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"How... are you?", the Corpse asked, even though it felt ridiculous.
"I don't know.", the Clerk said. He'd taken off his hat which made his hair fall down, and his makeup was smeared from sweat and blood.
"I don't think I've ever survived before. But I don't remember."
"You haven't.", the Clerk said, with a tinge of regret, "I always finish the job. With the bomb, if not the knife."
"Have you survived before?"
"No.", he paused, "But we aren't going to survive now, either. It'll just take longer for you to bleed out. And I assume someone will come to finish me off once they notice I'm not in a million pieces on the floor."
"I feel pretty alright.", the Corpse said. They touched the wound on their chest, which was sort of numb. They didn't feel much of their body anyway, they hadn't since they woke up. Something must have gone wrong. They also felt like they probably twisted or broke their ankle on-stage, mainly because they hadn't been able to tell whether their feet were on the ground or not.
"It may be shock.", the Clerk said.
"What happens now?", the Corpse was trying to look out past the wing without moving, "Do the people just... go home?"
"There's another band playing as a B-set.", he sounded tired, but it was a strangely normal tired, like rehashing something in a business meeting, "We hired an opener and a closer because we already knew the show would end in a... bloody way. We wanted the audience to enjoy themselves and stop thinking about what happened previously."
"So who is playing tonight?"
The Clerk blinked, then said, "Oh, the closer, the B-stage is always the same band. We're touring in parallel."
"Well, that'd be the first I've heard of that.", they frowned, annoyed that once again they had not been told something about the tour schedule. What was so bad about the B-stage that the MCR felt the need to hide it from them?
"I don't want to damage your ego too much,", now he had a little bit of the Clown in him, with that teasing smile, "but if you asked me to put a number to it I'd say over 50% of the crowd are here for them, and not us."
"Hmph.", the Corpse thought about it, "If that is true though, they've been a great fucking audience. They knew all the songs."
The Clerk nodded. They sat in silence for a while, although it wasn't quite silence. There was the murmuring of a large crowd, and also the somber tones of beautiful cello music.
"Is that... Clarice from the Auxiliary Band?", the Corpse asked. Names were still hard to say, and their long-suffering heart dialed up the speed, only to stammer and give them heartburn for it.
"Yes.", the Clerk said, "I've heard her practise. The song is called From A to B. I've never actually heard her play it in full, it's... quite beautiful."
"Have you heard the B-stage band practise too?"
"No. They go home over the week, and probably practise in their studio. They don't even do the soundcheck. I've only ever spoken with their manager who always says that if it sounds good for us it's good for them too."
"Strange...", the Corpse had started watching the blood on their gloves dry and become invisible against the black leather in the unnatural light.
"I only know that they do actually perform because their setlists are loaded up on the prompt screens. Different one every night."
The cello song ended with someone asking for applause for Clarice, which the crowd happily gave. The Clerk was frowning, looking like he was listening intently.
The Corpse heard the speaker of the other band shout out the Draag National Auxiliary Band by their names, which was odd, but perhaps they also supported the B-stage act?
"Do you think...", the Clerk started, but then his eyes met the Corpse's and he fell silent.
"We're My Chemical Romance from New Jersey. Let's fucking go!", the person on stage yelled.
What kind of name is that?, the Corpse wondered and then shrugged to himself. Americans.
The guitars and drums were starting now- this was straight up, solid rock. Pretty similar to the Black Parade's sound, but then again, not really. The Corpse spied the prompter on the now-empty main stage that displayed the lyrics. They waved to the Clerk lightly and pointed it out.
"The prompters on A and B are connected,", he explained, "I don't really know why, but we always set it up that way."
Almost automatically, the Corpse had started bouncing their leg in time with the music, and the vibrations were making their chest resume bleeding harder. They wouldn't have even noticed if not for the weird sucking sound the wound occasionally made.
The singer was screaming, which again reminded the Corpse of himself. He guessed a lot of singers who screamed professionally did it the same way.
"Uhm.", the Clerk made, and the Corpse waved a 'shh' hand. The crowd was singing along so loudly that at times the singer was completely drowned out. Everyone seemed to know this song, singing with enthusiasm that was approaching Welcome to the Black Parade levels. Did the band start with their most well known song? Or was it the fact that 'I'm not okay' was a pretty easy lyric to remember?
The song ended with a "WOO!", from the singer who seemed to be having fun.
After the crowd had calmed down somewhat, he said something kind of stammery and incomprehensible about drinking water which was, in the Corpse's opinion, slightly unprofessional.
"Uh, so we'll play you a song off Conventional Weapons, it's called Boy Division-", the crowd started screaming so loud the Corpse couldn't hear anything past that.
This band knew how to play. The Corpse was feeling less and less bad about the Clerk's estimation that more than half the people were there for them and not the Black Parade.
"I'm not askin', you're not tellin'
He's not dead, he only looks that way"
The Corpse, reading along with the lyrics on the prompter, was taken aback and barked out a laugh.
"IS THAT NOT PERFECT?!", he yelled at the Clerk over the music, "MAYBE WE SHOULD COVER THEM SOMETIME."
"I-", the Clerk did not raise his voice enough, and therefore the Corpse had to shrug and point to their ears. The Clerk did a little 'later' gesture.
"I bought my enemies
Rope to hang me and the knives to gang me
You can watch them stab me on your television"
"Oh, come on." the Corpse said to no one in particular.
The song ended, and immediately the Clerk leaned forward and put his hand on the Corpse's knee.
"Do you also think... that this frontman sounds a lot like you?"
They frowned. "Meaning what?"
"Just... the voice. You sing the same way."
"Oh, really?", the Corpse had assumed this was going to be an insult at what they did between songs, "I think he sounds great, so... thank you!"
"Fuck yeah! Alright, thank you so much. Fuck yeah, man. This is, uh, the first song we've ever recorded. Vampires, dude! Like fucking bats and shit."
Both of them blinked at each other, the Clerk said: "You don't talk the same way but the singing-", and the Corpse said: "Who introduces a song like that?"
"Do you not hear it?!", he asked.
"Hear what?", they shuffled in their seat a little, getting a clearer look at the prompter on stage.
"HOW SIMILAR YOU SOUND.", the Clerk yelled because at that moment the drums and screaming kicked off.
"SO? SOMETIMES THAT HAPPENS, YOU KNOW?"
The Clerk sat back with an uneasy face, letting the Corpse enjoy the song. It was a good song, though some of the guitar riffs reminded them almost painfully of sirens.
"We′re hanging out with corpses
And driving in this hearse
And someone save my soul, tonight
Please save my soul"
The Corpse laughed again. Hanging out with corpses alright. They wondered whether anyone would even notice they were missing, or if they would have to wait until the end of the night when the cleanup crew would ultimately discover them hidden out in the wings. They debated trying to get out of here, but where would they run to? And, even though their fucked up brain didn't register all the pain in their body, would they even make it? The Clerk could make it, if he decided to run. Maybe.
The song ended, and the singer was taking a moment to shout out the crew, which was not something the Corpse ever did. The crew were mostly MOAT anyway. Any thank you would probably come across as some kind of passive aggressive sarcasm.
"You could run.", they told the Clerk of their idea, "If you wanted you could get out of here. I would cover for you, I could distract them quite a lot, I reckon."
He looked at them as if they were crazy.
"I remember most of the shows.", he said, "It's not the same for me as for you or the rest of the band. What would I want out there?"
They leaned forward, with a slight woosh from their wound.
"To live? To be alive instead of stuck in a perpetual loop of life and death?"
"You're stuck in a loop.", the Clerk said, "I'm doing a job."
The Corpse fell silent.
"You guys wanna do the intro with us?! Yeah, cmon, sing it with me! WHOAA-"
The crowd exploded. If the Corpse thought the enthusiasm they had for the first song was unmatched, they were proven dead wrong with this.
The prompter wasn't moving yet, but they stared at it intensely to avoid looking at the Clerk. The idea that he would choose to do this over and over again on purpose sickened them, and they suddenly became a little more aware of the stab wound in their chest. There was the subtle feeling that there was water in their lungs, but they had the suspicion it was blood.
"And what's the worst you take
From every heart you break
And like the blade you stain
Well, I've been holding on tonight
What's the worst that I can say?
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long and goodnight"
In the corner of their eye, they saw the Clerk get up and sit down next to them. They flinched away but he leaned closer and they weren't gonna get up and run so they just let it happen.
"If I try to leave and they catch me, they'll make a new one of me. Wipe all my memories or mess with them, and try to create someone who truly hates you- they've succeeded before.", he said softly, only looking at the Corpse because if he turned his face a different direction they would not be able to hear him.
"Do you think it will matter if the guy who kills me likes or hates me?", the Corpse asked.
"I don't know. Does it matter to you?", he asked, "Right now, would you prefer someone who likes or hates you?"
"I would prefer someone who didn't stab me.", the Corpse said.
The Clerk shrugged, perhaps a shred apologetic.
"You only get to choose between someone who stabs you once and someone who stabs you until you're dead."
"Well, if you carry on this way
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long and goodnight"
On the last word, the crowd erupted into cheer again, and then started chanting something the Corpse couldn't make out.
"Fuck yeah. You're a great crowd tonight, you know? Fucking... killing it. We're all killing it-", the singer laughed at something, "No, it totally wasn't. Really, man! Next one's called Kill All Your Friends."
The song apparently called Kill All Your Friends started, and the Corpse slowly but surely got the feeling that the MCR hired this band to spit on his metaphorical grave.
He coughed and spat up a clump of blood, and turned to the Clerk with blood running down his chin: "Did you help them write their songs or something?"
"Ah-", he scooted away a bit, still close enough to not have to scream to understand each other, but no longer touching knees, "I really had nothing to do with that."
The Corpse coughed and spat again. By now the blood was getting annoying, even if they still couldn't feel a lot of the pain. Their lungs stung a little. Their chest felt sore. That was it.
"I thought you said they were hired to distract the audience, how are they gonna distract anyone when all they sing about is murder?"
"Maybe the thematic coherence makes the actual murder seem more like an act.", the Clerk said, "I don't know."
The Corpse decided they could no longer stand to be in the same place as the asshole who stabbed them, so they got up after all.
"What are you doing-"
They tried to take a step and immediately crashed into one of the nearby boxes. Their feet weren't working properly- something had snapped over something and now one of them bent away when they tried to put weight on it. The Clerk had jumped to his feet and was now standing over them, which they did not like at all.
"Fuck off."
The Clerk held out a hand, and despite being insulted at this inappropriate and shallow kindness, the Corpse took it and pulled themself back up, almost making him topple over with the weight they put on him.
He sat them back down quite forcefully.
"Don't do that again."
"Fuck you.", they spat at him, getting more blood on his white shirt and pants.
"Don't be moody.", the Clerk clicked his tongue, "Look, you need to drink something. Stay put, I'll go and get you some water."
The Corpse said nothing. He watched the Clerk grab a jacket someone had left in the wing, throw it on and pull the hood down over his face. He dashed out on stage and behind some of the amps and then the big drum- the drumset had already been packed up?- then he grabbed their water bottle and made a hasty escape. To the unfocused eye he might have appeared like a crewmember. It was a pretty pointless move, made more dangerous by him freezing before grabbing the bottle and staring at the red circle where, presumably, the B-stage band was performing.
He handed the Corpse the bottle and they drank.
"I want to go out.", they said, "So I won't live, whatever. Let me at least see the band."
"Security will catch us immediately if we try to join the crowd.", the Clerk was taking off the jacket, which was luckily black, but a bit wet now, "And you can't walk."
He was right, but they hated to hear it. They were dying and there was music but they couldn't see the band. There could be no better middle finger for the universe to extend specifically towards them.
"Next time-", he coughed up blood into his lap, "Next time I will see this band."
"You'll never take me alive, you'll never take me alive
Do what it takes to survive, 'cause I'm still here
You'll never get me alive, you'll never take me alive
Do what it takes to survive, and I'm still here"
"Fuck-", now their chest was beginning to hurt. Still not as much as they reckoned a stab wound would actually hurt (although they weren't sure if they were remembering the pain of a stab wound or just imagining it), but the pain was distracting.
They scooted over closer to the edge of the larger box, right by the curtain. Maybe they could peek out past the corner? The Clerk hovered about them uneasily. They considered spitting at him again, then decided that it was probably useless, and a waste of spit.
The song came to an end, but the singer only waited for the applause to die down before he went: "Let's keep it going! Number two summer jam of all time! KILLJOYS, MAKE SOME NOISE!!" and again the crowd screamed with seemingly endless reserves of energy.
The Corpse pulled themself up by the curtain and craned their head around the corner. At first the lights blinded them, stark against the relative darkness of the wing. Once their eyes had gotten more used to it, they could see that someone had dragged the drumset and the keyboards out onto the red circle. The second band apparently also had two guitarists and a bass player, and from the Corpse's vantage point, they even looked similar to the members of the Black Parade.
The singer had his back to the main stage, shouting into the crowd, jumping up and down. Eventually, he did move from his spot to walk around- and then suddenly the Corpse could see his face and the surprise made them have a coughing fit so violent, they retreated back into the wing and doubled over.
"Do you want me to-", the Clerk started, but the Corpse held up a hand.
"That's ME.", they sputtered, "The- the one singing, they look like me."
The Clerk bit his lip and nodded after a moment of uncomfortable silence (which was not particularly silent, so it was more a moment of uncomfortable "Keep your apology, give us more detonation!").
"I think- if the theory I came up with in the last few minutes is correct,", he said carefully, and the Corpse had to grab him by the shirt and pull to get him to bend down because he was getting quieter with uncertainty, "If- if it is what I think it is, this is a case of copying before or without death."
"Two copies existing at the same time?", the Corpse asked.
"More like... a copy and the original, possibly.", the Clerk said.
For a long second, the Corpse was stunned that someone must have done this to them without their knowledge, just made another one of them, some sort of fucked up twin, or child, but then their brain caught up with them.
The Corpse was not the original. Whoever was out there singing was.
"They copied me... from them?"
The Clerk seemed to be out of his depth: "I don't know for certain. But he's not a Draag citizen, so it's very unlikely for him to be a copy too."
"Fuck."
"I- I'm sorry.", the Clerk awkwardly put a hand on their shoulder, and then retracted it when the Corpse looked up at him with dagger eyes.
"Maybe you should have done your job correctly.", they said, although it was mostly because they wanted him to feel bad for pitying them. It worked like a charm, judging by his face.
They held onto the curtain and looked out again, watching his copy- his original- jumping around on the red circle. Did he know that, merely an hour before, there had been blood spilled there? Did the crew even have a chance to clean it? And what about the main stage? They must have been somewhere backstage during the Black Parade's show. How much did they know?
Their vision was spinning a little, either from the revelation or the blood loss. And, yeah, once you noticed it you really couldn't stop noticing- the other band members didn't just look similar to the Corpse's bandmates, they were the same people. They moved differently, they were clearly less set in their patterns and if the Corpse's own copy was any indication, they probably had different ways of speaking. But it was them.
"Everybody wants to change the world
Everybody wants to change the world
But no one, no one wants to die
Wanna try? Wanna try? Wanna try? Wanna try? Wanna try?"
The song was good. It was not something the Black Parade would ever make, but if they did, they would do it exactly like this. If they were standing in the crowd and not losing a lot of blood, the Corpse might have joined the people raising their arms and jumping up and down. It was the kind of song that inspired movement- and move they did, both the crowd and the band. Being on the red circle meant they were surrounded by the crowd and could wander in circles around the drums and keyboard. It was a smart setup. It gave them a sort of momentum that simply wasn't possible on the bigger main stage.
"Hell yeah. Thank you.", the Corpse could see their original wind down from the song. He almost emptied his water bottle, which made the Corpse also reach out and drink.
"We got a few more for you. This next one is, we've played it a few times now, it's- I had like, a religious experience with this song, and...", he drank the rest of the water, "And, it's like, playing other people's songs is just, different kind of nerves, right? Like if I fuck up my own shit no one's gonna be offended. I mean, I dunno, people used to be, I guess, they got real angry about us changing titles and stuff. But who cares, right? Let's fucking do it."
The Corpse wondered whether there was ever a point to anything their original was saying between the songs or if they were just talking for talking's sake. Maybe if you weren't forced to hold an execution on stage you could chat without much care. The pain in their chest was now consistently getting worse, and they had trouble breathing.
"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage-"
Their vision went black and they felt themself collapse. About two seconds later, they came back to, with the Clerk manhandling them onto their left side. They couldn't really speak, both because of the blood in their mouth and also because their mind was laser-focused on the music.
"Now I'm naked, nothing but an animal
But can you fake it for just one more show?
And what do you want? I wanna change
What do you got when you feel the same?"
They opened their mouth and coughed up so much blood that everything in the immediate vicinity was now sprayed red.
"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage
Then, someone will say, "What is lost can never be saved"
Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage"
They batted the Clerk's hands away with barely controlled motions. Propping themself up was horribly painful.
"EVERYBODY C'MON SING IT!!"
The Corpse nearly fell forward and had to hold onto the nearest object, which was the Clerk's shoulders.
"Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage", blood sprayed his face as they sang, trying their best to have their vocal chords work properly, "Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage"
"Theatrical today, aren't we.", the Clerk wiped a sleeve across his face, mostly smearing the blood instead of cleaning it off.
"I was made for the stage.", the Corpse blubbered. And it was true in such a literal way that the Clerk couldn't say anything against it.
He sighed, looked down at the Corpse, then met their eyes again: "You look like you're in pain. Do you want me to finish the job now?"
They cracked a smile. "Asking me if I want to die? Bit late for that now, isn't it?"
"I'm asking if you want to die faster."
They barked out a laugh, accompanied by another spray of red. The Clerk looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. He was clearly disgusted by the amount of bodily fluid around, which in the Corpse's opinion was something he should have thought about before he stabbed them.
"Maybe I'll remember it more if I'm in agony for longer.", they said.
"I don't think that's how it works.", the Clerk said uneasily.
"How would you know?"
He sighed. "I don't."
The singer- the original to the Corpse- was talking again, but they were not listening. Did they know that somewhere amidst boxes and stage tech, a copy of them was bleeding out? They longed to run out at them, to crawl onto the main stage in their last moments and grab the mic and shout 'I'm still here!'
Did the fans ever notice that two of the three bands they were seeing that night had seemingly the exact same cast? What did they think about it? Did they think it was coincidence? Or do they believe- and here the Corpse's heart started beating so fast they nearly lost their vision again- did they actually believe they were the same people? But he'd been stabbed and the band dragged off. And the Clerk was right, their speaking voices were so different. Surely someone MUST have asked the other band about it, right? Like a 'Hey, did your notice the guy who could be your identical twin just got murdered onstage twenty minutes before you came out?' after the show? Were they in on it? Did they sign an NDA? Were they singing about murder to pretend to BE the Black Parade with the serial numbers filed off?
The music started, with the keyboard and softer this time. The Corpse nudged the Clerk to turn them around so they could at least watch the prompter if not the band.
"If we all learn to die
Can most of us forget
That we're not waiting for the end?
We don't care about all the bad things that we did
Maybe me and you can just pretend"
Funny. They felt like weeping. But their body was now working with a skeleton crew of blood and oxygen, so emotional regulation mechanics were off the table.
They kept their eyes open a crack, and weakly grabbed at their shoulders to get the Clerk's hands. He clearly wasn't sure what they wanted, so they held onto him with their slippery, blood-covered leather gloves and moved his arms back and forth as though they were in the crowd, as they imagined they may incite the audience to wave if it was them out there. It only lasted for a moment before they lost their grip and their arms fell down.
The Clerk reached down and encircled their wrists. The Corpse snorted, but tried their best to raise their arms and wave again. After a few seconds they gave up, so it was more or less just him doing the movement.
"I did this once when you were dead.", he murmured.
"Shh-", the Corpse made, but it came out more like a babbling brook. They could at least still cock their head in the direction their arms were going.
"If we all learn to die
Can most of us forget
That we're not waiting for the end?
We don't care about the good things that we found
Maybe me and you can just be friends"
They felt the Clerk lean against their back and press a kiss to their head before he set their arms back down, which was a gesture so weirdly natural that it took them a while to notice how strange it was to receive from their manager turned murderer.
They leaned back against him, because otherwise they would have collapsed face first unto the ground.
They sat like this for the rest of the song, and the Corpse thought that maybe this would be a nice one to play at their funeral, if they would ever have one of those.
"Thank you! Thank you. We got two more for you."
The next song started hard and fast, a stark difference to the last one, and the Corpse could barely follow along with the rythm- their mind seemed to take half a second too long to comprehend a beat and occasionally their consciousness would fizzle which made the song sound odd. They tried to keep their eyes open to at least read along on the prompter but it was getting darker at the edges.
"Next time-", he said, "Could you- stab me lower? I want to be alive for the whole set. Next time."
"I can try.", the Clerk said softly, "But remember that the bomb usually ends it for you if you're still alive."
Ah.
"What if you- sabotaged the bomb?", they asked.
"I don't think I can do that."
They watched the blood drip from their chin down onto their shirt. "I think you can do a lot more than you think."
"I think that when they find us, they'll wipe my memories of this show. They don't like it when things go wrong."
"Well, then you fucking try again next time.", they laughed, sounding rough and ragged, "We'll live forever."
"Who put the words in your head
Oh, how wrong we were to think
That immortality meant never dying"
The Corpse laughed even louder, and then devolved into a coughing fit that made them see stars. They slid down a bit from the force of it, and the Clerk had to shift them so they were lying on their side. It hurt like hell. Their chest felt like it was on fire. They thought that this was it until their throat stopped spasming and their remaining lung resumed letting them breathe very shallowly. They reached out blindly, grabbed the Clerk's hand to hold.
"Give me a hug-", they demanded, "I want you to never get the blood out of your shirt."
"They'll throw it out.", the Clerk said, but did bend down and very gently touched his chest to theirs.
"FUCK YEAH! Thank you so much, this has been a great fucking night. We're My Chemical Romance from New Jersey. LIGHTS!"
The Corpse was vaguely aware of the next song starting.
Now their chest felt like not much at all- they were only aware of some of the edges of their body, and of the blood in their mouth. Wasn't it fascinating how much blood a person could hold? Their life was splattered all over the wing, and yet there was still more bubbling up.
They wondered if the others ever got to see the B-stage band. Maybe the MCR would allow them to watch, as a reward for good behaviour. Or as a punishment, seeing original versions of themselves that were more free than they could ever hope to be, even if they got away for a few minutes each night. Did they play their instruments differently? Did the reconditioning have side effects they'd only comprehend seeing the unmodified templates?
Were they friends, their originals? How long had they been together? Did they have lives outside the band, outside the tour? Did they have family, friends, people they could tell about what happened?
What would their original say if he could see them? If they could talk to each other, what would they say? Did their original know the songs the Black Parade wrote? Would he like them? Could they sing along?
If they had time, they'd learn to sing along to this. The song was nice. All their songs tonight had been good. There were definitely worse sets to bleed out to.
As their vision died completely, just for a moment, the Corpse was suddenly able to see past the wing, as though they were still standing on stage. And they saw thousands of stars, swaying in the hands of the crowd- thousands of people holding up their lights, moving to the music, thousands of little white and blue dots, a wall stretching up to the heavens as if the night sky itself was coming down to greet them.
And the band played like they were only playing for their sake, until they were too far gone to hear.
"'Cause you only live forever in the lights you make
When we were young, we used to say
That you only hear the music when your heart begins to break-"