I'm not okay! Save me MCR!

“Dear God…” The Commissioner muttered. “Was that truly necessary?”
“We are truly sorry Monsieur Commissioner, but I must say zat Monsieur Frankie can not control ‘is bodily functions, nor ‘is persistent and impeding urges to lose consciousness.” Ray struggled to suppress his laughter, as he realised that he was addressing the man who had most sway in his fate – in a French accent.
“Wonderful. I can just tell this day is going to progress smoothly.” The Commissioner sneered.
“Oui. It will go off wisout a ‘itch.”
“Without a what?”
“A ‘itch”
“What on Earth[/]I do you mean by an ‘itch’?”
“Not an itch a ‘itch!”
“Let’s just move on.”
“You are just annoyed because you do not speak ze English very well.” Ray smiled knowingly.
“I’m ignoring you, you know.”
“I would expect nosing less, Commissioner.”
“So what decision have you made? I take it you shall all walk the same path.” The Commissioner rocked back and forth on his heels, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Obviously, the man didn’t particularly mind in which direction the situation went.
Gerard heaved a great melancholic sigh.
“Break out the scalpels.”
“Excellent. A car will come in a matter of minutes.”
Something tells me this guy knew how things were gonna roll… Bob thought, randomly.

Two hours later, the band was an hour down the highway, off to some random Top-Secret facility, in the God-forsaken middle of nowhere. They had been blind folded, much to Frankie’s drunken excitement; he had recovered from his insentient episode. The only thing anyone of the five knew was that the back of the utterly conspicuous black van had one other occupant. The occupant labelled himself as their transportation handler, and would only be referred to as ‘X’. He would certainly not swallow names such as ‘Exie’, ‘Exo’, ‘Triple X’, ‘Planet X’ or ‘Captain X’ as Frankie, Bob and Mikey soon figured out. Poor X realised after a seemingly miniscule amount of time that the road-trip would not entail the silence expected of those travelling to a relatively depressing fate.
This is going to last forever… X thought bleakly, grimacing conspicuously. A few minutes of terror later, a beep came through on his earpiece, alerting him to an incoming message.
“We have a visual on the cargo. Entrance into restricted area, in approximately 2 minutes. You know what to do.” X lifted his wrist to his mouth.
“Roger that.” He looked up to find five speculative faces upon him. He could feel their judging stares, despite the blindfolds.
Mikey opened his mouth to make a remark, but just shook his head in pity.
“Nup. Not gonna even try. Too easy,” Gerard muttered.
“I agree with the little girl over there.” Bob jerked his thumb in the direction of Gerard’s voice.
“That was uncalled for, Bob.”
“I’m sorry Gerard.”
“It’s okay.”
“Well,” Ray began, “I honestly don’t have a problem with pointing this out. X, you were talking to yourself. You big crazy McCrazyPants. Look out! Here come the guys in the white coats!”
Frank nodded in agreement.
“Crazy.”
“I’m not crazy,” X whined childishly. “I have an earpiece! There’s a microphone in my watch! I was talking to my Boss…” He trailed off as he realised how unprofessional he sounded.
Mikey sighed and decided to throw him a bone.
“So…what did your Boss say?”
X jerked up and straightened himself.
“Ahem, ah he just informed me that as we are about to enter a restricted zone, certain precautions must be put into place. For that reason, I must confiscate any cell phones, iPods, pagers, PDAs, watches and all other electronic devices you may have on your person.”
The band just laughed at him.
“Pfft! As if!” Bob flicked a pretend tear from under his eye. “Nope. Not giving ‘em up.”
“Well,” X began slyly, “It’s this now, or the embarrassment of being arrested with your pants around your ankles in the middle of a cavity search.”
“You wouldn’t.” Bob’s eyes narrowed.
“I wouldn’t, but the Government Agents at the Facility would.”
“Bastard,” he muttered, and started filching through his pockets.

10 gruelling minutes later, the band found themselves void of any technology. None whatsoever.
“Ugh,” Mikey shuddered, “I feel so…so…so naked.”
Bob nodded in agreement. “X, man, you’re a bastard. You sold out.”
X hung his head in shame. “I have, I have,” he moaned guiltily, “But, I have to follow this strict protocol!”
“Don’t let the man getcha down! Fight the power!” Frankie was out of his seat now, fist raised in rebellious vigour.
“Sit down, Frank,” Gerard muttered.
“Never!”
“Okay, time to nap, Frankie.” Mikey patted his back gently.
“I like naps,” Frank admitted, and conceded to sitting back down. Within the space of a second he was asleep on Mikey’s shoulder.
“One day I will figure out how he does that…” Ray mumbled to himself.
“How he does what?” X peered at Ray’s corner of the van inquisitively.
“How he can switch been sleepiness, indignity and back to sleepiness in less than a minute.
“Well the fact that he spends the majority his time with a hangover and the rest of his time drunk certainly helps his magical abilities,” Gerard offered.
“The Girl has a point,” Ray sniggered.
Gerard’s lower lip trembled. “Why are you all so mean to me? Honestly, what the fuck did I do?”
“Who knows, Gerard,” Bob tittered, “Who knows.”
“I hate you all,” Gerard muttered darkly.
“Pfft! As if,” Mikey cried, “I’m your brother. You have a social obligation to love me.”
“Damn right, you’re a social obligation.”
“That hurts, bro.”
“Don’t call me bro. Lil’ bro.”
“Now see, Gerard,” Mikey turned into professional mode, “You can’t expect to receive without giving. In order to maintain a balanced and loving relationship you have to live up to the expectations of others as well. If you don’t wan t me to call you names, well then don’t call me names. Fair enough?”
“You are the biggest dumbarse on the planet.” Gerard shook his head in shame. “And proud,” Mikey cried.
“Um, excuse me?” X piped up over the noise, “You might’ve noticed that we’ve stopped. We’ve just reached the facility. Once you’re inside your handlers will direct you to the Research & Development lab and your blindfolds will be removed.”
“Wait,” Ray interjected, “I thought you were our handler.” His eyes narrowed.
“Alas, I am but your transportation handler. We won’t be seeing each other again until after you little…procedure.”
“X, I’m sorry to say this, but,” Bob placed his head in his hands, “You are incredibly British.”
“Uh, what?”
“You are British. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”
“What? You make no sense…”
“Don’t try to make sense of it, you’ll only be hurting your misguided pommy pride,” Mikey muttered, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder.
“Wait, what?”
A shard of light ripped through the darkness of the van as two men in black suits wrenched open the door.
“Come with us,” the one on the left ordered indifferently.
Frank saluted,and stumbled the van.
“One day,” Ray muttered, following his short little friend, “One day.”

The five men (can they be called that..?) were ushered into an extremely large foyer area, although they didn’t know that, and down a tunnel-like spiral staircase. The staircase was lit only by soft blue neon lights, and they were few and far between.
After ten minutes of walking, no, tripping, down the stairs, Frankie’s will was shattered. “How much longer? How far down do these freakin’ stairs go?! I’m hungry. Do you people plan to feed me anytime soon?!?!?!”
“The basement laboratory is 30 metres below the Earth’s surface,” one of the men in black suits stated robotically.
“But do you plan to feed me?”
“…”
“Well?”
“Unconfirmed.”
“Meanie. You can’t even answer a straight question properly!”
“Frankie,” Bob wheezed tiredly, “You can eat later. Shut up.”
“You’re all so mean to me.”
“Welcome to my world,” Gerard hissed, “Frankie, shuddupyoubigepicfailofaman. Growsomeballsyoubigloser. Youareadisgracetomankind.”
The party of seven stopped dead.
Mikey shuddered. “Don’t speak so fast. It hurts my head.”
Ray gaped. “Ohmigee.”
Bob giggled. “Hehe. Do it again.
Frankie pouted. “Bastard…”
“Mr Way?” Gerard peered into the darkness, in the general direction of the trailing suit-man.
“Yuh-huh?”
“Are you alright?”
“10-4, rubberducky,” he replied, cocking his imaginary trucker’s hat.
“Affirmative,” the black-clad man murmured, trying to uphold the façade of knowing what was going on.
“Don’t even try to understand him. We gave up a while ago,” Ray called from further down the staircase, “It’s bad for your mental well-being.”
“Yup. It certainly is,” Bob piped.
“My legs hurt…” Frank whined.
“Ohmigod shut up!”