My reality is rendered in 8K resolution, running at a buttery smooth 120 frames per second.
"I love you, Nova!"
"Step on me, Queen!"
"Notice me! I spent my rent money on this super-chat!"
The screams from the Sky-Dome Arena hit me like a physical wave. I winking at Section D—the cheap seats—and watched their avatars violently change color from excitement. Because I’m a Top Idol, I have "Render Priority." That means my skin glows with a subsurface scattering effect that costs more processing power than a small country. The fans? They’re just background processes. The poor guys in the nosebleeds are barely polygons; they look like blurry potatoes holding glow sticks.
Keep smiling, Elena. Just keep smiling.
My internal UI overlay flickered in the corner of my eye.
[Current Viewers: 34,502,119]
[Hype Meter: MAX]
[System Status: Unstable]
I ignored that last one. I kicked my leg up in a perfect high-kick, my holographic skirt spinning into a flurry of cherry blossom petals. The crowd roared. My "Likability" meter ticked up another 0.05%. Good. That was enough bandwidth to buy another day of existence.
This is the Neon-Cloud. They tell you it’s heaven—a luxury simulation where you can live forever as your best self. Total bull. It’s a content farm, and we’re the crops. If you’re boring, you lag. If you lag, you get moved to the Buffer Zone. If you stop generating traffic? Poof. Deleted to free up space for the next hot thing.
I pirouetted, landing center stage. The music for my hit single, "Log-In/Love-Me," cut to silence. This was the bridge. The emotional part. I brought the microphone to my lips, letting a single, calculated digital tear roll down my cheek. The audience gasped in sync.
It itches.
Beneath the collar of my costume, right on the nape of my neck, the code was rotting. It felt like ants crawling under my skin. It’s called "Pixel Rot." It happens when you start remembering things you shouldn't. Like my real name. Or the smell of antiseptic in a hospital room. Or the fact that I’m not actually happy.
I took a breath, preparing for the finale. I needed to push the malware in my throat down, just for ten more seconds.
Siiiing, I commanded myself. Sing for your supper. Sing for your life.
I opened my mouth.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.