Hearing Mayhem

By: The Great Duhmimchi

Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends.

"Do you know what happened to you?" The Doctor said.

Zane was still groggy from the medication that they had given him for the pain. His head still bobbed from the music that he no longer heard. As though a rhythm was instinctive and not something created or felt in the club.

"What. . . . What happened?" He asked. His eyes searched frantically to find out where he was. Somehow he didn't even remember being brought into this room. The walls were all white and he was sitting on a bed- a bed with a particularly stiff mattress. His whole body ached. How long was I asleep on that thing? He wondered. His eyes were still blurry, and the white that coated everything in the room wasn't helping him focus.

"What is this place?" He asked groggily- trying to lift his head up, but abandoning the act after realizing how heavy his head felt. He tried to move his arms but found that they too must be numb, for he was unable to make them move more than an inch.

"Try to focus Mr. Legends; I'm here to help you. Do you remember anything about last night?" The doctor asked a little more stiffly.

"Last night? Last night. . . ." His eyes and body were still not functioning, but his mind seemed to be coming out of whatever he was under. "Last night. I. . . . I remember."

Zane's memory suddenly seemed to clear as if the tall brush under his feet was all of the sudden already trodden, and a small path was clear. It wasn't big enough to see the end, but just a little bit ahead he could see something, and then the story unfolded before his eyes, and he started to speak every word that he remembered.

It was late, and the bands that were playing at The Grunge were absolutely horrible. But he stayed seated at his table facing the stage- steel mug in hand. Wait; was it a mug or a gun? I remember drinking, but I also remember something about ammunition. At his table he could see the band about to go on stage. Sub-Urban the called themselves. They were friends of the owner, or at least the lead singer was- some cute meal head chick.

As they climbed the stage and readied their instruments, the lead singer held the mic close to her lips and looked over at Zane's table and winked. Do I know her? He silently thought. I think I do, we, we talked once- that night, right before she went onstage. She asked about my scar, and I was about to tell her about that day when. . .

"Try to focus Zane." The doctor said harshly. "What happened when the band took the stage?"

Zane tried to think, he wanted to hold his head, but his arms still felt too heavy to move. He was still in the room with the doctor, the small white room with no windows, and a white bed, and white . . . so much white.

"Where am I?" He tried again to turn his head, but the doctor's voice interrupted his train of though.

"Concentrate!" The doctor said through clenched teeth. "Last night man, what happened!?"

Zane's mind floated back to his table at The Grunge. He knew he was there, but he still knew he was in the white room. He felt like he was watching what was going on behind his own eyes- as if his body was a mask, and he was merely watching life pass before him.

The girl was talking now, talking to the whole room- but looking directly at Zane.

"We are Sub-Urban. We are here to show you Mayhem." The crowd roared at what she was saying, not knowing the real meaning to her words. "Mayhem lives! And he calls to you! Listen, and you will hear him, watch closely, and you will see him!" With that she strummed her guitar and the band chimed in all at once.

Their sound was very much like the grunge of the 90's but something was a little different, a little off. Zane's head began ringing. Something was wrong. He didn't remember the white room anymore- his head felt like it was going to explode. Grunge music isn't this bad, he thought. What's going on! He tried desperately to move his arms but again failed. He was trapped in the club, but even so, the doctors voice rang in his ears with the thumping of horrid bass all around him.

"What happened boy! Tell me!" he screamed.

Zane looked around desperately for a way out and then he saw it. The grass in his mind was gone now, he was there- in the club- and the end of the tunnel was in front of him. Everyone was on the floor reeling with pain; every body that lay at his feet was screaming hands cupped their ears trying to shut out the sound that was coming from the stage. The singer still stared directly at Zane, unflinching. The other band mates played on as if they were being cheered by the masses. She screamed each word as if it were her last. But her eyes were unchanging as though there were disconnected from the rest of her face. Then it happened:

"What!?! What happened!?" The doctor had lost all composure and was now shaking Zane's throbbing head.

Around him on the floor of the club the bodies grew silent. The music that rang in the air turned into a muted ringing noise that echoed inside Zane's mind. Everything around him was all but shut out as his eyes witness bodies everywhere coming apart- screams turned into the gurgling of skin melting and sliding down throats. Everyone was going to choke to death. Zane could hear nothing, only feel the bass thumping, and his entire body throbbing. He barely remembered what happened next. The cup, right, the mug, it was still in his hand. He wanted to cover his ears so badly, so he threw the cup at the stage and finally was able to cover his head with his hands. After that it all went white. Yes, white. A white room, that's where he was, but, but why?

Just like that, his eyes were focused again, and he realized that his hands we cupping his ears. The straps that had held them to the white bed before now dangled from his wrists. His hands felt lighter now, but his head it was still so heavy . . . no, not heavy, it was strapped down too.

"Where am I?!" Zane shouted.

"The doctor regained his composure at once, and backed away from Zane's bed. "You are at my hospital young man. It would seem that you were at a club that was attacked by members of the Project Mayhem; an activist group. They thrive on chaos, and are always eager to cause it. Death and destruction are the trails they leave behind." The doctor stood up and eyed Zane up and down. "Somehow, you stopped the attack last night. Many people died, but not as many as could have. You threw your cup and struck the leader of the group, a girl who calls herself Maija- the music stopped, and the rest of the band fled cowardly."

Everything the doctor said struck Zane like a brick falling on his gut. "Wait, if I am such a hero, why am I strapped to a bed in your hospital?"

The blank stare that the doctor gave Zane said more than the words that preceded. "Hero? Who said anything about you being heroic?" The doctor's smile reminded Zane of strange cat of some kind. "You are here boy, because we needed to find out what we did wrong last night. Mayhem will rein, make no mistake. Thank you for your help. . . . I must go now; there is much work to be done. Don't fret, I wont leave you alone. I believe someone else is eager to see you, now that you are well." As the doctor reached the wall a door suddenly slid open to reveal a hallway that matched the inside of his small room. As he walked out he turned to his left and spoke to a guard in the hall. "Tell Maija she can see her friend now."