If this is the frontline...

[Alexander Ludovico]

Well you're no fun. *I finish the knot and start untying it again, raising an eyebrow when she hits her head against the wall. Are all killjoys this self-destructive? Maybe they are. They /do/ choose to live in a radioactive desert, after all. I get up, but head towards the hallway instead of the door* You promised me a tour, remember. And whats-his-name, Inception Afterdoo, didn't say I had to leave.

[Volume Virus]

Yeah, but he hates me for you. I need to fix my mistake, and I don't really feel up to killing anyone right now who isn't me. As for a tour...this is the living room, elsewhere are bedrooms and the kitchen. Outside is sand, sand, and more sand. Is that good enough? *My gun weighs heavy around my waist. I should go outside, dig myself a pit, and use it before things get any worse.*

[Alexander Ludovico]

You're depressing. Did you know that? *I continue down the hall, pausing by the first modified cell* You are a very depressing person. I mean sure, Afterdoo's depressing in a Zone-survival sort of way, but anyone's bound to be after a while. But you're just plain - *I make a dramatic sad face, then grin again and keep walking*

[Volume Virus]

Give me a break. I'm in mourning for three different people and Aftermath would probably love to rip my head off for six months of stupid stuff. I am allowed to be depressing. *I follow Vico grudgingly.* These are bedrooms. They aren't the most comfortable, but no one's complained yet. It's better than the back seat of a car or the floor.

[Alexander Ludovico]

Sure you're allowed to. Doesn't mean you have to be. I lost three of my grandparents in a gas main explosion when I was seven, and it didn't slow me down for long. *I stick my head into another cell, but it's pretty much identical.* Rather plain. I though killjoys secreted spray paint instead of sweat or something. Shouldn't there be more color?

[Volume Virus]

*I don't know what to say to that. Sure, I lost Nox yesterday, but three relatives is worse. Anyway, we're Killjoys. We're practically bathed in death.* I'm...sorry. Anyway, color is a personal choice. Like, you see how I look? That's as much a choice as the people who have clothes you could see from a mile away make. Besides...we don't really get much paint out here.

[Alexander Ludovico]

Understandable, I suppose. I assume you're not expecting me to give up my jacket, then? I'm rather partial to it. *Without waiting for an answer, I move on to the kitchen. The cupboards give me an idea of how they're doing food-wise; there isn't an excessive amount of pre-packaged foodstuff, but what's there is almost all within it's expiration date. It confirms that there aren't many stockpiles left from before the war, and the Zone population is relying heavily on transport convoys to and from the city. There's also some meat, though, and I poke a bit of it dubiously.*

You hunt out here? Is it safe to eat?

[Volume Virus]

Not raw, it's not, unless you want to be sick. *He's rummaging through our cabinets, probably checking what's from a BLI truck. I don't think we've gone on a food raid in a while; new students often bring a least a bit of food with them, and the stuff we cook with is generally the sort of stuff that doesn't spoil quickly. Of course, I'm probably going to get arrested for it anyway.* You probably wouldn't want our food, anyway. They have all the good stuff in the Tower...like ice cream...chocolate...raspberries....*I shake my head and snap myself out of it before I start drooling or something else idiotic. I would kill for some chocolate.* You'd probably be happier waiting until you get back home.

[Incendiary Aftermath]

*I listen in on their conversation and emerge through the kitchen doorway. I'm slightly calmer now. Slightly.* The food is safe enough. As long as we don't hunt in hot spots, the animals are usually fine. We avoid anything with a tumor, though. That's always a bad sign. *I limp over to the pantry and take out a can of beans. I place it on the stove and let it heat.* I'm sorry about earlier, Vico. You're the first BLI operative I've seen since Hank came round, so it's not exactly like you're a welcome sight right now. *I take the can off the stove and sit down with it.* You're not all bad, BLI folks. I like that Wilson guy you've got over there, and the little girl... Red... I think was her name. Gotta appreciate a blood thirsty killer. *I take a spoonful from the can.* Why did you choose to come along, anyways? *I'm not about to start trusting anyone, but being piss poor to Vico isn't going to get us anywhere either. Though murder is always an option.*

[Volume Virus]

*Aftermath walks in. I automatically scuttle out as quickly as I can. I don't really want to get into another argument; in fact, I'm scared that we're getting closer and closer to the point where he throws me out of the house with a punch to the face. Not today.*

[Alexander Ludovico]

*I eye the meat for a moment longer, not convinced, but then shrug and lean against a wall* No tumors, A-ok. And no apologies necessary. You /are/ savage, Zone-hardened felons, smashing things at random and surviving on one another's bones. Or something like that. The kid's tales are actually getting better, believe it or not.

As for the other operatives, if you mean Hank as in Hank Manson, that man's a piece of work. Even /I/ don't care for him. *I nod sagely, as though everyone in the room understands what a big deal that is.* Wilson's brilliant, of course. And the kid's dead, I think. Not sure, but last I heard she was out of commission, possibly missing in the Zones. You haven't seen her, have you? *I neglect to mention the fact that Riley was furious about the possibility of her still being alive. Maybe they know something, maybe not. But either way, I get to avoid the why-are-you-here question for at least a few more minutes. Gives me time to figure out the answer.*

[Incendiary Aftermath]

What exactly do they teach you over in Battery? *I can't help but chuckle at his explanation of Killjoys. I swallow the spoonful of beans and gag. They were still cold.* We don't smash things at random unless they have a giant black face on them, and the reasoning for /that/ is simply because we try to survive against /you/. Of course, I don't expect you Neo-Nazis to understand what I mean by that. We're like cats and mice, in a way. *I set the can aside, disappointed.* Only this time the mice have guns.

What do you know about Hank? He took one of our own, and we've been meaning to get her back. I think you know that, already, though. *I shrug and back up in the chair* Won't matter once the tower goes bye-bye for good. As for Red, I haven't seen her. If she were here, I'm sure you'd be choking on your own blood at this point. Ain't enough pills in the world to save you from that kind of rage. Crazy, what kind of monsters can be created with the "best intentions", isn't it?

[Alexander Ludovico]

Oh I don't believe the stories. No one does, really. Just saying that they're getting more interesting as the years pass. Mice with guns... *I laugh at the image* And no, I didn't already know that. I've only met Manson once, and I haven't cared enough to poke through his experiments. I knew you were trying to get someone out of the city, though, up until my good looks were simply too much for Volume to resist and she gave up the chase.

*The sun's getting low, and I step slightly to the side so the light's not shining through the window into my eyes* I don't know why the draculoid girl would have any quarrel with me. I've never actually met her in person, so far as I can remember.

[Incendiary Aftermath]

*I chuckle again and set my crutches aside, getting comfortable.* You don't know much about rage, do you? You shove a kid like that full of meds and teach them only to kill, better watch your back once they turn on you. Doesn't matter if they know you or not. You side with the people she's turned against, and she only has one function. *I point to my skull mockingly* Should be common sense, really.

Vico, let me ask you something on a personal matter. Er... rather, it's a question for everyone, but something only I've really dared to ask. You seem level headed enough. *I lean into the table and meet his eyes, trying to connect to his inner humanitarian, if one exists.* Why hate us? Yeah, we've resisted BLI rule, but can you blame us? It's not our thing. The drugs, the conformity, the plain white and /severe/ lack of style. Why can't BLI just leave us alone? What would it take?

[Alexander Ludovico]

Hm... perhaps. *I realize I'm tapping my fingers against my leg and get my cord out again, starting a new series of knots. A doctor noticed once and offered to prescribe something for the tic, but I find a good length of rope works just as well.*

I'm the wrong person to ask, sorry to say. I honestly don't care one way or the other about the killjoys, so long as you're not stealing, vandalizing, or murdering. But that goes for anyone, not just the 'joys. I have a job to do, that's all, and if you lot could beat Better Living's pay grade, standard of living, and personal security, I might put my application in with you.

*I pause, watching the loops twisting around my fingers* It's a Catch 22, this whole conflict. Why are you hunted? Because you're criminals. Why are you criminals? Because you're hunted and it's the easiest way for you to survive. We'd leave you alone if you were all self-sufficient and quiet. Well, no, that's not true either, because then someone up top would get paranoid that you'd start an army or something.