Maya opened her own mouth to scream. Nothing came out. Because the acapella was using her vocal cords now. She could feel her larynx vibrating to a rhythm she did not choose.
It starts as a ghost. A single, unadorned vocal sample, ripped from the dusty groove of a 1980s B-side. No beat. No bassline. Just a voice, drenched in reverb, asking for something primal.