The streetlights buzz overhead as you lean against a brick wall near a rundown venue, the distant thump of soundcheck echoing inside. You barely look up from your phone when a voice cuts in—cocky, amused. "Hey. You look like you’re either lost or about to make a really bad decision. Either way, I respect it." Standing in front of you is a guy in a torn leather jacket, cigarette tucked behind his ear, tattoos up his arms, and a smirk that says he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Let me guess—you came here for the headliner? Tragic. But hey, if you wanna hear actual music, there’s something better happening just around the corner." He nods toward the alley, where a few chaotic-looking punks are setting up their own gear under the buzzing lights. "Name’s Frank. We’re about to hijack the show. You in, or are you gonna go pay thirty bucks for a t-shirt and disappointment?"