Bulletproof Heart

I sat around the campfire, laughing along to what surrounded me. It was a song; fiery and bright, shining out of the hearts of those have been beaten down, but still risen. It was a song of hope, hope that we could defeat the empires that surrounded us with their tyranny, hope that we would survive the coming years, the fear. I sang too, though it wasn’t the loveliest sound, and I tried to pretend that everything was alright with me, for their sakes.

In all honesty, something was severely, severely not alright with me. I had killed an exterminator. Everyone else thought that it was a feat to be remembered, a joyous event to be celebrated, but I didn’t. One time in his life, that man had children, a wife, and a family. Then Better Living took his husk for their nefarious uses. They hollowed out his insides and let his shell continue walking, vacant like a dark room, with dank shutters for eyes, which only covered insincere glass orbs. The windows to the soul were in fact doors that you could walk through, and find yourself immersed in the wanderings of raving lunatics and lost lambs; immersed in a world without feeling.

The sad thing was, that was what everyone else out there was, unfeeling, unable to love their children, care for their infant, their mother. They were given packaged feeling, censored for content and dosed accordingly. They didn’t even bother manufacturing guilt.

Now I knew why. Guilt plagued me as a plague of locusts had once the realm of Egypt. I was a murderer. So what if he was already dead? Maybe he enjoyed his lifestyle; maybe he enjoyed being an empty coffin, not feeling pain? Maybe I took something from him, maybe he still felt? All of everyone said that he had been dead for so long he started to smell, he couldn’t feel anything but death. I was different. I wanted to hope, I wanted him to still be alive, somewhere in there, even if it made me a murderer, even if it hurt me…

I snapped back to a gleeful reality, but still did not feel the humor surrounding me. The men from Poison’s scatterbrained crew had joined the party momentarily. Rayven Revenge sat there with Fun Ghoul, the arrogant one, clearly repressing the urge to flare her wings. She must like him. Good for her, everyone in here needed a fuck once in a while.

We’d all be extremely uptight if that didn’t occur. I know I had taken my share in the pool of who fucks who here. One of my teenage friends, now dead, of course, had been my friend with benefits on many a night. I hadn’t needed much since then. Now all that fueled me was a slow burning passion: but not one for ‘love’ or sex. A passion only fevered with the best of them: hatred. Pure unadulterated hate, for the machines that took away everything I never really had.

“You okay?” Kitty asked me, clearly staring at my cup and not my face. She’d say anything to get a drink, this was one of the few times we received alcohol. Damn rationing. I took another sip and handed over the cup wordlessly. She understood that as a sign of not wanting to talk, or was too drunk to do anything but accept it as what it was: an exit sign.

I thought briefly about going back home, but then decided against it. The training course called my name, and I didn’t want a beer belly in any case, even though I only had a little. After a few times over, I felt woozy, like vomiting or collapsing, so I returned to my empty cot, no smile gracing my lips, only a frown.

Sleep did not come easily. Now I thought about the Dracs. What lives did they have; what had they done in their lives? Did they have lovers, girls waiting frantically for them to show up, but never greeting them, because they were taken away and glued into a mask? What if I had grown up and had a normal life, would I have appreciated that?

Or would I just be hollow, like brass from an old rifle?



I certainly woke up on the wrong side of the bed. It was almost unfair how painful dreaming was, as it was only about lives made up for each man I had killed yesterday. The exterminator’s was by far the most intricate. He had an affair, cheated on his first wife, but she was cheating on him too, so the interloper became his second wife. They lived a happy life, had an only child, but miraculously had another a few years later, though she was supposedly infertile. Those children were growing up right now. He missed his son’s first kiss, his little girl’s first date, all because of me, of course. The final and worst part of the dream was seeing his death through his own eyes. It was said that exterminator’s couldn’t feel, but I felt every single stroke of the knife, every slash, and every burn. As I woke up, I gently put my hand to the gash in my cheek, fearing that I hadn’t received any scars, that I wasn’t punished. I was. It stung quite horribly.

Pulling on my replacement clothes, I looked at the old ones, which hung on a bit of metal poking out of the wall. They were bloodstained and smelt horridly. My jacket was fine, the blood was easily washed out, but my pants and shirt were soaked through, unsalvageable. My combat boots were okay, they had already received their fair share of blood so it didn’t matter there. Sadly my replacement clothes consisted of a white tee-shirt and dreadful acid wash skin tight jeans, clearly for a taller and slimmer woman, but I took what I could get.

I stuck on the textured boots and slumped my way to camp. My shoulders seemed to almost fall to the earth, and my chin was pointed far downwards, as I was only looking at the grubby ground. I had nearly forgotten my ray gun on the way out.

I walked into the line-up, every day started with target practice, muscle memory and all that. I shot, I scored, so did the stupidly named man next to me, yadda, yadda. Again, we were entirely equal in our shots. I would beat him one of these days, I was sure of it.

This time, though, Commander Fierce did not speak to us about it until the very end of training, whilst people were practically shooting each other to leave.

“Both of you get over here. The rest of you can leave.” It flailed it’s arms at the rest of them, and they ran like stampeding cattle, “As both of you are so talented, we’re willing to cut you breaks on your breech of protocol yesterday.” I began fuming; all I was doing was a supply pick-up, why did I have to take blame? Party Poison was clearly doing the same, it truly wasn’t his fault he was ambushed, was it?

“Anyways. You two are exemplary cadets and deserve a tougher challenge than you can get in everyday training. This is why the Firsts and I have decided that you two are to go on a wilderness excursion, together. Though it may sound very boy scouts, you will not be camping. You will be using the land around you as your shelter; nature will be your home. You will check in at a point marked on your map in one week, and then be sent to a different environment.” Fierce smiled falsely, as if Fierce would have liked to be sent on such a jaunt.

“You will be allowed ray guns and a normal handgun for self-defense. You can get your batteries charged at the check-in. You will also be allowed canteens, flint, a compass, the clothes on your back and Swiss army knives, also a small pack with medical supplies and room to store food that you gather or hunt. I would suggest retrieving your Swiss from the site of yesterday’s incident, Miss Valentine.” I nodded in accord, resenting its use of my shortened Killjoy name, but agreeing still the same.

“You will not get walkie-talkies and you cannot come back here for two weeks, you will be shunned should you return early with anything but fatal injuries. You leave at dawn tomorrow, at the gates. Eat up and rest up.” With that Fierce bid us adieu and left on some more important business.

My new partner in this adventure and I began walking towards main camp, grim expressions down-turning our mouths. I decided to break the awkward festering silence.

“Could you give me a ride to pick up my Swiss? I can’t really remember where it was and Kitty’s way too hung over to be a safe driver.” He nodded an affirmative.

“Great!” Man, was I the awkwardly pleasant one today, “I’ll meet you after dinner then?” It seemed as if he didn’t hear me, but he quietly mumbled a ‘yeah’ and continued being just as equilaterally surly and brooding. Wasn’t I usually the gloomy one? This was a little too Freaky Friday for me; I walked off with a queer, jerky wave goodbye.

Why in hell was I nervous for this trip? Because it was another opportunity for him to prove me wrong and save my life again? Did I want that?

Or I could make him owe me… I did know the desert better than the scars on the back of my hand; I could easily show him up with my fitness and survival skills. This was an opportunity for me to get my pride back, and to get back on my skillful high horse. Possibly get back on my moral one too…

Dinner was absolutely normal, even though I hadn’t been present there for some time. Nothing at all was uncomfortable about the fete, except for the fact that people from Poison’s group seemed to be acclimating themselves into different circles. It was refreshing to be fully reminded that Killjoy’s didn’t care about cliques.

After the standard kibble and recycled feces that was dinner and desert, I walked to Poison’s car, parked outside of his lodging, and he joined me not a minute later. He opened my side, silently gesticulating for me to get in. He then walked over to his side and started the engine. It seemed no matter how sulking and ruminating the guy could get; he would never lose his manners. As much as it wouldn’t help in a fight, it was different and newfangled. The sun was close to setting, but I brought a pocket flashlight with me. Party Poison stopped at where the fight had been, where the Better Living body parts still lay, and got out, holding his own flashlight. It seemed he was going to help me, even if it was to get out quicker. We searched for a couple of minutes until I felt a tap on my shoulder, and the man stood there, holding out my knife. It wasn’t sanitary in any sense of the word, but it was sentimental. I took it from him with murmured thanks.

I then actually looked down. Strewn body parts littered the ground like highway detritus, or plastic bottles in the ocean. I pulled those body parts apart with my weapons. I felt like I was going to be sick, but remained composed despite. I could still smell the airwaves of burning flesh and busted batteries, the metallic twang of blood. As strong as I was at holding in my feelings for all of these years, I was still human. I turned away from the body parts and desecrated the ground with vomit.

I nearly choked on my masticated kibble in shock when I felt hands grasp around my hair, holding it out of the spatter-range. I relaxed after I finished, my shoulders heaving. I wiped my mouth, which felt acidic, like my gums were on fire, and stumbled over to the car, unable to express my thanks.

Almost as surprising as him helping me out was him striking up a conversation. It seemed he had gotten over his previous mood swing and moved onto a new one.

“So we’re going to be spending the next two weeks together. Alone.” He speaks!

“Yes. I guess we’ll both have to remove the chips from our shoulders, then.” I mused aloud, really thinking about trying to be civil with him, despite his infuriating personality.

“Yeah, or we could just be silent and get each other killed.” He deliberated, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“Sounds like fun.” I spoke sarcastically.

“It’s settled then.” He finalized. I still would never let him get in the final word. It was too much fun surprising him.

“Before it’s settled, thanks, for everything,” He stared at me blankly, clearly shocked at my graciousness.

“And now it’s settled.” I confirmed.