neelacuda | Zero Percent [BBB2014; Mikey/Ray] FOUR (Reply)

60%

Ray was driving, and Mikey was going back through the files on his hologlass to see if he had missed anything. This was a pretty recent lead, but he still liked to be thorough. He was so distracted by it he didn’t realise where they were going until Ray had stopped.

“Where are we?” he frowned, turning to Ray. Ray had the barrel of his blaster pointed straight at Mikey, looking determined. Mikey balked, surprised by the randomness of the moment, the unpredictable reaction of someone he thought he knew well, he thought he knew enough about to fall in love with, whatever that love was.

“Ray, what the fuck?” Mikey exclaimed, dropping the hologlass on his lap and trying to figure out what was going on.

“Get out of the car, Exterminator Way.” What? Why was he calling Mikey that? What the fuck had changed?

“Ray, seriously, what the fuck is going on with you? Ray, Jesus Christ-” Mikey was cut off by Ray pressing the barrel of the raygun to Mikey’s forehead. Point blank laser blast, right through his skull into the soft matter of his brain. He’d be dead in an instant.

“I said, out!” Ray hissed, looking at Mikey with an expression Mikey had never seen directed at him. It was pure, unadulterated rage, and it made Mikey flinch. What had happened to the three months they’d spent in love, the nine months they’d spent as friends and partners?

Mikey picked up the hologlass, shaking in fear at Ray, at the change in personality, at the foreign person wearing a face he felt too much for. He opened the door of the car, getting out slowly. Gerard’s friends Bob and Frank were there, waiting for him. They also had their guns pointed at him. Mikey was not planning on making any sudden movements.

“So. You are a ‘crow, I see.” Frank growled in an accusatory tone, looking at Mikey like he was the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

“Ray, what the fuck, Ray, help me-” he said, almost instinctively. Ray and Mikey were partners, Mikey depended on him. Mikey twisted around, searching for Ray, but Bob just pulled him up by the collar of his shirt so Frank could stick his gun right under his throat. It startled him so much he dropped the hologlass and it cracked on the gravelly pavement.

“Don’t talk to Jet Star like you fucking know him, Exterminator Way,” Frank spat, as Ray rounded the car to meet them.

They shuffled into another car, handcuffing Mikey to the shotgun seat and pointing a gun at his back as they drove to wherever they were taking him.

“How’s Gee?” Mikey asked to break through the silence.

“Don’t fucking talk, scarecrow-fucker,” Frank hissed, and Mikey snickered, probably unwisely.

“You wanna fucking talk to a scarecrow-fucker, you should talk to your friend Jet Star over here,” Mikey shot back, looking to see Ray’s reaction. Ray just clenched his jaw and kept driving. So maybe he wasn’t as soft as Mikey had thought. He definitely wasn’t as innocent.

“Shut the fuck up or I will blast your head off, hostages be damned.” Frank said, even more livid than before, if that was even possible.

So that was what they wanted with him, a hostage.

They got to a kind of hole in the ground type place in what Mikey thought was the New Jersey district. To think, Gerard could have been within walking distance from Mikey, and Mikey didn’t even know.

Mikey hadn’t realised the time, hadn’t realised how late it had gotten. It was time for him to take his pills.

They bustled him into the hideout, having to half-drag half-carry him inside, because he was shaking too hard to walk properly. He could recognise the signs of withdrawal, his rational mind telling him why they were doing this, but his body was still shuddering and sweating and gasping. It was time for his pills, and they weren’t going to give him any.

He hadn’t realised he was screaming and crying as they threw him onto the ratty sofa and sat on his legs to stop him kicking. His whole being ached for the sweet release of pleasurenumb that he got from his prescrip, he was aching for it. He was blacking out, in and out and vomiting up his lunch and breakfast.

“Ray! Ray, fuck, please, babe, Rayrayrayray Gee Ray!” he was wailing, reaching out blindly to anybody who could help him.

He was shaking, reaching out for anyone to come and touch him, help him, ground him in some sense of normalcy. He thought he could see Ray crying next to him, but he was blacking out and hallucinating so much (visions of Vladimir; visions of the nurses who gave him his first, second, third prescription; visions of Ray fucking him deeply and smoothly and lovingly; visions of Gerard when they were kids; visions of the people he’d killed) that he couldn’t tell what was real and what was a figment of his warped imagination.

“Please, please give them to me I need my pills I need my prescrip I have to take them they’re going to kill me I have to be a Good Citizen please let me have them I need to forget I can’t feel sad I can see them dying please I will do anything I swear I have to do this I need them,” he was crying, breaking down over and over, the tears not stopping as he dry heaved into a dirty bucket.

He flopped back, screaming and screaming and drifting in and out of consciousness, but still screamed even though no words came out.

Then he blacked out.

When he came to, the only person in the room was Bob.

“How long has it been?” he croaked out, sitting up and stretching out all his joints. He was stiff and his neck ached, but what was to be expected from sleeping on the couch? If it had been more than a day his tracker would have worn off. He had two more weeks before his eye pills wore off, too. This detox was worse than his last one because he’d been on the pills for longer. Six months, fuck. That was a long fucking time.

“Two days. We better go now.” Bob was brusque, and Mikey cracked a grim smile.

“Second time you’ve detoxed me now. Are you collecting stamps?”

Bob rolled his eyes, but bustled him out of the grotty room. Mikey took off his Exterminator coat and button down, revealing a soft and homemade Mad Gear T-shirt, the pattern all cracked and faded. They both needed a wash, they smelt of stale sweat and vomit. Bob raised an eyebrow at that, and Mikey twisted his lips into a close-lipped smirk, like he was trying not to laugh at Bob.

“They let you wear that shit at work?” Bob looked slightly impressed.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

They drove through the Districts, Mikey handcuffed again to the passenger seat. Bob wasn’t a very talkative guy, so they sat in mostly silence. Mikey really wanted a shower; he was covered in dry sweat. It was disgusting.

Mikey could tell that this was their real HQ the second he walked inside. Whilst the outside was as ramshackle as everywhere else in the Michigan District, the inside was decked out in colours. Slogans that Mikey had seen graffitied over the City were all painted up here, and a disco ball slowly rotated above them. This place must have been a bar, but he wasn’t sure if it was used like that now. There were a couple people milling about, including Gerard’s friend Brian at the bar. Mikey didn’t recognise anyone else, but they were all dressed brightly, and many were tattooed. Mikey could see Gerard’s involvement, and he felt strangely nostalgic. Neither Gerard nor Ray were there, and Mikey was disappointed.

He was missing Ray, too used to being glued to Ray’s side to not feel the void. He wasn’t even pissed off, just sad. He kind of understood why Ray did it, but that didn’t make the ache lessen in his heart.

Bob shoved him into a little off-room behind the main area of the bar. It had a table, a sofa, and two chairs, and was a lot more colourful than the interrogation room back at the prison complex, but it still reminded him of that. Bob even handcuffed him to the table, how sweet.

Brian slipped in as Bob left, with a hologlass in hand and a blaster strapped to his thigh. His tattoos were proudly on display, and he was dressed more plainly than the people he’d passed in the bar. That excluded, of course, the lightning bolts shaved into the sides of his head. He sat down opposite to Mikey, closer to the door. Smart move, even though Mikey wasn’t going to set the place on fire or try to hurt Brian.

“So,” he started off with, opening up the discussion that they were inevitably going to have.

“So,” Mikey echoed.

“You’re an Exterminator?”

“I guess.”

“What’s that like?”

“Pretty shitty.”

“Huh. Why do you do it, then?”

Mikey snorted, shaking his head, “Do you think when they offered they gave me a choice? I didn’t go knocking on BL/ind’s door saying hey! can you give me a job? If I refused they would have thrown me in prison. I was saving my own ass.”

“Last time I saw you-”

“I was a recent recruit.”

“Last time I saw you, you were parroting BLI slogans like a true believer. What changed?”

“Nothing.”

“So you still believe BLI will keep us safe?”

“I never believed that.”

“And yet you went so far to kill for them?”

“I was saving my own ass.”

“You don’t care about much, do you?”

“I care about some things.”

“Really? Like what? Like alienating your brother? Getting rid of all your morals? Being a piece of shit?” Brian’s voice didn’t change in volume, but there was an edge of maliciousness that wasn’t there before.

Mikey didn’t know how to reply, so, true to form, he didn’t.

“You disgust me.” He sneered, getting up and clicking on his hologlass. Mikey shrugged, kicking his feet up onto the table. He then placed another small hologlass down in front of Mikey.

“For some reason, Poison wants you to write your story down. He said some shit about how writing a journal is good for your soul. Redeeming yourself. I don’t think you should be given this chance, so thank your lucky stars Poison is as nice as he is. It has no connection to the Inner Internet or any of that shit, so don’t go thinking you can call your nasty little BLI friends.”

Mikey rolled his eyes, but reached over to pick up the hologlass and placed it on his lap gently. He’d heard about how writing a journal could be cathartic, help with getting all your minddemons out, but he didn’t know how true that was. He’d really never been the type before.

“Wait-” Mikey said, as Brian went to leave, “Can I see Ray-I mean Jet Star? Or Gerard?” he was kind of desperate for them, it was almost (very) embarrassing.

“What makes you think they’d want to see you?” Brian spat back viciously, and it was that, over anything else, that took the wind out of Mikey’s sails.

SIX.

And that’s where the story goes up to, I guess. I don’t know why they don’t kill me now, it’s much better than living a life like this.

Just locked up, chained to a fucking table and only getting to piss when they feel like letting me out. That’s no way to fucking live. At least with BLI I got the illusion of autonomy. Here I get rations twice a day and six glasses of water to swill around.

I wasn’t intending to write anything, but it’s fucking boring. I’ve got this, I’ve got the near daily interrogations in which they continue to get me to confess to something, and I’ve got sleep.

This is the best option.

Sleeping brings the nightmares once again, now I don’t have the pills to block them out. It’s horrible, because I can’t remember any of it, I just wake up screaming and crying and feeling the terrifying ghosts of the dreams pull at my insides.

I wonder if anyone can hear me scream and wail. I wonder if they just ignore me.

The “interrogations” aren’t much better, it’s either Brian coming in and telling me I am repulsive or Frank coming in and shouting increasingly inventive slurs at me. I have to admire his creativity, but they’re both testing my patience. I don’t know why they keep me here like this.

It’s been 13 days since I detoxed, and I still get the shakes sometimes. I still crave the fognumb that I’d get. I am still reviled by my own dependence on them.

I don’t know what else to do with this now. I’ve documented my entire life on this old hologlass, more about me than I’d ever want anyone else to know.

50%

Mikey was lying down on the table when they came in. “Can I get some more water?” he asked idly, seeing if they’d get it.

He was shocked into rising when he heard Gerard say, “I’ll, uh, see about that.” He was shocked, shocked in the way where he was startled into jumping up and tugging his wrist painfully on the handcuffs.

“Gerard, oh god, Gerard! I swear to fuck I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear. I just wanted to protect you, I don’t - I didn’t - want you to get arrested or something, and then I didn’t know where you were and I didn’t know if you were dead and I was so worried, holy fuck, Gerard,” Mikey said, not realising the tears that were collecting on his cheeks.

Gerard looked different. Leaner, more muscle. They were wearing different clothes, too. More colour. The biggest change, of course, was the way they held theirself with confidence. (And also, the flaming red hair.) Mikey, as a brother, felt a pang of sudden and intense pride. He wondered if he looked different to them as well.

“I believe you.” Gerard said, so quiet that Mikey almost didn’t hear it. A smile spread from Mikey’s face, widening from ear to ear.

“Can you come here? I want to hug you,” Mikey stretched out his arms, and Gerard walked around the table and into his arms. They stood there, in a tight embrace for a long moment. “I swear on my life, Gee. I swear I only did everything I did to protect you.”

Gerard drew back, wiping the tears from Mikey’s eyes. “Mikey, I believe you. I’m so sorry, Mikey. I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you before.”

“Don’t do that again, yeah? Don’t disappear without me,” Mikey choked out, his face still watery and messy.

“So, uh, wanna see the HQ?” Gerard offered, smiling his lopsided grin.

“Are you sure that your friends will let me see? I’m pretty sure Frank, Brian, and Ray hate me,” Mikey joked, trying to get Gerard to laugh, but they just frowned.

“Fuck them, I can do whatever I want. I’m in charge of this joint anyway, so if they got a problem they can talk to my blaster,” Gerard announced and Mikey grasped their hand tightly as they unlocked him from the table, like Gerard was going to disappear if he let go.

“Outta this room you gotta call me Party Poison, okay? And Frank is Fun Ghoul and Ray is Jet Star and Brian is Crystal Clear and Bob is Dirty Steel, yeah? It just makes it a little harder for BLI to get to us. Names are dangerous.”

“Do I get a cool name?”

“Well, you gotta pick it, kid. I ain’t gonna pick it for you,” Gerard did an impression of their mom (that was spot on), and Mikey giggled.

“I should think about it, then.”

Gerard led him out to the rest of the place, showing him their rooms and the main bar and the kitchen and the basement. They gave him his raygun back, to Mikey’s relief. He still felt naked and unprotected without it. (It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Gerard’s friends, it was that he was still wearing his Exterminator clothes and these types tended to shoot first ask later. Mikey’d know.)

Mikey decided to take a place at the bar, watching everyone who came in and out of the bar. Gerard told him that he couldn’t go outside, he was still a hostage, but he got some kind of freedom. After being handcuffed to a table for 13 days, he was willing to take whatever he could get.

He got new clothes, too. Well, not new, but Gerard went and got his civvies from his apartment. It made him feel more at home, more like they were Gerard and Mikey instead of Party Poison and Exterminator Way. Mikey refused to take off his Exterminator jacket, though. He wore it around his shoulders like both a penance and trophy. It prevented people from approaching him, he found. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk with the other rebels, didn’t trust himself enough to not slip up again and say some BLI shit that was guaranteed to get him ghosted.

He found his place people watching in the bar. Doing it night after night suited Mikey, because being able to watch and take note of people and pretending to be a statue was his specialty. It was much better than Exterminating. (The only thing it was missing was Ray, and Mikey was missing him almost as bad as the pills. He didn’t know why Ray was avoiding him so completely.)

SEVEN.

Ray'd-Ugh. Ray’d betrayed me, I still can’t believe it. I still can’t believe I told Ray fucking everything, and he’d just thrown it away, for what? Some kind of attack on BLI? Was that all I am to him? An attack on BLI?

Well, fuck him. That part of my life is over.

CONTINUE TO 40%