Angie finished her coffee, hit the yoga mat for a quick morning stretch routine, and stopped into the bathroom to fix her long silver braid. "Lookin' good, Mama," she said to her reflection, giving all of her years of sobriety, self-care, and her black "#punkassbitch" t-shirt a nod of approval. The others were getting up, moving around, and laughing in the kitchen; the kith and kin survivor cell they'd started calling Decibel Riot was in motion for the day. "Nice to have family," Angie thought to herself, moving to the second floor's front bedroom where they'd mounted the sound cannons. There were a fair amount of zombies already milling about in the yard and the street; most were old and dry, partials who were blind and scrabbling with an arm outstretched hoping to run into something edible. Angie shook her head, sighing with compassion; the music was a service, really. Putting her noise buffering headphones on, she initiated the test riff that warned the cell to go protective (with headphones) or go deaf in style. A cheer went up from the kitchen and Angie smiled. "My people, my music, still my world," she said, turning all of the cannons on. "Bikini Kill, I think," Angie murmured, picking "Rebel Girl" for the opening track. "I'm in a mood." They ran out of bullets ages ago, but soundwaves were forever. "Punk now and always," Angie whispered, hitting Play.