Welcome to Agora, an anthology of super short stories set in a world where the public sector is dead. A universe that’s governed, not by ineffective politicians, but faceless corporations.
First, Some Housekeeping
Stories will come out every TWO weeks from now on. Sorry, got full-time job :(
This story is self-contained, but references past episodes!
WORLD BUILDING WOOO
But honestly, not essential
SHARE PLEASE. Love making these stories. And love when people read them :)
Read Time: 3 Minutes
Ruben wiped off the makeup for the last time. Washed out the green and purple braids — revealing an unruly pomp of brunette hair.
Until this very moment, he was Gori69™️, Agora’s hottest pop-star. But now, he was finally leaving it behind. The fame, the art, the influence — in the midst of what most people agreed was his peak.
“It’s the best thing, really.” His manager Koji said. “We’re all worried about you.”
Ruben signed the contract many pop-stars and celebrities were forced to sign when they felt burnt out, got too old, said something wrong, or pissed off someone powerful.
In Ruben’s case, it was a combination of all of these things, and even though it enraged him to hear the entertainment company speak platitudes (it’s the right thing to do). Signing away his personal brand felt somewhat liberating.
Gori69™️, the persona he crafted for more than half of his life, would live on. All he had to do was watch from the sidelines. The singer's brand was considered intellectual property per the bylaws of the Agora. IP Ruben had a stake in, along with a handful of investors and amorphous corporate structures.
The companies that handled Gori from here on out would use deepfake technology, stunt-doubles, and cloning to maintain the facade of Gori69™️. Releasing new music, making content, starring in ads — keeping the machine well-oiled and turning without interruption.
Consumers would never know the difference. Ruben had a disturbing sense that they wouldn’t even care if they did.
He left the entertainment company for the last time with royalties, self-assurance, and most of all — anonymity. Nobody knew his real name. He’d make sure to keep it that way.
As he exited, Ruben noticed a large billboard across the street. It was of Gori, drinking a Bean Cola™️.
Ruben always hated the ad. But suddenly, it had changed before his eyes. The same picture, but digitally placed on his head was a helmet. Two horns sticking out. Gold with red tips.
“That was fast.” he said to himself.
The company had kept trying to get him to wear the helmet. He didn’t understand why, but refused because it was so flagrantly off-brand.
Whatever. It was their decision now. He had more important things to accomplish.
Like figure out who killed Jody.
Jody was a fan. A girl with paraplegia. Met her fate in fire.
Ruben had only heard of the incident because of Koji. His manager caught it on the news: girl unloved for her disability, savagely killed by her parents. Koji thought posting condolences would gain big impressions on social media. Of course, he was right.
But in the days that followed, Ruben began to question the narrative surrounding Jody’s death.
There was a specific picture of Jody the media used. Sitting in her chair. Beaming with energy.
Inscribed on the inside-arm of the chair, a phrase: show your wings / get ready to fly.
Most people wouldn’t notice it. But Ruben did, because it was the pre-chorus hook for his last single. The song came out maybe a week before Jody’s demise.
A couple of days after the fire, Ruben attended a Smile™️ charity event for kids with disabilities. A young boy approached him for a picture. Sure enough, on the inside arm of his chair — the same lyric.
This alone didn’t convince Ruben of something nefarious. As unlikely as it was, maybe Jody gave away her old model that week, or perhaps Property Recovery Unit salvaged it pristine from the ashes.
Regardless, the charity photo-op set in motion a series of incidents that led to his decision to leave the limelight in order to pursue a greater truth.
First, he wrote a song about the incident — and wanted to call it Jody. But after severe pushback from the executives at the company, he was forced to change it to Joanie. A neural-link hit he now loathed.
Ruben wasn’t used to being told no, so this corporate pushback further ensnared him in the web of a young girl everyone seemed to have already forgotten. And he then uncovered some pretty striking facts from radical elements within The Agora’s highly illegal encrypted forums.
Jody’s parents were fierce critics of The Agora. Secretly advocating the destruction of the system, and calling all people to become “citizens” rather than “consumers” — a strange philological distinction Ruben himself couldn’t quite understand.
One of his main sources of information was a woman named “M.” Ruben didn’t know how she got her knowledge, but he did learn why she shared it. M too had lost a child, some freak accident involving toxic water and a Beam Cruiser™️, and wanted justice for all of the “Agora’s victims.” She was ANTICO — no doubt. She never said as much, but Ruben could tell from her vocabulary. Words like proletariat were literally not printed in official dictionaries.
And that’s who he was getting ready to meet. She’d be waiting for him, wearing a red rose pin on her lapel. On the corner of Page and Brin Street. A dark, concealed alley. Low foot traffic. Virtually zero police presence. Lots of exits. Easy to flee.
It was the safest place possible for a meeting like this. One where M promised to blow the Jody case open. A “bombshell” too sensitive to be told online. Apparently, she knew who murdered the young girl — it wasn’t mom and dad.
Ruben stepped on the cobblestone — one the last remaining artifacts from the old world still intact. He turned a corner into the small cramped alley on Brin. And that’s when he saw it.
Feet, dangling at eye level. A corpse swaying in the wind. Hung from a lamp post. The rose pin on the lapel, gleaming in the light.
On M’s head, a helmet. Gold horns protruding. The tips, dipped in blood.