Somewhere deep in Zone 1, an X Eyed Screwhead prowled The Debut Club. You were a Desert Queen for music. A Compass Rose. A Kerosine Saint. A Crash Baby. A La La. The Static, controlling radio waves over the clubs. A synthetic Animal. All names that people knew you by, but never a Whatsername. All these phrases were used to describe the certain known aspects of killjoys, and your name and the titles surrounding it seemed to echo throughout the zones like Dr. Deaths Radio show.

Your bands performances dominated the Debut Club, which slowly attracted more and more killjoys from the zones. Including the Fab Four. And while Fun Ghoul was off doing the F.T.W.W.W (a hookup) with a groupie, Party Poison had his eyes locked on leather. The white hair beneath the stage lights, the tantalizing flash of your ray gun beneath your tank top. He knew by rumor you were good in a fight, probably able to best him in a clap and avoid getting dusted out on Route Guano.

His cheeks felt warm.

And then he found himself going back, weekend after weekend for every show. Sometimes with girls at his hip, sometimes with his brother. But always back at The Debut Club. Every kind of music you performed like a Jack of All Trades. Rock, punk, pop, techno. It was something new every time, requests given by the inhabitants of Zones 1-6.

Eventually, he talked to you. Now, Party was sleazy and charismatic - the kind of guy to win over a girl with the quiet, shy boy act and then bite her bloody. But with you? He didn't know what he was doing. You weren't even getting him a chance.

Tonight was Pop night. Sexy, dirty pop night. Battery Acid (drug) trades were going on by the bar with smugglers, Killjoys were dancing with p0rn0 droids from Love Me Avenue, lights were flashing and other Synthetic Animals were getting into fights in the bathroom.

Party had an unnamed girl at his hip, but she looked like a Floral Eyes. A China doll. An undergrad. Someone who was just here for sex, and probably didn't know how to shoot a gun. Someone who hadn't seen real violence. Surely, other people could smell it on her.

You flicked your black jacket to the side as you set down the mic, switching off with the next band. Great time to play Break Up With Your Girlfriend, you thought as you slunk off stage and shot him a look. Real smooth. Bad song for the night.

And Party took that fucking song to heart. So you were jealous?

"Raven." The girl beside him sneered as you walked past, which in turn made Party choke on his drink. Raven was another title, though more derogatory, for a killjoy who was a bad omen. Brought bad luck. Got people killed.

And then, like the Synthetic Animal you were, you lunged. The fight was bloody, killjoys cheering for the two women on the ground. And Party didn't do anything. He just watched, with this fucked up half grin, like he had been watching for it.

Waiting for you to snap. To get violent. To live up to your names.

To maybe end up as his Diamond. The fab four could be five, he thought as Ghoul cackled and threw 8 carbons down on the pool table for a bet with Kobra Kid.

"You're totally fuckin Tumbled for her dude! You can't deny this shit any longer- That girl ain't no Solitary Host. That's your future Favorite fuckin Record bashing that girls- oh fuck, she's actually bashing her head against the chair! No fucking way!" Ghoul started teasing, but immediately burst out into laughter at the display of violence.

"Tumbled is a reach. Maybe she just reminds me of the BiFrost with that white hair." Party sighed, leaning against the pool table.

"Tumbled, 100 fuckin percent, man. I know you, you've got fuck-me eyes when you look at her." Ghoul snickered, wiggling his eyebrows.

Party scoffed, but didn't deny it. He did look at you with Fuck-Me eyes.

"Brother of mine- advice from me and Jet? Go see if she'll let you clean up the blood on her." Partys brother, Kobra, leaned over and whispered as he gestured to you getting up and wiping the blood off your nose with a huff.