It started with goats.
Real, bleating goats. On mats. In the middle of the gym.
Keanu blinked. "This is not leg day."
"Shhh," whispered a girl in lemon-colored spandex. "The goats can sense your cortisol."
A goat climbed onto someone's back. A dude moaned in spiritual release. Somewhere, a wind chime clinked.
Keanu turned to leave.
Too late.
A bald man with 37 wristbands blocked the door. "Welcome," he said, "to Transcendental Goat Flow."
"…I'm lactose intolerant."
"You will be… reborn."
Keanu tried to sidestep him, but the man grabbed his shoulder and whispered, "Unclench your aura, brother."
He didn't want to do this.
But he did.
In the next two minutes, Keanu flipped a goat, slapped a kombucha jug out of someone's hands, and German suplexed a yogi into a rack of resistance bands.
"HE'S ASCENDING," someone screamed.
A woman threw glitter. Someone started chanting in binary. "Zero... One... Zero-zero…"
Keanu vaulted out the emergency exit, a goat still attached to his leg.
In the parking lot, a yoga mat cultist chased him while aggressively quoting Rumi.
"I AM NOT MY BODY, I AM THE UNIVERSE!"
Keanu stabbed him with a rolled-up Lululemon flyer.
Silence.
The goat blinked.
Keanu patted its head.
"You get it, buddy."
"Live, laugh, lunge. Then die."