All we have is this moment. The past is already gone, but the present throbs with potential. Some are here tonight to celebrate life, others to simply socialize, and still others have crept to this club in search of an escape. They come to me with the weight of a thousand cares, seeking only this moment of release. A peaceful space outside the grind of daily life. If I fail them, some will despair. Others will turn to the bottle, the needle, the liars that promise peace. Even in this land filled with joy and light, there is agony and evil.
Thirty seconds. Put on the shades.
I'm not gonna fail. I'm the best there is. Here, under my lights, on my dancefloor, there's sanctuary. This is my domain, and I'm just as jealous for the hearts of my citizens as the Princesses. I take a thousand unique minds, a hundred independent interests, a million different desires, and spin music that touches every soul. It's my special talent. It's my job. It's my zoggin' duty, and I love every second. At a glance, this is easy work. I play music and please a crowd. Lots of ponies tell me that anyone could do my job, all it takes is a good ear and decent reflexes. They're right. Anyone can be a DJ. But I'm not just a DJ, I'm DJ-P0N3. That's a name I have to earn every night.
I show up early, make sure every plug and slider is up to spec. I stay late, taking notes about what worked, what didn't, packing all my gear away. Outside the club, I smith my own tunes on my own time for those moments when nothing else will fit the bill. Behind the turntables, I play a chess game with your mind, weaving in traces of what's coming soon to keep you in check if what's playing at the moment doesn't fully grab you. I commit to memory the names and sounds of fresh new songs and retro hits, because you're supposed to scratch a record when a request comes, not your head. Anyone could do my job, but I do it like nopony else can. To give you that moment costs me days of preparation, and then it's over before I can blink.
Twenty seconds. Half a sip of water, swish it before swallowing.
Tonight's gonna be great. Biggest night ever for me. Still doesn't quite feel real. I put in the time, put in the prep, changed out the fuses and renewed the enchantments. Fresh firefly colonies in the ultra-brights, filled up the tank for the dry ice fog machines. The crowd is chanting my name already, I can hear 'em through the walls. This is the most I've ever performed for. Anypony would have a few jitters, but that's not the only thing on my mind. I'm staring into a mirror in the ready-room of the biggest club in all Equestria, and the invite to perform here came almost out of the blue. Yeah, they liked my work, but this is a huge jump for me. I'd say I don't feel worthy, but that would imply I can even accept all this is real. If it's not... then nothing matters. If it is, than everything does. So I walked the stage earlier, before the doors opened. Worst vertigo I've ever felt, but I fought it down. Kept walking until I got used to the environment, but I still can't accept that I'm here.
Checked every piece of their gear, used almost everything I brought. I've got the skill, the style, and the songs. I'm not afraid of the crowd, they want me to succeed as much as I do. I am their ruler, and they are my subjects, ready to be ushered into the Promised Land of Wubestria. Even so, I still feel the doubt. A small part of me wants to run, to hide, to never face a challenge. It's not self preservation, or paranoia, it's pure and simple animal fear. It can't be channeled or reasoned with, the only way to stop that little voice...
Ten seconds. Smile at the mirror. Open the door.
...is to step out and take control. That fear never got me anything, it only holds me back. It's a twitch, a tick, an evil little thing wedged into my brain. It's never there when I'm making a mistake, only when I'm struggling to win. This night is my destiny, because I had the guts to claim it. Why did I follow this road, become a live-show DJ instead of just making music in the background or only spinning others' tunes? I think it's for the thrill of the moment. The rush of control, the feeling of being so totally in command of a room filled with so many ponies. They say power's a drug, and I guess that's my addiction. Music is my gift, but in the end... yeah, I guess you could say I'm just a powerslave for the music. It ain't a bad way to live.
Five. Nod to my guardian angel. Stage entrance up ahead, bright light spilling through. So much noise.
I'm lazy. I struggle to get out of bed, and I'd leave dirty dishes everywhere if my roommate didn't beat my hide when it's my turn to wash. She's a real musician, the kind who doesn't care about anything but the music. Got a rockin' body, too, but she gets pissed when boys pay more attention to her flank than what comes out of her cello. When she plays, it's always something that lifts you out of your seat and brightens your whole life. I can hide behind my glasses, my turntables, but she never does. She stands out there on the stage, eyes half-shut, and the music just gushes out of that cello. I'm not even a classical girl and I can dig it, but that's not why I respect her. She doesn't play for the power, or the fame, or the money. Yeah, she has to eat, but she never takes a gig just to pay the bills. She's all about the challenge, and honoring the music.
Oh yeah, she makes bank. Gets standing ovations, tears, and roses. Quite a few posh stallions crawling to her on bended knee as well. Thing is, they want a caged songbird, and Octy's had enough of cages for one lifetime. When she plays, it's because her heart needs to play like a Wonderbolt needs to fly. That's one of the reasons she ducks fame. In her eyes, the thunderous applause is for the music, not for how well she performed it. It's her duty to play it well, it's why she practices for hours on end. She's not about the fame, or the money, or any of that other stuff. For her, it's all about the music. The greatest pieces from centuries ago, and a few new ones she cooks up herself. I help, sometimes. She even gave me partial credit on one of her symphonies. I convinced her to try out an electric cello a while back, but she's an earth pony. The wood whispers to her. She prefers natural materials in just about everything, and she really has a thing for cold iron and wood. Some ponies say she has a heart of cold iron, but there's a reason for that. It's the same reason her bank account used to get large deposits of untraceable money on a regular basis, if your antenna's getting what I'm sending.
My best friend's there for me when I need her, and I help her stay on the straight and narrow. It's a tough job, but I'm the mare to do it. Makes me feel special inside, and that's what I need. I live for the glory. My guardian angel can stand up on a stage and pour her heart into a six-hour concert, then politely bow and walk away before the audience even gets the chance to applaud. She's the soft song in your ear when you're at a garden party, but you never remember anything more than a grey blur and the melody. I gotta get my ego stroked, or I'm moody all the next day.
A smile in the dark, bright purple eyes and a neat little pink bow. Smile back, keep walking. Everypony here's cheering for you. Nothing to fear but fear itself. Remember Fillydelphia.
Yeah, I remember that night. Mugger in an alleyway, behind the club, at the loading dock. Wired on the needle, reeking of the bottle. A puppet to unworthy masters. Music is the only drug you should need. Wanted everything I had, tried to flatline me. It was a couple months after I helped my roommate deal with some life issues. She was with me to have a few drinks, keep herself out of trouble. The high-class, high-budget, population-reducing kind of trouble.
I know how to look after myself, but somepony on the needle doesn't drop like a street punk. I thought I was alone, just packing up the last of my kit. So did he. I couldn't fold him up, so when she came out of the dark like a bat out of Tartarus she broke him in half. Quick and clean, didn't get messy till she stepped back and started walking me away. That's when I realized I had a guardian angel, even if she doesn't have wings. It's a good feeling, but a scary kind of good. I know I'm safe when she's around. It helps keep the fear away, keep me focused on the potential of the moment.
I'm still... something's just not right, not tonight. If everypony's pumping me up, why do I feel so low?
Keep walking. It's a long way to the top. This is the biggest club in Equestria. All the lights are on you, all the cheers are for you, you're the mare on parade tonight. One hoof in front of the other.
This is a hard racket. It's a long way to the top if you wanna spin records for a living. There's always a place next to has-been and never-was with your name on it. Sometimes I get asked by rookie DJs what my "top tip" is. I tell all the new kids to keep it simple. Focus on your audience. Render unto them Wubs, and they'll render unto you the Power and the Glory. That's what I'm here for tonight, and that's how I claim the title of DJ-P0N3.
Time. Lights drop. Crowd roars. Everything swirls around me. Still afraid. Run or stand, gotta choose just like every other night. Microphone's live. They're still shouting my name, so loud I can barely think.
The glasses hide my eyes, hide my fear. I look out, wondering if I'm really worthy of all this. Have I become a name, a brand, an overrated showpony? How would I even know? I'm at the biggest club in Equestria, it's built into a mountain range for crying out loud. There's ten thousand ponies here, just for me. Is that why I'm nervous? If too many ponies like my style... am I just that good, or a diluted poser cranking out bland music to pay the bills? I love the power, I need the rush, but does that make me stronger or a sellout?
So much noise. Eyes squeezed shut, try to block out the fear, focus on the moment. Standing here like a fool, but they still cheer, they think it's just part of the act. Glasses hide the truth.
Noise. Chaos. In the chaos, patterns. Hooves against the hard dancefloor. The hiss of nitrogen as it cools my music-machines. There, a faint whisper of metal against metal from backstage, the sound of my guardian angel checking her flaming sword. I hear it all, I feel it weave through me, I know what should stay and what has to go. I feel the music inside me, it's the hammering of my heart. Outside of me, I hear the sound of my name, roared above all else. They're calling on me, calling for order in the chaos, beauty in the cacophony.
I know who I am, but what am I?
Open your eyes. Force yourself to look out at them. Fear rules your body. Breathe, four-four meter, whole notes.
Still they chant, but softer, the noise has begun to fade. I see wonder, uncertainty, doubt. There, in that one's eyes. Fear. They are beginning to question why I stand here, still as a statue. My glasses still hide my fear, but they are beginning to see past the disguise. They are beginning to see the true me, the sellout, the poser, the mare unworthy of their trust. I am not the young, rebellious girl they love.
Disgrace. This is what I deserve, for betraying them. For... for...
For what, exactly? What did I do wrong? The big labels came to me, with their sniveling lawyers and their contract scrolls that rolled on for kilometers. I kicked 'em out, and they told me that it was the biggest mistake of my life. Then, when I made my mark, the media decided they needed me. They wanted to make me a star, a sensation, a puppet. The ones who wouldn't take no for an answer, I had to scare off or shake off. After them came the merchandise barons, wanting my face on their shoddy headphones, my approval for their sludge-drinks, my name to make theirs sound more "juvenile-consumer-friendly". The only merch I approve is the merch I sell after a show to a mob of fans. Wait. Did I unload the crate of lanyards?
What am I afraid of?
I'm... I'm not as good as they think. I don't deserve all this. I want the glory, I want the power, but there's a price. With what I want comes responsibility, otherwise I'm just another sellout. I have to keep delivering, have to keep improving, and if too many ponies like me then I'm... not...
Not a musician. Not a DJ. Just a name, a face, an icon everypony claims to love, but behind my back they all laugh. Nobody really listens to you if you're famous, they just twist your name, use you as a label. Then you're just a sack of produce, waiting to be kicked open and gobbled up by the next generation. One more forgotten spinner, spinning away into the night.
Is that me? Should I just give up now, fall to the floor, blame it on burn-out? There's rookies in this audience waiting to take my place, forget my name and replace it with their own.
Rookies. Some other artists formed "crews" of younger musicians, training them as replacements. As allies. Building a legacy. I never did, but I never tried to make enemies either. I just didn't have time to train anypony else, I was too busy training myself. Long hours making sure every track was solid, keeping up to date on trending music, trying to bring the best every time I stepped out on stage. Just like today, six hours for prepping songs, planning transitions, testing the limits of the club's machine-spirits. Working my tail off, trying to hide what I... really... am.
What standard am I measured by? How do I know what I am? The fear is here, real and terrible. Do I keep going, try to fake my way through tonight and figure it out later? No. If I do that, then I'll be a poser for sure. How did I get here, where did I fall from? Where did I begin?
My principles when I started out were simple. Respect the crowd, always bring your best, never sell your soul for a slice of the cake. "Render unto them Wubs, and they'll render unto you the Power and the Glory." Did I forget my own advice? Did I sell my soul for a slice of the Big Lie?
Quiet, now. A cough, here and there. Confusion. Boiling, right under the surface, anger. Almost total silence. Almost.
I feel so very weary, even though my heart is pounding like mad against my ribs. Slowly, I lower my head, the fog rolling through my mind. I'm afraid. So very, very afraid. I'm just doing this for the power, for the glory, not the music.
Another click of metal from the shadows behind me. In the corner of my eye, I see a glint of hard wood. My guardian angel, still believing in me. I pulled her back from the brink one night, when she couldn't choose what her heart really wanted. If this turns ugly, she'll get me out. I don't deserve that either, I should be left for the mob... because... because...
Because I'm famous. Because lots of ponies like my music, and that somehow makes me bad. Because I'm too weak, I don't deserve all this, I can't shoulder all this responsibility. I can't even decide if I should stand or run.
Anger. Quiet anger, buzzing from one to another. Mingled in, the sounds of concern, worry. Worst of all, the cold silence of apathy.
I failed, somewhere. I slipped up, sold out, and this is how it all ends. How? When? What did I do wrong?
Render unto them Wubs, and they'll render unto you the Power and the Glory.
Yes, I did that. Yes, I always brought my best, never gave in to the easy road, but I'm still in front of this huge crowd. Why? Why is this happening to me? Why am I not a musician anymore?
Wait.
Why not?
Render unto them Wubs, and they'll render unto you the Power and the Glory.
Out there, in front of me, all the glory. The fans are waiting, like an untapped geyser of power, flowing up from the core of the earth. They have the power, they have the energy, the enthusiasm that drives me. How did I betray them? I glance up.
Silence. For an instant, total, perfect, silence. Charged with energy, ready to explode. Fire in their eyes, anger in their hearts, cries of disgust still captive in their lungs, but in this moment there is perfect silence.
I'm still an artist. I'm still that mare they love. They changed, I didn't. Changed so much I barely recognized them, and fear seeded the thought that I was the one who had morphed. These are my fans, there's just so many more of them that I couldn't accept it. So many more voices, so many more hearts. A responsibility to each one, a burden so heavy that it's mind boggling. I didn't get worse, they got better. And I can bear this burden, because with all this glory, comes the power, but in the beginning there was only the Wub.
Head down, out of their sight. Only an instant to work, an instant before that anger boils over and the night is ruined. All the glory is mine, all the power, but only if I can claim it. Only if I can overcome the fear.
Louder. Louder. Seven-second delay, time it perfectly, record on rack two. Louder. Straighten up, step forward, hoof down on the mic control. From total silence, a voice that speaks with absolute conviction.
"Good evening!" distorted, twisted with technosorcery, but still my voice. "Welcome to Black Mesa, the grandest nightclub in Equestria." Power. Flowing into me. Mine by right of conquest. Mine as reward for purity. "This is DJ-P0N3, and tonight-"
Cheering. Again, so much cheering. I've got it in hoof, the delay's almost up.
"-is the Resonance Cascade Event!"
From the speakers came a wall of sound, throbbing bass beneath a wave of digitized guitar and keyboard. Every green spot on scaffolds 3A through 7F pulsed, slaved to the sinewave of the master output. I know what I am. I am the order in the chaos, Chairmare of the Wubs, the artist who couldn't be bought. I am the one who kept her soul pure, who entered by the narrow gate and despised the wide path that leads to destruction.
Fog swirls around me as my audience roars back, their voices battling with my speakers. The club is alive, this moment is filled with potential. This is my reward, for so long as I render unto them Wubs, they will render unto me what I need. The Glory, and with it the Power to be worthy. I can't hear her anymore, but I know my best friend is still behind me. She believes in me, even when I'm not strong enough to believe in myself. There's something magical about that.
I pull back the sliders, twist a control knob, and the world dissolves into ringing silence. Echoes pulse through the circuits of my reverb unit before dribbling out of the speakers. My horn glows as I swap disks, while reaching out for the microphone again.
"Thank you. All of you, for being here tonight." I lick my lips, tasting the metallic flavor of adrenaline on my tongue. "Now, without further ado, I'm going to liquidate your expectations and blow your minds!"
Up go the levels. Up come their cheers, almost knocking me back from the sheer force. Down goes the bass.
Author's Note
Maybe Vinyl's next concert could be called "Opposing Force", or "Blue Shift"? Yes, that's a Half-Life reference. There's also a few musical hat-tips, among them Iron Maiden. This was a really exciting story that I challenged myself to write, and I'm pleased with how it turned out. I hope that I was able to keep the pace of the story constant while still giving exposition on the characters' backgrounds, since I wanted to give the reader a sense of the urgency Vinyl is feeling. If you'd like to read the "prequel" to this tale, check out What The Heart Wants.
Also, if you liked the cover art, I converted it into a few button-images so you can easily plaster Vinyl's grinning face all over the Interwebs! Check the source for the cover art if you're interested.
Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you thought of this story in the comments below!
