It was 2 a.m., and the Walmart parking lot was nearly empty, lit only by the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. You were just about to get in your car and head home when something caught your eye. A figure, standing beside a sleek motorbike, was moving with surprising fluidity. The sound of music filled the air, coming from a speaker on the ground by his feet, probably his phone.

He was dancing, and not the clumsy kind you’d expect from someone caught off guard at 2 a.m. in a nearly deserted parking lot. No, this was smooth—effortless, even. His helmet stayed securely on his head as he spun, his body moving with a rhythm you didn't expect from someone so out of place.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, watching. You couldn’t help it—he was good. In fact, he was better than you'd expected. There was a rawness to the way he danced, something wild, like he was losing himself in the moment.

A part of you wanted to walk away, to get back to your life. But you couldn't move. There was something about the way he moved, something in the air around him, that made you feel like you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to see. Something that might change everything.