The first thing that you notice as you enter the club is the presence of hundreds of fireflies with blacklight tails, all signaling in synchronicity with a source of bass somewhere deep below. The bouncer stares at you expectantly while holding a jar full of transparent fluid. Mimicking those ahead of you in line, you reach through your own chest and withdraw your heart.

It looks different from what you’ve imagined. In your hands, it is a throbbing cube of scarlet glow with no valves or fountainworks attached. Its pulse is elevated, for it is still your heart, and you are afraid. Even so, you let go, and it sinks into the strange gel. Someone pushes you forward as the bottle is corked, and you fail to retrieve your claim receipt. The crowd is thick, and there’s no turning back.

You follow the spiraling cloud of fireflies down into the basement, a ten story journey that ends in a whorl of heartless bodies. Everyone is circling the same massive cluster of polygons as they dance, a booming structure known as the Hyperheart. Its music serves as ambient blood, and through it, you can feel the motions and passions of countless others erupting from your nerves.

When it's time to leave, however, the heart that you remember cannot be found in any of their jars. The best they can do is offer you a replacement from their lost and found.