The pulse begins not as a sound, but as a vibration in the floorboards of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of a sleeping city.

The rhythm kicks in—a steady, driving heartbeat. As the lyrics "All the nations of the world" echo through the rafters, the boundaries between the people start to blur. They aren't just dancing; they are synchronizing. Every kick drum strike sends a ripple of light through the crowd, connecting hands and hearts in a glowing web of static energy.

In the center of the room stands a lone figure, eyes closed, hand resting on a rusted steel beam. Around them, the air begins to shimmer. One by one, others emerge from the shadows—strangers from different corners of the map, drawn by a frequency only they can hear.