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“Please tell me you got the parts?” Party Poison calls, mashing his boot against the gas so it levels out against the floor.
“I was kind of busy trying to cover your reckless ass, Poison! So, no, I can't say I fucking did!” Kobra Kid hollers back before he leans out the window of the beat up Trans Am, aiming a white-hot blast at one of the pursuing vehicle’s wheels. He misses and swears, firing a few more shots off in rapid succession.
Poison growls out a swear of his own and whips his head around, his neon hair whipping out like a messy flaming halo. “Ghoul, you got that ready yet?”
Fun Ghoul dug his canine into his split lip and grimaced, as he shouldered the long gun and squinted through the viewfinder, hanging half out of the long ago smashed in rear window. “Yeah, just a sec!” Poison glanced back to the road and called over his shoulder, “Jet, make sure he doesn’t fall out!”
Jet Star nods firmly and takes hold of one of Ghoul’s ankles. The newest member of their crew was proving to be every bit the quiet and mysterious stereotype Ghoul had dubbed him upon the initial meeting. He made up for the silence with his quick shooting and knack for working with the little bits of tech the Killjoys were able to salvage.
In the passenger seat, Kobra hoots as he manages to hit one of the tires just as Ghoul grins from ear to ear, tugging the fresh scar taut along his cheek, and jams his finger against the trigger. A large gunshot explodes from the end of the weapon, turning the struggling car into a mushroom cloud of smoke and flames.
All four occupants of the Trans Am wince at the tremendous noise of the explosion.
“Was it really a good idea to give Ghoul the nuker?” Kobra complains, massaging the skin around his ears.
“Probably not.” Poison admits, grimacing.
“Hey!” Ghoul exclaims, hugging the long weapon close to his chest and scrunching his nose. “I got the fucking job done, didn’t I?
And
I got the parts!”
Poison whips around his seat, foot faltering briefly on the gas, “Did you really?”
Ghoul nods proudly, letting go of the nuker with one arm to rummage around in the pockets of his baggy jeans, returning with a handful of glimmering silver metal bits.
“Fuck, thank Destroya this whole thing wasn’t just a waste of fuel,” Poison lets out a relieved laugh and levels off the gas a little, reaching out to crank the volume on miraculously still working radio of the Trans Am. Beating, explosive music thundered from the speakers and Ghoul kicks his feet out of the window as Kobra grumbles under his breath, fumbling to shove his neon gun back into its holster strapped to his thigh.
Jet carefully pours the shimmering pile of micro parts carefully taken from Ghoul into a shallow pouch sewed into his navy jacket.
“Stop sulking, Kobra,” Ghoul hollers over the roar of the music, pulling himself vertical using the back of Poison’s seat. Kobra says nothing and stares forward through the dark-tinted lens of his glasses. Poison laughs, relaxing back into his seat and looks over to his right at Kobra. “You got their wheels out from under them!” He grins, “That’s pretty rad, yeah?”
“Yeah, it would be if the rest of you fuckers hadn’t done it over your shoulders like a second nature a thousand times! Also, you spend too much time with Ghoul.”
Ghoul scrambles to get his limbs back inside the Trans Am to hang off the back of Kobra’s seat, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Rad,” Kobra supplies.
Poison and Ghoul dissolve into giggles and Poison spins a finger along the dial, lowering the thrumming pulse of music.
“I think Jet and I should go off and start our own crew, leave you losers by yourselves.”
Poison pouts, over at Kobra, “You’d leave your own brother?”
“Yes.” Kobra says resolutely, crossing his arms over his skinny chest.
“You could trash us all in hand to hand,” Ghoul tells the sulking blond, still hanging from his seat.
He scoffs, “Of course I could, everyone knows that.”
Poison grins at Ghoul, catching his drift, “Yeah, we might be able to shoot real well, but we couldn’t knock a Drac on its white clad ass with a single kick!”
Kobra considers this. “You do suck at karate.”