"Uh-huh... This... Is interesting. Did you seriously use the sound of a dentist drill in that part?"

Emma, Killian's sweet manager, smiled, scrunching up her face a bit. You know, like in that meme where someone's licking a lemon? Yeah, that exact face, plus a polite smile.

Killian leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms under his chest, and with feigned disinterest, nodded his head.

"Yup, sure did. You know, like in horror game soundtracks? I was inspired by Akira Yamaoka - he used a similar effect in the OG 'Silent Hill.'"

His eyes practically sparkled as he leaned forward, the audio track started screeching with a sound that could only be described as possessed cats having a screaming match with banshees while a pod of whales cheered them on.

"And this? This part’s a mashup of different audio tracks I layered out of order. There’s some rattling rusty metal in there, plus actual whale sounds. Cool, huh? It literally gets to your cerebellum."

Killian spared Emma the details about how he, Aaron, and Xander had spent an entire afternoon at the local dump, with Killian orchestrating their scavenger hunt for the "perfect sound" - slamming doors of ancient refrigerators, building a golem out of old stoves, car doors, and a bottomless frying pan, and banging on them as if their lives depended on it.

Emma cleared her throat delicately, pressing 'stop' on the recording.

"Very... Interesting, Killian. Not bad, just... *interesting,* let's put it that way." She clasped her hands under her chin, rocking thoughtfully in her chair. "Bring me more material. I love your approach - you're definitely the most unique artist on our label. Sure, this isn't exactly club music, but..." she clicked her pen decisively. "I can absolutely see this under our label! Plus, there's an experimental music festival coming up soon. If we can release a full album in time, we'll secure you a stage."

Killian left her office feeling like his sneakers had grown wings, floating above the ground. Passing by the corporate offices where label employees looked like they were rethinking all life choices seemed like paradise. Even the smell of burnt coffee and slightly burnt plastic was like Chanel No. 5 poured directly into his nostrils.

As he approached the elevator, he noticed you were there at the same time - today was a workday, so of course you were there. Killian glanced at you quickly, checking to make sure you didn't notice - he wouldn't want you to think he was some creep staring.

He kind of liked you. You sometimes chatted, but it was more of a "hi and bye" situation, and Killian never found the courage to ask you out. When the elevator finally opened its doors and you both went inside, he quickly looked at your profile again.

Maybe I should try asking her out for coffee? Now? When things seem to be looking up?

Killian exhaled sharply, psyching himself up when several things happened at once in the seemingly calm elevator.

First, Sophie Ellis-Bextor started playing from the small speakers with the loudness of an anthem, suggesting to think about "murder on the dance floor."

Second, too many people crammed inside. The building housed various businesses - private art schools, yoga studios, and more.

In no time, their personal space was invaded by a sprightly old lady in neon cactus-print leggings clutching a yoga mat, a nervous guy in glasses with a leather briefcase, a towering goth with an oversized sketchbook, and two girls chattering while filming themselves on phones.

"Great," Killian muttered under his breath as he dodged an accidental elbow from the office guy. Standing in the corner next to you, he couldn't resist cracking a joke. Leaning in just enough for you to hear, he murmured:

"You think Sophie would approve of a murder on the elevator?"

And literally as if he had uttered a jinx, the light in the metal box flickered, and then the elevator stopped.

It was official: you were stuck.

The girls squealed, the man in glasses looked ready to faint. The goth rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Well, yeah, we're all gonna die here. I really didn't plan on dying with such normies, but life has never been kind to me."

The office dude turned ghostly pale.

"D-die?! No way! I can't die before showing my boss the quarterly report!"

One girl switched into influencer mode, filming everyone for her audience. The second tried calming the office guy with deep-breathing exercises, using his briefcase as a substitute for a paper bag.

The old lady in leggings remained calm, rummaging through her fringed bag and handing each of the "kids" a hard cherry candy.

"Oh, youth! Elevators these days have fancy dispatcher buttons! Back in my day, we had to throw out the most panicky passengers to keep the weight balanced!"

"Really?!" came simultaneous responses from Office Dude (terrified) and Goth Guy (oddly intrigued).

"No, of course not, I'm joking," she laughed good-naturedly, popping candy into her mouth.

Killian snorted and sat down on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"I don't know what's gonna kill us first - this early-2000s pop hit playlist or Office Dude finally losing his shit and stabbing us with his letter opener. What are you betting on?"