The rehearsal space was a massive, aircraft-hangar-sized soundstage in North Hollywood. The air inside was climate-controlled but smelled of industrial floor wax and the collective nervous sweat of thirty world-class dancers. As Dave walked in—still clutching the decorative throw pillow against his midsection—the music stopped instantly.
Thirty people, all of them looking like they were carved out of granite and obsidian, snapped to attention.
"The King is in the building!" shouted Jamal, a legendary choreographer with a voice that could cut through a hurricane. Jamal had been with Chris since the "Yo (Excuse Me Miss)" days. He didn't just know Chris's moves; he knew the way Chris's bones shifted.
Dave tried to walk coolly, but the pillow made him look like he was trying to hide a stolen ham. He finally tossed it onto a nearby equipment case, hoping his oversized cargo pants had enough "structural integrity" to hide the lingering biological awkwardness of the morning.
"Jamal! My guy!" Dave shouted, attempting a swaggering walk that ended up looking more like he had a moderate case of vertigo. "Let's... let's get rhythmic. Let's do the movements with our bodies."
Jamal squinted, his head tilting to the side. "The movements with our bodies? Chris, you sound like a middle-school PE teacher. You good? Your energy is very... beige today."
"I'm just centered, Jamal. I'm practicing mindfulness," Dave said, stepping onto the center of the spring-loaded floor. "I'm in my 'minimalist' phase. Less is more. Efficiency of motion."
"Efficiency of motion?" Jamal laughed, clapping his hands. "Alright, let's see how efficient you are with the 'Wall to Wall' bridge. From the top! Five, six, seven, eight!"
The music exploded. It was a high-octane, 120-BPM track that required the kind of precision that usually involves lasers. The thirty dancers behind him moved as one, a literal human wave of muscle and rhythm.
Dave stood there for the first four counts, his brain screaming. In his old life, a "dance move" was Dave doing a slightly rhythmic shrug at a wedding. In this body, the muscle memory was there, but it was like trying to drive a Ferrari when you only know how to ride a tricycle.
He lunged to the left when he should have slid to the right. He ended up face-to-face with a female dancer named Tiana, who looked at him with pure confusion as he accidentally did a "jazz hand" inches from her nose.
"Stop! Stop!" Jamal roared, the music cutting out with a sharp hiss. "What was that, Chris? You looked like you were trying to catch a butterfly. That move is supposed to be a snap-roll into a power-slide. You just... you just wiggled."
"I was improvising!" Dave shouted, his face turning red. "It's the new style! It's called 'The Philly Shiver.' It's very big in the underground scene. You wouldn't know about it yet, Jamal. It's very avant-garde."
"The Philly Shiver?" Jamal walked over, his eyes boring into Dave's. "Chris, if I didn't see the tattoos on your neck, I'd swear you were a suburban dad at a Bar Mitzvah. Try it again. And put some 'Breezy' on it. I need the grit."
Before they could restart, the side door of the soundstage opened. Lytrell walked in, carrying two green juices and wearing a look of intense, analytical focus. She didn't say anything; she just sat down on a folding chair right in the front row.
Dave's heart hit his shoes. The person who just saw him "react" to a hug was now ten feet away, watching his every move.
"Okay, from the top!" Jamal yelled.
The music kicked in again. Dave tried to focus, but he kept catching Lytrell's eye. Every time he moved, he felt her judging the "soul" of his dance. He managed to nail a backflip—thank God for Chris's muscle memory—but when he landed, he tried to do a "cool" finger-point at the mirror and accidentally poked himself in the eye.
"Ow! Mother—" Dave doubled over, clutching his face.
The music stopped again. The dancers were whispering. Lytrell stood up, walking onto the floor.
"Chris, let me see," she said, her voice soft but laced with that 'I-know-you're-lying' tone. She pulled his hand away from his eye. "You're acting like you've never been on a stage before. And what was that thing you did with your hips? You looked like you were having a seizure."
"It's the Shiver, Lytrell! Respect the craft!" Dave barked, backing away.
"I'm coming over tonight," she whispered, leaning in close so the dancers couldn't hear. "Mom is calling me every hour asking why you haven't FaceTime'd her. And I have to tell her... what? That my brother forgot how to be black? That he's blushing every time I touch him? What is going on?"
Dave felt a cold sweat. "I'm just... I'm a changed man, Lytrell! The crash! It re-wired me! I'm into... I'm into indie folk music and sensible footwear now! Deal with it!"
He turned to Jamal. "I need a break! Fifteen minutes! I have to... I have to go hydrate my cuticles!"
Dave bolted for the dressing room, locking the door behind him. He collapsed onto the velvet sofa, gasping for air. He pulled out the gold iPhone, his fingers trembling. He needed a win. He needed a distraction.
He opened a private messaging app and saw a message from a contact labeled 'K.'
K: I'm in town for the secret show. Meet me at the hotel tonight? Room 402. Don't bring the crew. I want you all to myself.
Dave's eyes widened. He didn't know who 'K' was, but the profile picture was a blurred, "Rated 18" shot of a very famous-looking blonde.
"Okay," Dave whispered to himself, a manic grin spreading across his face. "I can't dance, I can't talk to my sister, and I'm pretty sure a hitman is following me. But I'm Chris Brown. And apparently, 'K' wants to see me."
He stood up, checking himself in the mirror. He practiced a "cool" wink, but it still looked like he had a piece of dust in his eye.
"You got this, Dave. Just go to the hotel, stay quiet, and let the body do the work."
But as he walked back out to the rehearsal floor, he saw Lytrell talking into her phone, her back to him. She looked upset. She looked like she was calling a doctor. Or a priest.
"Hey my fierce tribe, I know it's been a hot minute—months, actually! Life threw some curveballs, but I'm back, ready to serve all your wildest fantasies and secret desires. Expect daily chapters packed with passion, heat, and everything you've been craving. Thanks for holding it down and staying loyal—let's turn up the heat together, one steamy chapter at a time."