Jem and the Holograms, and all related trademarks, are the property of Hasbro, and the creation of Christy Marx.
Chapter One
Somewhere in Southern California...October 1985...
It all happened so fast. Pizzazz had been commiserating with the other Misfits about their defeat at the Battle of the Bands, and how they were going to get revenge on Jem and her Holo-Twerps for it, and how they would probably have to find a new manager since that idiot Eric Raymond was now in police custody for having the Holograms kidnapped.
In hindsight, that all seemed so trivial...so insignificant...compared to what happened next...
Roxy, who was driving, had been the middle of ranting about the Holograms drummer, Shana, who she despised for some reason, when it actually happened. There came a muffle boom from the front of the van, followed by a sheet of flame erupting from beneath the dashboard with a whoosh, filling the interior with flames in the blink of an eye.
Out of pure reflex Pizzazz raised her arms in a futile effort to shield herself from the flames. From behind her she thought heard Stormer scream. From her right she swore she heard Roxy as well. She might have screamed herself. But unlike her band mates, she screamed in surprise, not in agony.
She knew the flames wouldn't harm her like they would her friends...
The flames didn't burn long, more of a flash fire than an raging inferno, but it was enough to burn the three of them significantly. Roxy must have lost her grip on the wheel, as the van suddenly swerved violently to the left, leaving the highway as it hurtled into a, thankfully, empty field. It hurtled on for a yard or so, violently bouncing and shaking all the way, before coming to a jarring stop by slamming nose first into a irrigation ditch.
Not wearing her seat belt, as usual, Pizzaz was slammed into the dashboard, knocking the wind out of her, before being slammed back into her seat. For a moment she sat there, trying to regain her senses after being stunned by the impact. Once she had her bearings, she took stock of her situation.
Every part of the interior; floor, ceiling, upholstery, and, especially, the dashboard, had been charred black. She herself, as she expected, was relatively unscathed, with some charring of her clothes and some soot marks on her skin. But she was, for all intents and purposes, fine.
When she turned to look and check on her friends, she let out a sharp gasp. Unlike her, they were not fine at all. A horribly-burned Roxy was slumped face-down over the steering wheel, while an equally burned Stormer was sprawled over the back seat. To be honest, and blunt, the only thing recognizable about either of them were strands of their respective hair that had somehow managed to survive being incinerated. Miraculous was the fact they were both still alive-barely. The only indication of this were the sounds of heavy, labored breathing.
Upon seeing this, Pizzazz literally broke into tears. Her sobbing soon becoming full wails of anguish. At this moment she had stopped being Pizzazz, the fearsome leader of the Misfits, and was simply Phyllis Gabor, a young woman who's friends-the only ones she had ever known-were dying right in front of her. Yes, from where she sat she could sense both the beating of their hearts and their pulses, but those were growing ever fainter by the second.
She had never felt so helpless in her life. She was no doctor, and barely knew even basic first aid, which was just as well since it was obvious that her friends' injuries were too severe anyways. No was coming to help them-hell, no one would even know they were here, unless someone driving past on the highway saw them, but at this late hour the chances of that were remote.
So that left to her to the cold reality that she would have to sit there helplessly, in the wreck of their van, in the middle of a field, in the middle of nowhere, and slowly wait until her friends slowly died right in front of her.
There was nothing she could...wait...wait. There was something she could do. In her grief she had forgotten all about it, which was just as well. It would be too monstrous for most people to contemplate. For you see, Phyllis "Pizzazz" Gabor had a side of her she had been hiding from everyone-including her fellow Misfits-for years. The simple reason was that, as far as she was concerned, it was better if everyone didn't know. It would just make things more difficult in her life than they already were, to say the least.
Now, however, it seemed to offer the only way to save her friends. The mere idea that she would do such a thing to them was incomprehensible, but now it seemed she didn't have much of a choice. She knew that if she did this there would be consequences she would have to face in the future, but so be it. It was the only way.
She slowly moved out of her seat and over the center console, carefully leaning over to place her head next to Roxy's.
"Roxy," she whispered, trying not to sob some more, "I don't know if you can hear me or not, but I've got a way to save you. Both of you. Your probably not going to like it...but...I can't lose either of you." She shut her eyes as she prepared herself to do this, trying not to start sobbing again. "Forgive me."
She opened her eyes. They no longer looked human; a pair of black pupils, long and narrow like the blade of a dagger, were now each surrounded by green iris that shone brilliantly in the darkness. She slowly lowered her face closer to Roxy's neck, finding, much to her relief, a patch of skin that wasn't too charred. It would have to do.
Knowing that what she did next would would probably cause her band mate pain if she was still conscious, she opened her mouth to expose her teeth. Front and center of them were pair of long, sharp fangs. She shut her eyes again, and plunged her head forward, piercing her friend's skin with both fangs. For a few seconds she kept them buried there before slowly moving her head back, gently withdrawing them from her friend's flesh, leaving two small, round puncture wounds. Pizzazz sat there and stared at what she had done, the taste of her friend's charred flesh lingering in her mouth, before slowly climbing over into the back seat to gently slide in next to Stormer. She, too, had a patch of skin on her neck that wasn't too badly charred, and Pizzazz thanked fate for that. She wouldn't have been able to do this if there wasn't.
Like with Roxy, she whispered to her as well. She told her the same things as before, adding, maybe to help her conscience, "Look at this way, we'll be like sisters." This time she was unsuccessful at trying not to sob. "I never had sisters before."
She took a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath, before she bite Stormer, carrying out the process exactly the same way she had with Roxy. That horrible taste of charred flesh felt even stronger now, acting, in some morbid way, as a reminder of what she just done. She gently removed her fangs, leaving a new set of puncture marks.
There, it was done. There was nothing left to do but let the process carry on by itself as it changed her friends. It would take a while, though she didn't whether it would take several hours or several days in this case. She knew it was going to be hell for them once they recovered as they came to grips with what had happened to them, as it had been for herself. But she would be there to guide and lead them into an uncertain future.
It was the least she could do.
She gave them both one last glance, eyes still wet, before climbing into the back, pushing past the charred remains of their instruments and other possessions that hadn't survived the inferno. The fire had been so intense it had melted the steel of the rear doors, fusing them shut, but her inhuman strength managed to help her push them open. She stepped out in the warm night air, taking a cursory look at her surroundings as she walked back towards the highway.
She looked in both directions to try and spot any approaching headlights, but saw none. Just as she figured. With a heavy sigh, she returned to the van, planning to stay near it until either someone found them or...her friends recovered, whatever happened first. She hoped it would be the former instead of the latter first.
Leaning against the van, she turned her head to one side to press her ear against the side. Her inhuman hearing would allow her to hear what was happening inside, while keeping an eye on the highway. Folding her arms, she went as still as a statue, determined to keep her vigil for as long as it took.