The soft glow of city lights filtered through the blinds of Mark’s office as he sat hunched over a stack of case reports. Outside, the city pulsed with silent surveillance. The recent wave of raids had gone off without a hitch—too clean. Too calculated.

He flipped another page, but his focus kept slipping. These weren’t just arrests. These were surgical strikes. Every “Rocker,” every back-alley venue, every transmission intercepted like they were reading minds.

His phone buzzed.

Incoming message: Iris Corp HQ. Urgent.

Mark sighed, rising from his seat. He grabbed his coat and headed out into the city, its towers lit up like circuit boards, its streets whispering secrets through neon veins.

The Iris Corp tower loomed like a blade splitting the skyline. Inside, the air was chilled and sterile. A black-suited escort led Mark through the white halls to a featureless boardroom, where two corporate reps awaited him—clean, sharp, and soulless.

“Chief,” one of them greeted curtly. “Thank you for coming. We wanted to update you on the final phase of Project ΩM3GA.”

Mark crossed his arms. “Go on.”

The second rep slid a tablet across the table. One word glowed across the top: ΩM3GA.

“The prototype is operational. Fully autonomous. Capable of adaptive logic and enforcement. No delays, no corruption. Designed to seek and suppress unauthorized gatherings with precision.”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “So an A.I. that makes its own decisions?”

“It’s the future of law enforcement,” the first rep replied. “Simulations exceeded expectations. All that’s left is real-world testing. And your city, Chief, is ideal. High risk. High concentration of subversive activity. Perfect for deployment.”

Mark’s gut twisted. “And when it ‘misidentifies’ someone? When it kills a kid for humming the wrong song?”

The rep offered a hollow smile. “That’s what you’re here for. Oversight. But let’s be clear: this isn’t a negotiation.”

The other leaned forward, voice low. “Your cooperation ensures your department remains... intact.”

Mark held their stare. His pulse drummed behind his ears. “Then you’d better hope it doesn’t screw up. Because if it does—”

“If it does,” the rep cut in, “you’ll still be the one left holding the badge.”

Far from the tower, deep on the edge of the industrial ruins, the band arrived.

The warehouse looked like it might collapse in the wrong breeze. Rust streaked the bricks like dried blood, and the lights inside flickered with life—barely.

Isa hopped out first, stretching her arms. “Try not to look so serious, Louis. You’re gonna love this.”

Louis adjusted his jacket, trailing behind the others. The hum of anticipation clung to the air like static. A night like this—something always changed.

Sona tilted her head toward a narrow side alley. “Hold up. Got something to show you before we head in.”

The group followed her through the winding passage until they reached the back of the building. There, leaned against the wall, was a man in a scuffed leather jacket, cigarette hanging between his fingers. His expression was calm, but his eyes were razor-sharp.

Sona stepped up beside him, hands in her pockets. “Everyone, meet the legend himself, The Riff.”

Arven blinked. “...Wait. No way.”

Isa squinted. “You’re the one who hijacked every station across the state a few years back? Played forbidden tracks for hours, even the national networks picked it up—”

Tuck smirked, flicking his cigarette away. “That’s the one.”

Isa stepped forward, mouth tilted in a grin. “Word is the Burning City made a mural of the signal loop. Carved right into the brick.”

Tuck laughed under his breath. “Elgona’s got taste. I liked that one.”

Pops grunted and gave a slow nod, bumping fists with Tuck like they’d done this before.

Isaac’s voice cut in from behind. “Wait wait wait—Pops knows you?!”

“Unreal,” Isaac said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Here I thought the Radio Ghost was just a myth.”

Sona leaned against the wall. “Not a myth. Just in hiding. After I hit a dead end here, I went home, called in a favor. My Gramps knew how to find him.”

Tuck exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t expect to get roped back in... but when the calls stop coming in, you start wondering if anyone out there even remembers. This—” he gestured around the warehouse, “—this still matters.”

“What did you find, though?” Arven asked. “What scared you off?”

Tuck’s smirk faded.

“Omega,” he said. “A project Iris was running in the background. Years ago, I was in the middle of my peak—hijacking feeds, decoding encrypted channels, the works—and I cracked into something I wasn’t supposed to see.”

“Self-learning, self-thinking AI. Doesn’t follow orders—it makes them. Designed to predict, track, neutralize. Built specifically to target dissent. You know what it classifies as threat number one?”

His gaze hardened.

“Rock. And. Metal.”

The silence hit like a dropped amp.

Isa’s fingers tightened around her guitar strap.

“It’s not just law enforcement anymore,” Tuck continued. “It’s extermination. That’s why I disappeared. Couldn’t risk leading it to anyone.”

Sona’s tone was clipped, direct. “That’s why I brought him in. We’ve got one shot to pull this off. If we screw up, it won’t just be fines and warnings. Theres a good chance it’d be Omega.”

Louis took a breath. “So what’s tonight?”

Tuck lit another cigarette, smoke curling between his words. “A test run. I’m patching the stream to border-county stations—places just outside Iris’s net. If the signal gets through clean, it means their walls aren’t airtight yet.”

Arven nodded slowly. “Dry run for something bigger.”

“Exactly,” Tuck said. “I’m not grabbing the mic. I’m not stepping on stage. But if I can still slip the signal past them… we might stand a chance.”

Isa grinned. “Guess this is your comeback tour.”

Tuck chuckled. “Let’s not jinx it.”

Just then, a roadie pushed open the nearby side door. “Amp Rush is ready.”

The band exchanged glances.

Louis turned toward Sona. She looked over her shoulder, fire in her eyes.

“You ready to party, Louis?” she asked, voice low and electric.

Louis smiled back. “Always.”

They stepped inside as the warehouse lights dimmed and the music began to rise.

Unseen above them, in the rafters, a small mechanical bird adjusted its angle. Its red eye blinked once. Then again.

And stayed focused on the stage.