The backstage practice room was glowing with bright neon lights— there were band posters, music CDs and instruments all around.

  But it was all quiet there, even when the show was moments away from starting.

  Ronak Chaturvedi moved in the room here and there, with headphones clamped tight and music blaring loudly.

  He nodded with the beat and drummed nervously in the air.

  His hair was now straightened, and his new denim jacket was embroidered boldly with 'MIDNIGHT JAM'.

  He turned his eyes, only to see Tara D'Souza, and couldn't help but smile.

  Tara was bent over the soundboard— she cleaned it with one hand and adjusted the knobs with the other.

  Her hair flowed like a waterfall till her knees, dense and smooth as ever.

  A pair of square-shaped spectacles rested on her face, while she wore a formal suit that felt completely out of place.

  "Formal clothes, really? What are you, Tara, our school teacher?"

  The mocking voice of Anaya Kapoor cut through the silence.

  Her bowl-cut hair swirled around as she tilted her head. A bandana wrapped her forehead, and bandages covered her elbows like war trophies.

  She wore a pale white tank top with a shirt with spikes tossed over it.

  The MIDNIGHT JAM logo sprawled across her chest, while her eyes glowed with rebellion, mockery and anger.

  She turned sharply towards Ronak.

  "And you… don't just move all around grinning like a junkie."

  Ronak instantly turned towards her.

  "What did I do now?"

  Anaya, furious, stood up from her stool.

  "Should I remind you of everything you did?!"

  Ronak stiffened. The air turned heavy. And just when Anaya was about to make it worse—

  Jay Khanna stumbled in, dropping percussion instruments with a clatter.

  "Anaya, I—uh—these are for—"

  "Shut up Jay, good for nothing!" Anaya snapped, her voice shutting him down.

  Jay flinched, a hoodie covering half his face. He sank in a corner, touching a scar above his eye.

  His buzz cut made him look fragile and bare.

  He pulled his knees to his chest as he sat in a corner and murmured to himself.

  On the other side, Harshit Jindal leaned back on the couch, unmistakably a rich boy.

  His earring— shaped like a J— gleamed, catching every reflection.

  He scrolled through old MIDNIGHT JAM performances. Simultaneously, his hand with fingerless gloves tapped the table anxiously.

  "The last one was better. This? It feels… weak."

  Before anyone else could retort—

  The room's door burst open.

  Farhan Qureshi strode inside, with his guitar strapped to him.

  His trenchcoat was like a canvas of punk art— graffiti, ripped leather and jagged pins.

  There wasn't any shirt beneath.

  He had a decent physique, with his face strikingly handsome, dark eyeliner smudged under his eyes.

  "You're late, sucker!" Anaya hissed.

  He fumbled, smirking, and tried to play it off.

  "Uh… it was traffic, I guess."

  They were all 16, but had relations even deeper and messed up than adults.

  Suspicion rose in every eye, but there wasn't any time for questions to spark—

  The loudspeaker cracked alive.

  "Midnight Jam, get ready. The announcement will be made in five minutes."

  Ronak closed his eyes, like the stage was waiting for him.

  "This is it. Tonight, I'll make it my best."

  Farhan smirked beside him, tapping his shoulder.

  "Let's burn this place down, mate!"

  ——————————————

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  In the present, there was only darkness that swallowed everything.

  In a corner behind the main stage, in the shadows of the festival, the mains power supply hummed silently.

  Tarun pried the box open, while Kritika examined the wires that were illuminated by the flashlight.

  Tarun's fingers hovered over the frayed wired, hesitant but ready.

  "This is messed up… but I'll fix it, no problem."

  Tarun was ready to tear the wires apart like they were pieces of paper.

  But Kritika's eyes narrowed as she found something in the connections.

  "Stop. Look here… it is not an accident. Someone planned it all. Every cut, every splice… it's deliberate."

  Tarun froze, trying to understand the intensity of those words he just heard.

  "We need to find that smartass."

  ——————————————

  The crowd surged like a living storm, bodies pressing from everywhere, screams mingling with the distant crash of broken instruments.

  Yug and Rishabh moved through it, each step careful, yet somehow they stayed together.

  Every wild swing, every grab, every push in that jungle could have torn them apart— but they didn't falter.

  Then, suddenly, Rishabh collided with a figure.

  A reckless swing, a desperate hit, and the stranger's fists rained down randomly .

  Pain shot through Rishabh's arm, but he barely flinched as instincts overrode his hesitation.

  "Yug! Wrist— on your right!"

  Yug reacted before he could register what was happening. Without wasting time, he grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it with precision.

  The attacker staggered, and his world shook for a while, catching him off-balance.

  A flashlight hit the man's face like a beam, and recognition hit Yug and Rishabh like a brick.

  It was Ronak.

  "I—I can't find my band!" He muttered, jaw tight, eyes darting all through the chaos.

  Panic ran through his calm exterior, ready to break any minute.

  Suddenly, a voice roared from across the venue.

  "Phone's dead! Calls aren't coming through! The power cut— it was all a smart plan!'

  The crowd seemed to freeze for a while, as all eyes instinctively searched for the source.

  But Yug and Rishabh were aware of this voice.

  It was Tarun's figure that loomed high above, gripping a scaffolding he balanced himself on.

  He waved in every direction, standing on top of everyone in the crowd, but still couldn't find his friends.

  "Meet me at the giant wheel! You know— the one that spins high!"

  "He means the ferris wheel."

  Yug muttered, facepalming in shame.

  But suddenly, Ronak's face flared with determination. It was a fire that no blackout could extinguish.

  "I'll join you. I'll find my band… and whoever set this up, that motherf—"

  "Language!"

  Both Yug and Rishabh shouted at once, yet mutually agreed upon Ronak's involvement— because they understood that no one should mess up with his music.

  And then, some sparks of light began to return as soon as generators filled them with life.

  The shapes of people surged and collided in the half-dark.

  Yug squinted through whatever was visible.

  Rishabh kept close, scanning every movement.

  Ronak leaned over a toppled speaker.

  "We can move," he muttered.

  "Backstage practice room. Lights, contacts… we can do something there."

  Yug's eyes narrowed, "Are you sure? The route is crawling with people."

  "Don't overthink. If we do this, we can regroup and plan." Ronak said, eyes locked in.

  And they began to move.

  Tangled wires sprawled across the floor like metallic snakes, sparking occasionally.

  Ronak leapt over one. "My band… total chaos, but loyal enough. Jay? Clumsy as hell. Harshit? A flashy rich brat, but sharp when it counts. Tara… she's the calm. Keeps me grounded."

  Yug shot him a look. "Careful, we don't have time for any stories."

  Ronak smiled. "Trust me, these are survival tips."

  A part of the crowd slammed into Rishabh, leaving him staggered. Yug managed to grab him, yanking him clear.

  "Stay close!"

  Ronak slid past a fallen barricade as he continued to speak.

  "The chaos of the band is much worse than this. Tara— she would've handled it better."

  Yug and Rishabh shared a glance.

  "Notice how every other word is about Tara?"

  Rishabh muttered and Yug giggled.

  They ducked under, leaped over and crossed all the obstacles they encountered. Dim lights revealed a lopsided drum set fallen over.

  "Were closer." Ronak assured the others.

  The three of them held each other and walked in unison to ensure no further separation.

  Rishabh's hand slipped for a split second. Yug snapped it back.

  "Don't let it go!" Yug shouted.

  "Got it." Rishabh panted, tired of all the walking.

  The venue swallowed them in dark, the remaining light stuttering alive as they pushed towards the practice room.

  After nearly 30 minutes of continuous walking, all of them saw it.

  A faint light spilled from a slightly ajar door.

  The three of them stopped, and hesitated.

  Someone was already inside.

  Yug swallowed hard, fists tightening.

  "Whoever's inside… isn't going to be friendly."

  Ronak cracked his knuckles, preparing himself.

  "So, we fight first, and then think later?"

  Rishabh interrupted, fingers brushing his neck.

  "No, we need to think first."

  The door made a quiet tension settle over them. Each step forward would now count.

  ——————————————

  The darkness on the other end was suffocating.

  Though the generators brought some of the light back, the other half remained a place of lurking shadows.

  Tarun walked cautiously, eyes closely observing every single thing around him.

  Behind him, Kritika followed, steps light but full of alertness. Her hands occasionally brushed against Tarun for guidance.

  "Stay close," Tarun spoke, voice low but firm, "I've got you."

  Kritika trusted him, but every step seemed fragile than the previous. Then—

  There was a sudden shuffle between them. A figure darted from the shadows— fast, silent and malicious. Kritika noticed it, frozen.

  But before she could react, a sharp blow hit her from behind, making her tremble forward.

  "Careful!" Tarun roared, relying on his instincts.

  He turned around, and slid in front of her and took the full force of the blow on himself— and it was not just a fist, but a hammer.

  Kritika's hand twitched forward for help, but her body betrayed her. Tarun was already in front.

  Pain shot through his shoulders and chest, but he stood unshaken, muscles coiling.

  The attacker hesitated for a while, but it was enough for Tarun to steady himself.

  "Not her," he growled in anger, deadly, "Deal with me first!"

  "Tarun!" Kritika's eyes widened and heart pounded loudly.

  "I've got you," he muttered with a smile, gripping Kritika's arm to pull her back to safety.

  Tarun planted himself firmly in front of the unknown threat, ready for what came next.

  ——————————————

  The door creaked as it opened, Ronak, Yug and Rishabh had their guard on.

  Lights spilled over instruments and posters, and the chaos of the festivals muted here.

  It was not someone unknown inside, but a very familiar face— Anaya Kapoor.

  Ronak exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like days.

  "Finally, it's you…" he muttered, almost to himself.

  But the relief didn't last long.

  A sudden movement at the edge by Anaya.

  She lunged on Ronak without a word, like Yug and Rishabh weren't even there.

  Ronak could barely react. She grabbed him by the collar, slamming him on the wall with all her strength, pinning him with anger born out of history.

  "You!" She hissed with a sharp voice.

  "You did ruin my life before… and now… you ruin this big event for me?"

  Ronak stayed still, thinking, his chest rising and falling under her grip. The picture of the band began rattling under the force.

  Yug and Rishabh stepped out of the situation— they knew it was Ronak's own fight.

  The room around them seemed to shrink down.

  "I— I didn't mean to—" Ronak started, but Anaya cut him off with a sharp palpable anger.

  "You think you can just say this and fix it? After everything you've done!?"

  Yug interrupted them, "He wasn't responsible. It was a planned blackout."

  But all of a sudden, he shut himself up.

  Ronak's eyes flickered towards Yug— silent understanding passing between them.

  Then, he turned forward to face the awaiting storm in front of him.

  ——————————————

  Even when Tarun stood confident, the attacker lunged from the dark with the sharp end of the hammer aimed at Tarun's skull.

  But Tarun shifted— like he had done with the Eternal Order's member.

  He let the strike come close, too close to him.

  Then his hand shot up, clamping down on the attacker's wrist before it could be pulled back.

  The hammer stopped, inches away from tearing apart his eye in one strike.

  The steel trembled against his skin.

  His grip tightened, veins popping up in his arms as he forced the weapon to drop.

  A nearby stall began to glow with dim light again. That's when he saw it.

  The attacker's wrist had a tattoo— a spiral.

  It was the same mark he had seen in the afternoon, near the punching game.

  The hammer's edge hovered— close enough for him to

  see his own reflection on it.

  The stranger's face was still hidden in the shadows, but it didn't matter.

  Tarun's lips curled into a terrifying, yet defiant smile.

  "You heard me shouting, didn't you…" his voice was intimidating, and eyes glaring at the mark, "…traitor?"