Tommy paced the narrow confines of the backstage area. It had been so long since they’d played a proper gig—not since that fateful night at Gilman Street.

He glanced over at Micky, noting the healthier glow to his friend’s skin, the steadiness of his hands. “You’re looking better, Mick. How’re you feeling?”

Micky shrugged, a half-smile quirking his lips. “One of Jack’s guys hooked me up with a little something to take the edge off. Just enough to get me through the set without losing my lunch, you know?”

Laila frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We don’t even know what they gave you.”

“Relax, Lai. It’s just a little pick-me-up. Nothing hardcore. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, guys. Listen up.” Tommy gathered them in close. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve done this. And I know everything’s different now. The world out there’s gone to hell. But out there? On that stage? We’re still Crab Versus Lion. We’re still family.”

Laila nodded. “Damn right, we are.”

“So let’s go out there and give these metalheads a show they’ll never forget. No setlist, no rules. We just play what feels right, yeah? Go with the flow and let the music take us where it needs to go.”

Micky grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’m down for that.”

“What about the first song, though?” Laila asked. “We’ve got to start strong, set the tone.”

Tommy considered for a moment. “What do you think? “

“What about ‘Lies, Lies, Lies’? It’s got that raw energy, you know? That punch to the gut right out the gate.”

“I like it. Micky?”

“Hell yeah, man. Let’s do it.”

They huddled in tighter, foreheads touching as they breathed in the moment. It was like old times, like that electric thrill that came in the breath before they hit the stage.

A cough from the doorway made them look up. Jimbo, Roxy, and Zero stood there, all three of them grinning.

“You dudes ready to do this thing?” Jimbo asked.

“Just don’t break a leg, yeah?” Roxy smirked, her arms crossed. “Can’t afford more injuries.”

Zero nodded, his eyes intense. “Give ‘em hell, guys.”

“We’ve got this.” Tommy said. “Let’s go out there and show these people what punk rock is all about.”

Jack appeared in the doorway. “You folks ready? Crowd’s getting restless out there.”

Tommy nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, man. Let’s do this.”

His heart pounded as they stepped out onto the stage, the glare of the spotlights momentarily blinding. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to reveal a sea of faces—hundreds of metalheads in black leather and denim.

Beside him, Laila and Micky looked equally nervous, their hands clutching unfamiliar instruments. Tommy studied the guitar that had been thrust into his hands moments before, running his fingers over the sleek body, tsting the lighter strings.

He tried a few power chords, wincing as the distortion came out all wrong, the pedals refusing to cooperate. He fiddled with the knobs and switches, but it was no use. This wasn’t his set-up, the guitar he’d spent countless hours breaking in, learning every scratch and quirk. But it would have to do.

Tommy leaned over to Laila and Micky, forcing a grin. “Looks like we’re going full hair metal tonight, guys. Regular Mötley Crüe over here.”

Laila rolled her eyes, but Tommy caught the twitch of a smile at the corners of her mouth. She plucked at the five-string bass, her fingers dancing over the extra string.

Micky settled behind the drum kit, his eyes wide as he took in the sprawl of toms and cymbals, the double-kick pedals at his feet. “Damn, I feel like Danny Carey over here. I’m not worthy!”

Tommy and Laila exchanged a blank look. Micky just shook his head, grinning.

Jack stepped up to the mic, his arms spread wide. “Alright, everyone! We’ve got a special treat for you tonight. All the way from Philly, making their apocalypse debut…give it up for Crab Versus Lion!”

The crowd erupted, a wall of noise that hit Tommy like a physical force. He stepped up to the mic, his heart in his throat.

“What’s up, Kansas? We’re Crab Versus Lion, and we’re here to melt your faces off!”

Another roar, the front rows surging forward, ready for war. Tommy glanced back at Laila and Micky, catching their nods.

They launched into “Lies, Lies, Lies,” the opening riff tearing through the amps, Micky’s drums a machine gun barrage.

Tommy leaned into the mic, his voice raw and ragged as he screamed the lyrics, the words ripped from some primal place deep inside.

The song sounded...different. Heavier, meaner. The unfamiliar gear lent a new edge to their sound, a metal tinge that the crowd devoured.

As they hit the final chord, the cheers were deafening. Tommy looked out over the sea of raised fists and devil horns, the grins on Laila and Micky’s faces mirroring his own.

They tore through “Sucker Punch,” the crowd swirling into a vortex of flailing limbs and flying bodies as the circle pit opened up.

Then, on a whim, Tommy called out, “Any Black Flag fans in the house tonight?”

A few dozen cheers rippled through the crowd.

They launched into “Rise Above,” the crowd a pulsing mass of sweat and fury.

Tommy lost himself in the music, in the raw, electric connection of band and audience. Nothing existed beyond the cramped stage, the press of bodies, the relentless driving beat.

They blazed through “Revolution’s End” and “No More,” the bodies in the pit turned to whirling dervishes, animated by the frenzy of the moment.

Looking out over the crowd, Tommy spotted a familiar flash of crimson—Roxy’s hair, unmistakable amidst the throng. Beside her, Jimbo and Zero thrashed and headbanged.

He glanced at Laila, mouthing, “Pull them up!”

Tommy leaned over the stage, arm outstretched towards their friends. “Get up here! Let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

Roxy, Jimbo, and Zero surged forward, clambering onto the stage with the help of the cheering crowd.

Zero snatched up Tommy’s guitar as he handed it off, his fingers already flying over the strings. Tommy grabbed the mic, nodding to Roxy as she stepped up beside him.

Micky counted them in, and they careened into “Knowledge” by Operation Ivy, Roxy’s voice melding with Tommy’s as they traded lines back and forth. Jimbo bounced around the stage with a tambourine he’d snagged from somewhere, the picture of shirtless, drunken glee.

As the final notes died away, Tommy barely had a chance to catch his breath before Zero launched into the opening riff of “Time Bomb” by Rancid. The energy crackled and popped.

Tommy pulled Roxy into an impromptu two-step as they wailed the chorus, their voices raw and reckless. Jimbo grinned maniacally as he spun his tambourine like a madman, narrowly avoiding clocking Micky upside the head.

They wrapped with a blistering cover of “Minor Threat,” the anthem of their misspent youth, the lines of rage and resistance taking on a new resonance in light of all they’d endured.

As they hit the final note, Tommy spun to face Laila, their eyes locking across the stage. In that look passed a thousand words left unsaid—gratitude, solidarity, love.

Tommy pulled Roxy into a fierce hug, feeling the wetness of her tears against his neck as the cheers and applause washed over them

“We did it. We made it.” His voice cracked on the words, the full weight of the moment hitting him square in the chest.

He turned to Micky and Laila, sweeping them into the embrace. There they stood, clinging to each other, trembling with exhaustion and elation.

Jack stepped up to the mic. “Let’s hear it one more time for Crab Versus Lion! Punk’s not dead, baby!”

As they stumbled offstage, making way for the next act, Tommy felt something shift inside him. The knot of fear and grief that had taken up residence in his chest had loosened, just a fraction.

They had survived. More than that, they had lived.

As he looked around at the faces of his friends, his family, Tommy felt the sting of tears in his eyes. They had lost so much, sacrificed so much. But here, now, basking in the afterglow of the music, he let himself believe that maybe, somehow, they would make it through. That there was still hope for them, for the world they had known.

Tommy and the others sat around a long table in the mess tent, the buzz of their performance still crackling through his veins.

Jack leaned back in his seat and raised his cup. “You folks put on one hell of a show out there. Haven’t seen the crowd that riled up in ages.”

Tommy shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It was different, that’s for sure. Heavier than our usual sound. The setup threw us for a loop at first.”

Micky nodded, his fingers still twitching out phantom drum patterns on his thighs. “Man, when things get back to normal, I’m totally upgrading my kit. More toms, double kick pedal—I could get used to that kind of power.”

Laila leaned forward. “I know, right? I was sceptical about the five-string at first, but damn, those low notes really added something.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Tommy watched her, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It had been too long since he’d seen Laila this animated, this alive. The music had awakened something in all of them, a glimmer of their old selves peeking through the grime and grit of survival.

Zero snagged a beer from the cooler at his feet, popping the cap with a hiss. “I gotta say, I didn’t realise how much I needed that. To just cut loose and shred, even if it was on borrowed gear. Feels good, man.”

Jimbo nodded, his grin lopsided. “Amen, dude. For a little while there, I forgot about all the crap waiting for us outside. It was just the music, the crowd, the rush.”

Jack chuckled, pushing himself to his feet. “Well, I’m glad we could provide the fix. Speaking of which, duty calls. Gotta make sure the generator’s holding up and the scouts have checked in. You folks enjoy the rest of the show, yeah? And if you’re up for another set later, just holler up.” With a wave, he ambled off, disappearing into the throng of leather-clad bodies.

Zero stood, stretching until his spine popped. “I’m gonna go check out the next act. Anyone else coming?”

Jimbo drained the last of his beer and tossed the can aside. “Right behind you, dude. I wanna see how anyone can follow what we just unleashed.”

The two of them grabbed fresh drinks and melted into the crowd, leaving Tommy, Laila, Micky, and Roxy huddled around the table.

Tommy turned to Roxy. “You know, we sounded pretty damn good up there together.”

Roxy cocked an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “You proposing a musical merger? Crab Versus Minks?”

Laila nodded. “I’m into it. Did you hear that back-and-forth you two had going during ‘Knowledge’? That call-and-response energy was hectic. Imagine what we could do if we really leaned into that.”

Micky held up a hand, his brow furrowing. “Hold up, hold up. Two lead singers in one band? Isn’t that just asking for an ego clash of epic proportions?”

Tommy shrugged. “So we’ll check ourselves. Keep our heads on straight and remember what really matters—the music, the message, the connection. If we go into it as equals, as partners, I think we could make something incredible.”

Roxy leaned back, her arms crossed over her chest. “It would be a way to mark this moment, wouldn’t it? To channel all the crap we’ve been through. A middle finger to the apocalypse.”

Laila grinned, raising her beer in a toast.

Tommy held up his water bottle. “Sounds good to me.”

They clinked their drinks together.

As the conversation flowed, Tommy felt a flicker of something long dormant stirring in his chest. Purpose. Direction. The first fragile tendrils of a plan taking root.

He glanced around the table, taking in the faces of his friends. Micky, laughing at some joke Laila had cracked. Roxy, her eyes alive with mischief as she needled him about his stage banter.

This. This was what he’d been missing. The camaraderie, the shared joy and struggle. The bone-deep knowledge that, come what may, they had each other’s backs.

His gaze snagged on Micky getting up from the table, mumbling something about needing air.

Part of him wanted to follow, to check in and make sure he was alright. But the larger part urged him to stay put. To bask in this moment of connection and possibility just a little longer.

He turned back to Laila and Roxy. “What do you say we go check out some of the other acts?”

Laila pushed herself to her feet.

Roxy fell into step beside them, her shoulder brushing Tommy’s as they wove through the crowd. “Just try to keep up, yeah? I’d hate to have to show you up twice in one night.”

Tommy laughed as they pushed their way through the throng of bodies, the pulsing rhythm of the music guiding their steps.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and leather, the heat of too many bodies packed too close together.

They found Jimbo and Zero near the front, their heads bobbing in time to the relentless beat of the drums.

“About time you losers showed up!” Jimbo called. “We were starting to think you’d wussed out.”

Tommy smirked, sidling up beside him and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “And miss the chance to watch you make a fool of yourself? Not a chance, buddy.”

Zero leaned in, his eyes glinting. “I don’t know, Tommy boy. From where I’m standing, it looks like Jimbo’s moves are the real star of the show.”

Jimbo scoffed, shoving him away with a laugh. “You’re just jealous of my natural rhythm, dude. Not everyone can be blessed with these moves.”

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him, a wellspring of joy he’d thought long dried up.

The band on stage launched into a blistering solo, the guitarist’s fingers a blur over the fretboard. Tommy let himself get lost in the music, his body moving almost of its own accord. He closed his eyes, letting the rush of sound spill over him, the thump of the bass resonating in his chest like a second heartbeat.

He felt a presence at his side and opened his eyes to find Roxy there, her hips swaying in time to the music. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling.

“Not bad for a bunch of emo kids, huh?”

Tommy laughed, leaning in close so she could hear him. “I don’t know, I think we could show them a thing or two.”

Roxy’s grin widened, her hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. “Is that a challenge, Tommy boy?”

He matched her smile with one of his own, his pulse kicking up a notch at her proximity. “You know it, Rox. You and me, we could take on the world.”

She laughed. “Careful, that sounded dangerously close to a promise.”

Tommy’s breath caught in his throat as Roxy moved closer, her body fitting against his.

The rest of the world seemed to fade away, the music and the crowd blurring into background noise until all he could see was her, all he could feel was the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt.

They danced like that for what felt like hours, their bodies moving in sync, their eyes locked on each other.

Roxy’s hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in the sweat-damp strands of his hair.

She leaned in, her lips parting slightly, her breath ghosting across his cheek.

“Tommy! There you are!”

The urgency of Jack’s voice yanked Tommy back to reality with a jolt.

He pulled back, blinking. “Jack? What’s going on?”

Jack shook his head, his hand clamping down on Tommy’s shoulder. “No time to explain. You need to come with me, now. All of you.”

Laila frowned. “What’s this about, Jack? We were just starting to enjoy ourselves.”

But Jack was already turning away as he headed for the edge of the crowd.

Tommy and the others hurried after Jack. The sounds of the concert faded behind him, replaced by the crunch of gravel beneath his boots.

Laila fell into step beside him, her face tight with worry. Roxy, Jimbo, and Zero followed close behind.

They wove through the maze of tents and makeshift buildings.

As they rounded a corner, Jack came to an abrupt halt outside a large, white tent, its flaps pulled back.

Inside, people rushed back and forth, their voices raised in tense, clipped tones.

Tommy stepped inside and froze.

Micky lay sprawled on the ground, his limbs splayed at awkward angles and his face a mask of sickly pallor.

Two makeshift medics knelt beside him, their hands moving with frantic purpose as they tried to revive him.

“No…” The word escaped Tommy’s lips in a breathless whisper, his feet carrying him forward of their own volition. He shoved his way towards Micky, his eyes locked on his friend’s still form. “What happened? What’s going on?”

One of the medics looked up, his face creased. “Overdose. Fentanyl, from the looks of it.”

Laila stepped up beside Tommy, her hand finding his and gripping tight. He could feel her trembling, could hear the hitch in her breath as she fought back tears. “Is he…will he be okay?”

The medic shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “We’re doing everything we can. But he’s not responding to the Narcan. If we can’t get him stabilised…”

Tommy watched, helpless, as the medics worked over Micky’s body.

They pumped his chest, forced air into his lungs, injected him with who knew what chemicals in a desperate attempt to bring him back from the brink.

But Micky remained still, his face slack and his skin taking on a greyish hue that made Tommy’s stomach turn.

Roxy moved to stand at Tommy’s other side, her hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. Jimbo and Zero hovered nearby, silent and staring.

Time seemed to stretch and warp as they watched the frantic efforts of the medics. Tommy’s mind spun with memories, with all the times he and Micky had shared over the years. Late-night jam sessions in Micky’s garage, the thrill of playing their first gig together, the long hours spent crammed into a tour van, taking their music out to the world.

The thought of losing him…it was too much to bear.

Tommy’s vision blurred with tears, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He clung to Laila, burying his face in her hair as she held him tight. He could feel her shaking, could hear the muffled sobs that tore from her throat.

Tommy looked up when one of the medics sat back on his heels, his shoulders slumped. He looked up at Tommy, his eyes heavy with sorrow. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could, but…he’s gone.”

The words hit Tommy like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs and sending him staggering backwards. He shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. He was just…he was just here, he was fine, he…”

But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie. Micky hadn’t been fine, not for a long time. The addiction, the constant struggle to stay clean, the toll that it had taken on his body and mind. had all been leading to this moment, this inevitable end.

Tommy sank to his knees beside Micky’s body, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch his friend’s face.

Micky’s skin was cold, waxy. Nothing but an empty shell.

A howl tore from Tommy’s throat, raw and primal. He doubled over, his forehead pressed against Micky’s still chest as sobs wracked his body.

He could hear the others crying around him, could feel their hands on his back, his shoulders, offering what little comfort they could.

But Micky was gone, ripped away from them in a single, senseless moment.

He clung to Micky’s body, his tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. Laila knelt beside him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she wept. Roxy, Jimbo, and Zero huddled close.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes raw and his cheeks streaked with tears, he spotted Jack standing at the entrance to the tent.

“I’m so sorry. I know there’s nothing I can say that will make this easier, but if there’s anything we can do, anything at all…”

Tommy shook his head and turned to Laila. “We have to keep going. For Micky. We have to make this mean something.”

Laila nodded, her jaw clenched tight. “Damn right we do.”

Roxy stepped forward, her hand finding Tommy’s shoulder and squeezing tight. “We’re with you, Tommy.”

Jimbo and Zero murmured their agreement.

With a final, aching look at Micky’s still form, Tommy turned and strode from the tent, his friends falling into step beside him.

The morning after Micky’s passing, a sombre silence hung over the compound. The usual bustle of activity was muted, as if even the very air itself was heavy with grief.

Tommy stood at the edge of the makeshift gravesite, his eyes sore and his shoulders slumped. Beside him, the others gathered in a tight knot, their faces etched with sorrow.

Jack and a few of his people had helped them dig the grave in a quiet corner of the compound—just a rectangle of freshly turned earth and a crude wooden marker bearing Micky’s name. But it was more than most people got these days.

As they lowered Micky’s body into the ground, wrapped in a clean white sheet, Tommy felt something inside him break. He’d been holding himself together through sheer force of will, trying to be strong for the others. But now, faced with the finality of this moment, he could no longer keep the grief at bay.

A sob tore from his throat. He sank to his knees beside the grave, his fingers digging into the loose soil. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Micky. I should have been there. I should have stopped this.”

Laila knelt beside him, her tears mingling with the freshly turned earth. “It’s not your fault, Tommy. You couldn’t have known. None of us could.”

Zero stepped forward, his face a stoic mask. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

Tommy looked up at him. “But I could have helped him. I could have done something. I should have gone after him…but I didn’t.”

Zero shook his head. “No, Tommy. This is bigger than any one person. This is the system at work, the powers that be pulling the strings.” His jaw clenched, his eyes hardening “You think it’s a coincidence that opioids were everywhere before the outbreak? That people were dropping like flies from fentanyl and heroin and all that crap?”

Jimbo shot him a warning look. “Come on, dude. Now’s not the time—”

“It’s all part of their plan, don’t you see? Big Pharma, the government, the Globalists…they’ve been pushing this poison for years, getting people hooked so they can line their pockets. And now, with the world gone to hell, it’s even easier for them to—”

“Enough!” Jimbo’s shout cut through Zero’s tirade. “We’re not doing this here. Not now. Not while we’re putting our friend in the damn ground.”

Zero opened his mouth to argue, but then stepped back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Laila rose to her feet, her hand finding Tommy’s. She took a deep breath, her voice wavering as she began to speak. “Micky was more than just a drummer, more than just a friend.”“ She paused, swallowing hard “He had a way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it felt like the world was crumbling around you.”

Tommy nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

“And now…now he’s gone. Taken from us too soon, like so many others.” Laila’s voice cracked. “But we can’t let this break us. We can’t let his death be in vain. Micky would want us to keep going, to keep fighting for what we believe in. For the music, for each other.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flask, unscrewing the cap with shaking hands. “To Micky.”

The others murmured their assent, their own drinks raised in tribute.

Tommy stared down at the grave, his vision blurring with fresh tears. He couldn’t find the words to express the depth of his grief, the aching void that Micky’s absence had left in his heart.

As they began to shovel dirt over the grave, each thud of earth against the shroud-wrapped body felt like something tearing away from Tommy.

When at last the grave was filled, Tommy staggered to his feet. He felt hollowed out, emptied of everything but the pain of loss.

“What now?” Roxy asked.

Tommy shook his head, unable to find an answer.

Jack cleared his throat. “Listen, if you folks need more time...if you want to stay here a while longer, get your bearings…you’re more than welcome.”

“No.” Tommy said. “Thank you, for everything…but we can’t stay. We have to keep moving.” He turned to the others and took a deep breath. “We need to get back on the road “