Chief Hargrove stood in the doorway with tactical gear and riot shields.
Everything stopped.
Everything except Dutch, who seemed possessed by thunder.
Saul watched from the stage as chaos erupted from the back of the auditorium. Kids scattered toward exits, some deeper into the crowd, a few moving toward the stage. Bodies trampled merch tables, knocked over mic stands, sent feedback screaming through the PA.
"SHUT IT DOWN!" an officer yelled, but Dutch's hands couldn't quit. The beat became soundtrack to rebellion.
Dutch kept hammering the drums—raw sound, pure defiance, muscle memory taking over while everything collapsed around him. The cops fought through the crowd toward him, but Dutch kept that rhythm going, drawing their attention like a target.
When they finally tackled him off his stool, his sticks flying into the crowd, Dutch rolled away from the pile and scrambled through the chaos before they could get cuffs on him.
Equipment crashed around Saul like breaking bones. Through the noise, one sound cut sharp—his guitar hitting the concrete wall, cracking like breaking bone. Officer Craig knocked over a speaker stack, sending feedback screaming through the PA. Dutch's cymbals spun across the floor.
Behind a toppled speaker cabinet, Saul spotted Dutch crouched low, chest heaving. From his vantage point on stage, Saul could see what Dutch was seeing—Rod Hatch near the exit, counting bills into Trey's palm. Trey's gold tooth caught the strobing lights as he pocketed the money, then pointed toward where Dutch had been behind his drums.
Saul watched Dutch's face crumple. All those conversations, all those questions about the band's plans. The friendly interest in their gigs.
"Son of a bitch," Saul heard Dutch whisper from behind the cabinet.
Without thinking, Dutch broke from cover. "Hey!" he yelled at kids heading for the doors. "Don't trust Trey! Gold tooth, black leather jacket—he sold us out!"
Dutch pushed through the crowd, fury overriding caution. When he reached them, Trey was already pocketing the last of the cash.
"You played me," Dutch said, voice breaking.
Trey shrugged. "Business is business, man. Nothing personal."
Dutch lunged at Trey, swinging wild. His fist connected with Trey's jaw before Brock and Chad could react. But it was too late for real satisfaction—cops were already moving toward the commotion.
Dutch twisted out of the first tackle, rolled away from grasping hands, but this time they were ready for him. When the handcuffs clicked around his wrists, he looked straight at Rod Hatch.
"That was for you, asshole," Dutch spat as they dragged him toward the exit.
Saul's guitar hung useless around his neck as officers converged from both sides of the stage. In the strobing emergency lights, he caught glimpses of his community under siege. Tommy Landry threw the first punch at Officer Mendoza before cops tackled him. Sarah followed, kicking at shins and screaming "This is our show! Our time!" while her mother's police force wrestled her down.
Behind overturned tables, the A&R contingent was having their own meltdown. Brad Kellerman clutched his phone, screaming at his assistant about damage control, while another rep had his camera out, filming the chaos.
"This is gold!" the cameraman yelled. "Real authentic rebellion! We can edit this, make it look like—"
A flying drumstick hit him in the head, sending him sprawling.
Near the loading dock, Trace grabbed his guitar case, fury replacing his earlier enthusiasm. Then Rod stepped into his path.
"You were set up, all right. By him." Rod nodded toward Saul. "Kid forged your paperwork, used your name without permission. Made you all accessories to his rebellion."
Trace's head snapped toward the stage, his expression cycling through disbelief and rage. He dropped his guitar case and pushed Saul hard against the wall.
"You used my name! My reputation!"
Before Saul could respond, Claire appeared at his side, flannel torn, blood on her lip. She grabbed Saul's shoulders, pulling him away from Trace.
"We have to go!" she shouted over the chaos.
But Saul stood frozen at center stage, watching something sacred fall apart. Every face in the chaos was someone who'd trusted him. Every arrest was betrayal of that trust. Through the strobing red and blue lights, he saw three cops closing in on Ott near the sound board.
He didn't think. Just moved.
Saul jumped off the stage into the crowd, not toward exits but toward the center of the storm. He landed on the three officers who were grabbing Ott, sending them sprawling. In the confusion, Ott slipped away completely, disappearing into the mass of bodies along with several other kids who'd been cornered.
"Go!" he yelled to Claire, but she was already moving toward him instead of away.
"Like hell," she shouted back, grabbing his arm as more cops closed in.
They got separated in the crush—hands torn apart by the current of bodies and badges.
Through the chaos, Saul glimpsed other fragments of his community's last stand. Near the entrance, Kitty faced down an officer, her usual polish replaced by fierce determination.
"Miss Boudreaux," the officer was saying, "your work-study supervisor says you had no authorization to be in that building tonight."
Kitty looked toward where Ott had disappeared, then back at the officer. For a moment, she seemed like she might reach for her usual excuses—family connections, misunderstandings, plausible deniability.
Instead, she straightened her shoulders. "You're right. I used my access to let them in. I helped plan the whole thing."
"Miss, I'm going to give you one more chance to reconsider that statement."
"I understand completely. And my statement stands."
Outside, the parking lot had become a war zone. Squad cars everywhere, kids being processed against concrete walls, parents arriving with expressions ranging from fury to bewilderment.
When the dust settled, Saul and Claire ended up in the same police cruiser. Handcuffed in the back seat, breathing hard as State City's lights flashed past.
When Officer Mendoza opened the cruiser door, he paused, glancing around before leaning in.
"I was a roadie with Fear back in '81. Watched them get banned from SNL for being too real." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Small department like this... things change."
As his footsteps faded, Saul felt his hands shaking—not from fear but from finally letting himself feel everything at once.
"I'm sorry," Saul started. "I was supposed to protect it. This thing we built together. And I couldn't..." His voice cracked. "I failed everyone."
"We didn't fail anything," Claire said, reaching for him, handcuffs clinking. "Look."
Through the window, they watched kids regroup despite the police presence. Someone had already spray-painted "SCPK LIVES" on a squad car. Kids sharing phone numbers on scraps of paper. Making plans in hushed voices.
A girl from the east side pressed her palm against their window for just a moment. Others joined her, hands against glass, before police moved them along.
"All those people who sang together tonight," Claire said, her voice steady despite everything. "Who chose to be here instead of somewhere safe."
Outside, Lenore sat on the curb, carefully smoothing out crumpled zines, trying to save what she could. Behind her, Raven and Ely dragged salvaged sound equipment toward the parking lot.
"Even now," Claire continued, watching them through the rear window. "Even arrested, even watching everything get destroyed. Still taking care of each other."
Saul tested his handcuffs against the vinyl seat, the metal warm from his wrists. "So what happens now?"
Claire leaned against his shoulder, solid and real despite everything falling apart. The auditorium still blazed with emergency lights—cops processing stragglers, equipment scattered like battlefield debris. But they could also see kids helping each other up, sharing whatever they'd managed to save.
"Now we find out what we're really made of," Claire said.
She looked at him and kissed him—desperate, fierce, tasting like copper and defiance and everything that had just been destroyed. Like their first kiss on stage, but deeper now, informed by loss. He could taste blood from her split lip, smoke from the chaos, salt from tears.
The world's mess lived in that kiss—but so did they.
When they broke apart, she was smiling. Something raw and real.
"There you are," she whispered.
Outside, sirens wailed and kids scattered into the night. But inside the cruiser, handcuffed and arrested, watching red and blue lights flash past, they'd found something worth the wreckage.
Each other.
Stay tuned for a bonus half chapter in a day or two.
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