The Collector

Leaving the trans am at the corner of the street, Jet walked slowly and carefully towards the bakery. He knew there was a possibility that Ice and Candi had heard his desperate transmission to try to reach and warn Party of the danger he was in and he was determined that he would not be caught in one of their traps.

In his favour was the fact that neither of them knew anything about Little Red and he knew the advantage that gave him. As he mulled over their plan of action, he would be lying if it didn’t at any point occur to him that if Red were some sort of spy, playing them, it would be all over for him very soon. But no sooner had the fact that the thought had fleetingly appeared in his mind than it was gone. He trusted her, literally with his life. There was something honest and open about her. He understood her and she him. Yes, they would make a good team, and they would save Party, Ghoul and Kobra.

Jet nodded to himself, apparently making a decision, but more to prepare himself.

“Well, are you ready, Red?” he asked the diminutive woman at his side.
“Yeah,” she offered a determined smile. “How about you?”
“I think I’m all right,” he returned with an expression that showed clearly how he felt – stern, focussed and angry. “Come on.”

Red kept a discreet distance from Jet, pretending she was not with him. Their lives could end up depending on the element of surprise and they were going to stay alive above all else. The best-case scenario was that Party would still be there, unhurt, worst-case was that he was dead. Realistically, the true situation was likely to be somewhere between the two. Jet's plan was simple; always simple. Find out where Party was then shoot both traitors. There was no room for mercy in this world. Mercy would get you killed.

Arriving at the apartment above the bakery, Jet pressed the intercom. Within a minute, Candi's cheerful face flashed up on the small screen.

"Jet!" She called with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "Come right up, babes. Party's sleeping," she added with surprising honesty. "Took the meds and passed right out. He'll be better soon though."
"Thanks, Candi that's great news," Jet replied forcing a convincing smile.

Hearing the click of the lock, Jet pushed open the door. Fishing a small square of plastic from his pocket he placed it over the latch before closing the door as the intercom screen darkened. Waiting out of sight, Red nodded as he headed upstairs, quietly unfastening the retaining strap on his holster. Creeping forward silently, Red listened carefully pressing her ear against the door. Fewer than thirty seconds behind Jet she heard a second set of footsteps following silently up the stairs. Once she knew they had passed, she allowed a few seconds for distance before silently opening the door, kept unlocked by the plastic covering the latch.

“Jet,” Candi greeted the Killjoy. “Come in, make yourself at home.”
“Where’s Party?” he asked, a little angry with himself for possibly sounding a little tense, but it was really hard not to.
“Oh, he was so tired,” Candi smiled. “We gave him our bed.”

The hair on the back of Jet’s neck prickled; Ice was standing behind him and he knew. Ice laughed.

“So, when did you work it out, Jet?” Ice asked with another chuckle.

Jet made a motion to turn his head, but Ice interrupted him.

“No, no, no,” Ice began calmly taking control. “Jazz hands, Jet. Up where I can see them.”

Slowly raising his hands to shoulder height, Jet adopted a furious expression, made all the easier as he stared at Candi’s mocking smirk.

“Do you have any idea how much we’re getting paid to hand you over?” Candi beamed with greed.
“Who to?” Jet snapped. “S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W?” he asked virtually spitting the name in disgust.
“Indirectly. Link your fingers, on your head.” Ice shoved Jet down, tapping behind the knees with his foot to force him to drop to the floor. “The Crows’ boss, Miharu, she’s paying us. She doesn’t care how you guys get stopped, and well, we like money. A lot of money. We can go or do anything we want now.”
“And what is the going rate for treachery these days?” Jet asked.
“We’re pocketing a shiny sixty thousand carbons for you,” Ice laughed spitefully. “Isn’t it nice to be wanted?”
“So, you’re handing us over to BLI?” Jet spat. “After everything we… Everything Party did for you!”
“It’s not personal, Jet,” Ice tried to justify their actions, but without really caring if Jet understood. “It’s just a business transaction.”
“Business?” Jet growled angrily. “So, they’re dead now, are they?”
“Oh, no,” Candi chuckled as Jet’s expression showed his disgust. “You’re all museum exhibits now. Cultural icons of the post war regime. Some new display for the Hart Collection. I’m told it’s very well constructed. Not too shabby for the high and mighty Killjoys.”

Jet looked into Candi’s smirking face, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“What’s got you so amused?” Candi scowled, surprised at his reaction.

Jet didn’t need to answer the question as behind him a flash of light burned the air and with the slightest of surprised cries, Ice slumped lifelessly to the floor.

“Ice!” Candi screamed, eyes widening as she moved to step forward toward him.

Jet was on his feet in an instant, gun in hand and forcing her back away from her boyfriend and more importantly the gun that had fallen with him. Grabbing her around the throat with a strong left hand, he forced his gun into her neck.

Candi’s eyes were still wild and staring at nothing as she tried to take in what had happened. One moment, she and her boyfriend were on the verge of disappearing into the sunset with more money than they could even imagine, the next, he was dead on the floor at the hands of a mystery assailant and she was now forced up against the wall, with a gun pressed painfully into her neck and Jet’s furious expression, his eyes narrowed, dark and penetrating, boring into her.

“Where are they?” he yelled in her face as Red stepped from her hiding place into the room.

Candi shook her head, terrified.

“N… no! BLI will kill me i…if I tell you!” she stammered in reply.
“What do you think this is?” Jet screamed in fury as he forced the gun so hard into her neck that the barrel tore her skin.

Candi squeezed her eyes shut in agony as the blood began to run down her neck, partially into the gun barrel itself. Pulling it back, Jet whipped the barrel across her cheek.

“I can take you to them!” Candi screamed in terror, tears rolling down her face. “Jet, I’m sorry! It was Ice. I didn’t… He made me do it! You know me,” she forced a smile. “Jet, it’s me, Candi. I wouldn’t hurt you guys, you know that. It was Ice.”
“Jet,” Red spoke up from behind him. “I think I know where she means.”

Candi’s eyes widened at the announcement; her only hope for survival was through being needed.

It almost didn’t register. Only when the terrified expression on Candi’s face emerged did Jet realise what Red had said.

“There’s a museum in Battery City run by a woman called ‘Something’ Hart. They must be there. It was advertised in one of those BLI newspapers as something good for the people. To remind them of the supposedly vicious and destructive nature of history and its wars. I think BLI sponsor it to show people how much better life is under them.” Red placed air quotes around the word ‘better’ to emphasise her disdain.

Jet frowned and stared at Candi. She was whimpering now, his hand still around her throat. At the gaze, she began to nod nervously.

“The guy… someone called Sorby,” Candi stammered. “He’s Hart’s right hand man. He’s just taken Party. They’re all alive, Jet, I promise. We… we just wanted to run away. We…” Candi paused, staring with tear filled eyes at Ice.
“Well,” Jet replied coldly. “Let me help you get away from it all.”

There was something in the phrasing or the tone, she wasn’t sure which, but Candi knew what he meant.

“No!” she sobbed pitifully. “Please, Jet…no!” she begged.

Pressing the trigger, Jet allowed the now dead figure of the misguided woman to drop to the floor before holstering his gun.

“Battery City,” he turned to face Red who merely nodded in reply and followed him from the apartment.

*

Fun Ghoul was sitting cross-legged at the wall of his cell on the opposite side to the wall he shared with Kobra. His expression, one of worry and concern, hadn’t changed since Party Poison had been unceremoniously dropped on the floor of the cell adjacent to Ghoul’s. He hadn’t moved in over an hour – neither of them had. One cell further along, Kobra was pacing; he couldn’t understand how Ghoul was able to simply sit, apparently calmly and wait. Waiting killed him; he had never felt the tranquillity of sitting calmly, not allowing the stress of anticipation to build. Kobra’s mouth dried and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Turning suddenly, he slapped both hands on the Perspex wall, eliciting a surprised reaction from Ghoul. Jolting suddenly, startled by the noise, Ghoul turned his upper body and head toward Kobra, placing his hands on the floor for balance. Raising an eyebrow, Ghoul took a deep sigh.

“Kobra,” he spoke gently, understanding his frustration but still mildly annoyed by it, “one day, you will be the death of me.”
“Sorry, Ghoul,” Kobra replied quietly. “How is he?”
“Still unconscious,” Ghoul sighed as he looked back to where Party lay. “He looks like he might have a bit more colour in his cheeks,” he added. “Well, you know, for him.”

Kobra chuckled; Party was not exactly known for his healthy, ruddy or tanned complexion.

“Oh!” Ghoul perked up as he saw Party’s eyelids flutter briefly. “I think he’s coming out of it.”

Moving to kneel so he had a better overall view of the man he loved, Ghoul leaned forward so that his head was almost touching the Perspex. Raising one hand to steady his balance, Ghoul’s eyes widened as he saw Party begin to twitch. His head jerked twice to the left, followed by his right shoulder in a series of small movements. Party’s features contorted as flashes of panic, sadness and pain rested fleetingly on his face. The twitching began to increase in quantity and violence and he was murmuring now. Incomprehensible at first, but the occasional word was making itself heard.

“…no… no…” he muttered before a cry escaped his lips.
“Party!” Ghoul spoke softly yet loudly to make himself heard through the Perspex. “Party, it’s okay, you’re safe!”
“No, he’s not!” Kobra cried. “What’s happening to him?”

Ghoul turned a panicked glare at the man in the next cell. He knew Kobra meant well, but he’d dealt with this hundreds of times, whilst Kobra wasn’t even aware of his brother’s nightmares – it was how Party had wanted to keep it.

“Kobra, I know what I’m doing,” Ghoul called back through gritted teeth.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You’re not helping!”

Turning back, Party continued to twitch, tremble and call out. He appeared to be trying to fight, run or both but his thrashing and distress was growing steadily worse.

“Party, I’m here,” Ghoul continued softly, “I’ve got my arms around you. You’re safe, no one can hurt you. You’re safe, everything’s okay, trust me. Party, trust me!”

Party’s calls became less frequent and his tremors subsided, allowing Ghoul chance to let out a tense breath. His heart was racing; Ghoul hated the night terrors that Party suffered from. Sometimes, if caught early enough, he could calm him, but all too often it would result in full-blown panic. Party suffered afterward; it was a mental suffering rather than a physical one and although Ghoul had raised the subject on more than one occasion and at different times, he was no closer to finding out the source of the terrors. There was something he was certain that Party wasn’t telling him, something that haunted him and made him deeply sad and angry at the same time. It was something that he realised Party couldn’t even bring himself to think about, let alone discuss. Perhaps one day? He was almost calm when the thrashing started again, beginning in earnest this time. Possibly because he couldn’t get near to comfort him, Party’s panic continued to rise.

“No!” he screamed. “It’s… how can…”

Ghoul gasped as Party’s eyes flew open and he scrambled backwards. Jumping to his feet, Ghoul followed along the wall, pressing his palms up against it, desperate to join him in the next cell.

“Ghoul?” Kobra kept his voice quiet, but he was clearly distressed. “What’s happening?”

Ghoul was torn between the two brothers. Kobra was upset, not knowing what to do, but Party really needed him.

“Party,” he cooed gently. “It’s okay, I got you. It’s okay baby!”
“Let him go! No!” Party screamed, swinging his arms as he fought off some invisible attacker. “Dad!” he finally gasped.

With that word, movement and awareness came back into his wild eyes. Sweat poured down his face, neck and back and he clamped his hands over his face as finally his conscious mind came back under control. Exhaling noisily, he allowed his hands to drop back down and he stared up at Ghoul’s shocked and pale expression.

Turning his eyes, Party glanced over his shoulder to see Kobra staring, his eyes glistening as he realised that his brother was reliving witnessing their father’s murder. Kobra was too young to remember their father but he knew Party could and that he would never talk about it. Considering the pain now displayed on both their faces, Kobra felt he knew exactly why that was.

Notes