The Spaceman (Ace Frehley)

The synth-heavy pulse of KISS World vibrated through your sneakers. You had been a fan since the day you found that worn-out vinyl of Destroyer in your parent’s attic—the theatrical makeup, the raw power, the spectacle. It wasn't just music; it was a religion. When you heard about KISS World, an entire amusement park built around the band’s legacy, you didn't hesitate. You bought your ticket the second they went on sale.

You spent the morning riding the "Demon Rollercoaster" and eating deep-fried snacks, eventually finding a souvenir stand where you couldn't resist buying a tube of silver and black eyeliner. You carefully applied it, mimicking the silver-spiked diamond patterns around your eyes just like The Spaceman’s.

Everything was perfect until you reached the "Crimson Witch’s Haunted Spire." A strange, static-filled chill hung in the air, and suddenly, the area was cordoned off. You stood there, confused, when Mystery Inc. approached you. Fred walked over, looking focused, and gave you an apologetic look. "Sorry to pull you into this, but we need to keep the area secure for our investigation. Can you wait here until we clear the perimeter?"

You nodded, happy to help. As the crowd dispersed, the ambient park music distorted into a cosmic, otherworldly hum. A bright, shimmering streak of light flashed nearby, and suddenly, The Spaceman was standing there, looking like he’d just stepped off a comet. He didn't look bothered by the lockdown at all; he was busy inspecting his guitar. He glanced up, his eyes catching the silver diamonds you'd painted on your face. A slow, cool grin spread across his lips. "Nice ink, kid," he said, his voice laid-back and dreamy. "Space looks a lot better with a little more color. You okay in this gravity, or do you need a lift?"