‘So.’ Mona Lisa drums her fingers on the wall. ‘Another jam session today?’

‘Shiny,’ Killer King says. ‘Grab your stuff, everyone.’

Young Vein takes up his battered guitar, Green Gentleman his drum kit he loves so, Mona her bass, and Killer takes up the microphone.

Mona strikes the ubiquitous chord that starts Na Na Na.

Soon they're on a roll. Killer's practically screaming the lyrics, Vein is nearly shredding his guitar strings, Mona is awesome, as usual, and Green is what Sandman would say: "Killing the skins! Tapping the skins! Tapping the rims! Playing the shit! Killing these bitches! Wrapping it out!"

He used to say that a lot, when he was alive.

The emotions break through the pills.
There's chaos everywhere.
Everything is out of place.
This is a true firefight—chaos and colour and the bullets whizzing over your head.
This is what it means to be alive.
He finds that he kind of loves it.
(Dangerous, a voice whispers.
But these are the danger days.)
And then the reverie is broken, and he's sweaty, and bleeding, and somehow alive and in the Zones,

and the Suitehearts,
his protectors, his parents, the people who taught him how to live,
are dead.
(He never found out how.)

But the Sinners are alive,
and they're making music even if the Suitehearts can't.

They find that they have segued halfway through Vampire Money into a new song.

It sounds like someone pushed the Suitehearts and a circus into a blender, and it is fuckin' shiny.

Swear to shake it up if you swear to listen,
We're still so young and desperate for attention-

The music grinds to a stop.

There are Dracs outside.

‘Where are the ray guns?’ Green demands, panicked.

‘We put them aside when we started playing!’ Mona.

stupidstupidstupid.

‘They're inside!’ Vein.

A Realisation:
Those aren't Dracs, they're exterminators.

ray guns!

get them get them

anyway, four teenagers who've been in the Zones two months are no match against exterminators

they must've cracked down on the music rules after the death-defying siege

stupidstupidstupid

they storm in

useless shooting

duck! duck! duck!

he's going to die

he knows it like the sky is blue

he just hopes they don't go down with him too

‘look, let's split up, okay? we can cover more ground that way.’ Vein, whispering.

‘agreed.’ Green.

he gives Mona a quick peck
(give me one last kiss while we're far too young to die)
and he's off to scout the kitchen.

not that it'll bring any help, though.

sure enough, he's shot about a minute later.

stupidstupidstupid.

what's the point of escaping if you're dragged back in again?

a bang from the next room

a female scream.

mona lisa.

a thud.

the exterminator has left him be

a sickening bang

he imagines there's blood

he realises that this was how the Suitehearts died.

three down, one to go.

struggling sounds

obscenities

yes, it's vein.

another bang

he wants to cry but he has no strength left

he thinks this is hell

(if this is hell, all the demons are here.)

dying apart

and as his heart begins to break,
he
hears
music.
(he knows the rest hear it too)

I've got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match.
Sugar, we're going down swinging.
Dance, dance, we're falling apart in half time.

We're still so young and desperate for attention.
I hope to God he was worth it.
Promise me a place in your house of memories.

Let's blow an artery!
Like a match, you strive to incinerate the lives of everyone you knew…
When I was, a you—

his head hits the ground and he doesn't move an inch.

may death never stop us