9:17 PM – Post-show, post-fog, halfway to the hotel

The Feral Eclipse tour van rattled down a dimly lit Oklahoma backroad with the hum of overworked tires and the soft rattle of empty Red Bull cans somewhere under the bench seat. The scent inside was a cocktail of dried sweat, fog fluid, string polish, and just a hint of nacho cheese. Everyone was either comatose or vibrating from leftover adrenaline.

Gabriel was at the wheel, all sleek black fur and hyper-focus, one clawed hand gripping a giant coffee he somehow hadn’t let go of since the green room. The bass player was still riding high—singing along to whatever was playing on the radio, drumming on the steering wheel like he wasn’t the one doing 67 in a 55.

Thane sat shotgun, arms crossed, trying to unwind. A fresh coil of cable rested on his lap like a service animal. His fur was matted with sweat and smoke, and he looked half-dead but proud. “Gabriel, you missed the turn.”

Gabriel blinked. “No I didn’t. There’s a mini-mart up ahead. I saw the sign.”

“Mini-mart?” Mark’s voice croaked from the middle seat. “If they don’t have ibuprofen and soda, we leave Jonah behind.”

“Rude,” Jonah mumbled from the back. “Also fair.”

The van squeaked into the lot of a run-down combo gas station and liquor store. The neon sign buzzed like it had a grudge. A flickering “OPEN” sign clung to one window like it owed someone rent. Inside, the building looked like a time capsule for 1998 and a tax write-off for whoever ran it.

Gabriel leapt out first, still in performance gear, and made a beeline for the cooler wall like a caffeinated cryptid. “I need sparkling water. Or sugar. Or both.”

Thane followed, slower, dragging a clipboard to jot down gear failures and set notes as he walked—still in tech mode. “If they’ve got batteries, grab some. Half the in-ears crapped out again.”

Rico stepped into the liquor store next door with all the quiet reverence of a man entering a chapel. “Do not follow me. This is sacred time.”

Cassie and Maya stayed in the van arguing about whether it was too late for pizza while Mark stiffly unfolded himself from the backseat and muttered, “This is how I die. Not onstage. Not in a blaze of glory. In the snack cake aisle of a Chevron.”

Jonah, half-asleep, didn’t even leave the van. He just cracked one eye open and said, “If anyone finds sour gummy worms, I’ll trade you a cymbal.”

Inside the mini-mart, fluorescent lights hummed with the existential despair of overworked ceiling panels. Gabriel, now armed with an armful of random energy drinks and a suspiciously purple snack cake, turned and nearly bumped into Thane, who was standing by the batteries… and holding a banana.

Gabriel blinked. “Why the banana?”

Thane: “No idea. My brain said ‘potassium.’”

Gabriel just nodded. “That tracks.”

Meanwhile, in the liquor store next door, Rico triumphantly held up a bottle of Platinum 7X like a knight presenting a holy relic. “I summon thee—party juice!”

Maya, having changed her mind, stormed in behind him. “You better have Fireball in there, Rico, or I swear—”

Mark stood outside between both doors, sipping a soda and staring into the parking lot like he was reevaluating every life choice that led him to this moment. “Rock and roll,” he muttered. “All glamour. All the time.”

Eventually, everyone filtered back into the van—some with sugar, some with alcohol, and one (Thane) with a banana and a pack of guitar strings that weren’t even the right gauge.

As they rolled away, Gabriel cranked the volume again. “Next stop: Hotel Chaos.”

Mark leaned his head back and groaned. “Wake me when we crash into the pool.”