THE BADLANDS [ON HOLD]
GUN
“They're teaching me to kill
Who's teaching me to love?...
Well, as soon as I get my gun,”- GUN, My Chemical Romance
The days out in the Zones go a little something like this: wake up; choke down the abomination that is Power Pup; do whatever the fuck you need to get done; jack around with your fellow Killjoys; fall asleep at an ungodly hour. Repeat with little-to-no variation.
With this schedule, the days either (A) fly by, or (B) drag on forever. There's more variations of (A) there are of (B), but that's a welcome change.
"Hold still!" Missile cries, tugging a rubber band around the braid she made in my hair. I laugh slightly and oblige; Missile loves to play with my hair. She says it's coarse and fluffy, like her own hair; I just say it's because I'm mixed, and ended with hair like my dad.
"Done!" She says, jumping down from the counter. I reach behind me to feel the braid and smile as my fingers brush the tight rope of turquoise hair.
"It's amazing, Missile," I say, pulling the girl into my lap. "As usual."
"Thanks," she says and hugs me tightly. I have no idea how long we've been in the Zones— I lost track of the days after about a month— but, however long it's been, I've bonded with Missile a great deal. I feel that she thinks of me more like a sister than a mother, and I'm a bit grateful for that.
The door to the DIE opens and Gerard stumbles in, followed by Truant. Another bond that formed in the ambiguous time is the one between Truant Punk and— as Little Jimmy calls us— The Fabulous Killjoys. Truant turned on Blurryface and DJ Spooky Jim, saying that he didn't want to be villain anymore, and that they "could go fuck themselves seven ways to hell".
Yes, that actually came out of Truant Punk's mouth. Actual cinnamon roll, Truant Punk, said that.
As soon as I see the surprisingly graphic man, my hand flies up to cover Missile's eyes. Where Truant's right hand should be is a bloody stump, skin peeling off the wound. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants quietly as Gerard sits him down at a booth far away from Missile and I and frantically looks around for something.
"Hals, I need your bandana," he says finally. I quickly dig the purple fabric out of my back pocket and hand it to him, inquiring about the injury.
"We had a minor clap with some Dracs, just patrolling Three all casual-like," Truant says from across the room, managing a smile. "They took my fucking hand off, and Poison took his head off. It was impressive; just grabbed the bastard by his hair and—"
"Small child here!" Missile yells, shutting Truant up. "I don't wanna hear this story! It sounds icky."
"Right, sorry," Truant hisses through his pain.
"Can I help?" I ask. "At all?"
"Go... Get the gold hook from Lil' Shit," Gerard says after a moment of thought. "I need it."
Not asking what he needs it for, I move Missile off of my lap and quickly leave the building. I go to the van and throw open the back doors to find Love and Dr. Death sitting on the floor, Love looking like she wants to sob. "What's wrong?" I ask, slowly getting in and closing the door behind me.
"I can't move my motherfucking legs," Dr. Death says, his voice lacking any emotion, as if he isn't entirely here right now.
"He got hit by a Drac's gun butt in his head," Love chokes out. "It must have done some damage, 'cause that's the longest sentence he's said since about an hour ago."
"Oh, shit," I murmur and run my fingers along Dr. Death's knee, seeing if he can feel anything. He doesn't react at all. "Is he gonna be okay?"
"I don't know," Love says, shrugging. She turns around behind her and hands me a small cardboard box, containing the gold hook Gerard requested, along with a simple red cigarette lighter. "Here, he probably sent you out here for this. We'll be in soon."
I tuck the box underneath my arm and lean towards Dr. Death, placing a small kiss on his forehead. Once again, he doesn't react at all.
When I enter the DIE once more, Truant seems to be in serious pain. I hand Gerard the box, a bit confused on his intentions, and he thanks me with a small kiss on my cheek. "I would recommend going into the back room with Missile," he says, taking the hook out of the box.
I nod, still shocked by Dr. Death, and go to the back room, where Dr. Death keeps his surveillance and radio equipment. It's a nice little set-up in the corner of the room, with enough room in the center of the room for whatever else.
Missile is sitting in the exact middle of the room, her hands over her ears. I sit down next to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders, hugging her tightly.
Missile looks up at me and, pulling her hands off her ears slightly, asks: "Is Truant going to be—"
Just then, a bloodcurdling scream tears through the building, and Missile covers her ears again, pressing her head into my chest. She whimpers quietly, and I run my hand down her back, shushing her. "It's okay, Missile," I say quietly. "He'll be okay."
Truant's screams continue for at least a good half hour, groans and hisses of pain mixed in towards the end. I hold Missile in my lap the whole time, talking to her to try to cover the horrible sounds. Eventually, that stops working and tears squeeze out of her clenched eyes. "Is he gonna be okay?" She squeaks, her tears rolling down her cheeks and transferring to my chest.
"I think so," I tell her. All at once, the screams stop and, after a few seconds, Gerard enters the room. He examines the two of us for a few seconds, giving me time to notice how his hands are covered in ruby-colored liquid.
He crouches down next to us, wiping his hands on his jeans. His jacket is missing, leaving me to see the muscles in his arms clearly. "Hey, Missile," he says quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Is Truant okay?" She asks immediately.
"He will be," Gerard says. "Once his bleeding stops, which should be soon. Here, I need to talk to Halsey really quick, okay?"
Missile nods and sniffs, moving off of my lap. Gerard helps me stand up and pulls me out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.
"Alright..." He says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So, you already know about Dr. D and Truant... Umm... Kobra, Ghoul, and Jet are fine; they're at the D.P with Jimmy, getting some medical supplies. I rigged up Heart Grenade to bring them back."
"Are you okay?" I ask. "Did you get hurt?"
"No, I'm fine," he says. "Just... So much shit's going on right now, I just can't process it."
"Yeah," I say quietly, giving him a tight hug. "It'll get better."
"I hope so," he says, squeezing tightly before letting go. "C'mon." He tugs me back towards the front room, to where Truant is, and I stop in my tracks.
My breathing quickens and I mumble: "No. I-I can't."
"Hals," Gerard says quietly. "He's fine. I promise. He actually asked to see you."
I swallow hard and nod, letting him tug me out to where Truant's waiting. Everything's the same about him from before, except now he has the gold hook on his bloodied stump, seemingly fused to the skin. I suppress a gag and sit down on the edge of the table and Truant smiles at me.
"Hi, Hals," he says weakly. He seems sort of out of it. "This is funny," he says, lifting up his hook. "'Cause my birth name is Stump. Patrick Stump."
"Did you know a Pete Wentz?" Gerard asks. "He talked about this kid named Stumpy a lot when I was in prison with him."
Truant chuckles and nods. "Decay Dance..." He mumbles, getting a wistful look in his eyes. "We tried to escape out here a few years ago, along with some of our other friends. We had names and everything: Pete was Decay Dance; Pete's neighbor, Brendon, was Vices; Brendon's friend, Ryan, was Virtues; Virtues's neighbor, Hayley, was Vicious Love.
"But then we get caught in One," Truant says, staring off into space. "Decay, and Virtues were caught; Vices and I escaped; and Vicious was shot. She died. It was a damn shame— she was the youngest of all of us. 15.
"I know that Decay and Virtues went to prison," Truant continues. "Apparently, Decay's still there. Vices changed his name, I think. Now he's Killer King. I think he has a wife. Disco Queen? I can't remember. I don't know what happened to Virtues. Was there a Ryan Ross at the pen?"
"Ryan Ross?" I ask. "He works front desk for the visitor's center at the prison."
Truant laughs ruefully, moving his arm so that the sunlight glints off his hook. "That smarts," he mutters, using his unencumbered hand to wipe some blood from his face. "Running away from B.L.I, just to turn around and end up working for the rat-faced bastards."
Gerard and I sit in silence as we let Truant talk. He seems to be thinking out loud because he'll be talking about one thing, trail off for a few seconds, then start on a whole new topic. Gerard whispers to me that he might be doing this because blood loss is affecting his brain in a weird way. Frankly, I don't want to know anything past the fact that Truant has one less hand and one more hook that he started with.
The DIE is quiet for the night. Love decided to keep Dr. Death in Lil' Shit, just because it would have been so difficult to move him into the building. Mikey, Frank, nor Jet have returned yet, and it's setting me slightly on edge.
"They're fine," Gerard tells me when I voice my worry to him. He estimated the time to be about 2:00 in the morning, and neither of us seem tired at all. It may be because he still has crazy adrenaline from the attack, and it may be rubbing off of me. Right now, to distract ourselves from sleep, we're going through Dr. Death's collection of vinyl records. He has a lot of good music, mostly from before B.L.I began its domination.
Gerard holds up a vinyl and I examine it, finally finding the name. "The Smashing Pumpkins?" I ask as he puts the record on, setting the needle to a specific track. Almost immediately, strings start to play, the discord slowly evolving into nice, resonant sound.
"This is one of my favorite songs from Mellon Collie," Gerard tells me, turning the volume knob so that it becomes quieter slightly. "Tonight, Tonight. It's so beautiful, with the strings behind the guitars. Have I ever showed you Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness?"
I shake my head, then tugging my hair out of the braid and pulling the band around my wrist. Half of my hair is already out; it was only a matter of time. "No," I say. "I don't think you ever did."
Gerard bites his bottom lip, thinking for a few moments while the song plays in the background. "Well, this is Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins. It was released in 1995, roughly five years after Better Living began its takeover of our minds. It boasted songs such as Tonight, Tonight, 1979, and— my personal favorite song ever— Bullet With Butterfly Wings. You were approximately negative one years old when this masterpiece of a record came out, while I was positive one," he suddenly spouts off, a smile growing as he goes. He rests his hand on my knee and continues. "I was introduced to the Pumpkins through someone in the black market back in Bat City. I don't remember his name— Corgan, maybe?— but he gave me a cassette of this when I bought some pills back when I was 18 or 19. I'm surprised I never showed you."
"Wow, you really can go on about this, can't you?" I tease him and he chuckles.
"Yeah, I can," he says. "It's just really good."
Suddenly, a yawn tears through my body, my mouth opening in a silent roar. "C'm'ere," Gerard says quietly, slightly pulling me closer to him. Without hesitation, he pulls me into his lap, letting me drape my arms around his neck. I yawn again, sleep finally coming for me, and give his neck a small kiss, letting my lips linger against his skin as he says something. I'm too far into sleep to figure out his words; I'm sure I know what he said, though.
"Hals," a gentle voice says, a hand resting on my shoulder. "Are you awake?"
"Now I am," I murmur, turning into my back. I open my eyes and see Gerard hanging over me, my head in his lap now. Instead of his usual smile, though, his mouth displays a frown and his dark eyebrows are knit together. "What's wrong?" I ask.
He sighs, squeezing my shoulder. "Kobra and Jet and Ghoul haven't come back from the D.P yet."
Who's teaching me to love?...
Well, as soon as I get my gun,”- GUN, My Chemical Romance
The days out in the Zones go a little something like this: wake up; choke down the abomination that is Power Pup; do whatever the fuck you need to get done; jack around with your fellow Killjoys; fall asleep at an ungodly hour. Repeat with little-to-no variation.
With this schedule, the days either (A) fly by, or (B) drag on forever. There's more variations of (A) there are of (B), but that's a welcome change.
"Hold still!" Missile cries, tugging a rubber band around the braid she made in my hair. I laugh slightly and oblige; Missile loves to play with my hair. She says it's coarse and fluffy, like her own hair; I just say it's because I'm mixed, and ended with hair like my dad.
"Done!" She says, jumping down from the counter. I reach behind me to feel the braid and smile as my fingers brush the tight rope of turquoise hair.
"It's amazing, Missile," I say, pulling the girl into my lap. "As usual."
"Thanks," she says and hugs me tightly. I have no idea how long we've been in the Zones— I lost track of the days after about a month— but, however long it's been, I've bonded with Missile a great deal. I feel that she thinks of me more like a sister than a mother, and I'm a bit grateful for that.
The door to the DIE opens and Gerard stumbles in, followed by Truant. Another bond that formed in the ambiguous time is the one between Truant Punk and— as Little Jimmy calls us— The Fabulous Killjoys. Truant turned on Blurryface and DJ Spooky Jim, saying that he didn't want to be villain anymore, and that they "could go fuck themselves seven ways to hell".
Yes, that actually came out of Truant Punk's mouth. Actual cinnamon roll, Truant Punk, said that.
As soon as I see the surprisingly graphic man, my hand flies up to cover Missile's eyes. Where Truant's right hand should be is a bloody stump, skin peeling off the wound. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants quietly as Gerard sits him down at a booth far away from Missile and I and frantically looks around for something.
"Hals, I need your bandana," he says finally. I quickly dig the purple fabric out of my back pocket and hand it to him, inquiring about the injury.
"We had a minor clap with some Dracs, just patrolling Three all casual-like," Truant says from across the room, managing a smile. "They took my fucking hand off, and Poison took his head off. It was impressive; just grabbed the bastard by his hair and—"
"Small child here!" Missile yells, shutting Truant up. "I don't wanna hear this story! It sounds icky."
"Right, sorry," Truant hisses through his pain.
"Can I help?" I ask. "At all?"
"Go... Get the gold hook from Lil' Shit," Gerard says after a moment of thought. "I need it."
Not asking what he needs it for, I move Missile off of my lap and quickly leave the building. I go to the van and throw open the back doors to find Love and Dr. Death sitting on the floor, Love looking like she wants to sob. "What's wrong?" I ask, slowly getting in and closing the door behind me.
"I can't move my motherfucking legs," Dr. Death says, his voice lacking any emotion, as if he isn't entirely here right now.
"He got hit by a Drac's gun butt in his head," Love chokes out. "It must have done some damage, 'cause that's the longest sentence he's said since about an hour ago."
"Oh, shit," I murmur and run my fingers along Dr. Death's knee, seeing if he can feel anything. He doesn't react at all. "Is he gonna be okay?"
"I don't know," Love says, shrugging. She turns around behind her and hands me a small cardboard box, containing the gold hook Gerard requested, along with a simple red cigarette lighter. "Here, he probably sent you out here for this. We'll be in soon."
I tuck the box underneath my arm and lean towards Dr. Death, placing a small kiss on his forehead. Once again, he doesn't react at all.
When I enter the DIE once more, Truant seems to be in serious pain. I hand Gerard the box, a bit confused on his intentions, and he thanks me with a small kiss on my cheek. "I would recommend going into the back room with Missile," he says, taking the hook out of the box.
I nod, still shocked by Dr. Death, and go to the back room, where Dr. Death keeps his surveillance and radio equipment. It's a nice little set-up in the corner of the room, with enough room in the center of the room for whatever else.
Missile is sitting in the exact middle of the room, her hands over her ears. I sit down next to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders, hugging her tightly.
Missile looks up at me and, pulling her hands off her ears slightly, asks: "Is Truant going to be—"
Just then, a bloodcurdling scream tears through the building, and Missile covers her ears again, pressing her head into my chest. She whimpers quietly, and I run my hand down her back, shushing her. "It's okay, Missile," I say quietly. "He'll be okay."
Truant's screams continue for at least a good half hour, groans and hisses of pain mixed in towards the end. I hold Missile in my lap the whole time, talking to her to try to cover the horrible sounds. Eventually, that stops working and tears squeeze out of her clenched eyes. "Is he gonna be okay?" She squeaks, her tears rolling down her cheeks and transferring to my chest.
"I think so," I tell her. All at once, the screams stop and, after a few seconds, Gerard enters the room. He examines the two of us for a few seconds, giving me time to notice how his hands are covered in ruby-colored liquid.
He crouches down next to us, wiping his hands on his jeans. His jacket is missing, leaving me to see the muscles in his arms clearly. "Hey, Missile," he says quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Is Truant okay?" She asks immediately.
"He will be," Gerard says. "Once his bleeding stops, which should be soon. Here, I need to talk to Halsey really quick, okay?"
Missile nods and sniffs, moving off of my lap. Gerard helps me stand up and pulls me out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.
"Alright..." He says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So, you already know about Dr. D and Truant... Umm... Kobra, Ghoul, and Jet are fine; they're at the D.P with Jimmy, getting some medical supplies. I rigged up Heart Grenade to bring them back."
"Are you okay?" I ask. "Did you get hurt?"
"No, I'm fine," he says. "Just... So much shit's going on right now, I just can't process it."
"Yeah," I say quietly, giving him a tight hug. "It'll get better."
"I hope so," he says, squeezing tightly before letting go. "C'mon." He tugs me back towards the front room, to where Truant is, and I stop in my tracks.
My breathing quickens and I mumble: "No. I-I can't."
"Hals," Gerard says quietly. "He's fine. I promise. He actually asked to see you."
I swallow hard and nod, letting him tug me out to where Truant's waiting. Everything's the same about him from before, except now he has the gold hook on his bloodied stump, seemingly fused to the skin. I suppress a gag and sit down on the edge of the table and Truant smiles at me.
"Hi, Hals," he says weakly. He seems sort of out of it. "This is funny," he says, lifting up his hook. "'Cause my birth name is Stump. Patrick Stump."
"Did you know a Pete Wentz?" Gerard asks. "He talked about this kid named Stumpy a lot when I was in prison with him."
Truant chuckles and nods. "Decay Dance..." He mumbles, getting a wistful look in his eyes. "We tried to escape out here a few years ago, along with some of our other friends. We had names and everything: Pete was Decay Dance; Pete's neighbor, Brendon, was Vices; Brendon's friend, Ryan, was Virtues; Virtues's neighbor, Hayley, was Vicious Love.
"But then we get caught in One," Truant says, staring off into space. "Decay, and Virtues were caught; Vices and I escaped; and Vicious was shot. She died. It was a damn shame— she was the youngest of all of us. 15.
"I know that Decay and Virtues went to prison," Truant continues. "Apparently, Decay's still there. Vices changed his name, I think. Now he's Killer King. I think he has a wife. Disco Queen? I can't remember. I don't know what happened to Virtues. Was there a Ryan Ross at the pen?"
"Ryan Ross?" I ask. "He works front desk for the visitor's center at the prison."
Truant laughs ruefully, moving his arm so that the sunlight glints off his hook. "That smarts," he mutters, using his unencumbered hand to wipe some blood from his face. "Running away from B.L.I, just to turn around and end up working for the rat-faced bastards."
Gerard and I sit in silence as we let Truant talk. He seems to be thinking out loud because he'll be talking about one thing, trail off for a few seconds, then start on a whole new topic. Gerard whispers to me that he might be doing this because blood loss is affecting his brain in a weird way. Frankly, I don't want to know anything past the fact that Truant has one less hand and one more hook that he started with.
The DIE is quiet for the night. Love decided to keep Dr. Death in Lil' Shit, just because it would have been so difficult to move him into the building. Mikey, Frank, nor Jet have returned yet, and it's setting me slightly on edge.
"They're fine," Gerard tells me when I voice my worry to him. He estimated the time to be about 2:00 in the morning, and neither of us seem tired at all. It may be because he still has crazy adrenaline from the attack, and it may be rubbing off of me. Right now, to distract ourselves from sleep, we're going through Dr. Death's collection of vinyl records. He has a lot of good music, mostly from before B.L.I began its domination.
Gerard holds up a vinyl and I examine it, finally finding the name. "The Smashing Pumpkins?" I ask as he puts the record on, setting the needle to a specific track. Almost immediately, strings start to play, the discord slowly evolving into nice, resonant sound.
"This is one of my favorite songs from Mellon Collie," Gerard tells me, turning the volume knob so that it becomes quieter slightly. "Tonight, Tonight. It's so beautiful, with the strings behind the guitars. Have I ever showed you Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness?"
I shake my head, then tugging my hair out of the braid and pulling the band around my wrist. Half of my hair is already out; it was only a matter of time. "No," I say. "I don't think you ever did."
Gerard bites his bottom lip, thinking for a few moments while the song plays in the background. "Well, this is Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness by The Smashing Pumpkins. It was released in 1995, roughly five years after Better Living began its takeover of our minds. It boasted songs such as Tonight, Tonight, 1979, and— my personal favorite song ever— Bullet With Butterfly Wings. You were approximately negative one years old when this masterpiece of a record came out, while I was positive one," he suddenly spouts off, a smile growing as he goes. He rests his hand on my knee and continues. "I was introduced to the Pumpkins through someone in the black market back in Bat City. I don't remember his name— Corgan, maybe?— but he gave me a cassette of this when I bought some pills back when I was 18 or 19. I'm surprised I never showed you."
"Wow, you really can go on about this, can't you?" I tease him and he chuckles.
"Yeah, I can," he says. "It's just really good."
Suddenly, a yawn tears through my body, my mouth opening in a silent roar. "C'm'ere," Gerard says quietly, slightly pulling me closer to him. Without hesitation, he pulls me into his lap, letting me drape my arms around his neck. I yawn again, sleep finally coming for me, and give his neck a small kiss, letting my lips linger against his skin as he says something. I'm too far into sleep to figure out his words; I'm sure I know what he said, though.
"Hals," a gentle voice says, a hand resting on my shoulder. "Are you awake?"
"Now I am," I murmur, turning into my back. I open my eyes and see Gerard hanging over me, my head in his lap now. Instead of his usual smile, though, his mouth displays a frown and his dark eyebrows are knit together. "What's wrong?" I ask.
He sighs, squeezing my shoulder. "Kobra and Jet and Ghoul haven't come back from the D.P yet."
Notes
As of right now, we are six chapters away from the end, and I recommend re-reading the story. That's all I'm gonna say...
.::stay lovely::.
xoøli
The last line of every chapter is always great.
And happy birthday Hesitant Alien!
10/1/15