Adrenaline Sisters// fall out boy & my chemical romance

Chapter 2: The Aftermath Is Secondary

||First Person|| Revolution||

I watch cautiously as my sister gives in to the bargain that those... colourful boys struck with her. Well, I shouldn't exactly say boys because they could have been as old as my dad. I don't remember anything about my dad.

Everything is hazy for me and Bomb. Our memories from before, from when we were littler than the age of 15 and 17, are gone. It feels as if someone went into my head and just locked away most of the things that were from my past. It's a miracle that I was even able to remember who my sister is, even though the only thing that I can remember about her is from after we were leaving home, her face streaked with dirt and grime. I don't know what happened to our parents(if they were even there anymore) and what it was that landed us here, hiding out in an abandoned, bullet hole-ridden shack with no food left in our packs and Silencers on our tails. I have to admit it, I'm starving hungry for just something to eat, and I'm starting to feel the effects of Adrenaline dwindling. Bomb and I are going to have to shoot up again soon, but our supply is starting to run low. We normally can't afford to buy much, but practically every household has a bottle or two hidden in the bedroom which is where most of our supply comes from. The bottles aren't too big, but they're filled with enough for a few shots. We normally take it twice a day and run through a couple within a week. Bomb told me that it was supposed to keep us confident in our abilities, because fear is never the way to go in the world we're in. These people- they're after us. Bomb and I aren't exactly sure why the Silencers keep chasing us, but you don't necessarily have that much time to ask questions when the business ends when guns are being pointed at you. I can't even begin to count how many times people have screwed us over in the past six years, trying to do anything to kill us or worse- capture us. We're older now, we're smarter. Though I'm only fifteen years old, I'm not that scared nine-year-old running through the streets with my eleven-year-old sister in the hopes that somebody would help us. Nobody did help us. They just wanted to hurt us, and in a world where everyone is out for blood, we had to adjust.

I don't like killing people. It sounds funny of me to say this, especially when people are trying their absolute best to do that to me- us, but it makes me uncomfortable. I can't remember much about that day that Bomb and I ran away from home except for one thing that no drug could make you forget; I murdered somebody. My memory is fuzzy because I'm what you'd call an absentminded, negative, drug addict that has all too much trouble remembering what I ate for breakfast a few days ago, but I can't forget that feeling of pulling the trigger of a gun and shooting another human to their death. I comb through my memories in the hope that I'd be able to remember who it even was, but the drug is a blessing in that way. I don't have to know, do I? But ever since Bomb and I set out on our own and learned that the world isn't exactly the kindest place for people like us, the Pure, we vowed that not another person would die at our hands.

The Pure is a funny thing to call us, especially since nobody alive at this point is anywhere close to that, but our brains aren't tampered with. I don't know exactly how it's gotten around, but it has something to do with corruption coming from the higher ups. The ones that are infected or corrupted are typically referred to as demons because they're out for blood. Their eyes reflect a demonic shade of yellow, the main sign that they're gone, and they're extremely violent. The lucky few that have this problem and are able to let it go by in episodes that are referred to as tantrums because of the hostility they show tend to work with the rebels in the hopes that one day they'd be cured of it. Bomb and I have run into a couple of Infecteds that were fully blown corrupt, far past what's called the Gone. They aren't very kind to people like us- especially us.

I cross my arms defensively over my chest as Bomb looks back out the shattered window to the men with names more ridiculous than our own. "Deal." She finally says, looking back at me. She shrugs her shoulders at me. "They have food, Rev." Bomb says in a softer tone, trying her best to console me.