The Collector

“Hmm,” Korse seemed to roll the sound around on his tongue as he thought about Party’s question. “Dismissed,” he barked at the two draculoids. “I’ll call if I need you.”

Korse watched silently as the two men left the room, leaving him alone with the captive Killjoy fastened securely to the table. Attaching a clip onto one of Party’s fingers, Korse, looked at one of the monitors displaying a slightly erratic line travelling across the centre of the screen and nodded silently to himself.

“So, you remember that do you?”

Party gasped at the reply.

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Well, I guess memory removing technology has moved on a great deal since you were a child.”

Party swallowed as he suddenly recalled the traumatic memory from his childhood that he had thus far successfully repressed. Korse smiled as he noticed the change in Party’s demeanour followed by a short spike on a monitor.

“Ah,” Korse gave a sly smile. “A new memory, Gerard?”

“My name is Party Poison!” Party screamed, eliciting only a smirk from Korse.

“Shall we see what your memory was?”

“What?” Party replied weakly.

The briefest glimpse of the memory had been enough to drain the blood from his cheeks. If there was one thing he knew beyond all doubt, he did not want to experience the memory again.

“No,” Party continued. “That’s not possible.”

Korse’s smile grew crueller as he revelled in Party’s uncertainty and fear.

“Oh, but it is. I told you the technology had moved on. You’ve been out of Battery City and BLI for a long time, Gerard.”

“Stop calling me Gerard!” Party yelled again. “You have no right!”

“And why is that?” Korse laughed spitefully.

Party swallowed several times, angry with himself for losing his temper and giving Korse something of what he wanted – his past.

“I know you remember me killing your father, Gerard,” Korse leaned in, mocking him with his fixed smile. “We tried to remove that memory from you and Mikey. It seems we weren’t entirely successful. But we can always try again, but this time, you’ll lose a lot more. Oh, and, so will he.”

Party strained on the restraining straps, but he could barely move. His clenched fists and expression of fury being two of the tell-tale signs of his distress.

“Don’t you dare touch him! I’ll kill you Korse! I’ll kill you!”

“You’d kill your own family?” he laughed in response.

“You’re not family! You ceased to be family when you killed my dad!”

“You cannot deny who I am, Gerard and what I mean to you.”

“You mean nothing to me!” Party screamed, his voice hoarse with raw emotion. “You kissed up to BLI, sold your soul, changed your name and killed your own brother! You’re nothing to me!”

The distress in Party’s eyes seemed only to delight BLI’s Chief Exterminator. Against his will, they began to sting sharply and Party knew that tears were welling in them. It wasn’t for his pain or even for the past, but for Mikey’s… No! For Kobra’s safety. Screwing his eyes up in his anguish, Party’s tears began to spill involuntarily down the sides of his cheeks as he strained uselessly in an attempt to break free.

“Let’s have a look at both those memories, shall we?”

Pressing a button began a whirr of noise as a hydraulic engine hummed. At first, Party couldn’t quite work out what was happening until, in the mirror, he saw the semi-circle of needles surrounding the head restraint retract, filling their chambers with whichever fluid occupied the individual wells. Slowly, the ring of needles moved closer until they pressed against Party’s forehead and temples.

His eyes flew open in horror as all his muscles stiffened in dread; his terrified screams could be heard in the corridor accompanied by Korse’s laughter.

“Now then, Party Poison,” Korse spat the words, “let’s have a look at those memories, shall we?”

No matter what Party did, nothing proved successful. No amount of pulling, writhing, nor even a desperate attempt to move his head away from the needles all pressing against his skin – nothing allowed him any movement. Korse could see the desperation in his eyes and raising the remote so that Party could see, he pressed three buttons in sequence. Party squeezed his eyes shut in terror as three of the needles pierced his skin and injected a pre-set amount of the drugs held in their chambers. Grimacing as his mind was suddenly awash with confusing lights, colours and sounds, Party knew that whatever was about to happen, he couldn’t stop it.

*

Fun Ghoul groaned weakly as he was dropped heavily onto the bed with such force that the mattress fell and rose enough to make it seem as if he had bounced. Even though his eyes were still closed, the small movements and murmurings gave away that he was close to waking. Pulling a short length of rope from a pocket inside his jacket, Sorby wrapped it quickly around Ghoul’s ankles and, pulling it tight, fastened it quickly with a double knot. Once that was done, he reached for the black metal collar that was currently attached to his belt and opening it up, quickly snapped it around Ghoul’s neck. Inserting a chip into the locking mechanism before closing the clasp firmly.

As he moved back, Ghoul’s eyes flew open and he stared up at Sorby in alarm. Moving quickly to race from the room, Ghoul had hit the floor before he realised his ankles were bound and Sorby was already leaving the room. Reaching down, Ghoul worked frantically at the knot before freeing himself and scrambling to his feet.

Sorby had already left the room and was merely standing, watching just outside. Ghoul glowered angrily; he would regret that decision. Ghoul knew he was small, but he was strong and angry – a formidable combination in his experience. Racing for the doorway, Ghoul hit what felt like an electrically charged brick wall, throwing him backwards into the room. Landing over six feet from the door, Ghoul groaned as he counted his still twitching limbs. Slowly pushing himself up onto his elbows, he looked up to see Sorby laughing at him from the doorway.

“Welcome to Miss Hart’s personal quarters. You are in one of her guest rooms.”

“Except I’m not a guest, am I?” Ghoul snapped.

“On the contrary,” Sorby smirked. “Miss Hart is very happy to have you stay.”

“Okay, I’m not a willing guest and I can’t leave, can I?”

“That is true,” Sorby nodded in reply. “My name is Sorby…”

“I don’t give a single fuck who you are!”

Ghoul pushed himself to his feet, only now noticing the circle of metal around his neck. Putting his hands up to it, he searched for a lock, a catch, or some indication of how it had been attached. Finally finding the slight bump where the clasp of the locking mechanism was firmly fastened, Ghoul tugged ineffectually, grasping at either side in an attempt to open the collar.

“Don’t bother trying to remove it. It’s an electromagnetic lock and, while the perimeter is activated, pulling at it will make no difference at all.”

“What is it?” Ghoul growled bitterly as he edged slowly and with some trepidation toward the door again.

“It’s good to see you’ve learned your lesson,” Sorby smirked, enjoying Ghoul’s helpless frustration. “Like one of Pavlov’s dogs.”

Ghoul’s eyes flared with fury at the words and he immediately moved to run forward in anger, pulling himself up after only one or two steps to avoid another collision with the invisible electromagnetic field that had sent him reeling back to the floor only minutes earlier.

“I will end you, Sorby, mark my words.”

The words emerged in a flood of bitter loathing, aggravated further by a satisfied smirk that now settled on Sorby’s face. Taking a few more steps forward, Ghoul could feel the magnetic repulsion coming from the doorway and knew he would be unable to move any closer. The theory behind it was quite simple, but the technology actually quite advanced. Despite his anger, Ghoul found himself grudgingly impressed.


“The collar around your neck is programmed to prevent you going beyond a fixed perimeter. At the moment, that is this room, but later, when you’re settled, you might find Miss Hart gives you more freedom to move around. Obviously, during the day, you’ll be in the exhibition, of course. This,” he indicated to the room with his hand, “will just be for when the museum or the exhibition is closed.”

“Oh, such favouritism,” Ghoul retorted, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

“When Miss Hart sets her mind on something, she usually gets it.”

“Well, I’m not going to be one of those things!”

“I think you’ll find that you already are and if I were you, I’d get used to it.”

Turning away, Sorby walked from the room, feeling Ghoul’s eyes burning into him. He had other things to do – he had to find Jet, Kobra and whoever that girl was. He was confident they would soon be back in their cells and once Party Poison was returned, they would have the complete set.

*

The large monitor lowered from its housing in the ceiling of the Memory Chamber now hung roughly at the same height as the mirror, but instead of directly above, was positioned over Party Poison’s feet, affording him a direct view. Due to its size and position, it was actually difficult for him not to look at it. One of the drugs, he realised already had paralysed his eyelids, forcing him to stare, unblinking at the screen. As the first memory began to play on the monitor, he realised that he didn’t have to concern himself with his eyes drying out at being forced open – his own tears would soon rectify that little problem.

The scene showed a typical family apartment in Battery City, two small boys playing happily in one corner and two men, one grey-haired with glasses, the other younger and bald, arguing in the centre of the room


“What is this, Grant?” Don Way waved the letter in his hand at his brother. “Some sort of joke?”

“Dad, look!” the small, dark-haired, nine-year-old boy called excitedly from under the table in the corner of the room.



Don spared a glance toward his two sons playing nearby. Both wore capes fashioned from towels and cardboard cut-out masks coloured messily in bright red, green, blue and yellow. He couldn’t help but share a smile with his eldest son, Gerard; he was never happier than when he was playing at being superheroes with his younger brother, Mikey.



“Who are you today, Gerard?” Don asked, momentarily ignoring the man standing in front of him.

“Raygun Jones,” the boy grinned, extending his hand as if it were a gun and making ‘zapping’ noises.

“Ooh, be careful, Gerard, you nearly got me then!” Don laughed. “What about you, Mikey? Who are you?”

“I’m Snake Boy!” he giggled, flopping down onto his belly and pretending to slither along the floor, almost pulling his t shirt out of shape as the friction from the carpet held it in place.

“Snake Boy only has one weakness!” Gerard cried loudly. “Tickling!”



Gerard’s excited laughter mixed harmoniously with Mikey’s helpless giggles as he dug his hands into his brother’s sides and tickled him furiously until he was breathless and gasping. Falling forward and rolling to lie on his back as Mikey sat up, pulling irregular breaths in sharply. Despite Mikey’s still obvious amusement, it became clear to Gerard that he had been overenthusiastic and he rose immediately, handing his younger brother his inhaler and rubbing small comforting circles on his back.



Don smiled at the sight; they were so close and always looked out for each other.

Grant, impatient and tired of waiting, took his brother by the elbow and steered him to the back of the room.


“This isn’t a request, Don, don’t you understand?”

“I’m not interested in working for BLI,” Don shook his head. “I have a job.”

“Not anymore, you don’t.”

“What are you talking about? Not anymore?” Don frowned deeply at Grant. “What have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything!” Grant objected vehemently. “BLI employ entire families, you know that.”

“What, so now you’ve signed up to their brainwashing, we all have to?” Don was furious and struggling to hide it in front of his sons.


Gerard looked up and frowned lightly, giving his father a brief wave and a smile.


“It’s not brainwashing!” Grant replied through gritted teeth. “It’s training, indoctrination.”

“It’s brainwashing and propaganda!” he fumed. “Why can’t you see that?”

“You sound like you’ve been talking to rebels,” Grant scowled angrily.

“You mean people who just want to get on with their lives?”

“There are four acceptable levels of existence,” Grant began to explain.

“I’ve heard them called ‘four acceptable levels of death’.”


Grant scowled angrily, but there was something underlying his anger. It looked like fear,


“As you begin to purify and…”

“Can you hear yourself talk?” Don interrupted. “Purify? This isn’t an organisation it’s a cult!”

“Dad?” Gerard was standing near to the two men now, neither having heard him approach. “Is everything okay?”


Don looked down; his son appeared nervous, possibly distressed at the raised voices. Thankfully, Mikey seemed oblivious and had gone back to adding yet more colour onto his already garish mask.



“Everything’s fine, Gerard,” he ruffled his son’s hair. “Uncle Grant and I are just talking grown-up stuff. Go help Mikey with his colouring.”



Gerard nodded, still uncertain but not wanting to be any trouble. He had noticed that recently his father and uncle had begun to argue a lot lately. He hoped it wouldn’t happen to him and Mikey as they got older – no, he decided, they would always be close. Returning to sit with Mikey, Gerard kept one ear on the conversation on the other side of the room; there was something about it that troubled him.



“Look, Don, this is not up for discussion,” Grant continued. “You work for BLI now. I’m here to finalise the family’s transition.”



Grant took his brother firmly by the shoulders and looked into his eyes.



“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” he began, giving Don a gently shake before lowering his arms. I’m not here to convince you, I’m here to take you to BLI. It’s my job.”

“What job?”

“I’m an exterminator. I help keep BLI and Battery City perfect.”



Don Way shook his head in a combination of sadness, anger and sheer disbelief.



“Perfect? I’m not working for BLI!” he snapped gritting his teeth.

“If you don’t come with me, all of you,” he tipped his head to indicate that he also meant the children, “I’m authorised… I’m ordered to commit you to the fourth level of existence.”

“The fourth level… I never thought I’d ever say this, Grant, but I want you out of my home. How dare you come in here…”



Pulling out his gun from its holster, Grant stared at his brother with an expression that suddenly bordered on vacant, even cold. Don frowned deeply with uncertainty and the abrupt pause in the conversation drew Gerard’s attention once more; his eyes widening with surprise as he saw the gun in Uncle Grant’s hand.



“What are you going to do, Grant? Kill us all?”

“No, we can indoctrinate the children.”



Don’s eyes flew open in a wild fury at the suggestion that his own brother could be suggesting taking his boys to BLI to be programmed.



“Get out!” he raged, moving forward to push Grant towards the door.



A blinding white-hot flash of light filled the room and Gerard found himself scrambling to his feet as his father was falling to the floor.



“No!”



The sudden movement and the horror in Gerard’s tone drew Mikey’s attention and the younger boy was now also on his feet, clinging to Gerard, as he looked with fear and uncertainty at the lifeless body of their father.



“Gee?” Mikey began in a small voice.

“It’s… How can…” Gerard’s young mind, having witnessed his father’s murder at the hands of his uncle, was beyond confused.



Torn between running to his father’s side and comforting Mikey, Gerard was startled as Uncle Grant turned sharply, staring harshly at the two boys as he replaced his gun in its holster. There was something glacial in his stare that terrified Gerard; this was suddenly not the man he knew. This man was a stranger.



Gerard shrank back, hugging Mikey protectively as Grant moved quickly towards them. Pulling free, Mikey ran forward toward his father and Gerard’s eyes widened in panic at the idea of the six-year-old finding their father dead. It was almost a blessing when Grant stopped him, but the horror of the fact that he was the murderer did nothing to make Gerard feel that Mikey was any safer.



“Let him go!” he yelled as he saw Mikey’s pained expression as Grant gripped his arm painfully tight.



Without even a word, Grant seized Gerard by an arm and, pulling them apart, dragged them both towards the door.



“No! Let go!” Gerard screamed as he pulled frantically against the firm grip, twisting his body to look back into the room, desperate for his father to still be alive. Searching for any sign of life in the still and silent body. “Dad!” he cried as his vision misted over.


*

The monitor flickered and the picture darkened and faded. Only the sounds of Party’s heart rending sobs pierced the silence.

If they were trying to break him, they were doing a good job.

Notes

Sorry :(