I give the crowd everything I have. I haven’t put on this kind of show in ages. My bandmates feel it, get caught up in the energy and we CONTROL the room. It feels good. During a slow song, I take the moment to look over the room, witness the dying breath of my stage life. A minor legacy of good shows and a few good albums will carry on.
And if I’m lucky a few songs will still be played long after I’m dead.

It has to be enough. Our final song rings out, the guitars silenced under the roar of the crowd. It’s going to happen now. I turn to leave the stage, content with my decision and ready to be un-caged. And I see Jackson, standing just behind the curtain clapping. My smile fades as one of my ‘freedom fighters’ comes up behind him. Jackson must see my face, because he turns, and runs directly into the back of a shotgun. He falls quickly.
Two men grab my arms, placing a cloth over my head. It’s solid dark. Smells like a old leather jacket. The crowd’s cheers turn to panic, the curtain closes.
Show over, no encore tonight kids.