This is where I’m gunna keep track of my fabulous killjoys fic. I should probably give it an actual name, but I’m bad at naming stuff, so I’ll give it a name another time
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I really, really want to write a wlw story of one of the girls from the spider-punk comics (I’m in love with them all)
I just have a few issues. I wouldn’t know who to write about and as the comics aren’t that popular, I feel like the characters aren’t very well known and not many people will be interested.
Mattea Murdock 😩😩😩😩 I am in love!! She is so everything. Imagine her handsssss. I need her. You guys do not understand how feral I am for her.
Or my girl Riri Williams (riot heart, not ironheart). She is so coollll just imagine her fixing her suit and watching her having no clue what she’s talking about??? Down. Bad.
So yeah, I need to write about at least one of them… I just need help deciding which.
Part two of my fabulous killjoys fic! Part one is here!
Again, I am going to apologise for the crime that is my spelling and grammar, I swear I didn’t learn to write two days ago!
This will— once again— be from a Y/N(fem) perspective (obviously it’s part two to the first part). Y/N has no set description aside from possibly brief clothing description, and their implied age being 18/19.
I know it’s not many, but thank you to everyone who read part one! I’m not really doing this for other people, more so myself, but it’s nice to know that other people appreciate my work!!
When you wake up it takes an embarrassingly long time for you to realise that you are no longer in your room, and even longer for you to realise you are moving. You’re slumped in the back seat of a trans Am. The old car tumbles and rocks as it goes far too fast on far too rough terrain.
It takes a while of staring at your own knees before you can fully break out of your sleeping pill haze. You lift your head up. It feels like holding a bag of bricks and the muscles in your neck ache for what you assume to be hours sat in this position.
Party Poison is driving the car and Fun Ghoul sits in the passenger seat, his feet up on the dashboard. You’re sat between Jet Star and Kobra Kid, but neither of them are paying attention to you. Party Poison taps his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the music playing in the car. You didn’t listen to any music in the facility (as rebel criminals took over the radios they have been banned). You focus on the music for a while until your mind wanders elsewhere, distracted by looking out the windows.
You’ve only seen battery city a handful of times. On some trips with some of the other undergrads to learn how the world works. And you’re pretty sure that this is not the city anymore.
Your focus stays out the window. You just watch. You watch the sand— every mile of it so identical and so different. You watch the green-brown plants, wandering to yourself if they’re dried out or if that’s the colour they’re meant to be.
“Party, we’re low on gas.” The guy in the passenger seat— Fun Ghoul— says, stretching his arms above his head until they reach the ceiling of the car. “We ain’t making it back on that much, we’re barely on the edge of zone 4.”
You’re distracted from looking out the window when he speaks. The car wasn’t actually silent (with the music playing and all) but him speaking seems to have broken some sort of silent agreement between the group. A few minutes pass and despite not really understanding it, you can feel the suffocating tension. It keeps you silent.
Eventually, Party Poison replies. “Yeah, ghoul, I got it.” Their voice rings through the car. His tone is brighter than Ghouls, but still holds the weight of the tension in the small space. “There’s a dead Pegasus about three miles away. Maybe we can pick up some water while we fill up.”
Next to you, someone grunts in agreement and that unnatural “silence” settles over the car again. It’s so agonisingly huge that it seems to drown out the music that plays insistently despite everyone’s discomfort.
You debate to yourself for a while, unsure what to do when they stop. You could run off— sure you don’t know where you are, but you can just walk until you find a draculoid or a SCARECROW who can take you back to the facility. But, that plan runs the risk of them catching you. You know they are evil, but who knows what they’d do. So, you could also just stay put and hope someone from BL/ind finds you.
You try to return to just looking out of the window, but you are suddenly overly aware of yourself. Overly aware of the crushing discomfort you have created. You feel judged, even if no one in the car watches you. You go back to focusing on your knees, keeping your hands tucked together on your lap, only glancing up every now and again to see if anything but sand and sad little plants paint the world outside.
A few minutes later a small red and white building comes into view. The car slows to a stop and you look out at the gas station. The roof and bottom half of the building is red, as well as a red notice board on the wall to the right of the door. It’s empty aside from those four all too familiar posters. The four men currently in the car with you— faceless and with huge red ‘X’s over their faces. A guy with a green Halloween mask on top of his head stands just next to the door, a cigarette between his fingers. In front of the building stands a gas pump. It’s dirty and dented with a few peeling “Dead Pegasus” stickers branding it. The pump is sheltered by a little red roof, held up with red metal poles. Another dead Pegasus sign hangs from the shelter.
Behind the building squats a sad little water tower. The metal container is dirty and badly rusted, standing on legs of rotting and splintering wood. There is a sign hanging off the front of one of the panels of wood, but you’re too far from the little structure to read it.
As the car pulls up to the pump the guy in the Halloween mask drops his cigarette, crushing it under his boot before walking over. Party Poison is the first to step out of the car. He gives the man a questioning look.
“Sorry, man.” The guy says, grabbing the pump and eyeing Party with a look that shows how clearly unapologetic he is. “Your kind been stealin’ the gas. I’m pumping from now on.”
Party Poison clenches his jaw, his entire body tensing. But he doesn’t say anything. He shrugs, playing on his own charisma. “All good.” He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I need a full tank, if that’s all good. I’ve got the cash.” He fishes a few notes from his jacket.
The guy takes the bills, counts them before nodding. “Yeah, ok. This’ll cover it.”
The other guys step out the car. You stay put, not really sure what to do. Kobra Kid slams the door behind him, giving you a sharp, pissed off glare before he walks off with Fun Ghoul towards the water tower. Jet Star, on the other hand, doesn’t really acknowledge your existence as he steps out the car. He stands with Party next to a BL/ind vending machine, just chatting as the Halloween mask guy fills the car.
You sit in the car, watching Party and Jet Star. You can’t see the other two killjoys and you decide you should watch them. Your plan is to gather information, watch them and report every crime they commit to BL/ind when they come rescue you!
As you watch, Party kneels down, plugging some little machine into the vending machine. He taps a button and a packet of “Yum-Duck Candies” fall down. It pisses you off! How dare they steal from BL/inds thoughtful, well placed machines! It’s only five carbons to buy those candies!! They gave the illegal gas station man way more than that!
Still watching the two killjoys, you reach for the handle of the car door. It’s unlocked. You can feel your heart in your throat. Two choices: stay, keep watching their crimes, risk harm from the killjoys and risk being deemed an “accessory to the crimes”. Or leave, try to find a SCARECROW and hope that the killjoys don’t catch you.
Mind made up. When you’re sure they aren’t looking, you push the door open— glad at how quiet it is— and run. The sand is too soft, falling away under your feet. You feel like you’re slipping, on the edge of falling. You move so much slower than you want to.
After a while, you are exhausted and sure you have not gotten nearly far enough. You slump behind some bushes, panting heavily and trying to ignore the scratching in your throat that pleads for water.
From in the car the sun seemed kinder than the flickering artificial lights of the facility. You don’t hold that opinion anymore. Your skin burns and even the shade seems to boil.
All of this does not help to quiet your breathing, so as you hear someone approaching, you opt to hold your breath. You tuck all your limbs close to you in the hopes that whoever is passing will not see you.
The footsteps slow, then stop.
“I know you’re here.” It’s Jet-Star. One of the killjoys who sat next to you in the car. He stands a foot or two away, you’re not sure why. To trick you? To scare you?
You pull your limbs closer to your body and stay silent as possible (truth be told this is not that silent). You hope that he’ll walk away, or you’ll get the courage to start running again. Neither happen.
He steps closer again. “You know we’re trying to help you, right?” There is a short pause before he speaks again. “It might not seem like it, but honestly! Don’t you want to be more than a test dummy.”
That strikes a nerve with you. “I’m not a test dummy! And you are not helping me.” You hiss the words. Quiet but angry. How could he suggest such a thing? They drugged you! Kidnapped you!
He sighs. “Well you weren’t treated like a person. What normal person stares out of a window at the desert like it’s an action movie?” He steps closer to your hiding spot again. “I’m sorry for how we did it. The dracs were coming. We needed to get you out.” His voice is softer this time. You like the way he talks; more patient than any of the BL/ind workers.
Your voice is wobbly when you speak. “Dracs? Do you mean draculoids?”
You hear him chuckle slightly and step closer again. “Yeah, sure. Draculoids, mindless zombie slaves, dracs. Whatever you want to call them.” He sits down a little in front of you.
“Why would you call them that? They’re not zombies. They protect us, you know.” You play with the sand beneath you as you talk, not meeting his eyes.
“Well, they always creeped me out.” He says, just watching you kind of curiously. “Besides, they ain’t protecting me! All they do is fire ray guns in my direction.”
That earns a small laugh from you. “Yeah, because you’re a criminal!” You drop the sand and wipe your hands on your plain white shirt. “They have to protect everyone from you.”
“I suppose you have a point. But if I was so dangerous, how come I came to find you?” He offers you a bottle of water. “I think it’s ok to break laws if the laws are dumb. I’d rather be free.”
“The laws aren’t dumb!” You snap back. “You don’t get to pick and choose what laws you follow!” Despite your agitated tone, you take the water.
“I disagree. I like choosing for myself what is right and wrong.” He stands up. “You wanna come with me back to the gas station? There isn’t normally a lot of dracs out here, so unless you wanna suffer in the sun, we’re probably your best bet.”
You look around for a second, trying to decide. But with the sun burning you and the fresh water in your hand enticing you to trust him.. you decide the killjoys are probably your best bet.
You trail behind Jet-Star, watching your feet. You feel embarrassed, following a criminal, but it’s pretty much that or die. When you return to the gas station, Jet-Star hands you one of the yum-duck candies and lets you sit by the car.
“I told you we should just leave her.” Fun Ghoul speaks after a few minutes. He is glaring straight at Party Poison. “What do you think is going to happen? She’s going to fun off, tell all of better living about our base! We can have that. We need to leave her here.”
Party crosses their arms. “Give it a rest, Ghoul. She looks as young as you. We can’t leave her to die.” They sigh slightly and shake their head. “We can keep an eye on her. It’s not her fault that—”
“That what?! She supports a dictatorship?! She’d sell us all out for nothing?! We should’ve left her a the facility.” Ghoul cuts Party off, clearly annoyed.
Party doesn’t back down. “That’s not fair and you know it. If we can help her we should.” They growl, looking over to Jet-Star. “You agree, right?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “She just needs to be… untaught, I guess. We don’t need to leave her here.”
Ghoul looks between Party and Jet. He’s quiet for a minute before he straightens out from his defensive position. He then looks behind him to Kobra, who is currently sat on the hood of the car, eating a handful of yum-duck candies. “Whatever.”
The rest of the drive is silent. No music to act as a weak barrier to the tension. You feel scared to breathe, too uncomfortable to move even as the leather of the car seat irritates your sunburned skin. You can feel Ghouls eyes stab into you, even through his sunglasses.
Jet bumps your arm a little and offers you another candy. You shake your head. He leans back before speaking. “Ignore him. He’s not very trusting.”
In the front of the car Ghoul grumbles, but doesn’t say anything in defence of the accusation.
You don’t really like Jet, much less trust him, but as far as the killjoys go you find him almost motherly. It’s a weird feeling, considering he’s only a few years older than you at most and a man, but it’s true. You find yourself wishing that you had taken the second candy, but think better of it when you remember how he stole them.
———————————————————
When the car next stops it’s been a few hours. The sky is in that awkward muddy-coloured faze, right between the end of sunset and the beginning of darkness. It’s cool, you think, seeing it with no dirty window in the way.
You step out the car and stand awkwardly. Running doesn’t pass through your mind anymore. Your whole body aches with tiredness and you fear the possible outcome if you did. So, for now you are standing awkwardly, looking at an old diner.
The building seems clean and well kept. It’s a grey-blue colour and the huge “DINER” sign sticking up from the ceiling has a few letters missing, resulting in the sign actually reading “DI E”. Beneath the sign it reads “HOME STYLE COOKING” and the thought makes your stomach rumble.
On the left of the door there is a faded menu. You flick over it. Lots of things you’d only heard of before. Fast food items that haven’t been sold since before the wars.
“Come on.” Party mumbles, walking into the old building. You follow and so do the others. “I’ll set you up a room. Welcome home.”
———————————————————
I think this is probably where I’ll leave this part. Gunna introduce cherri and dr death defying in the next one, but right now I’m exhausted. I really hope you guys enjoyed this part!
Word count: 2.5k
Character count: 13.2k
Also, I used the word “car” the most times in this chapter (25 times!!)
You were too young to remember when your parents died. You don’t know their names, their faces are blank slates in your mind, and their voices are an imaginary comfort.
You were taken in by BL/ind, sent to one of their facilities as an “undergrad”. You were always thankful for that— they saved you from the barbaric killjoys.
The facility was dull but functional, with stricter than usual rules on the headphones (remember what you can hear can’t hurt you!).
Anyway, your life is predictable. You have a room in the facility; white walls, a bare cot and the BL/ind issued books. Lights on at 7, then you were given your daily pills, they take blood samples, you’d go to your mandatory lessons, then return to you room for free time until one of the workers would come in to give you the sleeping pills before lights out. Not much of a life, but hey, you’ve grown up with it. It’s comfortable.
Your lessons were the best part of every day— the history of battery city (how the wars destroyed it and how BL/ind built it back up). You learn about the wars that wiped the rest of the world out, leaving nothing but deserts outside battery city’s walls. You learn about how these wars were caused by people not knowing their place. The leader is in charge, then the SCARECROWS (they keep everyone safe and deserve lots of respect), then the draculoids, the civilians, robots and finally the criminals.
———————————————————
You’ve just taken your pills today. You’re not really sure which of the 5 little grey capsules are your regular ones and which are the ones that they are testing on you, but you don’t really care, you swallow them down with a plastic cup of water and feel as that familiar, heavy numbness settles over you. In about an hour or two, that nurse with her hair in a bun and the sharp, too long nose will come in. She never speaks to you, just takes a blood sample and leaves. You assume it’s something to do with the pills you’re testing. For now you just sit on your cot and stare at the poster on the wall. The times you are supposed to wear your headphones, and the volumes they must be at!
You don’t mind your job. It might be boring, but oh well. You know you’re helping these people! With the new pills being tested on you they know that it’s all safe and can start mandatory issuing them to the public! The emotion deprivation pill is the one they are working hardest on! It will keep the people from feeling angry or sad— keeping them docile and safe! Brilliant, right? Well, you sure think so.
Your day is going well so far! Just the same as every other day and you’re glad for it. Glad for your place in protecting the citizens of battery city from themselves. You are just contemplating this gratitude for your place when an alarm goes off. Not shocking, there is a drill every few months.
“BREAK IN DETECTED! BUILDING WILL NOW GO UNDER MANDATORY LOCKDOWN PROCEDURES!”
You do as you’ve been taught in the drills, you move your cot slightly away from the wall it is pressed against and tuck yourself into the corner behind it. The message screams over the speakers a few more times— so loud your ears ring— and you find yourself wandering when the drill will be over. You don’t like when things interrupt the predictably of your day.
That’s when you hear it: gunshots. If it wasn’t for the pills, you would be terrified right now. But even so, the realisation that this isn’t just a drill has dread clouding at the edges of your consciousness. You’ll have to report that to the doctor later when she comes in to take a blood sample— the drug doesn’t completely eliminate fear.
The shooting continues for a while until suddenly there is silence. None of the regular background noise of moving papers, clicking heels or even the shout of a pissed off SCARECROW. You feel something slight rise up in your chest. The killjoys are so evil, they would break into a facility that wants to help battery city? Kill the SCARECROWS and the draculoids that protect us? You were always taught they were bad, but this is more than you expected.
You stay huddled in the corner. You still feel numb, yet you can feel a slight hindrance of fear. You block it out. Fear is dangerous. You trust that you are safe in this BL/ind facility.
After a while of crushing silence, you hear footsteps. Not the ordered and controlled steps of SCARECROWS, but not the clumsy steps of the draculoids either.. these steps are confident, yet unorganised. Soon you hear the voices to go with them too.
“All clear, Party” A voice speaks, you’re not quite sure who’s. Definitely not one of the doctors, so you stay quiet, holding your breath. You recognise the name, though. Party as in Party Poison.
“Good. Can you and Jet go destroy any samples and research on the drugs?” Another person replies.
They want to destroy the research? You can’t let them.. all the work BL/ind has put into saving and protecting people could be destroyed!!
“Does that mean I’m stuck with you?”
The killjoys carry on with the playful bickering. You just sit there, contemplating your next move. You’re locked in this room (for your own safety, of course) so walking out and trying to stop them isn’t an option. You decide to just follow protocol and stay put. If BL/ind has decided it’s the best option, it is the best option.
The door opens and a guy with bright red hair and a blue dead Pegasus jacket walks looks in. You recognise his outfit and hair from the wanted posters, but his face is new. You’ve never seen it before. On the posters it is blurred out with a large red “X” over the top for good measure.
“Guys, we’ve got an undergrad in here. They look young. Definitely drugged up.”
He looks out the door as he shouts to the other killjoys. When he turns back your eyes meet. Seconds drag on for as agonisingly long as hours as you stare at each other. You take a breath. The air feels too cold and your skin too hot.
“Your hair is against protocol.. that colour, it’s not allowed.”
You try to sound brave— as authoritative as the scarecrows you constantly hear barking orders— you even think you’ve succeeded for a second. That is until he starts laughing. You just watch him, sure that if you weren’t on the emotion deprivation pills you would be annoyed, or embarrassed.
“Yeah, I know that. But I think being an anarchist freedom fighter is slightly higher up on BL/ind’s list of concerns than my hair colour.” He says it with an easy smile— too easy. He leans against the doorframe, inspecting his gun. You’re slightly confused. Does he think going against protocol is ok, just because he’s done worse things? You are zoning out on that thought when you catch his eyes again. Back to focus— doing something about this evil killjoy. He speaks again.
“You are quiet, damn.” The words are a mutter and you can’t quite tell if he’s talking to you or himself.
“Listen, we’ve can get you out of here, kid. What’s your name?”
You’re almost offended by his question. As if you would tell him and his gang of terrorists anything! Let alone go with them!!
“I’m not telling you. You guys are murderers! Criminals!”
He frowns, then walks into the room. He looks around with a pitying expression. He puts his ray gun back in his holster. You would mention that painting the ray guns is also against protocol, but decide now is a bad time.
With Party Poison out of the way of the door you can see out. The three other killjoys stand outside the door. You don’t get a very good look before Party Poison is blocking your sight of them (again) by standing infront of you.
“You believe something being illegal is wrong? We’ll have to educate that out of you.” He says, glancing down with yet another pitying expression.
You look up at him.
“Obviously—” You are cut off when he clasps a hand over your mouth. You taste the metallic flavour of your sleeping pills.
“Swallow.” He hisses, keeping his hand clasped over your mouth and pinching your nose. You do.
“Sorry kid, we just need to get you out of here before the dracs get here.”
His voice, the room, your focus. It all goes fuzzy as you are dragged into the familiar clutches of the drug induced sleep.
Thank you for reading this!! It’s my first story so I would really appreciate any feedback. I’ll probably turn this into a series because this was really fun to write. Next part here
