Stephen Colbert sat at the desk of The Late Show, his once-boisterous studio now tinged with a sense of finality. The camera lights cast long shadows on the empty chairs around him, the once-vibrant laughter from the audience replaced by a quiet tension that hung in the air like smoke after a fire. He had never imagined this moment would come—never thought the show that had defined his career would be pulled from under him like this. But there he was, facing the end, not just of a show, but of a chapter in late-night history.

The cancellation had come suddenly, with CBS citing financial concerns in a challenging late-night landscape. But Stephen knew better. The timing was too suspicious. It had come just days after he had gone off script and criticized CBS’s parent company, Paramount, for paying a $16 million settlement to Donald Trump. The lawsuit, brought by the former president, claimed that CBS News’ 60 Minutes had edited an interview with Kamala Harris to make her appear more favorable. The connection wasn’t lost on anyone—CBS’s big corporate parent was navigating a merger with Skydance, and they needed approval from Trump’s administration.

Yet, despite the stinging personal blow, Stephen wasn’t about to go quietly. He had made a career of poking fun at the powers that be, and now, with nothing left to lose, he was ready to turn the heat up. As the opening credits rolled, Stephen, with his trademark sardonic smile, greeted the camera.

“Good evening, everyone,” he said, his voice steady. “Well, this is awkward. You may have heard that CBS has decided to cancel my show after 10 seasons. But, hey, what’s 10 years when you’ve had a decade of relentless, unrelenting criticism from a man who clearly didn’t like the job I was doing? The Donald himself took to Truth Social to celebrate the cancellation, so I thought we’d start the show with a little celebration of our own.”

He paused, looking directly at the camera, his expression turning playful. “As for Jimmy Kimmel—don’t worry, buddy. You’re safe. They only have room for one martyr on this cross, and I gotta tell you, the view is fantastic from up here! I can see your house!”

The audience erupted into laughter, a momentary lift in spirits. But Stephen wasn’t done. He leaned forward, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

“For the next 10 months, the gloves are off,” he declared. “I can finally speak unvarnished truth to power. I can say what I really think about Donald Trump. You know what? I don’t care for him.”

It wasn’t just comedy anymore. It was Stephen Colbert, a man who had been the voice of late-night dissent for years, now feeling the full weight of the stage and the truth he had held back for so long. He had always been sharp, always been witty, but now, with the clock ticking down on his tenure, he was free to speak without restraint. The powers that be at CBS may have thought they could silence him, but all they had done was give him a platform for his final act.

Later in the show, Colbert’s friends and fellow late-night hosts made their appearances. Jimmy Fallon, Seth Meyers, Jon Stewart, and John Oliver all popped in unexpectedly, a show of solidarity in the face of what had been done to Stephen. The camaraderie was evident in their laughter, their playful ribbing, but beneath it all, there was a sadness. This wasn’t just about a show coming to an end; it was about the erosion of a space where political dissent, sharp wit, and a sense of humor had reigned supreme.

At one point, Colbert introduced a surprise musical guest—none other than Lin-Manuel Miranda and Weird Al Yankovic, who were there to perform a song. The chosen tune? A Coldplay hit, of course, a cheeky nod to the viral kiss-cam drama that had also rocked the internet that weekend. Colbert’s camera zoomed in on the audience as the pair began to perform, capturing couples in the crowd, including Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen, who shared a playful kiss for the cameras. Then came Meyers and Fallon, sharing an exaggerated, theatrical embrace. Adam Sandler and Christopher McDonald appeared, mocking the kiss-cam moment, all in good fun.

But just as the performance reached its crescendo, Colbert, never one to miss an opportunity for a good joke, interrupted. “Oh, sorry,” he said with mock disappointment. “It looks like your performance has been canceled due to… a purely financial decision.”

The audience gasped in mock horror as the band stopped playing. Colbert grinned, the irony not lost on anyone. He had built a career on navigating the absurdities of the world, and here he was, using that same absurdity to make his point.

In the days that followed, the late-night world rallied around Colbert. Jimmy Kimmel, who had been mentioned in Trump’s Truth Social post, responded with a post of his own: “Love you, Stephen. F— you and all your Sheldons at CBS,” he wrote, referring to the company’s executives with the same biting humor that had defined his own career. The words were a mixture of frustration and solidarity—two men who had spent years poking fun at the establishment, now finding themselves at odds with it.

Jimmy Fallon, who had long been a friend to Colbert, was equally shocked. “I really thought I’d ride this out with him for years to come,” he posted. “But honestly, he’s really been a gentleman and a true friend over the years. I’m sad that my family and friends will need a new show to watch every night at 11:30. But whatever he does next will be just as brilliant.”

Seth Meyers, who had shared countless late-night moments with Stephen, summed up the feeling many in the industry had: “For as great a comedian and host he is, Stephen Colbert is an even better person. I’m going to miss having him on TV every night but I’m excited he can no longer use the excuse that he’s ‘too busy to hang out’ with me.”

The outpouring of love and support from his colleagues, from the people who truly understood the weight of what was happening, was touching. But Stephen wasn’t dwelling on the sentimentality. Instead, he was already looking ahead, eyes focused on the final months of The Late Show. He knew that this final stretch—this chance to speak without filters—was the greatest gift he could ever receive. And he was going to make the most of it.

Colbert’s cancellation may have signaled the end of an era, but as he looked out at the faces of his friends and colleagues—people who had shared the same stage with him, who understood what it meant to wield humor as a weapon—he knew that this was far from over. If anything, it was just the beginning of the next phase. And Stephen Colbert, true to form, was already poised to take the next shot.