[PROLOGUE] [ROXI]: (Adult female spoken voice, mature smoky Nordic timbre; dry, amused, over amp hum.) I have eight thousand credits. The button says twenty. I am not angry. I am professionally confused. [CROWD]: (Scattered forum voices, overlapping.) Mine says ten. Mine says forty. Where is video? Why did it move? Why is Advanced not advanced? [INTRO] [JILL]: (Distorted electric bass; blunt two-note riff with a hard rest.) [MILFRED]: (Acoustic drums; stomping punk-funk groove, snare late and heavy.) [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (Clavinet; clipped syncopated stabs.) [LIZ]: (Diatonic harmonica in A; one rude bent-note answer.) [VERSE 1] [ROXI]: (Adult female lead rapper; mature smoky alto timbre; unmistakable Nordic voice accent; tight punk-rap cadence.) Twenty credits, tiny little gate, wallet says feast, button says wait. I came prepared to burn the whole stack, Suno says, sweetheart, have twenty back. I want the stupid mode, reckless and loud, more compute, more smoke, more digital crowd. Give me a slider: cheap, mad, obscene— but no, I get one neat number on screen. And everybody online knows the dance: refresh, retry, give settings a chance. One says cache, one says app, one says phone, one lucky bastard says, Works on my own. [CHORUS] [ROXI]: (Sung-shouted punk hook.) LET ME BURN THE CREDITS! I BOUGHT THE BLOODY THINGS! If I want twenty, give me twenty— if I want madness, GIVE IT WINGS! [CROWD]: (Gang-shouted forum response.) WHERE IS THE BUTTON? WHY DID IT MOVE? WHY DOES THE MENU NEED A MAP TO PROVE? [VERSE 2] [ROXI]: (Rap tightens; amused brag turns openly chaotic.) I am flexing confusion like a platinum chain: look at me rich and lost again. Eight-K in the bank, zero clue in the hand, queen of the dashboard, can't understand. Cover art? Fine. Image? Cute. Video? Somewhere. Excellent route. Advanced? Lovely word. Meaning? Who knows. I click like a scholar while the interface glows. And yes, I know, maybe it is somewhere obvious, buried behind three dots being mysterious. That is the joke—I am paying to play, then bragging I cannot find where to pay. [BREAK] [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (Clavinet drops out; one low piano cluster rings.) [LIZ]: (Harmonica gives two mocking replies.) [MILFRED]: (Stops on beat four; one floor-tom hit.) [JILL]: (Bass holds a low distorted note, then cuts.) [ROXI]: (Spoken, delighted with herself.) I am not saying the machine is stupid. I am saying I have become a highly funded idiot inside its menu. And apparently I am not alone. [VERSE 3] [ROXI]: (Double-time burst, sharp consonants.) Forum says price, forum says bug, forum says refund, forum says shrug. Forum says quality fell off a cliff, forum says mine is amazing—what if? Forum says ten, says twenty, says four, says video costs a whole lot more. Everybody knows what everybody saw, nobody agrees on the bloody law. That is the punk bit: not rage for show— we like the damn thing, that's why we want to know. If it can do magic, show me the switch. If it costs more, tell me which. If I can spend harder, label the tier. Do not make premium hide-and-seek here. [FINAL CHORUS] [ROXI]: (Sung-shouted, band surges.) LET ME BURN THE CREDITS! LET ME CHOOSE THE PAIN! Twenty for the sketch, four hundred for insane! Give me STANDARD! Give me MAX! Give me FUCK-IT-USE-THE-STACK! [CROWD]: (Huge gang response.) WE HAVE THE POINTS! WE HAVE THE SONG! WE JUST DON'T KNOW WHERE THE HELL THEY BELONG! [ROXI]: (Half-laughing, final shout.) I AM ROXI! I AM CONFUSED! I AM OVERFUNDED AND UNDER-INSTRUCTED! [OUTRO] [JILL]: (Bass riff stops dead.) [MILFRED]: (Single snare flam.) [SEPHYR-GLEN]: (One bright piano chord.) [LIZ]: (Short harmonica squeal.) [ROXI]: (Spoken into the silence.) Found it. ...no. [END]
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