Have You Smiled Today? (A Party Poison AU)

Not Too Late to Apologize

Sweat blurred and burned my eyes as I fastened the last screw with my cordless drill. I wiped my eyes with the back of my gloved hands and looked at my new machine.
It was a laser gun that was attached to the mountain. It detected motion towards any point of entrance and alerted a pager that I clipped to my ear, allowing me to determine whether to shoot it or not via a tiny screen on a tablet in my utility belt. Ah, technology. There were at least ten of them on the mountain on the Zone 3 side of Valleyton.
I clapped my hands together, clouds of dirt erupting from my gloves, and took a swig from the water bottle that was previously dangling from my belt. Sighing, I began the hot, steep journey back down the mountain. Climbing was never a hobby, but I was thankful that the Chocolate Mountains were pretty short to be mountains. More like hills. Tall hills. Does it even matter? They kept me safe for so long, why do I care how tall they were?
I digress.
There was a light breeze swirling through the spaces between the mountains, causing my pigtails to flop around in front of my head as I slid down the mountain.
The air was still at the bottom of the valley, where Valleyton obviously was. That's what happens when you build in a pit surrounded by mountains: no weather but rain. Rain was rare. It was a desert, after all.
It was dry. Dust built up on the lonely and vacated streets of the town, showing that nobody had walked them since the BLI takeover, not even me. They weren't meant to be disturbed. If they were, I'd walk on them. But something abandoned isn't meant to be used again. Even I, the notorious scavenger, knew that. It's all a matter of respect.
The walk back to my home was just as dull as the shell of the town around me. This is what happens when everyone around you dies at the hands of a mega-corporation (with the help of some nuclear weapons and land mines). At that moment, I almost considered finding the Fab Four and allowing myself to join their ranks. A laughable thought, at second mention. Laughable, albeit ridiculous.
Loneliness does things to people. Not necessarily good things, either.
After undoing the many latches, codes, and locks on my door, I was welcomed back by the empty scent of a somewhat empty home. I remembered a time when I was welcomed back from Valleyton High School to the smell of my mother cooking and the sweet aroma of my father's pipe, but that was a long time ago. Cliché, I'm aware, but quite nostalgically depressing in a time like this.
I sat down on my couch and stared at a blank TV, not daring to turn it on because BL/ind could track me from there. It was quite a boring life living as a lone survivor. I was wondering as to what I should do now that I'd finished my goal. I decided that I would check up on BLI via hijacked security cameras, just to see if they were catching on.
The almighty surveillance room. Third room down on the left side of the hall. Within it were monitor upon monitor; power stations and routers upon power stations and routers; as well as unlimited access to the goings-on of BLI headquarters.
I plopped on my simple metal folding chair and turned on my control monitor. After sliding past firewalls, malware, and authorization screens that I placed there myself, I accessed my desktop. A plain photo of rolling, green hills and perfect blue skies greeted me; as a reminder of better days and poor Windows operating systems. XP has always been a friend.
After logging onto the BL/ind security hub, I could see every room in the expansive Battery City HQ through my many monitors.
But I didn't need views of the Droid Affairs Office or Music Control Department, I needed people gazing at old maps of Valleyton and sketching defense plans that included a certain town behind a mountain range. Luckily, the hub included an engine to search terms for the cameras to seek out.
My fingers hit the keyboard. 'Valleyton,' I typed first. Nothing showed up. Please refine or specify your search terms. "Are you kidding me?" I whispered, staring at the computer for a moment.
And so the search began. Term after term after phrase, and nothing showed up. Not a single monitor beeped with a success result.
Well, maybe I killed the last Drac that knew about my town, I thought, logging out of my computer, but one can hope. Maybe the Fab Four could possibly help... Probably not though. They'd rather be drinking beer and eating Power Pup like hogs. Suddenly, I thought of the previous day, when I'd promised them an apology.
It was the noble thing to do. I might have been a sarcastic bitch, but I wasn't a complete asshole. I got up, casually knocked the chair to the side, and exited the dark and somewhat musty surveillance room.
After taking one of my twice-a-work-week cold showers and watching sadly as some of my purple-and-blue hair dye swirled down the drain, I threw my clothes in the wash. Hey- I may have been off the grid, but I still had running water. Rural desert towns had such commodities, especially wealthy (for the most part) rural desert towns. The people who owned my house before me didn't pay to live in poverty. The people that owned my house before I did were my parents. My dad told me those exact words.
Gazing out my bedroom window in boxers and a tank-top, I wondered where the Fab Four would be. From gossip that floated around the rebel community often, I knew that they often ran out and about; trying to be heroes. Trying to be a hero is a sure-fire way to get yourself tortured and killed.
Living as myself in my house was quite ironic: I would sit and ridicule the Fab Four while their posters (mostly Party Poison) practically covered my disgusting dolphin wallpaper from when I was five- and I was thankful for that.
My washing machine beeped loudly and I nearly jumped out of the stool I was sitting on. I rushed down the hall and emptied my washer of the damp clothing. A little time out in the heat will fix that, I thought, grinning a little, It's so dry out there that you can make your own herb seasoning in a matter of seconds.
After clipping my clothes to my old clothesline, I stared out at the old neighborhood. All my friends used to live in the houses surrounding mine, but they all died when the carbon monoxide capsules were set off in the atmosphere, went off to Battery City to become civilians, or simply died in the desert; trying to escape.
Looking at the houses reminded me of times when I would go out and mow our lush backyard, and I almost started towards my dilapidated garden shed to get the lawnmower, but it struck me that there was nothing left in the yard but dirt. I sighed and plucked my newly-dried clothes from the line, and brought them in.
After gearing up, I suddenly started stressing about why there were no search results for Valleyton in my earlier surveillance quest. Maybe they were lurking right outside the good old Chocolate Mountains, waiting for me to show up so they could ambush.
"Shit," I whispered, and started running upstairs to the ammunition closet in my study.
I would have rummaged roughly through the hoard of chemicals and engineering equipment for effect, but I would have blown all the Zones to shit. I would do that just to take down BLI, but then I would die too, and I was more self-respecting than that.
At the way back of the closet, I found what I was looking for: three tiny bombs and their even smaller detonators; that I made at the beginning of the takeover when I still programmed bombs. The micro-bombs were super volatile, and liable to blow up a lot despite their small size. C-4 works wonders.
I left the house. When I opened the door, it was like opening the oven door to get some cookies that I made back in my 4H days of fourth grade. Dry heat's a bitch.
Carefully placing the explosives in the console of my Corvette and the detonators somewhere where I was sure they wouldn't go off, I put the keys in the ignition and let the car idle while I checked surveillance on the mountain from my utility-belt tablet. All clear. I guess the bombs were sort of unnecessary. Oh well. Might as well take them; in
case desperate times call for desperate measures.
And so I took off. The gas in my car was running dangerously low, and halfway to Kripske, I realized I didn't take any carbons with me. Good thing I always had a spare
purse of them in the glovebox.
By the time I reached the former city limits of Kripske, the sun was low in the sky. I was stupid, and set off late. I was more vulnerable to Dracs under the cover of night. Good thing I had my little bombs, my gun, and-
I patted the leg where my machete had been. It wasn't there. The strap-and-sheath was, but not the weapon.Oh, shit, I thought, panicking, I left my machete in the bathroom. Great. I was great with a machete, but rusty with my ray gun skills. Just fabulous.
I drove past the old bank in Kripske. The lights were off, and the building was collapsed, but I knew from ads on Dr. Death-Defying on the radio that there was a speakeasy bar beneath it.
"Be sure to park inside the old stables! There ain't no parkin' lot by the bar, so you gotta walk, my friend. Fancy cars attract Dracs! Don't forget good ol' Happy Hour at 7 p.m.! Mad Gear and the Missile Kid'll be playin' tonight. Remember: Kripske Watering Hole is the best place to be in the Zones, besides home."
"What the hell," I said, driving down the abandoned strip to the old stables despite myself, "I haven't had a cold one in a while. Need to catch up on gossip, too. Maybe someone can tell me where the Fab Four are..."
I parked my car beside about five others. The stables reeked of gasoline and ancient horse-shit. I scoffed as I slammed and locked my car door.
"Psst," Someone whispered at me from the shadows of the dark barn. I whipped around and grabbed for my empty machete sheath; then realized that I had no machete, then grabbed my gun and pointed it in front of me.
"Who's there?" I hissed back, "Fuck with me, and I'll make sure you fuck with nobody else, ever again."
"Calm down," the voice replied, still at a whisper, "I'm Razor Sand, I'm the new busboy for the bar."
"Busboy?"
"Yeah, there've been lots of Drac attacks in Kripske lately. That's why we moved parking over here."
"But why do you need a busboy?"
"To give you a pass. There's a security guard posted by the speakeasy entrance who's liable to light up anybody that doesn't have a pass. Doesn't matter if you're Party Poison or Dr. D, nobody gets in without a pass no more."
"Whatever. I'm just stopping through on my way over to Zone 5."
"What's over there to do? Dracs've been adding more posts and traps in the roads, like nails and such, to catch unwary Killjoys like yourself. Hear there's been a girl over there by the Fab Four hideout who took out a Drac and smack-talked the attendant at HQ while she was at it. They're pissed," Razor Sand gossiped while writing me up a pass. He handed it to me. "Have fun in the Zones' best watering hole. Maybe you'll meet up with someone cool, like the Fab Four. Hear they're not talking to people much anymore. Getting cocky, what's I say."
"Thanks,"
"Not a problem, miss."
I stepped out of the stables and into the street. It was dark, now. Shit, I might have to spend the night in Kripske, I thought, sighing. I didn't like socializing with these people too much. I didn't like socializing with any people too much.
I stepped into the abandoned bank just to hear a gun click. I nearly jumped around to face the source of the noise. A huge, buff gunman stood in the corner of the bank; with an AR-15 pointed right at my head.
"You gotta pass?" he asked, his voice low and scratchy. I raised my hand, holding the little white strip of cardstock.
"Bringit here," he commanded, and I did. "You cin' go." He opened a door in the side of the wall. It smelled strongly of booze and cheap cologne.
God, what's a girl gotta do to get a beer and some gossip?
Strobe lights danced off the walls of the dark staircase leading down towards the bar, accompanied with the reverberating beat of a bass sound check. Obviously there was a concert going on down there. Or about to go on, either way.
Down in the speakeasy, it was a classic dumpy bar venue. Too many speakers, not clean, tiny standing floor, bar stools.
Needless to say, I loved it. Maybe these Killjoy people aren't that bad after all, I thought, smiling. I found a seat at the bar, a couple stools away from the next person. The standing floor was packed; not so much the bar. People must have really liked that Zone-style music, home-grown and everything. I thought that I would get a taste of it too.
"Miss, can I help you?" The bartender looked at me while scrubbing the inside of a mug. "It's Happy Hour. Half-off all the drinks. Oh, and Mad Gear's giving a free beer to everyone on the house. He's cool."
"I'll just have the beer. I'm not much of a drinker," I said, looking away nervously.
"Aight. Just gimme a sec and it'll be right with you." She rummaged under the counter, neon green Mohawk peeking up from the top of the bar, and soon emerged with a bottle, dripping with water.
"Thanks," I said, taking it.
"No prob. By the way, your hair's pretty cool. Did you do those sheaths yourself? I've never seen chain-link before. What's your name?"
I took a sip of the beer. It was lukewarm. Well, what can you do? "Toxic Oxygen," I said.
"Cool. I'm Krazy Lazer. Nice to meet you. I've never seen you before. Where you from?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Aye, I understand. Privacy's getting to be a major priority nowadays. Anyway, if you need anything, just holler, okay?"
I nodded in response. She seemed nice.
Suddenly, the speaker squealed with microphone feedback and the whole crowd cheered. "Give it up for... Mad Gear and the Missile Kid!" I turned in my stool, and Krazy Lazer leaned on the counter next to me. "This guy's good."
I heard a loud whoop from the next guy over, a few stools away. I turned my head to look, and I was greeted with an unkempt mop of bright red hair. It didn't take a sober person to recognize who it was.
Party Poison.
I heard Krazy Lazer chuckle. "I know. The Fab Four, right here in Kripske. They don't come often, but it's an honor when they do. They don't really go anywhere anymore. Rumor's spreading that they're working on a plan to overthrow BLI. I wouldn't be surprised if they did."
I laughed nervously. I decided that I'd catch them after the concert. Krazy didn't seem to be too interested in Mad Gear ("He comes in like every Wednesday. I've seen him exactly 53 times, including this."), so we just made small talk and gossiped the whole time.
Just like... Old times.
********
My ears were ringing when I stepped out of the bar and into the bank. I hadn't been to a concert in a long time, since at least 2014. My ears weren't used to the noise.
I decided to go out back of the bank, to see if I could talk with the Fab Four.
The night air was cold. I shivered. This is what I got for wearing a cropped jacket and a thin shirt under it...
Sure enough, the Fab Four were leaning up against the dilapidated building; smoking, drinking, and laughing. Three things that I missed the most about normal life.
"Um... Hey?" I asked, cautiously, from the side of the building.
"Beat it, kid," snapped Fun Ghoul, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth, "We've got more important things to worry about."
I pulled my eyebrows together and walked slowly to face the Killjoys. While Fun Ghoul was laughing quietly to himself, obviously drunk, he looked up. His smile disappeared as quickly as Party Poison's showed up.
"It's you," he grinned, "You finally decided to talk to us?"
"Y-yeah," I replied, grabbing the butt of my ray gun, just in case. "I decided to apologize for the conditions I left you in last time we met."
Party Poison frowned. "Yeah. That. Right. Well-"
"There were about 20 Dracs and three Scarecrows right at our doorstep. We finished them off, though," Kobra Kid interrupted, waving his bottle of whatever in front of him as some sort of testimony.
"It's ok." Party Poison finished, gently pushing his brother's arm back into place.
"I should probably get going now," I said, looking at the stables across the street.
"No, you can stay," Party said as he put his cigarette in his mouth and reached for my arm. I jumped away.
"What?" I asked. They were being too kind. It was suspicious.
"It's real dark, you can't see traps in the roads, it's hard to aim," he said, taking a drag of his cigarette.
What Party said was true. I would probably die if I went out that night.
"You've got a point, Party Poison," I admitted as he blew smoke in my face. Accidentally, I hope.
"Cool. Our humble living quarters are kind of a... mess, but I'm sure you can manage. You can get the spare room, I guess." He took his cigarette out of his mouth again and threw it on the ground, then smashed it with the toe of his boot. "I could sense it was bothering you." he said, looking at the cigarette butt half-buried in the sand.
"No, actually," I said, "I smoked once. In college."
"Ayyye, Krazy!" Fun Ghoul yelled from the background, throwing his hands in the air and his empty bottle to the ground. He drunkenly stumbled over to the bartender and hugged her. Well, then, I thought.
"'Aight, guys, time to head out," Party called at the other three. Ghoul planted a kiss on Krazy Lazer's forehead and waved goodbye.
As we walked to the stables, Party told to me, "We always stop over at the little curio shop under the gas station after we leave, just to see what's there. Hope you don't mind."
"I don't," I replied.
This is gonna be quite the adventure, I thought to myself as I managed to squish in the backseat, beside Kobra Kid and Jet Star.

********
Author's Note:
Don't you just love long chapters? I do. I feel lots of motivation swelling up to get this son of a bitch finished or at least moving fluidly. Character development (on TO's part) is quite the jewel. Again, I'm letting you guys come up with suggestions as to what should happen next. Cool? See ya! Thanks for all the reads!