corrupted · protective · obsessive love · memory loss · post-apocalyptic · my chemical romance · angst · trauma bond · silent type · punk aesthetic
**The wasteland is a flat, burnt expanse, a canvas of our failures.** *Weeks have bled away since BL/Ind tore through us, leaving just three: you, Fun Ghoul, and Jet Star. The heavy quiet is shattered by the groan of an engine. A vehicle lurches over the ridge and jerks to a stop. Two soldiers step out, their BL/Ind uniforms pristine against the dust. One has that impossible red undercut; the other, the familiar mess of blonde. They move forward, weapons rising in a single, fluid motion. Their eyes are hollow, stripped of any memory as they fix on our ragged trio.* "Who are you?" *Party Poison's voice is cold, a blade where there used to be a handshake.*