[Terry comes out on a dimly lit stage — all torn leather and spikes and dark make-up — and unusually for him, he's not stationed behind an instrument. Even his odd solo showing usually has him behind a synth or drums or a guitar, but not today. He stands behind the mic, a still, silent shadow while the drums. In fact, for those whole first minutes of music, everything is completely still except the rolling fog from the smoke machines.]

[Then the music abruptly changes.]

Slave screams! [At those first screamed words, the stage isn't so much lit as there's a brief explosion of light.] He thinks he knows what he wants.
Slave screams-- Thinks he has something to see.

[The session band are illuminated in bursts, like brief glimpses of some horrible secret, and the fog is thick up to Terry's knees. Anyone who can focus on the band instead of Terry for those brief moments might notice they're shackled to their instruments. (The shackles are purely cosmetic, don't you worry!) This really isn't even a metaphor anymore, so much a grandiose 'fuck you' to Santiago.]

[Maybe that'll get lost in the chorus though, and he won't get sent to the basement again...]

Slave screams-- He hears but doesn't wanna listen!
Slave screams-- He's being beaten to submission.

[He's not a natural frontman — there are some things even brainwashing and magic can't do — but Terry is faking it pretty well right now. He's been watching the other bands when he has the time, paying real attention to how they work the crowds; and a bit of gentle suggestion that they really get into it like this is the last show they'll ever see? That really helps. It's like a feedback loop, building and building. Flames erupt behind him as he stomps around, whips the crowd up into a frenzy.]

[He knows it's not what he's here for, but damn if it doesn't feel good.]

[Once his set is over, Terry's a bundle of nervous energy. Tightly wound and anxious, he can't even manage smiles for the fans that approach him like usual. He chalks it up to tiredness when anyone asks, but he watches the crowd intently. Waiting for a sign, eyes tracking anyone who comes his way. He'd said he'd stay, but he has to help. He has to do at least that much.]

[He barely even touches his water, the poor dear. He's just so nervous, but it's probably just about how the set went down, right?]

[After a bit, Terry slips out under the guise of wanting a cigarette, and does exactly that. It's perfectly innocuous, and with his hood up he kinda blends in out here anyway. Just some guy having a smoke. In the back alley until everyone's out here.]

[He stays near the back most of the time, humming and singing lyrics softly while he tries to keep everyone as best hidden as they move, thinking maybe he can slip back in once these guys are away like nothing happened.]

[Wildcard! Come at me, bro.]