They didn’t have to stay, they told themself. They could just finish their drink and slip out again. Nobody was forcing them to be here. The promise that they were allowed to just get up and go was the only thing that kept them from fleeing on the spot.

But then one G&T turned into three. And by the time a very tipsy girl in criminally tiny hot pants was shouting something unintelligible in their ear and tugging on their arm, they were drunk enough to let her drag them onto the dance floor. And so in spite of themself, they found themself dancing inches away from the most beautiful man they’d seen in their life.

The first thing it steals is a face. But that’s far from the last.

He was supposed to be good at this.

Forget Pep pounding on the hood of the van and bellowing “SPEED THE FUCK UP”.

Forget the chunks of Frito’s leg splattered down the freeway.

Don’t think about the two-foot-long titanium teeth at the end of the repo barge’s claw arm or the twelve-nozzle acetylene cutting torch array or the 4,000-psi compactor or the fact that the expected value of a vehicle reclamation transaction was higher if you didn’t separate incidental organic contaminants before processing.

Just make. It. Work.

In moments he’s plunged into utter darkness. His heart drops out of his stomach as he feels them briefly go airborne. There’s a jolt and the clench of legs clutching him tighter, and then the chittering of uncounted armored legs whisking him deeper into the mine shaft.

All the while, its one thought throbs through his brain with building intensity.

WANT. WANT. WANT.

What am I doing here? What are ANY of us doing here?