Chapter Two Reimagined by Gerard Way #2
Mornings star. It’s just that simple.
Three times already the car had backfired, leaving gentle smog and a sonic dust up and down Carter Avenue, where the junk men and the dogcatchers argued wearily over parking spaces.’
“I’m having a hard enough time dealing with just one of you – and you tell me there are two” -Richard Laughed
This isn’t a joke.
The front passenger wheel of the Torino exploded, a discarded shoebox on the pavement.
“Are you sure?” he said, seeming more concerned this time.
“Not really, but my psychic says it’s true…”
“Let’s just listen to some music.”
They turned onto Mulligan, and blocks away in an alley, the rats, building a monument to filth, could gear “Fresh Flesh” by Fear.
It’s a funny thing, getting shot at The fist time it happens, you’d swear you really never heard anything like it. It’s a mixture of white noise and vibrations. It’s the only thing louder than being born – so new, it’s like the first time you tasted Ice cream. Then, after some time, you start to get used to it, and in some cases, you start to enjoy it. So much so that you start putting yourself in situations where someone is packing tunes, and that someone might have a reason to shoot at you.
So there, under the Westway and before State Park. Richard and Jeans Found themselves, again being fired upon, again for a very good reason.
“Where’s my ticket! yelled Quan.”
“I swear to Christ if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to blow both your heads off!”
the revolver began to empty again, ringing against the steel and draining the overhead noise of passing cars.
“Give it to me!”
He had begun to sound sad. He was definitely crying.
The Happiness Express ran from Seattle to Electrics, on the East side of Mars, and tickets wen expensive. It was powered by a Kinetic Drive, which meant your organs had to be fitted with a shielding-mesh in order to keep them from folding inside themselves – the procedure was costly, but recovery time was short. They sold package deals that included a one-way trip, meshing and Personality Insurance.
“I think you’re confused, man…”
“We never had your ticket!”
“Must have been Julius!” shouted Richard.
“Totally!” Jean backed him up, quietly slipping out the Lola Plus in pollshed chrome they had shared between them, and he thought about how many lives it had taken – it’s magenta impact- bursts punching clean holes in bone and carbon.
Silence, then – the sound of discarded shells spilling on concrete. Wait: were they full shells? Quan’s voice came back at them, small, and even sadder. Low, like someone on their hands and knees.
“You don’t know what’s up…”