Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] This Is The End

Your finger hovers over the trigger of the gun in your hand as you try your best to aim for the used-to-be lead singer of All Time Low's head. He's facing away from you and breathing heavily, just having killed his other band mates and a poor innocent cat. You swallow hard before pulling the trigger, a bullet flying out of barrel of your gun and right into Alex's head, blowing his brains out.

You lower your hands and let out a shaky breath as he cripples to the ground, falling on his knees before face-planting into the pavement.

You slide the gun into the waistband of your pants and walk back into the mini-mart you were about to go into minutes before (Alex scared you away). You rummage the shelves, pushing food off of the shelves and into your backpack that you carry.

You've been living like this for, if you remember correctly, fifty-six days. The only way you can describe it is as a celebrity zombie apocalypse. Movie stars, musicians, politicians...diminishing the world population rapidly.

You don't know how many are left or who is left. You don't how it started or why it's only celebrities who seem to be getting infected. All you know is that your family was killed and you've been fending for yourself since, mercilessly killing your way through the day and playing a game of hide and seek through the night, breaking into abandoned gas station shops for food and taking shelter in the bathrooms (only ones with locks) so you can rest up for the next day ahead of you.

You walk over to the freezers and grab a few water bottles, as well as a Rockstar energy drink. You pop the top and take a sip, shrugging your shoulders in satisfaction before leaving the mini-mart.

You walk the deserted streets until you finish the drink, stopping in the middle of a desolate neighborhood. You crush the can and throw it to the side, looking around and doing a little eeny-meeny-miny-mo to determine which brownstone house you were going to break into, maybe take a long-term temporary residence in. You're tired of running.

You walk up the steps of one of the houses and notice that the door's locked. Of course. You pull your gun out and shoot the lock, obliterating it.

You push into the house and quickly close the door behind you, looking around for a piece of furniture to put in front of the door so no one (or no zombie) can get it. You spot an arm chair in the sitting room to your right and quickly grab it, dragging it into the foyer and wedging it underneath the doorknob.

You heave a sigh of relief, finally feeling like you can take a break from this all, at least for tonight.

You toss your backpack to the side and make your way farther into the abandoned home. You step through the threshold into kitchen, immediately going to raid cabinets, only to find that they'd been cleared out. You frown in disappointment and slam the cabinets shut.

You turn around and leave the kitchen to wander the house when you hear a faint sound, as if someone said something. You freeze in place.

"Did you hear that?"

"It sounded like someone got in."

"I bet you it's Brendon. I so see him being turned into a zombie."

"Really, Pete? Now's not the time to try and be funny."

"Well it's better than hiding down here in silence. I want to have fun and sitting down here waiting to die or be saved isn't fun."

"This isn't supposed to be fun! This is the end of the world, people are dying. Do you think it's supposed to be fun?

"Okay, you two, cut it out. There might be someone upstairs, possibly trying to kill us. Which one of us is going to go check?"

"I vote Andy."

"What? Why me?"

"Because you're the strongest out of the four of us. Duh."

You follow the sound of the whispered conversation and grasp the doorknob of the door you assume leads downstairs to where these four people are hiding. But the door's locked. You sigh.

What's with all these locked doors?

You pull your gun out again and do what you did to the lock outside. You hear a high-pitched scream over the sound of the gun shot. You rip the door open and begin your descent, your steps slow and your gun aimed in front of you.

You reach the last step and turn around, seeing the band Fall Out Boy all sitting at a table. They have what seemed to be a whole pantry of food behind them and on the table and floor were various games to - what you presume - keep them entertained.

"Guys?" You inquire, lowering your gun.

"(Y/N)?" Patrick replies, standing up.

"Dammit, I wanted it to be Brendon!" Pete exclaims, pounding his fist against the table.

"What are you doing here?" Patrick questions, walking over to you.

"What are you doing here?" You respond, confused beyond belief.

To Be Continued...?