The Monster War Tour

By the end of the first week, the stench on entering the camp was unbearable. There were no proper hygiene facilities; everyone had to go to the toilet in a designated pit nearest to their accommodation, and were offered one means of cleansing themselves per week: a bucket of freezing cold water pulled straight from the moat that surrounded the fences. Items had been taken from them on arriving: confiscated possessions included soap, brushes and razors.
"Incase we try to kill ourselves to get out of it," Moaned Brian/Marilyn, rubbing his stubbled chin. Jeffree Star had gone on a rampage around the north of the camp, shouting.
"How can I be Jeffree Star with a beard?!" He had demanded hysterically, "A fucking beard!" A Controlled came over to suppress his noise. Jeffree ripped off his high heeled shoe and hurled it at the Controlled. It hit the side of his head and fell to the floor. The Controlled pointed his gun to the ground and shot it, pink plastic and the metal from the heel explodig across the ground.
"Cunt!" Hissed Jeffree, looking at the remains of his shoe.

Jeffree Star was lucky to get away with just his shoe being fired at. Within the first days there were protests, escape attempts and riots, Controlled being sent out by the dozen to stop them. Some of the non conformists were shot on the spot, others were taken away and no one saw them again. Many teenagers, their origins and families unknown, had been taken, possibly because Sovereign was so scared of the strength of teenage rebellion. Some of the more famous artists were taken too. Mika disappeared in the middle of the night, and Forrest Kline from hellogoodbye reappeared three days after he vanished, thin and pale, and wouldn't tell anyone what had happened to him. Andrea Corr had been killed on stage when she lost her nerve halfway through "Humdrum".

My Chemical Romance very nearly avoided being killed on Wednesday, during their rendition of a song from Three Cheers. It was pouring down with rain, and the air was thick and cold. On their performances the previous days, Frank and Gerard had known better than to kiss and touch each other, being aware that not all of the audience were My Chemical Romance fans who would scream, "Oh my God, Frerard!" and make strange noises. They kept their bodies to themselves, and if there was any overflowing attraction when the song ended they would use it up whenever they were out of sight. And there was quite often more attraction- now aware that death could be just minutes away, lots of people were being open with who they had fallen in love with. But not everyone. Nobody noticed that every single time Frank and Gerard began to make out, Ray would turn away and find something to do. On Wednesday's performance, everything seemed to be running quite smoothly, and with the end of the song approaching, the band were growing steadily more relieved.
"Pull the plug, well I'd like to learn your name, we're holding on, I hope you - Frank!"
Frank had slipped and fallen to his knees, the neck of his guitar making a sickening thud against his skull. He clutched his head and gasped, as Gerard knelt beside him and tried to see what he'd done.
"Finish the song!" A controlled demanded.
"He's hurt!" Gerard protested with clenched teeth.
"Finish the song!" It repeated. So Gerard got to his feet and continued singing, and Ray began to play the missing guitar parts along with his own, while Frank curled up on the floor in agony.

By the end of the week, the riots had lessened then subsided. Those who remained either had more sense than to try and escape, or they were so grief ridden with the loss of an artist they admired or knew that they saw no point in doing anything but obey. Marilyn Manson, who was seeming to suit the name 'Brian' more and more each day, flopped down onto the ripped, threadbare carpet in the caravan. The girls looked at him, wondering if they should say anything. He was breathing heavily, almost angrily, rubbing his hands together.
"The problem is," He said suddenly, making them jump, "All these escapes are too unplanned. It's just like, 'Let's escape, run!' and the Tincans are expecting it." He had taken to calling the Controlled the Tincans. No one was exactly sure why, but it seemed to fit them and it had caught on pretty quickly, at least amongst Caitlin, Claire and Alexa.
"So we need a real plan," Alexa thought aloud slowly. Brian nodded.
"How long would that take to get together?" Claire asked. Brian looked thoughtful.
"At least a month."
"But who knows how many of us can survive that long!" Caitlin burst out, "I nearly screwed up my song today, I get so nervous and scared especially with all the tincans- I mean, all the Controlled- holding their guns..."
"Well, then we have to do it..." Alexa said, "We have to start planning, as soon as we can, before too many more people... die..." She trailed off on the last word. Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. Brian sat up and looked at her, and, in spite of the screaming Marilyn Manson still inside him, held out his arms. She knelt next to him and hugged him, then when she pulled back laughed weakly.
"Marilyn Manson is giving out hugs..." She smiled wetly, "Times really have changed."
He smiled, raising his eyebrows.
"If we get out of this alive," Caitlin asked, "Will you ever admit that you were giving out hugs?"
"No. Never."
Alexa laughed.
"It'll be our secret then."