The Cage | 3rd Person POV

  The Cage was legendary: one of those clubs metal kids name-drop like a prayer and tour managers curse because the calendar is booked till doomsday.

  Landing a Saturday slot felt like cheating fate.

  The line to the venue wrapped half a block. Nickie strode up first, snare case in hand. The bouncer lifted a meaty palm.

  “ID,” he demanded, his tone flat.

  “I’m performing tonight,” Nickie was patient in a way people who often got denied access to places were, keeping her voice steady and polite.

  “With REAPERAND. I’m the drummer.”

  The bouncer didn’t even glance at the case.

  His eyes swept over her like he’d seen a thousand girls play this game before. The corner of his mouth twitched, halfway to a smirk.

  “Sure you are. And I’m the Pope.”

  Nickie knew the look. The once-over, the slow dismissal that said small girl, big case… Must be a groupie.

  Adam and David arrived with their gear just in time to see Nickie’s cheeks flush.

  “What’s going on?” Adam asked Nickie.

  She was about to answer, but the bouncer cut her off, “No ID.” Like that settled it.

  Adam’s eyes squinted in a who the fuck asked you look.

  “She’s with us,” He said sharply, his voice carrying an edge. “We’re the band. She’s not here to party; she’s here to work. Let her through.” He snapped.

  David gestured toward the clipboard on the stand. “Check the lineup. She’s on it.”

  The bouncer didn’t move. Didn’t even glance at the list. He just crossed his arms tighter, as if humoring them was beneath him.

  “I don’t care who she’s with. No ID, no entry. Rules are rules.”

  Nickie could feel Adam’s rage boiling over, and her eyes widened.

  ‘This could be bad.’ She thought.

  Her hand shot to his arm: four taps, drummer’s code for hold the tempo.

  “It’s fine,” she said quietly. “Let’s just call someone.” That made him pause.

  David took out his phone and stepped aside, dialing the organizers.

  Adam stayed close to Nickie, glaring at the bouncer with barely restrained anger.

  “Man really said ‘rules are rules’ like it’s the height of moral complexity. What’s next? Selling a masterclass on gatekeeping 101, now with bonus misogyny?”

  Nickie elbowed him before he added volume.

  The bouncer didn’t respond, his expression unreadable.

  A few minutes later, the coordinator stepped out of the club, an apologetic smile plastered across his face, but his eyes were already scanning the scene like he was walking into a minefield.

  His pace slowed when he caught Adam’s expression, and again when he clocked the set of David’s jaw.

  “Hey, sorry about this,” he said quickly, voice pitched to soothe. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “She’s in the band,” David said firmly, gesturing to Nickie. “She’s the drummer.”

  The bouncer didn’t move. “No ID.”

  The coordinator blinked once, long and pained.

  Then exhaled sharply through his nose, like the sound of someone mentally kicking a wall.

  You could practically hear not this again.

  He reached into his pocket for his phone, muttering something about “Love it when things run smooth,” under his breath, and stepped aside to make a call.

  His back was to them, but you could see his shoulders tense as he spoke in low, clipped tones. After a brief conversation, he turned back, phone still in hand, face strained.

  “Owner says it’s fine. Let her in.”

  He offered the phone to the bouncer, who accepted it like it insulted him personally, then shoved it back without a word.

  He finally stepped aside.

  Nickie walked through the entrance with her head held high, but Adam and David’s annoyance lingered.

  “Wow,” Adam muttered as they stepped inside.

  “Always fun being reminded that having talent still ranks below having a dick. Next time, we’ll just bring a slideshow presentation and a notarized letter from Satan.”

  Nickie snorted.

  “Guess I’ll bring my kindergarten finger-painting awards next time. Real credentials. Might even include a glitter chart titled 'Why I Deserve Basic Respect.'”

  David put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “Next time, we’ll make sure they know you’re part of the band ahead of time.”

  Nickie nodded, but as they walked toward the stage, she couldn’t help but glance back at the entrance, where the bouncer had resumed his position.

  David and Adam exchanged a look. They were determined to make sure Nickie never had to fight for her place again.

  The Blocked Exits

  After the band’s soundcheck, the sound tech waved Nickie over as the others began packing up their gear.

  “Hey, drummer,” he called, clipboard tucked under one arm. “Mind staying back for a sec? I want to check your snare some more.”

  Nickie glanced at Adam and David, then back at the tech. A small nod toward them: I’ll catch up.

  David and Adam stepped away toward the bar.

  Nickie grabbed her sticks and headed back to the kit. “What’s up with it?”

  “It’s cutting through a little too sharp in the mix,” the tech explained, adjusting the mic on the snare drum. “Need to balance it out with the rest of the kit. Can you give me some solid hits? Start mid-level, then go full power.”

  Nickie sat and tapped the snare as instructed, gradually increasing her intensity. The tech crouched nearby, listening intently while adjusting levels on the mixer.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Good, good,” he muttered, leaning in to angle the mic slightly. “Now throw in a rimshot.”

  Nickie obliged, cracking a sharp, explosive snap that reverberated through the venue like a gunshot.

  The tech winced but nodded. “There it is. Perfect. One more roll, softer this time.”

  As she played, she noticed the stage getting… busier.

  At first, it was nothing. A wardrobe case left ajar near the curtain. Then a trolley rolled by. Another case appeared, larger this time, wedged just off the left stairwell.

  By the time she finished the roll, more flight cases had been shoved into the right stairwell, stacked like an improvised barricade.

  Then came the fold-out table, rammed right in front of center stage and piled with cables, water bottles, and the remnants of someone’s catering.

  Nickie lowered her sticks to her lap, scanning her surroundings.

  Left stairwell: gone.

  Right stairwell: gone.

  Front: blocked by enough clutter to trip an acrobat.

  And the stage itself? Stupidly high: nearly two meters. A flat-out jump wasn’t an option unless she wanted to test how many bones she could snap before soundcheck officially ended.

  ‘Awesome. Great. Cool.’

  She bit the inside of her cheek, weighing the odds of just hurling herself into fate’s arms, until a tall, dark blur near the bar pulled at her attention.

  There he was.

  Adam.

  Still mid-conversation, half drunk beer in hand, towering over half the room like some brooding monument to poor life choices and better eyeliner.

  And then, like she’d summoned him with sheer frustration, his head turned.

  His eyes found her.

  Locked in.

  And just like that, every sarcastic complaint in her head flatlined.

  Her stomach did something weird. Stupid. Annoyingly warm.

  She frowned at him, mostly to cope.

  The moment soundcheck ended, Adam and David had beelined for the bar like it held the answers to life’s bigger questions.

  “I’m broke,” Adam muttered.

  David didn’t even look at him. Just gave him that slow, knowing nod. “Obviously.”

  They joined the short line. Adam rolled his shoulders out, letting the leftover tension settle.

  The bartender leaned over. “What can I get you?”

  Her eyes lingered. Just a beat too long.

  Adam froze.

  Not obviously, not enough to notice unless you knew him well. His breath hitched, barely visible in the dim light.

  He didn’t smile back. Just looked away like her gaze was something flammable.

  David stepped in, voice level. “Two lagers. Thanks.”

  The bartender blinked, slightly thrown, but turned to pour.

  Adam didn’t say anything. Just shifted back a half-step, putting a sliver of space between himself and the bar. His arms crossed loosely, shoulders tight. He wasn’t angry, just… gone a little too still.

  David caught it all.

  When the beers came, David paid and handed one to Adam without a word. Adam took it, raised it to his lips, and downed nearly half in one go.

  Not thirsty. Just trying to drown a small, spiraling existential crisis… As one does.

  Then his eyes flicked across the room, deliberately scanning. Not the stage, not the bar, not the crowd.

  He was looking for her.

  The noise around them blurred into a low drone.

  His heart was still beating too fast, and not from nerves or flirtation.

  He hated that kind of attention, hated the invisible contracts people made with their eyes.

  But he wasn’t thinking about that anymore. He was thinking about Nickie.

  Was she still on stage?

  He thought he heard the snare maybe a minute ago. Sharp and dry like a crack across glass. It hadn’t echoed in a while, but the memory of it still rang in his chest.

  And then he saw her.

  Standing on the stage, arms crossed, like a pissed-off gargoyle.

  She was staring straight at him.

  Her eyes locked with his like a lifeline had just landed in her lap.

  For a second, nothing else existed.

  Her relief was small. Just the barest softening of her face, but it hit him like a gut punch.

  Something inside him unclenched, like he’d been braced for an impact that never came.

  He didn’t know why it felt so good.

  He didn’t care.

  Then her expression shifted: a flash of exasperation breaking through the relief.

  She lifted her hands.

  First in a casual what the hell? shrug.

  Then wider.

  Then arms flailing in big, slow-motion gestures that looked like a mix between help me and behold the chaos that is my life.

  Adam blinked.

  She pointed at a flight case. Then another. Then swept her arm around like a doomed magician revealing a failed escape trick.

  Her mouth moved, clearly saying something sarcastic he couldn’t hear.

  And then she threw both arms in the air and let them drop with theatrical despair.

  Adam couldn’t help it. A grin tugged at his lips.

  Of course she was trapped. Of course she was making it a performance.

  He glanced again at the barriers around her, then back at her face. Still fixed on him, eyebrows raised now like: well? you gonna rescue me or not?

  He didn’t hesitate. He turned, quietly handing his half-drunk beer to David without a word.

  David blinked. “What?”

  But Adam was already moving.

  David followed his line of sight. Saw the stage. Saw the barricades. Saw Nickie.

  And saw the way Adam walked toward her like he didn’t even realize anyone else was in the room.

  David glanced at the beer now in his hand. Shook his head, half-smiling to himself.

  “…Hopeless,” he murmured, and started towards the green room.

  Nickie crossed her arms with a mock glare, foot tapping like a metronome.

  ‘You better hurry up, Bass Boy, or I’m cannonballing into the nearest amp pile.’

  Adam reached the stage, an infuriatingly amused smirk smeared on his face. He tilted his head up at her, clearly enjoying every second.

  “Well, well,”

  He called, folding his arms.

  “Look at you… Queen of the stage, trapped in her own castle. Should I send in a rescue team, or are you gonna keep yelling at me with interpretive mime?”

  Nickie tried to hide the fact she was secretly happy he came for her.

  She planted her hands on her hips.

  “Hilarious. Are you helping me down, or should I start begging?”

  Adam’s grin widened.

  “Alright, Rapunzel, jump. I’ll catch you.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”

  “Dead serious. Unless you’re planning to live up there now. I can toss you snacks occasionally.”

  Nickie hesitated, glancing at the ground.

  “If you drop me, I swear I’m haunting you.”

  “Not gonna happen.” His voice softened just slightly, steady, sure. “Turn around. Arms out.”

  “You’re for real?”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  “This better not be how I die. I swear to god.” She turned her back to him, arms raised.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “You gotta be fucking!... Ugh. Fine.”

  “Now fall.”

  She didn’t hesitate.

  Adam caught her easily, arms locking around her waist.

  She landed against him with a soft thud and just for a second, he caught a faint whiff of her shampoo.

  Citrusy, clean, with a warm undertone that snagged his breath in his chest before he forced it away, mask snapping back into place.

  He lowered her gently to the floor. “Told you,” he murmured.

  Nickie smirked. “You could’ve just offered me a hand like a normal person.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” he said, grin returning.

  From behind them, the sound tech raised both hands apologetically. “Uh… my bad. Didn’t see we barricaded you up there. I’ll clear it.”

  “Good plan,” Nickie shot back, brushing off her jeans.

  “Wow, stellar timing. Real MVP move… After I’ve done the heavy lifting.” Adam said only loud enough for Nickie to hear.

  “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  “You make it easy,” he teased. “Next time, bring a grappling hook.”

  “Next time I’m just jumping on you. No warning.”

  Adam chuckled, turning slightly to hide the faint heat in his face.

  “Whatever,” he muttered. “You already do.”