with Gerard, and he doesn’t want to go. He’s happy here, it’s nice and safe...

He yawns and blinks slowly, watching the room fade from darkness to light. The shapes shift as the light changes and then, without him being really aware of the exact point of change, he’s in his room in the Better Living World.

He looks to his side. The bed is empty but there’s a strange haze in the space... a faint outline of the shape of a man... exactly in the spot where Gerard is sleeping in another world.

Frank hesitates, then kisses his fingertips and holds his hand lightly where Gerard’s shoulder would be. The air is faintly warm for a second, and then it’s gone.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispers.


~*~*~


“Iero, a word.”

“Yes?”

Smoothly, Frank turns away from the surveillance screens and looks at Korse.

“Project Two-Zero-One-One is almost ready for testing again. Would you still be interested in being the subject?”

Korse asks this in a way that tells Frank he really doesn’t have a choice in it.

“Absolutely.”

Korse nods. “Meet me in Testing Room 6 after lunch.”

Frank hopes Project Two-Zero-One-One doesn’t require any amount of pre-knowledge. He’s fucked if it does.

He also can’t help but ponder on how boringly clinical the name is. It’s so typically Better Living Industries. If it had been up to him, he’d have named it something more fitting, like Mysterious-Mystery-Project-of-Doom or Project Korse-is-a-Creepy-Freak-Stop-And-Ask-Me-How.

“Of course, this is highly classified,” Korse adds before turning to leave.

“Got it.”


~*~*~


“So, what’s in Testing Room 6?” Frank asks Ray as soon as he joins him for lunch.

Ray gives him a funny look.

“Classified, mostly. You’d probably know more than me.”

Frank can’t outright admit he has no idea so he tries a new tact.

“OK OK, but what do you think is in there? You know, considering I found you sulking around outside it that one time...”

Ray laughs. “Alright alright, I ... I don’t know exactly. Word around the Zones is that BLI’s been working on some new machine that’s meant to ‘revolutionise’ things, but no one’s been able to find out exactly what that means. The best we could come up with from our inside people – barring you, obviously – is that it’s some new kind of temporal molecular displacement theory.”

Frank coughs and spits his mouthful of coffee over the table.

“Temporal mol – what??”

He’s read enough science fiction novels to know what that means.

“It’s just a theory Frank, relax! Well, I mean, they’d tried it out on some Dracs but it had some pretty horrific results. As far as I can tell, the whole project’s on hiatus while they work on getting the theory right for now. The amount of energy time travel alone would take would probably be enough to drain the city of power – ”

“Ray, what year is it?”

“What??”

“What year is it??”

Ray laughs, as if Frank’s being silly.

“Answer the fucking question!!” Frank shrieks. Several people around the canteen look around in alarm.

“Calm down man!!” Ray hisses. “You’ll end up dosed up again if you’re not careful! Why –”

Frank presses his hands to his forehead. The entire room feels like it’s spinning, whirling completely out of control...

“It’s the wrong fucking questions again,” he murmurs. “I’m so fucking stupid... We’re using rayguns, for crying out loud!!”

“Frank –”

“You said drain the city of power, right?” Frank keeps his hands over his face. “I didn’t connect it... The random power surges that’ve been fucking up the trains... It’s never really affected me because they’re always when I’m at home, either just waking up or falling asleep!!”

Ray looks confused. “What?! Dude, you’re making no sense.”

“Ray.” Frank lowers his hands. Takes a deep breath. Looks Ray in the eyes.

There are lines around Ray’s eyes that weren’t there last night at the gig.

“What. Year. Is. It.”

“... It’s 2019, of course. Frank, what –”

Two thousand and nineteen.

“It’s works,” Frank says in a rush, leaning in. “It fucking works.”

He can’t – he can’t let himself process the full implications of everything now. Time travel, for fucks sake. Motherfucking time travel. He’s a fucking time traveller and he didn’t even get to use a cool car or phone box.

“Ray, we have to get out of here.”

“What, now? Wait, what do you mean ‘it works-”

“Ray!!” Frank barely controls himself from screaming. Why is Ray being so fucking slow and questioning everything?! “We have to go!!”

“Hold on, calm down.” Ray grabs Frank’s wrist tightly. “Take a deep breath... Look at me... good... OK now, what do you mean ‘it works’?”

“Where I’m from – I woke up and – last night I was – you were –”

“Try again,” Ray says, shaking his head. “Keep it simple.”

“I – I’m from 2011.”

... Despite everything, it still sounds stupid to say it out loud.

There’s an uncomfortably long pause. Ray stares at him, his facial expression unusually blank.

“I’ve been through it before, I - I just didn’t know that’s what made this happen!” Frank explains, trying to keep his voice down; some Draculoids at the other side of the canteen keep looking over. “Korse thought the machine didn’t work but it’s fixed now, or at least he thinks it is, and now he’s got me trying it out after lunch and I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to do now but if it’s meant to send you somewhere else then –”

“Come on,” Ray says, suddenly standing up. He’s still incredibly – abnormally – calm.

“What –”

“We’re going to be late. Lunch is almost over,” he says, giving Frank a very funny look.

“I’m not making this up!!” Frank says desperately. How can Ray not believe him, the dick?!

“Get up! It’s not a funny joke!” Ray says, yanking Frank’s wrist and hauling him up.

It’s hopeless. He’s going to have to go back through that machine and he’s not even sure what the fuck it’s going to do to him this time around. He’d make a run for it, except he doesn’t even know where he could run to; maybe he could head to that bar and hope that someone there takes pity on him and tells him how to find someone who can help him... except who the fuck can help him now? Party Poison probably would have had Frank’s back if Frank hadn’t already turned it on him.

He wishes Gerard was here.

Ray’s grip on his arm is almost painful as he steers him out the canteen and towards the lifts.

“Ray,” he tries again. “I swear, I –”

Ray hits the button for the basement.

“Don’t say anymore. They’re probably listening,” he says as Frank stares at him in amazement. Ray catches his eye and smiles. “So... that far, huh? Explains a few things. Where abouts you up to?”

“We’ve just met!” Frank says, relief coursing through him. “Well, re-met, technically. You just played a gig with Gerard’s brother –”

It’s like a bucket of ice has just been dumped over him.

“Ray... you... you knew Kobra Kid from Before the Helium Wars... didn’t you?” he asks slowly.

Ray nods. “Yeah... You knew him too, Frank... Me and him were in a band.”

No way. It’s not... it’s not fucking possible. There were other people in that band. It might not have even been the same band.

Ray clears his throat and then adds “That band. The one you saw with –”

“Please, can we not do this – now?” Frank’s almost ashamed how his voice breaks at the end. He thinks of Gerard with his greasy black hair falling into his face and drooling slightly, sleeping peacefully where Frank left him. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts and focuses on the image of Gerard.

It’s not fair. Gerard was his safe place. Gerard is the weird artist Frank’s completely falling for, he’s the one really good thing Frank’s got going in his life at the moment. Gerard can’t be here, he can’t be in this horrible nightmare world where everybody’s so guarded and terrified or utterly insane...

Except it’s not a nightmare world. It’s the future. Somewhere along the line, the world ended and if Gerard’s not here, if he’s not – Frank refuses to let himself to even think the name - then the alternate is so much worse.

The elevator pings, bringing Frank out of his pity party and the doors slide open –

And Korse is standing on the other side, flanked by two guards.

“Oh for fu –” Frank yells.

“You’re right Toro,” Korse says coldly, cutting him off. “We are always listening.”

Well... shit.

Behind Korse, Frank can see his bike parked exactly where he left it, and he can’t see any Draculoids hiding in the shadows. If they ran, they might make it to the bike but Korse and the Dracs have guns and despite everything, it still never even occurred to Frank that he should carry one at all times...

And then, Ray’s wrapped an arm around Frank’s neck and there’s something hard and cold pressing to his forehead.

“Are you holding me at gunpoint?!” Frank cries out in disbelief as Korse laughs loudly.

“What are you going to do, Toro? Take him hostage? We can dust you!”

Korse and the Dracs raise their guns.

“True,” Ray says calmly, pressing his own gun further into Frank’s skin. “But you need him alive. I’ve seen the results for Two-Zero-One-One – everyone else got fried from the inside out.”

“Fried?!” Frank shrieks.

“We can just ghost him then,” Korse says carelessly.

“Is there actually a difference between ghost and dust?” Frank asks and gets a painful prod from the barrel of Ray’s gun in rebuke.

“You need him conscious,” Ray says. “Ghost him and he goes right back and you’re left with an empty shell. Surely you must have realised that.”

Frank’s not sure if he likes how calmly everyone’s talking about killing him. He sees Korse and the Dracs lower their guns but that doesn’t mean much because Ray’s still holding one to his head. Ray gives him a shove forward; Frank’s legs move stiffly towards his bike. He doesn’t dare look Korse in the eye as they go pass but he can feel his cold, black eyes following every movement.

“Get on, start the engine and drive where I tell you,” Ray hisses in his ear, climbing on behind him. The gun’s removed from his forehead but then it’s immediately being pressed obviously into his side.

Korse snorts. “Run all you like, we’ll find you easily enough. You’ll never get past the tunnels, Toro.”

“Try me,” Ray says coolly. He nudges Frank with his gun. “And it’s Jet Star.”

Frank can’t hold back the triumphant laugh that escapes his throat. He revs the engine and then the bike’s moving, heading towards the exit; Frank keeps expecting to feel a raygun blast or the bike to topple over or Dracs to suddenly jump out but when he looks in his mirrors, Korse and the Dracs are gone and the elevator doors are closing.

“I didn’t know you were so badass!!” Frank yells as they speed out the car park and onto the road.

“I have my moments,” Ray says, and Frank can tell he’s grinning too.

“Where we going?” Frank asks, seeing a t-junction coming up.

“Head for the bar, I’ll give better directions from there – fuck, they’re chasing already.”

Frank looks in his mirrors and sure enough, there’s already three white motorbikes with Draculoid riders pulling out the car park. The gleam of their white guns reflects, all pointed firmly at -

“Are they aiming at us?!” Frank asks.

“Step on it!!” Ray screams but Frank’s already accelerating.

“Hold on!!” Frank yells. Fuck, they haven’t even got helmets on... if they hit anything...

The wind whips past his face, blowing his hair everywhere. Grey buildings and white buses go past in a blur. Ray’s gripping tightly to Frank’s shoulder with one hand, his own blaster out and firing. In his wing mirror, Frank sees one of the Draculoids topple off the bike and the bike goes swerving wildly into a wall. The other two Dracs don’t even look back.

“Watch out!!” Ray yells as Frank’s bike suddenly wobbles dangerously underneath them.

Frank looks up and swerves wildly to avoid a bus, nearly toppling over as he does. There’s more raygun blasts, and then one of the windows in the bus Frank just avoided explodes. The bus immediately screeches to a halt, skidding onto the wrong side of the road and crashing directly into another oncoming bus. One of the pursuing Draculoids goes straight into the back of it.

Ray’s firing his gun like crazy at the remaining Drac who’s blasting back. A shot rings out, closer than Frank’s heard any before and Ray gives a yell of pain, then there’s another blast of white hot light and glass shards fly everywhere; hot pain flashes through Frank’s face and out the corner of his eye he can see there’s only a smoking black mess of tangled metal where one of his mirrors used to be.

He turns down the usual road and out the corner of his eye, he sees more Draculoids joining the chase.

“They know the route I’m taking!!” Frank yells, horrified.

He swerves abruptly off the road, cutting across the wrong side of the road and bumps up roughly onto the pavement. In his remaining mirror, he sees the Draculoids follow blindly, the mob swerving all onto the wrong side of the road; over the roar of engines, the sound of gunfire’s far too loud. The turning on the left is coming up –

And then, he turns hard right, cutting back across the road and narrowly missing an oncoming bus, mounting the pavement again and down a side alley.

“What are you doing?!” Ray yells, sounding panicked.

“Taking a short cut!!”

Frank knows the streets and bus schedules like the back of his hand. After all, he’s spent countless hours studying them, watching them ridiculously closely from his chair in Scarecrow.

The alleyway is cluttered with trashcans but Frank doesn’t slow down; the change of plan would only have delayed the Dracs by a few seconds before they regrouped. He just hopes that a few of them got taken out by the bus. The sounds of motorbikes are already echoing down the alley behind them; a trashcan near to Frank suddenly explodes with a flash of light.

“Doctor D, this is Jet Star, we’re about to head out the North exit onto Route Guano,” he hears Ray saying into a radio behind him. There’s a crackle and the hiss of static and someone replies but Frank can’t hear what they say. “We need assistance, there’s a fire fight about to go down and it won’t be milkshake!! I repeat, we need all assistance possible, North exit onto Route Guano!”

The alley ends and Frank swerves back out onto a road, picking up on the new route. Something wet and hot is running down his face, matting strands of his hair and sticking them to his cheek. He takes another turning, bringing them onto the road the bar’s located on.

“You know where we are?!” Frank yells.

“Yeah!! Go left coming up here!!”

Obediently, he takes the turning.

It’s the mouth to a giant tunnel.

The tunnels all line the walls of Battery City. They lead out into the Zones. He knows this. He also knows there’s always a guard on duty.

“GO!” Ray yells, sensing hesitation.

Frank doesn’t need to be told twice. The mouth of the tunnel approaches and then swallows them up, the bright daylight suddenly being replaced by unnatural yellow lights as the tunnel stretches endlessly on ahead of them.

“They’re not following,” Ray says, sounding worried.

“They’re not?!”

Frank risks looking back; all the Draculoids have stopped at the entrance.

“They’re not letting us get away, are they?!” Ray asks.

“There’s going to be something waiting up ahead,” Frank says grimly. He should be worried or scared but he’s feeling reckless and – worryingly – he’s actually enjoying this.

Sure enough, there’s a blockade coming into view. The other end of the tunnel is in sight, bright sunlight a hope spot on the horizon but before that, there’s a barrier.

And a black car parked across the road.

And several Draculoids, all of them pointing guns at Frank and Ray.

Korse is standing in the middle of it all. Frank would expect him to be grinning but if anything, even at this distance, Frank can see he just looks bored.

“This is suicide,” Frank says.

“Yeah, it is.” Ray gives Frank’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry I got you killed,” Frank says.

“Yeah, me too.”

He sends a silent apology to Gerard for dying. He wonders how it’s going to work, if his body back in 2011 will just never wake up...

The blockade is getting closer and closer. The Dracs aren’t firing yet and Frank’s not sure what’s holding them back. They’re probably waiting for a signal or something -

The entire tunnel suddenly explodes. Frank’s bike skids, topples, completely out of control and both Frank and Ray are thrown off it, crashing painfully into the ground and rolling into each other. There’s pain and Frank feels something rip – and then he comes to a stop.

Darkness surrounds him.

Is he dead? He can’t see or hear anything, maybe he’s unconscious. Unconscious would be nice. It’d be nice to sleep.

No wait, that’s not right. If he was unconscious in 2019, he’d be back in 2011 with Gerard. And he’s not, so...

His eyes open.

There’s dust everywhere, dust so thick he can’t see any solid shapes, just lights and shadows. There’s a horrible high pitched ringing in his ears and Frank wonders if he’s gone deaf.

And then, through the dust, there’s a particularly large dark shape moving towards him. He reaches for his gun – and then remembers he doesn’t have a gun, the gun belongs to Ray – fuck, Ray. Is he OK? The ground beneath his head shifts and he realises he’s actually lying partly on Ray, Ray who’s moving, trying to get back up –

A pair of hands grab Frank’s shoulders and pull him up. Frank yells (or he thinks he does, he can’t really hear his own voice over the ringing in his ears) and twists as pain floods through him, fearing he’s going to come face to face with either a Draculoid or Korse –

But instead, he finds himself staring at an abnormally short person wearing a sheep mask. Bizarrely, the tuft of wool at the top has been dyed neon pink and dark blue. Dimly, Frank hears them yelling something at him and gesturing at the motorbike behind them. Frank stares at it, his head feeling horribly fuzzy -

And then his brain kicks in. Oh. They’ve got a motorbike.

“Can you hear me?!” the guy in the sheep mask is yelling.

Frank nods.

“I’m Fall Out. Are you dead?”

Frank shakes his head.

“Good. Get on the bike.”

Right. He climbs on behind Fall Out, quickly glancing behind to see that another masked guy who is as equally short and kinda podgy is helping Ray onto another bike. Frank grips tightly to Fall Out’s back as they start moving carefully between the wreckage and sprawled Draculoids. He tries to see if Korse is amongst the debris but then everything starts to move too quickly for him to process and before he knows it, they’re past the remains of the blockade and heading straight towards the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s so big and so bright, Frank can’t see through it, he can just see the brilliant white light which suddenly swallows them up and Frank’s screwing his eyes up and burying his face in Fall Out’s back because it’s so bright it hurts, and it’s suddenly so hot, like they’ve gone straight into a sauna... or an oven... or...

Or the desert.

The Zones, Frank abruptly realises. Of course, Battery City’s air-conditioned, he just never realised how much!

His head is swimming with the motion of the motorbike and even with his eyes shut tightly, he can still see bright red behind his eyelids. Clutching tightly to Fall Out’s sides, he tries his hardest not to throw up.

They drive for what feels like hours. Frank keeps his eyes shut for most of it – the sun’s too bright for him to see anyway and his head hurts less when he’s not trying to focus on the moving horizon. He can taste the dust in the air, drying out his mouth and there’s a strange smell in the air too, like gasoline and ... electricity? He tries not to think about breathing too much. The hot air rushing past isn’t any relief from the sun beating down on him and under his clothes, under his heavy coat, leather gloves and high-necked collar, sweat patches started forming pretty much the minute they got out the tunnel. He focuses on the solid things around him, how the bike is rumbling beneath him, how the hot leather jacket on Fall Out’s back feels against his face...

The bike stops.

Frank risks opening his eyes just a tiny crack.

Thankfully, the sun’s not as high as it was earlier. They’ve come to rest outside a dilapidated shack covered with bright graffiti with a radio tower coming out the roof. Frank winces; his head’s already hurting too much for this added attack on the senses. Battery City was cool and dull, everything here is too bright and colourful. Even the sky looks different; it starts with a dusky yellow on the horizon that blends into lighter shades of blue and green that becomes a darker turquoise in the opposite direction. He stares at it for a few seconds, momentarily hypnotised by the vibrancy , how the colours blend seamlessly from one to the other...

“How did they do that to the sky?” Frank asks out-loud stupidly.

Fall Out laughs; Frank feels it vibrate through his body. “The colour? You’re not the first to notice that. Battery City’s got the whole bio-dome thing going; keeps the cool air in and the colour out. First time out the city?”

Frank nods.

“Uh... you can let go of me now.”

“Oh shit, sorry.” Frank immediately pulls back; his muscles feel stiff and painful.

“I’ll probably have some wicked bruises tomorrow,” Fall Out says climbing off the bike. Standing up, he’s actually really short – probably only about the same height as Frank. His leather jacket has the sleeves pushed up which shows off the tattoos on his left arm. The design looks oddly familiar –

“Is that a Nightmare Before Christmas tattoo?!” Frank blurts out.

Fall Out pulls his mask up, bringing Frank out of his out his daze. He’s grinning at Frank but his face is completely unfamiliar.

“Here, come on,” he says, holding his hand out. “System shock, happens to most people the first time they get out here.”

He helps Frank off the bike as Frank makes a mental check of his own body feeling pain spike through various parts with every movement. He didn’t think he’d injured himself too badly back in the tunnel but... nothing’s broken, at least.

“You’ll want to get that checked out,” Fall Out says, gesturing to his face.

Frank touches his cheek; it stings and when he pulls his hand back, there’s a dark shade of red smeared over the grey leather. The rest of his clothes haven’t faired much better either as every part of him is covered in dirt, grease, blood and dust.

Fall Out suddenly frowns, looking at Frank’s arm. The X patch on Frank’s sleeve is tattered and an entirely new shade of dirt, but it’s still unmistakable.

“Jet Star,” he calls out, suddenly sounding angry. “What’s the meaning of this??”

Ray and the guy who saved him are just pulling up in a rumble of dust and noise. Ray climbs off the bike. He’s grinning but Frank notices that he’s holding his wrist carefully.

“Meaning of what?” he asks.

“This!” Fall Out gestures at Frank. “What, are we taking hostages now?!”

Ray laughs. “Relax, he’s one of us. He’s with Party Poison.”

Fall Out looks at Frank doubtfully.

“He seems a bit dosed.”

“System shock,” Ray says carelessly. “You alright, Frank?”

Frank nods. His brain seems to be stuck.

“Come on, let’s go inside, I’m roasting alive out here,” Ray says, heading towards the shack. He pushes a piece of graffiti on the wall aside with his good hand to reveal a hidden door.

The inside of the shack is surprisingly homely, and it’s also darker and minutely cooler, which Frank’s thankful for. Frank gets a glimpse of a table at the far wall covered with dusty radio equipment before there’s a whirr of rollerskates and an incredibly pretty man with blue hair literally glides in front of Frank’s vision.

“You got him!!” he says, sounding delighted, and without warning, throws his arms around Frank in a massive hug. “Welcome, welcome to the Zones!!”

He pulls back and looks Frank up and down critically.

“Woah Jet, what the hell happened out there?”

“Minor clap,” Ray says, shrugging off his BLI work jacket which is in the same state of ruin as Frank’s. “Thankfully, Fall Out and M-M-R-S got a roadblock going with a few pig bombs. You should have seen it, it was awesome.”

“Any dusted?”

“Not sure, couldn’t tell. Couldn’t see Korse -”

Frank listens to the conversation, feeling like he’s missing out on some kind of vital phrases or words. He looks at the pretty guy who’s still got his hands on his shoulders, his grip warm and firm.

It’s the tights and rollerskates that do it.

“You’re Show Pony!” Frank says in surprise.

The guy looks at Frank and grins.

“You recognise me!! I knew you would!!” he says, sounding delighted, bouncing up and down in his skates. “Jet Star told me not to harass you in the bar but I knew you were good!! No one this cute could be evil!!”

Frank’s never met anyone this hyper in either world. Not even Gerard after several coffees -

Frank’s eyes suddenly prickle and his vision goes blurry.

“Come on, let’s go introduce you to the Doctor,” Show Pony says, grabbing Frank’s hands. “You guys staying?” he asks Fall Out. “We got a can of chow specially for you!”

“I thought you were thanking us?!” Fall Out looks disgusted but then grins.

There’s a bit more talking but Frank zones out of it mostly. His head feels strangely light and not connected, like none of this is real anymore. At some point, he’s aware of Fall Out and M-M-R-S leaving - Fall Out even says goodbye to Frank and tells him to take care of himself but Frank doesn’t get to reply as he’s distracted by Show Pony who insists on dragging him over to a random chair and administrating first aid.

“You’ve made a mess of that pretty face,” he says, pouting and wiping the cuts with something that stings. He removes the worst of the glass with some tweezers and assures Frank he won’t need stitches, but Frank doesn’t dare ask for a mirror to see the damage. Show Pony is apparently the medic on wheels around here; as soon as he’s done with Frank, he turns to Ray and starts examining his wrist.

“OK, flex those fingers... yup, all good,” he says, smiling as he wraps a pink bandana around Ray’s wrist for a support. “Just a sprain. You’ll be putting that wrist to good use in no time!”

“Pony, behave,” comes an unfamiliar, deep voice. Frank looks to the door; a large man in a motorised wheelchair glides forwards. Show Pony smirks but says nothing, instead nodding towards Frank.

“You’re the Scarecrow? I’m Dr Death Defying.”

Ah, so this is the mysterious radio DJ... Unlike the other Killjoys Frank’s seen so far, Dr Death Defying less of an attack in Technicolor. He’s got long, scraggly dark hair held back with a bandanna tied around his head and is wearing dark clothes but there’s still something incredibly bold about the entire look.

“I’m... Frank,” Frank says, holding out his hand. Damn, he really needs a cool nickname here. It’s a shame Fun Ghoul’s already taken, he quite liked that.

Dr Death Defying shakes his hand; he’s got a firm grip and he meets Frank’s eyes and holds the gaze. Frank expects to be questioned about why he’s here and if he can be trusted but after a long, silent moment, the doctor simply nods.

“So, what are you going to do now you’re out here?” he asks.

“I- I don’t know. I don’t really know anything about what’s going on out here...”

Dr Death Defying nods again. “No one really does. However, there’s always things that need to be done and everyone’s got something to offer. Make yourself useful and look for things to do.”

Show Pony skates over to the desk by the wall and grabs something next to the American flag off the wall (Frank’s eyes widen as he realises there’s a giant spider painted in the middle of it), which he hands to Frank.

“This is a map of the Zones,” he explains.

“You might know your way around the city but, as you might have guessed, things are a little different out here,” Dr Death Defying adds with a smirk. “Learn it, memorize it and never be without it until you do. You’re out in the desert without a car now, Scarecrow. Water ain’t in free supply here and the rain’s made of acid. You’ve made it this far, don’t get yourself killed over something this simple.”

The map looks simple enough. Six brightly coloured circles radiating out from the central point of Battery City with a few roads running through them... until Frank remembers that out in the desert, these things probably won’t be as easy to see.

“If you prove your worth, you can stay here for as long as you want,” the doctor continues. There’s a strange air of calm authority and power coming from this man; unlike with Korse, Frank finds it reassuring. “But if I’ve heard correctly, you’ve already got a crew.”

“What, Party Poison?!” Frank asks. He doesn’t mean to sound so horrified but it makes Dr Death Defying laughs loudly, like Frank’s said the funniest thing ever. He doesn’t answer though.

“Pony?” he says instead, and with that, leaves the room with a whir of engines, leaving only Frank and Show Pony behind. Frank wonders where he got the wheelchair from, it looks like it was patched together out of pieces of old car engines...

“Hey, where’d Ray go??” Frank suddenly realises.

“Jet Star.” Show Pony corrects him gently. “He’s called Jet Star out here; you never know who’s listening. And he’s probably gone to find Kobra Kid and Party Poison.”

Frank’s stomach uncomfortably clenches. The room feels too hot.

“So,” Frank says, trying to push the horrible thoughts from his head. “Is there anything I can do around here?”

“Well, first things first,” Show Pony says, looking Frank up and down with a satisfied smirk. “We need to get you out those clothes.”


~*~*~


Show Pony insists that Frank needs to change entirely as “if anyone suspects you were SCARECROW, it’ll be shoot first, questions later.”

He initially offers Frank a pair of neon green tights, which Frank has to politely decline, but then finally comes up trumps with a pair of dark jeans and a bright mustard yellow t-shirt. The jeans are a bit too long in the leg and too tight around the waist, and the t-shirt has several stains scattered over it that Frank would rather not think about but after everything, it’s a relief to finally lose the leather gloves and long coat.

Show Pony also pulls out a purple scarf that has stars over it, which he drapes around Frank’s neck delicately. Frank initially turns it down until Pony explains it’s not a fashion statement, but it’s a deathwish if you’re out in the Zones with nothing to protect your face.

“You’re in the desert now, Scarecrow,” Show Pony says, adjusting the scarf around Frank’s neck. “Dust storms and acid rain are all just part of the fun and trust me, you won’t like it if you get sand in those cheese-grater marks!” He rolls back and looks at Frank’s feet critically. “Hmm... we’ll need to get you some boots too. Those ones aren’t going to last much longer.”

Frank has to agree - the only shoes that he has are his smart ones from BLI which now look about a hundred years old. The toe on the left one has even been completely torn away, showing off Frank’s sock beneath it.

“You need a gun too,” Show Pony says, suddenly strapping something heavy around Frank’s waist; he looks down and abruptly feels sick as he sees a white gun sticking out a holster now slung across his hips. He’s never even held a gun before, let alone had to carry one and be expected to use it!!

When he’s done, he rolls back a second time and looks at Frank with a finger pressed to his chin thoughtfully.

“Proper little Killjoy,” he says. “Well, what do you think?”

There’s a cracked mirror against one of the walls that Frank steals a glance in. He looks...

Frank’s not sure what he looks like.

He tugs a hand through his dark hair, which is tangled and matted with dust and blood. There are several angry-looking red cuts surrounded by dried blood across his cheek but they’re actually not as bad as he’d thought. They still sting if he moves his face too much though. The purple scarf clashes horribly with the yellow t-shirt, the jeans are too long and the tattoos on his arms stand out vividly.

Frank hasn’t been this colourful for a long time, in either world.

He looks a bit closer at his face.

“Christ, I’m nearly 40,” he says, horrified.

He’s so fucking old.



Part Seven