“This looks so freakin’ awesome,” Ghost Candy says, reaching out to touch my hair. I’ve let it grow out and dyed it black, but she’s talking about the neon blue tips that fade upwards that she insisted on giving me a few days ago and hasn’t shut up about since. I think Sweet Sarcasm is a little fed up with her and Ghost is happy to have a new doll. I roll my eyes.

“You do like it, don’t you?” she asks from her perch on the desk, her legs dangling over the side no longer swinging happily. She tugs on a piece of her own hair, highlighted with bright pink. She means well, she really does.

“Yes Ghost, I love it,” I say, laughing a little because I’ve already said it a thousand times. She smiles contentedly and resumes swinging while I fiddle with frequencies on the broadcaster, checking the signal strength. We’re in one of the three radio rooms in Static, an underground Killjoy bar in the heart of Zone 4. One of those places you can’t find unless you already know where it is, it’s the biggest, most state-of-the-art headquarters of the Resistance I’ve ever seen. The diner was nothing compared to this operation. It’s a sanctuary, employing and deploying Killjoys as well as giving them a place to blow off steam.

I found it three months ago. I don’t think about the month before that. It’s still too raw to touch. Anger makes it easy to live with, hate even easier. I will not stop until I burn BLi to the ground or die trying, for the Doctor if no one else. I showed up here anonymous and go by Death Angel now, in his honor.

Electric Flux leans in through the open door. He’s one of the sound and lighting tech guys that occasionally works as a bartender with me. Well, really we all pitch in with everything, but a lot of us have something we’re particularly good at and that’s our official job. Me and him are often called on for mechanical stuff. “Hey,” he says with a smile. He’s got pretty, pale blue eyes. Ghost Candy smiles back shyly, a bit of pink staining her cheeks. She’s got the cutest, most obvious crush. And as these things go, Flux is oblivious. He looks at me.

“The night rush is starting,” he says. “We need you girls on the floor.” Ghost Candy jumps up; I smile and nod.

“Be right there,” I say, closing the front panel of the broadcaster unit. “How’s the crowd look?”

“Like they’re ready to have a great fuckin’ time,” he replies, grinning.

I grin back and stand, wiping my hands on my jeans and flexing my fingers. “Well then, let’s fuckin’ give it to them.”

***

Flux was right, the crowd buzzes with good energy tonight. Neon lights flash on the dance floor and the music fills the cavernous room. I handle the bar while Cemetery Sunshine waits on the few tables we’ve got. We’re a tag team; I get her drink orders ready and she delivers. She glides from one booth to another and I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief moment. I’ve almost numbed myself to the sight of her roller skates. Almost.

Look alive, sunshine.

I still wear my skate boots and my wheels are tucked under my bed in the room I share with Ghost Candy and Sweet Sarcasm, along with my helmet and Pink Lightning. But I haven’t skated since–

Stop.

I prepare Cemetery’s latest order with the ease of practice and people-watch while my hands work. Sometimes Killjoys pay in money, sometimes information, sometimes a donation, and sometimes not at all. We’ll take whatever they can spare, and if you’ve got nothing, well then sit your ass down and we’ll give you something. That’s how us Killjoys work. We’re a family.

My eyes catch on a small figure moving across the floor. She can’t be more than eight or nine years old. We let all ages into Static, anytime. But it does get rowdy in here, even though we all look out for each other, and usually one or two older kids look out for the little ones. She’s got big curly hair and when she glances up, she fixes her huge blue-green eyes on me, stopping in her tracks.

I realize I’m standing under a blacklight and the blue parts of my hair are glowing. I smile at her and scan the masses of people, trying to find who’s with her and losing sight of her in the process. I frown.

“Hey Cem,” I say when she rolls up. “Have you seen–?” But I stop, because she’s not paying attention to a word I’m saying. She’s staring at the entrance, the stairs that lead down into the mouth of Static.

“Oh my god!” she squeaks. I follow her gaze.

It’s them.

The Fabulous Killjoys. The Four.

They’re almost like a fairytale, like superheroes, especially to the younger Killjoys. The front-runners of the Resistance. Respected, feared, admired. Party Poison with his red-magenta hair and yellow mask. Jet Star with his space helmet, wild ‘fro, and solid build. Fun Ghoul, short with longer dark hair, army vest, and tattoos. And the Kobra Kid with his red jacket, Good Luck helmet, and slicked-back blonde hair. Each wearing racing gloves, each with their holstered guns in full view.

A ripple runs through the crowd.

I’ve actually met the Four only a handful of times, though we communicated by radio often. I was always a little star struck when they’d show up at the diner. Not anymore. I wonder if they know. I wonder if they’ll recognize me with my new hair, my ear piercings, my eye makeup. Will it matter if they do? The real differences are on the inside. My thoughts get jumbled. Find them, or let them find you. But they didn’t, they didn’t. Continue the mission. I am, Doc, I promise, I am. Look alive, sunshine. I suck in a shallow breath. I’ve got a glass in a white-knuckled grasp and I force my fingers to let go. Now is not the time for an episode.

Cemetery is saying something but it’s my turn not to listen. “Go,” I interrupt. “See what they want.” She looks startled and bites her lip, hesitating. “Don’t let them stand there, go!” I say. Suddenly I spot the little girl again and watch her run up to Party Poison, taking his hand. He bends down and listens to her talk in his ear while the rest of the group scan the room curiously. Cemetery skates over and I look away, keeping my head down when they pass within feet of me as she leads them through the door behind the bar, into the belly of Static.

Get a fucking grip, Death Angel. I knock back a glass of icy water to stave off the headache I can feel coming on, leaning against the bar. And when a hand falls on my arm and I jump, looking up into Electric Flux’s solemn face, I have a feeling I’m not going to like what he has to say.

I’m right. I don’t. But I still find myself following him down the hall to Lithium’s office. It’s not like I have much of a choice. For all intents and purposes, I guess you could call Lithium my boss. When I said Static was an underground bar, I meant it literally. Lithium runs it and owns the building on top, a cheap motel. He’s always around, but no one ever really sees him much. He’s sort of omnipresent that way.

I’m surprised when Flux doesn’t knock, just slips through the door and waves me in after him. Lithium sits at his desk – tall, broad-shouldered, jet-black hair – and the Fabulous Killjoys sit around him. They bring with them the smell of night desert air, cold stars, like they’ve been driving with the windows down. The little girl is gone. Party Poison has his mask pushed up off his eyes but still on his head, which really should look ridiculous. They all look up when we enter.

“If anyone can fix it, Death Angel can,” Electric Flux announces. Lithium nods to me and I dip my head in return, averting my eyes from everyone else. They fall on the radio sitting on the desk. It’s dirty, dented and scratched, the front covered in colourful paint, a jagged bubble around the word BOOM.

I pick it up and take a look, ignoring the proximity of the Four even though the hair on the back of my neck prickles. Obviously my presence doesn’t make a difference to them, because Party Poison asks, “Anything to report?”

I fiddle with the knobs while Lithium replies. “We’ve had a few setbacks. A food-truck interception operation in Zone 4 North was discovered in the early stages; no casualties. Not so lucky with a plane-sabotage mission in Zone 3 South-East. We lost three there.”

Casualties. Dead, or stuffed so full of BLi pills and injections that you become a mindless zombie, brainwashed, a drone. I shake the radio and hear pieces rattling around inside. I didn’t know the scope of Lithium’s involvement in the Resistance until now. Seems as though he handles things even outside of Zone 4. But he’s talking to the Four like they’re his bosses.

“We lost an entire station on the edge of Zone 2 East, burned to the ground–”

I put the radio down a little too hard. “Sorry,” I mutter. Then louder, addressing no one in particular, I say, “This is going to take a while and I need to get some stuff, it’s pretty messed up.”

“Will you be able to fix it?” Party Poison asks. He’s looking at me, but I focus on his mask. Yellow, blue, blank eye-holes.

“Depends on what the problem is,” I say.

“But most likely,” Flux jumps in, eager to please. I really want to tell him to shut up. “She’s awesome with this kind of stuff.”

Party Poison nods and his lips twitch into a small smile. “Can we get our guns recharged as well?”

“Of course,” Lithium says, and they all start unstrapping their holsters. Kobra Kid holds his out to Electric Flux. Flux has gone pale, looking distinctly uncomfortable. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been like this around laserguns. I haven’t asked and probably never will. No one has survived this long unscathed, mentally or physically.

“I’ll take them,” I say, stepping in. Fun Ghoul smiles at me as he passes his over and I notice a glint of silver metal at the side of his mouth and nose. I sling the guns over my shoulder and pick up the radio again, hesitating, uncertain if I’m supposed to wait to be dismissed.

Lithium nods at me and says to Flux, “Once we’re done here, you can show the Four to their rooms.” Flux looks much more relaxed, even manages a nod and a smile at Lithium. The back half of the motel is secretly reserved for Killjoys to crash when they need to. From what I hear, Electric Flux played a big part in that operation and is still majorly involved.

I go for the door and Flux follows me. “Thank you,” he says quietly as we step into the hall.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say dismissively. Like I said, we’ve all got our ticks and triggers.

“I just… I can’t–”

“Hey, Flux, I said don’t worry.” I smile at him and he smiles back, looking like he wants to hug me, but I’m still carrying all the guns. “I’ll see you later, kay? I’ve gotta go figure out this piece of junk, since you’ve promised them that I can.”

He flushes a little. “Sorry,” he mutters.

I laugh, glad to see his colour back. “Bye,” I say, and he gives me a small wave as I walk away.

​This is going to be a long night.