You rush through the door to see the band already busy setting up. Killer's tapping a beat on the drums, Wire's tuning up his bass, and Heat's warming up his hands on the keyboard. Kid's just snapping his microphone into the stand when he notices you making your way in. "You're late," he bluntly calls out, drawing the others' attention to you as well.

"Not by much," Killer adds in your defense, giving you a nod while spinning his drumsticks in his hands. Kid rolls his eyes but lets it go, grumbling and tending to his guitar with a petty frown. Wire just waves, used to this sort of friction by now, and Heat doesn't say much either aside from a slight smile your way.