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There are many, many worlds where the Kobra Kid and his sibling, Party Poison, die in the center of Battery City. There are fewer where both of them escape. There are fewer still where only one of them escapes. Here is one.
“Kobra,” said Poison, because maybe they had been awake too long staring out at the sand, “You’d get her out, right?”
Kobra hummed a note- short, sharp, and inquisitive, because Poison had made a leap in their thinking that he had not been able to follow. It was rare, but it did happen.
“Just— if I got ghosted—” Poison backtracked, “The priority is the Girl, yeah? You won’t stop for me if it means the Girl might not get out?”
Abruptly, Kobra did not want to be sitting there listening to his sibling. He could think of twenty other, much more pressing tasks which needed to be done right now and somewhere else. He decided to neither leave nor respond.
“‘Cause you’d want me to do the same.” Poison elaborated. “I think.”
And that was true. If Kobra got dusted, he’d want Poison far away from there immediately, and preferably with the rest of the crew.
That just made sense, though. Poison-without-Kobra existed as a person, and was sitting next to him. Kobra-without-Poison was not someone who existed, and was not someone Kobra ever wanted to be.
“I s’pose so.” He said slowly, and then was quiet again.
“So if I get dusted—” Poison continued, a note of something indecipherable in their voice, “You’d keep going, yeah? You’d keep running?” They paused. “I don’t want—” They trailed off.
Kobra looked away from his sibling’s intense stare. I don’t want you to get ghosted, too, is what they hadn’t said.
“Promise me.” Poison said suddenly, shifting around to be back in Kobra’s line of sight.
"Fuck off.” Kobra told them.
"Shut the fuck up." Poison spat back. “Promise me. That our Girl’s more important. Say it.”
There are a few universes where Poison confronts their brother like this, makes him swear to value the Girl’s safety over their own.
In this one, the Kobra Kid swears it to them.
“I promise.” He said, pulling a knee up to his chest and turning his face away from Poison. They nodded, satisfied, and sat back.
Maybe he says it partly because the word love is so far out of their vocabulary. He loves eating something other than PowerPup, in this war-torn wasteland. He loves being around a fire at night. He loves going at top speed around the Crashtrack, blood screaming in his ears. Love is a feeling. It’s in-the-moment.
He says I promise because Poison says don’t die . And maybe neither of them knows how to love, in the end. But both of them know how to die, and how to say don’t die, and maybe that’s enough.
Kobra didn’t end up sleeping at all that night. He knew well that reactions take rehearsal, and he wasn’t about to go back on a promise. He couldn’t let his instincts betray him— so he spent the night going over this-and-that scenario, trying to press it into himself get the Girl and run. Get the Girl and keep. running. No matter what.
A promise holds power. Here is the only universe where three living Killjoys— only three Killjoys— and no more, no less— escape the innermost intestines of Battery City.
Poison goes down first. There is no other option; there is no world where Poison is second- third- or fourth-dead. They do not follow— they lead. They shoot a drac in the small of its back, grabbing its mask, which comes off in their hand far too easily, and for one reason or another, they freeze up (why doesn’t matter now. They froze up). They go reeling backwards and Kobra—
—and something in the core of the Kobra Kid lights up saying danger, danger, danger, and he turns around in time to see Scarecrow Korse grab his sibling by the shoulder—
—slamming them into a wall and his blaster is under their chin and—
—he’s tilting his head and a light flashes where blaster meets skin—
The Girl is screaming because something in the universe shifts to the side for the Kobra Kid. All of a sudden he’s nothing but himself— and he takes that loneliness and shoves it into the world’s tiniest empty can like the kind that holds PowerPup, and he seals that can and shoves it deep into the recesses of his brain, somewhere around the vicinity of the soft spot under his left ear, because that spot never itches so he never thinks about it. That takes only a moment— he’d decided to do that, decided how to do it that night Poison told him not to die— so he’s shooting a drac over the Girl’s head and grabbing her by the shoulder, turning toward the door again.
The Fun Ghoul’s already bounding over to them, Jet Star on his heels, shooting indiscriminately at the white tide behind them as Kobra forces the Girl to keep moving. Her face is a mask of shock that Kobra determinedly isn’t looking at.
Out the door, out the door, out the door— is what he’s looking at, and at the spot where he knows Dr. Death Defying and his crew will pull up in their van. His teeth are gritted hard enough that his jaw is creaking.
Jet takes over, grabbing the Kobra Kid’s hand and pulling the Girl out of his grasp, leading them both on. Ghoul’s taken over the job of sniper— never a good sign; Kobra whips his gun around to fire off a few shots.
Two priorities: out the door, and shoot BL/ind forces. Kobra is not thinking about beyond that.
Out the door. They’re at the door; Jet shoves it open, the Girl tumbling out behind him and Kobra behind them both. Kobra risks a glance behind. The Fun Ghoul’s face is set in a bad way; Kobra grabs its hand and pulls him through the door. It kicks the door closed behind them and Kobra does not look at the crumpled figure almost blocked out by dracs and Exterminators. He knows what it will look like. He’s seen death before.
(He’ll hate himself for not looking later; he’d hate himself if he looked anyway, though, so it’s a lose/lose situation. Right now he cannot stand to see his sibling’s head hanging like they’ve nodded off, only the liquid redder than their hair and dripping down their front belying their sleep. Better to hate himself than to freeze now. He can die later.)
Jet’s already grabbing the Girl’s hand again and tugging her onward. Kobra follows obediently, because the next priority is get to a vehicle.
The doors don’t stay closed. Nothing holds back the few dracs and Exterminators making their way out, but Kobra and Ghoul have steady enough aim to disable and/or kill a few. It’s enough to let them all get behind the ‘Am, its walls enough to shield them from the bolts.
There’s a moment of reprieve as Ghoul slides around to join the other— the other three. Kobra clenches his jaw a little harder, and then pops up to snipe at a drac. He misses, of course, but he does it again, and again, and then he gets it.
“Car or van?” Ghoul asks, and Kobra pauses long enough to figure out what that means. It’s Jet asking— of course it is, Jet doesn’t like to talk but Ghoul can read him best, especially when Kobra’s busy shooting— and he’s asking do we get into the car or do we wait for the radio crew’s van— the van which is pulling up next to the ‘Am.
It doesn’t take long for everyone to exchange a glance and solidify a plan. The Girl gets shoved by Ghoul into Show Pony’s arms as Jet yanks open the front passenger side door of the ‘Am; he launches himself into the driver’s seat, keeping his long body as small as possible to stay under the window level. The car’s starting up in another moment as Ghoul spins around and into the passenger seat. Kobra slides into the back and slams the door behind himself a moment after Ghoul’s door closes.
And then they’re peeling out behind the radio crew’s van, a lone drac shooting after them and catching nothing but the trunk of the ‘Am. Jet keeps his foot on the accelerator as Ghoul’s horrific giggling starts up, catching in its chest in a horrible way.
The Kobra Kid does not stop to breathe. If he stops he’ll suffocate.
Keep running.