Hello, this is my first fanfic and while I love reading them, I have decided to try my hand at one. Please be gentle in your reviews. I appreciate constructive criticism but not slams. Part of this story is dark and deals with difficult issues, so if you can't stomach it, find a fluff story to read. That said, thank you for continuing for those that do!

Oh, and I would also like to thank the ladies at Babycenter who encouraged me to do this.

Disclaimer on profile.

The Weapon

Sci-Fi/Drama/Comedy

Bella, Jasper, Angela, 22

Edward, Alice, 21

Emmett, Rose, Jake, 20

Seth, 19

Phil, 27

Prologue

May 18th, 2008

It was a muggy Tuesday night here in the tiny ass town of Forks, Washington and we were playing at a dive for the third time. You know, the kind that has a musty smell but you don't care because you're trying to make a name for yourself? Yeah, that kind. The hot stage lights were making us sweat and the dive didn't have what I'd call "air conditioning." Either the owner is too cheap or had never heard of the invention. It's a toss-up.

There were lit up signs for the different beer brands in the front window and a flashing "Open" sign (it's not flashing by choice, however) that makes it look like this is a strip joint. Luckily this is Forks and the neighborhood isn't as trashy as this dive would be in if it were in a bigger city. Although we'd probably earn more.

Angela was playing on the keyboard, Seth the bass and Sir-I-Get-Laid-For-My-Looks, our drummer Phil. I do vocals and sometimes play guitar. Seth and Angela do back-up vocals.

Oh yeah, my name is Bella. Sometimes, I'm not always focused.

In case you're wondering, let me tell you about us:

I have on a gray grunge t-shirt that is long enough to pass for a dress with textured tights and high black boots that scream fuck me yet I am 100% virgin. I finished my look with a muffler. For those of you who don't know, it's a fucking scrappy looking scarf. I'm 5'2" and I have brown eyes and brown hair, although I've streaked it with, you guessed it, gray streaks. It works for me. I like it.

Angela is wild but more modestly dressed. She's taller than me, 5'5" and she's got on an oversized t-shirt with a long black goth skirt and a big beanie. She's Asian and has long black hair and wicked brown eyes that sometimes turn black if she's pissed. It's freaky but I try not to go anywhere near her when she's mad. It's just such a bad idea.

Phil, mister blue eyes and dirty blonde hair with a goatee, is wearing some big brand name black wifebeater (is Hanes seriously not good enough?), boot cut jeans with doc martins. I think he tries to make up for being average looking. I don't see anything wrong with being average but whatever. He's the only one of us that wears different jewelry every night we play somewhere, though I have no idea how he affords his lifestyle. I think he pays more attention to his looks than all of us put together. I'll never understand him. If he weren't such a decent drummer, I'd have kicked him out a long time ago. Not that the band is all that old. We've been together for about a year and a half.

Seth is wearing a black t-shirt with the cure logo, tight jeans and combat boots. He's got these big brown eyes and strangely long eyelashes (it's actually hard not to notice or stare). He's got a baby face and is desperately trying to grow facial hair but is miserably failing at it, poor kid. He's pretty tall, too: 6'7". I like tall guys but not ones that look like they pump steroids (which, he doesn't – as far as I know). Exactly how much milk did he fucking drink during puberty season? The reason I know everyone's height is because it's a talent of mine. I don't know how it came to be, I just like measuring things.

This is actually our signature "look." Mostly because we're so broke that's basically all any of us have except Ang. I still live with my dad – Charlie – because there's no way I could afford a place of my own. Angela keeps telling me she can cover us if I moved in with her but I'd feel weird living off of her, you know? Her parents died and she received a bunch of money from their life insurance. She sold the house and is fairly well off but I'm no moocher. I crash at her place often enough as it is. She always tries to guilt me saying some shit about being there for her in her time of need or whatever. I know she doesn't care about the money and only needs it to live off on. I know her well enough that if she didn't absolutely, 100% need it to live off on, she would throw it away or donate it to some charity.

We only make $150 from the owner plus tips. Tips have been low to none lately. I think we're a fairly decent band. We definitely don't suck but we could probably use some musical/vocal guidance and more business sense. None of us, excluding myself, are doing anything to book more shows and help us move forward. It sucks sometimes but I don't have a job outside of the band so I'm ok with it. I've found I do like writing music. We don't play original music all too often since I'd rather use my music for a better audience. This dive definitely doesn't deserve it but I want to practice the new music. But, it would be nice to eventually write full time for other musicians. Ah, the dreams I have. But, really, I can't say I'm qualified for any "real" job that I can earn a decent paycheck at. If this band thing doesn't work out, I'll be the latest employee of the month at the local grocery store for my excellent cashiering and customer service skills.

There aren't a lot of people here tonight. Some creepy guys sat in the corner at one of the darker booths and a couple making out in another a few feet away. There are also a couple of middle aged men at the bar who probably should be at home with their families but are in such a mid-life crisis that this is their way of acting out. Stupid, much?

The bartender, Jake, was winking at me, as usual. I wish he'd finally take a fucking hint. Actually, let me take that back. I've never hinted. I've told him to his face that I'll never date him. He just doesn't interest me in the least bit and I would feel bad for leading him on, you know? I feel bad enough for him because he has to listen to all the drunks spew their garbage in all kinds of volumes. It would really suck to do his job. But I don't feel bad for too long, because he is such an ass and keeps thinking he can lay me. Fuck that.

He has a bet going on with the cook, Paul, to see how long it'll take. A little birdie named Seth told me. He just sold them the fuck out. I think Seth may have a tiny crush on me although I would never date him because 1) I think of him as my little brother and 2) I would never date a bandmate. It would cause huge problems if we didn't work out. I'm kind of a black and white person when it comes to my personality and it's absolutely ironic I have gray streaks. Anyways, if I stopped dating someone, there was a really good fucking reason for it.

I casually dated a little. One guy, Tyler, was great at first but then started verbally abusing me. Got rid of him pretty fast. Next guy, Eric, in college, cheated when he learned I wasn't looking for an M.R.S. degree to be barefoot & pregnant for him. Who knew such people still existed? Another guy, I don't even remember his name, we woke up at Angela's and I'm not sure what happened but he said nothing did. That wasn't a high point in my life. Anyway, you can see I haven't had the greatest luck with men.

What's strange is that Seth and Angela hooked up one night after getting stupid drunk and fucked. They don't talk about it and there seems to be no weirdness between them. I'd like to think they don't remember it. I, cue a shudder, remember seeing them making out. I had to walk away; it was too strange to watch. And creepy. This is why I never have more than one drink per night. I just know I'll end up drunk and pregnant with some one night stand's mentally deficiant baby because I was drinking at conception. I'm such a positive person, aren't I?

On this particular Tuesday night, we were finishing off a ballad I wrote.

Lost, lost
I need to find you
But I can't – it's too much
I need to find me first

Look at me, I'm no one
special…special…
But I try and find you though I'm know I'm not ready
I know I'm just not….ready

All of a sudden, I heard a scream from the make-out girl, seeing as she's the only other girl here besides Ang. Since it was fairly dark from the stage, we couldn't see why, exactly, she was screaming.

After about half a minute, we saw.

The lights came on and the creepy guys from the corner booth were moving closer to the stage. What the fuck? Did the dive owner forget to pay the mafia and they're collecting from us or something? Ok, it's a stretch but I'm completely clueless and confused. That was the best guess I could come up with. You try it!

Phil cowered behind his stupid drums, probably not wanting to break his I'm-a-lover-not-a-fighter bullshit mantra. Ang stopped playing and looked wide-eyed at Seth, who jumped off and started fighting, martial arts style, with one of the creepy guys. When he did learn martial arts? I wonder if he's doing aikido, tae kwon do or kung fu. How would I tell the difference?

Focus, Bella!

I saw them breaking chairs, jumping on tables and, let me tell you, it would've been quite the show had I not been so scared and almost peed in my pants. I feel like I'm in a Steven Seagal movie. They were destroying pretty much everything! I heard a lot of screaming at this point and suddenly realized it was coming from me. Shit, seriously! What the fuck?

"What the fuck is going on?" I screamed.