Episode 6: The Last Party

The island rose from the sea like a dream refusing to wake up.

One moment, there was nothing but Caribbean water, endless blue in every direction. The next, palm trees broke the surface. White sand beaches emerged. Tiki torches flickered to life, flames that seemed to burn with something more than fire.

The Source. The birthplace of celebration. Home.

Chillada felt it before he saw it. A warmth in his chest. A rhythm in his soul. Like a song he'd forgotten but never stopped humming.

"It's beautiful," Berry whispered.

"It's REAL," Mike added, clutching his salvaged Daft Punk vinyl like a talisman. "I mean, I knew it was real, but also I didn't really BELIEVE it was real until..."

"Until now." Jenkins stood at the bow of their boat, eyes wet with sixty years of memory. "The last time I saw this island, I was twenty-three years old. Young. Stupid. Full of joy."

Their boat, if you could call it that, was a collection of vessels Marguerite had assembled. Fishing boats. Yachts. One confused cruise ship that had been "commandeered for the resistance." The old Guardians had answered the call.

But they weren't alone.

On the horizon: Victoria's fleet. Sleek. Military. Beige flags flying from every mast.

"She brought an army," Berry said grimly.

"Then we'll throw them a party they'll never forget."

They made landfall at sunset. The island was everything Chillada had dreamed without knowing he was dreaming it. Bars that served drinks endlessly. Music that played from nowhere and everywhere. Paths lined with lights that pulsed like heartbeats.

And at the center: the Heart. A tiki idol the size of a skyscraper, carved from volcanic rock and covered in ancient symbols. It hummed with power.

"That's it," Jenkins said. "That's what she wants to destroy. The Heart of The Source. Destroy that, and celebration dies. Everywhere. Forever."

"Then we don't let that happen."

They had maybe an hour before Victoria's fleet reached the island. One hour to prepare.

They used every minute.

Marguerite's Guardians spread across the island, setting up speakers, rigging lights, preparing the mother of all party defenses. Mike commandeered the island's natural sound system, a network of conch shells that somehow amplified bass better than any subwoofer ever created.

"This is insane," he muttered, connecting his equipment. "This is the most beautiful insane I've ever experienced."

Berry coordinated the defense perimeter. She knew how the Beige Hand operated. Their formations. Their weaknesses.

"They suppress joy with order," she explained. "So we fight with chaos. Unpredictability. SPONTANEITY."

And Chillada... Chillada walked to the Heart.

Up close, the tiki idol was alive. Not sentient, exactly, but aware. It recognized him. He could feel it.

"I don't remember you," he said quietly. "But I know you made me. And I know you're why she's hurting. Why she's been hurting for sixty years."

The Heart hummed. A response? An acknowledgment? He couldn't tell.

"If I do what you need me to do... if I activate you... what happens to me?"

Images flooded his mind. Not memories, exactly. More like possibilities. He saw himself spreading joy across the world. He saw himself burning out, becoming ordinary. He saw Victoria, young and laughing, before grief hollowed her out.

He saw a choice.

"Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought."

Victoria's fleet arrived at dark. Helicopters. Boats. And something worse.

Five figures stepped off the lead vessel. They looked human, but wrong. Eyes too cold. Movements too precise. They wore matching gray suits and matching gray expressions.

The KILLJOYS.

"Protocol Killjoy," Berry breathed. "She actually did it. She created anti-celebration soldiers."

"Created how?"

"The same research that made you. Reverse-engineered. Weaponized." Berry's jaw tightened. "They're designed to suppress joy on contact. Like... emotional vampires."

Victoria walked behind them, power suit immaculate despite the sea voyage. She stopped at the beach's edge, surveying her conquest.

"CHILLADA!" Her voice carried across the island. "I know you're here. I know you're at the Heart. Come out and face me, or I will burn this island to nothing."

Silence. The island held its breath.

Then: music. Soft at first. Building. The opening notes of something primal, something joyful, something that made even the KILLJOYS shift uncomfortably.

Chillada walked out of the jungle. He'd found a lei somewhere. His sunglasses caught the torchlight.

"Victoria. You look... tired. Sixty years of hating fun will do that to a person."

"Sixty years of WAITING. For you to remember what we had. What you threw away."

"I didn't throw anything away. The Source needed me in the world. And you couldn't accept that."

"I LOVED you. And you LEFT."

"I didn't know HOW to love. I was brand new. I barely understood what I WAS." He stepped closer. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I'm sorry you were hurt. I'm sorry no one explained. But destroying celebration won't bring back what you lost. It'll just make sure no one else ever feels joy either."

"That's the POINT." Her eyes were wet now, but her voice was steel. "If I can't be happy, why should anyone?"

"Because that's not how it works. Pain doesn't get better by spreading it around. It gets better by..."

He paused. Looked at Berry, who had lost a daughter. At Jenkins, who had lost sixty years. At Mike, who had lost his faith in vinyl twice this week alone.

"It gets better by finding people who help you carry it. And then one day, you realize you're not carrying it alone anymore. And that's when the music starts again."

Silence.

Then Victoria's face hardened.

"Pretty words. But I didn't come here for therapy." She snapped her fingers. "KILLJOYS. Destroy the Heart."

The five figures moved. Fast. Too fast. They tore through the Guardian defenders like they were nothing. Joy literally wilted around them, torches dimming, music faltering.

Chillada ran for the Heart. If he could reach it, if he could activate it before...

A KILLJOY blocked his path. Its face was blank. Its voice was monotone.

"Celebration detected. Suppressing."

It touched him. And suddenly, all the warmth in his chest vanished. The music in his soul went silent. For the first time in his existence, Chillada felt... empty.

"This is what we offer," the KILLJOY said. "Peace. Quiet. No pain. No joy. Just... nothing."

Chillada couldn't move. Couldn't think. The emptiness was swallowing him.

Then he heard it. Faint, at first. A bassline. Mike's bassline. The Daft Punk vinyl, playing through the island's conch shell system.

And voices. Singing. Off-key, mostly. The Guardians. Berry. Jenkins. Fighting back with the only weapon that mattered.

Music.

The KILLJOY's grip faltered. "What... what is..."

"It's called a hook," Chillada said. "And it's in your head now."

He broke free. Ran. The Heart was right there, pulsing, calling to him.

Behind him, chaos. The Guardians were holding the KILLJOYS back with nothing but noise and courage. Berry was fighting Victoria's soldiers with dance moves she'd learned at that Miami rave. Jenkins was literally beating someone with a frozen margarita.

Chillada reached the Heart. Put his hands on its surface.

And suddenly, Victoria was there. A gun in her hand. Pointed at his head.

"Don't."

"Victoria..."

"If you activate that thing, you'll burn out. The Source will use everything you are. Every memory, every moment, every drop of joy you've ever created. You'll be nothing. Just... just a regular pineapple."

"I know."

"Then WHY? Why would you sacrifice yourself for people who don't even know you exist?"

Chillada looked at her. Really looked. And for just a moment, he could almost see it. The young woman she'd been. The love they'd shared. The heartbreak he'd caused without meaning to.

"Because that's what joy IS. It's not about the person who feels it. It's about everyone who shares it. Every party, every celebration, every moment of happiness, it ripples out. Touches people you'll never meet. Changes lives you'll never know."

He smiled.

"I'm not sacrificing myself. I'm becoming what I was always meant to be. I'm becoming the party itself."

He pressed his hands into the Heart.

Victoria fired.

But she was too late.

Light exploded from the Heart. Not light, exactly. Joy. Pure, concentrated, unstoppable joy.

It washed over the island. Over Victoria's fleet. Over the KILLJOYS, who screamed as sixty years of suppressed emotion came flooding back. Over the Beige Hand soldiers, who dropped their weapons and started crying, then laughing, then dancing.

It spread beyond the island. A wave of celebration radiating across the ocean, across continents, across the world. People everywhere felt it. A sudden, inexplicable urge to hug someone, to call an old friend, to turn up the music and dance in their kitchens.

And at the center of it all, Chillada burned. His sunglasses cracked. His colors faded. Everything he was poured into the Heart, into the world, into forever.

Berry reached him first. "CHILLADA!"

He collapsed. The Heart went dark. The wave subsided.

Silence.

Jenkins pushed through. Mike. Marguerite. They gathered around him, this pineapple who had given everything.

"He's not breathing," Berry said. "Do pineapples breathe? He's not doing whatever pineapples do!"

"The Source took too much," Jenkins whispered. "I warned him. I WARNED him there would be a cost..."

Mike clutched his vinyl. "This is bullshit. This is total bullshit. He can't just... after everything..."

And then.

A flicker. Faint. In the center of the Heart.

The Heart wasn't dead. It was dormant. Resting. And inside it, a tiny ember glowed.

Chillada's eyes opened.

His sunglasses were cracked. His voice was weak. But he was alive.

"That was..." he coughed. "That was a LOT. I think I need... I think I need a drink."

Berry tackled him in a hug. Jenkins started crying. Mike was already running to get rum.

But something was different. Chillada could feel it. He was still himself, but... less stable. Flickering. Like a candle in the wind.

"The Source saved you," Jenkins said quietly. "But you're connected to it now. Forever. If the Heart dies, you die. If you die..."

"The Heart dies. I got it. Mutual destruction pact with a magical tiki idol. That's new."

He looked around. The KILLJOYS were sitting on the beach, looking confused and slightly less gray. Victoria's soldiers were having what looked like emotional breakthroughs. The Guardians were already starting to clean up.

But Victoria herself...

"Where is she?"

Berry scanned the beach. The fleet. The wreckage.

"She's gone. Must have escaped in the chaos."

Chillada nodded slowly. He should feel worried. Victorious. Something. But right now, he just felt tired. Tired and alive and connected to an island that hummed under his feet like a living thing.

"She'll be back."

"Probably."

"And we'll be ready."

Jenkins handed him a drink. The Tilted Sunrise. His own recipe, served to him on his own island.

"To the Source," Jenkins said, raising his glass.

"To the party," Berry added.

"To the Daft Punk vinyl that SURVIVED EVERYTHING," Mike contributed.

Chillada raised his cracked sunglasses.

"To joy. The real kind. The kind that doesn't cost anything but sharing."

They drank. Around them, the island began to heal. Music started again, softer now, gentler. The Heart pulsed, dim but steady.

The Source had survived. Chillada had survived. And somewhere in the world, people were dancing who had forgotten how.

It wasn't the end of the story.

It was just the beginning.

END OF SEASON ONE

Victoria Frost washed ashore, coughing salt water, power suit ruined. She'd lost everything. Her fleet. Her soldiers. Her revenge.

But she was alive. And alive meant she could try again.

She pulled a waterlogged satellite phone from her pocket. Pressed a button. Waited.

A voice answered. Deep. Calm. Ancient.

"Victoria. I assume Operation Sunset failed."

"The Source is active. The pineapple survived. But the Heart is vulnerable now. Connected to him. If we destroy one..."

"We destroy both. Yes. This was always the contingency."

"What do we do now?"

A pause. Then:

"We proceed to Phase Two. The pineapple thinks he won. He thinks joy is safe. But joy has always had enemies. Older than The Beige Hand. Older than The Source itself."

"The Joyless Council?"

"It's time to wake them. All of them. Not five KILLJOYS. Not an army of operatives. The Council itself. Beings who have spent millennia ensuring that celebration never spreads too far."

Victoria smiled. For the first time in sixty years, it almost reached her eyes.

"When do we start?"

"We already have."

CUT TO: A dark chamber. Somewhere beneath the earth. Ancient. Stone walls covered in anti-celebration runes.

Seven thrones in a circle. Five occupied by figures in shadow. Two empty, waiting.

One figure spoke: "The Source has chosen its champion. A pineapple, of all things. How... festive."

Another: "He depleted himself saving the island. He's weak. Vulnerable."

A third: "Then we strike before he recovers. Before joy spreads too far to contain."

The first figure stood. Ancient. Terrible. The embodiment of every party that was shut down, every celebration that was canceled, every moment of joy that was crushed before it could bloom.

"Send word to our agents. Every killjoy. Every buzzkill. Every person who has ever said 'actually, I have work in the morning.' Activate them all."

The chamber hummed with dark energy.

"The pineapple wants to save joy? Let him try. Let him face THE JOYLESS COUNCIL."

On the wall behind them, a map. The Source marked in gold. And spreading out from it, like cracks in glass, lines connecting to every major city, every country, every corner of the globe.

The war for celebration had only just begun.

CHILLADA WILL RETURN IN SEASON 2:

"THE JOYLESS COUNCIL"