“Look alive sunshine…”

I open my eyes groggily looking at my wrist for a few seconds before I remember that I don’t have a wristwatch anymore. A few of us still have watches, but they’re pretty hard to come by seeing as they haven’t been made for somewhere around a hundred years. Better Living Industries has a monopoly on just about the entire world market and they don’t want wristwatches to still exist. They don’t want anything from the old days to exist. I think that’s because they don’t want anyone to remember what it was like before they were around, before this place was a desert and before those who remember lived and died outside the zones with their guns hot masks on, which in itself is pretty ironic. Rebels, or “killjoys” are using anonymity to fight for individuality. Masks for the unmasking.

The technos could probably make some killjoy watches or something, but it's not a priority. I think they're more concerned with finding ways to keep us alive than telling time. Besides, Transmission Fire and I only run into others about once a week. He says it's safer that way, but there are a few hotspots away from the zones where killjoys meet anyways, it's hard to be a stray. The problem is that the locations change. They're coded in The Doctor's radio waves which, for obvious reasons, are hard to tap into. It's also why I'm awake so early. Transmission Fire wouldn't approve of this, he's too careful. But I'm not a killjoy just because I wanted to hide from BLI. I'm going to the hotspot tonight. Well, only if I can find it. Slowly and carefully I inch myself up to sitting, trying not to let my yellow leather jacket squeak against the packed dirt. The sky is pitch black with a line of brilliant orange on the horizon that matches Transmission Fire’s jeans. I climb, just as quietly, from the ditch with our boom box. Once I'm far enough away that I'm sure I won't wake him I flip the switch and turn it on. There is only one working station anymore. The doctor built it himself from pieces of the poor droids who tried to cross Bat City’s lines, and that makes it a bit easier to find if I just follow the static.

“Look alive sunshine.” I jump, startled at the low voice through the speaker
“One-oh-nine in the sky but the pigs won't quit. You're here with me, Doctor Death Defying. I'll be your surgeon, your proctor, your helicopter! Pumping out the slaughtermatic sounds to keep you live! A system failure for the masses! Antimatter for the master plan! Louder than God’s revolver and twice as shiny! This one’s for all you rock-and-rollers! All you crash queens and motor babies! 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!” The station goes dead without another word. No more clues, just static. C’mon Electric Revenge, think. Figure out where.

Wait. The masses is killjoy slang for old BLI warehouses. Maybe that’s a clue? But there are at least a dozen scattered around the desert, how can I know which one we’re meeting at? I analyze the memory of Dr. Death Defying’s airwaves and nothing comes to mind. There’s another message, there has to be.

And I’m still sitting there close to an hour later when Transmission Fire finds me, stumped. He’s a far taller than me with big hands and feet to match the big rest of him. From what I remember, he’s got our dad’s build. I adjust my yellow and green mask to see him better. We all wear bright comic-book colors but Transmission Fire takes in especially to heart with His neon orange and blue striped clothes. The only things he’s wearing that wouldn’t blind someone are his brown ray gun holsters and his dark hair. Out of the two of us, he’s the strongest. He’s the most like the four killjoys, the true killjoys that paved the way for us to live in imaginary freedom. Jet Star, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid, and the leader Party Poison.
My brother grabs the boom box by it’s worn handle.

“Ready to pack up and go?” He asks with a tired grin. “Or are you just going to sit there all day?”
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The sun matches Transmission Fire again, a thumbnail-sized ball of radiation sinking below the horizon and yet, we only just found a place to camp. It looks no different from the 26 possible campsites that my my brother dismissed, but at least we’re finally done. As usual he sets up a tarp at the base of a sandy ditch while I build a fire and set some cans in the embers for dinner. The sun is completely out of sight now and the shadows cast by the patches of dry grass and tumbleweeds dance in the firelight.

We eat in silence. He’s too tired to carry a conversation and I’m too disappointed that I couldn’t figure out the location of the hotspot. Instead, I stare at the wide open sky searching for my own constellations to name. I don’t know how long it takes for me to see the bursts of red light in the corner of my eye, but when I do, it jolts me out of my stupor. Less than three miles away in the east, someone is shooting a blaster up into the air. The laser bursts shoot across the sky like red meteors and fizzle out. Louder than god’s revolver and twice as shiny.

I jump up, tucking my own green and yellow gun into the holster on my leg. That’s it. That has to be the next clue. Without pausing to worry about what could happen if I’m wrong I run towards the point where the shooter had been.

As I get closer, I see the logo of Better Living Industries stamped on the white wall of the building, an abandoned weapons warehouse. Light streams through the windows and someone is playing upbeat music inside. Excitement builds up in the pit of my stomach with each step to the door. After all this time I’ve finally gotten to a hotspot.

The room is filled with people in neon colors, clashing spectacularly, most are wearing boots and leather jackets and all are wearing the masks that hide little more than cheekbones and eyebrows. There are people dancing and talking and laughing in little groups. Everyone seems so happy and free. The first people to notice my arrival is a group of three unassuming boys, one of which is wearing what appears to be a half circle of folded aluminum foil on his head. It’s a little odd but I’m glad when they make a beeline for me nonetheless.

“Hi!” I greet them cheerfully “I’m-”

“I’ve never seen you here before.” growls the one with the foil crescent. He’s glaring at me suspiciously and I’m thrown completely off guard.

“Yeah, I’ve never actually been too-” His hand darts towards the gun on his hip.

“No one gets to be sixteen and hasn’t gone to a hotspot. How do we know you’re not a spy?” He demands, his fingers drumming a tattoo on the handle of his holstered blaster. I swallow hard and step back a little, wanting to put as much space between me and this threat as possible.

“Nineteen. And I-I found it didn’t I? How could I have known where the hotspot was if I hadn’t tuned in and figured it out?” He scoffs and his fingers stop tapping the handle of his ray gun and start wrapping around the handle instead.

“You could have found it. Now tell me the truth, you work for Better Living Industries don’t you? You’re their spy.” I take another step back nervously, this is not what I was envisioning when I dreamt of finding a hotspot. I didn’t think anyone wouldn’t actually believe I was a killjoy, much less that I might get myself ghosted by some of our own. His glare grows colder by every second of silence and I try to step away from them only to find my back pressed against the wall.

“I-I’m not-” I stammer out before…

“Asher!” a male voice calls over the music. The boy glaring at me whips around to face a man wearing artificially bright red hair, a yellow mask, and an exasperated smile. “Would you please stop terrorizing the poor girl? She’s obviously not a spy.” Asher immediately stands up stick straight in some kind of a salute and the two boys with him follow his lead.

“Yes sir.” He barks. The man groans.

“And for the love of god Asher, please stop calling me sir.” The boys march away blushing and he offers me an easy smile. “You’ll have to forgive them, they’re a little... Well… eccentric. Asher wears that metal headband because he thinks that B.L.I. can read our minds with their communications satellites and the other two, well they believe it. Anyways, what’s your name?” I ball my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Electric Revenge. Thanks for calling them off.” He laughs.

“Geez tumbleweed, they really scared you. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine. I just thought they were going to dust me out. Asher's fingers just seemed a bit too itchy.” He laughs again and makes a dismissive gesture.

“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t have shot you. I wouldn’t have let him.”

“Could you have stopped him?” I ask. His eyebrows knit together with confusion that almost immediately melts back to amusement again.

“Well, yeah…” He shrugs. “So why I ever seen you before?”

“I don’t get to meet a lot of people. Overprotective brother.” His grin widens.

“Well in that case, I’d like to officially welcome you to the zones.”
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I can’t decide if yellow mask guy is the best dancer in the world, or the worst but I don’t want to miss out on my last chance to dance before I go back to my brother. Despite mixed feelings about mask-guy’s dancing, I can tell that I don’t have any natural talent for the art. But I also don’t really care. There’s something so liberating about it, a tangible energy hidden in the throbbing music and illogical movement. I can’t believe it took me so long to do this.
When the song ends and the music dies down every nerve in my body is telling me to keep dancing, just for a little, just for another second, and another second after that. But I can’t. I have to go back before my brother panics. So I push the damp purple hair out of my eyes and I head for the door.

When the freezing air hits me, back out under the stars, I pause for a moment to catch my breath and the cold air burns my gasping lungs. I'm too damn happy to care.

“Did you have fun?” His voice startles me but, sure enough, when I turn around the guy with the yellow mask is leaning against the wall, looking up at the stars and zipping a blue leather jacket to his throat.

“Yeah.” I grin, still elated.

“Good. Do you know where the old gas station wreck is?” He asks it like a rhetorical question, but pauses for an answer anyways. His eyes take on a strange, almost devious glint.

“Sure. Just West of here, right?”

“Yep. That’s the one.” He walks up a little closer. “There’s another hotspot tomorrow about a mile further West of there. You should come, bring that overprotective brother of yours.”
I don’t think that I can convince Transmission Fire to go to a hotspot tomorrow, or any other day for that matter, but I don’t want to say it out loud because I so badly want to go myself. I feel like I need to go. What’s the point of living free from B.L.I. if I don’t actually live a little? So I return his bright smile.

“Sounds like a blast.” I pause for a second. “But I can’t keep referring to you as ‘yellow mask guy’ so what should I call you?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion again, but after a second he seems to understand and his face lights up like someone who suddenly understands a hilarious joke. He sticks out his hand to shake mine.

“My name’s Party Poison. It’s nice to meet you.” One heartbeat... two… And I’m still too shocked to move

What?!?

He winks at me and drops his arm, shoulders shaking with warm laughter as he walks back inside.

Notes

If you're reading this, hello and thank you! I really hope you like this chapter, although I'm a little dubious of the quality as it's a near first draft that I'm writing at two in the morning. Either way, let me know what you think in the comments. Suggestions, praises, criticisms, it doesn't have to be about the story. You could tell me about your favorite cartoon, or your nana's killer fudge recipe. Surprise me.

I'm going to do a thing on this called "Question of the chapter." Today's is: If you were to create an entire culture that doesn't yet exist, what kind of foods would be a delicacy and why? Mine would be chocolate. I just ate an entire pound of it while watching Criminal Minds. I have a problem.

Anyways, thank you lovely people for reading, and I hope this helped to make your day better or put a smile on your pretty face. :)

Until next chapter;
-Chem. Dependancy