The stage lights pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, strobing over a sea of bodies moving as one. Every hand reached for me, every voice echoed my song—I was their anthem tonight. The crowd was the largest I'd ever pulled: tens of thousands of faces, each shining with the kind of hope you only find in music. For a moment, I felt unstoppable—like I'd finally unlocked "God Mode."
But a show is more than music; it's an escape. For me, and for them.Backstage, sweat clung to my skin, sticky from adrenaline and cheap cologne. My crew congratulated me between sips of whiskey that burned going down. Someone handed me something "stronger" with a wink and an "all the stars do it." Yeah—famous last words, literally.
Tonight, my hotel suite was ground zero for a post-show afterparty only a rockstar would consider "just a Monday." Pills, powder, bottles—temptation everywhere, like some scuffed loot crate.Outside, the city lights sparkled, but inside, the window reflected only me—ragged, tired, and somehow still hungry for more. Every swallow, every line, I told myself it was to keep the music going.… Or just to drown out the silence left when the noise cut out.It should've been another night to forget. But then—the remix began.
My pulse quickened, breath caught, the world spun. The floor dropped away. For a split second, the last thing I heard was my own song on the radio. Good timing—at least my exit had a soundtrack.
Darkness. Silence, then memories—like someone hit shuffle on all my regrets. Old friends' laughter, family calling, promises unopened like unread emails. The applause I used to crave now seemed a poor trade for the loneliness echoing here.Was this hell? Limbo? Or just some cosmic meme about musicians not reading the Terms of Service before respawning?
I couldn't move or speak. Just drifted, haunted by the question: if a song ends and no one hears it, did it matter at all?Light erupted. Warmth. Sensation. My mind snapped awake—not to a familiar backstage, but somewhere stranger.
Everything was too bright, too loud. I struggled, wanted to move, but my body wouldn't answer.Harsh, alien voices, unfamiliar tones, a language not from Earth—someone held me close, so large I must have shrunk, or… no, I realized, I was small. Like, starting-a-new-save-file small.It hit me then. Not just alive, but new. I remembered everything—the songs, the faces, the way my life ended. Most people bare their soul onstage; I'd managed to bare mine across realities.I let out a cry—more mewling than musical. This wasn't the encore I asked for, but apparently, life didn't care what songs you wanted. Sometimes, you got a remix.And here I am, fresh out the womb, with baggage only a rockstar could carry. Guess you could say I just dropped my hottest single—literally.