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.
Once on his end of one of the make-shift rooms at the end of the hallway, his stomach protested his decision to turn in for the rest of the day, until the next update from the Doc. Laying face first on his bed, he groaned and pushed up against the sore muscles that screamed in pain as he sat up-right on his bed.
He wasn't the youngster he once was when all this madness started; back then, he was twenty-eight—now he was thirty-three and feeling every one of those years weigh on his poor, beaten body. Last night's sleeping quarters intensified the pain of every kick shove, punch and fall on his muscles. Before, he could take a beating, regain his power in a few hours; now, he felt like an old man, doubled-over as he walked back upstairs to maybe fix the front door and get some grub.
Climbing the last steps and pushing the heavy cast-iron door (before it was just a flimsy metal-screen door), he saw a dark shadow flutter by, too fast for his naked eye to catch who or what it was. Instantly, his body got rid of the pain, and shot a fresh hit of adrenaline in his blood as he whipped out his weapon and stood ready to fire. He glanced over his shoulder once he could no longer feel the door to his back, his heart betraying him, beating too loudly in his ears to hear footsteps or the intruder's breathing. He didn't feel this sudden rush racing through his blood when he was fighting for himself before; that was because before he wasn't in charge of another life.
Frank was down in the caves, fast asleep—a Draculoid could finish him off and put a blast through Frank's head while he was asleep. And he wasn't gonna have that. He was silently betraying what he was going to hammer into Frank's head later.
Changing the pace of his heart, his ears cleared up and he could hear the faint sighing of a human's breath near the last of the row of tables. Pacing himself, he pushed his back until he felt the edge of the table gaze against the palm of his hand and bottom. A quick security glance over his shoulder, he locked on the curly locks of hair that protruded from the end of the rear-facing booth.
"Stop hiding you coward, you're surrounded. Get the out from under there, hands on your head." A squeaky protest followed as a small girl of about ten come out from underneath the table. The shivers and trembles of fear shook her as she tried to keep her hands steady on her head. Party Poison lowered his gun and felt a lump in his throat as he saw the girl's tears get the best of her.
"I'm not going to cry, damn it," she said as she sniffled and wiped her tears away hurryingly with the back of her hand. He said nothing but stared aimlessly as she talked herself out of crying as she sniffled away her tears and tried to put on a brave face. "If you're gonna kill me asshole, do it now. I want to die with honor, under the name of the all-mighty Killjoys." He couldn't take her seriously as she called him an asshole. She looked about the age that Bandit would be if she were alive.
"I'm not gonna kill ya, kid. You're just that—a kid. Are you lost or something?"
"Don't treat me like an idiot—I'm a kid, not stupid. No, I am not lost. I'm here on a mission my daddy sent me on." She lowered her hands and she stuck her nose up in the air defiantly. Her left hand was on her own baby-pink ray gun—just in case this creep was up to any funny business, she could just slap the strap back and kill this mofo.
"And what would that mission be?"
"That's none of your damn business." She folded her hands over her chest.
"Fine, at least tell me who you are. You're on my turf, kid."
"Do you work for Korse?" Damn, he thought to himself, her daddy had train this little solider strong and solid. She was a twenty-five year-old stuck in a ten-year-old's body.
"No," he said as he raised his hands in surrender. "I'm a Killjoy as well. Do you secretly work for BLI?" He knew the answer to that question as she set her teeth, but playing along to humor her didn't hurt a single soul; maybe eased his a bit. This was his first interaction with an innocent soul since he had lost his three years ago.
"Hell no! I was raised with more honor and dignity than that. Hug Better Living Industries, those idiots at S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, and anyone that follows them."
"Hug?" He cocked his eyebrow. She blushed and looked away.
"I get grounded a lot because I cuss around my dad. So instead of saying the F-word, I say 'hug.' I haven't figured out any replacements for the other cuss words, so I try not to cuss in front of daddy." Replacing his gun back to its rightful place on his right thigh, he took a step closer; she took one back.
"I'm Party Poison. I'm commander-in-chief—or at least was—of this branch of Killjoys." He extended his hand. She eyed his hand as her hand idly laid on the magazine of her gun. After a few seconds of gauging his presence, she took it.
"I decided not to have a silly nickname like everyone else. My mom named me Grace Jeanette and Jet Star is my dad."
"I've heard of your dad—"It looks like Jet Star and the Kobra Kid had a clap with an exterminator that went all Costa Rica—"Is he okay?"
"My daddy and Kobra kid—two of the main leaders of our branch of Killjoys—made it seem like they got kill off, therefore making them think that our branch was disbanding and we fell off the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W's radar. I think that's why they've been targeting you guys. I overheard my daddy say that a few days ago."
"An eavesdropper and a potty mouth," he teased. She huffed.
"Well," she took her defiant tone from before. "I'm old enough to know the Killjoys' top secret business. I turned ten last month. They also did trust me to go on a solo mission."
"Probably because you're small enough to not get noticed under the surveillance that BLI has around," he murmured to himself.
"What?" she asked
"Nothing. So now that we're more acquainted with each other, why don't you tell me why you traveled all the way out here all by yourself?"
"I was sent here by Jet Star and Kobra Kid to inform any surviving Killjoys—" she cut herself off and changed her train of thought. "How many of you are left?"
"Me and this other guy I found eating my food earlier."
"Is he a fellow Killjoy?"
"He is as of this morning."
"How do you know he could be trusted?" Being interrogated by a ten-year-old girl wasn't a pleasant experience, especially not very nice to his ego.
"Maybe he shouldn't but I guess after last night, the guy looked as frightened and alone as I was."
"Further background information will be taken on him, and you, once we get back to camp. If we leave now, we could get there by tomorrow, a bit before—"
"Is there a second piece to this, Grace?"
"Damnit—I mean Dang it, yeah. Jet Star and Kobra Kid wish to bring any of the surviving Killjoys to our base camp to unite in the battle against BLI." Better than being stranded out here with a stranger, he thought to himself.
"Sounds good but no one is going anywhere after the sunlight dies. You're staying put here until the sun shines tomorrow morning. We'll take as much food that fits in the Trans Am with room for the three of us. For now, I want to get some food cooking and we can listen to Dr D's mid-afternoon update. How does that sound?"
She adjusted the strap of the satchel she carried. "Sounds good to me. Ah, being a hero and kicking some ass sure makes me I help?"
A smile actually split Party Poison's face as he pushed Grace along to the kitchen to start dinner. He decided to no wake Frank just yet—let him sleep for a bit longer.
"—And three more bodies where found on Killjoy ground, later this afternoon. But let's thank Show-Pony that there was no surviving Killjoys because those show-swine would have certainly gone medieval on them, whipping out their rusty guillotine just to make a statement."
"I don't think the kid should be listening to his, Party," Frank said, finishing his helping of tonight's supper.
"I've heard worse, Fun Ghoul. My daddy is Jet Star."
"So I've heard," he said, accompanied with an eye-roll.
"He did trust her enough to send her here all alone." Grace nodded in agreement to what Party Poison had said.
"Okay, okay, I get it. Now keep quiet. I want to listen to the rest of this," Frank said, huddling closer to the radio.
They all ate in silence in Party Poison's room—the one that housed the most security against a random incursion. This was also where the only radio—besides the one in the car—was at their disposal. Grace was on her knees next to Party Poison's bed, Frank on the bed with Party next to him, the radio on the flimsy wood-rotten nightstand next to Party's bed.
"From what we are seeing, Tumbleweeds, the Killjoys are at the lowest point they've found themselves in a very long time. And I hate to be the first to admit it but, my hopes are wavering. Killjoys, rock 'n rollers, crash-queens—prove me wrong. Up-thrust that volume, kiddies." And with that, the transmission went to static, startling Grace to the back of her heels. She gazed up at Party and Fun for their reaction. Fun was the first to react.
"Fuck, man. How can I sleep at night knowing that at any moment, I could be another man down?" Frank got up, frustrated and desperately—in his mind—searching for a way out, somewhere where paradise awaited them, away from this cruel veracity. "Can't we just get out of California and get the hell out of this place?" He ran his hand through his greasy-clad hair, pacing back and forth in the small length of the room. The hair that he pushed away feel back to its place. "Korse hasn't gotten a hold of Asia, has he?"
"Fun, it's not that easy—"
"You're a kid, Grace! Of course it's not easy for you! Why the hell hasn't your dad gotten you out of this hell-hole? Does he like to see you suffer?" Grace began to tear up, Party noticing this, intervening immediately.
"Fun, enough! You're talking to a child. We can't get out of California because we're going to be ground-beef if we try and get through the borders that Korse made S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W build so we wouldn't leave. Many have tried and many have died because of their thick attempts. It can't be done without a huge risk of dying.
"They have us hounded down to the last drop of sweat we produce. We are a threat to their world-order. They want us to be heart-beating zombies with the medication they have tried to make us take; they don't want us to have an opinion. They just want us to quietly accept everything they're doing to take over the world. Do you know how many people are living in that animated coma—with no emotions—in Battery City alone? This isn't just for me, for you or for Grace—this is way bigger than us and all we could do is fight the motherfucker in charge of this—and that is Korse. By trying to leave, what are we accomplishing? We're running away like cowards, only to be hunted down and killed. Do you want run and die now, or fight and have a better chance of living tomorrow?" By this time, Gerard had back Frank up against the cave's rock walls.
"Don't you go on and lecture me about living in that hell! I lived throught that pain, that is why I had to run. My whole family was under and one day, I forgot my dose and felt for the first time in three years. I didn't think twice about it, and since then, I've been on the run. I left the ones I loved to survive. I joined the Killjoys out of necessity, not because I wanted too.I joined some self-proclaimed Killjoys but the assholes betrayed me and threw me out into the desert to die.
"I lived it, breathed it, and saw it. I don't know why the fuck I trust you but I do. I just need some sort of stability, Party, and if I have to die under the Killjoy name, so be it. I'm doing it for my wife, who is still under the influence of the mood-adjustors." Frank pushed him aside, turning away from Grace's lingering stare and Gerard's suddenly sympathetic flicker.
"This is why we are doing this, Fun. We can't just run—there are people that need us, that need hope."
"I know the Doc hasn't lost hope in us," Grace piped up, her tiny church mouse voice getting picked up by them both. They didn't ask but the question lingering in their eyes. "He's saying that to confuse the Draculoids even further. I can bet anything that they are on their little headsets, telling Korse that we are falling apart—that the rebels that make them waste so much time have finally started deteriorating."
"How can you be so sure that's what Dr. D's intentions are?" She turned to stare at the floor, a war in between her will and promise.
"I can't say. My dad made me promise not to say." She met their gazes.
"This better not be something major, kid." Party threatened lightly. He sighed. "I think we should just get this cleaned up here and get to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
And with that, they disbanded to get the room cleaned and into the rooms that Gerard Way had assigned for Grace and Frank. Because Gerard Way was ready to turn in and breakdown in the comfort of his own room.