Tonight was the night. For years there had been rumors. Moments of frenzied fandom, in records stores and online. Chat rooms and tea houses around The City entertained a single topic of conversation.

“We want The VocaLords!”

“We want The VocaLords!”

“We want The VocaLords!”

The driving force behind these rants sat in a small dressing room behind the stage. “Ten minutes to show time!” a stagehand called through her closed door. “Ten minutes to show time!” he called again, through the next door down the hall.

Gumi sat alone in her small dressing room, with the rest of The VocaLords sharing the larger one next door. She prepared her vocalizer by checking its connections to the wireless mic pack strapped around her waist. She then checked her guitar, making sure it was connected to her as well.

Wires snaked around her body and throughout her clothing. She wore a desert rat khaki shirt with a matching skirt. Complimenting them were red-tinted aviator goggles set atop her head, and a tactical shemagh scarf wrapped around her neck. The reds and browns of her outfit stood in contrast to her shoulder length mop of Kool-Aid green hair.

She composed herself by sitting in front of her dressing room mirror, staring at her reflection. Bright, clean and uncluttered, the mirror shone in stark contrast to the rest of the dingy room. Hidden in the shadows were broken and unused props gathering cobwebs and dust. The couch nearby showed signs of severe misuse, harboring stains whose origins were best left unknown.

Gumi's reflection in the mirror was a microcosm of the room. Her dark hazel eyes, bright and beautiful, shone sad. The skin on her forehead and cheeks portrayed the smoothness of her youth, with her dainty elven ears poking out from behind her colored hair.

From the nose down, however, her face told a different story. Like an apple doll that hadn't been allowed to dry before being carved, the lower half of her face was rotted and torn away. Some spots on her lips suffered from so much necrosis that her teeth poked through the scars. At a point below her vocal chords, her skin regained its youthful luster. To cover this transition, she strapped a leather choker with a steel buckle around her neck.

Gumi stared down at the pockmarked and scarred surface of her makeup table. On it sat another mirror, this one as a tray. The substance on the tray shone with a luster all its own.

Bright white sparkling powder, alongside a razor and a straw.

She drew a long line with a third of the powder, snorting half the line into what was left of each of her nostrils. The rest she scooped up with the razor and deposited in an atomizer built into her vocalizer. She mopped up the crumbs on the mirror with a pinkie, rubbing them on her gums while she again stared into the mirror at her rotting face.

“Five minutes until show time!”

The crowd in the theater ramped up their volume, knowing this fact as well.

"We want The VocaLords! We want The VocaLords! We want The VocaLords!"

“Well,” she rasped to her reflection, her voice a garbled whisper. “It's show time.”

Gumi strapped her vocalizer onto her face. Now beautiful, with the rotted half of her face covered with what looked like a respirator, she lowered her tinted goggles down over her eyes. She fiddled with her guitar as she walked out the door and headed down the hall. Opening the door to the second dressing room, she found the rest of her band in various stages of relaxation and preparation. She spoke to them with the aid of her vocalizer, her voice booming as if off canyon walls.

“Let's rock this town, blokes!”

The stage was very large, allowing the musicians room to roam. Scattered throughout the area were percussion and keyboard stations, which other members of the band would soon run between. Gumi, playing lead guitar, didn’t need the space. As stage hands and technicians helped the rest of the band prepare, she stood all alone, front and center to the crowd. She began the routine task of hooking herself into various speakers and amplfiers, adding more wires to those already snaking around her body. By the time she was done, there was little way to tell where the wires ended and where she began. It seemed as if every muscle, every orifice she owned had a cable snaking from it to some other part of her body, or to a point on the stage. All of them connected her to a sound system that looked capable of blasting jet airplanes from the sky.

To start the first set, the band's bass player, a blue-haired girl named Miku, stood in her usual spot, to Gumi's left. The pink-haired keyboardist named Luka could be almost anywhere, as she would run across the stage, from instrument to instrument during each song. But to Gumi's right, the band sported a new look. A woman with an electric violin stood between the band's two blonde acoustic guitarists, a twin brother and sister named Lin and Ren who looked almost identical.

The violinist was everything Gumi was not. Tall and whisper thin, she looked to be anywhere from twelve years old to two hundred. Her arms and legs were astronomically long in relation to her body, and her skin shone even whiter than Gumi's unscarred spots. In contrast to Gumi's thick, military style clothing, this new member of the band wore a gossamer gown, floor length and made of tendrils colored the same ungodly black as her wispy hair. The gown covered her whole body, save for her face and a plunging neckline. The material would part whenever she chose to move, showing gloves reaching past her elbows and bare legs up to her thighs.

"Are you ready to rock us, VioLinja?" Gumi boomed to her.

VioLinja smiled with beauty and grace at the leader of The VocaLords. She placed a long black violin under her chin, and a bow upon its strings.

"I was born ready, Baby!"

Gumi managed to turn enough to be able to look at the drummer, signaling him with her eyes. He let out a few riffs, and the special effects and lighting crew weaved a magic all their own. Then, with his sticks poised over his head, VioLinja poured forth an emotional opening solo. She rasped and cranked and sawed at her strings, making her electric violin produce sounds that normal ones do not.

As the crowd quieted to listen, VioLinja played more eloquent. Winds machines made her gossamer gown flutter, its tendrils trailing far from her body. Colored lights danced upon the fabric, and on her exposed, snow white skin. The wind whipped harder as she played faster, before she slowed the tempo down to gain control of the crowd. She forced them to listen as she played whisper soft. Finally, as she held a single note effortlessly and forever, Gumi boomed her voice out to the raging fans.

“We are the Lords of music! We are the Lords of light! Heaven and Hell lay open before us, unearthed by the sound!”

Each member of the band played a short solo as she announced their instruments. Every time she spoke, the crowd ramped up their cheers.

“We are the Lords of keys! We are the Lords of drums! We are Lords of the guitar!”

She turned up her vocalizer, adjusting it so that she sounded like a hundred member gospel choir.

“We are the Lords of vocals!”

The crowd went insane as she drove them to a frenzy, knowing what she would say next.

“We are The VocaLords!”

The only thing in the theater capable of drowning out the crowd was the monstrous sound system of the band. It was their hallmark signature, based solely on its size. Behind the drummer stood a two-by-two stack of four speaker boxes, each one of them as big as an airplane hangar door. Each box was designed to look like a single, enormous speaker. Surrounding them, stacked on top of them, and scattered everywhere else, lay dozens upon dozens of other speaker boxes sporting various size and design. Each one rattled with intensity as The VocaLords boomed out an extended opening to the set's first song.

Gumi made exaggerated gestures as her bandmates took turns stoking the crowd. She rechecked the wiring of her vocalizer and guitar, and of herself to the sound system, forcing the crowd to wait as she sought perfection. When a single yellow spotlight shone fully on her face, the crowd attempted silence and waited for her to sing.

“Uncle, cousin, nephew, aunt.

“Said they could, but really can't.

“Cat claw, rat trap, elephant.

“They found the trail but lost the scent!”

The crowd went wild, as they recognized this song as the band's latest hit single, entitled Family Picnic. As some took to rocking, head banging and moshing, others covered their ears to avoid the piercing noise.

“Mother, father, niece, nephew.

“Grow the seasons, drink the brew.

“Tea leaves, tea pot, tea for two.

“Take his cake and eat it, too.

“Family picnic, shoot the son.

“Burn the cross! Let's have some fun!”

The special effects department showed a cross with Jesus hanging from it against the backdrop of giant speaker boxes. As Gumi sang her last two lyrics, the image burst into flame, with devils dancing all around.

The half of the crowd who had covered their ears voiced their disapproval.

“Boo! Satanists! Boo!”

“Uncle Noah, clean and neat.

“Killed the calf and cooked the meat.

“Cream cake, cream sauce, bittersweet.

“Take a taste! It can't be beat!”

The image on the burning cross turned from that of Jesus writhing in flames to a tortured calf, its body twisted and broken. Fat dripped from its blistered skin as fire consumed it.

“Boo! Devil's spawn! You guys suck!”

“Cousin Kevin flipped the switch.

“Lost his lights and hit the bitch.

“Burn up, burn out, burn a witch.

“Where it scratches, make him itch.

“Family picnic, pale applause.

“Beat the heat and break the laws!”

From the twisted and crucified calf, the video became a mélange. Images of protesters in the street fighting with police in riot gear were interspersed and overlapped with images of young women, their innocence being raped and their beauty beaten from them. Finally, after they could suffer no more, their tortured bodies were tossed into a pile and set aflame atop execution pyres.

Half the crowd screamed at Gumi in total disgust. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The rest of the crowd remained engaged, rocking and head bopping. Thousands of boos fought for dominance against those cheering for The VocaLords and their massive wall of sound.

“Nephew Cabal brought the coal.

“Stuck his fingers in the bowl.

“Hard hat, hard ball, rock and roll.

“Pop a pill and hit the hole!”

The mélange onstage grew more violent and intense, but little of it could be seen. As scenes of brutality filled the makeshift screen made by the speaker boxes, xenon lights and strobes played over the crowd. They writhed with a sickened frenzy, their faces mottled in what looked like blood and vomit.

The portion of the crowd filled with disgust couldn't leave the theater fast enough. They quit booing and complaining before the show could horrify them further.

“Auntie Margaret, sickle, scythe.

“Keen the edge and watch it slice.

“Bat's teeth, lizard's tongue, white mice.

“Rake the fire! Burn them twice!”

Gumi and her bandmates moved close to the edge of the stage. To the portoin of the crowd still left, head banging and moshing, The VocaLords each played an extended intermezzo. VioLinja's turn to lead the band came last, and she called out to the protestors who still remained, taunting them as they left.

“What's the matter, punks? Are you not entertained?”

“You suck, Bitch!” one called back, louder than the rest. “Get off the stage!”

VioLinja remained at the front of the band until the last protester was gone. The VocaLords then brought the song back to the lyrics, so Gumi could sing the final two lines.

“Family picnic, final call.

“Take a trip…”

VioLinja and the four guitarists pointed their instruments at the crowd, and Gumi turned the volume on her vocalizer to its highest setting.

“…and fuck

"…them

"…all!”

With a blast of light and sound that seemed impossibly intense, The VocaLords obliterated what remained of their audience.

Sending every one of them straight to Hell.