NOTE: The song lyrics used in here are written by and the property of My Chemical Romance. I, or my characters, do not own them or anything belonging to My Chemical Romance. They are used solely for fictional purposes. The characters and plot line are my own.

One

It was the annual battle of the bands competition, and the next to last band was taking the stage. More had turned out than last year after the winner had a single produced with Jason King, a well-known record producer. The music started.

Well it rains and it pours when you're out on your own

If I crash on the couch can I sleep in my clothes…

The band looked every inch the rock stars they were trying to be. The five members were all dressed in some form of black, mostly tight clothing.

The girl at the microphone looked nervous at first, but slowly seemed to warm up as she got to the chorus. Her long, black hair hung straight down to the middle of her back. She was wearing high heeled black boots, black shinny tights, a puffed out black mini skirt with gold stripes, and a black tank top. The longest layer of her hair was dyed bright red, as were half of her bangs, providing the only splash of color against all the black.

The other girl, the keyboardist, was wearing pink heels, black skinny jeans, a black tube top and a black cap studded with diamonds matching the one in her nose. Her short pink hair peeked out from under the edges, long bangs covering her face. Her head nodded, bangs shaking, as she rocked out to the beat.

For once, the boys looked as cool as the girls. The drummer simply wore black jeans and a tight black t-shirt, but managed to look super hot in it. The way he twirled the drumsticks in his hands like batons, while still managing to hit every beat probably helped. His messy, curly brown hair fell in his face, and it was a wonder he could still see.

The bassist wore distressed black skinny jeans and a v-neck black shirt with "The Black Parade," their band's name, printed in white letters, across the chest. He had light blonde hair that was cut short, except for one part that hung long in his face, almost like the keyboardist's. He nodded his head and tapped his foot casually, making sure the group stayed on beat. Otherwise he looked calm compared to the rest of them, especially the guitarist.

If people in the crowd thought the rest of the band had been rocking out, they hadn't seen this guy yet. He was wearing gray jeans with a black leather jacket over a plain black shirt. His black hair swooped in his face and out in a many different directions, making him look like he had just rolled out of bed, but it looked good. He was on his knees, whacking more than strumming his guitar.

At the end of the song, about half the fans were cheering enthusiastically, the others merely seemed courteous. The record producer in the back looked impressed, although not blown away. The five judges all had different reactions as well. Not that BP cared all that much about them if the record producer liked them. He was the one that could make them famous.

They sat in the dressing room afterwards, anxiously awaiting the results. The top five would be called to the stage and then awards would be presented. If they made it there they were guaranteed at least $50, but the money wasn't what they were really therefore. They were there to get their big break.

"That was good guys, I'm really feeling confident on this one," the singer, Sam, said, pulling her hair up into a high ponytail.

"That's because you weren't looking at the judges the whole time," said the guitarist.

"What's that supposed to mean, Cale?" Sam retorted.

"I just don't think we should get our hopes up."

"I don't know man," Johnny, the drummer said, "I mean, that ancient, white-haired lady who looks like she came out of the frickin' 1800's won't give us good marks, but the other dudes seemed pretty into it. Even the blonde chick who's got pop-singer-who-shits-rainbows written all over her seemed to dig us."

"See?" Sam said, turning to Cale.

"Well I think we're the best," he said, absent-mindedly picking up his guitar, "but you know what happened last year to that band that got labeled as emo."

Sam frowned. It wasn't exactly a secret that the Black Parade thought the emo label put on any band that didn't just sing about happy stuff was total BS. Just because they didn't only sing about sex and drugs and getting drunk…

She was jarred by her thoughts by Liza, the keyboardist. "Sam, Cale, and Johnny, will you three shut the hell up? You're freaking yourselves and all of us out. There's nothing you can frickin' do so just chill!" She spoke good-naturedly, however.

The Black Parade fell silent, until Cale said, "Jesse? You awake man?"

The bassist scrambled up in his recliner. "Hmm? Sure, yeah!"

Cale chuckled. "Alright, dude. Just checking."