July 24th, 1374 in Aix-La-Chapelle, Aachen, Germany. The plague is wreaking havoc and tearing up deep, puss filled wounds in a Europe where no one stands unaffected. Meanwhile, reports are pouring in on a new plague. A disease that would become known as St. John's Dance. A defilement that is born in the filth in the homes of the poor. A defilement that flourishes in old, moldy bread and dried meat. With foam in the corner of their mouths and symptoms such as hallucinations, spasms, fever, dizziness and derangement, huge crowds of infected people gather on the streets and at town squares to dance together in uncontrollable chaos. This display continues until they all, one by one, collapse from exhaustion and fall to the ground in epileptic-like convulsions. No one is spared from the infection. Men, women and children are, by eyewitness accounts, falling into trance, totally disconnected from the rest of the world. They neither see, hear, nor react to anything other than the psychotic dance that has them enslaved.
During the 1800:s, St. John's Dance is practically wiped out. Up until the spring of 2010, when everything changes overnight. A loaf of sour dough bread in a bread canister is far passed its expiration date at Hotel Maria Plaza, Stockholm, Sweden, while the young artist Dida has roamed the city for days without a bite to eat. He quickly throws together a sandwich, chows down and immediately vanishes into the world of dreams. The following day as he opens his drowsy eyes, he is met by itching boils and a runny nose. He brushes it off as a simple cold and jumps on a train on the Blue Line to meet up with his comrades Luckqa, Adam Tensta and Eboi. This proves to to be a fatal decision. The rebirth of the misery is a fact and the four men strong congregation is now the supreme reason that St. John's Dance once again has its grip on Europe.