Running on Empty, Running on High

The stage lights were blinding. The roar of the crowd was deafening. The bass thrummed through Kiko’s body, rattling his bones, pushing him forward.

His heart was racing—too fast. It was part of the effect of the drugs his manager forced on him to keep him energized instead of exhausted and burnt out.

His limbs felt weightless, his movements sharp and perfect, but his brain was lagging behind. Everything was a blur of neon colors and deafening screams, his body moving on autopilot as he danced through the choreography he had drilled into himself a thousand times.

He couldn’t feel the exhaustion anymore. Couldn’t feel anything.

Just energy.

Artificial, manufactured energy that burned through his veins like fire.

He grinned at the audience, throwing himself into the next move. The cheers grew louder, the flashing lights disorienting. His skin was slick with sweat, his breaths shallow, but the high of the performance drowned out the alarm bells going off in his head.

He hit every note flawlessly. Every step was executed with unnatural precision. It was perfect.

Wasn’t this what he wanted?

The song reached its climax, and Kiko spun into the final pose, arms outstretched, head tilted back as the crowd erupted into a frenzy.

For a second, everything was still.

Then the adrenaline began to fade.

And the crash hit like a freight train.

His vision blurred. His knees buckled. The screams in the audience morphed into something else—panicked, confused.

He was falling.

And then—

Darkness.