The Adventures of Gerard Way Vs. Soulja Boy

Zacky Vengeance had just shut his eyes when the phone began to ring. This didn't present much of a problem, to be truthful; with his eyes still closed, he reached over and casually yanked the phone cord from the wall. Zacky hadn't had a decent sleep in weeks; while Gerard had been recovering from his incident, he had practically been kidnapped by Frank and forced to sleep on his couch until My Chem were ready to go back out on tour. Now, Zacky didn't have anything against Frank's couch; in fact, it was in the top five best surfaces that he had ever slept on.

(In his bottom five were: a fish tank, on a fire escape, in a dog kennel with a drooling Rottweiler, Johnny's bed and the bunk on the tour bus.)

No, Zacky really hadn't minded Frank's couch, but it just wasn't his bed. Smiling contently, he wriggled further into his blankets, looking forward to a good day of sleep.

He had forgotten about his cell phone. A shrill ringing filled his skull and he cursed loudly, picking the aforementioned phone up from his bedside table and chucking it across the room, where it landed in a pile of clothes. Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes again, easily blocking the chirping out of his mind.

What came next, however, was not so easily blocked.

"It's Friday, Friday! Gotta get down on Friday!"

"It's Monday!" Zacky roared, instantly wide awake. Tearing through the pile of clothes, he slammed his phone to his right ear with such force that he knocked his left earring out.

"What do you want?!"

"You."

Zacky was going to kill Frank Iero.

"Listen asshole, I haven't slept in my bed in over a fucking month, I'm grouchy and..." Zacky paused for a moment, remembering that his ringtone for Frank had not been Friday only six hours before.

"Frank, did you change my ringtone?"

"Yeah, I hacked your phone. That's why you need to do what I say, otherwise bad things will happen." Zacky groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He was still recovering from a month's worth of Frank's antics; he needed at least a day's sleep and a copious amount of liquor to deal with any more so soon.

"Frank, I'm not even going to ask how you hacked my phone-"

"Russian technology."

"I said I wasn't going to ask!"

"You didn't, I told you."

"I'm hanging up now."

"Don't make me tell everyone about the night." Zacky, whose thumb was hovering over the end button, froze. The color drained from his face and his cheekbones seemed to sharpen underneath his skin. Slowly, fingernails digging into the plastic casing of his phone, he brought it back up to his mouth.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered.

"Don't question me," Frank replied. Zacky could practically hear him smirking. "Maybe I have the photo evidence ready to text to every number in my phone and yours."

"I was drunk."

"That doesn't matter. Now, I'm in town for rehearsal and I need you to go to the corner of Madison and Daltry. The Festival to End All Festivals is in a week and I just left My Chemical Romance."

"You did what?" Zacky yelled, but to no avail. Frank had already hung up, leaving Zacky with no choice but to get dressed and head downtown, to find out what in the fuck Frank had done now. He assumed that it was just a joke, that Frank just wanted him to play Pirates with him or something equally childish. For a few moments, Zacky even considered turning around and walking back to his home to catch up on his sleep. But then he remembered that Frank had blackmail against him and that was enough to make him chug an energy drink and keep walking.

When he finally reached the corner of Madison and Daltry, Zacky found himself staring upwards, eyes bugging out of his skull. He hadn't visited this corner of Huntington Beach in quite some time and in that period, the tallest hotel he had ever seen had been built. He knew that he was probably exaggerating things but he swore that the top of the building disappeared into the clouds. As he lowered his eyes back down to the ground, a gold plated BMW pulled up in the front, driven by a valet. Another car that Zacky had never seen before pulled up behind it, gleaming in the sun. He estimated its worth to be in the six digits, easily. Mouth gaping open, Zacky dialed Frank's number, still staring at the cars.

"Yes?" For a moment, Zacky tried to process what he had just heard. He may have been suffering from some sort of auditory hallucination but he could have sworn that Frank had a French accent.

"Frank?"

"Oui."

"Why do you sound French?"

"I've decided to start taking lessons, if you must know. I need something to do now that I'm no longer in the band. Now, did you find the place?"

"I think so..." To be honest, Zacky wasn't entirely convinced that this was where Frank was staying. Yes, he made quite a bit of money in the band but, judging from the cars he had seen, the people staying here could thrown a hundred thousand dollars away like nothing and Frank wasn't that rich.

"I think I see you! Can you see me?" Zacky directed his gaze upwards again and began scanning the countless balconies that stuck out from the hotel's facade.

"Yeah, you're the one giving me the finger."

"No I'm not, I'm actually waving at you. Look higher." Craning his neck, Zacky finally caught a glimpse of Frank at least thirty floors up, waving frantically. From the way he was leaning over the railing, Zacky was surprised that he wasn't falling.

"I see you. What room number?"

"3642. Now, hurry up!" Zacky rolled his eyes and hung up, crossing the street. As he entered the lobby, he felt even more sure that this was some elaborate prank created by Frank. There were a dozen or so people lounging around near the front desk and each one of them looked like a million bucks, The women were dripping with jewels and wearing dresses that Zacky thought he had seen at the Oscars. The men, while more casual, were perfectly groomed from head to toe. Very aware of his own relatively shabby appearance, Zacky hustled his way to the elevator which was, thankfully, empty. When he finally reached the thirty-sixth floor, he was laughing to himself. There was absolutely no way that Frank could have afforded this room on his own. The boys had to be playing a prank on him.

When he knocked on Frank's door, it swung open to reveal him merely sitting on the king size bed, legs crossed like a child. When he looked up, Zacky could see that, even though he had been acting like a complete idiot on the phone, Frank had been crying. The realization that this had not been a prank hit him like a brick wall.

"Oh my God," he whispered, "you actually quit."