Eddie was really starting to get pissed off. He was behind the stagebefore his concert and wasready to show the crowd what rockwas all about, but some sort of commotion was going on outside. He turned to his agent, who had just burst into the little backstage room. "What in the hell is goin' on out there!?" shouted Eddie, furious. His agent mumbled something incoherant that sounded like "Mimble-wimble". Eddie let off a particularly harsh curse. "What did you say?"
The agent, dressed in a stylish black suit, adjusted his collar and spoke. "Uh, the concert will have to be canceled, I'm afraid."
"Are you out of your freaking mind!?!" screamed the rockstar, spittle flying from his mouth. "Why would the concert get cancled!?"
His agent was looking even more uncomfortable now. "Well, um, how do I put this... well, everyone in the audience seems to be, well... dying." He said the last in a very small voice.
"What?" exclaimed Eddie. "Dying?"
"They're all rolling around in the stands, screaming like hell."
A man dressed in a white tee-shirt and ball cap ran in, a lanyard swinging wildly from his neck.
The agent turned. "Thank God," he said. "What in the sweet mother of God's name is going on out there?"
The young man, who looked to be in his early twenties, was sweating profusely. "We don't know, sir," he said. "At first we thought it was a gas attack, but there are no traces of any poison in the air. I seems to be a natural reaction."
Another man ran in, firing off a wild string of curses, some of which the young man had never even heard before. The agent turned.
"What news," he asked.
"It's everywhere!" he shouted. "People all over Chicago are having these damn convulsions! Andnot just Chicago! It seems like it's happening in every major city around the world! Tokyo, New York, Paris, Rome- it's everywhere."
"My God," said the agent. "And no one has any idea what's causing it?"
"No sir," replied the man. A moment later, he fell to the ground, his eyes rolling wildly, screaming, foaming at the mouth.
"Shit!" screamed Eddieas the man grabbed at the rockstar's torn jeans.
The agent turned to Eddie. "We gotta get you outta here," he said.
Eddie was sitting on the couch in the back of his tour bus, a beer in one hand, a piece of pizza in the other. He sat in front of the TV, watching the news intently.
"All over the world, in almost every major city, people are experiencing these strange convulsions," said the attractive Asian news anchor on the screen. " So far, experts have no idea what is causing the outbreak, though they fear it may be some sort of world-wide super-virus."
Eddie swore loudly. His mind went back toa book he had read when he was in high school. It was by some old horror author, Queen, or something like that. A virus had wiped out almost the whole population, leaving only a few survivors, who had fought a battle between good and evil. Eddie got up and walked toward the bathroom, and nearly screamed when he saw a tall thin man in black blocking his way. "Holy crap!" he shouted. "Who are you?"
The man looked at Eddie. "This world is doomed," he said. "And I can offer, you, my friend, a chance to survive." From that moment on, the Brotherhood had just gained one of its most dangerous members.