The server towers are trembling.
A low vibration surges up from the floor. The noise, which should have been uniform, is beginning to muddy.
A live performance. In a situation like this?
It makes no sense. And yet, I know there is no other way.
The members gather in silence. Inside the server tower—a makeshift studio.
She readies her bass. She places her fingers. The usual position. The usual pressure.
It doesn’t fit. The tuning isn't off. The drums carve out time, with what should be perfect precision. Even so, the sounds refuse to overlap.
No—
this isn’t a simple misalignment. The sound itself is deforming.
Surging, stretching, then sinking.
This is no mere error. The sound, possessing a will of its own, is choosing something. Will it overwrite the existing framework? Or will it swallow everything whole?
My vision begins to blur.
—This is bad.
"Sorry to keep you waiting!"
A lighthearted voice cuts through the tension. A familiar silhouette.
"Whoa, looks like things are getting pretty wild in here?"
The two latecomers were there.
"Now—the real show begins."
In the next instant, the outer walls of the server tower swung open.
Light spilled out from within.
A massive stage, interfaced with the entire city. The sound is unleashed upon the streets.
But—
the surging wave does not stop. If anything, it amplifies.
Sound begins to prey upon sound; the outlines crumble. The rhythm unravels, the melody warps, and everything bleeds together.
My field of vision vanishes. I can no longer tell where the sound ends and I begin.
And just like that, perspective—was lost.
She believes in speed.
She hits the gas before she stops to wonder.
Fast machines and heavy sound are what she likes.
Given the choice to pause or keep driving without a clear view, she keeps going.
This band's direction is set by her voice.
She hardly speaks.
Low end is more accurate than words, for her.
Most of the time she's reading manga.
The rhythm of turning pages and a bass line have something in common.
Her feelings sit deep beneath the sound.
He can more or less do anything.
So nothing really ties him down.
People look up to him like an older brother; he doesn't pay it much mind.
He appears when the mood strikes and leaves the freest sound behind.
Piano is the oldest language he knows.
Everything else he picked up later.
Games, anime, and the real world blur a little at the edges.
His sound is precise and quiet.
His keyboard softens this world, just a little.
The longest-lived in the group.
The jokes are old; the rhythm stays new.
He runs his mouth while keeping time tighter than anyone.
The band stays on the rails because he never betrays the beat.
He's been in Funktown a long time.
He never steps into the spotlight.
Why he brought these members together still hasn't been told.
They say he was there when the city was still normal—and when it started to warp.
— maurice blue
Producer / Bluepiece Lab.
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