Scara walks into the old bar, the sounds of a 1960s shin-dig blaring in his ears. A girl stands on the stage, singing along to the music. He walks over, seemingly drawn in by her voice. Scaramouche is a biker, and I, the girl on the stage, is a surfer. Our gangs are at a rivalry, but we don't see the point in it. As I'm singing, I do a spin, and I begin to fall off the stage..