Chapter Text
Sand, fucking everywhere.
The world they lived in was full of it—it got stuck in your engines, found its way into your food, and slipped right through your fingers just like anything else you tried too hard to hold onto in the Zones. And at that very moment, it had also gotten into Fun Ghoul’s eyes, which made it considerably more difficult to dust the few motherfuckers that had followed them on their way back to the diner.
“On your left!” Jet Star yelled, just in time for Ghoul to pivot on his back foot, aim, and fire at what they hoped was the last Drac they would encounter that day. “Jesus, Ghoul, that one almost ghosted you.”
Ghoul rolled his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic Jet, that was nothing. You and I both know they aren’t even sending their best out here anymore.”
Jet huffed, going about emptying his backpack of the spoils of their day’s conquests—four cans of Power Pup, a rusty knife, and a few carbons. The only reason they went out anymore was to gather supplies, just enough to keep them going. Jet tossed one of the cans to Ghoul, who absolutely wasn’t paying attention, and watched as it sailed through the air and hit him in the head.
“Ow! What the fuck?!”
“Thought your reflexes were better than that.” Jet grinned.
Ghoul flipped him off before opening the can, repurposing the lid to form a makeshift spoon, a nifty little trick that he had learned from Kobra before… Well, before.
He stepped outside of the diner that they still called home, sitting on the ground with his back leaning against the exterior wall. It was starting to get dark, and while deep down his instincts were screaming at him to keep his gun close and at the ready, Ghoul knew that any additional trouble for the rest of the day was highly unlikely.
It was weird, actually, how sudden it all was. One minute they’re fighting for their lives on the daily and the next it was like they were all but insignificant to BL/ind. Zone 6 wasn’t safe by any means, of course, but it also wasn’t the total war zone it used to be. Things had calmed down since…
Okay. To put it plainly, it had been months since they lost Party. It had happened in the blink of an eye, and it had torn them apart. They had each blamed themselves, then each other, and then themselves all over again. It was like every trace of him disappeared that day, not even his mask left behind for them to place at the Mailbox Shrine.
It had bothered Ghoul at first, the fact that any one of these Dracs could have been Party. But that was just it, wasn’t it? If he had somehow survived a ray gun shot through his heart and had been turned into one of those zombified motherfuckers, it wouldn’t even be Party anymore. That hadn’t stopped him, though. In the first days after the incident, Jet had to literally drag Ghoul away from the scattered bodies of ghosted Dracs, reasoning with him that it was a waste of time regardless of what faces he would uncover. Eventually, Ghoul did end up losing the urge to pull off their masks, because ultimately it didn’t matter. He was better off not knowing, really.
Anyways, no matter how much Party would object to the characterization, he really had been their leader for all intents and purposes. It was always him. He was the one this godforsaken society was scared of, his loud nature and endless capacity to care. The burning soul of their little band of brothers, no matter who you asked. It was pure rebellion, and it had terrified them. Now, without him, it seemed like their downfall no longer topped the list of Better Living’s priorities. Besides, Kobra had chosen to leave them too not long after it all went down, and two scrappy killjoys do not a Fabulous Four make.
Kobra. He was a whole other situation all on his own. If it weren’t for Jet, Ghoul would have been out there scouring the desert for him. The way he saw it, it’s precisely what Kobra would do for him. Ask Jet, though, and he’d tell you that Kobra, wherever he may be, was most definitely not the same person he was before. It was no small matter, either. Ghoul and Jet had all but thrown fists over it. So as much as every bone in Ghoul’s body wanted to spend each waking moment tracking down his surprisingly difficult to find friend, he couldn’t bring himself to risk losing Ray, too.
Long story short, when Party was around, they were fighting. Rebelling. Building something new. He had always pushed them all to be creative about their resistance, always finding new ways to live loudly and urge everyone else to follow suit. But nowadays, it was all Jet and Ghoul could do to scrape up enough resources for their survival and defend against the stray Dracs that made it out to Zone 6.
Naturally, BL/ind must have moved on to other targets—ones they still found threatening—and Ghoul was honestly pretty thankful for it. Much of his drive to fight them all off had disappeared along with his favorite redhead. Still, he was loyal to his core, and as long as he still had one brother relying on him, Ghoul would do everything in his power to help protect them both. He started shoveling the canned food into his mouth, doing his best not to taste it too much. No matter how much he tried, though, he was never able to trick himself into appreciating its flavor.
“Dude, you hear about what went down at that Mad Gear gig?” Jet was now using what little flint they had left to start a small fire in the makeshift fire pit the two of them had made. He got started roasting pieces of some animal—a gopher or badger or something, Ghoul didn’t even want to know—before flopping down against the wall as well.
Ghoul wrinkled his nose at the searing smell. It was anyone’s guess as to what Power Pup was made of, but at least it didn’t smell like a once-live animal. That was good enough for Ghoul given the alternatives.
The open fire itself was a luxury that they once couldn’t afford. One attempt too many at cooked food in the early days had drawn an entire S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Unit in, the smoke blowing their cover. Now, it was like they could send out as many beacons as they wanted to and no one—not exterminators, not their allies, not Kobra—came their way for the most part.
“Apparently he was talking a big game about some huge uprising,” Jet said before Ghoul could answer. “Like Helium Wars 2.0 or whatever.”
Ghoul scoffed. “Guy’s always talking a big game, but you know he doesn’t know shit. First sign of trouble and he’s the first to drop his ray gun and make a break for it.” He yawned loudly. “Good music, though.”
Jet laughed. “Yeah, he’s got that going for him.”
“Hard to start much of anything when we don’t even know what’s going on out there.”
And there was their other problem. Even before they lost Party, things hadn’t exactly been all sunshine and rainbows. BL/ind had somehow shut down their radio network, which meant that they couldn’t easily contact Dr. Death Defying or anyone else. Their entire communication system was down, which more than anything had made it into an “every man for himself” kind of situation.
Jet sighed. “You know I wasn’t kidding yesterday.”
Ah, yes, yesterday. When Jet had suggested—as if it were the simplest, most unassuming plan in the world—that they raid BL/ind’s security hub to get access to new radio equipment. It wasn’t the headquarters, but that didn’t make it easy by any means. Of course, that is how they had set up the radio network in the first place, with coopted BL/ind technology, but again, that was back when they were a bit more than just two people. They were twice as many then, and had quite a few allies to boot.
Ghoul nodded anyway. “Yeah, I know.” Despite the risk, it really was their only hope for a more sustainably safe life. For everyone. Ghoul just wished someone else would get off their ass and take some action for once. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he could hear Party scoffing at the suggestion. Party always, always believed that there was more that they could and should be doing to help. “Maybe soon.”
The long and short of it was that they risked death every time they stepped foot in Battery City, let alone one of the corporation’s own buildings. That itself made it slightly difficult to work up the motivation. But on the flipside, the less Ghoul had left to live for, the more willing he was to risk his life if it meant a potential glimmer of hope for whatever resistance was still out there.
And if all else failed, it would be back to him and Jet against the world. And as far as Ghoul was concerned, that wasn’t all that bad.