Make Some Noise
These Are Dangerous Days
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
I skate down the middle of the empty street. My visor is down and the Fabulous Four’s latest song blasts through the headphones in my helmet. It’s made to rile up the Resistance and it does the job perfectly. We’ve been broadcasting it non-stop on the underground airwaves.
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
My heart pumps faster with the beat. I soak in the blazing sun that glares down from the wide empty sky. Sweat slides down the back of my neck. I tear down the street, the vinyl record gripped tight in my hand. I’ve left the suburbs of Zone 2 behind. If it’s this hot in the outskirts here, I can’t imagine what the temperature is like farther out in the desert, in Zone 6.
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
It comes into view like a mirage; the last-stop-shop if you’re going out of Zone 2, the first if you’re coming in. The DINER sign that we light up at night is missing a few letters, spelling DIE. The Doctor has always found that funny. What could be a better name for a place run by a man called Dr. Death Defying?
The small, cracked parking lot is empty and I sweep in the side door, pushing the swinging plank of wood out of the way and ducking through the wall. I glide down the hall, my wheels bumping over the familiar uneven floor.
“One-oh-nine in the sky but the pigs won’t quit. You’re here with me, Dr. Death Defying. I’ll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter, pumpin’ out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you alive–”
I flip my visor up and breathe in the dry desert air.
“–a system failure for the masses, empty matter for the master plan. Louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny. This one’s for all of you rock’n’rollers, all you crash queens and motor babies–”
Static distorts his voice. He echoes.
“–listen up! The future is bulletproof! The aftermath is secondary! It’s time to do it now and do it loud! Killjoys, make some noise!”
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
He flicks the switch and leans back in his chair, holding a hand out. I pass him the record. He inspects it and looks satisfied, handing it back. “Any trouble with the trade?” he asks.
“Nah,” I say, dragging a milk crate of records out from under the desk. I dust off the top one and lay the new one on top, tracing the Killjoy spider in the middle.
“How’s it lookin’ out there?”
“Still empty.”
He nods. “It’s a scorcher today.” I nod and hum appreciatively. I love the heat; I have some strange tolerance for it. He shakes his head, mopping his face with a dirty kerchief from his pocket. It’s almost useless to clean things around here; it’ll get dusty again an instant later. “Dunno how you can like it, Noise. You’re one helluva little freak.”
I spin on my skates, grinning. “You know it, Dr. D.”
That’s when we hear it. It’s crept up on us, faint in the background. I stop spinning and we both listen closely. The distinctive whine of BLi motorcycles. That only means one thing. Without a word I turn and swing myself up the attic ladder, yanking a pair of old-school binoculars off their hook. There isn’t an attic anymore. I push up a loose ceiling panel and poke my head through.
Battery City is tall and grey in the distance. I can hear the sound more clearly now. I put the binoculars to my eyes and they come into focus. Draculoids. Seven of them. Approaching fast. “We got company, Doctor!” I clatter down the stairs. He’s already pulling himself up out of his special chair, adjusting the brace on his mechanical leg and frowning. I go for our weapons stash, pulling out my trusty Pink Lightning lasergun and jamming it down the side of my skate. The Doctor’s got his Slaughtermatic. I shut the door tightly behind us.
“Look alive, sunshine,” he says grimly. We’re thinking the same thoughts, I can feel it. The operation we’ve got going here runs under the false pretence of being allies with BLi in order to collect insider information. We keep a BLi vending machine out front and broadcast a few of their channels for the drones in this area of Zone 2. It’s a dangerous game, but these are dangerous days. They’ve never sent this many Draculoids to check up on us before.
There’s gonna be trouble.
We stand behind the counter and watch them roll in. The bell on the door jangles as they saunter inside. I eye them and, not for the first time, wonder what’s under the masks. What did BLi do to them when they became Draculoids that makes them hide their faces? I’ve never unmasked one, but I’ve heard horror stories. None very accurate. Usually if you get that close, you’re dead.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Dr. D asks politely. Much more politely than they deserve. But I’ve learned my poker face and my charmer voice from the good Doctor. I keep my expression impassive. Draculoids are cocky, arrogant bastards. I get the feeling that the one leading this group is smirking underneath his mask as he reaches into his dirty jacket and pulls out a standard issue white BLi lasergun, lifting it level to Doc’s forehead.
I twitch for my weapon. Doc’s hand shoots to my wrist, catching me before I act on it. Seven versus two, he says with his iron grip. I know, I say by yanking away a little impatiently, balling my hands into fists with frustration.
“Show us your broadcasting unit,” the leader Drac says. Doc squeezes hard for a second and then lets me go.
“If you would kindly follow my associate,” he says, “she will show you where it is.” He always speaks like this with them, somehow a subtle mockery. The leader gestures two of his men towards me.
“This way,” I say curtly. I hate turning my back on them, but I lead the way into the back, down the hall. Not to Dr. D’s radio lair, but another room where we keep the BLi broadcaster. I step back to let them in but they don’t move, just stand in the doorway with their identical faces. I’m suddenly acutely aware that they’ve boxed me in. It’s on purpose, of course, and they know I know it. Suddenly there’s a crash from the front of the diner. I take a half step. Doc. A thud, metallic scraping sounds. A loud pained grunt, cruel laughter.
I can’t just stand here.
I get the first shot in, dropping and rolling as I yank out my gun. One goes down, toppling out the door. The other pulls his gun and ducks behind the corner. They must not have expected me to be armed, I think with satisfaction. Focus. I press myself against the wall. The Drac is on the other side. I get control of my breathing and inch forward. There are more crashes from the front, shots being fired. I drop my visor and try really hard not to think about our odds. And then an idea. But–what if–
I’ve gotta get out of this room. The Drac is shooting at me, but it’s putting him in view, vulnerable. I need to move fast. I just need one shot to hit something critical. I lunge and get trigger-happy until my head suddenly jerks back and to the left and I hit the ground seeing stars. He clipped the right side of my helmet; I can feel the leftover heat from the laserbeam. Not to mention the fuckin’ whiplash. But I’m alive and he’s not.
I pull myself up, dizzy, staggering a few steps and catching myself on the doorframe, stumbling over the bodies. I shove open the door to Doc’s radio lair and tumble in, fetching up against the broadcast unit. I frantically flip through the frequencies. My fingers tremble as I pinpoint the one I need and grab the mike.
“Fabulous Killjoys, come in!” My voice shakes. “Come in, Fab Four, come in!” A flicker of life across the board has my heart in my throat. Could they be nearby? The chances aren’t good, but I can hear the destruction in the front of the diner, the gun shots, the shouting, and I try again. “Mayday! Mayday! We’re under attack!” There’s no response. “Vampire money!” I say desperately, our code for a serious problem that requires major back-up. But the channel is dying, and I can’t hear Doc swearing furiously at the Dracs anymore.
“Come in, guys, please. Please! Party Poison, Kobra Kid, anyone! Please come in!” I beg.
Nothing.
A Drac bursts through the door behind me. I scream and fire, but it’s too late, the shot goes wild, he has his hands on me. I lash out, it’s no good, there’s another grabbing me, ripping my gun out of my hand and tossing it out the open window.
“FUCK YOU!” I scream. “Get your hands off me!” I struggle wildly as they drag me to the front. Everything is shot and smashed to pieces, a tide of broken glass and splintered wood across the floor, two dead Dracs sprawled in the mess. And then I see Doc.
He’s slumped against the counter. They’ve crushed his mechanical leg so he can’t get up or walk and he’s shot in the shoulder real bad, his left arm useless. He hasn’t got his gun and his aviators are gone too. “Doc!” I shout, pulling with renewed strength. To my surprise, they let me go. I throw myself on my knees beside him. This man–this man who took me in five years ago when I was a grimy street rat with a knack for fixing radios, hooked on pills, writing letters on anything I could find and mailing them to my dead parents–took me in and gave me my first pair of roller skates, got me clean, taught me to think for myself.
“It’s okay, Noisy,” he says through laboured breaths. “The Fabulous Killjoys, the Four–find them, or let them find you. Continue the mission. It’ll be okay. You’re a survivor, sunshine.”
“No,” I whisper. He manages a pained smile. “No.” And then there are hands on my again, dragging me away. “No!” I scream. “Doc!” They’ve got cans of gasoline, splashing it over the walls and floor. The air is thick with fumes. They force me outside, the last one trailing a line of gas out the door that’s blown off its hinges. The hands let go but a heel to the back of my thigh pitches me forward into the dirt, and the bastards are laughing. I swear and spit until a kick in the ribs sends me sprawling and gasping for breath. They get on their bikes.
“You can’t win against the establishment,” the leader says, sneering the words with a superiority that makes me sick. “Better Living will always be in control, and we will crush your resistance one Killjoy at a time.” He drops a match. They drive away, kicking up a cloud of desert dust.
I struggle to pull in air. The fire is licking along the cracked pavement and I’m helpless to stop it. “No,” I croak, tears stinging my eyes. “Doc.” I try to get up, I really do. But my side sears with pain, my leg isn’t responding, and I collapse again. The flames pass the threshold. “Doc!” I taste blood in my mouth, at the back of my throat. I scream. “No! NO!”
Everything explodes.
I skate down the middle of the empty street. My visor is down and the Fabulous Four’s latest song blasts through the headphones in my helmet. It’s made to rile up the Resistance and it does the job perfectly. We’ve been broadcasting it non-stop on the underground airwaves.
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
My heart pumps faster with the beat. I soak in the blazing sun that glares down from the wide empty sky. Sweat slides down the back of my neck. I tear down the street, the vinyl record gripped tight in my hand. I’ve left the suburbs of Zone 2 behind. If it’s this hot in the outskirts here, I can’t imagine what the temperature is like farther out in the desert, in Zone 6.
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
It comes into view like a mirage; the last-stop-shop if you’re going out of Zone 2, the first if you’re coming in. The DINER sign that we light up at night is missing a few letters, spelling DIE. The Doctor has always found that funny. What could be a better name for a place run by a man called Dr. Death Defying?
The small, cracked parking lot is empty and I sweep in the side door, pushing the swinging plank of wood out of the way and ducking through the wall. I glide down the hall, my wheels bumping over the familiar uneven floor.
“One-oh-nine in the sky but the pigs won’t quit. You’re here with me, Dr. Death Defying. I’ll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter, pumpin’ out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you alive–”
I flip my visor up and breathe in the dry desert air.
“–a system failure for the masses, empty matter for the master plan. Louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny. This one’s for all of you rock’n’rollers, all you crash queens and motor babies–”
Static distorts his voice. He echoes.
“–listen up! The future is bulletproof! The aftermath is secondary! It’s time to do it now and do it loud! Killjoys, make some noise!”
Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!
He flicks the switch and leans back in his chair, holding a hand out. I pass him the record. He inspects it and looks satisfied, handing it back. “Any trouble with the trade?” he asks.
“Nah,” I say, dragging a milk crate of records out from under the desk. I dust off the top one and lay the new one on top, tracing the Killjoy spider in the middle.
“How’s it lookin’ out there?”
“Still empty.”
He nods. “It’s a scorcher today.” I nod and hum appreciatively. I love the heat; I have some strange tolerance for it. He shakes his head, mopping his face with a dirty kerchief from his pocket. It’s almost useless to clean things around here; it’ll get dusty again an instant later. “Dunno how you can like it, Noise. You’re one helluva little freak.”
I spin on my skates, grinning. “You know it, Dr. D.”
That’s when we hear it. It’s crept up on us, faint in the background. I stop spinning and we both listen closely. The distinctive whine of BLi motorcycles. That only means one thing. Without a word I turn and swing myself up the attic ladder, yanking a pair of old-school binoculars off their hook. There isn’t an attic anymore. I push up a loose ceiling panel and poke my head through.
Battery City is tall and grey in the distance. I can hear the sound more clearly now. I put the binoculars to my eyes and they come into focus. Draculoids. Seven of them. Approaching fast. “We got company, Doctor!” I clatter down the stairs. He’s already pulling himself up out of his special chair, adjusting the brace on his mechanical leg and frowning. I go for our weapons stash, pulling out my trusty Pink Lightning lasergun and jamming it down the side of my skate. The Doctor’s got his Slaughtermatic. I shut the door tightly behind us.
“Look alive, sunshine,” he says grimly. We’re thinking the same thoughts, I can feel it. The operation we’ve got going here runs under the false pretence of being allies with BLi in order to collect insider information. We keep a BLi vending machine out front and broadcast a few of their channels for the drones in this area of Zone 2. It’s a dangerous game, but these are dangerous days. They’ve never sent this many Draculoids to check up on us before.
There’s gonna be trouble.
We stand behind the counter and watch them roll in. The bell on the door jangles as they saunter inside. I eye them and, not for the first time, wonder what’s under the masks. What did BLi do to them when they became Draculoids that makes them hide their faces? I’ve never unmasked one, but I’ve heard horror stories. None very accurate. Usually if you get that close, you’re dead.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” Dr. D asks politely. Much more politely than they deserve. But I’ve learned my poker face and my charmer voice from the good Doctor. I keep my expression impassive. Draculoids are cocky, arrogant bastards. I get the feeling that the one leading this group is smirking underneath his mask as he reaches into his dirty jacket and pulls out a standard issue white BLi lasergun, lifting it level to Doc’s forehead.
I twitch for my weapon. Doc’s hand shoots to my wrist, catching me before I act on it. Seven versus two, he says with his iron grip. I know, I say by yanking away a little impatiently, balling my hands into fists with frustration.
“Show us your broadcasting unit,” the leader Drac says. Doc squeezes hard for a second and then lets me go.
“If you would kindly follow my associate,” he says, “she will show you where it is.” He always speaks like this with them, somehow a subtle mockery. The leader gestures two of his men towards me.
“This way,” I say curtly. I hate turning my back on them, but I lead the way into the back, down the hall. Not to Dr. D’s radio lair, but another room where we keep the BLi broadcaster. I step back to let them in but they don’t move, just stand in the doorway with their identical faces. I’m suddenly acutely aware that they’ve boxed me in. It’s on purpose, of course, and they know I know it. Suddenly there’s a crash from the front of the diner. I take a half step. Doc. A thud, metallic scraping sounds. A loud pained grunt, cruel laughter.
I can’t just stand here.
I get the first shot in, dropping and rolling as I yank out my gun. One goes down, toppling out the door. The other pulls his gun and ducks behind the corner. They must not have expected me to be armed, I think with satisfaction. Focus. I press myself against the wall. The Drac is on the other side. I get control of my breathing and inch forward. There are more crashes from the front, shots being fired. I drop my visor and try really hard not to think about our odds. And then an idea. But–what if–
I’ve gotta get out of this room. The Drac is shooting at me, but it’s putting him in view, vulnerable. I need to move fast. I just need one shot to hit something critical. I lunge and get trigger-happy until my head suddenly jerks back and to the left and I hit the ground seeing stars. He clipped the right side of my helmet; I can feel the leftover heat from the laserbeam. Not to mention the fuckin’ whiplash. But I’m alive and he’s not.
I pull myself up, dizzy, staggering a few steps and catching myself on the doorframe, stumbling over the bodies. I shove open the door to Doc’s radio lair and tumble in, fetching up against the broadcast unit. I frantically flip through the frequencies. My fingers tremble as I pinpoint the one I need and grab the mike.
“Fabulous Killjoys, come in!” My voice shakes. “Come in, Fab Four, come in!” A flicker of life across the board has my heart in my throat. Could they be nearby? The chances aren’t good, but I can hear the destruction in the front of the diner, the gun shots, the shouting, and I try again. “Mayday! Mayday! We’re under attack!” There’s no response. “Vampire money!” I say desperately, our code for a serious problem that requires major back-up. But the channel is dying, and I can’t hear Doc swearing furiously at the Dracs anymore.
“Come in, guys, please. Please! Party Poison, Kobra Kid, anyone! Please come in!” I beg.
Nothing.
A Drac bursts through the door behind me. I scream and fire, but it’s too late, the shot goes wild, he has his hands on me. I lash out, it’s no good, there’s another grabbing me, ripping my gun out of my hand and tossing it out the open window.
“FUCK YOU!” I scream. “Get your hands off me!” I struggle wildly as they drag me to the front. Everything is shot and smashed to pieces, a tide of broken glass and splintered wood across the floor, two dead Dracs sprawled in the mess. And then I see Doc.
He’s slumped against the counter. They’ve crushed his mechanical leg so he can’t get up or walk and he’s shot in the shoulder real bad, his left arm useless. He hasn’t got his gun and his aviators are gone too. “Doc!” I shout, pulling with renewed strength. To my surprise, they let me go. I throw myself on my knees beside him. This man–this man who took me in five years ago when I was a grimy street rat with a knack for fixing radios, hooked on pills, writing letters on anything I could find and mailing them to my dead parents–took me in and gave me my first pair of roller skates, got me clean, taught me to think for myself.
“It’s okay, Noisy,” he says through laboured breaths. “The Fabulous Killjoys, the Four–find them, or let them find you. Continue the mission. It’ll be okay. You’re a survivor, sunshine.”
“No,” I whisper. He manages a pained smile. “No.” And then there are hands on my again, dragging me away. “No!” I scream. “Doc!” They’ve got cans of gasoline, splashing it over the walls and floor. The air is thick with fumes. They force me outside, the last one trailing a line of gas out the door that’s blown off its hinges. The hands let go but a heel to the back of my thigh pitches me forward into the dirt, and the bastards are laughing. I swear and spit until a kick in the ribs sends me sprawling and gasping for breath. They get on their bikes.
“You can’t win against the establishment,” the leader says, sneering the words with a superiority that makes me sick. “Better Living will always be in control, and we will crush your resistance one Killjoy at a time.” He drops a match. They drive away, kicking up a cloud of desert dust.
I struggle to pull in air. The fire is licking along the cracked pavement and I’m helpless to stop it. “No,” I croak, tears stinging my eyes. “Doc.” I try to get up, I really do. But my side sears with pain, my leg isn’t responding, and I collapse again. The flames pass the threshold. “Doc!” I taste blood in my mouth, at the back of my throat. I scream. “No! NO!”
Everything explodes.
5/9/13