(1)( ) (The) (First) (Taste)
The last time I got on stage to sing was for a talent show, where, as soon as I began, someone in the audience starting booing. Immediately. I knew it to be somebody who LOOOOVED annoying me. Because I'm different. I'm weird. And I love music so much, I'd probably become a marauder (is that the right word?) for it. This person had a group of friends, and they started to boo at me, too. For some inexplicable reason, everyone else started to laugh and boo at me along with. I just said one thing into the mic, "Fuck you," and went off stage in tears.
I'm in chorus, but...nobody wants to hear me sing. Except the director. Him and a couple of my friends, Jordan and Barry. And I also like to dance, those two friends included. And, like every single human being on the planet, even the pros, I get laughed at by at least fifty people for the way I dance. I and my friends believe that we CAN sing, but it's just nobody wants to hear us because we're the ones to make fun of. You don't cheer on the weird kid, or else, God forbid, you feel good inside and people look at you like a massive glob of something that crawled out from the toilet.
I thought my life was going no place. My friends did, too. We loved music, but nobody cared. Nobody wanted to watch and hear us perform. And I had a strong belief that, if they really were in need of it, music would be able to fill people with enough energy to easilly overcome any task they have in front of them. And I know that if I could be able to do that for people, I'd be satisfied in all aspects. But at that time in my life, it was anything but. Until THEY came...
Me, Jordan, and Barry were at school one day at an assembly. I, Gregory, am a tannish-skinned person with short, messy brown hair, taper-pointed wedge eyebrows, green eyes, and a small hint of a moustache visible. I always wear my house key on a blue, yellow star-patterned lanyard that I've had since 5th grade around my neck. I'm all skin and bones, and am of average height. My friend Jordan is a very slightly taller white person with straight, short, blonde hair and blue eyes. He has some pretty thick eyebrows, but a kind face. He was kinda-sorta very miniscully chubby, but could still move like it was nothing. Barry was black and had a huge afro and brown eyes, and had the thinnest eyebrows of us. He was about my height and was the strongest of us, but you wouldn't notice unless he actually flexed them that he had muscle. He wore a single gold hoop in his left ear.
But anyway, me, Jordan, and Barry were at school one day at an assembly. A HORRIBLE assembly. Some guys were talking about the different crimes people have been doing lately. They were police officers, it appeared.
"For instance," one said, and he and the others held up weird cannon-looking things, "some crooks have stolen a bunch of these experimental weapons that have been developed to harden any substance to the consistancy of stone. They take a while to charge up, but they're lethal."
Something in my gut told me something was up. I whispered to my friends, "This doesn't look exactly unsuspicious, does it?" They shook their heads.
And, lo and behold, the guys aimed the guns suddenly at the doors and fired a beam of energy at them to seal them in stone. The multitude of "officers" produced like guns and aimed them at the audience. "EVERYBODY FREEZE!!" the guy with the mic ordered. "We're gonna take all your money, credit cards, and lunch PINs!"
Everyone gasped. Some screamed for help. Some just screamed. Then, one of the crooks shot some people. And this was enough. The last straw that broke the camel's back.
I couldn't take it. The food had been crummy that day; I bumped my head getting out of bed, which I was late to do; I forgot all my books for a class; and now THIS. A boring assembly, and then a stick-up?! With every fiber of my being, I shouted to the heavens,
"HHEEAAAAALLLLLP!!"
A number of others screamed this, too, with equal vehemence.
And, after a few moments, our cries was answered. While everyone was depressed from the situation, about to give up, we heard, as if by magic, a sound of jets. A few of us looked up instinctivly, then gasped at the sight we beheld. CRASH!! Through the large windows high on the opposite wall came three men in jetpacks. They pulled up at the last moment and cut their engines. They landed in a trianglular figure, with a white, red afro-wearing, serious-looking man on the right; a black, hat-wearing, also-afroed smiling man on the left; and a white, orange pompadour-sporting man in the middle. All three were dressed in black two-piece suits with sunglasses, white shirts and black ties underneath. The middle man thrust out a badge towards the audience. And amazingly, while this was happening, we began to hear--over the PA system, it seemed--the start of a song. "Lights and Sounds," by Yellowcard, we recognized. Then, the men started swinging their upper bodies side-to-side, arms in the air. We began to become full of energy, full of hope, and we began to do the same. 'What on--?!' I couldn't help but think during this.
"""Are you ready?...3! 2! 1! GO!!"""
"Hello you...how was the rest...You made it through...But nevertheless..." They began to sing.
While they went through the first verse, we all mobbed around the criminals and tried to take their guns from them. We did so sucessfully, evading every blast through teamwork and the feirce spirit we felt full of. We glanced at the men in black sometimes, seeing them dancing as they sang. Their performance stirred us even more.
The chorus! "Stop! Turn! Take a look arou-ound...At all the Lights and Sou-ounds...Let 'em bring you in..." Many of us dashed and pounded the stone-struck doors. The chorus ended to us making a big dent in the doors.
But then, disaster struck.
We weren't distracting them enough, and the criminals brought the music to an abrupt end. They shot the trio. Right before the next verse went into its good part(after "Smile big for everyone, Even when you know what they've done"). Everyone stopped and gasped, turning. The main gunman held his weapon up. "Now, everyone, enough of this stupidity, and let's just get this over with the easy way!" he ordered annoyedly, aiming at people.
But me, Barry, and Jordan weren't going to take it. We noticed the microphones were unchecked. We noticed that the blasts DID take a while to reload. And we noticed that nobody was guarding the stage directly. So, after a quick, unspoken glance at one another and an agreeing nod, we three teens (heh) snuck onto it. We picked up the three mics, dropped by the men in black, got into our own brave formation, and I, the unofficial lead, began, "They gave you the end...But not where to start..." They joined with me, "Not how to build, how to tear it apart!"
The crooks noticed us singing immediately.
"What the--?!" their leader gawked, surprised. He sneered. "Are you STUPID?! Get 'im!!" he ordered, and the rest of the gang tried to get to us, cursing that their guns still were recharging.
Meanwhile, our classmates and teachers turned to us. We began to dance to the song we knew by heart. We sang with more confidence. "So tell it all, Fill up the air, But make it loud, 'cuz nobody's there!!" we sang proudly. I felt something come from my very being...something strong, familiar, and yet alien...It was like a unique sort of flame within that had always burned, but had never burned this way before...I hid my surprise as best I could, but after glancing at my "backups," I noticed that Jordan and Barry were trying to hide something, as well. And then, to our surprise, we heard the guitar riffs that came next play over the PA system. But that only inspired us to sing and dance even more. "But nobody's the-eeere!!"
And, copying what we observed from the men in black, we danced the chorus and sang. And when we didn't know what to do for some parts, we ad libbed with near-magical syncronization. The crowd cheered and, full of enthusiasm once more, went on again with their rebellion. The guns were wrenched out of the crooks' hands by the end of that chorus, which was itself full of wrestling. People were also cheering us on during it, as well. Us! Laughing stocks!! Maybe it was just because they needed it, but we were still being cheered for performance.
Then, the quiet part came. At that time, it was a big problem that arouse: The main guy pulled out TWO cannons from somewhere. He focused on the crowd first. "Get a load of THIS, kidletts!!" he laughed maniacally, and pressed a button on each. Immediately, both cannons changed Transformers-style into gargantuan bazookas in his hands. The rest of our high school yiped and cowered, and we knew that they needed the motivation that we were obviously giving them. But, despite our performing, we just couldn't do it alone, it appeared.
That's when I heard another voice join mine, a few measures into the next singing part. "I've got a way to work this out, I've got a way and you know how..." I turned, and, to my amazement, the lead for the black-suited men was breaking his stone prison! And just getting back yet still singing! The other two followed, and the three produced spare mics. But like good musicians, we just kept singing in our group, singing along with the professionals.
"I've got a way to work this out, I've got a way and you know how, I've got a way to work this out, I've got a waaaayyyy...I've got a way to work this out! I've got a way and YOU KNOW HOW! I've got a way to work this out!! I'VE GOT A WAAAAY!!" By the time the chorus came again, the crazy guy was de-gunned, and they had begun to run. And for the latter fact, he and the others had a crowd of angry, energized teens and facaulty powered by the performance of six singers and dancers to deal with.
Stop! Turn!
Take a look around
At all the lights and sounds
Let them bring you in!
Slow! Burn!
Let it all fade out
And pull the curtain down
Wonder where you've been!
They didn't have a single chance.
You've earned
Everything you've found
And painted faces frown
I said I knew you when...
The song ended. The REAL cops had by now come in and gotten the crooks. Everyone who was turned to stone had broken free thanks to our performance. ALL the stone broke around the room, and the old school assembly hall was restored. It was a happy ending. And we all just stood there, smiling at our work. Amazed at the fact we were being clapped for. Applause! True, heart-felt, glorious applause! It was WONDERFUL! And amazing..."Our...Our performance helped to do THIS...?" I asked nobody incredulously. 'Im...impossible...can it be true that...?'
"You bet," the man said behind me in a friendly, somewhat cocky voice, and I turned to see the three men and their smiling faces looking at us. The pompadour man showed us his badge, which was like a police badge with a top ID card and the actual badge on the bottom, and we read: "Elite Beat Agents: BA-2 Agent 'J'". Atop it was a signiture and below the ranking was a photo of J.
He closed it and grinned. "We're the Elite Beat Agents," he said, "a group of talented performers who help people through the power of song and dance. And you three," he said, pointing at us all, "are most definitely eligible for this job. Not many people can trigger the effect our singing and dancing does without the use of one of our badges directly, which allows the instrumental part to be heard by the target. YOU triggered it at a distance. And that's GREAT!" He and the other two came over and held their hands out to us in unison. "Come with us, and you'll be able to sing and dance for people in need all over!" he offered.
Smiling in joy, me, Jordan, and Barry looked at one another, and then back at them. We nodded and took their hands.
Suddenly, we had to clutch for our lives as their jetpacks started up without warning. Everyone clapped as we left. We exited through the hole the agents had made before, the only wound still remaining in the building. "YIPE!" I squeaked, and J chuckled.
"We've got ya, don't worry," he assured us, laughing, and I believed him. He was friendly-voiced. In a few moments, we were on a black helicopter. The jetpacks were shut down, and we strapped in as the pilot raced off with us.
On the flight, I asked J, "But what about school? We've still got that."
J smiled again. "Don't worry," he said, "we can work your schedule around it. And we'll even help with any homework you need done so that you can get to training with us faster!" he added, laughing.
We got to the base in record time. I was amazed at how fast that we got there--really felt like it wasn't even an hour, but I had a feeling that I wasn't in my state, even, anymore. But, then, well, the windows were covered up after a while, so I just relied on my gut instinct. We got off the helicopter to find ourselves inside a building somewhere. The copter must have gone through an opening in the ceiling instead of landing on a pad outdoors. I looked and, lo and behold, a HUGE garage-style door took up a great deal of real estate on the ceiling. J called us, and we followed the three uniformed mystery-men performers down some corridors here, through a few doors there, and all the way into a large room with the hum from many moniters and blips and beeps from a bunch of control panels. 'Must be the control room,' I thought, looking about my new surroundings.
Seated in a chair with his back to us sat a man with grey, short, in fact sorta combover hair. He was looking at screens showing scenes of people having rough times, as well as some other agent trioes doing different songs and dances. I couldn't hear how well they were doing. I noticed, too, that each screen showing a performing group of agents had another screen above it that showed how their target was doing. Agent J stopped us and then stepped forward with his teammates.
There was silence, and then, suddenly, the man spun around in his chair and got to a standing position while he turned his upper body, with his leading arm extending into a thumbs-up, and shouted an enthusiastic, "YEEEAAAHH!!"
"Mission Complete!" J and his teammates proudly declared in response.
We saw that the old man was actually more aging than old, with a proud moustache and few, but existent, creases on his brow. He had a largish build to him, and he wore a military uniform. We saw he had six stars on each shoulder pad, and he had an enormous amount of medals, as proven by the grid of multiple colors on his left brest. Above it was a giant yellow star. He had stars on each sleeve near the cuff, and a star on his black tie. And, like everyone here, it appeared, he wore sunglasses. These were those huge ones police or highway patrol officers wear. The man sat again, a serious expression on his face as he rested his arms on a desk in front of him, steepled his fingers and rested his chin on it. "And I see the new recruits behind you," he said in a confident, serious, commanding voice that was very clear and strong.
Agent J nodded (his redhead pompadour bouncing up and down) and the three agents sidestepped quickly to get us out in the opening. We paled and froze.
The man made a small "Hmm." at this. Then, as if he were one of the band's drum majors, he shouted, "DE-tail, A-ten-HUT!"
""HUT!"" Jordan and I, veterns of marching band(he a trombone, I a trumpet that actually PRACTICES), responded, getting into the attention position perfectly from a normal position as best as we could. As scared as we were being in front of someone with obvious power, the horrors of Band Camp that were drilled into our bloodstreams had allowed us to respond to that command immediately no matter what. Even if we were talking to the president, should we hear that command, we would instantly bring our right fist, cupping our left hand over it, a set distance from our nose, stand up straight, and bring our left foot ONLY to our right in doing so. Meanwhile, although we dared not stop looking right forward, me and Jordan knew that poor Barry was confused. We heard him scramble into an attempt to copy our position. (He was in orchestra, poor guy, so he had no clue about any marching commands.)
The man smirked and chuckled a "Hmm!". "Very good," he complimented, "and don't worry, young man, I was just testing to see if any of you knew what to do. Just for fun. You'll be doing something different here, though," he told us. He waited a few seconds. "Break," he finally allowed us, and me and Jordan relaxed. Barry had probably broken when the man had said "Very good," and looked at us like, "Huh? Uh...Whoops..." "Anyway," the man said, and we all looked at him, "I am Commander Kahn, Six-Star Commander of the Elite Beat Agents. And this is EBA HQ, this room being the main control room. From here, we moniter honest people who are having it rough, and should they cry for help, I send out a team of agents, of two backups with one lead--in your case, it was agents J, Morris, and Derek--to help them." He smirked. "As you three have both experienced and actually done some of, the trio fills their target with energy to face whatever task they need to overcome through the power of song and dance. But their job is very serious, because how well they perform affects how well their target fares." He turned to the screens and pressed a few buttons. In a pair of screens, a simulation appeared. It was of three stick figure agents on the bottom and an example stick figure scene above. The example was of a stick figure, blue and with a "target" sign over it, fighting another, red stick figure.
Kahn pointed to it as the "agents" started to dance. They were doing an okay dance; nothing too bad, but nothing too good. Above, the fighters were struggling, grappling one another in a standoff. "Here, this is an okay performance. It is enough to carry the target through, but not spectacular." Then, the stick figures started doing some great moves, and their target, the blue figure, began beating the red figure something harsh. "Here, it is a great performance," Kahn narrated. "It's the most preferred performance, and it fills the target with enough energy to take what they're doing with near inhuman--or whatever race applies--ability." He paused, then explained, "We have even helped a dog find his way home over 400 miles to his owner, and a cat make sure a baby doesn't get hurt while playing in a construction site; I expect all agents to be flexible in terms of target race." He probably gave us an eye on that, but his sunglasses showed no sign of it. Then, the stick agents were, well, sucking. The red figure was winning then. Kahn finished, "And here, we have a lousy performance, which doesn't help the target a single bit, and discourages them, in fact. And should this kind of performance continue, the mission will fail." He nodded. "Fortuneately, while we've had some pretty serious cases on our hands, we've never had one where, should we fail, the life of our target is either lost or undoubtedly going to be," he assured us. "...Barring the time we had to save the world from the Rhombulans," he added.
I started. "Wait...I think I remember that!" I said. "So YOU guys were the ones who did it, huh? I just remember hearing this music and just felt so much energy, I felt like I could take on that entire alien fleet," I described. Then my heart turned to ice and I clamped my mouth shut. "Er...Sorry for speaking out of turn, sir," I appologized in a small voice. I also wondered if these guys were the ones who had encouraged the planet to fend off that meteorite heading towards Earth, and when the sun went out(which, quite frankly, would be nice, given how much global warming's a threat now...).
Kahn nodded. "No need," he said. "But as you can see," he continued, "being an agent is hard work." He paused and moved aside to show us the screens of performances. "These are peoples' hopes and dreams, or their self-images, or even their hearts we have to save! Failure is NOT taken lightly, and will be harshly punished for," he warned, raising an eyebrow. "No, no torture or anything," he added. "But it will be harsh. You might, though, get lucky and simply get a lecture from me...although I can be very harsh in doing so, as any of my agents can tell you," he pointed out, nodding to the three standing beside us. We looked and they all vigorously nodded with honesty.
"Now, do you three wish to become agents?" Kahn inquired. "From your performance, enough to revive our agents to assist something that you may not have kept up for much longer without proper training, you three all have excellent potential, despite being so young and still in high school. And the more agents we have, the better, since we wish to help as many people out as we possibly can. Just know that if you accept, while you will be doing the world a great service and be turning in at night with that pride in your heart, you will be committed to this agency and will have to drop whatever it is you may be doing--barring impossiblities such as deep sleep and using the bathroom--and do your work. You will spend much of your lives here, and will in turn not have much time at your own home after school, at least for the first few months. And even when inside school, should you be called, you MUST answer it, even if it's during the final exam. You may even be placing your life on the line. So, tell me...are you three willing to become prodigies within the Agents and unshakably devote yourselves to facing any danger to help others?" He silently awaited our answer.
A few seconds, then we realized he was finished and we could discuss. We turned and whispered to each other in a huddle. "It's not like we'll miss out on much class or anything..." "J said he'd help with homework!" "How will we get here, though?" "They'll find a way, these guys are obviously super government agent people or something..." "But think, too: If this doesn't get us respect for our performing, I dunno what will!" "After our little effort there, the school probably will respect us, though, regardless." "Well, still, I think this is a great idea, and it looks cool!" "Yeah! I wanna do this, and hey, if I survived band camp, I can take whatever this job dishes out at us!" "Well...Do they pay us?" "What if they don't? It's like community service, except more fun. I don't think they will." "Oh, well, I tried..." "But you guys want to do this? It's gonna take up a buttload of our free time." "I don't have a job yet, and I know you don't..." "I don't, either, but I really don't wanna miss any of my animes..." "Me, neither, but I think we'd have to bite the bullet and discover the wonders of taping the episodes." group sigh "Fine...I'm in." "I'm in." "And I'm in." We finally all nodded in unison and turned back around. Then we looked at who'd tell our decision, and I did rock-paper-sissors with Barry and won. I stepped forward and announced, "Barry, Jordan, and I would like to become Elite Beat Agents."
Commander Kahn smiled. "Then just pass basic training and my test, and you're in," he said. He raised an eyebrow. "You...have anything you're supposed to be at right now?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice. We thought, then shook our heads. He nodded. "Alright, then!" he said, and looked to the agents. "Take them to basic training."
"Yessir!" they said in unison.
To us all, Kahn shouted, "DIS-MISSED! And good luck, you three," he bade us newbies.
We thanked him and followed the adults out.
About an hour and a half later of singing, dancing, and some tips from the senior agents, we were given a uniform to wear, complete with sunglasses that, we were told, we could replace with our own pairs at home. The uniforms, although black suits, were actually very comfortible and not at all binding, which was excellent, since we had to do some pretty wild moves sometimes. I, because I'm a bit paranoid that way, asked if it was okay if I could keep my housekey on my lanyard around my neck, and they said fine, as long as I kept it under my coat so it didn't swing around during performance. Then, we were given a microphone and asked who would lead for this one. I, as before, was picked by my comrades, and I was just fine with that. They preferred backup, anyway. Backup is just as important as lead, you know, and they knew, too. But anyway, we, nervous a bit, were led out back to the main control room.
Kahn turned in his chair to us. He looked the same: Serious. "Okay, newbies," he addressed us, "you may have passed basic training well enough, but now let's see if you can prove it to me...personally." We gulped, but clenched our fists tight, fighting the sudden stage fright that we felt. "Okay men...Don't let me down!!" Kahn ordered, and a funky beat began to play. It was a song we'd heard bits of during training, but the full version. We realized that this was a test of our creativity for new music.
I looked at my backups. "Okay...3, 2, 1--Let's go!"
Less than two minutes later, we were standing in front of him, looking anxious a little. Commander Kahn stood with a serious look on his face. He strode over to us, we three standing still as statues. At attention, but in a way, not; we had our arms at our sides. So, in military terms, we WERE at attention. Kahn stopped in front of us at center, between us and the desk. He looked at us three, then gave us a simple thumbs-up. "Congratulations, men, you are now officially Elite Beat Agents!" he informed us enthusiastically. He stopped us before we could thank him, though. "But now, to really seal the deal," he continued, and produced three badges, like the cops use, and like J showed us earlier at school, "each of you take one." In them, there was a badge, and an ID card that, somehow, had gotten our picture and our personal information. 'These guys HAVE to be government...' I also noticed a codename on mine. We all saw a BA ranking on them, and I also noticed that while mine was BA-5, my friends' were BA-6.
Kahn looked at the teammates beside me. "Jordan, Barry, your codenames will be only your middle names, 'Meyers' and 'Hunter' respectively, for the time being, since you will be started out as backup until you wish to try and become leads." He looked right at me. "And you, Gregory, will have a special codename for your position as lead, based on a personal aspect..." I felt his eyes on the center of my chest, where my housekey hung from my lanyard.
"...Welcome, Agents Meyers, Hunter...and Lock!"
(1)...(2)...(3)...(4)
(8)...(7)...(6)...(5)
Yah, crappy, I know, but hey, it's just the introduction. I didn't plan on this being much more than my own little fantasy, so don't expect anything as huge as what I've got for my original stories.
And in case you're wondering, that beat pattern is from Walkie Talkie Man on Sweatin', first pattern.
