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At a steady 125 BPM in 4A, it funnels a suffocating darkness into a deep-house chassis that feels less like a room and more like a pressurised chamber. The energy sits at a bruising eight, but Stott channels it inward: the kick is relentless yet submerged, leaving space for dread-laden atmospherics to seep between the bars rather than explode over them.

In a set, it belongs in that precarious pocket where rolling techno meets heads-down deep house, demanding attention without ever raising its voice. That leftfield tilt is the sound of a singular voice confident enough to keep the energy at eight while denying the floor any cheap catharsis, letting the darkness seep through the 125 BPM grid.