The clock struck six.

The main lobby lights dimmed.

And the doors of the venue flung open like floodgates releasing a tide of chaos.

Fans poured in—an eclectic wave of humanity in black shirts, tattered denim, and too many piercings to count. Someone was already filming with their phone. Someone else howled. The staff at the merch table visibly braced as the first dozen people beelined for limited-edition Feral Eclipse hoodies like it was a Black Friday bloodbath.

A shriek rang out near the front barricade.
“Oh my GOD—they put claws on the stage monitors!”

They hadn’t. That was just Thane’s wiring looking aggressive.

Backstage, Maya peeked through the curtain, lips curled into a grin. “You seeing this? We’ve officially crossed into cult territory.”

Jonah, reclined across two folding chairs, didn’t even look up. “We been cult. This is just… confirmation.”

Out front, the cosplay squad made their presence known.

Three superfans, all in varying levels of DIY werewolf makeup and fur-stitched leather, posed for a photo op right in front of the stage. One had sharpie-scrawled “GABRIEL 4 LYYYYFE” across their bare chest. Another had tried to recreate Thane’s stormy streaks of gray with what looked like silver glitter and glue. The third? Full-on snarling with glued-on dollar store claws and a tail that wagged a little too much.

Mark, watching from FOH with arms folded, deadpanned: “I’m leaving.”

Thane, beside him, squinted at the group and made a face like he’d swallowed spoiled chili. “They made me look like a drag muppet.”

“Your tail was sparkly,” Mark agreed.

Back near the barricade, Gabriel appeared—black T-shirt clinging to him, coffee cup still in hand, radiant with post-soundcheck energy.

The cosplay squad squealed.

“Oh shit, it’s him—IT’S HIM—GABRIEL!!”

He blinked, mid-sip, nearly choking.

“Hi?” he said with his usual wide-eyed grin.

They lunged for selfies. Gabriel obliged, though his face read full “I’m too caffeinated for this.” One fan asked him to sign their bicep. Another offered him a stuffed wolf plushie wearing sunglasses.

He took it.

Its tag read: “Lil’ Gabe.”

“Sweet baby lycanthropy,” he muttered, stuffing it in his hoodie pocket.

Backstage again, Thane and Mark both glared at the scene playing out on the CCTV.

“I hate it here,” Thane growled.

Mark grunted. “You should be flattered. They made Jonah into a Funko Pop once. It had glitter abs.”

Just then, a security guard walked by muttering into his radio:
“We got another one howling at the soda machine. Requesting backup.”