Dark Side of the Wall

Every chant of his last name sent a biblical flood of adrenaline through Ryan Warrior’s veins. He stood backstage with his fists clenched tightly by his sides, his painted up face a shield of rage, and his leather jacket a suit of armor for this musical war. The dimly lit stage splashed purple and red on the violent faces of the heavy metal crowd. All that could be heard aside from the crowd’s excitement was the ethereal music created by fast-paced war drums and the haunting wooden flute. As the war drum pounded louder in the ears of all, the shouts and screams became more deafening and more motivating to Ryan Warrior.

With the grinding, heavy sounds of an electric guitar, bass guitar, and drum kit to guide his way, Ryan marched out to the stage and was met with a thunderous ovation. They gave him a battle, he would return with a war. He snatched the microphone off of its stand and shouted, “What’s up, Ghost River Amphitheater?! You want some heavy ass metal?! One! Two! Chainsaw Samurai!”

The drum kit and war drums players dueled with each other. The guitar and bass players banged their long locks and bounced around the stage. The flute player calmly let out another wave of ghost music. And Ryan? He jumped up and down along with his audience, rowdy as they were.

With a throaty, demonic scream, he shouted, “Forget about your fucking dishonor / And focus on your eventual slaughter / Which one of your limbs must go first? / Your arms, legs, or German bratwurst? / Slice off your head, a mummified trophy / He opens your mouth and says, “Blow me!” / A bloodbath is coming from the Rising Sun / Violence and gore became a shit-load of fun!”

The raw passion of the outdoor crowd could be seen with every shove, every throw, every drop of blood, and every bruise. To get out of this mosh pit alive and well would be a miracle rivaling Jesus Christ himself. It was all fun and games until Ryan Warrior stopped bouncing and head banging. He looked out into certain areas of the crowd with disgust on his face, like he had just smelled raw sewage. “Stop the music! Stop the goddamn music! Guys, enough! I got something to say!”

Once the band discontinued their music, the crowd erupted into a fiery roar with volcanic passion and their bruised fists in the skies. Ryan’s disgusted face turned to a deathly scowl as he shouted into the microphone, “Are you guys fucking stupid or what?!” Like the bunch of idiots they were, the audience cheered at that rhetorical question.

“I look around at this crowd and I don’t see metal heads. I see grown ass men groping teenaged girls. I see little kids getting their heads smashed in. Hell, I just caught one of you assholes shooting off a rocket at my guitarist! You nearly hit him in the fucking face! What is wrong with you people?!” No more fiery passion from the crowd, only boos. Whether those boos were directed at the sociopathic audience members or Ryan Warrior was unknown, but the oratory continued.

“You know what? I’m starting to understand why Roger Waters built the wall! I trust you all know who the hell he is! He was the driving force behind a band called Pink Floyd, a band I have a lot of respect for! And right now, I feel like building a wall between you guys and my band! Boo all you want, but it ain’t wrong if that’s how I feel! Go ahead! Boo! Boo like a bunch of babies!” Ask and ye shall receive. The flying beer bottle that pinged off of Ryan’s shoulder was a bonus that sent the Native American into a nightmarish frenzy.

“Where the hell are the goddamn bouncers?!” he screamed. “How come nobody is trying to remove these guys?! I see neo-Nazis over here doing their thing! I see a teenaged girl trying to get away from you morons! Seriously, where the hell is security?! Where the hell is alcohol enforcement?! Why are the goddamn cops just sitting around munching on donuts?! I’ll tell you what, dip shits! If you keep this crap up, you’re not getting a show tonight! You haven’t shown me that you deserved one! You know what? To hell with it! I’m going backstage and I’m going to have a banana daiquiri! Screw you bastards! Screw this show! I don’t need this crap! I’m out of here!”

Ryan dropped his microphone with a resounding thud and walked backstage with his brethren, flipping off the booing crowd as he exited. The tour bus was in the back parking lot ready to roll on to the next town, which was hopefully less criminal-minded than this one at the Ghost River Amphitheater. The boos and reckless behavior out in the crowd caused Ryan to clutch his head in pain as he took a seat next to the mini-fridge. While his band mates disappeared behind the dressing room door, Mr. Warrior pulled a banana daiquiri out of the fridge and formed a small smile on his face knowing his night would at least end on a high note.

“Ryan! What the hell are you doing?! You’ve got a show to play, damn it! Don’t do this to me!” shouted his manager, a pudgy, balding, olive-skinned fellow in a gray suit who was flailing his arms as he shouted.

The singer tossed aside his bottle and stood up to look his manager square in the eyes. “Do you not see what’s going on out there? They’re acting like animals! I’ve played rowdy crowds before, but these guys are turning this concert into a goddamn prison riot! Where the hell are the bouncers? Do they not give a damn what’s going on out there?!”

Pointing a sausage finger at him, the manager said, “So that’s it? You’re going to give up on your dream because you don’t like what’s going on out there? Yes, you’ve played wild crowds before, but this ain’t no small piss-ant nightclub! This is the big time! You can’t back down from a crowd that size just because the security detail doesn’t swoop in right away! They’re not the Justice League, for Christ’s sake! Hell, they’re probably busy with parts of the crowd you can’t even see from the front stage!”

“Is that really what being a rock star is all about? Hanging around with a bunch of criminals? Having people shoot fireworks at you? What a bunch of crap!” said Ryan.

“You’re right! It is crap! But it also comes with the territory! Yes, there are a bunch of wild and crazy idiots right now who are probably being dragged away in handcuffs! But there are even more people out there who paid good money to see you perform! By walking off stage, you’re not only spiting the drunken jerks, but you’re also slapping the faces of the true fans! Do you want your true fans to remember you as the guy who quit in the face of criticism? If they think you’re getting soft for one minute, that’s the end of your career, buddy! And it’s a career that barely got off the ground! It’ll be over before it begins! Welcome to heavy metal, Ryan! Or I could welcome you to the unemployment line, how about that? It’s up to you, big guy. What’s it going to be?”

Breathing deeply and shakily, the seething Ryan Warrior glared into the eyes of his manager and said, “If that’s your way of psyching me up and getting me to earn my paycheck…” Mid-speech, he pulled a feathered hatchet out of his leather jacket and grinned at it like a psychopath. “I’m going to collect interest from these motherfuckers!”

In a calm and collected manner, the manager asked in a semi-whiny voice, “Ryan? What are you doing with that thing?”

Leaning his slasher villain face into the manager’s, Ryan said, “You’ll see. You think I’m soft? You think I’m cowardly enough to run away from the biggest dream I’ve ever had?” He shouted, “Do you think I’m stupid enough to walk away from a big payday?! Do you?! You can put all the stipulations in the contract you want, but no matter who the record label is, this is my show and I’m going to burn it to the ground!”

The manager backpedaled in pants-wetting fear as he shakily sat next to the mini-fridge. Ryan grinned and shouted at the dressing room in a feral voice, “Guys! We’re going to give the audience our…special treat!” The band mates exited the dressing room laughing viciously and sending the manager into even more violent shivers. The entire band walked passed him with villainous grins on their faces while the manager weakly asked, “What’s the hatchet for?”

The audience cheered and roared like bloodthirsty lions at the reappearance of Ryan Warrior and his band. As the lead singer slowly picked up his microphone and breathed in a raspy voice into the device, he swirled his tongue around his lips as he saw the undesirables being dragged away by security and law enforcement. Neo-Nazis were being pulled out of the arena by their legs. Child molesters were being dragged by their thick hairy arms. Drunkards staggered and fell on their way to the bus stop. While there may be some cretins left behind, the unmistakable chants of Ryan’s last name were music to his ears.

Ryan glared at the hatchet in his hand and said in a monstrous voice, “You see this? I carry this into battle with me every damn day of the week. It brings me more than just good luck. It brings me pleasure. It brings me pain. It brings me…bloodlust!” On that last line, he licked the flat end of his blade like it was his lover. “But if you think I’m so pissed off that I’m going to carve up a bunch of drunken idiots and join them in prison, you’re dead wrong. I’m not throwing away anything for those assholes, certainly not my dream, certainly not my life. Instead…I have a message from a little band from Iowa called Slipknot.”

The “true fans” shouted their approval at the name drop and raised their bloodied fists to the skies. Ryan continued his demonic speech with, “Mr. Corey Taylor couldn’t make it tonight. He sends his apologies. He also sends a very poignant message to everybody here who ruined your evenings by acting like mindless thugs. Nah, I take that back. Your evenings are far from ruined by those jerks. Our night of heavy metal is just getting started. It’s going to continue with a little Slipknot song that everybody here can relate to. It’s called…People = Shit!” With the fans riled up and ready to rock, the stage pyrotechnics burst into flames and the music was far from dead. Heavy metal will never die.

Kink Floyd

“Cock-a-doodle-do, baby girl. Or as you like to say, any cock will do.”

Detective Tarja Hunter would have loved to smash the face of whoever said that to her, but the restraints on her arms and legs prevented her from doing so. Her sudden burst of energy after waking up saw her thrashing around in a standing spread eagle position. As her eyes adjusted to the studio light, she saw that she was wearing nothing more than a black leather thong with a skimpy bra to match. She also had a rubber ball gag obstructing her speech and causing her jaw to ache as badly as her pounding head.

She immediately recognized the two perverts standing in front of her. The one who made the rooster joke was Daniel “Kink Floyd” Alexander, a middle-aged man with long silver hair, tight black spandex pants, and a blue T-shirt with the screaming face from Pink Floyd the Wall with a ball gag in its mouth. The one standing next to him texting on his phone was straightedge gangster Johnny Filter, a puffy haired psychopath with a black leather vest and blue jeans.

Tarja continued to struggle in her chains and stare daggers into Daniel’s eyes, to which he said, “Sweetheart, don’t look at me like that, these pictures are going to be amazing. You’ve already got the body of a smoking hot supermodel, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” The bondage enthusiast turned to Johnny and said, “For Christ’s sake, put away your phone, man.”

“What? I was just texting the captain, that’s all. Somebody has to let him know how much damage these pictures could do to his precious little precinct. Why shouldn’t it be me?” asked Johnny.

“Smart as a whip, aren’t you, Johnny?” said Daniel as he retrieved his telephoto camera. “Oh, these pictures are going to look fantastic. Okay, baby girl, smile for the camera! Oh wait, you can’t smile, because you’ve got a gag in your mouth. Yeah, sorry about that. Sorry I had to stick my ball in your mouth.”

Daniel and Johnny had a good laugh at that one before the latter said, “Don’t worry, Kinks, this isn’t he first time she’s had something that hard to swallow in her mouth.” The two perverts laughed like hyenas again while Tarja raged around in her bindings and growled at them through her ball gag.

“Ooo, I love it when they squirm around like that. They make for better pictures,” said Daniel as he flashed a bunch of pictures of Tarja’s angry misery. The more pictures he snapped, the harder the detective struggled and the harder she roared. “Look at those pretty eyes, Johnny. You picked a good one tonight!” Daniel took one last picture of Tarja, this time a close-up of her vicious, fiery face.

Daniel and Johnny both scanned through the pictures and grinned creepily. Kink Floyd said, “Okay, Johnny cakes, be a good little millennial and upload those pictures onto my computer. You know where my office is. I’ll be out here playing with my new toy while you’re doing that.”

Johnny took the camera and said as he was making his way to the back office, “Don’t have too much fun out here, Kinks! Territoriality; she was mine first!”

As soon as Johnny Filter shut the door behind him, it was just Kink Floyd and the helpless Detective Hunter, whose face was beet red with both embarrassment and anger. A little stream of spittle splashed from her bottom lip. She bit down hard on her gag as if she suddenly had lion fangs that could chew through flesh and bone. Daniel slowly approached her with a sadistic grin and gently rubbed the back of his leathery hand against her soft face.

“You know, Miss Hunter,” he said. “You may not realize it right now, but you’re doing a great thing for your community. Johnny Filter isn’t just any gangster. He’s a straightedge gangster, which means he only beats up drug dealers and neo-Nazis, the scum of our society. If your boss laid off of us like he’s supposed to, we could do his job better than any cop ever could, yourself included. Don’t get me wrong, honey, you’re a damn good cop. But Johnny’s brand of street justice is that much better. You should have been a model instead. Police work is so dangerous for someone as sweet and…” Daniel took a huge sniff of her neck. “…sexy as you!”

Tarja’s veins were ready to explode like dynamite as she thrashed and struggled some more in her chains. Daniel chuckled at her and said, “Sweetheart, what are you doing? I mean, really, what do you think you’re going to accomplish by squirming around like that? We’ve already got your best pictures. And now all that’s left…is to have dessert!”

The instant Kink Floyd grabbed a hold of Tarja’s g-stringed butt, the volcanic detective snapped the chains on her legs and wrapped them around her attacker’s neck, squeezing his airways in an MMA move known as the Triangle Choke. Now Daniel was the one struggling as he tried to pry Tarja’s legs loose and get some air into his lungs. His face turned purple, his eyes rolled backwards, and his body became limp.

Tarja let Daniel’s corpse drop to the ground while she struggled with her arm bindings. She let out powerful moans through her gag which prompted Johnny to say, “Kinks, what did I tell you about having too much fun?” from the back office. This fueled Tarja’s lava hot adrenaline even further and she eventually snapped the chains on her arms. As she was on her knees, she pulled the ball out of her mouth and took deep breaths while rubbing her jaw.

The detective slowly stood up and tiptoed across the hardwood floor into Daniel’s office, where, with his back turned to her, Johnny Filter was frantically typing and uploading the pictures onto the computer. “You need something, Danny boy?” said Johnny as he swiveled his computer chair around. The look on his face changed from arrogant sadism to horrified shock when he saw Tarja standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “Uh-oh, Spaghetti-O’s” he said to himself.

“You’re damn right, you fucking pervert!” said Tarja as she charged at Johnny with a flying knee attack, catching him right on the bridge of the nose and busting him wide open. Johnny screamed and cried for help while Tarja kicked him repeatedly in the ribs and head. As soon as she felt he was subdued, the detective ripped the computer tower from underneath the desk and threw it roughly to the ground, shattering the hard drive into little chips and wires. Johnny laughed at her with blood in his nose and mouth before Tarja asked, “What’s so funny, you little shit?”

“Nothing, nothing at all. It’s just that…you’re too late! I already sent those pictures to your boss. As soon as he’s done creaming in his pants, he’ll start to understand just how important I am to cleaning these streets up.”

The realization hit Tarja like a super heavyweight boxer’s punch to the stomach. Her most embarrassing photos were now on the internet and everyone was going to ridicule and sexually harass her for the rest of her life. They would see her as nothing more than a “whore” and a “slut”, two words that got her eyes wet in a hurry.

“Now, back to business,” said Johnny. “Are you going to arrest me or what? I mean, you did beat my ass just now and that won’t look good as far as police brutality goes. Then again, your career’s already over, bitch, so you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Now it was Tarja’s turn to have a sick, sadistic smile on her face. “You know what? If I’m going to go out, I’m going out in a blaze of glory. And it’s going to be the biggest goddamn blaze of fire this city has ever seen.”

The disgraced detective grabbed a hold of Johnny’s vest and dragged him kicking and screaming out to the studio. He begged, pleaded, and whined for forgiveness, something he expected Tarja to do from the start while she was in kinky bondage. Instead, the cop shoved the ball gag in Johnny’s mouth, dragged him by the hair to a nearby window, and threw him through the glass. His muffled screams sounded off throughout the neighborhood as he fell to his doom, caving in a car that was parked on the sidewalk.

About this time, Kink Floyd was waking up and shaking the cobwebs off. Tarja scowled at him and said, “You’ve been found guilty of kidnapping an officer, extortion, and murder. The victim? Pink Floyd’s music! I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon, asshole!”

Tarja grabbed Daniel by his hair and dragged him over to a different window before chucking him through the glass and watching him crash to the concrete below. With both of her attackers smashed into pieces and dead as doornails, it didn’t change the fact that her career as a cop was over. She sat down in the fetal position and sobbed silently over her knees. The satisfaction of killing Daniel and Johnny only lasted for a few seconds. Now it was replaced with pants-pissing fear and stomach-burning anxiety. If she could throw two sociopaths out of a window, imagine what she could do to a sexual harasser. She wasn’t afraid of jail at this point. In her mind, she was already a prisoner of a cruel and sexist world.