. . .
Mana Kitsurubami fell with a jarring thud out of her rack, claustrophobically wrapped in her sheets. The impact knocked her awake and out of her nightmare. Even in the climate-controlled freighter and cocooned in her blankets she was doused in a shivering sweat and writhed on the deck, trying to get free. In her struggles she kicked her desk and bunk both, barking her shins and jamming her toes. Now in pain as well as panic and frustration she yelled out, pulling at her cloth restraints and unhelpfully rolling across the deck. Finally, her hatch opened, and several pairs of hands helped untangle her and set her back on her bunk.
"Ma'am are you alright?! We heard someone screaming and arrived as quick as we could." One of her I.I.B. soldiers examined her head for trauma, having found her on the floor.
"We should take her to the infirmary." Another soldier said and several nodded in agreement. When they reached for her shoulder, Mana gently brushed them off.
Shaking her head, Mana steadied herself and stood. "No, that won't be necessary. It was just a nightmare and a short drop. No need to wake the medical staff."
"Ma'am, you must understand we're very concerned. This is very unlike you. Please, for our sakes." Mana scanned the anxious and worried faces and knew she didn't have a choice. She might consider herself fine, but it would put her soldiers at ease by her going.
"Alright, if you insist. But only because you insist. I'll see myself there, thank you all for checking on me." Followed by the small squad to ensure she went and didn't try to sneak back, they marched her to the freighter's infirmary. Apart from her blood sugar being low, she was otherwise deemed fine and fit by the medics. They prescribed her to have something to eat and take some fresh night air to clear her head. Following doctor's orders, she descended the cargo ramp into the glowing moonlight. She took her walk through the slumbering Auxiliary Camp while munching on a power bar. Her nerves still sang, and the jittering of her body wasn't from the night's chill. It wasn't the first time she had dreamt this dream, but this time was by far the worst. What she needed was a distraction and something to take her mind completely off the recurring nightmare. Ahead she could hear a familiar, muffled yet comforting set of sounds: thumping bass, crashing drums, crying guitar, and passionate vocals. It seemed that not only were Jeff Carson and Naota Nandaba practicing late into the night but had neglected to invite her. Mana crammed the last of her power bar into her mouth and tossed the wrapper into a burn barrel. She jogged back into the freighter, to her quarters and snatched up the drumsticks given to her last time. Back down the ramp, over the hill she marched and up to the rattling basement glass doors. Inside Jeff and Naota played. But unlike before their musical selection was something that made Mana's brow furrow and question their mental integrity. Undeterred, she rapped on the door and was unheard over the noise. She tried the latch and, finding it unlocked, let herself in.
*But I don't get it!
Don't you think… maybe we could put it on credit?!
Don't you think… it can take control when I don't let it?!
I get stupified!
Look in my face, stare in my soul, I begin to stupify! Rah!
Look in my face, stare in my soul, I begin to stupify! Rah!
Look in my face, stare in my soul, I begin to stupify! Rah!
Look in my face, stare in my soul, I begin to stupify! Rah!
Look in my face, stare in my soul!
Look in my face, stare in my soul!
Look in my face, stare in my soul!
Look in my face, stare in my soul!
Look in my face! (Staring in my soul!)
Look in my face! (Staring in my soul!)
Look in my face! (Staring in my soul!)
I BEGIN TO STUPIFY!
RAH!*
"What… in the heavens, are you guys playing?" Mana asked. Both turned around in mild surprise at hearing an unannounced voice. "What kind of music IS that?"
"Ah! Oh, uhm, eve, ahm, evening, Lieutenant!" Having sung eloquently a few moments before Jeff now stumbled over his words. "Didn't expect to see you out this late, thought you had duties and such?"
"How'd you do, Lieutenant?" Naota closed the door behind her to keep out the creeping cold.
"I do well. And I did have duties today. But now I don't. So again, what in the worlds are you two playing? I've never heard… anything, quite like it."
"It's, well, it's an odd little thing some people call rap rock, or rap metal." Jeff explained. He picked up some albums from their stack and handed them over for review. "These are from Tommy's old collection and aren't part of my usual rotation. But with everything's that going on I found myself in, well, a cranky mood to put it simply. You saw one of the reasons why the other day."
"I'm not doing so hot myself." Naota added, guitar hanging from his shoulders and arms crossed. "I had my first two kills, and it's been…difficult. I'm sure you understand."
"I do understand, probably too well than what's good for me. I remember my first confirmed kill, every little detail."
"How did it happen?" Jeff asked, taking a seat on a recliner and indicating she should as well on any furniture of her choosing. She chose the edge of a large day bed, sat upright and proper instead of sunk into the mound of pillows and blankets. "If you want to bring it up?"
"No, it's alright. I don't mind. I would like something to drink, if that's not too much trouble?"
"None at all." Jeff took from behind the basement's bar a gallon jug of a familiar fluid and filled her a red Solo cup full. "Will this cover the cost of one story?"
"This's Day Grog, isn't it?" Mana could smell the distinctive cinnamon scent wafting from the cup.
"It is. Do you want something else?"
Mana drank deeply, taking down about three quarters full, then held up her cup for a topping off. Jeff obliged with a smile, dropping in cut up lemon and lime slices as he poured. Mana knew this was unprofessional and unbecoming of an officer, but with her current mood she did not care. She was wracked with tension and a spaghetti mess of nerves that needed taken out of her and ironed smooth. And she had a feeling that whatever happened down here in the Carson basement was strictly off-record and stayed down here. Another stabilizing swig and she put the cup on a side table.
"Mmmm, no… I think it'll be okay. Now… it was five years ago, almost to the date. On the planet Medor, blazing hot and humid even in the shade. We were there to oversee a prisoner exchange between us, and a Red Star backed faction. They had taken control of the spaceport and were holding several pilots and passenger's hostage. One of the faction's spiritual leaders, a scholar they were calling him, like, uh-huh, yeah, sure, whatever, had been detained while in the capital as an accessory and planner to many of their attacks. So, we were bringing him to exchange for these bystanders who made the mistake of booking their flight on a Wednesday instead of a Tuesday. I was in a high rise across the highway from the spaceport and keeping watch on the exchange on the tarmac. And in hindsight it was a great, awesome spot. My setup was in this conference room that had a balcony, so there was a sliding door I could keep open. I hung my dark mesh netting across it so no one could see in. I was lying on the main conference table, on top of a trundle bed mattress for comfort, had the air conditioning on full blast so I was cool and comfy, some snacks and drinks from the vending machine, and a bathroom next door down the hall. And my area to watch was just six hundred yards away, and I could see everything from my hide. Like I said, awesome, perfect spot."
"Let me guess…" Naota made his prediction. "It didn't go according to plan?"
"Well of course not." Jeff agreed. "It never does, does it?"
"Absolutely! It went terribly wrong. Commander Amarao told Commander Nede, our old commander whom Amarao replaced, that it reeked of a set-up, and we should try extracting the hostages instead. I agreed whole heartedly. I had read the entire history of this group on the flight over. They had a history of double-crosses, were a radical group among radicals, had demonstrated plenty of times they were willing to recklessly give themselves to their cause, and were a bloodthirsty, trigger-happy lot. Commander Nede, already committed to this plan, decided to ignore his XO, and ordered us to go ahead anyway. So naturally when the exchange team landed on the tarmac and disembarked… nothing. No one to greet them, no pilots, no passengers. Nothing. I'm doing my best to keep it together and focused. Everyone else is panicking, just a little. Then, as I'm scanning, I start seeing these little marker flags stuck in the ground around the tarmac. 'Huh, that's really weird.' I think because while they look like electrical or plumbing line markers, they aren't in any pattern that would follow that kind of system layout. They're in the long, straight line to and past our exchange group's landing site on the tarmac. I follow the line back through my scope, and you'll never guess where they lead to."
Jeff gave it a go. "Control tower?"
Mana nodded. "Exactly. Control tower. We had checked everyone going in and out for weapons, but it had not occurred to us that not only would they have insiders at the spaceport, but these insiders would stash weapons on site weeks beforehand. One of the ATC guys was in on it and had smuggled a rifle in, piece by piece, and hidden the pieces in supply closets. Then on the big day, he ascended the tower to the suspicion of no one because he worked there, assembled his rifle, and manned his post. At this point everyone has clogged up the radio feed with questions and demands to know what to do next, all screaming in my ears. I follow the flags to the logical origin point for them and see what looks to be a man leaning over the computers of the ATC tower and half out the window. 'That's very odd, what's he doing?' I thought and checked my range card for the tower. Five hundred yards even, which meant a six-inch high hold with the rifle I was using at the time. Luckily that day there was no wind to contend with so there wasn't a left-right hold to factor. I was asked to look around a set of doors from the terminal for any signs of movement. Why they asked me to do that, when they were in plain view of everyone involved, I have no idea. But I did as I was ordered. I checked the doors, saw they were still closed, reported that, and began to swing back to the tower. As soon as I reacquire him, he has already raised and aimed his rifle and snaps off a shot. I suppose this was supposed to be some kind of signal, because everyone else hidden around the spaceport popped out of their cover and opened fire. Right before that, between his shot and everyone else, I fired. This was a 0.375 Shaydo Long Magnum, very good at piercing body armor, then rapidly expanding inside your target. I hit him just high of center of mass, in the middle of his back through the Level II vest he was wearing under his work clothes. There was a large splash of blood on the tower windows, and he went down. The rest of the fighting took place in dead zones of my vision, so I didn't get any more shots off. After it's all over, we find out the hostages had been moved to another location and they had never intended to hand them over. I'm not sure whatever happened to them but knowing Medor they're probably lost to slave trafficking." Mana paused to catch her breath and heaved a frustrated sigh.
"But what I do know is that the man in the tower, because I was pulled off him to check a door everyone else could see, in that two-second window, was able to get his rifle out and shoot one of our team escorting our prisoner. It was not a fatal wound, but that man lost the use of his arm from the shoulder down and had to have it amputated. So, because of a needless two-second distraction, a man was permanently crippled for life. At least I killed the sniper though. We examined his body and his entire heart had been blown out through the exit wound; only little pieces were left. And then, like nothing had happened, we packed up with the scholar in tow, and went home. The scholar went to trial and is still in prison to this day and…" Mana paused to pick up her cup and stare into the murky depths where lemon and lime chunks bobbed. "And I'm still upset about it. Nothing else to do though except make absolutely sure it never, ever happens again." She took a drink to wet her throat and turned it back to Naota and Jeff. "So, what do you think?"
"It's…bittersweet." Naota said.
"Agreed. Hell of a snapshot at five hundred yards, and incredible detail picking up on his windage flags." Jeff added. "But man, wow, what can you do about getting pulled away like that? I mean, nothing really I can think of except outright disobeying an order. You were right though in remembering every detail like it was yesterday."
"I have relived it many a time over the years. If all goes well, you'll have plenty of time to do the same. Speaking of, tell me about yours Naota." He relayed his experience, how he had set up in ambush, taking two shots for two quick kills, then nearly losing himself to nerves and tearing miles away through the woods and over hills before coming back to his senses. He had struggled a few nights sleeping but now had mostly made peace with what he had done, taking the advice of knowing he had made his shots as merciful as could be done. Mana congratulated him on a job well done and offered support as well should he need any. She then turned to Jeff who was looking rather grim. "What about you? Do you want to share?"
"Not…really. It wasn't all that great." Jeff took a deep breath and composed himself. Mana wanted to tell him it wasn't necessary, but he seemed to be determined not to appear unable to vocalize his experience. "It was in a basement under a trailer Tommy and I were investigating and, to make it short… I shot a man at point-blank by jamming my revolver into his stomach, stabbed a second man in his armpit because I had dropped my gun, then stuck my revolver in a third man's eye socket and shot him in the head. And I'm still none too happy about it." Jeff delivered this in a short, chopped deadpan.
"Well, at least you're able to talk about it, and are working on getting through it all, right?" Mana realized she had possibly let herself go a bit too much. There were reasons rules about interactions between enlisted and officers existed, and this was one reason why. Maybe this had been a bad idea? Jeff nodded that he agreed and stated he was doing his best to work on processing what had happened. "That's, that's very good. Uhm, I'm really sorry. I dragged the mood down and now everyone's miserable. I should go."
"No, no. We were already in a funk before you arrived." Jeff waved his hand and indicated for her to remain sitting. "These are things we have to get off our chests, the sooner the better. It's just, hard, is all. That's why we were playing what we were when you arrived. And to be honest, I think it was helping. Wasn't it?"
Naota backed Jeff up. "I would say so. It was kind of a strange thought process we had in our selection. It's like, we came in and sat down, and had nothing immediately jump out at us that we had a burning, desperate passion to play. We're just sitting here, playing scales, badly, and having a little something to drink, and it was all just… bleeughh… So that goes nowhere for a while, and then I have this epiphany. Since we're in a bleeughh mood, why don't we play music that whenever it's brought up makes the two of us go… bleeughh, y'know? And to do that, we took our good, sensible taste in music and threw it out the window. And much to both our horror and immense satisfaction, that worked quite well."
"How disturbingly interesting." Mana, up for anything that would help work out her mind's knots, asked what all they had been playing.
"Oh, yah know." Jeff sifted through their used pile of records. "The real, true classics, of course. You've got your Limp Bizkit, Disturbed, obviously, Crazy Town, Korn, naturally, Puddle of Mudd, P.O.D., Avenged Sevenfold…"
"Uhmmm… call me uncultured, but I don't recognize any of these." Mana turned the albums over, looking at the cover art.
"Oh, don't worry about." Jeff assured her. "That's, that's totally fine. You will find no judgment here for not knowing these. That said, since we're all in, as Naota so eloquently put it, a bleeughh mood, would you like to try your hand at one of these?"
"I don't see why not. And look." She held up her drumsticks. "I even came prepared."
"I expected nothing less." Jeff moved his mic stand to make room and they rolled out the drum kit again. This time setup went faster, and Mana was back on the throne. "Alright, let's see, let's see…" He and Naota held council on what to start over with, flipping through Jeff's collection of albums and his reams of sheet music. Both deliberated for a time before Jeff threw up his hands. "Alright, yah know what? Fuck it. Let's just jump right in. No Collective Soul, no Shinedown. Just, right off the bat. Yah reckon?"
"I do, I do reckon."
"Here yah go, take a minute." Jeff laid musical sheets on the stand and Mana began her initial sight-reading.
"This is… different. I can certainly play it, that's no problem." She confidently concluded. "It's just, well… it's not something like Supernaut, that's for sure."
"Still want to give it a go?"
"Honestly, I'll try anything once… musically, I meant musically I will try anything once. Why are you giving me that strange look, Jeff?"
"Look, what look? Ahem…" At her linguistic slip Jeff's face suddenly colored. "Okay, moving on then… Natoa, you ready?"
"You know it. Alright, Catalyst…" He addressed the massive stereo and pressed play. "Count us off." Naota on lead, Jeff on vocals and rhythm, and Mana on drums, the Catalyst would fill in as the board engineer, backing vocalist, and bassist. It chimed thrice and after drawing a deep breath to start properly, Jeff kicked off with a powerful burst from deep within his chest.
**CUT MY LIFE INTO PIECES!
THIS IS MY LAST RESORT!
SUFFOCATION! … NO BREATHIN'!
DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF I CUT MY ARM BLEEDIN'!
This is my last resort!
Twin guitars rattled off while Mana's drum strikes thudded, cymbals crashing. It was unlike anything she had ever played, fast, rough, uncouth and coarse, but packed with passion and power, giving her ample opportunity to delightfully beat and roll her drums. Given the foul mood the trio had been suffering they took to the borderline disturbing music in a frenzy, while Jeff expressed the singer's distress and desperation.
Cut my life into pieces!
I've reached my last resort, suffocation, no breathin'!
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleedin'!
Do you even care if I die bleedin'?!
Would it be wrong, would it be right, if I took my life tonight?!
Chances are that I might!
Mutilation, out of sight!
And I'm contemplating suicide!
'Cause I'm losin' my sight, losin' my mind!
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine!
Losin' my sight, losin' my mind!
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine!
Despite the upsetting meaning behind the words Jeff was belting out, Mana couldn't help but find her head bobbing along as they played, reveling in the crawling guitar breaks Naota played and how Jeff's body language began shifting as he worked himself into a new persona to better sing, getting right into the microphone, bobbing and rocking to the heavy beats Mana was giving him. Even just a minute in and already Mana could feel coiled stress unlocking and a smile in danger of breaking out. If it was already this good, why stop, why not keep going?! She doubled her effort and following his lead, sang along with Jeff as they played on…
. . .
The crowd of Litner's had worked themselves into a fevered frenzy. Somehow even more people had crammed themselves into the bar, as if an invisible Bat Signal had gone up that everyone needed to respond to. Haruko had misjudged her new band mates, as they proved quite capable of putting down quality sound with a frightening level of passion. The chicken wire fence was almost as much for the crowd as it was for the band who were all throwing themselves into their performance. For once Haruko felt she was the laid back one. It was good there was a fence because the influx of people pushed against the fence and would have crushed onto the stage if it weren't for the wire wall. Now everyone sang along to a well-known crowd-pleasing favorite, heads rhythmically bobbing and bodies bumping while they cheered…
I never realized I was spread too thin!
'Till it was too late, and I was empty within!
Hungry, feeding on chaos and livin' in sin!
Downward spiral, where do I, begin?!
It all started when I lost my mother…
No love for myself, and no love from another…
Searchin', to find a love up on a higher level…
Findin', nothin' but questions and Devils!
'Cause I'm losin' my sight, losin' my mind!
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine!
Losin' my sight, losin' my mind!
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine!
Nothing's alright… Nothing is fine!
I'm running and I'm crying…
I'm crying…
I'm crying…
I'm crying…
I'm crying…
The singer suddenly leant in close to the wire, pressing his face against the metal so he was skin to skin with those in the very front row through the gaps in the wire. With this intimate contact he dropped his voice to a hoarse, scraping whisper.
I… can't… go… on… live… ing… this… way…
Then immediately he snapped back to how he had begun, voice back to full power.
Cut my life into pieces!
This is my last resort!
Suffocation! No breathin'!
Don't give fuck if I cut my arm bleedin'!
Would it be wrong, would it be right… if I took my life tonight?!
Chances are that I might!
Mutilation, out of sight!
And I'm contemplating suicide!
'Cause I'm losin' my sight, losin' my mind!
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine!
Losin' my sight, losin' my mind!
Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine!
Nothing's alright… Nothing is fine!
I'm running and I'm crying…
A peak was coming, and the crowd all knew it. They pounded on the wire, screaming and crying out the last lyrics as the singer lead them to the conclusion. Somehow their stereos seemed to find a setting higher than eleven and Haruko could feel the stage quaking under her feet. Electric energy arcing across her strings, she gave it her all to bring it all slamming home.
I… CAN'T… GO… ON… LIVE…ING… THIS….WAAAAAYYY!
Can't go on… Living this way…
NOTHING'S ALL…
RIGHT!**
The crowd applauded and they took a brief respite. Just long enough for everyone behind the wire to guzzle down the last of their plastic cup contents while Corbin the singer made a last-minute change to the set list with his off-hand. While finishing his drink Welch the guitarist watched the singer make his awkward scribbles.
"What are you putting on the list?"
"Something really cool." The singer evaded an answer.
"Sure it is…" The guitarist leaned over to read. "Dude, what's wrong with you? We can't play that. Sheryl'll kick us out again."
"Oh, but we have to, we must…"
"Yeah, s'pose you're right…"
"Kick us out?" Haruko's interest was immediately piqued.
"We have a list of 'do not plays' that have gotten us in trouble before." Silveria pointed out the crowd with a drumstick. The front rows were shaking the chicken wire and chanting for the next song. "You can probably guess why."
"What? Them? No, say it ain't so."
Welch put a heavy, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "My fairy-haired friend, you have no idea."
Corbin managed to calm the crowd just enough to make himself heard. "Wassssuuuuuuuup e'rr'ybody?! How the fuck we all doin' tonight?!" He was answered by joyous screams. "We're ready to shut it down, we're ready to bring it down, to tear it down, but I don't think you are…" Corbin put his casted hand to his ear. "If you're ready to burn this bitch down, let me hear some fuckin' noise!" Even Haruko winced from the responding volume. "I don't think you're getting' me. I said, let me hear… some mutha-fuckin' noise!" Vocal cords stretched to their snapping point and Haruko fully expected the cage shielded lights to shatter. Corbin nodded heavily in approval, bobbing and rocking, seeming to be working himself into a sort of trance. Ready, he pressed his microphone to his lips and snapped his fingers at Welch. Two grating and rough passes with his guitar rang out, washing over the crowd. Corbin took a deep breath and then lead them all over the edge and into the plunge.
***It's just one of those days where you don't wanna wake up…
Everything is fucked, everybody sucks…
You don't really know why, but you wanna just-I-fy…
Rippin' someone's head off!
No human contact, and if you interact: your life is on contract!
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker!
It's just one of those days!
It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit…
I think you better quit, let the shit slip… Or you'll be leaving with a fat lip!
It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit…
I think you better quit, talking that shit… It's just one of those days…
Through the wire Haruko could see someone far in the back, nearly obscured by the crowd, trying to make themselves known to the band. She was middle aged and rail thin with full sleeves of tattoos, lit cigarette in one hand and a lighter and pack of Pall Malls in the other. Haruko could hardly hear her own thoughts, let alone what the woman was yelling, but she could just make out a message between her lips and body language. If Haruko had to guess, she would hazard the woman was saying:
"Corbin! Corbin Whitmer, you rat bastard! I told you once, I told you twice, a thousand times not to play that damn song! If you ever want to play in this bar again you stop right now, or I'll…" Someone wildly dancing knocked into the woman and had their ear singed by a lit cigarette. Yelping in pain they staggered backwards and into another group. A human domino wave rippled across the bar with each successive link in the chain turning to whomever had made contact. Counting her beats to keep time, Haruko marked down the exact moment when the first punch was thrown: a wild, drunken haymaker that clapped its target hard on the ear. The counterpunch went wide, clubbing an unfortunate girl on the shoulder, spilling her beer all over her boyfriend. He took issue with this and whirled, seeing the first punch-thrower with his fists up, and attacked. The fisticuff contagion spread in similar fashions and in quick order the bar was drowned in chaos.
Feelin' like a freight train…
First one to complain: Leaves with a bloodstain!
Damn right I'm a maniac! You better watch your back!
Cause I'm fucking up your program!
And then you're stuck up,you just lucked up!
Next in line to get fucked up…
Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker!
It's just one of those days…
It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit…
I think you better quit, let the shit slip…
Or you'll be leaving with a fat lip!
It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit…
I think you better quit, talking that shit, Punk!
So come and get it!
. . .
I know there are plenty who would struggle to find redeeming qualities to the genre of rap-rock or rap-metal, but if there is one I can think of it is their ability to pull out your frustration and smoldering teenage angst and drop-kick it straight out of your basement. My frustration and pent up bad-attitude, snarky, cynical bile just blew out with every lyric boomed and guitar note scratched. I had known for a time how music could soothe my soul, but it always had been a solo act. None of my siblings really went in for it, neither did Mom, Tommy had long put up his sticks for other things, and while Dad obviously did to some degree it was never something he brought home for fun and leisure. When Naota and Haruko shortly after came 'round, I finally got to know what it was like to play among kindred spirits. To feed off each other's energy, to be part of a kind of self-sustaining reaction that tapped some other worldly force. And I'll admit, I had missed Haruko in a small way. Professionally, I did what needed done and if I hadn't shanked my shot at the last second, I would have succeeded. But off the clock, if she had an instrument in her hand, there was a chance she could have grown on me. And since she had been gone our ability to really get the musical… flow, y'know, running again had been taken with her.
And with Mana joining us, in a way that void had been re-filled; in a different way. Mana's plying of percussion gave a level of precision that made the Catalyst Stereo look sloppy. Every strike, tap, push of a pedal was done at the exact moment, with the exact speed and pressure required. While her feet rocked the pedals and arms and hands flashed, all in a seemingly wild blaze, her composure was of complete control. Drumming can look like a mad, flailing frenzy, but it is one of the most controlled forms of chaos a human can perform. And Mana's manipulation at the drumkit demonstrated a mastery only attainable through hours and hours of dedicated practice, dozens of pairs of sticks wrapped in layers of tape and worn down to toothpicks, cramped calves and burning forearms. Watching her work, completely absorbed into her task, making every strike perfect while also keeping nuclear clock time, pulled-up hair trying to escape its pins, breathing hard, face flushed with exertion and concentration, eyes lit with excitement, was… eliciting from deep within my brain a level of attraction I did not know was possible, never mind one that would work on me. But as we played and I sang, I found myself transfixed, lost in the whirlpool of colliding lyrics, guitar, drums, and Mana absorbed in her passion…
. . .
I feel like shit…
My suggestion, is to keep your distance…
'Cause right now I'm dangerous!
But we've all felt like shit…
An' been treated like shit!
All those motherfuckers that want to step up…
I hope you know, I pack a chainsaw…chainsaw…
I'll skin your ass raw…ass raw…
And if my day keeps going this way, I just might…
Break something tonight!
I pack a chainsaw…chainsaw…
I'll skin your ass raw…ass raw…
And if my day keeps going this way, I just might…
Break something tonight!
I pack a chainsaw…chainsaw…
I'll skin your ass raw…ass raw…
And if my day keeps going this way, I just might…
Break your fucking face tonight!
As the crowd got out of control and into their growing brawl, Haruko glanced over at her bandmates. Each was absorbed in his role and would not be bothered with the fisticuffs on the other side of thin wire. There were drums to hammer, growling chords to scratch, and encouraging threats of lyrics to bellow at an enthusiastically receptive crowd. Deciding that if they were not concerned, she should not be either, Haruko continued thumping waves of seismic bass that reverberated off the concrete surfaces. Someone in the crowd was shoved off their feet and bounced off the chicken wire in front of her, the fence flexing to just catch them. They immediately rejoined the fracas but the body moving her way caused Haruko to stagger back. The quick movement caused her head to suddenly swim for a moment. A ripple of nausea washed over and Haruko had her first missed note. Not that anyone on either side of the wire could have noticed. The unease settled into a churning bowling ball at the bottom of Haruko's stomach, but she resolved to soldier on. As her concern grew so did the violence on the other side of the thin-gauge wire. With nothing to destroy, all the usual barfight items bolted down or removed, the patrons had settled with thrashing each other. Heavy punches were being thrown now. The air grew thick with swinging fists, tackling bodies, punched out spittle, blood, and teeth, and the roaring howls threatened to overcome the band's amplifiers.
Give me somethin' to break!
Give me somethin' to break!
Just give me somethin' to break!
How 'bout your fuckin' face?!
I hope you know, I pack a chainsaw!
WHAT?!
A chainsaw!
WHAT?!
A motherfuckin' chainsaw!
WHAT?!
So come and get it!
. . .
Watching him in the corner of her vision, Mana wasn't quite sure what to make of Jeff Carson yet. It was evident he practiced and was well versed with his guitar. His rhythm was an excellent backup for and supplement to Naota's superb lead, their twin guitars in smooth harmony. But it was obvious Jeff's best talent lay within his voice. Even though it was just a song to blow off steam, Mana could feel the malice, the aggression and ferocity he was working into the lyrics. The effect was so intoxicating, the bleed over seeped into Mana's own bloodlust. She kept proper time and was hitting all the right beats, but she could feel her strikes were getting harder, that she wished she could hit harder, smash the heads of the drums in and pummel them into dust. Jeff's way with his words was egging her on, driving her will towards wanton, gleeful violence. It was impressive to see how he was otherwise nervous and struggling to make sustained eye contact with her normally but put him in the command seat of the tank or plant a microphone in his hand, and a bold and confident inner self exploded out of its shell. Was this a different Jeff, was this an alter ego, the "Rig" nickname Naota and others used? Was this a new persona formed from him trying to appear cool in her presence, or was it there all along; just waiting? Watching him bob and strut around the basement, wiry frame swaying while maneuvering his guitar around the mic stand, firm hands and clever fingers skipping around the strings, Mana felt her interest grow, wondering which was the real Carson and what kind of scenarios it would take to truly find out…
. . .
It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit…
I think you better quit, let the shit slip!
Or you'll be leavin' with a fat lip!
It's all about the he-says, she-says bullshit…***
They were almost finished, about to wrap up when the moshing mob of their own creation got away from them. Haruko was beginning to regret the several cups worth of beer she'd downed earlier and the several more shots of liquor offered by bandmates between songs. Her stomach was beginning to crawl across the inside of her abdomen while her wound prickled with pain and head throbbed in extreme discomfort.
'Probably should've eaten somethin'…' She thought while beginning to sway on her feet but maintaining her posture. More bodies slammed into the chicken wire as the fights intensified. Haruko looked up with concern at the fence frame anchors and was unamused to see the wood cracking and screws barely holding. 'That's gonna be a problem…'
Pulling her alarmingly slowing vision back down, she was in time to see someone be shoved into the cage surrounding the guard at the cash register. The chicken wire there held but the dour faced man uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his belt. The thrown person stood, wiped blood and snot from his busted nose and put up his fists to resume drunk boxing. Instead, his aggressor launched herself at him, her chunky frame bodying him into the chicken wire and through it, right into the register guard. Several more people caught in the flow of fighting stumbled into the now broken register cage, and drunkenly picked a brawl with the bellowing and furious guard. His fists laid several out flat, but the sheer weight of numbers and heft of body mass overwhelmed him. Haruko lost track of this separate engagement as another party guest tumbled into her own chicken wire and caved it enough to bump into her; this time sending her back several staggering steps against the wall. Now her vision lurched and blurred while the stomach pangs rippled out across the rest of her innards. Somewhere in the chaos, unknown to her as to why, the guard's 1911A1 was drawn and three tremendous blasts of 0.45ACP broke the noise. Loud as they were the gunshots did not stop the fighting.
Corbin immediately switched off his mic, tucking it into a back pocket and announced to the rest of the musicians inside the chicken wire: "This's been fun. Time to bounce. Same time next week?"
Welch unplugged his guitar and nodded. "As always."
Silveria popped up from behind the drums and added: "Wouldn't miss it. Peace, brothers!" He fled through the door into the back hallway and disappeared. The other two made to follow and began shoving their way out. Haruko stood as firm as she could to yell over the noise.
"Hey you fuckers! What about my fuckin' money?!"
"Sorry Voyze, gonna have to write a rain check!" Corbin elbowed his way past. "This's no place to conduct business!"
Haruko latched onto his scalp with a clawed handful of hair, determined to peel the top of his skull off if needed. Just as she was about to begin applying upward pressure, someone slammed into the chicken wire again and ripped the flimsy barricade from its foundations. Struck in the back by wire, wood, and drunkard, Haruko crashed into the drumkit. Spinning cymbals clashed against the floor and walls while the tiny stage was overrun. To avoid being trampled or skull stomped Haruko crawled across the floor while cradling her bass and dodging boots. Her bandmates had disappeared and with the sound of the side door slamming she reasoned they had made it outside. As the melee swirled behind her, she shouldered open the door and was smacked by the sudden rush of fresh air. Face on fire now, body trembling with nausea and brain pounding, she saw movement at the back of the building. Haruko turned sharply, too quickly, and a dizzy spell set in. Trying to keep advancing through sheer fury at being cheated and left behind, she managed to make the corner of the building next to the dumpsters and piles of trash bags. She saw what looked like a familiar shirt jogging away and she felt her blood pressure rise as she shouted.
"You sunovabitch, get back…here…" A deep, stabbing pain punched into her head as the wound across her face felt like it had been flayed open again. In the onset of intense pain Haruko felt her consciousness leave her. Her last sensation was losing control of her body's descent to the ground, her last vison the rapidly approaching dirt and gravel before crashing face-first to black.
. . .
*Stupify - Disturbed
**Last Resort - Papa Roach
***Break Stuff - Limp Bizkit