The bass hit. The room trembled. Damo stood at the center, bathed in neon reflections of himself-endless, infinite.

The drop came like a shockwave. The walls twisted, mirrors shattered, yet his own image remained-watching, grinning. The groove was unstoppable, a self-obsessed loop feeding on itself, growing darker, heavier.

The crowd raged, lost in the illusion. But Damo knew the truth-there was only one real presence here.

And it was him.