There. The band finally catches a quick reliable motion.

Weight lands under that beat. Not a wall. A held shove.

Voice cuts in high, asking if something's missing deep in your spine.

She's counting bodies on the grid. Up. Down. Out.

Title hit. Throw yourself to the sword.

Possession flip. Take what's mine, then two times more.

Straight taunt now. What's it like knowing none of you can compete.

Just a rough little Uh, then she keeps circling.

Same question again. What's it like. Pressure over size.

Room loosens a little. Still on the grid. Not a rest.

Surface hardens. Darker verse—something to bind, someone to find.

I am no man. I am not made of stone.

Backbone, commanded back. The spine question returns altered.

Sword phrase resets. Same corridor, more knowledge in it.

The compete line comes back and narrows the room.

What's it like is almost all that's left.

Pressure starts coming off in pieces. Brief break in the continuity.

Motor lets go. The groove finally drops its hold.