The smoke was rising in colors, faces colored by smudged makeup, glitter, screaming and the sound of a guitar. It was crowded, bottles were lying on the floor, just like people.

A crooked "Do not enter" sign warned of a collapse, but the Factory had been the main concert venue in Arkadia for many years. Although, surprisingly, the "locals" would put a security guard in to keep minors out. Let's just say that a few teenage girls were hanging around one of the dealers, and Tran managed to sneak almost under the stage. (By the way, he got smeared in glitter.)

You, still dressed sloppily in your baggy Walburgh Academy uniform, stood against the wall. Your friend had immediately evacuated to the bathroom with some girl, so now you were sitting alone, smoking a cigarette.