The beat surrounds me, filling the air with a wall of sound. Impenatrable, the noise. There are lyrics, too. Screeching intervals randomly interspaced in the thumping haze. Not a dozen feet before me, a miniature sea --a lake, if you will-- of humanity succumbing to their frenzied, savage instincts. From an unseen location a colored strobe passes firey photons into the center of the pulsing crowd. They writhe around this fire of multi-hued light. The Erisian ceremony has become religion, clad in vestments of skin-tight synthetics and body paint now smeared with the perspiration from their worship. I stand alone on the sidelines not because I don't desire to intertwine my body in the cephalapodic flesh before me, but because I'm a hunter tonight. I seek to draw a singularity from these chaotic creatures of the night and make it mine, if only for a short while. I find myself drawn to the rhythm, my hips swaying with each powerful burst from the invisible speakers. No, nothing can stop me, tonight. Not even the potential lack of prey. But there is never a lack. Nor is there ever a prayer. Not here. I'm invincible, tonight. Like all good hunters, I wait and observe my quarry, already trapped, transfixed by the hypnotic music. Mindless dervishes whirling around one another in a berserk herd. A stampede of sensuality. I've spotted my target, now. Directly in front of me, a short distance outside the center of the mass. I make my way towards the unsuspecting victim with a confident non-chalance. The prey doesn't notice me until I'm within striking distance. A creature of striking beauty, as well, ironically. The quarry turns to face me, the pose indicating desire to fight instead of flee. But I am prepared for that eventuality, as well. I close the remaining distance, my eyes wide, feigning suprise. No more than a centimeter of air separates us. The prey is confused, understandably. I use the opportunity to shrug and spread my arms wide while still advancing, microscopically. We circle each other, testing defenses and barriers. Our struggle begins. I make the first move, taking hold of the prey's waist. Bodies now locked together at the hip, the two of us following the tribal squeal and thump of the music. We jostle for position, our garmets tugging at the skin underneath. My prey's hands wrap under my arms and come to my shoulders in an attempt to expose my unprotected neck. Using my only defense, I grab the waist tighter, drawing my victim closer still. I think this one may be feisty. I feint my head to the side, keeping my prey's eyes locked with mine while I maneuver closer to the mouth with my own. We both stare ahead as our lips meet. Uncertainty lingers for only the longest microsecond in the universe. An eternity. My prey's eyes close as our mouths open. Our bodies are melting together, nature's cooling sweat the only obstacle preventing us becoming one. Claws trail down my back as my teeth sink into the soft flesh of lips drawing white-hot lines of fire on my skin. Our battle has escalated to another level. We exchange heated breath as our weapons of war clash chaotically, the armor of our garmets preventing a telling blow. My only thoughts are those of conquest and victory in the needlepoint flickering firelight of the dancefloor. Words are weapons, too, here, and we each communicate simple simultaneous messages of attack and surrender as best our tongues can shape. Unheard voices, screaming silently. I break from contact with my adversary. Stronger than I thought. My thoughts begin to become liquid again, pouring through my nervous system and signaling my true intent. We circle again, a contest of maneuvers, this time, each of us trying to gain a leg-up on the other. I see an opening and pivot into position behind this enemy, mine. My lips curl back to reveal teeth which immediately sink into the flesh of an unarmored neck. The quarry crumples against me yet remains stiff as if ready to attempt a strike. The machinations are useless as both of our weapons to subdue: mine from behind and my quarry's in the front. I can tell both of us are ready to complete the kill, our weapons primed for the intercourse, but my own hand betrays my desire to release the little death which will deluge my prey and seal my victory. Sensing my hesitation, this hunted beast moves from my grasp, escaping from sight in the undulating crowd. The lights and music, once my strong allies, now conspire to reverse my role in this most dangerous game. I search, in futility, for my prey-cum-predator. I can feel my pulse quicken in time to the throbbing air around and inside me, and I realize that I only have a precious few moments before I'm drawn, helplessly, back into the fray. My eyes dart among faces which have become identical during my encounter. I listen for a heartbeat or breathing I have recently known intimately with no success, my own heart and the crashing waves of the music making my identification of sounds outside of my own thoughts an infinite impossibility. I feel the breath upon my neck, and I know I'm no longer the hunter. Teeth close before I can blink in suprise, precisely where the warm, moist breath was. I shudder with the ecstacy of the brutal bite and the hot, humid air flowing into my ear. I do, however, manage to retain control of my overwhelmed body. I twist in an attempt to free myself from the neonate predator, realizing only too late that the passions of battle are blinding. The hands grip my waist and claw for my weapon, still ready to strike a foe, but before I can even think to protest or fight or surrender, I'm disarmed. My body tenses with the sensation, the freedom from the hunt. The game is over, a final submission. I release to the hunter the use of my defeated flesh. I am the quarry. And I like it...