Key stalked the clubs almost every night, looking for his next target.  He found willing men and women, found them, seduced them, took them out to the dance floor to torture them, rubbing and pressing, grinding with the primal beat of the bass, the howling vocals.   And then he left them, panting and sweaty in the middle of a crowded bar, wondering what the hell just happened.  It was his high, his rush.  Tonight was no different, and he needed his fix.  Needed to feel wanted, feel desired, like his last boyfriend had never made him feel.