It was late, around nine in the evening Louis, Darnell, Marquis, Marcus, and John better known as Dreaming, were all in the studio listening to a playback of the last recording of their newest single, “Remembrance.”

Outside in the hallway, next to the studio, the group's manager, Mark, and the label owner, Joe was having a heated discussion about the cover for the new CD disc. The two had this very same discussion before. Both of their visions on how to market the group differed in ideal and style. The members of the group came from all different backgrounds. Two members came from money; one comes from suburbia and two from the projects. Each brought their own brand of style. “The members should present themselves as one,” said Joe.

“No,” said Mark, “Each of the members has their own unique brand. We should showcase that.”

“Marcus and Marquis hail from the projects. Their mother shopped with food stamps, was on welfare until they were ten, and worked two jobs after she got off of welfare. Marquis and Marcus prefer to wear nice pants made by designers like Perry Ellis and clothes sold in stores like Eddie Bauer. John…”

Joe interrupted, that's a niche for Marcus and Marquis, as individuals, but the group should be represented by one style.”

“Don't interrupt me. John prefers to wear urban outfits, characterized by baggy jeans by Sean Paul and shirts by Fubu.”

“Have you thought of the cost of each member should wear what they want.”

“It won't cost much if they wear their own clothes. Plus, you could find clothes and ask the designer to lend them to you for a photoshoot. “

“No, no, no. It should be uniform, like New Edition.”

“If you're so keen on having it uniform why not war cloths as Louis and Darnell wear. It's not any particular designer or looks. It's pretty casual.”

“No, uniform”, said Joe.

“You never want to budge. Look the music is cutting edge, all different age groups listen across all different demographics. Use that to our advantage and let their own light shine. “

“You listen to you, I've had enough of this,”, Joe started…

The band came outside the studio, just as Mark and Joe started to raise their voices. The argument abruptly stopped.

Mark said, “Okay guys. Before we wrap up for the night I just need to go over one thing. Be here tomorrow at exactly 9:00 a.m., for those of you who are operating on colored people's time, that's 8:45 a.m., in the MORNING to you guys. Be dressed to impress and be on your best behavior. Remember what happened last time.”

The group started laughing.

“That's for you, Marquis. Remember the last time…”

“Shut up you guys! It wasn't my fault the stewardess ran after me…”

Mark said “Stop you guys! Go home and rest. I'll be here a little longer. I just want to listen to the single one more time.'

Joe and the group left.

Mark went around the building checking to make sure it was locked uptight. He started doing that after the security guard got shot. Mark never understood how it was a man could get shot through what was supposed to be reinforced steel. Afterward, no security guard would work there.

Every time Mark stayed late he would follow this very ritual. He'd start from the back of the building and check all of the locks, deadbolts, and windows. He did that with the door to the side alley, the door that led to the parking lot on the other side of the building, and the front door that led onto the street.

Then he went back into the studio to replay the last recording of the song. Something didn't sit right. He brought up the sound; the baseline came in, followed by the melody and then the drums. Marquis came in with:

“The last time I saw you it was raining and you had tears in your eyes”

As he listened, Mark became engrossed.

“Remembering the way it was…”

All of a sudden he stopped the music. He thought he heard a Click! As if the door had been shut. He listened. Got up and went to the door. Walked down the hallway and checked all of the doors.

“Must be my imagination,” Mark thought to himself and went back into the studio.

After two steps, he sensed someone in the room. As he turned around, he felt something sharp hit him in the back. Before he passed out from the pain he hit the panic button to the sidewall. Then his world went black.