That night, Tintin visited Pocket’s scrap yard. It was a rusting cathedral of stolen car doors and melted cables. As he crept past a mound of crushed tin roofs, he heard a voice humming the bassline of “The Ebony Coal.” He peeked inside a shipping container.

You see, Tintin had noticed the geology of the drain: loose coal shale. The specific bass frequency of the song, combined with the Revox’s power, was enough to trigger a minor acoustic landslide. The ceiling cracked. Red mud and ancient coal dust rained down.

"Adanna Eze," she whispered. "They’ve stolen my father’s voice."

He took a sip, and the NEPA light flickered on. For once, it stayed.