There is only one job that really matters today, only one job that people clamber for every year.

Since humanity had spread and evolved so fast, every planet in the solar system had a singer to represent them and earth has me, Melody Dash.

I’m not scared of the audience, or of the competition, or even of losing.

I’m scared that I will be killed by one of my rivals.

I’ve had to sneak into the backstage to be sure nothing happens, but when I open my dressing room door, there is a boy inside who is wearing a white suit. He looks surprised and I pull out my concealed laser gun.

One blast of blue, and the boy is on the floor, bleeding out on my rug.

Then security comes in, sees the scene, moves the body. Efficient.

My wrist bleeps with news. “Earth is at it again! Singing sensation ‘Tycoon’ has been killed by ‘Melody Dash’, who has been rivalling him since the start! Rather than a trial, earth has - once again - chosen ‘Melody’ as their representative! How long will she last before the next rival comes for the top?” It chirped.

I looked at the stain on the floor.

I didn’t want to do it, but you have to in this career. Any other job entails cleaning or flying for hours in the dark of space…

With this salary I can afford a real house with windows and everything. I wish I was born somewhere like mars, or Venus, where talent takes you to the top, not killing.

I’m still reading when a vent on the wall opens and a laser gun appears in a manicured hand.

I remember something as pain explodes in my chest and blood spoils my dress.

Sometimes, stars are designed to fall.