"Do not queue the pop track."
Ryan Parker issued the command over his secure earpiece.
The stadium floor still shook from the sub harmonic pulse. Eighty thousand fans were awake. They were breathing heavy untethered air.
Project Apollo sat in the corporate dugout clutching his pale ears. The clone's mathematical vacuum was broken.
"We have their attention," Victoria Price said through the comms. "Drop the commercial single right now. We can secure a billion streams by midnight."
"They do not need a commercial single," Ryan replied.
He stood on the center stage. The blinding stadium spotlights tracked his movement. He held a matte black electric guitar across his chest.
"The Elysium Summit tried to sedate a warzone," Ryan evaluated. "They treated an esports arena like a quiet waiting
