They try as many finger-foods and samples as they can manage. Though tasting and eating are completely unproductive tasks for Hale, it proves to be one of the most genuinely enjoyable experiences of his existence. They eat candy fabled to be the sourest out there, and he delights in seeing Rayner and Theo's expressions pucker with disgust. He likes the spicy and tart foods most, while Rayner leans towards sweets, and Theo towards savoury.

Though Hale's rudimentary digestive system is for appearances only, allowing him to eat but not processing the food in any meaningful way, it still has very limited space. He'll have to manage the waste disposal when they get back. His sensors read that he's full long before his human companions are ready to put down their cocktail sticks. With dusk casting the city in an eerie, polluted, purple sunset, the market shuts down and bots unfold to help disassemble the stalls with the whirr and click of so many mechanical spiders.

The three of them leave in search of a cafe in which to recover from their respective food comas. Though eating doesn't leave Hale feeling sluggish per se, he finds the pleasantness of the day fills him with a soothing tranquillity.

Theo enumerates the clubs she's been to around this district, listing their various merits and detriments. Rayner lacks preference. They eventually settle on Sketchy's, a club that does themed nights, and once their tea's been drunk, they head into the night with Theo in the lead.

NeoTonto is a different city after dark. During the day, it bustles with loud people and smothering businesses each snatching for your undivided attention. With the sun below the horizon, a different sort of pandemonium reigns. Instead of the corporate slogans of car companies and tourist traps, it's the buzz of neon lights, the throb of music below ground like a macabre heartbeat. Snaking lines of people wend through the street waiting to get into the more popular establishments. Theo bypasses them all, instead leading them down into the subway system and through a network of underground tunnels until they come to a door graffitied with the name 'Sketchy's' in fluorescent green paint, framed with flashing LEDs.

A large person in a paint-spattered tank top waves Theo through at the door, saying, "Been a long time since we've seen your ass around here."

"I bet you missed my ass, Vee," says Theo in a tone that's very nearly affectionate.

"Come and see me later, and I'll show you just how much," xe replies.

Rayner rolls his eyes. Theo leads them inside, through a dark hallway lit only by the spatters of ultraviolet paint, the hum of synth getting louder as they go. Hale is surprised he recognizes the song. It's one of the many 1980's songs Rayner played for him on the journey to Theo's. The tune feels like an electric wire curving around his spine, pulling him further in and encouraging him to move.

The music reaches pinnacle volume as they emerge into the hollow cavern of the club. Its concrete walls are carved to look like the stalactite-spired interior of a cave, only spattered with more ultraviolet paint and pierced through by iron support rods in places. A throbbing mass of people dance near a stage where a holographic projection of a band, now long dead, sing and perform in time with their music. A shelf of the cave is nearly covered in paint to mark it out as the bar, backlit and glowing in the dark.

Theo leads them toward it and asks the bartender to make them three glow sticks, whatever those are, then says, "I'm gonna burst if I don't pee right now. Be right back."

Rayner says, "Yeah, actually, where the hell are the bathrooms? Will you be all right a second, Hale?"

Hale nods, and they vanish into the crowd. The bartender sets down three pipes that look like laboratory vials, filled to the brim with yellow fluid that makes it look like a glow stick. Hale has Rayner's bank details on hand so he pays for the drinks with the tap of an index finger. As he does, a woman with French-plaited pigtails and a jacket six sizes too big for her steps up to the bar next to him.

She orders a drink with a name Hale doesn't recognize, then casts him a sidelong look. "All those for you?" She juts her chin towards the glowsticks.

"No," Hale answers honestly.

"Got a girl with you?"

"And a man," Hale says, unsure where this conversation is going.

"Oh! Room for a fourth, then? You're real cute."

He isn't sure how to disabuse her of the notion that he, Rayner, and Theo are all involved sexually, so he just says, "I may have given you the wrong idea about my relationship with my compatriots, but thank you. This skin is brand new."

Her expression pinches in momentary confusion, then her eyes widen. "Oh! I didn't know you were an android. Jeeze, I really need to get one of those scanner implants. So used to the uniforms." She gives him an assessing look that lacks the warmth of her earlier demeanour. "You should let your owner know? You're not supposed to be left unsupervised."

Hale feels a pluck of anxiety at the notion he's only just arrived, and he's already done something wrong. "Oh. Thank you for informing me."

"It's just, there've been incidents, you know? You seem pretty in control, though."

"Incidents?"

"Yeah. An android went berserk or something and hurt some people? Media's kept a lid on it though." She continues, unaided by any encouragement from Hale, to list some of the things she's heard about rogue androids lately. Many stories Hale searches for but finds no accurate coverage or evidence to support her claims. The best matches to her accounts are all run on conspiracy theorist websites and from uncredited sources on social media. It makes Hale uncomfortable, but he doesn't think it would be a good idea to contradict her.

Thankfully, Rayner reappears at Hale's elbow. "Hey, you should be glad you don't have to use the toilets. It's rank in there. Your new nose won't like it."

Hale isn't sure whether Rayner noticed the conversation and is deliberately ignoring the woman, or if he simply didn't notice her talking to Hale, but undeterred by being ignored the woman speaks up.

"Is this guy yours?" she says to Rayner, poking a long-nailed finger into Hale's chest.

Hale doesn't need the readings of Rayner's biology to see his blood-pressure rise or the way his muscles bunch at her words. Hale isn't sure just what about that sentence offended him so much, but he's quick to defuse the situation. "My acquaintance here was just informing me that there's been an incident with a malfunctioning android." As he says it, though, Rayner bats the woman's finger away from Hale's chest like it's a weapon.

The woman gives Rayner an offended look. "Yeah, and like I was saying, you can't leave these things unattended anymore. It's against the rules," she says.

Theo's brash laugh joins the conversation, having just overheard that last bit. "There are no rules like that. Go away now, please."

Hale watches the woman look between them all with an indignant crinkle in her forehead, taken aback by Theo's direct language. She turns and marches away. Hale feels a bizarre mix of gratitude that she's gone and a prickle of shame at the impoliteness of the interaction.

"I believe she was only trying to inform us," he says. "She meant no harm."

"She's a killjoy," Theo says. "And you're not a dog that's been let off leash to poop on people's precious lawns. You're people too, Hale. You can do what you want."

Hale's brow furrows. He can't though. He can't do what he wants. He can't express what he wants. He can't even identify what he wants.

Rayner seems to recognize the warring thoughts battling through Hale's head, because he takes the drinks off the bar and hands one to Hale. "We're here to have fun and see if you enjoy alcohol and dancing as much as the next guy, yeah? If you're not enjoying yourself we can go home."

"You'd like that wouldn't you, hermit-boy," Theo says.

"Yeah, I won't lie. This isn't my scene. But I'm up for dancing after a few more of these things." He clinks his vial with Hale's and Theo's, then throws it back. Judging by his pursed mouth, it's sour. Hale has enough room for liquids still, so he tilts the vial to his lips. Aside from a slightly acidic taste, it's more or less flavourless.

"It's boring," he concludes. "I think my program is missing components for this drink."

"Probably because it's all fake crap," Rayner says, still with a sour expression. He orders a number of different drinks for them all to try, keeping the bartender busy. Hale's favourite turns out to be a bright purple concoction that tastes mostly of grape juice and vodka.

The bouncer from the door reappears when they're nearly finished sampling everything. Xe winds an arm around Theo's waist and says, "I'm on break. Wanna dance?"

Theo tosses back her last drink. "Fuck yeah!"

Rayner watches them go, then raises his eyebrows at Hale. "You ready to try?"

"I have many programs for dancing," Hale says cautiously.

Rayner laughs. "Okay, let's go. You can show me your moves."

He takes Hale's hand, causing Hale's heart to leap into his throat. Rayner fords a path through the sea of people until they find a place clear enough. Hale processes the tempo of the music—a slow rhythm that seems ill-suited to dancing but builds in pace gradually. He frantically downloads the song's music video, taking in its poor, pixelated quality and wondering if anybody has a rain-soaked chair anywhere for him to dance on.

With Rayner's eyes on him, Hale feels suddenly self-conscious.

"Right, here we go. So far outside my comfort zone," Rayner says, almost to himself. He's started bouncing to the music as it picks up pace, but he's completely out of time. As Theo warned, he has very little in the way of rhythm. But, he doesn't seem to care. Perhaps aided by the effects of alcohol.

"Come on! You said you could dance. Don't leave me making a dick of myself all alone."

Hale takes a deep breath. He calibrates the movements from the video. Bounces on the balls of his feet a few times to the beat, then starts the fist-pumping, frenetic movements mimicked from the video. It's completely out of fashion for their time, but it feels wrong to sway his hips and pop through movements the way people do to modern songs. Rayner laughs, both delighted and bewildered by Hale's dancing.

It feels a bit mechanical. Just another part of his programming.

Rayner takes both his hands. "Don't be afraid to look stupid. Stupid can be more fun."

To illustrate, Rayner skips around in a circle and pulls Hale's arms alternating in a weird jig that Hale can't identify as any dance style, but it does make a laugh bubble up in his throat. Rayner lets go and does an off-tempo spin, unheeding of the judgmental glances of neighbouring dancers.

Hale lets go of his programming for a moment. Instead, he allows the song to insinuate itself like an electric current firing through him, much like it had when they'd first entered the club. He throws caution to the wind and allows himself to move the way the music feels. A fluttering of euphoria bubbles up in his chest like laughter unuttered, and he thinks, ah, this is what Rayner meant by fun.

The song changes, the holographic singer flickering out and replaced by a tall woman with short-cropped orange hair, singing low and sultry while the snap of a drumbeat pulses through the crowd.

Rayner stops the off-beat swaying thing he'd been doing and says, "You like dancing, don't you?"

Hale smiles. A little of that self-consciousness returns but only just.

"You're good at it," Rayner adds, nodding his head to some of the heads he's turned. Hale doesn't want to pay particular attention to them though.

"You're...trying your best," Hale says in answer, filled with nameless joy when that makes Rayner's eyes tear with laughter. "I could teach you."

"You can't teach rhythm, Hale," Rayner says. "I'm hopeless."

"Just follow my lead," Hale says, taking Rayner's hand and marvelling at the jolt of electricity that seems to pass between them.

He only half-relies on the calculations made by his rhythm algorithms, letting the music and his creative learning protocols do the rest. He tugs Rayner in so his back is flush against Hale's chest, takes both his symbiont's hands in his, and puppets him through a sharp, choreographed movement that devolves into a sinuous one. Rayner's already elevated heartbeat pounds louder and harder in Hale's ears. Maybe it's the drinks, but Hale registers that Rayner's blood alcohol content is well within healthy limits. Regardless, despite his protests, Rayner lets Hale guide him through the punching cadence of the song.

Taking a chance, as the song reaches a crescendo, Hale reins his partner in again and snakes their joined hands over the bare skin of Rayner's midriff, dragging them up under Rayner's shirt. The fluttering of Rayner's heartbeat, the way his nerves fire under Hale's touch, the way he turns his head to look into Hale's face, it makes every sense so much sharper. Hale could swear his own heart beats louder than the song's bass.

Something bright flashes in his periphery. The attention of a stranger watching. One gaze that doesn't blink or flicker enough. And an electric charge in the air, as of ozone crackling before a storm. He's being scanned.

It drags Hale from the haze of dancing with Rayner and back into the pounding noise of the club.

A pair of icy eyes watches from the crowd. Battery acid blue and strangely familiar. The man they belong to meets Hale's eyes and starts to make his way toward them.

Hale stops dancing, letting his hands fall away from Rayner's waist. Rayner gives him a questioning look, chest rising and falling hard with his panting breaths. He follows Hale's gaze to the figure making its way toward them.

Though his face is slightly changed from that night in Briony's living room, the winning smile he'd worn on television is still the same.

Damo flashes that smile now.

"Those are some interesting upgrades you have."