There are nights when even the strongest armor gets too heavy to bear. Nights when the city’s neon glow calls to me, offering a temporary sanctuary from the war outside. Tonight, I answer that call.

I ditch the spikes and war paint, trade them for something sleek, something that’ll let me disappear into the mass of bodies pulsing to the bass. My face is bare—almost. A touch of silver on my eyelids, lips a shade lighter than usual, hair slicked back and soaked before I even step inside. I don’t want to stand out tonight. I want to blend, to dissolve into the music until I’m nothing but a heartbeat in the crowd.

The music hits me like a shock, every beat a jolt straight to my core, like they’re wired right into my veins. I close my eyes, and for a few blissful hours, there’s no gang, no battles, no robots hunting me in the shadows. Just me and the neon pulse, my body moving, bending, swaying—a twisted ballet all my own.

Sweat drips down my face, clings to my skin, making me feel alive in a way that nothing else does. Each song flows into the next, a relentless, pounding river that I’m helpless to resist. The crowd surges around me, strangers pressing in close, and I welcome it. Their energy feeds into me, and I give mine right back, a silent exchange between souls who have no names and no pasts in this moment.

Hours blur together, and I lose myself, maybe a little too much. My limbs grow heavy, my heartbeat slowing, but I keep moving until the first threads of dawn cut through the darkness. The club is emptier now, scattered bodies slumped in corners, remnants of the night’s fever dream. I find myself in one of those corners, head resting against the wall, eyes half-closed, pulse still syncing to the fading bass. My world tilts as reality crashes back in, a rude reminder that this isn’t my life, that my escape is temporary, fragile.

I pull myself up, body aching, mind hazy. The armor, the war paint—they’re waiting for me outside, the weight settling back onto my shoulders as I step into the morning light. My brief freedom evaporates with the dawn, but I don’t regret it. I let myself breathe, let myself live, if only for a night.

And as I slip back into the shadows, I know I’ll be back. Maybe not soon, maybe not often, but I’ll be back. Because no matter how tough I am, even I need the pulse of electric veins to remind me I’m still alive.