Here it is, the epic Part One finale.
If you’re new to Those Who Create and Destroy, this is a great time to enjoy Part 1 start to finish. Go to the full table of contents here.
Stay tuned for a new video announcement coming soon.
Hope you’re all safe and well. 💛
—Mabel & Cass
“The Created Void”
story by Mabel Harper & Cassidy Webb
written by Cassidy Webb
Content Warning: MISGENDERING, SEXUAL ASSAULT, DYSPHORIA, GORE, TORTURE
Fabiana Sosa pounded what was left of her second-in-a-row can of PBR and bobbed arrhythmically on her barstool—a failed attempt to keep time with the beat of “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked,” which was playing from the speakers above the bar, while some local DIY band blasted its bullshit easycore from the dedicated music venue in the back of the dive. She blew her dyed-lavender forelock out of her eyes and glanced down again at the condensation-ring-stained flyer she’d pulled earlier from the top of the stack on the corner of the bar. It featured a pixelated, black-and-white printed image of the Seinfeld cast, with the name of each band that was playing that night rendered in the style of the nineties sitcom’s iconic logo: Konami Code, Episode Four, Sophomore Slump (aptly named; Fabi was pretty sure it was their shitty cheeseball pop punk perpetrating this frontal assault on her eardrums), The New Violence, and Jenny Gonzalez and the Experience.
Which meant Episode Four should be going on next. Fabi reckoned she’d better get her bony ass back there if she wanted her chance to scope out the target before making her move.
She slid off her stool with a little twist and was halfway to the back of the barroom when she felt a vibration against her right boob. It was her beat-up Nokia, growling from the breast pocket of her faux-leather bomber jacket. She dug it out, flipped it open.
A new text from Christian awaited her: Made contact yet?
c h i l l a x, she texted back. Then a second message, hastily thumbed: his band hasnt even gone on yet
But you’re at the location?
you know im always on time when it matters, dadoo
:P, he replied. Then, a half-second later, Keep me posted.
Fabi stuffed the phone back in her pocket and whistled to herself as she plodded along toward the concert room in the back. “At last we shall meet, Mr. Navarrete,” she murmured under her breath.