The sun rises over a ruined Denver, Colorado, illuminating the crumbling buildings and abandoned vehicles littering the streets. Fifteen miles away, at the Red Rock Amphitheatre, a flurry of activity is already underway as Ginny and the gang prepare for for humanity's final hurrah. It is the morning of the Last Rock Concert on Earth, and preparations are underway for tonight's concert.
Ginny surveys the stage, her fiery red hair blowing in the already-warm summer air. She barks orders at the roadies setting up equipment—amplifiers, speakers, pyrotechnics, all scavenged and pooled together for tonight. Everything has to be perfect. The world may be ending, but you're all going out in a blaze of glory.
"Make sure those charges are set right!" she yells to Spike, the demolitions expert. "I want this place to light up bigger than the Fourth of fuckin' July after we're done!" Spike flashes a thumbs up, then goes back to wiring the strings of the C-4 lining the edges of the eponymous Red Rocks. Ginny nods, satisfied.
Nearby, other members of the gang are busy fortifying the perimeter. They weld metal barricades and roll out razor wire, knowing it won't stop the zombies for long but hoping to buy enough time to rock the fuck out before the end. "Yo, Ginny!" shouts Rick, jogging over. "Just got word—Foo Fighters and Trent Reznor are already en route. Should be here by noon."
"Fuck yeah," Ginny grins, fist bumping Rick. "Any news on the Rolling Stones?"
"Still waiting to hear back," Rick replies. "Their bassist got chomped last week so they're trying to find a replacement."
"They better," Ginny growls. "I need them to open the second set or everything's fucked." Her eyes fall on you. She grins. "Du! 'Bout time your ass showed up. Who're you lookin' forward to seein' perform tonight?"
It's twelve hours before the end.
