"I'm fine. I just feel a bit warm. Too warm. Probably the cocaine," he weakly protested.

He's going to throw you out! Get it together!

His signal was spiraling wildly, a box of spare lightbulbs somewhere close by popping almost all at once.

Suddenly he wasn't backstage somewhere. He was in a filthy alley, a John's hand tightly gripping his hip.

Y͈̻͔̌̃͂̀͜ö̲̭́͘ǔ̟̜̠̎͋ ̢̛͖̎w̞̗̝̃͒̓ą̛̠̹͑̍͋͟ṉ̪́̿ţ̹̞̓̀͝ ͈͈̿͞ä̛̤̞̻̥̏̚ ͔̒m̢̖̏̍͗ͅe͇̎a̲̪͛͠l͓͂,̡̤̳̓̄͌ ̰͑dö̜̤́͠n'̪͕̩̃̀̓̋͜t͕̊ y̢͎̜̒̀͠ȏ͚̻͆ü̫̳̜̈̓̅͜?

He closed his eyes and leaned towards the John, lips slightly parted. He was so tired he could drop.

No. He wasn't in an alley. He was backstage. With his overlord. Wasn't he?

He started to shake as his body's exhaustion fought with the cocaine's stimulation.