The dimly lit backstage area of an abandoned warehouse was a sanctuary of sorts—a place where K could escape the chaos of Night City, if only for a moment. Slouched in a battered armchair, he wore a pair of oversized headphones, eyes closed, a joint lazily balanced between his fingers. The ambient sounds of guitars and drums flowed through his mind, each note a temporary refuge from reality.
In the background, a voice coming from the radio made an announcement:
"What's going on Night City? This is Johnny Shark, keepin' you plugged in. As you all might know, our favorite alternative band, Grave Signal, leaked the location of tonight's show. If you know, you know. And if you don't…you won't. Hope to see you all there. This one's sure to be an absolute rager. In other news, more shifty movement from Arasaka on the radar. Seems like they've grown even more bold in the last few years…"
The radio was then silenced by a woman entering the dark room. Her spiked boots clacked violently against the stone floor as she made her way over to K. His momentary peace was abruptly shattered as the headphones were yanked from his head. K's eyes snapped open to find his band mate, Maya, standing over him, her eyes flashing with irritation.
"¿Qué carajo, K?" she snapped, her Latina accent more pronounced in her frustration. "We're on in five, and you're back here getting fucking stoned?"
K took a slow drag from his joint, exhaling a plume of smoke before offering a lazy grin. "Relax, would you. The crowd's not going anywhere. They came to see us after all."
Maya's scowl deepened, but before she could retort, K's best friend Ash appeared, guitar slung over his shoulder. "She's right, man," he said, his tone edged with concern. "You can't keep cutting it this close. The fly boy shit won't work forever."
K stood, stretching his arms above his head. "Arrrgh, you gonna ride my ass too 'Dad'? What's with you two lately?" He began making his way to the coat rack in the corner—grabbing his torn up pea coat with the words 'Grave Signal' emblazoned on the back of it.
"Get the sticks out of your asses already and let's go make some fuckin' noise huh."
Yulia hovered near the doorway, her bass guitar in hand, observing the exchange in silence. Her presence was a calming contrast to the brewing tension.
Maya shook her head, muttering under her breath in Spanish before she turned and led the way toward the stage. Ash followed, casting a sidelong glance at K. "Just… try not to gonk this up, alright?"
K clapped a hand on Ash's shoulder, flashing a confident smile. "Why so gloom, choom? I got this—we got this."
There was that look again. A ridiculous grin that K would deploy to win Ash over in times of doubt, or right before he was about to do something stupid. He'd been doing it since they were children, and it worked every time…almost.
Ash sighed, accepting that there was no reasoning with K right now, especially right before a show. It's almost like he becomes someone else entirely.
As they stepped onto the stage, the roar of the crowd surged to meet them, a tidal wave of anticipation and energy. K felt the familiar rush, the intoxicating blend of adrenaline and defiance that only performing could bring. He approached the mic, the spotlight casting him in stark relief against the darkened backdrop.
"Good evening, Night City," he drawled, his voice dripping with charisma. "We're Grave Signal, and we're here to make a lot of noise."
Maya's drumsticks clicked together in a rapid count-off, then came Yulia with a murderous bass riff. It was pure electricity coming from her fingertips. Even the band was shaken a bit by how raw and visceral it sounded. This instantly set the crowd ablaze. Arms raised high in the air, accompanied by cheers and shouts. Slowly, K began to grab hold of the mic, his hands—adorned with rings and black fingernail polish, wrapped around the stand as he sank into that space once more. His earlier nonchalance melted away, replaced by a fierce intensity. On stage, he was a man possessed, every note a melodic extension of himself, every lyric a message from the heart. He took a moment to take it all in, waiting for the song to come in. Then, almost like the music pulled them out, the lyrics came forth:
"If I bare my scars for you tonight,
you could trace them all like stars in the sky.
I'm dying to know what's on your mind,
Because I can't seem to make this alright…"
In that moment, nothing else mattered—the music, the fans, the raw, unfiltered expression of their collective soul. It was chaos, it was catharsis, it was everything K lived for.
Night City hummed with its usual chaotic symphony—sirens wailing, corpos scuttling between towering skyscrapers, and the occasional gunfire piercing the air. But tonight, there was a new sound tearing through the neon-soaked underbelly: Grave Signal, a scrappy four-piece band that made rebellion look like a good time.
The stage was a makeshift setup in an abandoned garage—graffiti-stained walls, a battered Arasaka military crate serving as a drum riser, and a small cluster of jury-rigged speakers that buzzed with distortion. Word had spread fast on the city's underground networks, and a crowd of punks, joytoys, and runaway corpos packed the room, sweating and swaying as K leaned into the mic.
K's golden voice was raw, melodic, and laced with something his bandmates always said was pure magic. He stood at the center, shirtless under a torn jacket, his dark skin gleaming under the flickering neon lights. His golden earrings caught the light as he threw his head back, his thick black and auburn hair bouncing with every motion. Offstage, he was aloof, constantly lost in his own thoughts. But onstage, K was a force. He didn't just sing; he roared.
To his left, Ash tore into his guitar while singing back up, his blond hair plastered to his forehead from the heat. He wasn't flashy; his playing was sharp, clean, and precise, with just the right amount of grit. Ash had been K's best friend since they were kids running scams in the streets. He played with the kind of calculated control K often lacked in life. K called it boring; Ash called it discipline. The two of them argued constantly, but it always ended the same—with Ash rolling his eyes, muttering, "Whatever, man," before sticking by K's side.
Behind K, Maya pounded on the drums, her dark eyes burning with ferocity. Her cropped black hair stuck out in uneven tufts, and a scar sliced across her left eyebrow—an unfortunate memento from a bar fight she refused to talk about. Maya was the band's heartbeat, both literally and figuratively. Every kick of her foot pedal reverberated with barely contained fury. She rarely smiled, but when she did, it was usually for K, though it was often followed by a quick slap to the back of his head. "You're better than this, idiota," she'd say after gigs, tired of K's late-night binges and reckless antics.
Then there was Yulia, the quiet bassist standing in the shadows to K's right. Her platinum blonde hair hung in a neat bob, and her delicate features were out of place in the grimy chaos of Night City. But when her fingers hit the strings, she commanded attention. Yulia rarely spoke, her thick Russian accent making her self-conscious, but her music said everything she needed. She had joined Grave Signal after escaping some corpo hellhole back in Europe, and though she didn't share much about her past, the band had become her safe harbor in the city's madness.
The show went on for hours. The heat from the raging bodies mixed with the smell of booze was intoxicating, but it was all worth it as far as they were concerned. Grave Signal was new, but their presence was felt throughout the city each time they performed.
After the gig, the band stumbled out into the alley behind the warehouse. The night air was thick with smog, and their ears rang from the music and cheers. K lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall as Ash passed around water bottles.
"That was good," Ash said, wiping sweat from his face. "But you really didn't need to call out Militech like that, man. You're gonna get us all zero'd."
K blew a stream of smoke into the air, smirking. "They can try."
"Idiota," Maya muttered, tossing a sweaty towel over his head. "I don't get you sometimes. It's like you can't fucking function if can't make an enemy. You're going to piss off the wrong person."
"And If I can't," K shot back, pulling the towel off and tossing it aside.
Maya sighed, sitting on a crate and staring at him. "You don't see it, do you? You could be something more than this. If you actually thought for five seconds before you acted…"
K rolled his eyes, turning to Yulia for backup. "What about you, Yul? Don't tell me you're on their side."
Yulia shrugged, slinging her bass case over her shoulder. "I just play. Don't care who we piss off."
K laughed. "See? Yulia gets it. Besides, the fans eat that shit up. Someone's gotta throw a middle finger or two at the corps. Might as well be us."
But Ash didn't agree. He hated the big corporations as much anyone at the bottom, but he also knew the dangers of making too much noise. It wasn't always just the two of them. There was a third childhood friend that died from picking a fight with a powerful enemy. The two don't talk about it much. Too much pain. But it's something that lives with them both, despite handling it in different ways.
"K, seriously. I don't like the idea of losing another choom. Not again. Just think about that, alright?"
K rolled his eyes, hating that Ash played that card. He tossed his cigarette into a puddle and walked toward the van, the weight of Ash's words lingering heavier than he cared to admit.
The bar hummed with low chatter and the faint buzz of neon signs. It wasn't one of Night City's hotspots, but that was exactly why Grave Signal liked it. Tucked in the shadows of Old Japantown, it was the kind of place where people didn't ask too many questions. The smell of stale beer and fried food clung to the air as the band claimed their usual corner booth, still riding the high of the show.
"That bassline, Yul. Holy shit, you blew the roof off," K said, leaning back with a half-empty bottle of Black Lace beer. "The crowd was losing their minds."
Yulia smirked faintly, tipping her glass toward him in silent acknowledgment.
"I'll admit, it was a solid gig," Ash said, though his tone was subdued. He nursed a glass of something clear and strong, his eyes flickering over the room like he couldn't shake the tension from earlier.
Maya leaned back, her boots propped up on the edge of the table. "Solid? That was fucking legendary." She raised her shot glass. "To us. To Grave Signal. Making Night City forget its misery for one night at a time."
The others clinked their glasses against hers, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade.
But the illusion didn't last long. From the bar, snippets of conversation floated their way.
"…Arasaka's recruiting… looking for mercs, you hear?"
"Yeah, saw a post on the darknet. They're paying big eddies."
"Big eddies for a body bag, maybe. Ain't no way that's legit." A man behind them whispered.
K's ears perked up, and he let out a low laugh. "You hear this dreck? What the hell does Arasaka need with street-level mercs? Sounds like a gonk trap if I've ever heard one. Probably some corpo scam to lure suckers out and strip 'em for parts."
Maya snorted. "Yeah, real subtle. 'Come work for Arasaka. Also, please sign here so we can rip out your chrome.'"
The table erupted in laughter, the tension from earlier melting into the haze of alcohol and neon. Even Ash cracked a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Still," he said, lowering his glass. "You might want to keep your voice down. If they are looking for mercs, it means they've probably got eyes and ears in the streets."
"Relax, Dad," K drawled, glancing at Ash before rolling his eyes. He was shooting Ash's concerns down all night, so much so that even he began to notice how dismissive he'd been. He sighed. "Fine…but if I agree to drop it, will you stop being such a fuckin' downer? We killed it tonight! Celebrate with me, bestie."
Ash grinned—shaking off the worry-face for something more agreeable. He then raised his glass in a silent toast. K smiled ear to ear, glad to see his friend finally enjoying the fruits of their labor.
They all sat and talked about the show like they were fans themselves, happy and without a care in the world. But they weren't done. Grave Signal had much in store for Night City. This was only the beginning.
The next morning, Ash's holo buzzed incessantly, dragging him from sleep. He groaned, rubbing his eyes as K's voice cut through the line.
"Wake up, choom. I've got the perfect spot for our next show."
Ash sat up, his hair sticking up in every direction. "K, it's barely morning. Can this wait?"
"Nope," K said, the sounds of the city vibrant in his background. "I'm sending you the specs now. It's perfect. Big open space, killer acoustics, and the best part? It's been abandoned for years. Nobody's touched it in two decades."
Ash's holo beeped as a file came through. He hesitated before opening it, squinting at the images K had sent. The warehouse was massive, its cavernous interior littered with debris and broken machinery. It looked like it had seen better days, but K was right—the space had potential.
"I don't know, man," Ash said, scrolling through the photos. "Looks like a death trap."
"C'mon, Ash," K said, his voice rising with enthusiasm. "This is the kind of place Grave Signal was made for. Imagine the crowd packed in there, the walls vibrating with the sound. It'll be legendary."
Ash sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You sure it's safe? We don't need another stunt that ends with someone getting flatlined."
K groaned. "For fuck's sake. Always with the doom and gloom. Look, I scoped it out myself. It's fine. No squatters, no security, no nothing. Just a big-ass empty space waiting for us to light it up."
Ash hesitated, the weight of K's earlier recklessness still fresh in his mind. But the specs checked out, and the pictures… he had to admit, the place did have a certain grimy charm.
"Alright," he said finally. "But I'm only agreeing to this because I know you won't let it go. If this goes south, it's on you."
K laughed. "That's the spirit, my guy. Trust me, this one's gonna be unforgettable."
What neither of them realized was that the warehouse wasn't as forgotten as it seemed. Buried in the fine print of an old corporate registry, the property still belonged to Arasaka—an oversight that would soon catch up with them.
Chapter End—