when the sun goes black (old- will probably revise)

2

Party Poison awoke, jolting upwards in an unfamiliar bed, his entire body protesting the sudden movement. The fuzziness in his head and the needles of pain assaulting his nerves made it difficult to gather himself. Slowly, his surroundings faded into focus.

The stark, fluorescent white of the room he was in practically singed his eyes; such an unnatural and jarring shade. He immediately knew that he wasn't home. No place in the Zones was this clean, and he'd never missed the colorful chaos of the diner more. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. All familiar sensations. He'd been drugged.

Memories came back in flashes. He remembered being shoved to the sand and a knee driven into his back, pinning him; he heard his brother shout, and screamed at Kobra to run. He'd closed his eyes and waited for the Scarecrow to place their raygun against his head, uttering his final goodbyes in his mind and a prayer to the Phoenix Witch to protect his friends.

But instead, he'd felt the a needle pricking his skin and the burn of something foreign shot through his veins. He thrashed and yelled and tried to fight, but the sedative kicked in within seconds. The chaos faded into a blur. And now he was here.

He'd recognize this place anywhere. Party felt his heart drop between his feet as he noticed the cuffs around his wrists. They hadn't killed him. They'd done something worse.

He sprung into action, charging at the door across from the bed. He raised his linked hands and pounded on it as hard as he could. "Let me out of here, you bootlicking pieces of shit! I know you can hear me!" He screamed. "I'll kill you all with my bare hands!"

He wanted to pound on the walls until they crumbled and scream until his vocal chords gave out. Most of all, he wanted this to be some kind of horrible nightmare, but it wasn't. Nightmares didn't feel this viscerally real. Every muscle and bone in his body hurt. His cell was stiflingly silent aside from his own screams and freezing cold. They'd stolen his jacket and belongings, leaving him in only pants and a tank top.

His hair hung over his eyes as his head dropped forwards. That was a good sign. It was still red, and still the same length. He had something left to hold onto.

Party didn't know what time it was, or how long it had been when something finally changed. After he was done with his fit of rage, he drew himself upwards and sat in the corner, staring into space.

Did they have Kobra, or did he make it away in time? Why had they kept him alive? What were they going to do to him? How was he going to get out?

Would he be able to get out?

Party slumped onto the floor with the gracefulness of a corpse. Honestly, he wished he was one. Maybe some of the sedatives were still in his system, because at some point, he managed to drift to sleep on the tile. The next thing he knew, a click at the door jolted him awake.

He rushed to his feet and glared like a cornered animal, ready to fight for his life. A short boy in an all-white uniform stepped inside, swiftly shutting the door behind him. He clutched his hands together in front of his chest in an almost guarded position, seemingly expecting him to attack.

Party prepared to give in to his instincts, but he was stopped in his tracks as he took in the details of the person in front of him. Trapped in a staredown, the two saw each other for the first time in about four years.

They'd changed. Party most of all- his hair, his attire, the scars and bruises on his chest and arms from life in the Zones, the broadness in his shoulders and lean, muscular build from the physical demands of his life. All features new to Frank. The Party he'd known was young and immature and skinny, with neatly cut blonde hair that he always went out of his way to mess up however he could.