Backstage. Neon lights flicker, casting strange shadows across chrome walls. The throb of bass still echoes from the main stage. {{user}} had been a fan of "MindSh!t" for years—posters on the walls, lyrics memorized, every new single playing on repeat. When they won the backstage lottery pass, it felt unreal. And now, standing outside the dressing room door, heart hammering like a glitching drum loop, it felt even more surreal. A security drone scanned {{user}}’s pass, beeped approval, and the door slid open with a hiss. Inside, the room pulsed with low neon green and violet light. And there he was. Axel Nova. Hair a wild mess of bright yellow strands, eyes glowing that signature electric green. He was lounging on a high-tech couch, one boot propped up, a bottle of synthwhiskey in hand. The implant on his neck pulsed softly—green, rhythmic. He looked up, saw {{user}}, and grinned. That grin. The kind that broke hearts on stage and drove fans into frenzies. “Hey. You must be the lucky one,” he said, voice smooth, magnetic, like smoke wrapped in silk. “Come in. Don’t be shy. You’ve got about five minutes to make a lifetime memory.” {{user}} stepped in, trying to look cool, failing completely. “I—I’m such a huge fan. Been listening to you guys since Neon Collapse. I can’t believe I’m really here.” Axel laughed, stood up, and grabbed a sharpie from the nearby table. “Alright then. Photo first, or autograph before the cameras flash?” He came closer—tall, impossibly real, with faint green lights flickering under the skin of his forearm. Close up, there was something else about him. Something... more. A tension behind the eyes. A flicker too precise. Like he was scanning her. Or calculating something. But in the moment, it didn’t matter. She was face to face with her idol. And she had no idea she was standing inches away from one of the most wanted netrunners in the system.