SebastianKLayer: переводы

→Chapter one: Whatever gets you trough the night
Once upon a time was a little girl much beloved by a team of heroes called the killjoys. They swore to protect her. And then a bloody battle broke out between the evil empire of Battery City and these rebels of the Desert. The Killjoys died. The Girl lived.

Radio: Look alive, sunshine! It's Dr. Death-Defying, in your speaker beater, revving up your morning engines. Your ear on the earth! Your cataract in the clouds! Something big went off late last night on the outskirts of Bat City. A B.L.I. bug bomb they call it, and the bodies keep popping-- But don't get all choked up over it. Get your mask on... Grab your friends.. And hold them close. 'Cuz we got no time for heroes... And no room for ghosts. BOO. Speaking of apparitions-- feeling a little lime green all in-be-tween? Tommy Chow Mein got his prickly little limbs on a new batch of Dupe-goop, for any still dealing with flash rash. Or, if you prefer to do the flashing... Upgrade your puritan blaster to "white hot" with today's lunch special. He's in room 4B of the paradise motel today. This message has been brought to you by Battery-powered exploders-- "Let the good times blow".

Girl: Hurry up. If we want to eat today, we're gonna have to see Chow Mein.

Radio: on a sadder note, and in the words of our most poetic D.J. Cherri Cola... It's been twelve years since the four-man banger cell gave their colors to end BLI's white cries. They called themselves killjoys.

Girl: Let's go.

Radio: today the guns don't sound the same, the colors that we now buy, and the clothes are all the wrong size... Yet we call ourselves killjoys. Empty spaces. Lost traces. Battery City races. Getting taller as our desert-- smaller. Dreams. Visions. Suicide missions. Anniversaries are lies if we forget why the confetti flies. This morning, before the mask hides your eyes and last night's blood dries, before the bodies at the roadside rise, send your thoughts to the sky in hopes that their memories weren't taken along with their lives-- And it looks like our two minutes of morning static is almost up. This slaughter-matic mouth needs to hit the red before I end up DJ'ing for the death.