Hello! So in case you haven't noticed, I have deleted some of my unfinished stories. Why you ask? Basically because I don't have time for them and as I age some things get tiresome. My life has gotten pretty hectic in the last four years so I appreciate all the support. I don't ask for pity, I ask for understanding.

So here's how it's gonna go: I'm keeping The Starr Project as an open story because it is written as a sitcom so any new material I can write up and add a chapter as a new episode. Second, I'm going to have only one open story that is not The Starr Project related. It'll keep everything even and less crazy... for me anyway...

So this is my new story! Starting fresh! I actually got this idea from my lack of sleep (and not me trying either). I am going to be introducing a new OC so NO FLAMES ON OCs! This is going to be a M rated story for several reasons, not just the typical one (you dirty-minded readers). I feel really good about this story. I feel like I can write a plot even I can understand lol.

Enough talk, let's read!

One of the biggest names in Mobian music history, that's what he was. Every night he was on tour, he revved up his adoring fans, which was a mostly female group. Hopping all over the stage, bringing the beat, singing the lyrics; he loved it.

After the show, going to sign autographs, take some photos with fans, hugs and pecks on cheeks. And sometimes on his free time... he was a rock star after all which meant heavy partying. Getting a couple of 'friends' over to sniff, shoot and do other unspeakable and inhumane things one can do to their own body. He loved it.

Or at least he thought he did...

He'd look in the mirror, he was gorgeous. Every woman he met adored his appearance, who wouldn't? His ebony body glistened under light, his black quills with red streaks burned bright and clean, hanging beautifully off his head. His chiseled chest, with a matching six pack, bearing a Dark Arms tattoo on his left pec. His bold shoulders stood proud, and off of those were muscular arms. His strong leg able to withstand running all over the stage. Every edge, every angle you looked, named Mobius' Sexiest Man Alive. No he was no Incredible Hulk, but muscular no doubt.

His music was punk. His lyrics telling the world he didn't care what they thought of him. And no one should feel bad for who they are. Most of his songs were heavy, a lot of guitar riffs. However, he did have some softer songs, piano ballets. But according to the Internet, they didn't sell as well as his 'norm' songs.

—

The rock star woke up in a blur, his head pounding from heavy drinking the night before. He slowly lifted himself in a sitting position, he remembered slightly that he had gone into a hotel room, so that meant he must've been there now. He turned to see a white bat sitting in a nearby chair, filling out a crossword in a MOBIAN Magazine.

"You're lucky last night ended your tour," the bat said, not lifting her head from the magazine. "If you weren't the frontman, your bus might've taken off without you. Oh yeah, while you were still passed out cold, I sent your newest 'girlfriend' off, so she's not here."

"Ugh... shut... up...," he grumbled as he rubbed his head. "What time is it?"

"11 o'clock."

"In the morning?"

"No, it's 11 o'clock at night. We're currently experiencing the opposite effects of a solar eclipse," she said sarcastically. "Yes, it's 11 o'clock in the morning."

"Don't give me that sass, Rouge," he rubbed his eyes and started to wake up a bit more.

"I'm your manager, I can do what I want," she put down her magazine and stood up. "I'm going to leave to get us some fresh coffee. When I come back, you are going to be dressed and ready for the day. Got it, Shadow?"

"Yes, mother," the ebony hedgehog joked.

Rouge rolled her eyes and left the room. She walked down the long hallway to the elevator, since Shadow was a multi-platinum selling artist he could afford the high-end hotels. She rode the elevator down to the lobby and walked into the nearby breakfast room. She walked in to see Shadow's band mates sitting at a table eating breakfast. She looked straight at the lead guitarist, Sonic, turned her head and continued to the coffee area. She grabbed two cups.

"Hey, Rouge," Sonic had come over to talk with her. "How's the Faker?"

"As usual when ending one of his tours: in pain from his previous night of drugs, booze and girls," she replied pouring the coffee in the disposable cups. "I wish he'd give up that life."

"Me too. I care for the guy, I really do. But I don't know how to stop him from going over the edge."

"He won't listen to me anymore. Rehab is out of the question. He refuses to let go of the party life that comes with the rocker life."

"I know. But he loves the music. He needs the music. I know what he's like when he doesn't have the music."

"That's what I wanted to ask you, since you two grew up together. What is this 'music' he talks about?"

"Well, you know Shads went through some pretty tough shit growing up. Music was an escape and we just called it 'the music'. I always knew when trouble was brewing on his end. We'd have a code and meet in the same spot every time."

"What would you two do?"

"Nothing. Just sit there and play some punk on the mini speaker."

Suddenly, the elevator dinged as they turned to see Shadow coming off of it. He was wearing a black, leather jacket with a colour-matching, fabric hood and dark jeans. He walked over to Rouge and Sonic. He didn't say anything, just grabbed the full cup of black coffee and left the hotel. Just as he went outside, he put up his hood and walked off. Rouge and Sonic just stood there watching their friend go off.

"He should've been dead by now," Rouge commented. "He's alive for a reason."