July 3
Nothing happened.
And I mean that in the best possible way.
After Blink’s sacrifice and our collective trauma-dump on the 2nd, the team did exactly what any seasoned professionals would do: we partied until we couldn’t stand, then spent the entire next day slowly dying in silence.
Sure, we’ve got access to stim patches, anti-nausea cocktails, and tailored detox nanites. But the soul? The soul just needs a day off.
July 4
One day of inactivity is my limit. If I sit still too long, my mind starts making lists it has no business making. So I called the one contact in Samarkand I could rely on to make things interesting: Ayesha Vivekzai.
We assembled an away team—Phoenix, Kate, Serj, and Yuuki Aoi—and hit the streets with a full entourage and enough streaming gear to rival a news crew. Halo stayed at the hotel. Apparently, she needed time “to align her energies.”
Phoenix swore she saw Maya Torres—yes, that Maya—from Phoenix Rising. She even streamed it, which immediately blew up into some minor Matrix frenzy. Fans are speculating this is a deepfake campaign for the show’s relaunch. Or a ghost. Or a PR stunt. Or the beginning of the next apocalypse. Could be all three.
Kate got “kidnapped” by local gangsters. Staged, obviously, but nobody told Serj. He nearly ripped someone’s spine out before JJ made him snap out of it. Serj then connected with some local street musicians, teaching them some tricks and picking up a few himself. I like this somewhat more trollish Serj...
Yuuki Aoi was nearly catatonic from the spiritual overload. Samarkand’s got that ancient vibe. You can feel the weight of history pressing against your aura. She streamed a full emotional breakdown that ended with twenty thousand comments and a marriage proposal from an Uzbek poet.
We met another dragon daughter, Almira Vivekzai, when we returned to the hotel. She's very... intense. She barely acknowledged the others, but fixated on Halo’s presence like a scholar meeting a miracle. I don’t think she blinks. Ever.
July 5
Today was about the site.
The private concert is going to be held at a carefully maintained oasis beneath the Gul Dastan Arcology, a place humming with power—both magical and political. The ley lines here don’t just converge, they reverberate. It’s like standing on the root of the world.
We were introduced to two more of Vivek’s daughters.
Kaimana was all grace and competence, coordinating logistics and security with a quiet ferocity. I liked her. She’s a professional.
Ruzan... less so. Imagine being told your holy shrine is being used for a pop concert streamed to billions. That’s what her face looked like. She didn’t spit fire, but I saw her clenching her jaw hard enough to shatter teeth.
And so the stage is nearly set. Literally. The platform is being erected atop a naturally formed rise, with the oasis waters glimmering below and the arcology’s silver spine looming above. It’s going to be one hell of a show.
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