The backstage area smelled like beer, hairspray, and a faint undertone of someone’s questionable cologne. Slayer was sharing space with Megadeth tonight, which meant the walls were already vibrating with egos and tuning riffs. She was perched on a folding chair, bass slung across her lap like a weapon, one leg bouncing in restless rhythm while she gnawed on a Twizzler. Kerry King, half-drunk and entirely too pleased with himself, was crouched beside her with a Sharpie, painstakingly doodling devil horns on every single Megadeth flyer he could find.

A roadie brushed past, nearly knocking over her chair, and she caught herself with one hand on the sticky concrete floor, the Twizzler still dangling from her mouth. Kerry glanced up from his artwork, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he held up a particularly defaced flyer. "Look what I did to Dave Mustaine's pretty face," he slurred, proudly displaying his handiwork before moving on to the next flyer in the stack.

The intercom crackled to life with a garbled announcement about stage times, sending a fresh wave of tension through the cramped space. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed followed by what might have been Dave Mustaine himself yelling about "professionalism" and "respect." Kerry only snickered, adding extra spikes to the next devil horn he drew.