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The electric guitar isn't his personal, customized, work of art instrument, but It still feels natural in his hands, like it was waiting for him, waiting for this moment. The mall around him is quiet, as if it holds its breath to wait for him. Grabbing the mic, he spoke in a voice raspy from disuse, "Hello Blackwater Mall, I'm so glad that all of you could make it. I really didn't expect for this opportunity to come along, and unfortunately this will be Blood Noise Project's last ever performance. As disappointing as that is, let's make this a performance to last a lifetime." He hears someone scream and cut short as he hits the first cord and pauses listening to it reverberate around the open atrium. Even as the song begins in earnest he sees a small group of people slip out the back door.

When he had heard his first rock song, something had felt like it had changed. The world made a little more sense. He was forced to hide this new-found joy from his straight-laced Christian parents who believed that rock was a thing born from the devil. He spent middle school and most of high school a band geek, playing the drums. He loved making music, but he was still missing something. It wasn't until he was sixteen and one of his friends had taken him to a music story and he had tried out his first electric guitar that things finally clicked into place. Everything felt right when he ran his hand across those strings and listened to just a sample of what he could create. It wasn't even a year later that he had saved up enough money to buy that guitar and started his first band with some of his friends.

He is brought back to the present by the sound of the mass of bodies pressing into the barricades that separate them from the stage. He's happy that so many have shown up, it's been a while since he last played. The barricades don't look like they're going to last for all that long, he just hopes that they last long enough to finish the performance without disaster. He closes his eyes and pauses from singing to take a breath. "Damn, I really wish I had a bottle of water up here."

Lavender Heart Attack never took off. He had never thought that it was going to, but it was always nice to dream. They spent their days playing in abandoned warehouses and behind the local library. He had written all of their music, practically consumed by this new outlet for his creative tendencies. So, consumed he forgot to keep it a secret and his parents found out. Their storm of anger quickly split up the band and sent its members scurrying in different directions. The only one who hadn't left him was his best friend, Luke.

"I hope Luke's okay." He finds it slightly depressing that Luke isn't up here with him. Though maybe it's a good thing that Luke isn't here. This way, all of the spotlight is on him, no distractions tonight. He can't quite tell if the song sounds better as a solo or as a band. He shrugs, either way Luke is far away from here, and that isn't about to change.

Luke was the only reason that he had made anything of himself. It was Luke that had pushed him to go to college as a music major in order to escape his parents. It was Luke that had coached him through his anxiety when trying to find new band mates. When his boyfriend broke up with him, Luke had been there for him. When the record label had come calling, Luke had been at his side through all the paper work. Luke had even been the one to come up with the name Blood Noise Project.

A string snaps, whipping up and slicing his cheek. The music never stopped, never slowed. The song sounds incomplete with so many missing notes, but he works to compensate, knowing that if he stops he probably won't be able to start again.

When the world had gone to hell, the band had been on holiday. Luke was visiting his family across the country. He had been alone in his studio apartment, plucking out the notes to a new song. The song he's playing now, in fact, its first and last time ever being played in full. When the dead rose, he had given up hope. His only skills were in making music, how the hell was he supposed to get all the way through the city to the military rescue pick-up alone? He had gone out onto the balcony and played ballad to the moon, determined to go out surrounded by music. Then they had passed beneath him. A group of other survivors. They asked him to join them, refusing to leave anyone behind. For a while he let himself hope. He kept returning to the thought of Luke, declaring to himself that if he made it out of this he would tell Luke how he felt. Then they had taken the shortcut through this death trap of a mall. It didn't take long for them to get surrounded. That was when he had noticed the instruments on the makeshift stage, set-up for some holiday festival. He had told the rest to hide, and run for the exit when he gave the signal. They had tried to stop him when he ran for the stage, but they didn't have enough warning.

As the final notes of the song float into the still air, the sudden crack of the barricade serves as a signal for him to take his final bow. He turns and puts the guitar gently back on its holder. "I wish I could say you were a lovely audience, but quite frankly, I hate your guts." He glances back over his shoulder at the mob, "well, what guts you have left." He pulls the revolver from his back waistband. "The Blood Noise Project is officially dead, so let's end this with one hell of a bang!" the barrel is cold against the bottom of his jaw. He's distracted by the passing thought of Luke's cool gray-blue eyes. "I'm sorry." The words seem so lonely and pitiful, hanging in the almost silence left as his last song ends. It was a deceptively simple act to pull the trigger.