We Taught Ourselves to Smile

Part 2

Kobra

"D wants us to do what?" Kobra had heard of some stupid missions in his time as a Killjoy, but nothing had ever come close to the words that had just come from Poison's mouth.

"I said he wa-"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time but what? Break into BLI's most secure facility and risk fuckin' dying for one girl? Is he insane? " Kobra ran his hands through his hair, watching his sibling as they sat down heavily in a half-wrecked booth. His stomach was already beginning to turn thinking about everything that could go wrong.

"What's this about a mission?" Ghoul came from the kitchen and promptly sat in his partner's lap.

"Dr. Death wants us to go on a fuckin' suicide run, that's what!" Kobra began pacing the room, unable to keep still any longer. "He wants to send us into the middle of Bat City to rescue some fuckin' motorbaby and he won't tell us why or who we'll be working with!" Kobra saw Ghoul and his sibling exchange glances. Ghoul was sitting sideways on Poison's lap, one arm over their shoulders. Poison had one hand holding onto Ghoul's free one and the other around his waist, both of them perfectly content in the other's company. It was adorable really, how happy they were together. Especially after everything they'd been through, everything they had put themself through before they found him. "I'm gonna go for a drive, find some rookie Crash Queens to win against." He needed some air, and a good old-fashioned dirt race was the best way to get some.

As he approached his bike, Kobra noticed some clouds gathering off to the North, but waved them off and drove out toward Zone 5, where he knew there would be races for the next week.

Riding a bike was like nothing he had ever done. Nothing was more exhilarating than driving across the sand at breakneck speeds, nothing between him and the outside world. This must be what it feels like to fly , he had thought the first time he had ridden one, and every time since. He could remember what it was like to be on an airplane, a memory just barely on the cusp of Oblivion, but it didn't feel like this. This was so much better. The wind whipped the loose ends of his jacket around his arms and stomach, and Kobra could feel the drop of his stomach with every dip in the sand and the force of every turn in his gut like the blood in his veins.

The racing track was buzzing with people, crowds of Joys, Tumbleweeds, and Runners as far as Kobra could see. Engines roared over the din of chatter, cars and bikes alike. The crowds automatically parted for Kobra as he rode to the edge of the so called track, but all conversation in his area slowly died as they took in who had joined them, replaced slowly by awed whispers.

"Holy shit that's Kobra Kid . The Kobra Kid!"

"Kobra Kid as in member of the Fab Four?"

"No, dumbass! Kobra Kid as in the best racer east of Bat City!"

No matter how many times he went to racetracks around the zones, he never got used to hearing people talk about him like he was some sort of racing legend, on par with those who did this before the Wars. He wanted to tell that that he's just a guy who happened to find a bike when he first got out of Bat City and do nothing but ride it for months, no matter what though, they never seemed to listen, always insisting he was some racing god.

The crowds were packed tight around the edge of the track, chanting an array of names at varying volumes. The person with the most fans seemed to be named Sandman. Odd. Kobra had heard of a Juvie called Sandman from Poison and other people, but he was supposedly too "high and mighty" for the Desert. As the race ended a cheer erupted throughout the crowds, and it appeared this Sandman had won.

Kobra rode his bike through the crowds, trying to catch a glimpse of the latest winner. Kobra finally got over to where the racers could park their bikes and hang out before and after races. There were a bunch of people gathered around one area, and a Runner Kobra almost recognized noticed him.