Pre-show green room, Denver Hard Rock Arena

The green room backstage was buzzing—half with excitement, half with fluorescent tube lights that flickered like they were trying to drop the beat. The venue smelled like anticipation, stale sweat, and Febreze sprayed over questionable decisions. Feral Eclipse had officially made it—they were opening for Spinal Muzzle, one of the most infamous hard rock bands of the past two decades. Tattooed, loud, legendary… and absolutely, unequivocally insane.

Gabriel had vanished the second their backstage passes were clipped.

Thane had been double-checking the rigging specs, clipboard in claw, barely holding it together after the clustertruck that was the broken van axle incident earlier. Mark was quietly nursing a giant bottle of soda like it was his only lifeline to sanity.

Then Rico wandered in, chewing half a granola bar and looking… worried.

“Hey, uh… Thane?” he said, voice low.

Thane didn’t even look up. “If this is about a missing mic stand, I swear I will—”

“It’s not that. It’s Gabe. I just walked by the other band’s green room. He’s in there. With them.”

Mark looked up. “Define ‘with them.’”

Rico scratched the back of his neck. “He was laughing. Real loud. And… I think they handed him something. White. Powdery. On a mirror.”

Mark blinked. “…Oh no.”

Thane dropped the clipboard. “He did not.”

Jonah poked his head in, eyes wide. “Uh… he did. He definitely did.”

By the time Thane made it down the hallway, the door to the Spinal Muzzle green room was wide open. Inside, the band’s frontman—Razor, who somehow looked both 45 and immortal—was doubled over laughing. Gabriel stood in the middle of the room, eyes way too wide, pacing in tight circles and talking faster than Thane could think.

“—and that’s why I think if we add strobes to the kick hits we could realign the crowd’s heartbeats with the rhythm and literally control time, guys, I mean—oh hey, Thane!”

Thane stared at him. “Gabriel. What. Did. You. Do?”

Gabriel beamed, nose twitching. “Made friends! And they gave me special friend powder!”

Rico facepalmed behind Thane.

Mark leaned in the doorway, sipping his soda. “Well. This should be fun.”

Fifteen minutes later

Back in the Feral Eclipse green room, Gabriel was upside-down on a folding chair, mumbling about sound waves and coffee flavor harmonics. Jonah had barricaded the door with a keyboard stand, and Rico was scouring the venue’s snack table for orange juice. Mark just stood silently in the corner, sipping and judging.

Thane crouched down in front of Gabriel. “Gabriel. Fucking focus. What did you take?”

Gabriel blinked, one ear twitching wildly. “It was like lightning! In my face! And then I was… faster than music, man.”

Thane sighed and looked at the others. “We’re not making it through this show unless we burn that powder stash and chain him to a bass amp.”

Mark didn’t even flinch. “He’s going to crash mid-set and take out half the drum kit.”

Jonah grinned. “So, normal show then?”

Gabriel suddenly sat bolt upright. “I JUST WROTE A BASS SOLO IN MY HEAD. IT’S MADE OF GEOMETRY.”

Thane rubbed his temples. “Okay. We’re going into damage control mode. Jonah—water. Rico—more water. Mark—remind me why I don’t just maul that other band.”

Mark shrugged. “Public relations?”