The bus was rolling smooth through flat farmland, the kind of Midwest drive where the biggest excitement was whether a cornfield had a scarecrow or not. Diesel had the windows cracked just enough to let in a breeze, classic rock low on the radio. Gabriel was trying to convince Jonah that yes, you could cook a Hot Pocket using only a stage spotlight. Mark was pretending not to hear them.
Cassie sat near the front, scrolling her phone with a look of growing alarm. Thane, halfway through sorting XLR cables for no reason other than muscle memory, noticed first.
“…Why do you look like you just discovered the end of the world is trending?”
Cassie didn’t look up. “Did someone post that alley jam?”
Gabriel perked up instantly. “What?! No. That was for vibes only. Who broke the sacred ‘no posting’ rule?”
“Wasn’t us,” Cassie said, now typing furiously. “I think it was someone in the crowd. And now it’s… viral.”
“How viral?” Maya asked cautiously.
Cassie turned the phone around.
Gabriel yelped. “Fifty-four million views?!”
Jonah leaned over. “Wait, are those comments in Portuguese?”
“It’s global,” Cassie groaned. “There’s a fan thread on Reddit translating what you yelled during your solo into six languages. The Finnish one’s probably wrong. It says you declared yourself ‘a furry warlord of vibes.’”
“I mean…” Gabriel shrugged. “It’s not wrong.”
“Someone edited a clip of you howling at the end and put it over the Avengers theme,” Cassie added. “It has a quarter million likes on TikTok. Rico’s trending on X under the hashtag #AlleyGod.”
Rico, half-asleep in the lounge, blinked awake. “I’m what now?”
“Alley God,” Gabriel said helpfully. “Do not resist. Accept your divine funk.”
Maya scrolled on her own feed and cackled. “Oh my god. There’s already a shirt design. It’s a drawing of you playing guitar under a halo made of broken neon signs.”
Jonah grinned. “I’d wear that.”
“I’d buy ten,” Gabriel said. “Wait — Emily!”
Emily, who had been quietly reading in the corner, looked up with mild horror.
“Please tell me you didn’t post that backstage photo of Mark holding three iced coffees and looking like a disappointed dad.”
“I didn’t!” she insisted.
“Because someone did, and it has a caption that says, ‘when your emotional support band makes you drive through Illinois again.’”
Mark, sitting at the tiny dining booth with a bagel and a laptop, didn’t even blink. “They’re not wrong.”
Cassie groaned again. “We were supposed to be under the radar. No shows. No press. Just a quiet road trip.”
Gabriel pulled out his phone and started composing a reply tweet. “Counter-offer: we post a fake tour announcement just to mess with people. Like, Feral Eclipse is now playing exclusively in Waffle Houses and abandoned Circuit City buildings.”
Thane leaned over from the couch. “Gabriel, no.”
“Too late. Already tagged Denny’s.”
Mark gave the smallest sigh and muttered, “This is why we can’t have Wi-Fi.”
By the time they crossed into Iowa, the “Alley God” meme had overtaken three different platforms, a lovingly-drawn animated short had appeared showing Gabriel headbanging on a rooftop, and someone had managed to deepfake Thane into a 1980s movie trailer called Soundcheck: Werewolf Roadie Justice.
And somehow… none of them were even mad.
Except Mark. But he was always a little mad.