Hey guys x) I've had such a stressful week, I'm really glad it's over. First high school midterms and all that bullshit. I did manage to get a ton written in my non-exam times, so that's one good thing 3 Lots of you enjoyed the return of MCR last chapter...I can safely say after all the writing I've done that they'll be in nearly every chapter from this point onwards xD
Enjoy, don't forget to review!
CHAPTER 12: YOUR SLOGAN'S A GUN FOR HIRE, IT'S WHAT WE'VE WAITED FOR
June 10, 2013
A Deserted Warehouse, the Mojave Desert
7:30 AM
"Why did you guys give me the morning shift?" Tré complained, fumbling for his cell phone which had begun to ring incessantly as it did each morning at that time of day.
"You lost rock, paper, scissors," Billie mumbled. His words were muffled by the pillow he hid his head under to shield his ears from the loud alarm.
"Fuck rock, paper, scissors," groaned the other man as he rose lazily from the mattress. "Why do we need a show at eight in the morning, anyway? No normal person is a wake at 7:30 in the goddamn morning!"
"You just called yourself abnormal," Mike called out sleepily.
"Fuck you, Mike!"
"Good morning to you too, Tré."
This was how most mornings these days started: Tré having to wake up early, making as much noise as possible so that there was no chance of Billie and Mike being able to sleep again, and hen going off to do the eight o'clock broadcast from the Motel 6 half an hour away from the warehouse. Giving Tré the morning shift probably had been a bad idea—he really was not a morning person at all—but he had lost…
"I'll be back in a couple hours, probably…" Tré called out. He pulled open the warehouse doors, flooding the small space with light.
"Close it!" Billie yelled, covering his eyes with the pillow he had just removed from his head. The door thankfully slammed shut behind his fried as Tré exited.
"We really need to move these upstairs," Mike groaned, slowly sitting up in bed. He stretched his arms over his head lazily and yawned.
Billie nodded his agreement. Moving the mattresses to one of the rooms that led off of the catwalk-style railing that was the second floor had been a topic of discussion for a while now. For some reason, they had just never gotten around to it. It would probably help in the mornings, though, so that Tré couldn't antagonize them with harsh sunlight any longer…
"Tomorrow," he said decisively. "We'll make Tré help us, too. We really should start trying to make this place look a bit more hospitable, shouldn't we?"
"Why do we have to? It's not like anyone else is gonna be living here…" Mike groaned, slowly rising out of bed.
"What about recruits for the Killjoys?" Billie challenged.
Mike turned around halfway to their dwindling food stash in the corner and raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Billie," he stated, "there are no more recruits."
"But what about the radio show?" asked Billie. "We've been giving blatant hints as to where we are! We should be getting new kids any time now!"
"And you really think any sane person would risk their lives to drive out here and try to find us, chasing the hope of a rebellion?" The younger man shook his head, turning back to the food pile. "Face it, we're alone out here," he called.
Billie groaned and rolled onto his back so he was staring at the ceiling. He didn't want to believe Mike's words, but…
"This whole Killjoy project is going nowhere," Mike continued. "I'm starting to think we should just give it up."
Mike's suggestion shocked Billie, but it wasn't exactly a surprise, either. He'd kind of known it was coming. Although all three of them had been completely dedicated to the project at the beginning, as the months progressed and nothing happened, he could see his friends' faith in the idea begin to wane. Their radio broadcasts became less informative and more bored monotone, and they no longer seemed interested in Billie's plans involving the nonexistent new recruits. The truth was that nothing was going to happen without more people.
"We should just stop the broadcasts," he vaguely heard Mike continue through the sudden buzzing in his ears.
"No!" Billie burst. Mike turned to look at him, confused by the outburst.
"Not without saying goodbye," the raven-haired man begged. "One more show, Mike. Tonight. If we don't have any new Killjoys by Revolution's eight o'clock show tonight, we'll shut it down."
"Completely?" Mike raised an eyebrow.
"Completely."
He sighed heavily, watching Billie as the other man rose from his mattress on the floor and began to get dressed. "Are you sure about this, Billie?" he asked, carefully observing the blatant disappointment in his friend's face.
"Yeah," Billie answered. He pulled a t-shirt over his head, mussing his raven hair even more than the already-present bed head. "I'm sure."
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Neither Billie nor Mike felt up to talking. Tré came back at about eight forty-five, exhausted and grouchy as usual, and immediately fell asleep. Billie tried to read as he did when nervous or angry, but the words on the page swam around in front of him, scrambling into undecipherable phrases.
He snapped the book shut angrily and stood. Mike looked up from his mattress, where he was watching some BL/ind television news show on mute. "What's happening?" he asked.
"Going for a drive," Billie mumbled, grabbing the car keys. "Need to clear my head."
The sun was a welcome relief from the almost-total darkness the warehouse was usually kept in. The desert was always sunny, contrary to the odd cloud mass that usually hung over Battery City nowadays. But out here in the desert, everything was bursting with light and color—a world almost larger than life. Billie loved it more than anything.
He climbed into the Trans-Am he and his friends had found and opened the sun roof, letting the interior of the car soak with heat rays before starting the car. The glowing clock on the dashboard read ten forty-six—he had an hour before he had to be at the Motel for his noontime Killjoy announcement. Perfect.
There wasn't a ton of stuff in the desert, but in a way, that made it even better. The three men had only seen three buildings in the entire area they had explored so far: the abandoned Dead Pegasus gas station, the convenience store ransacked but the gas pumps still pleasantly full; the Motel 6, which they'd found only three months age in a state of total disarray and had set up the radio base at; and their own warehouse, their home base. The rest of the desert was only dry golden sand, scrubby green bushes, black roads and always the endless blue sky that shone over everything. The weather never changed—it hadn't rained once since that first night. The sky was always sunny, cloudless aquamarine.
Billie drove for an hour under that aquamarine sky. He loved the desert more than anywhere else he'd ever lived. It had absolutely become his home. He knew every road for miles around that shot through the golden sands, black scars on the area's face. But even they fit into the desert somehow.
Eventually, though, he turned the car around and sped back towards the motel. Sand and scrub and sky and mountains blurred past the windows until the motel rose in the distance, low and long. The building was all too familiar to him now. He could see everything for miles from anywhere in the desert—the landscape out here was flat and bare, with nothing to block the very few landmarks from sight.
What was he supposed to say for the announcement now? There had been absolutely nothing to happen all day, BL/ind hadn't done anything at all relevant to their current situation, and the entire show was on the verge of collapsing. This would be Doctor D's last individual show ever. Billie felt like he should do something more final, but he had no ideas.
He pulled the car into the parking lot, pulling it up in front of the door as usual, and yanked open his car door. The engine cut with a grumble as he removed the key and swung his legs out. The door slammed shut behind him. A blast of cool air hit his face when he pulled open the motel door.
He checked his watch. 11:57. Right on time.
Billie made his way to the reception desk where three months ago, he had set up the weird combination of laptop, headphones and microphone that Mike had rigged to hack into the FM airwaves of California and the surrounding regions. The laptop was still on from when Tré had visited that morning.
Slowly, as if performing some sort of ritual, he slipped the headphones over his ears and double-clicked the radio-hacking program saved on the desktop. The familiar screen pulled up, his cursor poised over the little red dot that would put him on the air.
11:59…he sat, watching the clock absently and going over what he would say. He still had no ideas…
The clock flicked over to 12:00 suddenly, and Billie startled, his finger slamming down on the keypad. Shit.
He cleared his throat nervously, allowing himself a moment to get in character—he couldn't be Billie Joe Armstrong, twenty-something and with no purpose, any longer. For the next five minutes he was Doctor D, confident, eccentric rebel leader.
"Welcome back, tumbleweeds," he said into the microphone. "Doctor D has returned."
Now what?
"Rebellion efforts are going…" Fuck, Billie, why'd you say that? "Well, they're not going," he finished lamely. "Does anyone even know about this station? If you do, Killjoys, then holler, because if we can't hear you, then neither can BL/ind." He left out the fact that if more Killjoys didn't start showing up right fucking now, there wouldn't be any more Killjoys or rebellion efforts.
He sighed heavily, propping his chin in his hand. "Things sure are quiet here at the Motel," he announced boredly, throwing a cursory glance around the messy space. "Almost too quiet. Makes you think something big is going to happen—and soon." Or so I hope…
It really was quiet, though. The silence was stifling. Billie groaned again, tapping his fingers on the desk.
"Well, there's not a lot to report," he said tiredly. Understatement of the year. "Doctor D's done for today. Killjoys, make some noise."
That last phrase nearly brought tears to his eyes. Every single radio broadcast the three had ever done, from the very first one, had ended with those four words. And now it was the last time he'd ever say them.
Billie pressed the 'stop recording' button savagely and pulled off the headset, throwing it on the desk.
The last time. Ever.
The glass doors slammed shut behind him with a sense of finality. Suddenly, all the anger drained from the small man's form, and his shoulders slumped. It was over.
He got into his car dejectedly, pulling it out from under the hotel's awning and up to the exit to the parking lot. Even though there were never any other vehicles in the entire desert, some of his good driver-habits were still ingrained in his mind. He looked right, revved the engine, and then glanced left—
Holy. Shit.
Billie shook his head, sure he was hallucinating. Because there couldn't be another car here, skidding to a stop in front of his own vehicle and leaving rubber tire marks as it halted. There couldn't be anyone else in the desert. It didn't make sense…
He got out of his car cautiously, staring at the other vehicle. It was a fancy-looking convertible, top down, with four seats out of five filled. He couldn't see much of the people inside—but now the driver was getting up, watching Billie excitedly. His black hair shone in the sunlight.
"Hi, Doctor D," he called out, removing a pair of sunglasses. "We've been looking for you."
Doctor D? Billie's mind went blank at the name, and he could only gawk at the boys. To be fair, it seemed like the younger man was doing exactly the same thing—drop-jawed in shock and amazement.
"That was quite an entrance," he smirked, watching for the boy's reaction. A large, excited smile grew on his face, and he gestured for the other people in the car to come forward.
"First of all: names," Billie announced as the boy walked toward him, the other three in tow. "And then tell me why you're looking for me."
"Ray Toro, Mikey Way, Frank Iero and I'm Gerard Way," he stated, pointing to each boy as he introduced them. "We're here to join the Killjoys."
"Are you—are you serious?" Billie couldn't keep the blatant note of excitement out of his voice. He hadn't even dared to dream of this—when he'd made the deal with Mike that morning, he'd been fully prepared to give up every notion of the Killjoys. But standing in front of him were the new recruits he hadn't even been able to hope for. It was nothing short of a miracle.
"Completely," Frank said seriously. "We hate BL/ind. We want to do everything we can to stop them."
"Then you've come to the right place," Billie grinned. "I was just about to leave for the base. Follow me—it's not easy to get lost out here, all the roads connect eventually, but it can get confusing."
"Awesome." Gerard smiled brightly. He looked so enthusiastic, absolutely ready to follow the older man to wherever he was going. Billie still couldn't believe they were actually there…
"Right—er, follow me," the older man stuttered, retreating back to his car. He pulled out of the lot, checking the rearview mirror before gunning the engine and setting off down the straight road. Gerard and his friends followed.
Gerard. Frank. Mikey. Ray. Billie ran over their names in his mind, trying to imagine how the sudden new additions to their tiny gang would fit into his, Tré's and Mike's lives. From what he could see, Gerard and Frank seemed eager and extroverted, ready to learn about their new way of living. Ray was quieter, but he had still smiled exuberantly, letting his friends express his feelings for him. But Mikey…Mikey hadn't smiled once. It seemed less as if he was angry or skeptical, just sad in a way. Maybe he would tell them about that later…
It didn't matter—a recruit was a recruit. As long as Mikey wanted to be a Killjoy, he sure as hell wasn't going to turn him away.
What the fuck were Tré and Mike going to say about the younger men, though? Billie was still shocked himself, and he was the only one who even held a shred of confidence in the Killjoy project anymore! And suddenly, four boys appeared out of nowhere to air in the rebellion efforts and basically become a part of their lives. How was this going to affect the whole dynamic?
Well, I guess there's only one way to find out…
The drive seemed t abnormally long that day, stretched far beyond the usual half-hour it took to get home. Maybe it was because he wasn't speeding as much so as not to lose the other car, or msybe it was just his nerves about Tré and Mike meeting Gerard, Ray, Frank and Mikey, but the clock seemed to slow down as he neared the warehouse.
Finally, he pulled the car up in front of the hulking building, cutting the engine after he parked. Gerard and his crew pulled up right behind him.
The younger boy's eyes sparkled as he jumped out of the car. "This is where you live?" he asked, intrigued.
"Yeah. It's the first place we found when we came out here."
"What's at the motel, then?" Ray piped up for the first time.
"We do all the radio broadcasts from there," Billie explained. "Just in case BL/ind finds the station and starts trying to track the signal, they won't find us unless we're actually doing an announcement at the time. Safety precaution."
"And what about Revolution and Adrenaline? Who are they?" Frank asked curiously.
Billie took a deep breath. "Well, you're about to meet them."
With a confidence he didn't feel at all, the man pushed open the doors to the warehouse caking out "I'm home!" The four boys crowded the doorway, peeking in almost nervously but not entering.
Mike rolled over on his mattress to face him. "Hey, Billie. How'd it go?"
"Well…" Oh God, Billie thought, here we go. "Actually…you'll never guess what happened."
"What?" His statement had obviously caught Tré's attention, because both of his best friends were looking at him curiously now.
"There's some people you need to meet," he announced. "Guys—" he gestured to the boys waiting by the door to come in—"meet Revolution and Adrenaline. Mike and Tré, meet Gerard, Frank, Ray and Mikey, the newest recruits for the Killjoys."
Tré and Mike were struck completely speechless. All they could do was stare at the four younger boys who stood awkwardly just inside the entrance. The teenagers, in turn, watched their reactions, confused.
"Bet's off, by the way," Billie called to Mike flippantly as he walked past. "Welcome to your new home, guys."
"Whoa," Frank breathed, taking a tentative step inside. "This place is fucking massive."
"Are we the only ones?" Ray asked.
"So far, yeah, it's just the seven of us," Billie replied.
"Are there more coming?"
"Not that we know of," he shrugged. "It's pretty informal—come and go whenever you feel like it. Truth is, you're the first ones to actually come and join us."
"We're not sure exactly what we're doing," Mike confessed. Apparently he'd gotten his mouth to work again.
"Well, rebellion, right? The radio show and those recon missions you talked about?" suggested Gerard.
Oh. The recon missions. They weren't really recon, Mike just thought that 'routine expedition to search for food' was too wordy and not Killjoy enough. They did check on BL/ind sometimes, but only by driving past the center of the city to see if the white-suited policemen were still patrolling the sidewalks.
"Sort of, yeah," Billie stuttered.
"Just show us what you do every day," Gerard answered brightly. "We'll catch on soon enough."
The older man had a feeling the recruits were about to be bitterly disappointed.
It didn't take long for Billie, Tré and Mike to explain their daily routine to the eager boys: the three radio shows per day at eight AM, noon and eight PM; the weekly 'recon missions' to Battery City; and the general laziness and boredom of desert life. There really was almost nothing to do during the day, but the three tried not to let that show in case it made the sudden additions reconsider.
The boys didn't look like they wanted to reconsider, though. Gerard and Frank hadn't stopped smiling once since setting foot inside the warehouse, and Ray, although more conserved with his emotions, was nodding along as if he understood. Even Mikey seemed to be determined in his efforts to help.
Billie was still trying to figure Mikey out. The boy was obviously younger than his three friends, and he assumed the younger brother of Gerard due to the similar last names, but he was jaded in a way his comrades were not. He didn't burn with that intense, high-octane fire his friends seemed to. Instead, he was quietly determined. Definitely not emotionless, though. His face was still a mask of sorrow, as it had been since they first met.
Mikey was going to have to remain an enigma for a bit longer, though. Frank and Gerard had taken over the telling of the group's history, cutting in and finishing each other's sentences in an effort to get the whole thing out. It sounded like the four of them had been determined to protest before they'd even heard of the Killjoys—shockingly, they'd been the ones who had caused the massive stir at the Hawthorne Towers rally with their anti-BL/ind poster and a speech Frank had made.
"That was you?" Tré gawked, almost unable to believe it.
"Yeah, that was us," Gerard nodded seriously. "The Draculoid chased us away before we could see what happened."
"Draculoids?"
"That's just a nickname Ray made up for the white suit guys," Frank explained.
Tré nodded. "Fits them."
"But we've hated them for just as long as you have," the boy finished. "Maybe even longer."
"Good thing we found you…" Gerard added.
And it really was. Those boys were just what they needed to inject a shot of energy back into the dying Killjoy project. After bringing their stuff in from the car and throwing it into two of the rooms that lined the catwalk, all seven of the Killjoys drove back out to introduce the newly renamed Poison, Ghoul, Kobra and Jet to the listening world. (All four of them had been overly excited about picking names—even Mikey. They'd spent nearly fifteen minutes trying to pick the perfect one each.)
"What does the D in Doctor D stand for, anyway?" Gerard asked as they neared the hotel. He and Frank were riding with Billie in the Trans Am while Mike, Tré, Ray and Mikey were in theirs.
"Er…to be honest? Nothing," he confessed.
"It should mean something, though," the raven-haired boy mused. "Doctor Danger, maybe? Or Doctor Death?"
"I like Doctor Death," Frank piped up. "But it needs something more. That sounds too morbid. It needs to be upbeat…anti-death, kind of."
"Doctor Death Defying," Gerard offered.
Surprisingly, Billie loved it. Doctor Death Defying. It had a ring to it.
"I like that," he commented.
"Suits you," Frank agreed.
Gerard grinned. "Then Doctor Death Defying you shall be."