Hands reach up, feet jump, everybody rising, falling. I can feel a charge piercing through and lifting everybody in the club at the same time. The drums build up, then double in speed, then double again, until you know they can’t get any faster or last any longer but they do, over and over, and then the bass drops.
There’s a woman near me. She’s cute but dressed wrong—too many colors, practical shoes, and a sensible neckline. She’s not dancing. The crowd moves without touching her.
I feel bodies all around me, not sure where mine ends and everybody else begins, or whose sweat I wipe from my forehead. A smell that would make me sick anywhere else but here is just part of the groove.
Sparks arc between the DJ rig and the oversized speakers that hang from the ceiling, flashing in time to the music.
The drums build up, then double in speed, then double again, over and over, and then the bass drops.
The strange woman is in front of me, speaking.
“What? I can’t hear you!” I mouth at her, annoyed that somebody would pull me out of this experience.
She scowls and says, “Listen to me, Olivia!”
“How do you know my name?” She’s cute, why isn’t she dancing with me?
“I’m Juliana, your ex-girlfriend! I came to get you out of here.” She’s in my ear, I can almost feel her lips.
“I’m having a great time, I love it here!” Lights strobe around us.
“No, you think you love it here because it’s all they let you know. You’re in an imbricated timelike curveset.”
“A what?”
The drums build up, then double in speed, then double again. I try to jump up and get a look at the DJ, but Juliana is blocking my view. She grabs my face and forces me to look at her.
“A loop! You’re caught in a loop!”
Something must have happened because the crowd yells. I’m annoyed at Juliana for making me miss it.
“I’m getting you out,” she says, “but you need to do what I tell you.”
The cute woman isn’t making any sense. “Out, where?” I take her hands and try to get her to move with me.
She pulls me close instead. “You were tricked into this loop. You’ve been here for a month and a half.”
“What loop?” I can feel a charge piercing through and lifting everybody in the club at the same time.
“This was supposed to be a celebration, but they slipped a nano-acausality into your drink, tweaked the pocket-dimension engine, and trapped you.”
Electricity arcs between the DJ rig and the speakers, flashing in time to the music. “Let’s dance!” I yell. I throw up my hands, my feet jump, rising, falling. Lights strobe. The drums build. The bass drops.
She seems upset. “They know I’m here. The loops are getting shorter and faster. They’re trying to keep us off-balance.” She puts a small piece of metal in my hand, saying, ”Here, this will help you.”
Three men appear—one to the left, one right, and one in front of us. They’re wearing black suits and ties and they flicker in time to the music, disappearing on one beat, and reappearing on the next, a meter to the right, forming a circle.
“Fuck,” says the woman. “They sent in bouncers. We need to find the exit and—”
One of the men in black bounces behind her and pulls a blade across her throat. He’s gone before Juliana drops to her knees, then the bass drops and the crowd moves in.
I push the dancers aside. She’s not there.
I’m all alone in the center of the floor with bodies all around me—not sure where I end and the crowd begins. I’m terrified but I don’t know why. Somebody was explaining something important. Now they’re gone.
There are three men in black around me. They’re not dancing. I don’t know what they want, or why they’re looking at me, but something tells me to go, get out, away from them.
Lights strobe around me.
I put my hands on the shoulders of the person in front of me, stretch up, and look around. There’s a door with a small red light. EXIT.
I remember the woman’s last words and try to run toward it but the bass drops and I’m in the same spot. I try to run. The bass drops. I haven’t moved. The men in black are rotating around me without moving. Flicker out at one spot. Flicker in at another.
One of them smiles at me.
I scream. The crowd screams with me.
I push the bubble-gum-colored dancer next to me. They push back with a laugh.
I try to move out of position. The drums build—the bass drops. Again. Again.
The three men’s circular path around me becomes a spiral. Each jump shortens their distance.
The one who< smiled is the closest. I don’t know what will happen when he’s next to me. I don’t want to find out.
A familiar-looking shape jumps behind him. Red appears at the smiling man’s throat. He drops and stays on the floor. The crowd pushes in around him.
The shape jumps to the next man, then the other.
“Juliana!”
She’s next to me. I collapse against her. She doesn’t jump away.
I yell to be heard over the pulsing music. “You just disappeared! I was terrified!”
She holds me for a second, then pulls me back and looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry. It took me a while to match their rhythm. But I jumped in time.”
“How did you get away?” I can see her neck. It has a deep, dark line across it. Not deep enough, apparently.
“I used to be a club kid. This isn’t the first time I’ve been caught in a loop, or had to deal with bouncers, though this is the worst I’ve ever seen.”
Electricity arcs between the DJ rig and the speakers, flashing in time to the music. “Why are they doing this? What do they want?”
“Open your hand.”
I look at the small pin. It says Atacama Upcycling. Memories hit me like an electric arc. My company—we’re cleaning up the mountains of clothes dumped in the deserts. The fast-fashion megacorps are trying to push me off the board so they can use it to greenwash their own brands.
“I need to get out of here!” I yell over the music.
Juliana says, “I know! That’s why I came to get you!” She looks around the club. “They’ll be back soon! We have to break free. Do you trust me, Olivia?”
I look into her eyes. There’s somebody in there I used to know—maybe even love. “I think I do, I was so scared when they attacked you…”
“Good enough,” says Juliana, and pulls me close.
Three men appear—one to the left, one right, and one in front of us. They’re wearing black suits and ties and flicker in time to the music, disappearing on one beat, and reappearing on the next—a meter closer each time, converging on our position.
Juliana pulls out a handful of long, thin, white plastic tubes. “Cover your eyes!” she says before grabbing the tubes with both hands and bending them sharply.
A green light pushes through my fingers. I know it would burn my sight if looked at directly. I can barely make out Juliana’s silhouette stretching upwards and throwing something. She grabs my hand and pulls. “Get down!” Her body covers mine on the floor. I remember her body on mine at other times and other places.
The bass drops. Harder than ever before. I feel its thump in my chest before I hear it. It’s the mother of all drops, thick and heavy. The crowd goes silent.
I stand up and open my eyes. The glow-sticks are still putting out a soft version of the green shimmer, but the club’s music and lights are dead. I look around. It’s just a room, with speakers and lights hanging from the ceiling. There’s nothing special about it. There are over-dressed people lying around us, their bodies pointed away like we’re ground zero of a disco bomb. “We have to break free. Do you trust me, Olivia?” says Juliana.
“Won’t they stop us?” I ask, pointing at the three bouncers who are still standing and glaring at us, their impeccable black suits covered in green glitter.
“They can’t bounce if there’s no music playing!”
We run towards the EXIT sign, between two of the large, immobile, angry-looking men who swivel their heads to track us.
We’re going to make it, leave this club, leave the loop.
A man appears at the booth. He’s wearing a black suit and tie and large headphones that thump audibly. He pushes a key and the music starts again. Electricity arcs, flashing in time to the music.
The bass drops. I can’t help it. My hands reach up, my feet jump, rising, falling.
The bouncers on the floor converge. One of them is between us and the door.
Juliana says, “We have to break free. Do you trust me, Olivia?”
“You already asked me that. Three times!”
“Shit! I’m caught too!”
The drums build up, then double in speed, then double again.
Juliana says, “The loops are getting shorter and faster. They’re trying to keep us—“
The bass drops and a bouncer reaches Juliana. A red line on her neck. Her body falls and stays. The red line becomes a stain on her throat, her jacket, spreading out on the floor.
“Juliana!”
The man smiles and bounces back to his position, circling around me.
I look down at Juliana’s body. I remember everything. Our time together. My obsession with my company. Her goodbye—she knew how important it was for me, but she couldn’t stick around and wait. Losing myself in my work to get over her. Celebrating the company’s one-millionth upcycled shirt. The smiling man in a black suit and tie who gave me a “special” drink, the same one who restarted the music.
I recognize Juliana’s killer and something shifts inside of me.
The bass drops as it has over and over, in this club and countless others. I walk towards the bouncer. People crowd against me but I duck and swerve. I don’t let anybody touch me—I pass around them like a leaf blowing between trees.
The bass drops faster than before. Hands reach up, feet jump. I push them aside, making people stumble. Some try to push back or grab me. I don’t allow it.
The next time the bass drops it’s right after the one before it. I can feel the electricity building up. I shiver and let it pass over me and through me, onto the floor, powerless and uncharged.
The bass drops and I’m next to the smiling bouncer. How did she do it? Sync with the downbeat of the music. He’s down. Then two, three men in black suits lie on the floor. Red spreads out slowly, desaturated in the electric blue arclight.
I reach the door and open it. The sun is glaring, white, dry, and hot. The club looks smaller from the outside—a small, concrete box covered in fading colors and with a broken neon sign. The street is almost empty, except for Juliana.
The bass drops one last time as I shut the door.
