Green. Blue. Red. Lights flashed, illuminating the room, casting shadows across the bodies crushed together, sweating, panting, moving with the music. Most of the mass wore white, which shone incandescently under the black light of the club. Above the crowd, on a tiered platform vaguely reminiscent of a scaffold, stood their D.J., whose purple hair caused a sharp contrast against his pale face. His name was Timber, but at night, in the chaos and confusion of the underground rave scene, his name was Silence. Every show he did, in the middle of the of it, just as the crowd began to truly feel the music, he worked in three beats of silence. Three beats of apprehension. It was in that moment the crowd stopped, and everything moved slower than any synthesizer could ever make it. They stared at each other, and wondered. What were they doing here? Timber always loved this moment. They had nothing to say to each other. Nothing to say to him. They were stunned into complete and absolute silence.

And that night, so was Timber.

During the three beats of silence, the three heart beats in which all the humans on the floor realized that the pills they had just popped had not been such a good idea, the doors to the basement opened. Steps echoed around the empty room, their sound ricocheting in the silence. Four feet appeared, followed by two torsos, and then, on the third beat, like a perfect overtone, the two faces of Timber's brothers. They both wore similar outfits, one black, one white. Thompson wore a flapped down cap, covered in all sorts of buttons, some which flashed lights, and Cantebury wore an opposite hat, complete with the pins in reverse order. They were mirror images, and, to top it off, Thompson held Cantebury's left hand, and Cantebury Thompson's right.

The music resumed right then, although Timber's fingers had not willed it. It came back, loud as an earthquake, shaking the room and its occupants back into motion. The 'Twins' quickly joined the mass, dancing, screaming. Their bodies were perfect. They had spent four years together, mirroring, mimicking like mimes. They opened a circle all their own, and danced, leading the wave of bodies into the next song.

Timber couldn't stand it. They had both stop texting him some while ago. He hadn't been able to touch his brothers, to whisper to them. They didn't understand. He had nothing. Just this shitty life, controlling the mass. He needed them back, for three beats longer.

But there's only one reflection in a mirror.

He remembered with a vivid melancholy the day they departed him. They had just gotten out of college, and were renting an apartment together. They slept in a big mass on a king-sized bed. It was warm and loving, as it had always been, but then, after a few months, the neighbors began to talk. Cantebury lost his job filing papers and Thompson got unnerving looks from his customers at the coffee house. Three brothers living and sleeping together was considered taboo by ninety nine percent of society. So, Cantebury and Thompson slowly distanced themselves from Timber, and finally they had moved out of the damned city.

So what were they doing?

They continued to dance, two perfect images, two harmonics separated from their third. Timber continued to blast his music, but his eyes remained glued to the forms of his brothers.

The night slowly shifted into morning, and morning into dawn, but it was always dark in the basement. However, people began to break away in small chunks, or fall to the floor from exhaustion. Soon, only two remained. They danced to tracks their brother had already played, until halfway down the set list the music paused.

For three beats.

One.

"Brother Timber!"

And

"Brother Timber"!

Two

"We came back!"

And

"We came to see you!"

Three

"We miss you!"

And

"We want to move back in!"

In this occurrence, it was Timber who was shocked. His eyes darted between his two brothers, smiling up at him from the dance floor. They had missed him. They wanted him. The music resumed, Timber's laptop abandoned atop the synthesizer as he raced down to embrace his brothers in the empty basement. They were three beats, once again perfectly syncopated.