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Life of a Mad Guitar Player

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guitarhero01234:
Yep, doing one of these again. It's been a while, hopefully my writing skills haven't gotten too rusty (as if they were anything great to begin with :P )


Chapter 1
This had better be worth all this trouble . . .

The sound of footsteps broke up the silence of an old, long-abandoned movie theater. A lanky male casually strode into one of the screening rooms through an opening, taking care not to hit the guitar hanging on his back on the doorway, which had signs of the hinges having been carelessly ripped off. He made a mental note of this, rubbing his beard absentmindedly as he activated his cell phone's flashlight.

The mohawked young man walked down the aisle to the fire exit, making sure that his heavy boots didn't make too much noise. Best not to alert whatever it was that he was trying to track down, of course. The scrawny figure rested his phone in his pants pocket, leaving just enough hanging out of the top for the flashlight to be useful, and lifted his guitar into playing position. Holding the neck of the instrument in one hand, he reached up to the cold horizontal bar that served as the door's handle. The door didn't offer any resistance as he pushed it open – in fact, it fell of the hinges as soon as he applied the slightest amount of pressure. The confused guitarist slowly laid the door to rest on the ground, making as little sound as he possibly could. Then . . .

Noise. A loud, blaring noise cut through the all-too-silent atmosphere, making the guitarist jump in fright. He quickly identified the source of the sound – his cell phone, blasting its death metal ringtone. He quickly retrieved it from his pocket and, recognizing the number as important, answered it. “Yes?”

“Hey, Lewis!” a voice said, coming far too loudly out of the speaker. gh quickly tapped the “volume down” button a few times.

“Nacho, I'm really busy right now, can I-”

“Yeah, I'll make this quick,” gh's manager said, cutting the frightened RAFian off. “Hey, I need you to come in on Tuesday, Greg has a family thing going on, and . . .”

“Yeah, I'll see if I can make it.”

“. . . I asked Stefan to come in, but he's busy, and you know Aaron quit last week . . .”

gh frantically looked around for any sign of movement, not really listening to the phone call. “Yeah, I get it. I'll call you back tomorrow, I'm-”

“. . . Freddy has Tuesdays blocked off, and Ashley's already working. . . .” It was fairly obvious by this point that Nacho wasn't exactly listening to gh, either.

“Yeah, I'll call you back. I'm really busy right now.” gh quickly ended the call, having said the last part a little louder than he had meant to. His focus quickly returning to the hallway that he ended up in, gh looked up and down the hall, his guitar neck still supported with his left hand. If only he could see a little better –

Movement. Dropping his phone to the floor, gh quickly jumped backward, his back to the end of the hallway. Luckily, the phone landed so the flashlight was facing upward, partially illuminating the creature that he had narrowly dodged. It resembled a giant gargoyle so tall that it had to hunch over as to not hit its head the ceiling, and its wings almost as wide as the hall itself. It was difficult to make out, but it seemed to be covered in scales instead of being made of rock.

The creature pointed a clawed finger at gh, maybe a little too close to the RAFian's chest for his liking. “What isss your busssinessss here?” the dragon-gargoyle hissed.

“So, I'm guessing you don't want any thin mints,” gh muttered. In response, the claw jutted even closer, stopping inches before impaling the guitarist.

“Don't tessst my patienccce.”

Although the monster probably didn't see it in the low lighting, gh grinned. He strummed an open chord on his guitar, sending the beast flying to the other end of the hallway with a concussive blast of sound. gh sighed and fine tuned a couple of his strings, clearly not happy with the timbre of the chord. When he looked up again, the beast had stretched its wings out and was running toward gh, tearing the walls away as it moved toward him.

“Seriously?” gh intoned, moving up on the neck to play a slow, dirty blues lick. The beast fell to the ground, landing on top of the cell phone that illuminated the hallway. Not enjoying the advantage that it gave the musician, it picked up the device and crushed it in its hand, extinguishing the light along with it.

“Well that's not fair,” gh whined. “Do you realize how expensive-” He was cut off mid-sentence by the feeling of being lifted several feet off the ground.

“I repeat,” the monster snarled, “what isss your busssinessss?” Its words displayed a patience that its actions and exasperated tone of voice betrayed.

Caught off guard, gh stuttered his response. “Uh, disappearances. P-people have been disappearing here, I was, uh, sent to investigate.”

Even in the complete darkness, gh could see the glow of the beast's eyes, staring directly into gh's. After a disconcerting amount of time, the beast spoke. “Well,” it growled, “I sssuppossse . . .”

Without any warning, gh was sent hurtling into a wall. He groaned loudly as he tried to pick himself up, but he had landed hard on his guitar, which had miraculously survived the impact. Before the RAFian could regain his footing, the gargoyle was already on him, pinning him down with its foot. It bent down and held a claw against the back of gh's throat, the human gasping and whimpering beneath it.

The claw unceremoniously punctured the guitarist's skin, making him choke and cough as it bore through the front of his neck. He couldn't cry, couldn't plead for mercy . . . not that it would do him much good at this point anyway. Having released gh from beneath its foot, the monster ripped him off of its claw as if he was the shrink-wrap on a new video game, and he found himself thrown back down to the ground at its feet. He tried to gasp for air, but he was already choking on his own blood, and it was almost certain that he had plenty of broken ribs. The beast knelt down to make sure that gh could hear him, as the guitarist was quickly losing consciousness. The last words gh heard before passing out were, “You may join them.”

Cloak:
Interesting start.

And, to anyone reading, this is canon to the Memoirs universe, as well. I've discussed it with GH -- it takes place during Book #176, while Cloak is doing his thing in that book.

Quaf:
Me likey.

guitarhero01234:
Thanks guys ^.^

No chapter tonight. I'm kinda sick and very mentally exhausted from work at the moment

guitarhero01234:
New chapter!


Chapter 2
gh groaned as he slowly came to. He tried to sit up in the bed that he was in, but every muscle in his body ached so badly that this was a practically impossible task. He heard a slow, steady beep that seemed to bore through his skull, and the florescent light reflecting off the white walls was practically blinding. The memory of what happened before he lost consciousness started to come back to him, and it was right around then that he realized that this was most definitely not the room that he was attacked in.

Okay, gh thought to himself, no need to freak. The good news was that he was still alive, even if he wasn't exactly sure how or why. If he remembered right, he had been stabbed through the throat – not exactly an injury that one recovers from quickly. He felt the spot on his neck where there should have been at the very least a puncture mark, but felt nothing out of the ordinary.

Confused, gh glanced around the hospital room that he ended up in. Again, nothing particularly jumped out at him as abnormal, although he wasn't exactly familiar with the setting of a hospital anyway. There was a small device on his finger that presumably was for keeping track of his pulse. Seeing that there was nothing else attached to him, that would be the best explanation for the steady “beep” that was driving him absolutely mad.

Wait . . .

gh's gaze darted back to his right hand that the pulse monitor was attached on, and as he dreaded, a light blue “R” was visible on the skin. The Mark.

gh winced and let out a barely audible profanity. If the doctor noticed the Mark, which he certainly would have, that could be very bad news. He already had some troubles recently with a Knight seeing the Mark, and he was sure that they wouldn't make the same mistake of keeping multiple RAFians in the same space twice.

Granted, it was entirely possible that it wasn't a Knight, in which case it could be easily passed off for a tattoo, but that didn't stop gh's anxious mind from worrying. Seeing every possible way that his life and the lives of his friends were destroyed. How long would he be able to withstand torture? It would only be a matter of time before he would break, let spill some vital information. . . .

No, it was ridiculous to worry. For now, gh wasn't in any immediate danger. True, he didn't know what had happened to the guitar that he had brought with him, which was still worrying, but that paled in comparison to his more pressing questions. Specifically, how he ended up in a hospital and how his more serious injuries had healed.

The sound of a door opening broke up gh's train of thought. Still sore and exhausted, gh didn't bother to look up at whomever walked in. Just find out what's up and get back to sleep, he thought.

“You're awake,” a voice with a thick accent said. It was a little hard to make out those two words for a moment, but it wasn't too hard to figure out.

“Mhm.”

“I'm sure you noticed, you're not where you probably expected to be.” What was that accent, Swedish? Either way, those words carried a rather ominous tone to them.

“Yeah, that's one way to put it,” gh responded sleepily. He looked up to give the doctor some semblance of respect – something he very quickly wished he hadn't done.

What stood in front of the closed door could only be described as a demon in a white doctor's coat. Two skinny curved horns protruded from his head, and his skin had a slightly reddish hue. Most everything else about him seemed human, aside from a tail that reached almost toward the floor. gh couldn't help but stare, which the demon thankfully didn't notice, as he was intently staring at a clipboard. “Uh. . . .” gh found this to be the best way  to voice his confusion and fright, as a blunt “what the ****” may have been interpreted as quite rude. And something told him that he didn't want to offend this guy.

The demon doctor looked up from his clipboard. “Hm, by now, people usually ask, 'am I dead?' or 'is this Hell?'” His face betrayed very little emotion, and gh couldn't gleam much through the thick accent. “The answer to both would be 'no,'” the doctor continued, “although that depends on your definition of Hell.”

Baffled, gh could do little but stare at the demon. “Then, where am I?” he finally managed to spit out.

The demon rolled his eyes. “Clearly, there aren't many hospitals where you come from.”

gh finally mustered the energy to sit up, if only to confront the doctor. “Hey, I know what a ****ing hospital is.” It seemed he had given up rather quickly on not offending this creature. “I'm just not exactly used to waking up in one after being stabbed through the throat and being talked down to by a demon . . . thing. Seriously, what even are you?”

A smug grin spread across the demon's face. “Ah, abandoning the formalities I see?” He set the clipboard down next to a sink and rested his hands on the foot of the bed. “Very well. My name is Klas, and you are Logan.”

gh's brow furrowed at this. “Hold on, how do you-”

“You were attacked by a Seeker,” Klas continued, cutting off the RAFian. “Somebody found you bleeding out in an alley and brought you here, and I mended your wounds.”

“Thanks, I guess?” gh felt his neck once again, still not quite comprehending how the puncture wound had healed so fast and so cleanly. “So, look, if I'm all fixed up and stuff, can I go home now?”

“Home?” Klas asked, looking at gh with a perplexed look on his face. “No, there's no record of you living here. You'll be assigned a temporary home.” With that, the demon opened the door and started to leave.

“Wait, what?” gh made no moves to stand up, as he had many more questions than before this conversation.

Klas simply looked over his shoulder. “Logan, please try to keep up. It will make things much easier for both of us.” Left with little other choice, gh stood up in spite of his aching body and followed Klas out the door.

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