behind the scenes (Miles's version)

The audition

Mid 2022:

Miles sat in his music studio, holding a flyer. Over the past few months, the studio had transformed from a simple workspace into a sanctuary, a place where he could shut out the world and its relentless demands. The room was more than just a collection of instruments and recording equipment. It had become his home, complete with a makeshift kitchen, a small cupboard stuffed with clothes, and a couch that doubled as a bed. The past year had been the hardest of his life, marked by the fight that had torn his family apart. Though he tried to avoid dwelling on it, the memory lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind. The studio, with its dim lights and soundproof walls, was the only place where he felt truly safe, where the past couldn't reach him.

He glanced down at the flyer again, the bold, capital letters catching his eye: DRUMMER NEEDED. There was something so straightforward about it, something almost liberating in its simplicity. There were no extra details, no expectations—just a call to action. And that was all Miles needed to know. He set the flyer down on the small coffee table beside his drumsticks and exhaled slowly. Maybe this was the opportunity he had been waiting for: a way to channel all the anger, betrayal, and sadness that had been festering inside him for so long.

Two weeks later, he found himself sitting in a cramped waiting room, heart pounding in his chest. The audition he was about to face felt like a turning point, a chance to reshape his life and leave his painful past behind. As he waited for his name to be called, his thoughts drifted back to the last time he had confronted his brother—a confrontation that had shattered everything. The words he had shouted still rang in his ears: THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.

Flashback: About a year ago

Miles stormed through the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, his footsteps heavy with purpose and fury. Everyone who saw him quickly moved aside, not wanting to provoke the top agent in such a state. There was an unspoken rule at S.H.I.E.L.D.: Don't mess with Agent Miles when he's angry. He reached the top floor in record time and didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, he slammed open the door to Nick Fury's office, the sound echoing through the corridor. But the loud slam wasn't the only noise that filled the air.

A brief, tense silence followed, a calm before the storm. Then, the shouting began.

"HE WAS FIVE, NICO!" Miles roared, his voice shaking with raw emotion. "FIVE YEARS OLD, AND YOU THOUGHT HAVING HIM KILLED WAS THE BEST OPTION?"

Director Fury, known for his unshakeable demeanour, now faced the full force of his younger brother's wrath. To say he was scared would be an understatement. He knew better than to interrupt Miles when he was this worked up, but every time he tried to speak, Miles cut him off, listing reason after reason why their decision to let Hydra take their five-year-old brother had been a disastrous mistake.

Finally, Fury found a small window of opportunity, a brief pause to try and calm his brother. But his words, though intended to soothe, only added fuel to the fire.

"Milo, I think you're overreacting," Fury said, his voice trying to maintain an even tone, though it was clear he was unsettled by the fury in his 11-year-old brother's eyes.

Miles stood there, stunned, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. Those words, so casual, so dismissive, rang in his ears like a death knell. For a moment, he couldn't process what he had just heard. But as the shock wore off, it was replaced by an even stronger wave of rage and disbelief. After what felt like an eternity, he found his voice again, and when he did, it was louder and more forceful than before.

"Overreacting? OVERREACTING? You think I'm overreacting? YOU'RE UNDERREACTING! YOU SENT OUR FIVE-YEAR-OLD BROTHER TO DIE! DON'T YOU HAVE ANY MORALS? THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, NICO!"

Miles paused, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep his composure. He could feel tears threatening to spill over, but he refused to cry—not here, not in front of his brother. He needed to stay strong, needed to hold onto the anger that had been his only shield against the overwhelming grief.

"You know what, Nico? I quit. I FUCKING quit." He threw down his S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued ID and gun with finality, the sound of them clattering on the floor echoing in the now silent room. Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the building, leaving behind the life he had known since he was four years old.

He ran. At first, he didn't know where he was headed, but his feet took him to the only place that had ever felt like home: his music studio. Once inside, he locked the door and collapsed onto the floor, the weight of everything he had been holding in crashing down on him at once. The tears he had fought so hard to hold back finally came, and he sobbed uncontrollably—from the pain of losing his brother, the feeling of being completely lost, of not knowing who he was anymore, and the overwhelming sense of emptiness that threatened to consume him.

End Flashback

Miles shook his head, forcing the memories to the back of his mind as his name was called. This was not the time to dwell on the past. Slowly, he stood up, his prosthetic leg and braces making a faint squeaking noise as he did. The noise was a constant reminder of what he had lost, but he refused to let it define him. He followed the person who had called his name into the audition room, his heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and fear.

As he stepped inside, he immediately noticed the long table filled with people who would decide whether he was fit for the drummer role. His eyes met those of the person seated in the middle, a woman whose gaze held a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place. Suddenly, he felt self-conscious. He regretted wearing shorts. His prosthetic leg was on full display, and he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him as he approached the drum kit positioned at the center.

Everyone watched the 12-year-old with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, wondering what someone so young could possibly bring to the table. Miles sat down on the stool in front of the drum kit, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm his nerves. He needed to pick the right song, something that would show them who he truly was. The opening notes of "Painkiller" by Judas Priest echoed in his mind, and he knew it was the perfect choice.

By the time he finished playing, sweat dripped down his forehead, and his hands were shaking from the intensity of the performance. As he played the final note, he looked up to see the people at the long table clapping, some of them even on their feet. The applause seemed to go on forever, and when it finally subsided, the woman in the middle opened her mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, closing it again.

Finally, one of the judges spoke. "Thank you, Miles. We'll get back to you as soon as possible to let you know if you're going on tour."

As Miles left the audition studio, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope. He had finally found a place where he could belong, where he could be himself without the shadows of his past haunting him. For the first time in what felt like forever, he believed he might actually be on the path to healing.