5. Chapter 5
Wren
Tonight's plan? It's not the usual. Not after the photo from my window. Not after the message that's still lodged in my throat like a shard of glass.
I send a message in the gaming chat to say I won’t be online tonight, before I take the bus to the Behind the Lens studios.
My backpack is heavy with essentials—extra clothes, phone charger, the emergency burner phone I keep for paranoid moments like this.
The ride is uneventful, but I can't shake the feeling of being watched.
Every time the bus stops, I check the new passengers.
Every time someone sits too close, I shift away.
It's nearly ten when I finally arrive. The studio sits back from the road, all industrial chic and privacy.
I punch in my code at the side entrance and slip inside, the familiar sandalwood-vanilla scent wrapping around me like a security blanket.
The lighting is soft, the hallways quiet.
Most performers are either mid-session or haven't arrived yet.
I'm halfway to the locker room when I spot Lorna coming out of her office, electric blue hair catching the light. She looks up from her tablet and does a double-take.
"Wren! Perfect timing." Her eyes narrow slightly—not suspicious, just observant. "Everything okay, no new messages?"
I set my bag down and start signing, my hands moving quickly to say no more messages but how it is still affecting me. The creeping dread that I feel.
Lorna's expression darkens with each gesture. By the time I finish, she's already nodding.
"It’s beyond creepy. If you need to, we can get you somewhere safe."
I shake my head. “ Just need to cam from here until I find a new place.”
"Of course." She tucks her tablet under her arm. "You know your subscribers won't mind the change of scenery. Some might even prefer it."
I give her a small smile. Relief washes through me—not just at her easy acceptance, but at the matter-of-fact way she handles it. No drama. No pity. Just practical solutions.
"Actually," she continues, "this might work out perfectly. I've been meaning to talk to you about something."
She gestures for me to follow her back to her office. Inside, the walls are covered with concept boards and photography samples. A large calendar draft is spread across her desk.
"We're doing a themed calendar shoot with our top performers. Professional photography, high production value, paired with special cam sessions to promote each month." She taps the mock-up. "I want you for September."
I raise an eyebrow, surprised. “ Me?”
"Don't look so shocked. You're one of our most consistent earners, and your aesthetic is exactly what we need." She smirks. "Plus, I know you'll actually show up on time, unlike some of our divas."
I can't help but feel a flutter of pride. Behind the Lens isn't just any cam studio—it's the gold standard. Lorna built it from the ground up after her own performing career, creating a place that actually respects its talent. Being singled out means something.
“What's the theme?” I ask.
"Each month gets a holiday or observance. September's open. Pick something that speaks to you."
I pull out my phone and do a quick search for September holidays. Most are either too generic or wouldn't translate well to a sexy photoshoot. But then I see it—September 12th. National Video Games Day.
Perfect. A way to blend my two worlds without anyone realizing it.
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 to ask 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.”
"Room 7?" she asks, nodding at my bag.
I nod.
"Good choice. The lighting in there makes everyone look like a goddamn renaissance painting." She steps aside. "Kill it tonight. And text if you need anything."
I give her a small wave and continue down the hall, the familiar mix of nervousness and anticipation building as I approach Room 7. The door clicks shut behind me, and I exhale slowly, surveying the space.
It's perfect—dark walls, ambient lighting, plush furniture strategically placed for maximum visual impact.
The camera setup is professional-grade, with ring lights and soft boxes already positioned.
So different from my makeshift home studio, with its precarious stack of books to prop up my laptop and the constant worry about what might be visible in the background.
I set my bag down and begin unpacking, arranging my supplies. Wig stand. Mask. Outfit options. Each piece laid out like armor being prepped for battle.
As I change into my first look—a sheer black bodysuit with strategic cutouts—I can't help but think about the calendar shoot. About Wasteland Chronicles. About the voices on the other end of my headset, who have no idea who I really am.
Would they even recognize me? The silent sniper they raid with, transformed into Vanta, the masked seductress?
Would any of my subscribers be interested in taking part in what is essentially the recreation of my favorite game? Would they care for the transformation from Vanta into a version of Silence?
Worlds colliding in ways I never imagined.
I shake off the thought and focus on the task at hand. The wig goes on next, sleek black strands falling past my shoulders, covering every trace of pink. Then the mask—black with crystals that catch the light like stars.
The transformation is complete. Wren disappears. Vanta emerges.