The dense light of the sunshine reflecting on the sand was so bright they had to move with eyes closed by fear of being blinded.
But eyes opened or closed, it didn't matter. They ran on the Wasteland like on their own skin.
For the past few years, the sun had noticeably started to swell, as though it was falling from the sky into the Wasteland. Indeed, the closer it moved from the Earth, the higher the temperatures raised. An oppressing warmth now remained everywhere.
Some said the Wasteland used to be a place where people lived, before the sand flew in. Most people didn't believe in this theory. Jet Star did.
But one thing they all knew for sure was that the Sun was going to be the Death of Humanity.
It would be a hot day, like every other. People in Bat City, in the Wasteland and all over the world would carry on with their ordinary life. Around Midday, the light would become oppressive. People would stare out of their windows, and see it, bigger than they had ever seen, almost as large as the horizon, and red as a fire. Birds would stop singing. But nobody would notice. Their first reaction would be to go outside, but, once out of their fresh conditioned buildings, they would notice the thick warmth, thicker than usual, almost unbearable. No wind. The gum of their shoes would melt on the burning hot macadam. And they would stand there, unable to move, unable to scream, as the Sun crashed on earth like a big star falling out of the sky. The Trash Lords would watch, as silent as ever. There would be blinding light, warmth, and then Nothing.
No more sound.
No more pain.
Poison smiled at the idea. He knew he wouldn't be alive anymore, then. Actually, in matters of life expectancy, he could be. But he knew he wouldn't. He didn't intend to.
Not one of them intended to grow old.
They knew the counterparts of being a Killjoy. Everything could kill you, here. Life in the desert was way shorter than in the city. But way brighter too. Like shooting stars.
He looked at his own shadow spread aside him on the sand like a dark giant, pensively. He didn't like to think too much. He had to act, and quickly, keep his mind busy with flashing lights, bright colours, loud sounds, the adrenaline of danger.
He grunted. Jet Star looked at him.
"Are you okay?"
Poison scoffed. Out of the four of them, Jet Star was the only one who cared.
"We have to do something." He answered darkly. "I want some blood, and I want it now. I want fame. I want people to fear my name. I want them to think "Poison" as soon as they see red. I want to be remembered."
"And so you shall..." Jet Star replied, patting his shoulder "so you shall..."
"Uncle!" They suddenly heard screaming. They flashed around to witness Fun Ghoul, jumping excitingly, pointing at the dunes far in front of him. "I see movement not people, coz ain't nobody the Witch can save. It's worth a shot!"
Poison, who had now acquired the role of leader of the Fabulous Killjoys because of his moral and physical strength, swiftly drew a pair of binocular out of his backpack.
"Yes indeed." He said defiantly, while observing through his binoculars what looked like a faint black spot for his comrades, almost an illusion created by the heat. "I see black and white. I see BL/i."
"I smell fire!" Fun Ghoul exclaimed "I smell Death! I smell a fight! A fight a fight a fight!"
"Shut up!" Poison snapped. "We don't want to draw their attention to us, if they haven't noticed us yet. We gotta take advantage of the surprise effect and our own knowledge of the land. Down! Down! Down!"
The four of them dropped on their stomachs on the hot sand and silently crawled towards the BL/i's agents, hidden behind the dunes. Once they were close enough for all of them to take a good look at their opponents, Jet Star suddenly remarked, whispering.
"S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. A good hundred of them." A shiver traveled down his spine. He had never seen the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, the BL/i's special police unit, from that close before.
They were way scarier than the Dracos, mainly because, instead of the formers' grotesque grimacing masks, they were wearing white faceless hoods hiding their features, and impeccable black and white suits along with white gloves. But what was gloomy about them was that, unlike the Dracos, they had willingly offered their body to the Better Living Industries. And they were still alive, as human as the people they exterminated everyday.
They were way more dangerous too, partly because of their humanity. They had been overtrained, ameliorated, they had free will along with some of the most dangerous weapons humankind had ever came up with.
They were Mass Extermination. They were Destruction.
They were the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.
If Poison was even but a little put off by this, he sure didn't seem like so, as he voluntarily whispered.
"Put on your masks, gentlemen. This, is the fight of our lives, whether we win or we lose."
One of the enemy who looked like the leader took off his mask, probably from the heat. He was in his forties, bald, wrinkles appearing from his nose to his mouth, black bushy eyebrows, a voluntary nose, an icy stare and paper thin lips.
Poison frowned.
"Alright boys." He said, after checking everybody had a mask on "You probably all know this but the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W is way more dangerous than Dracos. So you've got to move your body and move it fast, be uncatchable. You have to run and hide, and then shoot them down, it's the only way. Good luck." He drew out his lasergun, smirking.
"Here we go."
And he shot a S/C/A/R/E/C/O/W. Well, at least he tried to. Even though they weren't expecting to be under attack, the latter avoided the bullet as though it had been as slow as a paper plane flying towards him. They hardly saw him move. The four fabulous killjoys remained still for a few seconds, astonished. Few seconds were enough for the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W to organise themselves into a menacing rank facing the dune behind which they were hidden. There was no way to escape their deadly fire, the only way out was to fight.
Which they did.
Poison screamed, as to boost courage into the hearts of his comrades, and ran down the hill, the three others following closely.
They split up, breaking into the enemies' ranks, provoking confusion amongst them.
They shot and shot and swirled around, sprinkling cold black blood on the warm white sand.
They fought bravely, almost inhumanly.
At one point, they even thought they could win.
They had eventually found enemies worth fighting. Dracos were just too easy.
They needed challenge.
Well at least Poison did. What the others needed, he didn't care.
But they eventually had to give up. The S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W were just too many. They were coming in from everywhere. They were outnumbered by far.
"Let's get out of here!" Poison shouted, over the sound of the laserguns firing.
Luckily, they knew the Wasteland like their own skin. They escaped easily from the Black and White men, running like rabbits, Fun Ghoul rolling down in the sand.
They were wounded, of course, but the most painful was the defeat.
Well, at least, it was for Poison.
What they didn't know was that, even though they had lost this battle, they would be remembered as the four men who took on a whole S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit and survived.
They did not know that even their defeats were building up their legend.
Back at the Radio House, Doctor Death Defying was sitting in his wheelchair, observing the setting sun through his dark sunglasses, in front of the door, as he did everyday.
"The sunset means the end of a day. And 'round here, life is very dangerous. When I watch a sunset I think, "and another more day I made through". I'd never know, if it was my last. Maybe I wouldn't make it through the night. I enjoy every sunset as thought it was my last one. 'Cause it might be." This was how, if asked, he would explain it.
This was the only fragility Doctor D. could afford, like a twist in his usually rough character, maybe a faint reminder of who he used to be, before Everything went Berserk.
And while Doctor D. admired the sunset, he suddenly noticed four little black silhouettes, up on a dune, in front of the sun, like a threat.
Slowly, three of them climbed down the dune, while the one left rolled down it like a kid.
Once they moved a bit closer, Doctor D. eventually distinguished their faces.
The four Fabulous Killjoys.
But, oh God, in what a state.
Their once shiny clothes were going threadbare, stained with dark and red blood, and burned holes all over. Fun Ghoul's mask had been fissured, and Jet Star's sunglasses were missing a glass. The four of them were dirty with sand and blood and burns, so much that it was almost impossible to tell if any one of them was badly hurt or not. But, by the way they all pitifully walked, it was easy to tell they were in pain.
It wasn't easy to surprise Doctor D., but they could all tell that he, for once, was.
"What... What happened?" He asked, at loss for words.
"We tried and stop a good hundred S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W agents from invading the Wasteland." Poison soberly replied. "We failed."
Doctor D. took off his sunglasses, astonished. "S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W? In the desert?"
"Yes."
"A good HUNDRED? And you are still alive?"
"Must have killed like 20ish." Poison replied, looking disappointed.
"Come inside, quickly!" Doctor D. exclaimed.
Cherri Cola, who was broadcasting, watched them enter the Radio House with astonishment.
"Are you guys okay?" He asked.
Nobody replied.
And, for once, Doctor Death Defying missed the sunset.
And Cherri Cola stopped broadcasting in order to help them.
Kobra Kid suddenly became oblivious of the world around him and lightly crashed on the floor, like a leaf falling from a tree.
"M... Kobra? Kobra??" Poison called, a tremolo of panic in his voice.
It was the first time anyone had seen him express some other emotion than disdain or rage.
Cola had already rushed to his side, checking his pulse.
"He's okay!" He tried reassure everyone. "I think he just lost too much blood, but he'll be okay!"
"What are you waiting for? Help him!" Poison exclaimed, his face as white as the BL/I agents' suits.
Helped by Tommy Chow Mein who had just entered the room, Cola lifted Kobra up and laid him down on the sofa. They then quickly undressed him, checking for major wounds. The only thing that seemed worrying was a long bleeding cut on his leg, that seemed to had been inflicted by a knife rather than by a gun. They quickly bandaged it tightly.
"He'll come back to consciousness when he regains forces, he needs rest for now." Cola whispered, looking at his pale sunken face with melancholy.
"S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W agents don't own knives." Poison suddenly observed calmly, looking straightly at Fun Ghoul, who giggled.
"We'll talk about this later." Cola exclaimed, gently pulling Poison towards him by the shoulders. "You need to be taken care of too."
"I'm fine!" Poison snapped, and he suddenly ran out of the house.
Nobody tried and ran after him. If Poison was mad, then he was better off alone.
Tommy Chow Mein, Cherri Cola and Doctor Death Defying took care of the two others, suffering from several minor wounds all over their bodies.
"Hey..." Jet Star whispered softly to Fun Ghoul "what is this all about?"
Fun Ghoul gestured his chin towards Kobra Kid and replied with surprising seriousness:
"I don't trust him."
"Did you stab him?" Jet Star insisted.
But Fun Ghoul didn't reply. He seemed lost in his thoughts.
And, once again, Jet Star wondered what was wrong with him.
What was wrong with them all?

Poison screamed. His voice got carried away by the wind. Sand flew in his eyes and mouth. There would be a sandstorm soon. They were sooner than usual, this year. Did that mean that the planet was going more and more berserk?
Poison didn't really mind. He wouldn't live long enough to see it die. And even if he did, he wouldn't actually care. It was too late for worrying. Humanity had begun a long journey, the one you can never get back from.
"You can't break that which isn't yours." He had been taught, a long time ago, before everything went Berserk.
But what he had been taught before, he had forgotten about.
"Hey..." Someone whispered softly.
He flashed around swiftly, ready to attack whoever had lurked behind him without his knowledge.
It was Fun Ghoul.
His eyes shone faintly, staring at him intensely.
Poison blinked a few times, astonished.
And these eyes which stared at him so strangely swiftly flowed down his throat leaving a burning trail behind, and printed themselves into his heart, like a burning red iron print.
He could taste the burnt flesh in his mouth. And his heart skipped a beat.
Or did it start to beat again?
He didn't know. But his chest suddenly felt really heavy.
That was how heavy a heart was.
"What do you want?" He grunted.
"I want to be your friend." Fun Ghoul replied lightly.
"F... Friend?" Poison said.
"Yes. Friend. Everybody seems to have forgotten that word here." Fun Ghoul said.
Poison seemed to be lost in his thoughts, so Ghoul continued.
"Let's start things from the beginning. That is when I appear."
"Hello." Fun Ghoul said.
"Hello." Poison replied, surprised. "Who are you?"
"I am Fun Ghoul." Fun Ghoul said.
"I am Party Poison." Party Poison said. "Why do you want to be my friend?"
"Because" Fun Ghoul said "Right now, for me, you just are a human being exactly similar to ten thousands human beings. And I don't need you. And you don't need me either. For you, I am exactly similar to ten thousands human beings. But if we befriend, we will need each other. I would be to you as unique as you would be to me.
My life is monotonous. I chase Dracos. Dracos chase me. All Dracos are alike. Black and White. Which is why I'm a bit bored. But if you befriend me, my life will be as illuminated. I would know footsteps that will sound different from any other. And, look! You know what a sunset looks like right? I don't need anything from sunsets. Sunsets mean nothing to me. And it's sad. But, you see, the colour of your hair is bright red. The colour of the sky when the sun sets is red. If you befriend me it will make me think of you. And I will like sunsets, because of you..."
Ghoul stopped talking and looked at Poison for a long time.
"Please... Will you be my friend?"
"I wouldn't mind." Poison replied. "But life is so ephemeral here! What is the point of holding on to something, anything, when you know it could be gone by tomorrow?"
"Oh" Fun Ghoul said "Well, I would cry."
"It would be your fault." Party Poison said "I didn't mean you no harm, but you wanted me to be your friend."
"Of course." Fun Ghoul said.
"But you would cry!" Poison said.
"Of course." Fun Ghoul said.
"Well then you've got nothing to win!"
"I win" Fun Ghoul said "because of the colour of the sunset."
They both remained silent for a long time, looking at each other.
"I didn't know you so eloquent." Poison finally whispered. "Who are you?"
"I'm just Fun Ghoul." Fun Ghoul said "That's all you ever need to know."
"That's okay with me." Poison said. But his curiosity was triggered, and he added: "What should I do to befriend you?"
Fun Ghoul smiled lightly.
"You can't do that all at once. You must be patient." He replied "You will sit a bit further on the sand, here. I will look at you and you will look at me. You won't say anything. Talking always makes things worse. But, everyday, you will come back and sit a little closer. Always at the same time. For example, if everyday you come at 7 p.m., I will start to be happy at 6 p.m., knowing that you will come soon. And as the time passes, the more excited I will be. And I will discover the price of happiness."
"I get it!" Poison exclaimed. "Let's say we meet everyday at sunset in front of Hope, the Witch's postbox, would that be okay?"
"Sure" Fun Ghoul said, "I look forward to see you then!"
If the Wasteland had a body, then its heart would be Hope, the postbox where the Witch came and got all the deceased' masks.
And it was there, in the heart if the Wasteland itself that Fun Ghoul and Party Poison met everyday, in the greatest secret. Nobody knew what happened there, except for the Witch herself.
But, sometimes, Kobra looked so sad and angry that it seemed he was caring about it.
And, sometimes, Jet Star wondered what was wrong with him.
What was wrong with them all.

Notes

Sorry chapters are so long to write. Also work. Lots of work. But I swear I'm not forgetting this.