[Jackie couldn't hold it in, her voice shaking]“Oh-no! Lemme guess—
They started playing ‘FLIP-FLOP’?!
RIGHT?!”
[Dick nodded, a faint twinge of regret passing through him—something he brushed off almost immediately]“Ah… sorry, baby…
we should’ve gone back then.
I guess…
yeah…
that same concert Flint kept invitin’ us to…”
[He exhaled, shook it off with a small snort]“Ah, screw it…
You got the recording, right?
You know what—
play it.
I’ll keep talkin’ over it.”
[A short pause]“Rare moment, but… yeah, baby.
Even I’m down to listen to Butt Pimple.”
The whole band at that point was jerking around like complete psychos to the beat—
Speakers slicing the air apart.
Rust’n Heart was whipping his head like he was trying to shake off every last bit of spaceport filth.
Flint dragged a hand across his mohawk—
then SLAMMED the bass so hard
the string almost filed for asylum.
Jo’Bo the Destroyer was hammering the drums
with all four arms,
like he was trying to summon a traffic demon.
Android Brr-rRat-TeaBangin’
was absolutely murdering the synth keys,
like he was hacking a black hole itself
and arguing with it over APR percentages.
Sax-O-Morph 3K was jumping in place—
nothing for the sax in this track—
so he just danced
like some galactic force was puppeteering him…
…or he was just absolutely blasted.
The crowd was losing it—colliding, shoving, folding into itself
like the entire arena was about to rip itself apart from the inside.
At that point, it didn’t even feel like a concert anymore—
more like a gathering of intoxicated cultists,
seconds away from slipping into full-blown ecstasy
and starting sacrifices to the chant:
— FLIP-FLOP!
And then—
the music dropped.
Not silence.
Control.
Rust’n Heart eased into the strings—
soft, almost lazy…
Measured.
Restrained.
Deliberate.
And Cynthia—
holding the mic like her first love—
started singing so gently
even space itself seemed to quiet down.
Every movement—smooth.
Every gesture—like she was seducing the vacuum itself.
“If I could hold time still,
Just a heartbeat, just a whisper,
I’d keep the dust upon my jacket
And the stars upon my skin.
I’ve been thrown across the ages,
Didn’t know which way was forward—
Hell, I barely knew the day
In the life I stumbled in.”
And in that moment—
Brr-rRat-TeaBangin’ dropped an operatic vocalise—
Cynthia’s recorded voice flooded the stage,
wider, louder, almost unreal—
stretching across the arena like something too vast to belong to a single body.
[Jackie squealed, blasting over the broadcast]“AIGOOOYA—HOW DOES SHE SING LIKE THAT—
OH MY—I WISH WE WERE THERE!”
[Dick snatches the air back]“Yeah yeah, relax, fangirl.”
[He snorted]Cynthia leaned in closer to the mic,
and almost whispered:
“scrape-scrape… movin’ on…”
And the arena detonated back into motion.
The sound returned like a strike.
Guitars ripped through the air, drums slammed the rhythm—
and it all hit the chest like a fist.
The vibration punched through ears, heart, bone—
and swallowed Blindy whole.
Of course, he couldn’t help it.
Saw Sax—
and instantly snapped into his signature dance—
that classic—
I got NO FUCKIN’ CLUE what’s goin’ on
but I’m havin’ the BEST damn time—
style.
His movements looked like breakdance
performed by a man whose knees gave out mid-performance,
mixed with drunken fist martial arts—
where even he couldn’t tell
if he was striking
or collapsing.
Broken rhythm.
Drunk turns.
Absolute chaos.
And somehow—
perfectly on beat.
Zeros stood beside him—
like a ticking bomb
waiting to go supernova straight into the comment section.
And the crowd ROARED:
“ZEEEEEROOOOS! ZEEEEEROOOOS!”
“CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”
“ZEROOOOS, MARRY ME!”
“BLIIIINDY! GO OFF! GO OFF! GOOO MAAD!”
The arena lost its mind…
Millions of throats screaming, jumping, shaking—
so loud the seismic sensors near the tower
filed a resignation notice.
Zeros snapped.
Eyes cutting through the crowd like a predator
sick of every form of organic life:
“I FUCKING hate all of you.
You want clapping…?
Fine.
I’m about to flip-flop your fucking asses into strings.”
The crowd ERUPTED:
“YEEEEEEEEES!”
“CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”
They DID NOT understand—
not the context,
not the threat,
not that in about two seconds
they were about to become Big Bang 2.0 dust.
Zeros raised his hands—
just high enough
to erase everything alive in a city block.
Blindy died. And immediately came back to life.
Pure fear.
He lunged at Zeros,
latched onto his arms
like a desperate sloth on death row.
“Z—ZEEEEROOOS!
STOP—STOP—STOP!
THEY—THEY’RE MORONS—
THEY DON’T KNOW—WHAT THEY DOIN’!
FUCK—if you clap—if you do it NOW—
she’s gonna—she’s gonna SPLAT—
ZEROS, DON’T—DON’T DO IT!”
And then Blindy snapped his head up:
“RUUUSTY—!
RUSTY—YOU PIECE OF SHIT—!
GET US—GET US OUTTA HERE—NOW—NOW!”
Above the stage—
a silhouette appeared.
Z-P-N-E-S 2.0.
Like fate.
Like deus ex machina.
Like “boys, I got you.”
Jo’Bo the Destroyer SCREAMED so hard the cymbals rang by themselves:
“BEST EFFECT EVER!”
In the duo’s comms, Phoenix’s tired, raspy voice crackled in:
“Gentlemen… what the fuck did you do this time.
Jump. Now.
Zeros, wake up—the cargo bay’s open.
GET IN HERE, YOU METAL HEAD!”
Blindy begged.
“C’MON—BUDDY—!
WE—WE’RE—WE’RE LEAVIN’—!
TAKE ME—TAKE ME WITH YOU—DON’T—DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”
Zeros snorted—loud, sharp, annoyed.
Then in one jump—
shot upward into the open bay—
like a comet that was DONE with this shit.
The crowd screamed in a new chant:
“ZPNES! ZPNES! ZPNES!”
“TAKE US WITH YOU!”
“FLY ME TO THE SKY, METAL DADDY!”
Phoenix kicked in hyperspace—
and the ship vanished
like it got erased with the cheapest video editor tool.
Sax-O-Morph 3K, still sax-less, jumped and screamed:
“THIS IS THE FUUUUUCKIN’ PERFORMANCE OF THE YEEEEEAAAAR!”