I swear colourfully, chucking my screwdriver at the floor. This radio is driving me nuts. What the hell is wrong with it? I’ve taken it apart, cleaned it out, even replaced a few things, and put it back together again. It should be working, it really should.

There’s a giggle from across the room. “What are you laughing at?” I say with mock severity. Girl giggles again. She’s been watching me struggle all afternoon with her wide blue-green eyes, much more relaxed than when I spotted her last night. She showed up with the Fabulous Four, and now I know her name is Girl. I’ve been talking to her, but she doesn’t say much. Ghost Candy’s been taking care of her, lending Girl her bed. Sweet Sarcasm was here a while ago too, playing guitar and trading a few hair horror stories with me, all involving Ghost.

“You know, it’s your radio,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be little more concerned?” I rub my eyes, smudging mascara and eyeliner. I still feel like I’ve just woken up, my brain not running at full capacity. I’m missing something, maybe something obvious, I just know it.

She shrugs. “You’ll get it,” she says, flopping back on Ghost’s bed and playing with her giant scuffed robot toy that Ghost dug up for her somewhere. It’s almost half her size.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I grumble. Ghost pokes her head in the door.

“How’s it going?” she asks cheerfully.

“It’s not,” I say, even as I get the idea. I shove my hair away from my face and stand up, clipping my tool belt around my waist and picking up the offending radio. “I’m going to try the roof,” I say, determined. This has nothing to do with what Flux promised the Fabulous Killjoys anymore. It’s fuckin’ personal now.

I hold out my hand and Girl smacks it almost shyly. “Catcha later, kid,” I say, heading for the door. She nods.

“See ya,” Ghost calls happily before turning to Girl. “How about we do something with that fabulous hair?”

Run, I mouth at Girl from behind Ghost’s back, shoving my feet into my boots. Her silly smile makes me grin all the way to the service elevator.

***

“Alright, let’s do this, motherfucker!” I yell, kicking open the door and stepping onto the roof. I pull in a deep breath of desert air. The sun is past the tipping point but I’ve still got plenty of daylight to burn. I walk over to the main antenna, gravel crunching under my heels, finally feeling awake. Like flipping a TV from a black-and-white channel to one in colour.

Soon I’m swearing again, but at least I’m getting somewhere. When there’s a crackle of static over the speakers, I jump up and punch my fist in the air. “FUCK YEAH!”

“Got it fixed?”

I stumble and spin around, having a small heart attack and making an embarrassing noise, swearing to cover it up. Party Poison is standing behind me, calm. The roof door falls closed behind him as I catch my breath. I blink. His mask is gone and so is his blue Dead Pegasus jacket. Just a tattered what-was-once-probably-black sleeveless shirt and jeans. So casual it’s a little unnerving. It takes me a minute to remember he’s got a pretty face.

“Not quite. But pretty damn close,” I say. “I hope,” I add. He smiles and fishes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his back pocket. He offers and I shake my head.

“Wanna see something cool?” I ask impulsively, before he can light it. I gesture for him to pass it to me. He gives me a look but doesn’t say anything, handing it over.

“Check this out.” I kneel down next to the radio. I’ve opened it up like a patient on the operating table, insides spilling out. I hold the cig between my lips as I play with a few of the wires, putting bare ends together to create a spark and leaning forward to light the cigarette with it. I take half a drag but it’s never really been my thing; I hand it back to Party Poison with a smirk. He’s grinning as he takes it and puts it in his mouth.

He blows out a lungful of smoke and says, “Cool party trick.”

For some reason, that makes me laugh. “Thanks,” I say. Then I get back to work on the radio and he takes a seat with his back against an air conditioning unit, smoking languidly. It’s pleasantly quiet for a little bit.

“Why are you a Killjoy?” he asks contemplatively, out of the blue. My hands still and I look up at him, startled.

“Why–? What kind of question is that?”

“A valid one,” he says on an exhale.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I say. He doesn’t say anything, just glances at me from the corner of his eye and then closes them. I force my hands to work again, but I feel compelled to answer. “Because,” I say, struggling for words. “Because Better Living destroyed everything when they took over. Everything that matters, I mean. You know, freedom, creativity, self-expression. And all the drugs that turn people into drones, those aren’t right. You have to deal with the really crappy things sometimes to get to the really good things.” I frown. “But, shit man. You, the Fabulous Four, you’re the face of this operation. You guys, you’re it! You epitomize what a Killjoy is. Don’t you realize–?”

He lifts his hand and takes a drag. It’s his third cigarette. “It’s always good to question where you come from, what you’re doing. Doesn’t mean you don’t have faith in it,” he says. I’m not sure why, but I sort of breathe a sigh of relief.

“But that’s not all they destroyed, is it, Noise?” he says suddenly. “They took your family, your home. Twice now.” I freeze. And here I was, just a second ago, breathing easy. So they did recognize me. Or he did, at least.

“I go by Death Angel now,” I whisper.

“Dr. Death Defying was a good man,” Party Poison says after a moment. “A true Killjoy–”

“Stop it,” I say fiercely. A wild feeling rises in me. I can’t stand to listen to this, to listen to him say this. “Just shut up.” I turn away sharply, fists clenched. He told me to wait. I waited three fucking days for you. Don’t talk to me about true Killjoys. Party Poison falls silent. I know I’m reacting irrationally and get a handle on my breathing, focusing on the radio for the next few minutes.

I’m about to mutter an apology for flipping out and he’s reaching for a fourth cigarette when the radio bursts to life. It’s garbled and filled with static, but it’s working. I get a rush of satisfaction, but it fades quickly. After hours of sweating over this, I really should be happy. I pause instead. Party Poison looks a little confused by my reaction, and I meet his gaze with narrowed eyes, listening carefully.

“Is it–?”

“Wait,” I say. “It sounds like it’s coded.”

“Coded?” he asks, leaning in.

“Yeah, when the sound is broadcasted over more than one frequency, so you have to combine them to hear it clearly,” I explain, hunching over the radio and slowly turning the knobs, trying to clear the signal. “Fuck, this could take forever,” I mutter. There are almost endless combinations of frequencies. “There’s gotta be an easier–oh!”

I grab the radio and stand quickly. Party Poison gets to his feet, tucking his cigarettes away and following me as I rattle out another explanation. “A while ago, I tried to rig our own coded channel. I mean, Killjoy radios already use sub-frequencies that BLi have a hard time picking up, but I wanted to see if I could, you know, take it a step further.” We step into the elevator and I stab the buttons to take us to the basement. “If I change a few things around and hook the radio up, I might be able to block the interfering frequencies,” I say excitedly.

The elevator doors open again and I lead the way to Radio Room 3. It really unofficially belongs to the techs because mostly Flux and I use it to mess around and test stuff. I flick some switches and grab a pair of headphones, slinging them around my neck. I hand Party Poison a pair and then open the front panel of the broadcasting unit. A moment later I’ve managed to connect the radio to the speakers and a deafening crackle of noise surges through our headphones. “Sorry!” I say, wincing and scrambling to adjust the volume. I grab a chair. “Alright, let’s see what we can do.” Party Poison watches from over my shoulder and for once, I don’t mind someone hovering; somehow, he’s become a part of this. My concentration is intense; I’ve got a headphone jammed against my right ear with my shoulder and both hands on the board, making adjustments with delicate precision.

I jump up and shout something intelligible when the signal suddenly clears, and I think maybe Party Poison does too. The slap of our high-five leaves my hand tingling and we’re both grinning.

“D? What the hell–?” Electric Flux is suddenly at the door, peering inside. He stutters when he sees Party Poison. “Oh, uh, hi–”

“Flux!” I say excitedly, getting up and dragging him over to the unit. “Check this out! We just decoded a broadcast channel!” I shove the headphones at him and he puts them on nervously, glancing at Party Poison. “Listen!” I insist. He does, his eyes widening and taking the headphones off slowly a moment later.

“Death Angel, I think you should get Lithium to listen to this–” Flux says. Party Poison stands up as he says it and Flux shrinks back. I take the headphones back and put one to my ear, listening calmly for the first time.

It’s a woman’s voice, robotic, wavering between fuzzy and razor-sharp. “–on the outskirts of Zone 4. Troops have been deployed, but have yet to make any arrests or gain any new information on the whereabouts of the gang suspected–”

“What is this?” I say. “It sounds like some kind of a news report. It sounds like–”

Then it hits me.

​“–like Better Living.”

Notes

Comments would make my day. Should I continue?