The engine cuts. A heavy, expectant silence fills the space where the music had been. The door opens and closes with a solid thunk. The studio doors ahead are heavy metal, the muffled sounds of a bass guitar tuning up vibrating through them.

The walk to the entrance is short. Every step echoes on the concrete. A hand reaches for the heavy handle.

Inside, the space is vast and raw. Exposed brick, high ceilings crisscrossed with steel beams, and a polished concrete floor. The air smells of ozone, old sweat, and new equipment. At the far end, under a bank of industrial lights, six figures are clustered around a mess of amplifiers, cables, and a drum kit.

The bass stops tuning. One by one, they turn.