AUTHOR'S NOTE! :D

Haha, you waited all this time for a filler chapter. XD

Okey. Here it is. Sorry about last chapter's cliffhanger. I wanted to update for anyone following the story, and I was way too tired to write more. And I didn't know what was in the metal case. Heh. Oh, and I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I actually wrote two different (though incomplete) versions of it, but ended up writing this one 'cos the other ones were shitty and, well, just plain weird. Mostly because writing scenes with six characters is a BITCH. So for this chapter, you can expect lots of one-on-ones. Additionally, I wrote about two pages completely in the wrong time of day. Argh.

I love you forever for reading my story, and I'll love you longer than forever if you review. :D

Oh, and I almost forgot. In the next chapter or two, Angel's band of Killjoys will be introduced. Unfortunately, they don't currently exist. So if you want to, you can send me your own Killjoy character via PM or however. Thanks!

"HOLY SHIT," I say loudly. I have only barely gotten a glimpse of the syringe nestled neatly into the metal case when I realize what it is. I make a lunge for it and cradle it in my hands, observing how the thick, cloudy liquid swirls behind the glass. The only label is a small sticker with the BLI logo and the numbers '5136-08.' "I KNOW WHAT THIS IS."

Everyone gives me a surprised look, so I explain. "When Poison and I were at the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ camp I got caught and the…" I close my eyes and swallow hard. "… the guy that had me said they had a new weapon. This has got to be it."

There's a moment of silence, then Ghoul put in, "Okay… but what does it do?"

I blush. "I don't know. Something big, though, from the way he talked about it."

Missile chimes in with a suggestion. "Well," she says with a thoughtful tone, "BLI is a drug company, so it's probably a drug. And they like to make drugs that mess with people's minds. So I think probably this is a really powerful mind drug."

I nod. "Seems likely. And I bet this number here…" I tap the little label on the syringe, "is a serial number. If someone could hack into BLI's computer system and type this in…"

"We could find out exactly what it is," Poison finishes. "All, right but we'll have to go into Battery City."

The boys all nod, excited, but I frown. "Guys, we should really talk to Dr Death about this. He might even know what this is, and we wouldn't have to risk going to the city at all."

Ghoul smirks and pats my shoulder. "Girl, you need to learn to live a little! Have some fun!"

"But this isn't a game!" Ugh. They're so immature. Battery City is a dangerous place for Killjoys—don't they know that?

"Well, why not make it one?" Ghoul fires back.

"Yeah," Poison put in. "I mean, we've only got one life. Might as well get a few thrills out of it."

"Fine," I spit. "When will you go?"

"'You?' Not 'we?'" Jet asks with asked with a raised eyebrow.

I cross my arms. "That's right. I've got a bunch of pals out in Zone 2 that won't appreciate it if I die."

The boys have amused expressions on their faces—except for Poison, who looks annoyed, and Missile, who looks like she's gonna start crying. I wish she'd leave; I hate to be mad around her.

"I'm not fucking lying!" I yell at them as I turn around and walk to my bike. "Battery City will fucking eat you alive! You're gonna die!"

Poison grabs my arm before I get too far. "What the hell is your problem with Battery City? You weren't so afraid of spontaneously taking on a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ unit. And you told me you're one of Dr D's best. So what are you so fucking afraid of?"

I yank my arm away. "Nothing," I tell him defensively. "Nothing," I repeat quietly to myself.

"Well, we don't really need her." Kobra is saying. "We've gone to Battery City loads of times."

"Yeah, she'll just hold us back. All that strategy shit..." Ghoul laughs. Jet and Poison nod approvingly.

Reverse psychology? Really? If they think that'll work…

I sigh. "I'm in, I guess. Someone needs to make sure you don't all die."

…They're absolutely right.

Everyone agreed that breaking into a BLI office building would require at least a bit of planning. It took a full two hours, however, to hammer out the plan. Ghoul and Kobra wanted to do a stealthy after-hours break in and make the rest up along the way, and while the rest of us liked the after-hours idea, we wanted a little more detail. Poison thought we should obtain a few maps at least, and Jet even suggested we case the joint first, figure out where the security cameras are, and break in later. I, of course, wanted to strategize our every move. Missile, whom we unanimously decided would not be accompanying us on our mission, sided with Ghoul and Kobra for kicks.

It took a lot of blood, sweat, and fuck yous, but in the end, our plan looked something like this:

-Leave tomorrow whenever everyone is up (Angel bunks with Missile)

-Stop by Dr D's to drop off Missile; also so Angel can give him her mysterious report (also to graffiti the place—REVENGE!)

-Stop by Angel's hideout to check in with her group; see if they want to come—maybe stay the night (graffiti their place also, for kicks)

-Get in the city, stay at a safehouse, beat us some Dracs and steal their uniforms, sneak into nearest office, hijack vacant computer, look up serial number, fuck with their hard drive, leave. Probably beat up some more Dracs.

Not as precise I'd like, but whatever.

After the golden list of planning was finished, I declared that I was going to go out back for a smoke. I figured today's incredible bitchiness was due to the fact that my nicotine addiction has been deprived for almost two days.

As I light up beneath the orange outdoor light fixed to the wall, I marvel at the land around me. By now it's almost dark, and a few stars perforate the smooth, vast pink-purple skies above me. And even though I can't see the horizon too clearly, I know that for miles and miles, there is nothing but hard dirt and open sky. I can't help but wonder why these people would want to live out here, in this vast emptiness. Trees and mountains are my thing—I love the closeness they bring. It's like they're guardians, making sure I'm always safe and never too alone. I feel too vulnerable out here in the desert.

I'm so lost in thought that I'm startled enough to almost fall over when the backdoor opens and Poison steps out, sketchbook and pencils in hand. He freezes when he sees me. Oh joy, an awkward silence.

"Um, sorry, I'll leave," he mumbles.

"No, it's okay…" my eyes flicker to his sketchbook. "You draw?"

He looks down at it like he's never seen it before, then back at me, then back at the sketchbook. "Oh yeah, this. I keep it around as a bit of a stress buster, you know?"

I nod.

After another moment of awkward silence, he politely asks, "How do you deal with stress?"

"Oh, I like to go out, tie a guy up, and release my tension sexually. Just…" I bite my lip seductively, "work it all out. Slowly."

He starts coughing, completely caught off guard. "Wha…" he chokes.

I double over, laughing. "Oh my god, I'm KIDDING! Just trying to break the tension."

He looks uncomfortable for a moment, then joins in uneasily. I wonder if he knew that I'm actually capable of joking around?

"In actuality," I say once our laughter dies down, "I love painting. Colours express…"

"…Feelings better than words, right?"

I smile. "Yeah." It feels, just for a moment, that we have some sort of connection, and I feel… happy. But when I look at his eyes, I see how uncomfortable they look—like he really wants to get away. So, heavy with disappointment, I drop my cigarette and smudge it in the dirt. "Well, thanks for this little talk. I'll let you get to your art, I guess…"

He nods. "All right. See ya."

Damn. That could have gone over better. We'd had something going for a moment there… but then it died. Would he really rather spend time on his art than he would with people? I mean I wouldn't blame him, but if he DID like art so much, why was he so shy about it? Which, for the record, is bullshit. Art is not something to hide. Why make something beautiful if no one will admire it?

That got me wondering: was he embarrassed? Did he think no one would like it? Did the other guys make fun of him? No, that didn't seem right. Jokingly, maybe, but they none of them seemed like the kind of guy to make fun of someone for their interests. It definitely wasn't Missile—hell, she'd probably love art lessons from the guy. Some sort of past trauma then? A father who didn't want his son involved in something so delicate?

Whatever. I'll solve the puzzle that was Party Poison eventually.

I wander back inside, and, seeing the time on the wall, decide that now's as good a time as any for dinner. I dig through the cupboards for some food that doesn't come out of a can, but my search only yields Power Pup, EnerGo, a few stray cans of vegetables, and beer and soda.

"Hey somebody," I yell. "Do you have any actual food?"

I hear Missile Kid dash from her bedroom. "Yes! We have some meat in the freezer I think and some crackers in the back of that little corner cupboard. I'll get it for you!" As she scrambles to find the promised ingredients, she asks me, "Are you going to cook us some food? Because I'd like that a lot! The boys never ever cook and I don't know how!"

Me? Cook? Burn is more like it. But I tell her, "Yes, of course I will. I'm going to cook everyone a nice dinner tonight. It can be a sort of party for before we leave."

"OH. MY. GOD. YES." She squeals. "I'll tell the boys! No, wait, let's make it a surprise."

"Sure, kiddo. Whatever you want." As she starts looking for ingredients, I look for the oven.

It took a few minutes, but I found it below a mountain of beer cans. I turn it on, just to make sure it works. I also turn the dials on the stove, checking to see if they work too. To my satisfaction, everything seems to be operational. Next I look for pots and pans. The first place I look is beneath the oven. Just as I thought I would, I found a nice variety of pots. Looking for something like a casserole dish, I open up the cupboard above the stove. No dishes there, but I find a few miscellaneous spices and a couple packages of instant mashed potatoes.

Suddenly, I feel a tickling at my waist. I let out a small yelp before whipping around and coming face to face with a grinning Fun Ghoul. He quickly but casually retracts his hands and sticks them in his pockets. "Hi Angel," he says.

I shove him. "Don't do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I yell.

"Do what? He asks innocently.

"Sneak up on me like that!"

"I didn't sneak up on you. You just didn't hear me." He turned to Missile. "You heard me coming, right, kid?"

She nods, barely containing her laughter.

I groan. "What are you, five?"

He laughs, then, seeing the ingredients behind me, he asks, "What're you cooking?"

Missile nudges me. "Should we tell him?" She loudly whispers as she puts a brown package of meat, a can of actual soup, a bottle of ketchup, and two boxes of crackers on the counter.

Understanding her, I grin evilly. "Nah. He doesn't need to know."

He rolls his eyes. "Lame. Try to sound convincing, ladies. You're cooking. There's nothing special about that."

"Come on," I urge. "Aren't you at least a little psyched to have some real food? Not PowerPup?"

He answers with a stony poker face, "No."

I shrug. "Okay then, you're not getting any."

Exactly as I say that, Kobra walks in from the front door. Also at that moment, I realize that Ghoul and I are still standing pretty close. Not touching, but close.

Ghoul realizes it to and bursts into laughter. "Awkward!"

Kobra shakes his head, chuckling, and disappears into the back of the diner, into the area with the rooms. We all watch him go, silently. All I can think is, yep, it's officially Awkward Moments Day.

I return to the food, and Missile tells me that she's going to go back to her room for a bit—packing, she said. As she left, I told her that lunch would only be another couple minutes. She left anyway, leaving me and Ghoul alone.

Leaning on the counter beside me, he starts talking. "Just for the record, we already ate. It's like, ten o'clock, you know."

I shrug as I open the package of meat, identifying it as ground beef. "Well, I haven't eaten yet, and I just so happen to be starving. I haven't eaten since like four." I fill two pots with water and set them on the stove.

He scoffs. "So you come into our house and use our good food for dinner for yourself? Nice."

"Well, Poison hasn't eaten for a few hours either, so he can have some. Missile seems hungry too. And besides, none of you really strike me as the cooking type. So it's not like you'd use any of this anyway."

"Then why do we have it?"

I pause. Good question.

He laughs. "Ah, I'm just messing with you. We'd all love some real food for once."

I smile. "Thanks. I'm still not telling you what I'm making."

"Whatever. I'll find out soon."

As I prepare the food, we continue to chat. It's really nice. He's incredibly easy to talk to—he's got a cool remark for everything and takes interest in what I say. I feel like I could tell him anything, and he wouldn't judge me for it. It's like I've known him forever. Adding to that sense of comfort is the fact that he's incredibly entertaining. He's got a joke for everything, and knows how to make fun of anyone and everything without being mean. I almost regret it when the meat browns and the veggies boil.

Turning off the stove, I tell him to go tell everyone that dinner was waiting if they wanted it. Once he left, I found six glasses—though I would have preferred parfait glasses—and divided the food I'd cooked into them. First a layer of mashed potatoes, then the veggies, then the ground beef with some spices, a layer of ketchup, and then repeated the whole thing. On top of the final layer I crumbled some crackers. There—six beautiful hamburger parfaits.

Just then, the boys and Missile walk in.

Jet smiles. "I heard you cooked for us. Thanks."

I wink. "Any time! Go take a seat, guys." As they did so (how obedient!) I gathered up the parfaits and carried them over. The boys gave me weird looks as I set the food on the table, but Missile looked excited.

"Um, what are these, exactly?" Poison asks.

"Hamburger parfaits!" I exclaim. "My mom used to make them for me all the time. I thought I'd share a little… I don't know, piece of me for being so nice."

"They look so good!" Missile squeals, reaching for one.

"Yeah, dig in." I encourage. "I'll grab some drinks."

The rest of the night passed in a blur. The beers flowed freely, as well as the soda. We all shared stories—weird anecdotes of daily life, funny childhood stories, anything we felt like saying. And it was so nice. These guys were so friendly, it felt like I had been a part of them forever. By the end of the night, I knew all of Missile's favourite things, Ghoul's jokes, and Kobra's facial expressions (there are two—poker face and laughing). I also began to realize that while Jet and Poison loved a good time as much as their friends, as the oldest of the group they also felt responsible for their keeping them safe. As a whole, I noticed that they were like one big family.

That made me ache for my own family, but also made me recall what we were going to do tomorrow. Argh. Me and my worrying. Suddenly nothing was funny anymore, and I told the boys that I was going to put Missile to bed, and then hit the hay myself. They all smiled and bid me good night.