Reckless Harmony

Mac's Apartment

Mickey feels the vibrations from the thumping rock song pulsating through the apartment's walls as he stands outside the door. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what lies ahead.

"This is the place, right?" Mickey mutters to himself, glancing down at the crumpled note in his hand with the apartment number scrawled on it. Tony had warned him that things might get a little chaotic.

With a hesitant hand, Mickey turns the doorknob, the music crashing over him like a wave as he steps inside. It's a whirlwind of flashing lights, swirling bodies, and the overpowering scent of alcohol and sweat.

It's a reminder of his past gigs, and a pang of longing for his old life hits him like a punch to the gut.

The memories of the drums, Max, and Eddie flood his mind before being abruptly interrupted by someone yanking him out of harm's way. He stumbles, saved from colliding with a big clock by a stoner with a blonde buzzcut.

"Whoa, careful," the guy exclaims.

"Thanks," Mickey replies, offering a quick nod of gratitude.

The guy extends his hand for a shake. "Rasmus." He says, rolling his r.

Mickey returns the handshake. "Mickey. You know where to find Mac?"

"What's your business with Mac?" Rasmus asks with a thick accent.

"It's urgent. It's about this guy I know, Ian."

"Ian the redhead?" Rasmus's eyes light up with recognition.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"We used to party together 'til he just disappeared off the radar."

Mickey glances around cautiously before pulling Rasmus into a secluded corner. "So you don't know anything about why he's being held captive at the brothel strip club shit?"

"I don't, sounds fun tho."

Mickey's eyebrows furrow in disappointment. This guy's no fucking help. Just as he turns to leave, Rasmus grabs his arm, a sudden seriousness in his expression.

"Wait, sorry, man," Rasmus begins, his tone softening. "I... look, the only thing I know is that Ian's been on a bender for ages, letting himself get tossed around like a sex doll in there. No one knows shit 'bout any strip club."

Mickey's gut churns at the revelation, a surge of determination replacing his disappointment. With a muttered "Thanks," to Rasmus, he heads out of the apartment. Walking down the dimly lit street, Mickey's thoughts are focused solely on Ian. He replays their memories together, fueling his determination to rescue him.