Back to the present...

The audience of thousands held its breath in almost feverish, unspoken anticipation as the brilliant, colorful lights abruptly went out, shrouding the entire space in a penetrating darkness. 

The thick, black curtain closed, shielding dozens of backup singers and dancers from view. A single powerful spotlight descended from the ceiling, illuminating the legendary Cylah Ferguson. She was completely alone, dressed in a loose white dress and black boots, with only an acoustic guitar. She hadn't performed like this since her early career, before her rise to worldwide stardom. Anyone watching the concert could tell that this final song was going to be something special. 

Being an experienced performer, she waited until the silence was almost unbearable, until the crowd was on the edge of its seat and she had their complete, undivided attention, to start. 

As her full, pinkish lips parted and her clear, piercing voice began to exquisitely craft the familiar melody of her latest single and the biggest hit of 2034, "He Was a Bad One," the quiet hall was almost instantly filled with the frenzied screaming of a concert.

Cylah's heart began to race with the thrill of performance as she sang the bridge. 

You held me in your arms that night,

and you said to me: 

you're such a pretty little girl,

where'd you learn to be so strong? (so strong)

I opened my mouth,

I opened my heart,

I took your hand,

and I said...

She pulled her fingers away from the guitar, calmly watching her tense audience before breaking into the chorus. 

He was a bad one,

tall and strong. 

He knew that I was helpless, 

all along. 

Cylah ended the song to thunderous applause accompanied by a generous amount of whistles and thrown objects. She bowed three times and flashed a warm smile. 

"Thank you so much for spending your precious evening here, and I hope you have a great night!" she gave a cheery wave to all sides of the noisy hall before exiting the stage, sweaty and exhausted from the long performance. 

However, after enduring a suffocating hug from her overenthusiastic mother and receiving complimentary remarks from several close friends, Cylah looked up to see someone whom she certainly hadn't been expecting backstage. 

"Hexana Ingle?" 

She couldn't help but lose a bit of her natural charm when suddenly faced with the mysterious, powerful business magnate. As usual, Ingle was dressed in an expensive black suit, and was flanked by two hefty bodyguards. 

Somehow, the woman herself was far scarier than they could ever hope to be. 

"Yes, that is my name," she said slowly, with a hint of condescension in her voice. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Please, do step this way, Miss Ferguson. I'd like to discuss something with you in private." Hexana discreetly gestured to the entrance to a dressing room with a gloved hand. 

Seeing that no one made a move to stop her, Cylah followed Hexana through the black door, ignoring the ominous feeling that was beginning to rise in her gut. 

The leader of Ingle Tech closed the door as soon as she had entered, leaving her bodyguards outside the door. She pushed away a rack of skimpy, sequin-covered dresses and lowered herself onto the only chair in the small, dimly lit room. 

Cylah was left to stand. 

"How did you get backstage?" the singer asked. Hexana Ingle was giving her a very bad vibe, and it was always good to be blunt with such people. 

"Oh, Miss Ferguson, you can buy yourself almost anywhere with a big, juicy wad of cash. You should know this- word is, you've got a nice, fat bank account yourself. Anyway, I am a woman of business, and I have places to be. Let's get straight to the point, shall we? Surely you have heard that the new Inglet 8 is coming out next month." 

"Of course I've heard," Cylah sighed, not bothering to disguise the bitterness in her tone. "You can't turn on the TV without something about the Inglet popping up." 

"I am glad that our marketing campaigns are so effective," Hexana nodded, a small smile gracing her features. "However, I think that they can be improved upon even further. Here, of course, is where you come into the picture. You are already aware of the fact that you are immensely popular. You're all young people listen to these days. If you were to, say, endorse the new Inglet, I'm sure that our sales would go through the roof. Of course, the compensation for your time and trouble would be more than adequate." 

At this, Cylah was taken aback. Ingle Tech had already put almost every other electronics company out of business. They had sold more Inglets in the past decade than Apple had ever sold iPhones and iPads combined. What more did Hexana want? What more could she want? 

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but I can't do that," Cylah shook her head. "You see, I'm not a typical celebrity. I don't do things just for the money. I only endorse products that I actually support." 

"You do not support a revolutionary piece of technology?" The nonchalant smirk dropped off Hexana's face. 

"I don't support it's creators." 

"Very well, then," Hexana pursed her lips. "Are you sure?" 

"Positive." 

"Alright," the leader of Ingle Tech held her hands up in front of her perfect, porcelain face. "Do you want to know why I always wear these gloves?" 

Cylah frowned, momentarily disarmed by the random, absurd question. 

"So that I never leave fingerprints." With this statement, Hexana's once placid expression disintegrated into one of insane glee. It was the kind of smile that you would see on a clown in a horror movie- demonic, and utterly disturbed. 

Cylah drew her denim jacket closer around her figure and quickly scurried out of the room, not bothering with a greeting. The horrifying image of Hexana Ingle's face was permanently seared in her memory, and the poor, terrified singer found herself unable to give more than a few vague answers to the mob of reporters standing outside the hall as she exited. 

All she wanted to do was to get home, behind closed doors. 

Somehow, she felt that she was in danger. 

............................

Twenty-eight-year-old female, well-known singer and songwriter Cylah Love Ferguson, was killed at 11:36 P.M on November 16, 2034 in an accident involving a Toyota minivan and her tour bus. The owner of the minivan, a thirty-four-year old male, appears to have been driving while intoxicated and has been arrested. 

Notable details include a typed note on ordinary printer paper discovered by police on the bus, slightly charred but readable, stating the words "I never leave fingerprints." This is suspected to be a message to the deceased from her ex-boyfriend, who may have orchestrated the crash. 

Some eyewitnesses also claim to have seen a strange girl at the scene, dressed in all black. The girl was allegedly bald. However, there is no proof of the existence of this girl, let alone a solid connection between her and this unfortunate incident.