Make Your Choice (Chap. 1)

Pairing: Jogan, The Stuart Trio
Rating: NC-17 (Gore/violence)

Capturing them had been the easy part. They were all off on their own, minding their own business. Julian, perfect Julian, was reading a script in his room. Sneaking up behind him had been so easy it was almost a disappointment. Logan had been in the music hall, so sneaking around was a bit harder. Then again, the lure of Kurt needing something got him away from the main halls easy enough. Derek had been out on the grounds-saying that Logan needed him was like leading a dog with a bone. Again, so easy it was almost painful. Either way, the three were in place, shackles, keys, chains, and locks set. Timers ready for when the pins were pulled. Everything was perfect. Now he got to sit back and watch his favorite show, completely centered around his favorite actor.


Holy shit his head hurt. Ow. God, ow! Each thud of his heart was a thud in his head, his pulse beating against his temples. With a groan he lifted his head, eyes cracking open to find the room dark. He was sitting on something cold and hard-metal, by the feel of it through his thin uniform pants. His back was against metal too. Something was dripping, and his back was cold and ached. He moved to stand only to cry out in pain.

“Shit!” He yelped, moving again out of instinct and the start of panic only to feel the pain snag and tear a little bit more. His arms were restrained down at his sides by heavy metal shackles bolted to the sides of the chair, and there was something in his back. Shaking his head and trying to ignore the heavy throbbing in his skull, he looked around. It was so dark… The static crackle of a TV coming to life made him jump.

“Hello, Julian. I’d like to play a game.”

Oh dear god. All the color drained from the actor’s features as he stared at the TV, the little mechanical bird that stood alone in the middle of the screen. It was black, with red eyes, and such a haunting voice, Julian knew he would never forget it. He swallowed dryly as it continued to talk, the beak opening and closing as it turned its head to glare at him with one red, beady eye.

“Your acting skills are defined and well known, but how well can you act when the cameras disappear? How will you respond when the scripts are all thrown out? Will you dare to do your own stunts? I’d like to find out.”

What in the…? “Help!!” He screamed, to no avail as he really did start to panic. He thrashed a little in the chair, gasping and wincing as the hooks ripped at his skin. Panting heavily, the bird on the screen gave the chirp of a Warbler and continued talking.

“In your current state, one might say you are ‘torn’ between two ultimatums. Stay at Dalton, and suffer your feelings for Logan in silence. Leave for your movie, and risk the wrath of your stalker. By the end of the night, we should be able to see just how torn you are. Your friends, if you can call them that, are here. So is the entirety of your career. Your face, your body, your voice. All are needed to pursue a career in Hollywood. Give up one, and keep the other. It is all up to you.”

The cold fear really set in at the mention of Logan’s name. Logan was here. Logan… Logan was in danger-and Derek, he could only assume. Friends had been plural, so of course the other had to be Derek, if there weren’t more. Oh god, Logan.

 “Logan!” He cried out desperately, biting his lip as he struggled. “Don’t you dare hurt him!” He screamed at no-one in general. The bastard that did this had to be around somewhere. The voice on the screen snapped his eyes back to the TV.

“The hooks in your back are the start of the end of your career. They are only flesh wounds, but they will scar. Doctors can only do so much to repair the body. Remove them, or don’t. Either way, you won’t be doing that movie with a marred body. You have one minute before they rip out for you, and they’ll  only take more with them when they do. Let the game begin.”

The bird trilled once more before the screen went black and the lights snapped on. He was in some old warehouse or something, the room was big and metal and empty other than for himself, the TV, and the chair he was occupying. When the lights popped on, the shackles around his wrists clanged open and he brought his hands up with a whimper. One minute? He looked around desperately, trying to move again only to cry out in pain. Fuck it hurt. It wasn’t like a broken bone or anything, but damn, it was a red-hot tearing pain in the sides of his lower back above his kidneys, and the back of his shoulder blades. Reaching back tentatively, he fingered around the wounds, finding he could reach the two hooks in his shoulders. They felt massive, and when he gave one a tug he could tell it how it was caught in his body.

There was a buzzer and the actor jumped, looking around. A clock on the wall, a timer, had :30 lit up in red lights, and was ticking down regardless of the soft plea that left Julian’s lips.

“Oh god please….” He breathed as he took a deep breath and moved to the hooks in his sides. They were put in the same way. Clenching his jaw, he pulled. They tore free of his skin, and he could turn them a little to unhook them and pull them out entirely. He did them both at once and couldn’t stop the outcry of pain as he heard the blood patter on the floor. His sides throbbed and he groaned, biting his lip as he could feel the blood, the burning pain making goosebumps rise on his skin.

Looking up at the clock, it was down to 15 seconds.

“Shit.” He swore again as he brought his hands back and gripped the hooks desperately. Without really thinking, he tugged and tried to move them up and slide them out, and he got one, but the other snagged and he yelped in pain. The buzzer sounded again and he braced himself.  The metal chains snapped back, the last hook ripping from his body and taking out a chunk of skin and slight muscle from his shoulder. The dark-haired Stuart could feel the blood dripping down his shoulder. He held back a whine as he went to move his arms and found the puncture wounds stretching wider, tearing more. God, it hurt so bad.

“ Bastard… Who are you?!” He called out, pissed more than hurting. Yeah, his sides killed, and his shoulders hurt, and he could feel the blood running down his skin, but this was bigger than him. He looked around, turning and trying to find something, anything that would give this guy away. He didn’t even know how he got here…

A light snapped on to highlight a door in the corner, one of the big, metal factory-style sliding doors.  There were words written on it in what Julian hoped was paint. As he moved closer, he saw that it wasn’t and nearly puked. He moved carefully towards the door and touched the handle hesitantly. Debating for a moment, he took a deep breath. No. He couldn’t think about it. This sicko had Logan, and Derek, and they were in danger.

“Fuck it.” He muttered as he slid open the door and through the doorway, trying not to look back at the door.

“PLAY THE PART” was written in blood, and he didn’t want to know who it came from. He only prayed it wasn’t Logan.

  1. aftermidnight-182 posted this