David first noticed her when “Aetherwake” came in to record a session.

  They weren’t a live band, but they had a couple of well-produced EPs under their belt.

  Not exactly David’s usual flavour, but he respected the precision in their compositions.

  Over coffee, he struck up a casual conversation with the guitarist.

  “Our session drummer’s real young,” the guy said. “But she plays tight. Pavlov trained her. Mikhail Pavlov, you know him?”

  David looked up.

  He knew the name.

  Mikhail Pavlov: drummer for Resonant Collapse, a black metal band that toured more than it breathed.

  Eight months on the road, minimum. Two years ago, they went quiet.

  But David heard they were active again.

  If Pavlov took this kid on?

  She had to be something serious.

  “Wait, Pavlov sent her?”

  “Yeah. Vouched for her personally. Said she’d be perfect for this. No way we were saying no.”

  That got David’s attention.

  He turned to look at her properly.

  She was in an oversized Dystopian Tomb shirt (a sludge band Adam was obsessed with) kneeling by the drum kit with precise, practiced hands.

  No wasted movement. No nerves.

  By the time they hit record, David was watching her like a hawk.

  And the second she started playing… he knew.

  Her timing was immaculate.

  But it wasn’t just technical skill: she elevated the sound.

  Her fills were creative, sharp, never showy.

  She had the kind of groove that made the whole band sound better.

  Even the tricky polyrhythmic passages came out fluid, like they lived in her bones.

  When the break hit, David couldn’t help himself.

  He walked over.

  “Hey, drummer girl.”

  She glanced up. Calm. Unfazed.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Nickie.”

  “Nickie, I’m David. I’m looking for a drummer for my band. Would you be interested in auditioning?”

  “What genre?” she asked.

  “Doom. Sludge. Hardcore… mostly.”

  She tilted her head, considering.

  “Then yeah.”

  David smiled. He liked her no-bullshit attitude.

  “Could you come in Monday, around 17:00?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  And that was that. They got back to work.

  After the session, Nickie lingered in the doorway. Arms crossed.

  Still holding onto that sharp edge of reserve, but her eyes flicked up and held his.

  Shy, but brave.

  “So… your band,” she started, almost cautious.

  “Who else is in?”

  David clocked the nervousness in her stance.

  “My younger brother,” he said.

  “Bass?”

  “And vocals. He writes the lyrics. He’s, uh… kinda weird with people. But he’s cool.”

  Nickie nodded slowly. Then, quieter:

  “You think… I’ll be a good fit?”

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  David grinned.

  ‘Adam might actually like her,’ he thought.

  “I think you play amazing. What grade are you in, anyway?”

  “Tenth.”

  “Adam’s not that much older. Junior. Goes to B.T. Public… well, sorta.”

  As soon as he said it, her expression shifted.

  Something clicked.

  ‘I think I know this guy,’ she thought.

  Whispers from school.

  A mosh pit.

  A tall figure with long black hair helping her up off the floor.

  An intensity that stayed with her long after the show.

  “I go there too,” she said.

  “Yeah? Small town, huh.”

  “Yeah…”

  There was a pause. Then David added, gently:

  “Just one question. Do you have a curfew? Gigs can get late sometimes.”

  “Not really. My mom’s good if she gets to know you.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Cool.”

  They exchanged contact info.

  And despite her calm front, David saw it.

  She was excited.

  Trying to hide it, but it leaked out around the edges.

  He held up a fist.

  Nickie bumped it. A tiny smile tugged at her mouth.

  Then she was gone. Out the door, quick steps, like if she slowed down, she might second-guess the whole thing.

  David stood there for a moment longer.

  Yeah.

  She’s the one.

  ***

  David’s Kitchen, Monday Morning

  Adam sat at the kitchen table, slouched in a hoodie two sizes too big, poking at a bowl of cereal he had no intention of finishing.

  His hand almost completely healed from last week’s pit, but he still had an elastic bandage wrapped around his little finger.

  David poured himself a second cup of coffee, glanced over.

  “You going to school today?”

  Adam didn’t answer right away. He shrugged, eyes dull.

  “Don’t feel like it.”

  David nodded like it wasn’t a surprise. Like he hadn’t already clocked the real reason in Adam’s body language the second he walked in.

  "Something hurt?" he asked casually.

  “Just… tired.”

  David sipped his coffee, leaning against the counter. Then, just as casually:

  “I think I found a drummer.”

  Adam looked up. A flicker of interest. His first real expression that morning.

  “Yeah?”

  David smirked. “Young. But good. Real good.”

  Adam blinked slowly. “They better be fucking good this time.”

  David grinned into his cup. “Told them to swing by at 17:00.”

  “Cool.”

  Adam didn’t ask who they were.

  Didn’t ask their name.

  But David saw the faint spark in his eyes. The quiet flicker of something trying to come back to life.

  ‘She’s great. Let’s just hope she doesn’t notice Adam’s version of a greeting is staring blankly and asking what kind of suffering she prefers in music.’

  ***

  It was 16:41.

  A sharp knock rattled the studio door.

  Adam dragged himself over and yanked it open with a scowl.

  Standing there was a short girl, maybe fourteen, with big doe eyes and a beat-up box of cookies hugged to her chest.

  “Whaddaya want?”

  She thrust the box forward, chipper as hell. “Wanna buy some cookies for charity?”

  Adam didn’t blink. “No. Get lost.”

  He went to slam the door… but it didn’t close.

  A heavy army boot jammed the threshold.

  Adam blinked, startled. His eyes darted from the boot to her face, caught off guard by the sheer audacity.

  “I’m just fucking with you,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Nickie. The drummer. Nice to meet ya.”

  She pushed her way inside.

  Adam turned toward David with a look that said, Are you serious right now?

  David was already laughing.

  “Hey, drummer girl.”

  “Hey, guitar-and-back-vocals guy.”

  She fist-bumped him like they were old friends, then dropped the cookie box onto a nearby chair like it owed her money.

  Without waiting, she made a beeline for the drum kit and started adjusting everything to her size.

  Quickly. Efficiently. Like she’d done this a hundred times before.

  Adam said nothing.

  He adjusted his bass pedals and mic in complete silence, deliberately not looking in her direction.

  He acted like she wasn’t even there.

  Nickie didn’t seem to notice... or care.

  Then, right as she popped in her earplugs, she said:

  “It’s an honour making noise with you.”

  And just like that, she started playing.

  Adam raised an eyebrow at David, silently asking what the hell is happening.

  David just shrugged and started with a random riff.

  Adam strapped on his bass. Still dead silent.

  Then the sound hit him.

  A few minutes in, Adam’s eyes widened. This time for real.

  He tried to hide it.

  Tried to act like he hadn’t just been punched in the gut by pure blastbeat perfection.

  This girl wasn’t just good.

  She was filthy.

  Heavy. Tight. Loud.

  She hit harder than any drummer they’d had so far.

  Hell… maybe harder than anyone Adam had ever heard in person.

  And it was fucking amazing.

  Alter Ego: There should be a law against falling in love with your own characters.