Prologue

—Bill Kaulitz—

"Bill…"

The ground was spotted with puddles, and the asphalt road outside was shiny with the new fallen rain. I walked through what looked like an abandoned building, the concrete walls cracked and heavily decorated with graffiti. I was searching for something—answers, a way out…that voice.

"Bill…Bill…"

I looked around, growing steadily more panicked. This place was so spooky, and yet something about it drove me further into the crumbling building. It reminded me of the multistory parking garage my band used to film the music video for Don't Jump three years prior; not only was it because I was in such a building, which was freezing cold and fresh with rain, but the same eerie tension from the song and video lingered in the air.

"Bill…B-Bill…"

After a while, something else lingered in the air: a rusty smell that stung my nostrils and made my stomach flip. I became dizzy with faint and nausea as I realized that the garage had become alive with the reek of fresh blood. When I looked down at the rain puddles, they had changed from clear with a blackish murky tinge to dark red. I glanced up at the walls, and the colorful spray-painted graffiti had transformed into unreadable scribble painted on with blood—it looked exactly like something out of a horror movie.

"Bill…"

I knew that voice—it was Tom's.

"Tom, where are you?" I yelled.

"Bill…help…"

Instinctively, I sprinted through the building till I found Tom propped against the wall. I rushed over to him and shouted: "Tom! What's wrong?"

When my twin brother looked up at me, his face was pale beyond belief, and his eyes were dull as if the life had been sucked right out of them. When he raised a desperate hand out to me, I noticed it shaking violently. "Bill…help…"

"What's wrong?" I repeated, tears welling in my eyes. I grabbed Tom's hand and wrapped it in mine tightly, frantically trying to get him to stop shivering. "Bitte, Tommy. Tell me."

My brother gave a brief groan and, without warning, a huge mouthful of blood burst from his mouth and splashed onto the concrete floor. Letting go of his hand, I jumped back and screamed. Tom's eyes rolled back into his head as he went limp and flopped like a ragdoll onto the ground, landing in his own blood.

"TOM!" Tears were pouring down my face as I knelt beside the lifeless body of my brother. After a few faint gurgling noises, he grew silent—I felt as if a huge chunk of my spirit had been ripped from my core, and I knew my brother was dead. I threw my head back and screamed, my voice echoing through the barren parking garage.

I gasped and sat up. The acrid blood smell was gone, replaced with the familiar smell of my hairspray. When I looked around, I found myself back in my bedroom, and I realized that the ordeal was just a nightmare. But I wanted to be sure; wiping beads of sweat from my forehead, I snuck out of my room and tiptoed through the still-sleeping household. When I reached Tom's room, I carefully nudged it open and peered inside. I felt myself relax when I saw my brother sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly with his dog curled next to him.

I realized that I was smiling as I shut Tom's door and made my way into the kitchen for some coffee. What was I worried about? Tom and I needed each other; we lived for each other—there was no way we could become separated.

Or so I thought.