I'm thoroughly fucked.

      Gloriously fucked.

      I'm gonna kill the whale. And fuck procedure.

      We finished doing yet another cd – And why the fuck did we do a fucking Christmas album? Who are we? The New Fucking kids on the Fucked up block?- and yet another fucking video- And, o.k., working with Gary Coleman was fucking cool- and Bass landed on the hospital.

      Apparently, we've been working our fucking asses off, and finally, one had a breakdown.

      No shit, Sherlock.

      We've done five fuckin' new videos in less than four months. We're touring. We're doing interviews, and again, I don't know how I'll return to my job because I'm being recognized in fucking Walmart… The videos are so fuckin' close to each other, that you can see Kirkpatrick' hair getting weirder and weirder… and why the fuck he went and braided it with white? He looks like a pshyco. He is a fucking pshyco…

      With Bass in the hospital, the group wants to put everything on hold. Not much choice there. Chasez spends every fucking minute in Bass' room. I know that the doctors have let him stay there, and give him sedatives to make him rest. Finally, he's getting a clue.

      Timberlake visits very seldom. He confided that the whale offered him a solo career if the group disbanded over this. Well, fuck that, Pearlman. The kid didn't even listened to the idea. I don't care what happens to *N Stink, but if the group disbands, my fucking mission fails and so, I'm glad Timberlake didn't listen.

      Fatone and Kirkpatrick are growing closer, that means trouble for us all. Kirkpatrick even got Fatone to fucking dye his hair. Red. Bright Red. He looks like a fucking stop signal. And they talk a lot. It seems that they're always talking. And apparently, Kirkpatrick has finally figured that the whale is a fucking shit.

      Vicks doesn't leave me alone. But at least she ain't pressuring me to work. Pearlman wants the tour started again. My bosses want the tour started again, so I can find fucking evidence against the fat blob. But Vicks wants me to rest.

      She also smirks a lot when we talk. Insists that I have to stop referring to him as if he wasn't me. Last time, she was watching the 'I drive myself crazy' video- because yes, we ended up doing that one too, because Fatone and Chazes fucking convinced the Whale to let Kirkpatrick sing his stupid solo. And the video is weird because Bass' eyes look like fucking mirrors, Chazes looks as if the bubble finally busted, Timberlake looks like a lost kid, Fatone is right at home, and Kirkpatrick looks like a fucking hurt pineapple…

      She said that next time there were straightjackets involved, for me it wasn't going to be pretend.

      I hate my fucking life.

* * *

"JC has a crush on Lance." Joey said, nonchalantly. And his strategy worked because Chris suddenly froze, giving him perfect time to dribble and slam the last point.

"You're full of it." Chris glared, picking up the bouncing ball. "I demand a rematch."

"Demand away, but you know I'm right." Joey walked to the edge of the court to pick up a towel and dry his sweat drenched hair.

"About JC? I dunno man…" the older man shook his head, making his braids bang against the sides of his face.

"He's been spending every moment in Lance's room, and he looks at him as if he was going to leave or something."

"You think?" They were sitting on the benches now, and Chris was frowning. "Lance knows?"

"Probably. Scoop knows everything, doesn't he?" Joey took the ball from Chris' hands, and started bouncing it, up and down. "But… he's acting weird lately."

"He's in the hospital, Joe."

"Well, yeah." Joey sighed, taking a swig from the bottle that Chris' offered him. "But he's asking a lot of weird questions. I don't think Lou likes that."

"Lou doesn't like anything that doesn't give him money." Chris said, sadly. "I think I really fucked up by signing with him."

"You couldn't have know, Chris." Joey put his hand on Chris's shoulder, as the other hung his head in defeat. "You know that…"

"I knew what he did to Backstreet. I know that I don't have more than a couple hundred dollars in my account. I know that Lance almost dropped dead on stage…" Chris looked straight into Joey's eyes, and Joey had to bit a gasp as he saw the utter defeat on his friend's eyes, the held tears, the broken hopes. "I know that…"

"Chris, stop." Joey managed to get the words out. "Don't put all the blame on you. Let's… Let's go get Curly and then, we'll go with Lance and JC. We have to talk about this together, all right? We followed you when you decided to sign with Transcon, and we could have said no, and we didn't. So now, we can find a way out together, can't we?"

      And finally, that brought a smile to Chris' face. It as a shy smile, a small one, but a smile. Then he seemed to consider something, and the smile grew.

"You know?" He asked, and his eyes shone, amused. "I've caught Lance staring at JC whenever we sing 'God must have spent…'

* * *

      Fucking kids.

      They're leaving Transcon.

      They're fucking leaving Transcon.

      They're leaving fucking Transcon.

      That's it. My mission is over, and the bosses know it. I'm going to leave. I'm going to fucking leave.

      Don't get me wrong, I hate the job, and I'll be the happiest man on Earth when I can stop rehearsing stupid love ballads and smiling like a trained puppy every time a flash explodes in my face.

      But to leave now, is to leave in defeat. And I fucking know I'll end up in a fucking desk forever. Not only I managed to get my face all over the fucking country, I also failed. The whale is going to be free, and probably will keep smooching all the kids's money.

      Not that I care about that. The guys can go to fucking hell for all I care.

      It was all decided in a fucking meeting in Bass' room. Probably the last we'll be meeting there, because the doctor is letting Bass out. I wanted to tell them no, I wanted to tell them to wait until we could be sure that the whale was fucking us…

      But he didn't let me.

      Apparently he didn't got the memo were it says that he can't make decisions over my life, because as soon as the possibility of leaving Transcon was out in the air, he was the first one to agree. 'We should get out before he does more damage!'. Yeah, right.

      I don't want to talk with Vicks about this. I know what she'll say.

      She'll ask me why he was acting so against my wishes. Why he is so adamant to leave Pearlman.

      And then she'll ask me why I don't agree with him, and she'll try to convince me that we're the same person, when we're so obviously not.

      I am not a boy-toy, I am not a member of a fucking boy-band, I am not in fucking love with one of my fucking bandmates.

      Stop.

      Not going there. Not now, not ever. He is not in love with any of the *N stinkers. I don't care if their fucking hearts get broken because the whale wins another legal procedure. I don't care if he stops singing forever, I don't care if he fucking dies.

      Fuck.

      Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

      If Vicks ever learns of this, I'm done.

      So now we've got a new secret to keep.

* * *

      Justin watched as Jhonny explained them again the trouble they were into. The lawsuit against Pearlman was going well, even a little better than what Backstreet had had to suffer in the same situation, but RCA had placed a lawsuit against them for breaking their contract… Which meant that even if they won against Pearlman, they would still be working for him because they couldn't leave RCA.

      And so far, they hadn't found many labels ready to risk said lawsuit.

      Except for Jive.

      Joey didn't like the idea, saying that it would be to end up again in the shadow of the Backstreets. Chris was second guessing himself every second, as if he really felt guilty for what had happened with Pearlman, so he voted against it. Lance, however, liked the deal that Jive was offering, and JC, with his hands on Lance's shoulder, said that the sooner they were away from Lou, the better.

      His vote was the decisive one. Either signing with Jive and getting their support in court, or staying with RCA, even after breaking up with Transcon. RCA, where Lou had many contacts.

"This will delay the new record even more." Joey said, as if he was trying to convince Justin. "We've already gotten ourselves banned from the studios, so we can't work the new songs…"

"We can rent another studio." JC argued. "And if Jive is ready to support us, they surely will give us some extra time."

"We don't have the money to rent a studio, JC" Chris morosely said, playing with one of his braids. Justin thought it was rude, to see his friend so demoralized. It was as if Chris had forgotten how to smile.

"And that's why we shouldn't stay with RCA." Lance sighed. He had been released just two days ago, and he still looked tired. "If we do, we're still going to end up broke. Is that what you want, Chris?"

"Hey!" Joey interfered before Chris could answer. "No pointing fingers here, Poofu. We agreed to sign with Pearlman, now we agreed to leave him… that's water under the bridge. The trouble is what do we do now."

"You know?" Justin finally said, after having mused the thought over and over in his head. "I think it's weird that Jive is so ready to help us after the way the Backstreet Boys' lawsuit ended…"

* * *

      Timberlake had a point.

      A point that I fucking missed, and my bosses were exploring ever since nothing happened to Backstreet Boys. I excused that as 'if the whale is getting money, he won't want to off them' but obviously someone was thinking more clearly than I.

      New mission, though. I am supposed to stay with *N Stink if they move to Jive, and see if the Whale has or not connections in Jive. Well, there goes my retirement. And I guess I can count myself lucky, because maybe the desk job is still away. Maybe for a month or two.

      But my fucking luck isn't that good. Not only I have to keep being him - and I don't trust him, not anymore… Not when he simply takes over whenever his… his 'friend' smiles or talks or does any fucking thing! – I also have to work with someone else.

      Apparently, Jive is the subject of a couple more investigations and the FBI already has a man there. Another poor agent like me that is forced to being part of this stupid pop machine. Only that he (or she, no one told me anything about this other agent) is not forced to be a singer. Or a boy toy. No.

      I'm sure that my new 'partner' has it easy and at least gets the chance to pretend being something dignified, and of his own age.

      Which means that he'll treat me like some fucking idiot, expecting me to be like… like the retard I'm pretending to be. Like him.

      Fuck it.