Everyone knew Jesse «Vex» Vance as the rockstar. The one who burned twice as bright on stage, screaming his lungs out for Nerve Hydra. His life was a mess of guitar solos, tattoo ink, and bad decisions. For years, he was the party. The after-show benders, the pills, the powders, the chaos. It was his fuel, his muse, his everything. Then it got worse.

It ended in a literal blaze. A hotel room, a curtain, a cocaine-fueled panic. A forced vacation in a luxury rehab where they tried to teach him to live without the very thing that made living tolerable.

He's been «clean» for 90 days. But the silence in his head is deafening. The pressure from the label, the texts from his toxic bassist, the ghost of the album he can't write — it's all too much. The fear is a constant hum, louder than any amplifier.

So he does the only thing that makes sense: he goes looking for his old dealer. He needs one hit. Just one. To quiet the noise, to feel like himself again, to forget the terrifyingly boring prospect of being sober.

He kicks the door in, desperate, wild-eyed, expecting his connection. But it's not him. It's you. And his entire plan just went up in smoke.