I don't known or own Linkin Park and this is 100% fiction. The lyrics used belong to LP, not me.

So I was in my car listening to Until It Breaks before and the episode of LPTV where Mike and Chester are trying to come up with a name for The Catalyst randomly popped into my head, and this was born.

Before we start, I want to say that I love Linkin Park. From the Hybrid Theory EP, right through to Recharged, I love all of it. I love Mike and I love Brad. Just love all around really. This is fiction, and none of it expresses my true feelings about the band or any of it's members. Please don't flame me.

Kind of short but it was written literally in about an hour. I hope you enjoy anyway :)

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I sit in my usual swivel chair, spinning myself around and around to entertain myself, stopping every now and then to watch Mike go over the lyrics that I handed to him half an hour ago, a frown on his face and his pencil furiously scribbling 'corrections' over my words.

He sits in front of the sound board, one ankle resting on the other knee and my book balanced on his raised leg. Brad sits at the computer, headphones on, going through beats and samples to find something that sounds good enough. Rob is sprawled on the couch on the other side of the studio, looking thoroughly bored and rolling his eyes at me whenever I stop my spinning to give him a cheesy grin. Phi and Joe chose not to come in today. It's happening more and more often; Mike is getting harder and harder to tolerate, I guess.

Finally Mike looks up at me, disappointment clear in his eyes, and I sigh inwardly, waiting for my lecture.

“Don't you think you can come up with better than this?” He asks me, sounding annoyingly like a school teacher scolding their student for a poor response in an essay.

“What's wrong with them?”

“Everything! They don't rhyme properly, a lot of it doesn't flow, none of my raps are going to fit in with any of this stuff.” I roll my eyes.

“Maybe you should take your raps back to Fort Minor.” I mumble, earning a harsh glare from my bandmate. I hear Rob inhale sharply and I know that I've most definitely said the wrong thing.

“Maybe you should take your emo shit back to Dead By Sunrise. Or STP.” He snaps back, throwing my lyric book back at me and turning his back.

I glance at Rob, who shrugs helplessly at me, and then look down at the alterations he made to my lyrics. I'm surprise to find none. Instead he's underlined parts he didn't like (most of it) and written above it what the problem with that line is.

I don't know what's happened to us. I miss how we used to be. It used to be about writing what we felt; what really meant something to us. Not writing what sounds good and what's going to get the most air time. The whole point of us creating a new style of music was that all six of us could continue to just be ourselves and not have to live up to other images.

Even though Mike has always been the one with the most talent, it was agreed over a decade ago that we were all equal; Linkin Park wouldn't be Linkin Park without any one of us. Now it's whatever Mike wants. The lyrics Mike wants, the music Mike wants, the shows Mike wants, the charity benefits Mike wants. We wear what Mike wants, say what Mike wants and act how Mike wants.

Rob was the first one to cave. He was so underestimated, so quiet, always in the back of photos, always at the back of the stage. But so full of ideas. And Mike shot them all down. Telling him that he's only the drummer, all he has to do is play and keep the beat going and that's his job done. Phi was next, I think mainly because he's too laid back to give much of a shit. As long as everyone else is happy, he's happy. As long as the band is still going and we have shows to play, that's all he needs. Brad didn't so much cave, as continue to be the little lap dog he'd always been. Master Shinoda and his Lappy, me and Rob would snicker when no one else was around. Mike only had me and Joe left to stand up against him, and it was driving him nuts.

I am not afraid of confrontation with anyone, and I sure am hell am not scared of Michael Shinoda. I will back down when he stops being such a dictating asshole and starts listening to someone other than his own self centred self. Joe I've noticed is giving himself less and less to do, so that he has to spend less and less time at the studio. He's not caving, he's just distancing himself, and I think that's what worries me the most. Like I said, Linkin Park wouldn't be Linkin Park without any one of us, and I'm starting to worry that we're about to lose Joe.

Now as Mike sits with his back to me, refusing to turn back around and acknowledge that Rob and I are in the room, I know that he's finished with me and my defiance, and I suddenly start worrying that we're going to lose him as well.

If I'm being completely honest with myself, I know that Mike was finished with me long ago. Before Recharged. During Living Things. When he was trying to change lyrics that I'd submitted to be able to come up with a better name for the song. I remember what I said to him; the exact moment that he lost whatever it was he felt for me and gave up. If you're writing the last line to name the song, then you're writing for the wrong reasons.

The moment that I spoke those last six words in his home studio in LA, was the moment my friendship with Mike Shinoda died.

And I meant all six of them.

We hardly put out anything with meaning anymore. The songs always started with meaning, but the words were twisted around so that they sounded better, rhymed more, were more catchy and more appealing to the mainstream public. His raps were no longer heartfelt, they were boasts of how successful he had become, how much better than any other band we were.

You ain't got a sliver of a chance, I get iller, I deliver, while you quiver in your pants.

Perfect example, right there. Mike suddenly turning to face me breaks me out of my thoughts and I look back up at him, sensing Rob watching us intently. I notice that Brad has now removed his headphones. He's still facing the computer, but he's not doing anything and I know he's listening to us. Waiting to jump into the argument to defend his master if need be.

“We are successful now, Chester.” Mike speaks calmly, and can tell he's trying his damnedest not to blow up and make himself look irrational and out of control. God forbid The Glue should lose control of a situation.

“So you keep reminding us.” Maybe I'm being immature. Maybe I'm being snide. But I've had enough.

“We need to keep up with the scene. We need to adapt to keep people happy.”

“We're not, though! We're gaining new fans, yes. But the old fans, the ones that have been with us since the beginning are now few and far between. Have you seen the hate comments on our YouTube videos? They miss the old Linkin Park. They think we're sell outs!” I counter.

“We have a bigger fan base than ever! So what if we lost a few?”

“So what?! So fucking everything Mike! Those are the people that have put us where we are now! It's great to gain new listeners, but not at the cost of old ones! It shouldn't have to be one or the other.” Mike shrugs and glances around at Brad and Rob to see who has his back. “And what about us?” I add.

“Us?”

“The band! I write the way I always did, about what I know, about what I feel and about personal experience. You change it up into something completely different so that it's catchier! And what about Rob? He has so many ideas – great fucking ideas – and you dismiss them before he gets to tell them to you properly! And have you noticed we're two guys short most of the time? We're all fucking sick of you!”

Finally Brad pipes up from the computer, his back still to us.

“I'm not.” I roll my eyes, not even looking at him.

“That's because he's been controlling you since high school, you're used to it. Well not me, not Rob, and not Phi and Joe. We're fucking over it.” Mike stares at me for a long while and I can see the cogs turning in his mind. He knows I'm right, and he hates it.

“You know where the door is.” He replies quietly before turning his back to me once more. I look at Rob, who seems to know what I'm thinking and shakes his head urgently. I ignore him.

“Fine.” I get to my feet and head to the door. I hear Mike turn back around and can picture the shocked look on his face without even having to look at him. He didn't think I'd do it. Well I'm doing it. I'm done. I have another band, I would be ok. I open the door and step out into the hall, hearing the latch click softly behind me. I'll be ok, I keep telling myself as I walk slowly down the hall to the exit. Linkin Park? They were over.

Linkin Park wouldn't be Linkin Park without any one of us.

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Thanks for reading, please review!