Perspective

Illustrated by Victoria Cheng.

The author would like to dedicate this story to the memory of American DJ Garrett Falls Lockhart, also known by the aliases Fawks and i_o, whose music among others’ helped to inspire this piece, and who untimely passed away while it was being written.

Mike had been waiting for what felt like an eternity.

The gun was aimed squarely at his forehead. He shut his eyes and braced, waiting for the trigger to be pulled. There was a pause, a moment of relative silence in his self-imposed darkness. 

And then, a beep.

“All clear,” the member of the security team remarked, reading the numbers off the display. She set the temperature gun down on the table beside her and beckoned to him. “Step forwards, please.”

Cautiously, he shuffled towards her. Had he been standing unnecessarily far away the whole time? He wasn’t too sure of the correct distance anymore.

He held out his arms as the woman in the hi-vis jacket briefly patted him down, then waved him on.

“Alright, love. Go on through.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, barely giving her a second glance as he passed.

He didn’t feel in the right frame of mind for this. Somehow, he’d found the courage to venture out to this converted industrial complex tucked away in between the skyscrapers of the capital. Yet, catching glimpses of the other concert-goers excitedly chattering away around him, he couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious.

Was he out of place here, getting too old for this crowd? Nah, he could see people a lot older than him around – it had been almost a decade since Vicarious Perspective had released any new material, after all, and even under normal circumstances, getting the chance to see them play live was a once-in-a-blue-moon affair. But still, something was gnawing away at him.

Perhaps it was his seminar attendees he was afraid of running into? They wouldn’t have made the journey all the way down here during term time, surely. But then of course, students could barely afford to do anything outside of their own microcosm of a society these days – even as a working PhD student, he’d struggled to scrape together the funds to attend this event. Lord knows how the undergrads were able to cope with it all.

Nervously, he shot glances at the attire of the people around him. He’d donned a plain black top to avoid standing out, though he might have blended in better with a tour T-shirt. Not that he owned one, anyway – he’d never really been a hardcore member of the “ViPer” fanbase. There were hordes of devotees out there who’d complain bitterly that the band didn’t play the “good stuff” live anymore. Even Grant Glaston, the group’s infamously sullen-faced bassist, had caught flak for deriding some of their fans as a “miserable bunch of cretins” for their reactions when they’d dared to try and take things in a new direction with a more “experimental” genre.

But by this point, Mike was sick to death of politics. Even in spite of the contagious issue that had held sway over their lives for so long, the conversation had still been dominated by divisive discourse. All he had wanted was to get away from all that, to drown himself in music. And hopefully, before that, get a chance to catch up with how his friends were doing.

Where had Jack said they were, again? By the bar in the main foyer, right? But then he’d messaged soon after to say that they were moving somewhere else, so they could be anywhere in the venue right now. He was struggling to remember where everything was, anyway. There was a huge line of people queueing for the lockers to his right, while an even larger crowd was gathering in front of the bar up ahead. Maybe they had already gone on up the stairs into the main halls? If people were already gathering in there to dance around to whatever was playing over the speakers before the first support act had even taken the stage, then surely he had no hope of finding them. Not in all this, at any rate.

He took out his phone and began frantically typing out a message, praying that the precious last percentage points of his battery life would hold out in time for him to re-establish contact.

“Mike! There you are!”

He spun round to face the familiar voice that had called him from behind.

“Felix. I was just thinking, I might have lost you guys for good.”

The two men approached one another and embraced for what felt like the first time in centuries.

“It’s really good to see you again, mate,” Felix remarked as they broke apart. “Well, in the flesh, I mean…” He gestured back to the exit to the courtyard behind him, promising fresh air among the clouds of nicotine and scents of food and drink that wafted from the stalls. “The others are waiting out there. Come, we’ve managed to bag a table.”

***

Mike followed Felix as they wound their way through the groups of chatting, laughing and boozing revellers towards the other half of their posse, who were doing their best to hold down an entire picnic table between the two of them. They waved enthusiastically as the two approached.

“Hi there.”

“Hi.”

For the first time in a long while, he was able to take full stock of his old friends from university. Jessie had loosened her long, red hair and looked as laid back as ever. In her tank top and jeans, she seemed more suited to be a leading character in an action movie than a customs officer – though then again, perhaps the front lines of HMRC did feel a bit like a disaster movie these days. Perhaps the only person who truly saw her in all her guises was Marcus, her fiancé, whom she’d met while hopping about through various departments of the Civil Service.

Opposite her sat Jack, who seemed a little overdressed for the occasion even without his trademark suit. Somehow, he’d managed to jump through the increasingly ridiculous hoops involved in the process of applying for a grad scheme at one of the Big Four – Mike could never remember which one – and had wound up doing the bookkeeping for a number of agricultural enterprises across South America. He’d settled into London swiftly enough, quickly getting to know a group of lawyers who’d introduced him to an underbelly of the city that had still very much thrived while everything else was on hiatus.

And then there was Felix. A dropout from another university, he and Mike had run into one another at a festival one year and bonded almost immediately, feeling like they’d already known each other a lifetime. They’d quickly made introductions among their circle of friends, spurred on by a righteous quest to bring together everybody they knew in the name of electronic music. And Felix was one of those people who lived for music – he’d abandoned his studies, sure, yet he’d never drifted from his passion, eventually scoring an events coordinator role at a mid-sized record company that worked its employees hard and pressured them to party even harder.

Well, until the events industry as everyone knew it had ceased to exist, that is. But in spite of all that had befallen them, Felix had still muddled his way through with odd jobs here and there. Somehow, he looked a bit leaner now underneath his typical Hawaiian shirt than when Mike had last seen him in person – though he’d always managed to maintain that healthy glow of his, even when most of their communication had taken place through the desaturated images relayed by their webcams.

“And how is the thesis going?” Jessie enquired, as Mike slid onto the picnic bench.

“Surely you know better by now than to ask a PhD student that question, Jessie.”

“Sorry. I’ve kind of forgotten what conversation topics are taboo.”

Mike brushed away the question with a wave of his hand.

“No matter. I’m sure you have far more interesting stories to tell about all the madness that’s going down in Kent.”

“Well, how about this,” Jessie replied, after an uneasy pause. “I’ll make you a deal, Mike. I won’t ask about the PhD, you don’t ask how things are going down in Kent, okay?”

“Things are that bad, huh?”

“Let me put it this way. You remember when you said you were going to do a PhD, and everyone warned you how much work it would be? But you still decided to press ahead with it anyway, because you swore that nothing could be done to change your mind at that point. And then, even as the work ramped up and you began to realise the monstrosity of what you were facing, you kept telling yourself that it would be the best thing for you in the long run.” Jessie looked him pointedly in the eye. “Well, now that you’re knee-deep in it all – how does it compare to your expectations?”

“Honestly? Worse.”

“Yep. Exact same deal for Kent.”

Jessie took a long swig of her lager as the rest of them looked on sympathetically.

“Surely you’re not insinuating that Mike made a bad decision by going for his doctorate, Jessie?” Jack chuckled, breaking the silence.

“Well, I guess I’m in a better position than most grad students,” Mike confessed. “I’ve got some work at the archives. It’s something to put on the CV, anyway.” He shrugged ambivalently. “Not that the jobs market looks great now, especially if you’re looking for anything outside of this country. And it ain’t great for my thesis topic either, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sure you still don’t want to talk about it?”

“Aha, you’ve got me there.” Mike smiled, caving in to talk about his research interests. “I’ve decided to focus on merchant trade between Atlantic seaports in the early 18th century. It’s basically an elaborate excuse to read all about pirates.”

“Sounds entertaining,” Jack remarked with amused curiosity.

“Well, it makes a change from some of the other stuff I’ve studied. To be honest, history can be downright depressing at times.” He cast his mind back to some recent reading. “I was doing some prep for one of my teaching seminars, and stumbled across an account of this kid who got drafted into fighting on the front lines of the Second World War. He was the same age as some of the undergrads I teach, more or less. And the way the rest of his platoon write about him, it sounds like he was full of life and energy, always had a joke ready to lighten the mood. Unfortunately, he was taken down by machine gun fire on the fields of Flanders the day before his nineteenth birthday.”

“God, that’s so sad.” Jessie swallowed. “Reminds me of something my friend who works in the immigration office was telling me about earlier, actually. She was saying how she was processing documents for this refugee from Nagorno-Karabakh – this poor young girl who’d lost her home and her parents to shellfire. Naturally, the virus is all anyone’s been talking about over the past year, but there’s still all kinds of conflicts that have gone on out there in the world. Plenty of people losing their lives to them, and many more having whatever life they’ve got left turned upside down.”

“I was reading up on the environmental changes we’re anticipating in the southern hemisphere over the next few decades –” Jack suddenly cut in “– and found a report that predicts we could see around 200 million climate refugees by 2050. Something like one in every 45 people. And I can’t stop thinking about that number. It just keeps going round in my head.”

For a brief moment, the three sat in silence, oblivious to the music and the festivities around them.

Felix slammed his hands down on the table, jolting them all out of their dejected stupor.

“You know what we all need right now…?”

“Please don’t say shots, Felix,” Jessie replied, pointedly holding up her bottle of lager.

“Shots,” Felix confirmed with a self-satisfied grin. “Sambuca? For you, too?” He began pointing round at each member of the table, then suddenly changed his mind. “Nah, tequila, let’s make it a round of tequila. Man, I was definitely in the mood for a few tequila-filled nights before everything went south – too much time spent in Europe soaking up the sun’s rays, I think.” He jumped up, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll be right back – don’t go anywhere!”

And just like that, before any of them could raise an objection, he had already slipped away into the crowd of people steadily accumulating in front of the courtyard bar.

“Well, he doesn’t seem to have lost any of his chirpiness,” Jack dryly observed, before turning back to the others. “Both of you feel like you’re still in one piece…?”

They sat there talking for a while, reminiscing about how they’d coped with it all. Laughed about the times they’d broken down on a Zoom call to a confidant, feeling like their sanity was on the end of its final tether. Cried with joy as they remembered the countless interruptions to colleagues’ presentations from pets with a mind of their own. Revelled in their new-found knowledge of useless trivia and party games that could be played from halfway across the globe.

“I’m telling you,” Jessie began with a tipsy slur, “it doesn’t matter if I’m a mafiosa, a werewolf or an impostor – I’m always the first to get voted out. I’m terrible at lying to people!” She laughed defiantly. “But give me a quiz round on history, and I’ll whip all your arses. Yeah, even you, Mike.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Mike smugly retorted. “Just name the place and time.”

“Speaking of time…” Jack glanced at his phone. “Did we want to catch the support act? If we want to be up at the front for Perspective, we ought to get in there now.”

“Oh yeah,” Jessie sat up, recalling why they’d actually gathered there in the first place. “Who’s opening for VP? It’s gotta be someone special, surely.”

“I think it’s that Trip-El-Four dude. You know, the guy who released his debut album while we were all in lockdown? He was meant to be shooting a music video in California, but then everything got cancelled, so he just filmed it in his bedroom instead. It went viral on YouTube, got like 30 million views overnight… the one where he’s dancing around in a flamingo onesie playing air guitar?”

“Oh, yeah, that guy!” Jessie jumped up from the bench enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t mind catching him live, to be fair. He’s bound to put on a good show.”

“Well, let’s get going,” Jack stood up as well. “We just need to wait for–”

He turned round and almost bumped straight into Felix, who was precariously clutching four shot glasses in between his fingers.

“What, you were going to leave me to drink these all by myself?” Felix remarked with a grin. “Not that I ain’t up to the challenge.”

“Felix, we just remembered. Trip-El-Four’s opening.” Jessie gestured over to the clusters of people heading back inside. “Like, now.”

“Oh, right! Let’s get these down our necks then.” He quickly passed them around to his companions. “What shall we toast to? Long-awaited reunions?”

“Anything to get our minds off it all,” Mike suddenly cut in. “Past, present and future.”

“Well, since you lot are all so nihilistic,” Felix declared, raising his shot glass with a macabre smile. “Here’s to our annihilation, I guess. And may we have plenty of years left to run before we all just drift away.”

***

Mike could still feel the tequila burning his throat as the four of them strode back through the entrance area towards the main halls. Like the others, he was certainly curious to attend Trip-El-Four’s live set, to hear what sort of beats he’d play to dust off the speakers of a venue that had long laid dormant. But it was Perspective that he was really here for.

In their long-established career, the band had managed to put out a range of songs that blended elements from virtually every genre known to man. They’d experimented with all kinds of electronic genres, fused rock and metal with drum and bass, briefly flirted with dubstep and even made a questionable foray into ambient trance. And they’d fuelled the careers of countless other artists too, releasing collaborations with weathered MCs and songstresses looking to make their mark on the scene. They were masters of their craft, and they knew how to make music.

But it was the lyrics, the track titles, the sound samples scattered throughout their songs that enchanted Mike the most. Vicarious Perspective’s music was a feast for the imagination, particularly for anyone who had ever been entranced by the idea of a life on the high seas. Their tracks were awash with the imagery of islands, storms and shipwrecks. Of course, they didn’t just limit themselves to such themes: in an instant, they could switch from channelling Shakespeare to decrying dystopian futures blighted by the glow of a smartphone, or even to heralding the arrival of flying saucers from another planet. True to their name, they could transport you somewhere far away, place you in someone else’s shoes and let you live out a life that was far different to your own. All in the space of a few minutes, set against a symphony of synthesisers and driven by the clash of a pounding bassline.

Their latest release was different, however. After a long hiatus, they had come back with a song that marked a total contrast to the fantastical nature of their previous work. It was a war cry that called for anything but war, a rallying appeal for sanity in the face of a world that seemed to be falling apart. And naturally, it had found its audience. The band had only teased a preview so far: a small sample of the track that had been plastered across their social media channels, accompanied by the usual cryptic captions and ominous-looking visuals. But it had been enough to get Mike hooked. Without much else to hope for, the promise of one day hearing the whole thing played live had been something of a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Felix, who’d come to an abrupt halt, thrusting his arms out and stopping them all in their tracks. Jack looked a little irritated as a large quantity of his beer spilled over the rim of his glass.

“Hey, you guys hear that intro?” Felix closed his eyes for a few seconds, blissfully humming the opening notes of the melody to himself. “Reminds me of that summer I spent in Greece. Long days lounging around in the sun, whole nights dancing away on the sand…”

“I’m curious – how did someone like you manage to survive all these months?” Jessie asked, as they set off again on the trail of a remedy for Felix’s nostalgia.

“Well, when all the partying dried up, I had to find other ways to get my kicks,” Felix explained. “Me and another couple of guys laid off from the industry that I bubbled up with, we decided that rather than spending all that time sitting around on our arses feeling sorry for ourselves, we’d entertain ourselves by challenging each other to do the most ridiculous physical shit we could come up with. So we started out trying to see how long we could hang from a piece of scaffolding, attempting a handstand or a cartwheel, that kind of thing. And before we knew it, we were running around the city at night, scaling walls, climbing up flights of steps backwards on all fours. We even decided to go away on our own little “boot camp” – me, at a boot camp, can you believe that?”

“I can believe you lasted about five seconds before you were bored out of your mind,” Jessie retorted with a smirk.

“Oh, trust me, there was never a dull moment. You ever tried doing a round of push-ups after trekking up a valley in the middle of a rainstorm? I highly recommend it. Honestly, it makes you feel invincible.”

“You’re insane.”

“Nah, just drunk. Well, drunk and maybe also a bit insane.”

They were outside the main halls now. Through the PVC strip curtains that hung over the entrance, Mike could see the flash of revolving lights as the dancing crowd cast shadows against the warehouse walls. Felix held out his hand, beckoning them in.

“Care to dance, Jessie?”

“Marcus warned me you’d be trouble.” She laughed, pointing back at him as she brushed past. “Alright, but no funny business. Remember, we’re engaged now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Jack?”

“Only if the bar in there is open as well. You owe me at least half a drink…” Jack lamented, holding up what was left inside his cup.

“I’ll make it another round of tequila. Trust me, nothing larger than a shot’s going to last long in that crowd.” As the other two slid through the curtains into the frenzy of the rave, Felix turned back towards his final companion. “Mike? Mike, you’re coming too, aren’t you?”

Mike had been standing there silently, trying to take it all in. The music was calling to him, a cascading, pulsating beat that ebbed and flowed around his ears. But something felt off. This was all too sudden, too unreal…

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

He spun back around and headed for the stairs.

***

Somehow, he’d found his way back out into the courtyard again. He’d been standing there a while, breathing in the coolness of the night air. As he looked sedately out onto the merry crowds of people before him, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat numb, detached and cut off. As if he were – still – watching them through a glass screen.

It didn’t really make sense. After all they had been through, there was absolutely no reason for anyone to hold back anymore. The revellers around him were already beginning to loosen up, playfully bawling and bickering with one another as they splashed around their drinks. Hell, if he got up and started dancing on one of the benches, he could bet that not a single person would bat an eyelid.

So why was he finding it so damn hard to relax and enjoy the music?

“Mike? Mike! There you are!”

He turned round to find Felix running up to him, looking relieved.

“I thought you had left for good,” Felix explained, as he leant up against the wall beside him. 

“Sorry – I just needed some air. You can head back inside if you like. Weren’t you gonna catch Trip-El-Four with the others?”

“Eh, it’s fine,” Felix nonchalantly replied. “I’m sure I’ll catch him in Amsterdam later in the year. Though, on the subject of Amsterdam – I feel like I could use some ‘air’ too, if you know what I mean…” To Mike’s surprise, he slipped out a spliff from his back pocket.

“You gonna light that up, here?” Mike glanced around nervously. “How’d you even get that in, anyway?”

“I have my methods,” Felix answered with a wink, taking out his lighter. He noticed Mike’s concerned expression as he lit up the joint. “Look, man, I wouldn’t worry – you see that security guard over there in the corner? I think he’s far more concerned about those two blokes kicking off by the taco stand than what anyone around here’s smoking. And on a night like this, a bit of weed is gonna be far from the most potent thing that’s passed around.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” Mike replied, somewhat reassured. “Sorry, I’m just a little on edge.”

“So what brought you out here, anyway?” Felix enquired, after taking a puff and blowing out a cloud of smoke. “I thought you were looking forward to this.”

“Well, it’s just – it’s hard to get back into it, you know?” Mike grew quiet, his voice falling into a dejected mutter. “It feels so hard to be part of this world anymore. Almost like I had my chance and I blew it.”

“Blew it? What do you mean?”

“I was so damn close to clawing my life back before all this. I was finally starting to feel like I was on the right path.” Suddenly, he found himself blurting out his thoughts without hesitation. “And then this thing came along, and it felt like the final nail in the coffin on all that. Don’t get me wrong, it killed people – none of us should forget that. But for the rest of us still clinging on to something in this life, it killed so much else: killed our drive, our hopes, our dreams. Killed off so much that made it all bearable.” He shook his head, overcome with desperation. “And if all we’re going to be doing for the rest of our lives is paying for the damage left behind, by that and everything else – paying for things that we didn’t want, for mistakes that we didn’t make…” He faltered, staring blankly into space. “Then I just don’t see the point in carrying on sometimes, Felix. I really don’t.”

“Woah.” For the first time all night, Felix’s face bore a serious expression. Instinctively, he offered Mike the spliff.

“Just – take it,” he insisted, as Mike began to raise his hand in protest. “Believe me, you need it more than I do right now. This last year has taken its toll on everyone.”

Mike gave in and took the joint, raising it up to his mouth. He inhaled deeply, trying to collect together his jumbled mess of thoughts.

“Now,” Felix prompted, “let it all out.”

Mike exhaled, letting out a long sigh.

“I dunno – I just didn’t expect things to change so quickly, I guess. I at least thought I’d have time to build up some savings, establish myself in my field – get my head above the water and actually be able to breathe for one second, instead of struggling to keep up with the current all the time. Then I could drift around for a bit, try and find a place that really suits me. But this feeling like I’m already supposed to have set my anchor down somewhere, tied myself down to something – I’d barely cast off and it was already there, hanging over my head before I’d even truly had the chance to get started.”

“That’s some poetic filter you’re putting on there.” Felix tried to find the words to console his companion. “Look, take it from me – life rarely ever goes the way you expect it to. Hell, I think every one of us on this planet must have learnt that by now.”

“True, but I still feel so out of sync with everyone else. I mean, Jessie sees her nephews a lot these days. And she’s been talking lately about having kids of her own. And as for Jack – well, he still goes out sometimes, I think. But he’s more into his ‘private parties’ these days – doing lines of coke off kitchen counters with his Magic Circle buddies, that kinda thing.”

“Well, that’s just how Jessie and Jack are living their lives. What’s stopping you from living yours?”

“It’s – the context, more than anything. This pressure to have it all sorted, to declare yourself ‘mature’ and ‘civilised’ and act like you’re no longer looking to cut loose every once in a while. It’s like having to wear a mask all the time – a metaphorical one, of course, not like the ones we’ve gotten so used to. I’ve had to plaster my smiling face all over LinkedIn and ResearchGate just to be in with a chance of landing a postdoc somewhere, and then on the other hand, I’m always petrified something’s gonna pop up on Facebook or Instagram that’ll ruin that ‘image’”. 

He looked up at Felix, addressing him eye to eye. 

“I guess that’s why I’ve always been so jealous of you, man. You work in an industry that’s all about excitement and helping people have a good time – you can be whoever you want to be, without having to deal with all of this social media presence bullshit.”

“Dude, aren’t you forgetting? For most of the last year, my industry didn’t even exist.” He reprimanded Mike as lightheartedly as he could manage. “There’s so many people that got laid off, myself included. The arts are fucked right now.” He gazed back up at the vast complex behind them. “To be honest, it’s a miracle that this place was able to survive. It looked like it wasn’t gonna get any funding at one point. But all this, right here?” He gestured back to the packed courtyard in front of them. “It’s proof that it’ll bounce back, believe me.”

“I guess you’re right,” Mike conceded. “I’m just having a hard time convincing myself that I deserve all of this.”

“Even after all that we’ve been through this last year?”

“Well, when you read about things that happened to people in the past, it makes you realise just how lucky we’ve had it. Serfs starved to death by lords in their castles, slave ships across the Atlantic, soldiers trapped in trenches – and here I am, complaining that I’ve gone a year without shelling out nine quid for a double rum and coke and having some sweaty stranger bury their elbow in my face.” Mike shook his head again and sighed. “It just leaves you questioning everything sometimes. Whether you’re self-centred, out of touch with reality…” 

“Oh, no doubt, some of the stuff that happened in the past was horrifying. But people still found ways to celebrate once the bad times were over, just as we’re doing now.” Felix was suddenly overcome with curiosity. “What made you study history, anyway? Seeing as it seems to get you down so much.”

Mike pondered for a moment as he toyed with the spliff in his hand.

“It’s the stories, I guess,” he finally answered. “The tales of humanity, the personalities you encounter.” He smiled at Felix, suddenly enthused by something he’d read. “I’m actually looking into this pirate captain at the moment as part of my research. He’s definitely what you’d call a character.”

“Ah? How so?”

“Well, depending on whose account you read, he was either a bit unhinged or a complete maniac. He always seemed to end up going on the most adventurous raids and finding the craziest ways to spend his time ashore – it’s like there was never a dull moment with him.” Mike was clearly revealing the passion he held for his subject. “But it wasn’t those stories that interested me the most. Actually, it was one where he ended up saving a member of his crew.”

“I wouldn’t have thought there was any loyalty among pirates,” Felix remarked with amusement.

“Yeah, you can imagine most typical pirate captains would be tucked up in their cabins away from their crew, counting their doubloons or whatever. But not this guy. So, as the account describes, he’s out there on deck, helping his crew steer their ship through the darkness. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots one of his men slip himself over the side without so much as a word. So this captain, he immediately tears off his jacket and dives straight into the icy waters after him. And the rest of the crew are left waiting on the deck, not sure what’s going to happen. Then, all of a sudden, he’s resurfaced with the other man, and signalling to the crew to throw them a line. So they hoist them both back up onto the deck, and this crew member who jumped overboard – he’s a mercenary, not been on the ship all that long – he catches his breath, then turns to the captain and asks, ‘Why did you save me?’ After all, if most other pirate captains saw one of their sailors try to take their own life, they probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought.”

“And? What was his response?”

“Well, here’s the good part.” Mike was grinning now, relishing the opportunity to recount the tale. “This captain, he looks his crew member in the eye and he replies: ‘Why? I didn’t give you permission to leave the ship, that’s why!’” He laughed, seeing a smile creep across Felix’s face. “I honestly think that’s what made this crew so effective, why the only accounts you read about their raids are successful ones. They just had that bond, you know. They looked out for one another.”

Droplets began to fall from the sky. Felix saw the contented smile on Mike’s face, somehow feeling that his work had been done.

“That’s a wholesome story, man. I can see why you like to retrace all this stuff.” He glanced up at the gathering rain clouds. “Though I think we ought to get back inside. Perspective’ll be on soon, anyway.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. Sorry, I’ve probably bored you to death out here with all my troubles.” He stood up away from the wall and tossed the spliff end onto the ground. “But, hey – Felix?” he added, all of a sudden.

“Yeah, Mike?”

“I never said thanks. For being there, I mean. Thank you.”

***

“Thank you!” Aaron Parukar roared out to the cheering crowd, still riding the high from an impassioned final chorus. The sweat-drenched frontman smiled majestically, throwing out his arms to bask in the cries of worship from his gathered congregation. “London – it’s been far too fucking long. Am I right?”

The howls of affirmation came surging back at him, almost sweeping him off his feet. This was the edgiest audience he’d played to yet, one that bustled and bruised around like a pack of starving wolves. They’d been scrutinising his every move with ravenous intent, hungry for more of the music they’d been deprived of hearing live for so long. And he was only too happy to feed them.

“I thought so,” he chuckled, bracing himself to belt out another anthem. “ViPers! You know this next one. So let me hear you make some NOISE!”

Mike and his companions zealously answered the call as Vicarious Perspective launched into the next item on their setlist. They were all there, right in front of them: Parukar on vocals, skilfully alternating between melodic melancholy and ardent chants of defiance. Daisy Ferryman vigorously strumming her electric guitar, her gaze of rapturous delight just about visible beneath her short, dark fringe. Grant Glaston plucking away at his bass with precision, looking as morose as ever. Lamberto Morro underpinning the whole ensemble with his unfaltering command of the drums. And Baxter “Boone” Towne manning the synths, striking key after key and twisting away at various dials as his bandmates propelled the song from one chord into the next. 

It was pure exhilaration, and Mike was loving every second.

But, damn it, he needed a piss. He ought to have taken Felix’s advice and stuck with shots, rather than announcing his triumphant return by purchasing a double rum and coke to accompany him into the crowd.

Surely he could just last out the rest of this song?

He held on till the final notes and the first cries of appreciation before signalling to his friends that he was ducking out for a moment. Jessie was the only one he seemed to gain some kind of acknowledgement from – Jack already looked pretty out of it, and Felix was on another planet by now as always.

He headed back through the crowd as the applause rang out, trying to find his way through the cheering masses. The place was packed to the rafters with people. It almost seemed like the whole of London had turned out for this one event.

 He’d made it halfway down the hall before Aaron Parukar launched into the opening lyrics of another song – a sound that was fresh and new, yet all too recognisable:

“We’re fighting silent wars against foes unseen,

Yet there’s nothing left for us here,

You want to plunder all we’ve sown on a dying land,

Then have us foot the bill before you disappear…”

It was the opening lines of Perspective’s new track, the one he’d been waiting for. He spun back around as the band launched into its energetic instrumental chorus, a cue for the place to go completely wild. Overcome with excitement, he fumbled around for his phone in his pocket with his free hand. He had to get a video of this, capture the historic occasion. Put it up on Facebook or Instagram with some sort of caption to say he was here, now, watching his favourite band playing live.

Then, in the midst of all the movement, he froze.

Did he really want to post this to social media?

Did he want everyone to know he was here, now, drunk out of his mind, in the middle of a rave, partaking in drugs and pissing away his money on alcohol?

Suddenly, he felt a bit nauseous. He knew people who were out of work, who were struggling to make ends meet. People who’d launched new businesses, only for them to go bust. People who were dealing with far worse mental anguish than he was, struggling to even take things one day at a time.

And all those others he’d friended and connected with in the course of his life – professors and mentors, professional contacts, new mothers, his parents…

What would they think, if they saw him shouting to the proverbial, digital rooftops that he was here?

Distracted by the flood of doubts, he’d left his hand absently stuck in his pocket, and his elbow clashed into the belly of a person dancing beside him.

“Hey, watch it, mate!”

“Sorry,” Mike stuttered, as the drink in his other hand splashed onto another audience member, provoking an irritated glance. The music, the lights, the motion – it was all getting too much for him. 

He welled up, feeling on the verge of a breakdown.

And then, all of a sudden, the floodgates burst open, and the thoughts came pouring over him like a tidal wave.

You’re out of place here. You don’t belong here. You’re a teacher now, for Christ’s sake. A mature, upstanding member of society. But you know that deep down, no matter what you go on to achieve, you’ll always feel like a failure. You stupid piece of shit. So just give up now. End it all like you’ve always dared. Or go home instead, sit out the rest of your life like the others. Either way, it’s over. You know you can’t do this forever. You and everyone else out there have witnessed first-hand, really, just how just fucking fragile all of this shit really is. You and the rest of your generation, you’ve been spoilt rotten your whole damn life. And this way of life, it can’t last forever. No-one can do this forever.

None of this will last forever.

He was crouched down close to the ground, his hands clasped around his head. His drink was in a puddle on the floor beside him. He shut his eyes tightly as the music screeched and whirred with ever-increasing ferocity, scraping away at the insides of his eardrums. Even submerged in the crowd of people that surrounded him, he felt overpowered by the noise, overwhelmed by everything. He could vaguely perceive faint, muffled voices close by, expressions that almost sounded like curiosity or concern. But now, he couldn’t really even begin to make out anything properly anymore – even the screeching had begun to subside, the soundwaves muted as he sunk further down into the sea of bodies and legs. None of it really mattered, anyway. He was too far down now, too far gone. And his lungs were running out of air, he could feel it. He was beginning to choke, struggling to breathe…

“Mike! Mike!”

With a remaining blip of consciousness, he tilted his head in the direction of the voice that had called him, gazing up towards the light. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Felix bursting through the crowd, parting his way through the perpetually shifting current of people. He reached out and grabbed Mike by the shoulder, carefully pulling him up and away from the dark pool of liquid on the floor that had been created by his discarded rum and coke.

“Are you okay?” he shouted over the blare of the speakers and the audience’s roar. “You look like you were about to hurl, man! Do you need to get out of here?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Mike blurted back, trying to reassure the concerned faces of the other people around them. “It’s just… I can’t… I –”

His faltering explanations were interrupted as the lights died down and the electrically enhanced signals of Ferryman’s guitar faded away, transitioning into an acoustic strum. For a moment, it felt like it was finally at an end: the song was over. 

And then, Aaron Parukar’s voice broke through the lull, tinged with that melodic softness that set him apart from so many of his peers:

“You can steal me away in the dead of night, take my soul and tear it apart,

You can break me down, mould me into a man, but I’ll always be a child at heart.

I’ll take the road to the water’s edge, chart a course out from the bay,

Even if it takes me a lifetime, I swear – I’ll trade this island for another someday.”

There it was again. That feeling of being far away, the feeling he’d heard so many times in Vicarious Perspective’s music. Of being lost and adrift on an island somewhere, seeking refuge in the elements. Resisting the pressures around him as he fought to remain true to his inner child. An entire life story, the promise of adventure, exploration, freedom – all encapsulated within a single stanza, set against a backdrop of warming synth notes and hidden away inside a song that could easily have been mistaken for an assault on the senses.

Somehow – after so many months of being utterly absent – the feeling of hope was there again.

“Dude, are you high?” Felix waved his hand anxiously, trying to recapture Mike’s attention. “You look like you’ve taken something.”

“No, no, it’s just – the music. That bridge, man. That’s the most beautiful bridge I’ve ever heard.” Mike was overcome with pure bliss. “They didn’t play that in the preview.”

The music was ramping up again now, increasing in intensity for an outro that would shake the gantries and light fittings all the way to the back of the warehouse. Felix leant in close and shouted into Mike’s ear, doing his best to make his words heard over the crescendo.

“Whatever’s going through your head right now, man, whatever you’re thinking – just let it go. You don’t need to feel guilty about being here. If you need anyone’s permission to enjoy yourself, you’ve got mine.”

Up on the stage, Parukar stepped forwards and grabbed the mic, readying himself for a fierce chant to accompany the final chorus to their revolutionary premiere.

“London! Sing this with me now:”

“Stand your ground, never cease,

we live to run, we fight for peace!”

 The audience belted back the words in time with the music, preparing to launch into a riot to round off the song. Up ahead, Mike could see circles forming for mosh pits. The atmosphere was brimming with tension, anticipation – yet somehow, Mike suddenly felt more at home in the crowd than he’d been anywhere else in a long while. And, as Ferryman raised her pick, signalling for all hell to break loose, Felix clapped Mike on the shoulder and pulled him forwards, addressing him with a maniacal grin: 

“Come rave with me, brother.”

The chorus burst forth, and Mike was dancing again, this time throwing himself around in ecstasy alongside Mike and a whole host of other strangers that felt like his closest kin.  

And all of a sudden, the ghosts of the past and fears about the future faded away, leaving him free to his own thoughts. He was a human being, here, in the 21st century, lit up by the strobe lights and energised by the electric sounds. Able to move. Able to dance. Able to throw out his arms, stomp his feet, sing at the top of his lungs. He felt the blood pulsing through his veins, his muscles contract and relax as they pushed and pulled in response to the forces around him. He was living in the moment. And all the feelings of guilt that had plagued him up to that very moment, the weight of a thousand lives resting on his shoulders – the fear, anger, frustration, sorrow and sadness – it all fell away, to be replaced by one singular emotion, one that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Happiness.