four ; frerard

2

Frank woke to a sharp pain slamming into his cheek.

"Wake up, you sonofabitch," said an unfamiliar voice. Male. Raspy. Definitely from Jersey.

Frank blinked, harsh light attacking his eyes. "Wha..."

"I'll slap you again if I have—Oh. You're awake." The speaker—a guy, with black hair that grazed the base of his neck, pale skin, and some of the prettiest hazel eyes Frank had ever seen—almost sounded disappointed. He had a gun in hand.

That fact definitely woke Frank up. "What do you want from me?" He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a migraine coming on. "Who are you?"

"You're really in no position to be asking questions here," the man said pointedly.

Hence Frank's wrists, bound behind him, around the back of a metal chair. Which he somehow hadn't noticed until then.

He took in his surroundings. Bright white fluorescent lighting overhead, which explained the near-blindness he'd experienced when waking up. He seemed to be in a basement, with grey walls and a few crates and boxes scattered in a corner. There was an open door behind the speaker.

There was another man beside the speaker, in a metal chair Frank assumes was the twin to his own. His arms were folded across his chest. The two men had a resemblance to each other, in a way--in their eyes, perhaps. There was definitely contrast between the two, though. The seated one had shorter black hair, sharper features, longer legs.

The look he was giving Frank was the epitome of absolute loathing.

Frank eyed the gun in the first man's hand and gulped. "Who are you people and why am I here?"

"I just told you not to ask questions," said the speaker crossly. "But fine. The name's Gerard Way, and this here is—"

"No," snapped the man in the chair, switching his glare to the speaker—Gerard—for a second.

"It's not like he's gonna be able to tell anyone," Gerard said loftily, "since he's gonna die and all. I don't know what your problem is."

The other man said nothing.

Gerard huffed. "Anyways, you're here because yesterday, you stabbed one of our guys and, consequently, just pissed off the most dangerous gang in Jersey."

The most dangerous gang in Jersey... Frank's eyes widened with the realisation. "You're the Killjoys."

"Yup!" said Gerard, smiling, which was terrifying with the gun in his hand.

Oh, shit. These guys had a different murder case each week.

"I stabbed him because he killed my girlfriend," said Frank carefully, "which I'd like to know, why exactly did that happened?"

"You're asking an awful lot of questions." Gerard have his companion a look, like, Can you believe this guy? When he didn't react, Gerard sighed and explained, "Her dad owed our boss a lot of money. That was a little incentive."

"Why--"

"I'm done humouring you." Gerard shrugged, as if to say Sorry!. Then his tone shifted to something resembling joy. "What is it our guy did to your girlfriend, exactly? Oh, that's right--bullet through the skull. Which is what'll happen to you if you don't cooperate."

The man in the chair muttered something Frank didn't catch.

"You've got two options," continued Gerard. "You either leave this place as one of us... or you don't leave this place alive."

One of them. That meant joining the people who had killed his Jami, which was not an option. Dying wasn't exactly an option either, though.

Which meant he had to at least try the unspoken third option--escape with his life and liberty.

"Look, about the guy," he said, stalling for time as he tested the bond around his wrists. It felt like it was ripped from a piece of clothing. He should be able to loosen it enough to get out. "I'm not sorry I killed him. He was really asking for it—"

"He's not dead!" snapped the man in the chair, shocking both Frank and Gerard. "Not yet... He's not..." His voice broke, and he leaned back again. He kept his gaze trained on the floor, eyes bright.

Gerard just looked irritated. "Mikes here is just sad because you landed his fuck buddy in fatal condition."

"Will you shut up?!" 'Mikes' said loudly, starting to stand up.

"Well, I'm sorry your little boy toy's reflexes are so lacking--"

"He's not my boy toy."

"Oh, that's right." Gerard laughed. "If anyone here's the toy, it's you, what with how much he likes toying with your emotions."

It was obvious Gerard hit a sore spot. The other man sat back down, defeated.

But Gerard wouldn't stop. "Good thing he's gonna die, huh, Mikey? You won't have to deal with him anymore. Though I guess you'll need someone new to fu--"

"Shut up," repeated Mikey, his voice painfully quiet. "Just shut up."

Frank swore he saw tears in the guy's eyes.

Gerard rolled his eyes, then turned back to Frank. "So... what'll it be?"

"Uh..." Shit. Frank kept pulling discretely on the knot, trying to loosen it enough. He couldn't exactly jump out of the chair when he did, though—the man in front of him had a gun. "Umm..."

"H-help—me—"

Another man—really more of a boy—staggered into view, leaning against the doorframe and clutching his arm, with appeared to be bleeding.

Gerard sighed and turned halfway around, taking note of the man. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Brendon, you stupid slut, what'd you do now?"

"I—" Brendon's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, the nasty wound on his arm exposed.

Gerard looked a strange mixture of impressed, amused, and annoyed. "You dumb bitch, how'd you do that?"

He shook his head. "Guess I have to take care of this... Hey, Mikes," he said to Mikey, snapping his fingers to get the man's attention, "keep an eye on our guest here. And don't gut him, please. I want to be here to see that." He walked over to the unconscious boy and began dragging him away. "Someone's gonna have to clean up that blood, and it better not be me... Do you know how expensive doctors are?... God, I..."

As soon as he was out of earshot, Frank frowned at Mikey and said, "Your boss is a fucking sociopath."

"He's not my boss," mumbled the taller man, continuing to stare intensely at the floor.

"He sure acts like it. You always let him walk all over you like that?"

"I'm not talking to you, dick."

"Suit yourself, then." Frank allowed himself a small smile as he slipped his hands out of the tie. "See ya."

"Hey!" Mikey leaped out of his chair, but Frank had already ran out of the room.

Free. He was free.