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[hejin57-blog]

MUSIC MASTERS: CD ONE -----

For those interested: I’ll be posting segments of my Music Masters series through this tumblr account.  Due to the nature of the story, song links will be linked where relevant.

Anyway, on with the story.

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WHITE KNUCKLE RIDE: PART ONE

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Music is truly a marvel of human invention.

In essence, it's nothing more the configuration of sounds in a set pattern, sometimes produced through our vocal cords, or often times through contraptions consisting of nothing more than strings and pieces of metal and wood.

But the beauty of music is not in how it's created, but in the inevitable result. It is a deliberate pattern of sounds that can be interpreted in an infinite number of ways, and loved by people all over the world, if not throughout the known universe.

Michael Kay is one of those people.

And this is his story, his white knuckle ride; in all it's long playing glory.

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-----

It was in all likelihood very frustrating to be the neighbor of Colleen Kay.

As a relatively hard-working twenty-something, Colleen peacefully came and went from her Washington Heights apartment when work demanded her to do so. She waved at the neighbors when they waved first, usually acknowledged the postman, and put long and stressful hours at her nursing job. So one could only assume that in the hours she wasn't home, there should be nothing but peace and quiet.

If not for her afro-headed brother, of course.

It was just another typical afternoon for Michael Jason Kay, the spotlights in his room practically high-beams, and his music so loud that it seemed to warp the walls of his room with each bass strum.

Taller than most boys his age, Michael Kay flowed like water, his red sneakers burning up the dance floor with each step. As the pumping disco beat pulsed around him, he bounced back and forth with near perfect sync.

Though his room was small, it was big enough to fit the configuration of colored spot lights he had bought to emulate the heart of a disco dance floor. The room lit up with a turquoise glint, reflecting off his tan skin as his large orb of hair bobbed and his record player continued to play its soulful melody in the corner.

Eyes closed, lost in the music, Michael could feel words just beginning to escape his lips as he descended into boogie wonderland.

"Got canned heat in my heels tonig-"

Unfortunately for him, those next words never came. Instead, a voice seemed to pierce the wall of noise. A very familiar voice that he hated to hear on days like this.

"Michael! Can you please turn it down just a decibel, please?!"

Michael's eyes snapped open, and he felt his hips sway out of his control. They bounced against his dresser, nearly knocking over his prized lava lamp. Michael reached for it like a clumsy ape, catching it just in time and then proceeding to groan audibly as he pulled the needle off his vinyl copy of Synkronized.

Switching off his strobe lights, his face soured. Thanks to his always wonderful sister, the moment was gone.

Michael stepped out of his room, hands buried in his pockets as he whined.

"Oh come on, Colleen! That was my jam! I was in the moment, you know? The moment!"

His sister's tone of voice was nothing short of uninterested. She was clearly far more concerned with fixing her curly black hair in the mirror.

"Well that's too bad.", she began, as Michael plopped down on the couch nearby. "Because until you have enough money to go ahead and soundproof your room, there's only so many of your moments I can take. And let's not even get started on the other tenants."

Michael grinned to himself. "Oh come on. I don't play it that loud."

His toothy smile had close to no effect on his older sister. She simply picked up her work notepad from her desk before dropping it right on Michael's stomach.

"I'm not here to argue with you, little brother. Now I need you to run down to the store for me and grab what's on the list. And only what's on the list." she stated, as poured herself a glass of water from the tap. The heat still permeated in their cramped apartment in these final days of summer.

"What!? Why can't you just do it? You're supposed to be off today, and I have a dance routine to perfect." Michael protested.

Colleen simply put her hands up as she shook her head with frustration. "I had off. But Christy decided to get sick yet again, and we need the cash for next month. The least you can do for me is this one tiny task."

His sister reached for her beige coat, checking her baby blue scrubs in the mirror for stray stains. "I'm sure it'll only take you ten minutes, tops."

Michael let out a long sigh. He stuffed the note in his pocket, grumbling to himself as he headed for the front door.

"Yeah. Ten minutes I could be using practicing some killer moves..."

-----

If there was but one solace of having to walk the six blocks out to the grocery store, it was that Michael's music could always come with him. As a listener of the classics, having been bought a vinyl player by Uncle Rob on his seventh birthday, Michael Kay still understood the importance of modern music players. He grinned to himself as he shuffled through his various disco and funk songs, the mental play list already forming in his mind.

It was but two days away from the end of summer vacation, but the seasonal colors still prevailed over the New York City skyline. Michael was never one to control his urges, his feet shuffling slightly and his shoulders popping as he walked along the sidewalk to his destination. Even in the busy street, not a taxi cab driver cursing nor a dog barking would interrupt him from his self-imposed sound zone.

As Michael Kay walked, he was far too engrossed to pay attention to the Dust Bowl; an old skate park in the neighborhood always populated by teenagers, local or otherwise. His headphones offered privacy away from the city's ambiance, and thus he continued to grin to himself as he went along.

So naturally, he couldn't hear the sound of skateboard wheels grinding against asphalt, even as this one particular set skidded off the rail and to a halt as he passed by the fence separating the Dust Bowl from the sidewalk. A set of dark green eyes watched him from beneath a tangled mess of brown hair as he remained oblivious. She scanned him up and down; noting his huge black afro, his red sneakers, navy blue jeans and the piercing colors of his tie dye shirt, which was embedded with the design of a pitch black vinyl record.

Then all of sudden, she winced under her breath, instinctively holding her hands up to her ears as a jolt of sound broke her from her train of thought.

It wasn't his appearance that bothered her. He looked like a moron, for sure, but she could ignore that.

No, it was the infernal noise going through his ears. A high-pitched singer was like a wailing ghost invading her eardrums.

To most people, the music coming from someone's headphones over sixty feet away wouldn't be a bother. Because even at the loudest volume in a much closer proximity, Michael Kay's music would come off as an unintelligible mix of squeals and whistles.

And on top of that, the heavy, dark blue headphones guarding her ears would have guaranteed she wouldn't hear anything but hard guitar strums and bleating punk rock beats.

Except that this girl wasn't like most people. She grimaced through her green lipstick as she propped up her skateboard, the sound of his music grating at her ears painfully. It was like a stereo in the other room; she couldn't hear it perfectly, but she could still hear it.

She watched him like a hawk as he passed by, his music thankfully getting further and further away. After another few seconds, and he was out of sight, and the disco strings, now out of mind.

But the girl still spit out venom, as a few other skaters passed behind her, unaware of her plight.

"Oh great. The disco circus is in town."

-----

Michael Kay surveyed the covers in front of him, a gleam in his eyes as he grinned. Looped around his right wrist were Colleen's groceries. However, as she had time and time again before, she forgot how much the groceries actually cost.

And so with all the essentials covered, Michael decided that a little reward was in order. And thus, here he was, patrolling the aisles of Audio Empire, the most prolific music store in his immediate Washington Heights neighborhood.

Though he owned a great many albums on vinyl, Michael always had room in his tiny closet for one more. As he flipped through everything from The Whispers to Barry White to The Bee Gees, he wondered what particular artist tickled his fancy today. It didn't take him long to spot something of interest; a rare special edition cut of Parliament Gold. Michael grinned at his luck, inadvertently talking to himself as he hurried towards the cashier.

"Oh man, Rob would love this. I bet he memorized every single bass line."

The words were low, but a moment later than they were still enough to make the boy's expression slowly sink.

If there was one thing that made him more unhappy than being forced on grocery runs, it was remembering Rob. Michael looked back at the aisles as he stood in line, his mind visualizing his first trip here. It coalesced into a vivid memory, the image of his uncle with his pulled down cap and large bass guitar case on his back thrust into Michael's mind.

This was back when his hair was of normal length, and he still remembered the warmth of Rob's hand on his shoulder, and the joy in his eyes upon being bought a copy of The Jacksons' Destiny.  

This album had been Michael Kay's very first vinyl record, and it was this purchase that ignited in him a love of disco music that would follow him for the rest of his life.

Though these memories were happy, there still remained the painful fact of the present.

Michael Kay hadn't seen his uncle Rob since he was seven years old. Rob, and these memories of him, seemed like a world away.

"...Howdy, and welcome to Audio Empire! How can I help you today?"

Michael's mind was practically glazed over. He nearly jumped out of skin when the girl repeated herself.

The afro-headed boy blinked. In front of him, a blond cashier with distinctly lightning-shaped earrings and a blue checkered blazer smiled as politely as she could as she waited for him to respond. He laughed awkwardly, placing his chosen album on the counter.

"Oh! Most definitely! Just picking this up." he replied. The girl ringed in his purchase as he shook his mind out of past thoughts.

"That'll be a dollar fifty!" she exclaimed, her tone clearly excitable now. Michael handed over a crumpled dollar and change.

She waved as her register dinged. "Come back real soon!"

Michael largely ignored her upbeat attitude, but that didn't seem to affect her much, as she seemed just as eager when the next customer approached the counter behind him.

Michael stepped out of the automatic doors as he popped his headphones in. As the music overtook him, he felt the overwhelming need to move his body again. Canned Heat was calling to him, and he switched to the song.

"No interruptions this time." he said to himself, a dumb smile forming on his face as the song lit up his soul.

-----

The walk back was relatively short, but it gave Michael enough time to loop Canned Heat more than once. Though it was getting pretty windy, Michael didn't mind one bit. He was distracted again, moving to his own tune as he practically danced along the route back to the apartment.

Michael always thought that if John Travolta could make walking look funky, he could too. Of course, most of his fellow pedestrians probably wouldn't agree. Luckily, the streets were mostly empty this afternoon.

It had been a good half hour, but that was nowhere near enough time to make the girl at the Dust Bowl forgot about Michael's music. As he absentmindedly passed by the fence, the messy-haired skater girl was once again assaulted by a piercing interruption of foreign music. It was like another channel in her head, spilling into her punk rock song like a pool of sludge into clear water.

She sat up from the stone bench, ignoring the other skaters in the bowl below as her gaze focused on the afro-headed idiot from before.

"Not this junk again." she groaned. Nearby, a boy clad in shoulder length dreadlocks responded mockingly.

"What junk? You talking about the way you skate, girl?" he chortled, too busy laughing to himself to notice her approaching in his direction.

He barely had time to react as she stepped hard on his board, forcing its center of gravity upward and tossing him off completely. He tumbled down into the skate bowl, scratching himself a bit, but it didn't seem to phase the girl one bit.

"...maaan! It was a joke!" he exclaimed, pulling himself up and rubbing his now scratched arm as a few other skaters chuckled at his plight.

"You new here?" one of them said, being kind enough to help the boy up. "My advice to you: don't joke with Kim. I'm pretty sure her sense of humor is MIA."

The boy simply replied with a nervous smile, wondering what crawled up her spine to make her so irritable.

Meanwhile, Kim was now much closer to the fence separating the Dust Bowl from the sidewalk, watching the afro-headed boy twirl around a lamppost like a moron to the sound of his music.

Reaching into the trash nearby, she was able to find a serviceable soda can, and her expression softened with confidence. Focusing her eyes under her brown bangs, she waited for the perfect moment.

And it was just as Michael Kay began belting out lyrics that she found it. With a strong swing, the can went catapulting over the fence.

"I used to worry about the fut-"

The words were unable to fully escape his lips as the can made impact with the left side of his face. He yelped like a dog as he almost fell off balance, twirling awkwardly as he just barely regained his footing.

Kim laughed under her breath at the sight.

"Score."

Once he began to really feel the pain, Michael simply nursed his eye as he looked downward, picking up the stray red can and wondering what exactly had happened.

"Hey, what gives!?" he exclaimed, looking around but not immediately finding a culprit to blame. He was speaking loudly over his music, his eyes now focusing on he can in his hand as the pain in his eye started to subside.

"Going around throwing that...canned heat?"

The words sort of slipped out of his mouth. For a moment, he focused away from the pain, and from the can in his hand. When he really looked at, it reminded him of the same red-orange on the cover of the single version of Canned Heat. The album itself was pushed up against others back in his room closet.

But for some reason, the image really spoke to him this time. It coursed through his mind, enveloping his senses to the point where the imagery began to associate with sensation. In a way, it connected directly with the music playing in his ears.

And so, like he had done many times in the past, Michael focused on the music. He let his mind drift into another self-imposed sound zone. He could hear the strings, the vocals, the soft clanging of the drums. He listened to the bass, closing his eyes and imagining every strum going through every fiber of his being.

He saw heat. Or at least, a visual representation of heat. It manifested in his mind as the shimmering mirage one might seen in a desert, though it glowed with red-orange intensity like the art on the Canned Heat single.

Strangely though, it felt real. The shimmering heat became less like a dream and more like a sensation. Seconds later, and his right hand began to heat up.

The chorus blared with intensity. Michael opened his eyes as they echoed through his eardrums.

-----

-----

Amazingly, the heat was now all too real.

Michael's expression went wide, as what was left of the can dripped down his palm like it had been melted by a death ray. His right hand was now sheathed in the same shimmering red-orange aura, which burned bright enough to make him squint. He wondered what he was seeing in front of him, or perhaps it was just that the can had just given him one hell of a concussion.

When he blinked, and the heat was still there, it was obvious this wasn't a hallucination.

And so, Michael reacted naturally.

"Oh man!" he cried out like a small child, shaking his hand wildly as if to remove the fiery aura, but to no avail. "Get it off! Get it off, get if off, get it off!"

The heat seemed stuck to him though, and grabbing onto the fence yielded nothing more than a loud sizzling as it began to melt away at the old metal. The remains of the can had been vaporized at this point.

Almost by instinct, Michael reached for his headphones with his non-burning hand, pulling one off and then the other as he continued to stare in disbelief. And in the instant the music was not playing in his ears, the shimmering heat aura seemed to fade away. Like someone pulling the plug on an amp, it was simply gone.

Michael did a double take, looking around. A few pedestrians stared at his general oddness, but it appeared that no else noticed the shimmering red-orange heat that enveloped his hand just moments before. And if they had noticed, neither people walking nor skaters nearby seemed to care. Michael felt beyond confused, but it was at this point that he finally noticed the girl through the fence, who glared at him in some sort of disbelief.

She was only somewhat surprised at this sudden display of power, oddly enough.

Their gazes met, and Michael took in her appearance. She had very messy, shoulder length brown hair. Her ensemble consisted of heavy green lipstick, a purple tank top, toxic green pants held up by a dull orange belt, and bulky combat boots. Despite her intimidating appearance, she was still a girl, that much was certain.

Spotting the curiosity in his eyes, Kim was quick to turn aside. She wanted nothing to do with him now that his detestable music was off for the time being.

And though she was some twenty feet away now, Michael could have sworn that he heard the few words she mumbled under her breath as she walked away.

"Another Music Master. Wonderful. Because that's exactly what this crummy neighborhood needed..."

Michael pressed himself up against the bars of the fence, but now Kim was clearly out of reach. The words echoed in his head. Had his hearing always been this good?

Music Master.

That had to be exactly what she said. Michael mouthed the same words, his mind beginning to fantasize a possible meaning. Did it have something to do with what had just happened?

He debated calling out to the girl, but judging by her attitude, it didn't seem worth it.

Michael turned away, now looking at his once prized music player with creeping apprehension.

There was a connection between what had happened and the song that had been playing in his ears, that much was for sure. Was it safe to even try listening to Canned Heat again? And if Michael did even dare to try it, what if something worse happened? He imagined bursting into flame.

Michael then gulped at a grim thought. One that was far worse than the prospect of his afro being lit up like an effigy.

Was it ever safe to listen to any of his music again?

Fast forward to the next track....

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[hejin57-blog]

MUSIC MASTERS: CD ONE

Might want to rewind a bit...

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WHITE KNUCKLE RIDE: PART TWO

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For once, Michael wished Colleen was home today.

Even if he didn't directly tell her what had happened to him, he could at least get some sort of reassurance that he wasn't going crazy.

Michael groaned. What did it matter? Colleen wouldn't believe him if he told her. And if he showed her, she'd freak. It was a lose-lose situation in the end.

His bed creaked as he leaned back, both hands clasped together as his eyes locked onto the music player on the desk with clear apprehension. He had gone from pacing, to nervous nail-biting, to finally relaxing long enough to sit down and think about this sudden and strange situation.

If he wasn't crazy, then it was a proven fact that only an hour earlier he had vaporized a soda can with heat emanating from his right hand. And if he was surmising correctly, it had something to do with the Jamiroquai music that had been playing in his ears at the time.

The afro-headed boy leaned back more, sighing deeply as he stared longingly now the large Saturday Night Fever poster in his room.

"...what would Travolta do?" he asked himself. It was not everyday that someone discovered they had super powers.

A more appropriate question slipped into the afro-headed teen's mind.

"...what would Rob do?"

Any other day, and Michael would have found himself drifting off once again to happy memories of Rob, only for it all to inevitably lead to the fact that was once again Rob still wasn't here with him now. He wasn't here when he needed him most.

Michael narrowed his eyes, shaking himself out of it.

"No, no, not this again! I'm gonna figure this out." he stated proudly, pushing away his previous fear before he scooped up his music player.

Michael Kay's face was plastered with a serious expression now, as he diligently put on his headphones, his thumb hovering over the play button which would then blast Canned Heat into his ears.

There was a only a second of hesitation before he pressed play.

This time, everything felt smoother and more calm, like the boat of anxiety Michael had been on had just sailed out of a deadly storm. He focused on the song like before, though this time without closing his eyes.

Michael desired control in his mind as he allowed the harmony to overtake him. A moment later, and he lifted up his right hand, to see it once again ablaze with the same shimmering mirage of red-orange heat.

It was oddly liberating to see it again. He closed his fist, and the heat responded by retracting slightly. Michael turned towards his wooden desk, his eyes landing on the lava lamp sitting innocently.

Curiosity seemed to get the better of Michael Kay as he opened his right palm towards the lamp. His mind visualized the pulsing heat riding along his arm with the beat.

Like a blinding beam, it erupted from his hand, shattering the lava lamp completely on impact as the ray quickly began to burn at the wood below. Entranced by the light and Canned Heat's lyrics playing in the air, Michael was only brought to his senses when he began to smell the burning wood.

He closed his hand shut. The beam stopped, but the heat aura remained, though once again restrained.

Michael approached, surveying the damage as he exclaimed in wonder.

"Hollywood Swinging! That did just happen, and it was totally wicked!"

His grin was all too wide now, as the power fantasy began to cloud his senses.

When the burning smell got stronger, and Michael really looked at the giant black scar of charred wood on his desk, his grin dropped.

"Oh snap." he began, panic clear is in his voice. "Colleen is gonna kill me."

Whatever excitement was left for this crash course in Canned Heat was gone with the wind. The last thing Michael needed was for his sister to find out he damaged something in his room yet again, and for her to take an arm and leg from him for it in return.

"Arrgh, come on! I can't afford this, man!"

Unfortunately for Michael, It would be a long night of scrubbing and all manner of cleaning for him to try in vain to rid his desk of the burn mark.

It distracted him enough that he had forgotten all about this newly discovered super power, even as sleep finally overtook him some time later.

-----

...Ugh, what's that burning smell?

...Michael! Time to get up!

...tired as hell here!

Since the events of the previous day, Michael's hearing remained incredibly sensitive. He almost rolled off of his bed as he blinked awake, his eyes focusing on Colleen perusing around discarded clothes scattered on his floor.

She was also spraying some pretty heavy fragrance as she held her nose.

"Something really reeks in here. Did you break yet another lava lamp?"

Michael rolled back to one side.

"Ask me in an hour. Need more sleep..." he grumbled. His dreams had been wracked with wild colors and sounds, most likely a consequence of his experience with Canned Heat from yesterday.

"You do know that school starts today, right? I'm beyond wiped, so I'd appreciate if you got ready sooner rather than later." she commented. In an instant, Michael jolted up like lightning had struck him.

"What!?" he replied, tumbling out of bed, his covers strewn about. He ran over to his Bee Gees calendar, frantically searching for the date.

Low and behold, Colleen was right. It turned out it was not two days from the start of junior year like Michael had thought. Yesterday had been the very last night of summer vacation. Michael cursed himself internally for his mental miscalculation.

Colleen seemed finished spraying as Michael reached for his afro pick and began sculpting his hair back to normal. Hours of rolling around in his sleep had turned it into quite the mess, and there was no way Michael Kay was walking into school looking so out of whack.

Out of the corner of his eye, he felt relief as he realized why Colleen had yet to blow up over the cause of the burning smell. Even in his tired state last night, he had managed to cover the burn mark with vinyls and clear out the remains of his shattered lava lamp.

Michael smiled awkwardly as he picked out his favorite tie dye shirt. "Oh yeah, weird smell, huh?  I broke one of my records while I was reorganizing last night. Sorry about that."

Colleen's expression perked up at the thought. "You? Reorganizing? Good on you, little brother. Now try to make it to school on time today."

Michael grinned wide as he looked at himself in the mirror. His afro was perfect now.

"No worries, Colleen. I've got a good feeling about today."

-----

The first day of school seemed to fly by at light speed for Michael Kay. One minute, he was twiddling him thumbs and flicking paper footballs in homeroom, and before he knew it, he was by his locker, staring at his music player with a very familiar apprehension.

New junior classes at Clinton-Collins High proved to be no distraction to Michael, who could only wonder of the potential damage that his once innocent music device was now capable of.

He had been so wrapped up in this Music Master business that he had ignored everyone today who commented on his hair, compliment or insult alike. He hadn't waved back at those few students who remembered him from dance club, the one club Michael dared venture to since it gave him a chance to show off his dancing skills.

Everyone seemed like blurry shadows in a fog to Michael Kay.

Every person except one.

Perhaps the sight of him just annoyed her so much that she couldn't stop herself. Or perhaps Kim was just particularly in a bad mood today.

Either way, the words slipped out from her lips, the absolute disdain for him very apparent.

"...the longer you stare at it like a moron, the better. Just spare me from hearing your terrible music..."

Once again, the words were faint, mumbled under her breath, but to Michael, they were astoundingly clear. It was the same voice from yesterday, the same girl who had stared back at him after that can had hit him square in the face.

This was more than enough to break Michael's concentration away from his music player.

"Wait...what?"

No response. Kim kept walking.

"Hey!" he then exclaimed, though Kim still didn't flinch. "I heard that!"

She kept the same cold expression as she shoved the front door of Clinton-Collins High out of her way and walked down the steps, pushing aside a few students who were talking without even a hint of an "excuse me" or "sorry."

Michael stuffed his music player in his pocket, running out after her as he called again out with exasperated breath.

"Hey! You're the girl who threw that can at me!"

He walked quickly close behind Kim, the cogs having finally connected in his mind, albeit a day late. How could he have not figured it all out sooner?

Kim continued to ignore him, continuing to walk along as if he was nothing more than a bothersome insect. Her incredibly loud punk rock music blared in her ears, but luckily Michael was much more used to his enhanced hearing. Somehow, he was able to regulate the noise to the sidelines in his mind, much more focused on Kim herself.

"I can hear you, you know. I heard you dissing me!" he said, quite loudly now. As he followed Kim down the street, a few students on their way home noticed the obvious display. Two girls in particular began to whisper to each other as Kim passed, making the extra effort to get out of her way.

"Helloooooo? Anybody home! I know you can hear me!"

Michael was waving his arms with annoyance now, but nothing he seemed to do would get this girl's attention. Nevertheless, the longer he walked behind her, the more he began to piece together who she was. Thinking back, he had seen her more than once last year in school. She didn't speak much, but he distinctly recalled a number of times she had been called on the loudspeaker.

Her name was Kimberly Ramone, if he remembered correctly.

Unfortunately, Michael was too caught up with recognizing Kim to realize she was leading him onto streets he didn't recognize. The frustration was becoming clear on her face, and all this time there seemed to be fewer and fewer people around them as Michael tailed just a few feet behind her.

"You can't ignore me forever!" he practically whined. Kim began debating options in her head, surveying her surroundings for witnesses. She was just about to give herself the all clear, when all of a sudden, a foreign sensation interrupted the sanctity of her music.

She felt a hand grab at her left shoulder. Kim gritted her teeth. Her personal space was under attack.

Michael, however, was too engrossed in answers to understand the situation he was in.

"Look, you said something yesterday. Something about Music Masters. Now just what the hec-"

She was so quick, and Michael was so unprepared. He felt her hand pull his away with surprising force, and Kim twisted his arm hard. He gasped, and before he even knew what was going on, Kim had him in a choke hold. Though he pushed back, Kim was clearly much stronger than she looked.

"Okay, Afroboy. That's more than enough. You now have my full and undivided attention." Kim announced, her arm closing in just a bit to make Michael cough audibly. He could only respond with nervous laughter. He imagined that trying to reach for his music player was a bad idea right now.

"Kimberly, right? My name's Michael. I think we were in English together once, maybe last yea-"

The rest of his words were replaced by a very high-pitched shriek. He felt the most awful pain as Kim pulled hard on the follicles of his afro, a now incredibly perturbed expression on her face. He flailed wildly. Now was the time to panic.

"Agh, damn it, DAMN IT! What did I do?" he asked, now on one knee and looking up at Kim as she simply stared back down in disdain.

"First of all, it's Kim, and only Kim. If I have to repeat myself, this is only going to get worse."

Michael smiled back, his best attempt at defusing the situation. "Yeah, Kim, I got it. Just watch the hair, okay?"

"It's not my fault you decided to grow yourself such an obvious weak point. Now why would you go and interrupt my day? Your music bothering me wasn't enough, huh? You're really asking for it, aren't you?" she threatened, but this only seemed to spark curiosity in Michael.

"And that's another thing. How did you hear what I was listening to? Come to think of it, I can hear your music too..."

Kim pulled again, and Michael yelped. "This isn't twenty questions. Get lost."

Surprisingly, she let go, pushing him back though as she did. Kim paused for a moment, thinking that Michael was at least smart enough to retreat from a clearly losing battle.

Of course, she was quickly proven wrong.

Brushing himself off, Michael got up, albeit slowly, as Kim narrowed her eyes in a threatening manner.

She addressed him with clear dominance now. "We're not going to have this discussion again, you hear? I don't give a damn if you're a Music Master; you stay away, or I uproot your hair like a tree.

And with that, Kim set down her skateboard, rolling off like nothing had happened. To her, it was easier to leave him looking like an idiot. Much less than work for her as opposed to kicking his ass, that much was for sure.

Meanwhile, Michael simply stood for a moment, very much dumbfounded.

She had said it again. Music Master. She had very clearly said it again.

"Oh no." Michael declared, starting into a run as he was powered by nothing more than his desire to know more. "You know something, Kim! And man, do I hate cliffhangers!"

But despite his running, Kim was far ahead, swerving past pedestrians with that same look of venom on her face. She passed by one of Michael's classmates, causing the girl's various papers to fly out uncontrollably from the sheer gust of speed.

Michael could feel himself start to heave, and he stopped for a moment. Clearly, he wasn't catching up anytime soon.

He reached for his headphones, suddenly feeling newfound confidence. Perhaps there was just enough time for him to catch up. And if Rob had taught him anything, he wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Don't want to stop for me, huh? Fine!"

He pushed play, and Canned Heat boomed through his ears again. This time, however, the heat burned hot not only in his hand, but in his heels. As if by instinct, Michael burst forward with newfound speed, his feet seemingly gliding along the asphalt itself.

He could only wonder what people around him thought was going on. He silently hoped they thought he was on roller skates. Really bright roller skates.

But as he watched Kim skate into a dim back alley, he didn't think too much on it.

Something was going on with this Music Master business, and she clearly had answers.

-----

Kim waited quite patiently as Michael caught up. She was almost a bit amused now. It was pretty surprising just how far this idiot was willing to go for information. He could practically be a First Beat at this point.

When Michael reached the alleyway entrance, she was none too shocked by the song effect quite literally hot on his heels. He seemed very confident however, mustering his best serious voice.

"Alright, Kim. You got two options. Either a faceful of Canned Heat, or you start explaining this Music Master stuff, now."

Kim snickered. Sweat was obvious on Michael's brow. "Hey! I'm serious! I'm not afraid to dish this stuff out, you hear!?"

She laughed out loud now. "I'm sorry, is this supposed to be a hold up or something? Are you high, Afroboy, or just really dumb?

Michael stepped forward, holding up his right hand, the red-orange heat shimmering with intensity. Kim seemed unfazed though.

"You're funny. I'll give you that." she said, cracking a knuckle.

"Answers, Kim. Now!" Michael declared, but his voice was shaking. And once again, Kim moved faster than he could hope to react.

Her elbow crashed hard into his nose, and Michael felt the blood rush out as Kim's entire weight hit him all at once. Though she seemed like a lithe girl, she packed way more punch than he could ever expect. He sank to his knees, grabbing his nose and trying to stifle the dripping blood, eyes wide from both shock and pain.

"How's that for an answer, you little asshole!" she screamed now, the anger finally coming through.

Michael could only reply with a nasally tone as he continued to hold his nose. "Ah man, you broke it! You're crazy, you know that? Man, my sister's gonna milk the hell out of me for this!"

Kim was having none of it now. "Oh shut up. I know when I've broken something. Count yourself lucky this time.

For the first time since their encounter started today, her fingers moved for her music player. Slowly, she clicked fast forward, moving on to a new song. Michael hadn't been really paying attention to the music before, but he definitely was now.

-----

   -----

The loud strum of an angry guitar seemed to fill the alleyway, as Kim made a sick smile. As dark forces seemed to materialize around Kim in response to the song, Michael could only look back it in total awe. It was one thing to witness his own song effect, but to see someone else's was another thing entirely.

My Chemical Romances's cover of Desolation Row practically exploded onto her, and Kim's eyes turned a liche purple as massive claws seemed to spout over where her hands once were. Kim took in the sound like it was her lifeblood.

"This is what you get for playing tough guy with me." she told Michael Kay, her voice now warped and garbled from the song effect that had overtaken her. "And trust me, you're not the first."

Clearly, the situation had now gone from bad to much, much worse. Thus, there were a great many thoughts flooding through Michael's head in the next brief moment.

She's a Music Master?

I'm screwed.

Well, I've lived a good life, right?

I wonder how they'll remember me.

Maybe Rob will be at my funeral at least.

Then the most important thought surfaced above the others.

She's a Music Master.

She's like me.

This is it.

This is the ticket!

Michael knew he had only one option left. He had to act fast. Everything was at stake here.

And so with great courage, he put his hands up.

"Alright, I give. I totally, completely surrender. I'm just...I'm just super confused."

Somehow, Kim didn't shred him into pieces in the next moment. Michael had guessed correctly; though she would certainly hurt him, she was no killer. She was slightly taken aback by all this, but nevertheless, her song effect only lessened to the point where her eyes returned to normal, her voice a normal volume, and she allowed only one of her dark-force claws remain.

He continued, trying his best to sound as genuine as possible. And to be fair, he played the part well.

"I don't get it. What is this, X-Men? Music equals super powers? It makes no sense. Is that what I am? A Music Master? Is that what we are?"

Kim put her hand to her forehead, the irritation getting to her now.

"What do you think, you idiot? It's not incredibly obvious by now? You can't lack this many brain cells."

Michael sighed in response. "I'm not really good with the obvious."

This was his chance to appeal to her better nature. If Kim had one at all, that is.

"Look, all I'm asking for is some help. I don't want to die one day because I decided to listen to Thriller. You seem like you know what you're doing."

He put on his best grin. It worked with Colleen, at least. "So...got any pointers for a newbie?"

Kim gritted her teeth, debating on clocking him in the face and ending this problem right now. Unfortunately, there was something about that smile that stopped her. It was so familiar, to the point where hitting him, at least in a defenseless state, would feel wrong.

She opted on moving her headphones down to her neck, and by doing so, her hand returned to normal as the song ceased to play in her eardrums. She wasn't lowering her guard, of course. Kim was one hundred percent sure she could easily take him, song effect or not.

"Okay. This stopped being my problem, right now. I'm not playing tutor for you, Afroboy."

"It's Michael! Michael Kay!" he protested, but Kim was done listening. She was already at the curb when he called out to her.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna leave me like that? Leave me with nothing?"

Finally, Kim could take it no more. Michael was biting at her patience now. She whipped around, barking back at him like a cornered lion.

"Yes, Michael. That's exactly what I'm going to do! People get left with nothing all the damn time! Get used to it!"

That was enough to get Michael to shut up. Not even bothering to check for traffic, Kim put all her weight on her skateboard and started on her way. Less than ten seconds later, and she was around the corner, and as good as gone.

If there was anyone around to hear her roar back at him like that, they certainly didn't seem like they cared.

And so, alone by the alleyway was Michael Kay. His nose was still bleeding, but he had forgotten about the pain now.

That was nothing compared to the awful, sinking feeling in his belly. His one ticket had up and left, leaving him with nothing more than a painful, bloody parting gift.

Music Master or not, Michael was totally and completely alone.

Fast forward to the next track...