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“I don’t give a damn which Agent Ukelele any of you are!” The stout man with the wide brim hat shouted as he slammed his hand on the table.

The man whose face was a spider, then an error screen, then a duck, pointed around the room. “We’re all here cause we earned the title.”

An extremely handsome man nodded, while a man in shadows strummed a ukulele.

“But are any of you bastards really reality benders? Demons? Some of you don’t look like you could take Kondraki and his butterflies.” Said a young girl cleaning a revolver as big as her forearm.

“As he said, we gathered all the real deals together. Any fakes or those too spent to be of any help were left in their realities.” The man with the changing face flipped through a folder of x'ed out files. “A few double agents were given one-way trips to the surface of the moon”

“We’re here because we save the people who work in the shadows from the shadows themselves. We’ve killed gods and angels and punk ass cyborg reality benders. This goes beyond the Foundation, beyond any one reality. Hell, we’re going beyond planet earth here.”

“So agents,” the stout man handed out mission briefs, “this is Operation Last Song.”

“Or Ukelele Orchestra. We’re still working on the title.”