FicWad

It was a room. Cream carpet, cream wallpaper. Just like any standard room in a new house. Completely empty. No windows, and no doors. Completely sealed. A single light bulb. And in this room, were five bodies lined on the floor, all of them unconscious. Billie Joe Armstrong, his girlfriend Kay Tangora, Marilyn Manson, and Gerard Way and Frank Iero. Five random people, four of them famous. Lying on this floor drugged for no known reason.

Gerard was the first to wake. “What?” he said out loud, in a slightly slurred voice. “Frank?” he asked, reaching out to try and grasp his unconscious boyfriend. “What the fuck?” he said, louder this time. Regaining sobriety. “What the fuck.” he repeated, dread filling his stomach. His insides felt like they were caving in. He looked down at the bodies around him, his mind too jumbled to think. “Fuck.” he said, again.
A deep, scratchy voice asked, “Do you mind?”
Gerard looked around for its source. Finally his eyes fell upon a man, definitely familiar, sat up at the other end of the room. “Are you just going to lie there or can you actually tell me what the fuck's going on?” drawled the voice.
“What? I don't?” Gerard started.
“You look familiar. That guy from that band? Y'know, The Chemically Romantics is it?” the voice cut in. “What? Um, yeah, yeah, but what the fuck is going on?” Gerard replied, his brain not grasping any memory of said band. “You tell me.” The voice replied.

Gerard looked at the voice's owner more carefully. Masses of black eyeliner were messily smudged around the general area of the man's eyes. His face had the remnants of white foundation, and his jet black hair was shaved at one side. He wore chunky black combat boots, fading black jeans, and a plain black t-shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing tattoos.”Oh my god,” Gerard's brain clicked into place, “You're Marilyn Manson.” he finished.
“Congratulations.” Manson said, clapping sarcastically. “Now I've had the pleasure of meeting you, would you like to help me find out what the fuck is going on?” he asked, his voice dripping with annoyance. “First, we work out who these guys are.” Manson said, after silence from Gerard.
Manson scanned the bodies on the floor. “Now that,” he nodded his head towards Billie, “Is that guy from Green Day. This is fucking weird.” he finished. Gerard nodded, speechless.
“That's Frank.” Gerard said, pointing to his boyfriend.
“Okay.” Manson replied, rolling his eyes. “And that,” he tapped Kay with his foot, “Is an unidentified female.” he finished.

Gerard watched Frank whilst Manson's eyes scanned the room that they were in. “Looks like we're fucked.” he stated, his comment falling ignored by Gerard. They were interrupted by Billie's voice.
“The fuck is this?” he asked, before placing his hands on his throbbing head.
“I don't know, at first I thought it was the aftermath of a particularly insane party, but now I've deduced that we're probably pawns in some sick fuck's fantasy. Most likely a fan. I mean a fan of really shit music. Shallow emo shit, sell-out pretty-boy punk, then my superior genre of the wonder that is shock rock.” Manson said.
“Holy shit. Come again?” Billie asked, too confused to register the insult. Manson sighed.
“Nevermind. Do you know who that girl is?” Manson asked, referring to Kay.
“Yeah, uh, that's my girlfriend. Shit Kay, are you alright?” Billie replied, his attention falling on the unconscious blue haired girl lying beside him. She groaned in response, her eyes squinting. Frank stirred at the same time.

“Well isn't this delightful.” Manson commented, his eyes rolling back into his skull. The other four people in the room were distracted by their significant others. As hugs and worried murmuring were exchanged, Manson touched the walls, seeking an exit. His searching was pointless. The small vent in the top corner of the room was too high up for even him to reach. He punched the wall in frustration, a small action which contradicted his calm facade. The small camera positioned inside the vent remained unnoticed.

The camera stream was depicted on a small computer monitor situated in the bedroom of Arlo Mayerling, a 32 year old outcast. He lived in a forlorn old farmhouse, left dilapidated and the interior stuck in a 70's time-warp. The house originally belonged to his grandparents, but he was sent to live there with his sister after his parents died suddenly and tragically. He was 14 at the time, and his sister Darjeane was just 3 years old. His grandfather Archie died shortly after, despite being a relatively young age. His grandmother Olive died just 5 years ago. No-one knew what happened to Darjeane.

Arlo sat hunched over his computer. He let out an unsettling laugh as he watched the well-hidden anguish on Manson's face as he failed to find an exit. Arlo enjoyed watching the pain of the other four as well, their crying causing him to erupt in maniacal laughter. He took great joy in thinking that all this was taking place in the chamber just under the barn in the field next to the house. But their pain was nothing on what was to come.