“Jimmy… look… I’m really, really sorry,” you begin to say, but Jimmy almost immediately interrupts you.

“Ssh,” he says, putting a finger to his lips. “I think he’s coming this way.”

 

You need to make sure Jimmy knows that you know you’ve fucked up badly. “Look, I just… I know this isn’t the first time I’ve done this and I promise… I swear I’ll try and sort it out.”

 

“Ssh.”

 

“I just… with the drinking…” You’re struggling to explain and it barely looks like Jimmy is listening anyway. “I feel like I can’t really control it anymore, I dunno, and I always do it even when I don’t want to-“

 

“SSH!” Jimmy’s shushing is panicked now, and for good reason - the door to the cupboard crashes open and the pair of you tumble out of it and onto the floor.

 

You look up. Standing there is the security guard.

 

The security guard pulls both you up by your collars and starts shepherding you down the corridor. “Come on. Time to leave.”

 

You start to protest, but it’s no use. The security guard is huge, and you have no arguments left. You’ve really fucked up this time.

 

YOU WERE KICKED OUT OF THE BACKSTAGE AREA AND MISSED YOUR SHOW. YOU HAVE FAILED YOUR MISSION.

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