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</div></div><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/>It starts as it always does with coincidence.<br/><br/>Why they were there that evening, nobody could say, but fate or perhaps some other much more real force would see their paths entwined. Perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a wish to seek escape from the dreariness of their lives, if only for a single night.<br/><br/>It was a cold evening, a pouring rain making the streets of Boston almost desolate, except for a few brave souls. The bass and the electronic rhythm of dance music rumbled through the empty streets and alleys of the docks, where an old warehouse had temporarily been remade into a makeshift dance club. Although it had no official name, it had come to be known as The Emerald because of the faded green paint around the doorframe, etched with some weird hieroglyphics like symbols, or perhaps it was for some other reason, nobody was really sure.<br/><br/>Surprisingly there was no waiting line, and clearly the large brutish African looking man by the door had no clue about fire regulations, or maybe he simply did not care; either way the club was packed with some hundred people already, with more coming by the minute.<br/><br/>Once inside it became clear just how much effort had been put into transforming the place. While it was crude, the old warehouse was now sporting dazzling sound and lights systems, all controlled from a dj station. A rather simple bar offered shots, beer and cheap booze to anyone who could pay. Old and rusted stairwells lead to a platform of walkways above the lights, the only place to find peace from the intense strobing lights moving and blinking in tandem with the music.<br/><br/>“Hey man, just chill alright? It’s cool man! It’s cool!” The young blonde man raised his hands defensively for the doorman, who was looking mildly displeased. Whatever the problem was nobody had noticed, but it seemed the man was intent on causing a scene, to get noticed. “I’m not packing, alright?” He pushed his flowing black coat aside, to show that indeed he had no gun concealed by his waist. “Yes,” the large African simply said with a thick accent, something definitely not belonging to Boston, or even the Americas, finally letting the young man inside. He turned to wink and smile playfully to Mary before finally moving on inside to vanish in the crowd.