Justs

A warehouse on the outskirts of town hummed like an overloaded amplifier. Not from machinery or production, but from sound. A live, raw, and angry stream of guitar riffs poured from behind rusty walls, over which heart-rending vocals beat, crashed, and soared again. This wasn't just music, it was a surge of energy, pain, and hope. This was a rehearsal of Chaotic Order, a band that had transformed from a garage act into the underground scene's biggest discovery in six months. Chaos was rushing around the microphone. His long white hair was stuck to his forehead, his eyes were burning from under his bangs. He wasn't singing - he was spewing words, gesticulating, falling to his knees and then soaring up again, as if on an invisible spring. He was the embodiment of his pseudonym: an uncontrollable force, a nerve, the voice of a generation tired of lying to itself. Behind the drum kit, beating out a perfectly hard and precise rhythm, sat Just. The complete opposite. A concentrated face, a short haircut, movements verified, economical, without a single superfluous gesture. He was the anchor that did not allow Chaos to carry their common ship into the extreme distances of madness. He was the order, the rhythm, the mathematics of music. Just - because he always hit the bull's eye, his rhythm was the law. Their first song, “Broken Tomorrow,” written in the dorm kitchen, became an unofficial anthem for students and outsiders. It was sung in parking lots, sent via messengers, and the lyrics were shouted in chorus at their first, still underground, concerts. Now they were rehearsing new material - an album that was supposed to blow up everything that remained of the good old aesthetics.

• Stop! - Just shouted, abruptly cutting off the drum roll. The sound died away, and in the sudden silence their heavy breathing became audible. - Chaos, you're speeding up again in the chorus. We agreed - we're keeping the tempo. This isn't 80s punk rock, stability is important here. Chaos, sweating, grinned, resting his hands on his knees. - Stability? That's what we're running from, Just! There should be an explosion here! They should feel it on their skin!