Skip directly to content

FanFic---> Chapter 17 Part 1

[{"parent":{"title":"Get on the list!","body":" Get exclusive information about My Chemical Romance ","field_newsletter_id":"6388094","field_label_list_id":"6518500","field_display_rates":"0","field_preview_mode":"false","field_lbox_height":"","field_lbox_width":"","field_toaster_timeout":"10000","field_toaster_position":"From Bottom","field_turnkey_height":"500","field_mailing_list_params_toast":"&autoreply=no","field_mailing_list_params_se":"&autoreply=no"}}]
dannidanger's picture
on July 11, 2011 - 6:30pm

Hey! Okay 10 days without a computer is crazy! I'm glad to be back and posting. Heres the chapter you've been waiting for! hope you like it. The second part of it will continue next chapter.
--DANNI :)

Mikey looked up at him, “It’s you’re story to tell, Gee.”

Gerard hesitated, thinking of a way to look back into the past, knowing full-well this wasn’t a campfire tale. He took a deep breath and began the story.


The sky was so bright it was almost white, as white as the coats on the dracs as they made shot after shot at the Killjoys. There were four of them. Each with a different type of determined on their filthy faces. The eldest seemed to be the most determined of all of them.

He wasn’t old, no, not the kind of old a person usually becomes to gain the kind of wisdom he possessed, but there were lines on his face and on the corners of his eyes. A touch of silver presented itself among a head of short brown fuzz. His hazel eyes glowed with the things he had seen; so much in his life, pain, joy, hardship, and prosperity. He stood with flat feet in the golden sand with his youngest son on his right and an old friend on his left.

The friend called himself Dr. Deathdefy; a name the man saw as a very peculiar fit since through the many long years he had known Dr. Death, since they were children in a world before Better Living Industries, he was very possibly the least death-defying person he ever met. He liked to talk the talk, but walking the walk was an entirely different story.

The man searched for his other son, the eldest of his three children, in the uninhabitable terrain as he dodged rays coming from every direction. The man wondered where his eldest son could be. He watched for a mass of red hair against the gold background of the desert. Holding ray-guns in both of his hands, he shot two dracs from opposite sides.

“On your right!” the man yelled to his youngest son, who took out a particularly irritating drac.

“Gerard!” he yelled, hoping his eldest son was unharmed.

No answer came.

And then his son poked his head out from behind a boulder. He was in one piece, it seemed. The man was relieved, but then another head poked out beside him. Shocked were the Killjoys as they watched their quietest member being dragged into the open with a pure white ray-gun to his scarlet head. The head they trusted with codes they stole just hours before. They were locked in the boy’s memory forever, branded it seemed, but the only proof the codes ever existed were in a single memory card.

“Gerard,” his father whispered as he lowered his gun.

He tried to calm his breathing. Panic would get him nowhere. He already lost his wife to the madness; he refused to let his son be taken too. He stepped forward, trying to hide his shaking hands by placing both on the gun at his hips.

No one shot, not the dracs on the hills or the ones hiding behind boulders. This was planned. This time, they were going to get what they wanted. They wanted revenge. No one steals from BLI and gets away with it.

Korse looked him dead in the eye, knowing exactly how aggravate the haunted man. The tired story was played out the way the exterminator wanted: a villain, a hero, and a hostage. Gerard tried to resist the grip but failed with a hard fall to his knees in the rocky sand. Korse dug his fingers of one hand into his broad shoulders.

The younger son struggled to keep himself in place. He was disgusted at the sight of the cold gun to his brother’s skull, but he couldn’t risk attacking his capturer and having the trigger slip. Despite his self-control, the younger brother refused to lower his gun.

*The second Gerard is out of the way… The second Gee is out of the way…* He thought.

“So who’s got the codes?” Korse said in a low, gravelly voice.

He pulled the gun off of Gerard’s head and raised it to the younger brother. He aimed at each of the three killjoys like a bottle on the floor at a middle-school party, but this was a different kind of kiss awarded to who it would land on; the kiss of death. Korse was famous for his ability to kill a man with one shot. He aimed his ray-gun back at Gerard forcefully, grinding the cold barrel of the gun into his scarlet-clad head.

“Someone needs to start talking,” he turned to the father of the boys with a malicious snicker, “Oh Donald, I bet I can make you talk, and I know exactly which nerve to hit.”

The exterminator smiled a disgusting smile, the kind only a true sociopath can reveal when he is at his worst, and kicked Gerard to the ground. The boy tried to catch himself as he fell, but Korse kept a dusty black boot to his back. His pleasure only grew as he watched the boys’ only parent flinch at the sight of his oldest son succumbing to the power of such an evil man.

Then, Donald reached into his sleeve, like a magician pulling an endless scarf. He revealed the memory card all four Killjoys swore to guard with their lives. He held it high.

“Dad!” Gerard yelled to his father.

They would all rather die than let BLI have those codes. They were codes that could help them brain-wash even more people.

Korse froze. He was surprised. He didn’t believe the man would give up so easily. He eyed the small square of metal he wanted so badly to possess, as if simply looking at it could make it fly into his hand.

“Help him up,” Donald commanded the exterminator who held Gerard’s body to the hot sand.

“Hand it over first,” He commanded in return, not wanting to give away his bargaining chip.

“Mikey! Somebody! Stop him!” Gerard yelled, hoping someone would realize how many lives would be at stake if his father gave up the memory card.

“I want my son,” the father said, ignoring the shocked Killjoys.

Dr. Deathdefy took a step toward him and placed a gloved hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

He looked at his long-time friend with agony and confusion, “I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out.”