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[The_Secret_Life_of_Gabriel_Miller: Goth_Me_DEADLY]

[Gabriel fanfic spirals down even further...]

Gabriel had mixed feelings about the “new” Aries. Although it was kind of cool to hang out with an operative who was famous in the outside world and although he really liked her newest song, “You Didn’t Fucking Fuck Me, I Fucking Fucked You,” and although he was fond of her very tiny shorts, he was not as fond of her penchant for randomly kicking him in the balls for the amusement of herself and her entourage.

It was eventually decided that during the Irvine, CA show, Sagittarius would launch an attack onstage in the middle of “Gave Up.” Then Gabriel, who would be positioned backstage, would use his nunchucks and general hand-to-hand combat skills to fight off security and the other band members and carry off Alessandro. They would then be transported to the coast in a van driven by Leo and then take a ride in Aquarius’s speedboat back to headquarters. Then, Gabriel supposed and hoped, he would be allowed to retire in peace. It was a simple enough plan--if unnecessarily public and brazen--and Gabriel did fancy the idea of saying, “Eat it, Trank!” as his entire muscle-bound cock rock production collapsed around him.

And yet…

Maybe it was the fact that Gabriel had been in retirement too long. Maybe it was the fact that when NIN was onstage, the songs sounded just as good as he had remembered. Maybe it was the fact that Alessandro looked so amiable and harmless. Maybe it was just Trent’s shiny pants, which he did fill out rather well these days. Whatever the reason, it was there, waiting in the wings on the appointed day at the appointed hour, that Gabriel lost his stomach for kidnapping. And as Trent sang to the crowd, “Smashed up my sanity/smashed up my integrity/smashed up what I believe in…”, Gabriel saw the first of Sagittarius’s exploding arrows fly through the air towards the stage and knew that his moment of personal reckoning was upon him.

“Fuck it," Gabriel said. "No one’s taking Alessandro while I’m here.”

He rushed onto the stage, nunchucks at the ready, and as two security guards charged him, he deftly swung his nunchucks over his shoulder and above his head. He struck one guard in the face and took the legs out from under the other. Both crashed to the ground and offered no further resistance. The scene was chaotic as Saggitarius’s arrows began to detonate. Roadies and techs ran screaming across the stage. The drum kit caught on fire. The gauzy curtain that descended during “Eraser” and “Right Where It Belongs” fell to the ground like a white flag of surrender. It took the audience a few moments to realize that this wasn’t exactly the performance that was scheduled, and they formed a screaming, stampeding mob, trampling each other to flee. [About half an hour later, the first Internet message board posts appeared, decrying the “lame” and “unprofessional” premature end of the concert.]

Trent stood in the midst of this rock apocalypse in silent disbelief. Jeordie walked up to him, calmly said, “Dude, I quit,” and strolled nonchalantly offstage, with his bass in hand. Alessandro hid behind his keyboards as Gabriel stood in front of him. Gabriel gave him a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry…I’m here to protect you.” But Alessandro just stared at him, baffled.

Suddenly Gabriel was staring down the barrel of a gun. “Agent North, CIA,” the shaggy-haired guitarist said. His eyes were cold behind all that eyeliner. “I was wondering what you and your little Zodiac friends were up to…Pisces.”

“You know who I am?”

“Yes, I fucking know who you are. Let me see if I can refresh your memory…Tangier? The kasbah? The teahouse? The camel stables?!”

“Oh God!” Gabriel cried, clasping a hand to his mouth with the sudden realization.

“That’s right. My hair was shorter then.”

“I lost my Aries on that mission.”

“Well, you couldn’t say I didn’t try to warn you. You know, it’s too bad you had to come out of retirement. Cause I’m going to make a prediction…based on the retrograde position of Mars and the orbit of Whatever-The-Fuck, in a few seconds, you’re going to have a head like a hole…”

At this point, Agent North was tackled from behind by Peaches, the new Aries, who rendered him unconscious with an expertly landed karate chop to the head. She screamed to Gabriel, “Grab him! Grab the Italian and let’s get the fuck out of here!”

“I can’t do that, Aries,” Gabriel replied, swinging his nunchucks again. “I tried to tell you people that I’m retired.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she exclaimed, “you can’t trust a man to do a goddamn thing. Fortunately, we were prepared for some pointless little act of rebellion from you…” She nodded her head in the direction of Alessandro. Gabriel turned around and saw him being carried off by Leo and Libra, two attractive young women armed with very large automatic weapons.

Gabriel took a step towards them, but Libra growled, “Pisces, if you so much as lift up those fucking little nunchucks, I’m blowing the keyboardist’s head off. I don’t even have time for your little ninja games, you fucking traitor.”

Gabriel watched helplessly as Alessandro was roughly escorted off stage. Aries joined them with a diabolical laugh.

“Signor Trent, aiutimi!!! Help!!!” Alessandro cried.

Trent still stood at the front of the stage, even as the arrows continued to fly and then explode upon landing. He looked out numbly at the empty amphitheater, looked at his burning set, saw Aaron lying unconscious on the stage with a large gun in his hand and that skinny goth-looking roadie who had been hanging out with Peaches all week standing before Aaron wielding nunchucks, and two hot women kidnapping Alessandro. Josh Freese was standing in the wings, begging Trent to join him offstage in safety. Trent started smashing his guitar in impotent rage. Suddenly, one of the explosive arrows flew right at Trent.

At that moment, everything seemed to go in slow motion. Josh ran out on stage, dove in front of Trent and took the arrow right in the chest. Trent held him in his arms as Josh said weakly, “Boss, I think I’m going to be okay.”

Then the arrow detonated, the force of which threw Trent several feet backwards but fortunately left him only singed. Josh, however, did not fare as well.

Thunder clapped, and rain started to pour. Trent cried out, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

After the arrow attack ceased, Trent stood in the rain, sobbing over the body of his fallen comrade. Gabriel walked up to Trent and put a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Reznor, I’m so sorry,” he began. “I tried to stop all this…”

“Where did they take Alessandro?” Trent asked with an eerily calm voice.

“Back to their secret underwater headquarters,” Gabriel answered. “I promise, Mr. Reznor, sir, I promise I will get him back for you.”

“I’m going with you,” Trent declared.

“No, Trent…it’s too dangerous.”

Trent stood up, grabbed a microphone stand and broke it in half with his bare hands. Holding a sharp, jagged piece of microphone stand in each hand, he said, “You and me…we’re in this together now.”

[To be continued…and remember, kids, if you really enjoy an artist, please don’t ruin the show for everyone by lobbing explosives or any other projectiles onstage. The More You Know!]

Posted by maise in tales_of_terror | Permalink


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Hahaha. Josh Freese...the secret hero. Jerome drops out as drummer, Josh saves the day. Drummers still not working out, Josh saves the rest of the tour. Trent being threatened by explosive arrows...no need to worry, Josh Freese will save the day again!

Posted by: Iris | Apr 14, 2006 12:09:01 AM

Maise, I am speechless. That was fucking brilliant. I... I... Uh... I got nuthin'.

Posted by: Dierdre | Apr 14, 2006 12:13:37 AM

it's so fitting that trent is playing luke to my obi-wan kenobi.

that's all i'm saying.

Posted by: Gabriel | Apr 14, 2006 10:26:37 AM

Hooray, I got my copy of Go Ask Ogre!

Posted by: maise | Apr 14, 2006 12:52:54 PM

Aha, now we learn the *real* reason that the EDIETS video was scrapped...

NEW YORK -- David Blaine intends to sleep with the fishes -- but only for a week, and in full public view.

The 33-year-old magician will perform his latest stunt by living underwater for seven days and nights in a "human aquarium" in front of New York's Lincoln Center.

The "human aquarium" in which Blaine will float is a specially built 8-foot acrylic sphere. He will receive liquid nutrition through a tube and the water will be kept at a balanced temperature to help keep his core temperature close to 98.6 degrees F.

Posted by: maise | Apr 15, 2006 9:03:33 PM

That must be it. Trent doesn't want to be seen as a copycat to some wacky magician, obviously. I'm sure it's things exactly like this, right here, that keep him up, night after night.

Posted by: Dierdre | Apr 15, 2006 11:27:22 PM

I swear I nearly had an anyeurism when I read this sentence:

Trent started smashing his guitar in impotent rage.

That was some great shit, Maise. Suggestion for future installments:

- Gabriel schools Trent on what his music means, and what he should be doing to present it, so as not to look like such a fucking clueless idiot.

- Trent comes on to Gabriel in the heat of a tense moment, and Gabriel reveals how thin a line there really is between love and hate.

- Peaches and Trent fight the ultimate battle of the sexes, Dragonball Z-style.

I can't wait!

Posted by: Jane | Apr 16, 2006 1:13:51 AM

OMG! Explosions! Secret bases! Speedboats! Ninja traitors! A microphone stand utilized as a soon-to-be-deadly weapon! This has been the highlight of my weekend :)

Posted by: Muskles | Apr 16, 2006 3:46:37 PM

...And Jerome Dillon continues to flog the dead horse of his career as Trent's best butt-buddy...

Extending the mystery
Nine Inch Nails equals one man, Trent Reznor, surrounded by the people he chooses — in the studio and on the road.
In 1999 the commanding, demanding and meticulous singer hired drummer and central Ohio native Jerome Dillon, who did two recordings and an 18-month tour.
Despite his time with Reznor, Dillon said recently, he has little to share about the frontman.
"You as a journalist know him as well as I do," Dillon said, "and I was with him for six years."

Pauvre JermOE. How he must have suffered!

From here.

Posted by: Jane | Apr 18, 2006 12:57:05 PM

Awwww, cry me a fucking river.

"Trent, I gave you six years of my life, and I don't even KNOW you!"

Look, I've been at my current position a number of years, and I don't know shit about my bosses. Nor do I particularly want to. I just keep my head down and try to keep the clients from squawking.

Seriously...would it kill Jerome to handle this situation with any sort of grace in public?

Posted by: maise | Apr 18, 2006 1:09:02 PM

Right? A little DIGNITY would do that bitch some good.

Posted by: Jane | Apr 18, 2006 2:09:44 PM

You know what's even more boring than Jerome bitching about not knowing Trent/getting fucked over from Trent/not getting anymore hugs from Trent?

All of you Reznor Harpies continually going off in your faux-clever sarcasm about "Poor Jerome! BOOHOO!"

You think he's whining. So are you.


Posted by: Gabriel | Apr 18, 2006 3:20:16 PM

Does someone need a hug?

Posted by: maise | Apr 18, 2006 4:02:17 PM

Yes, I need an aural hug. One of blissful silence.

One of all you bitches SHUTTING THE FUCK UP.

Posted by: Gabriel | Apr 18, 2006 5:51:35 PM

And here is where Gabriel reveals his synesthesia...he can hear the written word!

Posted by: maise | Apr 18, 2006 8:48:40 PM

OMG, I'm so fucking miserable right now in my office oppression. I wish Trent would raise some ridiculous ruckus.

Posted by: maise | Apr 19, 2006 9:25:48 AM

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