CHAPTER 08: PROFESSOR DARNELL - REALITY ACTS PERCEPTIVELY ENTERTAINING

"You gotta diversify your bonds."

— Wu-Tang Clan

The beat never left Professor Darnell, unless some local settings shut down his AVP from playing music out loud. It was more than just a background soundtrack to his life, though—it was his world, a living, breathing spectacle of holographic ads and avatars.

Professor Darnell was big on System-Mundo—a media influencer, philosopher, road scholar, and performance artist, all in one. Tall, lean, and lanky, his cerulean blue eyes—genetically tweaked—peered out from under a crown of chocolate-brown hair. His caramel-colored skin was popular, everybody on the System had some shade of brown these days. You were either born with it or bought it from a corp, with everything else on your body tweaked to your liking.

Professor Darnell rocked a sharp formal dashiki from Wu Tang’s Imperial Master autumn collection, done up in sunburst yellow and ultraviolet threads. He was iced out, no doubt. Ten thick gold rings sat heavy on his fingers, a half dozen gold chains hung around his neck, and his grill? Flawless. Tattoos covered his bare arms, some of them animated, constantly shifting as he moved.

His AVP radius wasn’t just an experience; it was a pop-up paradise, with six or seven interactive ads ghosting around him at all times, hawking exclusive products from his sponsors. His social feeds synced up directly to those ads, and the algorithms pushed the hottest trends from his brand deals, making it impossible to ignore the flood of promotions rolling in. Everywhere he went, he carried his own virtual billboard.

But the real show—the one that brought in the followers by the millions—was the holograms that rolled with him. They weren’t just bland promotional projections; these were three-dimensional avatars of his most die-hard fans beamed in from multiple planets, vibing alongside him in real-time. Each one represented a superfan who had climbed the social ladder in Darnell’s fan ecosystem, standing in for the masses as if they were actually with him on the streets. It was like a political entourage, constantly rotating and evolving, as fans competed for those prime slots by winning popularity contests in the fandoms.

Professor Darnell's music was its own empire. His albums—especially the hard-hitting classics like Battle Theme and Brave Warriors—were legendary in the Secondwave Hip-hop Ecchi-core and MDKSA Rap scenes. His beats could be aggressive, sharp, and often laced with controversial lyrics. By the time his fanbase hit critical mass, his following exploded into four distinct camps, each with its own agenda, politics, and culture:

* The Bawdz: Pure Ecchi-core fanatics, driven by the provocative and boundary-pushing edge of his lyrics. They adored the over-the-top sexual innuendos and absurdity, standing behind Darnell’s wildest antics.

* The Jezteez: Loyal to the MDKSA rap legacy, these fans reveled in the aggressive, militarized tones of his music, loving every drop of the dystopian world-building his lyrics touched on.

* The Doxeez: More than just fans of his music, they worshipped his life as a social influencer. Every move he made outside the studio was sacred to them—whether it was his personal style, social media callouts, or appearances at high-end galas.

* The Proz: These were the hardcore fans that followed Darnell wherever he went. They didn’t care if he was rapping, acting as an influencer, or endorsing bizarre new fashion trends. If Professor Darnell touched it, they were on board.

These factions weren’t just for show either. Each group had its own internal hierarchies, political struggles, and shifting alliances, all competing for their place in Darnell’s orbit. His holographic entourage wasn’t static either. The avatars changed regularly, representing whichever fan was trending the highest at the time, adding another layer of competition. Fans would battle it out on social media, orchestrating virtual campaigns, and gaining favor to be included in his next projection, ensuring they were constantly vying for his attention.

Darnell wasn’t just an influencer; he was a Wu-Tang Clan devotee. Having rubbed shoulders with some of the greatest, he’d even been part of the Wu-Tang Clan entourage a few times, grinding his way up to compete for a spot within the legendary crew itself. Though he ultimately didn’t win, coming close was a badge of honor. His following simply wasn’t big enough at the time, and his controversial move to endorse not one, but two different Beyoncé clones at the System-Mundo Artists' Awards in separate years had alienated certain fan factions, creating long-standing beef between the fan communities. It was a misstep that set him back politically but only seemed to embolden his die-hard fans.

Right now, though, Professor Darnell was on the private luxury space yacht of entertainment producer Huis Hohenzollern. Yeah, that Huis Hohenzollern. The whole thing was a spectacle—and, of course, Professor Darnell was the host of the show.

“System-Mundo, ya hear me?” His voice echoed through the ship’s audio system, piped out to all his fans. “Don’t sleep on me, y’all. Ain’t no choice but to listen. Time to have some fun—so let’s go. Now gather.”

His words shot through the Interplanetary Area Network, out into advertisements, notifications, and holo feeds across the entire system. From the moment he started speaking, everything he experienced was out there, available to anyone with an AVP. Fans could watch, listen, or dive into his experiences—feel what he felt, think what he thought, in real-time or through Replay. And people wanted to feel like Professor Darnell because he was living the greatest life ever.

“Today, I’m your host, Professor Darnell, setting up shop on this interplanetary yacht. For real. We 'bout to chill, but I ain’t tired—woke by the smoke of this fire.”

On cue, a stylized logo popped up within his AVP, flashing:

DISASTRONAUTS: CELEBRITY EDITION

The Caitlin’s Missing Comet Mystery

“I’m standing in the foyer of this majestic, ancient hotel. This place got history, y’all. Before people claimed space for themselves, we did all kinds of wild shit to get here. One of those moves was planting a genetically-engineered supertree on a comet—gave miners a way to breathe while they worked it for precious minerals.”

“One-hundred-forty-nine people signed up to work the first-ever comet mine on 401/P ‘Daisy,’ aka Caitlin’s Missing Comet. They were supposed to be out there for over eighty years. But y’all know the story—the comet disappeared. Them folks disappeared. All of it.”

“But now? It’s been found. And we 'bout to scope it out.”

“Roll with me as I introduce my six fellow celebrity disastronauts. Their AVP experiences are free for y’all to access as part of this program. We just gotta find them first.”

Professor Darnell felt a twinge of disappointment that most of the ship's population were androids. But, at least it would make spotting the six or seven real people aboard easier. Still, he couldn’t resist flashing his signature grin and making eye contact with every Martina android that crossed his path.

"Funny thing about android girls—look the same, but their kinks? Different every time. Nature vs Nurture, ya feel me? Though, I gotta say, whoever built these Martinas was straight trippin’. Like, why wouldn't you give ‘em bigger asses?"

He spotted one Martina busy stacking whiskey glasses at the bar, clearly not paying him any attention. Professor Darnell snuck up behind her, lowering himself slightly, and framed her butt with his hands like parallel brackets. "Y’all see what I’m sayin’?" he called out to his entourage, startling her in the process. A glass slipped from her hand.

Quick as lightning, Professor Darnell caught it, juggled it for a second, then lost his grip. Reflexively, he tried to catch it with his foot but ended up punting it into the wall, where it shattered.

"Don’t even trip about that, gorgeous," he winked, flashing his most serious face.

Looking for an escape from the awkward moment, his eyes caught someone on the rooftop veranda who definitely wasn’t an android. There stood a striking woman with curly copper hair, dressed like a gentleman, gazing out into space.

Professor Darnell turned back to the bartender, ordered two glasses of Crystal, and strolled out onto the veranda, drinks in hand. The woman was none other than Emily Smith.

"Now y’all might recognize this legend right here—Emily Smith, a real celebrity in reality. She don’t act, she don’t sing. She’s out in space, dealing with the real as a true star."

Emily glanced away from the stars and chuckled. "Oh, you're that one with the program. The guy with the scary music."

"Please, don’t let the reputation spook you. It can be hard, too," Professor Darnell replied with a playful grin.

"I'm not intimidated," Emily said, shaking her head slightly.

Professor Darnell shrugged, then offered her one of the drinks. Emily waved it off. "Once upon a time, I’d have bitten your arm off for that. But I’m already wrecked from jetlag. Too tired for a chin-wag with a gallivanting rake. No offense."

Professor Darnell shrugged again, quaffed both glasses, one after the other, in a show of bravado. Emily let out a laugh, clearly entertained. "You brave boy. Next time, I’ll take you up on that drink."

"So, you bein’ a disastronaut, that’s kinda written in the stars, right? The OG."

Emily stifled a yawn. "I shudder to imagine."

Professor Darnell made his way down the hallway, drawn by the sounds of intense activity coming from the gymnasium. He’d noticed something going on down there when glancing over from the bar above, so he followed the noise. Turning the corner, he was immediately blown away by the sight. What stood before him wasn’t just a gym—it was a full-size Siege arena. The ninety-meter-wide sphere dominated the entire space, cutting through six floors stacked around it, each with glass walls, offering a view into rooms containing various exercise systems.

Within the microgravity of the Siege arena floated none other than the god among men himself, God Love Omega. Professor Darnell’s excitement spiked. "Alright, y’all, best behavior n’shit," he said to his entourage, a grin spreading across his face.

He made his way to the arena’s entrance and crossed the threshold, boosting himself up in the microgravity toward the massive athlete. As he ascended, Professor Darnell narrated his arrival with flair.

“And now introducing the Weed Whacker, the Killer Comet, the Man Who Sacks More than Santa Claus: God Love Omega. Nine seasons in the MASL, with five Pro-Sieges, First Team All-Pro six times, two-hundred-seventy-nine career sacks. Poster-boy for Ne Plus Ultra.”

By the time he finished, Professor Darnell had reached God Love Omega, who was sizing him up. Recognition flickered across the massive athlete’s face, and with a clap of his hands, he grinned widely. "Awww, shit!"

"How you hangin’, G.L.O.? Big and scary, I hope. My entourage, say what’s up to my bro!"

The holograms accompanying Professor Darnell shifted into animated memes of God Love Omega, causing the athlete to nod in acknowledgment. Professor Darnell introduced them as Jesteez, Proz, Doxeez, and Bawdz, each representing different factions of his fanbase.

“Times were good, my man, way back when. Your last two seasons—Brave Warriors dropped, and you played my shit like it was your theme song. That day made my career, man. I just wanted to say thank you again.”

God Love Omega nodded. "I know, man. I know. You doin' the Disastronauts thing, too? Shit, bro. When they told me there’d be other celebrities up in here, I doubted their legitimacy. Thought I’d roll up and be stuck bullshitting with a bunch of clowns."

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Professor Darnell laughed. "Yeah, we’re here with ol' what’s-her-face, Emily Smith." He rolled his eyes playfully, drawing a laugh from God Love Omega. The hulking athlete scrunched his massive frame as if trying to whisper, and the two men shared a moment of conspiratorial laughter.

“I guess we all gonna wind up dead then, right?” God Love Omega said with a grin, delivering the line like a joke.

Professor Darnell caught the joke and laughed heartily, a deep belly laugh that shook him.

“She’s alright, though," he said as he calmed down. "We just don’t let her drive."

“Or play outside.” God Love Omega quipped, sending them both into another fit of laughter.

Once they regained their composure, God Love Omega leaned in. "So, you think this thing we’re doin’ is gonna be some chill-ass bullshit, or are we gonna get some Heat? Better be hot, man. Either way, I brought plenty of fuel for the fire."

Professor Darnell caught the innuendo—God Love Omega was hinting he had psychomechamine with him, ready to use his cybernetics in the production. Professor Darnell smirked, catching on to the athlete’s plans.

“If anything in that mine gets hot, it’s gonna get wrecked. After I see it, I’ll rap about that shit."

They bumped knuckles, exchanged manly hugs, and parted ways, both heading off to handle their business.

Shephatiah Jones lounged beneath the artificial sunlight, nearly nude, basking in the rays generated by the reflective ceiling of the artificial beach in the Relaxation section of the luxury hotel spaceship. Her eyes fluttered open when she sensed someone standing over her. It was Professor Darnell.

"Hey, baby-girl," he said smoothly, flashing a grin. "I ain’t seen you since my speech at Space Oxford. Been meaning to hit you up again."

Shephatiah squinted at him, laughing. "Like, who thuh fuck are you?" Her laughter rang out as she sat up slightly, shading her eyes.

"Professor Darnell," he replied confidently, unbothered. "I’m the one who gives the ladies amnesia."

"Amnesia?" She raised an eyebrow, amused but unimpressed. "What are you even talkin' about, oh baby dude? Can you, like, check your envelope and mail it back later? For sure."

Professor Darnell, undeterred, smirked. "Hold up, let me rekindle your memory of me with some verse. You gon’ feel this, trust." He took a few steps back, activating a smooth baseline from his AVP, the rhythm thumping in sync with the vibe of the artificial beach. He began to rap:

"Yo, I ain’t heard no cries, baby,

But I know your fears,

Your life’s a lie, girl,

Gotcha caught in your tears.

You love my world, blind to the pain,

But when I cut ya throat,

You’ll wear my name."

Shephatiah’s eyes widened as she leaned back and started clapping her hands. "Oh, baby, I know that song! You’re thuh dude who made it, right?" She paused, recalling something. "Wait—aren’t you that dude who stole thuh Paris Hilton Oscar from my hotel room? They made us guys pay for it!"

Professor Darnell’s face morphed into a mock expression of shock. "Cold-blooded, even to ask, girl!" He addressed his entourage and audience, now aware of his AVP still broadcasting. "I introduce to y’all Shephatiah Jones of the cast of the show. Though, real talk, if you don’t already know who this goddess sunning herself here is, you ain’t even watching this anyway."

Shephatiah smiled coyly, sensing the shift in their encounter. She waved lazily at the invisible audience. "Hi, like, wow everybody. Like, ya know, this is ya know, That fox. I’m totally excited to be here and be a part of thuh show."

Professor Darnell was about to continue his flow when Shephatiah cut him off with a sharp look. "Now get thuh fuck out of my light, bruh."

As he sauntered away from the artificial beach, he turned to his entourage, grinning mischievously. With a flick of his AVP, he replayed a scene of himself sneaking out of a hotel room, a sly smile on his face as he pocketed a small gold statue—the Paris Hilton Oscar—while an unconscious Shephatiah lay sprawled on the bed nearby. His grin widened as the memory faded from view.

Professor Darnell almost walked right past Mike before realizing he wasn’t one of the androids. He looked too typical, blending in almost too well. Professor Darnell shouted, "Yo! Wait up!" but Mike was already standing still, staring in wonder at the holograms floating in Professor Darnell’s AVP.

“You know,” Mike said, scratching his chin, “if I had one of these, it’d be my three tomcats.”

Professor Darnell raised an eyebrow, assuming Mike was talking about something else entirely. In his mind, "tomcat" was a slang term for a recently divorced woman. But Mike was referring to his literal male cats.

“Wait a minute... You’re Mike Azmat, for real? The real Mike Azmat?” Professor Darnell asked, still trying to make sense of the conversation.

“That’s me! My daddy’s boy,” Mike replied with a self-satisfied chuckle.

“Three tomcats, huh?” Professor Darnell smirked, still thinking Mike was pulling his leg. “I ain’t never heard that before, bruh. You playin’ that shit, right? Older women?”

Mike shook his head earnestly. “Nah, man. My tomcats? They’re all mature adults—real cats. Like, felines.”

“Mature... kinky,” Professor Darnell laughed, nodding as if it all made sense. “You know, you could definitely do with some bling in your AVP. My guy can hook you up, get your three ‘tomcats’ looking real fly.”

“That’d be nice,” Mike said casually. “They probably miss me back home in their cages.”

Professor Darnell’s grin froze, his jaw dropping into a wide, incredulous smile. “Cages? Bro, what?”

Before Mike could go into further detail, Professor Darnell romped over, clapping him on the shoulder in a half-hug. “Yo, we gotta talk about this later. You gotta tell me some stories, man. I’m serious.”

Mike chuckled, oblivious to Professor Darnell’s confusion. “Sometimes they get into fights, knock stuff over, and fur just flies everywhere.”

Professor Darnell held up a hand, “Shhh, shhh—later, bro. Definitely later.” He started walking again, shaking his head, absolutely flabbergasted by how this straight-laced dude turned out to be such a low-key freak.

As he moved away, Professor Darnell addressed his entourage, “Yo, y’all ain’t gonna believe who that freaky-deaky dude back there is. That was Migesus Azmat III, or just Mike. Son of the Vice President of the MACP, the second most powerful man in space. And Mike, apparently, knows exactly how to make good use of that power. Knamean?”

"Oh, shit! Check it out. A hot Asian chick."

Professor Darnell had spotted a girl sitting alone in the dining room, her attention buried in something she was holding, not eating. He turned to his entourage, adopting the persona of a big-game hunter, parodying the situation. With exaggerated gestures, he called out to her from way across the room.

“Nǐ hǎo! Nǐ hǎo! Nǐ hǎo ma?”

She didn’t respond, not even a glance in his direction. Professor Darnell giggled, telling his followers to pay close attention to what he’d do next. He cupped his hands around his mouth, altering his voice into something playful.

“Annyeonghaseyo?”

Still no reaction.

Undeterred, he leaned back and shouted in a deep, dramatic voice, “Kon’nichiwa!”

Finally, the girl, Hajime, looked up from what she was holding and blinked twice at him, her expression completely blank. She stared for a moment, then went back to what she was doing, leaving Professor Darnell hanging.

Just then, a skinny woman with blonde hair similar to Shephatiah walked past Professor Darnell on her way to the dining room. As she passed, she turned slightly to glance at him, lowering her sunglasses for just a moment. Her mild smile shifted as she quickly sized him up. Done in a second, she continued on her way.

"Dayum!"

Professor Darnell couldn’t help but gawk as she walked away.

“That, my friends, was Amberlee freakin’ Olavi. Wow. Shit.”

He shook his head, clearly impressed but resigned.

“Guess she ain’t got time for mine. Word is, back in the day, Amberlee and her sister, Molly-Cat, would get freaky-as-hell. Bent over side by side, knamean? Getting hot, making out with each other and all that. But I guess that window's closed. She was way more interesting when there were two of her. Prolly let that prime real estate go to waste.”

Professor Darnell resumed his focus on the asian.

"No offense, but you look kinda Asian. I love your eyes. Professional?"

Hajime just blinked twice at him.

"I think you look beautiful."

Hajime nodded in agreement, saying, "That makes sense; I’m supposed to be."

"Is that why you're in the show?"

She thought for half a second. "Not as far as I know."

Professor Darnell kept staring at her, mistaking her silence for something else.

"I'm Professor Darnell, an artist and scholar. You heard of me?"

Hajime shook her head.

"But you've heard my music, right?"

He started singing for her, just like he had for Shephatiah earlier.

Hajime listened and then said, "Oh, yeah."

Thinking he might impress her by getting philosophical, he added, "You know, hearing sounds you made play out in other people’s lives—it’s like having power over who they are."

Hajime shrugged. "I think it just means they want to feel the way the song makes them feel for a little while."

"You think you know?"

She nodded.

Professor Darnell jumped slightly, suddenly recognizing her. "Wait a minute—you’re whats-her-face!"

"Hajime Mashite. Nice to meet you. I’m pleased to be here. Do you know my song?"

Professor Darnell quickly deflected, not wanting to admit he didn’t know it. "Do you know her song?" he asked his entourage.

The animated forms of his entourage memed shamefully. One of the avatars turned into the cutesy sinii alien mascot from the show she had been part of. Hajime pointed excitedly.

"Yes! I was with that show."

Professor Darnell checked which avatar had covered him and saw that it was Doxeez, giving it props.

Another avatar morphed into Nortle Grand, and suddenly, it clicked for him. It was Proz. He slow high-fived the hologram, though there was no actual contact.

"Oh, damn," he said, shaking his head, "I better not ask this girl any more hard questions."

The avatars reacted with exaggerated laughter, some turning into clowns or clips of audiences laughing.

Professor Darnell eyed her up and down one last time. "Tell you what. I’m in room 206. Swing by after later. It’s never too late to get even more famous, knamean?"

Hours later, Professor Darnell found himself prowling the ship, halfheartedly searching for Hajime but willing to settle for any Martina who might be down for a good time. The artificial ambiance of the luxury space yacht buzzed around him, soft music and distant chatter blending into a comforting hum.

As he wandered through the dimly lit corridors, Professor Darnell unexpectedly spotted the producer, Huis, carrying a decanter of whiskey with him. The man looked like he was heading somewhere important, but Professor Darnell wasn't one to pass up a chance for a chat.

"Boss," Professor Darnell called out appraisingly, flashing a grin.

Huis turned, eyebrow slightly raised. "Professor Darnell, I checked out your AVP for the plug. Good work. Mostly."

"Professor Darnell," he corrected, with mock importance.

Huis nodded, as if it were the most natural correction in the world. "Right, Professor."

"Out and about?"

Professor Darnell sniffed the air, as though catching a scent of opportunity.

"Skimming," Professor Darnell replied with a casual shrug, a playful gleam in his eye.

Huis chuckled, clearly amused. "Oh, good luck, then." He gave a half-hearted salute before disappearing down the hall, the whiskey decanter swinging by his side.

Professor Darnell clicked his tongue thoughtfully and looked around, eyes scanning the room. He noticed the Martina working at the bar—the one from earlier, or at least, he thought it was the same one. It was hard to tell when they all looked so similar. He sauntered up to the bar and slid into a seat, drumming his fingers on the countertop. "Hey there, gorgeous. Give me a drink. Let’s make it strong this time," he said with a wink.

She filled his glass silently, the clink of the bottle against the glass the only sound between them. Professor Darnell took a slow sip, savoring the burn before leaning in, his voice dropping to a smoother tone. "Listen, about earlier, I didn’t mean to startle you. Just a little fun, you know? Gotta keep things lively."

The Martina nodded politely, but it was clear she was just going through the motions. Unbothered, Professor Darnell pressed on, his charm slipping into overdrive.

“So, when’s your shift end? I figure a girl like you could use a break from all this.”

She hesitated for a moment before replying, “I’m actually married.”

Professor Darnell smirked, undeterred. “Well, I guess that makes sense. Lucky guy. But come on now, you don’t get a chance to show off with a celebrity every day.”

The Martina blinked, clearly not understanding his meaning. Professor Darnell, however, wasn’t about to let a little confusion stop him. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a more conspiratorial tone. “Look, it’s not every day you get a toast with someone who’s about to be all over system-wide broadcasts. I mean, your boss put this show together, right? This could be your moment to say you had a drink with Professor Darnell before it all blew up."

She glanced around, perhaps considering her options or maybe just tired of resisting. Reluctantly, she reached for a glass. "Alright," she said, loosening up just enough to clink her glass with his. "To the new show, then."

Professor Darnell grinned broadly, and soon enough, one toast turned into another. Before long, the drinks were flowing, and so were the words. A few laughs, some sly comments, and a little coaxing later, the Martina was far more comfortable than she had been before.

By the time the night was through, Professor Darnell had managed to talk her into doing more than just making a toast. He went to bed afterward, completely pleased with himself, a satisfied smirk plastered across his face as he drifted off to sleep.