As the bassline deepened, the first wave of the purge hit. He saw the fog press against his reinforced glass, thick and viscous like liquid mercury. This was the moment of absolute isolation. For the next hour, the external world ceased to exist. No comms, no sirens, just the internal architecture of the sound he was building.

When the purge finally lifted and the mist dissipated into the night air, the drone sat silent on his terrace, its hull still frosted. Naden wiped his brow, the final chords of the track fading into the hum of the city. He had saved a piece of technology from the crush, not with a net, but with a song. He named the project file and hit save. The "Pile Down" was over, but the music was just beginning.

Naden didn't reach for a weapon; he reached for the fader. He pushed the volume of the breakdown to the maximum, the ethereal pads surging like a physical force. The heat signature on the screen vibrated, reacting to the frequency. It wasn't a person; it was a drone, lost in the purge, its sensors overwhelmed by the "Pile Down."