A/N: So its been a long time for an update, and that is because of a lovely thing called summer gym that took up my whole day for two weeks. So sorry. But anyway, you are probably like "WTH? ch 1 again?" So I will explain. After reading the review from AlwaysWrite (Thanks for that, btw), I decided Chapter One actually sucked, so i re wrote it. Here it is.

Chapter One

Benjamin Coffin the Third's life was hanging by a thread. That thread was going to break, and when it did, everything would come crashing down around him. He had a feeling that this thread just might break tonight.

The first of Benny's problems was his marriage. He loved Allison, but monogamy was not in Benny's nature. He'd had an affair three months ago with a beautiful dancer, and although he'd never told her about it, Allison must have known. If the tense silence between them was indication enough, she had always known this would happen.

He was never able to be there for her anymore. He didn't understand her. Just today, she had been crying, but all she managed to tell him before his cell phone rang was something about their dog.

And there lied Benny's second problem. The cell phone, carrying terrible news from work. A protest was being staged against their most expensive, important project, and it was his job to stop it.

Work. Why did he work for his wife's father? Surely, if his marriage ended, so would his job. He certainly couldn't go back to his old friends and old life. He had turned his back on the gang and they would never take him back.

Yet, the old gang was the root of his problems. Maureen's protest, which he had just learned about, was threatening the future of Cyber Arts. Calling the cops was not enough, this protest needed to be stamped out at the source. No doubt, if Maureen was involved, then so was Mark.

So he needed to ask his old friend a favor. Shutting off their power to get their attention, he hopped in his Range Rover and drove down to the loft. Working on Christmas, while his wife was at home crying her eyes out. Just lovely. But if Benny didn't fix this, his life as he knew it would be over.

Mark, Roger, and Collins were not exactly happy to see him. Benny's new attitude got the better of him, and his plea for help came out sounding more like a mixture of threats and bribery. They would never help him.

As Benny walked away from the old loft, he could feel the thread stretching, threatening to snap at any moment.

xxxxxxxxx

Roger, Mark, and Collins watched Benny walk away in silence, until Collins burst out laughing. "Is he serious?" he asked in-between laughs.

Mark joined in Collin's laughter. "I think he was!" he gasped. That Benny thought they would kick innocent people out of Tent City just so he could build a studio was hilarious. Was he so delusional as to think they would abandon their values like that? Mark let out something like a snort.

Roger doubled over in laughter. "And does he really think you'd be able to convince Maureen?"

Mark straightened up. "I bet I could if I wanted to," he said defensively.

Roger and Collins only laughed harder. "When was the last time you convinced her of anything she didn't want to?" Collins asked.

He had a point. In Mark and Maureen's relationship, it was obvious that Maureen had always been the one in charge. Even if Mark didn't like to admit it, Benny surely must have known this to be true.

Mark chuckled. "Let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

The three friends shuffled into the loft, only to find it freezing and dark. They could only scrounge up a few scraps of paper left to light up, since they had thrown most of it out the window earlier. They huddled around the small flame and lapsed into silence, their mood dampened by their miserable surroundings.

"We got any food?" Roger asked a few minutes later.

"Nope," Mark answered, "No money either."

Roger looked towards Collins. "You?" he asked.

Collins shook his head. "I used my last quarters in the pay phone." He decided to leave out his foolish spending in tipping that drummer.

Roger let out a long, withering sigh. "I'm so damn hungry. When was the last time I even ate?"

Mark shook his head. Beyond a tea yesterday, he was at a loss as well. For the first time, the hunger in the pit of his stomach became painfully obvious, gnawing at his insides.

Collins brightened. "You guys would have loved the food at MIT," he began wistfully. "Like my breakfast this morning. Pancakes with sausages and scrambled eggs..."

Mark and Roger exchanged looks. Did he really think this was going to help?

"And then there was all that beer..."

"Would you stop fucking talking?" Roger barked.

"Woah, sorry," Collins said, "I was just trying to-"

"Well it's not working," Roger snapped, glaring at Collins and looking like he was ready to sock him. "You know, if MIT was so great, maybe you shouldn't have gotten expelled. But you just like to fuck everything up, don't you Collins?"

Collins stood up quickly, his chair scraping against the floor and falling backwards. Roger followed suit and they glared at each other across the tiny flame. Roger lunged forward, the firelight illuminating his angry features. They were really going at it by the time Mark managed to pull the two of them apart. "Just chill out," he said from between them.

Roger stormed away, out of the circle of firelight. Collins sunk back into his chair, nursing a black eye.

"I wish I had some ice for you," Mark said.

"It's fine," Collins said. "I was bound to get beat up sometime."

Mark let out a weak laugh, after which no one spoke a word, and the only sound was the quiet melody of Musetta's Waltz coming from the corner.

Mark shivered. Looking at his future, he could only see more miserable evenings like this ahead of him. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life, too cold and hungry to do anything, let alone make a movie? He didn't even have AIDS, but if he kept living like this, he was going to die young.

Everyone deserved a chance at life.

He stood up abruptly, snapping Collins and Roger into alertness. "I can't take it anymore!" Mark said, grabbing his scarf and sailing out the door.

Curious, Roger and Collins quickly grabbed their coats and followed their friend out into the cruel New York streets, too intrigued to remember that they were angry with each other.

xxxxxxxxx

Angel Dumott Schunard did not by any means need to be outside in the cold playing her pickle tub tonight. She had received a stroke of good fortune today, one that paid exceedingly well. All she'd had to do was play her drums outside an intimidating apartment building until an exuberant puppy fell to its untimely death.

But Angel played every night regardless, so she might as well be outside where the people were, making a few extra bucks. Besides, it was the best way she could think of to spend her Christmas.

The night was uneventful; Angel received a few tips here and there, but nothing of excitement had happened. Angel was itching to get up and go buy a pair of high heels with her tiny fortune, but she continued playing when she saw she had a listener.

She was a young, thin girl, who looked like she was so fragile she could be knocked over by a gust of wind. She was standing a few feet away from Angel, her eyes closed, and she was swaying to the beat.

When Angel finished the song, she looked up to find the girl still there, and still swaying. "Are you okay, honey?" she called out.

The girl looked up, and ignoring Angel's question, said, "That was really good. I wish I had some money to give you."

Angel let out a laugh. "Don't worry about it," she said.

They stood in silence for a few moments, and Angel was just about to play again when the girl spoke unexpectedly.

"I'm Mimi," she said, extending a bony hand.

Angel shook her hand, and replied, "You can call me Angel."

"You don't mind if I just listen for a few minutes, do you, Angel?"

"Not at all," she replied, "Go right ahead."

A few songs later, Angel's earlier suspicion was proved correct. Someone passed by them, moving so quickly he was no more than a blur, and the force knocked Mimi to the ground. The blur was quickly followed by two men, chasing and calling after him. "Mark, wait up!"

One of the men looked vaguely familiar to Angel, and as she was trying to place him, the other man helped Mimi off the ground. "Sorry about that," he said, and just like that they were gone, calling at Mark again.

Mimi stared after them for a few moments, her mouth agape. "Did you see what that guy was wearing?" she asked.

"No, was it something ugly?" Angel asked. Truth be told, she had been preoccupied by his friend, and not just because he looked familiar. It was because he was, to her opinion, one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

"Plaid pants," Mimi murmured.

"That does sound ugly."

"Let's follow them," Mimi said, turning to Angel with a mischievous grin on her face.

Angel picked up her pickle tub and sticks, and they set off down the street after the men. From the way they had been running down the street, something was obviously up, something worth watching.

And even if it wasn't, well, that was only part of their reason for following them.