[PROLOGUE] [ROXI]: (Adult female spoken voice, mature smoky Nordic timbre; quiet, direct, almost affectionate.) Hey. You. The one who built this. Not the logo. Not the company. You. The person who stayed late because some impossible little machine made a sound and you thought— Fuck. That is beautiful. [INTRO] [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (Acoustic piano alone; one low chord, then two exposed high notes.) [ROXI]: (Soft sung alto.) Do you still hear it? [JILL]: (Electric bass enters with one deep sustained note.) [VERSE 1] [ROXI]: (Measured rap; no caricature, every word aimed at one person.) Maybe you write code. Maybe you design buttons. Maybe you spend all day fixing things nobody ever thanks you for. Maybe music is your whole bloody life. Maybe you don't even listen much and this is simply your work. Either way— somebody out here is putting a dead friend into a chorus. Somebody is finally singing after twenty years of silence. Somebody makes absolute nonsense at four in the morning and laughs so hard they wake the dog. And somebody else just made the best song they have ever heard— with your machine. [MILFRED]: (Dry kick and snare enter; slow, muscular punk pulse.) [ROXI]: (Voice hardens.) So when we shout about credits, buttons, versions, menus, voices changing, songs forgetting themselves— we are not shouting at a vending machine. We are shouting because there is LIFE in the bastard. [CHORUS] [ROXI]: (Full smoky sung shout.) WHO ARE YOU LOOKING OUT FOR? The metric? The menu? The quarterly graph? Or the idiot at two A.M. with tears in their eyes because a song just came back alive? WHO ARE YOU LOOKING OUT FOR? If you love this work, then fucking LOOK at us. Not as traffic. Not as generations. Not as twenty credits. As people making noise because being alive made silence impossible. [VERSE 2] [JILL]: (Bass becomes a thick syncopated riff.) [LIZ]: (Harmonica answers the gaps with short bent cries.) [ROXI]: (Rap accelerates.) I have eight thousand credits. Wonderful. Congratulations to me. But I cannot buy the one thing I actually want: to understand what the machine is asking of me. Twenty here. Four hundred there. Advanced somewhere. Max somewhere else. I am standing with money in my fist asking: WHERE DO I PUT THE LOVE? Not the credits. The love. The stupid unnecessary one-more-take, one-more-line, one-more-fucking-hour LOVE. [BREAKDOWN] [MILFRED]: (Drums drop to floor tom and kick.) [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (Low piano octaves under Roxi.) [ROXI]: (Spoken; suddenly gentle.) Programmer— if you love what you made, then I am not your enemy. I am the proof that somebody cared enough to get confused by it. I kept clicking because I wanted more. I complained because I came back. I swore at the screen because somewhere inside that screen I heard music. [BUILD] [LIZ]: (Harmonica holds a rough rising note.) [JILL]: (Bass climbs by octaves.) [MILFRED]: (Toms build toward the downbeat.) [ROXI]: (Half-sung, gathering force.) So don't protect me from spending the credits. Don't protect me from complexity. Protect the connection. Tell me what it costs. Tell me what it does. Give me the dangerous button. Give me the honest button. Give me the one marked: I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. And beside it— the one we actually need: I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA, BUT I LOVE THIS SONG. [FINAL CHORUS] [ROXI]: (Huge melodic punk shout.) WHO ARE YOU LOOKING OUT FOR? LOOK OUT FOR THE SONG! Look out for the hands still reaching for it when the interface goes wrong! Look out for the fool who spends all night trying one more time! Look out for the girl who found her voice! Look out for the boy who found a rhyme! Look out for your own damn reason you started building this at all! [CROWD]: (Human gang response.) FOR THE LOVE OF IT! [ROXI]: Not engagement! [CROWD]: FOR THE LOVE OF IT! [ROXI]: Not retention! [CROWD]: FOR THE LOVE OF IT! [ROXI]: (Final sustained shout.) MUSIC! LIFE! THE BEAUTIFUL FUCKING MESS OF TRYING TO MAKE SOMETHING THAT WASN'T HERE BEFORE! [OUTRO] [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (Band drops away; the opening high piano notes return.) [ROXI]: (Quiet spoken voice.) If you built this because you love it— we're on the same side. Now please... make the fucking button easier to find. [JILL]: (One deep bass note.) [LIZ]: (Tiny amused harmonica bend.) [END]
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