Lena turns to the crowd. Raises her arms. The next track begins. But in her head, the loop remains: All on you… all on you…
The beat returns. Forbes’s extended mix slams back in—rolling techno bassline, that hypnotic vocal loop: "It’s all on you."
They don’t dance. They stand in the strobes, surrounded by thousands moving as one. And when the track finally ends—a long, filtered release—Marco is gone. David Forbes - All On You -Extended Mix- -4club...
Forbes cuts to the second breakdown. Silence except the crowd’s echo. Then the kick returns—harder, faster, the extended mix’s secret weapon: a new acid line twisting under everything.
But now, at the breakdown of All On You , the lights cut to a single laser scanning the crowd. The bass drops out. Just a synth pad, haunting, lifting. Lena turns to the crowd
Lena pushes through the crowd. Marco mouths something. She can’t hear, but she reads lips: “I’m sorry.”
She grabs his wrist. Leads him to the DJ booth. Forbes nods, raises the filter sweep. The crowd roars as the drop hits—four-on-the-floor, relentless. But in her head, the loop remains: All
She leans in. “No. I saved me. But the music? It made sure everyone knew.”
has spent six months building tonight. Promoter, DJ, hustler—she pulled every favor to book David Forbes for a secret room no one knew existed beneath the old textile factory. The crowd came. The room is sweat and static.