Tom Welles, a high school football player and the last untouched member of Biff's group, answered his phone. "Hello?" He grumbled, in characteristic fashion.
"Ah, I'm so glad I got a hold of you," and androgynous voice with a slight accent Tom couldn't quite place said. "This is your agent speaking. I managed to book you at this lovely little local place called Nova. The pay isn't what I had hoped for, but the only other place in town is this one goth place, which I doubt very much you'd want. Anyhow, it's not for a few days, but you might want to go down there, check the place out, you know the drill. Alright, I'll see you the night of the gig. Knock em dead. Send everyone my best. Bye now!"
Then the voice hung up, not even pausing long enough for Tom to ask what he (or was it she?) was asking. He checked the callback number, but didn't recognize it. He wondered what the strange person had been rambling about for a moment, before something was wrong with his clothing. His usual jersey and jeans were gone, replaced by a very different outfit...
