Chapter 62: Lights and Shadows
Saturday, December 26, 2015 – 8:00 PM
The red digital clock in the corner of the DJ booth flickered, changing the last digit. It marked 8:00 PM exactly.
At that precise instant, the generic pop music that had been playing through The Observatory's speakers cut off abruptly. It was as if someone had unplugged the entire world.
There was a microsecond of total silence, a sudden void in the air that made everyone's hearts skip a beat. The anticipation became something physical, heavy, and electric.
And then, the "house lights", the general lights of the hall, went out all at once. The darkness was absolute, enveloping the thousand people in a black embrace.
The roar that followed wasn't human. It was a shockwave.
A thousand throats screamed at the same time, a mixture of euphoria, contained despair, and release that hit Michael in the chest, vibrating him to his bones. The wooden floor beneath his feet shook with the force of the sound.
In the elevated booth, floating above the chaos, T-Roc was an island of calm. Illuminated only by the cold blue glow of his Pioneer controller's LEDs, the DJ raised a hand.
He didn't look at Michael. He didn't look at the audience. He looked at his machines. With the precision of a surgeon, his finger pressed the first button on the Launchpad.
A low, atmospheric, and enveloping hum began to fill the room.
It wasn't music yet. It was texture. It was the sound of digital rain, the static hiss of an old cassette tape amplified to a hundred thousand watts. It was the sound of loneliness, made massive.
Michael, hidden in the gloom of the side wings, took a deep breath. The air there smelled of machine smoke, burnt ozone, and the cold fear that had settled in his stomach.
He adjusted his in-ear monitors. He heard the click of the metronome marking time, a steady pulse amidst the noise.
He took a step forward.
He left the safety of the shadows and stepped onto the boards of the main stage.
He didn't run. He didn't jump to hype up the crowd. He walked.
He walked with a deliberate, almost ghostly slowness. He had his black hoodie hood up, falling over his forehead, hiding his face in deep, impenetrable shadow.
His black sunglasses reflected the few beams of pale blue light that cut through the darkness like lasers in the fog.
To the crowd, he was a silhouette. An anonymous, dark figure gliding toward them. The scream of the audience changed, becoming sharper, more frantic upon seeing him appear.
Michael kept his head down, his hands shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie. The stage felt immense under his feet, a vast ocean of empty space between him and the front row.
He felt alone. Exposed. Vulnerable.
He reached the center of the stage. The microphone stand waited for him there, a solitary metal post bathed in a circle of dim light.
Michael took a hand out of his pocket and grabbed the microphone. The metal was cold.
He didn't bring it to his mouth yet. He simply stood there, a motionless statue in front of a thousand people chanting his name, a tide of faces he couldn't see.
T-Roc's atmospheric hum intensified, rising in volume, spinning into a crescendo of static and echo that created unbearable tension in the room.
Michael tilted his head down, looking at his own sneakers. He waited. He knew the first sound had to be perfect.
Saturday, December 26, 2015 – 8:02 PM
Michael pulled away from the microphone by instinct, expecting the silence of the next measure after singing:
'Wait right here...'
But there was no silence.
From the darkness, a thousand voices answered him in unison, screaming the next line with a desperate passion that made the air tremble.
'I''LL BE BACK IN THE MORNIN''!'
Michael froze. The sound hit him physically. He knew he had plays on the internet, but this was different. He realized they knew every word. They were believers.
A small, incredulous smile broke his facade of stoicism. He raised his hands and, with a slow movement, pulled down his hoodie hood.
The "Ghost" had revealed himself. His face was exposed to the pale blue light. The crowd screamed even louder upon seeing him.
He returned to the microphone, and this time, he didn't sing for them. He sang with them, his voice blending with that of a thousand souls.
'I know that I''m not that important to you'
'But to me, girl, you''re so much more than gorgeous'
'So much more than perfect'
He looked at the front row. He saw kids in metal band t-shirts, girls with smudged eyeliner, skaters with backward caps. He saw his tribe.
'Right now, I know that I''m not really worth it'
'If you give me time, I can work on it'
'Give me some time while I work on it'
'Losin'' your patience, and, girl, I don''t blame you'
'The Earth''s in rotation, you''re waitin'' for me...'
He moved across the stage, dragging the microphone cable, letting go. He wasn't acting anymore. He was having a conversation.
'Look at my face when I fuck on your waist'
''Cause we only have one conversation a week'
'That''s why your friends always hatin'' on me'
'Fuck ''em though, I did this all by myself'
'Matter fact, I ain''t never asked no one for help'
He sang those lines with force, pointing to himself, and the crowd returned the energy. Leo, from the pit, was shooting his camera nonstop.
'And that''s why I don''t pick up my phone when it ring'
'None of my exes is over Lil Peep'
'Nobody flexin'' as much as I be'
'That''s why she text me and tell me she love me'
'She know that someday I''ll be over the sea'
'Makin'' my money and smokin'' my weed'
'I think it''s funny, she open up to me'
'Get comfortable with me, once I got it comin''
'I love her, she love me'
'I know that I''m nothing like someone her family want me to be'
The song reached the emotional bridge. T-Roc, reading the room perfectly from the booth, lowered the volume of the music almost to zero.
Michael stepped away from the microphone, letting the crowd take control.
"IF I FIND A WAY, WOULD YOU WALK IT WITH ME?"
"LOOK AT MY FACE WHILE YOU TALKIN'' TO ME!"
"'CAUSE WE ONLY HAVE ONE CONVERSATION A WEEK!"
The scream was deafening. Michael felt a shiver run down his spine. He returned to the microphone for the close.
'Can I get one conversation at least?'
'Shout out to everyone makin'' my beats'
'You helpin'' me preach'
He pointed toward the DJ booth, toward T-Roc. The crowd cheered.
'This music''s the only thing keepin'' the peace when I fall into pieces...'
He sang that line with his eyes closed, feeling every syllable. It was the truth. And a thousand people felt it with him.
The outro arrived. The blue lights dimmed, leaving only an overhead spotlight on him.
'Look at the sky tonight'
'All of the stars have a reason'
'A reason to shine, a reason like mine'
'And I''m fallin'' to pieces'
'Look at the sky tonight'
'All of them stars have a reason'
The song faded gently. The last guitar note hung suspended in the air.
Michael opened his eyes. The room was in absolute silence for a second, a silence charged with emotion.
And then, it exploded. Applause, screams, whistles.
Michael looked at the crowd, breathing heavily. His heart was beating so fast it hurt. He was no longer afraid. He felt connected. Invincible.
Saturday, December 26, 2015 – 8:05 PM
The last chord of 'Star Shopping' hung suspended in the air, an echo of melancholy that kept the crowd in a reverential silence. Michael kept his eyes closed, feeling the static electricity on his skin.
In the booth, T-Roc didn't let the energy drop. With a fluid movement, he slid the crossfader. The echo of the acoustic guitar dissolved, transforming into a different texture.
A soft, enveloping synth began to play. Then, a fast, crisp hi-hat.
The stage lights changed. The overhead white spotlight went out. In its place, a series of pale blue and cyan lights turned on from the floor, bathing Michael in a ghostly glow.
The fog machines on the sides of the stage released a dense, low cloud that crawled across the floorboards, swirling around Michael's sneakers like mist in a graveyard.
Michael opened his eyes. The change in atmosphere was instant.
He stepped away from the microphone stand. He grabbed the cable with his hand, coiling it slightly, and took his first real steps across the stage. He was no longer a statue.
The smooth trap beat of 'Ghost Girl' dropped fully.
The crowd recognized it. It was the sequel. It was the other half of the story.
Michael raised the microphone, his posture relaxed but magnetic.
'Juggin'' on a Friday, but just saw you on the freeway (Skrrt)...'
His voice sounded clear, processed in real-time by T-Roc with an ethereal reverb that made every word float over the audience.
'How could I forget that face? I don''t even know your name...'
Michael walked to the edge of the stage, looking out into the sea of faces. He didn't see anyone in particular, but everyone felt he was singing to them.
'I''m in love with a ghost girl, all alone in a lonely world...'
Leo, crouched in the photographer's pit, seized the moment. The blue light silhouetted Michael against the smoke. He fired a burst of photos. Click-click-click. He knew that would be the cover of the concert review.
'I just really wanna find her, I''ma do another line first...'
Michael sang the line about escape with weary honesty. The crowd swayed from side to side, an ocean of shadows in a trance.
The song entered the verse. Michael changed his flow, becoming more rhythmic, more arrogant.
'Lyin'' on the asphalt, Mike blacked out...'
'Fuckin'' with the Coke Wave, let my man Max out...'
He moved with the rhythm, his shoulders following the hit of the snare. Sam, on the right side of the stage, tracked him with the Panasonic VHS camera. Michael turned to him for a second, looking directly into the grainy lens, breaking the fourth wall.
'I be on some real shit, get it from my OG...'
'I don''t wanna hear shit, shawty, what you told me?...'
His voice gained strength.
'I don''t give a fuck, bitch, I be on my lonely...'
'Lookin'' for the right girl, why you all up on me?...'
He sang those lines with cold contempt, remembering the discomfort of sudden fame at school, the girls who only talked to him because he had followers.
'Love me for a night, girl, hate me in the mornin''...'
'Yeah, I know you''re tight, girl, so I make her blow me...'
'Demiurge...'
The crowd chanted the name of the original artist (who in this universe was Michael's lyrical alter ego).
The bridge arrived. The most atmospheric part. T-Roc activated a delay (echo) on Michael's voice.
Michael lowered the microphone a bit, singing softer, letting the effect fill the space.
'Look me in my eyes, girl (Look me in my eyes, girl)...'
The echo repeated the phrase, fading towards the back of the room.
'Tell me if you think that it''s a lie, girl (Lie, girl)...'
It was hypnotic. People had stopped screaming; they were listening.
'Gettin'' tired of your girl (Gettin'' tired of your girl)...'
'I know I need my own girl, my girl (My girl)...'
Michael closed his eyes, feeling the vibration of the bass in his feet.
'Look me in my eyes, girl (Look me in my eyes, girl)...'
'Tell me if you think that it''s a lie, girl (Lie, girl)...'
'Gettin'' tired of your girl (Gettin'' tired of your girl)...'
'I know I need my own girl...'
The final chorus exploded. Michael returned to the center, raising his free hand.
'Juggin'' on a Friday, but just saw you on the freeway...'
'How could I forget that face? I don''t even know your name...'
He sang with all the air left in his lungs, his voice blending with the audience.
'I''m in love with a ghost girl, all alone in a lonely world...'
'I just really wanna find her, I''ma do another line first...'
T-Roc let the beat continue for a few more bars, fading it out slowly, leaving only the guitar melody and the echo of Michael's voice.
The song ended, dissolving into the blue mist of the stage.
The last synth note of 'Ghost Girl' hung suspended in the air, trapped in an infinite echo loop that T-Roc slowly faded into absolute silence.
The blue mist on the stage began to dissipate, revealing Michael standing in the center, alone.
Michael lowered his arm. Sweat ran down his temple. The connection was established. The atmosphere was created. They were no longer strangers at a concert. They were part of his world.
The silence lasted a second. A heavy second, charged with the residual energy of two songs that had made half the room cry.
Michael lowered the microphone, but didn't let go. He could feel the cold sweat on his forehead, sticking his hair to his skin. His heart, which had been hammering with stage fright, now beat with a strong, steady rhythm. The rhythm of adrenaline.
And now that he had them mesmerized, it was time to talk to them.
He looked at the crowd. A thousand faces, illuminated by the glow of security lights and phone screens. They were no longer a terrifying mass. They were his.
He raised the microphone again. He ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it back, a nervous gesture that looked incredibly cool on stage.
"Welcome to the show," he said.
His voice, without background music, sounded naked and powerful on the Observatory's sound system. It resonated off the walls.
The crowd responded with a roar of approval, a sound that vibrated the floor beneath his feet.
Michael waited for the noise to die down a bit. He smiled, a small, almost shy smile, contrasting with the darkness of his music.
"A few months ago, I was in my room, writing these songs because I had no one to talk to," he said, his voice dropping to a confidential tone. "And now... now you are all here."
He looked toward the pit, where Leo looked back with a smile of pride behind the camera. He looked to the side, where Sam was still recording.
He looked back at the audience.
"Thank you," Michael said. "Thank you for coming to see a ghost."
The ovation was deafening. "DEMIURGE! DEMIURGE!"
Michael nodded, absorbing the energy. He had passed the first test. He had established the emotional connection. He had given them the pain they wanted.
But the show wasn't just about pain.
He turned toward the DJ booth. T-Roc was ready, finger on the next pad. Michael gave him an imperceptible signal.
The atmosphere in the room changed. The soft blue light cut out abruptly. The room plunged into total darkness for a second.
Michael prepared himself. The "Lights and Shadows" phase was over.
It was time to take them to the deep. It was time for the Dark Frequency.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Thanks for reading!
If you want to read advanced chapters you can visit my Patreon page: Patreon / iLikeeMikee.
I am planning to upload a base of 3 chapters per week here, and 5 per week on Patreon.
But based on Power Stone goals, the quantity will increase for both free and Patreon readers.
The goals for next week are:
100 Stones: 4 chapters per week.
250 Stones: 5 chapters per week.
500 Stones: 6 chapters per week.
1000 Stones: 7 chapters per week.
This applies to both free and Patreon chapters.
So don't hesitate to leave your stones, thanks!
Mike.