A/N I AM SO SORRY I HAVE TAKEN SO LONG! I haven't had the spare time to edit all of this over and post it since the last chapter. Since then I've taken midterms, and had to focus on school. Now that it's break once again I've got time.

Alright my darling Killjoys, this chapter is another experiment I've cooked up. I tried to mix reality with this future that MCR created. I kind of have blurred the line a bit, and I'm not sure if I like it or not, but I have written 2 more chapters in accordance to it. I don't know, I think I like it. So, remember to tell me what you think on that, it's kind of important. Whether it's by review or message, I just need some opinions. But buckle your seat belts my dears! It's going to be a bumpy ride!

My fist made solid contact with the leather punching bag. BANG. I shifted my weight and my other fist hit it from the side. It left the thing spinning wildly and it came back at me full speed. I ducked, squatting with my hands steadying the grounded and missed it by a millisecond. Poison clapped.

"You're getting there!" he encouraged.

I smiled and threw my strongest punch yet at the punching bag, which had been painted over to appear like a Drac. It was really impressive when you stopped to look at it: a mad amount of effort had gone into it, and it was noticeable.

I smiled as my other fist hit what would have been a Drac's jaw.

"You've really got a strong hate for them don't you?" he asked me, bemused. I smirked.

"I am here, aren't I?" I asked just before giving my stuffed Drac friend a mediocre kick in the side. Poison smiled and ran his fingers through his fire-hydrant red hair.

"Point taken."

"You know," I said, panting and punching the shit out of the Drac decoy, "To take over the world and make an attempt to control people is bad enough...but to strip away their individuality...," I gave the Drac a furious punch, and I dogged its comeback, "that's a big no-no to me," I said harshly, my smile tainted with disgust. Individuality was something I'd always valued highly.

"Keep your head Crash. Focus," Poison cooed, obviously worried.

"Right. Focus," I repeated determinedly, my eyes glued on the stupid black and white blob. I always had a hard time focusing in here. Too many thoughts coming at me at once, all revolving around the Dracs and the BL/ind. I gave it another decent kick with the opposite leg. The chains rattled. FOCUS. No chains. No anger. Just a punching bag. Focus. I closed my eyes for a split second and instinctively dodged the punching bag. Focus.

My fist slammed into the punching bag and the other beat it down as well. The chains were rattling like crazy, and I only stopped once I was losing breath. Sweat drenched my forehead and I glared at the damned punching bag. Poison smiled wide as he approached me.

"You are going up on the ass kicking meter! Now just imagine what you could do if you were able to focus like that all the time!" he said as he wrapped me into a hug. I questioned how he could so effortlessly since I was sticky with perspiration, and most likely reeked from it.

He had become sort of a guardian to me. He was not nor father or brother really; he was somewhere in the middle. Not to say that the other Killjoys weren't amazing to me, but they were purely like big brothers.

He kissed my forehead, something I was still growing used to.

"Now," he murmured, "I think it's safe to say that we can begin in target practice, now that you seem to be on your way with the most classic form of defense." he patted me on the back and lead me to a large room I had never been in before. Sheets of paper were clipped to what almost looked like a laundry line, only straight forward.

"Alright," Poison began, "shoot at the target the best you can. I want to see how much you already know," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

I fired my laser gun at the paper bull's-eye, and hit the outer rim, while another shot hit the wall. Shit, I didn't think I was that bad!

"We've got some work to do," he said patiently, rubbing his neck.

I groaned.

The alarm next to my bed went off. It was as obnoxious as usual. I had taken to the room I had hid in, way back when. I put on my slippers and went to the bathroom. I mentally went through my daily checklist:

•Shower and get dressed
•wake up the guys.
•make breakfast.
•throw some punches at punching bag.
•lunch
•Shooting practice with Poison.
•Dinner.

It hadn't been my idea to put practices every other meal, it had been Poison's. According to him, if I wanted to be stronger I should eat between practices so I can get the calories I needed. I trusted he was right and that it would help me get higher on the kick-ass meter.

Turning on the water for my shower, I thanked whatever God may exist for letting me be here. It was the best place I'd ever been, with the best possible people. Yes, it had come at a high price, one that I wish hadn't had to pay, but I was incredibly happy with the outcome.

I stepped out of the shower and looked at the girl in the mirror: She had medium, wavy dark chocolate colored hair that stopped at her shoulders, bangs covered the right side of her face. She had doe eyes that were hypnotic if you stared right into them. Full rose tinted lips, untouched by scarlet lipstick. Pale skin, something that had once warranted teasing, that now had hues of pink; something that had never been there before.

Funny I thought, she looks just like me. I was always brimming with sarcasm on the topic of my appearance. Like most people it wasn't an aspect of myself I was entirely comfortable with but was more or less stuck with. It wasn't relevant to who I was, but time seemed to be making me more and more accepting of it.

I tied a towel around my short, hour glass figure. I'd never felt all too comfortable with that either: Bea had had a petite figure, and had been small and fragile looking. It had always made me feel strange to be younger and have a fuller figure than her. I was beginning to become more comfortable with it since...this is sick but...since Bea was gone. I no longer had anyone to physically compare myself to.

I ran a comb through my hair, vanquishing what few tangles were left in my hair. It's funny; you'd think living with men would be awkward when I was used to having just Bea, but it was shockingly comfortable. I pushed what I knew to be Jet's razor blade away from the sink as well as put the shaving cream in its proper place in the cabinet. They were my best friends. My family. My dysfunctional but lovable family.

I smiled and sang to myself quietly, as I habitually had the tendency to do when alone and in thought.

"Gravity don't mean too much to me... I'm who I've got to be, these pigs are after me, after you. Run away, like it was yesterday, and we could run, if we could run away, run away, run away from HERE!"

I was smiling now. My voice was soprano and somehow managed to work the pitches of the song in my head.

"I got a bulletproof heart. You got a hollow point smile. Me and your runaway scars, got a photograph dream on the getaway mile. Lets blow a hole In this town! And do our talking with a laser beam. Gunning out of this place in a bullets embrace then we'll do it again," I sang blissfully. I brushed my hair so that it was smoothed down. it could use a trim sometime.

"How can they say 'Jenny could you come back home?' because everybody knows you don't ever wanna to come back. Let me be the one to save you!" I sang, my voice rising high. I was thumping my foot and my hair was beginning to shake with me.

Alright Sarah, get dressed, then jam out, okay? Because jamming out in your birthday suit is borderline insane.

I put on my undergarments and pulled my black and neon pink striped tank top over my head. It fit as snugly as it had when I'd first gotten my hands on it. It flattered my curves and had made me feel all the more strange next to Bea. Next came my translucent black tights. Next I slipped on my fluffy hot pink skirt and lastly my leather jacket. My shoes would have to wait.

I took in a deep breath.

"Gravity don't mean too much to me! I'm who I've got to be! These pigs are after me, after you! Run away, like it was yesterday, when we could run away, when we could run, away run away from here!"

I pulled my makeup bag from my jacket pocket: it was lightweight but managed to have every bright color you could ever dream of packed into it in some shape or form.

I pulled out a skin toned eye shadow and brushed some onto my eyelids. It had a luminous effect that was hard to describe. I added some matte brown into the mix, only on the end half of my eye lids and blended then together at the center. Overall all it gave me the illusion of having giant eyes. I mean, not that they aren't already abnormally big eyes, but this was a whole new level. I put on a little liquid eyeliner and mascara, and finally my red lipstick.

My hair...it never knew what it wanted to be. Curly or wavy, it could never choose a definite rank. I decided to just let it air dry. I didn't care much for tending to it today. So I just Gather it in my hands and threw it behind me, and it smacked my neck.

"I'm shooting outta this room, because I shouldn't like the company," I continued onward with my singing while walking out of the bathroom, "well stop your preaching right there, cause I really don't care and I'll do it again. So get me outta my head! Cause its getting kind of cramped you know! Coming, ready or not, when the motor gets hot we can do it again! The papers say - holy fuck, what the HELL are you doing awake?" I hissed at Kobra, who smirked as he drank a cup of coffee, as though he was completely oblivious to my shock.

"So that's what the papers say is it? 'Holy Fuck What the Hell Are You Doing Awake'?" he asked smugly, sipped his coffee while my face turned ridiculously red. Once he noticed this and the silence he continued to speak in a matter-of-factly, "the sky is blue" tone.

"You should really take up singing, you do it surprisingly well," he said, "and if you have questions or need any help you can go to Gerard."

I stood there silently.

"Who the bloody fucking hell is Gerard Kobra? Your imaginary friend?" I asked. I knew I was getting borderline snappy with him, but I wasn't in the mood to play mind games.

He smirked at me, as though he found this situation all too amusing.

"Sweetheart, you can't honestly think 'Kobra Kid,' 'Party Poison,' 'Jet Star,' and 'Fun Ghoul' are our birth names. If our parents had wanted to give us really fucked up names they would have named us stuff like 'Eugene' or 'Phineas'. Anything that could pass for British really," he smirked that stupid smirk of his.

I stared at him like the idiot I was, not being able to conjure up actual words or phrases that made sense.

"Than what are your names? I mean, your real ones?" I asked dumbly, yet innocently. He motioned for me to sit next to him on the couch. He now seemed to realize just how much of a blow this was to me.

I sat down with some hesitance. I still wasn't that close to Kobra. Couldn't place a reason for it, but that was just the way it was. Without warning his extended his hand toward me.

"My name is Mikey. It's a pleasure to meet you ma'am," he smiled. I stared at him for a second before grasping his hand and shaking it, smiling.

"Mikey huh?" I asked, mulling it over. MIKEYMIKEYMIKEYMIKEYMIKEYMIKEY. NOT KOBRA. MIKEY. HOLY SHIT THIS IS MIKEYMIKEYMIKEY.

"I like it."

A/N So, what do you think of my little twist here? Blurring reality and fiction a bit too much or is it good? Basically, am I in over my head? Mikey out of character at all? Honestly, I get everyone else's personality clearly and try to portray them just as they seem, but I had to guess with Mikey, because as I mentioned in there somewhere, he isn't exactly all that clear to me. Think Crash just got more than she bargained for? Tell me! I want to know!