While on patrol, Killjoys Jet-Star and The Kobra Kid "have a clap with an Exterminator".
SOMEWHERE IN THE DESERT
The Kobra Kid pushed himself up on top of the rock ledge.
"A few. I can't tell from here."
"Don't you have a fucking binocular or something?"
Jet-Star glared at him.
"As a matter of fact, no, I don't have a fucking binocular. They took it."
"They always take everything, don't they, Ray Gun Jones?"
The older man sighed.
"Don't call me that."
"Call you what? Ray Gun Jones?"
"Kobra, I swear--"
His face was inches away from Jet's.
"I have the sudden impulse to smash your teeth in."
"I'd still be prettier than you."
They looked towards the valley below.
Four Draculoids, probably searching for them.
Kobra whistled loudly.
"Oh God. God you're an idiot, Kobra."
"Relaaaaaax, crash queen. I'm just fucking around."
"If they hear us, I'm not saving your sorry ass."
Jet-Star stared at him.
"Have you ever gotten hurt while you were on patrol with me?"
"Four dislocated fingers, two broken ribs, I nearly lost a foot, broke my helmet - twice - because you smashed it into a Dracs' face, burned my shoulder, chipped a tooth and, last time I checked, somebody decided it would've been really coolto use my fucking binocular as a diversion."
"It was a brilliant diversion."
"It was my binocular."
"Fine, I lost your precious little binocular."
Jet snorted and kicked a rock.
"Glad we agree on something, Kobra."
"You really aren't funny, you know."
"So, are we doing it?"
"We can't stay up here forever in the hopes of not being noticed. Our outfits aren't - Kobra dramatically gestured towards his brightly colored jacket - let's say, really discreet. And we're standing on the top of a fucking hill. And there's no trees."
"Fine, genius, we can hide behind the damn hill if you want."
"I was talking about something a bit more direct."
Jet-Star's arm froze in middair.
"You mean you want to go down there? There? Kobra, they're four. Four. Or five. Okay? Four."
"Whatever. We're two. Now, according to mathematical law, they're twice as much as us, and honestly I don't think we should risk it."
"And honestly I don't think we should risk it."
"That's it. This is the last time we go on patrol together."
"Awwww Jetty-Jet, but you're my bestest best friend in the whole wide world."
"I refuse to go with Ghoul."
"How about your brother?"
The Kobra Kid gasped in mock horror.
"So you do hate me!"
"Deeply. I loathe the sight of you."
"I still think we should go down there."
Jet-Star moaned and buried his face in his hands.
"I'm starting to think you're brain damaged. You're worse than your brother."
"It's genetic, darling."
"I thought so."
The Kobra Kid glared towards the Dracs.
"I'll buy you a new binocular if we go down theeeere."
"I said no."
"Pretty please with a cupcake on top?"
"Come oooooon - he started poking him in the ribs - can we? Can we? Can we?"
He jabbed him harder.
Jet pushed him away.
"FINE. We can go and get our brains blown out!"
The Kobra Kid laughed the laugh of the victorious.
"Oh, you're so damn easy to convince."
"I swear to God, if we get killed I'm going to ask whoever's in charge up there to be able to choose your eternal punishment."
"Oh Jet, don't be such a killjoy."
He laughed even harder at his joke.
"Fucking hilarious, Kobra. - Jet-Star shot up and started shooting - Really. Ever thought of becoming a comedian?"
There were far more Dracs than they had expected, and a few were Exterminators.
"No, - Kobra started running towards the left as Jet went to the right - but it could be an advisable career, don't you think?"
“It really would - the older Killjoy dodged a laser beam vaguely directed at his head – if we make it out ALIVE!”
Kobra roared with laughter and flung himself at the nearest Drac.
SOMEWHERE IN THE DESERT
Party Poison shot up from the rock he was sitting on, started pacing nervously up and down along the highway.
“They should've been here by now.”
Fun Ghoul, his “partner in crime”, lazily rolled off the hood of the car he'd been lying on.
“Relax, Party P, you know how your brother is!”
“They've never been this late.”
“They—they could've had a problem with the bike. Who knows?”
“Jet's a mechanic and a fucking amazing one. If the problem was out of his league, by now he'd have already warned either Pony or the Doc, or us.”
Ghoul swallowed, suddenly uneasy.
“They're fine. They're both excellent shooters. They're fine, P.”
He smiled, squeezed Party Poison's shoulder. But he was nervous.
They both were.
“But no news is good news, right?”
Suddenly, their radio whizzed to life.
Party's mouth went dry.
It took a few moments before the Doc's deep, raspy voice filled the still desert air.
“Bad news from the Zone, tumbleweeds...It looks like Jet-Star and the Kobra Kid had a clap with an Exterminator that went all costa rica and, uh, got themselves ghosted, dusted out on Route Guano.”
The two men never heard the end of the message, nor did they care.
Party Poison roared, and grabbed the radio, and threw it, threw it hard.
It shattered against Route Guano's asphalt, weakly whizzed before going out completely.
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