Loading Dock B didn't smell like a concert venue. It smelled like a hospital.
There was no chaotic shouting of roadies, no smell of marijuana or cheap cologne. The concrete floor was polished to a mirror sheen. Dozens of stagehands in white jumpsuits moved crates of equipment with terrifying silence.
They didn't walk; they glided.
"Don't look them in the eye," Yoo-jin whispered, shouldering a heavy crate of 'catering supplies' (Min-ji's amps). "Just walk. We're invisible."
"They're all breathing at the same time," Min-ji muttered, adjusting her grip on her guitar case. "It's gross."
Yoo-jin glanced sideways. Min-ji was right. The workers inhaled and exhaled in a subtle, synchronized rhythm. The Violet Signal was strong here. It was turning the backstage crew into a single organism.
"Head down," Yoo-jin ordered.
They pushed past a forklift driver who stared straight ahead, pupils dilated.
"Green Room is down the hall to the left," David Kim murmured, pulling his cap lower. "I'll go find the A/V junction box. I need to plug So-young in physically if we want that blackout."
"Take Director Park," Yoo-jin said. "He looks like he's about to faint. If anyone stops you, say he's having a cardiac event."
"I am having a cardiac event," Park wheezed.
David grabbed Park's arm and steered him toward the utility corridors. "Good. Use it."
Yoo-jin turned to the rest of the team. Sol, Luna, Sae-ri, Min-ji, and Eden. They were dressed in oil-stained mechanic coveralls. They looked like a disposal crew.
"Sae-ri, take Sol and Luna to the dressing room," Yoo-jin said. "Do not change clothes. Do not let makeup touch you. We go on stage exactly like this."
"We're going to perform at the Grammys looking like we just fixed a toilet?" Luna asked, picking at a piece of duct tape on her sleeve.
"Yes," Yoo-jin said. "Zenith is selling gods. We're selling people."
"Well," a smooth, synthesized voice cut through the air. "Look what the cat dragged in."
Yoo-jin froze.
Blocking the hallway was a group of five young men. They were tall, impossibly handsome, and dressed in white silk suits that shimmered under the fluorescent lights. Their skin was poreless. Their smiles were identical.
It was Eternity. Zenith Global's flagship boy band. The favorites to win tonight.
"Manager Han," the center, a boy named Kai, stepped forward. "We heard a rumor you were dead."
Yoo-jin felt the phantom itch in his eyes. He instinctively tried to pull up Kai's stats. He wanted to see the S-Rank Vocal, the S-Rank Dance.
Nothing. Just a boy with dead eyes.
"Disappointed?" Kai smirked. "I hear you lost your touch. And your wardrobe budget."
He gestured at Sol's dirty coveralls. The other members of Eternity chuckled. It was a perfect, harmonized laugh. A major chord of mockery.
Sol stiffened. She looked at her dirty boots, shame creeping up her neck.
Yoo-jin stepped forward, but Eden beat him to it.
Eden, still pale and shaky, walked right up to Kai. Eden was wearing a baggy gray jumpsuit covered in grease stains.
"You are out of tune," Eden said softly.
Kai's perfect smile faltered. "Excuse me?"
"Your laughter," Eden pointed at the group. "It is a perfect C-Major triad. It is mathematically correct. But it has no joy."
"We don't need joy," Kai sneered, leaning in. "We have perfection. We are going to win that Grammy, and you rats are going to be swept out with the trash."
Kai reached out to poke Eden's chest.
Slap.
Sol's hand moved faster than a striking cobra. She swatted Kai's hand away.
But she didn't just swat it. Her hand was covered in black engine grease from the van's door handle.
A thick, dark smear appeared on the pristine white silk of Kai's sleeve.
The hallway went silent. The members of Eternity stared at the stain in horror, as if she had slashed him with a knife. The perfection was broken.
"Oops," Sol said. Her voice wasn't shaky anymore. It was cold. "Human error."
Kai stared at the stain, his eye twitching. The Violet Signal didn't account for dirt. His programming was glitching.
"You..." Kai's voice cracked. A real, ugly crack.
"Save it for the stage," Luna stepped up beside Sol, crossing her arms. "If you can sing over the noise."
"Let's go," Sae-ri ushered the girls past the stunned boy band. She winked at Yoo-jin as she passed.
Yoo-jin felt a surge of heat in his chest. Pride.
That was the Cider. They didn't need stats to dominate. They just needed to be real.
"Come on," Yoo-jin grabbed Eden and Min-ji. "We have work to do."
They ducked into a side passage. This was the technical underbelly of the arena. Cables ran along the walls like thick black snakes.
"Eden," Yoo-jin whispered. "Can you feel it?"
Eden closed his eyes. He leaned against the wall, sensing the vibrations.
"It is strong here," Eden whispered. "The signal... it is coming from the structural pillars. They are using the steel beams as antennas."
"We need to find the node," Yoo-jin said. "If we don't dampen the signal before we go on stage, the audience will be too sedated to hear the Kill Code."
"There," Eden pointed to a locked maintenance door. "It screams."
Min-ji didn't ask for permission. She kicked the door.
BANG.
The lock held.
"Allow me," Min-ji grinned. She swung her guitar case like a battering ram.
CRACK. The door flew open.
Inside, a black server rack hummed with a menacing violet light. It wasn't standard A/V gear. It was military-grade broadcasting tech.
"That's a repeater," Yoo-jin realized. "It's boosting the signal to the judges' booth."
"So the judges aren't judging," Min-ji realized. "They're being told what to like."
"Exactly."
"Hey!" A security guard rounded the corner. He reached for his taser.
Min-ji didn't hesitate. She threw the heavy wrench she had kept from the garage.
It spun through the air and clanged against a fire extinguisher next to the guard's head. The guard ducked, stumbling.
"Eden, break it!" Yoo-jin shouted.
Eden looked at the humming black box. It was the source of the "warmth" that had tried to enslave him. It was the thing that promised to fix him.
He hated it.
Eden grabbed a heavy power cable with both hands.
"I am not a machine!" Eden screamed.
He yanked the cable with hysterical strength. Sparks showered the room. The violet light on the server rack flickered and died.
Outside in the hallway, the ambient hum stopped. The air felt suddenly lighter, less oppressive.
"Move!" Yoo-jin grabbed them. "Before backup arrives!"
They sprinted down the corridor, weaving through the labyrinth of backstage passages.
They burst out into the wings of the main stage just as the lights in the arena dimmed.
The roar of the crowd was muffled, distant.
David Kim was waiting for them by the curtain, looking sweaty but triumphant.
"I plugged So-young in," David panted. "She's in the system. But she says Mason has a firewall made of pure diamonds. She can't blackout the screens unless we give her a massive power surge."
"We'll give her the surge," Yoo-jin said, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Mr. Han."
The voice came from the shadows.
Yoo-jin turned.
Mason Gold stood there. He wasn't wearing a suit. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans. He looked like a casual tech billionaire giving a keynote speech.
He was alone.
"You actually made it," Mason smiled. It wasn't a villain's smile. It was a disappointed teacher's smile. "I'm impressed. I thought the withdrawal symptoms would have crippled Subject One by now."
He looked at Eden. Eden stood tall, glaring back.
"He has a name," Yoo-jin stepped between them. "And he's not your subject."
"He's my copyright," Mason shrugged. "But keep him. He's obsolete anyway. Did you see Eternity? Version 3.0. No trauma. No rebellion. Just pure output."
"They're boring," Yoo-jin said flatly.
Mason laughed. "Boring sells, Yoo-jin. Boring is safe. The world is chaotic. People are tired of scandals, tired of messy idols doing drugs and crashing cars. They want safety. I'm giving them peace."
"You're giving them a lobotomy," Yoo-jin retorted.
"Tomayto, tomahto." Mason checked his smartwatch. "You're on in two minutes. Go ahead. Sing your little song. Scream your messy noise. My system will auto-tune it in real-time before it hits the broadcast. The world will hear perfection, whether you like it or not."
Mason turned to leave.
"Oh," Mason paused. "And I shorted your stock again this morning. By the time you walk off stage, Starforce won't even own the name on your door."
He walked away into the darkness.
Yoo-jin's hands were shaking. Not from fear. From rage.
"He's going to auto-tune us?" Min-ji snarled. "He's going to filter the Kill Code?"
"Only if the system is stable," Yoo-jin said. His mind was racing, calculating without numbers. "If we overload the input... the filter breaks."
"How do we overload it?" Sol asked. She was bouncing on her heels, adrenaline spiking.
Yoo-jin looked at his team.
Dirty. Tired. Angry.
"We don't play the song," Yoo-jin said.
"What?"
"We don't play the song we rehearsed," Yoo-jin said. "Mason's AI expects a pop structure. Verse, chorus, bridge. It can predict that."
"So what do we do?" Luna panicked. "Improvise?"
"No," Yoo-jin looked at Min-ji. "We riot."
The stage manager, a woman with glazed eyes, pointed at them. "You're up. Go."
The curtain rose.
The lights hit them.
Twenty thousand people stared down at the stage. The silence was absolute. The audience was optimized, waiting for the signal to clap.
Sol and Luna stood center stage in their greasy coveralls. Min-ji plugged in her guitar. Eden stood by the drum kit.
They looked like a car crash.
"Hello, Los Angeles!" Sol shouted into the mic.
Silence.
Mason was right. The crowd was dead.
Yoo-jin stood in the wings, his heart in his throat.
"Hit it," Yoo-jin whispered.
Min-ji didn't play a melody. She slammed a chord so dissonant, so ugly, that the front row physically flinched.
KERR-RANG!
It wasn't pop. It was a declaration of war.
"Let's make some errors," Yoo-jin said.