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Description
July 3, 1988; Los Angeles, California

Tim and Jen stood triumphantly backstage, their instruments slung over their shoulders. In front of them stood the very same manager that had kicked them out at the start of this whole endeavour. He clearly wasn't happy, his arms crossed and a frown on his face, but the sound of a cheering crowd in the background and the cocky smirks on Tim and Jen's faces didn't exactly give his disapproval much weight.

“I have every right to kick you kids out of here and call the cops on you,” he said firmly to them.

“But you won't,” Tim said.

“I have every right to just take this money and give it to someone else.”

“But you won't,” Jen said.

His eyebrow twitched. “But… because you two just made my ratings skyrocket like I've never seen before, I don't really have a choice if I want to avoid an angry mob of fans.”

Tim and Jen's smiles only got bigger upon hearing that. “Fans”. They had fans.

The manager reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills which he handed to the siblings. The two squabbled over who got to hold it for a brief moment before Jen ultimately one the argument with a punch. As Tim rubbed his now-aching shoulder, Jen grinned as she swiftly counted the money.

And then she frowned.

“Hey!” she complained. “This is only 20 bucks! What gives, man? The prize was 500!”

“Yeah,” the manager said, the slightest traces of a smile appearing on his lips. “And 480 of those bucks had to get taken out to pay for the damage you kids did to my building in that little music battle of yours!”

The two siblings’ jaws dropped. “Come on, man! That's bull!” Tim said.

“So is a bunch of nutjobs with guns and magic lightning guitars trashing my expensive establishment!”

“You suck, man.”

“You suck.”

“You suck!”

“You suck!”

“Care for a knuckle sandwich to add insult to injury?” Jen threatened.

“Do it. I dare you.”

Jen reeled back for one swift punch to his nose, but just as she was about to swing, a new voice chimed in and interrupted them all.

“There's really no need to squabble, friends,” a man said as he walked seemingly out of nowhere. He had a British accent to his voice, wearing a black pinstripe jacket underneath his long hooded grey coat. The Union Jack was etched into his sleeves and many military badges adorned his chest. He smiled at them all, a white cheerful grin that could shatter any bad vibes. He walked over to the manager, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a stack of money of his own. “I believe this is compensation enough,” the man said. “It's on me. Go ahead and give these fine young folks the prize they've earned.”

The manager’s eyes widened as he counted the money in the stack. He looked at the smiling man, then at the siblings, and begrudgingly he pulled the remaining prize money out of his pocket. He passed it to the siblings as he stowed his compensation into his jacket. They jumped with excitement, counting the cash and splitting it between each other.

“You kids are lucky,” the manager snarked.

“Damn straight we are!” Tim cheered.

The man turned toward the manager again. “Now that that issue is settled, do you mind if I speak with these fine young individuals alone? There was some business I needed to discuss.”

“Yeah sure whatever. If you're payin’ me this much.”

The manager promptly walked away, no doubt happily conscious of the new weight in his pocket.

The man turned back to the siblings. They smiled at him. “Hey man, thanks a bunch for that save,” Tim said.

“Oh it's no trouble at all!” he said. He held out his hand to be shook by the both of them. “Aren Nesher,” he introduced himself. “I'm a member of the British Brotherhood of the Assassins.”

“I'm Jen,” Jen said. “This is Tim.”

“Quite the excellent performance you two put on back there. You really rocked the socks off those Templars.”

“Yeah, what can I say? We're just that awesome.”

“You said you wanted to talk business with us?” Tim asked Aren.

“Ah yes!” Aren said, leading them towards the exit. “Come, let's discuss this outside.”

The three of them strolled into the cool night air, and the siblings leaned against the wall of the building as they heard out what this newcomer had to say.

“To be frank, you kids have something I've been hunting after for a very very long time,” Aren said, pointing to the Pick of Eden.

“You're not gonna take it from us, are you?” Tim asked, immediately getting disappointed.

“Well, I should hope not. I'm hoping we could have a simple friendly exchange without any calls for force. We're all Assassins here after all.”

“But this Pick just made us stars!” Jen said.

“No, my dear. What made you stars was the passion you put into your music. The spirit and love for your craft is what made you two win the day against impossible odds.”

There was a quiet pause as his inspirational words hung in the air. Tim and Jen took in such wisdom, considering these truthful words.

“Yeah but passion doesn't give us the power to shoot lightning bolts out of our guitars,” Jen nonchalantly said, the words going right out the other ear for both teens.

Aren nonetheless laughed. “Very true very true. But I'm afraid that Pick is still far too dangerous to be kept out in the open. Men like Morgenster have been hunting it for far longer than I have. For that tiny little artifact contains a much darker power than simple musical enhancement.”

“What kind of power?”

“A power that the stability of the entire fabric of reality rests upon. In the wrong hands, this tiny little thing could spell the end of the universe itself.”

Tim looked down at the Pick. It suddenly felt like it was heavier somehow. “Well that would… definitely suck,” he said.

“Aye,” said Aren. “Hence why I'm asking you two to please give it to me, so that I can hide it far far away from Templar hands.”

Tim and Jen looked at one another, then at the Pick, then lastly at Aren, who was still smiling and calm. After a few moments of hesitation, they sighed. Tim outstretched his hand to pass the Pick into Aren’s, who's smile only grew larger. “Thank you very much, my friends!” he said. “On behalf of the universe, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Jen said. “I mean hey, 250 each isn't worth much if there's no universe to spend it in.”

Aren laughed. “Very true, very true indeed, young Jennifer. I best take my leave now. I want to make sure this thing is hidden away as quickly as possible. It was a pleasure doing business with the both of you. Farewell!”

The siblings nodded and waved goodbye as this strange British man turned and vanished down the streets of Los Angeles. The siblings stood leaning against the wall.

“Well damn,” Tim said.

“Eeyup,” Jen agreed.

“There goes our key to success.”

Jen gave a passive wave. “Eh, we don't need that piece of scrap. We've still got more skills than anyone else.”

“True.”

“And hey, at least we still got that sweet golden guitar!”

Tim grinned, pulling the instrument back across his chest. “Yeah, we do.”

“We'll be stars one way or another. We're the best musicians ever to come out of Indiana!”

Tim smiled and nodded. He looked out to where Aren had walked away.

“So what now?” he asked.

Jen put a finger on her chin. “Race ya back to Mom's?” she said, already taking off into a sprint across the rooftops.

“You're on!” Tim called after her as he leapt up onto the buildings to catch up to her. They ran across the city, laughing the whole way as they went, enjoying the rest of their good night and celebrating their victorious adventure.

They didn't even notice the shadowy figure that had been watching them all from the bushes.

Morgenster frowned, definitely not in the same celebratory mood as his adversaries. “You win this round, Nesher,” he spat. “But mark my words, I will hunt you down and find you. Someway, somehow, sometime, that Pick will be mine, even if I have to rip it out of your cold, dead hands! No one can stop the wrath of Lucifer, especially not some punk kids! I will destroy this world, and nothing will stand in my way!”

He started laughing, cackling at how devilishly determined in his evil plan he was. The sound echoed into the night sky, shaking birds out of their trees. He laughed and laughed.

“Hey! Shut up out there! Some of us are trying to sleep!” he heard from some random building along the street, followed quickly by an aluminum soda can getting tossed at his face. Morgenster quickly shut up, pouting angrily, before simply turning and storming off down the road.

Description
July 3, 1988; Los Angeles, California

Tim and Jen stood triumphantly backstage, their instruments slung over their shoulders. In front of them stood the very same manager that had kicked them out at the start of this whole endeavour. He clearly wasn't happy, his arms crossed and a frown on his face, but the sound of a cheering crowd in the background and the cocky smirks on Tim and Jen's faces didn't exactly give his disapproval much weight.

“I have every right to kick you kids out of here and call the cops on you,” he said firmly to them.

“But you won't,” Tim said.

“I have every right to just take this money and give it to someone else.”

“But you won't,” Jen said.

His eyebrow twitched. “But… because you two just made my ratings skyrocket like I've never seen before, I don't really have a choice if I want to avoid an angry mob of fans.”

Tim and Jen's smiles only got bigger upon hearing that. “Fans”. They had fans.

The manager reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills which he handed to the siblings. The two squabbled over who got to hold it for a brief moment before Jen ultimately one the argument with a punch. As Tim rubbed his now-aching shoulder, Jen grinned as she swiftly counted the money.

And then she frowned.

“Hey!” she complained. “This is only 20 bucks! What gives, man? The prize was 500!”

“Yeah,” the manager said, the slightest traces of a smile appearing on his lips. “And 480 of those bucks had to get taken out to pay for the damage you kids did to my building in that little music battle of yours!”

The two siblings’ jaws dropped. “Come on, man! That's bull!” Tim said.

“So is a bunch of nutjobs with guns and magic lightning guitars trashing my expensive establishment!”

“You suck, man.”

“You suck.”

“You suck!”

“You suck!”

“Care for a knuckle sandwich to add insult to injury?” Jen threatened.

“Do it. I dare you.”

Jen reeled back for one swift punch to his nose, but just as she was about to swing, a new voice chimed in and interrupted them all.

“There's really no need to squabble, friends,” a man said as he walked seemingly out of nowhere. He had a British accent to his voice, wearing a black pinstripe jacket underneath his long hooded grey coat. The Union Jack was etched into his sleeves and many military badges adorned his chest. He smiled at them all, a white cheerful grin that could shatter any bad vibes. He walked over to the manager, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a stack of money of his own. “I believe this is compensation enough,” the man said. “It's on me. Go ahead and give these fine young folks the prize they've earned.”

The manager’s eyes widened as he counted the money in the stack. He looked at the smiling man, then at the siblings, and begrudgingly he pulled the remaining prize money out of his pocket. He passed it to the siblings as he stowed his compensation into his jacket. They jumped with excitement, counting the cash and splitting it between each other.

“You kids are lucky,” the manager snarked.

“Damn straight we are!” Tim cheered.

The man turned toward the manager again. “Now that that issue is settled, do you mind if I speak with these fine young individuals alone? There was some business I needed to discuss.”

“Yeah sure whatever. If you're payin’ me this much.”

The manager promptly walked away, no doubt happily conscious of the new weight in his pocket.

The man turned back to the siblings. They smiled at him. “Hey man, thanks a bunch for that save,” Tim said.

“Oh it's no trouble at all!” he said. He held out his hand to be shook by the both of them. “Aren Nesher,” he introduced himself. “I'm a member of the British Brotherhood of the Assassins.”

“I'm Jen,” Jen said. “This is Tim.”

“Quite the excellent performance you two put on back there. You really rocked the socks off those Templars.”

“Yeah, what can I say? We're just that awesome.”

“You said you wanted to talk business with us?” Tim asked Aren.

“Ah yes!” Aren said, leading them towards the exit. “Come, let's discuss this outside.”

The three of them strolled into the cool night air, and the siblings leaned against the wall of the building as they heard out what this newcomer had to say.

“To be frank, you kids have something I've been hunting after for a very very long time,” Aren said, pointing to the Pick of Eden.

“You're not gonna take it from us, are you?” Tim asked, immediately getting disappointed.

“Well, I should hope not. I'm hoping we could have a simple friendly exchange without any calls for force. We're all Assassins here after all.”

“But this Pick just made us stars!” Jen said.

“No, my dear. What made you stars was the passion you put into your music. The spirit and love for your craft is what made you two win the day against impossible odds.”

There was a quiet pause as his inspirational words hung in the air. Tim and Jen took in such wisdom, considering these truthful words.

“Yeah but passion doesn't give us the power to shoot lightning bolts out of our guitars,” Jen nonchalantly said, the words going right out the other ear for both teens.

Aren nonetheless laughed. “Very true very true. But I'm afraid that Pick is still far too dangerous to be kept out in the open. Men like Morgenster have been hunting it for far longer than I have. For that tiny little artifact contains a much darker power than simple musical enhancement.”

“What kind of power?”

“A power that the stability of the entire fabric of reality rests upon. In the wrong hands, this tiny little thing could spell the end of the universe itself.”

Tim looked down at the Pick. It suddenly felt like it was heavier somehow. “Well that would… definitely suck,” he said.

“Aye,” said Aren. “Hence why I'm asking you two to please give it to me, so that I can hide it far far away from Templar hands.”

Tim and Jen looked at one another, then at the Pick, then lastly at Aren, who was still smiling and calm. After a few moments of hesitation, they sighed. Tim outstretched his hand to pass the Pick into Aren’s, who's smile only grew larger. “Thank you very much, my friends!” he said. “On behalf of the universe, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Jen said. “I mean hey, 250 each isn't worth much if there's no universe to spend it in.”

Aren laughed. “Very true, very true indeed, young Jennifer. I best take my leave now. I want to make sure this thing is hidden away as quickly as possible. It was a pleasure doing business with the both of you. Farewell!”

The siblings nodded and waved goodbye as this strange British man turned and vanished down the streets of Los Angeles. The siblings stood leaning against the wall.

“Well damn,” Tim said.

“Eeyup,” Jen agreed.

“There goes our key to success.”

Jen gave a passive wave. “Eh, we don't need that piece of scrap. We've still got more skills than anyone else.”

“True.”

“And hey, at least we still got that sweet golden guitar!”

Tim grinned, pulling the instrument back across his chest. “Yeah, we do.”

“We'll be stars one way or another. We're the best musicians ever to come out of Indiana!”

Tim smiled and nodded. He looked out to where Aren had walked away.

“So what now?” he asked.

Jen put a finger on her chin. “Race ya back to Mom's?” she said, already taking off into a sprint across the rooftops.

“You're on!” Tim called after her as he leapt up onto the buildings to catch up to her. They ran across the city, laughing the whole way as they went, enjoying the rest of their good night and celebrating their victorious adventure.

They didn't even notice the shadowy figure that had been watching them all from the bushes.

Morgenster frowned, definitely not in the same celebratory mood as his adversaries. “You win this round, Nesher,” he spat. “But mark my words, I will hunt you down and find you. Someway, somehow, sometime, that Pick will be mine, even if I have to rip it out of your cold, dead hands! No one can stop the wrath of Lucifer, especially not some punk kids! I will destroy this world, and nothing will stand in my way!”

He started laughing, cackling at how devilishly determined in his evil plan he was. The sound echoed into the night sky, shaking birds out of their trees. He laughed and laughed.

“Hey! Shut up out there! Some of us are trying to sleep!” he heard from some random building along the street, followed quickly by an aluminum soda can getting tossed at his face. Morgenster quickly shut up, pouting angrily, before simply turning and storming off down the road.