FicWad

Without missing a beat and completely ignoring Mikey’s annoyance and impatience at being forced to leave Karate Class without explanation other than that something urgent needed his attention, Petra pushed one side of her platinum blonde, jaw-length hair behind her ear and began.

“Ah, good, you’re here, take a seat both of you and, Gerard, take your pill.”

Gerard glowered in response; it was as if she was purposely goading him to lose his temper.

“Explanation first,” he replied through gritted teeth, “and don’t tell me to sit in my own home, I’m not a child.”
“I’m afraid until you reach sixteen, Gerard, that’s exactly what you are,” Petra replied curtly.
“Well, if I’m still a child, I don’t need the pills, do I?” Gerard smiled sweetly in return.

Petra glared at Gerard and he glared back. His was a dark stare, old before his time, Gerard’s eyes portrayed a swirling mixture of emotions, some of which, if asked, he couldn’t even name - but he felt them, he felt them all and over time they were all merging into a giant ball of hatred and disgust.

Petra looked away first, unnerved by the depth of feeling barely hidden behind his dark eyes. He knew as she turned her eyes away that she knew, really knew that the indoctrination hadn’t worked with him. He could almost see the cogs turning in her mind, mentally constructing the report she would later write to Korse. He knew however that it wasn’t that simple, she could write whatever she liked but she still had to prove it to Korse and that wouldn’t be as easy as she probably thought. He had two advantages he knew he could rely on; firstly, Korse’s arrogance. Korse was intelligent, only a fool would doubt that. Petra was right about one thing, he was rising through the ranks because he was very good... no, astonishingly good at his job, but, he was also arrogant. Korse had overseen Gerard’s and Mikey’s indoctrination personally and as such, once satisfied he had been successful, it would take a great deal to convince him otherwise. Secondly, Gerard could act. He always had a flare for drama and he knew how to use those abilities to his advantage. He would not suffer indoctrination again. No, never again.

“What pills?” Mikey asked, frowning. “Have I walked in on something?”

Gerard turned a broad smile toward his younger brother; he couldn’t help but notice that at aged ten and despite BLI’s brainwashing, Mikey seemed to be older than his years also. Perhaps it was their lifestyle, or even the adulation both boys received from all ages of Battery City citizens but Gerard couldn’t help but wonder... even hope that it meant Mikey’s memories were still intact, somewhere, deeply buried perhaps, but there.

“There’s been a mix up,” Gerard replied brightly. “I’ve been given a box of Kanslokal, three years too early.”
“Is that the emergency?” Mikey raised an eyebrow. “I left karate for a prescription mix up? I’m teaching now, you know...”
“No, that’s not it,” Gerard interrupted shaking his head, “I didn’t even know there was an emergency.” Turning back to face Petra, he added: “Nobody told me.”
“I didn’t see the point of telling you twice,” Petra replied,refusing to be drawn by Gerard’s accusatory tone, her tone and gaze both aloof.
“Well?” Gerard prompted with a scowl. “Are you going to tell us now?”
“I am, please sit down.”

While Mikey thought nothing of the request and merely flopped down into the deep and comfortable white leather couch next to his backpack, Gerard frowned deeply for a moment before compromising by seeking a perch on the arm of the couch.

Petra’s lips turned up in what he could only describe as not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. The expression was beyond her normal arrogance and the extra element, that he couldn’t yet place, unnerved him deeply. Gerard found himself trying hard not to react to the feeling of power she seemed to exude. It was equally difficult for him to keep his own expression from changing and revealing how oddly nervous he suddenly felt. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? After all, what could she do to him? As much as he hated it, he was a high-profile ward of BLI under the guardianship of a senior Exterminator? There was nothing she could do to touch him, surely? Gerard was about to discover that the additional element to her arrogant demeanour was gloating.

“You’ve both been granted one of BLI’s highest honours,” she continued. As she stared at Gerard, he noted that her strange smile had morphed into a full smirk. “You are to dress in your finest clothes, in one hour you will be driven to Traitor’s Square and you will oversee and give the orders for the extermination of three rebel traitors and enemies of BLI.”
“Wow!” Mikey exclaimed. “Really?”
“Yes, Mikey, really,” her smirk broadened as she thought how his reaction would affect Gerard.
“I’m getting changed!” He headed quickly off to his room, calling behind him: “And showered!”

Petra turned to face Gerard; now trembling slightly, his naturally pale features seemed drained of all colour. His jaw clamped and rigid, and his eyes wide.

“Nothing to say, Gerard?” She asked; her satisfaction at his obvious distress almost filling the room.
“I...” he swallowed hard as he realised his voice was shaking even more than his hands. “I’ll get changed.”

Watching as Gerard headed slowly to his room, she called after him.

“Of course, as the older brother, it will be you giving the order.”
“And what if...” he began, still with his back to her.
“What if you want to pass that honour to Mikey? How thoughtful of you.” she interrupted. “Of course you can. It sounds as though he would be thrilled.”

Gerard stopped dead in his tracks for a moment, but refused to turn. The thought of what he was expected to do distressed and sickened him but what were his options? Refuse? Defy BLI and almost certainly be taken for indoctrination again, or defer to Mikey and allow him to become a murderer? Both were impossible. Continuing to walk his room, Gerard grimaced as she added:

“I’m glad you’re so overwhelmed by the honour, Gerard,” she laughed cruelly. “I don’t think I’ve even seen you speechless.”

*

Inside an abandoned and run down pawn shop four miles from the border of Zone 4, Doctor Death Defying’s camp of war veteran rebels rested for the evening. There were only five of them now - there had been six, but their commander Dr Phillip Star had been killed helping an injured female running from a patrol of draculoids. That more than anything had fired their desire for revenge against BLI. He had just been doing what he was trained for, he had fought during the Helium wars for what he hoped would be a better world, but that world had let them all down badly and he had paid the ultimate price. Now the remaining members had named themselves the Rebel Stars in his honour. Their raids against BLI and Battery City had been small and largely unsuccessful but they were learning and their determination had paid off. Their last raid had been a success - medical supplies, batteries, water and food - it was quite a haul.

The door opened to what had once been a storage room and the man known as Flex, a physical therapist in the camp poked his head in.

“Hey, Doc, how’s our new little star doing?” He asked. “Any idea who he is?”
“No,” Death Defying shook his head, “no ID, nothing. Well, no, not nothing.”

He held up a small, die-cast toy plane and piece of blanket embroidered with blue smiley-faced stars.

“He had these.”
“Well, what do you know!” He grinned. “He is a star after all!”
“Yeah,” Death chuckled. “Looks like the Phoenix Witch Wanted us to find him.”

Death gave a deep sigh as he looked down at the boy, he had noted already his injuries and condition, but ran through it again to update Flex.

“I’ve used some of the burn lotion on him and I’ve got his temperature down to normal, which looked a bit touch and go for a while. He’s taken quite the blow to his head.”
“Attacked?” Flex asked.
“Judging by his other injuries I’d say either that or maybe a really bad car crash. Several contusions, possibly a fractured left wrist, he’s at least dislocated the lunate though.”
“I can sort that out,” Flex offered.
“Thanks, Flex, that’s more your area than mine anyway. Probably going to be seriously concussed too. I’m gonna keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t develop compression.”

Flex nodded, he knew about the seriousness of the possible result of a head injury - a fatality, even at this stage, couldn’t be ruled out.

“Anything I can do, Doc?”
“No, I don’t...”

Distracted by a faint murmur, Death turned his head to see the young boy’s eyelids fluttering slightly.

“Yeah, can you get a bottle of water? Looks like he’s waking up.”
“Sure D, Be right back,” Flex replied, leaving the door to swing closed behind him.

Doctor Death Defying looked down at his young charge and pursed his lips. He had no idea what the poor boy had been through, but whatever it had been, waking to strangers in an abandoned pawn shop was almost certainly going to be a shock and he had to manage that as best he could. The only thing that worked in his favour was that due to his injuries, the boy couldn’t simply race out of the building - after all, he was in no position to chase after him.

Death looked down at the wheelchair that had become part of his everyday life since the late stages of the Helium Wars when the battalion’s ambulance was ambushed and destroyed. It had been a sickeningly cruel and cowardly attack. They had been sent into a heavy militarised zone full of casualties, or so he had thought. The orders were fake and the ambush caught them unawares. With limited weaponry, the troop of medics didn’t stand a chance and far too many men were needlessly killed or severely injured that day. He had been one of those casualties who had managed to survive, but not without losing the use of his legs.

Pulled from his reverie by a light croaking sound, he looked at the boy again and tried to gauge how he was feeling and from the expression on the boy’s face, he had to guess - scared and in pain.

“Hey, relax, kid,” he spoke softly, placing a folded damp cloth on the boy’s forehead. “You’re safe and you’re alive.”
“Where...?” He whispered, his voice scratchy and barely audible.
“We found you in the desert,” Death explained, whilst checking his pulse. “I’m a doctor. You’ve been pretty badly toasted by the sun, you were dehydrated but you’re improving,” he pointed to the saline drip hanging from a hook above the boy’s head. “Do you know what happened to you?”

The boy stared up, it seemed that a million thoughts were racing through his head as he lay trying hard to find the answer to the question.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Death shook his head. “Do you remember anything? Your name? Where you live?”

As Death stared at the boy, he noticed him welling up, precious water being lost to painful tears.

“Hey, come on, don’t cry,” Death offered a kind smile. “You just woke up, it’s pretty normal to forget. And,” he tipped his head sympathetically, “you’ve had quite the knock to you’re head. Don’t worry kid, you’ll be up and about in no time and you’ll remember everything. Okay?”

They boy nodded, still clearly uncertain but clinging to the man’s words.

“Hey, Death, I got your water,” the tall thin man known as Flex pushed the door open resulting in what emerged as a small high-pitched squeak from the boy.
“Death?” He whispered, staring up, wide-eyed and afraid.

Death chuckled and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, kid,” he smiled. “It’s like a code name, we all have them.”
“All?”
“Yeah, I’m Doctor Death Defying and this is Flex, our physical therapist, he’s gonna sort out your wrist. There’re a few more in the camp, you’ll meet them when you feel better. But what do we call you?”
“I can’t remember,” the boy replied, clearly still upset.
“Well, how about we give you a code name too?” Death smiled, pleased to see it mirrored on the boy’s face.
“Well, this camp is named after our commander, Phillip Star, so, there’s your last name. And...”
Death glanced around the room looking for inspiration. Eventually his gaze landed on the small toy plane he had found in the boy’s pocket.

“How about, Jet? Jet Star? How does that sound to you kid? You like it?”

The boy’s smile broadened momentarily, before the stretching of his sunburnt face caused him to lose it again. Nodding briefly, the boy offered a faint smile once more.

“Right then, Jet, let’s get you better,” Death nodded taking the proffered bottle from Flex and helping Jet to drink from it. “You’ll be fine in no time.”