As the bridge built up—that rising tension of Ooh, daddy, daddy, if you want it, drop the addy —Elias reached the edge of the glass booth. A security guard, a mountain of a man in a slim-fit suit, stepped into his path. Elias didn't fight. He simply showed the man a single gold coin, the universal signal of a higher authority. The guard stepped aside.

The haunting, choral intro of "Unholy" began to warp under Dj Dark’s influence. The operatic vocals of Sam Smith felt stretched, distorted into something more predatory. Elias watched as The Bishop leaned in close to a woman who definitely wasn't his wife. He whispered into her ear, his hand gripping a glass of amber liquid, oblivious to the fact that his world was about to collapse.

Elias turned and walked away, leaving the envelope on the table. As he exited back into the rainy London night, the muffled sound of the remix followed him. The final, heavy beats sounded like a gavel slamming down in a courtroom.

Elias felt the beat drop. It was a mechanical, grinding transition that felt like gears turning in a clockwork trap.

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