The time dilation loop was getting rough for everyone. With every show, the plot assassinate the grand immortal dictator new nearer, but that didn't mean the rebellions or attacks ceased in importance.

The Boston show had taken place at the location of the infamous Salem Witch Trials under the light of a blood moon; which meant that things weren't going to go well.

The Gemini theory had been used on Marinanne, who had rebelled, been punished, and turned into Sylvia. Frank now wore a blindfold during the executions, cementing the notion of See No Evil. Gerard had been stabbed before his own blood was smeared on his face by the clown, who then played with his corpse like it was a puppet; the clown then proceeded to detonate himself with a bomb vest. Mikey had fought back at one point, which earned him a knee to the groin.

And you. You had gone off on the clerk, more so than Gerard and Mikey had, which earned you a punishment worse than everyone else. Thanks to resurrection, no one could die. Everyone would be brought back after each murder for the next show, but the scars would still be there. That's why Marianne/Sylvia now wore an eyepatch; she had her eye gouged out. And the gashes on Gerard's face only seemed to worsen with each resurrection.

Mikey had no idea what the soldiers had done to you under the order of The Grand Immortal Dictator once you had been dragged off of the stage, kicking and screaming. He was patiently waiting for the end of the tour so either you or Gerard could plunge the dagger into the dictators chest and deposit his corpse into the sea. The problem was that the end of the tour was another six months away.

The guards finally let Mikey go to your holding cell where you were to be kept until rehersals. He stopped when he saw you, the latch of the iron barred cell closing behind you. You looked haunting, bound to a chair in the center of the cell, hair hanging over your face as you slouched forward. Then he finally saw it.

Your throat had been slit as punishment for your insolence; damage likely inflicted to your vocal chords for speaking ill of the dictator. Your mouth was coated with blood, dripping slowly down your chin and mixing with the blood of your throat. There was a small puddle of the crimson liquid forming on the floor, but most of it was on your clothes. He noticed that you refused to blink, eyes wide in a petrified state of either shock or horror, or both.

Mikey knew damn well that no one could and would ever die by the punishments. Oh, how he loved you. But romance between band members simply wasn't allowed under the dictators' strict rules. He didn't really give a fuck about that anymore or any of the rules, not after this.

"Oh god..." He whispered, taking a slow step foward as you lifted your head.