Everything was going fine.
Which is exactly when things decided not to.
Gabriel had just balanced a stack of bass amp heads like a very proud werewolf Jenga champion when the lights in the venue flickered… once… twice…
Then the entire power grid went dead with a bone-deep ka-CHUNK sound that could only mean one thing:
“We blew a breaker,” Mark muttered from the back of the truck, not even surprised.
From somewhere inside the stage bay, a crew member’s voice echoed, “Uhh… I think Kyle’s stuck on the catwalk??”
Thane looked up from coiling XLR cables, ears slowly swiveling toward the chaos like radar dishes zeroing in on doom. “Who is Kyle?”
Gabriel poked his head out from behind a speaker stack, still mid-lift. “I think Kyle’s the lighting guy that brought donuts.”
“Wait, no,” Emily said, skimming the contact sheet on her tablet. “Kyle’s the guy who was bragging about getting ‘certified in roof climbing’ on YouTube.”
“Oh no,” Cassie said flatly. “That was Derek. Kyle was the one who called the fog machine a ‘vape cannon.’”
“Wait—” Maya squinted. “Wasn’t that the same guy who tripped over the power distro and yelled, ‘That’s not on me!’ before it blew?”
Everyone slowly turned to look up at the dimly lit catwalks above the stage.
And sure enough—there was Kyle.
Dangling by his harness. Spinning slowly. Face lit only by the glow of his phone screen.
Yelling, “I’M OKAY! BUT MY LEFT SHOE ISN’T!”
Thane dropped his clipboard and rubbed his face with both clawed hands. “I swear, if one more amateur tries to climb something I haven’t approved…”
Diesel wandered in holding a half-eaten sandwich. “Anyone want me to just reset the whole venue? I saw a switch out back labeled ‘MAIN’ and some duct tape on it.”
“Please don’t touch anything labeled with duct tape,” Emily pleaded.
Jonah, completely unbothered, climbed on top of a subwoofer and shouted up, “KYLE! IF YOU DIE, CAN I HAVE YOUR DONUTS?”
“Kyle’s not dead,” Thane growled. “Yet.”