Bodies That Wait for an Explanation Before They Move
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The kid's motorcycle is parked just to the right.
A sharp screech of brakes.
Devil Trigger's drumbeat mixed inside it.
The sound presses over, like it's cutting straight through the air.
I step out of the gym,
a protein bar in my hand.
The wrapper reads:
Plant-based.
No additives.
I don't eat it.
You don't hear a rhythm like that;
it slams into you.
Drums, distortion, vocals—
zero white space.
It doesn't explain itself;
it simply occupies existence.
My car has a sound system too.
Twelve speakers.
The manual promises "absolute fidelity."
I have never turned it past halfway.
Not because I don't want to,
but because of a deeply ingrained habit.
A restraint that has hardened into muscle memory.
The kid has no such habit.
He isn't "adjusting the volume";
he is just letting the sound exist.
The motorcycle sits idle,
but the rhythm never stops.
His shoulders twitch slightly with the beat—
not a controlled choice,
but a pure physical response.
For those forty‑some seconds at the red light,
he isn't waiting.
He is suspended inside the pulse of Devil Trigger.
He doesn't even bother to check the countdown timer.
Time has been shattered into shards by the bass.
I was moving in the gym, too.
The elliptical, the stretches, the iron.
Every movement had a purpose;
every movement was logged.
Heart rate, sets, calories burned.
The body is perfect,
because every single motion has been precisely rationalized
by a metabolic formula.
Before the light even turns green,
he shifts his center of gravity.
His fingers tighten on the throttle.
His torso leans forward,
just a fraction.
He isn't waiting for a signal;
Devil Trigger is about to fire the starting gun:
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Pull my Devil Trigger!
I count the seconds.
Forty‑two.
Thirty‑seven.
Thirty.
The dashboard remains stable.
The climate control maintains the temperature.
There are no surprises inside this car.
Green light.
We move at the exact same time.
His bike edges ahead by half a frame,
then vanishes entirely around the bend.
His sound lingers in my cabin for three seconds.
It is the echo of Bang! Bang! Bang!,
causing the sterile breathing of the climate control to falter,
losing its rhythm for the very first time.
The garage.
Ignition off.
I don't get out right away.
The protein bar sits on the passenger seat.
Wrapper intact.
Text crisp.
Plant‑based.
No additives.
I know it will give me exactly twenty grams of clean protein.
I know it will cause zero complications.
But I also know it isn't food.
The dashboard slowly fades to black.
When I look up,
the garage is perfectly silent.
That song is still spinning in my head.
Not because it's beautiful,
but because it was loud enough to strip away the luxury of pretending I never heard it.
And I can't pretend I didn't see that kid.
Just like I can't pretend I don't know the mathematical formula for counting calories.
Within that equation,
some bodies must wait for an explanation before they move.
And some bodies never do.
Postscript:
Devil Trigger (composed by Casey Edwards, featuring Ali Edwards) serves as the high‑octane battle theme for Nero in Devil May Cry 5.
At its core, the track is a cathartic fusion of industrial techno and electronic rock, driven by dense sonic distortion and a relentless tempo.
Its central metaphor—"pulling the devil trigger"—signifies the explosive release of suppressed instincts and untamed human impulse.
Rather than a traditional musicological breakdown, this essay captures the real‑world sociological impact of that sonic violence as it collides with the city streets.
In a modern system obsessed with quantifying every movement through formulas and calories, the primal roar of this track acts as a savage, necessary critique of our overly rationalized, over‑explained existence.
© Globluum Original. Please credit when reposting.
