Apocalypse

The sound of voices drew closer to the door, and Song Ya hurriedly softened his footsteps, quietly retreating the way he came.

Since transmigrating, he had visited music stores a few times. Unless it was a superstar or a deluxe edition cassette, the price of a single tape rarely exceeded five dollars. Selling all seven thousand copies would bring in at most thirty-five thousand in revenue, and that was without calculating any costs. No wonder the people in the office were shouting, "We're finished."

"So that means..."

Hiding himself in the shadows behind the DJ booth, he looked toward the dance floor. It was still noisy, the silhouettes of men and women covered in a layer of stark white light from the photography lamps. The director told them to dance, so they danced, sweat flying, too focused to even wipe it away.

Emily's smile was so pure it contained nothing but joy. When the director told them to stop, she quickly bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for air. She was too young, and her frail stamina could barely keep up.

Connie had long since taken off her coat. The evening gown with barely two pieces of fabric on her body was something she had rented from a Thrift Shop that morning. The photographer deliberately pushed the lens toward her, and she understood, proudly shaking like an electric motor.

Al kept puffing out his cheeks, his face flushed red. The explosive power required for beatboxing was a real test of one's lung capacity. Aside from rapping, to make ends meet, he also dedicated almost all his remaining time to working as a waiter at a restaurant.

The lead, Little Lowry, waved his microphone with swagger, striking every pose he thought was the coolest and most handsome. After being scouted and signed by a music company two years ago, he had dropped out of school. Since then, most of his time had been spent in the dull grind of songwriting and vocal practice; playing basketball was his only recreation. He had written the lyrics for all dozen or so songs on the album independently.

The look in Tony's eyes as he watched the dance floor was full of joy and longing. "Making it big," "striking it rich," and "getting out of this damn ghetto" were words he frequently had on his lips these days. When Song Ya heard them, he would often mock Tony's petty dream of becoming someone else's "sidekick" in his heart, but...

Song Ya thought back to his own failed past week.

On Monday, ET had fallen on the side of the road two blocks from home, shot five times. Song Ya had accompanied Tony to lay flowers where ET had lost his life. It was said that ET's gang had sworn revenge, but what did that matter? Aside from making the local residents even more terrified, it just meant a few more pairs of shoes would be hanging from the power lines at the intersection.

In the band rehearsal, Song Ya had still hit the wrong note on the triangle, barely managing to keep his credits by playing the victim in front of the furious music teacher. Then, he hit a snag in math; the advanced class actually covered calculus, and the competitiveness of his classmates had skyrocketed. He could no longer breeze through it like the standard curriculum.

Ever since the nickname APLUS caught on and Song Ya accepted it, the teasing and bullying had indeed lessened. But the biggest problem with this public school was that there was no environment where one could study quietly and easily. If you tried to find a secluded spot to read for a while, you'd either be chased off by thugs looking to get high, or you'd accidentally stumble upon some illicit lovers.

Yesterday, led by Aunt Susie, the whole family followed a division of labor and set out early in the morning to line up at various charities to receive free donations. Song Ya held his food stamps and waited for five hours before he could exchange them for flour and other food items—just enough for the family for a week—at a store heavily reinforced with metal anti-theft mesh, leaving only a small cashier slot. Then, the whole family gathered at the church door, waiting in another long line just for a free simple lunch of bread and soup. The afternoon was more waiting in lines, and finally, waiting at Walmart before closing time for discounted eggs and meat that were nearing their expiration date. After nightfall, the family, having no car, carried their large bags and small parcels and waited another half hour in line for the bus to go home.

Having passed the adaptation period after his transmigration, Song Ya felt that instead of spreading his wings to fly, he was being assimilated by this life that offered not a shred of hope. If he lived like this for another year or two, the moment some minor celebrity crooked a finger at him, he would definitely be unable to resist the temptation. If he had to be a sidekick, then so be it; it was better than staying here and one day impulsively grabbing a gun to go sell drugs.

"That's a wrap, we're done!"

It was just past four o'clock when the director announced that the filming for this music video was officially complete. A cheer erupted from the crowd on the dance floor.

"Thank you, Tony, you're so good."

Tony's ex-girlfriend rushed over and hung onto Tony, thanking him incessantly.

"Small thing." Tony was practically floating to the heavens. "It's not time yet..." He took off his headphones, took her hand, and left directly.

Connie rolled her eyes at their retreating backs again, handing the exhausted Emily over to Song Ya. "Forget about them, come with me to return the clothes," she said while putting on her coat.

Like the end of a movie, the crowd began to disperse after some simple social exchanges.

Song Ya turned his head and saw Little Lowry and Al talking to two older Black men, one fat and one thin. Judging by their voices, it was indeed the two people he had accidentally overheard in the office.

The fatter one was the bass voice from earlier. Based on the conversation, his identity was likely the record label boss. His speech and demeanor had the aura of a big shot. Even a flashy pink suit didn't make him look the least bit effeminate on him. With big gold chains, gold rings, and a gold watch, he had all three pieces of the "Black man's starter pack."

The thin one should be Little Lowry's manager. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit, spoke elegantly, and his slicked-back hair was meticulous. He looked like a very old-school person.

Little Lowry and Al definitely didn't have time to pay attention to him now, and Tony obviously didn't need to be waited for. Song Ya held Emily and left with Connie.

"Hey, APLUS!"

Outside the door, Silencer was helping the photographer move equipment. While they were exchanging greetings, AK chased after them from inside and called them to a halt.

"And Connie, right? Come here! All of you, come here."

AK called Song Ya and Connie to his side, using his body to block the gaze of others. From the stack of twenty-dollar bills in his hand, he pulled out three, giving one to Connie and one to Song Ya. "Little Emily gets one too." He smiled and tucked the last one into Emily's small hand.

"Doesn't everyone get one?" Connie tucked the money into her chest.

"Only our own people get it. It's enough that those guys get to show their faces in the MV," AK replied.

"Uh..." Song Ya felt he hadn't earned it. "But I didn't dance, this money..." He tried to hand the money back to AK.

"Hahaha, Tony was right, there is something wrong with your head." AK laughed and tapped Song Ya on the forehead. "Don't be stupid, the money isn't mine. You're Tony's brother, we're all one family, we look out for each other, OK?"

"Don't listen to him."

Connie glared at Song Ya. "Say thank you." She taught little Emily to say thank you. "Let's go, I'm going shopping today!" she shouted happily.

"I want to buy a tutu!" Emily shouted along with her.

Song Ya could only clutch the money, say goodbye to AK, and then go with Connie to the station to wait for the bus.

Twenty dollars was the largest sum of "huge wealth" he had grasped since his transmigration. Of course, calling it huge wealth wasn't wrong; currently, on the Chinese black market, one dollar could be exchanged for about ten yuan, so twenty dollars was more than a month's salary for an average person in China.

The Thrift Shop that provided evening gown rentals was generally quite large. "Tutu!" Emily was familiar with the place; she slid off Song Ya and ran quickly toward her target.

"Watch her, I'm going to change." Connie walked toward the changing rooms inside.

Song Ya followed Emily through row after row of clothing racks, suddenly feeling as if he had seen this scene somewhere before.

But I've clearly never been to this store before?

He was puzzled, when his peripheral vision suddenly swept across a pink suit hanging on the wall, slightly similar to the one worn by Little Lowry's boss earlier.

"Hmm?"

He racked his brain, suddenly reaching for the twenty dollars in his pocket. "Twenty dollars, shopping, pink suit, bass voice, rap... put it all together, it's..."

His body shook violently, as if it were a revelation from heaven. Countless music video scenes, accompanied by a strong, rhythmic rap and music, instantly flooded his mind.

I'm gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket

I'm, I'm, I'm hunting, looking for a come up

this is FXXXing awesome!

"This is Thrift Shop! This is! The Thrift Shop!"