"You might've heard that I run with a dangerous crowd. We ain't too pretty; we ain't too proud. We might be laughing a bit too loud, but that never hurt no one." ~Billy Joel, "Only the Good Die Young"
As was their custom on Fridays, the Killjoys woke up early, dressed as the sun was rising, and prepared to wreak havoc. For breakfast they ate, as on every other day of the week, canned refried beans and whatever else they could find. Today, though, they only had beans, which meant, as Kobra Kid helpfully informed them seven times, that they had to go to the gas station.
"If we just had something to make them taste better, that'd be great," Kobra said, after gagging yet again on a mouthful of the cold, slimy mush. "Like some chips or something. But just straight beans…Ick."
"Okay, so we'll make sure to get you extra, then," Fun Ghoul teased.
"Yeah, we'll buy every can they have," Party Poison chimed in through his own mouthful of gross bean-goo. "Yay!" On the last word, he stuck out his tongue.
Kobra, naturally, recoiled from the half-chewed, soggy beans with an, "Eww."
"Real mature, you guys," Jet Star chided, as he laughed along with everyone else.
After breakfast, the four of them and the Girl set out in the Trans-Am, with Party Poison driving recklessly fast down the empty desert road. The car's roof was down, and the CD player was blasting one of their favorite songs, Mad Gear and Missile Kid's cover of "Black Dragon Fighting Society." In the backseat, Fun Ghoul, Jet Star, and the Girl were all headbanging or playing very enthusiastic air guitar while trying not to hit one another. Kobra Kid, who had called shotgun, was attempting to tap his foot in time to the nonsensically fast beat, with little success. Party Poison drove one-handed; the other, hanging nonchalantly out the window, was the only relaxed part of him: He managed to drum the fingers of the first hand on the steering wheel and tap his foot so quickly it looked like he was having a muscle spasm. He did all this while singing at the top of his lungs, and it was in this loud, generally chaotic fashion that the Trans-Am pulled into the only gas station in Zone 5 and screeched to a halt right as the song ended.
The owner and sole employee of the gas station was a thirty-something man with short, black hair, an odd habit of wearing mismatched and brightly colored socks, and an unwavering idolization of My Chemical Romance and, now, the Killjoys. He called himself Sweet Revenge.
There was something a bit off in his manner as he greeted them, though. He didn't look quite as happy as usual to see them; on the contrary, he was edgy and nervous, twice dropping the money they gave him for gas. Party Poison was the first to notice.
"You okay, man?" he asked casually, as Fun Ghoul accidentally knocked a bag of chips off a shelf in his hurry to check out the small assortment of cigarettes, and Sweet Revenge jumped at the sound.
"Huh?" the young man responded absently. "Yeah, yeah, fine." He was scowling out the window, watching the foot of the gas pump where Jet Star was practicing on his Gibson. "He sure likes that guitar of his, doesn't he?"
"Yeah," Party replied. As Sweet Revenge was clearly in no mood to talk, Party sidled up to Fun Ghoul and asked to borrow his lighter.
He went outside, carefully selecting a spot where the ashes from his cigarette would be unlikely to make the whole gas station catch on fire. He ended up leaning against the wall of the convenience store, right next to one of those little ashtrays suspended over the trash can.
As he stood, burning through one of his three remaining smokes, Party Poison couldn't help admiring Jet Star, who was sitting in what would have been a painfully awkward position to anyone but him: one leg bent at the knee to support his guitar, the other folded underneath him, his back gradually sliding down the slick surface of the pump as he practiced extremely complicated riffs while looking almost bored. Party grinned, thinking of Jet's incredible enthusiasm for and dedication to his music. His passion was somehow still unchanged, even after a huge war, endless persecution, and six years of being on the run with no one to support it. The other three Killjoys had all mostly given up on their music, for one reason or another. Party was ashamed to be in that category.
Well, I'm not completely a quitter, though, he realized. I did write that one song…
Just the thought of it made him laugh. It was, without a doubt, the most over-the-top, ridiculous song he'd ever written. Wanting to fully enjoy and poke fun at its immaturity and devil-may-care attitude, he pulled the folded, coffee-ring-stained lyrics from his back pocket, where he always kept them. As he read them over- they were even sillier than he remembered- he found himself wondering what other people would think of his song. He chuckled again as he imagined a bunch of Dracs hearing the song, looking at one another in utter bafflement, and saying, "What the hell is this?!"
Party also wondered what his friends would have to say. He was sure that Show Pony, Sweet Revenge, and the Girl would all like the song (or, well, Sweet Revenge would as soon as he got over whatever was bugging him), and that both Dr. Death Defying and Kobra Kid would react with casual but mostly indifferent support. "Yeah, go ahead," Kobra would say. "You wanna write a crazy song where half the lyrics are just people going 'na' a lot, go for it. Have fun." And he would keep a totally straight face the whole time.
Fun Ghoul would probably be mildly supportive, Party decided. He'd think the song was a bit weird, but would find it amusing that it was basically just a big "screw you" to BLI, and a loud, obnoxious, neon-and-laser-filled one at that.
And Jet Star…well, he would most likely, after having a good laugh about the song's absurdity, take some encouragement from the fact that he wasn't as alone as he seemed. He would appreciate having someone else who still wanted to write songs, albeit ludicrous ones.
Lost in thought, Party Poison automatically ground out his cigarette and dropped the butt in the ashtray, barely noticing when a warm breeze swirled around him, ruffling his already untidy crimson hair. He did notice, however, when that same breeze snatched the page of lyrics from his hand, carrying it off in the direction of the road. He yelped and tried to grab it, but it was already tumbling along out of his reach, accompanied by little clouds of dust.
In a move that Party would later praise repeatedly as being "totally ninja," Jet Star reached out without looking up from his guitar strings and seized the page in midair. It was only when Party called, "Oh, thanks!" and started to walk over that Jet actually looked, with a puzzled, faraway expression, at what he was holding. When he drew it closer to him to read what it said, Party felt kinda awkward. It wasn't really the kind of thing he'd wanted to show anyone else, which was why he'd never actually done so. It was definitely not the best song he'd ever written, as it was borderline nonsensical and, if he ever sung it out loud, would just sound like a little kid screaming. He was sure, now, that Jet wouldn't really like the song at all.
So when Jet asked, "What is this?" there was nothing to do but reply, "Just a stupid song that I wrote a while back. It's not important." He held out his hand, expecting Jet to give it back and spare himself the immaturity.
But Jet kept reading, his expression changing from confusion to amusement as he finished. He smiled almost disbelievingly at Party before asking, "What is it about, exactly?"
"It's…uh," Party sank down next to him and tried to think of the most rational explanation for it; the song wasn't really about one thing in particular. He'd been trying to say several things at once, none of which now seemed to make any sense. "Well, it's about, like, BLI, and, um, how their way of life sucks and kind of taunting them, and it's also about feeling rebellious, and about being what you want to be, not acting how other people want you to act, but kind of, doing your own thing…" He trailed off awkwardly, figuring he'd be better off not saying that half of the reason he'd written the song was because he really hadn't liked the last album they'd done. Jet Star had been proud of it, though, and Party knew that it would be stupid to criticize such an old piece of work now.
It had been nice, at first, to be able to work on something simple: They'd all agreed that this album wouldn't try to top their last, that they'd instead make a back-to-basics rock album. That meant no concepts, no storyline, and no gimmicks. But when it was finished, Party had felt slightly unsatisfied, like the album hadn't reached its full potential. The songs themselves were all entertaining, of course, and "Death Before Disco" was still one of his favorites, but the album as a whole could've been much better.
But then one day, for reasons he still couldn't explain, he'd written the song Jet Star was rereading, trying to look as though he understood what the heck it meant. It had stemmed, quite simply, from Party getting a melody stuck in his head. There were no words, just "na na-na-na na-na-na…" But he'd come up with a few verses and a truly absurd chorus, and found it freeing. He'd figured the band could've used something like this, but it was too late to put it on the album now: the finished CD had just hit store shelves. So he had kept the lyrics with him, intending to suggest the song as an EP or something, but then the war had begun, and all thoughts of albums and that song were driven out of his mind as the band, now calling themselves Killjoys in protest against Better Living Industries' sudden takeover, was driven out of one of the few remaining cities in California.
And now here he was, trying to explain his pathetic attempt at grasping- what? Freedom? They had all of that they could ever want, and then some. Party Poison shook his head at his own childish idealism, just as Jet Star glanced back up at him and said, "I like it."
"What?" Party laughed. "You're kidding, right?"
"No," Jet gestured to the lyrics with a smile. "It makes sense. Like that part about 'drugs, gimmie drugs, I don't need it;' that's a really nice dig at BLI, and the chorus is flat-out hilarious, and then this little bridge section is kinda, well, outlandish, but it does make a good point. And- hey!" He broke off, grinning at the bottom of the page. "You wrote a guitar part?"
"I tried," Party sighed. "But then, seeing as how I know nothing about guitar, I basically just strung a bunch of notes and crap together."
"Well, let's see," Jet rested the page on the ground next to his thigh, so it was easy to see, and started to pick his way through the hastily scribbled tabs. Then he paused and looked back at Party, his eyebrows raised. "This is derived from a pentatonic scale, right?"
"Um, if you say so," Party replied. He was a songwriter, not a guitarist. "That was just some random thing I came up with, and I thought it sounded cool." He shrugged.
"It does," Jet said. He stared thoughtfully at the page for a minute before saying, "And I think I could make it sound even cooler. Could I borrow this- " he nodded at the sheet of lyrics "- and write the rest of the guitar part?"
Party snorted in disbelief. He was kidding, of course! "Why would you want to do that? I told you, it's just a stupid thing I wrote when I was bored."
"You can say that, but I think it's got real potential," Jet replied. "If you don't mind me doing my best to add to it- "
"Oh, all right," Party agreed in resignation. "Good luck, man." You'll need it, he thought, and settled down to see what Jet could do.
After buying two packs of cigarettes, one for himself and one for Party Poison, Fun Ghoul appeared to have inadvertently broken Sweet Revenge.
It started when the Girl piped up, in the voice normally used by schoolchildren threatening to tell on someone, "Jet Star says smoking's bad for you."
"Does he?" Fun responded with polite disinterest.
"He says it makes you makes you smell bad, and your teeth fall out, and then you get cancer and die. And I'm not allowed to smoke, because it's"- she scrunched up her face, trying to remember Jet's words of wisdom, which she then had to sound out very precisely- "add-ict-ing."
Fun sighed. "He has a point. Smoking is bad for you, so, no, you shouldn't do it."
"But then, why do you?" The Girl asked, peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
"Because he's being a bad role model," Sweet Revenge snapped. "He tells you not to do something that he does himself."
Fun Ghoul was taken aback at such a drastic change in the normally friendly Killjoy's demeanor, but before he could say anything, Sweet Revenge continued, "He smokes because he's addicted to it, meaning he can't stop or he'll go through all sorts of 'terrible shit.'" He made air quotes around his head to illustrate his skepticism, which only confused the Girl more. "He's actually being a really hypocritical loser." The Girl still didn't quite know what he was talking about, though she did look offended that he was apparently insulting her friend.
But Sweet Revenge was clearly no longer addressing the Girl but beginning a tirade. Fun Ghoul crossed his arms and calmly waited for him to get out whatever it was he had to say.
His rant didn't really make much sense, though. Sweet Revenge went on for a few more sentences about how Fun was being a bad person, but Fun was sure he received a few secretive, apologetic glances, too. Then he changed targets for no apparent reason and started ranting about how the Dracs were also addicts; how they were just as bad, if not worse, than Fun, because they sucked people into addiction by telling them that pills could actually help them.
It was at that point that Fun Ghoul got slightly nervous and risked a glance at Kobra Kid. He was standing as he had been for the past minute or so, staring almost reverently at the coffee machine, trying to pick out the best flavor of espresso. But on the word "pills," he turned his head a little to better hear what Sweet Revenge was saying. That wasn't really necessary, as the man was ranting quite loudly.
"I mean, it's really just weakness," Sweet Revenge continued, expressing his opinions vehemently to no one in particular. Kobra narrowed his eyes. "All those losers are totally weak and hopeless and lazy, too, and so they think that taking a bunch of drugs will solve their problems." Kobra tensed, his hand curling into a fist.
Shut up, Fun thought, wishing Sweet Revenge could read minds so he'd know just how deep he was digging his own grave.
But he went on, "And then they get all dependant, and pretty soon, they won't even try to live without their precious meds to make them happy, the cowardly, worthless- "
He was cut off abruptly when Kobra Kid strode quickly over, leaned across the counter so that his face was inches from Sweet Revenge, and snarled, "You have no idea what you're talking about, and you'd better shut the hell up about things you don't understand. Got it?"
As Kobra appeared to be expending every bit of willpower he had to keep from breaking Sweet Revenge's nose, the man had no choice but to reply, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Kobra leaned back and walked quickly past Fun Ghoul and the Girl, both of whom looked shocked and slightly wary. When he reached the door, he turned and announced, "I'm going off to the vending machines around back."
The Girl said excitedly, "Can I come? You know I'm really good at hacking! Please?"
Kobra considered for a few seconds, his eyes flicking from the Girl to Sweet Revenge, who looked like he wanted to hide under the counter, before snapping, "Fine."
She followed him out, leaving it up to Fun Ghoul to explain how Sweet Revenge had crossed a line.
"What's his problem?" asked the dangerously ignorant man, his scoffing losing all its effect due to the quaver in his voice.
"Kobra's bipolar," Fun Ghoul shook his head, wondering how, after five years of running the gas station and seeing them at least once a week, Sweet Revenge still didn't know this. "No, that's not why he got all pissed at you," Fun added, and watched as the look of smug comprehension on the man's face faded back into confusion. "His disorder's well-controlled on the meds we steal from the Dracs, but he's really sensitive about it. Says he doesn't like to put us at risk, so he usually makes those raids on his own."
"Oh," Sweet Revenge replied, at a loss for words. "I-I didn't mean to insult him, I didn't know…"
"It's okay," Fun said, trying to respond with sympathy he did not really feel. "He'll forgive you soon enough; he just needs to calm down."
"Hey," the cashier began contemplatively. "Kobra wouldn't happen to take lithium, would he?" He dug around under the counter and pulled out a small bottle of prescription pills, which he set between them. They were prescribed to someone called Leonard. "I got these off a Drac who came in here about a week ago. It was okay, I chased him out," he added hastily in response to Fun Ghoul's concerned glance, "but he left these behind. I figured, I didn't need them, but maybe they'd come in handy for something. And they have: would you mind giving these to Kobra and telling him I'm sorry?"
Fun was tempted to say, "Tell him yourself," but figured Sweet Revenge had enough problems of his own to deal with; he must've been having a terrible day to go on a rant like that. So Fun just nodded and asked him to keep the medicine and cigarettes while he went outside to finish a new explosive he'd been working on. Sweet Revenge agreed, before staring out the window at where Party Poison and Jet Star were sitting by the gas pump, singing a song. It sounded like all the lyrics were just "na na na…" but they seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely, while Sweet Revenge, for some unfathomable reason, appeared to be trying not to cry.
Kobra Kid and the Girl walked past their friends' "EXTERMINATE" posters on the garage door next to the vending machine that, despite having been untouched by Dracs for five years, had not yet run out of supplies. The Girl settled onto a nearby trash can and waited eagerly as Kobra pulled a handheld electronic device out of a pocket in his jacket. He handed her the Vend-A-Hack, which she plugged into the slot on the vending machine normally reserved for dollar bills. She turned it on and started pressing various combinations of buttons.
"Is Fun Ghoul gonna die?" the Girl asked suddenly. She didn't look up from her work, but her voice was full of worry.
"We're all gonna die someday, you know," Kobra Kid replied impatiently.
"I know that," she said, sounding equally irritated, "but will he die soon? 'Cause…that'd suck," she finished more quietly.
Kobra scooped a pair of double-A batteries out of the vending machine's tray and wished he could tell her for sure that they would all be fine. "No," he answered finally. "He's tough; he'll be okay."
The Girl nodded, accepting this. She was silent for a moment, engrossed in the task of getting a D battery, which fell into the tray with a clunk. Then she asked, "Is that why you got mad at Sweet Revenge? Because he said you weren't tough?"
Kobra was impressed at how perceptive she was; she'd gotten right to the heart of what had infuriated him, and what he saw now as being a bit of an overreaction. "Well, not just me," he said, and felt a new rush of irritation at Sweet Revenge's accusations.
"Fun Ghoul, too, right?" The Girl apparently wanted to make sure that she'd understood most of the back-and-forth that had preceded the cashier's rant.
"Yeah, he insulted Fun Ghoul too, and also…" Kobra Kid paused to think of how best to explain this. "Think you could get a laser gun?"
The Girl said, "Sure!" and resumed her button mashing, giving Kobra a few seconds to gather his thoughts.
"Okay, um…" he began awkwardly. "You know how I have to take some medicine every morning?"
"So you don't get sick in the head," the Girl responded knowledgeably.
"Right," Kobra was glad they'd already had that conversation; it made this one easier. "Well, Sweet Revenge basically said that everybody who does that is weak."
She frowned. "That's stupid."
"Yeah, it is. That's why I got mad."
The Girl was having some trouble getting a laser blaster out of the vending machine, and Kobra was already leaning over her shoulder to see what was wrong when she said, "It's not working. Could you maybe- "
He pressed the button marked with an image of a ray gun, and, when that didn't work, pounded on the front of the vending machine. "There!" he exclaimed as a white, standard-issue Draculoid gun fell out. He loaded it up with the double-A batteries and slipped it into his waistband.
"I don't think you're weak," the Girl announced abruptly, gazing up at him with admiration. "I think you're totally shiny."
"Aww, thanks," Kobra Kid replied. "I think you're shiny too- not to mention great at hacking." They exchanged high-fives, and the Girl jumped down off the trash can and followed him back around the building, tucking the Vend-A-Hack into her vest.
But when they walked around the corner, they were met with an unexpected danger: A patrolling group of Dracs had come upon the gas station and attacked the Killjoys.
Three of them surrounded Fun Ghoul, who was lying on the ground and trying to cover his head as they kicked him. Jet Star was hiding in the Trans-Am, protecting his guitar (and himself: Kobra found out later that he'd almost been hit with a bottle). Party Poison was engaged in a fistfight with a fourth Drac, and just as Kobra wondered why no one was using laser guns, Party punched out his opponent and called over, "Don't shoot them, or the gas might explode!"
Kobra Kid slipped his gun back in its holster and told the Girl to go back to the vending machine to keep her out of harm's way. She dashed off, and he reached into the pocket on his jacket and produced his favorite close-combat weapon, a souped-up Power Glove. He stepped out into the sun (fortunately he had on his sunglasses) and prepared to do battle.
The three Dracs attacking Fun Ghoul had glanced around at Party's words, giving Fun the opportunity to roll aside and get to his feet. All three Killjoys then struck at once. Party tackled the nearest Drac and shot him, pressing the laser gun into his enemy's chest so there was no chance of it touching any gasoline. Fun Ghoul leapt at another one and slashed across its neck; Kobra noticed a glint of steel in his hand as the Drac fell, its throat lacerated and bleeding. Kobra took down the third easily, seizing it around the neck with his Power Glove and administering a fatal electric shock.
Party stood and surveyed the damage before saying, calmly and quickly, "We'll make a run for it. I'm going to guard the Girl. Fun Ghoul, get the bomb ready, along with whatever else you think we need. Kobra, there's one more in there." He nodded at the gas station and strode off around the convenience store.
Kobra Kid entered the dingy store with his laser drawn and adrenaline lighting up his veins, and saw Sweet Revenge cowering before yet another Drac who held him at gunpoint. "No! Don't kill them! Please!" the cashier pleaded with his captor.
Kobra was satisfied to see that he was crying, and felt even better when Sweet Revenge turned to him desperately and sobbed, "Oh Kobra, I'm so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking!"
Kobra dispatched the Drac with a single laser blast, and Sweet Revenge continued, "I was such an idiot, I was trying to make myself feel superior, and I just went too far. I'm so sorry! I'll never, ever do anything like that again!"
"All right," Kobra cut him off. "I get it. It's okay. I know you didn't mean anything by what you said."
Sweet Revenge frowned and wiped his eyes. "Um…You should take all your stuff with you." And he held out two packs of cigarettes, some chips, several cans of beans, a grocery bag, and a bottle of prescription medication.
Kobra put the cigarettes and groceries in the bag, but stared blankly at the meds.
"For you," Sweet Revenge explained briskly. "A token of my apology."
Kobra Kid stared at him in amazement; he knew only too well how hard lithium was to come by. "Where'd you get this?"
"It was complicated," the younger man said. After a pause, he added offhandedly, "You know, if you were a Drac, it'd be pathetically easy to get lithium, and whatever else you needed."
Kobra laughed. "That's funny, man." With sarcasm flaking freely off his voice, he added, "Yeah, I'd be a Drac, that'd be a shiny way to live. It'd be awesome to abandon all my friends. Great, yeah."
"Well, you'd better get going, 'cause your friends are gonna leave." Sweet Revenge pointed over to the Trans-Am, where Party Poison was climbing into the driver's seat with the Girl already in the back, and Fun Ghoul was hefting what looked like a grenade launcher out of the trunk.
Kobra zipped the bottle of pills into the inside pocket of his jacket, thanked Sweet Revenge, and started to leave. At the door he turned back, and, with a glance at the body on the floor, said, "We'll come back later and help you…you know, clean up."
But Sweet Revenge dismissed this, saying, "Thanks, but you've done enough." His voice held a strange combination of resentment and relieved gratitude, and he waved at Kobra, smiling.
Kobra Kid waved back, shook his head at how confusing people could be, and walked out.
As they sped off in the opposite direction from the diner to keep Dracs from finding their headquarters, Fun Ghoul hoped they were being followed. Then maybe he'd get a chance to use the grenade launcher sitting at his feet. And sure enough, Jet Star, who was scanning the road through the back windshield, soon declared, "Here they come!"
To avoid wasting his grenades, Fun Ghoul first borrowed Jet Star's gun and stood up out of the open sunroof, shooting at the approaching motorcycles. But their windshields were laser-repellant, like the all Trans-Am's glass. He managed to take out one, and then felt a battle-induced thrill of excitement as he recognized Korse's black Lamborghini coming up behind the motorbikes.
He called to the Girl, who helped him lift the grenade launcher up and steady it against the roof of the car. As per their little inside joke, every day was a good day for weapons training. He supported it and she took careful aim and pulled the trigger.
With a noise like a tiny rocket taking off, the projectile struck one of the motorbikes and exploded, the shockwave knocking a second Drac off course. He veered in front of the Lamborghini, and at the same time a sharp piece of shrapnel punctured the car's tire. The Drac driving slammed on the brakes, which only made the car fishtail. It ended up swerving off the road and settling in a cloud of dust.
The Girl cheered and grinned at Fun Ghoul adoringly, and he started laughing, both of them streaked with a few ashes from the explosion that had erupted from the back of the launcher. They sat back down and Fun hugged her, remembering as he did so what Sweet Revenge had said about him: "He's being a bad role model."
Well, so what if he was? He and the other Killjoys were the best she'd get and they loved each other, cigarettes, bipolar disorder, ridiculous music, and all.
It was a damn good Friday.