Enter the Moshpit?
Some people like to live a life that’s easy, comfortably within the throngs of white and black. But, then, that’s never the whole truth, is it? There are always some people with one foot firmly planted on either side of the coin, forming various shades of grey, falling into the in-between. Already being one of those living on the edge, all I needed was one big bang to throw me to one side or the other. All of my band and I was like that.
It was the good life, for a time. We were a group of kids at the time, really, just a bunch of kids with big dreams for fame. Corbin played drums, Drake had played piano since he was seven, and Victoria, good old B*tchy Vicki, could hardly be separated from a good bass guitar in her collection. I learned to sing, and Amy…well, she wanted to help, and so she and her big doe eyes taught herself the guitar.
We took the best of our skills and formed a sh*tty underground metal band with some industrial influence and called ourselves Toxic Meltdown after my stage persona, Toxic.
We started getting paid to perform in some local clubs, and then after a while Vicki got hooked on heroin. It didn’t bother us as much as it probably should’ve. Then she started getting involved in the trade, and the places we started going to got somehow progressively sketchier. We all knew what was going on. I think Corbin was in on it, and the band started getting paid suspiciously more and getting more revenue. Of course our concerts gained a reputation in the underground.
The dealings were never discussed. At least, not with all of us. We just showed up, did our band thing, and that night wasn’t supposed to be any different. No one ever really thinks they’ll turn into a deadly statistic. Nobody expects the worst, even when they’re on pins and needles. People cling to hope any way they can, even crying out for it in their worst cold sweats. But then, it happened.
It’s always a rush when you first step on stage. You see the crowd, full of druggies as ours probably was, and you feel everything in the atmosphere. Nothing matters but the lyrics and rhythms and tearing your heart out with every note you hit. My bandmates always joked that I was something of an exhibitionist in that regard. Then again, if it weren’t for that vulnerability all on display, I’d never have let myself get as close to Amy as I had, and we took advantage of that joke more than once. In fact, she seemed to make it the most, and I added the rush she gave me to the power my voice commands.
The first couple of songs went off without a hitch, and then the breakdown of the third began and in the center of the crowded joint, a small fight broke out into a little mosh pit. I thought nothing of it at first. Sh*t happens at metal concerts like that, and it didn’t seem too intense for a while. But, for whatever reason, it kept up all the way through the song. During the transition even, they just would not cut it out.
“Hey,” I spat into the mic, keeping up my tell-tale growl “Whose show is this anyway? Yours or ours?”
Probably not the smartest thing I could’ve said, but it was part of my stage persona to be an egomaniac. What can I say? People tend to like assholes, for whatever dumb reason they can come up with.
Usually something like that would dissipate the violence into laughs and back pats, but instead, it got worse from there.
“Sh*t,” Victoria seethed next to me, turning to strap her bass to her back. “This isn’t good.”
“What the hell’s going on?” I called, gesturing to her lit up phone.
“We have to go,” she said simply, turning on her slutty platform heel.
We all called out and started scrambling for some of our stuff. I don’t remember what I said, but to save face, I called for an intermission.
Once backstage, we heard that shrill call of the infamous B*tchy Vicki. She was clearly p*ssed and/or freaked out. “Mike,” she screeched, looking around, “I know you’re around here somewhere, you prick. What happened?”
“Deal’s off,” a voice huffed from behind us, followed by a closing door.
My blood ran into ice. I turned, with everyone else, and saw a big guy in a nice suit flanked by two broad thugs on either side.
“The f*ck do you mean deal’s off? Can’t that wait until we’re done and out? The band technically isn’t related to any of your wars,” she pleaded.
“No can do, girlie. Fact is, you guys know too much,” Mike shook his head.
“Wait a minute big guy,” Drake piped up, brave guy, trembling in his shoes all the while. “Vic might be in on whatever’s going on, but we aren’t a part of it. We don’t know anything!”
“Course ya don’t,” Mike rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his head, as if he had reason to be stressed here. “But, you gotta reputation to uphold, and so do we.” He cupped his hand and started reaching for the back of his pants. “No witnesses,” he explained.
I thought having ice for blood would inhibit any movement, but clearly I was wrong. Any fool with a set of eyes could see he was reaching for a gun. I grabbed Amy by the wrist and pumped my legs towards the side exit. “Book it!” I called.
Corbin and Drake were right with us immediately and Vicki, just a little behind, stumbling. “When this is over, we’re kicking your ass for this,” Amy shouted to her, “So get it in gear!”
Sadly for us, kicking it into the highest gear couldn’t have helped. The four tanks next to the apparent boss man circled around us. “Dunno where you guys think you’re goin,” one of them snarled, quickly followed by a fist to the jaw from Corbin.
“Out of the way, fatass,” he spat, shoving another two out of the way. “Come on, dudes! We gotta get to the van!”
With a collective nod, we made way through the little hole he punched through, or tried our best to with the guy getting up and jumping on Corbin’s back. He swung to throw the thug off, but had no luck. Thankfully, Vicki swung her hard case off her shoulder and swung it hard against the assailant’s head. That knocked him off, all right. We didn’t stick around long enough to see if it also knocked a light out in him.
“I-I don’t think we’re gonna make it to the van,” Drake gasped as we turned around a metal grated stairwell. We popped out the next door, which brought us to the main area of the little performance, which also meant we were thrown into the massive never-ending mosh that started up earlier. Closer up, we could see colored belts and bandanas, and then it hit me.
F*ck, man. We just leapt out of the frying pan and into a gangwar fire.
I gripped more tightly to Amy’s wrist and turned to her. Her eyes met mine with the same realization clouding them. In spite of the pit of petrifying fear my guts bred, she smiled and nodded, saying something I couldn’t hear over the roar engulfing us. I think it might’ve been “We got this.”
Looking around, I’d have thought Corbin and Drake had lost it, swinging at anyone who approached, and Vicki with her precious guitar case. I bolted through the little river they mowed down, powering a beeline to the glowing red exit sign. Amidst all the excess noise, of people grunting and flesh on flesh, a few bottles crashed. One sounded too close for comfort and I flinched.
Then I felt a tug from my hand downwards, and everything started swimming and everything in me sank. I didn’t want to turn, but it was instinct. Amy slumped toward me, an unreadable expression plastered on her face. Then the blood dripped from the top of her head.
I figured she must have gone into shock or something, so I took her by both wrists and started pressing on harder, heart pounding in my ears, almost loud enough to block out the hell erupting all around us. I could feel her faltering, so I slid my hands behind her knees and hoisted her into a piggyback. I couldn’t leave her behind.
I don’t even know what happened or how we got out of the main area and into the bar area where things were only marginally calmer, but we managed. “It’s cold,” I heard Amy whisper.
“No!” I shouted, feeling my vocals react the same as my screams on stage, probably due to having been warmed up, “You’re not f*cking dying on me, Amy. You’re not doing this.”
Hearing this, Drake turned around and paled, horrified. “What happened?” he screamed, holding his head in both hands. Corbin and Vicki also turned, first in frustration, then in shock.
“Put me down, babe. I ain’t a kid,” Amy groaned. I did so, trembling, then I turned to see the truth. I wish I could’ve been blind in that moment.
I didn’t think someone could have their skull dented like that and still talk, but what the hell did I know?
“Amy,” I croaked. “We’re almost out of here. Please, hang in there.”
She nodded weakly.
“Can you get back on my shoulders?” I asked, turning back around to offer her to do so.
She might have reached, but Drake and Corbin had to help her back up. It wasn’t a good sign. Still, we trudged on from the doorway and hoped not to get caught in any more stupid violence. But of course, if something can go wrong, it will.
The four thug douchebags from before came in from another entrance and started scoping around.
“F*ck, we don’t have much time,” Vicki stressed.
“Then let me go,” Amy said, making us all stop.
“What the hell are you talking about? We’re not leaving you behind!” I shouted back. I was clearly panicking.
“Look at me, Ronnie,” she said quietly, “I’m dying—already pretty much dead. Don’t go out with me. Call it a dying wish,” she coughed, I guess intending to be a laugh.
I froze, unable to do anything. Corbin had to hoist her, Drake tried to pat me on the shoulders and snap me out of it, and Vicki just looked guilty. I wanted to grab her by the collar and scream at her heroin-track-having ass and force her to see what she’d gone and done to all of us now, but she could already tell.
I think everyone was trying to say things to me, but I couldn’t hear them, but I could hear Amy. Gods, I could hear Amy loud and clear, as quiet as her voice was.
“You have to get moving or you won’t make it. Please, babe, live for me.”
I wanted to ask how. I wanted to understand why all of this was happening, but then, a thundering, explosive crash knocked me back into reality.
“Guys, I’m going,” I said, facing each of them, ending with Amy. “I love you,” I said, as sincere as I could make it through the panic pulsing through me, the fire she ignited telling me to get the hell out of there. She just smiled. “Go,” she mouthed.
So without asking for permission from the others, I did. “Y’all f*ckers better live, too, then,” I shouted over my shoulder, ripping off a necklace or five that could have gotten caught on anything.
One of the thugs recognized me and came at me from the side, so I hit him with all of the necklaces, much to his confusion. For extra insurance, I stepped on his foot and bolted. Along the way, I tore off my bracelets. I had to get rid of anything that identified me. The choker, the nice leather jacket thrown over the head of another thug and twisted to disorient him. Somehow in this mad dash of throwing things off myself, I made it outside.
I didn’t get a chance to breathe in the fresh air that wasn’t sickly thick with sweat and blood. I had to run, and I had to keep running. It should have been cold at this hour, whatever ungodly hour it was, and without that jacket, normally I would’ve been freezing. Nevertheless, I rounded the corner, taking off my black wig and wig cap, tossing them in the side dumpster to the club, then…I just ran.
I had no real destination, but I was going nowhere as quickly as I damn well could. I ran down the aisle down to the fence, and adrenaline pushed my foot up that wall and vaulted me over it, and it took away the pain of landing flat on my feet on the other side. Still, I had to put in as much distance as possible.
Through the winding alleys, I made my way, long hair whipping behind me. Eventually I came out to a street, so I turned away from the direction of the club and down the nearest side road. My lungs killed me and turned me to ice with each ragged breath, and the weather numbed my hands. I found a parking deck and hopped from a small kiosk in front of it and kicked up to the second level, swinging my weight up. Directly across from it, a small apartment building with a fire escape sat, so that became my next destination.
I had no idea how to make that jump, from the parking deck to the small little fire escape, but I went for it. Anything to live. I hit the rail of it with my ankle and damn near faceplanted the brick wall, but I turned up it and forced myself to the roof.
Why the roof? I didn’t know. I guess I just didn’t want anyone to see me. I’d find my way around tomorrow, which, gazing across the horizon, wasn’t too far off. Gods, how long had we been fighting to get out of there? How long had it been since I started running? How long had it been since Amy…
Once I got to the roof, I let myself collapse. Dawn stretched its pink fingers across the horizon. I hoped I could get to my place from here, if they hadn’t blown it up or haven’t stationed more goons there. But whatever.
My racing thoughts were arbitrary. I knew, just knew, that they all were gone. I couldn’t explain it. I wanted to scream, but I still didn’t want to bring attention to myself, so I just punched at the roof shingles and cried my goodbyes.
Somewhere along all the crying, I must’ve fallen asleep on that roof. The thugs never found me, clearly, so I woke up there feeling numb.
I had to start over, but there weren’t many places to go after that. I could’ve joined another band, but the market for singers wasn’t that great in my genre, and it would never be the same without the people I dedicated my life to.
I went by where we used to meet for practice, and of course it had been trashed. There was nothing left there for me to find, like everything had been erased, right down to all the files we were working on for a new album.
Disheartened, I swung by my place, which was thankfully intact. I felt like an absolute train wreck, so I stripped down and turned the shower head to full heat and just stood there, thinking. That led to the discovery that I still had tears to cry, after all.
I was at a complete and total loss. I had been living on the edge of two worlds, and everything had just fallen out from under me. This was the big bang that determined my fate, and I felt that down to the weary marrow of my bones.
After that, with not many choices and no real life savings to fall back on, I turned to the side of the coin normal people feel comfortable calling black. I got myself stuck in an atrocious game, building up bank wherever I had something to sell. Desperation is a damning thing.
I found my way by Victoria and Corbin’s old apartment and found her last stash of junk and sold it for way less than it was worth. The buyer got a good laugh at me over it. It amused him so much that he took me in to meet the ringleader of his little gang, which operated a humble portion of the drug trade in the city. They painted me up and made me their doll, but they also taught me how to fight, shoot, and sell.
Eventually I made a small name for myself, thanks to a sale gone wrong due to an undercover cop. I took the stuff and booked it, almost like I had from that concert many numbing nights before. The boys called me the Flash after that.
It was because of that title that when we got contracted by some bigger boss to transport some crystal meth, they made me their getaway. As usual, I donned whorish war paint and made myself a completely different person. I’d found by that point that for whatever reason, the police, while very likely to stop a hooker for the obvious charges, hardly ever immediately jumped to the conclusion that they were sellers. I used that to my advantage to get away on lack of reasonable suspicion.
The place they were cooking in nearly got blown up with lead, and the masked goons sped by in their obvious white van, screeching to a halt at my designated pickup stop. I took the goods with a nod and a wink and dashed off to the next map location where they had another white van to finish the transport while the other served as a decoy.
Since I did so well, it opened up a very nice cooperation between the boys and whoever was in charge of those bozos. I ran for them in a mad relay a few more times until the mysterious bossman they called Bain got in contact with me in a gaudy fashion.
I was sitting one evening on a familiar corner, smoking a cigarette to pass the time and dull my senses, when a nice Cadillac slowed to a stop. I got my hopes up for a sale at first, to be honest, but then a well-dressed young man in one of those penguin suits hopped out all proper-like, an old stitched scar crossing his face.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he smiled jovially. “My name is Rod, and I’ve been sent here by Master Bain to pick you up.”
“What’s Bain want with me?” I blinked, putting a hand on my hip.
“Your abilities seem to have made quite an impression on the Master,” he explained, never dropping that ominous smile. “He had an eye on you since he had first heard about ‘the Flash’ from underground tales and wanted to gauge for himself if you were just an Urban Legend.”
“Well, I guess I’m flattered,” I said, crossing my arms, “But what about my boys back home?”
“They have already been given formal notice of your transfer, although you may still affiliate with them and send them wired transfers from your new position if you wish. Think of it as a grand promotion,” the butler replied with a little hop to his toes and back to his heel.
“And what would my signing bonus be?” I coaxed, trying to gauge the situation for myself.
“Back at the safehouse, you have a new rifle and pistol awaiting you, along with your first upfront payment of one thousand dollars, as well as your new identity. I’m sure you’ll find it appropriate,” he nodded, lowering his head to deepen his already creepy smile. “So, then, shall we go?” he gestured to the back door, reaching to open it.
With a glance around, I choked back the pit in my gut. I had taken some crazy rides with some men with worse smiles, but something about this felt…final. I took a deep breath and slid inside.
Rod proceeded to drive for what felt like hours, out of the city and through some thick woods, until finally we reached a fancy gated community like none I had even head of in the state. He made his way to the far end of it and drove to the back entrance of a place I got a different vibe from. “Here we are,” he motioned, “The Safe House—and your new home. You’ll find the items I mentioned in the first room on your right,” he said, pulling into the garage and pressing a button to close the door behind us.
I slid out of the back seat and took the metal door to the right as he said, and sure enough, a simple rifle, a glock, a wad of cash, and a mask sat waiting for me, with an oddly fitted suit hanging on a rack nearby. An envelope rested inside the mask simply marked, “To Moshpit.”
Inside, it explained the details of my first heist and welcomed me to this new crime family. I turned the mask over and took it in: a simple white clown mask like the goons I had been working with, but with purple and teal accents marking a familiar makeup contouring pattern. The pursed lips seemed to smile at me, and something about the eyebrows sparked my inner fire.
I felt a smile curl at my own lips as I changed into the suit and donned yet another face. How appropriate, indeed, I chuckled to myself. I have become the very thing that had taken everything from me. I am the Moshpit.
Topic: Friendfiction: Payday AU Origin Story: MOSHPIT (Read 5243 times)
