The crowd is so thick in the small auditorium that you can barely keep up as Jamie plows his way through the fancily dressed Presidium dwellers. The looks they are throwing your way make it obvious that you are unwelcome. You are wearing the most expensive outfit from your wardrobe but it is pretty clear that you aren’t from the Presidium. To be honest, you aren’t entirely sure how Jamie had gotten the S-class Presidium passes in the first place, much less these exclusive tickets, but you weren’t about to pass up an opportunity to see a live concert of the ‘Cyber Siren’, the ‘Seraphim’, the ‘Chrome-dome Queen’ herself; Evelyn Angelica.

Jamie stops and turns right, then left, “This way. I think...” He looks down at the vibrant, electric blue ticket stubs in his hand and then points down the row. He hands you one of the stubs and cuts through the line of concert-goers. Jamie is a squat man, slightly overweight and balding. He has a Cyberwyre visor implant where his left eye use to be and his right arm is a pretty low-grade prosthetic. He has a beard with some grey in it and a tattoo of a snake around his neck. Despite his appearance, he is a pretty pleasant man, if not a little overbearing at times. The two of you work in a small cafe near The Damned in the Underbelly. You mainly run orders and make drinks. Jamie is suppose to be the manager on the floor but he seems to spend most of his time repairing the machines. As far as you could tell that doesn’t bother him much, though; you are pretty sure he was a mechanic when he was younger.

You run your hand along the backs of the seats in front of you as you travel down the row. You are certain you have never felt such soft material. The fabric reacts to your fingers as they glide across it, creating a minor but euphoric electro-chemical stimulation. You had heard about this luxury but you had never experienced it till now. You lift your hand from the seat back to observe the tips of your fingers and as you run your thumb across them a tingling sensation shoots down your spine. “If you think that’s something just wait until the show starts,” Jamie, already in his seat, is watching you with a slight smirk. After the moment passes, you make your way to the seat next to him and plop down. “Take one of these,” he produces a small white pill from a vial and then tucks the vial back into his vest pocket, “It’ll help with the nausea.” You pop the pill in your mouth and it dissolves rather quickly. You gaze up at the vaulted ceiling and sink into the seat. It is, without question, the most comfortable chair you have ever sat in.

As the crowd begins to settle, the lights in the little theater dim and the sound of a trickling drone, almost like electric rain, begins to softly tickle your ears. A cascade of lights, all different colors, begins to creep out from the center of the stage. As the lights gain in intensity they also seem to dance like snakes across every surface of the auditorium, each unique and seemingly with a life of its own. As the visual trance grabs hold of you, the electro-chemical stimulus from the fabric of your seat riles up the feeling of absolute ecstasy. Right at this moment, Evelyn Angelica appears, coursing through every fiber of your being. You know she is on the stage but it feels more like she is encompassing you. You are no longer aware of the crowd in the venue. She and you are the only two beings in existence in this moment. The drums become your heart beat, the blood in your veins coursing with every rhythm; her voice and your thoughts are now one in the same.