Should I Stay Or Should I Go? - A Dirnt Story, chapter 1

It had been the worst show Billie could remember, not that he could remember any of the early shows. If it hadn't been for the fact that he had once again hurt himself on stage, it would still have ranked in his top-ten worst concerts. He stared dejectedly out of the window of his drummer's trailer, where he was trying to allow Tre' to cheer him up. It wasn't working. The rain was lashing at the window panes and he could feel the trailer rocking with the wind. "Great weather huh? We should live without warning" joked Tre', setting a drink beside his silent singer and fetching his own. Billie made a small, reply-like noise and stared on.
"Come on dude, it could definitely have been worse. You can't control the bad weather, and it isn't your fault that your wrist is fucked" Sighing despondently and sipping at the drink, Billie muttered; "How could it have
Been worse? Couldn't you hear how out of tune I was tonight? My guitar pickups are crap! Incidentally, did you see Mike afterwards? He disappeared off straight away?"
"Probably in a bar somewhere, I don't think he was too happy about tonight either, and you know Mike when he isn't happy, straight to a bar"
"Never mind, why don't we go check up on the roadies, make sure they got everything covered in time to stop the amps exploding!" breathed Billie, before walking over to the door. Tre' followed, with a certain strange sense of trepidation. He couldn't remember when he had last felt so irrationally scared, and he didn't even know what he was scared about, "Wait for me!" he yelled to Billie, who didn't stop, but continued walking resolutely back to the arena.
Rain spilled in through the open roof of the arena with a pounding that was cut out only by the thick heavy notes of a lone bass guitar. At first it was impossible to discern where it was coming from, it seemed to resonate from nowhere, and Billie squinted myopically into the gloom to see who was playing around with the equipment. "What the hell! The roadies left the stuff out here, covered, but on the stage!" exclaimed Tre', "I thought we told them to pack up!"
"You did. I told them to leave the stuff here" announced a voice from the gloom, which by its drawling intonations was immediately identifiable as belonging to Mike. The bassist was perched on the drum riser, fine-tuning his instrument in almost pitch blackness, and looking very dissatisfied with the result. "I wasn't happy with the sound, no idea what's wrong with it though, short of taking the thing apart I've been trying to work out what's up with my bass" he explained, seeing Billie's questioning glance from under a brow, which already had the storm-clouds of a tantrum brewing on it. Tre' saw the signs, and licked his lips nervously, "Uh.. We were about to go for a drink,
On me, we, well, Mike, wondered if you wanted to come" he asked, seeing the glint in Mike's eyes that always appeared when he knew
He wasn't buying. "Sure, I've hardly had anything today, I'll come" He put down his bass and was about to walk off when he remembered "Oops! Better turn off the amp, I don`t need a bill for the power!" and reached over to flick the switch. The amp was uncovered, rain dripped down the front, and more
Worryingly, into the back panels. As Mike touched the switch, there was a crack of electricity, which was visible as a blue flash through the rain in his hair, he didn't have time to scream, before Slash was calling an ambulance even, his bassist was lying on the floor, not breathing, no pulse, cooling by the second into the cold climate of Death.