Leo stood near the front, his heart racing in sync with the muffled kick drum vibrating through the floorboards. The lights dimmed to a bruised purple. A low, grinding synth began to crawl up the walls—the opening of the .

When the final echo faded, Leo was drenched in sweat, his hands still tingling. He walked out into the cool night air, the silence of the city feeling strangely empty without the command to let go.

As the beat dropped into a chaotic swirl of electronic high-notes, the room exploded. For those four minutes, no one was a stranger. They were just a sea of reaching hands, lost in the mix, perfectly programmed by the sound.