Slipknot, The Mane Six and the Doors of Eternity

Chapter by: M901

Sid's seen some weird things in his time, but this tops everything. Seriously, the apocalypse has come and gone, fuck only knows what terrifying percentage of the human population had been wiped out, and what do the survivors do? Form a cult, of course. That's the expected bit.

    Said cult being a mass following of Twilight fans is not.

    No, he's not joking. People stalking this ruin of a city have suddenly taken it upon themselves to cover their exposed skin in glitter, and drool at each other.

   Why? Now, that's the question that Sid wants the answer to.

   Still, he supposes that at least this is relatively safe as far as cults go. If the population started channeling Hannibal Lecter, now that would be terrifying. Sid tries not to shiver as he pictures people casually frying their victim's brains, and then feeding the unfortunate prey their own grey matter.

    Yeah, as pathetic as Edward Cullen (how does he even know the guy's name?) may be, there are worse things to be infatuated with.

    All the same, as a girl starts batting her eyes at him, the DJ doesn't hesitate to make a hasty escape down a side alley. It will take longer to get back to the rundown mansion that has become 'home' this way, but Sid has dealt with enough demented fangirls in his life time to know that the best tactic is to just avoid them.

   By now, the city's familiar enough that he knows the dilapidated streets like the back of his hand. The dirty setting of condemned buildings and overgrown sidewalks has become his stalking ground, and as much as he hates this new world, there's a comfort in knowing that the streets remain the same. This maze is one of the last things that the man knows he can rely on.

   Sid snorts as he thinks of this. How did his life become this deprived and uncertain that he can find gratification in the fact that the roads of a city won't change?

   Actually, that's a stupid question. The fucking apocalypse is what happened.

   The 'end of the world' must have occurred around two years ago. He can't be certain, but Sid knows that two winters have passed since then, and the next one still looks to be a while off. Keeping track of individual days and dates is far more effort than it's worth.

   Although, he does miss Christmas.

   What annoys him the most though, is that he still has no idea what actually happened. One minute, they're fine. They're touring All Hope Is Gone, they're a fully functioning band again, and their new album is shooting up the charts. No one's suicidal, or drinking too much to see straight. The fans love their new material, and the concerts are as crazy and amazing as ever.

   At the time, Sid couldn't help but think the whole thing was too good to last. As it turned out, he was more than correct.

   In only a few days, the world went from as normal and peaceful as it's ever been, to a wasteland of devastation and chaos. It was too sudden to understand how, or why, and Sid has can't figure out for the life of him what triggered it. The human race shrunk dramatically in a scarcely a week, and disease and famine gripped the survivors, who didn't know how to survive without their modern day luxuries.

    Slipknot survived by the skin of their teeth. Thanks to Mick's muscles; Corey's street sense from having been homeless for so long; Clown's brains; the comradeship that came from being a band for over a decade now; and a sheer will to survive the nine had pulled through, and were still kicking.

     Then the weird shit started.

     In the wake of the apocalypse, none other than Justin Beiber had risen into power. It still boggles Sid's mind. Despite being a mere teenager, he's a bastard of a ruler. Only people who conform to him are looked after - the rest have been left to fend for themselves.

    It was a joint, unspoken decision that the nine men would much rather do the latter, than have to suffer through the incessant whining of a boy who's had it all his entire life, yet still finds things to complain about.

    Outside of Beiber's 'havens' though, the world is much more normal. This, of course, is in reference to the 'Twi-nuts', as Mick's dubbed them. They're a relatively new fad, only a few months into their existence. However, they're growing in numbers every day, and in strength.

   Sid's not sure if he's excited, or terrified to see how this is going to play out.

    With one last check behind him, to be certain that the chick from before is no longer tailing him, Sid turns down his road. It's lined with huge town houses, and is easily one of the poshest areas in the city.

    Well, at least there's one thing that can be said about being an apocalypse survivor. You live well at the end of it. Ok, central heating and electricity are two sorely missed commodities, but they've got on surprisingly well without both.

   Open fires and canned food have kept them fed; water bottles and booze has stopped them dying of thirst; boom boxes, mp3's and batteries have supplied their musical needs; and the warehouses downtown have kept them well stocked in everything.

   Hygiene is a slightly harder problem to deal with, but Sid's pretty sure that they've all smelt worse at some point whilst touring. In fact, he's certain of that - there had been occasions when he'd gone out of his way to avoid Clown because of how bad the man stunk.

   Well, that's what you get for covering yourself in pigs' blood.

   But then... Then there's the house.

    That's the only bonus of this all crap - Sid doubts that even with all the money he'd made from [/Slipknot/], that he'd ever have been able to afford a mansion like the one they currently reside in. It certainly outdoes the Houdini House, and even that was more than big enough for the nine of them, plus the sound techies. This is the sort of house you could get lost in.

   The size is doubtlessly for the best.

    After all, Sid's plotted each of his band members' early demise at one point or another, and he's generally regarded as one of the less psychotic members of the group. Long story short; its best that they all have their own space from time to time.

   Right now though, the other eight men must be feeling fairly sociable, as are all camped out in the living room.

   Jim's fiddling with an acoustic guitar. As ever, it looks ridiculously small with his tall body folded around it. A steady stream of notes hum out from under his fingers, but it's not a tune that Sid recognises.

    Corey and Clown are huddled over a small pile of books, and talking in low voices. Corey's frowning and gesturing at something, whilst Clown shakes his head.

    Mick's flicking through a magazine. Although he can't tell from here, Sid would put good money on it being porn. Not that money's worth anything anymore. It must being fairly interesting though, whatever the subject - Joey's perched on the back of the arm chair and peering over the other man's shoulder. He looks ridiculously small.

    Chris has somehow forced Craig into playing a card game with him. The smaller man doesn't look too happy about this, but that's just Sid's best guess. Craig's poker face was perfected years ago, and that has unconsciously become his default. The inside of his head is a mystery, and why Chris would ever choose him as a game partner, Sid can't understand.

     Meanwhile, Paul's just sprawled out on the floor, plugged into a Walkman and humming obnoxiously loudly. Sid chooses to join him.

    "Hey!" The bassist protests as he steals a headphone.

    "Hey, yourself." Sid replies, sticking his tongue out.

    Paul just rolls his eyes.

    "What are they doing?" The DJ indicates Clown and Corey. Whatever it is, they're now discussing it intensely, and Sid privately thinks that it must be far too much effort. After all, it's the end of the world. May as well enjoy it, whilst you're still kicking.

    "Summoning demons." Is Paul's reply.

    Sid laughs, but his grin quickly falls when he sees the serious look of his friend's face. "You're kidding, right?"

    "Nope,"

    The DJ frowns, looking back over at the two blonds. They're still talking - their conversation complete with hand gestures and the occasional exclamation. If Clown's involved though, it must be fairly serious. He's usually the one spear heading their ideas.

    "Erm. Why are they looking up demon summoning. I thought we weren't Satan worshippers?"

    "Don't you wanna put a stop to this?" Corey cuts in. Clearly, he overheard Paul and Sid's own talk. "End all of the madness, get the world back to how it should be?"

    "And you think that summoning a 'demon' will do this?" Sid challenges.

    "Worth a shot," the singer shrugs.

    "I thought you didn't believe in shit like that?" Mick says. Everyone's quiet by now, and listening in.

    "I don't believe in God," Corey replies. "Doesn't mean there's not other stuff out there."

    "But a demon? Surely something a little more benevolent would be more beneficial?"

    "Well, there doesn't seem to be much good on Earth right now." Clown explains. "A demon would probably be more at home."

    Mick shrugs and settles back. Sid's less convinced, and apparently, the same goes for Chris.

   "Even if that is the case, come on, we've all seen enough horror movies to know that deals with the devil - or demons - have a tendency to end badly for everyone."

   Clown answers again; "How much worse can this get? The end of the world's come and gone, guys."

   "We're still alive." Sid says sharply. "And I'd prefer to keep it that way."

   "You want your kids back, don't you?" James cuts in. "And Chantel, and Scarlett?"

   Neither Clown's nor Corey's gazes falter. The former just nods, whilst the singer replies; "And you don't want Christina back?"

   There's a tense moment if silence, in which Sid can almost see the unspoken words pass between the two men. Then, Jim nods. "I'm in."

   "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Sid exclaims. "You're talking about [/demons/]. That's definitely the way to go about bringing you dead girls and kids back from the dead!" The other three wince at this, making the DJ momentarily regret his harsh words. But if they'd make the guys see sense, what choice is there?

   "I think..."

   Eight of the men spin around suddenly, turning to face Craig. On the rare occasion that he chooses to speak, it's always important, and generally well thought through. He has none of the impulsiveness of Corey, and isn't quite as insane as Clown's known for being. Despite his sullen nature, and tendency to come across as a psychopath, he's probably the most mentally stable of the group and when he talks, they listen. His advice will be the make or break of this insanity, and Sid just prays that Craig will back him up.

   "I think we should go for it."

   Sid groans. Craig looks at him for a long second, and the younger man fall silent quickly.

    "It's not like this could get any worse, between Beiber, and the Twi-nuts running around. It's worth a shot." The man pauses, but it's clear he's not done. The others wait patiently. "However, I don't think it's a good idea to try and bring people back from the dead."

    At the last part, Corey looks devastated. Clown simply nods, although disappointment is clear on his face. He could argue, of course, and probably overrule Craig, but he understands the unspoken logic.

   "Ok, no raising the dead." He sighs. "Who's in?"

   Sid peers around the room.

   Mick shrugs. That's a yes.

    Chris frowns for a moment, then nods.

    Joey says "I don't see how it could do any harm. Will break the monotony, if nothing else."

    Paul also nods.

    With everyone else spoken for, the attention returns to Sid.

    He sighs. "Do I have any choice?"

    A grin splits on Corey's face. "Knew you'd come 'round."

   "Shut it, fuckface."

   Clown rolls his eyes at the younger men, then stands, brushing himself off. The gesture is somewhat futile with the accumulated dirt that has come to plaster them all.

    "Let's get to work, then."