The Enigma TNG goes live! (yes, another TNG fanfiction)

I do not own the artists or individuals in this fanfiction. No copyright intended.


Art by The Enigma TNG

https://www.deviantart.com/theenigmatng


Dysphobia

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcnzBtP9hwGapP9wKqPzo7A

From beyond the dark curtain, the noise of a crowd vibrated like a strong wind from outside. Backstage crew members were busy adjusting the overhead lights, sweeping the wooden floor, and testing the sound system. An older gentleman wearing dark blue clothing carefully lifted a black guitar from a protective black case and got to work adjusting the strings and connecting the thin black cord to a small slot at the end of the guitar. There was nothing dazzling about the guitar’s appearance; it was a simple black color with a few streaks of teal lightning snaking across the middle for decoration. After a few strums were easily heard from across the room, he gave a thumbs up to several other crew members.

Further back was an area with a set of mirrors and chairs. Professionally dressed men and women were finishing up with styling the hair of rock stars and other performers. It was the annual Indie artist festival that had started back in 2020, not that long ago. Many creators experienced difficult moments of trying to get their music across to broader audiences outside of YouTube. A few brave individuals decided to perform in person to attract more attention and enjoyment regarding their works. Even as the years went by, local artists did not get near enough money that mainstream celebrities enjoyed. For some musicians, joining labels and adhering to specific guidelines seemed the best way to go.

Others wanted to stay true to themselves and question the existing systems.

One such person was a black-haired man sitting in a leather chair, facing a round mirror. His black curly hair was currently being morphed into slick spikes by a hairstylist with short dark orange hair. A dark-skinned woman was painting a couple black streaks from below the man’s eyes with precision. The man wore all black clothing; jeans, shoes, and socks. His shirt was black in the middle with gray quarter length sleeves. Black fingerless gloves covered his hands. His usual array of chain necklaces hung from around his neck and glinted in the white circular lights from around the mirror.

“You excited, Che’z?” asked the hairstylist.

“Sure, I guess,” he replied. The back of his shirt had the acronym “TNG” in large green letters.

“You guess, huh?” the hairstylist asked. “You’ve come so far since starting your channel around 2013. I would be lucky to be in your position right now.”

“Yeah, it’s true that I have come far since back then,” he replied. “But it was not without hard work and suffering along the way.”

“Well I can understand that you are nervous about this big event. I mean, who wouldn’t be?”

Che’z was, indeed, nervous. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at his black guitar and laptop all set up and positioned toward the maroon curtains. He had only performed at a couple of local shows back in town. At a park filled with green grass and families, he figured that it would be a good place to start. The sun felt hot against his dark clothing and the dark surface of his laptop, but the brief discomfort prompted him to continue on. Before a group of people, Che’z had introduced himself and mentioned his YouTube channel, which had gone up to 1,200,000 subscribers and counting. He felt a burst of pride when he had played several of his tracks in a row. The watchers weren’t a particularly big group, but it was still satisfying for him all the same. Several young children danced and sang along beside their caregivers. A few people with a “lighter” taste in music held back. They were more familiar with pop and classical music rather than dark electronic. After the demonstration, polite applause came from the group and they soon continued on their way. No one else stayed for very long, save for a few teenage girls who had asked for his picture and autograph. 

Che’z peered down at the time in the bottom right hand corner of his laptop.

“Got to get ready for work again,” he muttered.

“Hey Che’z, you alright man?” asked a voice.

Che’z snapped back to the present moment. “Yes, I’m good.”

“You’re all set,” said the hairstylist after completing the finishing touches. “Good luck.” 

The hairstylist removed the blue cloth from around the musician’s neck. Che’z stood up to stretch his legs, then walked toward his equipment. He stopped for a brief second.

“Thank you to both of you. Much appreciated,” he said, turning back to look at them. The hairstylist and the woman nodded kindly, then moved on to clean up the area. Che’z looked at his watch. Five more minutes until he was up on stage. Due to his social avoidance and long moments to practice, he had requested to go last. By luck, his request was followed through. Heck, he was lucky enough to have earned a spot for this festival with many other competitors. The festival aimed to raise money for education of low-income students in the area. Plus, it was a way to introduce and promote independent artists to celebrate the peak of summer.

For Che’z, the festival would not be enough to satisfy both the artists and the students in need, but at least it was a start. He was usually a patient person, except when it came to human rights. At times, he was frustrated at how long it would take for people to recognize or even acknowledge that social problems existed in the first place. Why did people only discuss the problems and put on trivial events in an attempt to “solve” the issue? He especially did not like the ignorant individuals who would dismiss others altogether and claim that racism, homelessness, and injustice were “not their problems” to solve.

‘Breathe, Che’z. Breathe.’

Che’z took several deep breaths and cleared his head of his angry thoughts. Now was not the time to let nerves or anger get the best of him. Despite not caring about fame, being able to play his music for others gave him a mental and emotional high. The show was about to begin.

He moved the cursor across the screen of his now open laptop until he found the icon for the FL Studio program at the bottom. After a click, the program opened and a list of tracks appeared to the left. Back at his home, he had organized a mixture of his new and older music together into a longer playlist. He had played it many times to figure out which songs should be introduced in what order. Singing and playing his guitar was also part of his rehearsal, but he mostly did so for enjoyment and a boost of confidence. He gazed down at his laptop again. With one click, the music would start and the night would change for everyone present.

The charismatic voice of an announcer was heard from outside. “You have witnessed a dozen participants for this festival thus far. Now for our final music composer and producer for tonight.” Che’z closed his eyes and silently prayed to his father and Jesus Christ.

‘Please let this performance go smoothly. Don’t let bad luck take me back into a dull impoverished life. Give me the strength to be an inspiration to this world. I love both of you very much. Amen.’

The announcer’s voice was heard again when Che’z opened his eyes. “This man has created songs, remixes, and fan-made tracks of nearly every genre. With this mysterious guy, you’ll never know what comes to your ears next! May I present, the one and only…the Enigma TNG!”

The cheers of the crowd reached a roaring crescendo as the curtain fell dramatically to the floor. The scene was currently dark, except for a series of white flashing lights that appeared to the sides of a large screen toward the back. A distorted demonic voice spoke through the speakers: “Welcome to the world of The Enigma TNG, where the mysteries of music become…reality!” The statement was followed by a maniacal laugh. The announcer was off the stage in a flash. Two crewmen and one crew woman quickly moved on stage and carried the thick fabric away. On the large screen, “The Enigma TNG” appeared in metallic letters. The glowing eyes of a black cat soon filled the screen. The green cat eyes faded and were replaced with the stars and galaxies of outer space. Electronic music blared as the stars rapidly zoomed out on the screen. They moved faster until exploding in a flash of light. In the back of his head, a grinning Che’z recognized the song as “Rock the Dragon,” the introduction song from DragonBall Z.

 Che’z squinted to adjust his eyes to the bright lights above. The flashing lights ceased and teal light filled the area. Che’z was on stage in a large amphitheater, the sky black overhead. Rows of spotlights were positioned high above on the left and right sides throughout the area, shining light that revealed figures of people. Not just a crowd…an enormous crowd. The herd of individuals covered the entire space, stretching around to the very far back. IPhones appeared in the dark sea of people, being held by individuals ready to take pictures and record. Seeing all those faces and eyes staring at him was enough to make his hands shake. Che’z scanned around the room for any signs of familiar faces. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted his loved ones and friends in the closed off VIP section near the front. There was his mother, his brother, several of his best male friends, and his wife, Nastassia with several of her relatives. A blush crept to his cheeks as he stared at Nastassia’s vivid blue hair and kind eyes. A smile and a thumbs up from her calmed him down instantly.

Che’z, or Enigma rather, carried his laptop to the front to a center spot between round black records and sound equipment on a sturdy table. He grabbed his guitar and moved it in an upright position to the side. He placed a pair of black earphones over his ears and adjusted the knobs in front of him. A line of security guards stood between the stage and the crowd wearing yellow shirts. Immediately, Enigma played his most popular dubstep track “Monster Killer.” The crowd danced and sang along to the lyrics. After the lyrics were sung a second time, the beat dropped loudly and smoke rushed out of vents to the sides of the stage. The crowd jumped up and down as the catchy beat filled the amphitheater. Enigma found himself moving to the beat as well.

One guy’s voice called out, “This man’s better than Skrillex!”

“I heard that, thank you!” Enigma answered through the mic.

A woman was interpreting Enigma’s songs using sign language. He noticed several people making “T”s, “N”s, and “G”s with their hands along with the “horn” rocker hand signals.

A series of video game scenes and monstrous faces appeared on the screen to further stimulate the audience. When the crowd cheered wildly after the first song, Enigma felt his nervousness fade away. Still, he pretended not to notice the camera person next to him, taking pictures. Enigma briefly imagined his favorite artists in the audience listening to his music: The Birthday Massacre band, Skrillex, and Deadmau5. ‘One day, I’ll get to meet them in person and talk about our different songs,’ he thought.

The crowd jumped and danced like crazy as Enigma’s dubstep songs blasted from the speakers.  An alien green light emitted from the spotlights around the amphitheater. He watched as the songs moved up and down the playlist after each play: “Katz in Black,” “Monster Mode,” “Bass Monster,” “Disco Massacre,” “Parallel Universe,” and on and on. For the next several songs, Enigma decided to play his original mixes and covers form his DragonBall Z channel, Saiyan Enigma. This was one of the things he was best known for, having been a fan of the show for years. Whenever he finished a track, he would hear exuberant chants of “play one more!” from the audience below. Soon, he was on his seventh Saiyan Enigma track.

Figuring it was time for a change, he announced that he would play his industrial songs next. A series of groans intertwined with a rapidly raising applause. He let out a series of deep growls through the microphone as the stage lights turned crimson red. His fingers moved expertly along the strings and cords of his black electric guitar, which he had retrieved from nearby. These tracks had mechanical and guitar sounds mixed together to create intense atmospheres. They sounded like background music for action video games and science fiction films.

Through the microphone, Enigma led the singing from his metal-sounding song “Nightmare God.” Several men danced and thrashed around in a small mosh pit up front. The smells of alcohol and drugs soon whiffed through the enclosed darkened space. Enigma wrinkled his nose at the smells. He was thankful that he wasn’t into any of that. As fights broke out amongst the crazed singing, the security guards restrained the wild individuals up front. Images of fiery demons and medieval soldiers going into battle from the big screen behind him accompanied his industrial music. Affirmative yells rang through the area after the song ended.

When the crowd began to get exhausted, Enigma played his softer, classical music. The lights turned a relaxing blue and the screen changed to slow moving footages of outer space. The crowd was soon fixated by his trance outer space tracks. “Fantasy Blue,” “Angels and Demons,” “Evolution,” “Dimension Zero,” and “Beyond the Stars” were some of the songs selected. After several plays, Enigma looked at Nastassia and made an announcement.

“I now dedicate this next song to my wonderful wife and close friend, Dsyphobia,” referring to her online gamer username.

He cleared his throat and sang his romantic song “Mysterious Girl.” His low enchanting voice reverberated from the speakers, mixing with electronic synths and pulsing beats. Shining tears of joy crept from Dsyphobia’s eyes. There was a hum of “awws” from the audience as more pictures were taken from their phones. At the end, Enigma gave a small bow as the audience cheered once more.

Changing the atmosphere, Enigma played a series of his hip-hop beats next. The overhead lights changed to a cheery golden orange. He sang his personal songs “Speak your Mind,” along with “Broken Soldier’s Cry” with passion and emotion. The songs described his past experiences with facing racism and bullying in school. The song continued with him mentioning that Jesus Christ had saved him and encouraging the listeners to get together and fight injustice. At one time, he swore he heard his voice crack in the middle of one of the songs, but he kept going. After he had finished the final song, the crowd cheered extra loud.

“Thank you very much!” Enigma called out. “It was a great pleasure performing for all of you tonight. Until next time.”

Enigma walked back stage and breathed a sigh of relief. He found himself shaking hands with the stage crew and other individuals who were managing the event.

“Fantastic performance out there, man!”

“That was the most epic one man concert I have ever seen!”

“How did you learn to make music like that?”

Che’z rapidly answered those questions and walked out the back door, only to find a flurry of more questions aimed at him from the surrounding fans outside. They reached out their hands for him from behind the low metal fences. Many of them were dressed in Goth and Cyberpunk attire: gas masks, dyed hair, high boots, chains, and leather. Others were dressed like DragonBall Z characters.

“Can you play more DragonBall Z music for us?”

“Why do you hate country music so much?”

“Will you replace or collaborate with Skrillex and Deadmau5?”

“Why don’t you talk to your fans very often online?”

“Were you bullied due to your biracial identity?”

“TNG, TNG, play more DragonBall Z!”

Suddenly feeling triggered and uncomfortable, Che’z grit his teeth and marched quickly toward another building. His breathing became rapid and sweat formed on his forehead. Even though he loved his fans, he wasn’t the most trusting individual around. Indeed, he was very much an introvert much of the time. The sooner he could relax at home, the better.

‘2023 sure is crazy,’ he thought, catching his breath and slowing down to a walk.

Che’z then noticed a lit overhead walkway surrounded by glass that connected the amphitheater to the building up ahead. Despite the bridge in position, no cars ran under it. In fact, there was nothing beneath the bridge except an uphill of green grass, still damp from the evening sprinkler system. Che’z could have gone across the walkway if he had wanted to climb narrow flights of crowded stairs that led to the higher levels of the amphitheater. Obviously, he did not want to. The brisk night air felt refreshing against his skin after being inside for several hours.

At last, Che’z made it to the side glass doors of the brown brick building in front of him. He pushed open the doors and straightened himself up. There was one more task to do. Inside was a large pleasantly lit hall bathed in golden light from small lamps connected to either side of the walls. Toward the back of the hall, a simple brown couch and chairs were occupied by several of the previous performers from the festival. Several guys were laughing and drinking glasses of beer near one of the windows. 

Toward the main rotating doors was a connected row of large movable tables covered with elegant black cloth. Che’z’s albums and black t-shirts of various sizes lay in neat stacks on the left portion of the table. In front of the artists on the other side were long lines of waiting fans. Che’z scanned the room and noticed a camera person and a couple of strong security guards wearing yellow shirts nearby. He cleared his throat, pushed back his anxiety and took his place next to another performer.

Overall, the process was not as bad as Che’z had imagined. As a matter of fact, he enjoyed it very much. Not only was he getting money from his fans, but he was also able to interact with them without any pressing questions. Che’z ignored the tiredness in his right hand as he signed one album after another with a black sharpie. While he did not have as many items as the other performers, that didn’t stop the fans from purchasing his shirts and albums in a flash.

The best part of this experience was the overwhelming number of compliments he had received from his supporters.

“Your music is unlike anything I have heard,” stated a young African American man. “Your songs about race and Christianity really spoke to me.”

A Chinese woman added, “The way you mix melodies and beats together is astounding. Without your music and hilarious videos, I would still be dealing with grief over the loss of my husband from several weeks back.”

“You make Skrillex look like a pop star!” another guy chimed in, followed by some genuine laughter.

“Your music helps me when I code and play video games,” mentioned a red-haired woman in her twenties. “If any game or film wants music for their soundtracks, they should totally contact you!”

One of the comments that warmed his heart the most was from a white man also dressed in black: “Don’t listen to other people when they try to define you and your music with man-made labels. You’re too complex to be put into a box; we all are. Your hard work and your passion for what you do pays off in the end. The world needs more honest, genuine musicians like you who can help change society.” He then went on to buy a large t-shirt and all his different physical albums.

“That really means a lot to me. Thanks man,” Che’z said.

Che’z soon lost count of how many fans he got pictures with as the night went on.  He was amazed at how diverse the audience was. Individuals of all ages, backgrounds, and abilities were coming to buy his music and say hello. All too soon, his table was empty. He found himself caught in a warm embrace from behind. He didn’t need to look behind him to know who it was.

“Dysphobia, you missed the merchandise giveaway,” he said.

“I have plenty of your items already,” she replied. “Besides, I was off telling a bunch of people about my gaming channel. They seemed to enjoy my walkthroughs and discussions when I showed them on my laptop.” She currently had her laptop in her backpack. The two of them pushed open the doors and walked outside.

“I’m not surprised,” Che’z replied. “With your amazing content, they would be fools to dislike your videos.”

“Same with you and your music,” she added. “You are incredibly talented and diverse.”

“And you are incredibly intelligent and beautiful,” he stated.

“Well you certainly are amazing at what you do,” she claimed.

The couple exchanged compliments back and forth all the way to their car. 

Nastassia got in the driver’s seat and Che’z climbed in the seat next to her, shutting the car door. From outside the window close by, dozens of people waved and took pictures with their iPhones as the car drove away. Che’z waved back, then turned back to face the front. Che’z smiled and admired the night sky from outside. It felt incredible for him to make a small difference in the world and be a part of a higher purpose.