The Rape of Nick Jonas

A Jonas Brothers fan fiction

Chapter 1

"Omg! Nick Jonas is sooo cute!"

A boy standing nearby turned to her, a sense of disbelief dragging his stomach downward in spite of the fact that he had heard these exact words many a time before, albeit from different mouths. She had seemed like an intelligent girl up to this point- though he didn't know her personally, he had observed that she dressed non-ridiculously, did nothing particularly stupid with her hair, and had a very endearing habit of going on and on about nothing only on the rarest of occasions. Unfortunately for him and all others who could hear her prattling, it seemed as though this was going to be one such occasion. All of his training had prepared him- not for this moment, so much, but for the mindset which gripped him at this moment, and told him that he must not put up with such filth.

"He's, like, the hottest out of all of them. I think I'm in love!"

Disgusted, he resolved to take a proactive stance on this nauseating development by preventing it from developing any further. He steadily walked towards her, catching her attention through the sheer cold anger projected upon the back of her head by his icy gaze. She turned to face him just as he stopped a foot away from her, looking down upon her with utter disdain.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to Nick Jonas?" He asked her in a level tone. She stared at him, utterly bewildered by his disposition.

"I'm going to rape him." He saw a faint flicker of shock flit across her young eyes.

"I'm going to put together a master plan," He continued, "and kidnap him, tie him up and blindfold him so that he starts to sweat out of the pure stinking fear, and then I'm going to torture him and rape him." By now, the girl was obviously disgusted by his descriptions, but could only shake her head in disgust as he continued to play out the sordid scene in his imagination while verbally force-feeding it into hers.

"First, I'm going to do him doggy style- I'll force him down on all fours and ram my hard cock into his naked ass, using no lube except possibly his blood, which will no doubt spurt out as a result of the anal carnage I inflict on him." He paused, to let the mental image sink it in.

"After I get bored of his agonized screams, I will gouge out his fucking cock with a rusty corkscrew. Then, I will carve out the inside of his pelvic girdle until there is a hole deep enough for me to ram my dick into." He heard a faint whimper escape her throat through no fault of her own. His confidence building, he went on:

"By this time, he will be in unimaginable pain and will beg me to stop. He will pray to his God, beg for forgiveness, blurt out every sin he has ever committed in barely-comprehensible screams- and all without me even asking, because he is a fucking coward, and that's why he's a Christian. I will show him no mercy- except possibly feigned mercy to get his hopes up so that I can destroy them. The last thing he ever sees will be me cumming into his fucking eyes, after which I will gouge out both his eyeballs and shove them up his ass."

He actually saw a teardrop forming in the corner of each of her eyes. Funny, he thought, that my words alone could bring her such pain.

"I will leave him to rot for a while, knowing that he will never, ever see again, and also that he will soon be dead. Once I am ready to go again, I will rape him once more- first in his ass, then in his bleeding eye sockets. When I am done for the day, I will take a sledgehammer to his sternum and collapse his chest cavity so that it crushes his heart and brings him the quick death he has been praying for up until this point."

With that, he paused again. He saw her shoulders drop slightly, as she relaxed in a defeated, disillusioned sort of way. No doubt, she thought he had finished, but, for good measure, he added:

"I will then proceed to rape his fucking corpse, and ask him where his God is now, and you won't be able to do anything about any of it because you are just a fucking fifteen year old girl."

With that, he turned and walked away, not particularly caring about the continuation of her reaction. This was an average day in the life of a committed pop whore hunter. It hardly mattered, of course, that he had just revealed his plans to a fucking fifteen year old girl. He and his associates were too close to the culmination point to be stopped by anyone. To put it simply, they were very, very well prepared for what they were about to do.

"…and then, he started going on and on about all these gross things he wanted to do to Nick Jonas!"

The two eldest councilors looked at one another, then at her. At 16 years of age, they were two of the oldest Jonas fans on the planet. While they felt sympathy for their sister as she put her head in her arms on the table to signal her hopelessness, they had far more pressing matters to concern themselves with at the moment. The pair began whispering to one another, unnoticed by the rest of the congregation, whose gaze still lay on the victim.

"…Could it really be them?"

"It could be anyone. As you well know, we have many enemies."

"It sounds as though his description was oddly specific, as though it were premeditated…"

"-It was a moment's fabrication, nothing more. We have greater, better-established threats against which we should prepare ourselves."

"Yes, and the pop whore hunters are our most dangerous enemies. If there is one in our school…"

"-Nonsense. There couldn't be one in our school. That's the point of all the covert background checks we run on new students."

The argument went on for some time. It was later discovered that the girl with her head on the table had fallen asleep in that position.

He woke up, feeling better-rested than he had in quite a long time. He had experienced some trouble sleeping as of late, and was glad to know that his troubles were over. As he shifted his weight slightly to get out of bed, his senses began to feed him some very odd information. Above him, he could see the sky and some buildings- but they were sideways. Not only was he not under the same ceiling he had fallen asleep under, but there was no ceiling at all- just the sky, and these sideways buildings. Why were they sideways? What kept them from falling down?

His stomach and sense of proprioception immediately answered both questions- the buildings were not sideways; he himself was upright. How had he slept upright? Why did he still feel as though he was wrapped up in his bed sheets?

He twisted his head around, searching for the answer to these follow-up questions, which he promptly found- he was standing in a sack- no, trapped in a sack- which was hanging from a flagpole sticking out of the top of a hundred-foot tall building.

His immediate reaction was to freeze with panic and realize exactly what might go wrong, given his delicate situation. He could not help but fret incessantly over the matter of the rope that attached the sack to the flagpole- it looked frayed; it looked like it was doing badly in this hot sunlight; it looked like it wouldn't hold up, and he would soon fall to the ground which seemed so unimaginably far below him. He was gripped with acrophobia and cold sweat, knowing full well that he was completely helpless. Who had done this to him, and why? His mind racing furiously, he tried to figure out who his enemies were… but he couldn't. Did everyone he know like him? Perhaps there was someone he trusted who had betrayed him… yes, that was it. Perhaps it had been… one of his friends. His friends? Which friend? Whom was he friends with? He paused his thought process for a moment while he tried to sort out this last question. He kept pressing himself for an answer… but none came. He was friendless- what else could it mean, that he couldn't think of anyone he considered a friend? Maybe no one liked him. He was stricken by a sudden sense of loneliness. To think, no one at all would miss… what's his name… he paused again. What was his name? He didn't know his own name. At first this heightened his panic, but then he realized that he must just be suffering from amnesia. Yes, that was it. Perhaps he was some important political figure, and whoever had put him up here would take pity on him, since he couldn't even remember what he had done to offend anyone. Just as he was thinking this, he felt some movement behind him, after which the sack he was in was tugged through a window into the building and into a blur of motion, talking, and confusion.

"Did anyone see him?!"

"Of course they did! He was in plain sight!"

"Well, he might not have been visible from the ground at that height…"

"The important thing is, we've bought ourselves some time. Our visitor friends didn't seem to suspect anything, and hopefully they won't be knocking again anytime soon."

He was surrounded by several people, dragging him far from the window he had just been pulled through- from any windows, for that matter. After they had laid him down and taken a collective step back from him, he saw that there were six of them. Something struck him as odd. They were high school students. He had been kidnapped and dangled from a flagpole hundreds of feet in the air by high school students. They were dressed casually, mainly in t-shirts and jeans. As he looked around the room, he saw that it was a hotel room. What the hell was going on here?

"Excuse me, everyone…" he began, and noticed his captors glaring at him. "…umm, this is kind of awkward, but I seem to be suffering from amnesia. I really can't remember anything before being hung from that flagpole just now."

His words were met with a silence that he found deeply chilling. Finally, one of his captors turned to another, and said, "He may be telling the truth. We drugged him pretty heavily, and we've been over the possibility that he might suffer temporary amnesia as a side effect."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Temporary! Well, that was one of his problems solved. Now, if he could just get out of this situation.

"We can't have this guy not know who is!" blurted out a blonde high schooler. "That would ruin the entire point!"

"Alright… just… make sure he stays well-restrained. We can discuss our options in the safe room." With that, some of his captors rolled him over with their feet, slid off the bag that covered him, and bound his arms and legs with rope. With his face on the floor, he couldn't see where anyone was going, but he heard footsteps moving away from him, followed by the sound of a door closing.

They moved swiftly and purposefully along the sidewalk, their sunglasses concealing their eyes from view. A group of six girls in their early teens, they drew little notice from law enforcement and other undesirables- just as intended. Really, was there any reason to suspect that each one of them was carrying multiple concealed weapons?

"We are now approaching the incident site," said the leader quietly to her fellows. "With any luck, we can simply split up and find the evidence we need- it is highly unlikely that the incident occurred without a struggle."

The "incident site" turned out to be a sort of blind spot- which is to say that passersby were blind to it. It was an alleyway that led to a door which happened to be the back entrance to a backstage area- which in turn was behind the stage where the Jonas brothers were scheduled to perform in approximately 46 minutes.

As they entered the alleyway, the girls split up in a very organized manner, extracting from their purses magnifying glasses, UV lights, and other equipment typically used for such investigations. "I've got something!" one girl announced quietly but sharply to the others. They quickly converged around her as she withdrew from the alley a single hair.

"Color match," spoke another girl tersely, as she drew from her purse a small notebook. The girl holding the hair stood up and handed it to the girl holding the notebook, who expertly flipped to the fifty-second page and laid the hair next to a photo showing an extreme close-up of Nick Jonas's hair.

"…We have a match," she announced after a few moments' tension. She closed the book, took out a plastic sleeve, carefully slid the hair into the sleeve, sealed the latter, and returned it to her purse. Without a word, the group left the alleyway the way they had come. The truth was, they had already suspected Nick's whereabouts. This little detour had simply had the purpose of confirming whom they were dealing with.

"…See?? I told you! Right here, you can see a peer reviewed citation specifically stating that the drug causes amnesia in doses that exceed two milligrams."

This argument had continued for almost ten minutes now. Doug stifled a yawn as he turned his gaze away from his more argumentative companions and towards the window to his left. No one on the sidewalk below had to worry about the finer points of assassinating one of the pop industry's most notorious man-whores… those girls walking into the hotel were probably fans, what with their stupid little outfits, and…

-He paused mentally. Those girls walking into the hotel. He recognized them just as the last one went through.

"They're here!" he hissed to the others. They all whipped around to face him, their attentions completely focused on him and what he had just told him. "Those crazy bitches from the underground Jonas fan club! I just saw them walk into the hotel!"

These words were met with a frenzy of activity. "Someone get back to the top floor and guard Nick Jonas! Everyone else, fan out and block all entrances to this floor immediately!" These orders were more or less in the process of being carried out before the leader of the cabal had finished speaking them. Before long, all but one of them had spread out on the third floor of the hotel, while that remaining one dashed madly up the stairs towards the top floor.

It was Krystal who saw them first. As she knelt partway up a stairway, cautiously examining the stairs around the corner, she saw a dark-haired teenage male silently opening a door at the top of the stairs, closing it behind him, and looking around slowly- with caution almost matching her own- before beginning to draw a weapon from the back of his shoe. Krystal drew her own weapon silently and then simultaneously stepped out from behind the corner and fired off three bullets at the boy from her silencer-equipped pistol, killing him instantly with shots to his head, neck, and chest. He slumped against the door behind him, then slid sideways off of it and began to roll down the stairs. Concealing her weapon once more, Krystal nimbly dodged his falling corpse as she bounded up the stairs.

As she opened the door, she found the hallways around her, on the third floor, ominously empty. Well, maybe it shouldn't have been that ominous, since the hallways of hotels are not generally very crowded, but she was suspicious of everything since seeing that boy draw a pistol at the top of the stairs. Could something have happened to the other guests and staff? All of a sudden, she heard a gunshot, and immediately crouched low against a wall, near the corner she thought the sound had come from. Had someone in her unit forgotten to equip a silencer? Was the shot fired by one of her enemies? If the latter was the case, why weren't her enemies using silencers? Was this some kind of trap? These thoughts raced madly through her mind for only a few seconds, after which she withdrew the mirror once more and slowly held it out in front of her, looking around the corner…

His chin was beginning to hurt. He wasn't quite face-down anymore, of course, but was resting the side of his head on the carpet underneath him, still waiting for someone to come looking for him. Maybe no one would. Maybe he had been kidnapped like that because he was unpopular- infamous for something offensive he had said on the internet.

The internet. Full of lots and lots of websites. He could remember words, and their meanings, so… maybe he could remember who he was. The prospect excited him. The internet, he thought to himself. Am I famous on there? Am I famous on youtube? Was I in that video about… the angry Christian kid?

Christian. He was Christian. He believed in God. God is like a person! he thought, his anticipation mounting. If I can remember him, maybe I can remember other people! He impatiently racked his brain for more names- God, Jesus, black Jesus, Obama, Osama, Osama Bin Laden…

A door opened somewhere nearby, halting his thought process. He didn't see the kidnapper approaching him, but he heard the steady footsteps as the teenager approached him.

"Why did you kidnap me?" he asked suddenly. "I still don't even know who I am! Am I a terrorist? Am I Osama Bin Laden or something?!"

His pleas were met with a soft, cold laugh. "No… no, you're not Osama Bin Laden," said the uncannily calm voice behind him. "If you were, I personally think you would deserve a clean, painless death. No, you're much, much worse than he is…" The captive cringed as his captor tied a blindfold over his eyes. "My friends think you need to regret what you've done," cooed the latter softly, "before you receive the final punishment for it." He felt his clothes begin to come off, somewhat roughly, as a knife cut through them- oddly, not nicking him at all. "-Let's get you up- that's it, both hands like that- now your legs…" He felt a deep sense of foreboding as he felt his pants sliding down. Being blindfolded and restrained didn't help at all.

"M-maybe you should wait," he stuttered. "Your friends might get mad at you if they find out that you, umm, broke the rules. This is important stuff, right?"

Another laugh. "Important, yes… but, better that it happen now, in a way that's not quite as we planned, than never." Cold sweat began to form all over his body. He had a nagging sensation that somewhere in his memories, locked off from recall, was the fate that was about to befall him- what was it called? He was naked, yes… and he didn't have a choice about what was happening… where was this going? Where was this going?

In a flash, it came to him. He was distracted for the moment, remembering yet another word, and, bizarrely, felt the need to mentally congratulate himself, despite his dire circumstances. If he ever got out of this… to think of what he'd be able to remember! So many words, all the things he had done, the concerts he had done-

-Wait. That was it. That was who he was. It all started coming back to him in a rush- a rush that, sadly, was interrupted by a different rush- this one of pain, as something big and hard was forced against his anus as greedy fingers tugged at its edges, forcing it wide open. He felt a sick, somewhat wet, somewhat frictional sensation as the hard thing actually slid into his anus. He winced in pain and shut his eyes tight. As cold shivers spread out from the area of penetration and his gut trembled in protest, he let out a scream that no one but his attacker could hear.

The rape of Nick Jonas had begun.