He passed through a small corridor, done up with an exquisite facade to look like a slightly crumbled concrete tunnel, complete with the munitions locker nee coat check. He could feel the thrumming of the music above and before him, his very bones vibrating to sounds he could feel, but not hear.
The corridor took a sudden turn, ending in a pair of double-hinged doors, covered in mock soot and iron, like a bunker blast door. But that was the shtick here, for the Digital Raven Saratoga. It was effective - without the sound of music coming from beyond, he could very easily have been walking into a bombed out bunker in some Third World country.
That only partially changed as he crossed the threshold, pushing the "blast doors" open, suddenly awash in sounds. From here, there was a stairway and glass elevator, done to look like a bombed out concrete support, up to the upper levels of dance floor and restaurant/cafe, and two passages down and to the right and left gave him a glimpse of the mass of people on the floor, dancing and writhing to powerful music. He decided he should just hang around one of the two dance floors downstairs, and took a left turn into an area ominously labelled "Bunker 1".
And a bunker it was. A vaulted, crumbled-looking counter ceiling opened up to a faux night sky, the full moon shining down through fronds of rainforest trees. Creepers climbed the walls, giving the entire area a look of the overgrown, the intensely natural subsuming the fortress of civilization. A light, slightly tangy mist hung in the air, scented slightly of orchids and dust, completing the illusion of a jungle hideaway.
The dance floor itself was crowded, moving in a twisting sea of flesh and dark clothing, the music itself evocative of the deep beat of tribal drums and pipes, brought through time by the filter of the electric guitar and the distorted synthesizer. It was all surreal, the way the half-light played over the dancers, the music almost palpable as the thick mist that had settled over the dancers.
Gary took a deep breath, and relaxed, feeling the music almost flow into him. It was easy to sink deeply into the illusion, feeling his limbs dance and move of their own accord, swaying to the secret rhythms that lay under the music. He imagined himself part of a post-Apocalyptic tribe, dancing a rite of pleasure and primal passion in the bombed out husk of what had come before. They were all primitives, worshipping the unknown gods who had left this shrine.
He found that, upon opening his eyes, the image did not change, nor did it shift. Some of the outfits were evocative of the primitive, the tribal, while others were torn and faded combat fatigues, as though past met present through a dark and unknown future, one of which he was a part. Small stands, set on crumbled supports and twisted steel girders, were small altars to those who conquered them, dancing the sensual rhythms of time, the body, and the soul.
Gary found himself drawn towards a young woman, long black hair reaching down near her waist, her motions almost erotic, but also deeper, arousing passions much further than simply those of the flesh. He found himself drawn into her dance, meeting her motions, as the two became one became two.
He scented the air, now rife with the green scent of a jungle after a fresh rain, and felt a growling stirring inside him. He imagined himself a wolf, a hunter from the hills and mountains beyond, come down here to mingle with predator and prey. And he danced with the Primal Serpent, Lilith, Medea, Circe, Tiamat, Athena - her motions aroused his mind, his body, and his soul. And he was the newcomer, the interloper, the stranger in an even stranger land.
The music began to subtlety shift, taking on a more rapid, urgent pace, and he found himself wanting to embrace this creature of the night, to feel her against him... Feelings seemed natural, those of possession, of dominance, of the thrill of the hunt. He growled again, this time an audible noise, and closed to her, stalking the maiden who knew all the secrets, who would reveal them to him once he proved he was the alpha, the dominant wolf, the master of the pack.
The music sped up again, this time flowing through them both, their dance the motion of hunter and hunted, the chase, predator against predator, they wove their way about the floor. Her hands were the strike of the jaws of his prey, her body a weapon as he stirred, facing her, eventually backing her towards one of the many corners of the bunker.
She suddenly turned to face him, her fangs and glowering eyes no longer an illusion in his mind. She snarled, and the music reached a fevered pitch. Panic suddenly surged in to replace passion, but the beast kept hold of him from within. He could feel his body, that of the wolf, but could not face down this true wolf within himself. His mind screamed to run, his body screamed to mate, his soul screamed for freedom...
Synthetic thunder crashed over the entire club, masking his howl of anguish and triumph as he felt the bounds of his soul break, giving him the unfettered vision he had heard of but never truly felt. He could feel and see the entire universe at once, the wolf spirit rising within hi, becoming a part of his mind and soul, yet still remaining human, with a perspective as though from a mountaintop, overlooking a vast plain where he had only moments before stood.
He turned to the strange woman, his Serpent of the Garden, his Isis, his Astarte, and looked deep into her eyes, meeting something feral there... He looked deeper, somehow seeing her mind, hearing her thoughts, the rage, the aggression, the anger and the passion... He felt the jungle around him, real and not real, and saw the truth and the lies to reality... He felt the woman's desire, pulled her to his chest, and kissed her for a seeming eternity... The kiss lingered, hot and bittersweet, and finally ended.
Gary threw back his head and laughed at the world, knowing for once the truth.