Let Art Be Our Weapon: Frerard/Killjoys Epic

Fun Ghoul and the Rebels

        The dim lights overhead turn on and the faint buzz from electric current runs. There are a handful of children here, ages ranging from 6-14. After you turn 15, you are officially an adult and move to the next bunker room and transfer your belongings into a different locker. I have four years here. I have time to make myself situated.
A cute boy next to me climbs down from the top bunk. His jet black hair matches his enchanting hazel eyes. I've seen him around. He works on the computers with Bonnie. I doubt they're related. Her tanned skin, platinum hair and green eyes look nothing like him. The boy looks around my age. He has a green shirt on. "You're the new kid?" he asks.
"Yeah, they told you?" I ask.
He shrugs. "News is the chatter. Who's on our side? Any casualties? What's the status on BL/ind? That kinda stuff. Anything else isn't much to talk about." I nod. The boy sticks his hand out at me. "I'm Frank, code name Fun Ghoul. You?"
I smile a little bit. Frank? I like that name and he had a cool code name too. "Gerard, Party Poison. And up there is my kid brother Mikey." I say. I take his hand and we shake. "So, Frank, how long have you been here?" I ask nervously. I don't know what is okay to ask or not if the news is the only thing they really talk about.
Frank stands still for a moment. "Well, my mother was injured when she was carrying me. She died before I was even born but I was okay so they operated on her after she died and yeah. My pops didn't know what to do but he did his best. We wandered in the zones scavenging for whatever we could use or eat. Then we were found and couldn't run. They took us and questioned my father. I didn't see him for a few days while he was tested. Then when we were cleared they took us here. That was a few years back."
"What does your dad do here?" I whisper. I feel that I am treading dangerous water asking that question but I asked anyway.
"Before the apocalypse and the rising of BL/ind, my pops worked at some tech company. He knows all the computer mechanics and programming. He easily became the computer technician here. He taught me everything I know about computers. I am a trainee."
"That sounds exciting. My parents are..." I stop myself and take a breath. "My parents were Killjoy Fighters. They never told us, though, because Mikey and I are unregistered."
"That's really good. You are very lucky," Frank said in awe.
"People keep telling us that but I don't understand why."
"My pops registered when BL/ind came to power. My mother didn't and she asked him not to register me. He wasn't for it but he kept his promise after she died. It was no longer negotiable and he didn't want to deny her wish without her consent."
"Well, your dad seems to do well if he's the computer technician here. Why is it so bad?"
Frank looked at me. "BL/ind had him on the record. He was marked. And if he isn't working for BL/ind and not a present civilian there, that means he is against because if you support them, you would have been working or living there already. Registered means that they know you are out there, know everything about you and put a threat to everyone else. They found us and injured my mother. He was registered and they knew he was married."
"So they kill you basically and put a threat to everyone else."
"Almost a year ago, he went missing. We looked for months. He was a valuable asset and a father and he took care of everyone. After three months, they found his Jacket. The sleeves were burned, shot, and tattered. There was a bullet hole over where his heart would be. That was it. He was dead and the only thing we could find that's left of him was his jacket in horrible condition. They gave it to me and my friend patched up the hole with some T%t patch and cut off the tattered fabric. It looks like a nice vest. It's going to be my jacket when I'm older."
That's what happens when you are registered. They kill you and anyone you are associated with. They know.

        First things first, we must know the place. We go over everything again where all our supplies is located. Mikey and I must memorize where it is. It takes about an hour but we know the way around the dinner like our old home. Then we talk about protocol. If Draculoids were to come into the dinner we go on shut down. We take cover with the other children in our bunker. When all children are in the Bunker, it's sealed tight and the outside looks like it's a wall not a door. We stay quiet while they kill the Draculoids. Any Draculoid that has stumble across the dinner and started investigated was killed. That is why it is off the grid, if someone finds it, they won't survive. Once we are 15, we train for a specific job. There are many. You could be a radio trainee and become the next Dr. in line. There are scouts, fighters, technicians, drivers, the computer technician and their trainees, strategists, nurses, messengers, surveyors, etc. With a year of training, we officially become a Killjoy. I think about all the different jobs. I know that Mikey would start with learning to be a fighter but it's hard to say if he will get that job. He is scrawny and doesn't know how to defend himself with the example of yesterday morning when we thought we were found. But on the other hand, he is only seven and this is the place to learn. He has eight years to figure everything out, plus another year to actually be a Killjoy.
I have no idea what I am going to do. Nothing in particular stands out to me. Scouting requires to be capable of living in the zones by yourself or with one person if you're lucky to get a partner for months or years at a time. Survival skills must be something you are great at. Fighters must have great physical strength and technique. They must be capable of protecting everyone in the group. Computer technicians and just the technicians must know something about technology but I grew up in a house with candles, oil lamps and everything we had we either build or made from scratch or we found it. The radio was the one thing electronic in our home but I wasn't even allowed to touch it. Driver, well, they first must know how to drive and I don't. Strategists are smart and can form brilliant plans. I am not good under pressure. I could barely decide what to do after Mikey and I fled the house. Nurses need to save lives, treat the sick and wounded. I've never seen a person dying but I doubt I could rely on myself to save their life on an operating table. It's one thing in the field. In the field, it's possible but as a doctor, that's a whole different story of impossible for me. I hope that there are a lot of positions and I'll be capable of at least one of them.
We start off in the survival part. Plants to eat, how to find water, how to tell the time of day, tell which way north is, how to set up camp for the night. This is a training course of a week. Towards the end, I think I won't be completely helpless left in the zones.