Thanks again to all the wonderful YouTubers who submitted their Killjoy characters! There are only two guest Killjoys in this chapter, but I PROMISE the next chapter will have the rest. I know EXACTLY how I'm going to write them in. I just really, really wanted to get this up for Christmas for you guys. :p
Also, the next chapter will see the return of the main story line—you know, the defeat of BL/Ind. That means less drama! Yay!
The next chapter might end up being a little short, because I really want to get it up as soon as possible for you guys. I'm shooting for the beginning of February.
But here, my lovelies, is the sixth chapter…
The first thing I think as I step into the heat of the morning is, "Why the fuck did I just do that?" These people were so nice to me and I just stormed off. I'm terrible. Fucking hormones. I should go back in there and apologize.
My hand is on the doorknob, ready to go back inside, when I hear a gun cocking to my right.
Draculoids.
Crap.
There's about five of them, all facing me with their guns at the ready. I freeze, not sure if I should run or shoot. Crap. My hand whips to my right thigh, where my gun holster should be, only it's not there. I didn't put it on this morning.
Time's up.
I move my arms to shield my stomach as their lasers bite through my skin. The pain—the pain is searing. It's a thousand daggers, a million brandings. With each blow I lose more and more of my vision, my thoughts. All I can do is scream.
Vaguely, after what seems like an eternity, I hear voices. Not the snarls of the Dracs, but shouts of my friends. Ahh, good. I can barely see any of them, but I know I'm safe now. As my vision continues to dim, I see lasers shooting above my head. Right now, the colours are even more beautiful than stars.
Suddenly I'm levitating—did I die? No, wait, that's not right. Someone has picked me up. One arm under my shoulders, the other beneath my knees. We're leaving the battle, rushing around the diner and to the Trans Am. Knowing I'll be safe there, I allow myself to black out.
Before I even consider the possibility of opening my eyes ever again, I mentally ask myself—is my baby okay? Weakly, I try to lift my hands to my stomach.
"Hey, don't bother," Someone tells me, gently putting my arms back at my sides.
My eyes shoot open, and I stagger, "Is… my baby…"
I see that it's Ghoul beside me. "No, no, it's not that. Well, we don't know if it'll be okay. But what I mean is… you're not doing so good right now."
I stare at him, puzzled, until the pain sets in. I wasn't injured that badly, was I? I crane my neck—ouch—to look at my body; it's barely recognizable. Everything is either red or black. My arms—I can barely see them—are dotted with crispy black singe marks. My shirt, while mostly still orange around my stomach, is otherwise soaked with blood. I turn away, disgusted and frightened.
It is then that I notice my surroundings: I'm still in the back of the Trans Am—me laying on the backseat, Ghoul crouching beside me, Missile in the passenger seat and Poison driving—and we're going fast. Like, really fast. Uh oh, that's not good.
Though I already know the answer, I have to ask anyway. My voice full of fear, I gulp, "Where are we going?"
Poison looks at me through the rear-view mirror. "We have some friends with medical training a few minutes from here. We're gonna see what they can do for you."
Crouching on the floor beside me, Ghoul chimes in, "Yeah, you need help. Stat."
I nod even as I cringe in pain after another jolt. Trying to distract myself from the pain, I ask "Where are Kobra and Jet?" I ask.
"They're taking the motorbikes. We couldn't fit them in the backseat thanks to your fat ass," Ghoul explains.
"Thanks for that."
"Yup."
I turn my attention to Missile, who, alarmingly, has not said a word. "Hey kiddo, how ya doing?"
Her response is a painful silence.
Poison gives her a gentle nudge. "Come on, say something."
She refuses, remaining perfectly quiet.
"She's just mad at you for storming out," Ghoul shrugs. He leans in and whispers in my ear, "give her some time. I've also found that bribery works well with her."
I manage a short giggle before the pain at my sides becomes unbearable. It feels like my skin is stretching right off my bones. My lungs lapse into an agonizing cough, and I feel fresh blood leaking down my sides.
Almost immediately, I feel the car speed up.
The world is starting to dim again. I think it would be nice if I could just sleep awhile, let this pain blow over…
"Hey!" Ghoul—I think—shouts. "Stay with us. Come on." He shakes my shoulder, but I'm so tired…
"Tell me something about yourself," he demands.
"Who's the father of your child?" Poison barks.
My cheeks hurt. I must be smiling. "Sinner Seven," I breathe, my voice sounding very distant. "A good friend, but not a lover…"
"What happened, then?" Ghoul presses.
"I was… upset…" About what? Oh, right. "I missed my fiancé. We… got really drunk…"
"What was your fiancé's name?" I don't even know who's asking the questions anymore, or even if anyone's asking them at all. Maybe it's all in my head.
"His name was… Trophy Corpse." I sigh dreamily at the memory of him. "Brian."
"How long did you know each other?"
"Since we were kids," I barely whisper. I can hardly concentrate on speaking anymore.
"Where did you grow up?"
I don't have the strength to answer.
"Angel?" I feel someone shake my shoulder, but I'm just too tired to respond…
I hear the muffled shouts of the boys, arguing about something—me?—and do my best to tune it out so I can sleep…
But then I hear someone crying.
A girl.
Missile.
Why is she crying? I should go over there and… wait, is she crying for me? Oh god, I can't die. I can't even sleep. This girl needs me.
Mustering all my strength, I say, "I'm okay, Missile." I'm proud of how firm I sound.
"We're here!" One of the boys shouts. I can't really tell where 'here' is; my vision is too blurry.
The door clicks open behind my head, and I feel arms pull me out. Another set of arms—Ghoul's, I guess—lifts my lower half so I'm being lifted out of the Trans Am, not dragged.
Now I hear other voices. Female voices. I can't really make out what they look like, but I catch a glimpse of blond hair.
I barely feel it when someone takes hold of my hand. It's sort of like having your hand underwater—there's weight, but you don't really notice it. I try to focus on who it is, but my eyes only droop. I can only make out a female figure.
There's pressure on my back; I'm laying down again.
There are hands examining my skin; all I feel is the pain they bring.
There are worried voices; I'm dying.
But I can barely even hear them, even though they're shouting.
I'm not going to make it.
Somehow, the thought comforts me. I guess it feels good just to have that absolution. My eyes will never open again; I will never see any suffering again, and my unborn child will never have to face the same miseries that I did. And best yet, I'll get to see Brian again…
Suddenly, I feel a dull poke in my arm. Morphine? A scalpel? Why are they even bothering? Can't they see I'm as good as dead?
But then… cutting through the muted silence that rings in my ears…
The radio. My old friend. Somebody just turned it on. I try to focus past the shouts of my friends and listen to the music.
"A life that's so demanding
I get so weak…"
Haha. Truer words were never sung for me. How fitting that I will die to that… I listen to more.
"I am not afraid to keep on living
I am not afraid to walk this world alone…"
Wait, what? To keep on living? Why would anyone want to do that?
I strain to stay awake as the song plays on. Sometimes I can't hear it when the static takes over; sometimes the desperate shouts of my friends overpowers it. But I try to listen, and even though I'm inches from death, I try to understand the message of the song. And by the time it's over… I am inspired to hold on.
I know now what it means to die, and it turns out that's what I needed to feel alive again.
I'm too drugged up to open my eyes or tell them that I'm not going to die. But I'm more determined than I ever was before to live.
I allow myself to lose consciousness, internally smiling with the knowledge that I will wake again.
This time when I blink awake, I feel much better. Sore, but better. Sitting up, I see that the boys and Missile are sitting in chairs around my bed, sleeping. Huh? Why are they sleeping? It's still daylight out, isn't it? I look around for a window.
It's dark out.
Geez, how long was I out for? Hopefully just hours, not days. Across from my bed is an analog clock; it reads ten o'clock. Oh my god, last I saw it was seven am.
God, I need some food.
Carefully, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. It's painful, but bearable. What would be really good would be a cane or something. I look around for something to use—no luck.
Slowly, I pad around the room towards the door. Before going into the next room, I take one final look at these kind people who have been so great to me for the past couple days. They all look so peaceful right now: Missile is curled up adorably on an armchair, Ghoul looks so young sprawled on the floor; Jet lost behind his hair, sitting against the wall; Kobra resting his head on his brother's shoulder as they slouch in their wooden chairs. What a family.
As I search for the kitchen, it dawns on me: I don't know this place at all. Where am I again? Oh, right. The medic friend's place. I wonder where they are?
Finally I reach the room I'm looking for, and two unfamiliar characters are sitting at the table, quietly chatting over two steaming mugs. They're a few years apart, age-wise, but definitely sisters.
The younger one—she looks to be about Missile's age—notices me first.
"Oooh, hello." She smiles.
The older one—around my age—looks up and smiles. "Well, look who's awake!" Her grin is warm, but cautious.
"Um, yeah. Hi." I say awkwardly. Thankfully, I manage to smile back. "I guess you're the one who saved my life?"
She nods. "Yeah. The name's Venom Striker."
The little girl pipes up, "And I'm The Nuclear Panda!" Then she winks at me. "Call me Nuke."
"Got it. I'm Angel Knives—just call me Angel—and I guess I owe you guys my life." My voice breaks a little. "I can't thank you two enough."
Nuke shakes her head and vigorously points to her sister. "It was all her, I'm just the assistant."
Venom just shrugs. "I'd do it for anyone. But you're lucky it was lasers. You'd have been dead at the scene if it was bullets. Rayguns leave burns, which are a lot more treatable."
"Okay. Well. Thank you again."
"Hey, it's all good." Her voice is calm, but she's nervously playing with the short strands of her blond locks. "Are you hungry? You must be starving. You haven't eaten all day. C'mon, Nuke, let's round up some food."
"Oh, thank you so much," I sigh.
"No prob. Hey, what kind of food do you want?" Venom asks, her face in a cupboard.
I close my eyes and smile. "Corn dogs with icing."
Both girls stop in their tracks. "Come again?" Asks Nuke with a raised eyebrow.
"You know, corn dogs. Hotdogs on a stick wrapped in some kind of bread. They're super good, but I need something sweet, too."
Suddenly, a spark goes off in Venom's head. "Oh, right. You're pregnant, aren't you? I think someone mentioned it earlier."
Nuke's eyes widen. "You're gonna have a baby?"
"Yeah." But worry clouds my thoughts. "My baby's okay, right?" I ask Venom. "You didn't notice anything wrong?"
Her face darkens. "Well, it's hard to tell. You didn't really have any injuries around there, but just the trauma in general could have… well, you know. But I wouldn't know anyway; I don't have any sort of training in… oh, what's the word. I don't know much about fetuses and pregnancy and stuff. You'd have to go into Battery City to get it checked out."
"Oh. Okay." I have a feeling that the knots in my stomach are going to be there for a while.
She walks over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Hey. It'll be okay."
Just as quickly as she came, she saunters back to the cupboards. "I don't think we have any corndogs or icing, but I'm sure we can find something for you."
From the fridge, Nuke suggests, "Well, how about some hot cocoa? That's sweet."
"Oh, yes. I would LOVE some."
"Is there anything else you want?" Venom asks. "You should really get some actual food."
"Yeah." I allow myself a small smile. "Got any crackers?"
"Yeah, sure." Venom ducks into a corner cupboard and returns with a box.
"Thanks." I waste no time in stuffing my face with the gloriously crunchy snacks.
"So who else is in your group?" I ask after a few bites.
Venom looks nervous again. "We, um, we're by ourselves. Just the two of us."
"Yep, the Dynamic Duo," Nuke smirks.
"Cool," I nod, unsure of what to say next. I'm not super good at normal conversations. I search the room with my eyes, looking for something to talk about. I find my answer around Venom's neck.
"Those are some cool whistles you've got there," I smile.
"Oh yeah, these," she laughs. "I've got a pretty good collection, I guess."
"I'll say. How many are there?"
Shrugging, she answers, "About ten, I guess."
I nod, trying to think of how to keep the conversation going. "Cool colours." After another short moment of silence, I ask, "So why do you collect them?"
She smiles to herself and lovingly fondles a red one. Looking back to me, she replies with a wink, "Maybe I'll tell you someday."
I raise my eyebrows and shrug, not really willing to push her. Honestly, I'm kind of losing interest in talking to them. I mean they seem like great people, but I'm suddenly incredibly tired. Groggy, I guess, from being unconscious all day. If that makes any actual sense.
"Well, it's been lovely to meet you two, but I'm really tired… is it okay if I just sleep in that other room? The one I was in before?"
Venom nods. "Yeah, go ahead. Can you find your way back there?"
"I think so. It was just down the hall, right?"
"Yeah."
"All right then, good night."
"Good night," the girls say in unison.
Five steps out of the kitchen, my mind is screaming about how awkward I was back there. I made them look for food for me (even though they saved my life today and I should be getting food for them), ate it, and then left. It was such an uncomfortable goodbye, too. It was so abrupt.
Well, whatever. I'm too tired and sore to really care.
Poison's awake when I enter the room. He's a silhouette in the moonlight, sketching by the window. I watch him for a moment, admiring the passion in the way he draws. I just wish I could see what he's drawing.
The floorboards creak as I take a careful step into the room, and he immediately looks up. His face is too shadowy to see his expression, but from the way he jumped when he heard me, I'd say he's surprised.
He quickly recovers, though, and puts his sketchbook down and silently dashes over to me. I become the surprised one when he folds me into a quick hug.
"How're you feeling?" He murmurs as he takes a step back.
"Sore. And your hug didn't help, asshole."
He grins. "Glad to see your attitude is still intact."
"As if there was any question it would ever go away."
"Well, a man can hope…"
"Puh-lease," I say as I gently nudge him, "You like it."
"Whatever," he scoffs.
Another wave of tiredness overtakes me, and I yawn.
"God, you'd think you'd be a lot better rested," he jokes.
"Shut up, my ailing body needs its rest."
"Sure, whatever. Need a hand getting over to the cot?"
I push past him—carefully—and say over my shoulder, "It's like ten feet. Do I look like a cripple?"
"Little bit, yeah."
"Nope, I'm as fabulous as ever," I tell him as I climb into the bed.
"Nope, you're a cripple," he corrects me as he falls back into his chair beside his brother.
"Okay, we'll make a compromise and then you'll shut up so I can sleep, deal?" I whisper.
"Deal," he whispers back.
"I'm fabulous and you're an ass."
Poison starts to protest, but a voice from the floor mumbles, "Shut up, the both of you."
I'm smiling as I fall asleep.