Chapter 5:
Hotwired!
This artificial bedroom was her day-to-day workspace. A minimalist haven where every detail was precisely curated: shelves of vintage album covers that didn’t exist in reality, an oversized window with a view of a starry expanse, and a sleek armchair that cradled her like it knew her exact weight and posture.
Lena sat cross-legged on the chair, her corporeal form as solid here as in reality, her fingers dancing over the holographic console in front of her. The melody hummed softly in the background. It was half-built, sure. But what was there was golden.
And plus, her stream was in full swing. A little passive income on the side never hurt.
“Lovin it. How tf do you come up with these chords??”
"Well, Dx40; a little music theory helps. And..." Her fingers brushed over the piano before a chord rung out. "A little bit of experience."
She chuckled faintly before clapping her hands together with as much grace as she could muster. “Alright, team. We’ve got the skeleton of a song. Now it’s time to dress it up. Give me your best lyrics—sad, happy, poetic, weird. You know the drill.”
“Please make it about horses. Letting go, being free!! I LOVE EARTH FAUNA!!” “We rise above, stronger with love!”
"Ugh, please. Maybe if I was a little younger." She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Lena plucked a line from the stream and pinned it to the board, her voice warm and teasing. “How about... hope is a sunrise? I liked that one. We can make it work.”
The chat exploded with emojis, and she laughed softly, feeling the familiar rhythm of creation settle in. Or in other words, as the old humans say... locking in.
Then it appeared.
“Have you thought about collabing with Maya? Two humans, one EP.”
Her hands stilled, hovering just above the console.
Maya.
The name had started popping up in her feeds recently, often accompanied by words like authentic and refreshing. Lena had brushed it off as another rising star, a flash in the pan, but now it was here, staring at her in neon letters on her own stream.
“Interesting idea,” she said, selecting another lyric suggestion. “I’ll, uh, think about it.”
The chat was relentless. Although she set it up she couldn't see the viewers' digital form, they may as well have been screaming into her eardrums in-person all the same.
“Astra x Maya when??”
Lena froze, her carefully controlled composure fracturing just a bit.
A mega fan?
She skimmed the comments, her mind spinning. Maya—the same Maya who had been blowing up with her unpolished, all-hours streams, her real name as her stage name, her complete lack of an airbrushed persona—was her fan?
Lena’s jaw tightened, her thoughts spiraling.
Maya was raw, approachable, the exact opposite of everything Lena had spent her career cultivating. Lena was Astra, a name with sharp edges and neon polish, designed for the Net.
Maya was just… Maya. As if she was born for this.
Her fans wanted this? For her to collaborate with someone so new, so different? It was a risk she couldn’t afford, especially now. Surely. She only had a finite amount of time left to partake in this profession, after all.
But the idea gnawed at her, irritating and irresistible. If Maya really was a fan, it wasn’t a direct threat. Not yet.
“Maya would cry if she met you.”
She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair.
HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED! HOTWIRED!
The Net was supposed to be seamless—perfectly calibrated, effortless. For transhumans, it probably was.
Lena’s body moved through the shimmering projection of her practice room, a minimalist stage lit with soft, shifting hues. She adjusted her footing, her arm sweeping through the virtual space as the programmed rhythm pulsed faintly in the background. Her movements were calculated but strained, the effort manifesting in the slight lag between intention and execution.
Her projection stuttered for a moment, a flicker of imperfection that broke the flow of her routine.
“Again,” Lena muttered under her breath, shaking off the momentary stumble. She reset her stance, replaying the sequence in her mind, but her focus was fractured, her thoughts elsewhere.
Her sister. Margot’s face hovered at the edges of her mind.
The article had been glowing—pages filled with lush images of Margot among sprawling fields, her hands gently guiding a falcon back into the wild. The captions celebrated her conservation work, her ability to preserve and nurture life in a way that felt grounded, timeless. “A woman of substance,” one line had read, “rooted in the earth.”
Lena had skimmed the article quickly, forcing herself not to linger on the words.
It wasn’t jealousy. She wasn’t jealous.
It was just… irritating.
She pushed the thought away, her movements tightening as the rhythm picked up. The Net felt foreign today, like the digital floor beneath her feet wasn’t quite solid, like the air resisted her gestures.
She stumbled again, her arm catching on an invisible thread of lag. Her frustration bubbled over, her voice sharp as she barked a command: “Pause program.”
The room froze, the lights dimming to a neutral glow. Lena stood still, her breath shallow, the edges of the Net pressing in on her like static.
She exited the Net with a practiced motion, the real world snapping into place around her with jarring immediacy. Her legs were trembling, her arms heavy with fatigue. She hadn’t realized how much time she’d spent in the Net, or how much it had drained her.
The holo-display in her studio lit up with a soft chime. New messages.
She glanced at the notification, the Zenith logo glowing prominently at the top of the list.
Lena opened the email, her eyes scanning the first few lines before the words hit her like a slap.
“After careful consideration, Zenith Talent Management has decided to move forward with Blossom for our upcoming initiative. We apologize for backtracking, but due to non-response, we decided to secure a more available opportunity. We appreciate your time and hope to collaborate in the future.”
Her mind raced, searching for reasons, excuses, something to explain how she’d let this slip away. She hadn’t even responded to their initial offer—not because she didn’t want it, but because she hadn’t gotten around to it.
She didn’t have a team to manage that for her. She didn’t need one. That was part of her brand, right? Astra worked alone, made her own decisions.
But now that independence felt like a noose tightening around her neck.
The holo-display chimed again, another email sliding into view. This one bore the Apex House logo.
Lena opened it cautiously, her pulse quickening as she read:
“Apex House is thrilled to extend an invitation to Astra to join our upcoming collaborative initiative. This project will bring together a supergroup of top talent, including Maya and other rising stars, to create an unparalleled experience for fans worldwide.”
The words blurred as she reread them. Maya. Again.
The idea of working alongside her stung in a way Lena couldn’t articulate. She could already see the comments, the comparisons. Maya’s effortless charm against Lena’s carefully curated edge. Maya’s authenticity against Lena’s practiced craft.
Her fingers hovered over the interface, the urge to close the email almost overwhelming. But she didn’t. Instead, she opted to sit there, her reflection faint in the darkened screen, her body aching from the hours in the Net.
The new format for performances had been grueling enough. It was designed for transhumans in mind, really, their neural pathways optimized for the complexity of it all. The old system was 'too antiquated'.
Bad news for her. Even the transhumans protested. Something about equity, but they were clearly in the minority. If she wanted to capture that market, she needed to adapt.
Maya was doing just that. She grew up in the Academy system in Chicago, for crying out loud!
But deep down, she already knew she didn’t have a choice.
Her eyes flicked back to the window, where the distant hum of drones carried on, unbothered by the weight of anything. She thought of Margot, of the life she’d chosen.
A life Lena couldn’t understand.
She checked the calendar.
Maybe she could make it to Qingming this year.
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