TB’s Journal - March 8, 2097

 

Friday, March 8, 2097

Up early and on the choppers to Golden Hinde with the team—me, Tag, Vanya, and the models. Spring in full bloom on the island below us, and the air crisp and clear. Security detail in place, preflight checks done, the girls nervous but excited.

First round of flying goes well. Models get the hang of it, some quicker than others. Ratings are solid, if not spectacular. Lunch break. And then, out of nowhere, Zara’s security chopper comes in with her flying alongside in full feathered serpent form. That’s when the show really starts.

Second round in the air, and this time it’s magic. Luna and Mira take off first, Tag’s recon drone intel paying off. The other models follow, and it’s like watching a surreal dream unfold. Ratings are through the roof, and for a while, everything is perfect.

Then it all goes sideways.

Eclipse spots eight deckers hitting the VR suits. Full chaos mode. We counter, block, disrupt—whatever it takes. For a few tense minutes, it’s just confusion and adrenaline. Vanya and the Aztech mage take the worst of it, both left nursing magical hangovers, but they’re alive. Zara’s serpent form is shaky but still holding strong, thanks to some quick thinking on our part.

Turns out Eldritch Dynamics had a bomb planted, and not just any bomb—a hi-ex rig that was supposed to wipe everyone out post-event. It didn’t go off, some freak magical interference stopping it. We got lucky, I guess, but that didn’t make it any less close.

Back to Victoria, ratings through the roof. Our little show is the most-watched thing on Earth right now. Eclipse and I trace the hostile deckers back to their nests: Eldritch Dynamics in Vancouver and the new Aztech waterfront in Tacoma. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Evening comes, and it’s the gala dinner at the Queen Victoria Hotel. Everyone’s dressed up, the tension from earlier gone, replaced by glamor and small talk. I’m not really here for the schmoozing, but it’s part of the job.

Halo takes the stage at 10. She starts with her old hits, her voice as haunting as ever. And then she drops the mask, revealing her new “Dark Halo” persona and the music she’s been working on for the last two years out in the black. It’s raw, powerful, and the crowd eats it up. Ratings skyrocket again.

After the show, I get pulled into Zara’s circle—her, Halo, a few execs. Small talk, a few veiled questions, the usual dance. But as the night goes on, everyone else drifts away, leaving just me and Halo in the rooftop garden. It’s quiet, no net access, just us and the city lights below.

We talk, really talk. About Redmond, about the darkness that follows you no matter how bright the lights get. About being alone, even when surrounded by data and people. There’s something real there, something raw and unspoken.

Dawn’s coming, and I know I should get some rest. Tomorrow’s another long day, and I can feel the exhaustion catching up.