Taking Back Fun Day

Fun Ghoul’s chest rose and fell in sharp jerky movements as he snatched at short gasps of breaths that seemed determined to try to elude him. They were shallow, barely allowing any air into his lungs. His vision was blurred and unstable and the room, or at least what he could see of it, both looked and felt as if it were spinning. He groaned weakly, closing his eyes before another surge of electricity pulsed through him, and a ragged agonised scream tore through his parched and pain shredded throat. He could hear a voice. Somehow he could hear it plainly and yet he was unable to decipher the words. Whoever or whatever was speaking - human or recording - it had done so relentlessly for at least two hours.

During that time, he had been repeatedly electrocuted and beaten viciously, sometimes with fists, sometimes with some sort of club and had suffered extensive bruising and bleeding all over his body. One eye was closed from so much abuse and he could no longer see clearly at all - partly from the swelling and partly from the tears that had forced their way into his eyes as the relentless assault slowly wore him down. The last blow from the club had cracked at least two ribs. He had felt more than heard the sickening snap of the bones as they gave way under the force of the blow and it had been this that bore the majority of the blame for his sudden breathing difficulties. He wanted so much to pass out, to end his conscious bearing of the seemingly endless torture, but this man, Gustav Yu, knew exactly what he was doing and was managing to maintain both Ghoul’s consciousness and his suffering at its highest possible level.

Ghoul’s mind reeled as another jolt of electricity fired - only three seconds this time, but tearing through the electrodes attached either side of a thick rubber bar forced inside his mouth to hold it wide open. The sudden and unexpected electric charge in such a sensitive area elicited a loud, long and high-pitched scream from the Killjoy, the sound eventually tapering into a low, distressed gurgle. The rubber bar thankfully prevented his teeth from breaking, but the sensitive nerves within each tooth seemed to explode with sharp, needle-like stabbing sensations that penetrated upwards into his brain making it feel as if they were trying to force their way out through the top of his head.

Sweat poured down his forehead and cheeks, mingling with the tears of desperation and agony that he could no longer hold back. Moments later, his head shuddered violently as yet another charge was fired through clamps attached to his ears, drawing a deep, throaty sigh and a soft whimper as the initial sensation and pain subsided.

Gustav stared down at his subject, smirking cruelly as the monotonous droning recorded voice continued its repeated statement. Even now, with no immediate torture, Ghoul still couldn’t decipher the words. Not because they were muffled or distorted in any way, but purely because his brain was simply unable to perform the simple task of hearing them. Every syllable seemed ill-defined and discordant; but he didn’t care. He was exhausted, in excruciating pain and the cocktail of drugs that had been injected into him only served to heighten his despair. Numbing, caused by his complete immobilisation for several hours, meant that he could no longer feel the chair in which he was seated - in fact, he no longer felt connected to anything except the incessant pain.

“Take him to his cell,” Gustav finally spoke, to a detachment of draculoids that had only now been allowed into the room. “No food, water or medication. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” one of the draculoids replied.
“If there are any comforts in his cell, remove them,” he instructed.

The draculoid almost snorted, indignant at the suggestion.

“No comforts, sir, just a basic bunk and a chemical toilet, that’s all.”
“Remove the bunk and any blankets or pillows. He can sleep on the floor.”
“Yes, sir,” the draculoid’s tone altered, taken aback by the idea that the cell’s bunk would be considered some sort of luxury.

Stepping forward to release Ghoul from the chair, the draculoid looked down at their prisoner. Behind his mask, even the draculoid’s eyes widened at the condition of the young man. Almost unrecognisable from the vicious attack he had endured, Ghoul cried out softly, with what little energy he could muster as two of the draculoids removed the straps and clamps fastened to him and lifted him from the chair. Unable to walk, or even try to coordinate his limbs, he could only allow them to hold him upright by his arms and literally drag him for the brief journey back to his cell.

Almost as an afterthought, Gustav called after them as they left the room.

“Switch off any heating to his cell. If you can, make it cold.”
“You can have any temperature you want,” the draculoid who had already spoken replied without enthusiasm.
“Thirty degrees,” Gustav smirked. “Two below freezing. Let’s see how he copes with that.”
“Sir,” the draculoid nodded.

He knew better than to argue, or even to show his shock at the man’s condition. He knew, of course, that Ghoul was a rebel, and a notorious one at that, but there were still rules governing the treatment of prisoners that even BLI were expected to adhere to. It seemed they had set out to break every one, but, he wasn’t going to lose his life or even his job for a rebel.

Before they had even arrived at the door to the cell, Ghoul had been claimed by merciful unconsciousness and was spared the shock and distress of being, at the very least, dumped if not thrown into his cell. Unknown to the young Killjoy, the draculoids lowered him to the floor with surprising gentleness, before stepping over him to retrieve the stark bunk with its thin mattress and blanket. What little comfort it might have offered was denied to him, but in his current condition, it was unlikely to even have mattered.

*

Party enjoyed the occasional afternoon of entertainment. Leaning back in the booth bench with a snack and a bottle of precious water, he watched, smirking and allowing an occasional chuckle to pass his lips.

“I remember when I was a kid and we had a TV in Bat City,” Party leaned towards Red who was sitting with her feet up next to him. “There was never anything this good to watch.”

Red raised an eyebrow as she turned her head, surprised to see his expression. His eyes were glazed, and his mouth was forming a slight lopsided smirk. He looked drunk; Red frowned - was this an after effect of the concussion? Turning a concerned glance towards Dr Death Defying, her frown softened into a knowing smile as he looked back, smirking as he raised a small pill bottle and gave it a light shake. Turning back to look at Party, Red couldn’t help but grin as he leaned in once more to offer a conspiratorial whisper.

“He’s been wanting to do that for ages, you know?” He chuckled lightly before continuing. “So has Kobra, but to tell the truth, I think it’s a lot safer letting Jet do it; he’s got a lot of natural reserve.”
“Reserve is not something Kobra’s best known for,” Red agreed with light laugh that encouraged a delighted giggle from the redhead.
“He’s really not,” he agreed in reply. “You wanna know a secret?”
“Always,” Red replied, enjoying this very relaxed and uninhibited version of Party.

Party laughed quietly to himself, raising a hand to his mouth giving the indication that his next statement would be a major revelation.

“Neither am I,” He chuckled.
“No!” Red replied in exaggerated astonishment.
“No, it’s true, really,” he nodded, not hearing the sarcasm in her tone. “I spent so long being careful. I had to, just to... Well, you know.”

Red frowned; she really didn’t know.

“Go on,” she encouraged.
“Well, I don’t know which was worse. Being the face of BLI or Korse making me be a rebel.”
“Korse... What?”

Party turned his head to look at Red. Creasing his brow, he stared hard as if he was trying hard to remember something. Finally shaking his head, his eyes glazed again.

“I don’t miss TV,” he continued with a shrug waving a hand at what was going on across the room. “This is better.”

Red continued to frown as Party turned back to watch Jet interrogating Coffin Dancer. What exactly had he just told her? She made a mental note to have a discussion with Dr Death Defying to find out more about the medication he had given to Party.

Across the room, oblivious to Red’s concern, Jet was rounding on Coffin with another barrage of questions. Seated on the end of a booth seat with Jet leaning over him, Coffin was looking up with a bewildered expression fixed firmly on his face.

“So, why don’t you tell me about the information you gave us for rescuing Party?”
“Jet, I don’t understand,” he replied pointing across the room. “Party’s right there! Clearly there was nothing wrong with the information I gave you.”
“Nothing wrong?” Jet’s volume raised with his pitch. “You call sending us into the BLI cells to rescue an android version of Party intent on killing us, as nothing wrong with your information?”

Coffin stared, blankly at first and then with increasing panic.

“A-android? You’re sure?”
“I think the fact it self-destructed gave it away,” Jet snarled. “Party’s pretty reckless at times, but he’s never done that!”
“Jet, I swear,” Coffin’s eyes widened, the blue of his iris entirely surrounded by white. “I didn’t know! When have I ever given you bad information?”
“Well, that’s just it, Coffin,” Jet seized the man’s shirt and pulled him forward in the chair. “We don’t know, do we? Skip the static, Coffin! Whose side are you really on?”

Coffin Dancer grimaced and glared back at the Killjoy; he had never chosen a side and Jet knew it. Shoving Jet’s hand away, he pushed forward in the seat, trying to rise only to be pushed back down again.

“You know the answer to that, Jet!” he growled. “I’m on my side!” he continued, thumping a fist into his own chest. “And I’ve never pretended otherwise! If Korse has found out too, then there’s your answer!”
“Really? And I suppose you’re going to try to tell me that Ghoul being taken is nothing to do with you either?”
“Of course I’m going to say that! I did not take Ghoul to BLI!” Coffin yelled in return.

Jet straightened up, sneering at their informant.

“So where did you take him?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I can’t believe after all the information I’ve given you over the years that you’re turning on me now. Okay, so it was bad information but that’s not my fault, is it? Can’t you see we were both played by Korse?”

Coffin looked down to the floor as he calmed himself, finally raising what seemed a sincere and concerned expression towards Jet.

“I’m sorry he’s got Ghoul, man, I really am but I had nothing to do with that. I’ll help you get him back.”

Jet frowned; narrowing his eyes he contemplated Coffin’s words. If he was innocent, his help would be useful. If not, he could be leading them all into a trap.

“It’s no coincidence you’re here,” Jet snapped. “Ghoul gets taken and you turn up… carrying an extermination flyer for Red too. You’ll forgive us if we don’t trust you.”
“After everything I’ve done for you!” Coffin grumbled.
“We paid you well enough for all your help,” Jet added air quotes to the word help.
“A guy’s gotta live and information of that type ain’t easy or cheap. It’s not like I don’t have to pay for it myself.”
“What have you got on Ghoul then? Where is he?” Jet stepped closer to the man, glowering down at him.
“He’s at BLI,” Coffin shrugged. “My memory will improve with some food,” he added with a half smirk.
“You’re memory will be gone if you don’t start talking!” Jet yelled forcing his gun into Coffin’s neck and up behind his jaw.

Coffin paled, terrified by the sudden change in the man who he knew to be always the calm one and he found himself trying to pull back only to find Jet following him until he was leaning over him, one hand on the booth’s table and the other pushing the barrel even more forcefully into his neck. Behind him, Red, Party and Death all took sudden deep breaths, their eyes widening at Jet’s decidedly out of character behaviour; although Red was instantly reminded of Jet’s anger with Candy before he killed her. Swinging her legs off the seat, Red moved quickly to Jet’s side, placing a gently hand on his back.

“Jet,” she whispered. “I’m pretty sure he remembers now.”
“Y-yeah,” Coffin stammered. “I’ll tell you everything, Jet. A freebie. I don’t like that he’s got Ghoul any more than you do.”

Jet lowered his gun before holstering it after a moment of thought. Leaning forward again, he offered a hand to the terrified man to help him up.

“I’m not playing you, man,” Coffin’s voice shook as he spoke.
“So, prove me wrong,” Jet replied, calmer but still doubtful of the blond man’s word.

As Coffin pushed himself to his feet, the sound of two vans pulling up outside drew their attention. Almost immediately, Jet’s demeanour changed instantly.

“Kobra’s back,” he nodded, heading for the diner’s main doors to greet him and ensure there were no unexpected visitors.

Red turned her eyes toward the still obviously shaken Coffin Dancer. Looking him up and down with a scowl firmly etched onto her face. He in turn tried not to return the gaze but found himself unable to stop himself. Opening his mouth to speak, he cut himself short as Red raised a finger and shook her head briefly.

“I’ve only ever seen him that angry once and it didn’t work out well for the woman on the end of his gun that day.”
“Woman?” Coffin raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah. Oh, and just so you know? You make him that angry again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Notes

Hello lovely readers! I've squeezed in some time between my dissertation to get a new chapter in. It's a nice distraction for me - hope it is for you too!

Take care
Sas xx