Chapter Text
The alarm was already going off when Boombox became aware of it. He pulled his pillow over his head, groaning in annoyance, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep after DJ-ing for a party in Playground last night. Horrible idea honestly. He should’ve known better given that he had a Phight today. Wait, a Phight?
He sat up too fast.
For a second, everything felt slightly out of sync, like his thoughts were arriving after his body had already started moving.
He sloppily put on his visor and immediately looked at the time: 8:32 A.M.
“…Oh phuck.”
That wasn’t good.
To his right, Skateboard was still completely unconscious on the couch, one arm hanging off the side dramatically. Someone’s half-empty bag of chips had spilled across the floor during the night, and a crumpled party flyer was stuck to his sleeve.
Boombox stared at him for a second. After swallowing down the growing feeling of dread clawing at his chest, he lunged forward and grabbed Skateboard by the shoulders.
“SKATE! WAKE UP!”
Skateboard groaned.
“Five more minutes…”
“WE DO NOT HAVE FIVE MORE MINUTES!”
Skateboard blinked slowly up at Boombox.
“Huh?”
“We’re late for the phight!”
“What phight?”
This idiot. Despite being an unusually compassionate inphernal, Boombox was willing every cell in his body just to not strangle Skateboard then and there.
“The Dodgeball Stadium one? The one scheduled for TODAY? The one we’re supposed to be at in like…”
He checked the time again.
“TWENTY-EIGHT MINUTES?!”
Skateboard seemed to wake up fully at that.
The DJ immediately bolted toward the bathroom while Skateboard stumbled off the couch behind him, still tangled in a blanket. Boombox flicked on the bathroom light and immediately regretted it. His reflection looked awful. Behind him, Skateboard shuffled into the doorway squinting like the light itself had personally offended him. Boombox shoved him out of the doorway with one hand while frantically trying to fix his appearance with the other. Skateboard ignored him completely and started trying to pull his hoodie on backwards.
Boombox stared at him through the mirror.
“…Skate.”
“What?”
“You’re wearing your hoodie backwards.”
Skateboard looked down.
“…Oh.”
Skateboard finally disappeared into his bedroom while Boombox managed to make himself look at least vaguely presentable. He went to properly adjust his visor after throwing it on so suddenly, then paused when he noticed faint purple marks under his eyes. He definitely hadn’t been sleeping enough lately. Between performances, late-night gigs, helping with events, and phights, he couldn’t remember the last week he’d gotten proper sleep consistently.
But that was future Boombox’s problem. Current Boombox was more focused on not getting publicly executed for arriving late.
Skateboard finally emerged wearing his outfit properly this time, although one shoelace was untied and his shirt was wrinkled beyond repair. The both of them froze as Boombox checked the time again.
8:45 A.M.
“Oh, we are actually doomed,” Skateboard whispered.
“LET’S GO!”
The two sprinted out of Skateboard’s apartment, trying to get to the Phight scheduled for 9 A.M. As they ran through cluttered apartment blocks and narrow alleyways, Boombox found himself grateful he’d crashed here instead of going all the way back to his place in Crossroads. Because if he had tried to make that commute…
Boombox shuddered at the thought.
Skateboard nearly slammed face-first into a stack of milk crates while turning a corner.
“WOAH!”
Boombox grabbed the back of his hoodie before he could eat pavement, yanking him upright hard enough to make the other inphernal stumble forwards.
“Pay attention to where you’re going!”
“That curb came outta nowhere!”
"It's a curb, Skate. It's been there the whole time. It has never moved in its entire life."
"Well it shouldn't just be sitting there like that!"
"THAT IS WHAT CURBS DO!"
Boombox’s lungs burned. His legs already felt heavier than they should’ve. That was the problem with late-night performances. They always sounded like a great idea until the next morning punched him in the face. The worst part was that this wasn’t even his only performance this week. Between gigs, underground concerts, and random events people begged him to show up for, his schedule had become a complete mess lately.
Skateboard tripped again. Boombox caught him again.
“Boom, if you mention this later, I’m actually gonna kill you.”
“Oh, I’m definitely mentioning this later.”
“Traitor.”
“You literally almost died to a curb twice.”
“It was plotting against me.”
Suddenly, Skateboard paused. “Boom, your gear!”
As soon as Boombox caught on to Skateboard, he summoned his boombox, activating a quick tempo shift to boost their speed. Skateboard summoned his own gear, opting to try and save as much time as possible, but almost immediately was launched off his skateboard after hitting yet another curb. Boombox pulled Skateboard back up as he unsummoned his gear, practically dragging him across the floor. Boombox found a smile creep up onto his face despite the situation.
“Victim to the pavement again?” Boombox asked innocently.
“IT’S TOO EARLY FOR THIS OKAY?” Skateboard retaliated. He finally managed to gain his footing.
Eventually, after what seemed to be a million twists and turns through narrow streets and some weird stares from other Playgrounders, they caught sight of the dodgeball stadium. With a newfound determination, the two inphernals barreled inside and collapsed on the floor as soon as they made it in. The two lay there for what seemed like an eternity, gasping for breath.
“I am NEVER partying before a phight ever again,” Boombox wheezed.
“I second that,” Skateboard managed between breaths.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t dummy one and dummy two.”
“Hey Coil”, said Boombox and Skateboard in unison.
Coil raised an eyebrow. “You two look like you already lost the phight.”
“We ran late.”
“So much for being the fastest phighter,” Coil said smugly, but promptly regretted it when he took a skateboard to the face.
“OW!”
“Deserved,” Skateboard replied.
The two immediately dissolved into bickering while Boombox sat there for a second, unable to stop a tired grin from creeping onto his face. Despite the awful morning, moments like this almost made it worth it. Almost. Then he remembered why they were here. Boombox pushed himself back onto his feet and adjusted his visor.
“C’mon guys,” he said, “Let’s go figure out our teams.”
Coil and Skateboard stopped arguing as the three made their way to the locker room, eager to find out their teams. Despite a rough start to the day, Boombox felt ready to phight, eager to try out new combos and feel the familiar adrenaline rush. However, when he opened the door to the locker room, he paused as he felt a huge sense of utter confusion. Coil ran into him as he was completely unprepared for Boombox’s sudden stop.
“Hey, watch where you’re going, dum-” He paused as he saw what Boombox was staring at. Skateboard looked at them in confusion before peering into the locker room as well.
In the middle of the locker room, Banhammer and Scythe were spewing insults at each.
“Yer head’s so square, I could use it as a storage crate,” Scythe cackled, “Ain’t that right Meds?”
In the corner, Medkit sighed so deeply that it seemed painful.
“Please leave me out of this,” he said flatly.
“Take that back,” Banhammer growled. He was turning a dangerous shade of red.
“Or what, blockhead?”
To the right, Sword and Rocket were actively placing bets on who would win the argument, cheering after every insult like it was a sporting event. Shuriken, Vine Staff, and Slingshot were completely absorbed in their own conversation, paying absolutely no attention to the yelling behind them. On the opposite side of the room, Subspace muttered to himself while aggressively tinkering with Biograft’s wiring. Hyperlaser and Katana stood nearby exchanging polite small talk, only briefly glancing toward the newcomers before continuing their conversation like this was all perfectly normal.
The chaos was not surprising, that was to be expected. What was surprising was the fact that every single phighter was here. Usually, only the ten phighters participating in that day’s matches showed up before a phights, but for some unknown reason all 15 phighters were present.
“Dude, did Flipside mess up scheduling or something?” Skateboard whispered behind them.
Boombox chose not to answer since he didn’t even have the beginnings of a logical explanation. Instead, he sat down on one of the benches lining the locker room walls, trying to process the situation. Coil and Skateboard dropped down beside him, continuing to speculate.
“Seriously, is nobody else suspicious?” Coil muttered.
“Maybe this is some weird tournament thing?” Skateboard suggested.
“Since when does Flipside warn us about tournament events?” Coil shot back.
Before Boombox could reply, the lights flickered overhead before dimming to a low level. The room slowly went quiet. Boombox felt his stomach tighten slightly. Next to him, Skateboard gave him a reassuring smile, and Boombox returned it, albeit less sure of himself. Then every monitor in the locker room turned on at the exact same time. The speakers crackled and the screens displayed the Flipside logo before focusing on Valk and Dom on the screen.
Valk’s upbeat voice filled the room. “Attention, phighters and everyone watching at home! We’ve got a VERY special announcement for you all today!”
Dom continued, “Exactly a month from now, we’ll be starting our new Phestival.”
Boombox let out a breath which he didn’t even know he was holding. He was expecting much worse.
“But,” Valk said, holding up a finger, “this will be no ordinary Phestival!
“For the next three weeks,” Dom announced, “our phighters will compete in the FIRST EVER…”
“BATTLE OF THE BANDS!” Valk and Dom shouted while bringing their arms up in a dramatic manner.
Boombox sat up a little straighter despite himself. Around the locker room, reactions varied wildly. While a few such as himself and Sword looked intrigued, most phighters did not seem impressed by the announcement.
“Starting one week from today, all fifteen phighters will be relocating to a special training venue provided by Flipside.”
“For three weeks,” Dom continued, “you'll live with your assigned teams and prepare for the competition. You’ll learn instruments, write songs, build your band identity, plan performances, and figure out how to work together without killing each other.”
“Good luck with that last one,” Valk added. A laughing track played in the background.
“After those three weeks are complete,” Dom said, “the Phestival will officially begin.”
“You’ll perform live, write original songs, participate in musical challenges, and compete for fan votes across the entire Inpherno!" Valk explained excitedly.
“And,” Dom added, “the winning team will receive a grand prize of…”
The screen behind them flashed with giant glowing numbers.
“TEN MILLION BUX!”
Complete, utter silence swallowed the locker room. The number hung in the air like a loaded weapon. Ten million bux was enough to make everybody forget about their initial doubts and take this WAY too seriously. Boombox felt his stomach drop. Slowly, fourteen pairs of eyes turned toward him. The good mood he’d previously had evaporated instantly.
Everyone here knew that he performed professionally. In a competition like this, he was valuable. Subspace was the first to move.
“Say, how do you feel about helping me and joining Blackrock’s ranks? If you aid me, I can guarantee you a luxurious life in Blackrock! You’ll be a hero!” He rested a hand on Boombox’ shoulder. The latter resisted the urge to gag at the stench.
Suddenly, Subspace was roughly pushed to the side by a certain teal-horned inphernal.
“That corpse’s spewin’ nonsense,” Scythe interrupted, throwing an arm around Boombox’s shoulders like they were old friends. “Stick with me, and the family’ll take REAL good care of ya.”
Other Phighters seemed to catch on to what they were doing. They began to contemplate getting Boombox’s support as well. In a second, Skateboard and Coil were on their feet, pushing Scythe off of him and forming a wall in front of the musician.
“Boom’s not some prize for you freaks to fight over,” Skateboard added, glaring around the room. “He can make his own decisions.”
Before things could escalate further, everyone’s attention was brought back to the screens with the next announcement.
“In addition to your performances,” Dom continued, “you’ll also compete in a variety of SPECIAL PHESTIVAL EVENTS!”
The screen changed rapidly between images: baking competitions, obstacle courses, game shows, dance battles, something that looked suspiciously like Phamily Pheud, and other various events flashed.
Boombox felt a tiny flicker of concern. That sounded like… a lot. Still manageable, probably, but definitely a lot.
“And now,” Dom said, “it’s time for the MOST important part! The teams!”
Immediately, everyone’s focus shifted to Boombox again.
Valk clapped his hands together. “These teams have been RANDOMLY selected!”
Relief slammed into Boombox so fast it almost made him dizzy. That meant he didn’t have to deal with fourteen different phighters trying to recruit him into alliances before the competition had even started.
“TEAM ONE!”
Names flashed across the screen.
“SLINGSHOT! SKATEBOARD! COIL! SUBSPACE! BIOGRAFT!”
That was all three of his friends on a team without him. Boombox felt his heart sink. Skateboard gave him a pitying look.
“TEAM TWO! VINESTAFF! SCYTHE! BANHAMMER! SHURIKEN! KATANA!”
Boombox watched Vine Staff’s and Banhammer’s expressions visibly wilt as they saw Scythe’s name. Honestly, fair enough.
“TEAM THREE! MEDKIT, ROCKET, SWORD, HYPERLASER, BOOMBOX!”
Boombox felt a fresh wave of disappointment settle in his chest. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting. The teams were random. Valk had made a point of emphasizing that. And yet…looking over at Skateboard, Coil, and Slingshot already huddled up, talking and laughing excitedly, he felt a pang of isolation.
“One final announcement! Since Boombox has the most professional performance experience,” Dom continued casually, “he’ll also be assisting production staff throughout the Phestival!”
Boombox faltered.
…What?
“To keep his team from having an advantage, he’ll help ALL of the teams coordinate rehearsals, assist with music prep, support technical setup, and help contestants adjust to performance events!”
Boombox stared blankly at the screen. Rehearsals. Music prep. Helping EVERY team. For THREE weeks. While also competing himself. Skateboard looked suspicious.
“Did they even talk to you about this?”
“No..” Boombox admitted weakly.
A pit formed in his stomach. But at the same time, Flipside was counting on him. They trusted him to keep everything running smoothly. If he messed this up, the whole Phestival could fall apart.
“But it’s fine!” he added quickly after seeing Skateboard’s expression, “I do this stuff all the time. Seriously, it’s not a huge deal.”
He flashed his iconic smile, the eyes on his visor becoming two ^ ^ (whatever those are).
“Well, that’s all for now!” Valk announced brightly. “You’ll all receive texts shortly with further instructions. Pack your bags, and we’ll see you in one week!”
“See you on the Flipside!”
The screen returned to black with a blink, and the lights slowly brightened back to normal. Almost immediately, the locker room erupted into noise again as everyone split apart toward their assigned teams. Conversations overlapped from every direction, arguments starting almost instantly. Coil was already loudly complaining about having to work with Subspace. Scythe’s laugh echoed across the room every few seconds, followed shortly by Banhammer yelling something back at her.
Normally, Boombox liked energetic and noisy atmospheres. It reminded him of backstage areas before performances, where everything always looked like it was one inconvenience away from collapsing completely while somehow still functioning anyway. He liked being in the middle of that chaos. He liked the rush of it.
But now, sitting there while everyone around him buzzed excitedly about the Phestival, he felt oddly disconnected from it all. Ah well, he’d just have to make the most of his situation.
With a smile, Boombox made his way toward where Team Three had gathered. Sword and Rocket were already in the middle of a conversation. Or, more accurately, Sword was talking while Rocket attempted to keep up. Nearby, Hyperlaser stood with his arms crossed while Medkit leaned against a locker. Neither looked particularly thrilled. Actually, now that Boombox was closer, they looked oddly tense. Hyperlaser glanced toward Medkit. Medkit glanced toward Hyperlaser. Both immediately looked away. Interesting.
Boombox decided not to ask about it.
"HEY GUYS! Ready to become the greatest band in the Inpherno?"
Medkit winced.
"Keep your volume down."
"Sorry!" Boombox laughed. "Guess I'm just excited!"
“Me too!” Sword exclaimed. “So, what kind of music are we thinking, Boombox?”
The question made the group glance toward him automatically. Boombox felt something tighten in his chest as he noticed it, though he quickly buried the feeling beneath a practiced smile and started talking before the silence had a chance to linger.
“Well…” He leaned back slightly, letting himself think through it properly. “Definitely something high-energy! C'mon, look at us. We’ve got enough strong personalities already, so trying to force something super serious would probably feel weird.”
Once he started talking, the rest came naturally. One topic led into another until he was explaining everything from performance pacing to crowd engagement, occasionally drifting into stories from past shows whenever an example came to mind. His teammates listened closely, asking questions every so often, and Boombox found himself answering without having to think much about it. Music had been part of his life for so long that discussing it felt as natural as breathing.
"Well, on that note," Sword said after Boombox had finished his explanation, "we should probably decide who does what."
Rocket's hand shot into the air before Sword had even finished speaking.
"Drums."
The rest of the group stared at him.
"You play drums?" Medkit asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No."
A beat of silence followed.
"Then why drums?" Sword asked.
Rocket shrugged.
"I feel like I’d vibe with it."
"That's your reasoning?"
"It's a very good reason."
"It is not," deadpanned Medkit.
Rocket glared at him. "Okay, Mr. Negative. What do YOU play?"
"Piano."
Rocket stared.
"...Seriously?"
"Yes."
"You actually know how to play piano?"
"I am capable of having hobbies."
Boombox couldn't help laughing.
"Yeah, you kinda look like a piano guy."
Medkit immediately shot him a look.
"What exactly does that mean?"
"I don't know," Boombox chuckled. "You just do."
"So Medkit can handle keyboard," he said, "What about everyone else?"
Hyperlaser rubbed the back of his neck.
"I don't really play anything."
"Same," Sword admitted.
Boombox leaned back slightly, thinking. Honestly, it wasn't the worst situation. Three weeks wasn't much time, but they didn't need to become professional musicians overnight. They just needed something that worked.
"You know," he said, "that's totally fine! Nobody starts out knowing this stuff! Sword, I think you'd be good on guitar."
"Why me?"
"You're disciplined. Guitar takes a bunch of practice, and you seem like the type of person who'd actually sit down and do it. And Hyperlaser can do bass."
Hyperlaser stared.
"Bass?"
“Bass players are like the glue holding everything together. I feel like you’d fit with it, being a backline phighter and all.”
Hyperlaser seemed flattered behind his helmet. “Oh…thank you.”
"Guess that leaves vocals! Alright, now we’re talking.”
Looking around at the group now, he could already see the beginnings of something taking shape.
For so long, Boombox’s life had fallen into the same exhausting cycle over and over again. Perform. Travel. Stay up too late. Wake up exhausted. Phight. Repeat. He loved music more than anything, but lately even that had started feeling less like something he enjoyed and more like something he constantly had to keep up with.
However, this felt unpredictable. Chaotic in a way that pulled him in instead of draining him completely. Maybe that was why he’d immediately agreed in his head the second Flipside announced it, despite the panic currently clawing at his chest. Part of him wanted this, even if another part of him was already terrified of failing at it.
Conversation echoed warmly around him, blending into the chaotic noise filling the rest of the locker room. For a moment, the pressure in his chest loosened just enough for him to breathe properly again. The next three weeks were probably going to be exhausting beyond belief. There would be expectations on him from every direction, disasters waiting to happen, and more responsibility than Flipside had any right throwing at one person.
But sitting here now, listening to his teammates joke around, Boombox realized something. He didn’t have to carry the entire Phestival right this second. For now, there was just a loud locker room full of overexcited phighters trying to figure out what kind of band they wanted to become. For now, that was enough.
Boombox leaned back slightly against the bench, letting himself settle into the noise around him instead of fighting it.
Then Rocket looked directly at him.
“Hypothetically, how would you go about getting pyrotechnics on stage?”
Boombox immediately regretted relaxing.
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Three days before departure, Boombox finally decided it was probably time to start packing. The realization came shortly after he spent twenty minutes staring at the empty suitcase sitting in the corner of his apartment.
With a sigh, Boombox opened his closet, crouched down, and started digging through the bottom shelf. If nothing else, cleaning while he packed would make him feel productive. He dug into his closet, shoving aside random shirts until he found a box he'd completely forgotten he still owned.
The cardboard was worn around the edges, its lid slightly crushed from years of being shoved into the back of his closets. He couldn't remember the last time he'd opened it. Setting the suitcase aside, he pulled the box into the middle of the room and lifted the lid.
Inside sat a collection of things he'd apparently decided were too important to throw away and too embarrassing to keep anywhere visible. Old event wristbands, a handful of faded concert passes, several photographs he didn't remember anyone taking, a broken pair of headphones, and buried underneath everything else, a notebook.
A glint of recognition crossed his eyes before he settled onto the floor and opened it. The first few pages were exactly as terrible as he remembered. He kept turning pages.
Eventually, one page made him stop.
Boombox recognized it immediately: the first complete song he had ever written.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked over the familiar lyrics. He'd poured an absurd amount of time into the song. What began as a few lines scribbled down after practice had gradually taken over entire afternoons and evenings, until he was spending more time working on the song than doing anything else. The margins were crowded with crossed-out lyrics, rewritten verses, and abandoned ideas that had seemed brilliant right up until he put them on paper. Some sections had been rewritten so many times that he could barely remember which version had come first.
Despite Boombox pouring almost all of his time and energy into the song, he never ended up performing it for anyone else.
With a smile, Boombox closed the notebook and set it inside his suitcase gently. After some time, he finished packing the rest of his stuff and called it a night.
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A little sketch :)