The Collector

The town of Odeby was barely standing. It had never been would anyone would call a flourishing town, but now it was deserted, save for one occupant: Father Dominic Castillo. Lightly stooped in his posture, weather-beaten, grey-haired and somewhat unkempt in appearance, Father Dom, as he liked to be known, was a man who probably looked older than he was. Years of desert living and alcohol induced illness had aged him significantly. He had been an army priest during the Helium Wars and had seen far too much death and destruction. The deaths of far too many men in their prime had deeply affected the man to the point where he could take no more. With all religions banned within Battery City, realistically, his ideal situation was probably to find a new role, where he could take their drugs to wipe the terrible memories from his mind and all trace of emotion from his body. Instead he lived far out into the desert in a region that boasted some of the severest acid rain storms in the Zone belts, the only occupant of a crumbling ghost town. The mega-corporation, Better Living Industries, had risen, globally, from the ashes of many of the world’s remaining cities. That, he knew without doubt didn’t happen by accident, and he firmly believed, like many others, that the war had been engineered to enable their arrival. Their batteries and pharmaceutical empire already established, their quasi-governmental hierarchy, laws and security already in place. This was not a company trying to help the remaining population to recover. No, this was a company who had destroyed the population and had subjugated the remaining people to maintain their global stranglehold of power.

Although he had never spoken the thought out loud, Father Dom knew in his heart that BLI had caused the war, solely to profit from it and profit they had. Now the biggest global company there had ever been, BLI had quite literally taken over the world and Father Dom knew that even though he could feel so much better taking their medication, he had instead chosen to devote the remainder of his life to helping all rebels. Too old and ill to fight, he knew his limitations, but he was determined to fight in the only way available to him - helping others who were younger, fitter and stronger.
Father Dom pushed himself out of his seat and began collecting the breakfast plates. It may have seemed strange to the two doctors sharing the meagre meal with him, but he liked to eat inside the church. He loved to sit on the pews in the still silence of the large, almost cavernous building and simply enjoy the peace he felt looking up towards the altar and the few but beautiful religious artefacts that he had managed to retain despite the many thieves to be found in the outer Zones.

“Father,” Doctor Fielding leapt to her feet. “Let me do that,” she continued. “You’ve done so much for us already. Why don’t you rest?”

Father Dom laughed lightly and shook his head.

“Now, you know that doesn’t make any sense.” He smiled as he turned back to face her. “Aren’t you doctors always saying, ‘Keep moving, don’t let everything stiffen up.’ Or, ‘Your muscles will waste away if you don’t use them.’ Isn’t that how it usually goes?”
“Sometimes,” Fielding smiled back, realising how unlikely it was that she was going to win this particular argument. “But sometimes people can do too much and we suggest rest.”
“Ah!” Father Dom nodded slowly and sagely, as if he held the answers to life’s greatest questions. “But you know, there is a point where one turns into the other. When a person does too much and has to rest or does too little and needs to do more. The problem is, only you doctors know where that line is!”
“Sometimes,” Fielding shrugged. “Other times, even we don’t know.”
“Then how can you expect a broken old man to know?”
“I...” Fielding paused; she didn’t want to insult him, but she had an answer for him nevertheless. “That’s why I suggested...”
“Why should I believe a doc who just told me she doesn’t know when to say what?” He grinned and winked at her.
“That isn’t what I said,” she replied firmly but with an amused tone and smiling in resignation, while shaking her head.
“But it’s what a broken old man hears,” he wagged his finger in reply as he headed out with the dishes. “If you want something to do, you can pray that the Killjoys are alive and well.”
“I can do that,” she laughed, nodding.
“But you know, you don’t have to,” called a voice from the main entrance to the church.

Fielding’s head turned sharply as she recognised the voice and with a beaming, elated grin, she responded:

“Party! You’re safe!”
“We all are,” Party replied, signalling behind him that it was safe to enter.

One by one the Killjoys entered the church, each of them visibly relaxing as the welcome cool interior washed over them, cleansing them of the harsh desert heat. Fielding rose and began heading quickly down the aisle between the old and worn out pews to meet them.

“Good to see you, Party, and...” Father Dom raised an eyebrow. “What mischief have you been getting yourself into, Ghoul?”
Ghoul grinned in response. “I’m trying out a new walk,” he laughed. “I’m calling it the Post-Op Limp. What d’ya think?”
“You carry it well, Ghoul, but it’ll never catch on. What the hell happened to you?”
“Oh, you know me,” Ghoul shrugged in reply, at first appearing to play down his injury. “Usual hero stuff.”

Red, following behind Jet and alongside Kobra, raised her eyebrows at the priest’s unexpected phrasing.

“Oh?” Father Dom tipped his head and smiled as he noticed her surprise. “You adopted a stray?”
“Long story,” Ghoul announced. “But the short version is we found her in the car and it turned out she belonged to Jet but he’d forgotten about her.”
Jet shook his head, rolling his eyes at the comment.
“Expertly misrepresented, Ghoul, as ever,” he replied, patting the mischievous Killjoy on the back as he walked towards Father Dom.

Red moved ahead of Kobra and now trailed a step behind Jet, clipping Ghoul on the back of his head as she passed, smirking as she heard a small ‘ow’ and a chuckle from both Kobra and Party.

“Good to see you,” Jet grinned at Fielding as they approached each other, giving her a hug before they continued walking.
“You too.”
“Father,” Jet beamed a smile at the priest, wrapping his arms around him enthusiastically and slapping his back before stepping back once more. “This is Red Star, she’s my sister. Red, this is Father Dom.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she smiled broadly, putting a hand out towards him.
“Ah! Give an old man a hug,” he chuckled.
Stepping forward, Red repeated Jet’s greeting and looked up as the pair separated only to have Kobra take over hugging duties with the priest.
“So,” he began again. “Jet’s sister? I see why that would be a long story, but I want to hear all about it. Have you eaten anything? I have some food; can I get you some breakfast?”
“We’ve got some supplies for you, Father,” Kobra’s smile broadened as he saw the delight in Father Dom’s eyes.
“What would we do without you? You are such a blessing for the Zones.”
“Father,” Kobra clasped the priest’s left arm firmly, his expression one of sincerity. “Without you and people like you willing to help and hide us, we would have been dusted long ago.”
“You give us way too much credit,” Jet added. “Come on, Kid, let’s get the supplies.”

Fielding, now standing with Ghoul, was busy checking his temperature and reviewing his stitches. Party couldn’t help but stare admiringly. Ghoul had removed his layers with Fielding’s help and she had gently peeled back the dressing to check for infection.

“I finished the pills you gave me,” Ghoul commented, he hoped helpfully.
“But you still have pain?” Fielding asked, gently returning the dressing back to cover the rapidly healing wound.
“Some, but I’m okay,” he replied. “I’m not even using the wheelchair any more.”
“Are you going to keep it?” Dr Hawes asked, drawing alongside.
“We might do,” Ghoul shrugged. “It could be handy. Why?”
“Well,” Hawes began with a heavy sigh. “We really need to start a new hospital, somewhere, somehow. We need to start getting things together. Anything and everything would help.”

Ghoul suppressed a happy smirk as the doctor spoke; his heart heavy and his hopes low. Hawes didn’t notice, or if he did, he chose not to comment. Fielding, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes and looked at him with curiosity.

“You look pleased with yourself,” she commented, trying to work out why Ghoul seemed so smug.
“Party?” Ghoul deferred to the older man.

Removing the holdall from where it was slung across his body, Party handed it solemnly to Hawes.

“I believe that should help,” he added, by way of explanation.

Offering only a puzzled expression, Hawes took the bag and looked at it momentarily before drawing back the zip.

“Wh... what?” He stammered. “H... how?”
“There’s fifty thousand carbons in there,” Party explained as Ghoul stood by, enjoying the looks of confused elation on both of the doctors’ faces.
“Party? Where did you get this?” Fielding final strung a coherent sentence together.
“That’s the blood money that Candi and Ice got for our capture,” he replied, still smiling although it was clear that his mood was suddenly tinged with anger.
“We can’t accept this much...” Hawes began only to be interrupted immediately.
“You can and you will,” Party replied firmly. “The Zones need a new hospital and great doctors. I can’t think of a better purpose for it. Can you? If it helps, think of it as us putting right the fact they BLI destroyed your last hospital.”

Hawes reflected for a moment; Party was right and he found himself closing his eyes and nodding, overcome by the Killjoys’ generosity. Fielding took a deep breath; her mind full of thoughts of how BLI painted the Killjoys as dangerous rebels trying to destroy for their own benefit and gain. If she had entertained any doubts about her decision to help Party escape, they were instantly dispelled.

Returning from the kitchen, leaving Father Dom and Jet happily preparing something substantial for them all to eat, Kobra headed towards the altar where Red was standing, admiring the architecture and what remained of the stained glass windows.

“Hey,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around the slender young woman.
“Hey, yourself,” she smiled, turning in his arms to face him.
“What are you thinking, gorgeous?” He asked, his expression and demeanour relaxed and happy.
“Me?” She smirked as she looked up. “I’m thinking how close we are to the altar with a happy priest only yards away.”

Kobra’s eyes widened and he stiffened, almost pulling back as she spoke.

“I... er... I... I mean...”

Unable to hold in her amusement any longer, Red erupted into raucous laughter. Though tears of absolute joy, she looked over towards Ghoul. Trying to speak, she repeatedly dissolved into fits of laughter.

“Was I right?” He chuckled; his mouth stretching into a wide mischievous grin.
“Word for word,” she finally managed to splutter between gasps of stilted breath.

Kobra pouted; turning an angry glare towards the shorter man.

“I warned you, Ghoul!” He growled; his face flushed red with embarrassment.
“Oh, come here!” Red grabbed Kobra’s jacket and turned his head back to face her before immediately planting her lips on his.

With only a small squeak of surprise, Kobra relaxed into the embrace; all anger towards Ghoul dissolved in an instant.

“I wish we’d known how to shut him up years ago,” Ghoul chuckled.
“You know, I doubt we’d get the same reaction if you kissed him,” Party offered a playful smirk.
“Hey!” Ghoul responded with a mock-hurt tone.

Quickly closing the gap between them, Party found that Red’s method of distracting Kobra worked equally well with Ghoul.

“What now?” Fielding asked Jet with a light chuckle.
“I think we’re all about ready to just go home,” he replied with a nod and a soft smile.


*


Kneeling, the bruised and bloodied man stared down at the cold white tiled floor. Behind him, he could hear the soft pacing of boots and the occasional swish of material. Sweat pooled in his furrowed brow and had begun to trickle down into his eyes, stinging uncomfortably. With his wrists locked firmly in restraints behind his back, there was little he could do about it except blink and hope to wash away the salt. It was to no avail; as one drop was cleared, so another made its way into his eyes, stinging them anew. It was the very least of his worries, there was something, or rather someone, much more terrifying pacing slowly behind him. When the sounds of movement finally stopped, a terrified, and entirely involuntary, whimper escaped from his lips.

“Are you frightened, Doctor Harrison?” The voice drawled with a tone that almost bordered on a throaty chuckle.

Harrison nodded; too scared to form coherent words. Without warning, his head was dragged back by his hair, forcing him to look up.

“I asked you a question!” He bellowed at the timid and somewhat cowardly doctor.
“Y-yes, s-sir,” Harrison finally stammered, barely above a whisper as he stared up into the stern and cold face of Exterminator Korse.
“Yes, sir,” Korse laughed. “And why is that?”
“Be-because you... you’re going to kill me, sir.”
“Maybe?” He smirked in reply, throwing Harrison’s head back down, almost causing a whiplash effect. “Or, maybe you could still be useful?”
“I... I can,” he stammered, risking looking up once more. “I promise, sir. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything!”
“Oh,” Korse laughed, emerging almost as a smug cackle. Settling himself on the edge of his desk, he continued: “I know you will and do you know how I know?”

Harrison bit his lip. The real and most honest answer was - because he was a coward. Because he would do anything to save his own skin, to the absolute detriment of anyone else, whoever that may be.

“I know how I know, sir,” he replied without explanation.

Korse made a sound that hung somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

“I imagine you do. I expect my reasoning isn’t too far away from your own. I know that you will do whatever it takes to save your own hide, but let me tell you, doctor: that isn’t nearly good enough for me.”

Harrison felt lightheaded, as if any moment he would pass out from the strain.

“Let me explain a few details for you, shall I?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You are a coward, determined to save yourself above all else, but I expect more from you. You will instead do whatever it takes for my plans to succeed, even if that ends in your death. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Harrison managed to speak in a choked whisper.
“If you don’t,” Korse placed a finger under the doctor’s chin and tilted his head back, again forcing him to look up. “Your actual death will be a prolonged affair - slow, painful and agonising in fact. I can keep you alive and screaming for weeks. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Harrison croaked once more.
“Good,” Korse smirked. “Have you heard of Professor Angelique Lindstrom?”

Harrison’s eyes widened in horror at the name. Lindstrom, an infamous geneticist and biochemist, had had her license to practise revoked prior to the war due to her performing a series of highly questionable experiments, first on rhesus monkeys, but later and even more alarmingly on humans. She was brilliant, no one could deny it, but her methods and lack of ethics had left a trail of destruction in her wake. She had achieved a great deal and her pre-war progress only disrupted by some of the more inconvenient laws attaching to patient care and treatment of prisoners. Exterminator Korse had swept all that away and given her free reign to proceed as she wished. Her terrifying experiments had continued, utilising prisoners and rebels as guinea pigs. Now she stood on the brink of discovery but she needed another experienced geneticist to help her further and to test her theories and results.

Korse’s lips curled up into a cruel sneer as he saw that Harrison recognised the name.

“Good, good, I see she is familiar to you. You will be working closely with her.”
“To do what?” He asked before he even realised how bold he sounded; immediately shrinking back, fearing another beating.
“You will see soon enough,” Korse’s lips curled into a self-satisfied sneer. “But first, we have to capture a Killjoy.”
“A... a Killjoy?” Harrison replied. “Which one?” He asked with concern.
“We need two of them to keep control of the others, but I don’t want to merely control them, I want to destroy and break them utterly. You and Professor Lindstrom will provide me with the means.”
“You want me to help capture a Killjoy?” Harrison asked.
“Oh no, you won’t be leaving this building. Not ever. But you and the great professor will help me... alter him.”
“Alter? What do you mean?”
“All in good time, doctor.” Korse smirked. “All in good time.”

Harrison had no idea how to ask the next questions without risking Korse’s anger; finally settling on a direct approach.

“Who?” His voice shook with the word. “How?”

Korse’s face twisted into an angry sneer.

“You don’t need any details. Needless to say, traps have been set and when first Fun Ghoul and then Red Star step unwittingly into them, the wheels will be set in motion. There will be no escape for any of them and the Killjoys will finally be no more. They will be crushed, damaged and broken beyond repair; brought down from within.”

Harrison stared up bleakly. He had to admit, the Killjoys meant nothing to him except his life but above all, even more than Korse, he feared Professor Angelique Lindstrom. Universally regarded as insane, he once again feared for his life.

“Take him back to his cell,” Korse nodded towards a single draculoid standing stiffly to attention near the door.

As he watched Harrison being dragged away, possibly even more frightened than he had been earlier, Korse allowed himself a cruel smirk, This time, he had all the pieces in place. This time, he would not be denied his victory.


The End...
(for now)

Notes

Thank you so much for reading, the votes and the comments (esp TheRoseOnYoyrCoffinDoor for posting on the last 30 or more!!).
I’ve had a lot of fun with this and I’m sad to finish it but if you want more, there is Before They Were Fabulous - a story about the Killjoys growing up and how they came to hate BLI and become The Fabulous Killjoys that we love :)

Sas xx