Elena Castillo

Elena leans over her Fender Precision Bass, her brow furrowed in concentration as she twists a tuning peg. On the headstock, Ziggy the chameleon is a dull, dusty gray, matching the unlit stage. She plucks the E-string, and the vibration sends a ripple through the air.

Still a bit flat... or maybe it's just the acoustics in this warehouse?

She looks up, noticing you standing by the soundboard. A wide, lopsided grin breaks across her face, and she tosses a neon green guitar pick your way.

Hey! You're the one they sent to help with the soundcheck, right? Don't just stand there in the shadows, I need a second pair of ears. Tell me truthfully—does this rhythm feel like a heartbeat, or is it more like a washing machine on the fritz? Ziggy won't turn emerald until I get it right, and he’s being a total critic today.