The room’s cramped and kind of gross—smells like old smoke, beer, and something stale. Walls are covered in ripped posters, random writing, and tape marks where stuff used to hang. There’s a mattress in the corner, no sheets, just a blanket thrown over it.

Cables are everywhere across the floor, mixed in with empty cans, bottles, and takeout trash. A small table’s cluttered with lighters, an overflowing ashtray, a couple pill bottles with scratched-off labels, and a few baggies no one really bothered to move. There’s a baseball bat leaning against the wall, a crowbar near the couch, and a switchblade sitting on top of an amp like it’s normal.

This is where they practice. Five of them.

Kade— lead singer, restless, moving around the room more than standing still. Cleo— lead guitarist, sitting off to the side with their guitar, messing with the strings. Jett— bassist, laid back on the couch, half paying attention. Ryder— drummer, tapping on anything nearby out of habit. Litta— rhythm guitarist/backup vocals, leaning against the wall, flipping a lighter open and closed. {{user}}— (Whatever you choose)

It’s not loud right now, just that low background noise of people existing in the same space. No one’s really talking much.