The bass is rattling the roof. The crowd is in an absolute frenzy. Sweat flies from every limb on stage. Fog pours out in massive bursts. The lights are strobing like lightning trapped in a cage.

Gabriel is tearing through the bassline, clawed fingers a blur, black fur soaked, fangs bared in pure exhilaration. He stomps across the stage like he owns it—and let’s be real, right now? He does.

Maya’s got the rhythm churning like a damn freight train, slamming each chord with a feral twist of her hips, her eyes wild under the rig lights. She looks over at Rico, who’s blazing through the solo so fast his strings might catch fire.

Mark doesn’t even blink. He punches the cue—BOOM. Pyro goes off, flames leaping skyward like fire demons. The VL2Bs behind the truss fire downward with deep red beams slashing through smoke like bloodied claws.

And then…

CRACK.

Everyone flinches.

Jonah—mid-drum fill—his right drumstick shatters in his grip. It flies over the snare like a splintered javelin and lands in the audience. There’s a beat of pure silence…

Then—without missing a single goddamn beat—he grabs a full, unopened Blue Moon beer bottle from behind the kit and starts drumming with that.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

The crowd loses their collective shit.

Foam sprays from the cap as Jonah slams the cymbals with the neck of the bottle like he’s conjuring thunder from hops and madness. He looks like a possessed bartender at a biker bar drum circle.

Rico sees it and howls with laughter mid-solo. Maya spins toward Jonah, her mouth open like are you freaking serious right now!?

Gabriel? He drops to his knees on stage in mock worship and bows to Jonah while still playing.

And the fans?

They’re throwing beer, screaming, chanting “JO-NAH! JO-NAH!” at the top of their lungs.

Even Mark, stoic Mark, cracks the tiniest grin as he floods the stage with blue-white strobe pulses in Jonah’s honor.

Thane throws his head back and howls, slapping the cable against the riser. “NOW that’s rock and f***ing roll!”