Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Fallen Angels
Somewhere outside of this world as we know it, in another one that looks vaguely like it, yet vastly different, a man takes off his headset, and unusual thing that looked like headphones with a microphone jutting out the side, and a holographic display that sat right at eye level, just like a pair of glasses. He slammed it onto the desk in front of him, before running his hands through his unruly black hair.
The man gets up, swearing under his breath, and walks out of the tiny cubicle. All there was in it was a small table, not more than 3 feet long by 2 feet wide and a very cushy armchair. He walks down several hallways, passing hundreds or maybe thousands of cubicles similar to the one he had just emerged from. Finally he came to a door leading to the outside balcony, and threw it open, stepping outside. He could see the entire city, hell, the entire district below him, so many dearly departed going about their afterlives. With another sigh, the man digs into his pockets, emerging with a battered up pack of cigarettes.
"You always say you're going to stop that." A mans voice said.
"Not a good time, Frank."
"Gerard?"
"Eh?"
"What happened?"
Gerard lit the cancer stick, taking a long drag off it, before saying with a puff of smoke, "I couldn't stop him, Frank. I tried, I tried everything, but he still did it!" At the end, he slammed his fist into the metal railing of the balcony in frustration.
"Gerard, you're not the first to be unable to save someone. Hell, the way this is, where all you can do is see and hear and talk, there's nothing much that you can do. I mean, I heard that way back when there used to be a way to take control of these people's bodies, and stop them from doing whatever i was they're planning to do."
"I wish we still had that." The elder of the two said bitterly.
"I heard that they might be reimplementing it..." Frank said offhandedly, hoping he wasn't giving away too much. He liked his wings just where they were, thank you very much! He didn't want to have them torn off and be cast back onto earth even more useless than he was here.
"Why the fuck did they get rid of it in the first place?"
"Cause there were some sick ass fucks out there using it to their own personal gain." Frank said, stealing Gerard's cigarette and taking a drag off it himself.
They were interrupted by the door opening and one of the messengers stepping out to join them. As technologically advanced as they were, they apparently haven't invented the P.A. system. That, or they didn't want to interrupt the other people who were assigned to the same task as Gerard every time it went off.
"Gerard?" the messenger asked.
"What?"
"I heard about what happened, and I'm sorry. It wouldn't have happened if they still allowed some of the things they did a while back... But the director wants to see you in his office to talk to you about it..." She said, sounding almost regretful.
"Fucker better not piss me off." Gerard muttered, flipping the remnants of his smoke over the side of the balcony. The girl allowed a faint smile to curl up one side of her mouth, before saying, "Alright, follow me."
After following the messenger for quite some time through the outlandishly large building, Gerard found himself outside of the District Director's office. On the way, the two didn't speak. She knew that there was nothing that she could say to make him feel better, and he probably didn't want to hear it anyways. Outside the door, before she left him to carry on with her duties, she paused. Their eyes met, and a look of understanding passed between them.
"You did everything that you could have." She said. Even so, Gerard didn't feel that way. But he wasn't about to say it. She disappeared around the corner, soft footsteps fading away near instantly. He stepped forward, placing one slender white hand on the doorknob in front of him.
Taking a deep breath, Gerard entered the room. The far wall was entirely made of glass, providing a fantastic view of the city that glowed slightly orangey-red. As spacious as the room was, it was damn near empty. A pair of filing cabinets nested in the furthest corner from the door, and a coat rack with a single coat on it stood to the left of the door. Said coat had a very large, rather spoon shaped hood on it.
The center of the room was dominated by a large desk, a glass and steel monstrosity. The top, too, was nearly entirely bare, with several folders in a neat stack in the corner being the only things on it, aside from the Director's feet, clad in very pointy boots, the toes curling in a way reminiscent of elf shoes.
The Director's nose was buried deep in a manilla folder similar to the ones on the corner of his desk. After several tense moments, the folder was shut with a snap and unceremoniously tossed onto the desk with a plopping noise. Gerard was now face to face with one Nnoitra Jiruga, sans spoon hood. His heart was pounding out of his chest. The taller man opened his mouth, showing off his piano-like teeth, and asked, "What the hell happened Gerard?"
Gerard's mouth opened and closed stupidly like a fish out of water. "For the record, I'm not pissed." Nnoitra said. "You're not?" Gerard asked. It came as a surprise to him, especially knowing the Director's short temper.
"For now, no. I just fuckin wanna know what the fuckin fuck happened. The records they keep fuckin suck fuckin ass. I'm at the fuckin point of fuckin switching the fuckin messengers with the fuckin record keepers. At fuckin least they fuckin know fuckin when to fuckin write something the fuck down.
"W-what did it say?" Gerard asked, finally finding his voice.
"Pretty fuckin vague just "failure to protect". Fuckin failure my fuckin ass! Fuckin bureaucratic ass shit! They should fuckin know that there's fuckin only so fuckin much that a fuckin disembodied voice can fuckin do to fuckin stop someone fuckin hellbent on fuckin doing something." Nnoitra said. Luckily for Gerard, it seemed like Nnoitra's rage was directed more at the record keepers and the people who prevented the shorter man from doing more, than the person standing in front of him.
"But I did all I could! I said don't do it, tried talking him out of it, said it'd get better... I did everything!" Gerard raged.
Nnoitra winced. Normally, he was the one doing the raging, while the other person was cringing, not the other way around. "Listen Gerard, it's fuckin fine, I'll fuckin deal with all the fuckin paperwork, you just fuckin take some fuckin time off."
The shorter of the two walked out, not needing to be told twice. Meanwhile, Nnoitra yelled, "Tes-LA! Get me some fuckin coffee! I need my fuckin caffeine fix!"
His poor secretary, Tesla, scuttled off to get a pot of the steaming liquid, before the Director decided to go looking for the coffee himself, and cause more of a problem around the area.
The man gets up, swearing under his breath, and walks out of the tiny cubicle. All there was in it was a small table, not more than 3 feet long by 2 feet wide and a very cushy armchair. He walks down several hallways, passing hundreds or maybe thousands of cubicles similar to the one he had just emerged from. Finally he came to a door leading to the outside balcony, and threw it open, stepping outside. He could see the entire city, hell, the entire district below him, so many dearly departed going about their afterlives. With another sigh, the man digs into his pockets, emerging with a battered up pack of cigarettes.
"You always say you're going to stop that." A mans voice said.
"Not a good time, Frank."
"Gerard?"
"Eh?"
"What happened?"
Gerard lit the cancer stick, taking a long drag off it, before saying with a puff of smoke, "I couldn't stop him, Frank. I tried, I tried everything, but he still did it!" At the end, he slammed his fist into the metal railing of the balcony in frustration.
"Gerard, you're not the first to be unable to save someone. Hell, the way this is, where all you can do is see and hear and talk, there's nothing much that you can do. I mean, I heard that way back when there used to be a way to take control of these people's bodies, and stop them from doing whatever i was they're planning to do."
"I wish we still had that." The elder of the two said bitterly.
"I heard that they might be reimplementing it..." Frank said offhandedly, hoping he wasn't giving away too much. He liked his wings just where they were, thank you very much! He didn't want to have them torn off and be cast back onto earth even more useless than he was here.
"Why the fuck did they get rid of it in the first place?"
"Cause there were some sick ass fucks out there using it to their own personal gain." Frank said, stealing Gerard's cigarette and taking a drag off it himself.
They were interrupted by the door opening and one of the messengers stepping out to join them. As technologically advanced as they were, they apparently haven't invented the P.A. system. That, or they didn't want to interrupt the other people who were assigned to the same task as Gerard every time it went off.
"Gerard?" the messenger asked.
"What?"
"I heard about what happened, and I'm sorry. It wouldn't have happened if they still allowed some of the things they did a while back... But the director wants to see you in his office to talk to you about it..." She said, sounding almost regretful.
"Fucker better not piss me off." Gerard muttered, flipping the remnants of his smoke over the side of the balcony. The girl allowed a faint smile to curl up one side of her mouth, before saying, "Alright, follow me."
After following the messenger for quite some time through the outlandishly large building, Gerard found himself outside of the District Director's office. On the way, the two didn't speak. She knew that there was nothing that she could say to make him feel better, and he probably didn't want to hear it anyways. Outside the door, before she left him to carry on with her duties, she paused. Their eyes met, and a look of understanding passed between them.
"You did everything that you could have." She said. Even so, Gerard didn't feel that way. But he wasn't about to say it. She disappeared around the corner, soft footsteps fading away near instantly. He stepped forward, placing one slender white hand on the doorknob in front of him.
Taking a deep breath, Gerard entered the room. The far wall was entirely made of glass, providing a fantastic view of the city that glowed slightly orangey-red. As spacious as the room was, it was damn near empty. A pair of filing cabinets nested in the furthest corner from the door, and a coat rack with a single coat on it stood to the left of the door. Said coat had a very large, rather spoon shaped hood on it.
The center of the room was dominated by a large desk, a glass and steel monstrosity. The top, too, was nearly entirely bare, with several folders in a neat stack in the corner being the only things on it, aside from the Director's feet, clad in very pointy boots, the toes curling in a way reminiscent of elf shoes.
The Director's nose was buried deep in a manilla folder similar to the ones on the corner of his desk. After several tense moments, the folder was shut with a snap and unceremoniously tossed onto the desk with a plopping noise. Gerard was now face to face with one Nnoitra Jiruga, sans spoon hood. His heart was pounding out of his chest. The taller man opened his mouth, showing off his piano-like teeth, and asked, "What the hell happened Gerard?"
Gerard's mouth opened and closed stupidly like a fish out of water. "For the record, I'm not pissed." Nnoitra said. "You're not?" Gerard asked. It came as a surprise to him, especially knowing the Director's short temper.
"For now, no. I just fuckin wanna know what the fuckin fuck happened. The records they keep fuckin suck fuckin ass. I'm at the fuckin point of fuckin switching the fuckin messengers with the fuckin record keepers. At fuckin least they fuckin know fuckin when to fuckin write something the fuck down.
"W-what did it say?" Gerard asked, finally finding his voice.
"Pretty fuckin vague just "failure to protect". Fuckin failure my fuckin ass! Fuckin bureaucratic ass shit! They should fuckin know that there's fuckin only so fuckin much that a fuckin disembodied voice can fuckin do to fuckin stop someone fuckin hellbent on fuckin doing something." Nnoitra said. Luckily for Gerard, it seemed like Nnoitra's rage was directed more at the record keepers and the people who prevented the shorter man from doing more, than the person standing in front of him.
"But I did all I could! I said don't do it, tried talking him out of it, said it'd get better... I did everything!" Gerard raged.
Nnoitra winced. Normally, he was the one doing the raging, while the other person was cringing, not the other way around. "Listen Gerard, it's fuckin fine, I'll fuckin deal with all the fuckin paperwork, you just fuckin take some fuckin time off."
The shorter of the two walked out, not needing to be told twice. Meanwhile, Nnoitra yelled, "Tes-LA! Get me some fuckin coffee! I need my fuckin caffeine fix!"
His poor secretary, Tesla, scuttled off to get a pot of the steaming liquid, before the Director decided to go looking for the coffee himself, and cause more of a problem around the area.
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