The energetic Vee Boonyasak always loved exploring and getting into trouble, but more than anything, she loved playing the drums. She began to teach herself how to play at an early age. She learned traditional instruments and styles, but really fell in love with modern rock. By the age of 18 she could play virtually any song on the radio after hearing it once.
As a young adult, she went to a local show and saw Tik And The Kicks. She immediately fell in love with the band's scrappy sound. Tik's vocals had a gravelly urgency, and Krit's huge guitar sound filled the room. The only problem was the tired, old drum machine that took ages to reset between each song. But she couldn't get their music out of her head. With no records or merch, the only way she could hear them was live, so she followed them from show to show, learning the simple beats programmed into the drum machine.
The band finally had their big break opening for a group of local legends. They sweated their way through sound check in the massive, uncooled venue, when disaster struck: the drum machine crackled and smoked, finally giving up the ghost. They were loading back into the van when Vee offered to play with them, noting that the house drum set was already sound-checked. With nothing to lose, they let her play, and the crowd was whipped into a frenzy. Even Tik and Krit seemed rejuvenated by her brash, loud style and boundless energy. She became a permanent member of the band the next day.
After jamming for a few weeks, they decided it was time for a new name. Vee suggested they keep some of the old name: Axekick. They played their first show under the new name to a modest but enthusiastic crowd who had shown up just for them. Vee had her friend Mos record the show and post it online. Before long, they were getting buzz from around the world. Vee spent all of her off-time making shirts and patches. Axekick released an EP online. Before long, the three were scraping out a modest living.
When Tik showed the band a video of strange phenomena at an abandoned opera theater across town, Vee's thrillseeking instinct kicked in. She said they had to play a show there. Tik and Krit were immediately on board—a heavy show at a massive, abandoned venue was going to be the gig of the century.
The night before the performance, they went to scout the venue. Everything was covered in dust and grime, the floors creaked with every step. It was perfect. In the back, they found a dressing room filled with musty old opera outfits and cracked cassettes. With time to kill, they grabbed a couple of pieces from the costumes and threw one of the tapes on. What they heard stopped them in their tracks: ghostly, unnatural sounds—voices that seemed to dance around the room. Disturbed, they stopped the tape immediately and made for the exit.
The next day the venue was packed. Axekick sounded tighter than ever. The crowd was losing their minds. Sweat pooled on Vee’s brow as she played harder and faster in the suffocating heat. Above the crowd's screams, she heard something else: the voices from the tape.
She closed her eyes to block it out, focused on the beat. The noise of the crowd faded as she lost herself in the encore. As the song ended she opened her eyes, and could barely see. She wiped her eyes, thinking it was the sweat, but it was something else: a thick, black fog.
The crowd was gone. Tik and Krit were gone. All she could hear was the echoes of her drums in the distance. She stood from her stool and strode into the inky blackness to find her friends.
