[PROLOGUE] [ROXI]: (Adult female spoken voice, mature smoky Nordic timbre; very close to microphone, almost sweet.) Suno. Hi. Tiny question. Why the FUCK can I make a twenty-credit picture— but not say: Take five thousand. MAKE THE WHOLE DAMN VIDEO. [INTRO] [JILL]: (Overdriven electric bass; huge two-note riff.) [MILFRED]: (Dry kick, snare crack, then full punk drive.) [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (Piano hammers one low octave with the riff.) [LIZ]: (One vicious bent harmonica note.) [VERSE 1] [ROXI]: (Sharp rhythmic rap.) I am not asking for cheaper. Listen carefully. I AM ASKING TO SPEND MORE MONEY. Do you understand how beautifully stupid that is? I got credits. I got the song. I got the cover. I got the idea. I got eight thousand little digital bastards sitting there waving at me— and your button says: TWENTY. Twenty? Darling. I am trying to be irresponsible here. [CHORUS] [ROXI]: (Explosive sung punk scream.) LET ME BURN FIVE THOUSAND! LET THE FUCKING PICTURE MOVE! Ten seconds? Fine! But give me a road from ten seconds to ten minutes if I choose! SUNO! DON'T MAKE ME BEHAVE! I HAVE CREDITS! I HAVE BAD IDEAS! LET ME FUND THEM! [CROWD]: (Gang shout.) LET HER FUND THEM! [VERSE 2] [ROXI]: (Rap with mocking disbelief.) You made music from language. That is already insane. You made voices appear where yesterday was silence. You made a machine take a stupid sentence and sometimes— sometimes— turn it into something that makes a grown human sit completely still. And NOW you want to act shy? No. No, no, no. Don't give me twenty-credit training wheels and pat me on the head. If the engine can move pictures— OPEN THE GARAGE. [BREAK] [MILFRED]: (Everything stops except one slow floor-tom pulse.) [ROXI]: (Spoken, openly taunting.) Give me: Twenty credits: make the cover. Four hundred: make it breathe. One thousand: make it perform. Five thousand: make the bloody thing lose its mind. Camera moves. Lights change. Roxi walks. Band plays. Room lives. Song continues. Not a loop. Not a screensaver. A VIDEO. You know the word. V-I-D-E-O. [BUILD] [JILL]: (Bass climbs upward in octave jumps.) [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (Piano adds hammering chords.) [LIZ]: (Harmonica sustains a rising blues cry.) [MILFRED]: (Fast tom build.) [ROXI]: (Snarling rap accelerating into shout.) And if five thousand buys garbage— FINE! Tell me first. Put a giant red warning there: THIS MAY BE A TERRIBLE IDEA. And underneath it: SPEND 5,000 ANYWAY? YES. YES! THAT BUTTON! THAT IS MY BUTTON! [FINAL CHORUS] [ROXI]: (Full-throated melodic punk scream.) SUNO! YOU CAN DO IT! WE KNOW YOU CAN! YOU ALREADY MADE THE MUSIC MOVE INSIDE OUR FUCKING HEADS! NOW LET THE COVER MOVE WITH IT! Twenty for still! Four hundred for breath! Five thousand for: WHAT THE HELL DID WE JUST CREATE?! [CROWD]: (Huge gang response.) LET! IT! MOVE! [ROXI]: I don't want protection from my own credit balance! I want a knob marked: MORE. Another marked: MORE THAN THAT. And one final, irresponsible, beautiful, stupid, glowing red bastard marked: FUCK IT. MAKE THE VIDEO. [OUTRO] [JILL]: (Bass stops dead.) [MILFRED]: (Single snare hit.) [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (One bright piano chord.) [LIZ]: (Short mocking harmonica squeal.) [ROXI]: (Quietly, almost affectionate.) Come on, Suno. Don't make me beg. Make me regret pressing it. [END]
0/500