The band rolled into the venue lot covered in post-storm road grime, smelling faintly of old jerky, regret, and ozone. The GPS declared their destination with cheery finality:

“You have arrived at Red River Agricultural Expo Center.”

Cassie peered out the window. “This looks like a place where bands go to die.”

The “venue” was a giant metal building shaped like a warehouse had a baby with a livestock auction barn. There were tractors parked out front. A faded banner above the roll-up door read:

“SOUNDS OF SUMMER MUSIC SERIES – TONIGHT: FERAL ECPLISE”

Thane’s left eye twitched. “They misspelled our name.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Technically that’s still on brand.”

Maya leaned against the van door, scanning the parking lot. “Are we sharing the venue with a farm auction?”

“No,” Jonah said. “Worse. That cow over there just licked the mic stand.”

Sure enough, there was a Holstein standing dead center on the stage platform inside the building. A man in overalls and Crocs was trying to coax it down with what appeared to be a half-eaten corn dog.

Mark stared at him. “Is that our stagehand?”

The man waved. “Name’s Tyler. Don’t worry, she only poops when she’s scared.”

Thane’s icy glare could’ve frozen lava.

Inside, the acoustics were… well, “agricultural.” Every sound echoed like they were inside a giant grain silo filled with tin foil and betrayal. The stage was lit by a single row of flickering overhead fluorescents, and the “dressing room” was just a corral behind the bleachers.

Gabriel spun in a slow circle. “I can feel my standards dying.”

Rico, tuning up near the tractor display, muttered, “Don’t look at the John Deere calendar. It’s judging you.”

Maya kicked at a bale of hay. “I’m allergic to this level of bullshit.”

Cassie found a crate labeled “LIVE BAIT” and sat on it, sighing. “On the plus side, I’ve always wanted to play a gig where the audience might include a chicken.”

Soundcheck was… chaos.

The main speakers crackled like haunted walkie-talkies. The mic cables were so short they had to stand in formation like a 1950s doo-wop group. Every time Mark adjusted the lighting truss, it squealed like a dying pig. Literally. They realized there was an actual pig somewhere under the bleachers.

“WHO BRINGS LIVESTOCK TO A SHOW?!” Thane shouted over the din.

Tyler yelled back, “It’s Bring Your Pet Night! We’re very inclusive!”

Cassie, deadpan: “…This is how I die.”

And yet…

When showtime hit, it was magic.

Maybe it was the absurdity. Maybe it was the hay-scented air. Maybe it was because chaos is where Feral Eclipse thrives.

The crowd—farmers, hipsters, toddlers in earmuffs, three guys in camo overalls, and an elderly woman with a ferret on her shoulder—went absolutely wild. A dude crowdsurfed in a horse costume. Someone brought a watermelon with “WE LOVE GABRIEL” carved into it.

Gabriel leaned into the mic. “This song goes out to my bovine sisters in the back!”

The cow mooed.

Thunderous applause.

After the show, they collapsed in the van, sweating, disoriented, and unsure if what just happened had been real.

Thane ran a hand down his face. “I will never recover from this night.”

Gabriel grinned. “The cow gave us a standing ovation. What more do you want?”

Mark cracked a soda. “Peace. Quiet. A venue that doesn’t smell like hay and existential dread.”

Jonah leaned back against his seat, grinning. “Nah, man. We’re living the dream.”

A beat of silence.

Then the cow outside the venue mooed one last time… like a benediction.