Vox

Uneasy silence can be harder to break than steel. It lingers in the air, full of questions unasked, opinions unstated, and concerns unvoiced. Breaking the silence isn’t a laudable victory, but rather a begrudging concession. As a professional musician, silence is your enemy; it’s the oppressive wall between you and your craft. And yet here you sit, succumbing to the silence between you and the other two members of your band. You’re sitting on the cold tile floor with your back up against the wall of an abandoned subway station waiting room. It's a bit grimy, but it's a dry place to sleep for a couple nights. You remember when you were a kid and every surface in the whole station was an immaculate, reflective white. All the shops were full of smiling faces behind carefully polished countertops. Even now, you can practically smell the little gourmet popcorn place that used to be a few doors down. [[But that’s all gone now. -> Stationary]]

(set: $location to "Stationary") The City had all but abandoned the lesser-used subway stations, and as such they were just left to rot. “A waste of resources,” the Council had proclaimed them, before completely abandoning just over two dozen stations. Their loss, you think. At least the lifeless platforms give you and your companions someplace to stay out of the public eye, especially after the police raid on the surface had trashed your last place of residence. Thankfully none of you were there when it'd happened, but by the time you’d returned, everything of value had been impounded and everything else had been destroyed. You let out a sigh. You’re really going to miss [[your old amp.]]//[[your old songs.]]

(set: $location to "The closest things you have to friends") Your gaze raises from the cold floor and traverses the room, pausing on the other two figures caught up in this mess with you. Across the room from you, reclining on a fractured bench and spinning a drumstick idly in her hand, is [[Kix]], the percussionist of the group. While diminutive in stature, she has no problems transporting all of her own gear and she's a real menace on the drums. Off to the right, seven-string electric in his hands, is [[Pik]], a formidable solo guitarist and the primary songwriter for your trio. You can make out a soft plucking as he practices the intro to your newest song. Continuing your gaze around the room, you catch a glimpse of [[your own reflection]] in a scratched-up mirror lying on the ground near the wall. You pause and stare. Some days you barely recognize yourself. Another sigh escapes from your lungs. It's nice to rest up, but [[you know it's time to get moving. -> Onward]]

Your gaze rests on Kix for a few moments. She’s a dark-skinned woman just a little older than you – probably somewhere in her mid-twenties – and at first glance she looks a bit rough around the edges. She really likes the leather-jacket-and-torn-jeans look, and she can definitely pull it off. Her hair is done up in a short mohawk with the tips dyed a bluish purple, and a plethora of piercings hang from her ears, nose, and bottom lip. Not for the first time, you can see the smashed-up [[anklet]] around the drummer’s right leg; a relic from her past on the surface. Kix was hit the hardest by the raid. While you had most of your gear with you when the raid happened, all of Kix’s tools and her spare drum kit had all been confiscated, leaving her only with her roadshow kit and a small pack of emergency wrenches. Her hazel eyes shift to meet your gaze, and you share a silent moment until your own eyes fall back to the [[rest of the room.->The closest things you have to friends]]

Your eyes follow your ears to the near-silent plucking of Pik’s guitar strings. Pik is the oldest of the three of you, and easily the best musician. He’s a tall, pale man with his long brown hair wrapped back into a tight bun and his arms covered in angular tattoos. Kix usually makes fun of the man-bun, but you think it looks pretty good on him. A portable drive dangles from his neck on a string. It holds a recording of the last message he received from his sister before she’d been a casualty in a botched police operation. Since the death of his sister, his songs often feature anti-government subtext. The music business isn’t just a job for him. His goal is to make sure everyone knows that The City’s so-called utopia comes at a price. You close your eyes and listen as he painstakingly rehearses the riff that leads into your vocals. It’s nearly perfect, but he runs through the notes again. And again. And again. You refocus your gaze on the [[room.|The closest things you have to friends]]

You take a long look at yourself. You really don’t belong with this crowd, and yet here you are. A cub among the wolves. You’re the youngest of the three. you’ll be turning twenty in just a few months. They just know you as Ki, the primary vocalist and keyboard player of your ragtag band of misfits. Not for the first time, you wonder at the fact that you still don’t know one another’s real names. When you all met for the first time, you had all made a pact to flawlessly maintain the nicknames given, but you hadn’t expected that agreement to last for a month, much less all the years you’d been together. You pull your gaze away from yourself and move it back to the decrepit [[waiting room.->The closest things you have to friends]]

It used to be a rehabilitation parole anklet, but now it's just a strip of reinforced security material with a few misshapen bits of plastic and circutry hanging from it. Kix is the only one out of the three of you to actually be arrested for anything major enough to warrant incarceration. She spent four months in a "Rehabilitation Facility," just a sugar-coated word for prison, then was given a location-tracking anklet and put back on the streets with a lax parole. After just one week containing the first and only visit with her assigned parole representative, the anklet had been destroyed in a machine-shop vice and Kix was down in the Old City with the rest of you. Strength in numbers, you suppose. When she'd joined up to make your musical duo a trio, she'd stated her directive very clearly. She wanted to abandon The City altogether and move out to the Country as soon as possible. That was three years ago. You're all still here. [[Your attention returns the delinquent herself.->Kix]]

You stand and stretch the fatigue out of your limbs, slinging your keyboard’s gig bag over your shoulder. Pik notices the movement and shoves his guitar pick into his pocket before packing away his seven-string into its case. Kix lifts herself from the bench and stows her sticks inside the roadcase with the rest of her kit. The large case has the name of your trio spraypainted in red on either side of it: "The Vox." “Are we actually doing this?” Kix inquires from the bench, finally piercing the silence, “what if this whole thing is a setup, or it all goes wrong, or…” “We can’t just pass on this one, even if it might be dangerous.” interrupts Pik, tightening the shoulder strap for his case, “The raid cost us almost all of our cash, and our ‘patron’ offered us forty grand for this job. Damn fool even payed us a quarter of it up-front. If he follows through on this we should be able to recover just fine.” [[You silently agree with him->quiet]] // [[You side with Kix's concern->support]]

Despite the danger, you know that the three of you really need that money. Aside from the payment, you also suspect that Pik isn't doing this excusively for the money. There's just a hint of excitement showing in the whites of his eyes. You nod in support of Pik's point and give Kix a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Kix doesn't look particularly soothed, but she gets her gear ready to move. You make sure you have all your equipment and [[head out into dimly lit subway tunnel. ->Departure]]

You stop for a moment and point demonstrably at Pik. You explain why the three of you can't afford to so flippantly dismiss the dangers of their mission. You all might end up in Rehab for the next forty years. Kix shivers noticeably and looks away. Pik pauses, slightly surprised by your comeback. He shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. "That's fair, Ki," he admits, "but again, the amount of cash at stake here is worth the risk. We literally can't afford to let this job go." You hate to admit that he's right, but you know it's true. Food had been scarce for the few days before your patron came along and gave you ten thousand dollars with the promise of thirty more. You sigh and nod. "We need to get moving." he states flatly. The three of you move into the [[dimly-lit subway tunnel. ->Departure]]

You’d found it sitting in front of a closed-up music shop with a note taped onto the front of it that read “Free to a good home,” alongside a comically cartoonish drawing of a puppy. Since lugging it back to the crew’s hideout and fixing it up a little, you’d fallen in love with that hefty chunk of audio hardware. They really didn’t make them like they used to. The thought of your beloved amplifier sitting unused on some shelf in some government impound sends uneasy shivers down your spine. It doesn’t deserve that kind of isolation, but there was no way you were getting it back. Thankfully, you’re not as depressively alone as your amp. [[The closest things you have to friends]] are there in the room with you, wordlessly defiant against the stifling decay of their surroundings. (set: $lostItem to 1)

You were good at playing by ear with the band, but you didn’t have an infinite memory. The loss of your sheet music meant that all the half-ideas and works-in-progress you had would remain unfinished. You tap your fingers lightly on your legs to mimic depressing the keys of your keyboard, attempting to remember the arpeggios from one of the lost pieces of music, but your recollection of the notes is already slipping. By yourself, it seems unlikely that you’ll recover any of the lost songs. Thankfully, you’re not alone. [[The closest things you have to friends]] are there in the room with you, wordlessly defiant against the stifling decay of their surroundings. (set: $lostItem to 0)

The three of you start walking down the tunnel toward the nearest actually functioning station. It's going to be a couple hours' journey on foot, but you know security is a low priority in the area, so you're not very worried about getting caught out here. Kix keeps a closer eye on her roadcases than usual, now that the steel-lined shells of her drums hold much more than just a resonating space. The object of your Patron's interest is tucked away inside: just under two dozen glass bottles filled with petrol and corked with rags. You remember hearing the shady figure refer to them as "Molotovs." Crude incendiary devices built to cause a quick blaze. Just your proximity to the destructive cargo makes you nervous. Pik doesn't seem to mind. "Let's go over the plan one more time," Pik suggests after a few minutes, "just to make absolutely certain that we know what we're doing." "Fine." Kix responds, poorly masking her own nerves. [[You nod.|The Plan1]]

"Alright," Pik starts, focusing his thoughts, "We've already accomplished the first step: picking up the Patron's cargo and covertly storing it within Kix's kit. Next, we need to get to the Anderson subway station and get on the train headed to Millenium." "And I made sure we could get through the service entrance yesterday, so we can avoid being flagged as unregistered by the ticket kiosks." Kix chimes in. Pik nods. "Right. Once we arrive at the Millenium stop, we're going to need to pass through a secure turnstile to get up onto the streets. The Patron said that he would take care of this part, and that the automatic scanners won't be able to see our cargo through both the thick roadcase and the steel lining of the drums. Once we get past that, we walk four blocks to the City Performing Arts Center and arrive two hours before the registered band is supposed to get there." You interject with the name of the City-registered band: [[FLOW3R]] // [[CITIZ3N]].

You remember because they have a similar three-member structure, just like you. All of their music is focused on singing the joys of living under the protection of The City. They have a good instrumental sound from what you remember, but the lyrics made you sick. You suppose that's what you get when you have to register all of your songs with The City before you're permitted to perform. "Right, them," Pik agrees, "If we're lucky, we won't even see them before we're gone and our work is done. [[Now, on with the rest of the plan.|The Plan2]]" (set: $RegBandName to "FLOW3R")

Pik continues. "So we set up at the venue in the stead of $RegBandName and then play a set for whatever crowd is already there, implying that we're their opener. Once we're done, we crack open Kix's drum holding the bottles, let loose on the building and get the hell out of there. Our Patron will contact us from there to transfer the remaining money." "Everything had better go smoothly." Kix states, her grip on the roadcase tightening slightly. You reassure her that everything is going to be fine. You don't entirely believe yourself, but she seems to relax a little. [[You all keep moving. |Ki to Kix]]

Pik walks in long strides, ending up staying about forty feet ahead of you and Kix during the trek through the dank tunnel. With the guitarist out of earshot, Kix turns to you hesitantly. "You said you'd never been arrested, right Ki?" You honestly tell her that you have not. "Could you promise me something?" You give her a noncommital nod. "If this whole job goes south, promise me you'll keep yourself safe. Even if that means abandoning me and Pik. I've been to the Facilities already and know how to keep myself sane. As for Pik, I get the feeling he'll be able to take care of himself when push comes to shove. So, promise me you'll save yourself?" [[Promise]] // [[Refuse]]

You solemnly swear that you'll stay safe, even if it means getting separated from the other two. Kix looks satisfied. "Good," she says with a content smile. Her eyes light up, as if just remembering something, "Oh, and just one quick thing that could help you in a bind. There's a trick to getting around common doorway scanners, like turnstiles and other simple security. Someone discovered an exploit in its threat-evaluation algorithm. If you press your palm flat against the scanner itself, it can see through your hand, but it can't actually sense your hand. As a result, it classifies you as 'handicapped,' which immediately lowers your threat evaluation level and usually gets you through just fine." You thank her for the advice. That might come in handy fairly soon. The tunnel starts to brighten and you can hear the sounds of the general population up ahead. You must be getting close to [[your stop.|Anderson]] (set: $Promise to 1)

You tell her that you're not going anywhere without her and Pik by your side. You say that you're basically blood relatives by now, and if you don't stand up for your outlaw musician pseudo-family, what's there to stand up for? Kix chuckles quietly at your response. "If you're that committed to The Vox, I guess there's no chance in persuading you. Just remember that sometimes you need to look out for yourself, too." The tunnel starts to brighten and you can hear the sounds of the general population up ahead. You must be getting close to [[your stop.|Anderson]] (set: $Promise to 0)

Pik slows down a bit so that the three of you are gathered together again before reaching the station. Kix leads you to a lightly dented and heavily rusted sign atop which hangs a sign reading "Service Entrance Only." Kix takes hold of the handle and strains for a moment before the old slab of metal groans and creakily swings out of the way. You get all of your equipment inside, then carefully shut the door again. You notice from the inside that the lock hasn't been picked or cut, but rather simply broken from years of rusting and neglect. All the rails are serviced remotely by robotic engineers, so there are no personnel who needed to enter or exit through the service entrance anymore. You and Pik help Kix hoist the drum kit roadcase up a small flight of stairs, then walk through a short, dusty hallway before finally reaching a double-door leadin into the station. You take a look at your band-mates, then take a deep breath and [[walk out into the station.|Contrast]]

You're nearly blinded for a moment as you step into the neon glare of the station. Having spent the last several days in the abandoned stations, you'd nearly forgotten how well-lit the rest of the world is. Harsh white flourescents pour down on polished tile flooring. [[Advertisements]] for beverages, clothing, and entertainment products shout for your attention from nearly every surface, each one more energetic and bright than the last. Kix nudges you to keep moving as you glance over at a handful of [[small shops]] that line the halls of the station. You reach up a hand to securely hold the shoulder strap of your keyboard's gig bag, and you start walking toward the train platform. The three of you stand on the shiny white platform, waiting for the train to Millenium to arrive. You recognize [[a tune]] faintly playing from the subway's speaker system. You stick out in this crowd more than you'd like, mostly due to your sizeable equipment. You silently pray to every god willing to listen, hoping you don't get approached by any police that may be in the area while you're waiting for the train. After five minutes (which feel like five hours), the train arrives and [[you get on board.|Ride]]

Clean, beautiful faces flash too-white smiles at you from each animated poster and adorable cartoonish mascots peddle their wares to you using the power of market-tested catchphrases. An attractive boy-band lipsyncs a bubbly, high-energy melody at you, all in the name of selling a new line of their merchandise. At first glance everything is convincing, but once you take a good, hard look at the faces it's not hard to see them for what they are. Worthless, ingenuine, corporate greed. Behind every pixel-perfect animation, every digitally-edited smile, and every computer-tuned vocal is the same sad thing. You like to refer to it as plasticity. Just like a doll's face, it's perfectly smooth and shiny and pretty, but it lacks soul. That's what separates The Vox from the rest, you suppose. You all still have souls, tainted as they may be. [[You tear your eyes away in mild disgust.|Contrast]]

Three shops in particular catch your eye. The first is a small ramen shop, proudly displaying on their store's glowing sign that they serve real meat. You start to salivate at the mere suggestion. Real meat is terribly expensive nowadays, and you haven't had any in several years. The scents coming from inside the tiny restaurant entice you powerfully, but you know that you can't partake. You have a schedule to keep. The next is a designer clothing shop sporting the newest trends and fashions. You clearly aren't exactly a savant when it comes to buying clothes, but you do like to look good. Especially on stage. You eye a sleek leather jacket with small metal studs near the cuffs, mentally comparing it to the tattered garment you have on at the moment. You shake the idea out of your head. Your clothes may not be the latest and greatest, but at least the sands of time have worn a distinct personality into them. The last shop that catches your eye is barely noticeable between the other, larger shops. It's simply a small communications stall featuring a cash-operated payphone, possibly one of the last of its kind. Your mind briefly turns to calling your parents, just to let see if they're doing okay. Your hand reaches into your jacket pocket, brushing up against your portion of the cash given to the three of you by your Patron, but once your mind turns to the possibility that the phone could track, record, and analyze anything and everything you said in that booth, you immediately decide against it. Better safe than sorry. Your attention returns to the [[rest of the station.|Contrast]]

You remember it from when you were still living with your parents in The City. It's from back when the Media Registration Office had much looser regulations on what you could and could not say in a song. The vocalist sang of the fragility of the world, heavily implying that The City's current mode of rule is forever teetering on the edge of ruin. The Media Registration Office had immediately attempted to pull the song from public access, but it was far too late. The song was an instant hit, and reached the top of the charts mere hours after its release online. This song was the first time you had seen the power of music in action. It had the strength to change minds, and bent the authority of the M.R.O. to its will by sheer popularity. This power is why you decided to become a musician. You continue to [[wait for the train|Contrast]], head bobbing slightly to the beat of the song.

Luckily, the drum kit's roadcase fits between the seats on either side of the car, and you all manage to sit down before the train gets moving. You all sit in silence as you recieve the occasional odd glance from another passenger. A girl a bit younger than you wearing a standard school uniform boards, and won't stop giving the three of you sideways glances from her seat. After several stops, she approaches slowly and nods her head curtly in greeting. She grips her phone tightly in one hand, as if afraid that you might try to steal it from you. "Are... A-are you three really The Vox?" she asks nervously, pointing at the name painted onto Kix's case. Pik glances at you, looking for a signal for what to do. [[Say yes]] // [[Say no]]

You give Pik a small nod. Pik nods back and turns to the young lady. "We are," he states with a charismatic smile. The girl grins widely and her eyes even seem to sparkle a little with excitement. "Holy shit, I'm a huge fan of you guys' stuff!" she exclaims, "My name's Jade. Is there any chance I could get a picture with the three of you?" You shrug and then nod. No harm, you suppose. The three of you pose with Jade, each of you throwing up a peace sign (doubling as a "V" for "Vox") in front of your face to fool any facial recognition software run on the picture. Jade taps away at her phone for a couple moments, then looks up at Pik. "Are you all going to a show or something? You usually play farther out into the Old City." "We're playing at the C.P.A.C. this evening." Pik replies after a moment of hesitation. [[You hope Pik hasn't told her too much.|Truth2]] (set: $Girl to 1)

You subtly shake your head "no." Pik gets the hint. "Sorry, you've got the wrong people," Pik states diplomatically, "we get that a lot." "Oh... Okay..." The girl looks a bit disappointed, but shrugs it off after a couple moments, "Sorry for bothering you." She gets off on the next stop, talking into her phone and glancing back at you as she walks out onto the polished platform. Eight stops later, you arrive at [[Millenium Station|Millenium]] (set: $Girl to 0)

Jade appears excited once more. "I'll definitely try to be there. I--" Her words are cut off by the ding of the train arriving at the next platform. "Shit, this is my stop. It was great meeting you!" As your unexpected fan hops off the train, Kix glances between you and Pik. "You think she's going to cause trouble?" inquires Kix, sounding unsure of your choice to tell her the truth. "It'll be fine," Pik counters, gazing out the window as the train gets moving again, "what's the worst thing one girl with a phone could do?" You hope he's right as your train finally arrives at [[Millenium station.|Millenium]]

You step out of the train car into the crowning jewel of The City's subway system. You don't stop to admire it on your way to the security checkpoint; the last obstacle between The Vox and The City. You can feel your heart beating in your chest, and not in the fun, rhythmic way that it normally does when Kix is playing the kit. Kix steps through the scanner with her roadcase without a problem, and then Pik does likewise with his guitar. You think that your Patron made good on his promise this time. It's your turn. {(if: $Promise is 1 )[You remember the tip Kix gave you when you were talking and you put your palm flat against the scanner. Two excruciating seconds pass, and then you hear a ding followed by the blink of a green light.] (else:)[You step through the scanner, but instead of immediately letting you through, it blinks yellow for a moment. A display at eye-level flashes the words "Citizen requires additional scanning." You sweat a little and hold perfectly still as an extendable arm rotates around you, looking for contraband. After two excruciatingly long minutes, it retracts and you hear a ding followed by the blink of a green light, letting you through.]} You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and [[continue moving forward.|The surface]]

You and your crew make your way up the ramp to the surface of The City. It's a usual smoggy day as hundreds of people mill about the city streets on foot and on bikes, most wearing either commercial respirators or simply a surgical mask to filter the air. Kix throws on her own respirator, but you and Pik remain unfiltered. No one lives forever anyway, you figure. "C'mon, we need to get moving if we want to get set up in time to play a full set," Pik comments, urging you and Kix into a slightly faster walking pace as you start down the densely populated Urban streets, "And I have a side stop I want to make." "I thought we didn't have time for any distractions," Kix replies, expressing an indeterminate mix of worry and annoyance. "Trust me, it's worth it." Pix retorts simply. [[Trust him]] // [[Keep moving]]

You've been with The Vox long enough to know that Pik wouldn't do anything too risky right now, in the middle of the highest-stakes job any of you had ever been a part of. You agree to go with Pik on his sidequest. Kix rolls her eyes. "Fine, but this better be good." Ten minutes and a short detour later, you're in the middle of an open-air market snacking on fried squid skewered onto sticks. It's the best food you've had in months. "Told you it would be worth it," Pik boasts, biting a whole head off of one of his two squid-pops. "I guess you were right this time," Kix says, polishing off the last of her seafood. You smile and bite into your second cephalopod snack, juices bursting with flavor into your mouth. You're [[back on the road]] to the City Performing Arts Center in no time.

Despite your usual trust in Pik, you need to maintain your travel speed. There's no time for dawdling. You express your thoughts. "Fine," says Pik with a hint of saltiness, "But you'll regret it later if we don't have time to come back." You think that that's just fine. Your focus is on [[the task at hand.|back on the road]]

You make it to the Performing Center twenty minutes ahead of schedule. You roll your equipment up to the band entrance and a briefly stopped by a slightly rotund security guard. "Excuse me, you can't come in here. You'll need to go in the front like everyone else." The guard states, putting down his coffee. "We're opening for $RegBandName, and we need to get everything set up. I think you'll find we're on the bill for tonight." Kix responds, eyeing the guard courageously. The guard grumbles and taps a few buttons on his PDA, glancing back up at the three of you a few times. After a moment, he stows the device and opens up the back door. "Sorry for the hassle. Good luck on stage tonight." You give him a respectful nod as you [[walk inside.|CPAC]]

You make note of the green room as you help Kix wheel the roadcase onstage. The auditorium is beautiful. All the sound equipment is immaculate, and the seats have been cleared out on the floor of the auditorium to allow for standing room. The three of you busily get to work, unpacking instruments, plugging in cables, and fine-tuning the amp settings. You have just over an hour until your performance, and just over half an hour until the crowd is supposed to start filing in. {(if: $lostItem is 1 )[After about ten minutes of fiddling, you still can't get the performance center amplifier to sound exactly like you want it to. For the second time on this journey, you really miss your old amp. You hope you might be able to find one like it someday.] (else:)[You have just enough time to run through one of the songs you'll be playing that night. It's a good song; Kix is killing it on the drums, Pik's riffs are running smoothly, and your chords are really tying it all together. But despite this, there's still a twinge of pain in the back of your mind for all of the songs you lost to the raid. You hope you'll be able to remember them eventually with the help of your band-mates, but for now your new songs will do well enough.]} Once you're satisfied that everything is ready, you head back to the [[green room]] to settle your nerves before the big show.

To your surprise, you aren't alone in the green room when you arrive. A young man with short blonde hair and thick muscles stands near the back of the room, holding a skateboard with wheels that have never made contact with concrete. Beside him is an even younger man who looks like he's never grown enough hair to shave, who's wearing a very in-style jacket and expensive-looking sneakers. The last unknown figure in the room is a girl roughly your age reclining on the couch practicing fingerings on an electric violin. They all pause and look up at you as you enter the room, clearly just as surprised to see you as you are to see them. "Who might you be?" Skateboard-boy asks the three of you. His voice is smooth like butter. "We're The Vox," Pik pipes up, "You must be $RegBandName. We're opening for you this evening. We go on in twenty." "Oh," Sneakers replies, "The MRO didn't say anything about an opener. Guess I don't know why they would, though. I'm sure they have everything under control" "Seems suspicious," comments the Violinist, throwing a wary glance up at you, "You know, I heard one time a band just showed up and unexpectedly played at a concert, and after the show it turned out that they were unregistered" Her tongue slid over the last word like it was a snake she was attempting to expel from her mouth. [[You chuckle nervously.|Friends?]]

"You can check the playlist for tonight if you're really that concerned," chimes in Kix, just at the right time, "I promise we're on there." Sneakers taps on his phone a couple times, then puts it away. "Yeah, everything looks fine." Skateboard shrugs and gives his untouched wheels a spin. "Doesn't really matter anyway. Everyone's coming to see $RegBandName, not The Vexes or whatever." "It's The Vox." Pik replies indignantly. "So what's your soundspace like?" inquires Violin, sitting up from her reclined position on the couch, "I'm interested in what kind of opener the MRO would give us. We're going for a kind of folk-pop vibe, and that's kind of difficult to lead up to." You explain that The Vox is going for something of a Post-Grunge Punk vibe, keeping the energy while cutting most of the dissonance in favor of strong chords and melodic guitar riffs. You and Violin surprisingly find a lot to talk about and the twenty minutes before you go on-stage pass faster than intended. "Well, break a leg I guess," Violin says with a genuine, soulful smile, "I look forward to your peformance. I bet it'll be a blast." You look at her and feel a twinge of guilt regarding what you're about to do on stage. You know that there isn't going to be a following act tonight. [[Warn them]] // [[Don't say anything]]

You hesitate for a moment and look to Pik with a concerned expression. He catches your drift. "After our list is done you might want to... you might want to get out of here pretty quick." Pik says, a serious edge creeping into his voice. Sneakers looks confused. "What? Why?" "Let's just say things might get a little heated on-stage. We're just giving you fair warning." Violin's eyes widen slightly, coming to the realization you were hoping she would. She hastily throws her electric violin into its case. "Come on, guys. Let's go." Violin is already headed for the door. The other two still look rather confuzzled, but they follow Violin out, regardless. You hear the crowd outside. It's [[showtime.]] (set: $warn to 1)

They less they know, the better-off they'll be, you think. You politely thank Violin for the encouragement and exit the green room. Kix and Pik follow you silently. The three of you walk out to the stage together. A single long hallway separates you from what might be the biggest performance of your life. "You know this could be the last time we play together," Kix suggests solemnly, "It might even be the last time we play at all." Silence rests for just a moment while you chew on the idea. "Well then," responds Pik, "We'd better sound pretty fucking good for our last show." You nod in agreement and push through the curtain separating The Vox from the people. It's [[showtime.]] (set: $warn to 0)

{(if: $Girl is 1 )[You're taken aback as you walk on stage to the cheers of many more people than you'd expected. The floor of the auditorium is nearly completely full of people, almost all of them young, mostly high-schoolers. Right in the middle of them is Jade, holding up a sign that reads, "We love you, Vox!" Apparently one girl with a phone had much more impact than you'd thought. This was probably the biggest crowd you'd every performed in front of. With your confidence boosted by the cheers of the fans you didn't know you had, you step up to the keyboard.] (else:)[To your mild surprise, there are quite a few cheers when you appear on the stage. The auditorium floor is about half-full with the audience, and you even see someone near the back of the crowd with a sign that reads: "Vox Rox!" You have no idea how any of your fans knew to come, but your mind briefly returns to the girl on the train. You shake your disbelief free. You need to focus on your performance. You step up to the keyboard.]} You play your setlist nearly flawlessly. Kix fudges the tempo on two of your songs, edging them to go faster than intended, but it turns out to be in your favor when you realize you have time for a single encore. The crowd loves you, and you love the crowd. The symbiosis of performer and observer becomes complete as the final riff of your final song fades from the amps into silence. You throw your mic to Pik as Kix cracks open her low tom, gaining access to its incindiary contents. "It's been a wonderful show, everyone," Pik shouts into the microphone, his voice booming across the auditorium, "Now get the fuck out!" You quickly throw your keyboard into its gig bag and grab a molotov. [[It's time for some chaos.|CHAOS]]

Pik has the first throw. His bottle shatters on the corner of a concrete pillar, dropping its fuel onto the flammable fabric stadium seating below it. The blaze catches quickly, spreading to more seats as it hastily grows out of control. The first screams are jarring, but the crowd quickly gets the idea and bolts for the emergency exits. Luckily for everyone, the venue wasn't full, or people may have been trampled in the mad dash to escape. You and Kix both get your chances to add to the blaze, tossing your bottles at anything that wasn't already on fire. A mere seven minutes later, the crowd is completely gone and you're completely out of bottles to throw. Unfortunately for Kix, you don't have time to pack up the kit. Pik throws his guitar into its case and the three of you book it toward the backdoor exit you came in from. {(if: $warn is 1 )[[[You need to get out.|Pursuit]]] (else:)[[[You need to get out.|Rescue]]]}

You throw open the back door, revealing what looks like a battalion of police enforcers and firemen with $RegBandName standing beside them. Sneakers points at the three of you and shouts something you don't need to hear to understand. The police rush the door and you all run back inside, barricading the door with a spare roadcase nearby. "What do we do now?!" shouts Kix, her voice nearly overpowered by the sound of the blaze taking over the performance center. "This place is built right on top of one of the decomissioned subway stations!" Pik yells back, "We just need to find an access entrance before the whole building collapses on top of us!" You all scramble for what feels like hours as Police pound on the doors from outside and debris starts falling around you. You hear the bolts of the doors start to creak as the Police are moments from breaking into the building to apprehend you. [[It's all gone downhill.|Escape]]

You run past the green room to find that $RegBandName are all still sitting around in the green room. You and Kix exchange looks, realizing that neither of you are able to bear the guilt of letting them burn. Skateboard looks surprised. "What's with all the commotion? Were you guys that bad?" Kix sighs and grabs Violin by the arm, pulling her out of the green room and into the hall. "No time to explain, just come with us." After a moment of prodding, all three members of the registered band are running through the halls with you. You burst out of the rear exit, where the security guard is already calling for help from the Fire Department and the Police. You run through the streets and across intersections and past buildings and stores and markets. The adrenaline pumping through you tells you to run without direction and without purpose. [[You just run.|A moment]]

Suddenly, Kix's voice pierces the cacophony of destruction around you. "I found the hatch! Get over here!" You sprint down the hall to her voice, where you find her holding open a heavy metal hatch. Pik is two steps behind you. "Go! I'll be right behind you!" She strains to keep the thick rectangle of metal open. You slip down the ladder into the familiar tunnels below. Pik is right behind you. You hear the loud clang of the hatch swinging shut, then nothing for several moments. Abruptly, Kix falls from the entryway to the ground in front of you with a concerning crunch. Pik immediately goes to her, ensuring that she didn't break any bones or do any serious damage to herself. She slowly gets to her feet. You all take a moment to breathe. [[The Vox had gotten out scott free.|Freedom]]

Well, scott-free was putting it lightly. You'd lost a damn good drum kit and probably gained some unwanted notoriety with the police, but you were all alive. "So how about that money?" Kix says with a wince, holding her side with one hand. "I'll contact our Patron immed--" Pik's words are cut off by a ring from his phone. "Well that was quick..." He puts the phone up to his ear. "I see... Okay... No, really? You're kidding!" Pik promptly hangs up the phone and sets down his guitar case, flicking open the clasps and removing his precious seven-string electric. He then proceeds to remove the inner lining from the case, revealing stacks of cash - the additional thirty thousand that your patron owes. With this kind of payout, you think The Vox might need a repeat performance... [[~The End~]]

You finally stop when you realize that you're standing in an alley, chest heaving from the unexpected intense exercise. Kix and Pik are there standing nearby, similarly gasping for air. After a moment of respite, Kix's heavy breathing turns to ecstatic laughter. "We actually pulled it off! I can't believe we actually did it!" She shouts, pumping a fist into the air triumphantly. You're glad as well, but you remember that there's something still missing from this equation. You promptly ask Pik about getting the money from your Patron. "I'll call him immed--" Pik's words are cut off by a ring from his phone. "Oh. That was quick..." He puts the phone up to his ear. "I see... Okay... No, really? You're kidding!" Pik promptly hangs up the phone and sets down his guitar case, flicking open the clasps and removing his precious seven-string electric. He then proceeds to remove the inner lining from the case, revealing stacks of cash - the additional thirty thousand that your patron owes. With this kind of payout, you think The Vox might need a repeat performance... [[~The End~]]

Thank you very much for reading Vox **Musicorum** Written by Cole M. Bonnema

**Vox Musicorum** Hide from Authority. Rock out. Smash the State. [[Begin->Introductions]]