Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Memoirs of a Killjoy
These are dark times and dangerous days. These are the true lives of the fabulous Killjoys.
?Blocked
Name: Monroe. No last names. We don’t use last names here. In fact, we don’t use first names, either.
Scratch that. If you’ve got to call me something, call me Crazy Shot. It may sound like a lame bag, but I didn’t pick it. No one picks his own alias here. At first, they don’t call you anything. Then, someone will call you something, and it’ll just stick. For me, Crazy Shot just stuck. You’re not supposed to tell anyone your real name.
The only one who knows my real name is the one that found me: Party Poison. He saved me from the zones, and the Dracs that creep up the sand dunes. He brought me back to camp, or, what was camp at the time; we move around a lot. He let me rest in his tent, he fed me, he helped me move when we shifted camp. I told him my name, but when I asked for his, he told me what I’ve told you: we don’t use real names here.
I was found in the desert, just escaped from the institution and completely alone. Battery City is an unforgiving place if you’re on your own, but even worse are the desert zones that surround it, there for one reason: to keep people from leaving. The few that do manage to break their binds and get out usually end up dead, or worse: dusted by the Dracs. I was lucky enough to avoid them, but I can’t say the same for the cats I was rocking with. We all bagged the institution, but before I got separated, we had already lost three. It’s every man for himself once you’re on the run, baby, and that’s something you gotta remember, unless you wanna get dusted.
First thing the other Killjoys asked me about once Party Poison got me back up to full charge was the group of tumbleweeds I’d been rolling with. How many were there? How many got dusted? How many just got picked up by the Draculoids and taken back to the industry? Names? Ages? Looks? They wanted to find ‘em, and they wanted to find the other refugees that had been taken back to the industry and bust them out, get ‘em away from the Battery City, which is the heartland of the industry.
When I first got here, there were seven Killjoys, and only one other chick, Ghost Flame. She’s gone, now, along with one other brother, Flash Act. They both got ghosted in a major blow-out with Korse and his pigs. I learned later that their real names were Kelley and Bob, respectively. Those names seem so common, now. Too common for fighters of their caliber, and certainly not serving as much justice to their true selves as their aliases did. I wish they hadn’t told me their real names.
‘Round here, everyone answers to the Doctor. He’s a cowboy that knows his ghost, and we don’t question him. I made that mistake once, when they first found me, but it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the Doctor was never wrong.
He’d been telling us about a cluster of pigs that had been stalking us up for a while, and how we should stop moving camp for that very reason. I was foolish, and, even though all the other Killjoys were agreeing, I figured I oughtta say something. If it didn’t make sense to me, it didn’t make sense.
“Why not?” I’d said, feeling braver than a Drac with a ray-gun in each hand. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep moving, maybe throw them off?” The minute I’d opened my trap, everyone had turned around, glaring lasers my way, my courage sapped.
Dr. Death-Defying didn’t say nothing at first; he just looked me over closely, like he was trying to gauge whether or not this was worthy of banishment, something I’d heard from the other KJs had happened a few times over the course of the past few years. If the Doctor didn’t want you anymore, no matter how close you were with everyone else, your ass was up for grabs in the zones, and no Killjoys from then on out would touch you. Finally, he spoke. “When we’re moving, we’re vulnerable, kitty-cat. We stay in one place, we can catch ‘em off guard, because they think we don’t know they’re creepin’ us. You wanna get dusted, be my guest and keep movin’, sunshine.” That shut my mouth pretty quick, and I haven’t said a contrary word to the Doc since then. That same day, we ghosted those Dracs before they even knew what hit ‘em.
The Doc knows his shit.
Right now, there are six of us: myself, the Doc, Party Poison, Kobra Kid, Jet Star, and Fun Ghoul. The Doc, obviously, is the man, the main man, the big guy around here. Party Poison is kinda like his second-in-command. When the Doc’s not around, the rest of us do what he tells us. He’s a real sad kinda guy, I’ve noticed. Kobra Kid, who I was told is Poison’s little bro, told me that he used to be a real cool cat, before Korse got the Motor Baby and took her back to the institution. The Kobra Kid’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s a real thinkin’ kinda kid, and he can really read people. I wonder sometimes if he doesn’t know more than he’s letting on about. Then there’s Jet Star. He’s simple, but true. A real pal. Nothing shakes Jet Star, not no way, not no how. Fun Ghoul’s the opposite. Excitable cat, real easy to piss off, but real easy to whip up into a frenzy. They’re all real different, but they just…click. The four of ‘em. You kinda feel like an intruder with them, because you know you don’t really belong. At least, I feel that way. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m the new guy. Maybe it’s ‘cause they decided to saddle me with a lame alias.
Y’know, I once asked the doctor why we have aliases around here. I wanted to know why they couldn’t call me Monroe, and why I couldn’t call them by their names. He looked at me, then. Real hard kinda look, like he was trying to decide whether or not to answer or just leave me hanging. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked out across the wide, empty desert, speaking in a solemn-sounding voice like I had never heard him use, and haven’t since heard outta him.
“We’re fighting for a greater good, Crazy Shot. Out here, we’re not just powin’ around, having shoot-outs and battles for no good reason. With what we’re doing, you gotta be prepared to die for the cause, ‘cause you know it’s gonna bring a better tomorrow. Girlie, you gotta be what tomorrow needs, and it’s a lot easier to lose your brothers when you’re not real close to ‘em.” He looked at me then, and I almost couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“So…it’s easy to see everyone die…just because you don’t know their real names?” I felt like a straight-up moron for asking, but I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
The Doc laughed then, a bitter, hollow laugh that I hadn’t been expecting, but didn’t exactly take me by surprise, either. “I didn’t say it’s easy, tumbleweed. I just said it’s easier.”
That about sums up life as a Killjoy, and baby, if life is easy, you’re not making a difference.
Oh, man...Here I go, starting another story...when I should be finishing my others...Well, anyway, here's a new story. I've had this in mind for a while, but I kept revising and editing, because I didn't want to put up a shitty story about the Killjoys. Show some respect! Anyway...This, as of right now, is completely experimental. I'm not sure how often I'll be updating this, since I do have other stories that need finishing. For now, just read and comment and we'll see where it goes. So...yeah. Go do that. OverAndOutxx
Scratch that. If you’ve got to call me something, call me Crazy Shot. It may sound like a lame bag, but I didn’t pick it. No one picks his own alias here. At first, they don’t call you anything. Then, someone will call you something, and it’ll just stick. For me, Crazy Shot just stuck. You’re not supposed to tell anyone your real name.
The only one who knows my real name is the one that found me: Party Poison. He saved me from the zones, and the Dracs that creep up the sand dunes. He brought me back to camp, or, what was camp at the time; we move around a lot. He let me rest in his tent, he fed me, he helped me move when we shifted camp. I told him my name, but when I asked for his, he told me what I’ve told you: we don’t use real names here.
I was found in the desert, just escaped from the institution and completely alone. Battery City is an unforgiving place if you’re on your own, but even worse are the desert zones that surround it, there for one reason: to keep people from leaving. The few that do manage to break their binds and get out usually end up dead, or worse: dusted by the Dracs. I was lucky enough to avoid them, but I can’t say the same for the cats I was rocking with. We all bagged the institution, but before I got separated, we had already lost three. It’s every man for himself once you’re on the run, baby, and that’s something you gotta remember, unless you wanna get dusted.
First thing the other Killjoys asked me about once Party Poison got me back up to full charge was the group of tumbleweeds I’d been rolling with. How many were there? How many got dusted? How many just got picked up by the Draculoids and taken back to the industry? Names? Ages? Looks? They wanted to find ‘em, and they wanted to find the other refugees that had been taken back to the industry and bust them out, get ‘em away from the Battery City, which is the heartland of the industry.
When I first got here, there were seven Killjoys, and only one other chick, Ghost Flame. She’s gone, now, along with one other brother, Flash Act. They both got ghosted in a major blow-out with Korse and his pigs. I learned later that their real names were Kelley and Bob, respectively. Those names seem so common, now. Too common for fighters of their caliber, and certainly not serving as much justice to their true selves as their aliases did. I wish they hadn’t told me their real names.
‘Round here, everyone answers to the Doctor. He’s a cowboy that knows his ghost, and we don’t question him. I made that mistake once, when they first found me, but it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the Doctor was never wrong.
He’d been telling us about a cluster of pigs that had been stalking us up for a while, and how we should stop moving camp for that very reason. I was foolish, and, even though all the other Killjoys were agreeing, I figured I oughtta say something. If it didn’t make sense to me, it didn’t make sense.
“Why not?” I’d said, feeling braver than a Drac with a ray-gun in each hand. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep moving, maybe throw them off?” The minute I’d opened my trap, everyone had turned around, glaring lasers my way, my courage sapped.
Dr. Death-Defying didn’t say nothing at first; he just looked me over closely, like he was trying to gauge whether or not this was worthy of banishment, something I’d heard from the other KJs had happened a few times over the course of the past few years. If the Doctor didn’t want you anymore, no matter how close you were with everyone else, your ass was up for grabs in the zones, and no Killjoys from then on out would touch you. Finally, he spoke. “When we’re moving, we’re vulnerable, kitty-cat. We stay in one place, we can catch ‘em off guard, because they think we don’t know they’re creepin’ us. You wanna get dusted, be my guest and keep movin’, sunshine.” That shut my mouth pretty quick, and I haven’t said a contrary word to the Doc since then. That same day, we ghosted those Dracs before they even knew what hit ‘em.
The Doc knows his shit.
Right now, there are six of us: myself, the Doc, Party Poison, Kobra Kid, Jet Star, and Fun Ghoul. The Doc, obviously, is the man, the main man, the big guy around here. Party Poison is kinda like his second-in-command. When the Doc’s not around, the rest of us do what he tells us. He’s a real sad kinda guy, I’ve noticed. Kobra Kid, who I was told is Poison’s little bro, told me that he used to be a real cool cat, before Korse got the Motor Baby and took her back to the institution. The Kobra Kid’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s a real thinkin’ kinda kid, and he can really read people. I wonder sometimes if he doesn’t know more than he’s letting on about. Then there’s Jet Star. He’s simple, but true. A real pal. Nothing shakes Jet Star, not no way, not no how. Fun Ghoul’s the opposite. Excitable cat, real easy to piss off, but real easy to whip up into a frenzy. They’re all real different, but they just…click. The four of ‘em. You kinda feel like an intruder with them, because you know you don’t really belong. At least, I feel that way. Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m the new guy. Maybe it’s ‘cause they decided to saddle me with a lame alias.
Y’know, I once asked the doctor why we have aliases around here. I wanted to know why they couldn’t call me Monroe, and why I couldn’t call them by their names. He looked at me, then. Real hard kinda look, like he was trying to decide whether or not to answer or just leave me hanging. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked out across the wide, empty desert, speaking in a solemn-sounding voice like I had never heard him use, and haven’t since heard outta him.
“We’re fighting for a greater good, Crazy Shot. Out here, we’re not just powin’ around, having shoot-outs and battles for no good reason. With what we’re doing, you gotta be prepared to die for the cause, ‘cause you know it’s gonna bring a better tomorrow. Girlie, you gotta be what tomorrow needs, and it’s a lot easier to lose your brothers when you’re not real close to ‘em.” He looked at me then, and I almost couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“So…it’s easy to see everyone die…just because you don’t know their real names?” I felt like a straight-up moron for asking, but I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
The Doc laughed then, a bitter, hollow laugh that I hadn’t been expecting, but didn’t exactly take me by surprise, either. “I didn’t say it’s easy, tumbleweed. I just said it’s easier.”
That about sums up life as a Killjoy, and baby, if life is easy, you’re not making a difference.
Oh, man...Here I go, starting another story...when I should be finishing my others...Well, anyway, here's a new story. I've had this in mind for a while, but I kept revising and editing, because I didn't want to put up a shitty story about the Killjoys. Show some respect! Anyway...This, as of right now, is completely experimental. I'm not sure how often I'll be updating this, since I do have other stories that need finishing. For now, just read and comment and we'll see where it goes. So...yeah. Go do that. OverAndOutxx
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