Legion Of Rockstars

“Ugh, pink,” I croaked, my voice grating against my throat like sandpaper. I would expect to wake up in a cold basement-like room—concrete walls, concrete floors, impenetrable steel doors, maybe one small little grimy window with bars welded over it—chained to the wall or some crazy shit like that. I’d wake up clammy, cold, helpless, but I am a LOR agent and I’m resourceful. I’d find some way out of my predicament, some off the wall MacGyver trick where I’d spit on my palms, rub them together, and press them to the wall until my saliva ate away the concrete.

So you can understand my astonishment when I woke up to a pink room. Honestly, it looked like someone sucked all the pink out of the world and stuffed it into this one room. The wallpaper was hot pink with light pink flowers stamped all over it. I lay on sparkling clean pink linoleum, and even the lights above my head seemed to have a pinkish hue. It was sickeningly sweet and bitter-tasting, sort of like cough medicine. No chains...no window...no concrete....and most of all, no Jimmy. I worried about the guy, mainly praying that he hadn’t woken up in an all-pink room as well. My more feminine brain could handle pink overload, but his masculine mindset wouldn’t agree with explosions of pink.

I didn’t know how long I’d been out. Whoever got up the nerve to kidnap Jimmy and I stripped me of my cell phone, badge, pager, watch, and everything else, leaving me in only my clothes with nothing extra. I scooted myself over to the nearest wall and sat up, leaning my back gently against the wall. The room was completely void of anything else expect pink. I didn’t see a bed, a bathroom, not even a table with torture devices on it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slit appear in a hot pink wall. I jerked my gaze around towards it; several seconds later, I realized the slit appeared because the door was being opened. The door blended in perfectly with the wall. Two people I really didn’t want to see stepped in, both looking smug as hell. I personally just wanted to punch them so hard their eyebrows would fall off.

“Looks like our little rock brat has woken up,” Miley Cyrus cooed, strutting over to me and reaching down towards my face, probably to pinch my cheek. I scowled and grabbed her wrist, twisting it hard as I pulled her torso down and punched her right in the trachea. She made a choking noise, and Kevin Jonas rushed to her side. He kicked me hard in the side and pulled Miley away from me, speaking softly to her and gently rubbing his hand over her throat. She glared at me over his shoulder, rubbing her wrist gingerly.

“So, what happened to that 21-year-old boyfriend of yours?” I asked conversationally as Miley shooed Kevin away. “Did he leave you for someone a little more legal?”

“I left him,” Miley answered indignantly. She didn’t elaborate further on the subject, instead glancing meaningfully over at Kevin. Without preamble, he walked over, seized the hair at the back of my head, yanked my head back, and punched me right in the eye. I didn’t even flinch.

“Where did you learn to punch like that, Kevin?” I asked. “Whoever taught you really fucked you up.”

During training, we’d spent nearly an entire session of training on torture. The instructor always told us that, no matter what, we could never release any valuable information. “Don’t show fear,” he told us over and over again, “and never let your guard down.” If we were forced to give them information—maybe if a truth serum was used, or something like that—our instructor wanted us to encrypt it as much as possible. Complicate it. Nest lies into the truth. Use your brain and make the information you’re giving as useless as possible.

“Shut up,” Kevin sneered, swinging his foot around and embedding his foot straight into my stomach. I hunched over, clutching my stomach, with my forehead pressed against my bent knees. I took deep breaths, forcing myself to ignore the pain. Pain is only temporary.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to hit a girl?” I gasped, slowly sitting back up and releasing my throbbing stomach.

“For a guy, maybe,” Miley cut in, striding over to me. Kevin shifted out of the way as Miley reared back a fist and slammed it right into my lip. The soft tissue of my lip instantly split, and the blood began to drip into my mouth and down my chin.

“Bitch, I’ll—” I growled as I started to rise to my feet. Miley clenched her jaw and clawed her fingernails down my cheek at the exact same time Kevin slammed the sole of his boot into the side of my knee. I collapsed back onto the ground, supporting my body weight on one forearm. I twisted my head and smiled up at the two of them.

“This is going to be a long day for the both of you if that’s all you’re going to do,” I said calmly, shoving myself up into a sitting position and wiping away the blood on my chin with the back of my hand. It smeared scarlet across the ivory of my skin, and I was reminded strongly of tomato soup. Speaking of which, food sounded really good right then.

“We only want one answer,” Kevin replied. “And it’s an easy one.”

“We’re giving you a choice,” Miley continued. “You either join us, or you die.”

I sighed, blinking up at the two of them. I couldn’t turn my back on my genre, but I wouldn’t be any good to anyone if I died.

Death...or betrayal? Easy decision, my ass.