Joey moved through the building, which seemed to be abandoned, towards the executive floor at the top. In his left hand was one of the desert eagles, in his right the sawed-off. The sweat was beading up on his head.

This was the single most important and dangerous mission since the MarcoPolo Brass staged the failed coup detat against Hitler in the 30’s. A good boy band fell in battle that day. Joey didn’t intend to bother them, so he made his way up the staircase carefully.

No surprises.

No genetic engineered robot cowboy commandos this time.

By the book, conservative like.

There were no genetic engineered robot cowboy commandos. No mercenaries. Not even a lazy rentacop. It was way to quiet when Joey reached the top floor.

“Good evening, Joey of Nsync. We have been expecting you.”

The office was extravagent. A Picasso hung on one wall, on the other a DaVinci. The desk was made of the once rare and now exitinct tistern oak of the west Amazon basin. The north wall was a widnow with the New York city skyline. Along the sides of this were two giant LCD screens, where all the worlds leaders were watching, waiting for their orders. There’s JFK in his wheelchair, Bush, Clinton, Stalin’s brain.

And sitting behind the desk, a young man with platinum blond hair. Joey raised the pistol, “I’ve been expecting this for a long time to, Eminem. Your days of manipulating the world with threat of an antimatter detonation of unheard of detonation are over.”

Eminem didn’t flinch as the pistol pointing at his face, “Is it? The world needs me Joey. The world needs to be ruled with the iron fisted pragmatism of a rapper. The childish ideaologies of your ‘boy band’ are just that, childish.

That’s when Joey felt the cold steel barrel of an M-16 press against the back of his head.

“It’s over Joey. This is how the world works. Accept it, and lets go home, lets just go back to the music.”

Joey’s eyes went wide…The voice was Justin, his friend, his band mate, his brother in music and arms.

“Justin….how could you…”

“This is how the world is….Eminem is right…put the gun down, and we’ll just be musicians.”

Joey grimaced a hard smile, “No…you may kill me. But the other band members will get you….JC, and Chris..”

“They already know. They agree with me. It’s over Joey. Just give it up.”


“Him too.”

Joey trembled, the gun shaking in his hand. Eminem watched calmly. Justin looked at his friend sadly, but kept the gun on his head.

Joey’s resolve suddenly steeled itself, and he pulled the trigger, leaping to the side as he did so. Eminems brains, red blood covered grey matter, splattered all over the windows behing. Justin jumped in shock, and pulled the trigger, the trail of automatic fire taking off Joey’s right ear. Joey, blood from his now missing ear covering his face, and ungodly ringing filling his head, twisted in midair, the shotgun blast annihilating Justin’s torso.

As Joey lay on the ground in pain, he saw out the blood covered window, Chris on the rooftop. He thought he could see Chris mouth the words, “I’m sorry, brother in music, brother in arms, bandmate.”

That’s when the 45 calibur bullet ended the life of Joey, and the legacy of the boybands.

With that bullet, the events of that night, humanity was once again made frail and unprotected, ripe for the picking by any evil man that may try to enforce his mad visions of the world.

I wonder, will anyone else stand up to take Joey’s place?

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27 August 2004