It was no surprise that on this special night, Club Kocchi Muite was packed with both staff and clientele. The roar of the crowd grew as the club's stage filled with a ring of green spotlights. The lights began circling a simple wooden chair set in center stage, and the crowd reached its full throat. A woman in an orange halter top came onto the stage wearing knee-high white go-go boots and a ruffled orange and white mini-skirt. Her outfit was complimented by a red garter on her left thigh. She kept her face hidden behind a snow-white porcelain mask of both youth and beauty, with its cheeks painted apple red.

The crowd watched her every move. She approached the chair slowly and straddled it backwards, facing away from the audience as she sat. Then, with both grace and ease, she bent her head back towards the crowd, leaning over and lowering it until her hair touched the floor. From this upside-down position, she eyed every person she could with dispassion, the smile on her mask now looking more like a frown.

The crowd roared its appreciation. After returning to a sitting position while still facing backwards, the woman raised her ass high in the air. From underneath the ruffles of her Dreamsicle skirt, puffy white schoolgirl panties could be seen. She spread her legs and arched her back, sticking her butt out at the crowd while lowering her head to the seat of the chair. As she rose further up on her toes, the tongue, then nose, and then eyes of a lolicon face appeared on her panties, sporting an ahegao expression.

The crowd roared even louder. The woman then delicately placed one booted foot upon the seat of the chair, and with what seemed like no effort at all, sent the chair crashing off stage. Now alone under the circling spotlights, she finally faced the crowd. She began an animated dance, mixing ballet with mime to tell a tale of love and woe.

Background music swelled as she danced. Her hand gestures became exaggerated, made all the more so by the white opera gloves she wore that reached past her elbows. The energy of her dance made her breasts jiggle and bounce, giving the crowd two more reasons to cheer. For the few men and women who cared to look higher than her chest, red-tinted aviator goggles strapped to her head kept a mop of Kool-Aid green hair from getting in her eyes.

At every chance, Gumi scanned the crowd for a face she might recognize. Or worse yet, for those who might recognize her. But no one had seen Gumi's true face in years, as she always wore her porcelain mask when in public. She had become a recluse as her years with The VocaLords dragged on, and as the necrosis from using the Powder of God to sort good souls from bad pained her with its horror.

Soon Gumi had no friends, save for Miku, The VocaLord's bassist and, to a lesser extent, the other members of the band. Miku then introduced Gumi to VioLinja, and the threesome became inseparable. With fresh energy bursting from their friendship, they wrote set after set of new songs, and rewrote many of their other big hits so VioLinja could accompany them on her electric violin. When The VocaLords went on tour with VioLinja as a new member, the response from their fans was euphoric. Gumi used the new songs, and VioLinja's amazing talent, to send evil souls to Hell at an unprecedented rate. She also used more and more Powder of God, to winnow these evil souls from the good before obliterating them. Doing so hastened the disfigurement of her face, but Gumi had pledged long ago to do whatever it took to rid the world of all evil.

Despite the pain of her disfigurement, things had been going well for Gumi, until VioLinja went berserk. She turned on her two new friends and took over the band, sending any soul she pleased to Hell, regardless of whether they were good or bad. She didn't see the need to use the Powder of God, nor perform the Winnowing. She grew mad with power and, after The VocaLords had disbanded, she terrorized the world.

Gumi felt it was all her fault, as she had taught VioLinja how to use her violin to obliterate. But every effort Gumi made to defeat VioLinja had failed. And now, without a supply of fresh Powder of God and her face rotted and torn, Gumi could barely feed herself, let alone fight VioLinja. Feeling sad and forsaken in a world gone mad, Gumi hid in plain sight at Club Kocchi Muite, unrecognizable behind a mask made to show her disdain for what Fate had done to her.

As Gumi told this tale of woe with her dance, the catcalls and whistles for her body diminished. Her presentation mesmerized the crowd, and her sadness silenced them. No one noticed when the music faded, leaving her to finish the dance in rapt silence. After concluding, many seconds passed before anyone dared make a sound. Then one person cheered, and then another, and soon the crowd roared anew. Only this roar was in honor and reverance. Club Kocchi Muite had promised its patrons a night of unparalleled entertainment, the likes of which no one had seen before.

And without having spoken a word, Gumi delivered. It took her two trips back to the stage, bowing in grande révérence, to satisfy their appreciation for her. Through it all, Gumi's white mask showed no emotion. Only her eyes looked alive, peering out from behind empty sockets cut for them, scanning the crowd for the face of a friend.

She found not one friend. But she did find another. A face that saw through her disguise, with eyes more alive than hers. The face of a man not seeking lust and entertainment, but that which its owner knew was real.

Something which Gumi felt sure she was not. She felt a fraud, an imposter, a loser. Yet still he stared at her warmly, knowingly and with approval. He wore britches instead of pants, and white stockings; a façade of military dress, a pretense of days long gone by. With a matching uniform jacket made of the same thick gray linen as the britches, and bestrewn with silver buttons and medals, he presented himself to the world as a conqueror. A sea of black ruffles, made of silk as thick as the linen, swelled from the collar of his jacket. Its ruffles were edged with white facing, and sent curls of silk crashing beneath his chin, as if his face were afloat upon them, a haven in the midst of a storm.

Hair as cerulean as the ocean sky spilled every which way on his head. Yet none of this gave Gumi pause. Frozen, transfixed, almost unable to breathe, Gumi stared into his eyes.

Deep cobalt blue, metal eyes. Finally, with the faintest smile charming his face, he blinked.

Gumi ran from the stage in a panc. A stagehand called out to her as she passed, using her stage name.

"Hey! Masked Bitch! Where are you going? You have a second set to perform!"

Unable to speak without her vocalizer or the Powder of God, Gumi never slowed.

As fast as Gumi had left, she returned. She put a cassette tape into the hand of the stagehand who had yelled at her. Rising on her toes to press her porcelain mask to his cheek, she breathed garbled words to him as loud as she could.

"Tell Michael to play this."

"What?" the stagehand asked, surprised that Masked Bitch even knew how to speak. "Michael? On the soundboard?"

Gumi nodded.

"Uhm… okay. But hurry up," he said, dashing off. "You're late!"

Gumi breathed deep to keep calm. She had brought from her dressing room a change of clothes different from what she had originally planned to wear for her second set. Rather than performing another interpretive dance meant to portray broken love, Gumi instead planned to sing, using her vocalizer for the first time in more than a year. She ripped the porcelain mask from her face, plucking off the adhesive pads from her chin and forehead that held it there. She stripped off her Dreamsicle skirt and halter top, but instead of donning another provocative outfit, the former leader of The VocaLords put on her signature desert rat fatigues and shemagh scarf. Cursing at the drool her damaged lips dripped the floor, she bent low to lace up her combat boots.

She then dug out a small plastic bag rolled up tight in a pocket of her vest. In it were a few grains of the Powder of God—all that she had left. With luck, if she saved her breath to just sing, it would get her through one more song.

Then it would be gone, and the world would never hear Gumi sing again.

She poured the powder into her vocalizer, rubbing the inside of the bag on what was left of her lips and nose so as to get every crumb. With her vocalizer strapped to her face, she plugged herself into the wires snaking through her clothing. The crowd in the club had grown boisterous due to her long absence from the stage, but quickly quieted once they saw what she was wearing. All eyes fell upon her as she stood meek and unsure at center stage.

Slowly one voice at a time, the crowd grew boisterous again.

"Who's that?"

"That's her!"

"That's Gumi!"

"Nah. It can't be her."

"Where's her guitar?"

"The VocaLords haven't been heard from in years."

"I'm telling you, that's her!"

"It's Gumi!"