Quick Note-- The title is inspired by the song 'I Was A Teenage Anarchist' by Thrash! Unreal and the chapter titles of all quotes from the song 'Teenagers' by My Chemical Romance (obviously).
Chapter Text
"Okay, not that I don't understand, because I do, but could you repeat that one more time? Just for the sake of the audience?"
"You know what? We've already gone over this twice, and I don't have the time, patience or crayons to explain this to you again. Just scoot over and keep quiet."
Gerard raised his hands in mock surrender, and Mikey rolled his eyes. Leaning over the small handset, his wash of stringy blond hair momentarily obscured his tight jaw and concentrated brow. Through a mass of greasy strands, Gerard could make out the excited gleam in his brother's usually frosty eyes, and he felt a small smile work its way across his cheeks.
"The wild thing is," Mikey began hurriedly, speaking as fast as his nimble fingers danced across the small dials below him. "This shouldn't even be possible! You know Ray- Ray is a genius; he figured this out- usually you have to be, like, directly connected to the main phone line, wires in all, but-"
The younger of the two was suddenly cut off an abrupt burst of static.
After a frantic hushing motion in Gerard's general direction and another spastic moment of fiddling, a muffled voice slowly began to gain clarity.
" -the body was mutilated beyond recognition, sir. It's a man, judging by the pelvic region, which is in an advanced stage of deterioration by the way, but other than that-we have nothing. Absolutely nothing."
"You say he was mutilated?"
"Yes. And the killer was thorough, too. Every thing from the chest cavity to genitals- all either cut to slivers or removed entirely. The coroner said it was the most extreme case of overkill she'd ever seen. And before you ask- it's most likely not a trophy hunter. The autopsy showed that everything extracted would have been too damaged to maintain any longer than a few days."
"I see. Have any missing person's reports been filed within the last few days?"
"One. But there's no way. The report was filed by a frantic mother who hadn't seen her son since he'd departed for school two days prior. I believe her name was Kelly Joseph-"
"Well, is there any chance that the body's his?!" The second voice snarled, clearly aggravated by the woman's meandering.
"No," she hurried on. "No, the kid, Tyler, was sixteen. There's not a chance the body's his. But..."
"What?! Time is of the essence! Spit it out!"
"But the boy's profile did match that of the body we found in the river last night." The woman finished weakly. "We're nearly positive that it's Tyler, but we want DNA confirmation before alert his family."
"Is there... anything else I should know?"
"Not at the moment, no."
The man heaved a deep sigh, and the line sizzled. "What the hell is happening?" He asked distantly, but in a despairing tone that made it clear he didn't expect an answer. "Six victims in the past month alone, no links between any of them: different ages, social classes, religions, genders, and according to records, the only two that even knew each other by name were Billie Joe Armstrong, a creepy old recluse, and Haley Frangipane, a bar tender who saved his sorry ass from a bar fight more than a couple times."
"Well, we aren't positive about that. Maybe we can run through the records again. In the meantime, it'll probably be best to enforce a curfew-"
Gerard sneezed.
After a long moment, a few things then occurred in rapid succession.
A scream of astonishment pierced the line, shattering the deafening silence. It belonged to the second voice. To the voice that had been addressed as 'sir.'
A violent crash echoed a half second later, though it was impossible to tell what side it came from. Immediately afterwards, a long, colorful string of curses bled from the speakers and into Gerard's pounding ear-drums, almost ringing louder than his hammering heartbeat, which was practically skipping beats.
Mikey slammed his open fist down on a silver knob and the line went quiet.
The brothers sat in a shocked silence for nearly a full minute, before Mikey slowly turned to Gerard with a sly smirk creeping across his face.
"Well, Gee," he said, pronouncing each syllable deliberately, like he'd forgotten how to speak in the time they'd been eavesdropping. "Better go get your baseball bat- I think we've found ourselves a murder to catch."
