The room was Brendon's.
Tyler remembered. The room he was in was Brendon's.
As soon as he had found out the door was locked, Tyler had punched the door out of pure annoyance. He was annoyed he was locked in Brendon's room, he was annoyed he didn't have any clothes, he was annoyed he was woken up in the middle of the night.
He was annoyed he was taken away from Josh.
Tyler found a pair of black skinny jeans in Brendon's closet, but was hesitant to put them on. The main reason: they were sparkly.
Tyler knew Brendon had an extravagant closet, but he had no idea it was like this. His entire wardrobe consisted of tight leather pants, graphic tee shirts, and sparkly and colorful suit jackets. Like he was some kind of singer or something.
Tyler had put on the shiny black jeans nonetheless, and grabbed a black shirt with some sort of exclamation point design.
Screw Brendon. Who did he think he was, locking Tyler in here? And for what reason?
And more importantly, what was Josh doing right now?
Tyler sat on the edge of Brendon's bed and hung his head in his hands. He already checked Brendon's room thoroughly. There were no weapons.
Tyler was bored. He played with his hair, fiddled with his hands, flopped back on the bed, sighed, hummed a song he wrote a long time ago.
"Scared of my own ceiling," Tyler whispered, his voice soft and cracking. He laid on his back and stared up at the dark ceiling.
"Scared I'll die of uncertainty..."
Tyler gulped and rubbed his tired eyes with his hands.
"Fear might be the death of me," Tyler murmured, closing his eyes and focusing on the back of his eyelids. He was tired, mentally and physically.
"Fear leads to—"
Before Tyler could finish his sentence, the door swung open.
Tyler instantly sat up, looking in the direction of the doorway. The hallway outside was pitch black, leaving Tyler only guessing who could be standing in the doorway.
"Okay, what the fuck, Brendon?" Tyler groaned. "You think this is funny? I was trying to get some sleep!"
The person standing in the doorway didn't reply. He simply walked over to the bedside table, right next to Tyler. His footsteps clicked against the floor.
Tyler turned round and eyed him sideways.
"Brendon?" He asked.
In reply, Tyler heard the sound of a knife being stabbed into wood.
Brendon stepped out of the way, revealing Tyler's knife sticking straight up in the bedside table. The metal blade glinted silver in the light from the lamp.
"Where'd you get that?" Tyler asked through gritted teeth. His face remained stoic and angry, even though his anxiety was growing.
"Where do you think?" Brendon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Tyler shot to his feet. "You were in my room—"
"—I wasn't the only one—"
Tyler's hands clenched into fists. "I swear to God, Brendon, if I find out you hurt him—"
"Aw, isn't that cute?" Brendon mused, a smile on his face as he walked over to Tyler.
"What?" Tyler snapped.
"The first thing Missile Kid asked was how you were, and the first thing you asked was how he was," Brendon let out a laugh.
Tyler remained silent.
"You two must really like each other," Brendon continued. "If only you liked me that much—"
Tyler ignored him. "I asked you if you hurt him or not."
This time, Brendon remained silent. He turned away, his back facing Tyler. He could feel the anger building up inside him. He could feel it was about explode.
Tyler rolled his eyes and took a step toward Brendon. "Answer me, Green Gentleman. That's an order."
Brendon squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. "I'm tired of taking fucking orders from you!" He shouted, spinning around on his heel and facing Tyler. "When is it my turn?! When is it my crown?! I'm ready to take it! I'm ready to step up! It's mine!"
Brendon's screams rang out in the empty room. Tyler simply stared at him, mouth slightly agape.
"Is that what this is about?" Tyler asked in disbelief. "You want Missile Kid's spot?"
Brendon tightened his muscles and reached for his gun.
"No," he replied, his fingers slowly wrapping around the handle.
In one swift motion, Brendon grabbed his gun and pulled it out of his belt. Tyler took a step back, and his hand instantly went to his belt, just by instinct.
Tyler's eyes widened as he remembered he didn't have a belt. He didn't have a gun. His favorite knife was on the table behind Brendon. There was no way of getting it.
"I want your spot."
Tyler looked up at Brendon just in time to see him cock his gun.
Then Brendon fired.
Tyler didn't fall slowly. As soon as the bullet pierced his skin, his head and shoulder whipped back, almost like he was turning around. The pure force of the shot made the entire right side of Tyler's body sharply turn. His hand went up to his stomach, but it did no good.
No, he didn't fall slowly.
He hit the ground hard.
✗✗✗✗✗
When the Green Gentleman left, Josh didn't jump up straightaway. He knew better. He knew he couldn't just follow the Green Gentleman, wherever he was going. Before Brendon left, he took Josh's gun, and any other weapon in Tyler's room.
Josh was unarmed, but unhurt.
He still had a chance.
✗✗✗✗✗
Tyler didn't have a chance.
And was unarmed, but he wasn't unhurt.
Brendon had shot him in the side, almost point blank. He was bleeding out, and bleeding out fast.
Since the bullet didn't pierce any vital organs, Tyler was still alive.
But not for long. He would either die from infection or blood loss, most likely the latter.
Tyler estimated he had five, ten minutes tops.
✗✗✗✗✗
Josh had ten minutes, tops.
Ten minutes to find a weapon, ten minutes to find Tyler, ten minutes before Brendon ruined everything.
✗✗✗✗✗
Brendon had all the time he wanted.
With Mad Gear out of the way, he could finally step out of the shadows and take his turn.
He didn't have to worry about Missile Kid, either. If Mad Gear was dead—which, Brendon checked his watch, should be soon—Missile Kid would be devastated. He wouldn't be able function.
Brendon smiled to himself as he walked to the infirmary. It's been long enough. Alex should be healthy enough.
"Things are shaping up to be pretty odd," Brendon sang happily, putting a skip in his step. Even though it was the middle of the night, he was full of energy. His plan was working perfectly.
The Green Gentleman pictured Mad Gear's broken figure lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, Missile Kid kneeling over him, salty tears running down his face. His smile grew wider.
"Little deaths in musical beds..."
Who knew? Who knew that Brendon, the one that always stood to the side and tolerated being pushed around by the boss, was stepping up and taking the reins?
He felt different. He felt more confident, more powerful. One thing's for certain, he didn't feel like himself.
"So it seems I'm someone I never met..."
Yes.
Brendon had plenty of time.
✗✗✗✗✗
✗✗✗✗✗
I'm sorry, Tyler.
- Liz.