A voice boomed through the overhead speakers—distorted, echoed, and sliced into a thousand pieces: "R-r-r-reflex! Flex! Flex!"

Simon wiped sweat from his brow and looked at the crew. "Don't use the lucky number," he warned, his voice still echoing with a slight delay. "It’s got a style of its own."

Simon pulled the lever back, locking the beat into a final, soaring chorus. The Night-Porter shot out of the remix and back into the cold, quiet void of the standard radio edit. The silence was deafening.