So. Hi.

I have absolutely no idea where to put this story. It's on dA, but as I stated, that's a temporary home. Since there's no official website for massive multi-band crossovers, I figured, 'Why not put it here, in my home territory?' I hope it's in the right category, I hope the right people can find it-and most of all, I hope you enjoy it.

Real quick, for reference if you get confused:

~CHARACTERS~
Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Frank Iero, Ray Toro-My Chemical Romance
Billie Joe Armstrong, Mike Dirnt, Tre Cool-Green Day
Chester Bennington, Mike Shinoda, Rob Bourdon, Brad Delson, Phoenix Farrell, Joe Hahn-Linkin Park
Amy Lee, Terry Balsamo-Evanescece
Hayley Williams, Taylor York, Jeremy Davis-Paramore
Lacey Mosley-Flyleaf

You don't have to know all of them. In fact, you don't have to know anything about any of them or Killjoy-verse. I'm totally winging it on this story and hoping for the best.

Chapter 1: A System Failure for the Masses

December 20, 2012

A Bar in Los Angeles, California

5:30 PM

Gerard Way had a headache.

For fifteen minutes, his friends Frank Iero and Ray Toro had been arguing the validity of the apocalypse theory. At first, their arguments had made sense, but now, the two had resorted to juvenile name-calling.

Next to Gerard, his brother Mikey stared at his beer bottle boredly. Mikey, like Gerard, had lost interest in the conversation a while ago.

"Yeah, but with global warming and that heat wave tomorrow…" Frank burst out. Frank had always been both pessimistic and superstitious—not a good combination when dealing with end-of-the-world theories.

"Dude, it was like five thousand years ago when they said that," Ray refuted. "They probably ran out of room on the real calendar."

"What do you know about ancient history?" Frank sneered.

"More than you, I bet."

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

"Why do we hang out with you?" Mikey interrupted, lazily trailing his finger around the rim of his bottle. Mikey was the youngest of the four, but most likely the most mature too.

Gerard chuckled. He had just been wondering the exact same thing.

"So what do you propose we do, Frankie?" he smirked. "How should we save ourselves?"

"High ground," his friend responded. "It's the safest option."

"Oh yeah, let's have a picnic on top of fucking Hollywood Hill!" Mikey rolled his eyes. "That'll save us from the acid rain."

A devious smile spread across Gerard's face. "No, we should do it," he said.

Mikey, Ray and Frank whipped their heads around to stare incredulously at him.

"It'd be fun," Gerard continued. He could just imagine it: the four of them, sitting atop the famed Hollywood sign, drinking beer and watching the death of California. They'd get drunk, on alcohol and on violent excitement, and when the disaster was gone, they'd storm the broken city that used to be LA.

"Of course you'd wanna do that, Gee," Ray said. "You just want to break the rules."

It was true. Gerard Way hated rules, hated laws, and hated the norm. It didn't help that he was always being mislabeled as 'goth' or 'emo,' two stereotypes that he constantly tried to defy.

"So what if I do?" the teen smirked. "Doesn't mean we shouldn't do it. Do you honestly think the cops will be out to bust anyone's ass tomorrow?"

Gerard could see the other three were beginning to consider it. Frank had a smile that matched his own, and Ray was nodding. Even reserved Mikey had a slight grin as he stared off into space.

Yes, the four of them would definitely be on top of Hollywood Hill the next day. Gerard's lazy smirk grew into a full-blown, toothy grin. "Meet me at my place at midnight," he told his friends. "I swear you won't regret it."

Skyline Apartment Complex, Apartment 603

6:47PM

"Tré! Billie! Get your asses down here!" Mike Dirnt's voice rang though the small apartment the three men shared.

Tré Cool stuck his head out of a doorway. "Not so loud, man," he winced as he made his way over to the messy couch.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Hangover?"

"Yep." Tré slumped over, his head in Mike's lap and his feet hanging off the end of the couch. He was snoring a moment later.

Billie Joe Armstrong picked his friend's feet up and unceremoniously flung them to the floor, sitting in the vacated spot. Tré woke with a start, glaring at Billie.

"Yes, Mike?" Billie sang sweetly, avoiding Tré's dirty look.

"Look," Mike said, pointing the remote at the small television set. Onscreen, a blond woman was standing in front of a weather map of Southern California. The map was covered in red, with LA colored a deep maroon to indicate scorching weather.

"…late December, but temperatures will reach an all-time high of over one hundred and twenty degrees tomorrow," the newscaster predicted.

Billie swore under his breath.

"Is it the apocalypse, though? Of course not," she laughed. "Science has proved that there is no chance of anything out of the ordinary happening and certainly nothing with the potential to end—"

Click.

Billie held the remote out in front of him, his eyes still affixed to the blank screen.

"Fuck, man," Tré said loudly. "One-twenty. And we haven't had rain for, like, two years."

"Fires," Mike predicted gloomily.

The three friends stared at each other. They didn't believe in superstitions anymore than an average citizen, but they knew the signs of a catastrophe when they saw one.

"No fires in the desert," Billie said suddenly.

A slow smile spread across Mike's face. "Of course," he said. He stood abruptly. "Pack your bags, gentlemen—we're going on holiday."

Tré groaned. "For how long?"

"Forever," Mike smirked.

Williams Mansion, Beverly Hills

1:17 PM

Hayley Williams hummed happily along to the radio as she brushed her red hair and stared out the window. She could see almost all of Beverly Hills from her room on the top floor of her parents' mansion. Hayley didn't care very much about the events of tomorrow. She didn't worry, because eleven-year-old Hayley Williams lived a charmed life.

Hayley's father was an executive for an extremely successful record company based out of Los Angeles. Her mother was an heiress to a large oil fortune. Hayley, as the daughter of a pair of millionaires, was the definition of a spoiled rich kid.

Hayley's life was sheltered and perfect. She had anything she wanted: toys, pets, clothes, friends, you name it. At her school, she was a princess among the elite, the one every girl wanted to know and every boy had a shy fifth-grade crush on.

The young girl couldn't imagine anything that could shatter her perfect world. If her parents divorced, which was not uncommon for the elite, she would live with one or the other or maybe even both. If they moved, she would hate it, yes—but she'd charm everyone wherever she went. It wasn't that she was bragging, it was just a fact: everyone loved Hayley Williams.

The music ended, the radio switching to an announcement: "A heat wave warning is in effect for all of southern California," a monotone voice reported. And then, from the DJ: "Well, folks, looks like we're gonna end up cooking to death after all." He laughed in short staccato bursts that hurt Hayley's ears.

Hayley set down her blue hairbrush. Suddenly, her good mood had evaporated.

The Pacific Ocean

11:03 AM

Terence Balsamo waited in silence, perfectly still in the middle of the ocean. He had been there since early that morning, earlier than even the sun, and had been sitting there for four hours, waiting for a bite.

Terence, or Terry as he preferred to be called, might have lived by the Santa Monica pier, but that didn't make him rich or famous. It didn't even make him particularly well off. Terry was a fisherman, and that's all he ever wanted to be. He had a rowboat, and a motorboat for the days that he didn't feel like rowing. He lived in a small building—you could hardly call it a house—on a rocky peninsula, jutting far out from the shore and inaccessible except when the tide was low. His life was slow, calm and peaceful. Terry liked it that way.

Even better, he fished for a living, and Terry loved to fish. He had more fishing rods that he had pairs of shoes, and he sold his catch at the end of every day to a local grocery store. He made good money—not that he much cared. Terry didn't much care about anything anymore. He had stopped caring years ago.

Westchester High School, Westchester, Los Angeles

2:45 PM

A loud bell buzzed through the classroom noise, making a teenage girl who was asleep at her desk jerk her head off the cool top of the lab table. She looked around wildly for a moment, her icy blue eyes blinking blearily, before her sight landed on the boy next to her.

He laughed affectionately, smoothing down her long black hair. "Hey, sleeping beauty," he greeted her.

"Hey." Amy Lee smiled blissfully at her boyfriend. "Did I fall asleep again?"

"Yep," Chester Bennington told her. "But it's okay, you're pretty cute when you sleep."

Amy giggled lightly. "Liar. You're so generic, you know that?"

"I'm sorry if I can't think of an original compliment," Chester shot back, feigning hurt. "You're not the only tired one, you know."

His comment made Amy yawn, remembering her lack of sleep. Lazily, she got up from her seat and stretched. "At least school's over until next year," he told her brightly.

"If there is a next year," Amy joked.

"Pfft." Chester exhaled, his breath tickling Amy's arm. "Don't tell me you buy into that bullshit, Ames. You know that's just silly old legends."

Amy shook her head. "No, of course not!"

Chester studied her face, smirking.

Her shoulders drooped. "Okay, maybe. Just a little," she admitted.

He shook his head, smiling, and shouldered his bag. "C'mon, silly, let's get out of here." He intertwined his fingers with hers' and the couple exited into the bustling hallway.

"Y'know," Chester continued as they walked, "My parents are away this weekend." He looked at Amy meaningfully, and she blushed.

"I'd love to stay over," she crooned, and nestled her head into the crook of his neck.

If this were any other couple at school, those words would have held a lot less innocence and a lot more innuendo. But Amy and Chester weren't any other couple: they had been best friends for years before they had become an item, and their relationship still held that friendly tone. Amy had slept over at her boyfriend's house multiple times before without the two having sex.

"But Chaz…" Amy looked up at her boyfriend, her eyes wide. "Can we stay in the basement? Just in case, you know, the world does end?"

Chester burst into laughter, his free hand reaching up to ruffle Amy's hair. But in truth, he couldn't resist those big, blue eyes. "If that's what you want," he said, pulling her closer.

A Carnival Cruise Ship, off the Coast of California

10:32 AM

"And he was all like, 'What's your sign, baby,' and I was all, 'Eww, STFU!' Like, seriously, who even says that anymore?"

"Like, ohmygosh I know!"

"And then—oh my God, Jaclyn, you won't believe this!..."

Lacey Mosley groaned and pushed her ear buds farther into her ears. No matter how loud she turned up her iPod, she couldn't drown out Kim and Jaclyn's incessant nattering.

Maybe if Lacey had been a normal girl, she would've been able to appreciate the fact that Kim and Jaclyn were two rising Hollywood starlets who were at that moment discussing the secret lives of Hollywood's innermost circle. But she had grown so used to rubbing elbows with the rich and famous that she had stopped caring long ago.

Unable to block the chatter, and with a quickly rising temper, Lacey stood, grabbed her towel and retreated to the interior of the cruise ship. Lying in the sun too long would probably give her melanoma, anyway.

Every year, Lacey's parents planned their 'Christmas getaway'—three weeks on a cruise off the coast of California, where they lived. Every year, Lacey protested, saying she would rather spend Christmas with one of her few true friends than with her fake, plastic family. And every year, she was dragged along, regardless of what she wanted.

Lacey was the reluctant, rebellious daughter of a retired model and a famous movie director, and she had grown up in the spotlight. She was always being followed by cameras and it was not unusual for her to open a tabloid and find herself staring at her own face.

It didn't help her self-esteem that Lacey was always being overlooked by her own parents, either. It was obvious to everyone that they preferred her perfect elder sister, Hannah. Hannah was beach-blonde and gorgeous, even without the heavy makeup she always wore. She had begun modeling at age five.

Lacey wanted no part of her family's life—in fact, she rebelled against it. She purposely allowed paparazzi to take pictures of her looking like a street urchin. She insisted on going to a local public school instead of Hannah's elite prep school in Beverly Hills and she refused to act, sing, model or any other career that would be typical of an already famous teenager.

Sometimes, Lacey considered running away. The environment of Los Angeles was stifling to her, a pressure-cooked city of washed up celebrities and idiotic young pop icons. But then she realized it was futile. She was so well-known, she would be recognized within the first day and dragged back home.

There was no way out. Lacey Mosley was stuck living a life she didn't want.

Spaceland Rock Club, Downtown Los Angeles

10:21 PM

Mike Shinoda peered into the crowd that had gathered in the small, dimly-lit club. He couldn't be sure, but they seemed to be enjoying the music.

Mike smiled to himself, pleased that his band's efforts were not going unnoticed, and turned to the curly-haired man standing next to him. "Fuse," he told Brad Delson, and the guitarist nodded.

This was what Mike lived for: playing to the fans of LA's small but enthusiastic underground music scene. His band, Xero, had a small cult following that grew with every show. He and his best friends were barely scraping by, but they were loving every second of it.

Somewhere behind him, Rob Bourdon pounded enthusiastically on his drums. Phoenix Farrell began to play the bass line, and Joe Hahn spun discs like a boss.

Mike grabbed his microphone from the stand and began to rap while the audience cheered. "Krypton, short suit MCs you'll be ripped on," he chanted. "You fell off and it's my lyric sheet you just slipped on!"

The young Asian man closed his eyes and lost himself in the atmosphere of the music. The crowd roared happily, and Mike Shinoda thrived.

"Thank you," he called out at the end of the song. "Thank you so much, guys. We love you." He opened his eyes again, dragged back into reality. Tonight, he would go home, to the tiny apartment that the five of them shared, and they would practice. And tomorrow, they would be even better.

The Way Residence, Suburban Los Angeles

11:49 PM

"Are we seriously gonna go through with this?" Mikey asked dubiously. His face was illuminated only by the light of his glowing alarm clock.

Gerard stood over his sleepy brother, shouldering a backpack and dressed completely in black. His messy black hair flopped over one eye.

"C'mon, Mikey, don't be a spoilsport," he teased. He chucked a hooded sweatshirt at the younger teen. "Just get dressed. The others will be here in ten minutes."

Mikey groaned and rolled over, flinging his legs off the side of the bed. "You're crazy," he muttered, pulling on the sweatshirt.

Gerard grinned and mussed Mikey's hair. "I knew you'd agree in the end."

He stepped over to a window and began cranking it open. Long ago, Gerard and Mikey had found out it was the only exit point in the house that wasn't covered by the elaborate security system their parents had installed—not to keep others out, but to keep them in.

"Rope," Gerard said, holding out his hand. Mikey threw him the nylon cord they kept for sneaking out.

With the preciseness of someone who had done it a thousand times before, Gerard threw the rope out the window and waited for the thud of contact. Mikey secured it, and Gerard heaved himself over the windowsill, holding tight.

He let himself hang there for a moment, twenty feet above the ground. A soft breeze ruffled his hair, and the boy relished the moment, the experience of breaking the rules. Then he began to slide down the rope carefully.

"Alright!" He called up to his brother. Three objects landed at his feet in quick succession: his backpack, Mikey's satchel, and a twenty-four pack of beer.

Mikey dropped to his feet in front of Gerard, tugged the rope, and carefully began to coil it while the pair snuck around the house to the street lamp where two other figures stood, illuminated.

Gerard grinned.

"Are we really gonna do this?" was the first thing Ray asked.

"Everybody's doubting me tonight," Gerard responded. "And of course we are." When Ray and Mikey rolled their eyes, he reminded them, "Hey, it was Frank's idea!"

"Oh, thanks," Frank griped.

"Do you take it back?" Gerard raised an eyebrow.

Frank sighed and hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulder. "Let's just get on with it."

Route 15, Suburban Los Angeles

8:07 PM

"I can't believe you're making me do this," Tré grumbled. "This is the worst idea you've ever had."

Billie and Mike ignored him. Mike twiddled the dial on the radio, turning it to a rock station, while Billie steered their old convertible Corvette onto the freeway.

"How long are we planning to live in the desert?" he continued from the cramped backseat. "Because you do realize we can't stay in an abandoned warehouse forever."

"Well, obviously." Mike rolled his eyes. "Just, you know, a couple weeks. Till we get bored of it."

"I'm already bored of it," he complained, but Billie spun the volume dial and the music began to blare over his voice.

Billie laughed joyously, his spiked black hair flattened by the wind rushing by his head. The freeway was surprisingly empty, so he pressed the gas pedal closer to the floor and the car sped forward—out of the city and into Death Valley.

About a year ago, Billie, Tré and Mike had been bored. They had just gotten their car and they wanted to explore the places around their city that they hadn't been to before. It was Tré's bright idea and Tré behind the wheel when the three first entered the desert. Half an hour into it, Tré had become bored, but Billie saw something in the distance and persuaded Mike to drive towards it. Finally, four hours into their expedition, they had found an abandoned, completely empty, two story warehouse sitting in the middle of nowhere in near-perfect condition. Shocked at their discovery they had spent the entire day there and revisited it a few more times, but hadn't made an effort to make it any friendlier—and had certainly never stayed overnight there before. Until now, that is.

In the trunk of the car was a battery-operated TV, radio and stereo, along with a month's supply of food and clothes and air mattresses. Their plan was to wait out any coming disaster in the safest place they could think of.

Of course, it was also the least likely place someone would look for them if they went missing.

This is what ran through Billie's head as he drove. He told himself that they were doing it for kicks, that it was just an idle amusement for a few unemployed guys over a family-less Christmas break. But deep down, he knew it was far more than that.

Edgar Wesley-Moran Academy, Beverly Hills, California

December 21st, 11:46 AM

Hayley disliked school. She liked the people at school, and the people at school loved her—but she disliked sitting in a state-of-the-art classroom all day, listening to a stuffy, overpaid teacher drone on about mundane fifth-grade lessons.

It was tedious for her, the same thing day after day, never changing. Sometimes, she wished something very drastic would happen—a flood, a lack of power, a medical emergency, or something else equally interesting. Thankfully, today she didn't wish that.

The teachers did not lecture today. Instead, they let their protégés socialize. It was the last day of school before winter break, and with the students so highly excitable and the temperature so uncannily high, they simply couldn't keep a class in line.

"Truth or dare?" Katy, one of Hayley's close friends, leaned forward and stared at Hayley excitedly. The circle was completed by a few of her other admirers: Demi, Selena and Justine.

"Dare." Hayley grinned. She, as usual, was too full of nervous energy to sit still given the chance to execute a risky dare.

"I dare you…" Katy paused, tapping her purple fingernails against her chin. She leaned over to confer with Demi on her right before smiling devilishly. "I dare you to go into the boys' bathroom!"

"Oooh!" Demi, Selena and Justine chorused, and Katy smiled, proud to have elicited such a reaction from the rest of the school's most powerful.

Hayley grinned. She had always loved a challenge, and this was one she couldn't dare to pass up.

While their teacher's back was turned, the five girls snuck out into the hallway, giggling happily. Hayley led her troop like a war general leading an army. She paused outside the door to the bathrooms, grinning slyly at her friends, before pushing the door open and stepping in.

The Pacific Ocean

5:03 AM

Terry watched the waves calmly on December 21st. He observed the way they rose and fell in the bare, stark light of early morning. He watched as they crested and washed out, rocking his little boat gently.

But Terry was unsettled by the waves as much as he was calmed by them. After so many years of living on the ocean, he knew the patterns of the sea as well as he knew the back of his hand. And therefore, he knew that today, the patterns weren't the same.

Terry hadn't caught anything all day. It was as if all the life in the ocean had retreated to the bottom, hiding from some impending disaster foretold by the disturbance in the waves.

With a heavy sigh and an empty boat, Terry steered his craft back to the shoreline. Whatever was wrong with the ocean today, he wasn't sure he wanted to be around long enough to find out.

The Bennington Residence, Westchester, Los Angeles, California

2:32 AM

Deep in Chester Bennington's basement, the only two people in the large house laid together, their faces barely illuminated by the lit TV in front of them.

Chester's arms were lightly draped around his girlfriend, and Amy was fairly sure he had fallen asleep—his slow, steady breathing had become more rhythmic as he drifted off. They had made dinner together that evening and then came down to the basement, where Chester, true to his word, had set up an air mattress for the pair.

The movie they had been watching had ended fifteen minutes ago, but Amy hadn't wanted to disturb her sleeping boyfriend by turning off the television. Her mind was still buzzing. Somehow, she couldn't calm down, no matter how peaceful the current situation was.

Amy slowly slid her arm out from under Chester's, careful not to wake him, and reached for the remote. Muting the sound, she clicked through the channels lazily. She flipped past a car show, an infomercial, a rerun of South Park, and a news show. Then, her eyes widening, she reversed the channel back to the late-night local news.

"Chester," she whispered. Then, louder, "Chester!"

"Huh?" The teenage boy grunted, blinking blearily. Amy's eyes were still glued to the screen as his vision came into focus.

"What is it, Amy?" he asked, more conscious now. He fumbled for his glasses by his head.

Her lips parted, and she tried to speak, but found her mouth was too dry. Swallowing, she mouthed one word, almost silently:

"Fire."