[Image ID: An edited version of the 4-panel Gru's plan meme.
Panel 1: Gru, labeled "BLI Researcher," is presenting before an easel labeled "realise the rebel leader's baby has electricity powers". He is gesturing confidently with a finger pointing up in the air and continues to look confident for two more panels.
Panel 2: The presentation is labeled "start to run tests on her abilities."
Panel 3: The presentation is labeled "she tazes your coworker."
Panel 4: The presentation is still labeled "she tazes your coworker," but Gru now looks back at the board, seeming taken aback and upset, with his hands falling limp. / End ID]
day 2: infancy! i dont think anyone knows how to correctly handle a baby that sometimes sparks
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killjoys mcm - day 1 and 2 - her mother + infancy
i didn't have the chance to do something yesterday so i figured i'd do it today ! and my timeline works differently for the girl, specifically, so this worked out well for me.
954 words + cws for: death, + war !!
Electroline.
Her name is Electroline.
She's the face of the revolution and technicolor bleeds from her veins, stains the very ground she walks on like holy water; burns away the corruption and the smog that reek of death and decay. She is, she is.
Electroline doesn't quite know what to think about the pedestal she's been put on.
She's a fighter, she knows that, and she's a soldier. She's another soldier, and that's the end of the story. A soldier that gets a little more airtime than the other soldiers, but that doesn't change her position.
She makes battle plans. She hopes she doesn't get people killed.
It never works out that well, but Electroline supposes she can't complain; she's alive and she's managed to keep a two-year-old alive so far.
Although, she supposes that isn't going to stay that way for long.
The Phoenix Witch stands next to her on the horizon, staring down at the sun sinking beyond the horizon,
She's holding the child in her arms, fast asleep. Knows that one day that child will take all the power from the sun and harness it at her fingertips, take the satellites out of the sky and keep them at her command.
"You cannot keep her," the Phoenix Witch says, voice low, reverberating through the ground, though the soles of Electroline's boots. To her spine. To her ribs. To her heart.
Her heart, that can't bear the idea of not having her child.
"I know," Electroline whispers, as though saying the words will bring them to life, will stop her heart in the way she knows will happen soon. Soon, she doesn't know how soon.
She hopes that it'll be when the Analog Wars come to an end.
And the Analog Wars are ending, she knows that; Better Living Industries is tired of their little rat infestation becoming a problem and the XX Division has long since been worn down, tired of fighting a war they'll never win, tired of losing friends and burying bracelets.
"Do you know where she'll go?" Electroline asks, because it's the only question, she thinks, that'll help her process it all.
She doesn't know what's beyond death. No mortal is supposed to know that. But she wants to know what she's going to leave behind, where the bundle in her arms will go. Supposedly, two-s years-old is too big to swaddle, but the child's always been small for her age.
The Phoenix Witch hums. "Somewhere she'll be taken care of."
"Not enough."
Perhaps a child's only place is with their mother. Where, then, is the child's place, when their mother's destiny is something worse than a six-foot hole in the ground? When is the line burred, the path deviated?
"I understand your loss," the Witch says slowly, as though she's giving out information that should've died with her mortal body. "The child will not understand the grief. She... she will not remember you."
Electroline nods. She knew that. She knows that. "I can't tell if that's better or worse. She's my entire life, and yet, she's not going to remember me."
"She is not your entire life," says the Witch, "but she is the end of it."
There's nothing to do but smile, running her thumb over the child's forehead, tucking the blanket back in.
She can't think of dying, not really. Can't think about losing her daughter.
_
The battlefield has long since held her heart, held her tight enough for her ribs to pierce her lungs.
Metaphorically, of course, but this, this is the end of the Analog Wars and she knew what she was doing when she woke up that morning, knew she'd be dead before the day ended.
"You're out of your mind," Milligram had said when they'd left the airfield hanger they'd been staying in, "taking a fucking kid into a firefight, You know she's going to die out there, right?"
The child isn't the one who's going to die.
She, Electroline, leader of the XX Division, will die on the battlefield, and she won't be holding a child.
Her blaster is at low power, running on Technic Nylon with the glow seeping out, bright green onto her gloved palm, sweat sticking stray hairs to her forehead with wide, blown eyes, trigger, trigger, always on the trigger.
"The child," she says, swallowing thickly because they're nowhere near the end of this firefight and yet she's on the frontlines and out of tricks; it's her time.
She doesn't know who hears her, not his name, but he's got bright red hair and a babyface that says he hasn't been out in the Zones long, shouldn't be in a Death Disco like this that's going to result in the death of all his heroes.
"The child!" Electroline hisses again, ducking as a blast of light flies over her head.
The red-head looks at her with wide eyes, panicked and confused, and Electroline gestures to the bundle on the ground with her blaster.
"The child, take the child, get her out of here, get out of here."
Maybe it's because it's an order. Maybe it's because Electroline is the one giving it. Maybe it's because the kid's been looking for an excuse to leave.
She doesn't know.
She doesn't know and she thinks that's what kills her, really, the not knowing, not knowing what happens to her child.
It kills her long before the blast to the chest does. Long before a mask is put over her still-warm body.
The last thing Electroline sees, before she's dead, before she's stripped of the electricity that made her a staple of a war that's now over, is the setting sun, red hair, and the Witch's sympathetic smile.
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anyone call for headcanons on this fine killjoys mcm day four? well.. i hope you did because i Do Not have the energy to write today <3
- after the fab four fade into the static, The Girl is alone. no more glitter bombs with Fun Ghoul. no more fashion shows with Party Poison. no more friendship bracelets with The Kobra Kid. no more midnight rides in the ‘Am with Jet Star to get her racing mind to fall asleep. she is simply alone.
- she survives, not thrives, because, what does that matter anymore? she lives in the distant outskirts of Zone Three, just far enough from Tommy Chow Mein’s to make the walk there feel like hell. just enough for her to test herself.
- sometimes, walking down route guano, or in the four walls of Tommy’s, she’ll see others. other killjoys, other grave-heads or ravens, lonely eyes drifting from place to place, but she doesn’t feel sorry. she knows them, knows their struggle, but she isn’t sorry. she would trade her life for theirs any day. quite ignorantly, she doesn’t think it’d be as hard.
- in some cases, it’s harder, but she’s thirteen and ignorant, and she doesn’t know much.
- it’s one day in the shop that she sees one. someone like herself, looking lost and afraid. looking for a cause to fight for when there’s no one to lead anymore. someone who’s just a kid, like her.
- she can feel his eyes on her frame as she picks through the shelves of trash. she’s just looking around today, just scavenging. doesn’t need much aside from things she can’t have. the boy’s eyes burn into her, and the searing heat makes her finally turn around. she walks over.
- “why are you staring at me? what do you need?”. she looks him up and down. taller. lanky. pants too big and jacket not big enough. his hair is white and he’s holding something behind his back.
- “are you The Girl? who ran with the Fab Four?” he asks, though he’s aware of already knowing the answer. The Girl’s hands ball into fists. “i, uhm, i just noticed you over there, and i just wanted to ask- what was it like?”
- the boy doesn’t ask with conviction. he doesn’t press as if he wants some deep and philosophical answer. he just wants to know. The Girl sees the sort of glimmer of hope in his eyes that she hasn't seen in years. hasn’t seen since her family, and since, hasn’t seen in herself. she can see right through him- she knows he wants to change the world, she knows he has the answer.
- a party poison mask and logo are drawn onto his hand. she notices this as she speaks, speaks in Cherri-Cola-code, as to not reveal too much.
- “it wasn’t like what you think it was. it was a road trip with your family that you never wanted to end, but you knew it always would. i was only a kid. i didn't know that cars broke down, or that buses ran out of gas. i thought they drove forever. i thought the music kept playing. but it doesn’t. it leaves until you make it. you won’t go boom unless you light the match.”
- she doesn’t explain to him why they believed in her. maybe that’s because she doesn’t know. maybe it’s because he doesn’t need to know it himself. on the way out, she hears his voice, faint in the distance, but in a tone that breaks through all other waves of sound. she will never forget this.
- “my name’s val. i’m going to do better.”
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