The Salvation Orgy
Duncan shook the paint can in his hand with a rattle before spray-painting the canvas mural that stood before him. The set had been lovingly and carefully crafted into an understated masterpiece, the backdrop looking almost three-dimensional with its painted pillars and nestled shadows, and the "FAGGOTS" that the varsity football player had painted across its surface stood out like an ugly sore. The back-stage area's other backdrops had been similarly defaced with witticisms such as "THIS PLAY SUCKS" and "THESPIANS MORE LIKE LESBIANS AMIRITE".
Duncan stepped back to admire his work, shaking the paint can again and wondering what to add next. Maybe a giant cock, or the word FUCKING above FAGGOTS. It was hard to be appropriately creative when he was so angry about the way he'd been treated earlier that day.
"What the fucking fuck is this shit?"
Duncan's feet tangled up in the straps of his backpack as he tried to whirl and run, sending him cashing to the floor, spray paint can flying from his grip. Almost immediately strong arms were pinning him to the floor, a knee in the middle of his back and a foot on the side of his face. He was trapped!
"Get offa me!" he growled, struggling.
Strong hands hauled Duncan roughly to his feet. He found himself surrounded by a group of angry-looking and powerfully-built men around his own age. He recognized most of them from the theater department's tech crew, particularly Alan, their leader. The two holding him – a large black guy and a bearded shorter guy – held his arms tightly.