Disclaimer: I own nothing, affiliate with My Chemical Romance or anyone that works, ever worked or is involved with Gerard, Mikey, Ray, or Frank. The order in which I wrote the words pertains to me and only me. If I had the chance to chill with these guys is Desolate Cali 2019, I wouldn't be writing about it; I would instead, totally rock it like Grace Jeanette and be their fifth Killjoy ;) This is my first story here, and I see that there isn't any MCR fics, thought I would be cool to be the unofficial first :) (maybe there are other out there; that would be super sweet.)

Comment. Criticize. Love.

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He never would have imagined his life like this: crouched behind a rock, the burning, hot, unforgiving sun beating down on his neck; surrounded by nothing by desert, dirt, and cacti. Blinking to regain his focus, he leaned up against the boulder, his back glued to it, his ray gun clenched in his hand; he would be ready for any sudden surprise attack. He peered over it and saw that the coast was clear, so he made a run for it, dashing over the hood of the car and into the drive's seat, the key in the ignition, waiting to be turned. Hopefully this band of Dracs weren't as smart as to slash his tires out. When they began to excelarate him forward, he hollered out in joy.

The tires revved out of the Draculoids' path, running over a few of the dead ones scattered over the field of dust and sand. What a degrading way to die, Party Poison though as he finally lowered his bandanna, eyes fierce on the desert road in front of him. This time, nothing was going to stop him.

But they deserved it, he added. They could have sided against BLI and he would have been one stronger. They could have fought for the greater good—instead of mass murdering innocents that dared to rebel against the natural movement of Korse's plan for total and completle word domination. He lamented the huge loss in the bloody confrontation that had gone on earlier that day; a surprise attack on the assumed sleeping Draculoids that didn't go quite as planned.

What went according to plan now a day? Every single movement he made, every move the Killjoys made—as a whole unit—was micro-managed, dissected—and from that information, Korse sent his minions to seize and attack. Never had that bastard had the guts to face them all by himself; instead, he hid in his big mansion in the middle of Main Street, located in Newark, NJ. Even out in the open, nobody dared confront him, or else they'd end up with a hole in their head.

This time, Party Poison was sure someone had snitched. He felt as betrayed as Jesus would have been when Judah place that final kiss of death on his cheek. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his foot deeper into the petal and gripped the steering wheel till flesh was white against bone. He cursed the name of whoever screwed this mission up. But he had to stop wondering; he was all alone now. The snitch and the rest of the remaining Killjoys were dead. But that didn't make him feel any more at ease. Of course he now had to face being completely alone, but that he could do with. The only thing that mattered now was that his own selfish reasons had to take the back-burner for a bit longer. They were the same that had taken over since banding together with the out-skirted misfits he would find to create what the S/C/A/R/E/C/RO/W now sought after with blind rage—The Killjoys.

He was hell-bent on finding his brother and wife—alive. And he was going to make sure that happened, even if he was the lamb that had to be sacrificed in the process.
For now, he fought against the sinking sun. Where would he find refuge tonight, when the Killjoys' headquarter was plundered by the Draculoids? He was not going to put himself in a situation where the only way out was a blast to the head.

-
He once again found shelter in his car. He was forced to sleep in that back seat, which beat the hell out of sleeping next to a fire, naked to any sudden assault, no matter how many ray guns he had with him. The night had been bitter and mean to him, having the sun a blessing from above. It was also his relentless alarm clock, waking him every morning; he silently thanked whatever entity gave him the strength and luck to survive one more day, as the others around him dropped like flies. At this time, maybe a few years ago, he would be waking up the cry of Bandit—calling on mommy and daddy to hurry the hell up and get her feed and changed. But if he thought back and got drunk on the memory of the emotions, he would have been dead a long time ago.

Rubbing out the kink in his neck, he surveyed his surroundings, looking out for any unexpected strangers surrounding the car. Clear and safe, he reached forward into the front cavity and turned the car to idle, giving it enough juice to turn the radio on to Dr. DeathDefying's channel. He was probably already on.

"Good morning, methane-breathers. Glad to see that you have found an escape from the perils of the dark and found a little corner of light to listen up. From the Zone, we got reports that last night we had a few casualties, out on the corner of grain and sand." Party Poison chuckled at his comment. This man always seemed to find the speck of humor in the hellish reality that was now Battery City, Cali, 2019. "But don't get your gas-masks in a bunch, tumbleweeds. We know that even if we are the terrible aftermath, we have to know that the future is bullet proof—we still gotta hold hope that those relentless Killjoys will keep going, no matter how many limbs they've lost. They've fallen in numbers, gathered and always come back that much stronger. Everyday, we are finding more and more survivors from the recent city raids, and everyday more and more rock n' rollers gang up to create another sturdy branch of Killjoys. They'll never take us alive. Now, I'll leave you all with this lovely note: If you're alone and your heart is still beating, join the fight where the sun don't shine too bright and where even the pills can't stop us. This is the Doc signing off. Here's Show-Pony with some noise." Oldies began to play, heavy with white noise.

Sighing, he rubbed at the kink again. He knew Dr. D was referring to the hideout—The Killjoy's headquarters that was probably gutted from the inside out. His stomach grumbled angrily at him, demanding him to shove something edible down his throat to digest. Back at the diner—which doubled as the Killjoy's hideout—food was abundant. As much as he hated the idea, he jumped into the front seat, pulled his bandanna up, slide on his shades and was off to the only place he would maybe find a safe haven for a couple of hours, at the very least.

-
Pulling up to the diner, the dust that had been lifted by his tires fogged up his vision, the cloud of smoke obstructing the entrance. The door had been ripped off its hinges and now laid on the floor, accidentally stepping over it as he went inside. In defense, he placed his hand over the magazine of his gun, which was still in its holster. He flipped back the top for easier access. Slowly, he advanced through the destroyed diner. The floor was littered with everything that once had a solid, neat place on the shelves stacked against the walls on the left side of the room, behind the counter, or on the tables. Towering window were now big gaping holes, the glass scattered on the tables facing them. Checking that the coast was clear, he proceeded to the back kitchen, a low clinking sound caught his ear, coming from the pantry.

A hidden enemy, his instincts advised. Swiftly removing his gun from the holster, he held it in front of him at arms length. Also removing his shades, he turned the corner into the pantry to find a young man coiled up in the corner with three empty cans lying around him; the guy was working on the fourth one. He was immediately alarmed at Party Poison's sudden appearance, pulling out his own ray gun and standing up in defense.

He didn't look like a BLI follower, with his ratty, dirty yellow ¾-sleeve shirt, his forest green vest, and what looked like once-black-now-dust-gray jeans. But any stranger was lethal, Party Poison had said to himself on various occasions. Trust was like a death-wish around here.

"Who the fuck are you?" Party Poison said through his raised bandanna. His eyes glimmered through Party Poison's memory; remembering this stranger. In the split second that he studied him, no memory came to him.

"I should be asking the same question," the stranger said, motioning towards Party Poison's ray gun pointed directly at his heart.

"I'm not telling you jack until you tell me who you are. This is my territory. Do you work for Korse? And if you lie to me, asshole, I'll rip you a new one." The stranger wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—gun pointed still pointed at Party—and shook his head feverishly.

"Fuck no, man. He'd be dead if he was the one standing in front of me. Just lower your gun."

"Don't tell me what to do! Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Fun Ghoul. If you think I'm gonna tell you my real name, you got something else coming."

"Are you a survivor of the recent city raids?" Party asked, his own still pointed toward Fun Ghoul. He threw his hands up in surrender. "Kinda, now could you just lower your damn gun? I haven't had a bite to eat in four days and I heard what the guy on the radio said about this place. I was camped out a few miles south from here. Got attacked by a couple of Dracs and after scavenging alone for so long, a roof over my head sounded pretty luxurious." Party lowered his weapon and pulled down his bandanna.

"I'm Party Poison, but you can calls me Gee. I was the commander-in-chief before this place got messed up last night by a raid. There wouldn't have been one and I wouldn't have lost my army if it wasn't for that snitch. You aren't one of those now, are you?"

"I'm on my own because I don't have anyone to trust in this shit of a town."

"Good, you're one with no luggage. This is just the first floor of the entire headquarters. Now that Dr. D put the word out for this place, I gotta set up for more people to come." Fun Ghoul stayed silent as he followed Party Poison out of the pantry and into the disastrous front room. "You can stay here for as long as you need too and as long as you commit to being at the disposal of the Killjoys' army that we have to build up—again. It might take more time this time—since this is the second time this happens," he said as he took a ring of keys out from his pocket, selecting the only red one. He pulled the heavy door open, almost letting it smack against Fun Ghoul. As the stairs led lower into the ground, Fun Ghoul just followed and listened the faint lilts of Gee's voice as he explained more on how the Killjoy organization worked.

He was an odd fella, Fun Ghoul determined. The guy had tight gray jeans, a tight 'Dead Pegasus' wind breaker that seemed to fit too snug for his broad shoulders, and red hair—vibrant red hair. What purpose did the bandanna and shades serve when his cherry red hair betrayed him, making him target enough to knock his head off his shoulders?

He probably had no heartbeat. His veins were probably hard and icy. He held no emotion in his face, or eyes; only his lips held the tension. Something told him that this man was not like this before; this endless war of survival had made him miserable, bitter and robotic. And the blank look in those eyes sealed the deal on Fun Ghoul's speculation: he was a robot that was programmed to save other Killjoys. This one didn't die easily.

He had heard about the Killjoys before and decided to join some self-proclaiming idiots that called themselves Killjoys who thought they were as bad-ass to survive alone. Fun was naive enough to go along with it, but it resulted in his down fall. Now here he was, following some crazy human-robot thing deeper and deeper into some caves, where he could probably be massacred and no one would know it, no matter how loud he screamed. His stomach quivered and decided to tune back to Party's voice before he let his nerves overtake him.

"—there was always much to do around here when we had a full house. Everyone usually pitched in and helped with the up-keep, hunting and all that survival stuff. The first time we had this organization up and running, it was me, my brother, wife, child, and a few other couples with their children. The stronger, healthy men and women always went out to hunt and once, we raided a Drac base-camp. We took out a good amount of Draculoids on our first raid and we got cocky. We thought that nothing could touch us. It went so smoothly and our planning was flawless, what could possibly hurt us?

"A few weeks later, they found our hideout and, on an outing we usually regularly made to scavenge for food, they raided the caves and killed most of the children and people that were left behind." He heard no emotions behind Gee's voice as he continued down the narrow path of rock that branched off to many dark hallways. But if only he was in his mind—only then would he see every bloody detail that was involved.

"Where's your family now?" Curiously tickled his throat before he could stop his words from coming out.

"They killed my six-year-old. My brother saved my wife from getting killed in the exchange. I know they got away because I got a letter not too long ago from Mi—" he caught himself" my brother, telling me that he was okay; that he couldn't disclose their whereabouts, but that him and my wife were okay—physically that is. My wife loved that child."

"Didn't you, Gee?" Party Poison stopped dead in his tracks, catching Fun Ghoul off-guard and causing him to slam into Party. Regaining his footing, he looked up to see his poker face, his lips stretched out into a thin, livid, tense line.

"Feelings are what got all the others killed last night. They didn't see to save their own skin before saving anyone else's. You better learn that in your time here, Fun Ghoul. If we were on the line, wouldn't you save your own ass before mine?" He didn't let him answer, but took his silence as a yes. "Exactly. Now that you ate, you can sleep in one of the rooms." He jammed his thumb towards the many doors trailing behind him. "I'll later wake you up for the mid-day report that is screened on the radio. Dinner is when the sun sets and you better be in bed by the moonlight because we have to wake up to look for survivors tomorrow. Good night, Frank." Party Poison said, turning and disappearing into the black hole that was the hallway. Frank stood frozen in the doorway, his hand icy cold and tightened around the knob.

How the hell did he know his name?