Desi Destroya: A Killjoy Story

House of Wolves

                As they started to walk, Rasta drew close to Desi, and whispered in her ear. “Okay, so I’m trying not to worry about Fun Ghoul, but why did you come back with him?”

                “I was walking around the city, and ended up finding an abandoned and undestroyed pier where it was quiet and nice to sit. It just happened to be that that spot was where Fun Ghoul came when he wanted to get away from the huge group, or to just think. We had a talk, and then we just sat and watched the water for a long time.” Desi sighed. “I mean, he’s like my brothers’ brother, and twice my age. He’s like another Kobra. Don’t worry, Ros. There will never be anyone else. Now, let’s focus on these missing kids.”

                When Kobra, Fun Ghoul, Rasta, and Desi arrived at the warehouse, there were about a dozen Killjoys standing in a cluster near the door. Manic Phantom, Candy, Shasta, Cyanide Smash, and about four more Killjoys Desi recognized from Shasta’s group were there, with a few people she didn’t think she’d ever seen before. Manic looked anxious, like she’d also come to the idea that they might not be dealing with BL/ind. She can’t shoot for crap and goes unarmed, so fighting normal people leaves her vulnerable. When she noticed that Kobra and Fun Ghoul were there, her face went straight to stoic and badass.

                “Besides the people connected to those that are missing, we have a couple new recruits.” Manic gestured to the strangers. One of them was extremely tall, with a spiky mess of green hair, rivaling even Manic in all her stiletto-booted glory. He also happened to be the stretchy kind of tall. He wore tall black motocross boots and a pair of bright red skinny jeans. A blaster was in a thigh holster on his right leg. It was yellow and green, painted like stripes of facial camouflage from some old war movie. His shirt was a faded gray, and had the BL/ind face logo on it. Only this one had red x’s over its eyes. He also wore a denim jacket that had studs all along the tops of his shoulders. “This wonderful and ever so helpful Killjoy,” Manic gestured to the boy, making ‘wonderful’ sound like ‘disaster magnet’ and ‘helpful’ sound a lot more like ‘obnoxious’, “is Uranium Suicide.”

                “I’m Bubblegum Rocket,’ announced the Killjoy standing next to Uranium Suicide, before Manic could open her mouth. This Killjoy was barely five feet tall and full of attitude. She had bright pink hair that fell straight down past her shoulders, with wide, peroxide blonde highlights and roots. She had fire engine red shutter shades that looked like they’d been attacked by a paint-baller with purple ammunition. She wore a black crop top that had the words ‘Dance Like You Mean It’ emblazoned across the front. Her bright bubble-gum pink skinny jeans were stuffed into combat boots.  She had a faded black bandanna wrapped around her right wrist, and her left arm was covered in a rainbow of jelly bracelets to her elbow. The handle of a red blaster spattered with purple paint stuck out of her right boot. And she looked fast enough to grab from that low and shoot you before you even knew she saw you.

Before the next Killjoy could undermine Manic, too, she tapped her on the shoulder, and announced, “This is Gunmetal Diva.” This girl looked nothing like a diva, unless you considered the pink handle and trigger on her pump-action scatter-shot laser shotgun that she had painted entirely in camouflage. She was tall, with aqua blue and blonde hair wrestled into a bun on top of her head, and a small patch of blue was falling out of the bun and into her eyes. Her black shirt read “Anything you can do, I can do better. Promise” She wore bright orange cargo pants over an old beat up pair of work boots.

                The third Killjoy was the last one that she didn’t recognize from Shasta’s group. He had curly black hair, and piercing blue eyes that Desi had the strangest urge to not look away from. He was several inches taller than Desi wearing blue-buckled black motocross boots and faded black cargo pants. He wore a dark grey shirt with ‘AKA James Dean’ hand stamped onto it. He wore a red bandanna around his neck and a thin grey hoodie inside his black leather motorcycle jacket. She couldn’t see a blaster or anything, but Rasta was definitely not the only boy to keep it in the back of his waistband. For a Killjoy, he didn’t wear much color, but it wasn’t an official standard.