NEON HEARTBEATS: Dancing With The Enemy

--- *Chapter 1: Midnight at Club Pulse* The bass hit my chest before I hit the door. Club Pulse. 2:17 AM. Friday. London didn’t sleep, it just changed frequencies. I pushed through the crowd, past bodies sweating neon, past DJs pretending they weren’t watching me. I’m Ava Reyes. 23. Resident DJ every Friday and Saturday. I don’t talk to people. I don’t take requests. I play what the night needs and I disappear before sunrise. That’s the rule. That’s always been the rule. “Boss lady’s here,” Marco, the bouncer, grinned and lifted the velvet rope. “Booth’s yours. Crowd’s already wild.” I didn’t answer. I never do before a set. My headphones were already around my neck, my fingers itching for the mixer. The only thing that made sense was the music. The only thing that didn’t lie. The booth was on the second floor, glass walls looking down at a sea of purple and pink lights. Club Pulse wasn’t fancy. It was famous. Because of me. Because of the way I could make 500 strangers move like one heartbeat. I set my bag down. Phone. Wallet. Keys. And something else. A USB drive. Black. No label. Glowing faintly at the tip like it was breathing. I frowned. I didn’t leave that there. I would remember a glowing USB in my booth. I picked it up. It was warm. The metal was cold, but the light inside pulsed. Once. Twice. In time with the music downstairs. “Yo Ava!” Danny, the manager, shouted through the glass. “Five minutes!” I dropped the USB in my pocket. Probably a prank. Probably some VIP kid who thought it was cute to leave “gifts” for the DJ. I’d toss it after my set. The crowd roared when I stepped up. Lights hit me and I became someone else. Not Ava with the past she doesn’t talk about. Not Ava who flinches at loud noises. Just Ava. The one who controls the night. My fingers moved. Beat drops. Bass lines. I built the room up, piece by piece, until everyone was dancing to the same rhythm. That’s power. That’s safety. Song three. That’s when the lights glitched. Just for a second. The purple went white. The screens froze on my face and then flickered. The crowd cheered like it was part of the show. I didn’t think anything of it. Not until song five. My music started skipping. Not the track. The lights. The speakers. The whole building. Everything pulsed to the beat I was playing. Exactly on time. Exactly with me. And my pocket was burning. I reached in. The USB was glowing now. Bright. Hot. The light was leaking through the fabric of my jeans. What the hell. “Cut the set,” I mouthed to Danny. He shook his head and pointed at the dance floor. Packed. Paid. You don’t stop when it’s like this. So I kept playing. But I pulled the USB out and held it up to the light. Etched on the side, so small I almost missed it: `A.C.` My initials. My blood went cold. The doors at the back of the booth slammed open. Two men. Black suits. No faces I recognized. Earpieces. They weren’t looking at me. They were looking at my hand. At the USB. “Miss Carter,” the taller one said. “We need that drive.” I’ve dealt with drunks. With promoters. With stalkers. I have not dealt with men in suits who show up at 2AM. “Get out,” I said into the mic. The whole club heard me. The music kept going under my voice. “Security.” The second man moved faster. He vaulted over the railing. And then someone else moved faster. A blur from the stairwell. Black jacket. Black mask. He hit the first suit in the throat and the second in the knee. Clean. Professional. He didn’t make a sound. He grabbed my wrist. His gloves were leather. Cold. “Come with me,” he said. His voice was low. Rough. Like he hadn’t used it in a while. “Who the hell are you?” I yanked back. The USB almost fell. “The man trying to keep you alive,” he said. “Now move.” More footsteps. Downstairs. The club was noticing now. People were pulling out phones. The masked man looked at the USB in my hand, then at me. His eyes were gray. I’d remember that. “That’s not yours,” he said. “And keeping it will get you killed.” “Then why do you want it?” “Because if I don’t take it, they will. And they won’t ask nicely.” Gunshot. Not loud. Suppressed. But the glass behind me spider-webbed. Screams. Finally. The crowd realized this wasn’t part of the show. The masked man cursed and pulled me down. “Time to go, DJ.” He dragged me toward the emergency exit. I stumbled, still holding the USB. Still holding my headphones like an i***t. “Wait! My bag—” “Leave it.” We burst into the alley behind Club Pulse. Rain. Dumpsters. The smell of the Thames two streets over. London at night. He let go of me and turned, pulling something from his jacket. Not a gun. A small device. He pressed a button and the alley lights died. “What are you doing?” My voice shook. I hated that it shook. “Saving you,” he said. “Those men work for VexCorp. They want what’s on that drive. And they think it’s synced to you.” “Synced to me? I just found it!” “I know.” He stepped closer. In the dark I could only see his eyes and the outline of his jaw under the mask. “That’s why you’re in danger. You played a specific frequency tonight. 432hz with a 7-beat overlay. Only one person in London does that.” I stared at him. “How do you know what frequency I—” “Because I wrote the code,” he said simply. “My name is Damian Vex. And that USB is mine.” Damian Vex. The name hit me like the bass. Most wanted tech thief in the UK. Hacked the Tube system last year. Took down a bank’s servers with a song. The news called him a terrorist. The underground called him a ghost. “You’re lying,” I whispered. “Am I?” He held out his hand. “Give me the drive, Ava. Before they trace it. Before they trace you.” I clutched it tighter. “How do you know my name?” “Because I’ve been watching your sets for 6 months.” A pause. “Because the code on that drive responds to your music. To you.” Another shot. Closer. From inside the club. Damian grabbed my hand. This time I didn’t pull away. He was warm. Despite the gloves. Despite everything. “Last chance,” he said. “Trust me, or run. But if you run, run fast.” Sirens. Not police. Something else. Low. Mechanical. I looked at the USB. At his eyes. At the chaos behind us. I’m Ava Reyes. I don’t do attachments. I don’t do danger. But I also don’t die in an alley. “Fine,” I said. “But you’re explaining everything. And if you touch my equipment again I’ll—” He was already running, pulling me with him. “You’ll what? Ban me from the club?” A laugh. From him. In the middle of this. We turned the corner as the alley lit up behind us with blue light. Not police blue. Something colder. “What was that?” I gasped, running. “The people who want the drive,” Damian said. “And now they want you too.” The USB in my hand pulsed again. In time with my heart. In time with the city. And I realized, too late, that the night I’d been running from had finally caught up to me.