I'm Here, Sugar

Never Underestimate A Townhouse

Song Suggestion: All I Want Is Nothing - by Frank Iero

(A/N: I appreciate comments <3)

It should be easy. He'll just break in, find Paint Bomb, and be on his way. His stolen, government mandated attire chafes against his skin as he breaks out into a run.

For some stupid reason he had thought it would be smarter to park his brightly colored bike at the edge of the city where it would be less conspicuous. What he didn't take into account was the size of Battery City and how far it was from the city limits to get to where the signal from Paint's tracker was coming from. The address, 12 Second St., was in the middle of the city, a good 30 miles from Civil and Paint's base.

He figured his bike would take him to the outskirts and he could walk the next five miles into the heart of the biggest city in the area. The city is swarming with Dracs, who wouldn't hesitate to shoot the first killjoy they come across. Looking back on it, this wasn't very well thought out.

Oh well! Too late now!

He pants and leans against a wooden light post. To a passing Drac, he's probably just a citizen on their daily jog. It's not past curfew yet so they have no reason to arrest him. He's wearing approved clothing and changed his hair color from a brilliant purple to a dull brown before entering the city. He still misses his curly royal purple locks and silently curses Paint Bomb for getting kidnapped and needing rescuing.

Before continuing his jog, he decides to turn around and examine the signs on the lampost; LOST CAT 50$ REWARD FOR RETURN, Jamie's Babysitting Services, Better Living Industries Is Here For YOU!

And then there were the wanted posters. Red Tourniquet, Acid Death, Party Poison, Ace of Queens, Fun Ghoul, Ghost River, Silent Cellabration, Civil Destruction.

Sh*t. He's up there. They know he exists. They have a picture of him. He buries his face in his hands and takes a deep breath before scanning for a poster of Paint Bomb.

There's one. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. So Paint's not with the police. He examines the picture and mentally traces Paint's features, his bleached hair (cut short), his crooked nose (broken at a party), his soft (hesitant) smile.

Civil Destruction shakes his head and runs off down the street.

Number 12 Second St. turns out to be an unassuming townhouse. There is a light on in an upstairs window and the walkway to the front door appears recently swept. Civil looks around the street as he is suddenly overcome by the feeling that he is being watched, but, as he saw no one, walks towards the house and tests the doorknob. It's unlocked.

--

Footsteps were what woke Ghost River up this time. He isn't used to being in the city, because, unlike most killjoys, he grew up on the run. His parents had lived in the city but rebelled and became killjoys when he was born. They wanted to give him a better life. His mom was killed by Dracs when he was seven and his dad disappeared one day not long after. The city was unfamiliar.

So, when he heard the footsteps, echoing around the empty streets just before curfew, he decided to figure out where they were coming from.

A boy. His age. By his clothing you would assume he was a civilian, but there was a difference in the way he walked that set him apart from the average citizen of Battery City. Ghost thought he saw a tattoo on the boy's arm, but couldn't make out what it was. Something about him was captivating, beautiful even. If only Ghost had his sketchbook on hand.

The boy stopped in front of a house. He hesitated and looked around, obviously not seeing Ghost, he walked up the path leading to the front door of the house, turned the doorknob, and walked inside.

--

Civil Destruction looked around. He was in a living room, a kidnappers living room. There were pictures on the walls. A concrete vase of flowers sat on the couch end table.

Upstairs, the kidnappers alarm system went off. She quickly activated all defenses. Any intruder would now be trapped.

Civil took a hesitant step forward, feeling alien in this unfamiliar house. He had never been anywhere like this before and it was kinda freaking him out. Everything was so warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to his base and even the streets he had been on the minute before.

The front door slammed shut behind him. Freaky.

He quickly scanned for somewhere Paint might be kept. The basement? On the other side of the room there was an open door through which he could see stairs going down. He scurried over, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. What happened to his confidence? It was just an ordinary townhouse, no need to overestimate it.

Upstairs, Miss Kidnapper smiled, the boy was eyeing the basement, obviously considering going downstairs. If he went down there she would have him trapped. In a happily dazed state, she clapped her hands in excitement.

Civil's head shot up at the noise. Could it be Paint Bomb, trying to get his attention from upstairs? Could it be the kidnapper? He was terrified now. He would just leave and come back later to try again. Paint could hang on, right?

He darted towards the door, a sinking feeling in his chest. It didn't budge. He didn't have time for this, he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.

The kidnapper stared at the screen, her eyes wide, he was trying to escape. That wasn't supposed to happen. She was going to make him regret ever considering rescuing his friend. She grabbed a handgun off the shelf, already loaded, and clicked the safety off.

He grabbed the vase from the end table and threw it at the window, which shattered sickeningly silently. It was plastic, probably in place so that it wouldn't make noise if shattered.

If he wasn't already grateful for the plastic, he certainly was as he climbed through. He collapsed on the flowerbed, panting heavily. He was out of immediate danger and that was comfort enough for now. When he regained his balance, he took off.

Something knocked him off his feet as he was halfway across the street and he landed in a bush.

Upstairs, the kidnapper was unamused. At least she had hit his arm, but her window was broken, and he wasn't dead. Yet. She scowled and leaned back in her office chair.

Ghost River was overwhelmed.

--

Paint was awake through it all, but he was blissfully unaware of what happened to his friend. He wrote just a few sentences in his journal that night.

I've been kidnapped, and probably sedated. I feel sleepy. I probably should be worried, but I know Civil Destruction will rescue me. He is always there for me. I believe in him.

Goodnite Journal,

Paint Bomb