High on F

 It was a mixture of cordyceps extract and a few brand-new upper compounds, only recently made possible with the new particle reconfiguration tech. It had a scientific-sounding name, but everyone who bought it at over 500 creds per hit knew it by its street name, “F”. It boosted the creative drive turning nobodies into artists, and making artists into superstars.

Melanie felt they were going nowhere with the band. She was the singer and the lead guitarist, and she knew she was amazing. Her on-and-off girlfriend, Hilde was a demon on the base, and Hilde’s autistic little sister, Brita, was probably the best drummer on the West Coast. Still, they couldn’t get a break. Much shittier bands playing in the same cheap clubs were getting discovered and signed by big labels. The game felt rigged, so she was ready to put her finger on the scales.

“I got us a booking next Saturday at the Mausoleum” - she saw the shadow of doubt passing through the other girls’ faces, so she went straight to her point. “Everyone is doing F for the gig. We’ll do it too, but we’ll take it a step further. We’ll do F to write some new material, too. We’ll give them the best twenty-minute earbanging of their lives.” They just stared at her for what felt like an hour. “That’s at least six grand worth of F” - Brita was as focused on the technicalities as ever. “Seven and a half. But I already took care of that” - Melanie reached into her pocket and produced a handful of tiny ziploc bags. “Do I want to know where you got the creds?” - Hilde looked more worried than angry. “No. You don’t” - Mel grinned.

Stepping onto the stage at the Mausoleum they felt invincible with not three but seven new banger songs. What they did to the audience that night was every bit as intense as Mel intended. Two major labels contacted them the very next day, both offering seven-figure contracts. They had little time to celebrate, though. The label people wanted them inside a studio, recording their first single yesterday.

F prices were going up, but it wasn’t their problem anymore. The label would make sure to keep them inspired. Within a year of their breakout performance at the Mausoleum, they had three singles topping the charts and their first longplay selling like crazy. They had no idea how much money the label was making on them, but what “trickled down” to them was still an absurd downpour of creds.

That didn’t matter. Work was much more important. They would stay high on F for days, and everything was turning into music. They kept at it. They had three longplays worth of material when Brita’s heart gave out. The label had her rushed into a MedTech facility and patched-up with implants. She’d be fine, but it ruined their touring schedule and set them weeks back with recording. The label had all of them fitted with similar implants “just in case, to protect its assets”.

“We’re out of the race.” - Mel was furious. “Everyone is doing F, the playing field is leveled, and we just took a tumble. That’s it. There’s no way we can get ahead again.” Hilde shook her head. “Brita almost died, and you…” “Well, I didn’t though” - Brita’s voice was strong and full of resolve. “In fact, I don’t think that tech will ever let me die. Neither of us, for that matter.” Melanie looked at her with a strange smile.

Two days later they were back on stage. Each took four times as much F as ever, and they played their opening number to a pretty much indifferent audience. In the middle of the second song, Mel, Hilde, and Brite died of F overdose. It took less than fifteen seconds for the tech to kick in, and they would continue, in front of the awe-struck crowd. “Remember this moment” - Mel shouted - “on this day, May the fifth, 2083, Revelations have given you the very first Necropunk performance!”

The label representative backstage dialed his phone. “Ruth? Set me up with legal tomorrow morning. We need to figure out who owns the rights to the songs if the artist dies and keeps recording.”