Prologue: The Only Job Left

Sigh… another failed job interview.

I slam my hand hard onto the table in my small kitchen. Applications lay scattered around me, some even on the floor. My old Motorola StarTAC flip phone sits silent beside a glass of cheap whiskey—Jack Daniels or Jim Beam, I can’t remember which. The glass is clenched in my left hand when the phone suddenly rings.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I scramble, flip it open.

“Hello, is Ms. Esposito available?” a smooth but nasally voice asks.

“Yes, this is she.”

“Oh, good! I would like to see if you are still available for the night security job at Starlight Stage Pizza.”

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Did I even apply for a security position? I’ve sent out so many applications lately I can’t keep track.’

“Uhhh… Ms. Esposito, are you there?”

“Yes. To answer your question, yes, I am still available.”

The voice brightens with too much enthusiasm. “Great! Would you be able to start tonight? We just need you there for about five nights until we get some things finalized.”

“Yeah…” 'That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.' “I can do that. Is it alright if I bring my service weapon?”

A short pause. “…I don’t see why not.”

“Okay. What time should I arrive?”

“Midnight to six. Is that doable?”

“Yes.”

“Great! See you then!”

The line goes dead. I stare at the phone. ‘That was… something.’

I pull into the cracked parking lot in my old 1993 Nissan 300ZX. The building is a low brick structure with buzzing neon stars that only half-work. Faded red-and-yellow paint peels from the walls. A sagging sign reads Starlight Stage Pizza. One stubborn star next to it flickers as if it refuses to die.

A man in a security uniform stands just outside the door, head lowered so a shadow hides his eyes. He thrusts a set of keys and a flashlight at me and mutters, “Don’t let them finish the set,” before walking away without looking back.

I watch him go, then sigh and step inside.

The linoleum is sticky under my boots. I lock the front doors behind me and move past the front counter into the main area. Dusty arcade cabinets stand forgotten among booths the color of old ketchup. To the right, a short hallway opens into the stage room.

I pause in the doorway.

Four animatronics stand under dusty spotlights—exactly as I remember them from childhood commercials. Aurel the singer, silver-blue hair and sailor crop top. Vesper the bassist, indigo hair and orca tail. Emberlyn the guitarist, auburn ponytail and fox ears. Lyra the drummer, ocean-blue hair and mermaid-whale tail. Posters of the band still line one wall, edges curling with age.

I give them a soft, almost nostalgic smile, then continue down the hallway toward the security office.

On the wall just outside the office door hangs a framed newspaper clipping, yellowed under glass:

“Local teen still missing after Starlight Stage Pizza birthday party, 1998.”

No names. No resolution.

A narrow window sits beside the door, just large enough for a guard to peer out into the hallway. I unlock the office, step inside the tiny room, and set my flashlight on the desk. The old security monitors flicker to life one by one, bathing the space in cold gray light.

Behind me, on the stage, four pairs of robotic eyes and four animatronic heads slowly turn to follow the path I took. Aurel’s movement is the slowest, as if she is taking it all in.