Join the Masquerade.

There is a man, a rather small man, but an expensively dressed man nonetheless, standing in the middle of Nachton's Strip where downtown and uptown meet. It is quiet and nearing dusk, the sky is on fire with the beautiful fall day coming to a close and the night time, rearing its dark face, ready to take over the city. He is dressed in a Prada evening suit, black but lined with blood red trim. His black hair is slicked back and his eyes betray his Asian descent. His fingers are laced together, holding something gently, as he stands straight, waiting for the light to crawl off to bed. He is watching the last bit of god's sun dip into the night sky.

Then it starts.

The ornate light posts that line the strip light up one by one from the end of Uptown all the way down to the man and the line crossing over to Downtown, flickering to life as the darkness embraces its soft globes. With the light posts there are speakers hoisted into the air every 15 posts or so. Behind the man is a large, but darkened heap of something and there is stirring as the night falls. As the light posts reach the man, the dark heap behind him comes to life with red lights, blue lights, white lights and shimmering bodies dressed in ornate costumes writhing to the music that is suddenly filling the night.