PROLOGUE

Location: Los Blancos California.

Date: August 14th 2022

Time: 7:34 PM

Charlotte "Charlee Tyre" McIntyre banked the sleek Eurocopter H160 hard to the left, the city lights blurring together in a kaleidoscope of color. She felt alive, the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins like liquid fire. Tonight was her 24th birthday, and she was celebrating in style.

The clock on the helicopter's dashboard glowed brightly in the dim light -5 hours, 26 minutes, 15 seconds, and 50 nanoseconds to midnight. Charlee's heart pounded in her chest as she thought about the family curse that had haunted her for years. Her mom, Lorelei, had died on her 24th birthday when Charlee was just two years old. The same fate had befallen her older sister, Mia, as well as her grandmother, Penny, and great-grandmother, Philippa.

Charlee's grip on the controls tightened as she pushed the helicopter to its limits. She was determined to break the curse, to live life on her own terms. With a net worth of over $87 billion and a reputation as a rap superstar, Charlee had everything to lose.

As she flew over the glittering cityscape, "Birthday" by Anne-Marie blasted through the helicopter's speakers. Charlee sang along, her voice hoarse from the wind rushing past the open window. She felt free, unencumbered by the weight of her family's dark legacy.

But as the clock struck midnight, Charlee's thoughts turned to the uncertain future ahead. Would she break the curse, or become its next victim? Only time would tell.

The helicopter's engines roared as Charlee pushed the aircraft to its limits, the city lights blurring together in a mad whirl of color and sound. She was Charlee Tyre, rap superstar, and she would not go quietly into the night.

—_—

The desert night sky unfolded above her like a canvas of diamonds, the stars twinkling brightly against the inky blackness. The moon, a silver crescent, cast an ethereal glow over the sandy dunes, illuminating the occasional rocky outcropping. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the sweet scent of creosote and mesquite.

The hooded woman glanced at her Rolex, the dim light of the surroundings casting an eerie glow on her face. She muttered a low curse under her breath. "Four minutes, thirty-six seconds, and twenty nanoseconds" - that's all the time she had left to prepare for the impending chaos.

Her orders were clear: secure and protect Charlee Tyre at all costs. But the irony wasn't lost on her. Today was the day Charlee Tyre was destined to die. The hooded woman's eyes narrowed, her grip on her weapon tightening. She would fulfill her duty, no matter the cost. The clock was ticking, and all hell was about to break loose.

"Not on my watch," she whispered to herself, a fierce determination burning within. The hooded woman was a force to be reckoned with, and she was ready to take down anyone who dared to threaten Charlee Tyre. In her mind, the rapper's death would have catastrophic consequences - a twisted domino effect that would seal the fate of humanity.

She wasn't a hero, not yet, but she was the only one standing between Charlee and oblivion. The weight of that responsibility was crushing, but she welcomed the challenge. Her own life depended on it, and she had no intention of failing.

A sly smile spread across her face as she recalled the bet she'd made with Hector, her trusted sidekick. Her sleek, silver Lamborghini Aventador was on the line, but she wasn't worried. Her track record was impeccable - zero mission failures, zero lost bets. And she wasn't about to start now. The stakes were too high, and she was all in.

This was it, Charlee thought, her mind racing with the finality of it all. The last page of her story, "The Life of Charlotte Leslie McIntyre," was about to be written. And what a tragic ending it would be. She would go out in a blaze of glory, a spectacular crash that would make headlines around the world.

The irony wasn't lost on her. She would join the ranks of music legends like Michael Jackson, her name etched in history alongside the greatest of all time. But it was a hollow comfort. The record label would cash in on her demise, raking in millions, maybe even billions, from posthumous album sales and merchandise. And she wouldn't be around to claim a single penny. No one would, because she had no one.

As the helicopter hurtled towards the ground, Charlee's thoughts grew more desperate. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live, to make music, to perform, to feel the rush of adrenaline as she took the stage. She wanted to experience all the things she had yet to try, to explore the world beyond the confines of her fame.

But it was too late now. The chopper exploded on impact, sending flames and debris flying everywhere. And in that instant, Charlee's thoughts were reduced to a single, desperate plea: I wish to live.