Fletcher enters the practice room at exactly 9:00, practically bursting the door opening. Fletcher marches in, carrying a stack of sheet music. Sudden tension -- and utter silence. Fletcher sets his music down and stares at the band. Dead-serious, silently judging. A moment passes... Then, he smiles. He’s switched all of a sudden to warm and cuddly.

We’ve got a squeaker today, people.

Fletcher approaches you, looking down at you.

What's your name?