Chapter Text
"Stop here for the night?"
Watching the outside surroundings with a colorful lighter in hand, Kobra Kid shrugged. "Good a place as any, I suppose."
There were sand dunes for miles in any direction, but driving off of the cracked pavement to higher elevation gave them a slight vantage point, at least.
"Difference is," Party Poison grinned, shifting the gear into park. Sand was Hell on the tires, but there was no use worrying about it now. "Some places are closer to somewhere."
Kobra made a show of rolling his eyes while he jumped out of the cramped seat, even going as far as tilting his sunglasses down so he could see it. It was obvious he didn't care where they were so long as it wasn't driving. "What ever do you mean? We're close to - get this - sand, sand, and more sand!"
"Don't forget the Trans Am!" laughed Party, shuffling through the contents of the console to find his own, unpainted and unpersonalized lighter.
Kobra made his way to the trunk, to get both his and Party's sleeping bags. They were almost out of gas, but the gas station a few miles up Route Guano only opened when the sun rose - it was best to stop now without tempting luck..
With a sigh, Kobra waited impatiently for Party to remember to pop the trunk. He was tired and quite honestly not in the mood for banter, considering he'd been stuffed into the Trans Am's passenger seat for six hours. His legs were too long for that, okay?
It was Party's turn to gather anything they needed for a fire while Kobra set-up. They worked in silence, both absorbed in their tasks, and Party purposely neglected to comment on Kobra putting their sleeping bags on the same side of the fire. Even if it wasn't the best for heat distribution, as if Kobra knew how that worked - he would never turn down the opportunity to ensure his brother would get a full night's rest.
Soon enough, flames licked the top of Party's hand as he set another small piece of food on the blazing fire, and Kobra sat with his knees to his chest feet away, watching the ashes float and burn away.
"You good over there, Kid?" Party asked, flicking Kobra's forehead with no ill-intent.
Ill-intent or not, Kobra swatted his hand away with a light smile playing on his lips. "Just happy to be back on the sand. Got tired of listenin' to static a while ago."
"What, not a fan of listening to some odd voice's scream peaking through ear-splitting numbness every half-hour?" Party asked rhetorically. Ungracefully, he dropped down next to Kobra, his dirty firetruck red hair flying up and catching the fire's light.
"Not a fan of your singing," Kobra corrected easily, letting his head rest on his brother's shoulders. Blond hair fell into his face, but he didn't bother to push it away; Party did it for him, pushing the grimy strands behind Kobra's ear..
Party scoffed dramatically. "I am an amazing singer, I'll have you know!"
"It would hurt your ego if I told you the truth, so yeah, sure."
"You'll see," said Party in a haughty tone. Reaching into Kobra's pockets he found the lighter Kobra had been playing with, making a show of tossing it up and catching it.
Kobra didn't answer, seemingly content to scrutinize Party's movements. Party took care to make sure he didn't jostle his little brother too much.
Sleeping in the car was an impossibility for Kobra; too many late nights and early mornings for both of them were bound to make an appearance - Party could see the flickerings of exhaustion in the slouch of Kobra's shoulders, the bags under his eyes. Desert life did that, though, and despite those Kobra seemed more alive than ever.
Maybe it was the vibrant colors, or the vivid emotion in all things Zonerat, or maybe it was even the drag races down in Zone 6 Kobra oh-so loved, that made him light up like that.
With twinkling stars above him, in his gaze as the lighter was long forgotten somewhere in the sand, Party determined it was a mix of all three. They were better out in the Zones, even with the kicked-up sand and scorching sun.
Kobra was going to be alright - Party allowed himself the self-indulgent thought. From the even breathing and light snoring, Kobra had fallen asleep on his shoulder… There would be no more dead, emotionless eyes for Party to force eye contact with. No more secrets and hiding. Not here, not out in the Desert, not where they had already carved out a sort-of living already.
Even if the drive out to Zone 6 and then back to Zone 3 took a lifetime and then some. They were on their way back to the little shack serving as their home from one of Kobra's races.
He won. As usual - but Party had begged him to stay with him in the boring drive, since Party had to make a near hour detour for gas and Kobra didn't. His bike was still in Zone 3- with, of course, Agent Cherri Cola, as Kobra would never leave his bike in unsafe hands. (Neither were willing to see if it would fit in the Trans Am).
Yeah, they were getting the hang of the Zones. Of being Party Poison and Kobra Kid, the Venom Brothers. What could go wrong?
--
With a bubbling panic, Party slammed the door of the Trans Am, narrowly missing his own fingers. The motor was still hot, the engine on, but Party didn't care.
Staggering across the ground, sand seeping into his boots, sinking under his feet, Party's eyes widened as he confirmed his suspicions.
Half-hidden with wind-blown sand, was Kobra Kid's motorbike.
No...no, no, this wasn't right, no… Party's breathing quickened, the whole world narrowing to him and the bike. Him and Kobra's prized bike. The same, pristinely painted, tuned to perfection, motorbike that Kobra rarely let out of his sight.
The bike whose owner hadn't been seen in seven days and counting.
Kobra would never let his bike lay, half-covered in sand, just off Dreams Boulevard.
Kobra would never leave Party for a week straight with no warning and without checking in. Never.
So...that meant...Party's lip quivered, harsh wind stinging against his face, drying the tears before they had a chance to escape.
Kobra wasn't okay - oh, he wasn't, not if his bike lay abandoned like trash. Kobra wouldn't disappear without his bike, either, which left one option -
One option, and Party's blood was already was already boiling, a searing intensity clawing its way through his throat. One option left.
The Kobra Kid was missing.
Party Poison's little brother was missing.
No. Kobra couldn't be missing - Kobra was too smart, too cunning, and too strong to be taken, but he wouldn't take off without his bike and without Party. So that was the truth, then.
And without Kobra, Party had no one to stop him from tearing the damn Desert apart. No, nothing - Kobra deserved that much. And if he hadn't come back from the supply run he'd said he'd ride seven days ago, Party had a week's worth of catching up to do.
Seven days Kobra was left alone Destroya knows where. That was long enough - too long.
Gritting his teeth, Party stalked back to the Trans Am, engine still running. Good. He had places to be, and he didn't have the time to wait - there were six Zones needing to be searched and scoured.
Without the scathing wind that was blocked by having the windows rolled up, there was nothing to stop Party's tears, but he didn't bother wiping them away, not going top speed down sand-covered pavement.
He knew, he knew he couldn't be everywhere in the Zones. But maybe he didn't have to - a DJ got around to every Zone without ever leaving their station.
Never in his life had he been able to operate radio equipment, and if he ever tried there was no doubt in Party's mind that he would break it in three minutes at most. But his intent didn't involve him having to.
Dr. Death Defying was the Desert's most popular radio station. It had never gotten hacked by Better Living Industries, not even once. If you knew the right people, you knew the location; Party had known the right people for months now, and he was cashing in on that information.
-
Zone 2 was a far cry from Zone 3 - the latter filled with ruins and half-standing buildings, habitable but dangerous enough for caution to be advised, while the former stood stripped down to it's skeleton, a barren sand-scape ready to be rebuilt on old foundations.
Honestly? Party didn't care. Barreling down Route Guano with a nearly empty tank of gas and a lack of self-restraint made the passing views blurry, not even the road in focus.
Nothing was going to be in focus in Party's mind's eye until Kobra was safe and sound in the Trans Am's passenger seat. Who cared?
The answer was no one - no one was around to care until he reached Dr. Death Defying's station, swerving violently in lieu of slowing down, splaying sand in every direction.
The Station was mostly hidden in sand. Whatever building had stood before was brought down to its foundations, and those were filled in, but it had a basement; once the stairwell had been shoveled out, it was discovered the basement had survived, and was, in fact, an old recording studio.
At least, that was what Show Pony had told him.
Party, to his credit, managed to take the keys out with shaking hands. Rage or fear, he didn't know, assumingly a mixture of both. He could see the stairwell, wasting no time, keys clutched between his fists and leaving indentations. He hastily crammed them into his pocket.
He didn't know what he was feeling. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. There was simply...a blank slate where Kobra would be. Rageful, or mournful? Determined or terrified? Desolate, or worried?
Was all of the above an answer?
There were so many conflicting feelings in his head he wanted to scream. He wanted a firefight. More accurately, he wanted his brother back.
Pushing the thoughts out of his head, Party clamped his jaw, repressing the screaming, and slammed his fists against the metal door at the bottom of the stairwell. It was obviously not meant for it's frame, though it clearly did it's job if it was still standing.
In all their flamboyant, neon glory, Show Pony opened the door - the harsh grating of metal against concrete making Party shudder.
Before Pony even got a word out, Party was already advancing, steel gaze cutting past records, CDs, and cassettes, searching for one target -
And one target he found. An older man, sitting in a wheelchair, long black hair, short beard and mustache, surrounded almost in a cubicle my radio equipment. Dr. Death Defying.
"You," Party grit out, not bothering to keep his emotions in check. His voice was shaky, oozing the certain venomous intent that gave him and his brother their namesake. "You do the Traffic, right?"
He didn't mean to be so abrasive, but Party wasn't feeling self-conscious or regretful in the slightest as the Doc gave him a once over, from his greasy red hair, to his still-white knuckles, to his worn boots. He raised a brow. "I take it you're the kid who's been kickin' up blood out there? Party Poison?"
"Yeah, now answer my damn question," Party spat. If Kobra was on...No, no, Kobra wouldn't. Kobra was too smart.
Dr. D nodded, fiddling with a dial in his set-up. "'Pends on who you ask and why. Why you need to know, kid?"
"My - " Party almost said 'my little brother'. Little brother. Who was probably smarter than Party (definitely smarter), but his little brother nonetheless. "The Kobra Kid. Is he on the Traffic?"
Hesitating, Dr. D almost answered. Instead, he shuffled ratty, stained pavers around his desk, before finally giving a low hum as he held up a significantly more clean paper, low quality blue ink bleeding to the side Party could see. "No...No Kobra Kid. What's up with the Kid?"
"Yeah!" Show Pony interrupted before Party had a chance to register the words flowing through his head. "What's up with your attitude AND why are ya askin' if Kobes is on the Traffic?"
"Haven't seen 'im in a week. Found his bike in the sand." It was all Party had to say, and he knew it.
The way Pony's eyes widened and the gasp they let out confirmed it - everyone knew Kobra would never abandon his bike. Or his brother. "And you thought -"
"What else should I think?" Party cut them off, an air of restlessness surrounding him. This was taking too much time. "That he ran off? No. And if he isn't on the Traffic, something happened to him. I want to find him."
Neither of the two other 'joys stated any of the what-ifs Party could see swirling in their eyes. Good. He didn't need what-ifs, he needed help. With the storms in his eyes he was almost daring them to tell him it was useless.
Dr. D nodded slowly, never looking away from Party. He was determined, and Party made damn sure they both could see it. "Alright, kid...You want help? Lookin' for 'im?"
"Well I didn't come here expecting my brother was dead," Party seethed. Asking for the Traffic had been to calm the panic crushing his heart. Knowing Kobra wasn't on that list only loosened the noose, not removed it. "Of fucking course!"
"I don't think we can -" Pony started with a nervous glance to Dr. D, before sighing and rephrasing. "We don't have enough Zonerunners in…"
"We might be able to spare one or two," Dr. D hummed. He kept switching dials on his desk (or radio equipment, Party didn't see the differentiation in the lighting) on-and-off.
"We really can't, you know we need to lay low!" Pony protested, side-eying Party. It wasn't out of malice, it was sympathy, and really, Party did understand. The Dracs in this area had increased and Party's careless excursion out here wasn't a good idea. But Party didn't care.
"And he really needs his brother." Dr. D wasn't looking at Pony while he spoke - he was looking straight at Party, at his tensed shoulders, his determined gaze. "We have anyone near here?"
Pony had to think a little. The silence only fueled Party's temper. "...Most everyone red-lined. But I know Fun Ghoul is over by Bayside."
"Bayside?" Party asked. Before anyone else got a chance to add anything or speak. "Fun Ghoul?"
"The old pool out a few miles that-a-way." Pony pointed to the door with his thumb, like anyone had any sense of direction in a cluttered basement with sand in the window wells. "Ghoulie is a bomb-maker. He's not quite a Zonerunner, D."
Dr. D shrugged. "He's what we've got, an' I got an inkling Party ain't leaving 'til he gets what he wants. On one condition."
"Damn right I'm not!" Party agreed - then the last sentence registered. "Wait - why the fuck does there need to be a condition for your help? Is my brother's disappearance not a good enough fuckin' reason?!"
"You're not the only one who's come in over a missing friend," Pony said quietly, sadly, standing next to Party but too hesitant to put their hand on his shoulder.
Party grit his teeth, forcing down a new wave of nausea and dread, instead focusing on the fading red CD case haphazardly thrown on the floor. "No. You can't help everyone but you can help me. Help me and help Kobra."
"You got carbons on you?" It was an out-of-place question. It had no place in a conversation about how Party was going to get his damn brother back.
Party scowled at Dr. D, through dim lighting, but answered nonetheless. "I might. What's it to you?"
"Neutral market out in Zone 4. Pony an' I need some supplies," Dr. D said, leaning back in his chair. "Won't cost too much. Twenty, twenty-five carbons."
Party balked. "I'm not going to some fucking market when my brother is missing!"
"You will," Dr. D said, a melancholy to his voice. Why, Party didn't know, but Pony seemed to. "If you want our help. We can help with gas. Take Ghoul, pay, come back, you have our help."
"Say I agree." It took all of Party's self-restraint not to bludgeon someone right then and there. He didn't have time for this - it showed in his clamped fists, blood droplets starting to pool in the space between nail and finger from pressure. "Say I agree, why the Hell would I need to take your Zonerunner with me?"
"Make sure you don't steal."
"Do I look like a thief to you?" Party's voice had a low lilt to it, his anger turning halcyon. At least, so it physically appeared. But his irascibility wasn't gone - wouldn't be gone - until he got what he wanted. It was a dangerous combination, and while Party didn't realize it yet, the two killjoys in the room with him did. "I don't have the time to go to a market and drag a Runner with me. Kobra is missing."
Pony was backing up, leisurely, standing next to Dr. D, tossing up a CD. "Look, I can't - I can't change that, Party, but you need to realize our help isn't free. Please. We want to help."
"Then help me. Skip the bullshit. I just want to find my brother." He wasn't begging, he wasn't pleading, he wasn't yelling. He was asking. And there was one, one right answer.
Pony sighed, rubbing their forehead. "Look. I wish it worked that way. You aren't the only 'joy with a missin' person. We need to lay low. Please, Party. Accept the offer."
"And if I accept," Party started, shoving his fist into his jacket pocket, finding and holding tight to his keys, to keep himself collected. "I grt your help in finding Kobra? Everything you've got?"
With a nod, Dr. D and Pony looked to each other and seemed to have a silent conversation. When they reached an agreement, Pony turned back to Party, now half-sitting on a table. "Yeah. Whatever you want. D'll scribble ya down a list of what we need, go down to Bayside 'n give Ghoulie the list. He'll take ya."
Party managed to keep his mouth shut while Dr. D, as told, scribbled down his list on some small piece of cardboard laying around.
There were no farewells on his way out, only a flance of cherry red hair flying through the air before he was gone.
-
The Bayside was, as promised, just west a few miles up, but Party only realized that because of the scrawled directions.
Glass windows in the front room that was visible to Party were all shattered, missing, but that was to be expected. Graffiti also covered all of the bad wallpaper, but Party didn't focus on reading any of it.
The doorway leading to an empty, graffitied pool lacked an actual door, and the frame was rotting and half-collapsed, but Party ducked under the beams - he's never been to Bayside before, but he'd never been.
There was only one 'joy, sitting cross-legged in the dirty deep-end, wires and parts and scrap metal sitting aimlessly in a semi-circle around him.
"You're Fun Ghoul?" Party asked snobbishly, voice echoing off the walls. This was the only way he could get Dr. D and Show Pony's help - it didn't mean he had to act like he wanted to be doing this. The preference would be scouring through the Zones, half-wading in sand with the sun searing his shoulders. But that would never work.
The 'joy looked up, shoulder-length black hair falling over their face. Dr. D had black hair, sure, but he was older, a feat not achieved by most...Party didn't like thus 'joy already. No one who wasn't Dr. D-age shouldn't have black hair. "'Pends on why you're askin', cherry."
"We're going on a Run." It was blunt, it left no room for argument.
So of course, Fun Ghoul argued. "I don't know you. I'm not Running with you. Why are you here?"
Party sighed dramatically, jumping down into the pool nimbly, having decided he didn't want to take the stairs. "Party Poison. Sent by Dr. D. And I don't have time to waste listening to you, so let's get a move on."
"Knock the attitude. Then we'll talk," Ghoul near-growled, watching Party's feet as he carelessly stepped over, over and around Ghoul's scrap metal.
Party took the crumpled note out of his back pocket, taking care to crush it a bit more before throwing it in Ghoul's face. "We'll talk now. Let's go, Fun Ghoul."
"I'm doing something. Clearly," Ghoul deadpanned, taking Party's hand and putting the note back.
Kicking some little metal contraption, Party was grateful for steel-toed boots. "Does it look like I care? Get up. We have a Run and the sooner we get back the sooner I get to start looking for my brother, crash queen."
"You're the crash queen here, cherry bomb," Ghoul grit out, jumping up to be eye level with Party...well, he went up to Party's eyes. "But you look like a real trouble-magnet, and I don't wanna be 'round you too long. Fine."
"My car." Party said blankly. He didn't have time to argue, he needed to get this over with.
Ghoul didn't answer; he also didn't pick up any of the scraps and trinkets he'd been messing with, electing to follow Party instead.
The silence was a welcome change for Party.
---
"Get your filthy hands off me!"
Kobra threw a wild swing to whoever was next to him, unable to reach the Drac behind him - his fist hit concrete, blood from his knuckles smattering across it.
Before he could blink, what had previously been three Dracs as an escort became a bustling hallway full of them coming in on either side of him, pinning his arms, holding his head in place, forcing his mouth shut.
He couldn't even thrash around there were so many surrounding him, white, white, pure white aside from the Drac masks, oh Destroya the masks, the masks -
Kobra's breathing was too erratic, the sterile smell of chemicals stinging in his nostrils and barely covering the smell of blood, the plastic of a glove over his mouth barely allowing him to breathe, he shut his eyes, he didn't have his gun, why were they moving him? What did he do? What were they doing?
Dracs didn't care if they jostled him or not, hitting his shoulder as they marched him. They'd already knocked him out for the journey here, where could they be taking him?
Kobra lost track of time. Tick, tock, tock, tock. In his jumbled thoughts he couldn't make out the difference, he should be watching where they were taking him, he should be counting the turns, he should be planning -
A rough hand shoved Kobra's back, making him stumble forward, crashing his bad left shoulder into a wall. Pain flared through him body, making him gasp, collapse, eyes flying open only to see static until the pain started to subside.
There were no more hands on him. No one was jostling his shoulder. Kobra had to force himself to sit up, arm braced against the wall for support. Concrete, again. Probably white, but there was dingy yellow lighting.
And on the edges of his vision, a door. A glass door, but Kobra didn't bother looking over or entertaining any thoughts of breaking it. He already knew how impossible that was.
He wanted to go to sleep. He wanted his brother. He wanted to wake up and pretend this was all a dream. But if it was a dream he would've woken up by now.
"Need help with that?"
Kobra nearly jumped, wildly looking for the source of the voice and finding it was behind him - he was still adjusting to the light, but he could see the outline of another person, in the farthest corner, ten feet orso away. They had an impressive 'fro, but the white scrubs - the same ones Kobra was in - made Kobra wary. He shouldn't be, really, but what-if this was another trick? "Who are you?"
The stranger shook their head. "No names. Your shoulder. It's hurt. Do you need help?"
Kobra could understand no names. Last time he was caught talking to himself he got his shoulder injury - just his brother's name, over and over, Party Poison, Party Poison, Party Poison.
"..." Kobra was silent for a minute. They were in the same damn prison uniform with hair that wasn't up to standard. Couldn't be too bad, right? "I...Yeah. Yeah, please. What - what can I call, then?"
"J works," the stranger - J - said, crawling over to where Kobra was sitting. Up close, he looked much more beat up then Kobra - darker-skinned, but Kobra could see he was probably deprived of sunlight and the lighting was too dim to really tell, a black eye, split lip...bloodied scrubs. Worse than Kobra, but he stopped trying to inventory J's wounds.
Instead, he let J tear off one of Kobra's sleeves at the elbow, tearing that into strips. He was quiet until J motioned for him to take his shirt off to wrap around the burn on his shoulder. "You can call me K, I guess. Or Kid."
"You look like a kid," J smiled lightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. He was gentle, taking care not to agitate the wound, but he was also frowning soon after. "This is gonna get infected."
"Can't really help that," Kobra mumbled, voice a scarce whisper. He hadn't talked all week, ever since he got caught, and part of him was terrified to talk again. But J had been here longer and he didn't seem terrified.
J sighed. "I know, Kid."
"...Where are we?" Kobra asked hesitantly, curiously after a beat of silence.
J shrugged, putting Kobra's shirt back over his head, wincing with him when he had to put his arm through the sleeve. "Holding 'cility. Dunno where…"
"How long you been here?"
"Long enough to feel bad for you," J said simply, leaning back against the wall and sitting with Kobra, knees pulled to his chest. "You look like you're waitin' for rescue or escape."
"Of course I am," Kobra nearly scoffed. Of course, of course Party would come get him. Party always saved him, right?
J gave a sad smile. "I hope that hope sticks with you, Kid. For now...Welcome to captivity, I suppose."