Campaign Journal

They pissed off Demeter. She is not, for the record, a Young Republican — she is worse. Somewhere in the fallout they acquired three sensu beans, accepted a mission for trophies, and declared the whole thing missions pre-accomplished before anyone had so much as left the wheat.

Rogers vibed. Rogers also had a war flashback. The bag filled with a deeply unreasonable number of fire extinguishers, plus medpacks, rope, and bleach — the shopping list of people who have decided the road to hell is paved with good intentions and are packing accordingly.

Dubya got a cape: the Mission Accomplished banner, worn with the confidence of a man who has already won a war that has not started. They rode the trolley to a music festival — zombies in the crowd, a wraith overhead, the whole venue wrong in the way only a cursed outdoor stage can be wrong.

Felix ran into the throng invisible and was immediately spotted, because he had forgotten the instrument on his back. Invisibility does not cover branding.

Then Wick appeared.

The Battle of the Bands was chaos wearing eyeliner. Natural twenties fell like confetti — including one that arrived, suspiciously, only after the DM raised his screen.

Dubya opened the set with a firework bright enough to invent an audience. Ruk Misty Stepped across the stage like a man late for his own tantrum, channeling Jeff Goldblum–grade rage with alarming sincerity. Dubya followed with a Mind Sliver aimed at the strongest mind in the room. Somewhere in the violence, a sweater rode up and confirmed — with empirical certainty — that Rogers has nipples. Rogers, already halfway through a private mythology, decided Mourn was his nemesis and answered with a Divine Smite.

By the final chord, Rogers and Ruk had found the same wavelength. Felix enchanted every instrument within reach. Dubya remained, as ever, the Decider — and nobody argued the point.

MC Moros named them the winners. The other band looked heartbroken; Mourn did not move at all. His guitar simply ceased to exist. For their trouble, My Chemical Neighbourhood took home an obsidian trophy.

After the show, a blonde woman drew mist across their eyes. When the fog cleared, they were standing in a field of wheat.

The Greek gods are real. Hades has placed an emo curse on the modern world. Nobody is entirely sure of the details — it's just how things are now. People call it the Times of the Wet Eyes.

The group met at a Battle of the Bands. Dubya had a guitar. Rogers had his shield, jury-rigged into a drum setup. Felix had an electric keyboard, which does not fit the vibe of the band at all. Everyone is aware of this. Felix is aware of this. The keyboard stays.

By the end of the night they had collectively decided they were a band. The name came quickly: My Chemical Neighbourhood.