Holds On

It really was only a matter of time before something like this happened.

The band had gotten fairly used to mishaps during performances. Explosions, riots, assasination attempts, it had all become fairly routine. With Charles and a few Hoods there to run interference, none of these occurences were ever anything the band really had to worry about.

Until tonight, when it had all gone terribly wrong.

Concentrating on his solo, Skwisgaar only distantly heard the rattle of machine gun fire, and he dismissed it out of hand. Such things were not uncommon for a Dethklok gig, after all.

Until something small, fast, and very, very metal whizzed past his nose.

"Get down!" someone shouted in the instant before pandemonium broke loose.

Staccatto gunshots rang out over the stage, shattering the lights and raining glass down on all in the vicinity. He could hear the screams in the audience as many people were impaled, shot, or otherwise maimed or killed. He scuttled backwards until he was in the corner, his back pressing against the bulkhead that formed the riser for the drumset. The air was thick with fear and smoke and sweat.

And then as soon as it hard started, it was over. The awful popping and whizzing had stopped, along with most of the screams from the crowd (though that was mainly because most of them were dead.)

Skwisgaar unfolded himself from the fearful crouch he'd huddled into and stood up, clearing his throat and assuming his normal expression of apathetic indifference. He looked around.

Pickles was also picking himself up from where he'd ducked nearly under his drum kit, and Murderface was gazing at the carnage with a look of awe. Nathan looked out over the now mostly silent audience and shrugged.

"Hn. That was fucking brutal."

And Toki...

Skwisgaar sneered and walked over to where the rhythm guitarist still lay. He had half pushed himself into a sitting position, but made no more move to get up. Skwisgaar prodded him with one booted foot.

"Gets up you dumb dildoes," he scoffed. "Its am be overs now."

Toki twisted to face him, his blue eyes wide, and his face pale even under the corpsepaint.

"Skwisgaar?" he said weakly, "I...I don'ts feels so good."

And then Skwisgaar noticed how the younger man's hand was clasped tightly to his side. Bright red blood stained his shirt and welled between his fingers, pooling on the stage.

Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped over.

"Tokis?" Skwisgaar fought to keep the concern out of his voice. "Tokis, wakes up." He knelt down by the rythm guitarists, noticing with increasing alarm how his breathing had become slow and shallow, and the blood running between his fingers was barely flowing.

Distantly he could hear the roar of the approaching Dethcopter. It was Toki's only chance.

"Holds on, little Toki," he said. The others were staring at the unlikely scene, but he ignored them. "Holds on...don'ts dies, Toki, just holds on..."