Rhythm and Ray: A DJ’s Journey

[Chapter 206: Fire and Blood]

On stage, Taylor sang and danced, tossing her head with golden hair flowing like waves. She brought her tour energy along, spinning and swaying. After finishing a song, Taylor paused to catch her breath.

"Next up," Ryan's voice rang out from behind her. Taylor turned, catching the bottled water Ryan tossed her. She opened it right there on stage and took a few satisfying gulps, feeling a rush of coolness wash over her as she poured a bit over her head.

"Wooh!" The refreshing sensation invigorated Taylor.

The crowd erupted in cheers, cameras from media members flashing nonstop. Such scenes were rarely seen; performances at music festivals felt much more relaxed compared to the seriousness of Grammy shows.

"I know you guys don't want me to go, right?" Taylor said, her hand on her hip, tilting slightly to the side, striking a playful pose.

"Cut it out! That kind of thing should stay behind closed doors," someone in the audience yelled, prompting Taylor to wave it off humorously.

Laughter erupted from the crowd.

"But I have a gift for Ryan, one that you all can enjoy too," Taylor declared, snapping her fingers.

Band members appeared from backstage, gearing up for a brand-new performance. Interestingly, they wore retro country-style outfits reminiscent of the 1930s. Taylor, dressed in a light yellow knee-length sundress, fit right in with their vibe.

The audience finally realized that the earlier performance was just a warm-up; the main event was about to begin.

At that moment, Taylor accepted the banjo handed to her by Grant, "black-haired lion," a traditional instrument in country and bluegrass music. As the live accompaniment kicked in, the song Mean premiered for the first time.

♫ You, with your words like knives

And swords and weapons that you use against me

You have knocked me off my feet again

Got me feeling like I′m nothing

You, with your voice like nails on a chalkboard

Calling me out when I'm wounded

You, picking on the weaker man ♫

Taylor's signature long-form lyricism began to shine through in this song.

...

"Country music? I thought it was Ryan's new song. How boring!" A man muttered, taking cash with his left hand while handing over a small plastic bag of pills with his right, filled with Molly. To make them look appealing, these had been colored with cheap chemical dyes, known to be carcinogenic but low in cost.

"I gave you a hundred-dollar bill!" The buyer reminded him.

"This is the price at the music festival. Do you understand the rules?" the seller commented, signaling to a tattooed associate by his side, who moved in closer to the customer, deliberately showcasing a gun holstered at his waist.

Startled, the customer stepped back a few paces.

This kind of scene had played out numerous times since the festival kicked off.

At a glance, the stall looked like a temporary tent, piled high with drinks that appeared to be for sale, but in reality, those were just giveaways -- what they were really selling was Molly.

"How much do you want?" The man asked, head down as he sensed a new customer approaching.

"I'll take it all," came the response.

The seller looked up to find a muscular man covered in pink flesh, dressed in a bright yellow women's bikini, his face heavily made up to the point it was hard to recognize him, with frizzy brown hair clearly a wig topped with a green hat.

A few similarly dressed friends surrounded him, likely planning to celebrate once they got their hands on the pills.

"Can you even handle that? Aren't you afraid of overdosing?" the man scoffed. "This is the total amount."

"Sorry, we're out of cash," the new customer said with a grin, glancing around.

Before he could reply, the person next to him grasped the neck of the thug.

At that moment, another bulky guy hopped over the counter with ease.

The "salesman" didn't even register what was happening before being taken down by a swift blow to the back of his neck.

...

"Only two?!" Berwick chuckled, surprised that instead of increasing security, personnel had decreased, mainly because the mobile stall was doing such good business, leaving only two workers behind to run errands. Their prepared weapons remained unused.

Everyone, including Berwick, wore long gloves that covered their fingerprints.

Berwick quickly scanned the area, confirming there were no cameras, exchanged glances with his men, and they made a swift exit.

...

Before long, another customer, draped around a woman, approached the stand. After a few seconds of hesitation and a push from his companion, he confirmed that the seller was unconscious; they immediately began searching the area.

"The money is right here!" the woman exclaimed, as she started digging through the cash.

"I'm the one who brought you here," the man retorted, snatching the cash away. They argued briefly, but decided it was best to leave with the money for now.

...

On stage, two band members approached Taylor and suddenly yanked her outer costume away, revealing a sparkling gold fringe Broadway-style dress underneath. While this move was a frequent act, it never failed to steal the crowd's attention.

Cheers erupted again; though country music clashed with the electronic vibe of the festival, her new track drew in a sizable audience. Only a handful of "revelers" seemed unenthused by her genre.

"I can't dance to this! Do you still have any Molly?" a bleed-haired, vibrant young man said to his buddy, his eyes bloodshot with excitement as veins stood out on his forehead.

"We've run out," his friend giggled, lost in his own joy.

"How can you still laugh?" he pushed lightly.

"Molly's on the house! First come, first serve." At that moment, a voice echoed from behind them, the source unknown.

Not just the young man but many around him caught the attention of that outcry.

The pair exchanged knowing looks and took off towards a makeshift sales point they remembered.

Regardless of whether the claim was true, the young man was too high to discern reality from illusion at that point.

Before long, he gasped for breath as he approached the sales point, already surrounded by a crowd that was engaged in a free-for-all over 'Molly' and other substances scattered on the ground.

Diving low like a dog, he scooped up bits of Molly, dirt and all, shoving it into his mouth.

"Bang!" The gunshot snapped everyone to attention, as a man appeared from the tent, madness plastered on his face, one hand holding a heavy bag and the other gripping a trembling pistol.

People instinctively took a few steps back, but soon, these crazy people who were already high saw what he was holding, and greedy expressions painted their faces.

"Don't come any closer!"

"Bang!"

"Bang bang bang!"

A young man lunged forward, knocking the guy down without hesitation and sank his teeth into the man's hand.

"Aaaah!" the scream echoed.

When the young man looked up again with blood covered mouth, he realized the bag had been snatched by someone in the chaos.

"Where's my stuff?!" he yelled at the crowd, landing a punch on the nearest guy, which sparked yet another fight.

With the prospect of "treasures" fueling them, the fight transformed into raw chaos, proving more about raw violence than anything else.

A woman just watching was suddenly tackled; the weak were the first to suffer.

"Hand out the money!" someone brandished a knife at a stranger nearby.

Amidst the chaos, others slammed into tented areas, eager to get their hands on free pills. The bedlam spread through the park like a raging wildfire that Los Angeles sees every year.

Real flames ignited in a thicket, flaring up in an instant.

Amid the fiery silhouettes were scuffles, beating, screaming, howling, gunfire, crying, and manic laughter...

"This is the real carnival!" The young man rose, observing everything with bruised cheeks and a pained smile.

"This is a real music festival!" he shouted, arms wide open to the sky.

Not far away, a news camera crew recorded every frantic expression he made.

...

"Aren't you coming with me?" Taylor asked, stepping into the golf cart parked backstage, prepared by Ryan. The cart would lead directly to the exit, allowing Taylor to switch to a car and head back to her hotel, away from all the chaos.

When she noticed Ryan wasn't planning to join her, a sense of foreboding washed over her.

"You go ahead. We'll meet at the hotel," Ryan nodded at her.

"No way, I'm going with you," Taylor insisted, attempting to step out of the cart.

Ryan gave a subtle sign, and Erica promptly blocked her way.

Several golf carts revved up, filled with Taylor, her band members, and other performers like Ellie Goulding.

It wasn't like they had to say goodbye forever; why make such a scene? Ryan thought, though his intention for staying behind wasn't to be a hero.

With the scene in such disarray, someone had to manage crowd control, right?

...

Ryan turned back toward the stage, selecting a spot well-lit for directing.

"There's another exit! One at a time, don't run!" he shouted at the crowd, taking charge of the situation.

"I'm talking to you -- slow down! Don't you know how stampedes happen?!"

"Someone help this lady! She's about to faint!"

"Whose kid is this?"

Ryan became the good Samaritan, of course, the whole segment happened under the glaring lights.

A few uninvested camera crews nearby caught onto Ryan's voice and were drawn to him.

"Quick, get the camera on Ryan!"

*****

https://www.patreon.com/Sayonara816.