![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Zero Percent [BBB2014; Mikey/Ray] FIVE
40%
Mikey’s eyesight had been deteriorating over the past few days as his prescription eye pills wore off. He’d been prolonging it for as long as possible, but when he woke up not being able to see past his arm, he was in trouble.
He groped his way out of his room and into the main bar area, bumping into too many corners to not have any bruises.
“Hey Poison, is Poison here?” he called, everything being too blurry to know who was there. The colours they’d painted the bar made it hard to even differentiate people by their hair. It was still too early for many people to be there, though, and that was much better than having to worry about bumping into bodies.
“He’s not here.” Ray’s voice replied, reserved. Probably the most distant Mikey’d ever heard him. He must have been the only one there.
Mikey stiffened, and then immediately berated himself for it. (Whilst his rational side knew on an intellectual level that it was Ray, his lizard brain did not. It read Ray as a threat, and that fact made Mikey feel terrible. It was dumb; Ray kidnapped him. He was a threat. Mikey just didn’t want to think about it like that.)
“Oh. Well, when you see them, tell them I need them.”
“Why can’t you tell them yourself?”
“Well, if it hasn’t occurred to you, I have no comms, because I am a hostage.” Mikey hissed that word, hoping to make it hurt.
When they taught him to fight hand-to-hand in Exterminator training they said you should always use your elbows and knees to go for the weak spots. They’re sharper and hit harder and easier to control. They’re also kind of a dirty move, because you need to go close in to actually get someone. That’s the way Mikey fights verbally as well.
Mikey tried to imagine Ray’s face, although he couldn’t quite decided on what to picture. He was vindictively hoping for a flash of hurt and sadness and regret, but the pit in his stomach told him Ray would just be looking stonily back at him. He gripped the wall harder.
“What do you need?” Ray sighed, like his guard was cracking a bit and he was letting it.
“Why do you care?” (Mikey needed to sit down, he needed to get to a booth and sit down or else his limbs were going to give out and break.)
Ray said nothing in reply.
“I can’t see.” Mikey said, carefully making his way to a booth, turning his back on Ray. He kept his eyes on the floor, being able to see that slightly more clearly than if he were to look ahead.
“Mikey-” Ray started, cutting himself off, and Mikey heard his hurried footsteps coming towards him.
Ray put his arm on Mikey’s, intending to guide him to a booth or something, but Mikey’s lizard brain had Ray’s arm twisted behind his back and pressing another at Ray’s neck. Mikey hadn’t even realised he’d done that, it was just instinct. Mikey let Ray go, pushing him away.
“Don’t touch me,” he narrowed his eyes and hissed, trying to draw out guilt with his words like drawing blood with a knife.
(Ray obviously felt something for him, he wouldn’t have tried to help him otherwise. Mikey still didn’t feel guilty for rejecting him like that. Ray still pointed a blaster at his head, that was infinitely worse.)
“Mikey, I’m sorry, I just-”
“You just what? Did you think so fucking bad of me that you thought I wanted to be an Exterminator? I trusted you and you fucking kidnapped me. I don’t care if you thought or you think you’re helping me or whatever, but you threatened my life and you think that sorry will even come close to being okay!?” Mikey screamed at Ray, probably waking up the rest of anyone who was in the building.
“Mikey, you don’t understand, I-”
“Don’t even talk to me.” Mikey sneered and glared at Ray, squashing down the instinct to apologise immediately and beg Ray to take him back. Whatever, Ray fucked up first. Ray was the one who broke up with Mikey. Ray didn’t get to sound sad and mopey and make Mikey’s heartstrings twist.
Mikey turned his back on him and sat down at the booth.
%
Gerard got him his glasses, telling him they did not want Mikey to be taking any more BLI pills than necessary. Mikey didn’t think the eye pills had anything in them other than eye correction shit, but he could appreciate the sentiment. Gerard was just looking out for him.
“Hey, Gee-Party,” (It was still hard to remember to call them that) “Y’know when you were taking the BLI pills, right?”
Gerard frowned, but nodded and motioned him to continue.
“How come you never, like, had any of the mind controlling effects? Like, how were you able to keep on taking them and stuff, without turning into a robot?”
“I think it’s mutational. Like, some of the other guys here have had the same experiences, which is part of the reason they join us. I don’t really have any proof because I refuse to get other people to test it, but I think that one of the main reasons BLI hates mutants is because they can shrug off the mind-control. The pills are built for a regular human in mind. When you can control water,” (they pointed at themself), “or make fire,” (they pointed at Mikey), “or whatever, it like, changes things. Your DNA. So it doesn’t stick so well to you and if you push it can come crumbling apart.”
“Huh.” Mikey nodded, thinking about it.
“Do you still practice your powers?” Gerard asked, referring to when they’d practiced as kids, wanting to be like the X-Men in their illegal comics.
“I can’t,” Mikey shook his head, “it's illegal.”
“Yeah, and since when did that stop you?” Gerard snorted, not understanding what Mikey meant.
“Since I became an Exterminator, dumbass,” Mikey rolled his eyes and watched as Gee understood the implications.
Gerard always forgot what Mikey did, what he’d done. How much he’d become the kind of person Gerard hated.
%
When the dude sat beside him, he was surprised. Usually people ignored him, intimidated or something by the guy in an Exterminator jacket at the back of the room. Especially as this was the kind of bar that was frequented by people who wanted a safe space to talk, as opposed to the other spaces full of people just wanting to get as shitfaced as possible on whatever was in their hand at the time. The people were people with slightly more direction, and a lot more inhibitions.
But this guy obviously had no such qualms, and plopped down right beside him with a huge grin. He had a stubbly face and a heavy hand with the eyeliner, wearing a hoodie with a dumb pattern on it. He poked at the black X patch that denoted Mikey as an Exterminator, stabbing it with his finger a couple of times.
“Where’d you get the sick ass coat?” the guy asked brightly, and Mikey tried to think of a good way to reply.
“I’m an Exterminator,” Mikey said, deciding to tell the truth. It was unlikely that the guy would believe him, because an Exterminator generally wouldn’t come to a bar like this night after night.
Predictably, the guy laughed, throwing his head back and letting the sound travel around the packed bar. “You got a mouth too, yeah?” he grinned and bumped Mikey’s shoulder with his, “I’m Car Crash. Nice to meet ya, Exterminator.”
“Likewise.”
Car Crash scrambled off to get them a couple drinks, obviously intending to talk with Mikey for a while. (The while ended up being days, being a week, being long hours over empty glasses ignoring the rest of the bar to trade stories with the names censored out; their ideals for the world; and all the little things they’re just slightly too in love with.)
%
“So, Exterminator, a penny for your thoughts?” Crash introduced himself as he slid into the booth beside Mikey, squishing Mikey against the wall and handing him one of the two drinks in his hand. Both of them were as vibrant as the inhabitants of the bar, pinkish orange with small umbrellas that had little trees printed on the fragile paper.
Mikey took a sip of his through the curly straw (it was too fruity, but he could feel the burn of alcohol as it went down), “Why do people care about the Killjoys so much?” Mikey asked him, his gaze on the people crowding around Frank and Gerard as they held court. Everyone was clamoring to get at them; to ask them questions; to be in their space for just five fucking seconds. The whole situation seemed foreign to Mikey, why would people ever care that much?
Crash exhaled, then took a deep breath, in a way Mikey had grown to know he was preparing his thoughts. “They’re heroes, I guess. I think it’s a little bit of everything, really. A bit of their walk, a bit of their talk, their colour and their message. Especially Poison, you know? He just has this thing about him, a born leader thing. He makes you want to believe in him. And there’s no one in the whole damn world who want to believe more than all the motorbabies you see right here, right in front of you. I think that Party Poison knew that more than fucking anyone.”
Mikey nodded, not knowing how to reply. It fit what he knew about Gerard, it just made sense that Gerard would just try to be the big brother of everyone who didn’t quite fit in Battery City. Gerard always made Mikey believe in him, and Mikey always had.
“So, how do you know the Killjoys?” Crash said, turning back to Mikey. It took a second for Mikey’s vision to refocus to Crash’s face, but when it did, he shrugged.
“Used to know Party. Back in the day. We drank together. I dunno.”
“Really? I thought he’s totally edge.”
“Yeah, we kinda stopped talking after they quit everything. They just kinda dropped off the radar.”
Gerard caught Mikey’s eye and waved from across the room. Mikey smiled back, small and fleeting.
“And you should probably not refer to them with male pronouns if you like your kneecaps. I mean, your prerogative, really.”
“Huh?” Crash replied, obvious he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
“Ge-Poison is genderqueer. Don’t be a fucking dickhead and buy into this BLI binary gender bullshit.”
“Oh, shit, man, sorry, sorry, I didn’t realise, I’m-”
“Save it. Take that shit to Poison, man.”
%
Mikey got to know everything about Car Crash. His crew (the Youngbloods) usually ran in the desert, because they were starting to test how inhabitable it was. Apparently the zones were totally liveable, if you didn’t mind not having any water and-slash-or edible food. The Youngbloods wanted to set up a camp called Death Valley, because more and more rebels were starting to run in the zones instead of the city.
He was a mutant, too. He was a very strong empath, able to follow along with people’s emotions. He said it was overwhelming, though, and Mikey could kind of understand. Crash said he reflected other people’s emotions too well, to the point where he wasn’t sure if he was feeling his own or just others. He said it was better than being in BLI, though, when people just felt numb. That made him feel dead.
Car Crash was kind of like watching a car crash, though. He was so emotional which was both beautiful, (so beautiful and passionate in a world of black and white) but it was also kind of like watching a train wreck.
It was like standing right in front of the train as it screeched to a halt right in front of you and then exploded into a huge fireball.
“I think I’m in love with you, Exterminator,” Car Crash’s name suited him well.
“You don’t even know my name,” Mikey replied, very worried about his new friend all of a sudden.
“Oh, so names are suddenly so important that you need to know them to even feel anything about someone?” Car Crash’s face changed, suddenly tighter, more upset and frowning.
“Car Crash-You're great. And maybe if things were different, if we were in a different world, maybe-”
“I know you don’t feel the same way about me, Exterminator,” Car Crash gave him a sad smile, but his eyes were understanding, “I know you’ve given your heart to someone else. I know your emotions better than you do. I just wanted to tell you, so you know you always have an ally in me.”
Being an ally, Mikey had learnt, in rebel communities meant so much more. It meant you supported that person, and that was more valuable than friendship or family. Mikey, nodded, and let Car Crash kiss him on the cheek. (Mikey did love him, just not in the way he loved Mikey. In Mikey’s opinion, ally-love was better than romance or family or anything else.)
EIGHT.
I’m shaking. Holy fuck, I’m shaking. I’m back in my apartment, sitting in the bathtub and writing this, because I am scared out of my mind and I am covered in my own puke and I’m shaking.
(Fuck Fuck Fuck fuckfuckfuck)
I-no, shit. I need a record of this. A good record. Okay.
It happened at like, seven hundred? Early enough that I wasn’t awake and that there was only a lone guard in the bar. I don’t know who was there that morning.
They came without warning, just suddenly swarmed in, taking everyone by surprise. They found me last, having rounded up all the Killjoys first. Both Vladimir and Korse were there, and it was the first time I’d seen them both in the same room. Usually these kinds of things didn’t call for two heads of division, but I guess it was a special case.
They had Ray and Gerard and Bob and Frank and Brian restrained and held up by two Dracs each, a testimony to how much of a threat each of them were.
I huddled into my Exterminator jacket, surprised they didn’t restrain me as well.
“Exterminator Way, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Korse said, with none of the warmth his words should have had.
“Korse, Vladimir, I am glad to see you have found me, and apprehended these criminals,” I replied trying to think fast, making sure he still trusted me. If I was arrested along with them it wouldn’t help anyone. Despite the stiffness, they seemed to buy it, so at least I was safe.
(I tried to ignore the betrayed look on Gerard’s face and the i-told-you-so one on Frank’s.)
“You must be missing your prescription,” Vladimir said smoothly, bringing the four pills out of a pocket in his coat and handing them to me, “I’m sure these rebels weren’t concerned with your medication.”
(I took them, ignoring Gerard’s screams of anguish and denial.)
They hauled the Killjoys and I went back home, my mind in a fog once again.
Today I went out on a regular mission, just trying to stop some dumb teens painting graffiti in the Ohio District. It’s grunt work, Drac work, but I have a sneaking suspicion BLI trusts me as far as they can throw me right now.
I broke it up, apprehending the teens and administering their prescriptions, when one of them attacked me. I didn’t shoot him. I didn’t have time.
(I could feel his energy flowing out of his body and into me, though, fuelling the flames in my stomach and I could feel it as his body failed, giving out on him. I could feel the fire I expelled at his body, burning him half-alive.)
(I did it without realising.)
It felt like something snapped in my brain, and the fog lifted from my mind. I finished with the kids, heading back to work and trying not to puke.
What Gerard said was true-I think if you have a strong enough stimuli you can push away the mind numbing effects and the pills won’t work on you.
(I still killed him in the most horrifying way possible.)
(I’m still puking over myself even though I ran out of food in my stomach a while ago.)
(I need to stop this. I need to stop Exterminating.)