Chief Keef Wins the Battle of the Bands
It was in the judges’ hands now.
There was no question it would be close: none could deny the splendor and brilliance of the Dazzlings’ performance (which presented all of the lights, effects, and choreography of a professional show), but at the same time, the passion and care with which the Rainbooms had played made their own show a contender for the grand prize.
The Rainbooms, who had just stepped off stage, each dripped with sweat and shook with excitement both leftover from their routine and in anticipation of the results. Their own spectacle had been far more bare-bones in comparison to the fanfare of the Dazzlings’s appearance, but the standing ovation that they were met with as they exited was the most enthused applause that Canterlot High School’s Battle of the Bands had seen and would see, since the Rainbooms were the competition’s final act.
The girls came together quickly backstage after setting their gear and instruments down and gathered in a circle to talk about their presence and the competition. That Adagio Dazzle’s challenge had inspired more students to participate in the musical exhibition turned competition was without doubt, but the greater numbers and variety had come at the cost of another thing that the girl and her troupe had stimulated in the student body, a venom, a malicious and downright bloodthirsty attitude towards winning that gripped the greater portion of the contestants and negated the goodness that came with the newfound diversity. Many had put on splendid shows, of course, and a choice few had taken the stage like superstars, but the spirit of friendly rivalry seemed absent from the vast majority, and it honestly hurt the members of the Rainbooms to see their friends waste their time and talents on mindlessly pursuing first place instead of simply playing for the sake of music and self-expression.
They left the back stage and came back out to the seats of the auditorium, where some still clapped, or began clapping again once they saw the Rainbooms return. The six girls looked out onto the crowd as they moved up the aisles and back to their seats. Something had changed since the time the six raised their instruments and prepared to perform. Where scowls and suspicious sideways glances had filled the room, grinning faces and good-natured smiles now resided; people sat with arms slung over one another’s shoulders, some joked, some laughed, some recounted their on-stage feelings to their seatmate, and some even seemed to be sharing musical techniques with each other, whether it was how they held the drumsticks or placed their fingers on a piano. A jovial atmosphere had taken the room, which now started to echo with the gleeful chatter that seemed to have left the school the day Adagio Dazzle and her clique arrived, and even the air, which had felt so wrought with tension before, seemed to take a great, satisfying breath. It was as though, during the Rainbooms’ show, a curse had been lifted, and for the first time in weeks a sense of relaxation and resolution spread itself across the school. Only three members in the crow could be seen not talking, or laughing, or having a good time: the Dazzlings, who looked no longer arrogant, as they almost always did, but for the first time nervous as they glared out over the auditorium.
The six girls, Twilight Sparkle, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, and Fluttershy, all took their seats embraced, congratulating one another on a job well done. They hadn’t succumbed to or broken under the pressure of the Dazzlings’ competition, and had remembered the importance of good sportsmanship over the course of their road to tonight, and now, they had put on a performance that left many in the crowd calling for an encore.
One of the three judges tapped her microphone, and the members of the crowd dwindled down into hushed conversation or eager silence.
“We will now judge the performances ourselves before convening to make a final decision. Please wait quietly,” the judge spoke before the room’s lights dimmed.
Whispering voices took the place of the judge’s words and the room grew tense with apprehension. The crowd had been treated to a plethora of wonderful acts, and many wondered, over the course of the night, how the judges could choose any over the rest. For a short while, the answer came in the form of the Dazzlings’ diva-pop showstopper, which, with its gilded presentation and production value, had blown the rest of the acts out of the water. Now, though, the minds of every participant and spectator turned to the solid-gold rock ballad of the Rainbooms, whose anthem still rang in the ears of mass gathered there to watch.
The six girls joined hands and smiled at one another as they awaited the result. Come what may, nobody could take away that they had stayed true to themselves and one another, and they were proud of what they had done as individuals and a team. Though winning was always nice, it didn’t matter so much as the love they shared and had proven tonight before the crowd and judges. With the school around them returned to camaraderie and friendship, and the walls still humming with the joy of the Rainbooms’ performance, tonight was a victory for the girls no matter what happened next.
“Young Chop on the beat.”
The crowd slowly went quiet, and a couple of heads broke away from their discussions and bobbed up, looking around the room. The voice that had just come from the speakers hadn’t been a judge’s. It was higher pitched, child-like even, and sounded like it had been edited to echo. Everybody was left for a number of minutes with no explanation until the speakers crackled again.
The judge from earlier began speaking, “excuse me, sir, but we’ve concluded the performance stage of the competition, and there are no further acts registered; if you would please leave the stage and take a seat?”
All eyes shifted down to the stage. A lone figure stood on it, or rather seemed to be pacing back and forth, clutching a microphone. Twilight Sparkle squinted to try and see if she recognized the character, but the face was totally indecipherable in the darkness.
The judge sighed audibly from her seat. “Sir-“
“Chiraq, I need that, you know, you gotta spend money to get money.”
The judge’s face twisted into a confused grimace at the response. “I- excuse me? W-“
Bone-rattling bass thundered out of the speakers and shook the entire room; dust sprinkled out of the ceiling tiles and one of the chairs in the first row broke off of its hinges instantly. The teeth of everybody in the theater, from the Dazzlings to the Rainbooms, chattered helplessly in the face of the sonic onslaught.
“CHIEF SOSA BABY I BEEN BALLIN HARD,” the figure on stage’s voice roared out of the sound system loud enough to shatter glass. The lights, which must too have been hijacked, began to flicker on and off in blue and orange, revealing the doors to the auditorium as they were thrown open and throngs of countless people sporting bandanas, red baseball caps, or face-obscuring braids like those worn by the person on stage streamed in, filling any and all open space as they partook in an enormous mosh pit.
“SQUAD, SQUAD, SQUAD, SQUAD, SQUAD,” the figure repeated, over and over, as he jumped up and down and was joined on stage by a mob of his own, many of them brazenly toting firearms, all of whom quickly began taking apart any equipment in arm’s reach and throwing it back and forth, or directly onto the ground, singing “GUCCI, LOUIS!” as they did so. Police sirens screeched out of the stereo system alongside blaring gunfire sound effects that sent several students diving under their seats, though it didn’t deter the legion of people that had staked their claim on every inch of standing room in the slightest.
Twilight planted her hands over her ears, which she feared might start bleeding, and scanned over her friends, who sat, much like her, with their hands over their ears, rigid with shock and awe. She turned then to the aisle beside her, only to find one of the members of the horde mere inches from her. He stared into empty space vacantly, and he seemed to be somewhere between dancing and contemplating his own hands. Twilight gathered her courage and motioned to her friends to follow her, as she was about to attempt to make her way through the mass.
Twilight’s friends nodded, and she stood. The person before her did nothing, still captivated by his own digits, so she gently pushed past him. This was a decision she immediately regretted; as they swung and stepped and grinded against one another, the tangle of dancing people began buffeting her absent-mindedly and mercilessly, and she was carried more by their unaware motions than by her own two feet.
Twilight lost sight of everything but the ceiling as she pushed her way through the mess of people, who shouted along to the words that the figure on stage spoke. Twilight was too frightened to pay attention to those words, though: her mind was now set only on escaping the violent, ear-splitting hell that the auditorium had become. The room was packed to the brim with people dancing wildly, fist fighting, or picking up tables and chairs and shaking them above their head, while the figure on stage barked “BANG, BANG,” over them like the leader of a mad cult. It was an unpredictable, claustrophobic nightmare, and Twilight doubted it could get any worse, until a sound she hadn’t thought was even possible, louder than anything thus far, exploded into the air.
Twilight could just barely glimpse a speaker that had fallen over. The music continued, but a vast majority of the dancers had stopped, and were advancing on an individual standing beside the overturned device. The vigilante force that surrounded the accused began shouting obscenities into his face until one of them swung an abrupt left hook that missed its mark and landed on somebody else. A massive brawl erupted instantaneously, and before Twilight could even take a step, a man was laid out onto the ground before her, presumably by a punch, his vision glassy and his arms still curled like a boxer’s. Twilight bolted from the tumult, passing others, who were chanting “Worldstar” as they took out their phones and recorded the melee.
Seeing her opportunity as the people began to flock to the site of the fighting, Twilight sprinted in the other direction, though not without being knocked over several times by people rushing past her to either view the battle or take part in it. Twilight crouched, steadying herself against the deluge as the declaration “RED ON YA… NOW IT’S DEAD ON YA” issued, earthquake-like in power, from the figure on stage through the stereos.
Twilight steeled herself, and, struggling to her feet, was rewarded for her mettle. She could see the exit door that led outside to the garden a mere 10 feet ahead of her. Shielding herself with her arms, she stepped forward through the torrent of people like she was walking through a wind tunnel, placing each foot carefully before the next, bracing herself for impact at any moment, until she finally reached her destination. Gripping the handle, she heard the figure on stage shout, “GBE THE GANG BITCH,” before she pushed outwards, and was free.
Twilight slammed the door behind her, shutting out the hellishly loud chorus. She took a rest, panting, placing her hands on her knees. She had no idea what had happened, or who any of those people were, or where the music had come from, the sound of which could still be heard softly through the walls.
“Twilight!” a voice called.
Twilight looked up to see her five friends standing before her, similarly disheveled after the ordeal.
“You guys made it out!” Twilight said, smiling.
Each of them nodded, exhausted, but came in for a group hug anyway.
“Twilight,” Rainbow Dash said after they broke away, “do you have any idea what happened in there?”
Twilight shook her head. “Believe me, I’m going to find and ask Principle Celestia. Although I’m pretty sure that she’ll hold a school meeting to explain it before I get a chance. For now, we should get out of here and maybe find some help.”
Applejack nodded. “Rainbow’s car is in the parking lot.”
The six girls walked out together, drained and weary now, but still happy to be beside each other. They made their way slowly through the garden, which was still and calm in the night air, past the library and gymnasium, and finally out of the archway through the brick wall defining the garden’s borders.
“So what do you think? Should we get the police or something? I lost my phone in the crowd,” Rainbow Dash said.
“I would call an ambulance,” Rarity added, “that crowd was nothing if not rough; my shoes will certainly need repairing,” she said, looking down at them.
Twilight nodded, “sure, we’ll get to the station and report-“
They all stopped. The parking lot was flooded to the sidewalks with people. Gargantuan stereos were assembled and placed around it like great sentinels watching the gathering from above. Spotlights pierced the dark sky, outshining the moon easily, before they descended all at once on a man, shirtless, covered in tattoos, with dreadlocks to his shoulders, standing atop a car.
Rainbow Dash’s car.
He brought a microphone to his mouth and his voice tore out of the sound system, setting off the alarm of every vehicle in the lot simultaneously.
“FLOCKA!”
Twilight Sparkle’s mouth went dry.
