Private Lights, Camera, Violet!

[Mr Black]

Planet: Echelon Prime, Echelon System, Outer Rim
District 26: Purple District: Echelon's Spicesight, or the Violetside.
Location: The Violet Portway
Local Time: Artificial Night (Realtime 6 PM)
Tag: Aethelwulf Bergen

A synthetic violet ocean stretched out across the edge of District 26, with sailing vessels dotted around, leisure boats and neon party barges lazily drifting beneath a warm, dusky atmosphere. Air that tasted faintly of salt and peach liquor; holo-billboards rippled like waves crashing ashore across mirrored hotels, and a thousand overlapping parties bled into one hypnotic humming rhythm. Casinos, Clubs, Games, Holo-Realities, Marinas, and Hotels. The Violetside was Echelon's premier entertainment district, brightly curated chaos wrapped in safety contracts and perpetual summer. Day or night, it was always perfect. People from all walks of life came here; crime happened, but it was cleaned up before anyone could spill their drink.

"High energy, people!" chirped the assistant director, clapping his hands as the teens adjusted their microphones. "Smile! This is your big break! What do you mean you haven't signed your contract yet?" Datapads were flying about for NDA's, and who knows what contracts. It was everything you'd expect, and contracts on Echelon were currency.

Black watched the set, standing beside a small table and an executive chair, a half-smile lining the edge of his beard at the absurdity of it all. Organised chaos: lights, camera-drone-droids, make-up droids misting glitter on faces and into the air, wind and cleaning machines whirring. He'd nearly fired the GNN executive who'd setup the 'teen Travelogue at Violetside' until Legal reminded him that blaster shots weren't covered in his contract. Instead, Black had come himself, better to manage the potential PR wreck.

Many ASF officers flanked their perimeter, cleanly dressed in Apex black. While four armoured speeders waited nearby, drawing even more attention and crowds. The craft services table was strewn with cocktails, actually 'mocktails' close in taste to the real thing, served by a trio of quirky astromechs; someone had even remembered to include a quickly disappearing buffet, which had become the most effective nerve-settler. The choco-stimcaff droid however, had 230 refills pending, and sushi or bantha burger takeaway boxes were already piling up fast!

The lead director, a Kiffar with deep emerald facial tattoos, strode past, clutching a datapad, his face deeply expressive. "Remember, it's about the ocean, your impressions, your feeling. Be the water, don't just watch it. Keep it spontaneous." There was no script, just a loose outline and the repeated on-set mantra of high energy. The assistant director, a Denonite (Denon Local) on his fourth cup of stimcaf, almost bounced on his heels. "No, no wait, two steps left. Perfect, perfect, hmm, hold that place. Okay, you're looking at the drone when it passes to start, not the beach. Right, right good! Perfect, you're a star!"

Black's gaze watched the teenagers moving into place, wide eyes, nervous smiles, uncontained ambition or wonder. His two closest personal aides stood beside him, corporate suits all around, a Hapan female and a bulky olive-skinned man carrying a black briefcase . Somewhere among the extras was a blonde HRD chaperone he'd assigned: An AXS-3, Sentinel model. The liability coverage alone justified that investment.

He adjusted his cufflink, the gesture calculated and usually more than it appeared. "Alright, let's make sure they remember this for the right reasons," he spoke just loud enough for his assistants. "And someone remind our Denonite, enthusiasm is not a substitute for insurance."

 

[Aethelwulf Bergen]

The air tasted like peaches and metal, and Aethelwulf decided she loved it already.

She stepped off the hovertram into a sea of violet light and noise, her worn boots hitting the polished walkway with a hopeful clack. Everything shimmered, from the air, to the signs, even the people! Every direction she looked, there was something bright and alive, like the holo-billboards spilling soft pink light over the crowd, the music pulsing through the street like a heartbeat.

This was it. This was where people came to make something of themselves.

The ad had sounded simple enough, "Youth Travelogue. Seeking strong presence, charisma, and adaptability. Must be good with people."
She'd read that and thought, I'm strong. I'm adaptable. I'm great with people. Easy!

Except now she was standing in front of a camera crew bigger than her entire family put together, and someone had just shouted something about "contract clauses" and "brand alignment," and she had no idea which one of those meant she should introduce herself.

Still, she smiled. Big.

Her satchel thumped against her hip, full of exactly nothing useful, and she gave a quick, polite wave toward who she thought was the assistant director. He waved back absently, already mid-command at a group of teens rehearsing smiles. Aethelwulf took that as encouragement and marched straight through the chaos, careful not to trip on a power cable.

"I'm here for the vlog!" she called over the music, trying to sound professional. The nearest assistant director, a Denonite jittering on too much stimcaf, blinked at her. "You're… talent?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! I'm very talented! I can talk about places! And food! And I can run if there's danger! Oh, and I've seen so many holovlogs, I know how it's done!"

Someone handed her a datapad without looking, muttering about signature requirements. She squinted at the legalese for a moment before pressing her thumbprint in the little glowing box. The datapad chirped approvingly.

"There! All official!"

The Denonite stared for a beat longer, then shrugged helplessly and waved her toward the others.

Aethelwulf trotted forward, almost bouncing on her toes. She adjusted her jacket, ran a hand through her hair, and practiced a smile. It didn't feel right… too forced, so she tried another, a smaller one. That felt better.

And when she finally looked up, she spotted a man near the back wearing a dark suit, oozing quiet authority ( Mr Black ). Their eyes met for just a second before someone called for quiet.

Her heart thumped once, hard.

Maybe this was it. Her big break.

 

[Mr Black]

When his eyes met Aethelwulf's, he saw potential, a raw spark. It reminded him momentarily of his young daughter and the things in this galaxy that couldn't be manufactured. Someone shoved a large datapad into his hands, full of shooting schedules and location grids. He didn't look at it right away. He already knew how the day would go: controlled chaos with a side dish of liability insurance.

"You there, you don't have any makeup on! We can't have that!" A pink Zeltron in far too much neon bounced into frame, smile like starlight through a champagne glass. "Correction, dear," she said mid-step, eyes sparkling with artistry. "You have makeup, darling, but not Echelon makeup."

Aethelwulf Bergen would be given the full Portway treatment if she let them: a subtle neon tint, soft holo-glow, mists of scent coded like data to the district's artificial sea breeze. Three stylists hovered behind her like highly caffeinated pixies, arguing over which tone best complemented the violet skyline and her cheekbones.

No time! "First positions! Quiet! Quiet on set, rolling in thirty!" came the director's call

And just like that, young Aethelwulf was in place among thirty excited teenagers. Holocams gliding overhead, deciding who to focus on. Restless vibrating energy, bright, imperfect, and so alive, like someone had bottled the Violet Portway whole and turned it into a sparkling music video.

Black thrived in this kind of chaos. On Echelon, chaos was the raw material he engineered order out of; you just had to know where to place it. He watched the lenses, glancing to the gathering crowd and the light setup; quietly deciding which cameras were live and when. Turning his focus to the teens whose enthusiasm sold Violetside's dream best. Naturally, he framed the Apex-Exec showroom behind them over the bay, never missing a chance to sell the brand.

A Kiffar boy caught his attention, with purple facial tattoos, covered in way too much tech and neon; he literally almost glowed, much like his smile. Trying to put himself with the Apex Show Room over the water behind him. Black admired the instinct.

He started to move through the set as the countdown hit twenty seconds. The director gasped and him Black a horrified look, mouthing, "Hold on a minute!" Black smiled. "I own the set," that settled that. Passing a gaggle of teens, Black offered a calm, playful word. "Remember, love the camera and it'll love you." A few nervous laughs bubbled up. One kid saluted, and Black shook his hand.

Then his gaze picked out Aethelwulf Bergen again. No words, just that subtle tilt of his head toward the Kiffar lad, and a look that said frame's there, take it. A silent cue only a natural could read, or someone with the force's aid. For a heartbeat, the world shrank to this moment. That anxious feeling that something big was about to happen.

"Rolling in five!" Last warning, Black stepped out of view, and the Violet Portway came alive. "And… action!" The Kiffar director cupped his hands to his mouth. "Big energy, everyone! Someone tell me what makes Violetside the brightest place in the Outer Rim, go, go!"

The teens started shouting answers:
"Oh... the afterglow parties!"
"Yeah, the Detonite Club, best lightshows in the sector, no the rim!"
"The food, obviously, Beebo's Bantha Burgers, extra redline sauce."
"Defo's the holo-sunsets!"
A holocamera's focus settled on Aethelwulf like it was her turn to save the galaxy. No pressure.

Aethelwulf Bergen

 

[Aethelwulf Bergen]

Mr Black

---

The holocamera swung toward her like a spotlight hunting prey. Aethelwulf froze, the wolf inside her yearning to come out, to growl, to attack the light as though it was something putting her in danger. She held it at bay. Shifting into a wolf took her a full five minutes and she didn't know how to stop it. Shifting back into human form was another five minutes. And besides, she wasn't in any real danger here. This was just a studio. This was fine. This was okay!

And still her heart punched the inside of her ribs exactly once, and then everything she'd rehearsed on the transport, all the clever lines about "soaking up the vibes" or "living your dream in the Violetside!", vanished like breath on cold metal.

She did the worst possible thing a person on camera could do. She waved.

A small, wobbly wave. Fingers stiff. Elbow locked. Like someone greeting a distant relative they weren't sure they remembered.

"Um… hi!"

The makeup tech made a tiny strangled noise somewhere off-screen. Too late, it was already recorded.

Aethelwulf tried again, smiling harder this time. Big mistake, too many teeth. She swallowed it back down, tried a smaller smile.

"Violetside is… it's…" Her eyes darted around as if the answer might be floating in the neon air. What had the others said? Someone had mentioned parties, clubs, sunsets… Was that… Was that all that interested teens in other places of the galaxy? She liked those things, but they weren't why she was here.

One of the teens stifled a laugh into their shoulder.

"Like my peers here have said," she continued, struggling to find her voice for the first few beats, yet gaining confidence as she continued to speak, "There's lots of cool stuff here. Pretty stuff. Shiny stuff. But I'm not here because of any of that."

She took a deep breath. Her smile somehow became natural. The make up suddenly seemed to stop taking away from her. "I'm here because this is not home. My parents aren't here. My family isn't here. They're all safe at home, and I'm having fun right here, without any adult supervision. And that makes the sunsets and the parties and the shiny stuff so much better!"

 

[Mr Black]

After Broca, his burly assistant, shouldered their way into the signal booth, an open-air display of holocasted feeds welded onto a holoskiff, Mr. Black touched his cufflink button, bringing the displays online. While Aethelwulf waved, found her footing, and gave her introduction. Black framed it:

"Second feed. No, not that one, the one that keeps her looking together."
"Pan across the shore… yeah. Sell the violet people, the planet paid for that view."
"Okay, bring it in slow. Emotional gravity shot. Hold it. Try not to trip over your own repulsor lifts."

Camera techs moved with a purpose, Broca smirked, and the assistant director nervously drunk his fifth cup of stimcaf.:
"See? Effortless."
"Strong start," the director said, attempting to wrestle back control.
"Keep it moving, tourism works better in motion. Show them the world while they talk."
The director sighed deflated but committed. "Fine, fine rolling movement shots everyone! Let's reset for the shoreline!"

SCENE 2: Traveler's First Impression — Please walk toward the shoreline.
A large holoprojection off-camera lit up.

The teens mingled into loose groups, chatting over one another. A few tourists behind the guard line shouted: "Go, Violetspark Girl! Show us the Portway!" Security gently eased them back. Millions, no billions, began to tune in as the GNN PR machine pushed this, nicknames started to fly but to who? Data moved at lightspeed on Echelon.

Beside Aethelwulf, a tall Borneck girl, walked confidently on her heels, sandy steps somehow no barrier to how she stole the camera. "Oh stars, you are so right," she said, golden skin catching every neon-bounced water ripple. "My dad would never get this place. He's all like 'optimize your farming cycles' and I'm like, please, dad, touch some synth-sand."

She tapped the highlighted digital art along her neck, beautiful denon dots and echelon-atrisian glyphs "And like, hello? Wild-Beat Pulse Run is happening tonight. It's this sensory trail by the violet ocean, the sand lights up to the music? I'm obsessed."

Ahead of them, the Kiffar lad, having a youthful resemblance to their director now that he was up close, strange that! Spun back toward the group. "So so, what's first on your Portway checklist?" he said with perfect on-brand energy. "Glow Markets? Holo-surfing? Hoverplex arcade? I mean, c'mon, the place is spire-stacked."

Behind them, teens pointed at luxury speeders drifting past, debating which parties they could get into if they looked older, or maybe bugged the director about. Walking beside them came another echelon girl, a year or two older, with a clean neural jack at her neck and cyberlines tracing her wrist. Looking like a holo-advertisement chic for teens in the rougher districts if they had the credits, dark asymmetrical black jacket, echo-boots that lit with each step, reflective visor, and her hair threaded with this faint data-fibre that had a slow pulse.

"Violetside?" she said, her voice streetsmart "Its own mood. Tech here is Spire and views are filterless." She twirled a finger and left a tiny holo-trail, like writing on air. "Stick close and you'll see the good angles." Her tone wasn't cruel, but competitive, the kind of girl who grew up rough, and fought for every step, same here. Also she smelled of trouble.

Holo Cameras, action, excitement, as it focused in on Aethelwulf again.

Aethelwulf Bergen

 

[Aethelwulf Bergen]

Mr Black

---

Aethelwulf walked with the group, but her steps weren't quite like theirs. The others glided over the synth-sand like they'd been doing this their whole lives. She looked like someone trying to remember how legs worked on a surface that wasn't forest, stone, or home. Yes, there were lakes back at home, but the sand around them wasn't like this.

Her boots sank a little deeper than everyone else's. Her shoulders stayed a little too tense. And underneath it all, the wolf inside her paced, uneasy with this many bright eyes and louder scents. Peach-liqueur air. Glitter-frosted skin. A thousand overlapping heartbeats. She tried to keep her breathing even. This was not danger, this was broadcast entertainment. Close enough, her instincts complained.

Aethelwulf swallowed it down and flashed the Kiffar boy a polite smile when he spun toward her. Parties, glow markets, holo-surfing… everyone sounded like they already had a list of dream spots half memorized. She nodded along like she knew any of these places.

Then the camera drone drifted near her again, humming softly, its lens adjusting to grab her reaction. Her stomach flipped. She wasn't ready. She had barely survived the first shot.

But the drone expected a comment, and so did the director, and so did all those invisible viewers somewhere out in the Holonet. She felt her pulse kick hard again.

"I um…" She glanced toward the ocean, buying herself one breath. The violet water shimmered under the hovering lights, rippling with artificial tides. Not natural. Not real. But beautiful in its own way.

"I don't really have a checklist yet," she finally said, voice small at first, then more sure, "everything here feels new. Like every step is something different."

The Borneck girl beamed toward the camera like she'd won a prize. The cyber-slick Echelon teen tilted her visor thoughtfully. But the drone shifted closer to Aethelwulf instead, as if sensing something unmanufactured in her tone.

She tried to give them more. Something true.

"Back home, things don't change much from day to day. Here it's like… everything is bright and moving and alive all the time," she brushed a bit of sand from her fingers. Her eyes followed a neon party barge drifting along the horizon. "I think I want to see whatever makes people love this place so much."

Behind her, teens shouted about holo-surf reservations and the Wild-Beat Pulse Run. Aethelwulf smiled faintly, uncertain if she was supposed to look at the camera or the ocean or the other teens.

She ended up looking at all of it at once.

"This is all… a lot," she admitted, softer. "But in a good way. I want to walk the shoreline and just see what happens."

And for the first time since arriving on Echelon Prime, her smile looked completely natural, without too many teeth, without looking forced. Just a girl seeing a whole new world open in front of her and letting herself enjoy it.

The camera followed her face for a long second.

Then it drifted on, chasing the bigger personalities and the louder lines.

 

[Mr Black]

The Kiffar teen almost moved to link arms with Aethelwulf to steady her, but Black stopped him with a word in the earpiece. He'd already recognized what the cameras were picking up: the unmanufactured nature of her. The way she fought the sand, or she didn't know where to look, how everything overwhelmed her.

It wasn't a weakness. It was the hook.

"Stay on that," Black said, voice calculating . "That's our ticket. She's perfect, don't polish the shine off her."

He signaled a motorcade to keep pace along the beach, security extending down the shoreline in formation. There were people at the beach, but it was a controlled chaos. So much of Echelon moved too fast, too interconnected. Somewhere in a tiny artist stall on the other side of the planet, someone was already making holographic fan art of the moment. Realness here was a rarity that billions, split between their digital avatars and physical lives, hungered for.

"Engagement's trending up," the director said, staring at the viewcount streaming across his terminal.
Black added without looking. "Audience's leaning in. Keep up pace. Get everything set for the event."

Cameras swung briefly to other teen clusters: kids shrieking over the newest AR craze; another group talking about The Tunnel, a waterslide so high it nearly bounced off orbit. Down by the lapping waters, a boy bounced a holoball that rearranged itself with every impact, until it formed a neon bird that rushed skyward, soared over the beach, dissolving into ocean ripples. It left a chocolate trinket in his hand. "Again!" he squeaked to his mother's happy smile.

To the left, five dancers built themselves into a human shaped helix, limbs never quite disconnecting thanks to tiny-projectors connecting their movements into seamless patterns. The crowd roared when one was thrown into the air.

And then…

The teens approached a small stall halfway hidden under a patch of woven black synthweave.

An old Atrisian woman sat cross-legged before a clutter of charms made of scrap circuitry, bone, and scented sea-glass. Fortunes whispered in half-spoken code, drifting away like incense. The type of thing a girl who felt the world, rather than just saw it, might understand. Its essence.

As the group stepped closer, the woman's gaze rose. Not to the cameras, or the louder teens. Not the rival who leaned forward hoping to be first. Her lingering gaze found Aethelwulf, knowing, and forever patient. As if she'd been waiting for her and only her.

"Wanderer," she said softly, her voice fragile and gentle, "your steps carry restless shadow. Come closer, let me read the path that sings beneath your feet." The sand had a comfortable blanket to kneel on, a cushion if needed, and a gentle breeze in a place with no wind.

Unprompted, the holocam glided toward them.
The moment was hers.

Aethelwulf Bergen