The bass in the club didn't just play; it vibrated through the floorboards, rattling the teeth of every wasted soul in the room. Neon strips of violet and electric blue sliced through a haze of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne, creating a strobe-lit purgatory where morality dissolved into the beat. Andrew leaned against a velvet-lined booth, his pupils blown wide, swallowing the world in a blur of distorted light.

On the glass table sat a jagged line of white powder—the "dog." He leaned down, the sharp scent of chemical ammonia hitting his nostrils before he inhaled. The drug slammed into his nervous system like a freight train, a sudden, electric surge that ignited his nerves and sent a wave of artificial heat rushing from the base of his spine to the crown of his head. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and the world snapped into a terrifying, crystalline focus.