Steven stared at his phone, puzzled. "What the heck is a gimp?" He pondered. The hybrid navigated through the crowd, returning to the open-floor seating after grabbing drinks at the front desk concession stand for him and Connie. Since he was 14 months away from being able to purchase alcohol legally, he figured better in the lobby than the bar inside the seating area. Social anxiety had Stevenworried about ordering from a bar at his current age; the fear of rejection was too much to bare. The drinks of choice were a coke for him and apple juice for her (Steven knew Connie loved apple juice).

The theater was lovely. The Palladium was built in the late 30s; henceforth, the lavish interior of neo-classical French and Italian designs, the golden acanthus leaves adorning all archways leading into the performance area, and the weird statues in the lobby that seemed more fitting on the cover of an Ayan Rand novel. However, the performance area was very modern, with the stage decked out in the fanciest of lighting & audio gear. On the ground level, right in the middle, separating the back seating area from the dancefloor, stood the central mixing console which seemed more like gem technology than anything humans could muster. Steven could've sworn it had 250 channels based on its width and the number of flickering lights.

There was a large banner behind the drum riser with the band's name in Black-Metal-Style font. Two video screens sat on either side of the stage. Strangely, that's where the fanciness ended. One drum set and a Dj table; that was all the music gear the band needed. While wild and electronic, Death Clutch's performances were very minimalistic. The DJ (Shep) would play 80% of what was on the album through audio playback tracks on their laptop while triggering the remaining 20% through the Abelton Launchpad, providing a more interactive and intuitive musical experience. The drum set had a kick drum, a floor tom, one rack tom, snare, hi-hats, a crash, and a stack cymbal so grimy one could assume it came out of the dump. The drummers Sadie hired for Death Clutch shows were given the golden drumming opportunity of a lifetime: improvise whatever they wanted, just make it loud, fast, fun, and abrasive.

Stadium seating chairs created isles that lead to the floor area. Steven knew it would be a mosh-pit soon, but thankfully he and Connie wouldn't be in the crowd for too long… Especially since Steven saw something while coming down the isles that made his blood boil. Arriving back just in the nick of time, Steven watched as some tank-top-wearing frat boy harassed Connie.

"Hey babe," the drunken dullard drooled out, his hand reaching out to grasp Connie's wrist clumsily. "How bout I buy you a drink?"

"HOW ABOUT YOU BUZZ OFF?!" Connie replied, jerking her hand away.

"Awww, don't be like that," the bozo bellowed. "Doesn't matter anyway. I love me a good challenge."

Steven felt it happening; he was about to go Pink. Stars have mercy; Steven was going feral. His mind produced the most violent imagery he had ever conjured up in his life. There was going to be nothing left of this douchebag for forensic investigators to identify the body. Steven, in his rage, had accidentally crushed his red solo cup of Coca-Cola, the liquid spilling over his hands much like the blood that would soon spill. He began marching toward Connie and her harasser. He'd fix this situation pretty damn quick.

Then Steven stopped in his tracks as he saw something so strange it almost broke his brain.

Emerging from the crowd like a ghost was the gimp. It stood next to Connie, who finally registered the stranger's presence when the gimp placed its hand on her shoulder. She jerked violently, ready to attack, only to be stunned motionless by the company. It appeared the gimp was trying to stare down the pompous pissant.

Steven snapped out of bewilderment and continued approaching Connie. Steven heard the gimp's words as he got closer (which was remarkable, considering the mask).

"I'm being reasonable," the gimp retorted loudly. "You fuck around at my show and act disrespectful towards women or anybody; I'll gladly get security to escort you out."

"Who the fuck are you?" The asshat from a frat replied.

"The drummer," the gimp proclaimed. "AKA, King Shit of Suck My Dick Mountain."

Steven thought: "Oh , okay. So that's J. Got it... why is he dressed like that? What's with the handcuffs? It's Gonna be kind of hard to fight with handcuffs."

And that's when the voice replied, " allow me."

"This guy bothering you, Connie?" Steven asked as he finally joined her side.

The jock took a step back. "OH, I GET IT NOW! You're into that poly-shit." Then, thumping his chest awkwardly due to intoxication, the dumbass loudly yelled, "Ditch those zeros and get with the real hero, babe."

Steven shouted, "You're no hero! You're nowhere close to a hero!"

"Seriously," J interrupted, addressing the drunken harasser once more. "Either back the fuck up or shut the fuck up."

"WHATEVER!" the jock groaned, waiving them off as he turned to walk away. "Your show was gonna suck anyways," he briefly looked back at Connie. "And one of your boyfriends is wearing pink. Seriously, dudes who wear pink are homos" (as if a gimp wasn't standing right there). The Jock then fully turned around to stare at Steven, the one in pink, thanks to his jacket. "Why the fuck are you wearing pink, homo?"

It happened again; a thought provided by the voice was then uttered out loud by Steven. Passionately in the moment, anger coursing through his veins, unaware that the voice had taken control once more, Steven barked…

"Because I feel beautiful, and I'm sorry you never will."

Words can be strange sometimes. Both beautiful and berating, "Fuck" as a word is very violent in its phonetic pronunciation, making the term sometimes feel like a slap in the face. But nothing stung more to the jock at that moment than that simple and clean observation provided by Steven. The jock stood baffled, jaw on the floor. Connie, J, and Steven were unsure of what would happen next. Steven, still amid his rage, clenched his left fist tightly. The jock was either going to attack or cry based on the facial expression. If the former were to occur, Steven wanted to be ready.

Instead, The jock-tard slowly turned around and walked away - stunned by the experience - like a cult member who had successfully been deprogrammed, coming to grips with reality for the first time in a long time.

Steven didn't snap out of his anger until Connie placed her hand on his shoulder. Steven turned, noting the stunned look on Connie's face; he finally realized what had just occurred.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorr-" Steven was about to apologize, but Connie cut him off.

"DAMN!" she replied, snapping her fingers like she was in a bar on poetry slam night. "That was amazing!" She then kissed him on the cheek. Noting her drink in his hand (which miraculously didn't get crushed), she took the cup, saying, "Thanks, honey," and took a sip. "Mmmm! Apple Juice! My favorite."

Steven was confused, even more so when he stared at his hands and realized he never went pink during the entirety of the altercation. It was strange because every time he went pink in the past, it felt exactly like how Steven felt now; a power so intense and coursing so violently that its corruptive influence was akin to a dam bursting. However, at the moment, his skin and mind remained human; there was no blaring neon pink light, just peachy white skin.

Steven's discombobulation was disrupted by the beginning rumblings of a slow clap provided by the gimp.

"I gotta say," the gimp said. "I've never seen someone snap back so graciously before. Like, that was poetry! Usually, I just cuss like a sailor," the gimp started to unzip the mask. After taking it off, the figure swung its sweaty hair around, and as the locks gave way to a face, that's when Connie realized who it was.

"I really need to improve my fucking vocabulary," J commented.

"OH MY GOD!" Connie screamed in surprise as she jumped back. "J?! WHY ARE YOU DRESSED LIKE THAT?!"

"All part of the show," J shrugged with a chuckle. Then, squealing, he embraced Connie in a hug. "How's it going, gurrrllfriend?" he melodically announced.

Connie, with a smile, replied, "Doing good." She then turned and introduced J to Steven. "This is my partner, Steven. Steven Universe, meet J Homestead."

J held his hand up for a moment, initiating what some may call a "Spartan Handshake." J declared, "Damn, that's a bad-ass last name," and then, clasping his right hand to Steven's left, J pulled Steven close, hugged him with the other arm, and said, "what up, alien boy?"

Steven looked at J, confused. How much did Connie tell her friends about Steven's life? He knew Connie asked permission to mention his unique life story to Micah and Michelle, so how did J know? It was a little uncomfortable.

"Alien Boy?" he finally inquired.

"I never told you that about Steven," Connie remarked to J.

"No big deal," J shrugged. Then, pointing at Steven, "Sadie told me your nickname backstage."

Ahh, Steven thought. So it was Sadie. And apparently, this guy thinks it's a nickname, so she didn't tell him much.

Somehow coming up with the perfect reply to smooth the transition, Steven rubbing the back of his neck with a shy grin, stated, "I guess you could say I'm outta this world."

Nice, J thought. Steven has successfully passed the douche-bag test.

"Alrighty then," J announced as he turned around and tossed his golden leash behind him. "Here, grab on," he commanded Steven. He put his mask back on and stated, "I gotta walk you through the crowd to get you backstage. Don't want y'all to get lost. Keep up!"

With that, they made their journey. Although short in distance, it was very eventful, mainly because - to part the audience for the walking-room, J just simply shouted, "OUTTA THE WAY, COMING THROUGH! ALIEN BOY AND HIS DRUMMER COMING THROUGH!" as they passed by. The audience did as directed, watching the scene unfold with nothing but shock on their faces. Not every day one sees a beautiful young couple taking their gimp for a walk at a rock concert.

Only two thoughts went through Steven's head as they made their way backstage.

1, the smell of concerts was unique. Not sure how to describe it, there was an aroma Steven could detect that he had only ever smelled at other concerts (and sometimes even on his dad's clothes) as a child. It was skunky but not overwhelming. However - it did make Steven feel slightly light-headed.

The 2nd thought going through his head?

Man, Connie sure made some weird friends in college.

"Steven!" Sadie exclaimed, greeting the man with a hug as he and Connie arrived in the green room. "It's so good to see you!"

"It's great to see you too," Steven stated as he let go. "Gosh, I can't believe it's been about three years since I last saw you guys perform."

"Our first show," Shep recalled from the couch, chillaxing. "We didn't even have a name at the time."

Besides the addition of a private bathroom, the green room was modest. Two black leather couches sat perpendicular in one corner of the room. On the south wall was a row of folding chairs lined up in front of three vanity mirrors bordered with large classic Hollywood-Style light bulbs. The brick walls were painted white, drab, and boring, but to be expected. As three working musicians of equal experience on the road, the members of Death Clutch knew that all greenrooms, even the best ones, were just one level above an 8th-grade boys' locker room regarding cleanliness & aesthetic. However, due to their experience, they always remembered how it was for them when they started, when they were lucky to have a greenroom at all.

"Time goes by so quickly, and yet it feels like forever ago simultaneously," Sadie observed while hugging Connie. "Good to see you too, Connie, or C-dawg as J calls you."

"C-DAWG!" J woofed in joyous affirmation, pumping his fists in the air.

Steven turned to Connie. "Care to elaborate?" The hybrid was curious to know the whole story. J certainly was a unique character in Steven's eyes, partly because today, during their first ever interaction, J was dressed as a gimp, which was unusual, to say the least. A person this peculiar does not become involved in one's life in a typical fashion. There had to be a story behind this friendship.

Connie hung her head low in shame as the memory occurred to her, still fresh. "I did a terrible thing, Steven," she began.

Steven felt a slight pang in his heart upon hearing those words. She genuinely seemed upset by whatever she was about to confess. However, Steven knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Whatever she did, he would be by her side (after all, she was there for him when he morphed into a freaky pink kaiju).

"It's okay, Connie; what happened?" Steven asked.

Connie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and confessed, "First time staying at Jayhawk, I went to a college party."

"LE GASP!" J jokingly screamed. "Don't tell me you partook in underage drinking?!"

Connie tried to be angry at J, but the drummer's unique charm caused Connie to smirk as she scolded him. "You're the one who invited me!" Connie slightly chuckled. "You were an RA at the time and took advantage of that position providing parties at your apartment."

"God, I miss that old place," J wistfully remarked. "Memories." Then, bringing his attention back to Connie, he addressed the room more seriously. "Don't forget, that was the only way I took advantage of my position. You remember Craig?"

Connie shuddered, knowing full and well who J was referring to. "It pains me to wonder how many women he harassed before he got to us."

J turned to Steven, who listened to the story with a flummoxed expression. He could tell Steven didn't have all the information, so J divulged that information.

"He was some asshole who became an RA and was trying to groom freshmen girls," J described. "He transferred from another college, possibly because of what apparently was his favorite hobby. Thankfully, I caught him on day one of Freshman orientation. That fucker's face looked like mince meat when I was through with him."

"I'm still shocked you got out of the assault charge," Connie added.

"Turns out the officer who arrived on the scene, it was his daughter I caught Craig with," J concluded. He then looked at Steven. "The universe smiles upon me sometimes," the drummer joked. Then, back to Connie, he asked playfully, "So, why do I call you C-Dawg again?"

"So," Connie obliged, continuing from where she left off before J sidetracked them. "J invited a bunch of freshmen to a party. I gotta say, J was a great host. Very courteous, took everyone's keys who drove out there so they couldn't drive home unless they were sober. He even made space on his couch as a bed to shack people up for the night if someone got too drunk. He even caught couples before they... snuck away to have a more private party in the bathroom and offered them condoms. He even offered his bed. Like, weird - but responsible, you know?"

Connie realized she was now getting sidetracked and stopped her rambling. "Anyways, when I got there, not knowing my limit my first time drinking…I got drunk. I mean, really drunk. So much so that…and I don't remember this, but apparently, I found a dog collar and leash at J's apartment,"

"And proceeded to ask everyone individually at the party if she could take them for a walk around the room," J finished. "I don't even know who brought a dog! I never saw one."

Connie briefly glared at J, perturbed that he robbed her of concluding her story. Then, with a nefarious smile, she asked, "And tell me, J, who was the first person drunk enough to take me up on that offer?"

J's hand shot up like he was electrocuted. Presenting no shame, J declared, "Guilty!" beaming.

On the outside, Steven laughed at Connie's humorous story. The nickname "C-Dawg," now had a bit more meaning. However, on the inside, the voice said, "damn…that's kinda kinky. Maybe she could walk us later."

"So what's the story behind 'alien boy?'" J inquired.

Steven blanched momentarily. He looked at both Connie and Sadie, seeking guidance as to how he should answer J. He glanced at Connie because he knew that with her and J being friends, she probably told J a lot more than Sadie. However, Sadie was the one who gave J the phrase "alien boy" in the first place. In other words, Steven looked at Sadie as if to ask, "how much have you already told him?" Meanwhile, he looked at Connie to ask, "what should I tell him?"

Thankfully, Steven didn't have time to fret for long. At that moment, the lights in the venue shut off, symbolizing the start of the show. Even though the green room remained lit, the gang could tell what had occurred as the audience began to roar.

"It's time!" Shep announced.

"WAIT!" J exclaimed. "Just gotta do one quick thing." First, he placed his mask on, zipping up the back slightly. He then fumbled around his pocket and quickly produced something Steven had never seen before.

It was a small, rectangular, wooden object with an opening accessible by a turning lid that screwed on top. Once turned, a small metallic cylinder resembling a cigarette popped out of a smaller hole to the side. Spring-loaded, J caught the metallic object out of thin air. He then dug around the inside of the wooden thing with his "cigarette." When he pulled the "cigarette" out of the hole, the "cigarette" tip appeared green.

J then lit the object, stuck it in the mouth hole, inhaled, held his breath for a second, and then exhaled. Smoke bellowed out of the eye holes and mouth holes. Steven had to admit; the effect was pretty cool looking. He then realized the smoke coming from the mask had the same odor as whatever Steven smelled when walking through the crowd moments ago.

J's shoulders dropped in a relaxed manner. "Ahhhh," he sighed like he just did a morning stretch. "Now I'm ready."

Saide shook her head. "Your insufferable."

"Hey," J argued. "This is a theater that seats 2,000 people, and we're sold out—max capacity. The venue just had a good payday, and so did we! If security gets in a tiff about me taking ONE HIT of weed before playing, their priorities are out of wack."

Steven paled at the word, realizing with horror that all this time, the weird smell he associated with rock shows (and sometimes could smell on his dad's clothing) was weed. He thought about all the times Pearl, Granet, Amethyst, and his dad constantly warned him about the perils of drugs growing up, and now here he was, in a green room, with a drummer who just quite literally took a hit of green right in front of him.

"And besides, I only need one hit to perform. I'm a professional, after all," J concluded as he produced something else, holding it in front of Shep. "I save my real partying for after the show."

"HOLY SHIT!" Shep exclaimed, eyes wide. "That's gotta be the thickest blunt I've ever seen."

"Jesus Christ, J," Saide also exclaimed with utter shock at the density of the blunt J held in his hand.

He cocked a brow, "After the show?" He asked Saide and Shep.

Sadie quickly looked at Steven, who now more than ever came across like a little brother to Sadie. He seemed so out of place, terrified that drugs were in his presence. She could imagine that Steven was imagining the FBI raiding the greenroom right then. On the one hand, she felt terrible for acknowledging her weed consumption in front of her "little brother." On the other hand, like any big sister, she felt one day Steven would have to grow up - so she didn't give two shits about what Steven thought at that moment.

"After the show," Sadie concluded.

"Alrighty then!" J sang as he placed the blunt into his backpack (knowing it would get smooshed between the inside of his jean pocket and his thigh during the show). "Y'all ready to do the band huddle?"

Both Sadie and Shep seemed confused. "The band huddle?"

Now J appeared confused. "You guys don't do like a little speech and huddle before every gig?"

"No," Sadie replied matter of factly.

Sticking his hand out, J stated, "Well then, allow me to give you y'all's first!"

Sadie looked at Shep, who shrugged their shoulders and placed their hand in the huddle, and Sadie followed suit. As if a switch was flipped, J went from calm, cool, and collected - to ranting like a baptist fire-and-brimstone preacher.

"ALRIGHT, Y'ALL BEAUTIFUL MOTHERFUCKERS!" J screamed. "This is spiritual warfare we're partaking in. The enemy is negativity, and our weapon is our music. This is not a fight we've been dealing with against flesh and blood. Rather, this is a fight against principalities, and evil-doers, and unclean spirits. May you all play your asses off, and as The Rolling Stones say, 'may the good Lord shine a light on you!' Death Clutch on three, you READY!"

Sadie had to admit; she was pumped before the huddle, but now she was super pumped!

"1,2,3," J rapidly counted down.

The three swung their hands high and shouted, "DEATH CLUTCH!"

And with that, Sadie gripped J by the leash and dragged him out on the stage as the show began.

As the Death Clutch made their entrance, low rumbling sub-bass made a consistent tone, all the while; Shep sat up at the DJ table, Sadie dragged J out to the center of the stage and sprayed real genuine champagne all over the front row of audience members. Strobe lights flickered intensely. J, on all 4s and still with the handcuffs on, crawled behind the drumset and sat upon his throne.

And then he began to play.

Fast, lightning fast, so fast that everything seemed to be a blur. The fierce bombardment of beats was greatly impressive because J only had a single kick pedal (working a technique that would've made John Bonham shed a tear), and more spectacular than that - he did all of this in handcuffs. Blood almost immediately began to trail for the edges of J's wrist and painted the white snare head with a splattering of blood. With the mask on, handcuffs cutting his wrists, causing blood to spray all over the kit and down J's chest - his resemblance was perfectly demonic.

The snare would eventually resemble a Jackson Pollock painting as the concert continued. J's playing was groovy and almost mathematical, playing sextuplets timed perfectly within the spaces of Death Clutch's harsh noise. Sometimes J would lock in with the playback samples with such amazing synchronicity that the polyrhythm provided was nothing short of danceable. Other times, it was like J was glitching-out in real life and stuttering the beat so perfectly it created the sensation of sensory overload. Everything J provided on the drum set worked to stir both the band and the audience into a frenzy. Although he removed the mask after the 3rd tune in their 21-tune setlist, his presence and stamina remained awe-inspiring; handcuffs still on.

The abrasiveness was also present in Shep's audio manipulation. Bass tones at ear-splitting volumes swelled like a demonic fetus in utero. Distorted lead lines on keyboard patches were so mishappened that they didn't resemble keys anymore, just otherworldly sounds.

The cherry on top was Sadie's lyrics; dark and cryptic - but all about the inner animal inside all man. Her performance matched her aggressive lyrics; jumping, headbanging, shouting, and running around like a maniac on stage. A couple of times, she hopped off the stage and would scream the lyrics in the faces of audience members, asking quick permission privately before grabbing their hair as part of the intense act.

An excellent example of Sadie's dark lyricism was on the song they were currently playing, number 11 of 21. The track title was "Warping," and the lyrics provided by Sadie painted a distressing gloomy picture. It almost would've worked as Sadie Killer and The Suspect song - thick with horror imagery. But where Sadie's former band would've found ways to make the horror element cheesy and fun - there was a different kind of fun in presenting something so horrific, thoughtfully, and gruesomely. As cryptic as the words were, their application was handled with care.

The final verse, where J brought the beat home by adding trap-like hi-hats, went as follows:

"Luster of Entrails stacked and slung / under cement vails, my traffic hums / Compulsion on risers, your stranglers knuckles / your temple buckles / decompression silo / inside this muzzle Overdriven / rituals on my torso / my infernal boro / If I go soft, Glock to my navel / flaws get knocked off / fuck that, not done!"

Steven heard Death Clutch's 2nd LP beforehand, so he expected the quality of the stage show to be as zany as the album itself. But, now seeing everyone perform, especially J, Steven concluded that this was the craziest show he had ever seen in his entire life.

And it was about to get crazier.

As Steven watched the crowd mosh, he noticed something in the audience that stood out as….pink. Steven's attention suddenly heightened as he squinted and tried to make out the pink shape in the audience.

And that's when he saw himself.

Steven had no idea what was happening and feared that he had just suffered a mental break. He must've been hallucinating. There was no way he saw a giant pink glowing version of himself dancing in the audience. It almost reminded him of the pink version of himself he saw during that terrible incident with White on Homeworld, only all grown up.

Suddenly the figure stopped dancing and looked Steven directly in the eyes. Though far away, Steven could tell that's where the figure was looking. He felt it in a deep pocket of his soul he didn't know he possessed until that moment.

Then the figure turned their attention to someplace else in the mosh pit. Following the apparition's gaze, Steven immediately noticed what this pink thing was looking at.

Running through the crow - nay, SPRINTING - was the jock asshole from before. Steven had seen videos of something like this happening live, and he heard tales from his dad about famous rock stars who died because of incidents like the one currently happening. When the frat-boy from hell managed his way over the security personnel acting as a wall to the stage, that's when Steven dreadfully realized what was happening.

This jock-tard was trying to rush the stage. And Steven could tell that the maniac had his sights set on Sadie. Her back was turned as Sadie quickly grabbed a sip of water, and with the next playback track already blasting through the mains and monitors, there was no way Sadie could see her assailant coming.

Steven's heart stopped.

Suddenly, Steven noticed the pink version of himself start to sprint through the audience at an otherworldly pace. Was he the only one seeing this? Did he imagine everything before him?

And suddenly, like a snap-cut, Steven wasn't on the side of the stage anymore.

Suddenly, Steven found himself on stage, standing beside Sadie, and he was glowing. Now he knew for sure that he went Pink. Sadie stood shocked; Steven also heard a giant roar of applause and cheers emitting from the audience. He recognized that he had his back to Sadie, slightly turned, like he was protecting her - a hypothesis proven true when Steven noticed his right fist held up, blood on his knuckles. Looking down, he saw the frat boy being picked up by security off the ground and placed onto a stretcher.

What occurred in that small four-second patch of time where Steven blacked out went as follows.

As the Jock rushed the stage, Steven, entirely pink and glowing, flew out onto the stage, stood in front of Sadie, and placed a right hook squarely center in the jock's face with perfect trajectory and timing. The punch's force combined with the jock's forward momentum was so strong that it knocked the jock out and entirely off stage.

Steven felt like time was going slow. Panic began to take hold, and he felt like ice was coursing through his veins. Of all the worst-case scenarios Steven could imagine involving this date, this was by far the worst one and a scenario so far-out-of-left-field that he couldn't even imagine it occurring. Although paralyzed with fear, Steven's brain was running a billion miles per hour to nowhere, simply spinning due to shock.

At this point, J walked out from behind the drumset. Shep moved away from the table, and both stood next to Sadie, asking if she was alright. She nodded yes, and then looked to Steven, the now glowing man who had possibly just saved her life.

J suddenly smiled.

"HOLY SHIT," he exclaimed. "That was AWESOME! You alright?"

Steven stood silent, completely paralyzed by panic, made even worst when he quickly looked towards Connie - her mouth agape, her hand covering it in the universal look of concern. He could see the beginning of tears welling in her eyes.

That's when the tears started falling down Steven's face.

At that moment, J, who got distracted by the audience in a whooping frenzy, grabbed Sadie's microphone and announced, "GIVE IT UP FOR ALIEN BOY FOR SAVING THE DAY!"

The audience cheered. J looked back to Steven, not noticing the tears starting to fall, and speaking directly to him, avoiding the microphone, he exclaimed, "I knew there was more to it than a nickname."

Steven's legs decided it was a good idea to run. Where to? Steven was unsure, most likely back to the Dondai to cry alone. He ruined EVERYTHING! He sprinted past Connie, unaware of her presence as the emotional turmoil wrecked Steven's mind and body on his way through the greenroom and out the door into the parking lot.

J, unsure of why Steven ran but deciding that if given the opportunity, he'd seek him out after the show to check on him, returned his attention to the audience and made a quick joke that came to mind when J recalled Steven's hairstyle. He wasn't sure if perm was correct, but J knew permed hair was curly.

Looking toward the audience, J quipped, "Never fight a man with a perm."