"It’s too catchy, Jimmy," Hugh shouted over the track, pointing a soldering iron at a modified motherboard.

Jimmy, a guy who lived mostly on caffeine and cigarette smoke, looked up from a stack of floppy disks. "What is?"

Hugh grinned, his face illuminated by the green glow of the monitor. He knew this bootleg wouldn't just be played in clubs; it would be whispered about in chat rooms for years. It was weird, it was loud, and it was exactly what the world didn't know it needed.

"That's it!" Jimmy yelled. "That's the sound of the future!"

"The Discovery Channel vibe! It’s begging for more... grit. More dirt."