Five minutes.

That's the amount of time it took for everything in the killjoy world to fall apart. Five minutes, three hundred seconds, three hundred thousand milliseconds. It was strange to think that in just a short period of time, so much could happen. That so many people could be effected by one event. One event, fueled purely by revenge-filled thoughts and careless adrenaline. Stupid, most would call it. And yes, it was idiotic. Everything they had done before that had been just as dumb. Idiocy, revenge and adrenaline are never a good mix, that much as been proven true.

But that's what the Killjoys are built on, isn't it?

One minute

The colorful car moved across the road easily. After all, tarmac was a lot smoother than the dirt roads it was used to driving across. It's headlights were dimmed, despite the dark night around it. There were fewer streetlights in this area of Battery City. It wasn't as if they were expecting civilians, anyway. This was where the Headquarters, the master controls, lay and it was exclusive to BL/ind personnel.

None of the Killjoys in the car spoke. Why should they? They all knew what they were going to do. They all knew it was dangerous. They all knew they could get killed. It was the same with everything they did. Being a rebel wasn't easy, you know. Their dusty clothes, skinny frames and scarred skin proved that. But it was better than being pumped full of drugs on a daily basis, living in oblivion to the beaten down world around you. That was what they thought, at least.

Uniqueness was key in the Killjoy world. Every rebel was different. Each wore different colors, different accessories, different patterns. No two were the same and this was clear to see in the car. Party Poison, the one at the wheel. The daring, stupid, excitable and most definitely crazy one with a head of bright red hair. The leader. Kobra Kid, his brother, the intelligent, sandy-haired, quiet one. Fun Ghoul, the short, fiery one with a taste for sarcasm. Jet Star, the strong and steady one who was, along with the Kobra Kid, one of the only reason the other two hadn't blown themselves up yet or done something of the likes. Together, they made up the Fabulous Killjoys, leaders of the only resistance force against Better Living Industries. But they were missing a member. Missile Kid. And that was why they were here today.

Two minutes

The thump their combat boots made as they hit the ground broke the eerie silence that surround the BL/ind building. The four men strode up to the place without hesitation, without pause. Showing fear or doubt had become a thing of the past long ago. Now their minds were focused on one thing, and one thing only. Missile Kid, with her curly brown hair and olive skin. The youngest killjoy, but the one with the most potential and future as well. Her future truly was bulletproof and that was why they had to protect it. They had to prevent it from cracking, like theirs had.

How Korse and his band of brainwashed Draculoids had ever got their hands on her, they had no idea. He had never been able to before, barring one time. But that had been before she had met them, before she had been silently accepted into their colorful family by them all. Now that she had, it was their job to protect her. They had failed in that job. They hadn't tried hard enough, fought hard enough, run fast enough. He had got her and now they had to get her back.

The cracks were beginning to show.

Three minutes

The sound of ray guns firing and alarms sounding filled the room. Computer screens, fed by the surveillance cameras placed around the building, cracked as dead draculoids fell against them, shot down by one of the killjoys. An Asian woman, very heavily associated with everything BL/ind, had already left the room, escaping out a back door before they could stop her. It didn't matter. They had found her. Sat on the floor, near where the BL/ind woman had stood before, was the child killjoy, face illuminated by the dim light in the room. Hearing and seeing the disruption, she stood up and, without pausing, fell into Party Poison's arms, hugging the red-head almost as tightly as he hugged her.

In and out. In and out. That was how every mission worked, and this one had been no exception. Get in, find or do whatever you need to, and then get out as quickly and painlessly as possible. Sure, some draculoids would lose their lives, but in truth, they didn't really have one. Controlled by a malicious company, taken away from your family and friends, brainwashed, killing and threatening innocent, or at least good, people? That was no life. Despite all their craziness, all their dodgy moves and all of their law-breaking, at least the killjoys lived. They loved, they lost, they cried and, most importantly, they had fun. They weren't constantly living under strict rules and up-tight officials. But of course, none of the civilians saw this. Their drug-induced haze only showed them an imaginary government of all things good and nice. A great joke, wasn't it?

Four minutes

White hallways run along either side of them as they walked. The Killjoys were so out of place in the clean halls, boots clicking on the cold floors. On the outside, they looked perfectly composed, determination clear in their eyes and stride. But already they were worried. This hadn't been supposed to happen. They planned to leave the way they came in, then circle back round to where their car waited at the front of the building. But that hadn't been possible, not with all the dracs swarming the place and the newly hired snipers, another branch of the BL/ind surveillance and protection system; S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. So they had been forced to take this way, dangerously close to the heart of the building, then out through the lobby. Not only were they vulnerable here, they were also pre-occupied, the constant dodging of drac-occupied halls taking up more time than it should. Just another flaw in an already imperfect plan.

Alarms rang out left, right and center. They whined in the ears of the Killjoys, red lights blinking at every other turn. The whole building should be aware of the intruders by now. Another reason why they had wanted to spend as little time as possible here. Of course, that could never happen. As if life would let them, the already un-lucky rebels, get away with that. Difficulty was their middle name. But you had to have persistence to live in the desert, to keep running after a nearly impossible dream and they were no exception. Actually, their persistence was more like stubbornness. Either way, they wouldn't give up. They couldn't. Too much was riding on this mission. Better to lose their lives than to fail.

Five minutes

It started with Party Poison.

The normally quiet and somewhat peaceful lobby was in chaos. Dracs ran from left to right, ray guns firing at any glimpse of color they saw. The Killjoys ducked and dodged skillfully, firing back at them. Although every killjoy had some experience with shooting in situations like this, mainly from running into the daily desert sweeps, nothing could ever compare to the real deal. You could practically taste the adrenaline in the air. But through all this insanity, through all the gun shots and falling bodies, no one noticed when he removed the dracs mask, when he saw that familiar face. When he froze.

Really, he should have prepared himself for this. How long had he expected to go on killing dracs without recognizing one of his victims? Somewhere deep inside of him, he had hoped to never see someone he had known. But nothing could ever last forever, he knew that.

Distractions were an enemy. He shouldn't have stopped. But he did, and Korse took that advantage. Suddenly, the red-head was slammed against the wall, pinned there by the exterminator's gun. The end of the barrel pressed up against his chin, cold metal making him shiver inwardly. But there was no fear. Party Poison had always thought that, despite all his 'bravery' and experience, he would be scared when it came to the end. That he would feel something, some kind of bad emotion. He would accept sadness, even. But now that he was here, there was nothing. Only a strange sense of peace. Of acceptance. Yeah, he was going to die. But he was going to go down like a...not a hero. No. More like a martyr. A martyr fighting for his beliefs. He was no hero, but he certainly wasn't a push-over, either.

Three. Korse cocked his head to one side, a horrid smile crossing his face. Two. His own hazel eyes stared back, un-wavering, un-relenting. One.

All it took was a simple squeeze of the trigger, and it was over. Party Poison, leader of the Fabulous Killjoys, was dead. But it didn't stop there.

The Kobra Kid had seen it. He had watched his brother go down, the flash of the weapon blinding him for a second. Then he was running, the sound of Missile Kid's scream at Party Poison's death ringing in his ears. His gun was raised and he fired, aiming at Korse. And he hit him, although not where he wanted to. He watched the man, if he could be called that, fall, taken down by the shot to his leg. A warm feeling spread across him, the feeling of revenge, but it was quickly countered by a sudden cold, breathless feeling. Looking down, he saw what he had always feared. A single bullet hole, straight through his chest.

The Kobra Kid was dead.

Fun Ghoul and Jet Star knew they had to go. They had to get Missile Kid out of here. They had already failed, and letting Missile Kid die like their other two comrades would just be rubbing salt into the wound. Grabbing the young killjoys arm, Jet Star began to run, firing shots behind him. Fun Ghoul backed them up and watched as the two pushed through the swinging doors into the starless night. But he knew he couldn't follow. Sure, there were less dracs out there than there were in here. They would just follow them out there, though, and they would be killed by them, if not by the snipers. It would make this mission a failure, more than it already was.

Thump. The door shut in front of him and he caught one last glance of Missile Kid's shocked face, her last call for him to run. With one last small shake of his head, he turned and faced his fate. The wall of dracs ahead of him, coming at him with guns raised. Raising his own green gun, he fired. But it was already a lost cause and within moments, he felt a burning sensation in his fought on, though. He fought until his body was so riddled with bullet holes, he couldn't stand. And then he fell to the cold, hard ground.

Fun Ghoul was dead. One left to go.

Jet Star had seen his friend turn back. He had seen him return to the building. But he knew he had to run on. Keep running, that was their motto. He had to stick by it. Keeping a firm hold on the curly-haired kid's arm, he practically dragged her away from the doors, toward the road. He had seen the colorful van that belong to Dr. Death Defying when he had been inside and sure enough, it was there, waiting. The door slid open and Dr. D gestured to them, seeing the massacre the mission had become. Show Pony, for all his feminism and style, was protecting the van with such great aim, he was almost scared himself.

He pushed Missile Kid forward, toward the van and was going to run after her, but stopped dead. Or at least, tried to. A sudden sharp pain had smacked into his back, and for a moment, he was confused.

Jet Star was lying on the hood of the car, dead, before he could figure out what had happened.

Five minutes. That's how long it took to take down the Fabulous Killjoys. They hadn't run fast enough. Their cracked futures had been shattered.

But there would always be others. Others who could run faster. Who had found the tape and glue and repaired themselves. Killjoys who had futures practically made of Kevlar.

So even though they had gone down, the others would survive. They had to. It would just take awhile, that was all. But in the end, they always had to keep running. Always had, always will.