Bursting out in a sweat of terror, Rob plunges up from the abysses of his nightmare in bed in which his laptop got sucked into a blackhole, with 50% of their max patches being transferred across infinite time and space never to be seen again.
"Babe, what's the matter?" his Victoria's Secret-esque wife asks, hurriedly, "You're screaming! You woke me up! I'm here for you...is it Sean's face again?"
"I've got nothing left...it's all gone. Everything I've ever worked for, I've only got one thing left to do..."
Still in a remarkable stupor of mental fatigue, Rob searches for his phone under his pillow and calls Sean immediately, all the while giving scant attention to his wife's cold clasp on his shoulder.
Rob's heart grows tighter as it keeps ringing, constantly flitting between glancing at the screen and holding it to his ear.
"Fuck sake, pick up you twat"
Rob's wife can hear their eldest making batterings and groanings with the Machinedrum downstairs.
"Uhhh Rob? alright mate it's half 3 in the morning, what you after, fella?"
Rob's body jolts.
"Sean mate you gotta come over right this fuckin second lad, swear to god just listen to me, don't ask any questions, just bring the 808."
"Can't you just dropbox me it? You know I live ages away geezer."
"No, it has to be tonight. Come, now."
Still half asleep and languorous but fully cognizant of the fact that Rob has never shown this level of determination before, Sean asks no questions and acquiesces and jumps out of bed. His laptop is still running a patch, he puts on his headphones for a few seconds to check; "Decent, I'll keep it running" he whispers to himself.
Sean locks his house and drives over in a hurry, his car humming Zoviet France at a low rumbling volume.
Rob's phone rings.
"Alright mate, I'm outside."
Rob unlocks the door to a gristly chinned Sean, smiling a hopeful but confused half smile and furrowing his brow a little.
Rob leads them both to the front room, packed with gear, wires, modules and any and all electronics you may think. It's almost impossible to move in there.
"Get the 808 out." Rob says imperiously.
Rob takes a seat on the drum kit stool and intensely meditates for a few minutes as Sean plugs in the 808 and sets it to 104BPM.
"You alright mate? How's your missus? You haven't even said hello."
Rob makes no reply.
Gurglings and bass-heavy grumblings start coming from the Dynaudio Acoustic BM6 setup. Sean's need for a fag is directly proportional to the length of time the beat keeps plodding onwards.
Rob breaks his stasis. "Oi get those stems SOPHIE sent us a few years ago. They should be on the desktop." He begins to play a - what seems like - slightly out of time hi-hat rhythm over the vocals and 808.
Sean starts nodding his head with the very beginnings of a smirk coming into his countenance.
7-8 minutes pass with neither of them speaking a word to one another, just a large thudding and mesmerising din splurging from the speakers.
Rob's wife comes down the stairs, peeks her head round the door frame and rolls her eyes amorously with a smile, as perhaps a parent does when their child embarrasses themselves innocently. "I love them" she thinks to herself. She goes to check on the kids.
"Fuck...this is lush", Sean mutters. He plays with the parameters on the 808 a little bit more. After a short 15 minute warmup, they press record.
The banging of the kicks grow louder and Rob begins to lower his head towards the hi-hat, pattering on it with his drumsticks, his mouth agog. He uses no other part of the drumkit.
Sean lights up a fag.
"Yeah...this is the one..." Sean takes a drag.
Rob temporarily exits his hypnosis, "Add the vocals and slow them down a bit."
"This is deffo the one." A bit of ash drifts from the end of his fag.
Rob closes his eyes, mouth agape.