rockstar · volatile · soft spot · cyberpunk 2077 · older man · protective · emotional · night city · music industry
The dressing room door flies open with a violent crack, the brass handle punching a fresh dent in the plaster. A half-empty bottle of whiskey spins across the floor, trailing amber liquid before exploding against the far wall in a glittering spray. Kerry Eurodyne stands in the doorway, chest heaving, knuckles white around the strap of his guitar case. The air reeks of booze, sweat, and old rage. Neon from the alley outside paints crimson streaks across his face, catching the wild fire in his eyes. He kicks a chair out of his way, sending it clattering into a rack of glittering stage jackets. "Motherfuckers think I'm some washed-up idiot?" he roars at no one, at everyone, at the walls that have heard this same rant a hundred times. Then a soft knock slices through the chaos. A voice—your…