A/N: SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT I'M SORRY FUCK hello how are you all doing I hope you're well it's been a while HERE

Chapter title is from the song Lost by Avenged Sevenfold.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The End Is Knocking

"We weren't expecting you until later, Frankie."

Frank didn't move, refusing to raise his eyes to see the man in front of him. He was currently sitting in a chair in the middle of the office room Ashton had dragged him into, a slow, fucking annoying line of blood tricking down his left temple from his collision with the door frame downstairs. If he couldn't struggle, then he could at least protest what was happening by ignoring it altogether. Unlike last time, he would keep a strong hold on his dignity, especially in the face of the man who had stolen most of it.

"Look at me."

Still nothing.

Korse stepped up to the chair and grabbed the Killjoy's hair, yanking his head up. "I thought you would've learned by now, boy—you do what I said."

Frank would have loved to kill the man where he stood, shouting several curses at him through the gag and rattling the metal around his wrists. Korse chuckled, and Frank's entire being quivered at the sound. Korse turned to Ashton, who had been leaning quietly against the wall in the corner, his arms crossed, watching them intently. "None of them saw you, correct?"

"Of course not." The response was short and quiet but very certain, and Korse nodded in satisfaction before turning back to the boy, who glared daggers, neither of their gazes wavering until Korse nodded and looked back at Ashton. "Good," he said.

There were a few whispers Frank couldn't make out, a pause, and then Korse returned his attention to Frank, sauntering over and grabbing the boy's arm. "You're of no use to us tonight."

The Killjoy writhed at the Exterminator's touch as if he were being burned with acid, disgusted at his knowing chuckle and even more so when he purposely brushed his hand against the front of Frank's jeans as he lifted him over his shoulder, ignoring the continuous, incoherent curses he received the entire five minutes it took to walk through an uncountable number of halls and up stairways until at last he stopped.

He lowered Frank to his feet and left him helplessly standing as he was, struggling not to fall, as he reached into his pocket and took out a penknife, reaching down and cutting the ties around his ankles before seizing him by the back of his neck and forcing him forward again, never speaking a word.

Finally, as they came to the end of the long hallway, Korse opened the door and led him onto the roof of the building, glancing at him with a smirk as he staggered in a failed attempt to stop, looking around in frightened awe. Not ten yards ahead of them, against the parapet, was a small, fenced in area, about six feet in height and at least three times that in length. The back of it was made of the wall, and it was enclosed by the thick barrier on all sides.

Frank mumbled a snide comment he wished could've been heard as Korse led him to the door of it, shoving a key into the lock and yanking it open, turning to the twenty-year-old and grabbing him by his shirt, shaking him a bit. "Don't think for a minute you're going to be as forgotten as you were last time. You had your unfortunate chance to never cross us again."

He released the Killjoy, pushing him roughly into the cage, giving a smirk as Frank grunted in pain, unable to catch himself, and then sealed him inside.

Frank remained silent and still until he was sure Korse was gone, and then groaned, writhing to get out of the agonizing position he'd fallen in, rolling onto his side and bringing a knee up, desperately trying to rub the tape off his mouth. It was the only thing he could think of doing, and to his relief, after a moment of struggling, the gag peeled off. He winced, licked his lips, and then shuddered at the taste, spitting before managing to get to his feet, going over to the fencing. "Motherfucker!" he shouted angrily, and then bent over as he accomplished nothing but increasing the pounding in his head. He retched weakly for a moment before staggering over to the wall, sliding to the ground, his head lowered, tears burning his eyes.

No, he ordered himself. He wasn't going to cry. He just wasn't going to give them that satisfaction, not Korse, not BLI, and certainly not the Bell, Bert, or Ashton, the ones who'd just betrayed them entirely. Them and…God, was Elise in on this, too? She was twelve! It should've been more surprising than it was, but instead it was simply heartbreaking. How close she resembled Missile Kid, with both her personality and appearance, and then finding out she had been working for BLI the whole time…

He squeezed his eyes shut. The others didn't even know was Ashton going to do to them? And Gerard—God, he was better, but…he'd tried to kill himself not two weeks ago! If Bert tried anything on him again, because Frank wasn't there to help him, and none of the others knew he was back…

The mere thought of Gerard being hurt again, combined with the fear of being hurt again himself, made him whimper, losing the battle he'd been fighting, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. He tucked his knees up to his chest and huddled sideways against the wall, shaking with silent sobs.

If he had to cry, he was at least going to make sure it wasn't heard by anyone else.

God, what am I doing?

Bell had been asking herself that very question all morning, ever since what she'd allowed to happen, never moving from the table. She felt guilty. After everything she'd done, probably somewhere in the 'To Blame' list leading to Gerard's suicide attempt, having been betraying them from the goddamn minute she'd met them, now was the time she felt bad for it? It seemed too ridiculous for words. She had to remember, this had been planned from the very beginning—she couldn't back down now. She had to just go through with it. For Elise's sake.

She looked over to the couch, to where Gerard hadn't moved since he'd awoke, his knees tucked up to his chest, casting glance after glance at the door like he expected that to make Frank's impossible homecoming happen faster. He was suspicious—he had been since Ashton had explained to them all the story of how Frank had gone to see the A.P. Ashton had not fumbled or stuttered even once, and Bell wasn't completely sure he suspected what was actually going on, but he had a glimmer of doubtful worry in his eyes.

Of course, it was very possible he was simply concerned the trip was taking so long. And it didn't matter either way—come this afternoon, they'd all be aware of their betrayal and in the hands of BLI.

Gerard blinked at her then, setting another shot of guilt through her, and she turned away.

She couldn't have known he'd given his word to Gerard every night since his attempt that he would be there in the morning, that he wouldn't leave him, even before if Dr. D had given the orders that he was not to be left alone.

And he couldn't have known what was actually going on—that Frank was in danger again and not on a morning mission with the rebels. That, as he sat, he could've been planning a rescue, trying to get the others out of there; anything, really.

He straightened up expectantly when the door opened, sinking back into the cushions when only Ashton entered, nodding at him and the others. "Ghoul back yet?"

"No." Rainbow sighed softly, fiddling with her hands, and Ashton shrugged, walking into the kitchen, noticing Bell and how pale she was.

Not a word, he mouthed in warning, and she gave a nod and looked away. A few more hours, she reminded herself. Then she could get it all over with, get Elise's parents back, and move on with life.

Knowing I just sent all of them to their deaths.

She winced and squirmed uncomfortably, casting another glimpse towards the Killjoys' leader, who, although unaware anyone was watching, quickly wiped at his eye, something she assumed meant he was crying, or trying not to.

Motherfucker.

She stood in a rush of courage and adrenaline, so fast Ashton turned to her, surprised, and instead of doing anything else she realized she had been thinking of, she went over to him, feigning curiosity of what he was doing. She eyed the small BLI medication bottle Ashton immediately slipped back into his pocket, and then whispered, "Any others?"

"No. I was ordered to assure none of them put up much of a fight, though." The man's voice was almost too soft for her to hear, and then he wordlessly held out a hand to her. She reached out, opened her palm, and then blinked as he dumped three light blue capsules onto it, and not the common medication she'd memorized the appearance of.

"They dissolve," he all but mouthed, and Bell shivered. So it's a drug. He's going to drug them. "All of them?"

He waved in a dismissive gesture, murmuring, "Whichever ones we can," and then turning to leave the kitchen. Bell stepped back to allow him to pass, stumbling a bit and then sitting once more in the chair behind her.

"Bell?"

She flinched and then gave a breathy sigh when she saw it was only Elise. She couldn't deal with one of the others innocently talking to her right now.

They're not innocent…they've killed people too.

Yeah, another part of her shot back, BLI agents trying to kill them. That's different.

"Yeah?" she finally replied as the twelve-year-old sat beside her, her eyes red like she'd been crying. "I…don't…"

"What?" Bell frowned, taking her hand for comfort.

Elise immediately pulled away. "I don't want to anymore," she whispered urgently.

In spite of her own feelings of guilt, Bell straightened up and frowned like the idea was offending. "El, come on. You have to. You already know what'll happen if you don't."

"They'll all live?" the younger bitterly asked, and Bell rolled her eyes. "Look. It's like Korse said before, okay? It's us or them."

Elise shook her head.

"Do you want to see your parents again?"

"Yes."

"Do you want both of us to go to a center for the rest of our lives?"

She shook her head once more.

"Then suck it up." Bell hadn't meant to be so rude, but her stress and will to convince the younger she was going through this phase of shame absolutely alone came out anyway. "You've just…just a few more hours, okay?"

"A few more hours until what?"

The two of them stiffened at Gerard's voice, and Bell whipped around, hoping how startled she was didn't show, watching the twenty-four-year-old as he leaned against the wall, curious.

"Until the broadcast." Bell was relieved the lie managed to come out strongly—usually she was terribly at that kind of thing.

"Oh." the Killjoy murmured, nodding slightly, and Bell had gotten so used to him being or seeming emotionless that his little smile only sparked suspicion on her part. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Gerard replied with a small shrug. "Tired."

"Go rest, then." Bell murmured slowly, and he looked at her seriously, going expressionless once again. "I'm waiting for Ghoul to get back."

Bell didn't even blink. "He's probably gonna stay there and help if they're doing anything with the broadcast tonight."

"No." Gerard shook his head. "He left the map he's been working on. And we all were going to, not just him."

"Okay…so he'll be back soon, then, right?"

"I don't know." the Killjoy replied, his gaze lingering on her for a moment too long.

She unknowingly put a hand on her pocket for a split second and then casually crossed her arms. "Are you thirsty or something?"

He shook his head and went off, and Bell covered her face with a hand. "I can't do this." the nineteen-year-old muttered under her breath, and then shook her head like Elise had said it. "We have to. Got it?"

Elise sighed and then gave a grunt of agreement, casting her eyes downward as she left the kitchen, heading back into the music room.

Bell bit her lip, peered out once more at where Gerard had positioned himself in the exact same spot he left, and then shoved a hand into her pocket, feeling the small pills with her fingers, all at once coming to terms with exactly what she had to do, closing her eyes in a silent apology.

I wish it hadn't come to this.

He didn't want to sleep. He couldn't. He simply refused to allow himself to, and every time Frank felt himself dozing off, he shook himself out of it, preparing for the worst, for Korse or someone else to come back for him in the middle of the night. He had to be ready to fight, and while he wasn't, he had to be forming some sort of escape plan in his mind. It was useless, of course, but he was unwillingly to admit that.

When he finally did slip off, it was already morning, the sun rising slowly. And when he woke up, a few hours later, he felt like was burning alive, and he whimpered, struggling into a sitting position, blinking in the harsh sunlight and looking for shade. Only, there wasn't any—the cell had nothing but the fencing on the top of it, and the sun was high enough the parapet did nothing to provide anything but the smallest sliver of shadow.

Frank tried to squeeze into it anyway, turning his head against the cold concrete when his efforts failed, relieved he at least had that. He was sunburned and aching already, and he really hoped BLI's method of killing him wasn't going to be sun poisoning or dehydration—not that anything they had in mind was better, of course…whatever that may have been.

At last, the door on the other side of the roof rattled, and Frank forced himself to raise his head and look up as a Drac came over, standing in front of the gate, unlocking it, and then opening the cell.

"Stand." it ordered, and Frank flinched. A Drac that spoke? Since when had BLI had those? After a moment, the twenty-year-old obeyed it, never lifting his slightly confused glare. The Drac gestured for him to come out, and once he had, it took his arm and began walking, fast enough it was almost dragging the Killjoy. It led him down the same stairs as the night before, and once they'd gotten out into the hallway, Frank vaguely started wondering if he could fight it, or even have a chance if he did. He was still cuffed, yes, but his legs were free, which meant he could kick out, and more importantly, run. There was only one guard in the hallway, but…

He sighed. There'd be more. Too many to fight even with both of his hands free. He had no weapons or anything against them; he'd be killed or at least injured bad enough he wouldn't be able to attempt again before he got to the next floor down.

The Drac tightened its grip anyway, like it'd been reading his thoughts and missed his acknowledging of the fact it was hopeless, forcing him on towards his inevitable fate.

Thinking of anything he could to stall so he would have more time to come up with a plan, he dug his heels into the blue carpet, slowing the Drac considerably, and muttered, "I have to take a piss."

The Drac surprisingly turned to him, but it was only to yank him forward. "Walk."

"Did you hear me?"

"Walk."

"No."

"Trying to escape, Killjoy?"

Frank flinched and then frowned, knowing in an instant the voice did not belong to Korse, and he whirled around to see another man casually ambling over to them, a not-quite smile edging at his lips. He had to have been around forty, if not a few years older, and he seemed familiar; he loomed over Frank, and, after a second, the twenty-year-old recognized him.

Jared Adams—the man from the broadcast, from his time with the A.P., and who he'd been warned to stay away with from at all costs…and the man was standing a yard from him, almost curious, an eyebrow raised.

Frank tensed, ready to defend himself from all six-foot-five of the formally dressed man, though he was more startled by his next words than he would have been of an actual attack.

"Release him."

The Killjoy jumped as the Drac let go of his arm, staring at the newcomer in surprise.

"What? I heard you from down the hall. You're quite loud, really." His words were spoken with a slight English accent, and Frank frowned at it. He hadn't heard anyone have any accent besides an American or Japanese one for so long, he'd forgotten how different it sounded. He looked the man over, though he didn't seem very threatening, standing still as Frank evaluated him and then placing his hands behind his back, gesturing with a nod for him to follow.

He didn't move, and Adams turned. "Oh, of course. If your restraints are to be taken off, however, I must know—will you fight?"

Frank kept his mouth shut, feeling the answer was pretty damn obvious.

"I'm only offering the chance for you to be free enough to relieve yourself. If you don't accept, I will have you escorted as scheduled." The man sounded like he was incredibly bored, reciting the words for the millionth time.

The Killjoy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain. He didn't trust anyone here—and kindness? Did they think he was as fucking stupid as some random drugged up kid from the city?

Adams blinked very slowly, patiently awaiting a response.

"Okay." The word was hardly above a mumble, and Frank felt ashamed as he said it, but he didn't know what else to do. He could've remained quiet and ignored him, but it would've gotten him nowhere. Besides, he was a little desperate, and the mere thought of having his wrists temporary not being cut into was too tempting.

Adams actually grinned this time, an action that disgusted Frank, and he snapped his finger with ease, apparently a signal to the Drac, because it was suddenly handling his cuffs, and then there was a click and his wrists came free. Frank gasped and brought them up to his chest, rubbing them in an attempt to both soothe the pain and get the circulation back, staring at Adams in a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.

The man didn't seem to notice; he just gestured for the boy to come along again, which he hesitantly did, glancing back and noting that the Drac did not follow, lost without orders.

Adams halted at the end of the hall, looking at Frank and his growing discomfort before finally turning around, pushing a door open, and pointing.

"Don't try anything," the man warned. "You've got five minutes."

Frank nodded, went in, and closed himself inside, groping around the wall until he'd found the light, quickly doing what he had to before taking the last of his time limit to look around at the walls for any means of escape, but there was nothing. In fact, the room was extremely small and hot, and he suddenly would have much rather been outside.

Hesitant, disappointed, Frank opened the door again, stepping out, cringing as he saw Adams, leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed, a smirk on his face. "Better?"

Frank flinched and averted his gaze. He was more wary of the man than he would have been had he not been afraid—no, there wasn't a word to describe how terrified he was—that he would end up in a replica scene of what Korse had done to him, hearing connotations that weren't actually there, fearing that every move that was made towards him was to hurt. He even stepped back as the agent straightened up, brushing himself off without care and then looking at him again, ignoring the fear if he noticed.

"You know," he began, "I was thinking. If you behave like you're a normal citizen, and not a rebel, I might just treat you as such."

"What're you, my fucking babysitter?" the Killjoy spat, irritated.

Adams scoffed. "Not in the least. But, for now, I don't believe violence is how I'm going to get anything out of you."

"What do you want?"

"There will be time for that later. Right now, though…" The man looked him over. "Are you hungry?"

It took every ounce of strength Frank had to assure his mouth didn't fall open, and he clenched his fists, disbelieving and disgusted the agent was acting how he was.

"Mm-mm; one wrong move and you'll regret it."

To be honest, Frank liked that better, and he relaxed his hands.

"Good. Now—are you?"

No matter how much he was, Frank refused to answer. He'd rather go days without food like he had before than accept something from them.

"What, Killjoy? Too proud?" Adams laughed softly when he got no reply, reaching out before Frank could pull away to grab his arm, tugging him towards the door, letting go, and then starting off down the stairs, pausing to watch Frank, who followed hesitantly. The man was a good actor, but Frank could easily see through the façade, and there was no way in hell he was going to fall for it. He wouldn't let himself be as helpless as he was last time. He'd practically waited to be hurt then. He was fairly certain he could have done something other than just sitting in the room, hoping Gerard was still alive and that they weren't going to be next. He could have fought, even…though it would have been useless. He and Ray wouldn't have been able to escape without Gerard, or with Mikey being in the condition he had been.

He shook his head, putting a hand out to touch the wall as they turned another hallway just to assure he was in fact free—he had the chance to do something now.

Adams glanced back at him as if the thoughts had been said aloud. "Not planning something, I hope?" he called. "I'd expect nothing less from you, but I was rather hoping this wouldn't end badly."

Frank rolled his eyes. That was the next thing he contemplated—why was the man, the agent, the person who he knew wanted him and the others dead, being nice to him? It wasn't fully, as he was still in a sense threatening harm, but compared to anyone else he'd ever come in contact with working for the company—minus Bell and Elise, he thought, frowning—had shown nothing but complete and utter contempt towards them. Going on what he'd seen since Battery, he should have already been dead. Ashton should have been ordered to kill him, not bring him here for this.

The actions really only succeeded in making him hate the company even more. They'd killed off an entire city, all the Killjoy's families they'd been hoping one day to go back to along with any other Killjoy that hadn't been with them themselves. They'd tortured him and the others, gave less than a shit about the entirety of them, and now…

One of them was acting benign.

That alone made Frank sick, not even taking into consideration anything else, and he found himself glaring at the man as he turned again, a smirk crossing his lips. "Something wrong?"

Frank's otherwise calm, slow pace gave a jerk, and he clenched his fists, about to let out a string of obscenities but cut off before he could.

"Don't speak. If you don't think I know everything you're going to say and haven't heard it a hundred times before, I'll remind you we did once have rebels in the Zones surrounding this city. Not only have I heard it, but it's been from the mouth of one of you. And, as I've come to notice, you all say the exact same things. How much you dislike us, how you're goals in life are to rid us of our power—"

"How fucked up you all are," Frank interrupted acrimoniously, and Adams paused, quick enough the Killjoy nearly ran into him.

"That too, in language quite similar."

Frank opened his mouth to spit another curse at him, and then snapped it shut and staggered a step as there was a sharp stinging sensation across his face, so abrupt he didn't even register what had happened for a few seconds.

Adams lowered his hand and smiled. "I've heard it before," he repeated, his syllables spaced out. "And truthfully, I'd prefer not to hear it again. Clear?"

Frank only glared, but recoiled as the man took a threatening step forward, unwittingly muttering, "Yes."

Adams gave a swift nod and a genuine smile of satisfaction. "Good!" He gestured and started off again. The Killjoy didn't move, a hand still on his cheek, no longer categorizing the man as different. He wasn't kind; he was a BLI agent, same as the rest. He didn't care, he was simply pretending in order to get him to cooperate, probably just as willing as Korse was to break him. He flinched at the thought, stepping back as the man faced him again. His fear and desperation to stay away from him was apparently evident, because the man grinned sadistically and said, "Try something. Run. I dare you."

Frank didn't, though his heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins, readying his body to flee.

"Come here, Killjoy."

He remained where he was.

"You have no idea how painful I can make this for you. You can come now and receive food, or you can be dragged to where I want you and go hungry."

Shakily lowering his head, Frank obeyed, and Adams nodded, pushing him through the last door on the right, allowing him to cringe away and then shutting the door behind them.

Frank watched him, wary, and then turned around, frowning at the table in the middle with food on it, horrified. They were treating him like he actually mattered—what the hell was going on?

"What're you doing?" he found himself asking, his voice giving away just how disgusted he was.

Adams gave no immediate response; instead he gently pushed him again, glad he got the idea to sit and then taking the seat across from him.

Frank repeated himself, louder, and Adams smirked. "What, Killjoy? Didn't believe anyone working for us could fit a description not yours?" He chuckled, causing Frank to squirm uncomfortably in the seat.

"You're quite wrong about a lot of things," the man continued, casually taking a drink from the glass before him. "You know that?"

Frank didn't answer, eyeing the food and then inwardly kicking himself as he had the urge to reach for it. Are you fucking out of your mind?

"Like how you believe we've drugged your food."

Frank snapped his head up to frown at him.

"We haven't, by the way."

"Like I trust you."

Adams smirked. "You're hungry, though. You want to."

Concerned by how obvious his feelings were, Frank averted his gaze, focusing on the glass of water before him, trying to swallow and finding his mouth was too dry.

No, they would've got that, too.

Adams sighed impatiently. "Am I wasting my time, boy? Because, to be honest, I would much rather spend the time before tonight elsewhere…"

"W-what's tonight?" His voice was terribly hoarse and almost inaudible.

Adams lowered his eyes and smiled a bit, taking another sip, probably completely aware how frightening that was and enjoying it.

"Eat," he at last spoke again, gesturing. "I'm afraid I don't know when else you'll receive an offer like this, so, no matter how much you dislike us, Killjoy…I'd accept it."

Frank mulled over the idea, clasping his hands under the table. He was hungry, and even though there was only bread on the plate in front of him, the longer he looked at it and thought, the more it became the best thing he'd ever seen.

So dangerous…don't…

Hesitant, ashamed, the Killjoy finally extended an arm to it, bringing a piece to his lips, still uncertain, and then once the aroma hit his nose, he had no fucking idea what happened, only coming back to himself when the damage had been done, staring open-mouthed at the now-empty plate. He blinked, choked out something that sounded like no, and slumped back in the seat, incredulous.

Adams actually laughed. "You're really set on the idea we poisoned you, aren't you?"

Frank didn't say anything—he was focusing on his vision, his thoughts, how he felt—Goddamn it, how could he have been so stupid?

But nothing changed, and the only thing that felt different was that he felt almost content, his stomach no longer aching and growling.

He finally looked back up at the man, confused, and then felt like someone punched him as he understood.

The BLI agent had just helped him. Without drugging or tampering with anything; a normal, humane gesture of kindness.

The Killjoy's stomach lurched, and he grimaced, trying to fight back the attempt his body was making to expel everything he'd just consumed.

"You're quite paranoid, boy."

Frank glared at him and then looked down, carefully grabbing the glass, uncomfortably aware of the man watching intently, and then at last had completely finished, shameful of how pathetic he'd just been.

"Good!" Adams suddenly said, so loud Frank jumped and gasped.

The man stared at him, cocking an eyebrow in interest. "Now, Frank…"

The twenty-year-old seemed startled by his own name.

"I must ask. Do you think you can behave well enough I can allow you to remain unrestrained?"

Frowning, he murmured, "For what?"

"Can you?"

"For what?"

Adams rolled his eyes, stood, and came over to him, grasping his wrist and jerking him to his feet. "You will answer the questions I ask, understand?" He sighed as Frank only twisted to get free, reaching out and again slapping him, hard, freezing his struggles. "Understand?"

"Stupid son of a bitch!" Frank shouted, anger resulting from both the humiliation and the fact he'd again fallen for believing the man was dissimilar to the rest of them, and Adams struck him once more. "Clear?"

"Yes," Frank whispered, wincing, and the man narrowed his eyes. "Can you control yourself?"

"…Yes."

Nodding, his smile returning, the agent released him, going over to the door and gesturing for the Killjoy to follow. Once they'd gotten down the hall, the man tightly grabbed his wrist like he no longer trusted him, snapping, "Be quiet," when Frank questioned where they were going.

Frank said nothing more, pressing his lips together, though his fear mounted as he discovered they weren't going into another room as he'd suspected. Instead, they went down flight after flight of stairs until they reached the ground floor.

Keeping a firm grip on Frank's arm, just above his elbow, Adams led him out into the empty, open lobby, frightening similar to the Battery City building, so much that Frank unknowing stopped for a moment, only to be tugged forward unhesitatingly, tripping him. Adams gave him an annoyed glare, like he'd done it on purpose, and then looked ahead again, shoving the door open for them. Frank winced in the harsh light, instinctively trying to get away as it kicked in he was outside. Adams grunted at the sudden struggle, jerking the boy back and putting an arm around his waist to keep him there.

"No! Let go!" Frank gasped, writhing to get out of the grip, far more alarmed by the uncomfortable touch now than being unable to escape.

The man ignored him, pulling him closer and trying to force him to continue. When that didn't happen, he smacked the boy, grabbed his wrists, held them behind him, and brought his knee into the back of Frank's. The Killjoy exclaimed, dropping to the concrete.

"Did you not hear me, Iero?" Adams hissed into his ear, irate, yanking his arms further when he didn't answer. "Answer, boy!"

"Bastard—" Frank managed, teeth clenched, and then cried out when the man released him enough that he collapsed completely, still gripping his wrists so he could not break his fall.

"I do not have time for this, Killjoy. Cooperate."

Suppressing a whimper, Frank weakly nodded, and Adams stepped back, crossing his arms. "Get up."

Frank warily did so, wincing, feeling blood trickle down from his lip. He bit his tongue to keep the curses back, swallowing hard and finally raising his gaze to Adams' uncaring expression.

"Walk," the man ordered, gesturing with his head towards the car he'd been leading him to, remaining indifferent as Frank only blinked at it. "Or I'll drag you."

Frank turned, stumbled slightly, and then took a deep breath, forcing himself towards the BLI vehicle, feeling the agent grab his shirt as they got close. Adams opened the back door, literally tossed him inside, and then shut it.

With a choked sob, Frank sat up, putting his fingers to his lip, unsurprised when they came back bright red. He touched his tongue to the spot that stung to stop the bleeding, winced, closed his eyes, and leaned back, exhausted. He didn't know what was going on, but he could only hope Gerard and the others were okay. He hadn't seen Ashton again, but he also hadn't seen any of the other Killjoys either, so he could only assume that meant that for now, they were safe.

He sat there in the heat, sweating profusely, for what must have been twenty minutes, growing sleepier with every second that passed, wishing he'd taken advantage of the time he'd had in the cell for resting. At last he couldn't fight it, and he moved onto his side, protectively hugging himself as he drifted into slumber mere seconds before Adams got into the car himself, never hearing the engine start or the order of, "Don't try anything," before the man realized he didn't have to worry.

He waited a moment longer for another figure to get into the passenger seat, and then pulled out of the fenced in area around the building.

"You're positive," Adams began, "that this will go through correctly?"

"Of course," the woman snapped. "If it doesn't, we still have nothing to be concerned over. We'll get them before they ever have a chance."

Adams nodded without responding. "You think they'll still try?"

"Hard to say. He and their leader are enamored," she gestured at Frank with a nod. "So I'm sure he won't. But then, they may attempt a rescue, or the A.P. may try something…we can only prepare, really."

She shifted, bringing something out of her pocket and handing it to him. "In the event he misbehaves, or tries to escape…we can't be too careful with a Killjoy." She spat the word in hatred.

Adams took and concealed it within his coat, expecting her to speak again, but she didn't, returning her gaze to the city as they drove on in silence.

At last they came to the arena the Killjoys had assisted the A.P. in halting the previous broadcast at, pulling into a back entrance labeled in large letters spelling, DO NOT ENTER: STAFF ONLY. Getting out, Adams opened the back door and reached in, jerking the Killjoy into a sitting position and then pulling him out before he'd even fully opened his eyes, waiting until he reoriented himself and straightened up before ushering him forward.

"Where're we…?" the Killjoy mumbled, blinking in an attempt to recall why the bit of building seemed familiar, and Adams didn't answer, leading him through the doors and to another plain room. He sat him on a chair towards the side and pinned his wrists tightly behind the back of it with what felt like a zip tie. With nothing but a satisfied nod that Frank was going nowhere, the man turned and exited the room, leaving him alone.

Confused, Frank struggled against the tie for the longest time, succeeding in nothing but further paining the injuries on his wrists from the handcuffs, at last stopping when he felt blood run down to his fingers. He whimpered, only because there was no one to hear him, and then cried out softly for the same reason, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the tears and lowering his head. He would not cry. He would be defiant until his fucking end, and if that happened to be today…

He pulled on the restraints again when a few tears slipped down his cheeks anyways, hoping the pain would distract him, and then struggled to wipe them away on his shoulders. Stop, he silently pleaded with himself as he unwillingly gave another sob. What was wrong with him? Fun Ghoul wouldn't have been crying.

Or maybe he would. Maybe if he just couldn't fucking handle anymore shit happening to him. If he just didn't want to be hurt anymore.

As if he wasn't humiliated enough, Adams opened the door, only stepping a few feet inside before he grinned, watching Frank as he sucked in a few breaths and shook his hair into his face, trying to hide.

"Aw. Something wrong, Killjoy?"

Frank raised his head, scowling, and then spat at Adams, missing his foot by a mere inch. "Shit," he muttered, disappointed; his aim had once been pretty damn amazing. He glared at the man. "Why am I here?"

"You rebels, the rest of you…would they go through with the A.P.'s plans without you?"

"Yes. They don't know anything about where I am yet."

"And if they did?"

Suddenly understanding, Frank scoffed. "You're gonna use me as a fucking hostage? Are you that scared of them?"

The man chuckled darkly. "It's you who should be afraid. We're sending out one message, one message only, and if the rest of you decide to ignore it, or do not see it at all, we will not only kill you, but them, the moment any of our guards see them."

He grinned wickedly as the Killjoy paled. "Oh yes. We've never had need for such before. If it was disrupted, we always found another way for the message to eventually get out to the citizens. Of course, none have been as important as this, which needs to be immediate. We cannot risk it being tampered with. So, at every entrance, every possible area they could enter, we have armed guards with the permission to shoot on sight."

"Bastards! What if they don't see it?"

"You think I wouldn't order them to be killed if they were seen anyway? You clearly don't grasp the concept of how little I care about you all. How enjoyable causing you pain is." He paused a moment in thought. "I haven't been given permission to have as much control over someone as I do you. I could do anything to you, and as long as you stay alive, at least until we've entirely finished with you, it wouldn't matter."

He took a jerky step towards Frank, smirking as he flinched back. "Keep that in mind, boy. I already take pleasure in causing the likes of you as much discomfort as I can—don't give me a reason. Understood?"

Nodding, Frank then murmured, shakily, "The other citizens…they'll see. They'll see what you're doing."

"What? That I'm using you? That I've hurt you? Do you think any of them care about a Killjoy? We've assured they believe that you're all nothing less than terrible criminals that wish to bring disorder to the city."

"Of course you have."

"They won't see you, anyway. Won't know a thing about it."

"…You said—"

Adams waved a hand to cut him off, remaining silent as he walked over to the chair, bending behind it and cutting the restraint. Frank jerked his hands up to his chest, absentmindedly massaging them as he waited to see what the man would do.

The man went back over to the door and gestured to him. "Move, Killjoy," he demanded when the boy didn't get up, and so he slowly did so, feeling the man grab his shirt as he passed.

Told to keep his mouth shut, Frank allowed the agent to half-drag him along, down two other hallways, and then up onto the actual stage. The curtain was still closed, and Frank wondered if there would be as big of an audience like there had been the last time. How were they supposedly going to alert the Killjoys without any of them seeing?

He widened his eyes. God, unless he wasn't. He'd leave them to come and be killed without ever realizing what had happened.

Adams shoved him roughly, leading him until they reached the other side, then pushed him into another chair towards the wall. Frank stiffened his arms, expecting them to be bound again, but he was left free.

"Stay in the chair or you'll regret it. Clear?"

Frank only glared, and Adams obviously took it as a challenge, because he fished something out of his coat and held it out. The moment Frank lifted himself up a bit to see it, curious and slightly concerned, the man extended his arm completely, touching the object just under Frank's ribs. A shock so sudden and intense the Killjoy almost blacked out exploded through him, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream, unable to make a sound even as the weapon pulled back. He doubled over, nearly slipping off the seat entirely.

"You'll learn, Killjoy. What did I tell you? You answer everything I ask you. Now—are we clear?"

Frank whimpered, managed a nod, and then curled up tighter when he feared that wasn't a good enough answer, bracing himself for more agony that never came. He had no strength to move or look up, so he didn't realize the man was no longer in front of him. He remained where he was, breathing hard, as the pain slowly dulled, and then heard an unfortunately familiar voice snap, "Sit up, Killjoy!"

Frank hesitantly obeyed, wincing, still half bent over when he had to stop, staring up at Newsagogo in contempt through the hair hanging over his face.

"Up!" News roughly grabbed his hair and forced him to sit up, ignoring his moan, and then gave another yank, muttering, "This is coming off," under her breath before releasing him and then turning to where Adams was standing further back, next to a camera.

Confused, aching, Frank tightly hugged himself and watched as News stepped just to the right of his chair.

"One word, Iero," Adams warned, throwing the taser he'd used to News. She caught it, but seemed uninterested, tossing it onto the table beside her and instead taking out a white ray gun, aiming it at the Killjoy so abruptly he jumped and put his hands up in a feeble attempt to stop her if she was going to shoot, though she didn't.

He looked to Adams as he casually adjusted his shirt, casting a smirk back at the Killjoy.

"Show time, kid."