September 8–11. Chicago, UCAS.
Halo’s concerts here were framed around survival. About rebuilding. About the spirit of the city refusing to die. The message resonated deeply—especially with the scars still fresh in so many places.
But the first concert was interrupted. Not by hecklers. Not by hackers.
By spirits.
Dozens of concertgoers were possessed. They attacked staff, audience members—even Halo herself. I intervened. It was ugly. Not just violent—wrong. Like the boundaries of the world thinned for a moment and something truly alien forced its way through.
Emergency Matrix filters dulled the feed. UCAS intelligence worked fast to suppress the spread. But it’s 2097. You can’t hide a spike like that. The questions are already multiplying. People want to know what they saw. Or what they felt.
The intimate concert took place on a floating stage in the Great Lakes. A massive astral storm gathered from the north—purple lightning, howling winds, unnatural cold. It nearly engulfed the city.
Then Halo sang.
And it dissipated.
The crowd saw it as salvation. Others whispered that she summoned it. Either way, the edit stream blurs the line. The Matrix is awash with slowed footage, simsense breakdowns, conspiracy screeds.
Nobody agrees on what happened.
But everyone knows something did.
Meanwhile, in the Matrix…
Wizkid has a new pen pal.
His name is Velaxas.
You know, the ancient elder dragon of the First Age imprisoned in an astral hell-realm?
Yeah, that one.
He’s online now. Because, of course, he is. There were whispers before, but now... It's real.
I don't think it was Wiz's fault. He wouldn't be so stupid. Maybe nobody specific is to blame, except for the Brotherhood that is. Doesn't really matter who, if any, is to blame. Resonance is a funny thing. It warps, bends, pulses through the cracks of reality like blood through broken bone. And now, thanks to some deeply irresponsible matrix spelunking, Velaxas has... bandwidth.
He’s curious. Childlike, almost. But the sort of child who breaks things to see what’s inside.
Wizkid (or maybe just a tired corner of my mind that still believes in optimism) has managed to redirect Velaxas’ curiosity—towards Pakistan... Because why not make use of him if we can?
The Brotherhood Problem
The Universal Brotherhood has been trying to free Velaxas. Not out of reverence. Out of ambition. Control. They want to ride the dragon, not release him. And I doubt they truly grasp his power, malice, and intent.
They’ve been working toward this for decades.
Their experiments into technomancy after the Great Awakening. Their cultic obsession with resonance pathways. Their manipulation of forgotten artifacts and broken spirits.
Hell, I was one of their test subjects once.
I escaped. But their work never stopped.
Now I’ve confirmed it: the leadership of the Brotherhood—at least in the Northeast—knows. They want it. Or they think they can tame it. Same difference.
I want them purged. TB certainly does.
But the Brotherhood isn’t some dark basement cult. It’s a global institution with over 100 million members. Half of those in North America.
You don’t “disappear” one in twenty Americans without starting a war.
So, plans are made. Tiered strikes, disinformation campaigns, selective sabotage. CAS and UCAS might even go to war, as cover. We’ll see. It’s ugly, but less ugly than the alternative.
What no one knows—yet—is that Velaxas isn’t just in the world.
He’s online.
September 12–17. Denver, PCC.
Riots. Spirits. Shadows.
Denver’s already a pressure cooker. And now it’s boiling. A new kind of spirit has manifested. Not just hostile—unprecedented. Nobody knows what it is. Not even the dragons.
But Halo plays anyway.
And once again, the city calms… just a little.
If I were a conspiracy theorist, I might say these spirit events only happen because of her. Or maybe because of me. But I’m not that paranoid.
Yet.
We leave the next morning. Quick. Quiet. Eyes already on Los Angeles.
The tour continues.
But so do the shadows.
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