The sun was coming up and Foster had been rolling around town and ignoring his phone for five hours. He didn't want to talk to Junker, little Tod, or Daniel. He was smart enough to know he was never going to be a full member of the Windward Sails but he was also furious because people he thought of as friends seemed perfectly content to string him along.
An hour after he left the diner he had stopped long enough to tear the almost three year old Windward Sails pledge patch off his jacket. It felt like he was tearing off his own skin. Windward Sails was his fathers church. He had grown up around and come of age properly thanks to these men and their betrayal hurt him deeply. It also left him without protection or income and he needed both.
Getting a job like his brother and finding a new club made him equally sick to his stomach. His mind swirled in chaotic circles. What to do? Where to go? What to do? Where to go? The longer her rode the tighter the mental circles became.
The sun was coming up and Foster saw a piece of paper was stuck to the left front wheel of his board. He stopped and crouched down to grab is off his wheel. Before he tossed it away a name caught his eye.
Neon Halo was playing a festival. Setting Sails and many other bands from many other sects were going to be there but Neon Halo was the prize. He could finally experience New Wave Retro live and in person rather than the bootlegs he had siphoned from the feed. He could go without retribution or questions or bringing shame to his family. His father's father's father was pirate rock royalty and the line would remain unbroken for generations to come, or so his father had decreed before his death.
The paper had distracted him to the point that he had lost track of his surroundings, so when the door to his left open he was caught completely off guard. Four industrial goth's came out of the building and practically ran right into Foster. The male in the lead was dressed all in white.
The sun was coming up and Foster was going to die.
