Crowd Goes Wild

*This story uses strong language. Reader discretion is advised*

I bolted down the sidewalk in the night of the city. Moon powered street lamps flickered above me. 

Must be a stormy night I thought. Perfect for choosing the next best band inside the only underground music bar in the galaxy. 

Hover boards and hover skates jetted past me flashing an array of colorful lights. I was never a fan of hover skates. Too 2080. 

I flinched at a passing police car wailing its siren. 

After passing mile high skyscrapers and bustling through desolate car parks, I found the abandoned phone booth in a graffiti coated alleyway. A three eyed rat skittered across my path. 

That’s good luck. I noted to myself punching in the secret code on the keypad before sneaking into the elevator door that appeared beyond the brick wall and lowered me down. 

“You’re late” Vox, the bar manager, said tapping the counter impatiently, clanking his gold ring around his finger. He was a beefy man in his wife beater and a mustache as thick as a solar slug. 

“By four minutes.” I hoped to charm him with my red lipped grin. 

“That’s still late.” 

“It’s a hard place to find.” 

“That’s the point.” He licked his index finger and shuffled through my multi paged CV.

“Can I get you a drink? Nova Sky cocktail? Shot of helium?” Offered a young bar back with a metallic nose ring and magenta buzzcut. He tried to pretend like he wasn’t looking down my blouse. 

“Not now, Dek. Get busy before the next crowd.” Flux ordered.

The bar was dark besides the glow of the neon sign humming above them. People were herding around tables sloshing drinks, demanding more music. It reeked of alcohol and body sweat. It was tough getting a glimpse of the next band tuning their guitars on stage with my back facing them.

“Says here you’ve worked in the music industry?” He said sucking his teeth and giving me the up down. “So you’re not a bartender?”

I tried speaking over the roar of applause as the next band introduced themselves. “I’ve worked every aspect of the music industry you can imagine. Including waiting hand and foot delivering mushroom coffee and the best food in the galaxy to every band I’ve worked with. No one else knows this kind of environment like I do. Like I told Argo on the phone I have experience that can help you in any aspect.

He grunted unimpressed. 

“Where is Argo by the way?”

He froze, eyes gleaming with a twinge of sorrow. 

“Gone. She’s detained.”

In other words, the death sentence. If the government finds any form of association with music not abiding to the laws, that’s it. The government had officially terminated the music industry. After the rise and fall of some of the most popular artists known to human and AI, society was losing sight of the constructed lifestyle the government planned for everyone to follow. Lyrics were being recited more than the bible. Schools had permanently shut down due to students skipping class to band together and listen to music. Even work was a thing of the past now that music award betting had launched. 

There was only one band who got to perform music and they were heavily monitored by the government. It happened after the uprising of 2097. It was a violent revolution to take down the bigwigs and give listeners their art back. Lives were lost. The lives of their people. So they had to give our people what we wanted. To an extent. Each year on the late night show with James Fallon the fifth, they featured one band. 800 million viewers tuned in to see where our small sliver of luxury was coming from and whether we would like it.

The government gave Cyrus Helix, the biggest and only name in the remainder of the music industry, the chance. The better the feedback from listeners the more we’d buy the songs, merchandise, concert tickets. All that shit the government puts their greedy hands into. That meant the better the band the more money they put in Cyrus’s pocket. My pocket. The government turned a blind eye on Cyrus, and how he found the bands each year. It was risky stuff. That’s probably why he hired me. I knew my stuff and I was a victim in the mass relocating of music industry workers who were forced out against their will. 

I needed this bartending job so I could work undercover to find the perfect band and report back to Cyrus. With the crowd secretly coming to this place each night from dusk to dawn, I’d be able to witness it all. For the audience, there was a one hour limit and a three drink minimum. A place so popular even they needed rules. It was all risky. But I’ve been in the music industry for 15 years. I could survive anything. 

“We’re slammed.” Dek interrupted with a beer stained shirt. “Axel is gone. Not coming back, her roommate on the phone said she’s been detained.” He said the last word somberly. 

Desperation rained into beats of sweat on Flux’s balding head. 

“How soon can you work?”

“I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Behind the bar I had the perfect view of the stage. The band on their set all had shoulder length hair wearing unisex jumpsuits and playing electric guitars. 

Too many rings I thought as the lead guitarist strummed. Too obstructive for long term playing. Can cause finger cramps. 

The next band had siren-like voices and double necked guitars. The drummer was a beat behind. With shorter drumsticks they’d catch up perfectly, I observed. 

A smooth voiced quartet grooved wearing onyx fedoras. The sound from the speakers vibrated off the bar against my hips. 40hz. Not bad. I needed something 80hz or higher though. 

“We are Oyster Sunday!” Said the next band as the crowd cheered drunkenly. They would have been happy with anyone playing. This was an underground hideout for people who wanted to hear the art of music again. For me, my one chance to prove to Cyrus I know what I’m doing. And a mistake letting me go for more than one reason. 

I gagged at the name of the next band with an even worse name. 

Tortured Taxidermy. 

Sure, I’d heard bad names before; Dinner Droplets, Bubble My Gum, Beth Haunts Us, Dry Yuppies, Splat. But ‘Tortured Taxidermy’ would never be marketable. A name needed longevity. Something easy to say, easy to remember. 

My watch glowed green. That color. It could have only meant one person. 

“Yeah, Cyrus?” I said coolly on route to the backdoor of the alleyway. Two women were smoking lipstick stained cigarettes. 

“You found one yet?” 

“Yet? You gave me two months.” 

I paced balancing my translucent Vans on a sticky dumpster. 

“I’m just reminding you. One chance, Raina. One chance.” It clicked dead before I could muster any response. 

Applause echoed through the hall on the way back to the bar. Dek was swamped carrying dozens of empty beer glasses. 

“Where the hell have you been?” He shouted over the crowd of people ordering. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving again.” Not until I find my band. 

“Is this thing on? Testing, testing. One, two, three.” Said the next band’s lead. He had an angelic face and ethereal voice.

“What the fuck is your problem? Get me a damn drink! I don’t want to be banned for life for not buying my drinks.” barked a sloppy freak yelling through his yellow teeth. 

“Give me a fucking second.” I tried pouring the indigo colored liquid as quickly as I could into glasses and handing them out. I kept an ear opened at the band who started their first song ‘Nasty Holiday’.

“We found Jesus yesterday. Harboring the love that was inSAAAANE.” 

I couldn't resist tapping my foot to their hypnotic beat. The lyrics were satirical without being obvious. Their song names were clever. They all looked gorgeous in their shimmering outfits. They were all fuckable. 

“We spread the love and we don’t hate. Follow the ones who took away your pAAAAIN.” 

Long enough nails, perfect for strumming. A limeade sat beside the drummer. Good, no alcohol in his body to mess up his rhythm. The bass guitarist had the perfect cocktail of stamina and focus fingering his chords. 

Good. Real good. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much. We are Crowd Goes Wild!”

The name was perfect. This was it. 

They left for the greenroom as the next band set up. Just then the room shook but no one was blasting sound from the speakers. Weird I thought. The subway was done departing for the night. Another law passed to keep people from entertaining themselves too long. 

Then there were blood curdling screams. 

“This is the police! Hands where we can see them!” A cacophony of sounds erupted. Screams, shouts, K9s barking. People ran in all directions knocking over tables. Tasers electrified the unlucky who couldn't get away fast enough. The sloppy freak from before fell onto the bar unconscious. 

I had to get out. More importantly, I had to get that band.

The police circled the bar screaming orders with their K9s the size of horses letting loose onto their criminals. I’d realized they’d entered through the alleyway. Escaping via the elevator into the phone booth was an impossible task. Lifeless limbs were crushed under the weight of the closing door. There had to be another way. 

And then I saw it. 

The greenroom. 

Through the flashing of the overhead strobe light I zigzagged through the bar leaping over tased victims and drunkards who’d already passed out from the night. The barking of the K9s left my ears painfully ringing. 

Over Dek, another tased victim, I slipped into the greenroom door. The band wasn’t there. Even their instruments weren’t left behind. I shattered the corner window with a handle of Nova Sky and hurriedly pulled myself up over the broken glass onto the city streets.

More sirens wailed, stopping the lucky few who’d escaped from the phone booth. I ran through the streets picking out the shards of window glass from my blood soaked forearm. Hiding wasn’t an option. The K9s would find you. 

The loud hum of hover tires floated up towards my direction. The door to a hover van swung open

“Get in.” I’d recognized that angelic face before. 

Crowd Goes Wild. 

I threw myself into the back with the rest of the crew. We drove down mainstreet away from the fucked up fiasco. The moonroof was open and acid lamps brought the insides alive showcasing a luminescent glow. The rain was spitting onto us with the break of dawn glimmering on the horizon. 

“That was fucking close.” I muttered through my dry mouth. None of them seemed the least bit bothered they’d escaped the raid. 

“You’re all strangely calm. How did you manage to get away?” I asked, tending my wounded arm.

“We didn’t need to escape.” Said the lead guitarist strumming a chord on his translucent fender. “We’re the ones who called the cops.” 

I almost fainted but the spitting of the rain on my face kept me awake. 

“There can only be one band selected.” Explained the lead singer applying a fresh coat of her black lipstick. “I knew who you were. You’ve produced music for over a decade with the best names in the galaxy. Stryker Swift, who shares the same blood as the legendary Taylor Swift. Orizon Blast, the most impressive bass guitarist of all time with his two extra thumbs. Blaze Green, AI and master of beat and chord progression. Fans were begging, pleading, killing each other to hear the performers in those concerts. You’re the real deal.”

“How did you know I’d escape?” I asked breath taken from the compliment. 

“Come on.” The drummer tapped her shoulder with his drumstick after spinning it in his hand. “A clever human like yourself knows what they're doing. You’ve had 15 years in the industry. You’ve survived it all. Tonight was an official test and you passed.” 

A silence lingered as the van drove over potholes into downtown. 

“So are we working together or not?” Asked the bass player impatiently. 

At that moment, I didn’t have a choice. I was afraid to tell them no. But I liked the challenge. It was all or nothing. 

I flashed them my signature grin. 

“Let’s rock.”