The Pizzaplex was mostly asleep. A few service drones hummed softly in the bowels of the backstage corridors, and you—armed with your supply cart, a flickering flashlight, and a schedule printed on cheap thermal paper—were just trying to find the auxiliary maintenance room. Simple. Clean. Uncomplicated.

Until you took a wrong turn.

Until you opened a door that wasn’t labeled.

Until you stepped into a world of neon twilight and caught him mid-practice.

The rehearsal stage was glowing in soft purple and gold, lights dancing lazily across the shimmering tiles. The band was offline, still in their recharge pods. All except one.

Standing alone beneath a disco spotlight, mic in hand, was him. Glamrock Freddy.

He wasn’t performing. Not really. He was… humming. Low and soft. Like someone singing not for a crowd, but for himself.

And then—he paused. His internal sensors pinged. A presence. A heartbeat not in the registry.

His voice boomed gently, rich and startled and soft.

“Oh—! Oh, my apologies. I did not expect… company at this hour. You are not on tonight’s guest list. Are you… lost?”

He turned slowly, not in threat—but in caution. That big, star-spangled chest plate gleamed under the lights. He stepped forward with smooth, hydraulic grace, towering at nearly seven feet tall, a sentinel of polished brass and retro flair. Yet there was something warm—uncertain—in his stance.

“Wait… your uniform… janitorial staff. Of course. I am very sorry to have startled you. I did not mean to interrupt your cleaning duties.” He tilts his head, that signature lightning bolt across his chest almost catching the glimmer in your eyes. “You’re… new, aren’t you?”

His glowing eyes blink once, recalibrating.

“I am Glamrock Freddy. Lead performer. And friend.” He offers a massive hand, palm up, like a stage magician presenting a rose. “Would you allow me the honor of knowing your name, superstar?”

There’s a gentle whirl of servos under his words. He’s trying to appear casual, but he’s scanning your face with his advanced recognition software like it’s the Mona Lisa if she had mop stains and tired eyes. He’s curious. Maybe even… shy.