Chapter Text
---POISON’S POV---
When Poison woke up, the first thing they noticed was that their hair was short. Then they noticed that they were in a white cell, with a white bench along the wall. There was a white ceramic sink and a white ceramic mirror.
They squinted at their reflection - fuckers took my contact lenses out - before realising.
Their hair was black.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It was standard Better Living procedure. Anyone with seemingly unnatural hair colours like ginger or blonde has it dyed black at the age of thirteen. Poison remembered a boy called Patrick coming into maths with jet black where once was mousey blonde. A week later he was gone. Some kids said he escaped, and is still in the zones. Some kids say he killed himself. Poison didn’t know, and they certainly didn’t care when they were thirteen.
They swallowed, and their Adam's apple pushed against their throat
This escape had definitely gone Costa Rica, as the actual Killjoys would say.
They thought about Michael. Mikey.. their kid brother.
" Mik- just go! Fucking run, I'll hold them back! "
This was their fucking fault, all their fucking fault , Kobra was probably fucking dead or rotting or draculised or imprisoned and it was ALL THEIR FUCKING FAULT ITS ALL YOUR FAULT YOUR UNCLE WAS FUCKING RIGHT!
They clutched at the space around their ears where their hair once was and cried, a bitter choking sob until their eyes burnt and their throat was red raw.
Poison wasn’t their actual name. If you heard Party Poison you'd think nothing of it. Just a rebel. But the Way name had a lot more meaning.
The Ways were a very rich, very famous and very influential family, living in Battery City Towers in the Jade Quarter and working high up in the Better Living Industries ranks since the company began. The two sons, Gerard and Michael Way, were supposed to become Head of Interrogation and Head Scarecrow, taking the place of their father and uncle.
Except here was Gerard Way, sat in a jail cell, hands still stained with Poison Red hair dye.
They sat knees up on the bench, hoping Mikey was okay.
The electric gate that kept prisoners in shutting off made Poison look up.
Fuck.
His uncle, Head Exterminator Korse Barrowman, the man he was supposed to become, was stood there, flanked by two Draculoids. “Uncle-”
Korse flicked his head slightly and one of the Draculoids grabbed Poison harshly, hauling him out of the room. Korse followed them but didn’t say a word to the boy whose eyes would be the colour of his hair right now if Better Living hadn’t got a hold of him. He clearly wouldn't be getting any special treatment.
All he could hope was that Mikey was safe. Not lost, not dead. Just safe.
---MIKEY’S POV---
Oh fuck. I am so fucking lost.
Mikey knew he should have taken a left, but he thought the right turn would kind of compensate. He saw a sign for the Aluminium District, but that didn’t make sense, because that was East, and he was sure he was West and- Wait, was that the same PLUS stand he’d seen a few minutes ago?
He stopped, leant against a wall, and tried to catch any breath he had left in his lungs. Why the fuck did he leave his inhaler again? Oh yeah, because it was filled with the same drugs he had to take under ten different names for years. Fucks sake.
There was the anger again. The withdrawals he’d had for the past week were really kicking his ass. He went for the nearest door and pushed it open. As soon as he entered, he wanted to leave again.
It was a Neon Bar. Neon was a drug, produced in the Neon district out of PLUS acid and whatever other shit made it glow neon pink and create a high that made you feel invincible.
A seedy looking bartender was dishing out small bowls of the stuff and needles that could maybe pass as slightly clean. People were slumped against the wall, swimming in the high, while Pornodroids danced on poles and men and girls alike. He walked towards the bar at the end of the room - only to ask for information - when he saw a guy sitting on his own. He has a layer of sweat over his skin, a signature sign of being on Neon. and was rolling up his already rolled up sleeve even more. He had old and new scars dotted all up the arm. The back of his jacket read ‘THIS IS OUR CULTURE’. It was at this point that Mikey made a decision.
He slid into the seat opposite him. “Hey! Stop that, you’ll kill yourself!”
The man looked up, half way through injecting himself . He looked around the same age as Mikey’s brother, with sunken eyes and a sweaty brown fringe over his face. He slurred something that sounded like “..sound just like Benzedrine…” before continuing, but Mikey couldn’t properly tell over the loud music. He pulled the bowl over to him and looked at the substance, moving around like molten metal. “Do you even know what's in this shit?”
Before he could finish, three guys wearing identical denim jackets walked in. They looked the same as the one the drugged up guy was wearing. It didn’t take them long to spot him. And Mikey. The blonde one, who was wearing some sort of fedora, approached them. The heavily tattooed man and the one with an afro followed close behind.
“Here again, Sandman?”
“Why put a new address on the same old loneliness, old man?” The drugged up guy, who Kobra guess was Sandman, said.
“Dude, I’m five years younger than you.” The blonde one said, rolling his eyes before looking towards Mikey. “Was he like this when you showed up?”
Mikey nodded.
“For the love of Destroya.. you look a little young to be in here yourself, kid.”
Mikey wasn’t surprised by that. He was fifteen, nearly sixteen, and the bleach blonde in his hair made him look even younger. It didn't help that he was still in his school uniform, CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL emblazoned on the pocket of his shirt.
“I only came in here cuz I needed to ask for information. You guys are Killjoys- I don’t suppose you know how to get out of the city?”
“Of course. What’s your name, kid?”
“Uh-“ Mikey’s eyes flicked around the room. There was glow in the dark graffiti all over the walls, and his eyes were captured by a large one of a king cobra preparing to strike. “Kobra. Kobra.. Kid.”
“Okay, Kobra. Wanna help haul ass outta here?”
“Sure.” He said, standing up. Maybe it’ll help me figure out where I am. And find Ge- Poison..
The blonde man hauled this ‘Sandman’ to his feet and Kobra took the other arm.
Kobra emerged into the cool dark night of Battery City. A siren could be heard somewhere nearby - not surprising as they were in the Districts. The blonde guy told them they needed to head through Carbon District where they could get a back alley shortcut to Bismuth. Kobra didn’t know why they needed to head to Bismuth or what for, but he was focusing more on what felt like a two-tonne weight on his shoulders at the moment. They thankfully didn’t bump into any Draculoids that would recognise Kobra as the guy who shot his uncle in the arm or Sandman and the others as Killjoys.
Eventually they met the flickering neon sign welcoming you to Bismuth District, with the usual 'FUCK BETTER LIVING' graffiti around it. They kept moving until they came across a cobwebbed PLUS stand. It wasn't even inhabited anymore.
"Round here." the blonde guy urged. When they got into a small cramped space behind it, the tattooed guy opened up a grate at their feet. It took all four of them to get Sandman down it into the dark. Kobra shivered. Not only was it cold, but he hated the dark.
In the dark, they found a door. When they got it open it led to a small room full of still-lit candles with two bunk beds. there was a cupboard, a small mat on the floor, a mirror and a sink. Mornings must be fun down here , Kobra thought, helping the blonde guy to put Sandman on a bed. Kobra straightened up and looked at the two people he was left with. "So what was that about? And who are you guys, anyway?" He tried not to shoot off lines like an interrogator.
"Neon." The afroed one said. "Sandmans addicted to that stuff. Most have alc or weed down here - Sandy has neon. That's what happens when you come to and from the desert all the time and know the wrong people I guess."
There was a groan as Sandman flipped him off.
"Anyway, introductions, yeah. I'm Lucky Horseshoe, that's Youngblood." The tattooed man smiled at Kobra. "The guy who just left, thats Doctor Benzedrine, and that crash queen on the bed is Mister Sandman himself."
Suddenly, Doctor Benzedrine came in rolling an IV Drip alongside them. "I swear, if Sandman keeps doing this when we come to the City it's gonna kill him. Or use up all my IV. Whichever comes first."
He stabbed Sandman with some sort of needle to knock him out and begun filling him with dTox - a liquid produced to soberise someone and begin the detox process. Kobra was familiar with it when he had to help his uncle sober up captured Killjoys. He sat on the bed opposite, watching closely.
"Well, Kobra Kid.." Benzedrine turned to him slightly. "You may have just helped save his life."
Yeah .. Kobra thought. At the sacrifice of getting out of here .
---SANDMAN'S POV---
A hazy canvas swum into Mister Sandman's view as he woke up.
He also had one dusty headache and his arm throbbed. He propped himself up on one elbow and felt the IV that was stuck in his arm tug a little.
Fucking of course.
He looked across and saw the boy from yesterday, from inside the Neon bar. He was slumped asleep against the wall on the bunk next to him, in what looked like a mismatch of a smart shirt, ripped jeans, and black smart looking shoes caked in dirt. To top off the look was some roughly dyed blonde hair with sides and highlights showing his natural brown. Sandman could tell he was a new Killjoy - and wondered if he knew what he was getting himself into. "Kid- hey! Kid!"
The boy groaned and sat up. "Gee..?" he mumbled before rubbing his eyes. "..Nevermind.."
"Who's Gee?"
"None of your business."
The kid looked like he was about to fucking punch him, so Sandman thought fast. "You ever been to an Undercity Concert?"
"What? No. All I've heard about concerts is that some old classical musicians used to do them."
"Oh, man!" Sandman's face lit up. "Have I got stuff to fucking show! Anarchist's doing a show in like fifteen minutes - I think - and all the Juvie kids and teens seem to fucking love him. You must be what.. fifteen?"
"Sixteen." Kobra mumbled.
"See, you're his target audience! Come on, killjoy, live a little!"
Kobra fiddled with his thumbs. "Doctor Benzedrine said I had to stay and watch you."
Sandman laughed. "Firstlys, you can just call him Benze. Me Sandman, Lucky Horseshoe is just Horseshoe, and- Okay, well, Youngblood is still just Youngblood. Secondlys, you'll still be technically watching me. It'll just be at a dope ass concert."
Kobra looked pissed. "Okay, look, I'm only here because I helped your ass out in the districts. If you weren't a fucking drug addict, I'd be out in the desert right now. So fine, I'll go to this fucking concert, but only because I want to, not because of you."
---KOBRA'S POV---
Kobra was not convinced. In fact, he was more on the brink of a panic attack as he sped down candlelit corridors following Sandman. Sandman looked like a deflated sack of potatoes as most did after a night on dTox, but he was certainly doing a good job at acting fine.
The entire place was silent. Kobra could scarcely believe that there was supposed to be a concert happening down here.
Sandman forced a set of double-doors. Some piano music started playing almost instantly, and Sandman forced Kobra through the crowd of shadowed people to the front. Someone who sounded very much British started singing. Kobra took this opportunity to slip away from the asshole.
After a few lyrics, the lights turned on and a crazy looking person jumped out from behind a black curtain. His hair was all over the place, he had a bandana around his neck and about ten chain necklaces, and most notably he was wearing the (unbuckled) top half of a straight jacket.
Kobra found himself jumping up and down in minutes. He spent time when he wasnt jumping looking around at the other Killjoys. They were all incredible looking, ray guns at hip, with studded belts and makeup and barely a single normal hair colour in sight.
So this is what being a Killjoy's like.
Everything was fine - in fact, Kobra was having the time of his fucking life - until Anarchist was singing a song called - well, Anarchist.
"COME ON, EVERYBODY JUMP JUMP JUMP! FUCK THE WAYS, FUCK THE WAYS, FUCK THE WAYS!"
As the chant continued, Kobra felt his heart sink even more and hoped his hair would at least help hide who he was somewhat. He joined in the chants aggressively, when he noticed who he was stood next to.
This must have been the brightest trio of Killjoys Kobra ever did see. One had a bright yellow jacket with blue cherry bombs painted onto it, one wore what could be classed as a purple suit with a fucking leather jacket, and one had fucking bright green rollerskates on to match his hair. They also all actually looked about Mikey’s age.
"Oh, hey." They all said in unison upon seeing him stare.
"Hey." Kobra said, trying to seem cool and nonchalant but just looking like a sweaty stick with bad posture.
“Most New Juvies look like you.” Green-hair said. "But you're definitely different. What's your name?"
"Mik- Kobra. Kid. What about all of you? Look like you got in a fight with a paint factory and lost."
Suit-boy laughed. "I'm Entertainment. That's Turbulent." He indicated Green-hair
"And I'm Double Dare." The yellow and blue boy said. "Your jackets really cool. You should come get drink with us from the bar, EDEN's there and he does sick fuckin uhhhhh.. cocktails. Come on snake boy, lets gooo."
"Apologies. Dare talks too much." Entertainment said.
"You don't talk enough." Dare pouted.
"I'd love to go." Kobra said, finally managing to get a word in edgeways.
"Yes!" Turbulent punched the air. "Sorry, I was silently hoping you'd agree.”
The group moved towards a small stand with a huge sign saying "BAR" on top of it. They managed to get onto two stools- Dare and Turbulent were sitting on eachother, Turbulent eating Dare's face off. Kobra looked away a bit awkwardly. Entertainment was standing. Under the lights, Kobra noticed his curly hair was dark purple, and Dare's was blue.
The cocktails were an interesting experience. Kobra had never had alcohol before, as it was typically banned in the City, and as much as it tasted sharp and bitter it also had other flavours. This one was apple and cherry.
Turbulent wasn't drinking. Kobra offered, but he shook his head. "Dealing with this shit sober's got me fucked up a lot, but keeps my mind clear. Lets me live in the moment." He looked at Dare who was chatting away to Entertainment. "Appreciate what I've got, all that shit."
It didn't take much for the gang (minus Turbulent) to get pretty drunk, as they yelled along to songs, danced with each other , and Turbulent and Dare looked like they'd need to be surgically removed by the time Anarchist was finishing up the concert.
"Hey!" Turbulent said, pulling Kobra into a sort-of-hug. “You should fucking come to the desert with us tonight. We only came here for the concert but like you're fuckin dope man."
Behind him, Dare mouthed ' say yes ' and let go of Turbulent long enough to do two thumbs up.
Then, of course, someone killed the party
"Kobra!" Sandman emerged out of the crowd. "What the fuck, Kid? I've been panicking since half way through the concert!"
"Oh, I left lonnggg before that, don't worry." Kobra smirked.
"Did they get you fucking drunk ?"
"Hey, he chose to have some!" The other three said defensively.
Turbulent pointed at Sandman. "Right, who the fuck do you think you are?"
"I'm the one who feels guilty and pissed off with you because you've fucking manipulated him into being on your side."
"Riiight, I've got some advice for you. Uhh.. go fuck yourself! "
Sandman punched Turbulent in the jaw, before forcing Kobra through the crowd.
They reached the door only to be faced by a stern looking Doctor Benzedrine.
"Oh! Hey Benze!" Sandman said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Sandman." He nodded, before simply turning around and walking out. Kobra and Sandman followed in dead silence, Kobra shooting glares at Sandman, who still hadn't let go of his arm. As they entered their room, Horseshoe went to crack a joke but then must have sensed that you could cut the tension in the air with a fucking knife.
As soon as the door closed, Benzedrine fucking exploded. But surprisingly, not at Kobra. At Sandman.
"What the FUCK, Sands! If it's not bad enough that you were nearly fucking overdosed on Neon last night, you decide to start the shitty ass day by swinging the Kid to your fucking dumbass point of view, and then he FUCKING WANDERS OFF. If they'd fucking known an unwelcomed Cityborn was in that concert hall he wouldn't have fucking left it, no matter what your fucking Neon induced bravado tells you!" He took a deep breath. "Grab your shit. We're fucking going, now."
It was Kobra's turn to speak up. "No."
"Excuse me?"
"No. Not without my brother."
"Kid, you're not safe here anymore-"
"Neithers my fucking brother!"
"The point is-"
"Point? Point? I'm taking my brother, alive."
"I'm afraid you really don't have a choice. We are leaving, now."
"NOT WITHOUT GERARD!"
---FRANK’S POV---
Frank Iero was a Tube Rat. The child of a mother who needed the carbons. Since he was five he's been tested on. New drugs, new weapons, new ways to bend people to the will of Better Living Industries.
This time, the person experimenting on him was burning him, right over his heart. Frank writhed in agony, pushing against his restraints, when the torturers mask fell down to reveal the face of his mother
Frank awoke with a start. He didn't even scream anymore. He looked around, and tried to compose himself in time for the readily approaching footsteps to cart him off to whatever new punishment he had to serve for existing.
When the gate shut off, a body was kicked inside which instantly fell to the floor. Then the gate zapped back into life and the footsteps receded.
Okay, this is new.
Frank nervously approached the boy who was curled up on the floor sobbing. He didn't want to touch him, in case this was a trap, so just spoke.
"Are you okay?"
The boy looked up. He glared at Frank. "Fuck do you care?"
"I'm just trying to help, Destroya's sake. This isn't the first time I've shared a cell." He noticed the code tattooed onto the boys forearm - GW-005K-AG17. The K stood for Killjoy. "Or shared one with a Killjoy."
The boy sat up now. "The fuck do you know about Killjoys?"
Frank sat across from the boy. "I know you hate Better Living Industries as much as me. I know you want them dead. I know you come from the desert. I've never even seen the city properly."
"You've been here your whole life?"
"Yep. Tube Rat. Name’s Frank."
"It's okay.." The boy said. "My brother will get us out of here.. if he's even still alive."
"He's probably not." Frank said matter-of-factly. "If you haven't seen him in any cells, he either escaped or died."
The boy froze up.
"But hey.." Frank continued, going to sit back on the bench. "At least you're getting a bed at the end of this. I'm never getting out."