"Hi, y'all! I'm Kate Denson and I'm a big fan of UviCare's twenty-four hour oasis shampoo and conditioner. Especially for those long days on the ranch when a girl's got no time to… to…"

"CUT!" The director yelled before squeezing around the camera crew to approach Kate.

The studio was flooded with murmurs as everyone quietly worked in preparation of the next shot. That is, if they ever got to it. Kate was going on take seven for the first shot of the day. She couldn't get the words out; her mind kept slamming into a brick wall halfway through the last line. With the bright lights, the slimy feeling of eyes all over her and the pressure from failing to do one simple thing as remembering a two page script, Kate was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

"Hey, how are you feeling? You're doing great by the way. If you'd like, I can see if the producers would let us change up the lines a-"

"No," Kate said with a sigh as she went to rub a hand over her face, but then remembered that there was a layer of meticulously done makeup there, so she dropped her hand by her side in a closed fist, "I don't need the line to change… Can I just have a break, please?"

"Yeah, yeah," The director assured her with a generous shrug, "Take your time, we're ahead of schedule right now…" He muttered as he looked at his watch, though his face didn't seem too certain. But he didn't want to be the one to tell her they had already spent way too much time on this shot, so he was at the mercy of letting her take five.

Before anything else could be said, Kate walked away from the green walled box she'd been a slave to for the last hour and would continue to be shackled to until the late afternoon. She had never done a commercial before. Her team suggested it so that she could get more exposure. Nothing could have prepared her for how exhausting it would be giving a fake testimony to a hair care brand she'd never heard of.

They'd already gotten b-roll of her on the previous day. She thought it'd be something quick. The script said that it was just going to be her milling about a rustic ranch, looking pretty and smiling joyously for the camera while showing off her blonde head of hair. But productions, as she discovered, weren't as easy as setting up a camera and hitting record. There was so much preparation and coaching and formality that she found herself wanting to tear her hair out by the end of it.

Now it was the last day of shooting and she was regretting having ever agreed to the deal. She wanted to go home, to take a break from the whole thing and just write music alone without all the voices urging her to make a million choices.

When she got in the dressing room, she sighed in relief at finding it was empty. Kate leaned on the door and felt her lips quivering, wanting so badly to just cry out all the stress, but she didn't want to mess up the makeup and delay the production even more than she already had. Everyone there probably wanted to go home. They did their work and were stuck waiting for her to get her act together. She didn't know why she just couldn't get the words out. Why, why, why?

She tilted her head up, feeling the tears biting at her eyes.

Just then, her back vibrated as a knock came at the door, followed by her publicist's voice. "Kate?"

"Yeah?" She said as evenly as possible, not wanting for her to know she was on the verge of breaking down.

"What's going on? Are you okay in there?"

"Yeah," Kate called, "I'm fine. I just needed a moment."

"You don't sound fine." Shit.

"I'll be out in a minute."

After a reluctant pause, she heard, "Alright…"

She wished so badly that she could just call the whole thing off. Yet everyone had worked incredibly hard already and the budget was far more astronomical than Kate could have ever imagined for a simple thirty second advertisement. She needed to finish it. Her time was dwindling in that dressing room. So she sulked over to the table and grabbed the script, trying to engrain the lines into the fiber of her being.

Another knock at the door felt more like a punch in the gut. That time it was her manager.

"Kate, hun," He said in his husky, southern accent, "The sooner we get you out here, the sooner you get home. What's happening in there?"

Even when she thought she was alone, she never really was. Kate returned to tilting her head up, trying to get the tears back in their ducts. Lord, she just wanted to get this over with but something about it felt so impossible. Her chest burned with disdain, she could feel it eating at her gut, which was where it felt her heart had been sinking to.

So many people were waiting on her. She imagined their tired faces looking at the dressing room door, silently hoping the idiot singer would emerge so they could be one step closer to wrapping up the day.

"I just needed a break, John," She called to him.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." The door opened quietly, then John and his brawny, suited frame entered. He closed the door behind him and just stood there, giving her an empathetic look from behind his thick beard.

"Talk to me," He said simply. The ball in her throat didn't let her obey his gentle request. All she could do was shake her head and turn away. She really didn't want to cry. She couldn't. Those makeup girls would be so mad at her. The production would be prolonged. It could cost them money to stay in the studio for another hour, or however long it took for her to get her shit together.

Her head shook even more as she braced against the makeup counter. She was one giant burden. She didn't mean it… Why couldn't she just say the damn line?

"Kate," He said her name softly.

It was just one line. One simple, fucking line. She was never this numb-brained.

"Hey."

Finally, she looked back at him.

"The note of hope is the only note that can help us or save us," He told her with a tiny smile. Despite all the weight on her shoulders, Kate felt a breath of laughter leave her lips.

"Woody Guthrie," She said quietly, knowing the quote well. Then she peered at John from over her shoulder, "That feels a little too inspirational for a girl just trying to get through a commercial shoot."

"Hun," He began sincerely, "People get it twisted, thinkin' that hope is only reserved for big things." He walked over to her and planted his hands on her narrow shoulders in a fatherly way.

"But I say hope is the currency for gettin' ahold of anything good. Even if it's just hoping for a sunny day or hoping that you can get some good sleep at night. Or hoping that you don't get tongue twisted while saying some silly line for an ad."

She sniffled, feeling the ball squeeze at the base of her neck, though not enough for her not to ask, "But what if you don't get a sunny day or good sleep after all that hoping?"

"That's what tomorrows are for. You hope until you get what you want."

"But what if-"

"Kate," He interrupted, giving her shoulders a tiny shake, "Be. Hopeful."

She stared at him for a pause, searching his face to discover the sincerity blooming in his warm eyes.

"Okay," She said.

Seconds later, the dressing room door opened with her and John trickling back out into the studio. She walked up to her mark and stood there patiently, catching sight of the director meandering over to her.

"Feeling better?" He asked with a thumbs up. Kate nodded.

"Yep."

"Good," He quipped with a pleased grin, then headed to his monitor where he slapped a pair of headphones over his ears. The assistant director shared a brief, quiet exchange with the director before cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Quiet on set everyone! We're going for a take! Slate in!" A person from the camera crew jumped in front of the lens with a slate in hand. "Alright, roll sound, roll camera-"

"Scene one-a, take eight, mark." The slate was clapped, thus leaving Kate alone in front of the camera as she resumed the pose she was told to hold.

Even with all the lights and the people still tickling her with anxiety, she felt better because at the end of the day, John was right. All she could do was hope. It was the simplest thing. Even if she messed up the line again, she was going to get through it like she'd gotten through all the other battles of her many years of life. No matter how big or how small, hope really was the foundation of making it out the other side of a problem.

The assistant director asked if the cinematographer was ready, to which he received an enthusiastic 'yup', allowing for the director to call the shot.

Kate stared right down the barrel of the lens, feeling ready when she heard the echo of, "Action!"

Here's to hoping.

The fog gently released Kate, welcoming her to the far reaches of a bleak world. The skies above were murky, dense with a suffocating haze. Everything below it followed in its pattern. She viewed crooked mountains stone walls that of which pale, rotting planks of wood clung onto haphazardly. Beyond them was the disfigured peak of a church. She could tell by the sliver of stained glass of a typical cathedral window that peeked around the walls. Billowing from the top of the once holy monument were tufts of black smoke, leaving her with eerie, poetic thoughts on the degradation of a place meant to offer security from evil. It looked like anything but, like it had once been the victim of a sinister fire.

Despite it being her very first trial, she knew what she needed to do. Thankfully, she was able to cure herself of the nerves of finding a generator as she had been placed right beside one.

That was very gracious of the fog, she thought.

The generator was hiding amongst a cluster of half dilapidated brick walls, which also housed a pallet just a few feet away. Perfect. She eyed it, taking note of its existence, hoping she wouldn't have to use it just yet. She needed to get the hang of repairing before anything else.

Part way through teaching herself the ropes of becoming a mechanic (Something she'd never thought in a million years she'd be forced to do), Kate heard the soft crunch of grass just beyond her little fortress of walls. She peeked over the chalky bricks to see that Meg was cautiously approaching her.

The girl's face lit up when she realized it was Kate, much to Kate's own amusement. This would be interesting.

Meg had a little more pep in her step as she found her way to the generator, giving Kate an uncannily cheerful, "Hi!" Then she squatted in front of the machine, smiling real big when she asked if Kate needed help understanding the repairing process. Kate gladly accepted the offer, granting her a rushed yet understandable lesson from Meg, giving her a better idea of what to do with the thing actually being in front of her. When Jake had explained it to her earlier, it was all but impossible to absorb the information. But now she was relieved to say she was getting the hang of it.

They'd worked on it for a dozen seconds or so when the echoes of shattering glass cut through the stale air. It stemmed from somewhere behind the church. Only when Meg ignored it and got back to work did Kate do the same. She was on edge, as one would be. Though having Meg there certainly helped. She glanced over at the redhead, taking in the soiled state of her body. So much blood. It was all over her, to the point where it almost looked like it had been purposefully painted along her skin. This girl must've been through so much.

Some seconds after this, Meg lifted her head to say, "I really like that one song you do; Boil Over." Kate smiled. She was a sweetheart.

"Thank you. I hear that's a fan favorite," She said.

"But I also liked Something Sweet," Meg quickly added, "I listened to that a lot in high school. I remember I grabbed it on CD at the FYE in my town, they had a bunch of posters up advertising it as the best debut album of the year."

"I hardly ever hear that anymore," Kate confessed quietly, "You've been there since the beginning, huh?"

"Yeah," Meg proudly said. Contemplating something for a second, she later continued to shyly mention, "I know you probably hear this often… But you got me through a lot."

Kate did hear it often. But no matter how much she did, it never lost its gravity. She adored that part of her majorly chaotic career. Being able to reach people from all over, to heal them with her songs and bring them some semblance of peace or happiness or courage, it meant the most to her. She'd willingly be a slave to the studio for her whole existence if it meant that Kate could continue giving people the gift of music. Moments like those were what made the suffering of being a musician all the more bearable. It wasn't a race for money and fame for her. It was about giving to those who supported her. She owed her fans the world.

"I'm so grateful," Kate replied softly, locking eyes with Meg, "You have no idea how much I love hearing that."

They couldn't share in the endearing moment for long, as it was interrupted by another shattering of glass, this time being much nearer to them. The pistons were running at half progression, meaning the generator was making enough noise to catch the attention of a killer.

With Meg's trepidatious breaths growing more frequent, Kate found herself backing away from the generator while remaining crouched toward the ground. They sat frozen for a few seconds. All was still until…

Meg caught something flying through the air above them. Her neck craned, following the object with her eyes as it grew larger, closer!-

She thrust her body away just in time to miss the projectile, which looked a lot like a bottle. It wasn't confirmed to her until she heard it shatter across the hard surface of the generator. There was no room to think further, as a purple cloud of toxic haze overtook the radius of the generator, making Kate and Meg cough wildly from the invasion taking place on their senses. Their lungs burned, as did their eyes, and their equilibrium was quickly knocked out of balance.

The girls stumbled away from each other in a frantic attempt to depart from the purple cloud. Meg slumped against the half brick wall with a head that felt like it was swimming. She couldn't keep herself upright as her back dragged along the rough bricks. With Meg being somewhat hidden from view due to her incapacitated pose on the ground, Kate was the one left alone and exposed in the open. Especially so when the toxic air phased out of existence.

Like it had been a pair of velvet curtains separating to reveal a most anticipated performer, Kate was able to clearly see their bulging foe. It was a Clown. Grease painted to high heaven, it was unlikely that they could know his true facial features, though by the wrinkles and layers of sagging skin, Kate confirmed him to be older. Everything below his neck was vomit inducing. The bulbous nature of his gut tested the limits of the soiled button up he wore beneath your typical ringleader coat, which, like everything else his attire consisted of, was way too small for his round body.

Kate got barely one look at the Clown before she was yelping in disgust. Before she had the courage to run away, she watched his eyes grab ahold of her in the way most women were well acquainted with when it came to men who were nothing short of pigs. You could see the fantasies dancing in the white dots of light that moved with their dilating pupils. It was animalistic, sadistic, all things terrible that lay between.

Her body burned as it commanded itself without any direction from her scattered brain. Kate tore off into the unknown, sprinting only for a moment until the jingle of carnival music was greeting her ears. Next thing she knew, she was standing at the center of an eerie circus, the perfect backdrop for the madman hot on her trail.

Glass shattered behind her. His phlegmy wheezes echoed just after the shrill note faded. He was close. The next objective was to find a pallet. Her eyes darted all over the derelict carnival grounds. She knew there'd be pallets anywhere where a narrow space between objects could be found, which wasn't a numerous occurrence for the area she was in. There were approximately two pallets, if her quick observation was to be trusted. It would have to do.

Just as Kate was darting for one of the pallets sitting upright between a pile of hard suitcases and a petite tent, she felt the shock of one of the Clown's glass bottles exploding to pieces across her back. The toxin released on impact, striking her down with its harsh symptoms. It infiltrated her body, sending her staggering through the pallet like it had her by the reins.

She clawed for the planks, knowing he was just behind her, but she couldn't get the pallet down in time before the Clown met her waist with a damning slice by way of his butterfly knife. Kate cried out in pain as the planks smashed into his giant belly; His grating laughter took all the satisfaction out of landing a successful stun on him. Working through the searing sensation and the final grips of the toxin, she clumsily made her escape with the narrow window of opportunity she had.

The next closest thing was a set of towering walls just outside of the chapel. There was another pallet there, which seemed great until a bottle smashed right in the center of it, thus tainting it by a toxic cloud. Well, it looked like she was being forced to move on, as she valued having her senses back in check.

The chapel it is.

Kate barreled through the open doorway, thrusting herself into the hollow looking interior of the church. It was the most depressing one she'd ever seen in her life. Everything was charred and partially overtaken by nature, as evidenced by the barky vines that crawled along various surfaces. Her booted feet slammed against the ash ridden floors, beelining for an open window across the way. She should've known better.

Flying overhead was yet another damned bottle, which made a precise landing at the base of the window. Kate cursed under her breath and took a left turn like she was a race car speeding along a track. Having to do so screwed her over in the end, as the detour gave the Clown some closure between their distance.

Back out in the gray outdoors, Kate figured she'd make a last ditch effort to hold a chase at the first set of walls to her right, which featured only two windows. The only thing is, she wasn't the only one occupying the loop. She stumbled upon a gravely injured Jake who was being stitched up by Dwight.

"Shit!" She cried when she almost tackled Dwight, "Guys you gotta-"

Another slice from the Clown's butterfly knife sent Kate thumbling to the grass in agony. She was writhing around, already suffering immensely, when a bottle landed beside her head and sent her to an untraveled realm of pure torture. Kate couldn't hear anything over her own coughing for a few seconds until the haze was fading, welcoming her ears to the taunting laughter of the Clown. He must've run to chase off the others before returning to her, standing over the girl with a perverse glimmer in his dark eyes.

Releasing another bout of wheezy laughter, Kate smelt his alcohol and smoke ridden breath wafting across her face, along with other foul smells she couldn't even begin to identify. Kate wanted to gag and she couldn't be sure if it was from the stench or the pain.

The torment reached its peak when she felt her right hand being lifted toward his foul, greasy face. Kate desperately yanked her arm but he was so strong it hardly budged him, his fingers around her wrist being no different than an iron shackle. Between the blur of tears, she watched him assess each of her clawing digits, till he moved onto her left hand.

Kate didn't understand what spurred his decision to do so, but something urged the Clown to single out her middle finger. Like it was a well practiced routine, he raised his butterfly knife to the base knuckle of said finger, then cut through it like chopping a vegetable.

Her cries echoed all around.

He cut off her fucking finger.

The fit of terror didn't stop her from viewing him toying with the dismembered appendage. He flipped it around, admired it, smelled it. Much to her overwhelming disgust, he even wrapped his slimy lips around the tip of her finger and sucked on it, seeming overly satisfied when he popped it back out of his mouth and pocketed it.

The mixture of so many emotions and physical burdens was dizzying. However, when he grabbed ahold of her and slung Kate over his shoulder, she felt her anger rise above all of that.

He cut off… her fucking… finger.

Using her injured hand, Kate slapped it over his eyes to eliminate his sight and began throwing a damn good tantrum from her place on his fatty shoulder. As crazed as he was, he tried biting her other fingers and dug his own into her back, attempting to punish her for what she was doing, but Kate didn't care. What was the worst that could happen? He snaps off another finger in between his teeth? Oh well!

Her jaw clenched furiously as she grunted and panted and cried angrily, spasming her body around in every direction to free herself from his steel grasp. They partook in this struggle for a few moments until Kate actually felt the Clown start to lose his grip on her waist, which only served to ramp up her determination.

"Fuck… YOU!" She shouted in a roar akin to a lioness, giving the back of his balding head a sharp shot from her elbow. That was the blow that did it. Kate went flying off his tall figure and landed perfectly on her feet, victoriously seeing him staggering forward from the violent bruiser she gave him.

With it being a more than acceptable moment to do so, Kate used his weakened state as an opening for her to spit on him, which was the first time she'd ever done that in her whole entire life. This guy was the winner who deserved it. She watched the wetness slap onto his forehead and trickle down the deep wrinkles of his skin. Then she was off, leaving him with that nice gift of hers.

As Kate ran away from the humiliated Clown, her focus fell onto a small building ahead… The shack!- That's what Jake had explained to her before, though it had been hard to visualize until that point. Apparently it was a good place to chase around, if his words were true. She'd find out. From a distance away, she heard the Clown grunt as he threw a bottle toward her direction, letting her know that he wasn't done with her. So be it. She could give him another taste of Kate Denson.

Even with the pain and sensations of agony, Kate found herself bridging each moment of terror with one, simple currency, as her manager, John, had once told her. No matter how big or how small the problem, she was in the business of holding out on one thing, and one thing only:

Hope.

Hey friends! Hope everyone's doing well. Just wanted to come here and yap and ask a question from y'all. When I write for DBD in particular, I usually listen to music to kind get me in the mood and put myself in the trenches of an unrelenting series of torturous trials- Not really all that, haha, but more for the simple objective of making me go in a darker direction with my writing. I wanted to know if any of you guys have some music suggestions that remind you of DBD or get you in that same depressing mindset.

I listen to a lot of Elita (check her out if you don't know of her- some of her music is racy, fair warning, but I usually lean on her earlier EPs) when I write for this story in particular. I feel like her music sounds hopeless, which is why I find myself putting her on. But also there's this innocent sound to it, despite the lyrics being dark. And it always helps me to get into Meg's mindset because the core of her character is dealing with her wounded inner child. I know the subject matter of the music hardly relates directly to Meg's traumas but it still puts me in that headspace. And, for whatever reason, I listen to the Cure and Radiohead a lot in order to get a feel for Dwight's character. It just makes sense for me but I can't put into words as to why. Maybe it's the fact that for me Dwight is an awkward, seemingly uncharismatic guy who's actually well spoken, smart and has a taste for romance beneath his layers, which reminds me a lot Robert Smith and Thom Yorke. Like these guys wrote some of the most impactful songs that cover love in all forms, even if it's unrequited, yet many wouldn't think they'd be capable of that on a first glance.

Outside of those few bands/artists mentioned, I don't have a ton of other options that can get me in that DBD mood, which is why I'm asking for some suggestions. I'm someone who will literally listen to any genre of music from any decade, and even languages other than English. I bop a lot to French and Italian music. I can appreciate it all. So if any of you would be so kind, I'm all ears.

Toodles

MizzTQ xoxoxoxoxo