Critical Hellfire

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: Chuck and Morgan are co-hosts of a locally popular streaming channel in which they discuss all things metal while playing video games. Their lives are uprooted when their demo guy hands them THE demo of the ages—a band called Critical Hellfire, fronted by singer and bassist Sarah Walker. AU Charah.

A/N: Thanks to those of you giving this a shot. Appreciate the reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or any of its characters. I don't own any of the songs mentioned in this chapter, this fic, or anywhere else for that matter. I am making absolutely zero dollars writing and posting this.

Chuck felt his sister poke him right in the middle of his back as he ate his cold leftover pizza hunched over the kitchen sink.

"That's not healthy. Also, scoot. I need water."

He made an annoyed sound at the back of his throat and finished chewing, swallowing, before he turned to roll his eyes at her. "First of all, I just turned twenty-six last week. I'm young. This is exactly the time when you can do unhealthy things and get away with it, so I'm taking advantage of that." She seemed not to be able to help giggling at that. "Secondly, use the filter in the fridge."

"I can't," she said with a shrug, squeezing in to get water out of the faucet. "Because someone said he'd change the filter yesterday and he didn't."

He spun to look at the round red light around the refrigerator's filter sensor. "Oh shit, I forgot."

"I know you did. It's okay. I'm drinking this water for now 'til you change it out."

"I'm sorry. I-I have to go. My contact's waiting for me at Graham's already." He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "But can I replace it in the morning? I swear, I'll replace the filter in the morning. Pinky promise."

He stuck his grease covered pinky towards her and she made a face at it.

"Let's not and say we did, huh? Okay. Do it tomorrow." She paused, sipping her water, and then she gave him a searching look. "I'm not our mom, Chuck. I'm not gonna, like…ground you or whatever. We're all adults here. You, me, Devon… We all pull our weight. We all pay for stuff around the house. It's split evenly. None of us has to get on anyone else's ass. We never have. I know you'll do it when you can."

Chuck sighed and nodded. "I know. Still, you know I'm super grateful you and Captain Awesome let me take over the whole basement of our childhood home to do Games N Rock Sessions, right? Like, forever grateful, sis. If I didn't have the show, I'd have to go back to fixing phones at the Buy More, and man, now that I've tasted freedom, that would be crippling having to go back there."

Ellie sighed, tugging on the hem of her scrubs. "I know. I'm proud of you for building this up out of nothing. Anyway, you didn't take over the whole basement. Devon's still got his stationary bike and weight machine down there."

"I know. And our fans know, too. We turned the camera to show him exercising a few weeks ago during our show when folks asked what that whirring sound was. Now they ask to see the Adonis again in our comments during every stream. Still. To this day." Chuck tilted his head. "He's a hit with the gays."

His sister snorted. "You think I don't know that? Can't go anywhere with that stud."

She winked and moved to leave the kitchen altogether to join the stud over at the TV in the living room, but then she halted, backtracked, and squeezed his shoulder. "Hey, in case you ever wonder… Mom and Dad would've been proud, too."

A bitterness slithered through his midsection and he shrugged, diverting his gaze. "Wherever they are, I doubt they think about it either way. You, me, us…what we're doing." He shrugged again, as if brushing it off.

"I don't know if you're right about that."

"I'd like not to be."

"I know, honey." She ruffled his hair. "Have fun with your contact or whatever."

"I'm getting new demos."

"Games or music?"

"It's—Well, shit. He didn't specify. He said he had some indies for me. So…"

"Well, have fun."

"Thanks."

There was a knock on the door then and Ellie moved to answer it as she swept into the living room. When she did, there was Morgan, standing on the porch in his jean jacket and faded Whitesnake shirt.

His face morphed into a deep and unadulterated adoration as he looked up at Eleanor Faye Bartowski, his first and forever crush. Ever since he and Chuck met at five years old, had their first playdate in this house, and he saw the nine year old brunette making a face at him over the back of the couch. That was how he told it, anyway.

"Hi, Ellie. Are-Are you—You have a good shift at the hospital?"

"He's in the kitchen." She walked away and slumped onto the couch to snuggle against her boyfriend.

Awesome slung his arm over her shoulders and hugged her close, even as he turned on the couch to beam at the Bearded One. "Hey! It's the Morgster! How ya doin', buddy?! Haven't seen you in a few days! Diggin' the Whitesnake shirt, bro."

"Favorite Whitesnake song. Go," Morgan challenged, pointing at the blonde.

"'Love Ain't No Stranger'!" Captain Awesome snapped immediately, playing along in his usual good-natured way.

Morgan slapped his fist into his other palm. "Damn it, you're so cool!"

"So are you, dude. So are you." Devon turned back around to snuggle against Ellie and pay attention to the show.

They said their goodbyes and headed out onto the porch, Chuck shutting and locking the door behind him.

"For years, I've tried to hate him for stealing my girl, and I just can't. He's so awesome and so sweet like a super ripped Care Bear or something," Morgan whined.

"You can't have something stolen from you that isn't yours, pal." He patted him on the back.

Morgan just grumbled.

He brightened up as they climbed into Chuck's Nerd Herder, aka his fifteen year old midnight blue Honda with its paint starting to chip. "So what's Travis got for us tonight?"

"I…don't actually know."

"Okay, because between you and me, Halo is getting… No, never mind."

"What?" Chuck asked, glancing at his friend curiously. He pulled up his music app on his phone, handed it to Morgan to attach to the cord, and said, "Have at it, maestro." The drums filled the inside of his car and Chuck laughed, shaking his head. "How'd I know it'd be Quiet Riot?"

"I'm in a mood."

"You were gonna talk shit on Halo. So out with it."

Morgan gasped. "I'm not talking sh—"

He cut himself off as they both belted, "Mamaaaaa, but we're aaaaaall craaaaazy noooow!" at full force.

And then he slipped right back into the sentence. "…shit. I'm not. I'm just saying, we've been on kind of a Halo kick and I think maybe we should expand our horizons. Don't you think so? I think so."

"Whatever you think, man. If you wanna play something else, let's do it. What are you thinkin'?"

"You're not…mad at me?"

Chuck laughed. "Morgan. So much shit is happening that deserves my anger. You wanting to switch up the game we're streaming isn't even close to one of 'em. Maybe these new demos will be games and we'll have something we've never heard of to play."

"Dude, that'd be splendid!"

"Splendid?" He cracked up.

"I'm trying different stuff. I say rad a lot."

"Because it's a great word."

"It is a great word."

Within fifteen minutes, they pulled into the parking lot outside of Graham's, the burgers and shakes joint they kept going to even after their Buy More days were kaput. The Buy More crew still frequented the place most nights.

In fact, as they walked in, three of the green shirts looked up from their table and lifted their hands in greeting.

"Heeeey! GnR's here!"

A few of the Nerd Herd got up from another table and came over to hug them.

"Burgers on me," Lester said, pushing his hair back from his face. "Well, okay, no. I take it back. I just got excited. But I will buy the next song on the jukebox. What are we feelin'? No, never mind. No requests. I'm picking it."

He hastened over to do so, leaving Chuck shaking his head.

"Oh my God. There she is."

Chuck blinked at Jeff, another Nerd Herd worker, whose slightly off-center stare was looking right through him. "What're you…?"

But as he turned, he realized exactly what Jeff was looking at and spun back around. "Fuckshit! Did she see me?" He tried to step around Jeff to hide.

Unfortunately, it was no use. Morgan hadn't hidden himself away even if Chuck had, and everyone knew Chuck and Morgan were like a two-pack of ketchup on the Costco shelf; you couldn't get one without the other. You couldn't take a pair of scissors out of your purse and cut one of 'em out of that hard plastic stuff, take it up to the check-out clerk, and ask to pay just for the one.

Chuck shook himself as he heard, "Hiiii, Chuuuuck!"

Pursing his lips, he swung back out from behind Jeff. "Oh hi, Jill. Didn't see you there."

The hope was that he wouldn't have to see her anywhere, at all, ever again, when they broke up. And he promised himself when he broke up with her that he wouldn't let her have his world, he wouldn't be run off from Graham's, from downtown LA's rock scene, just because she frequented those spaces too.

But it had been the most toxic, horrifying relationship. Thankfully, Ellie and Morgan, and in a lot of ways, Games N Rock Sessions pulled his head and heart out of Jill Roberts' manipulative grip. He was free now. And she continued to pop up like a horrible case of recurring gonorrhea, unable to resist pursuing him. Or something.

She'd killed his self-esteem for too long, multiple years, and now he was trying to build it back up again. But then she would show up, hopping out of bushes, coming out from under rocks with her, "Hi, Chuck!" and…oh no, giving him gifts. What in the hell was this? Oh God.

"I got something for you." She held up a necklace from her fingers with a gold cross on the end of it. "You're the king of my heart. Second only to Him. So I got this for you."

"What? What is this?"

"A gift!" she said, as if he was the dumb one.

"Take it back, Jill."

The burger joint was suddenly filled with the sounds of Warrant's "Cherry Pie". Before Chuck could say anything else, the chorus burst out of the jukebox. "Sheeeee's my cherry pie! Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise! Tastes so good, makes a grown man cry!"

Chuck slowly tilted to the side so that he could look at a smirking Lester Patel, leaning with one arm on the jukebox, one foot cocked, head banging to the music.

He glared a bit at him, then slowly pulled back up to his full height, Jill's clueless grin blocking his view of the little fuckin' pipsqueak who thought he was being funny. Chuck turned to give Morgan a look and merely got the flattest look back along with a small shake of his head.

Chuck finally turned his gaze to Jill. "I don't know what you want me to do with that, Jill. I'm not taking gifts from you, especially not religious ones? I dunno if you missed the memo, but A, we broke up six months ago, and B, I listen to and promote the music of devil worshippers."

"It's just rock 'n' roll, Chuck. You're so dramatic." She huffed, and gave him an amused look.

"If I put that on, it'll probably burn my skin."

"Ssssssssssss! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" Jeff mimicked, wiggling his fingers near Chuck's neck and making sounds like skin bubbling as it melted.

"Ugh, God, Jeff," Jill said, making a grossed out face. "Chuck, I've told you about the people you hang out with."

"Oh yeah, I did that whole being controlled by you thing for two years, and I'm not doing it anymore. So take the creepy cross back where you got it from and please leave me alone. Like I keep telling you, Jill, it's over. It's over. One more time, just for good measure. It's over."

"Fine." She gave him an offended look. "You know, Chuck… You keep playing these games, insulting me in front of people, you're gonna turn around and find me gone."

As she spun on her heel, Chuck muttered, "Oh God, do you promise?"

When she finally left, he felt relief flood through him.

"She's terrifying," Jeff said.

And that was a crystal clear sign he'd made a massive mistake letting Jill Roberts control his life for two years—allowing her to somehow call whatever the toxic shit they'd fallen into was "dating"—that Jeff didn't slobber over her and was instead afraid of her? He'd seen the same man try to hump a cactus during one of his worst drug trips.

Chuck let out a rough breath and turned back around, smoothing his hands through the air to calm himself. Then he glanced across the joint and spotted the man of the hour sitting hunched forward, a fedora pulled low over his face.

He always made this feel like a black market deal and it was kind of fun, and then at the same time, he wondered what was freaking up with this guy.

Grabbing Morgan's arm, he pointed over to the table where Travis awaited them.

They closed the distance and sat across from him.

"Hi, Travis!" Morgan chirped.

"Hi, Travis," he parroted.

"Shhhh!" Travis looked up with his raccoonesque eyes, darting them around the place. And then he eased up and smiled. "Hey, guys." He pulled his messenger bag from the floor by his Doc Martens and put it on the table between them. "Listen, I could go for a strawberry shake. You think you guys can cover it tonight? My mom took my allowance away this week because she found Maxim under my mattress."

"Oh shit, who's Maxim?" Morgan asked in concern. Chuck sent him a long look. He saw the moment Morgan realized Maxim wasn't a whom but a what. And he knew what the what was. "Oh. That Maxim. Got it."

"The trick is to do Sports Illustrated." They all looked up to see that Jeff Barnes had just appeared out of nowhere, like a God damn vampire or something. "It has sports in it," he drawled. "They'll just think you're reading about sports. But the Swimsuit Edition has to roll around eventually…" He licked his lips.

"Please get out of my personal bubble," Travis said.

"Just some friendly advice." Jeff shrugged and left them again.

"I'm starting to think this place is problematic," Chuck muttered to Morgan.

"Yep." Morgan thumped his palms on the table top. "You're doing us a solid, Travis. I've got your strawberry shake. Whippy or no?"

"Whippy fo' sho'."

"Gotcha."

Chuck and Travis turned back to each other and the younger of the two unzipped his messenger bag, flapping it open and digging inside. "I've got some hella spicy dems, my dude. Couple o' bands around town, paid themselves for a studio to record 'em. Trying to get their feet in some doors. Oh man. They're so solid. The kind o' shit that hits you deep in your gut, bro. But first…"

He pushed one over. "These guys are like Jethro Tull kind of. The songs are like sea shanties or pirate ballads or something. You're gonna dig it a lot. They'd really appreciate a plug in your Sessions."

"Sea shanties? Let's fuckin' go." He took it and pulled it in. They'd only written their band name on the disc: Whale Guts. "And they're called Whale Guts?! Fuck, man! I'm so excited about this! What else ya got?"

Seeming pleased, Travis handed over the next one. "Okay, this one is gonna rock you sideways. They've been on the scene for a bit but they haven't gotten any help from anybody who's got strings to pull because…" He winced. "…they're fronted by a chick."

Chuck pulled his chin back. "Yo, I thought you were gonna say something so awful. The band's fronted by a chick? That's tight. What the fuck is wrong with people?"

"I dunno, man. The genre is still a dick-fest. But they absolutely rock. This is just covers. That's all they've been able to record because nobody's given them a break. But when they perform live, lemme just tell you, it'll knock you on your ass. They're all tacticians on their instruments. The harmonizing behind the lead chick's vocals? Phewwww. And her vocals?" He brought his fingers and kissed them. "They're stuck here in our tiny little scene performing shit gigs, though. They need someone like you guys to give 'em a leg up. Trust me on them. They've got somethin'. Helps that they're all stupid hot too."

Morgan came back and plopped down, balancing two chocolate shakes and one strawberry, all three with whippy.

"So what've ya got?"

"Indie rock bands who sound tight," Chuck explained. "Thanks, Morgan." He took a long sip from his shake, ignoring the brain freeze that shot through his noggin. "This one is Jethro Tull adjacent sea shanties."

"Whale Guts?! They got me with that alone."

"And this one." He reached over and took it from Travis, looking down at the neat cursive scrawled over the disc's surface with flames licking up from them. "Critical Hellfire? That's their name?"

"Yep."

"Critical…Hellfire?" Morgan repeated, his mouth falling open. He had some whippy in his mustache and Chuck silently handed him a napkin. "That's the hardest band name ever!"

"Yeah, I'm kind of dying on the inside," Chuck admitted. "Critical Hellfire. God damn."

"They must wail."

"They have to wail," Chuck said, pointing at his best friend.

"They do wail," Travis informed them. "Unfortunately, I've just got those two. No video games this time, but I'll keep workin' on it." He hummed happily as he drank his own shake. "Trust me. I just gave you not one, but dos goldmines."

"Dos minas de orooooo," Morgan sang under his breath as he ogled both of the demos. "We're doing this in the Herder on the way home."

"Um, ten thousand percent." He got up from the table then, grabbing his shake. "We might head out to the arcade after this if you wanna join, Travis." He winced when the other man gave him a miserable look. "Oh, yeah. You're in trouble with the mama. Sorry, friend. Rain check?"

"Yeah."

They left him behind and went to join the others again. Chuck slipped the two demos in the inner pocket of his old Buy More jacket and joined everyone else at their tables they'd clumped together.

}o{

Something was off. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was all of them.

But she took her hand from the frets of her bass guitar and held it up. "Stop, stop, stop. Stop."

They did and she turned. "You guys heard it, right?"

"Yeah, it's like…flat," Dylan said with a shrug.

"Is it me?" Sarah asked. "'Cause it feels like it's me." She let out a rough breath and lifted the strap up over her head, shrugging the instrument off, rolling her shoulders as she set it in its stand. "Ever since Bob confirmed Mosh Mansion for Friday night, I've been all jittery and off my game. I know it's me, you don't have to be nice, you guys," she said, smirking.

"It isn't you. I think we're all freaking out," Mac said. "I dropped my sticks more than once 'cause I'm sweating so much."

"I think you're all freaking out and I'm over here absolutely positive we're gonna rock the roof off of that whole fuckin' joint," Rizzo said with a shrug. She did a five second guitar solo. "See? I'm ready."

"Congrats, Rizzo," Sarah said, smirking harder.

"Well, maybe y'all need to have more faith in us," Dylan argued. He took his guitar off. "Me an' Z are set. Maybe what we all need is…" He pulled his wrist up and looked at his watch. "Ooo! Hey, Games N Rock Sessions just started five minutes ago. Who's game? We can take a break. We need to lay off ourselves a little. C'mon."

They all looked at Sarah and she held up her hands. "I'm not your boss. Nobody here is anybody else's boss. Let's go watch those gamer guys. At least I know it's good for a laugh. I could use a laugh."

Hopping down from the stage, they went to the couches, watching as Dylan wirelessly connected his laptop to the flat screen, pulling up the livestream.

It popped open with a beep and there they were, this time just the two hosts of the Games N Rock Sessions on the couch, shoulder to shoulder. It really emphasized the height difference between them, seeing them sitting right next to each other. It was kind of cute, she decided.

"So anyway, Morgan was crying about being bored by Halo so I graciously allowed him to switch out the game. Since so many of you are asking us why we aren't doing Halo tonight," the curly-haired one said. She forgot his name. Something with a C? Maybe a K?

"Yep. I was sobbing."

"See? Sobbing. You heard it from the man himself."

"I crawled to him on my knees. Tears just pouring down my cheeks. Plllleeease Chuck. Chuckster. My Chuckinator."

"Pleeeeeease," Chuck drawled under his breath, shooting some sort of creature in the face. "Ohhhhhhh! Head shot! You see that?! That's what you get for popping out from behind a corner, beeeyoooootch!"

"He's porridge."

Chuck burst into a laugh, turning to look at his friend for a moment. "Porridge? What the fuck?"

"Yeah, you know how porridge looks. It kinda looks like splattered alien brains. Hence why I called him porridge."

"Amazing usage of the word 'hence', my good sir."

"A'thank you."

"Okay, so there's a lull in the alien invasion so I wanna take this time to—"

"Behind you. Duck."

Chuck's character got down and the alien behind him exploded violently.

"Jesus," Sarah breathed. "Do kids play these games?"

"Yep," all three of the other band members said.

"Nice," she muttered with wide eyes.

"So as I was saying," Chuck continued. "We got a demo the other day and we've listened to this thing maybe…what would you say, Morgan, like fifteen times?"

"Twenty-seven," his bearded friend mumbled, focused on the game. "Twenty-seventy. Seventy-twenty-deeeee. Hee heeeee."

"Do they do drugs?" Zondra asked, making everyone chuckle.

"A lot of times," Chuck continued. "We listened to it all the way through a lot of times, and we want everyone to know that there's a band out here in these LA streets that has taken the Jethro Tull book, scribbled a bunch of sea shanties into it, and punted it into the sun to create this freakin' music."

"Beautiful, my dude!" Morgan exclaimed. "Perfect way to describe it. Did you come up with that just on the fly right there?"

"I did."

"You're a genius."

"You are."

"I love you."

"I love you."

Sarah pouted a little bit, watching the exchange, giggling. This felt almost like a stupid waste of time on the surface level, but they were bozos and funny and kind of adorable. There was a strange warmth, and a refreshing amount of both of them not taking themselves too seriously, able to make fun of each other and themselves in equal measure.

"They're called Whale Guts."

Dylan slapped his hand on the couch cushion. "Damn, that's a rad name for a band!"

They all hummed in agreement.

"Sea shanties, folks. Sea shanties and rock 'n' roll."

"There's even a flutist," Morgan added.

"I think it's floutist," the taller of the two said without missing a beat.

"Phlebotomist."

They both laughed. In fact, they laughed hard enough that Chuck had to pause the game outright, rocking forward in the couch. "What the shit are you drinking tonight? What was that?" He looked at the camera. "I apologize for him, he's coocoo for cocoa puffs."

"I actually am," Morgan chuckled. "Cocoa puffs are über delicious," he finished in a pronounced German accent, making Sarah snort.

"Check out Whale Guts, folks. I'm serious. It's mythical rock with a piratey flair. Storytelling in the lyrics, epic vocals, the instrumentals are out of control. We've pinned a link to their site in the chat," he muttered as he leaned in to look, reaching for the mouse. "There it is. Click that and it'll take you to their site where they've got singles you can purchase and download. Do it. You won't be disappointed. You guys trust us, right?" He barked out a laugh and pointed, turning to Morgan as the other man leaned in. "LARPken23 said 'Sometimes'. Look at that."

"Fuck you, Ken!"

Chuck put on an affronted look. "Yeah, fuck you, Ken!"

Sarah cracked up with her band mates, and a few minutes later, she turned to the boys who apparently watched this thing regularly. "So is that what the Rock part is? They're music heads?"

"Yeah, sometimes they veer into other stuff, but they apparently go out to the rock nightlife in the greater LA area and scope things out. They make a point of promoting small time bands to help 'em out. Mostly metal bands."

She raised her eyebrows. "I like that. That's kind of cool."

"See? Winning you over, aren't they?"

Sarah smiled at Mac and shrugged. "Yeah, actually. They're funny. Weirdos, but funny."

"Wish they'd put something of ours up on their show," Dylan sighed wistfully. "We aren't big enough. They only hit folks with legit demos. Websites. Don't know where they get the demos though." He shrugged. "They get, like, a thousand people streaming their show live, and way, way more than that watch their archives like it's crack. Maybe people would take us seriously if the Games N Rock Sessions guys promoted us."

Maybe they would, but that didn't seem likely anytime soon.

}o{

"It happened!"

Sarah jumped and looked up from her beans, cheese, and rice burrito, salsa dribbling down the side of the tortilla. "What happened?!" she snapped as Mac dashed in with his phone in his hand.

He'd tugged open the warehouse door, not even bothering to close it behind him as he rushed them. "And hey, what the fuck, guys? Nobody told me you were getting burritos. I would've left work early to come over if I'd known."

"We got you one, doofus," Dylan said, lifting the bag.

"You guys are the greatest!" Mac shook himself then, dashing up to the table, grabbing the chair, spinning it to sit backwards, and plopping down. He pointed frantically at the screen. "Watch, watch, watch."

Sarah leaned in to eye the screen as he hit play.

She had sort of forgotten about these guys in the last few days, what with how hard they'd been practicing, tossing one of their original songs and mostly the covers they knew especially well into there. They were more than ready for tomorrow night. But all of the extra sessions had meant everything else had left her mind.

Even the shitty call she had with her mom on Tuesday night had left her head, the strained tone of voice as Emma told her that inheriting "Jack's mother's" money didn't mean she could waste away her life playing in a rock band. But she knew that ever since she picked her dad in that court room at five years old, her mom had a chip on her shoulder. And no matter what Sarah chose to do with her life, it wouldn't be enough to curry Emma's favor again.

Not that picking her father had done her any favors either. And his constant in and out of her existence (and prison) had meant forming a close bond with her grandma, whose passing left her hundreds of millions, money she hadn't wanted her conman son going anywhere near.

Shaking herself, she focused on the screen.

"—really surprised by how deeply their sound struck me in the God damn chest."

"Like Thor swung his hammer and WHAP! right in the chester." Morgan swung his hand and gently thwapped it against his friend's chest. "This band is the real deal."

"Only thing is, I can't find a website. All we have is this demo, and h'ooooooo it is gold."

"It's us, guys!" Mac exclaimed.

Sarah gaped at the screen. No way.

"Told you we should've paid to have a website set up, since we don't know shit about computers."

They ignored Zondra, jaws agape, Mac practically hopping in his seat, making the screen bounce annoyingly. Dylan snatched it from him, glaring, and held it steady.

"Okay, whoever is doing the singing for this band needs a contract immediately," Chuck said. Sarah felt herself blush as Zondra nudged her proudly. "I mean if you are a producer looking for a band that will bring 'eighties hair bands back into the forefront, but with a sound that's completely fresh and original, this is the band."

"Chuck, you died."

He had, indeed, died. His character was a read smear on the ground.

He waved his hand through the air. "Yeah, I know. This is more important. I think I had a rock awakening listening to these absolute badasses, you guys." He leaned in close to the camera. "I'm so serious," he insisted through a clenched jaw. "We have no links, but we're going to scour the LA area for them to try to see them live and when we get more info about this crazy good group of musicians, we are going to share that info, okay? Okay?! We mean it!"

"Can we send our deets to these guys? Do they have an email or something?" Sarah asked.

Dylan held up a finger, then pulled back, clicking and tapping.

"What're you doing to my phone, ya asshole?" Mac asked, reaching for it to try to snatch it.

"There." Dylan pointed. There was a comments box alongside the livestream and Sarah squinted to read it.

MacShades82: "You might catch this band at Mosh Mansion on Friday night."

Morgan jumped, grabbing at Chuck's arm. They'd both died now, distracted completely from the game they were playing. "You see that comment?"

Chuck leaned in and gasped. "No way. We're getting word that Mosh Mansion Friday night is the place to be!"

Sarah's phone rang again and she snapped a curse, climbing up from her burrito and Games N Rock Sessions talking about her damn band—her band—to grab her phone. She took a moment, wondering if she should answer it or not.

He only got a few of these here and there and he'd chosen her for this one.

And at some point, she was sure she was going to have to pick between him and these people, this path she was on.

She hit end call and walked back to the table, sitting back down. Zondra sent her a look, as if asking if she was okay. She just grinned and nodded, as if her father hadn't just tried to call her from prison.

"So did they say they're coming?"

Mac had since closed the Twitch stream and they were all buzzing.

"Not in so many words."

"We need to aim for the big guys anyway," Rizzo reasoned, swiping her hand through the air. "If a producer wanders into Mosh Mansion on Friday night, we need to give him a show that'll make him wanna come up to us immediately."

"She's right," Sarah said. "These guys are fun, and their intentions are good. This shout-out was great. But we aren't getting anywhere just appealing to Twitch streamers who are popular in LA. Friday night, we need to really explode up on that stage. This is the biggest show of our lives so far."

They all sat with that reality between them, and Sarah stared down at her burrito, not sure she wanted more of it, as frayed as her nerves were.

The next few days were going to be huge. She had to be on her A Game.

A/N: But it's Sarah Walker. When isn't she on her A Game? All about that mission.

Please review if you can. Thank you!

-SC