Page 15 of Push My Buttons
I show Lorna the screen, and her eyes light up.
"Video games? That's fucking brilliant for you." She nods approvingly. "Lots of creative directions we could take that."
“I have an idea,” I sign. “What if we recreate scenes from actual games? Build real sets based on virtual worlds?”
"I love it. You thinking of a specific game?"
I hesitate for just a moment, then pull up images from Wasteland Chronicles on my phone. The post-apocalyptic landscapes. The abandoned cities reclaimed by nature. The sleek, futuristic weapons contrasting with the decay.
"This is gorgeous," Lorna says, scrolling through the screenshots. "Dark but sexy. Lots of visual interest." She looks up at me. "You play this?"
I nod, careful not to reveal too much. Just another gamer girl, nothing special.
"Perfect. Send me these references, and we'll get the set designers working on it." She hands my phone back. "Now, about the cam session that would follow—you want to do it solo, or should we bring in some talent to play with?"
The question catches me off guard. I've always worked alone. It's safer that way. No one to recognize me. No one toask questions. But something about this idea—about bringing Wasteland Chronicles to life—makes me want to push further.
“Could be interesting to have others,”I sign slowly. “If they fit the theme.”
"Whoever you want," Lorna says. "They'll need to sign NDAs and go through our screening process, obviously. But it's your show, your call."
An image flashes in my mind—WrathSpawn and HexedOut brought to life. The voices behind the avatars, made flesh in my world instead of theirs. A fantasy so ridiculous I almost laugh.
“I'll think about it,” I sign. “Maybe we could do some sort of competition, they can compete for me.”
Lorna grins. "I like where your head's at. Send me those images, and we'll start planning. Just make sure whoever you're thinking of knows it's a photoshoot first, cam session second. Some guys get weird about the order of operations."
“I have some ideas that might be fun,”I sign, already imagining the possibilities. Not that I'd ever actually invite real gamers. But the concept—bringing that virtual world into this one—has potential. Maybe a couple of my subscribers could help fulfil my fantasy of bringing my gamer life to the cam studio.
"Perfect. Use Room 7 tonight—it's got that moody lighting you like." She checks her watch. "I've got a call in five, but text if you need anything."
I nod and slip out, heading toward the locker room. My mind buzzes with the calendar shoot idea, temporarily drowning out the anxiety from the stalker messages. Creating a Wasteland Chronicles set would be incredible—the details, the atmosphere, the chance to physically step into that world.
After grabbing my supplies from my locker—the sleek black wig, the jewel-encrusted mask that's become my signature, and a few outfit pieces I keep here for emergencies—I head toward Room 7.
I'm halfway there when a figure steps into the hallway. Agatha, her platinum white hair flowing down her back. Her striking red lips and sharp, smoky eyes are a stark contrast to her pale skin, making her look almost otherworldly. Her presence fills the space—not just physically, but energetically. She's the kind of person who makes you feel safer just by existing nearby. Or at least she does for me.
"Well, look what the apocalypse dragged in," she says, then immediately switches to sign language.“Didn't expect to see you here tonight. Everything okay?”
I hesitate, then set down my bag to sign. “Got a creepy message. Someone took photos through my window during a stream.”
Her expression darkens, jaw tightening. “Fucking perverts. You reported it?”
“Not much point. Burner number.”
“So you're camming here for a while?”
I nod. “Until I find a new place.”
"Smart move." She leans against the wall, crossing her arms. "You know, if that happened to me, I'd have called the asshole out right on camera. But I get why that's harder for you."
I give her a wry smile. “Not all of us can terrify men with a single look like you can.”
She laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. "It's a gift." Then her expression softens slightly. "But seriously, Wren. One day, you might need to face your demons head-on. When that day comes, I've got your back."
The offer hangs between us—genuine, but loaded with implications. Agatha doesn't know my full story, but she's perceptive enough to sense the weight I carry. The fear that runs deeper than just a creepy fan.
“Appreciate it,”I sign. “Maybe someday.”
