Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Karma Police
Icy Blues
“My what?” Gerard Way splutters back at the boy, sneering. “My-“ oh fuck. The song. That goddamned song. “Like…like the weird Oasis song?”
The other one laughs his little tinkle-giggle again and slips down from the window. His movements are fluid and gentle; he takes his time as he approaches Gerard, who recoils and slips back, slumping down to a sitting position as he takes shelter by the door. The other smiles faintly and just holds out a leather gloved hand, offering it to the bully. Way regards it with a wary eye.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says quietly, eyes glistening. The tone he uses…so soft and well…strange. “I’m not going to do anything scary.”
Gerard growls and gets to his feet, outraged. This little weirdo in a naval uniform thinks he can just waltz in here and start fucking patronizing Gerard Way? Fine, we’ll accept his little pyro-trick. And Gerard is a pretty common name, maybe he’s a good guesser. And the door’s been fucked since the bad boy beat Mikey’s head against it a coupla weeks ago. But no; this is not happening. Gerard never gets told what to do.
“Listen, you fuck,” Way snarls, not expecting what to happen when he grips for the boy-surprisingly, he latches on to the collar of his shirt and presses his nose against that of the perfect hazel’s. Fuck-the stranger smells so good and those eyes…those eyes were so warm and liquid and glittery. “You don’t just run in here and start telling me what to fucking do, you little midget cunt.” He throws the boy suddenly against the nearby dresser and is again a little shocked by the squeak that emits the mouth of the other. Gerard hitches his belt and does his best to appear terrifying. “I’ve taken cunts stronger than you.”
“I know you have,” the officer lisps sadly, looking into his lap. “I know everything about you, Gerard Arthur Way.” Suddenly, his head snaps up and his glare is cold and steady as it meets the bully. “I know that at the moment you have three hundred and forty two thousand, two hundred and sixty hairs on your head. That you got eighty seven in your French test today even though you told your friends you failed. That you insist you only listen to rock music but that you find the new Katy Perry single really good.” He gets to his feet, completely unharmed, and points to Gerard’s unmade bed. The other teenager can only gape at him. “Now, if you want to sit, I’ll tell you.”
Way places himself down on the bed, eyes wide and observant, wary. The boy in the uniform looks at him, bites his lip, and starts to speak.
“My name is Frankie Iero,” he tells Gerard softly. “I’m a member of the Karma Police Constabulary. I have been for over forty years.” He cocks his head and turns to the other with hesitant eyes. His gloved hands knit together behind his back. “Do you know what karma is?”
“Uh…revenge or something?” All he can think of is the song. It seems to quieten whenever Frankie talks to him. Just a gentle soothing in the baack of his mind. “Getting shit back or whatever?”
“A little bit,” Frank replies, smiling shyly. “The rule of Karma is that of a deed or action that causes the entire cycle of cause and effect. Basically, a karma police officer is someone who gets sent out by their sergeant to alter the life of someone who is wasting it.” His angelic voice turns slack again, and his eyes darken considerably. “You’re wasting your life, Gerard Way. You’re a cruel human being and you do not treasure every moment like you should. Your thoughts are impure and imperfect. Your tongue is stained with treachery and vulgarity. You are imperfect.”
“No one’s perfect,” the other teenager replies, a little creeped out now. He shuffles on the bed as Frank watches his every move. “Fucking Hannah Montana said it, ya know. Nobody’s perfect, karma boy.”
“That’s not true at all,” is the curt, serious reponse. “That is not true whatsoever. If it were, I wouldn’t be here.” A little sigh. He takes off his suit jacket and lays it gently on the back of a chair. “People who lead sinless, perfect lives become members of the karma police when they…” his lip trembled and he squeaked a little-for some reason Gerard had the urge to reach out and hold him. “W-when they die. I led a perfect life for sixteen years. When I was killed I became a karma police officer, and so technically I’m perfect. I have a pure, perfect mind and I am the ideal idea of perfection from the way I look.”
Gerard scoffs and crosses his arms. The officer grinned.
“Act however you want, I can read your mind,” he says lightly, sitting next to Gerard now, enthralled. “I picked you because I want to see how I can change you from being a horrible, mean bully to a lovely human being,” he finishes brightly as Way stares at him, mouth open. “I want to make you perfect, Gerard, because I know you can be. Everyone’s perfect, they just have to realize it.” His perfect smile beams wide, and he turns a little pink. “And thank you. Lots of people say I have nice eyes.”
The other teenager gapes at him and splutters a little as Frank just smiles and tips Gerard’s mouth so that his jaw remains firmly closed. He reaches out to touch the police man and feels that he is perfectly solid, and most definitely flawless.
“Where did you come from?” Gerard enquires, quietly, nearly under his breath. “Where do you live?”
“I don’t live anywhere,” Frankie answered. “I just kinda exist in a different dimension until I’m told to alter someone and then I take this form from when I was alive. I-“
“How’d you die?” The bad boy asked rather insensitively, and the boy sniffed. “How?”
“Well…if you really want to know…I was shot eight times in the head,” he whispers in a barely audible voice, and Way feels something he hasn’t felt in a might long time; guilt. “See?” He pulls up his fringe and shows Gerard eight tiny holes by his left temple. The bully reaches out to brush against them and finds them as a number of hot craters in the head of an otherwise perfect teenager. “My boyfriend and I were walking home from school one day and a man suddenly shot me again and again until I felt nothing.” His hair flicked back in to place, strand by strand. “My boyfriend had been sleeping with someone behind my back and so he was imperfect, and lived such a terrible life. He could not be a karma police officer.” Another deep sniff, and then suddenly he sucked it up. He looked fearful and repentant, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Blue. I’m sorry.”
“Frankie?” Gerard asked quietly, but it seemed the other teenager had completely zoned out. “Um…are you…uh…okay?”
“Yes, I’m so sorry about that,” he muttered, and Gerard nodded. “The fact is that I have to be your guardian for the next year. I have to make sure you perform as a better person, and that you treat other people the way they want to be treated. Be free to be the person you desire, but within limits that you are not harming other people in doing so.”
“My guardian angel shit? That what you trying to tell me?”
“Of course not. I can’t tell you whether Heaven or Hell exists because I’m under code, but angels and karma police officers are completely different. Angels just watch over you and make sure you’re okay.” He laughed a little. “Karma police officers actually intervene with the worst of the worst so that you have a chance at not being reincarnated as a worm or a rat or something. If someone is imperfect dies, they become reincarnated so many times until they lead a perfect life.”
“Then….wouldn’t there be a fuckload a karma police?”
“No. Karma police officers are only permitted one life to display their perfection.” He smiles and brushes a strand of brown hair behind his ear. “I will be around you for the next year, teaching you and steering you away from the ways of evil and whatnot.”
“Can…” Gerard felt so stupid asking the gorgeous boy in front of him these questions; was this a dream? Would he wake up in his English class, muttering about karma and hot guys and perfection? “Can other people see you?”
“Yes, of course.” He giggles once more, a sound Way had grown to love in the space of ten minutes. “I am not always as conspicuous as this; this is just my uniform,” he indicates, and then his eyes slide shut. The lids flicker a little before his clothes change completely; instead of the navy military uniform, Frankie was now wearing a Flogging Molly shirt and checked skinny jeans. A variety of colourful tattoos adorned his arms, and Gerard saw one flash on his thin little wrist that read Karma Police. “Whatever style I wear, the mark is always on me. Sometimes I might have a piece of jewellery with initials, or sometimes maybe on my shirt or something. But when I dress like this, it’s my tattoo.” A giggle. “Yes, everyone can see me. Others can hear me, but whenever I talk about karma police-related issues they hear us talking about something else.”
“Oh…okay,” Way replies. “That thing you did back there…burning… and the door…”
“Oh yeah, I have super powers,” Frank shrugs, and Gerard’s mouth falls to the ground. The police officer gets up with a sense of litheness and fluidity; his feet barely seem to touch the floor. “That’s kinda what you get when you become one. I can burn things, and shut things, and levitate, and I can read your mind, of course,” he reminds Way quietly again, who is now disturbed in a good way.
“Can you break bones?” He asks eagerly, nearly jumping in his chair. “Can you kill people?”
The light giggle. “Gerard, I’m meant to be a perfect human being. I don’t do any of that. I have to prevent you from doing all of it in the future, anyway,” he tells the other teenager. “My goal is to make you good, Gerard, because your soul is so restless.” He pauses and looks around the room, eyes wide. “You can have such a perfect soul. I was given so many tasks in the last forty years but I didn’t take any of them because I didn’t feel any attachment to them. They’re normally criminals, or murderers, abusive parents…but I think you have so much potential to be so perfect.” The tone deepened once more. It seems he could get angry whenever he wanted to, as his warm eyes became more solid and foreboding. “If you don’t want my services then I’ll leave. But don’t expect to come to anything when you die as a bitter old man at a younger age than you would hope.”
“No…no…I’ll…I’ll take it,” Gerard mumbles into his lap as the boy stands up. “You…what’cha say about forty years or some shit?”
His eyes simmer softly in the dim. His smile is sad and knowing.
“I was killed in nineteen sixty two, Gerard,” he breathes, and the bully physically drops in temperature. “I was killed in nineteen sixty two when I was sixteen years old.”
“You’re a…” fucking God, Gerard, dive for the door. Go for it right now. Just lunge at it, maybe you’ll get lucky and pass out and won’t have to face this. “You’re a ghost?”
“Oh yes,” Frank replies, giggling ever so eerily. “I’m a dead spirit. I don’t have blood in my veins or air in my lungs and I feel no force when you hurt me.” He reaches for a nearby rusted, bloody knife and suddenly plunges it into his chest. Way gapes at him and jumps up to try and aid the other, but Frank pulls out the dagger with smooth ease from his skin, and the blade is completely stainless. The hole of impact where said weapon had struck magically sews together the sides. The bully is bright white now, watching this…person heal after stabbing himself. Then, miraculously, the ghost giggles and places the knife carefully back on the table. “See? Guardian angels can’t do that.”
Gerard wears a half smile at the joke. Then something pops into his head and the smile is wiped from his face.
“That stupid fucking Oasis song,” he snarls, gritting his teeth. “It’s been in my fucking head all goddamn day. I can’t fucking get it out and it must be to do with your fucking crowd-“
Suddenly, the pain is blinding. It shoots through his head and sends a crack of agony downhis nose and through his nose. He screams in anguish and thrashes about.
THIS IS WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU MESS WITH US…
“Hush,” the karma police says, and amazingly, for the first time in his life, Gerard obeys someone. “Firstly, it’s not Oasis, it’s Radiohead. Secondly, stop cursing; it’s rude and unnecessary. Thirdly, don’t tell lies. It’s been in your head for approximately twenty two minutes and thirty seven seconds, not the entire day. And lastly,” he smiles wide, showing all his teeth. “Yes. It’s to do with ‘my crowd’,” he says in averted commas. “Whenever you get out of line that will play over and over in your head. It gets quite irritating, I assure you.” He pauses and cocks his head to the side, listening. “Your mother will turn the lock in approximately one minute and forty seconds. You have already wasted your day by skipping the last three classes of school but there’s still hope yet. Act perfect for the rest of the day and then we can talk again. Bye, Gee.”
“Wait-the fu-er, the hell-Frankie-come back-“
But no use. Suddenly he’s alone, in his room, left to hallucinate over some weird dead thing that’s looking after him. Should he check into Bedlam this time? Has he finally gone insane? Crazy? Up the creek without a paddle? Nuts?
He sighs and shakes his head. I’m goin fucking insane.
“I said not to curse!” Comes sharply from the corner of the room. Gerard looks again; nothing.
This is what you get…
“My what?” Gerard Way splutters back at the boy, sneering. “My-“ oh fuck. The song. That goddamned song. “Like…like the weird Oasis song?”
The other one laughs his little tinkle-giggle again and slips down from the window. His movements are fluid and gentle; he takes his time as he approaches Gerard, who recoils and slips back, slumping down to a sitting position as he takes shelter by the door. The other smiles faintly and just holds out a leather gloved hand, offering it to the bully. Way regards it with a wary eye.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says quietly, eyes glistening. The tone he uses…so soft and well…strange. “I’m not going to do anything scary.”
Gerard growls and gets to his feet, outraged. This little weirdo in a naval uniform thinks he can just waltz in here and start fucking patronizing Gerard Way? Fine, we’ll accept his little pyro-trick. And Gerard is a pretty common name, maybe he’s a good guesser. And the door’s been fucked since the bad boy beat Mikey’s head against it a coupla weeks ago. But no; this is not happening. Gerard never gets told what to do.
“Listen, you fuck,” Way snarls, not expecting what to happen when he grips for the boy-surprisingly, he latches on to the collar of his shirt and presses his nose against that of the perfect hazel’s. Fuck-the stranger smells so good and those eyes…those eyes were so warm and liquid and glittery. “You don’t just run in here and start telling me what to fucking do, you little midget cunt.” He throws the boy suddenly against the nearby dresser and is again a little shocked by the squeak that emits the mouth of the other. Gerard hitches his belt and does his best to appear terrifying. “I’ve taken cunts stronger than you.”
“I know you have,” the officer lisps sadly, looking into his lap. “I know everything about you, Gerard Arthur Way.” Suddenly, his head snaps up and his glare is cold and steady as it meets the bully. “I know that at the moment you have three hundred and forty two thousand, two hundred and sixty hairs on your head. That you got eighty seven in your French test today even though you told your friends you failed. That you insist you only listen to rock music but that you find the new Katy Perry single really good.” He gets to his feet, completely unharmed, and points to Gerard’s unmade bed. The other teenager can only gape at him. “Now, if you want to sit, I’ll tell you.”
Way places himself down on the bed, eyes wide and observant, wary. The boy in the uniform looks at him, bites his lip, and starts to speak.
“My name is Frankie Iero,” he tells Gerard softly. “I’m a member of the Karma Police Constabulary. I have been for over forty years.” He cocks his head and turns to the other with hesitant eyes. His gloved hands knit together behind his back. “Do you know what karma is?”
“Uh…revenge or something?” All he can think of is the song. It seems to quieten whenever Frankie talks to him. Just a gentle soothing in the baack of his mind. “Getting shit back or whatever?”
“A little bit,” Frank replies, smiling shyly. “The rule of Karma is that of a deed or action that causes the entire cycle of cause and effect. Basically, a karma police officer is someone who gets sent out by their sergeant to alter the life of someone who is wasting it.” His angelic voice turns slack again, and his eyes darken considerably. “You’re wasting your life, Gerard Way. You’re a cruel human being and you do not treasure every moment like you should. Your thoughts are impure and imperfect. Your tongue is stained with treachery and vulgarity. You are imperfect.”
“No one’s perfect,” the other teenager replies, a little creeped out now. He shuffles on the bed as Frank watches his every move. “Fucking Hannah Montana said it, ya know. Nobody’s perfect, karma boy.”
“That’s not true at all,” is the curt, serious reponse. “That is not true whatsoever. If it were, I wouldn’t be here.” A little sigh. He takes off his suit jacket and lays it gently on the back of a chair. “People who lead sinless, perfect lives become members of the karma police when they…” his lip trembled and he squeaked a little-for some reason Gerard had the urge to reach out and hold him. “W-when they die. I led a perfect life for sixteen years. When I was killed I became a karma police officer, and so technically I’m perfect. I have a pure, perfect mind and I am the ideal idea of perfection from the way I look.”
Gerard scoffs and crosses his arms. The officer grinned.
“Act however you want, I can read your mind,” he says lightly, sitting next to Gerard now, enthralled. “I picked you because I want to see how I can change you from being a horrible, mean bully to a lovely human being,” he finishes brightly as Way stares at him, mouth open. “I want to make you perfect, Gerard, because I know you can be. Everyone’s perfect, they just have to realize it.” His perfect smile beams wide, and he turns a little pink. “And thank you. Lots of people say I have nice eyes.”
The other teenager gapes at him and splutters a little as Frank just smiles and tips Gerard’s mouth so that his jaw remains firmly closed. He reaches out to touch the police man and feels that he is perfectly solid, and most definitely flawless.
“Where did you come from?” Gerard enquires, quietly, nearly under his breath. “Where do you live?”
“I don’t live anywhere,” Frankie answered. “I just kinda exist in a different dimension until I’m told to alter someone and then I take this form from when I was alive. I-“
“How’d you die?” The bad boy asked rather insensitively, and the boy sniffed. “How?”
“Well…if you really want to know…I was shot eight times in the head,” he whispers in a barely audible voice, and Way feels something he hasn’t felt in a might long time; guilt. “See?” He pulls up his fringe and shows Gerard eight tiny holes by his left temple. The bully reaches out to brush against them and finds them as a number of hot craters in the head of an otherwise perfect teenager. “My boyfriend and I were walking home from school one day and a man suddenly shot me again and again until I felt nothing.” His hair flicked back in to place, strand by strand. “My boyfriend had been sleeping with someone behind my back and so he was imperfect, and lived such a terrible life. He could not be a karma police officer.” Another deep sniff, and then suddenly he sucked it up. He looked fearful and repentant, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Blue. I’m sorry.”
“Frankie?” Gerard asked quietly, but it seemed the other teenager had completely zoned out. “Um…are you…uh…okay?”
“Yes, I’m so sorry about that,” he muttered, and Gerard nodded. “The fact is that I have to be your guardian for the next year. I have to make sure you perform as a better person, and that you treat other people the way they want to be treated. Be free to be the person you desire, but within limits that you are not harming other people in doing so.”
“My guardian angel shit? That what you trying to tell me?”
“Of course not. I can’t tell you whether Heaven or Hell exists because I’m under code, but angels and karma police officers are completely different. Angels just watch over you and make sure you’re okay.” He laughed a little. “Karma police officers actually intervene with the worst of the worst so that you have a chance at not being reincarnated as a worm or a rat or something. If someone is imperfect dies, they become reincarnated so many times until they lead a perfect life.”
“Then….wouldn’t there be a fuckload a karma police?”
“No. Karma police officers are only permitted one life to display their perfection.” He smiles and brushes a strand of brown hair behind his ear. “I will be around you for the next year, teaching you and steering you away from the ways of evil and whatnot.”
“Can…” Gerard felt so stupid asking the gorgeous boy in front of him these questions; was this a dream? Would he wake up in his English class, muttering about karma and hot guys and perfection? “Can other people see you?”
“Yes, of course.” He giggles once more, a sound Way had grown to love in the space of ten minutes. “I am not always as conspicuous as this; this is just my uniform,” he indicates, and then his eyes slide shut. The lids flicker a little before his clothes change completely; instead of the navy military uniform, Frankie was now wearing a Flogging Molly shirt and checked skinny jeans. A variety of colourful tattoos adorned his arms, and Gerard saw one flash on his thin little wrist that read Karma Police. “Whatever style I wear, the mark is always on me. Sometimes I might have a piece of jewellery with initials, or sometimes maybe on my shirt or something. But when I dress like this, it’s my tattoo.” A giggle. “Yes, everyone can see me. Others can hear me, but whenever I talk about karma police-related issues they hear us talking about something else.”
“Oh…okay,” Way replies. “That thing you did back there…burning… and the door…”
“Oh yeah, I have super powers,” Frank shrugs, and Gerard’s mouth falls to the ground. The police officer gets up with a sense of litheness and fluidity; his feet barely seem to touch the floor. “That’s kinda what you get when you become one. I can burn things, and shut things, and levitate, and I can read your mind, of course,” he reminds Way quietly again, who is now disturbed in a good way.
“Can you break bones?” He asks eagerly, nearly jumping in his chair. “Can you kill people?”
The light giggle. “Gerard, I’m meant to be a perfect human being. I don’t do any of that. I have to prevent you from doing all of it in the future, anyway,” he tells the other teenager. “My goal is to make you good, Gerard, because your soul is so restless.” He pauses and looks around the room, eyes wide. “You can have such a perfect soul. I was given so many tasks in the last forty years but I didn’t take any of them because I didn’t feel any attachment to them. They’re normally criminals, or murderers, abusive parents…but I think you have so much potential to be so perfect.” The tone deepened once more. It seems he could get angry whenever he wanted to, as his warm eyes became more solid and foreboding. “If you don’t want my services then I’ll leave. But don’t expect to come to anything when you die as a bitter old man at a younger age than you would hope.”
“No…no…I’ll…I’ll take it,” Gerard mumbles into his lap as the boy stands up. “You…what’cha say about forty years or some shit?”
His eyes simmer softly in the dim. His smile is sad and knowing.
“I was killed in nineteen sixty two, Gerard,” he breathes, and the bully physically drops in temperature. “I was killed in nineteen sixty two when I was sixteen years old.”
“You’re a…” fucking God, Gerard, dive for the door. Go for it right now. Just lunge at it, maybe you’ll get lucky and pass out and won’t have to face this. “You’re a ghost?”
“Oh yes,” Frank replies, giggling ever so eerily. “I’m a dead spirit. I don’t have blood in my veins or air in my lungs and I feel no force when you hurt me.” He reaches for a nearby rusted, bloody knife and suddenly plunges it into his chest. Way gapes at him and jumps up to try and aid the other, but Frank pulls out the dagger with smooth ease from his skin, and the blade is completely stainless. The hole of impact where said weapon had struck magically sews together the sides. The bully is bright white now, watching this…person heal after stabbing himself. Then, miraculously, the ghost giggles and places the knife carefully back on the table. “See? Guardian angels can’t do that.”
Gerard wears a half smile at the joke. Then something pops into his head and the smile is wiped from his face.
“That stupid fucking Oasis song,” he snarls, gritting his teeth. “It’s been in my fucking head all goddamn day. I can’t fucking get it out and it must be to do with your fucking crowd-“
Suddenly, the pain is blinding. It shoots through his head and sends a crack of agony downhis nose and through his nose. He screams in anguish and thrashes about.
THIS IS WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU MESS WITH US…
“Hush,” the karma police says, and amazingly, for the first time in his life, Gerard obeys someone. “Firstly, it’s not Oasis, it’s Radiohead. Secondly, stop cursing; it’s rude and unnecessary. Thirdly, don’t tell lies. It’s been in your head for approximately twenty two minutes and thirty seven seconds, not the entire day. And lastly,” he smiles wide, showing all his teeth. “Yes. It’s to do with ‘my crowd’,” he says in averted commas. “Whenever you get out of line that will play over and over in your head. It gets quite irritating, I assure you.” He pauses and cocks his head to the side, listening. “Your mother will turn the lock in approximately one minute and forty seconds. You have already wasted your day by skipping the last three classes of school but there’s still hope yet. Act perfect for the rest of the day and then we can talk again. Bye, Gee.”
“Wait-the fu-er, the hell-Frankie-come back-“
But no use. Suddenly he’s alone, in his room, left to hallucinate over some weird dead thing that’s looking after him. Should he check into Bedlam this time? Has he finally gone insane? Crazy? Up the creek without a paddle? Nuts?
He sighs and shakes his head. I’m goin fucking insane.
“I said not to curse!” Comes sharply from the corner of the room. Gerard looks again; nothing.
This is what you get…
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